[FIC] - for Canadian Buchou
Title: Untitled
Author: Ilana (or some big long penname that I don't remember)
Pairing/Character(s): mostly Tezuka/Fuji, with Atobe and Kabaji on the side
Rating: PG, unless kissing merits PG-13
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, the street tennis courts are not a good place for late-night trysts, since you're not likely to be left alone for long.
Warnings: shounen-ai, obviously
Notes: Thanks to xelloss_poo for beta duties, although not too much since she got me into this in the first place. :-P Apologies for the lack of title, but I completely forgot to come up with one, and I need to post this now. Hopefully that will be remedied later.
In retrospect, he probably should have heard them coming. He was, under normal circumstances, very observant, and in the nighttime quiet any noise should have stood out. But there was something about kissing Tezuka Kunimitsu that made Fuji’s brain shut down until all it could process was “Mmm, good,” so he probably wouldn’t have even noticed a bomb going off unless it landed right on top of him.
He suspected that something similar happened to Tezuka because normally the serious and private boy would never have considered kissing anyone in public, let alone another boy at the street tennis courts where their friends could show up at any time and see them (and probably die of shock). And if for some strange reason he forgot his inhibitions enough to do so, he would have at least been looking out for the possibility of someone happening on the courts, even at this time of night, and finding them.
But, as it happened, they were both paying attention to nothing but each other, so it wasn’t until a familiar voice drawled, “Well, this is unexpected” that they realized they were no longer alone. Their tennis-trained reflexes kicked in, and they jumped apart before they’d even processed the fact that someone was there, then turned in unison to face a smirking Atobe and typically blank Kabaji.
“Atobe,” Tezuka said. His face revealed no emotion, but his voice betrayed an uncharacteristic amount of surprise.
Fuji took a moment to recover his equilibrium before turning a pleasant smile on their audience. “Kabaji-kun,” he acknowledged. “Atobe.”
Hyotei’s captain just nodded a greeting at the two of them. “Fuji I might have guessed,” he mused (Fuji decided not to take offense to that, since Atobe was probably just trying to get a rise out of him), “But I didn’t think you had it in you, Tezuka. You always struck me as Mr. Perfect. Don’t you know good little Japanese boys don’t kiss other boys? Especially,” he added, almost leering at Tezuka, “Not like that.”
Fuji had, over time, developed a respect for Atobe despite his flamboyant egotism, realizing that there was more to him than the image he chose to project, but at the moment the sneer in the other boy’s voice was making him decidedly angry. “Is there something you want, Atobe?” he asked, careful to keep his voice polite and calm; he didn’t want to give Atobe the satisfaction of knowing that he was getting really pissed off. Very deliberately, he reached for Tezuka’s arm and pulled him close. He half expected the other boy to protest, but his attention was focused on Atobe, his expression unreadable even to Fuji’s practiced eye.
He couldn’t tell what Atobe was thinking either. He was smirking, but when wasn’t he smirking? Fuji didn’t know if he was just playing with them or if he meant to make an issue of what he had seen. He wasn’t scared of Atobe, really, but not everyone was understanding about this kind of thing. If nothing else, he might spread the story, and Fuji very much hoped to avoid the problems that could arise from that.
It wasn’t that he and Tezuka were worried about people finding out what was between them. It was just that they hadn’t even gotten around to defining what exactly was between them, so they weren’t yet ready to deal with the inevitable fallout. And what that really meant was that Tezuka, being Tezuka, wasn’t ready to have everyone in the junior high gossip network discussing his personal life, and Fuji was willing to wait until he was. Unfortunately, Atobe was now in a position to screw all that up.
“I don’t want anything,” Atobe said smoothly, playing offended. “Are you always this suspicious of people? That’s no way to make friends, is it, Kabaji?”
“Usu,” the large boy grunted. Fuji wondered distractedly if he was even paying attention except to listen for his name. He suspected that, in his place, he would start tuning Atobe out after about five minutes in his company.
