[PoT Fic]Other Side (ZukaFuji)
Title: Other Side
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Rating: NC17
Summary: What happens when Fuji finds himself having to face the other side of the camera lens
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own them.
Notes: written for the Zukafuji post a day event. Much love to reddwarfer. This is the first part of two parts. The second part to be posted on the next event day.
Other Side
Photography was Fuji’s first love. It always had been, and always would be. His skill with the camera was amazing, and he could capture anything, or at least, that’s what it always felt like. Whenever he looked back at pictures he’d taken, Fuji could see exactly what he’d wanted to preserve in them. The soft click of the shutter relaxed him immediately, and it became easy to let his eyes seek out what they wanted to capture. His work was displayed in galleries everywhere. His landscapes, cityscapes and even the pictures he took for some of the top fashion design houses were showcased all over the world in many different forms.
Fuji Syusuke had succeeded in making his hobby, his profession, and he loved it.
At least, that’s how it had worked up until that day. He came home, nose a little cold from the chill in the evening air, unwrapped his scarf, took off his jacket and was about to make his way into the living room, when he was stopped short by Tezuka standing in his way. The day had been particularly satisfying. He’d managed to take some exceptional shots in the winter light, which could easily lead his next collection. And so, he couldn’t help but be in a good mood. Tezuka’s expression didn’t let that notion last long though.
“What is it?” It wasn’t often Tezuka’s emotions were visible in his expression, but he definitely didn’t look happy.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Fuji took an involuntary step back, surprise evident on his face. He wanted to ask Tell you what? But knew he’d get the answer anyway. For a moment, Tezuka continued looking at him, before he gave one curt nod, almost expressing confusion, and beckoned for Fuji to follow him. Confusion wasn’t something Tezuka was usually capable of, and Fuji’s curiosity grew, needing to know what he’d done that he wasn’t aware of.
He followed Tezuka into the kitchen, up to the table, and the page-two newspaper spread covering the table. Out of the corner of his eyes, Fuji noticed Tezuka’s jaw clench even more, and he would have been able to hear teeth grinding had he not been so shocked at what he saw.
The large picture taking pride of place was of him standing next to one of the Residual Effects models he’d been working with the previous day. Even on the bad quality of paper the picture was printed on, it was quite obvious that it was taken in Fuji’s own style, almost identical. It was also equally as obvious, that the model was overshadowed by Fuji himself, and the headline pointed exactly that out.
Residual Effects to sign new model.
Fuji Syusuke to take a turn on the other end of the lens.
“No,” he heard himself mutter as his eyes scanned the next few lines. Apparently a spokesperson had announced that they’d been in contact with him and his agent that day, but it wasn’t true, not true at all. And then Fuji realized, he’d left his cell in his room the night before, forgotten all about it. They may well have tried… Still that didn’t change that he’d never agreed to it.
Then his eyes slid down the picture to where the photographer’s name took pride of place; Oshitari Yuushi. He should have known. For years they’d been in competition, Yuushi’s photography never managed to be quite what Fuji’s was. What better way to get rid of a rival than try to force a career change for them? Fuji’s fists closed round the paper, crushing it in his hands and throwing it across the room. He’d never had any desire to be a photographic subject. In fact, he hated it. His love of the art was to be behind the lens.
Turning, he knew Tezuka’s expression would be dark and he wasn’t wrong. Years ago Fuji had a growth spurt, just before his junior year of High School. Shortly after having met Tezuka, they’d been cornered in the shopping mall asking him come in and sign with a modeling agency. He’d declined them with a laugh, saying he much preferred to be the photographer than the photographed. Although he’d not known Tezuka long, Fuji would never forget the reaction back then.
It was nothing compared to the reaction now, six years later.
“I didn’t, Tezuka, not at all.” Fuji practically begged to be believed. Tezuka’s eyes didn’t seem forgiving, so he continued. “No one’s even contacted me.”
“You promised.” Was all Tezuka said to him, before turning on his heel and left the house leaving Fuji standing there, glaring at the door.
