Disclaimer: I don't own Prince Of Tennis, and am not making money off this

A/N: Um, so this is my first one shot. Ever. So… don't be too harsh, but I would like some feedback on it, and I don't mind constructive criticism! Also, not sure if this should go into the M category, so I could use some help in that department too?

Anyways, read on!

Gods and Alcohol Don't Mix

I'm drunk

Gods, am I drunk.

Have you ever been drunk in a way that your so drunk that you're completely aware of everything that's going on, yet have no control over it what so ever?

That's me right now.

He's going to yell.

Gods, is he going to yell.

A girl will be there, I'll stager in, he'll open his door to check on me (so considerate!), he'll watch me stager to the sink and promptly throw up. He'll notice the lipstick marks on my shirt that aren't technically from a girl, but he doesn't need to know that.

I hesitate in opening the door. Maybe I do have some control over my actions. Or maybe my body just doesn't want to feel the headache it knows it will have to endure from him screaming at me. The girl will leave; they always do. But you know the funny thing? They never come back after I come home drunk.

Do they know?

He doesn't.

He never will.

I certainly won't tell him.

Gods, I could never tell him.

The door opens just as I'm about to turn the handle. There she is. His latest lay. Good looking, if that was what I went for. Silky black hair. Taller then me. He always did like the tall ones. Her hairs a normal colour; never red, not even blue…

Opposites.

Gods, are we opposites.

She takes one look at me, gives me a pitying look, shakes her head, and walks down the corridor. Like she knows what awaits me on the other side.

Wait, she's leaving.

They never leave before the screaming match. It's always during, or after. After I ruin the mood for him, and they know it. I always seem to ruin the mood for him, and I know, somewhere deep down, I'm happy about that. I know.

I also know he hasn't had sex in 6 moths, since we started dorming together, because of it.

He doesn't blame me. He wouldn't do that. He doesn't know that I intentionally go out so I don't have to listen to them. He just thinks I like going out, getting laid.

He doesn't know I'm still a virgin.

He doesn't know I'm saving myself for him.

How could he know that?

He doesn't even know I'm gay.

Gods, he would hate me if he knew.

I try to steady myself on the door when I hear a sound from inside. I look up, and throw my glazed, out of mind vision, I see him. He leans against the counter in the kitchenette, his blue hair frizzy, his glasses askew. He's been kissing aswell; his lips are swollen. Why do I have to point all these little things out in my head? Why can't I just ignore the way he looks so disappointed in me?

Because he's who he is.

And I'm who I am.

Gods, I wish he wasn't so disappointed in me.

"You're back," he murmurs, in that accent he has. He always talks like that.

"Hmmm," I grunt, not capable of giving a coherent answer right now.

"Did you have fun?" he asks. I can see him eyeing my neck. Did the guy tonight leave a hickey? I don't remember if he did.

" 'feel like shii…" my voice is caught as I feel a round of barf coming up my throat and have to run to the sink, which is, unfortunately, right behind him. He pulls my hair out of my face, I let him. If I was in control of my body, I might of liked the feeling of him rubbing my back, his fingers tingly as they touch my scalp.

But this out of body experience I'm having right now doesn't really feel all that great.

"Shhh… don't talk, it's alright."

This isn't alright! Why aren't you yelling at me!? Calling me a slut?! Saying I'm an idiot?! All in front of your latest girlfriend?! You should be mad!

But of course, none of that comes out of my mouth, only leftovers from lunch.

Gods, why aren't you mad?

When I finish (is there anything left?) he leads my into the bathroom and washes my face. He does it so tenderly, I feel like I could fall asleep. He's still not yelling.

"Where'd you go?" he asks, as if making conversation. This time, it wasn't an accusation.

"S'miy…a's," I rumble out, my throat sore from throwing up. He hands me a glass of water, and I rinse my mouth, before spitting it back in the sink.

"Somiya's?" he repeats, making sure. He always has to be sure.

I nod. There isn't much else I could do right now.

He stands, before helping me stand, his arm around me, helping me back out of the bathroom. Why did I have to be drunk? Couldn't I get this type of treatment when I'm not drunk? That would make it easier on me, anyway.

Gods, if only a little bit easier.

He leads me to my room. Same as I left it. Clothes on the floor, unmade bed, dvds and cds scattered everywhere because I'm too lazy to pick them up.

Not to mention the faint musky smell left over from this morning when I woke up from a wet dream yet again.

Gods, he can smell it.

But he doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he just doesn't say anything. He leads me to the bed, and lays me over it. If I wasn't completely off my face, I would of thought he was trying to get with me or something.

But no, I'm still completely oblivious.

Gods, why would he want me anyway?

I'm practically asleep the minute I hit the pillow. I can't feel the soft hand that pushes my hair out of my face. I can't feel the closeness of him, his shallow breath on my face.

Well, not really, anyway. Because my heads not spinning anymore. My eyes are droopy from sleep, not from alcohol. It seems that the throwing up has cleansed my system of it. Well, for this week, at least. Until he brings home another girl, then I'll have the same problem all over again.

But that is then, this is now. Now I'm not letting him go. I'm whispering to him.

"Please… stay… for tonight…" I know he won't, and I know he can tell the slur's gone from my voice. He knows I mean it.

Gods, don't let him hate me.

But he doesn't answer. And because I'm turned away from him, I can't see his expression, no doubt of disgust. But none of that matters as he climbs onto the bed next to me. We're not touching, not cuddling like a couple, just laying in the same bed, with enough room between us to be comfortable.

Or uncomfortable.

Gods, I wish I was comfortable.

Then, all of a sudden, it changes. He shifts. I stiffen. This isn't right. Is he already asleep? His arm creeps around my waist, before pulling me into his arms.

I'm pressed against his chest.

His hand is wrapped around my stomach.

His breath tickles my ear.

And down below…

Oh gods…

"Yuushi…" I hear myself mutter as I turn towards him. In the faint moonlight coming in throw the window, I can see his smile.

"Gakuto," he whispers back, in his oh so dignified way, and the last thing I remember before he kisses me is that I should really thank the gods for this.