[Fic] [AtoRyo] The Art of Denial
So apologies if it's weird and doesn't make sense but I wrote this from 2-6 in the morning. So cut me some slack?
Title: The Art of Denial
Author: white_wings0
Genre: Romance, Humor
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: AtoRyo
Disclaimer: Not mine. The story is but not the series.
Summary: Atobe doesn't know. Ryoma doesn't get it. Fuji might just be a voyeur.
Warnings: Ryoma being way too childish, Atobe being dramatic, Tezuka popping veins, Fuji.
For Atobelover, for being wonderfully wonderful.
Atobe sighs because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why Tezuka’s arm hasn’t ceased to exist yet, he doesn’t know why Fuji’s so good at conning everybody, and he doesn’t know why he’s so incredibly wonderful he just is.
But most of all, he doesn’t know, why oh why it had to be Seigaku’s stupid, runty, freshman rookie.
Except Seishun Gakuen’s stupid freshmen rookie isn’t exactly a freshman anymore, nor is he still runty, and he’s definitely not a rookie.
But Atobe doesn’t care, because it doesn’t matter that Ryoma’s fifteen, fit, beautiful, and relatively tall, the only thing still holding him to the ground is thinking of the runty little kid he was.
He doesn’t know why he can’t act marvelous, and amazing, and, well, normal, in front of Ryoma. Everytime he tries to think about it he feels as though it’s on the tip of his tongue, the thought is almost there and then a feeling like icy skin against his back comes and he can’t seem to stop staring at the ceiling.
It’s like every word exchanged with the other is filled with pent up emotion with no name because it’s so mixed up and jumbled and chaotic that every emotion is unrecognizable.
He can’t think clearly, there’s something he wants, something he needs, a thing that he could reach out and grab but doesn’t know where to look. His fingers slid against the slippery side of an ice cube, and still he couldn’t seize it.
So in the end he doesn’t think. He just does, and blindly follows, because he has no choice, there are no words to think of. Just insults, layers upon layers of words strung together to mean something not so nice. Things that come up upon sight of the other boy simply because that is the only defense he has against the person who seems to so easily tear down the carefully crafted layers of his ingenious psyche.
But perhaps shields are also double-edged swords when in fact these weapons are the ground burying the chest.
-
Ryoma’s never afraid, and he’s never afraid because he doesn’t care. His areas of concern are very, very, very limited to three things: Tennis, (because he likes to play good tennis), his cat (because Karupin is lovable, and fluffy, and furry and impossible to not care about), and Ponta (because he needs a good dose of caffeine and sugar everyday to maintain his sanity).
Maybe, just maybe he may consider extending this, very minimally, to his friends and the crazy part of his family but Kikumaru will turn into Tezuka before he admits it.
And so the day he got nervous because of Atobe of all people he immediately catnapped Karupin from his snake toy and sat down robotically on his bed, stroking Karupin’s fur like it was the only thing keeping him breathing.
Ryoma simply didn’t understand why he would be afraid of Atobe. He was fearless, he knew it, his teammates knew it, his family knew it, and even Karupin’s snake toy knew it.
What was scary about Atobe? Nothing of course, he was prissy and perfect and dorky, but certainly not scary.
But then what could have that been earlier? When he heard Atobe’s voice and his mind went blank how could that happen? And then his chest started constricting, and he started sweating, and it was as though the warmth in the atmosphere decided to gang up on him, suffocating him with heat.
The only thing he could come up with fear, but it was impossible wasn’t it?
Sou ne, it was definitely impossible.
But wait maybe it wasn’t fear. Maybe Atobe secretly gained powers to make him feel all funny? Or he might be an undiscovered alien? Perhaps a new disease that could be transferred from over the phone?
Ryoma was starting to wonder if Atobe was the real Child of God, not Yukimura.
Tch’, either way he was definitely not afraid of Atobe. And he’d prove it.