As much as Fuji hated being on the other end of the camera lens, Tezuka hated Fuji being there even more.
Walking over to the fridge, Fuji pulled on the door, jarring the contents, but he didn’t care. He didn’t drink all that often, but right then, he needed something to soothe his temper. Leaving his glass of vodka on the coffee table, Fuji went to find his cell phone and take the bull by its horns. He found it on the floor of the bedroom, off. The battery had died sometime during the course of the day, so he armed himself with the charger and headed back to his drink.
Turning on the phone proved to be mistake. Seven text messages flashed up on the screen, one of which informed himthat he had nine voice messages. He knew that only one of those would have been from Tezuka.
By the time he’d retrieved all of his messages, and called back and talked to his agent at length, a couple of hours had passed and Fuji’s vodka glass longed for a refill. Tezuka still wasn’t back, but at least Fuji had a clearer picture of what had transpired since the Residual Effects photo shoot the previous day.
After Fuji had finished the photo shoot and gone through the results to pick the appropriate photos for the magazine spread, he’d left the office. Due to connections with the magazine owner, Atobe Keigo, who also happened to be a major shareholder in Residual Effects, Oshitari Yuushi had been at the shoot. After Fuji left, he’d shown three photos to Atobe, the two not published had been of Fuji ‘in action’ as a photographer. That was all Atobe needed. He decided that the next shoot would be with Fuji in them or nothing at all.
To sum up what would end up being a very long story otherwise, Future Images magazine requested him in the shoot, and not taking the pictures. Of course, Fuji could decline. And of course, the person he’d be saying no to just happened to be the director of the Atobe Media Conglomerate, which just happened to own several magazines Fuji regularly shot for, not to mention numerous galleries and shares in several fashion and entertainment houses.
Summarizing the events even more precisely: No one said no to the Atobe Media Conglomerate if they valued any type of career.
Concentrating carefully on the coffee table, Fuji made sure that his yet again empty Vodka glass in fact made it onto the surface. Throwing himself back on the couch, he looked up at the ceiling, head spinning a bit from the alcohol rush. “I’m fucked.”
It was then he realized just how silent the house was. He was never in it when Tezuka wasn’t. They rarely fought or even argued. Feeling melancholy and rather tipsy, Fuji thought back to the last time he had to deal with this.
In his junior year of high school, Fuji had been encouraged by his art teacher to enter pictures he’d taken on a school field trip into a competition run by Kyoto University’s history club. It was held in aid of gathering a photographic history of the region. So, Fuji had entered, and made his way to the university three days before the deadline to hand in his submission to the Club room. It was there he’d met the Kyoto University, History Club President, and Graduate Student, Tezuka Kunimitsu.
Needless to say, Fuji had won that competition. Although Tezuka hadn’t been one of the judges, he had been the one to deliver the prize. That was the first time Fuji had coaxed Tezuka to accompany him out in public. Many times followed, and slowly, Fuji realized there was a definite attraction there and although he was certain Tezuka felt it too, the way the college graduate student managed to raise their age difference at least once every time they saw each other, spoke volumes.
He could still remember, quite clearly standing awkwardly at his own front door as Tezuka bade him goodnight on the night Fuji had graduated from High School. Enough was enough. With the man who occupied every thought he had spare standing close enough that their coats were pressed against each other, Fuji simply reacted. They shared their first kiss that night, and to his surprise, Tezuka melted against him after an initial resistance, and never pulled away again after it.
It was with that thought, and a finger touched to his lips in remembrance that Fuji finally drifted to sleep.
*
Fuji blinked, hand reacting to shield his eyes from the suddenly bright light directly above him. His head felt heavy, and he squirmed a little on the couch, eyes squinting to find where Tezuka was standing.
He stood against the bookcase, arms crossed, one leg raised to support himself against the shelves, leather jacket still on. All Fuji could think of was how fucking delectable the man looked right then, even though he was fully aware that he didn’t have very long to soothe over the argument they’d had. Tezuka’s patience for certain things was very short and Fuji didn’t think he’d wait until after they’d had sex. After all, they had to make up first.
