Universe (Prince of Tennis, Fuji/Echizen, #8)
Title: Universe
Author/Artist:
plotbunnytohma
Pairing: Fuji Syuusuke and Echizen Ryoma
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Theme: #8: our own world (二人の世界)
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi. This fanfiction was written solely for entertainment purposes.
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Universe
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Fuji is across the court from Echizen, racket in his hand and the sun in his eyes as the practice match begins.
And it's funny, but as the moments tick by, Fuji feels increasingly more alive. So terribly, terribly alive, with blood pulsing and fingers shaking and heart pounding in his ears. It has been like this a lot lately, when he is around Echizen, and it doesn't always have to be in the court. But it -- the feeling -- is... amplified... when (if ever) they play. It is a rush to the head, a shot to the heart, a punch in the gut, and it is thoroughly enjoyable.
(They rally against one another, abusing the ball as they smack it from end to end. The rackets twang in protest.)
Syuusuke can hardly breathe, and he loves it. Thrill and high and something else that he doesn't feel like putting a name to because it'll only fuck around with the dynamics of his swing and his drive -- and he forces the oxygen into his lungs with a gasp of air.
(The challenge to Echizen to remember that first game: a lob, a smash, a Higuma Otoshi, a point to Fuji. Echizen remembers.)
When they are like this -- when they are playing a match, sweat pouring down their faces, genuine smiles of enjoyment in place, that fire in their eyes -- when they are like this, Syuusuke can only see Echizen and Echizen can only see Syuusuke. They are in their own place.
A memory flickers across his field of view, and it is of lips against lips, an action fueled by impulse and that unnamed emotion. Fuji indulges in it and lets his eyes wander to the delicate column of his opponent's throat before he pushes the memory away, away, away.
(A return and a Drive B. Echizen picks up the pace and Fuji rises to the challenge -- but confused instincts falter and Fuji loses the ball.)
"Game, Echizen. Four games to three, Fuji leading," their captain says, watching them passively from the referee's chair.
(The first serve. Echizen sends it back cleanly, and Fuji returns the favor. This game, it seems, will be a long one.)
Fuji can hear that odd music in his ears now, nothing romantic or corny or anything like that -- it's just the song of his heart beating, just the song of his blood singing to the clouds. Just the song of Echizen's yelling and the song of his returns. Just the song of the twang of a ball being beaten by racket strings. Just the song of his sharp breaths as he runs. Just the song of adrenalin's laughter as it throbs, throbs, throbs in his bloodstream like a drug that he can't get enough of -- a drug like Echizen.
"Thirty-all. Fuji to serve."
Fuji breathes in and lets it out, tries to let the tension uncoil in his stomach, bounces the ball once or twice.
From across the court, Echizen watches him intently, intensely, and for just a moment, Syuusuke feels like the center of their own exclusive universe.
He serves.
--
--
[ Notes: ...I'm afraid that Syuusuke comes off as slightly psychotic and masochistic... Ah well... ]
Author/Artist:
plotbunnytohma
Pairing: Fuji Syuusuke and Echizen Ryoma
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Theme: #8: our own world (二人の世界)
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi. This fanfiction was written solely for entertainment purposes.
--
Universe
--
Fuji is across the court from Echizen, racket in his hand and the sun in his eyes as the practice match begins.
And it's funny, but as the moments tick by, Fuji feels increasingly more alive. So terribly, terribly alive, with blood pulsing and fingers shaking and heart pounding in his ears. It has been like this a lot lately, when he is around Echizen, and it doesn't always have to be in the court. But it -- the feeling -- is... amplified... when (if ever) they play. It is a rush to the head, a shot to the heart, a punch in the gut, and it is thoroughly enjoyable.
(They rally against one another, abusing the ball as they smack it from end to end. The rackets twang in protest.)
Syuusuke can hardly breathe, and he loves it. Thrill and high and something else that he doesn't feel like putting a name to because it'll only fuck around with the dynamics of his swing and his drive -- and he forces the oxygen into his lungs with a gasp of air.
(The challenge to Echizen to remember that first game: a lob, a smash, a Higuma Otoshi, a point to Fuji. Echizen remembers.)
When they are like this -- when they are playing a match, sweat pouring down their faces, genuine smiles of enjoyment in place, that fire in their eyes -- when they are like this, Syuusuke can only see Echizen and Echizen can only see Syuusuke. They are in their own place.
A memory flickers across his field of view, and it is of lips against lips, an action fueled by impulse and that unnamed emotion. Fuji indulges in it and lets his eyes wander to the delicate column of his opponent's throat before he pushes the memory away, away, away.
(A return and a Drive B. Echizen picks up the pace and Fuji rises to the challenge -- but confused instincts falter and Fuji loses the ball.)
"Game, Echizen. Four games to three, Fuji leading," their captain says, watching them passively from the referee's chair.
(The first serve. Echizen sends it back cleanly, and Fuji returns the favor. This game, it seems, will be a long one.)
Fuji can hear that odd music in his ears now, nothing romantic or corny or anything like that -- it's just the song of his heart beating, just the song of his blood singing to the clouds. Just the song of Echizen's yelling and the song of his returns. Just the song of the twang of a ball being beaten by racket strings. Just the song of his sharp breaths as he runs. Just the song of adrenalin's laughter as it throbs, throbs, throbs in his bloodstream like a drug that he can't get enough of -- a drug like Echizen.
"Thirty-all. Fuji to serve."
Fuji breathes in and lets it out, tries to let the tension uncoil in his stomach, bounces the ball once or twice.
From across the court, Echizen watches him intently, intensely, and for just a moment, Syuusuke feels like the center of their own exclusive universe.
He serves.
--
--
[ Notes: ...I'm afraid that Syuusuke comes off as slightly psychotic and masochistic... Ah well... ]