He sat Karupin down on the bed (Karupin promptly went to sleep under the covers), and grabbed his tennis bag, making his way toward the street courts.
-
Atobe sneers down at Ryoma, because despite being taller, Atobe still has quite a few inches on the teen.
“Brat.” He scoffs.
Ryoma sends a glare full of heat at the larger boy in return.
“Monkey King.” He sneers.
Fuji just grins as he sits under a shady tree, watching the scene on the courts unfold in front of him. It was quite lucky of him to coincidentally see his Kouhai and the Hyoutei Captain enter the courts looking like they were about to kill each other.
Fuji always did have the most interesting coincidences.
Ryoma smashes like he’s trying to drill a hole in the ground, serves like he’s testing just how hard he can hit before his strings break, and lobs like he’s making a granite-enforced rainbow.
Atobe is the same, Fuji notices and his smile curves just a bit more. He doesn’t really know why they’re playing death tennis, but he’s not one to complain about a good show.
~oOo~
It is almost an hour later when Fuji figures out exactly what is going on. Of course, it’s just a guess, but Fuji’s guesses are rarely wrong.
After they’d gone at it crazy and feral, for about a half hour Fuji had started to really wonder what was happening. Even if it had been interesting at first, it wasn’t like either of the boys to act this way at all, thus piquing Fuji’s curiosity.
At change court, their elbows knocked together as they stomped passed each other and they froze, like they were having ice cubes poured down their shirts. They’re eyes widened and although Fuji couldn’t see Atobe’s he saw Ryoma’s eyes dart all over the place like a lost little wild animal, before he shook his head and continued tramping off.
Then Fuji’s eyes widened just a crack to observe a bit closer.
Then Fuji came up with a theory. They were wearing each other down. Stripping one another layer by layer, like milky white cheese sticks, of stubbornness and pride and all the silly things that like to bury certain others.
And so, theoretically once their completely stripped of shields, something needs to overflow, ne?
And therefore, Fuji sat eagerly waiting for his explosion he knew would have to come.
-
Much later, the two players collapse on opposite sides of the court, breathing hard, sweaty, and flushed.
They slowly push themselves up, gradually making their way towards the net. Their fingers are shaky and slippery but they grasp hands over the divider. Ryoma stares at their hands for a full minute before sharply tilting his chin up to lock gazes with Atobe, eyes sending a silent incoherent message that neither can comprehend and yet they understand.
But then Ryoma does something that catches Fuji of guard enough for sapphire blues to open and a slim eyebrow to rise.
Ryoma launches up, jumping Atobe, quickly wrapping lithe legs around the older mans waist and smooth arms tightly around his neck. Atobe steps back, but readily wraps long arms around Ryoma in return.
And suddenly they’re kissing, a hungry, desperate kind of kissing as though it’s their last. It’s hot and slippery, with Ryoma’s hand firmly dug into Atobe’s hair and Atobe’s hands roaming the boy’s body.
They’re close, bodies pressing together, trying to melt into the other’s embrace. Giving sloppy, but passionate kisses, to the neck, the collarbone, the shoulder and back to the mouth, filled with teeth and slick tongues.
Fuji’s hand reaches into his back pocket, fingers grasping a small rectangular object, flipping it open.
‘Thank God for videophones,’ is all he thinks before proceeding to record fifteen minutes worth of kissing.
-
After Tezuka’s phone beeps for the fifth time, eyebrow twitching just a little, he retrieves it checking the message.
He works a little harder to restrain his eyebrow twitching when he realizes the message is from Fuji:
Dear Tezuka,
I just so happened to procure a lovely little piece of audiovisual entertainment and I thought you might want to enjoy it.
*videohere*
Lots of love,
Fuji ^_^
Tezuka, despite knowing he would probably regret it, Tezuka clicked on the video…
.
.
.
To see his Pillar having a heated make-out session with Atobe Keigo.
Tezuka shut his cell phone, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to relax…relax…
“FUJI!”
-
The End.