Taking a deep breath, Fuji pulled his knees up and hooked an arm around them before speaking. “I didn’t know Oshitari was there. He presented some pictures to Atobe after I’d left. Basically,” and now Fuji had to study his hands to control his voice, “my shoot will no longer be used. If I don’t do the job, that collection won’t be shown.” He hated admitting how much it hurt that some of his art was being rejected for his person.
Fuji could tell Tezuka hadn’t moved, and he couldn’t bring himself to look up and make eye contact. “I don’t know how to get out of this.” He murmured under his breath, only realizing it was loud enough for Tezuka to hear when the other man suddenly stood before him and reached out a hand to help him off the couch.
With a slight stumble, Fuji climbed off the couch, fingers lingering in Tezuka’s hand.
There was slight concern on Tezuka’s face for a moment, before the contact was lost as the leather coat got removed. “You had a few drinks.” There was amusement in that tone, and Tezuka left to hang his coat up, visibly less stressed. When he was done, he nodded in the direction of the ensuite before heading towards it, confident in the fact that Fuji would follow.
Fuji grinned and did just that.
Tezuka watched while Fuji took off his clothes, a small smile on his lips. He always watched Fuji, as if he was trying to preserve something only he knew. There wasn’t much room in the bathroom that adjoined their bedroom, but there were nights when the western style shower was just more… appropriate. Tezuka continued to watch as Fuji entered the shower and began to adjust the temperature. The water always needed to be to Fuji’s tastes since he got cold far easier than Tezuka.
It wasn’t long before Tezuka joined him.
Fuji felt the slight draft as the door opened and closed, followed closely by strong arms winding around his waist. Leaning into them, he sighed. For everything that he was, Tezuka was undeniably Fuji’s, and right then they both needed a type of reassurance.
Turning in Tezuka’s arms, Fuji’s teeth nibbled at his ear before he whispered, “Fuck me.” He moved his head, making eye contact before saying, almost inaudibly, “Please.”
Tezuka’s hands tightened on Fuji’s waist, and their mouths met in a heated kiss, all traces of gentleness gone. Two steps back and Fuji’s back slammed into the side shower wall as their hands roamed each other and tongues became desperate. Hot water poured over them, and Tezuka lowered his head, bent down and captured one of Fuji’s nipples in his mouth.
Fuji squirmed impatiently. One hand fisted in Tezuka’s hair, he used his other hand to reach behind and begin preparing himself. He needed Tezuka five minutes ago like he’d never needed him before. After a few moments, his hand was batted away by Tezuka, who whispered in the ear he bit down on: “Patience is a virtue…” there was a smile in his voice.
“And what virtue I had is yours,” Fuji gasped out as Tezuka’s second finger joined the first. He squirmed again, this time with a little discomfort, but didn’t care. His hands found Tezuka’s cock and began pumping it. “Now…” it was almost a whine and Fuji twined his hands around the back of Tezuka’s neck.
Tezuka braced himself against the wall with both hands, nodding into Fuji’s neck. More thanks to practice than any ease of the movement, Fuji levered himself up and wrapped his legs around Tezuka’s waist. The skin was wet, and almost slippery and he could feel Tezuka’s cock touching him, just not inside him yet.
In one swift move, Tezuka changed his balance as he leaned Fuji against the wall, used one hand to steady them both, while the second hand was otherwise occupied.
Fuji lost track of anything else after Tezuka entered him, smashing his back against the tiles. The pain always stung, but he paid it little heed and focused on the sensation of being filled by Tezuka’s cock. Tezuka’s rhythm picked up and Fuji’s back arched, slamming his head into the wall. He almost laughed, but gripped tighter around Tezuka’s shoulder and neck as sensations started to overwhelm him.
Neither of them thought about anything but the moment, not even about the hot water cascading around them. The only thing that mattered was clinging to each other, being such a part of each other that it almost felt like they were two parts of a whole, that they belonged.
