Disclaimer: Nobody in this fic belongs to me.
Rating PG
Warnings: Implied shounen ai
A/N: Due to bloody muses all 'cooing' and 'squeeing' over Death's Silent Mistress's 'Comfort' story and demanding that they write their point of view.
Someone, please slap them…
If you wish, please go to my profile for the link to read the story that inspired this.
Hard Comfort
'Wham!' Shinji's backhand powered into the ball with a force similar to that of a pile driver, which sent it screaming back to his opponent. The shorter boy wasted no time in returning it so Shinji attacked again. When the little round missile flew off back to his adversary, the dark haired youth risked a glance off to the left, his lips rising in a slight smirk at the sight that met his eyes.
Akira's fiery hair shone in the warm glow of the afternoon sunlight. Head down, pen pausing in its relentless scratching across the papers scattered over his lap, Akira was intent on finishing his homework. It was all the view he was allowed before the ball flew back toward him, hell bent on slamming into his face.
Raising his racket, Shinji took a quick step sideways and with an almost casual flick of his wrist, he sent the ball winging back. It happily kissed the very top of the net before merrily rolling away. Ignoring his opponent's low curse, Shinji took advantage of the short break to shoulder his racket and glance Akira's way once more. Someone was slowly, almost stealthily approaching the red head's back, someone who swayed in an apparent effort to keep upright. Shinji glared as the person paused directly behind Akira. Then abruptly, he could no longer watch as the tennis ball was sailing towards him. Feet pounding, he rushed in, his racket striking with savage glee.
For several very long minutes, Shinji had only eyes for the little green missile as it whizzed to and fro. Scoring another point, he paused to turn in Akira's direction then froze. There sat his beloved friend, with that infuriating, out-of-control, sleep-aholic from Hyotei curled up alongside him, his head snuggled in Akira's lap! Steely blue eyes widened then narrowed into evil slits. How dare that upstart use his friend's leg as a pillow!
The sudden smack of ball on string was the only thing stopping him at that moment from running over to Akira to pluck the sleeping youth off of him and then stand on his big, stupid head! Snorting with building rage, Shinji gripped his racket so tight that the handle creaked alarmingly. Back and forth the ball flew as extreme annoyance gave venomous force to every shot. At last, the ball screamed past his opponent's right ear to slam savagely into the court's surrounding wire fence.
Taking advantage of this new break, Shinji shot Akira another look, this time feeling a hard clench within his chest. Not only was that brazen fool curled up almost completely like a cat within Akira's lap but his fingers were running over the red head's inner thigh and curling around his hip! Shinji just couldn't believe it! Worse still, Akira was running his fingers though Jiro's wavy hair! Shinji could see Akira's lips moving as he spoke but he was too far away to hear what was being said. Fighting down the unnatural urge to scream, Shinji took out his frustration by continuing to play as he tried desperately not to let the little scene at the bleachers get to him. However, his increasingly brutal return fire betrayed his turbulent emotions.
Once again, he scored his point, bringing the game to an abrupt end. Stalking to the net, he hardly saw his opponent as they shook hands, Ryoma wincing from the intense pressure on his hand. Through a red fog of outrage, Shinji turned fully to glare daggers across the courts.
The flame haired youth no longer stood alone. Atobe leaned over to speak to Jiro before raising his hand to snap his fingers. Instantly, the great, walking tree that was Kabaji leaned down to give sleeping beauty a gentle shake but to no avail. Jiro just continued to snore on resulting in Akira attempting the same feat, also without success.
When his hand drifted toward the sleeping boy's cheek, it became too much for Shinji's tortured soul to take. Feeling a need to stalk over and slap his friend, Shinji settled instead to wander forlornly over to the far end of the benches and sit heavily, his head in his hands. 'What the hell do I care? It's not like we are lovers or anything but Akira is my best friend. I have known him all my life! Damn it! If I wanted to, I could sleep in his lap. Hmm, sounds like a good plan, I may have to put it into action sometime soon.'
'That idiot Jiro is going to fall sleep on the wrong person one day and bang! He'll get the thumping of his life! Oh yes! Boy, come here and fall asleep on me! Oh yeah, I'll make you 'sleep' for a week, maybe even longer! Akira, you idiot! Why the hell did you allow him to sleep on you anyway?'
Raising his head, he noticed Akira stuffing his books into his pack. Grumbling, Shinji launched into a new rant on just how much his true heart's desire was so thoroughly pissing him off right now.
"Oi, Shinji!"
Looking up, he spotted Akira trotting towards him. Standing, his racket clenched tight within his fist, Shinji couldn't decide if at that moment he should hit the boy or snog him senseless. Instead, he settled for letting the youth approach.
"Homework's all done! You want a game?" He asked with a swing of his racket.
Shinji's frosty glare swiftly gave way to a look of grudging affection, 'Idiot!' he thought. Then he indicated that his friend should lead the way. 'He obviously doesn't realize that I witnessed that whole scene over him and Jiro. Ah, such hard comfort to know that there's probably nothing in it. Still… damn it Shinji, you're an idiot!'
In silence, they marched out onto the tennis court for a new battle to begin.
Endless