A/N: eh heh, I know I haven't updated in a while ^^;; so sorry ^o^
Anyway, here's chapter 3 XD more Tezu x Fuji... um... stuff ^^;;
Disclaimer: Don't own PoT. I'm poor.
Love
Zone
By: anek
Chapter 3: His Game
His gaze flitted for a brief second over the exposed flesh. Even with such a
quick glance, he noted how tiny droplets of sweat trailed down the smooth torso,
sliding down the lean abdomen and finally soaking the waistband of the dark
shorts.
He glanced at his wrist watch. Thirty more minutes and their allotted practice
time should be over. He'll last, and no, he won't look again. He crossed his
arms, parting his feet apart as he took the stance worthy of the respected
Captain he was.
He tore his gaze off of Fuji's back. He knew Fuji's game, and to lose was out of
question, else they'd just fall back to where they started -- Fuji taunting him,
inflaming his desire until he was left shamelessly slave to his hormones.
"Buchou!"
There was a shout across the court. He turned just in time to dodge a flying
tennis ball from smashing on his face. The ball gave a small screech as it got
caught between the tall fence, the wires vibrating in the sheer force of the
impact.
Of course, Kawamura's swing is never to be underestimated.
"Buchou! Gomen-nasai!"
He shook his head, slightly raising one eyebrow at an approaching and flustered
Kawamura wringing his hands rather desperately. The guy must have dropped his
racket after hitting that ball since there wasn't a trace of the
"burning" energy he had just seconds before..
"I didn't mean to, Buchou! Sorry! I almost hit you!"
"That's alright Taka-san, don't worry about it. Although it's a bit unusual
for you to be hitting a ball 50 yards off the court," he added with a
slight note of disapproval.
Kawamura flushed.
"Ah... y-yeah. Gomen."
Tezuka reached a hand to adjust the spectacles at the bridge of his nose. He
stiffened at the sound of approaching light footsteps, and an all too familiar
scent.
Fuji.
He casually cocked his head to the side, meeting Fuji's gaze with as much
indifference as he could muster. Not that it was an easy task, for it took all
his sanity not to notice how Fuji was gloriously shirtless. Of all things.
"What is it, Fuji?" he asked, uncrossing his arms and shoving them on
the pockets of his jersey. Perhaps a futile attempt to look unperturbed.
Fuji's smile was sweet as usual, though if he didn't know better, that seemingly
innocent smile hid such poison that once stung, there is never an antidote. Take
it from a fellow victim.
"Nothing, I just need to retrieve something," was the quick reply.
Tezuka nodded, although it didn't take a few seconds for his heart to skip a few
beats. Fuji kept moving forward until they were only but a few feet away. And
Fuji was still closing the space.
He could feel his palms moistening a bit. If he were to step back, he wasn't
sure if his self-esteem could take it. Not once before did he run away from any
challenge, well, at least those that didn't involve Fuji. Though if he were to
remain rooted at where he stood...
"Fuji..." he hissed between gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes in an
unmistakable warning.
But he was only rewarded with a fleeting grin that crossed Fuji's pale lips.
"Is something wrong? Tezuka?" Fuji's voice was soft, yet only he could
fathom the venom that hid behind that gentle lilt.
He knew Kawamura was curiously watching them. In the middle of afternoon
practice, the distant sound of balls bouncing against rackets faded against his
frantic heartbeats. Fuji finally stopped a few inches away, making him almost
give a loud sigh of relief though the closeness was almost just as bad. The
strange mix of sweat and expensive perfume that Fuji always wore, not to mention
the smooth bare skin that glistened with sweat. With the very small distance
that separated them, he could see faint traces of sunburn marring the creamy
skin, probably from staying under the sun for too long. Fuji must be very
sensitive of the sunlight... though Fuji has always been sensitive in many other
ways as well...
The thought only brought unwelcome memories that almost made him loosen the
collar of his jersey, though he did not dare, let he make himself look more
disconcerted than he already was.
"What is it?" he repeated, averting his eyes and pretending to observe
a group of freshmen practicing their swings.
"Chotto..." was Fuji's brief reply, extending out one arm so that one
elbow brushed the sleeve of his blue jersey.
"Wha-what are you doing!" he hissed under his breath. His only
consolation was that everyone else seemed to be too busy at the moment to take
notice of them, maybe save for Kawamura who stood a few feet away, curiously
watching them with a confused face.
Tezuka stiffened. He could feel a cold droplet of sweat trailing down the side
of his neck and down his back. His hands clenched into tight fists inside the
pockets of his blue jersey. His breath almost stopped when Fuji kept leaning
closer, but just when he thought only the fabric of his jersey separated their
skins, Fuji leaned away, smiling with such nonchalance and casually holding a
yellow tennis ball in one hand, it was the ball that was stuck in the fence
behind him.
He should have known.
"This is my favorite ball," Fuji declared, casually inspecting the
little furry thing with genuine curiosity.
