ficlet: forward, yearning [fuji/ryoma; r]
forward, yearning. [Fuji/Ryoma with Tezuka/Ryoma; Hard R]
Ryoma thinks about the way Fuji had touched Tezuka's arm after Nationals.
He thinks about how Tezuka hadn't quite pulled away, or said wait or said i can't or you're too --.
He thinks until it twists up in his chest, straining, straining to get out and do something, and he still doesn't understand.
His sheets are dirty when he wakes up, and he supposes this is growing up.
-
Tezuka's not the only one who's been watching Echizen. But Fuji's not afraid to be caught looking. Fuji watches Echizen, watches as he swings a racket, watches as his shirt shifts up to show a pale hard strip of belly, watches in the showers, watches as he wins, watches as he looks at Tezuka, and Oishi says, "But Tezuka --" in a worried voice, and stops at the look in Fuji's eyes.
-
"Hey, Echizen-kun," Fuji says, his hand catching at Ryoma's sleeve before he can leave after practice. "You've grown."
Ryoma looks at him, and Momoshiro and An walk ahead.
Tezuka watches from a window, high above.
-
Fuji doesn't ask Ryoma to take off his hat. He waits until he's distracted by big gulps of cold Ponta, and pulls it off, and holds it behind his back. "It hides your eyes," he murmurs.
"Yeah, from the sun," Ryoma retorts after he swallows, trying to reach around to snatch his cap back. Fuji is warm, and smells like hard, little red pieces of cinnamon candy.
"It's cloudy today," Fuji explains, leaning forward, his lips brushing the thick black of Ryoma's eyelashes before landing on the top of his cheek.
Ryoma freezes; the muscles in his neck and jaw shift, clench. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asks angrily, tugging his hat free and shoving it on, until the brim is ridiculously low.
"It's okay." Fuji's thumb traces the line of his jaw. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."
-
Ryoma asks Fuji to play a match with him.
They play for hours, and no one wins, and Ryoma wonders if that's allowed.
-
Fuji's hands trail down Ryoma's waist to rest on the narrow jut of his hips. Ryoma is trembling, but fists his little hands in Fuji's pale brown hair, and pulls him down to bring their lips together. The pink of his tongue darts out, and his mouth spreads open wide as Fuji's answers. His heart is wildly pressing against Fuji's chest.
Fuji's hands carefully slide underneath the band of his tennis shorts, into his boxers, and Ryoma gasps fuck in dirty English as he wraps his fingers around Ryoma's erection.
Fuji begins to move his hand, and whispers words Ryoma can't catch but make his throat catch up into the shell of his ear. Ryoma thinks he may die, and his mind is gone and all he can do is pant into Fuji's neck, bite down when Fuji's free hand runs dangerously along the curve of his ass.
"Have you ever done this before?" he asks.
"Not with Tezuka."
Ryoma's eyes fly open, and he sees black, and comes.
-
Fuji holds him, holds him when everyone is watching, when everyone is talking.
And Tezuka. And Tezuka looks away.
"It's okay," Fuji promises, constant, unswayed by anything or anyone. "It's okay."
-
It's the day Tezuka doesn't look away that's going to break him.
Ryoma thinks about the way Fuji had touched Tezuka's arm after Nationals.
He thinks about how Tezuka hadn't quite pulled away, or said wait or said i can't or you're too --.
He thinks until it twists up in his chest, straining, straining to get out and do something, and he still doesn't understand.
His sheets are dirty when he wakes up, and he supposes this is growing up.
-
Tezuka's not the only one who's been watching Echizen. But Fuji's not afraid to be caught looking. Fuji watches Echizen, watches as he swings a racket, watches as his shirt shifts up to show a pale hard strip of belly, watches in the showers, watches as he wins, watches as he looks at Tezuka, and Oishi says, "But Tezuka --" in a worried voice, and stops at the look in Fuji's eyes.
-
"Hey, Echizen-kun," Fuji says, his hand catching at Ryoma's sleeve before he can leave after practice. "You've grown."
Ryoma looks at him, and Momoshiro and An walk ahead.
Tezuka watches from a window, high above.
-
Fuji doesn't ask Ryoma to take off his hat. He waits until he's distracted by big gulps of cold Ponta, and pulls it off, and holds it behind his back. "It hides your eyes," he murmurs.
"Yeah, from the sun," Ryoma retorts after he swallows, trying to reach around to snatch his cap back. Fuji is warm, and smells like hard, little red pieces of cinnamon candy.
"It's cloudy today," Fuji explains, leaning forward, his lips brushing the thick black of Ryoma's eyelashes before landing on the top of his cheek.
Ryoma freezes; the muscles in his neck and jaw shift, clench. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asks angrily, tugging his hat free and shoving it on, until the brim is ridiculously low.
"It's okay." Fuji's thumb traces the line of his jaw. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."
-
Ryoma asks Fuji to play a match with him.
They play for hours, and no one wins, and Ryoma wonders if that's allowed.
-
Fuji's hands trail down Ryoma's waist to rest on the narrow jut of his hips. Ryoma is trembling, but fists his little hands in Fuji's pale brown hair, and pulls him down to bring their lips together. The pink of his tongue darts out, and his mouth spreads open wide as Fuji's answers. His heart is wildly pressing against Fuji's chest.
Fuji's hands carefully slide underneath the band of his tennis shorts, into his boxers, and Ryoma gasps fuck in dirty English as he wraps his fingers around Ryoma's erection.
Fuji begins to move his hand, and whispers words Ryoma can't catch but make his throat catch up into the shell of his ear. Ryoma thinks he may die, and his mind is gone and all he can do is pant into Fuji's neck, bite down when Fuji's free hand runs dangerously along the curve of his ass.
"Have you ever done this before?" he asks.
"Not with Tezuka."
Ryoma's eyes fly open, and he sees black, and comes.
-
Fuji holds him, holds him when everyone is watching, when everyone is talking.
And Tezuka. And Tezuka looks away.
"It's okay," Fuji promises, constant, unswayed by anything or anyone. "It's okay."
-
It's the day Tezuka doesn't look away that's going to break him.