Disclaimer: This work is created for the pure enjoyment of fanfiction. I do not own Prince of Tennis; it belongs to the talented Takeshi Konomi!
The nth time An invited him over her apartment seemed innocuous enough. In fact, it wasn't anything personal.
A mutual friend's surprise birthday party preparations, an unfortunately short amount of time, and a large number of unchecked boxes on the to-do list were the main deciding factors.
Somehow they had fallen into an easy-going, albeit, jibe-filled friendship. There were elements of violence. An considered rough-housing to be a healthy mode of communication, especially in Kirihara's case.
But... Kippei's injury was forgiven, not forgotten. And that was something that both of them remained well aware of.
There were streamers to be pinned, balloons to be blown, a cake to be decorated etc. A bunch of chores that combined made her question the validity of playing hostess.
One would think organizing college birthday parties are relatively easy.
It wasn't, however, when you were trying to work with a guy (or in An's case around a guy) who intuitively found the best ways to crawl under your skin. When the last streamer refused to remain pinned to the corner, she was tired of the constant balancing act on her three and a half-legged stool, and he had started on sampling her "home-made" (read: store bought) cupcakes...
...she simply gave up. To hell with playing interior decorator, solo.
An rolled up the rebellious streamers in one hand and took aim at the curly-haired pig munching on her cupcakes. Then with the precision of a former high-school tennis captain, she whipped it at the unaware boy.
It ricocheted off his thick skull, and rewarded her with a satisfying, undignified, squeal.
Here piggy, piggy.
His retribution was predictable and swift. A game of tag: tackle version. They knocked over party-supplies, pulled down more streamers, popped balloons, he whacked her in the head, and she elbowed in him in the eye. They ended up tangled in streamers, counter-productive, and out of breath. He lay close to her, and An was pleased that his breathing was as labored as hers. She got up first, sighed, and gave him a hand up. He batted her hand away, and just lay there.
She accused him of indolence, and he took it in stride.
"Lazy? An-chan, there are two kinds of people in life,"
At this, he got up and stretched in a way that most certainly did not elongate his body perfectly. No, she was not at all concerned by the strip of exposed tennis-toned abs. She rolled her eyes more at her own thoughts than his ensuing defense. Still, she put a glue-sticky hand on hip, and gave him the very anti-thesis of a "come-hither" look.
All the more reason to invade her personal space, and with a marked smirk he easily reached and plucked a piece of confetti from her nose.
"The first is the kind that works hard...and the second is the kind that-
"Get's their ass kicked by the first kind for not pitching in!" She retorted, grabbing a fistful of his grey shirt, and pushing him backwards.
He grunted, off balance. twisting away from her, and she grabbed a fistful of hair trying to maneuver him into a headlock.
"You're being a bit-Ow! Hey, hey not the hair!"
They ended up on the floor again. He tickled her mercilessly. Of course he was the taller one, the stronger one, and she had forgotten that he could easily reverse the headlock and flip her onto her back.
She hoped no one ever found them like this.
"Beg," and Piggy-kun, frosting on his upper lip, wore smug so well.
"And risk the danger of inflating your ego further?" She managed, through gasps.
He attacked that one spot, right in the middle of her lower back. She arched instinctively.
"It might be a worthy trade for the remainder of your sanity." Oh he was a green-eyed little sadist.
Thank you, Yukimura.
She bit the inside of her cheek, blood welling. " My sanity is not so easily compromised, and your abilities are still lacking."
"Oh, really?" A challenge. "I'm lacking huh?" He tripled his efforts. An was sure the bastard was getting quite the kick out of her agony.
"In every which way," An further quipped, a stitch gathering in her side. Time to end this quickly.
Impulsively, she head-butted him. His eyes scrunched for a split-second, registering the pain, she squirmed beneath him, propping herself up slowly on her elbows.
"Fuck!"
"Fucking headbuttin' me..."
"ah that fucking hurts..." despite his protests, and ignoring an urge to pop an Advil herself, An maneuvered him onto his back.
It was funny how people forgot that she could be as competitive as the boys.
