Title: Silent Perfection
Fandom: Prince of Tennis (Tennis no Ouji-sama)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. This story is a tribute to another's work, and as such, Eleya claims ownership of nothing but the story that she wrote. All contents within are either products of the author's mind or used fictitiously; any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), business establishments, locales, or events are entirely coincidental unless otherwise stated.
Type: Yaoi/shounen-ai
Rating: PG-13 for groping in the locker room. Prince Academy has finally started corrupting me.
Challenge: Livejournal community 'tenipuri500' , trial and error
Summary: Sometimes rivalry between two people can lead to something more, and the stronger the rivalry, the stronger the emotional undercurrent in the relationship between two people.
Author's notes: This is the first time I've written something PG-13 due to actual groping rather than language or violence. O.o; Scary. I had not originally intended to end it there, but it was such a perfect place to do so that I had no choice. XD Anything more would have been smacking you in the face with what I was trying to do. Anyway, please R&R... constructive criticism welcomed! Oh, and if someone can explain to me how to link places, I would love you forever.

It began with a look.

All alone in the locker room, with only the rustling of cloth to fill the silence in the air, your glance meets mine and freezes, questioning. A nod, and your lips – so soft, and tasting faintly of fries and grease – meet mine, your kiss gentle and hesitant. It's as if you can't quite bring yourself to believe this is happening, and I feel it too. How often had I dreamt of this, the stirring of your lips against mine, the gentle way my fingers – barely touching – slide up your arm and the moment when you finally – finally! – believe and your questing tongue meets mine? Too long, it seems, but not in vain, for here you are before me.

Your kiss grows more insistent, and I gasp as you push me against the wall and desire courses through my veins. It is frightening and gratifying to feel you against me like this, and a hundred – no, a hundred thousand – 'what ifs' cross my mind, but your touch is so immediate, and I can't not respond. It is as if I am dying, drowning, and the only thing that can save me is your lips against mine.

Your eyes are open, staring into mine, and I wonder how it is that a human can have such lovely, striking eyes. Your hand is in my hair, pulling it out of its bandana and tugging ever so slightly. Then you pull back with an odd smile and I trace the line of your jaw before we both turn and go to practise, wondering what this new knowledge will bring.