Fuji let go of Tezuka’s shoulders with one hand to pump himself, to release that ache, the tension. The nails of the other hand dug into Tezuka’s shoulder, and in the back of his mind Fuji told himself it was because he needed a tighter grip since he was only holding on with one hand, but there was that soft voice always telling him that marks made the territory, and Tezuka was his.
It was over far too soon, and Fuji cried out, body almost convulsing with the energy he expended, but his concentration switched. Clenching muscles he made sure that Tezuka would come soon after him, and he did, slamming Fuji’s back into the wall in the final throes.
Slowly unwinding his legs from Tezuka’s waist, Fuji soothed a hand over wet hair, letting Tezuka’s breath calm down before they moved completely. Little else got accomplished in the shower, but then, maybe that had been the point after all.
Not too long after found them both in bed with an unspoken agreement to talk about things in the morning. Fuji felt genuinely tired as Tezuka curled up behind him, draping an arm around his waist. Yes, tired, but somehow content as long as he didn’t think about the coming day. So he chose not to and soon drifted off to sleep.
He didn’t see how long Tezuka stayed awake, nor did he feel that arm tighten around him, and he definitely didn’t hear the softly murmured word Tezuka spoke with complete finality: Mine.
Not that it would have changed anything if he had.
**
Fuji woke partially because the weight behind him had disappeared, but mostly because sunlight was glaring him in the face. Slightly disoriented, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. It only took a moment or two for him to notice the smell wafting in from the kitchen and to realize that Tezuka had decided to cook breakfast. That alone told him how much Tezuka was pretending not to be worried.
Pulling on shirt, he padded out into the apartment and settled himself at the breakfast bar. Although Tezuka didn’t greet him, he knew that he’d noticed he was there. So, he watched him cook for a while. Breakfasts so elaborate weren’t a regular occurrence for them. Fuji savoured it when he could.
“It’s going to take a while.” Was all Tezuka said.
“No morning kiss?” Fuji pouted and fluttered his eyelashes.
Tezuka looked at him for the first time that morning. “You haven’t brushed your teeth yet.”
Fuji laughed and climbed off the chair, sidling over to wrap his arms around Tezuka who managed to deftly avoid him even while juggling a frying pan.
“I said not until you brush your teeth, Fuji!”
“Okay, Okay!” Fuji couldn’t help but smile as he headed into the bathroom and did just that. Tezuka had a thing about morning breath only after Fuji had been drinking the night before. It was so much fun to tease him. When he walked out of the bathroom he’d almost pushed the incident of the day before to the back of his mind.
“When do you have to go in?” Tezuka asked.
Fuji stopped in his tracks and decided his toes looked very interesting.
“Fuji?”
Tezuka was suddenly close enough that Fuji could smell him. All he had to do was lean in a little and he could rest his head on Tezuka’s shoulder. Strong arms circled him and words whispered in his ear. “I understand now.”
“You do?” Fuji murmured into Tezuka’s shirt.
“Yes.”
Fuji knew that didn’t mean that Tezuka liked it. He didn’t need verbal confirmation of that, but at least it meant he was no longer angry at him. Kisses started on his forehead, and Fuji raised his face to meet Tezuka’s lips. The kiss was tender, and over far too quickly for Fuji.
“Good morning, Fuji.” Tezuka said when they parted.
Fuji smirked. “I’m hungry.”
After breakfast, Fuji felt full. With any luck, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to fit into any of the outfits they’d picked out for him. It was the perfect plan, really. If only he had a few more days he could put on a few kilos and be out of the shoot with bells on.
“You haven’t put on weight, so stop scheming.” Tezuka came into the bedroom and handed Fuji a shirt. “You’ve no choice at the moment. Just get it over with.”
Fuji took the blue shirt wordlessly, no quip coming immediately to mind. He knew what Tezuka was feeling, what he was locking under control simply because the situation Fuji had been put in was nothing of his own doing. “This is the only time.” He murmured.
