Author's Notes: I know, I know, I shouldn't be publishing a new story, but whatever, okay? I just had to. So, anyway, I really have nothing much to say, except I would really appreciate any reviews if you enjoyed that story. (I'll be replying to all of them through PM's xD) Also, I changed Lleyton Hewitt's name to Lleyton Hues because I don't want the real Lleyton to sue me if he ever stumbles upon this fic which sheds him in a very bad light. I don't even though the guy. I bet he's really nice.
Warnings: This story will have rape in it, so turn away now if you don't want to read it. There will be no explicit scene – I'm going to cut it off before it actually happens, but it's implied rape, and the story centers over Ryoma struggling to deal with the aftermath. It will be Tezuryo, as well, because I love it.
"Mada mada dane," Echizen Ryoma pointed his racquet haughtily at the opponent across from him. "You lose, six games to zero."
For a moment, the young man on the other side – Lleyton Hues – looked furious. His eyes bulged from his red face, and his teeth grit together like he was grinding sandpaper between them. But after a second of scowling and fist-clenching, Lleyton regained composure and smoothed out his unkempt tennis jersey.
"That was a fabulous game," he said, keeping his dignity intact. "It was completely my loss."
Ryoma smirked. "Sure was."
Again, Lleyton's right brow twitched incomprehensibly, but he managed to keep the smile slick on his face. "Hand shake?" he offered out his palm.
Ryoma sauntered up to the currently first-ranked singles tennis player in all of America, trying to keep the grin off his face. He reached his hand out, and they shook on it. Lleyton squeezed his hand hard – a little too hard – and Ryoma winced. The tennis pro in front of him was obviously infuriated at his loss.
Ryoma didn't blame him. In exactly one week, the two of them would be facing off in the US Open finals for a real match, and since Lleyton hadn't been able to get even a game off Ryoma in the practice duel, his chances of succeeding were slim to none. Ryoma was glad he'd run into the elder while practicing at the courts because his newfound victory allowed the anxiety of the finals to finally roll off his shoulders.
"Good game," Ryoma offered his first humble words. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "But you're not quite there yet."
Lleyton grinned through a pair of cracked lips. "Don't get overconfident. I'll still crush you at the finals."
Ryoma shrugged. "I'd love to see you try."
Giving their last regards, Lleyton and Ryoma went their separate ways, both of their minds toiled with heavy thoughts about their game. Ryoma was ecstatic, albeit a little disappointed by the lack of challenge. Still, for once, the absence of a challenge didn't infuriate him. This was his chance to win the US Open finals!
Lleyton was not as pleased – in fact, every assumption of it being "a piece of cake" to beat the kid had flown out the window. However, Lleyton Hues was not one to back out quickly, especially when there was so much on the line…
He would win the finals no matter what it took.
Even if "what it took" was illegal.
=][=
"You lost?"
His manager looked flabbergasted, his jaw hanging open.
"Close your mouth," Lleyton waved his hand. "You'll let a fly in."
The manager, Todd Hanson, did not shut his mouth. His eyes were wide. "But – but Lleyton! Sir! This is awful…the match is in less than a week, and if Ryoma Echizen beat you so badly then you're chances of winning-"
"Are 100%," Lleyton calmly opened a pack of cigarettes, primly taking one out.
Todd stared, flushed from anxiety. "But sir- I don't understand –"
"Todd," Lleyton said, placing the cigarette between his raw lips. He exhaled, shoulders relaxing. "How have I won every game even when the players were far better than me?"
Todd bit his lip, meek. "You've bribed them with money."
"Exactly."
Again, Todd could not keep his mouth shut. "But sir! Ryoma Echizen is just a kid. He doesn't care about money. He won't accept your offer for sure!"
Ignoring him, Lleyton pulled out a manila folder from a drawer in his desk, flicking it open. Looking through the pages of opponents, he found the one with Echizen Ryoma on it. He was certainly a beauty. Soft-cheeked, bright-eyed, innocent yet completely deliciously intriguing. Lleyton slid a crooked finger over the page, tracing Ryoma's face.
"Lleyton, sir?"
Lleyton stood up, pushing in his chair. "I'm not going to ask him for money."
"But then, what-"
With the thwack of his expensive shoes, Lleyton crossed the room and reached for the doorknob. He smiled with deceit before saying, casually:
"He's merely a kid, Todd. I simply have to play a different move on the chessboard."
With that, Lleyton shut the door behind him and disappeared with a flourish, leaving his manager Todd scrambling to wonder what in the world he was planning.
Echizen Ryoma was running outside at 3:00 AM.
His blood swished in his ears as he turned a sharp corner, his heart beat accelerating. Donned in only his Seigaku jacket and a pair of shorts, he tried to dismiss the frigid night wind cutting into his pores. Above him, the sky was dark and starless, the only light dimly streaming from the lampposts. Tomorrow was the US Open finals.
