FIC: Hiyoshi, Atobe
I should be sleeping, but I just HAD to write since I finally had the will to do it. That and I really wanted Atobe/Hiyoshi.
King Me
Some people said that Atobe was plainly gay.
But Atobe never did anything plainly.
So that left extravagantly gay, or virtuously straight.
Hiyoshi wasn't sure of either.
The one time he had deigned to ask why Atobe always turned down girls had been right after one that was actually decent approached him. Not that Hiyoshi would have said yes himself, but she was smart and quiet and not a pushover. That's what Hiyoshi found important in girls anyway, and seeing as Atobe seemed to share his distaste for the usual horde of fangirls (some said he reveled in it, but if you knew him it was obvious he thought them far, far below him) he figured that their types might be similar as well.
And well, if that was the case it was no wonder people also said that Atobe was in love with himself.
But in answer to his question, Hiyoshi had received an elegant roll of Atobe's shoulder which was his equivalent to a shrug, and "Because I have an empire to run," stated in the most haughty tone possible. Which was to say Atobe's normal voice.
If Hiyoshi were snarky like Mukahi or even Shishido, he would have pointed out that as much as they were Hyoutei; the ice emperors, Sanada from Rikkai was the Emperor, and Atobe the King, but he wasn't and so he didn't. Besides, Hiyoshi was already treading close to a line with his question, and he didn't want to get a step closer. Worse than Atobe being angry was Atobe being amused.
The last time Atobe had laughed at Hiyoshi he'd been close to punching that smug smirk off his captain's face right there on the courts. And he could do it, too. He'd calculated it; how many steps, how quickly before Atobe had a chance to react or Kabaji get there to stop him. But that was exactly why he didn't. Hiyoshi didn't go around beating people up like a thug, and his training wasn't even for self defense, though that did come in useful when the position of regular was threatened by more than just tennis matches. It was an art, as silly as that might have sounded. Atobe deserved less.
Or more, because oddly at the same time, or maybe right after the laughter had calmed down and that thoughtful look played across Atobe's foreign blue eyes, Hiyoshi had an urge to kiss that smirk away. Not all soft and nice like a girl, but hard and firm and maybe then that would convey all the frustration of I want to beat you.
That would make Atobe shut up. More than violence, maybe even more than hitting a match point into Atobe's court, if Hiyoshi would just kiss Atobe that laugh and that smirk and that derisive voice would just go away.
And Hiyoshi would win.
Because no one kissed Atobe. Hiyoshi would be the one to do it, to break through all that ice and put a surprised look in those cold eyes. That was what Hiyoshi wanted, to throw him off, to prove that he wouldn't just sit back and wait and watch and let Atobe rule over them all.
But he didn't. Somehow Atobe was winning. And somehow it was more important than winning or losing to Hiyoshi. Sure he wanted to feel the ball on his racket and hear the sounds of cheers or stunned silence as he beat Atobe in a fair match, but not near as much as he wanted to feel the warmth of lips against his and muscles moving under a jersey clenched in his fist. Or hear the rush of breath in and out of lungs and the surprised yelp Atobe might make.
Or taste sweat and tongue and heat as he held Atobe there, close, and proved that he could be the one to finally taste him and own him and melt him and it would all be because of Hiyoshi.
Until then though, if then, Hiyoshi would play tennis. He'd play tennis against Atobe, he'd play tennis against others, he'd prove he meant something. And he'd watch, too. The way Atobe would practice late into the afternoon, sweat dripping onto the purple courts and beading above his lip or dripping between his collarbones. His chest would heave with exertion, his arm would tremble before he ever considered stopping. This was why Atobe was the King, because he pushed and reached and told himself in every way possible that he could have more.
This was why Atobe was King and Hiyoshi wasn't. Hiyoshi told himself he couldn't have more, and that was why Atobe was standing alone on the courts, sunset glistening orange on the back of his neck as he gulped in breaths of air.