If someone could help me with this lj cut thing that would be nice, and If you liked, comments would be appreciated. :)
Title: The Art of Denial
Author: white_wings0
Genre: Romance, Humor
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: AtoRyo
Disclaimer: Not mine. The story is but not the series.
Summary: Atobe doesn't know. Ryoma doesn't get it. Fuji might just be a voyeur.
Warnings: Ryoma being way too childish, Atobe being dramatic, Tezuka popping veins, Fuji.
For Atobelover, for being wonderfully wonderful.
Atobe sighs because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why Tezuka’s arm hasn’t ceased to exist yet, he doesn’t know why Fuji’s so good at conning everybody, and he doesn’t know why he’s so incredibly wonderful he just is.
But most of all, he doesn’t know, why oh why it had to be Seigaku’s stupid, runty, freshman rookie.
Except Seishun Gakuen’s stupid freshmen rookie isn’t exactly a freshman anymore, nor is he still runty, and he’s definitely not a rookie.
But Atobe doesn’t care, because it doesn’t matter that Ryoma’s fifteen, fit, beautiful, and relatively tall, the only thing still holding him to the ground is thinking of the runty little kid he was.
He doesn’t know why he can’t act marvelous, and amazing, and, well, normal, in front of Ryoma. Everytime he tries to think about it he feels as though it’s on the tip of his tongue, the thought is almost there and then a feeling like icy skin against his back comes and he can’t seem to stop staring at the ceiling.
It’s like every word exchanged with the other is filled with pent up emotion with no name because it’s so mixed up and jumbled and chaotic that every emotion is unrecognizable.
He can’t think clearly, there’s something he wants, something he needs, a thing that he could reach out and grab but doesn’t know where to look. His fingers slid against the slippery side of an ice cube, and still he couldn’t seize it.
So in the end he doesn’t think. He just does, and blindly follows, because he has no choice, there are no words to think of. Just insults, layers upon layers of words strung together to mean something not so nice. Things that come up upon sight of the other boy simply because that is the only defense he has against the person who seems to so easily tear down the carefully crafted layers of his ingenious psyche.
But perhaps shields are also double-edged swords when in fact these weapons are the ground burying the chest.
-
Ryoma’s never afraid, and he’s never afraid because he doesn’t care. His areas of concern are very, very, very limited to three things: Tennis, (because he likes to play good tennis), his cat (because Karupin is lovable, and fluffy, and furry and impossible to not care about), and Ponta (because he needs a good dose of caffeine and sugar everyday to maintain his sanity).
Maybe, just maybe he may consider extending this, very minimally, to his friends and the crazy part of his family but Kikumaru will turn into Tezuka before he admits it.
And so the day he got nervous because of Atobe of all people he immediately catnapped Karupin from his snake toy and sat down robotically on his bed, stroking Karupin’s fur like it was the only thing keeping him breathing.
Ryoma simply didn’t understand why he would be afraid of Atobe. He was fearless, he knew it, his teammates knew it, his family knew it, and even Karupin’s snake toy knew it.
What was scary about Atobe? Nothing of course, he was prissy and perfect and dorky, but certainly not scary.
But then what could have that been earlier? When he heard Atobe’s voice and his mind went blank how could that happen? And then his chest started constricting, and he started sweating, and it was as though the warmth in the atmosphere decided to gang up on him, suffocating him with heat.
The only thing he could come up with fear, but it was impossible wasn’t it?
Sou ne, it was definitely impossible.
But wait maybe it wasn’t fear. Maybe Atobe secretly gained powers to make him feel all funny? Or he might be an undiscovered alien? Perhaps a new disease that could be transferred from over the phone?
Ryoma was starting to wonder if Atobe was the real Child of God, not Yukimura.
Tch’, either way he was definitely not afraid of Atobe. And he’d prove it.
He sat Karupin down on the bed (Karupin promptly went to sleep under the covers), and grabbed his tennis bag, making his way toward the street courts.