Ryoma exhaled, pumping his legs harder.
He couldn't believe the finals were tomorrow.
After months of training at Seigaku, and constant support from his friends and family, he had somehow gotten to the stage where he was nearly invincible. He had finally gotten to the stage where he would become worldly known as the youngest player to ever win the US Open finals (or any international finals, in that case). He had finally broken past every barrier standing in his way, cleaning his slate of priorities to only one:
Winning the US Open finals.
Tomorrow.
Ryoma squeezed his eyes together. He hadn't been able to sleep at all – restlessly tossing and turning in the bed in the hotel he was staying. He'd tried to drink warm milk, cuddle up with Karupin, read a book – but nothing had helped. With no option left, he'd headed out to go on a run, hoping to clear his mind so he could get the essential rest before the game.
Tomorrow.
He was so incredibly nervous; more nervous then he'd ever been for a game.
Tomorrow.
His friends would have laughed if they'd heard how hard his heart thumped when he thought about the finals. But this was bigger than anything he'd ever done before. If he won this, it opened up a whole world of possibilities.
Tomorro-
"You and I both, kid."
Ryoma's head snapped up at the voice. It took him a moment to make out the figure in the dark, but he quickly realized it was none another than Lleyton Hewitt. Feeling relieved, Ryoma looked up at the man with a smirk. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I was going for a run," Lleyton blew out a puff of smoke from his cigarette, watching as it clouded up the air in front of them. "The big match is tomorrow, huh?"
In all honesty, Ryoma had lost the little respect he'd had for the man when he had single-handedly defeated him. For someone competing in the finals, he sure…sucked for a lack of a better word. But at the same time, Ryoma was glad he had run into him. He was sure Lleyton shared his nerves for the finals.
"I'm on a run too," Ryoma pulled the brim of his cap down.
Lleyton's eyes trailed over Ryoma, lingering on the fine peak of his collarbone. He smiled, averting his eyes back to Ryoma's face. "Couldn't sleep?"
Ryoma shrugged, shifting restlessly.
Lleyton took this as his cue to launch into his plan. He brought out the tennis bag hidden behind his back and casually flaunted it. Two racquets poked out from the half-zipped duffle, gleaming in the moonlight. "I was actually going to head over to the courts," he inhaled, bellowing out more smoke. "Although I doubt there'll be opponents at this time."
Ryoma stared. "Hm."
Offering a crooked smile, Lleyton softened his hard features. "Want to rally a bit? Or have a match? I'm sure it'll ease both of our nerves."
"I'm not nervous."
"Alas, it will ease my nerves. Do you mind the favor?"
In actuality, Ryoma was anxious, and was absolutely dying to hit a few balls back and forth to ease the tension elevating up his shoulders and spine. But he didn't want to seem too eager, lest it break his cool façade. With a smug grin, Ryoma shrugged his shoulders slowly. "Why should I?"
Lleyton had to bite his lip before he smirked – this cocky kid wouldn't know what hit him.
"Please?" Lleyton asked.
Ryoma stared at him, bright gold eyes gleaming. After a moment, he turned around and began walking.
"Okay. But don't cry when you lose."
=][=
The courts were isolated. Ryoma shivered as a gust of wind flailed around the courts, forcing him to try to bury his chin into his jacket. At night, the courts looked desolate – almost eerie, with the net and fence trapping them in a world of darkness. He could barely see the white strips of the court lines as he padded inside.
"I didn't bring a racquet," Ryoma told Lleyton.
"I have one," Lleyton's voice was slick as he bent down to pull the racquets out of his bag. From the corner of his vision, he let one predatory eye land on Ryoma's turned back. The boy really was a looker, whether he knew it or not. A Small yet fit body, a nice little bum, a healthy mop of black hair that looked green when it reflected off the moonlight.
Delicious, Lleyton pressed his lips together, praising his ability to hit two birds with one stone.
"Hurry up!" Ryoma called back, already heading towards the other side of the net.
"Certainly," Lleyton said, more to himself than anything. He left the racquets scattered haphazardly as he stood up and walked painstakingly slowly to Ryoma. He wanted nothing more than to rush up to the boy and devour him, but if he gave himself away too quickly, the kid would run. With an almost savage grin, Lleyton approached Ryoma's unbeknownst figure.
Ryoma tilted his head, and frowned. "You left the racquets over there."
Lleyton's sharp jaw glistened, half his face shadowed. "Oh, my, did I?"
Ryoma didn't like the sudden creepy vibe coming from his opponent. Instinctively, he found himself realizing just how isolated they really were. Around the courts were nothing but fields of grass, and the only sign of a neighborhood was a small blinking light in the distance, indicating a street lamppost.