In control, and happily perched on top, she chirped to him a list of his duties. A knot was swelling on his head, and she was certain of it's twin on hers. A pout was plastered on his face. She sighed traced the conspicuous lump, and wearily apologized. She leaned forward and placed a tentative kiss, just as her mother used to do on all of her bruises, and explained that it should be "all better now."
She didn't meet his eyes afterward. He pushed himself upwards, leaning back on his elbows as she had done before and stared at her. The corner of his mouth quirked,
"A kiss huh?"
His arms wrapped around her, and suddenly An was uneasy. This was not play anymore. Her knees were beginning to hurt.
"Good thing you're not planning on going to medical school"
She looked up, eye flashing, and mouth parted to retort.
"Says the dumb ass jock who's here on a tennis schol-
He was quite insistent. Despite her lack of response for the first five seconds, he continued with light kisses.
Ah, this was still taboo. Still exciting. Still, despite the resolution of middle-school conflicts, this was still pushing the boundaries of those unmentioned rules.
People also forgot that, just like the boys, An had a healthy streak of defiance
And so she kissed him back. Tongue, wandering hands, and sweet, sweet friction..just in all the right places.
When they finally break apart, her head is on his chest. His arm is loosely slung around her shoulders, supporting but not stifling. They are on the unforgiving floor of her apartment laying content amongst the wreckage of party planning gone awry. Something round is poking her uncomfortably, but An doesn't care.
An is thinking, thinking. Not really processing what just happened, but more calculating how much time they have left (two hours) and how many things they must replace. A defense mechanism to be sure, for once she refuses to disturb the silence.
Not that it mattered, Kirihara was willing to halt her mental gymnastics. In the bluntest manner possible, of course.
"You have a great ass," this was said with a confirmatory squeeze on said ass. Ann wasn't quite fast or quite disgruntled enough to intercept. Instead she peered up at him through her lashes, coy for once.
Unsure, he mumbled on, "Not that I haven't noticed, I always notice. Gym, you and the wonderful invention that is yoga pants...but..."
"But?," and this time he could ready the playfulness in her voice easily.
"But man! whomever said 'seeing is believing' is a total moron. Now feeling," and he reached again, but this time she was ready.
"Sorry," and his look was sheepish, but she didn't let his hand go. His eyes belied his intentions, and he used the connection to pull her against him.
"How sincere," and Kirihara grins full force, when she mutters that against his neck.
"You, me, plus floor, we gotta do this more often," he chuckles and he cups her face. He's half-joking, she realizes, but the desire is at least true.
Physically, there is an attraction that neither wants to deny. But she still pulls away.
"I can't just jump into bed with you like that," she admits smoothing her hair. She's certain it strongly resembles a bird nest.
"It's not Kippei," she hastily adds as an after thought.
He lets her continue, but takes her hand as if it's a personal balm against rejection. Still, she can't vocalize her hesitation adequately. That transition between friends, good friends, to "something more" frightens her.
Yet Kirihara's intuition hasn't been completely filtered into sadism.
"We need to take things slow," he admits, squeezing her hand. And at that, she smiles and scoots a bit closer to him. Their hands are still entwined.
"Yeah," she agrees.
In some regards, it's a an easy conclusion. Matching Kirihara's smirk, An acknowledges that it may be more difficult to actually stick to it. And then she pokes him.
Hard.
"Ouch, woman...I offer free snuggle time, and I end up being viciously jabbed?" Kirihara is rubbing his abused side. An notices his forehead lump is still prominent and grins.
"Your snuggle services may be free," she says archly, "but mine come with a fee."
Undeterred by his playing possum, she stands and toes his side ruthlessly.
He grunts, defeated.
She grabs her keys, and the list of party supplies from the coffee table, buttons her coat, and is already halfway out the door.
"By the way," she pokes her head back in and announces with her usual cheer, "I'm translating that manly grunt as full assurance that this apartment will look spotless upon my return!
End.
AN: I apologize for (m)any grammar mistakes. This scenario has been knocking around in my head for a while, and persisted, until I finally tried to write it. Comments and critique accepted. Thank you for reading!