-
Atobe sneers down at Ryoma, because despite being taller, Atobe still has quite a few inches on the teen.
“Brat.” He scoffs.
Ryoma sends a glare full of heat at the larger boy in return.
“Monkey King.” He sneers.
Fuji just grins as he sits under a shady tree, watching the scene on the courts unfold in front of him. It was quite lucky of him to coincidentally see his Kouhai and the Hyoutei Captain enter the courts looking like they were about to kill each other.
Fuji always did have the most interesting coincidences.
Ryoma smashes like he’s trying to drill a hole in the ground, serves like he’s testing just how hard he can hit before his strings break, and lobs like he’s making a granite-enforced rainbow.
Atobe is the same, Fuji notices and his smile curves just a bit more. He doesn’t really know why they’re playing death tennis, but he’s not one to complain about a good show.
~oOo~
It is almost an hour later when Fuji figures out exactly what is going on. Of course, it’s just a guess, but Fuji’s guesses are rarely wrong.
After they’d gone at it crazy and feral, for about a half hour Fuji had started to really wonder what was happening. Even if it had been interesting at first, it wasn’t like either of the boys to act this way at all, thus piquing Fuji’s curiosity.
At change court, their elbows knocked together as they stomped passed each other and they froze, like they were having ice cubes poured down their shirts. They’re eyes widened and although Fuji couldn’t see Atobe’s he saw Ryoma’s eyes dart all over the place like a lost little wild animal, before he shook his head and continued tramping off.
Then Fuji’s eyes widened just a crack to observe a bit closer.
Then Fuji came up with a theory. They were wearing each other down. Stripping one another layer by layer, like milky white cheese sticks, of stubbornness and pride and all the silly things that like to bury certain others.
And so, theoretically once their completely stripped of shields, something needs to overflow, ne?
And therefore, Fuji sat eagerly waiting for his explosion he knew would have to come.
-
Much later, the two players collapse on opposite sides of the court, breathing hard, sweaty, and flushed.
They slowly push themselves up, gradually making their way towards the net. Their fingers are shaky and slippery but they grasp hands over the divider. Ryoma stares at their hands for a full minute before sharply tilting his chin up to lock gazes with Atobe, eyes sending a silent incoherent message that neither can comprehend and yet they understand.
But then Ryoma does something that catches Fuji of guard enough for sapphire blues to open and a slim eyebrow to rise.
Ryoma launches up, jumping Atobe, quickly wrapping lithe legs around the older mans waist and smooth arms tightly around his neck. Atobe steps back, but readily wraps long arms around Ryoma in return.
And suddenly they’re kissing, a hungry, desperate kind of kissing as though it’s their last. It’s hot and slippery, with Ryoma’s hand firmly dug into Atobe’s hair and Atobe’s hands roaming the boy’s body.
They’re close, bodies pressing together, trying to melt into the other’s embrace. Giving sloppy, but passionate kisses, to the neck, the collarbone, the shoulder and back to the mouth, filled with teeth and slick tongues.
Fuji’s hand reaches into his back pocket, fingers grasping a small rectangular object, flipping it open.
‘Thank God for videophones,’ is all he thinks before proceeding to record fifteen minutes worth of kissing.
-
After Tezuka’s phone beeps for the fifth time, eyebrow twitching just a little, he retrieves it checking the message.
He works a little harder to restrain his eyebrow twitching when he realizes the message is from Fuji:
Dear Tezuka,
I just so happened to procure a lovely little piece of audiovisual entertainment and I thought you might want to enjoy it.
*videohere*
Lots of love,
Fuji ^_^
Tezuka, despite knowing he would probably regret it, Tezuka clicked on the video…
.
.
.
To see his Pillar having a heated make-out session with Atobe Keigo.
Tezuka shut his cell phone, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to relax…relax…
“FUJI!”
-
The End.
If someone could help me with this lj cut thing that would be nice, and If you liked, comments would be appreciated. :)