“Atobe,” Tezuka said warningly, but Fuji nudged him in the side before he could say more. The ‘I’m the captain so shut up and listen to me’ voice wouldn’t work on Atobe, and he was much better at this game of artificial friendliness than Tezuka, so he was better off doing the talking.
“I’m only suspicious of people who deserve it,” he replied, smiling pleasantly at Atobe. “Now tell me, what are you doing here at this time of night? Don’t you have tennis courts of your own at home?”
“Sometimes it’s nice to have a change,” Atobe explained, “Even if it means slumming it.” He showed no hesitation, but suddenly Fuji was suspicious. Atobe wasn’t the type to “slum it” unless he had a reason not to play at home. Fuji was curious, but he would just have to wonder because he was far more interested in getting rid of Atobe than in figuring him out.
“Well, don’t let us get in your way.” Fuji gestured at the courts, hoping Atobe had had enough of this and would leave them alone.
For a moment, Atobe looked at them, a smile playing on his lips. “I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His voice carried the same falsely friendly tone, but he seemed sincere, to Fuji’s surprise. “Everyone has their secrets,” he added obliquely, and for just a moment the smirk was replaced by a kinder smile. Then he shifted his bag on his shoulder and turned away. “Let’s go, Kabaji.”
“Usu.”
Fuji watched them walk away side by side. Then a thought struck him and he laughed aloud in disbelief. “You don’t think...”
Tezuka gave him a questioning look. He was usually very perceptive, Fuji reflected, but he could be terribly oblivious about certain things.
“The two of them...” Fuji began, then shook his head, still smiling. “Never mind. I don’t need to know.”
Tezuka didn’t seem to care, his mind obviously elsewhere. After a moment, he said, “I wouldn’t care if he told.” His voice was no louder or more emotional than usual, so it took Fuji a moment to appreciate the significance of his words. Then it sank in and he grinned, making a mental note to thank Atobe the next time he saw him (or at least not bother him about sneaking out to play tennis with Kabaji). Maybe being caught hadn't been such a bad thing after all.
Smiling widely, Fuji turned to face Tezuka. “Now,” he said, placing his hands on the other boy’s shoulders, “Where were we?”
Author: Ilana (or some big long penname that I don't remember)
Pairing/Character(s): mostly Tezuka/Fuji, with Atobe and Kabaji on the side
Rating: PG, unless kissing merits PG-13
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, the street tennis courts are not a good place for late-night trysts, since you're not likely to be left alone for long.
Warnings: shounen-ai, obviously
Notes: Thanks to xelloss_poo for beta duties, although not too much since she got me into this in the first place. :-P Apologies for the lack of title, but I completely forgot to come up with one, and I need to post this now. Hopefully that will be remedied later.
In retrospect, he probably should have heard them coming. He was, under normal circumstances, very observant, and in the nighttime quiet any noise should have stood out. But there was something about kissing Tezuka Kunimitsu that made Fuji’s brain shut down until all it could process was “Mmm, good,” so he probably wouldn’t have even noticed a bomb going off unless it landed right on top of him.
He suspected that something similar happened to Tezuka because normally the serious and private boy would never have considered kissing anyone in public, let alone another boy at the street tennis courts where their friends could show up at any time and see them (and probably die of shock). And if for some strange reason he forgot his inhibitions enough to do so, he would have at least been looking out for the possibility of someone happening on the courts, even at this time of night, and finding them.
But, as it happened, they were both paying attention to nothing but each other, so it wasn’t until a familiar voice drawled, “Well, this is unexpected” that they realized they were no longer alone. Their tennis-trained reflexes kicked in, and they jumped apart before they’d even processed the fact that someone was there, then turned in unison to face a smirking Atobe and typically blank Kabaji.
“Atobe,” Tezuka said. His face revealed no emotion, but his voice betrayed an uncharacteristic amount of surprise.
Fuji took a moment to recover his equilibrium before turning a pleasant smile on their audience. “Kabaji-kun,” he acknowledged. “Atobe.”