“I know,” was all Tezuka said as he left the room.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Rating: NC17
Summary: What happens when Fuji finds himself having to face the other side of the camera lens
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own them.
Notes: written for the Zukafuji post a day event. Much love to reddwarfer. This is the first part of two parts. The second part to be posted on the next event day.
Other Side
Photography was Fuji’s first love. It always had been, and always would be. His skill with the camera was amazing, and he could capture anything, or at least, that’s what it always felt like. Whenever he looked back at pictures he’d taken, Fuji could see exactly what he’d wanted to preserve in them. The soft click of the shutter relaxed him immediately, and it became easy to let his eyes seek out what they wanted to capture. His work was displayed in galleries everywhere. His landscapes, cityscapes and even the pictures he took for some of the top fashion design houses were showcased all over the world in many different forms.
Fuji Syusuke had succeeded in making his hobby, his profession, and he loved it.
At least, that’s how it had worked up until that day. He came home, nose a little cold from the chill in the evening air, unwrapped his scarf, took off his jacket and was about to make his way into the living room, when he was stopped short by Tezuka standing in his way. The day had been particularly satisfying. He’d managed to take some exceptional shots in the winter light, which could easily lead his next collection. And so, he couldn’t help but be in a good mood. Tezuka’s expression didn’t let that notion last long though.
“What is it?” It wasn’t often Tezuka’s emotions were visible in his expression, but he definitely didn’t look happy.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Fuji took an involuntary step back, surprise evident on his face. He wanted to ask Tell you what? But knew he’d get the answer anyway. For a moment, Tezuka continued looking at him, before he gave one curt nod, almost expressing confusion, and beckoned for Fuji to follow him. Confusion wasn’t something Tezuka was usually capable of, and Fuji’s curiosity grew, needing to know what he’d done that he wasn’t aware of.
He followed Tezuka into the kitchen, up to the table, and the page-two newspaper spread covering the table. Out of the corner of his eyes, Fuji noticed Tezuka’s jaw clench even more, and he would have been able to hear teeth grinding had he not been so shocked at what he saw.
The large picture taking pride of place was of him standing next to one of the Residual Effects models he’d been working with the previous day. Even on the bad quality of paper the picture was printed on, it was quite obvious that it was taken in Fuji’s own style, almost identical. It was also equally as obvious, that the model was overshadowed by Fuji himself, and the headline pointed exactly that out.
Residual Effects to sign new model.
Fuji Syusuke to take a turn on the other end of the lens.
“No,” he heard himself mutter as his eyes scanned the next few lines. Apparently a spokesperson had announced that they’d been in contact with him and his agent that day, but it wasn’t true, not true at all. And then Fuji realized, he’d left his cell in his room the night before, forgotten all about it. They may well have tried… Still that didn’t change that he’d never agreed to it.
Then his eyes slid down the picture to where the photographer’s name took pride of place; Oshitari Yuushi. He should have known. For years they’d been in competition, Yuushi’s photography never managed to be quite what Fuji’s was. What better way to get rid of a rival than try to force a career change for them? Fuji’s fists closed round the paper, crushing it in his hands and throwing it across the room. He’d never had any desire to be a photographic subject. In fact, he hated it. His love of the art was to be behind the lens.
Turning, he knew Tezuka’s expression would be dark and he wasn’t wrong. Years ago Fuji had a growth spurt, just before his junior year of High School. Shortly after having met Tezuka, they’d been cornered in the shopping mall asking him come in and sign with a modeling agency. He’d declined them with a laugh, saying he much preferred to be the photographer than the photographed. Although he’d not known Tezuka long, Fuji would never forget the reaction back then.
It was nothing compared to the reaction now, six years later.
“I didn’t, Tezuka, not at all.” Fuji practically begged to be believed. Tezuka’s eyes didn’t seem forgiving, so he continued. “No one’s even contacted me.”
“You promised.” Was all Tezuka said to him, before turning on his heel and left the house leaving Fuji standing there, glaring at the door.
