Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis does not belong to me, and I am not making any money from writing and posting this piece of fanfiction.
Warnings: much talk of making out, both heterosexual and homosexual. Also, this is not the characterization you are looking for.
Changing the Channel
Talking with Inui on the phone was a bit like channel-surfing on the television, Tezuka reflected. If you didn't like what was on, you pressed a button (in this case, the "reject call" button), and in four seconds something different was playing. If you didn't like that, you pressed the button again, and again and again until you found a program you could at least stand. Or you gave up when you realized that every channel was playing reruns of a show you were never fond of to begin with and read a book instead.
Tezuka read a lot of books, but no matter how engrossed he was, he shelved his reading at exactly 9 pm every Sunday night and went to his room, a move which afforded the optimal balance of privacy and cel phone reception. If his parents had ever wondered about this, they'd never asked, and if they ever did ask, Tezuka would only say it was time for his favorite show. Which was true in a way, even if he didn't have a television in his room.
He glanced at his alarm clock--9:02 pm--then fixed his gaze on his phone, which was lying on the desk in front of him. Inui called him every Sunday at precisely 9:04 pm, to update him on the team's physical development and make suggestions for the following week's practices. The ritual calmed Tezuka. He'd relied on Oishi and Inui throughout junior high to help him lead the Seigaku tennis team to victory. It was comforting to know that the pattern hadn't changed since they'd entered high school, though Tezuka, as a second-year, was only vice-captain now.
Tezuka waited patiently for two minutes, but the phone didn't ring. He blinked as the clock clicked over to 9:05, then 9:06. He allowed himself a sigh at 9:08, and a fidget at 9:13. At 9:17 he started to worry. In all the years he'd known Inui, the other boy had never missed a chance to talk to him. Never. Tezuka was convinced that Inui would call him at 9:04 every Sunday evening even if he were comatose. Therefore, Inui was either being kidnapped and sold into slavery, or he was dead. Tezuka was willing to bet on the latter. Inui's juices had gotten more potent over the years (the last one had made even Tezuka flinch) and he wasn't afraid to test them out on himself.
At 9:22, just as Tezuka was contemplating calling an ambulance out to Inui's apartment, his phone finally rang. Tezuka snatched it off his desk as if it were the last coin in a mountain of treasure. "Inui," he answered.
"Tezuka," Inui said, sounding out of breath. Tezuka frowned. Had Inui's training gone over schedule tonight? Perhaps he'd added a kilometer to his jogging trail and forgotten to account for the extra time. Or maybe he'd just escaped his abductors and was lying on the side of a country road, bruised and bleeding from his daring leap out the car window.
"I'm sorry my call is so late," Inui continued before Tezuka's mind wandered much farther. "I was making out with Mizuki."
Tezuka hung up. Four seconds later, his phone rang again. He answered right away. "I have complete data on St. Rudolph's lineup for the upcoming match," Inui stated, not bothering with formalities this time.
"Because you made out with Mizuki?" Tezuka asked, then blinked and mentally kicked himself.
"Not precisely," Inui answered without pause, "but the two events are loosely-related, yes. I'll give you probabilities on all likely permutations tomorrow, so that you and Captain Harada can adjust our own lineup accordingly."
Tezuka pushed his glasses up his nose and quashed the urge to ask Inui what exactly "loosely-related" meant in this context. "Thank you. And our own team?"
"Proceeding as expected. Kikumaru's speed is up .3 percent since last week, probably due to a minor muscle strain that has recently healed. Fuji will be in an exceptionally good mood this week, as an ongoing quarrel with Yuuta has finally resolved itself. Momoshiro will also be in a good mood, due to an extended makeout session with An Tachibana on Saturday."
Tezuka didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything.
"Unfortunately," Inui continued, "Momoshiro's good mood will irritate Kaidoh, and they will be 26 percent more likely to fight. Kaidoh lacks a makeout partner. I hope to find a compatible match for him soon, so that his frustration will not affect his game." He paused. "If I can't, I may just offer myself as a solution."
Tezuka blinked again, then tugged at his collar. "Affect his game?" he asked.
"Yes. As you know, the mental state of a player can drastically affect the outcome of a match, and one of the main factors of mood determination is stress level. Making out releases a massive amount of endorphins, which are the key to stress relief. It's almost as effective a relaxation tool as a long jog or a good tennis match. In fact," Inui took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "I would say it's even more effective than either of those."
Tezuka doubted it, thinking back to his match with Atobe back in junior high. The pain in his shoulder had been a small price to pay for the limp, relaxed feeling that had permeated his limbs after the final call.
"In addition to the endorphins and the social factor involved," Inui continued, "making out exercises and stretches certain muscles that don't usually get much work, especially those of the mouth and jaw. While those areas are not directly related to tennis, it's important to maintain flexibility throughout the body, don't you think? I would be more than willing to act as your training partner for thi--"
Tezuka hung up. Four seconds later, the phone did not ring, meaning Inui had said everything he had intended to and was done for the night. Tezuka stared at the phone and mulled over the conversation. After a few moments of contemplation, he decided he didn't really understand the fascination other people his age had with sex and sexual activities. From the little he'd seen in movies, kissing was very much like getting cavities filled, with swollen puffy lips and saliva dripping everywhere. Sex was like kissing but with more sweating and grunting.
If he wanted sweating and grunting, he could just play tennis. Yes, tennis was full of sweating and grunting, and endorphins, and pounding hearts, and short deep breathing that left you dizzy, and the rapture of finding just the right opponent and playing him until you both exploded on the court, your clothing sticking to your skin as you fell back down to earth together. It was a perfect blend of mental and physical, and sex could not possibly be better than it.
On the heels of that thought came a flood of images. Inui's fingers gripping the racquet at just the right angle to ace his serve. Inui's shoulders bunching as he performed a perfect overhand smash. Inui's legs sliding against each other as he crossed the court for a difficult return.
Tezuka grabbed his phone and, for the first time ever, called Inui back. "Inui," he said before the other boy could get a word out, "let's play."
The End
In this world, there are heterosexuals and homosexuals and bisexuals and asexuals and transsexuals galore, but Tezuka Kunimitsu may very well be the only tennissexual.