Title:
Charred I
don't know why I accepted your challenge to play; it wasn't something
that I normally would have done. Possibly if you were Atobe, Tezuka,
or one of my teammates, but you are not. Finding myself at the street
courts was strange enough, but seeing you there was even more
outlandish. Your style of play leaves much to be desired, and it
sinks in when we finish the first of several games. I know you've
practiced hard to imitate how you do, but you can't rely on
pretending to win everything in tennis, or everything in your life.
Even though I'd like to tell you this, I will not, but I'll show
you.
Disclaimer:
I do not own Prince of Tennis, I just play with the characters
.
AN: I don't
usually write, so I'm sorry for any OOC. (Written after
"Masquerade", but actually takes place before.)
How
do you joke and laugh between serves? Do you take me lightly? You
know the game well, and yet you mock it and everyone who plays it
with your jokes and cockiness. I'm very glad at this moment that
there are no fangirls here at your side to further irritate me the
way you already do. There's something in your eyes that makes me
think that you believe that you can win this. Do you go after
everything in life like this? A blind aggression to what you desire?
Do you desire me?
I
have no interest in anything but tennis. You are good, I will not
deny you that, but until you realize you who are you'll never reach
your potential. You seem to be playing for more than a win. Behind
that downward brow and slight smile I can sense there's something
going on. Your green-gray eyes have a hint of something that I've
seen before. It's like the way that Atobe eyes Tezuka when they're
not playing. Niou once commented that it looked like lust. But Niou
likes to cause trouble, and there is no way that lust could fit into
this situation.
I'm
winning. You really should have known this is how our game would be.
But I am surprised with how passionately you play. You are serious
about this game, only making light of the situation when the ball is
not in play. You wipe the sweat from your forehead with the front of
your shirt and I notice just how hard you've trained. Tight
abdominal muscles flex as your arm moves side to side. I am not
staring, but I am slightly impressed by your determination. Your leg
strength must be incredible to run back and forth as much as you do,
and to be able to put such power in shots that don't have a proper
stance. Not one of your hairs moves out of its place and I'm oddly
fascinated by the way it defies gravity.
Get
back to the game, Sanada. You serve, and this time it's much more
precise. You're studying me as I'm studying you. A fire lights in
your eyes suddenly, and I think that you know all I've been
thinking. You purposely bend over, tying a shoelace that's not in
need of tying. Eyes linger on your back, and then a little lower. I
think to myself that an artist would love to paint you nude. You have
the look and this presence that pulls things towards you. Another
serve, and this time your shirt lifts up slightly. I let myself
linger on your stomach a little longer than I should but manage to
make it to return the ball in time. Training has paid off.
I
keep looking into your eyes. You must think I'm staring, and to
myself I must admit that I am. There's something about you that's
intoxicating. You have an aggressive play that seems backed by an
endless determination. I'm up four games to one, but you don't
seem concerned at all. I wipe my brow with my left sweatband. You've
made me work pretty hard, but I can't help think it's because of
the slight distraction that you're providing. I feel like I am
being pulled towards you also. We've said no more than ten words to
each other and yet I find myself thinking that I'd like to get to
know you better.
I
win another game, but you still don't seem concerned. You point out
that my play is a little sloppy. I don't reply, I only serve the
ball. Play continues. You put up a fight; that fire in your eyes
growing deeper. I start to agree with Niou that it's the look of
lust. Then I wonder if my eyes mirror the same. My hands are shaking,
and I know it's not from playing tennis. Quickly I finish the game,
there's no chance that I could have continued while still thinking
like I am.
We
meet at the net to shake hands. No words are exchanged, but you look
at me with eyes that burn and I know now what lust feels like. Both
of our palms are sweaty and our breathing is ragged. For a moment we
stop moving altogether. I stare into your eyes and on impulse I pull
you by the back of your neck so your lips are crushed against mine.
It's a fierce kiss; we bite at each other's lips, our tongues
snake out and thrust deeply into each other's mouths. We continue
for a few minutes before our breathing slows and the kisses with it.
It turns to something passionate, something where I can't help but
reach around and place my hand on your lower back to pull you closer
to me. Our lips are full from the force of our first kiss, but we
don't seem to care. Slow, slightly open-mouth kisses continue, and
you let out a small groan. I pull back and lick at my lips; I still
can taste you there. I wish it would stay. You have a genuine smile
on your face, something I feel you don't let many see. Your eyes
have become light and happy, but still full of lust. I allow myself
to smile back at you, but I fear that it's nothing more than a
small upturn of the corners of my mouth.
It's
gotten dark and we both must head home. I let go of your neck and
your back. Suddenly I realize that you've had your hands on my back
the whole kiss. This makes me frown; I should have noticed this. You
grin at my confusion. We pick up our hastily dropped rackets and get
our bags.
You
walk over to me as I turn to go down the stairs to the sidewalk
below. I feel your hand on my shoulder so I turn around. You smile at
me again, and both of our eyes reflect lust. You place a small kiss
on my lips, whisper a goodbye in my ear, and then you've run off.
Once you're gone I touch a few fingertips to my lips in disbelief and then I head home.