As much as Fuji hated being on the other end of the camera lens, Tezuka hated Fuji being there even more.
Walking over to the fridge, Fuji pulled on the door, jarring the contents, but he didn’t care. He didn’t drink all that often, but right then, he needed something to soothe his temper. Leaving his glass of vodka on the coffee table, Fuji went to find his cell phone and take the bull by its horns. He found it on the floor of the bedroom, off. The battery had died sometime during the course of the day, so he armed himself with the charger and headed back to his drink.
Turning on the phone proved to be mistake. Seven text messages flashed up on the screen, one of which informed himthat he had nine voice messages. He knew that only one of those would have been from Tezuka.
By the time he’d retrieved all of his messages, and called back and talked to his agent at length, a couple of hours had passed and Fuji’s vodka glass longed for a refill. Tezuka still wasn’t back, but at least Fuji had a clearer picture of what had transpired since the Residual Effects photo shoot the previous day.
After Fuji had finished the photo shoot and gone through the results to pick the appropriate photos for the magazine spread, he’d left the office. Due to connections with the magazine owner, Atobe Keigo, who also happened to be a major shareholder in Residual Effects, Oshitari Yuushi had been at the shoot. After Fuji left, he’d shown three photos to Atobe, the two not published had been of Fuji ‘in action’ as a photographer. That was all Atobe needed. He decided that the next shoot would be with Fuji in them or nothing at all.
To sum up what would end up being a very long story otherwise, Future Images magazine requested him in the shoot, and not taking the pictures. Of course, Fuji could decline. And of course, the person he’d be saying no to just happened to be the director of the Atobe Media Conglomerate, which just happened to own several magazines Fuji regularly shot for, not to mention numerous galleries and shares in several fashion and entertainment houses.
Summarizing the events even more precisely: No one said no to the Atobe Media Conglomerate if they valued any type of career.
Concentrating carefully on the coffee table, Fuji made sure that his yet again empty Vodka glass in fact made it onto the surface. Throwing himself back on the couch, he looked up at the ceiling, head spinning a bit from the alcohol rush. “I’m fucked.”
It was then he realized just how silent the house was. He was never in it when Tezuka wasn’t. They rarely fought or even argued. Feeling melancholy and rather tipsy, Fuji thought back to the last time he had to deal with this.
In his junior year of high school, Fuji had been encouraged by his art teacher to enter pictures he’d taken on a school field trip into a competition run by Kyoto University’s history club. It was held in aid of gathering a photographic history of the region. So, Fuji had entered, and made his way to the university three days before the deadline to hand in his submission to the Club room. It was there he’d met the Kyoto University, History Club President, and Graduate Student, Tezuka Kunimitsu.
Needless to say, Fuji had won that competition. Although Tezuka hadn’t been one of the judges, he had been the one to deliver the prize. That was the first time Fuji had coaxed Tezuka to accompany him out in public. Many times followed, and slowly, Fuji realized there was a definite attraction there and although he was certain Tezuka felt it too, the way the college graduate student managed to raise their age difference at least once every time they saw each other, spoke volumes.
He could still remember, quite clearly standing awkwardly at his own front door as Tezuka bade him goodnight on the night Fuji had graduated from High School. Enough was enough. With the man who occupied every thought he had spare standing close enough that their coats were pressed against each other, Fuji simply reacted. They shared their first kiss that night, and to his surprise, Tezuka melted against him after an initial resistance, and never pulled away again after it.
It was with that thought, and a finger touched to his lips in remembrance that Fuji finally drifted to sleep.
*
Fuji blinked, hand reacting to shield his eyes from the suddenly bright light directly above him. His head felt heavy, and he squirmed a little on the couch, eyes squinting to find where Tezuka was standing.
He stood against the bookcase, arms crossed, one leg raised to support himself against the shelves, leather jacket still on. All Fuji could think of was how fucking delectable the man looked right then, even though he was fully aware that he didn’t have very long to soothe over the argument they’d had. Tezuka’s patience for certain things was very short and Fuji didn’t think he’d wait until after they’d had sex. After all, they had to make up first.
