Of Peacock’s Thighs and Moonlit Balconies, Part 1/2
© 2006 Gold
Title: The Blame It On Atobe Series, or In the Name of Love 2014
Otherwise Known As: Of Peacock’s Thighs and Moonlit Balconies, Part 1/2
Author: Gold
Pairings: Oshitari/Gakuto. Honourable mentions: Oishi/Eiji and not-quite Ohtori/Shishido.
Rating: PG-13, for swear words and gay pairings.
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-sama or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of Prince of Tennis . It was written purely out of fanservice and it is not to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-sama or aforesaid entities.
Summary: Set after the boys have graduated from university and gone on to bigger and better things. Atobe gets fed up with the way things are and decides to speed things up-fast.
Warning: I can't write anything short. There's a part 2, and a 3-part sequel coming right up...
Atobe Keigo dearly loved to throw small, private parties for people he was fond of. This was the part of his social calendar that never came to light in the high-society news and magazines. It listed Christmas lunches, birthday parties, New Year’s Day dinners and tennis teas, etc. Three-fourths of the said events were generously hosted by Atobe himself; the rest were those he deemed worthy of being graced by his presence. The guest lists for Atobe’s little affairs invariably consisted of the same forty names or part thereof, most of whom had no connections whatsoever with high society. Atobe Keigo’s guests occasionally grumbled at the fact that they had never received a single invitation but were instead sent these elaborately designed missives informing them where, when and how to turn up, but they did their level best to attend his parties without any real complaint, because they all rather liked Atobe at least as much as he liked them, though in the manner of proper friends, nobody wanted to show it very much.
Mukahi Gakuto, erstwhile member of Atobe Keigo’s favoured and extremely elite inner circle, contemplated the latest lavish soirée with all attention focused on the expansive spread of delicacies. Atobe always had a table that even the privileged occupants of the White House would be envious of. Gakuto generally never knew at least half of what he was eating or drinking, because the names were invariably in a language he didn’t understand, but he wasn’t altogether sure he needed to know, either-just in case it was peacock’s thigh or something equally horrible. So long as it was delicious, edible and digestible, Gakuto had few qualms about not knowing what he was popping into his mouth. He trusted that Atobe was not out to poison him.
Gakuto had just wrapped his tongue around the last spoonful of an absolutely delightful dessert that was a sweet, chilled blend of pumpkin pudding, coconut ice cream and topped off with a bare half-teaspoonful of mashed red beans, when there was a sudden, brief commotion. It erupted in the corner of the ballroom, right where the entrance was. Gakuto’s brows furrowed and he wondered briefly if it was Shishido Ryou, who was late late late for this Eve of New Year’s Eve party. Or perhaps it was Ohtori Choutarou, lately of the Toho Gakuen School of Music and currently on a one-year exchange at the Paris Conservatoire, whose schedule had been so hectic in the last two years that he was avoiding Shishido Ryou with unusual success. Gakuto swallowed his mouthful of suddenly bitter dessert. Trust Shishido and Ohtori to be such bloody idiots; some people didn’t know when they were bloody lucky-
“Oshitari.”
Atobe Keigo’s voice had a way of carrying all the way across a ballroom the size of a soccer field.
Gakuto’s teeth nearly crunched down on the delicate silver spoon that was halfway out of his mouth. He bent his head, bangs falling across his eyes in a casual fashion, and furtively darted a quick glance at the long mirrors opposite him.
“Good evening, Atobe.” Oshitari Yuushi’s voice was smooth velvet, the strong Kansai accents softened to soothing sensuality by the deep, comforting warmth of his tone.
Across the room, Oshitari and Atobe had dropped their voices to near-indiscernible levels. All that Gakuto could distinguish above the hum of voices and the fancy almost-orchestra playing in the background was the steady, low thrum of Oshitari Yuushi’s voice twining musically with Atobe Keigo’s confident, well-bred drawl. They seemed to stand in a little world together, Oshitari’s dark, blue-black head bent close to Atobe, who relaxed his posture in Oshitari’s direction.
Brows knitted together, Gakuto silently dropped the empty bowl and spoon on the tray of a passing waiter.
“Ah, Mukahi-san. Is that good to eat?”