"The balls are all the same, Fuji," he snapped, silently gritting his
teeth. Not that it was anything new. Fuji enjoyed taunting him, making a mockery
out of him, provoking him until he felt trapped, helpless and wanting. He had
thought everything had been over back then, that night when Fuji walked away
from him. He had drowned himself in self-inflected angst, admitted regret
against his will... only to find the next day, that nothing had changed at all.
Fuji frowned slightly, turning on his back to hold the ball against the
afternoon sun.
"Hmm... you think so Tezuka? This ball seemed prettier than the
others."
Tezuka gave his head a slight shake. For such a pointless conversation, there
sure was a lot of tension involved, at least on his part.
"Anou... Fuji... the practice..." Kawamura inquired reluctantly.
Fuji tossed the ball in the air, catching it with his racket before it could
fall back to the ground.
"Gomen Taka-san, let's go," Fuji apologized politely, turning to head
back across the court where they were practicing before.
"A-ah," Kawamura murmured in a small voice.
Tezuka didn't mistake the reddish hint that stained Kawamura's cheeks, then he
knew the reason behind the usually timid Seigaku regular's faulty racket swing
earlier, and the thought didn't settle well on Tezuka in more ways than one.
His eyes darted back to Fuji's receding back, the dark shorts riding low enough
to reveal slightly protruding hipbones... and a good deal of porcelain skin. The
rhythmic sound of ball which Fuji kept on bouncing against his tennis racket
slowly faded as Fuji walked away. Tezuka cursed mentally when Kawamura glanced at
Fuji's back with a confused expression, before finally turning on his heels to
meekly trail behind Fuji.
Tezuka growled under his breath. It wasn't that he blamed Kawamura, though he
couldn't help but feel irritated at the glances that the fellow regular kept sending on Fuji's
way. Fuji... while on the outside is the charming, soft-spoken tennis tensai,
inside is a perfect male version of an impish nymph freely casting deadly spells
on his wake.
"Fuji, put your shirt back on," he called out in a stern voice that
clearly didn't take no for an answer.
Fuji stopped on his tracks, caught the ball in his palm and swung the racket
over one shoulder blade.
"Eh? Hmm... my shirt is not exactly available for wear right now."
Tezuka frowned.
"Why is that?"
Fuji shrugged, slightly cocking his head to the side to indicate the pair of
Seigaku regulars on the far east side of the court. Tezuka squinted his eyes to
recognize Oishi and Eiji, or more accurately, Oishi fussing over a bawling Eiji,
one hand pressed against his stomach while the other pressing a cloth,
presumably Fuji's shirt, against his mouth.
"Eiji mistook Inui's juice for soda. He happened to hurl on my shirt so I
gave it to him. Hm, it seems that he has developed an affinity to it."
Tezuka's brows gave a slight twitch. Only Fuji could say something like that
while watching someone else empty his gut out on his shirt.
Regaining his composure, Tezuka turned to Takashi.
"Taka-san, please help them get to the infirmary, and Fuji, go to the
locker room. I have an extra shirt there."
Kawamura mumbled a quick "Hai Buchou" before darting off across the
court to help cart off a now wailing Eiji.
When Kawamura was out of hearing, Fuji walked back to where Tezuka stood.
"Thanks Tezuka, but I'm alright. We should be going home in a few minutes
anyway. I still have my uniform."
Tezuka narrowed his eyes.
"Go put on my shirt," he repeated, crossing his arms again as if to
emphasize that it was, indeed, an order.
Fuji only smiled.
"If you say so... Buchou," Fuji replied casually, turning on his heels
again to head back to the locker room, but before reaching the court exit, Fuji
glanced back.
"Ah, Tezuka, come to my house tomorrow at three," Fuji added before
continuing on his way, leaving nothing but a stunned Tezuka and the distant
familiar noises of bouncing tennis balls.
He had been to Fuji's house on several occasions before, though there was never
a personal visit. None that didn't involve either school, or tennis.
He stood before the medium-sized gate. There was nothing new about the place...
a quiet neighborhood, a garage, the small potted plants that lined the inner
side of the wall, he even noted the tea-colored front door that sported a small
elaborate design in the middle.
He glanced at his wrist watch.
Two o'clock.
He was way too early, though the ever condescending small part of him reasoned
that he was there for no other purpose than to simply inquire of what Fuji
invited him for, thus there was no reason to stick to the allotted time. Fuji
simply didn't give him a chance to ask, let alone decline yesterday. He had
hoped he would catch Fuji in the locker room after practice, but all he found
was a small note that said "Thanks" on top of the extra shirt he
offered, which was left untouched.
The gate was open, wide enough to let him pass. He slipped past and stood in
front of the door. His finger hesitated for a brief second before finally
pressing the doorbell.
There was no answer. He pressed it again twice, but there wasn't even any sign
of commotion inside. Tezuka adjusted the rim of his glasses, mentally berating
himself for letting his pride take precedence over what made sense. Perhaps
there wasn't anyone home until three, after all, three o'clock was the agreed
time... or rather, the instructed time, he thought bitterly.
He turned to leave, deciding to come back at four, his pride still refusing to
come at three. A small crease appeared between his brows. He knew he was acting
too shamefully childish, yet he was never used to being ordered... and Fuji had
done much more than ordering him around. Fuji... the only person who could
freely reduce him to such pitiful state of helplessness and need... and it
didn't please him one bit.
