[Drabble] Warmth (Prince of Tennis)
Title: Warmth
Pairing: Tezuka and Sengoku (toast and marmalade)
Rating: G
Summary: Seasons clash. Tezuka reflects.
Dedicated to perfectassassin, because it is her Sengoku that brings out thoughts like this in my Tezuka. Toast and marmalade rock. First posted on my journal here on April 17, 2006. Minor stylistic edits made for this posting.
Tezuka Kunimitsu is winter: hot chocolate and snowflakes and ice crackling underfoot; thick turtleneck sweaters, and sitting indoors with a hot cup of tea. Snow white expanses, punctuated by leafless trees and fence posts, and salted paths that slush underfoot with little ice bits that crunch if you step on them.
Tezuka thinks this while sitting in the shade of a rain tree on a hot summer's day in June.
Tezuka does not like the summer sun. He wishes it was autumn, or winter, or spring, when the sun's rays are gentle light and unobtrusive radiance. Summer sun makes him sweat; not clean sweat from tennis courts and harsh challenge and the drama of the battle, but sticky sweat that wears him down, slowly but surely sapping away his concentration, cloys and drains his shirts of their crispness.
He leans back against the dry bark of the tree trunk, Ed McBain novel in hand, and a thermos of tea beside him. He has on pressed beige linen pants, but he isn't afraid of grass stains, because he is sitting on a picnic blanket, standing guard over the picnic basket. Someone else is lying on the green grass just outside of the shade, less than a meter away from Tezuka.
Tezuka thinks that lolling is a better word for it, for Sengoku is stretched out, sprawled in the hot sunshine like a lazy lion, white shorts and a green tee shirt, wearing an expression of bliss that reminds Tezuka of Echizen's cat sitting on the first year's fence, ignoring the world. The thought occurs to Tezuka that Sengoku is summer laughter, frolicking outside with balls and other people, smiles and friendly pats and skipping down lanes and he is ALIVE.
Tezuka thinks about this, and ponders the pairing of summer laughter and winter coolness. He wonders if shorts and collarless tees go well with tailored pants and button-up oxfords, if leather shoes and scuffed trainers match, and whether Sengoku is bored when Tezuka opts to stay indoors on a rainy day, reading beside the redhead, who laughs at comedy shows and cheers footballers on.
Sengoku is up now, off the grass. Though there is plenty of room on the other side of the picnic basket, the redhead sits on Tezuka's side, cross-legged, pretending he does not know that his knee is pressed on top of Tezuka's left leg. He grins at Tezuka, and reaches across Tezuka, his hand disappearing into the basket. Tezuka can smell the sweet scent of Sengoku's aftershave as Sengoku pulls out one of the sandwiches--honey mustard and ham--and leans in, across Tezuka's lap, offering a taste, his nose inches from Tezuka's nose.
Sengoku smiles as Tezuka takes a bite. Sunlight breaks through the leafy canopy above Tezuka, painting him in light and shadow; and perhaps, for once, Tezuka does not mind the sunny warmth bearing down on pale white skin.
Please comment! <3 It would help greatly, this is a new style for me.
Pairing: Tezuka and Sengoku (toast and marmalade)
Rating: G
Summary: Seasons clash. Tezuka reflects.
Dedicated to perfectassassin, because it is her Sengoku that brings out thoughts like this in my Tezuka. Toast and marmalade rock. First posted on my journal here on April 17, 2006. Minor stylistic edits made for this posting.
Tezuka Kunimitsu is winter: hot chocolate and snowflakes and ice crackling underfoot; thick turtleneck sweaters, and sitting indoors with a hot cup of tea. Snow white expanses, punctuated by leafless trees and fence posts, and salted paths that slush underfoot with little ice bits that crunch if you step on them.
Tezuka thinks this while sitting in the shade of a rain tree on a hot summer's day in June.
Tezuka does not like the summer sun. He wishes it was autumn, or winter, or spring, when the sun's rays are gentle light and unobtrusive radiance. Summer sun makes him sweat; not clean sweat from tennis courts and harsh challenge and the drama of the battle, but sticky sweat that wears him down, slowly but surely sapping away his concentration, cloys and drains his shirts of their crispness.
He leans back against the dry bark of the tree trunk, Ed McBain novel in hand, and a thermos of tea beside him. He has on pressed beige linen pants, but he isn't afraid of grass stains, because he is sitting on a picnic blanket, standing guard over the picnic basket. Someone else is lying on the green grass just outside of the shade, less than a meter away from Tezuka.
Tezuka thinks that lolling is a better word for it, for Sengoku is stretched out, sprawled in the hot sunshine like a lazy lion, white shorts and a green tee shirt, wearing an expression of bliss that reminds Tezuka of Echizen's cat sitting on the first year's fence, ignoring the world. The thought occurs to Tezuka that Sengoku is summer laughter, frolicking outside with balls and other people, smiles and friendly pats and skipping down lanes and he is ALIVE.
Tezuka thinks about this, and ponders the pairing of summer laughter and winter coolness. He wonders if shorts and collarless tees go well with tailored pants and button-up oxfords, if leather shoes and scuffed trainers match, and whether Sengoku is bored when Tezuka opts to stay indoors on a rainy day, reading beside the redhead, who laughs at comedy shows and cheers footballers on.
Sengoku is up now, off the grass. Though there is plenty of room on the other side of the picnic basket, the redhead sits on Tezuka's side, cross-legged, pretending he does not know that his knee is pressed on top of Tezuka's left leg. He grins at Tezuka, and reaches across Tezuka, his hand disappearing into the basket. Tezuka can smell the sweet scent of Sengoku's aftershave as Sengoku pulls out one of the sandwiches--honey mustard and ham--and leans in, across Tezuka's lap, offering a taste, his nose inches from Tezuka's nose.
Sengoku smiles as Tezuka takes a bite. Sunlight breaks through the leafy canopy above Tezuka, painting him in light and shadow; and perhaps, for once, Tezuka does not mind the sunny warmth bearing down on pale white skin.
Please comment! <3 It would help greatly, this is a new style for me.