Ink (Prince of Tennis)
Title: Ink
Series: Tenipuri
Character/Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Word count: 505
Rating: PG-13
A/N: 25th - Prince of Tennis, Fuji/Tezuka, body-painting/inkbrushing -An invisible touch on the back of my neck/Fingertips lingering, warm breath. Apologies for lateness, or any mistakes made at this late hour. No time for betaings, alas.
Photography was the entry drug, so to speak. Fuji took up new hobbies like people changed clothes, but Tezuka had never foreseen inkbrushing on the horizon. It just happened one day that while Tezuka was changing, he felt the tip of a brush against his back. He looked around, frowning at Fuji’s grin, along with a new line of calligraphy inked on his skin.
It tickled, though Tezuka didn’t laugh. Perhaps that had been Fuji’s plan, to make him break down, to find every ticklish spot. If so, it failed. But this did not faze him, for Fuji was always trying to find ways to best him in even the most mundane ways. However, it wasn’t to be mistaken with rivalry, for it was something deeper, and more catlike than that. Tezuka amused him in little ways that should have been humorless, yet then again, Fuji had always had a strange sense of humor.
Fuji wore a yukata loosely drawn in the summer heat. When Tezuka looked questioningly, he just smiled in that coy way of his. He brushed the ink over Tezuka's chest, bending him as he needed to work. His breath was warm and gradually increasing in intensity as he painted. It was something that he tried to hide, yet failed to keep as controlled as he wished.
"What are you writing?" Tezuka said.
"Proverbs, poetry, designs...my name," Fuji said. He chuckled and twirled the brush in a circle before drawing it up Tezuka's neck. Tezuka lifted his chin instinctively to the caress of the bristles. Tezuka arched his back when Fuji brought the brush down, and closed his eyes as Fuji's hands made their soft and fleeting way down the bridge of his nose to rest at his clavicle. He stayed there only an admiring moment before going over Tezuka's chest in a languorous, long touch. A thumb print to the side of his arm, a swirl of ink to his fingertips. Tezuka took this all without a word. He was pliant when needed, and bent to wherever Fuji motioned in quiet commands, until Fuji had claimed ownership all over his body in ink.
"Am I to be your next big project?" Tezuka asked dryly.
Fuji tilted his head to one side and smiled enigmatically. "You're always my project. There's no 'next' about it."
He put the ink brush aside and glanced over Tezuka for a long moment. "Besides, this isn’t to be sold. I’m not going to be sharing this side of you with anyone."
He embraced Tezuka from behind, and pressed his lips to one place at the nape of his neck that was ink free. "Because you're mine, and mine alone..."
Tezuka's hand clasped over his in its own silent agreement.
Series: Tenipuri
Character/Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Word count: 505
Rating: PG-13
A/N: 25th - Prince of Tennis, Fuji/Tezuka, body-painting/inkbrushing -An invisible touch on the back of my neck/Fingertips lingering, warm breath. Apologies for lateness, or any mistakes made at this late hour. No time for betaings, alas.
Photography was the entry drug, so to speak. Fuji took up new hobbies like people changed clothes, but Tezuka had never foreseen inkbrushing on the horizon. It just happened one day that while Tezuka was changing, he felt the tip of a brush against his back. He looked around, frowning at Fuji’s grin, along with a new line of calligraphy inked on his skin.
It tickled, though Tezuka didn’t laugh. Perhaps that had been Fuji’s plan, to make him break down, to find every ticklish spot. If so, it failed. But this did not faze him, for Fuji was always trying to find ways to best him in even the most mundane ways. However, it wasn’t to be mistaken with rivalry, for it was something deeper, and more catlike than that. Tezuka amused him in little ways that should have been humorless, yet then again, Fuji had always had a strange sense of humor.
Fuji wore a yukata loosely drawn in the summer heat. When Tezuka looked questioningly, he just smiled in that coy way of his. He brushed the ink over Tezuka's chest, bending him as he needed to work. His breath was warm and gradually increasing in intensity as he painted. It was something that he tried to hide, yet failed to keep as controlled as he wished.
"What are you writing?" Tezuka said.
"Proverbs, poetry, designs...my name," Fuji said. He chuckled and twirled the brush in a circle before drawing it up Tezuka's neck. Tezuka lifted his chin instinctively to the caress of the bristles. Tezuka arched his back when Fuji brought the brush down, and closed his eyes as Fuji's hands made their soft and fleeting way down the bridge of his nose to rest at his clavicle. He stayed there only an admiring moment before going over Tezuka's chest in a languorous, long touch. A thumb print to the side of his arm, a swirl of ink to his fingertips. Tezuka took this all without a word. He was pliant when needed, and bent to wherever Fuji motioned in quiet commands, until Fuji had claimed ownership all over his body in ink.
"Am I to be your next big project?" Tezuka asked dryly.
Fuji tilted his head to one side and smiled enigmatically. "You're always my project. There's no 'next' about it."
He put the ink brush aside and glanced over Tezuka for a long moment. "Besides, this isn’t to be sold. I’m not going to be sharing this side of you with anyone."
He embraced Tezuka from behind, and pressed his lips to one place at the nape of his neck that was ink free. "Because you're mine, and mine alone..."
Tezuka's hand clasped over his in its own silent agreement.