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 ^.~

Go to Chapters: 1 2 3