That was why Hiyoshi was still on the sidelines, just watching.
As always.
King Me
Some people said that Atobe was plainly gay.
But Atobe never did anything plainly.
So that left extravagantly gay, or virtuously straight.
Hiyoshi wasn't sure of either.
The one time he had deigned to ask why Atobe always turned down girls had been right after one that was actually decent approached him. Not that Hiyoshi would have said yes himself, but she was smart and quiet and not a pushover. That's what Hiyoshi found important in girls anyway, and seeing as Atobe seemed to share his distaste for the usual horde of fangirls (some said he reveled in it, but if you knew him it was obvious he thought them far, far below him) he figured that their types might be similar as well.
And well, if that was the case it was no wonder people also said that Atobe was in love with himself.
But in answer to his question, Hiyoshi had received an elegant roll of Atobe's shoulder which was his equivalent to a shrug, and "Because I have an empire to run," stated in the most haughty tone possible. Which was to say Atobe's normal voice.
If Hiyoshi were snarky like Mukahi or even Shishido, he would have pointed out that as much as they were Hyoutei; the ice emperors, Sanada from Rikkai was the Emperor, and Atobe the King, but he wasn't and so he didn't. Besides, Hiyoshi was already treading close to a line with his question, and he didn't want to get a step closer. Worse than Atobe being angry was Atobe being amused.
The last time Atobe had laughed at Hiyoshi he'd been close to punching that smug smirk off his captain's face right there on the courts. And he could do it, too. He'd calculated it; how many steps, how quickly before Atobe had a chance to react or Kabaji get there to stop him. But that was exactly why he didn't. Hiyoshi didn't go around beating people up like a thug, and his training wasn't even for self defense, though that did come in useful when the position of regular was threatened by more than just tennis matches. It was an art, as silly as that might have sounded. Atobe deserved less.
Or more, because oddly at the same time, or maybe right after the laughter had calmed down and that thoughtful look played across Atobe's foreign blue eyes, Hiyoshi had an urge to kiss that smirk away. Not all soft and nice like a girl, but hard and firm and maybe then that would convey all the frustration of I want to beat you.
That would make Atobe shut up. More than violence, maybe even more than hitting a match point into Atobe's court, if Hiyoshi would just kiss Atobe that laugh and that smirk and that derisive voice would just go away.
And Hiyoshi would win.
Because no one kissed Atobe. Hiyoshi would be the one to do it, to break through all that ice and put a surprised look in those cold eyes. That was what Hiyoshi wanted, to throw him off, to prove that he wouldn't just sit back and wait and watch and let Atobe rule over them all.
But he didn't. Somehow Atobe was winning. And somehow it was more important than winning or losing to Hiyoshi. Sure he wanted to feel the ball on his racket and hear the sounds of cheers or stunned silence as he beat Atobe in a fair match, but not near as much as he wanted to feel the warmth of lips against his and muscles moving under a jersey clenched in his fist. Or hear the rush of breath in and out of lungs and the surprised yelp Atobe might make.
Or taste sweat and tongue and heat as he held Atobe there, close, and proved that he could be the one to finally taste him and own him and melt him and it would all be because of Hiyoshi.
Until then though, if then, Hiyoshi would play tennis. He'd play tennis against Atobe, he'd play tennis against others, he'd prove he meant something. And he'd watch, too. The way Atobe would practice late into the afternoon, sweat dripping onto the purple courts and beading above his lip or dripping between his collarbones. His chest would heave with exertion, his arm would tremble before he ever considered stopping. This was why Atobe was the King, because he pushed and reached and told himself in every way possible that he could have more.
This was why Atobe was King and Hiyoshi wasn't. Hiyoshi told himself he couldn't have more, and that was why Atobe was standing alone on the courts, sunset glistening orange on the back of his neck as he gulped in breaths of air.
That was why Hiyoshi was still on the sidelines, just watching.
As always.