Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Note: Part 3 of 5 from the Five Senses Arc.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Archive: As you will. Just let me know.
Dedication: Smell is for Nightengale13 because I can (and, oh yes, because she's wonderful).
Smell
by Ryuuza
"Roses," Ryoma said impatiently, shifting in his seat. "Fuji," he complained, "can we stop now?"
Fuji surveyed the scene, an unseen proprietary smile on his face. They were in Fuji's room, all prim and proper as it should be, except for the fact that the younger boy was bare from the waist up, situated in a wooden chair, and bound hand and foot with silk scarves. Oh, and blindfolded, Fuji noted with amusement.
"Not yet," he said sweetly, running the long-stemmed white rose along the line of Ryoma's bare chest and eliciting a broken breath before replacing it among the various items scattered across his bed. His fingers closed around a delicate wooden fan and he snapped it open, waving it gently through the air and fanning himself.
In his seat, Ryoma twitched in dread.
Oh, Fuji did so love having Ryoma at his mercy. He held the scented fan near Ryoma's face. "What about this?" he asked.
Ryoma inhaled. "Sandalwood," he said easily.
Fuji's eyes twinkled and he leaned forward swiftly and pressed a kiss to Ryoma's mouth. "Well done," he murmured against his lips.
Ryoma twitched and bit him.
Chuckling, the tensai pulled back and ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Saa," he said with mild reproach. "And I was just about to untie you. I guess you prefer to stay the way you are now, ne, Ryoma?"
"Fuji," growled the younger boy.
A slender finger tapped his nose. "Be good or I'll gag you too. And that would spoil all the fun." Moving back toward the bed, ignoring his boyfriend's pout, Fuji lay the fan down and swept his gaze over the assortment thoughtfully. After a moment, he returned to Ryoma, standing in front of his chair in silence.
Ryoma shifted in his seat uneasily, tugging halfheartedly at his binds. "What?" he asked crossly, sensing the other boy even with his blindfold on.
Fuji lifted his hands and fisted them suddenly in Ryoma's hair, jerking his head up even as Fuji's came down to meet him, their mouths crashing together with something just short of complete gracelessness.
Their mouths were familiar with each other, warm and welcoming. Fuji's tongue slipped easily into Ryoma's mouth, touring with a knowing surety. Ryoma made a soft noise, plaintive, as he felt his annoyance at the tensai melt away. He struggled to get closer, tugging at Fuji's lower lip in a gentler echo of his earlier action.
One of Fuji's hands slid from Ryoma's hair to trail along his jaw ands lid over his neck. It rested on his pulse, stroking. Ryoma whimpered, wishing his hands were free, wishing he could touch the older boy.
Then, suddenly, Fuji was gone, retreating hastily and Ryoma couldn't even see why. All his senses graced him with was a sudden chill and the sound of harsh breathing from a few feet away.
"Fuji?" he asked hoarsely, licking his lips.
There was something akin to a small moan and then the rasp of a zipper broke through the air. Ryoma froze.
He couldn't be— Fuji couldn't—wouldn't— Would he? Oh god, was he?
His heart pounded in his throat, making breathing difficult, as Ryoma sat very, very still, trying to keep his breaths quiet so he could hear better.
A hitch of breath—Ryoma's mind spun dizzily, he was too familiar with the sound, more often than not being the cause of it—the sounds of skin on skin—he bit his lip—ragged breathing, a quiet, longing sound—he shuddered, arousal jumping along every millimeter of skin. He wanted, needed, god, wanted to be on Fuji. Touching him. Making his blue eyes cloud over with need, eliciting these moans and gasps, hard-earned proof of Fuji's relinquish of control…
Fuji's breath was coming faster, the rustling of his movements increasing in pace, but he said nothing. Needy sounds escaped him and wrapped sinuously along Ryoma's groin but no complete word slipped past his lips.
Fuji, Ryoma thought, tense and all-too-aware and on edge.
And then it was over and he heard the long breath sighing from Fuji's lips, the small noise of content, and found his fists clenched, nails digging into his palm.
"Untie me," he demanded, voice slightly unsteady. "Fuji."
A rustle, a brush of warm air, and Fuji was beside him again, kneeling before him, if his instincts were right. "Ne, Ryoma," the older boy said breathily. "Do you recognize this?" Fingers, still slick, were raised to his face, the smell emanating from them sharp and familiar.
"Fuji-senpai's come," Ryoma said sweetly, then lifted his head and caught those fingers in his mouth. He tongued them thoroughly, stomach tight and nerves afire, but pleased when Fuji let another soft whimper escape.
He let the fingers slip out of his mouth, running his tongue around his mouth and savoring the slightly bitter taste. "Now untie me, Syuusuke."
Warm arms reached around him and then his hands fell free, his blindfold following soon after. Ryoma stared into the dusky blue eyes trained on his. "What do I smell like?" he asked, expecting only one answer.
The eyes flashed and the familiar smile reappeared. "Sex," said Fuji.
To go: Taste, Hear, Smell, Sight, Touch
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