Gakuto glanced up. Oh, it was Seigaku’s Oishi Syuuichirou. The saint of Seishun Gakuen, they’d called him mockingly in their youthful, salad days. He had already seen him earlier with Kikumaru Eiji, and they had exchanged some banal greetings before Gakuto had moved on to the far more interesting tables of food. “Huh?” Oishi had never been a very interesting conversationalist and Gakuto let his gaze flit briefly to the long mirrors opposite, where Oshitari Yuushi and Atobe Keigo were still heavily involved in their little tête-à-tête.
“The, um, pumpkin pudding with coconut ice-cream…?”
Gakuto dragged his gaze from the mirrors and restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He had finished every last spoonful of the dessert; wasn’t it obvious? “Oh. Yeah, it’s good.” He glanced irritably at Oishi. There had to be some way to get rid of him. “Isn’t Kikumaru supposed to be with you?”
Oishi blinked vaguely. “Ah, he’s around somewhere.” He smiled nervously. “Er, Eiji keeps telling me how much he enjoys working with you...”
It was Gakuto’s turn to blink. “Really.” To say that he was taken aback was a severe understatement. True, it was kind of flattering to think that Kikumaru thought he was a great colleague, but... Gakuto fished around in his brain frantically for the right words to say-this was a situation where he had to be both honest and… nice. “He’s… er… good to work with.”
It was reasonably close to the truth anyway. Truth to tell, Gakuto was freaked out by that Kikumaru Eiji’s persistent cheerfulness. It did make work much easier and more pleasant because Kikumaru’s cheerfulness was seriously infectious, but in Gakuto’s humble opinion, it was also utterly insane how that guy could come to work after a fifty-six hour filming session and still be perky on one hour of sleep. And no coffee. Inhuman. Freak. Seigaku had always been abnormal, anyway. Maybe their resident mad scientist (who had grown up to become a resident mad doctor) had come up with some special potion over the years…
“Ah, I see Oshitari-san coming over-”
Quick as lightning, Gakuto grabbed a bowl and pushed it into Oishi’s hands. “Eat.” Gakuto snatched up another bowl and began rapidly shoving spoonfuls of the pumpkin, coconut and red bean dessert into his mouth and swallowing at a thundering speed.
“Eh…”
“It’s not poisonous,” Gakuto almost snarled through a mouthful of the dessert. Would this idiot hurry up and eat? He didn’t want to be left alone with… him. “Eat it and tell me if you like it.”
“But you’ve already told me that it’s good…” demurred Oishi, resisting somewhat. He certainly didn’t like pumpkin and he had a healthy distaste for coconut-flavoured anything. (Eiji, on the other hand, liked to try anything that could be classified as dessert, even if it was frog-flavoured and garnished with shark blood.)
“Well, what makes you so sure that you’ll like it?” Gakuto demanded, not unreasonably.
Oishi looked down doubtfully at the bright orange concoction sitting prettily in the Waterford crystal bowl, topped off with a round white scoop of coconut ice-cream and garnished with a tiny daub of sweetened red beans. “Well…it’s more like I guess I know I won’t really like it…”
Gakuto pointed a heaping spoonful of the dessert threateningly at Oishi. “Are you questioning my sense of taste?”
Meekly, Oishi dug his spoon into the bowl. Gakuto watched with satisfaction as Oishi’s expression changed from dubiousness to faint astonishment, and then to clear pleasure.
“It’s delicious!”
“Told ya so.” Gakuto preened and wagged his spoon emphatically, conveniently forgetting about the heaped dessert still contained within the spoonful. Bits of pumpkin pudding and coconut ice-cream flew, making artistic little splotches on the polished marble floor.
Oishi’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, dear…”
Someone, at Gakuto’s ear, laughed. It was a low laugh, rich with amusement and warmed by a distinct note of fondness.
Oishi broke into a wide smile. “Ah, Oshitari.” He looked marginally relieved.
Oshitari Yuushi, still laughing a little, nodded to Oishi. “Oishi. How are you?”
Gakuto was acutely conscious that Yuushi’s hair was tickling the side of his face and that Yuushi was very, very close. He could even smell what Yuushi was wearing this evening; it was easily identifiable as Armani, which he had bought for Yuushi early in February, the week before Valentine’s Day, as a sort of casual “I-picked-it-up-after-work” gift. Classy, elegant, sensual-a most powerful cologne that was Gakuto’s favourite fragrance for Yuushi, although Gakuto would rather die than ever let it on to anyone. Yuushi generally wore it when he was due for a late night out with some extremely intelligent, extremely attractive, extremely available woman who, more likely than not, was some high-flyin’ corporate lawyer, top-notch investment banker or budding surgeon.
