Title: Substitute Captain (fragment from Here and Now)
Author: L.W. (artemisial)
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Sanada x ?
30kisses Theme: # 6: the space between dream and reality
Warning: Rated R for yaoi sex, not too explicit
Disclaimer: Characters and plot in manga and anime copyright Konomi Takeshi; series airs on TV Tokyo. Original plot in these stories is mine. Not for profit. Do no repost without permission.
Summary: This ficlet: Sanada's body remembers what it's like to love someone. Here and Now (multi-chapter fiction in progress): For Sanada, Senbatsu camp offers a new short-term goal and provides a brief respite from long-term concerns; for Tezuka, his sudden return to Japan provides an opportunity to clean up a mess he left behind when he went to Germany, if he chooses to use it. When they encounter each other, they realize things have suddenly gotten a lot more complicated.
Notes: For 30kisses: a multi-chapter Sanada x Tezuka fic. Set during the Senbatsu Selection Camp and Japan-America matches. Possible spoilers for episodes in the 130's and 140's. This is shounen-ai and yaoi, boy/boy love. PG-13 all through, possibly R in some chapters. I'm writing the boys as if they are age 18.
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Sanada drew in a short panting breath, almost a gasp, as gentle hands ran themselves up and down his torso in a rapid caress. Hands that had hard calluses striping the palms in the same places as his own. He tipped his head back, arching his spine and leaning into the embrace. His own hands clenched almost involuntarily at the narrow hips he held firmly against his own, toned chests and tight stomachs sliding back and forth against each other as Sanada tightened his grip and sought to bring their bodies even closer. His skin burned with warmth, especially where his glowing flesh was pressed up against skin that was not his own but just as hot.
It was this heat of skin on skin, the palpable warmth of living flesh and blood and sweat-slick skin sliding against his own that Sanada most loved about this. He needed it—he needed that kind of touch. In the everyday, outside world, where he kept his boundaries clearly defined and avoided all physical contact as much as possible, here, in this dark space where there were just two bodies in a sea of sheets he craved the warmth, the sensation, of touch that he experienced nowhere else. Not often being employed to their fullest potential, his hands reveled in these rare instances where their ultra-sensitive nerves were finally put to the use for which they were made. They hungrily raced up and down the smoothly muscled, slick heat of their owner's partner's back, reciprocating every touch, returning every gesture of want and need. The friction of skin on skin increased the heat they felt even more. Where their groins touched it was almost unbearable, a searing heat radiating through two layers of cloth. Two hurried, violent movements and then there was nothing to insulate them anymore. Arms locked around backs; hips crushed against each other with brutal force; wet hot mouths met in a demanding, searing kiss; firm chests pressed flush; and every single inch of skin possible from their heads to their feet was forced into contact to exchange that blessed heat and trap it between their two bodies. Sanada couldn't stand it anymore. Incredibly, the heat was still building, and he knew what he wanted next and couldn't wait any longer. Just at the right moment the pressure against his hips was removed and cold air rushed in to fill the now empty space before a warm, rough palm pressed itself flat against his length and began to rub up and down in rhythmic strokes. To Sanada, lost in a sightless world of dark heat, it felt incredible, but he still needed more. He needed to be completely enclosed in heat, feel it wrapped around him in the most intimate way possible. A fist was now wrapped around him, adding increased friction to the ever-growing heat, but it still wasn't enough, not nearly a satisfactory substitute for what he really wanted, but it was just enough to bring him tantalizing pleasure that left him writhing and gasping against his partner.