Taking a deep breath, Fuji pulled his knees up and hooked an arm around them before speaking. “I didn’t know Oshitari was there. He presented some pictures to Atobe after I’d left. Basically,” and now Fuji had to study his hands to control his voice, “my shoot will no longer be used. If I don’t do the job, that collection won’t be shown.” He hated admitting how much it hurt that some of his art was being rejected for his person.
Fuji could tell Tezuka hadn’t moved, and he couldn’t bring himself to look up and make eye contact. “I don’t know how to get out of this.” He murmured under his breath, only realizing it was loud enough for Tezuka to hear when the other man suddenly stood before him and reached out a hand to help him off the couch.
With a slight stumble, Fuji climbed off the couch, fingers lingering in Tezuka’s hand.
There was slight concern on Tezuka’s face for a moment, before the contact was lost as the leather coat got removed. “You had a few drinks.” There was amusement in that tone, and Tezuka left to hang his coat up, visibly less stressed. When he was done, he nodded in the direction of the ensuite before heading towards it, confident in the fact that Fuji would follow.
Fuji grinned and did just that.
Tezuka watched while Fuji took off his clothes, a small smile on his lips. He always watched Fuji, as if he was trying to preserve something only he knew. There wasn’t much room in the bathroom that adjoined their bedroom, but there were nights when the western style shower was just more… appropriate. Tezuka continued to watch as Fuji entered the shower and began to adjust the temperature. The water always needed to be to Fuji’s tastes since he got cold far easier than Tezuka.
It wasn’t long before Tezuka joined him.
Fuji felt the slight draft as the door opened and closed, followed closely by strong arms winding around his waist. Leaning into them, he sighed. For everything that he was, Tezuka was undeniably Fuji’s, and right then they both needed a type of reassurance.
Turning in Tezuka’s arms, Fuji’s teeth nibbled at his ear before he whispered, “Fuck me.” He moved his head, making eye contact before saying, almost inaudibly, “Please.”
Tezuka’s hands tightened on Fuji’s waist, and their mouths met in a heated kiss, all traces of gentleness gone. Two steps back and Fuji’s back slammed into the side shower wall as their hands roamed each other and tongues became desperate. Hot water poured over them, and Tezuka lowered his head, bent down and captured one of Fuji’s nipples in his mouth.
Fuji squirmed impatiently. One hand fisted in Tezuka’s hair, he used his other hand to reach behind and begin preparing himself. He needed Tezuka five minutes ago like he’d never needed him before. After a few moments, his hand was batted away by Tezuka, who whispered in the ear he bit down on: “Patience is a virtue…” there was a smile in his voice.
“And what virtue I had is yours,” Fuji gasped out as Tezuka’s second finger joined the first. He squirmed again, this time with a little discomfort, but didn’t care. His hands found Tezuka’s cock and began pumping it. “Now…” it was almost a whine and Fuji twined his hands around the back of Tezuka’s neck.
Tezuka braced himself against the wall with both hands, nodding into Fuji’s neck. More thanks to practice than any ease of the movement, Fuji levered himself up and wrapped his legs around Tezuka’s waist. The skin was wet, and almost slippery and he could feel Tezuka’s cock touching him, just not inside him yet.
In one swift move, Tezuka changed his balance as he leaned Fuji against the wall, used one hand to steady them both, while the second hand was otherwise occupied.
Fuji lost track of anything else after Tezuka entered him, smashing his back against the tiles. The pain always stung, but he paid it little heed and focused on the sensation of being filled by Tezuka’s cock. Tezuka’s rhythm picked up and Fuji’s back arched, slamming his head into the wall. He almost laughed, but gripped tighter around Tezuka’s shoulder and neck as sensations started to overwhelm him.
Neither of them thought about anything but the moment, not even about the hot water cascading around them. The only thing that mattered was clinging to each other, being such a part of each other that it almost felt like they were two parts of a whole, that they belonged.