Gakuto bit his lip, scowling so hard that his eyebrows nearly met over his nose. You could always tell what sort of woman Yuushi was dating from the kind of fragrance he was wearing. Armani or Guerlain for the classy women, Jean-Paul Gaultier for the more vapid, born-with-a-platinum-spoon-in-mouth types, and Calvin Klein for the less worldly kind of women who liked familiar fragrances and hopped on the latest bandwagon of trends obediently. Evidently tonight was the night for a classy woman-
Long, tanned fingers reached out to smooth the furrow between Gakuto’s brows. A lean, handsome face with thoughtful eyes hidden behind tinted shades peered into Gakuto’s face at very close range. The clever mouth was curved in a warm, amused smile; one eyebrow was arched higher than the other, as if joining the mouth in a secret joke. “Hmm.”
Gakuto jumped back quickly, glaring up at Yuushi. He reached up to touch his forehead, as if to wipe away Yuushi’s touch. When had Yuushi come from behind to stand so close to him suddenly? And where was that egghead Oishi?
Oshitari quirked his eyebrows further and drew back, holding up his hands. “All right, Gakuto.”
Gakuto shifted slightly, keeping his eyes elsewhere-anywhere else, to be exact. He wished Atobe would check the stupid heating system. The temperature was just a little too high for comfort. He could practically fry an egg on his face.
“Where’s Oishi?” he growled finally, for lack of something to say, and then tried to bury his face in the crystal bowl. He could have kicked himself twice to the moon and back again-what a moronic thing to say!
Evidently Yuushi didn’t realize it, or else he didn’t care, or else he was used to it. “With Kikumaru-san over there, by the tray of peacock’s thighs. They make a cute couple,” Yuushi added, bizarrely sounding like a proud mama hen.
Gakuto’s eyes rested on Seigaku’s still-Golden Pair. Kikumaru Eiji had popped out of nowhere and was now excitedly chattering to Oishi Syuuichirou, slipping his arm into the curve of the other’s arm, bright red hair bobbing vividly next to the dark head. “I get cavities looking at them,” Gakuto mumbled without thinking. Then he realized what Yuushi had actually said. “Peacock’s thighs-”
Yuushi’s mouth was straight, but his eyes were laughing very hard indeed, and Gakuto felt a sudden rush of bitter-sweetness. Yuushi had been laughing a lot lately. Laughing too much. Yuushi always laughed a lot when he was happy and in love. Gakuto dug viciously into the pumpkin pudding with coconut ice-cream.
“Atobe’s kicking up a fuss about Shishido going AWOL again,” said Yuushi pleasantly, picking up a bowl of dessert. “He’s getting quite tired of the way Shishido’s behaving.”
Gakuto let his spoon clink sharply against the crystal bowl. “Who isn’t?” Gakuto snapped. “Shishido should be so lucky. He-Ohtori-the two of them-”
Oshitari arched an eyebrow.
“They’re just so stupid!” Gakuto burst out. “Can’t they just stop this whole dumb I’m-so-scared thing?! It’s not as if nobody knows! Whole damned Hyoutei knew the day Ohtori begged kantoku to take Shishido back and agreed to give up his place for Shishido!”
Oshitari’s eyes were thoughtful. “Perhaps it’s more than just that, Gakuto.”
Gakuto hunched his shoulders, his mouth twisting bitterly. “Yeah, right. Then they deserve to be apart and I hope that they rot in hell for all eternity for their stupidity and Shishido will wake up one day and find that he’s bald-”
Oshitari’s mobile phone piped up shrilly and unexpectedly, cutting into Gakuto’s furious tirade. Oshitari looked apologetic. “Gakuto-”
Gakuto’s laughter was sharp and mocking. “Go ahead. Hospital calling. People to save.”
Still Oshitari hesitated, looking anxious. “Gakuto-” he said, somewhat helplessly.
“Oh, for God’s sake, just answer it!” burst out Gakuto, slamming his empty dessert bowl on the table. He clenched his fists almost desperately.
“Don’t leave.”
Gakuto thought he heard Yuushi call out behind him.
“I’ll come and find you later, Gakuto.”