Prince of Tennis: Hunk
It's not that I've been inspired or anything. I just realized that this is... I think the only Prince of Tennis one-shot that I haven't posted. Huh. Written a much, MUCH long time ago. Forgive me, please.
Title: Hunk
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Light FujiRyo
Disclaimer: I own no part of Prince of Tennis. This fanfiction was written solely for entertainment purposes. Duh.
Dedication: For my favorite Asian-American boy. I miss that look you give me to shut me up when I'm being terribly corny.
Hunk
--
It is a decidedly very cheesy shirt.
"...Oyaji..."
"Do you like it, boy?" Echizen Nanjirou asks, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "Hm?"
It isn't that Ryoma doesn't know what to say. There are about a thousand things he could say, but all of them would only serve to encourage this immature beast of a father that he has.
So Ryoma merely stands from his place at the table, drops the shirt, grabs a coat and his bag, and walks out the door.
"Oi! Oi, boy, get back here--!"
"School," Ryoma calls back, and doesn't take another look at his father.
Nanjirou fumes.
--
It's a week later, and Ryoma has forgotten all about the T-shirt. Or he would have, if the damn thing hadn't started to appear everywhere. Everywhere. By his rackets, on the dining room table, on the couch, on his bed -- everywhere. And Oyaji -- well, Oyaji. Ryoma can't figure out why the hell he bought the stupid, embarrassing thing in the first place, except for maybe blackmailing purposes, and --
Ryoma pulls out his tennis racket, so distracted that he doesn't even notice the extra weight that's dragging on the equipment.
-- and then Ryoma is watching in something like horror as the shirt (Everywhere! It's everywhere!) is exposed for the entire world to see. For the entire tennis club to see. Because it's on the floor. Of the clubroom.
Ryoma just stands there and stares. Wonders how the shirt got into the bag. Wonders -- and knows -- knows -- that the whole thing was orchestrated by Nanjirou for god-knows what reason.
So Ryoma just stares. The rest of the club stares, too, squinting and trying to make out the words that made Echizen halt so suddenly.
Fuji-senpai, on the other hand, steps forward and picks up that curious, curious shirt.
"Fu -- "
Fuji-senpai's eyebrows raise slowly. And a smile creeps over his pleasant face. And... Echizen Ryoma suddenly wonders what's going to happen next. Wonders what could happen next, given Fuji-senpai's capricious temperament.
"Asian-American Men Are Hunks," Fuji murmurs aloud then, not bothering to translate that one -- little --damning sentense in Japanese. He just says it out loud and lets the rest of the club try and figure out what the hell a hunk is (Like that green guy? No, no -- that's the Hulk, isn't it? Or -- ).
Just hands the shirt back to Ryoma, who shoves it into his tennis bag viciously.
And then he says, his teasing voice oh-so-low in Ryoma's ear,
"I'm inclined to agree."
--
That, Ryoma thinks as he and the rest of the Seigaku regulars turn the last lap and collapse into a heap, was so corny.
But when Fuji-senpai catches his eye and smiles, Ryoma is thankful that he can blame his blush on the run.
--
[ I have lost all hope for my future. ._. ]
[ Please forgive me? ]
--
...I'm hungry...
Title: Hunk
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Light FujiRyo
Disclaimer: I own no part of Prince of Tennis. This fanfiction was written solely for entertainment purposes. Duh.
Dedication: For my favorite Asian-American boy. I miss that look you give me to shut me up when I'm being terribly corny.
Hunk
--
It is a decidedly very cheesy shirt.
"...Oyaji..."
"Do you like it, boy?" Echizen Nanjirou asks, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "Hm?"
It isn't that Ryoma doesn't know what to say. There are about a thousand things he could say, but all of them would only serve to encourage this immature beast of a father that he has.
So Ryoma merely stands from his place at the table, drops the shirt, grabs a coat and his bag, and walks out the door.
"Oi! Oi, boy, get back here--!"
"School," Ryoma calls back, and doesn't take another look at his father.
Nanjirou fumes.
--
It's a week later, and Ryoma has forgotten all about the T-shirt. Or he would have, if the damn thing hadn't started to appear everywhere. Everywhere. By his rackets, on the dining room table, on the couch, on his bed -- everywhere. And Oyaji -- well, Oyaji. Ryoma can't figure out why the hell he bought the stupid, embarrassing thing in the first place, except for maybe blackmailing purposes, and --
Ryoma pulls out his tennis racket, so distracted that he doesn't even notice the extra weight that's dragging on the equipment.
-- and then Ryoma is watching in something like horror as the shirt (Everywhere! It's everywhere!) is exposed for the entire world to see. For the entire tennis club to see. Because it's on the floor. Of the clubroom.
Ryoma just stands there and stares. Wonders how the shirt got into the bag. Wonders -- and knows -- knows -- that the whole thing was orchestrated by Nanjirou for god-knows what reason.
So Ryoma just stares. The rest of the club stares, too, squinting and trying to make out the words that made Echizen halt so suddenly.
Fuji-senpai, on the other hand, steps forward and picks up that curious, curious shirt.
"Fu -- "
Fuji-senpai's eyebrows raise slowly. And a smile creeps over his pleasant face. And... Echizen Ryoma suddenly wonders what's going to happen next. Wonders what could happen next, given Fuji-senpai's capricious temperament.
"Asian-American Men Are Hunks," Fuji murmurs aloud then, not bothering to translate that one -- little --damning sentense in Japanese. He just says it out loud and lets the rest of the club try and figure out what the hell a hunk is (Like that green guy? No, no -- that's the Hulk, isn't it? Or -- ).
Just hands the shirt back to Ryoma, who shoves it into his tennis bag viciously.
And then he says, his teasing voice oh-so-low in Ryoma's ear,
"I'm inclined to agree."
--
That, Ryoma thinks as he and the rest of the Seigaku regulars turn the last lap and collapse into a heap, was so corny.
But when Fuji-senpai catches his eye and smiles, Ryoma is thankful that he can blame his blush on the run.
--
[ I have lost all hope for my future. ._. ]
[ Please forgive me? ]
--
...I'm hungry...