Fuji let go of Tezuka’s shoulders with one hand to pump himself, to release that ache, the tension. The nails of the other hand dug into Tezuka’s shoulder, and in the back of his mind Fuji told himself it was because he needed a tighter grip since he was only holding on with one hand, but there was that soft voice always telling him that marks made the territory, and Tezuka was his.
It was over far too soon, and Fuji cried out, body almost convulsing with the energy he expended, but his concentration switched. Clenching muscles he made sure that Tezuka would come soon after him, and he did, slamming Fuji’s back into the wall in the final throes.
Slowly unwinding his legs from Tezuka’s waist, Fuji soothed a hand over wet hair, letting Tezuka’s breath calm down before they moved completely. Little else got accomplished in the shower, but then, maybe that had been the point after all.
Not too long after found them both in bed with an unspoken agreement to talk about things in the morning. Fuji felt genuinely tired as Tezuka curled up behind him, draping an arm around his waist. Yes, tired, but somehow content as long as he didn’t think about the coming day. So he chose not to and soon drifted off to sleep.
He didn’t see how long Tezuka stayed awake, nor did he feel that arm tighten around him, and he definitely didn’t hear the softly murmured word Tezuka spoke with complete finality: Mine.
Not that it would have changed anything if he had.
**
Fuji woke partially because the weight behind him had disappeared, but mostly because sunlight was glaring him in the face. Slightly disoriented, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. It only took a moment or two for him to notice the smell wafting in from the kitchen and to realize that Tezuka had decided to cook breakfast. That alone told him how much Tezuka was pretending not to be worried.
Pulling on shirt, he padded out into the apartment and settled himself at the breakfast bar. Although Tezuka didn’t greet him, he knew that he’d noticed he was there. So, he watched him cook for a while. Breakfasts so elaborate weren’t a regular occurrence for them. Fuji savoured it when he could.
“It’s going to take a while.” Was all Tezuka said.
“No morning kiss?” Fuji pouted and fluttered his eyelashes.
Tezuka looked at him for the first time that morning. “You haven’t brushed your teeth yet.”
Fuji laughed and climbed off the chair, sidling over to wrap his arms around Tezuka who managed to deftly avoid him even while juggling a frying pan.
“I said not until you brush your teeth, Fuji!”
“Okay, Okay!” Fuji couldn’t help but smile as he headed into the bathroom and did just that. Tezuka had a thing about morning breath only after Fuji had been drinking the night before. It was so much fun to tease him. When he walked out of the bathroom he’d almost pushed the incident of the day before to the back of his mind.
“When do you have to go in?” Tezuka asked.
Fuji stopped in his tracks and decided his toes looked very interesting.
“Fuji?”
Tezuka was suddenly close enough that Fuji could smell him. All he had to do was lean in a little and he could rest his head on Tezuka’s shoulder. Strong arms circled him and words whispered in his ear. “I understand now.”
“You do?” Fuji murmured into Tezuka’s shirt.
“Yes.”
Fuji knew that didn’t mean that Tezuka liked it. He didn’t need verbal confirmation of that, but at least it meant he was no longer angry at him. Kisses started on his forehead, and Fuji raised his face to meet Tezuka’s lips. The kiss was tender, and over far too quickly for Fuji.
“Good morning, Fuji.” Tezuka said when they parted.
Fuji smirked. “I’m hungry.”
After breakfast, Fuji felt full. With any luck, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to fit into any of the outfits they’d picked out for him. It was the perfect plan, really. If only he had a few more days he could put on a few kilos and be out of the shoot with bells on.
“You haven’t put on weight, so stop scheming.” Tezuka came into the bedroom and handed Fuji a shirt. “You’ve no choice at the moment. Just get it over with.”
Fuji took the blue shirt wordlessly, no quip coming immediately to mind. He knew what Tezuka was feeling, what he was locking under control simply because the situation Fuji had been put in was nothing of his own doing. “This is the only time.” He murmured.
“I know,” was all Tezuka said as he left the room.