As one of Sanada's hands somehow found itself buried in the long shaggy hair as it always did, his other found a matching hardness beside his own and he too picked up the rhythm, increasing the heat with his own friction and making the other boy moan in response. His mouth broke the wet, harsh kiss as his head was once more thrown back in pleasure. He desperately sucked in cool air to fill his burning lungs as his pleasure reached its unbearable peak and the only sound he heard, the only sensation he was able to process besides the heat and the building pressure and the pure raw need, was the sound of his name, spoken in a harsh exclamation right beside his ear. At that, the waves of pleasure crested and came crashing down, and the after-effects of his climax carried him, spent, into a drifting void of lingering heat…
"Sanada…Sanada…"
The sound of his name still echoed in his head as Sanada Genichirou surfaced from sleep to find himself tangled in sweat-damp sheets. He lay still for a moment, eyes still closed, clinging to the brink of sleep and savoring the last vestiges of his very life-like dream. As his consciousness continued to gradually awaken, however, he found something amiss. He'd had dreams like this before, of course, though not for a long time. Still, something about this one had been different. Not wrong, as such, but…different. Just as he finally opened his eyes it came to him. Sanada. His name. His family name. It just didn't make sense, Seiichi hadn't called him by that name when they were alone together for years, he thought to himself with sleepy, mild confusion. Seiichi… Shaking his head to clear it further and lost in thoughts about his captain, in that bewildering place between true waking and dreams, the puzzle pieces all fell into place at once and Sanada suddenly realized his very obvious mistake. It was, in fact, that thought that finally severed the last tenuous ties to slumber and brought him fully aware. And at that moment, he realized, the dream made sense after all.
Seiichi… It might have been Seiichi's body – his pre-illness body, Sanada abruptly recognized– in his dream, but it had not been his voice. He understood that though he was confused while waking, he had known full well while asleep, in that vaguely suggested yet certain way of dreams, that it was not Seiichi he was touching.
Suddenly, when he realized who it had been, the speaking of his family name did make perfect sense, for never in his life had he heard Tezuka Kunimitsu, the captain of Seigaku, speak his given name.
But ultimately, the presence of Tezuka in his dreams – the absence of his buchou and the substitution of another – made no sense at all. Sanada blinked wondering eyes once more at the ceiling and gave his head one more decisive shake before climbing out of his rumpled bed and determinedly heading for the shower. As he turned on the water and stepped into the spray, Sanada firmly put the dream completely out of his mind. His was a rational world. Sanada Genichirou did not waste his time thinking about things that did not make any kind of sense at all.
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Despite his morning resolution to not dwell on the morning's dream – the morning's very pleasant dream, the stern boy was forced to admit to himself – he found brief bright sparks of half-remembered sensations flickering and fluttering at the edges of his consciousness all day.He finally allowed himself to think about it briefly, if only to finally get it out of his system.
In reality, it had been some time since he had had such an erotic dream. It had been even longer, much longer, since he and Yukimura had been together like that. Not since he had been admitted to the hospital on a permanent basis. When that had happened, they had both felt the loss of the intimacy immediately; for Yukimura it had been disappointing and he had felt guilty about it, Sanada knew. For Sanada it had been frustrating to the point of anger, anger which he was careful to never show around his ill captain. But there was nothing they could do about it. Yukimura had once confessed that he fantasized about them being together in his hospital room, in the bed that he was now confined to most days, but both knew that with the frequent nurse and doctor visits, the overall lack of privacy, and then later, Yukimura's steadily deteriorating health, that maintaining their former level of intimacy was impossible. After the initial weeks and months of disappointment and frustration had passed, the two had fallen into a new routine. Chaste kisses on lips, cheeks, and forehead replaced burning, passionate kisses strewn over entire bodies; strong arms that gently cradled or weakening ones that clung tightly with what little strength remained took the place of bold, sure caresses.
It had been Yukimura's body in his dream, Sanada knew. Seiichi's body the way his body remembered him. Of course it had to have been. He had no tactile experience of Tezuka, had had no physical contact with him, so his brain had supplied the only body it knew for that situation, the only referant it had.
But his dream-self had not been deceived – it had known who it was it touched, stroked, kissed, wanted to make love to. His dream-self had known it was Tezuka and had wanted him.
Sanada still did not know what to make of that.
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Watch for chapters of Here and Now (in progress) to find out the context of this fragment. Thanks for reading, please review!