Just when he was about to take his leave, the door was flung open, revealing a
smiling Fuji... or in more detail, a smiling wet Fuji scantily clad with a small
towel.
Tezuka almost took a step back.
"W-what the --!" he started, but after the initial surprise that
briefly fleeted across Fuji's eyes, the smile was back in place.
"Ah, Tezuka. You're early, come in," Fuji beamed, ushering a rather
stunned Tezuka inside and into the sofa. "Gomen Tezuka. I thought you
weren't coming until three so I took a shower," Fuji continued.
Tezuka cleared his throat. The sight of a fully-clothed Fuji was enough to send
his senses soaring to inconceivable heights, never mind what an almost naked
Fuji could do to his sanity. He ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture that
usually indicated he wasn't in the best of moods.
"So, why did you--" he began, intending to ask what it was that Fuji
invited him over for. But before he could finish his question, Fuji interrupted.
"I'll fix you some tea, I'll be right back."
Tezuka shook his head.
"No, I'm fine. Just get... dressed," he muttered, though he doubted if
Fuji had an ounce of sympathy for his concerns for the only reply he got were
the clanging sounds of silverware in the kitchen.
He sat in the sofa, silent and resigned. Pulling out a magazine under the center
table, he noticed how there were tracks of Fuji's wet footsteps on the marble
floor. Somehow, it calmed his nerves. He was foolish to overreact on something
that was truly a simple coincidence, and the mistake was on his part for not
adhering to schedule in the first place.
He flipped aimlessly through the magazine. It was a monthly publication about
tennis, but for once, the subject didn't interest him as much as it usually
did.
In a moment he heard the slight creaking of the kitchen door, and Fuji's soft
approaching barefooted steps. His back was to the kitchen so he waited for Fuji
to speak, but when none came he shifted on his seat to glance behind him.
Fuji stood behind the sofa where he sat.
"What are you doing in there?" he asked when Fuji still didn't move.
"My towel slipped off and I'm unable to help myself at the moment,"
Fuji answered, indicating the small tray on one hand and a small plate of
cookies on the other... none of which interested Tezuka as much as what Fuji's
words meant.
Although the back of the sofa was quite high, what it revealed was enough to
make his blood run hotter than liquid fire. Prominent hipbones, soft curves
giving it a slightly feminine edge yet toned and lean enough to make it
inarguably a male's body... and the expanse of pale skin that simply begged for
his touch...
With every ounce of will he summoned the last remnants of his sanity that
remained, averting his eyes back at magazine he still held, and stared at the
blurred letters too intensely until he thought his eyeballs hurt.
Fuji...
He ran a hand through his hair.
"Tezuka? Could you please take this tray? I really need to put some clothes
on..."
"Put them on the damn floor!" he growled. It angered him how Fuji's
voice held no trace of quivering, no sign of the despair he felt.
"There's a cat on the floor," Fuji pointed out. And as if to confirm
the point, there was a soft feline purr that followed.
Tezuka slammed the magazine on the center table. How far did Fuji intend to push
him? And how far did he intend to be pushed? It was cruel, taunting his desires,
daring him to admit defeat and giving in to the one thing they both needed the
most. For his hands that knew how Fuji's skin felt, and for his lips that once
knew how Fuji's lips tasted... it was beyond tempting. His eyes narrowed into
slits.
He caught Fuji by the shoulder blades. The cat let out a loud purr when the
contents of the tray went clattering on the floor as he pulled Fuji over the
sofa. The warm tea sipped through the velvet covers, soaking his shirt and
dripping to the marble floor. The plate of cookies fell to the floor along with
his glasses, although frankly, he didn't care. He was a predator far too long
deprived, a desire far too long suppressed, and a beast far too long taunted and
provoked.
His desire escalated tenfold when he realized the only thing that separated them
was the thin fabric of his clothes. He took Fuji's mouth in a ravaging kiss, one
hand threading through Fuji's hair and pulling them back to give him more access
as he let his tongue explore the inner recesses of Fuji's mouth. He let his
other hand ran through Fuji's back, the calloused skin of his palm from holding
a tennis racket for too long making faint traces of bruises on the creamy pale
skin.
He sank deeper into the sofa so that his head leaned against the armrest, Fuji's
supple body spread over him in such erotic sense, one leg flung over the side
and into the floor, the other caught between his slightly raised knees. He
groaned, unconsciously kneading Fuji's lower body against the rough fabric of
his trousers, rewarding him with Fuji's throaty moan, until even he wasn't
sure if the soft purring that filled the room came from the cat or were his own.
Fuji had tempted him beyond his limits, but it was his lust that made a mockery
out of his will, until he was left with nothing but a yearning too intense that
it was almost blinding...
And reason fled.
a/n: Sorry, I know I took so long to update and now, I'm leaving you with a cliffhanger ^^; gomen. I don't really have much of a plot here so this fic is probably going to end soon, but don't worry, I promise I won't end this fic until Tezuka and Fuji get some serious lovey-dovey stuff done ^.~
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