He took a step back. "The racquets?" he asked.
"We don't need racquets to play this game," Lleyton said.
"What?" Ryoma's catlike eyes widened a fraction.
Lleyton let his demeanor settle into that of its true nature; a bloodthirsty smile crept onto his face, and the predatory gleam in his eyes grew. "What beautiful, fair skin," he said, reaching his hand out to touch Ryoma's cold cheek.
Ryoma backed away, but Lleyton grabbed his wrist, wrenching him forward.
"What are you-"
"Let me touch you," Lleyton breathed, his voice husky with arousal. He reached his large palm out, and tenderly stroked Ryoma's face. "Such lovely cheeks, like that of a baby…" his gaze trailed to the eyes that tried to hide their fear. "And such precious eyes, so wide and fearful. Would they not look beautiful if they were filled with tears?"
Ryoma's eyes narrowed. "Let me go," he demanded.
"And such a fierce voice," Lleyton ran his rough thumb across Ryoma's forehead, sinking his fingers into the soft head of hair. "I would love to hear that same voice crying out, pleading for mercy."
The first wave of fear washed over Ryoma. Blood running cold, Ryoma struggled to make a futile attempt to get away. But Lleyton was a lot stronger than him; his muscles bulged under his shirt, and his iron grip around Ryoma's wrist didn't relent. "Stop squirming around," Lleyton's musty breath exhaled dangerously close to Ryoma's neck. "I want to play a game."
Ryoma squirmed. "Then let's play one," he said, almost desperately. "The racquets-"
"Not that kind of game."
With those final words, Lleyton pushed Ryoma to the ground, causing him to hit his head painfully against the clay. His vision flickered, but it quickly came back. He tried to get up, but Lleyton pushed him back against the ground, tightening his grip around his hair. "It would be a waste to let you go," Lleyton said, leaning in, mouth close to Ryoma's lips. "I'm truly sorry."
Ryoma braced himself; his toes curled, his eyes squeezed shut.
A moment later, rough lips collided with his own. Ryoma had expected it to be bad, but not this bad. It felt like he was suffocating, drowning against the pressure of roughness and cigarettes. Stop, Ryoma tried to push him away again, but Lleyton merely kept him down, grip tightening around Ryoma's shoulder.
Ryoma felt like he couldn't breathe. It felt like he was being strangled.
Please stop.
The lips parted, and Ryoma gasped for air. Lleyton's face loomed over him, his blonde hair wild and his eyes glistening with obsession. "Did that feel good?" the man breathed out, voice husky. His lips were a crackled gray, dried out from long-term smoking.
Ryoma tried to jab his knee into Lleyton's gut, but Lleyton swiftly caught it. Ryoma recoiled. "Stop," he said, quietly. "Please. The match, it's tomorro-"
Lleyton looked baffled, momentarily breaking out of his lust. "Silly boy," he whispered, running his fingers down Ryoma's neck greedily. Ryoma shivered. "Don't you understand?" Lleyton reached out, unzipping Ryoma's Seigaku jacket. He watched with a flushed face as Ryoma's eyes widened, fear filling every corner of the golden beauties.
Gently, Lleyton pulled the jacket down Ryoma's shoulders, before discarding it to the side.
Please, stop.
"Stop," Ryoma tried to make his voice as threatening as possible. He wanted to fight the man, but Lleyton was right up against him, squeezing Ryoma under his body until the boy could barely take a breath. He felt like the world was closing in on him; the air felt hot, and his throat was tight, rendering him voiceless.
Lleyton didn't stop. He merely laughed, closing in on Ryoma and kissing him harshly. Ryoma winced, the feeling of suffocation returning. Just pretend you're far away, he told himself, trying to ignore the saliva and tongue crippling his mouth. You're far away, playing a tennis match, winning the Nationals…
Without warning, Lleyton tore off Ryoma's shirt.
Ryoma froze as the air chilled his suddenly half-naked body. No, he told himself, This isn't happening. It's not happening. He wasn't even cold. Lleyton's heavy body warmed him, even though he wanted nothing more than to be away from the man. He could feel Lleyton's gaze – drawn to his chest like a bee to nectar – and found bile rising to the back of his throat.
Get off me, Ryoma squeezed his eyes shut. Get off me.
"You're so beautiful," Lleyton said softly. "So lovely to devour."
Get off me.
In what felt like five minutes, but was only two seconds, Lleyton's hands slid down the sides of Ryoma's waist and roamed to his hips. They squeezed the flesh of Ryoma's sides, before he hooked his thumbs to the insides of the waistband of Ryoma's shorts. Ignoring Ryoma's plea, he let the eager predator inside of him free, and yanked the shorts down.
And for Echizen Ryoma, that was when the real nightmare began.