Hyotei’s captain just nodded a greeting at the two of them. “Fuji I might have guessed,” he mused (Fuji decided not to take offense to that, since Atobe was probably just trying to get a rise out of him), “But I didn’t think you had it in you, Tezuka. You always struck me as Mr. Perfect. Don’t you know good little Japanese boys don’t kiss other boys? Especially,” he added, almost leering at Tezuka, “Not like that.”
Fuji had, over time, developed a respect for Atobe despite his flamboyant egotism, realizing that there was more to him than the image he chose to project, but at the moment the sneer in the other boy’s voice was making him decidedly angry. “Is there something you want, Atobe?” he asked, careful to keep his voice polite and calm; he didn’t want to give Atobe the satisfaction of knowing that he was getting really pissed off. Very deliberately, he reached for Tezuka’s arm and pulled him close. He half expected the other boy to protest, but his attention was focused on Atobe, his expression unreadable even to Fuji’s practiced eye.
He couldn’t tell what Atobe was thinking either. He was smirking, but when wasn’t he smirking? Fuji didn’t know if he was just playing with them or if he meant to make an issue of what he had seen. He wasn’t scared of Atobe, really, but not everyone was understanding about this kind of thing. If nothing else, he might spread the story, and Fuji very much hoped to avoid the problems that could arise from that.
It wasn’t that he and Tezuka were worried about people finding out what was between them. It was just that they hadn’t even gotten around to defining what exactly was between them, so they weren’t yet ready to deal with the inevitable fallout. And what that really meant was that Tezuka, being Tezuka, wasn’t ready to have everyone in the junior high gossip network discussing his personal life, and Fuji was willing to wait until he was. Unfortunately, Atobe was now in a position to screw all that up.
“I don’t want anything,” Atobe said smoothly, playing offended. “Are you always this suspicious of people? That’s no way to make friends, is it, Kabaji?”
“Usu,” the large boy grunted. Fuji wondered distractedly if he was even paying attention except to listen for his name. He suspected that, in his place, he would start tuning Atobe out after about five minutes in his company.
“Atobe,” Tezuka said warningly, but Fuji nudged him in the side before he could say more. The ‘I’m the captain so shut up and listen to me’ voice wouldn’t work on Atobe, and he was much better at this game of artificial friendliness than Tezuka, so he was better off doing the talking.
“I’m only suspicious of people who deserve it,” he replied, smiling pleasantly at Atobe. “Now tell me, what are you doing here at this time of night? Don’t you have tennis courts of your own at home?”
“Sometimes it’s nice to have a change,” Atobe explained, “Even if it means slumming it.” He showed no hesitation, but suddenly Fuji was suspicious. Atobe wasn’t the type to “slum it” unless he had a reason not to play at home. Fuji was curious, but he would just have to wonder because he was far more interested in getting rid of Atobe than in figuring him out.
“Well, don’t let us get in your way.” Fuji gestured at the courts, hoping Atobe had had enough of this and would leave them alone.
For a moment, Atobe looked at them, a smile playing on his lips. “I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His voice carried the same falsely friendly tone, but he seemed sincere, to Fuji’s surprise. “Everyone has their secrets,” he added obliquely, and for just a moment the smirk was replaced by a kinder smile. Then he shifted his bag on his shoulder and turned away. “Let’s go, Kabaji.”
“Usu.”
Fuji watched them walk away side by side. Then a thought struck him and he laughed aloud in disbelief. “You don’t think...”
Tezuka gave him a questioning look. He was usually very perceptive, Fuji reflected, but he could be terribly oblivious about certain things.
“The two of them...” Fuji began, then shook his head, still smiling. “Never mind. I don’t need to know.”
Tezuka didn’t seem to care, his mind obviously elsewhere. After a moment, he said, “I wouldn’t care if he told.” His voice was no louder or more emotional than usual, so it took Fuji a moment to appreciate the significance of his words. Then it sank in and he grinned, making a mental note to thank Atobe the next time he saw him (or at least not bother him about sneaking out to play tennis with Kabaji). Maybe being caught hadn't been such a bad thing after all.
Smiling widely, Fuji turned to face Tezuka. “Now,” he said, placing his hands on the other boy’s shoulders, “Where were we?”