Title: Silent Perfection
Fandom: Prince of Tennis (Tennis no Ouji-sama)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. This story is a tribute to another's
work, and as such, Eleya claims ownership of nothing but the story that she wrote. All contents
within are either products of the author's mind or used fictitiously;
any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), business
establishments, locales, or events are entirely coincidental unless
otherwise stated.
Type: Yaoi/shounen-ai
Rating: PG-13 for groping in the locker room. Prince Academy has finally started corrupting me.
Challenge: Livejournal community 'tenipuri500' , trial and error
Summary:
Sometimes rivalry between two people can lead to something more, and
the stronger the rivalry, the stronger the emotional undercurrent in
the relationship between two people.
Author's notes: This is
the first time I've written something PG-13 due to actual groping
rather than language or violence. O.o; Scary. I had not originally
intended to end it there, but it was such a perfect place to do so that
I had no choice. XD Anything more would have been smacking you in the
face with what I was trying to do. Anyway, please R&R...
constructive criticism welcomed! Oh, and if someone can explain to me
how to link places, I would love you forever.
It began with a look.
All alone in the locker room, with
only the rustling of cloth to fill the silence in the air, your glance
meets mine and freezes, questioning. A nod, and your lips – so soft,
and tasting faintly of fries and grease – meet mine, your kiss gentle
and hesitant. It's as if you can't quite bring yourself to believe this
is happening, and I feel it too. How often had I dreamt of this, the
stirring of your lips against mine, the gentle way my fingers – barely
touching – slide up your arm and the moment when you finally – finally!
– believe and your questing tongue meets mine? Too long, it seems, but
not in vain, for here you are before me.
Your kiss grows more
insistent, and I gasp as you push me against the wall and desire
courses through my veins. It is frightening and gratifying to feel you
against me like this, and a hundred – no, a hundred thousand – 'what
ifs' cross my mind, but your touch is so immediate, and I can't not respond. It is as if I am dying, drowning, and the only thing that can save me is your lips against mine.
Your
eyes are open, staring into mine, and I wonder how it is that a human
can have such lovely, striking eyes. Your hand is in my hair, pulling
it out of its bandana and tugging ever so slightly. Then you pull back
with an odd smile and I trace the line of your jaw before we both turn
and go to practise, wondering what this new knowledge will bring.
