Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. Not me. Please don't sue. Certain ideas were inspired from Beriath's 'Strawberry'.
AN: Arousal is a state of awareness. Very fitting, ne? Enjoy.
Arousal
By Cinpii
Minutes passed, but it could have been hours. It was certainly possible, with the way his groggy senses were behaving. Tiny motes of light danced beneath his lids, swarming, making him dizzy. Ryoma opened his eyes to make it stop. It didn't help. Even without the dancing lights, he was still disoriented. He couldn't see anything.
What happened? He couldn't remember. Recollection was fuzzy at the moment. Just where the hell was he, anyway? The coldness of the concrete seeped though his clothes, leaving Ryoma confused as to why he was lying on the ground in complete darkness.
Clarity trickled slowly, the fuzzy fingers of memory tickling his consciousness. He frowned as he tried to recall the past events. It was raining. Yes, that was right. That would explain why his hair felt damp, and why he could hear the onslaught of nature against the barriers of the shelter. He had got caught in the rain. But how?
The boy closed his eyes, his head reeling. Ryoma bit back a groan and rubbed the back of his skull. Built up pressure from ruptured capillaries had spilled blood into the tissues of the inner epidermal layers of his head, causing the area to throb incessantly. Ryoma winced as he touched the carnage. The protrusion was tender and painful. He wondered if he sustained a concussion.
Questing fingers touched moisture, but the wetness was slick, not sticky. A good sign, which meant he wasn't bleeding. Outwardly anyway. From the feel of it, he could tell this bruise was a keeper. Just lovely. How he'd kill for a pillow, the boy thought idly.
Taking a mental assessment of the rest of his body, Ryoma realized he couldn't feel his lower half. It was difficult moving his legs, and for a brief moment the frightening thought of paraplegia paralyzed him. Suddenly the bump on his head seemed insignificant in comparison. Had he damaged more than just the base of his cranium? His breaths became shallow at the notion, making each inhale a laborious effort. It didn't help that there was a heavy weight on his chest.
His heart slammed into his sternum, icy fear wrapping itself around his lungs and constricting his breaths. He was lying on the ground in complete darkness, and aside from one arm, he couldn't move. The frightening reality of the situation sobered him. Where was he?
Ryoma breathed deeply, forcing oxygen into his body so he could think. Memories swirled in his mind, indefinite shapes forming blurry images that did little to appease his apprehension. The blurs melded together, becoming more lucid. A weather beaten structure. No, three of them. Pelting rain. Lightening. Wind. He nodded mentally. That was right. He took shelter in a tool shed. A crease formed between his brows. That made sense, but why was he lying on the ground?
More memories emerged, adding their clues to the puzzle. It was an old structure. He broke the handle to get in. The place was crammed with discarded gym equipment. Steel weights, plastic hurdles, wooden stands, blue floor mats. Tons of dusty, miscellaneous junk. So it was entirely possible that something might have crashed onto him during his blind descent into oblivion.
Blind descent into oblivion? The boy shook his head, trying to piece the jumble of memories into some state of sensibility. So he had fallen. Probably shot his arms out and grabbed something for support, which ended up backfiring and just fell along with him. More correctly, onto him.
But there was something nagging him. That didn't make sense at all. He wasn't clumsy. Perhaps in the dark, but it was a stretch of imagination to think of him bumping into something so hard he toppled backwards. There was only gym equipment here, right?
So why didn't it feel like gym equipment? Ryoma closed his eyes, feeling drained. He was battling fatigue and the remnants of confusion brought on by a concussion. To top it off, his injuries throbbed with renewed vigor.
And he thought slamming onto clay courts hurt. Boy was he wrong. Note to self: don't fall onto concrete if you can help it. Well, at least he still had his sarcasm. Not that it consoled him much.
Lying there in the dark, immobile and freezing and bewildered, the alluring scent of strawberries tickled his nose.
Strawberries?
Weird. What was a scent like strawberries doing in a dusty, unused shed in the middle of a stormy night? Maybe he was going crazy. People with hypothermia suffered from delirium, right?
Ryoma frowned as he inhaled as much as the heavy weight on his chest would allow. The scent of the crimson fruit did not dissipate. Heh. Crimson reminded him of Sakuno's cheeks when she blushed.
Ryoma's eyes flashed open.
The memories came in an overwhelming torrent. Why he stayed late after practice. How he got caught in the rain. What he did to get into this shelter. But most importantly, who he was sharing the shelter with. Ryoma grimaced. He didn't bump into something. That something bumped into him. Or more accurately, toppled onto him.
Now he knew why gym equipment wasn't soft, and why it didn't smell like strawberries. Because it didn't.
But Ryuzaki Sakuno did.
Oh hell.
This was bad. This was bad. This was so very, very bad. It was almost more preferable to be trapped under piles of miscellaneous junk than to have cute, innocent little Ryuzaki Sakuno lying on top of him.
Almost.
Now that he knew it was her, the cat-eyed boy couldn't deny that it certainly felt better, having her soft, delectable body draped upon his own. But there was such a thing as feeling 'too good', and Ryoma was afraid he was rapidly reacting to just how good it felt.
Damn male adolescent hormones.
The gods were surely tempting him, and using the innocent girl as the lure. He was stubborn though, so he wasn't going to cave. He'd show everyone that Echizen Ryoma was made of tougher stuff than this. Just because the one girl he actually might feel something for was lying lusciously right on top of him, helpless and unaware of any errant touches he might accidentally make, he wasn't going to cave.
Of course not. Echizen Ryoma was a person of the most exacting, rigid character. One only had to look at his upbringing. His father was an outstanding example of an upright citizen with unyielding morals. So it went without saying that Ryoma grew up in a home where perverted thoughts and hentai intentions did not run amuck. Such crude, base tendencies were overcome by superior integrity alone. Right.
Therefore Ryoma, growing up in that kind of atmosphere, would know that it would be morally, not to mention ethically and socially wrong to molest an unsuspecting, unconscious girl. And given this incredible chance by the oh-so-generous fates that be, he, Echizen Ryoma, son of Echizen Nanjiroh, would not even be tempted to so much as entertain the thought.
And Karupin really was a raccoon.
Who was he kidding? It was working. And she wasn't being so innocent, the way she was laying on him. Tempting him. Sheesh, she was practically inviting him to touch her. He could only restrain himself so much before he caved. He was a guy after all.
Ryoma laid there in silent misery, one part of him screaming to touch her damnit, and touch her now while she was still unconscious. The other part, the stupid logical part, screaming with equal ferocity to not touch a hair on her, lest she accuse him of despicable intentions (which wasn't too far off the bat).
To explore forbidden pleasures. To not explore forbidden pleasures. What a crappy situation the fates put him in. If he succumbed, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it. If he didn't succumb, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it. The cat-eyed boy frowned. Either way, it sucked.
In a lose-lose situation like this, he might as well cop a feel and at least walk away with something. Ryoma's hand twitched, hovering over the general area of her delectable little derrière. Just when he was about to make contact, a nasty image of his father cheering him on flashed in his mind. His hand couldn't fall back fast enough.
Ugh. Thoughts of oyaji. Ryoma shuddered. His mood quickly soured.
This was all her fault, the boy thought grumpily. If he was caught between a rock and a hard place, it was her own doing, not his. Why was he feeling guilty? She was the one to fall on him. He was a totally innocent bystander, minding his own business, standing on his side of the narrow haphazard aisle in this godforsaken tool shed. So he wasn't going to feel guilty if he touched her without her knowledge or consent.
In fact, he deserved an apology for being her human pillow. Yes, that was right. He was the innocent party here. It was his body she was lying on, his body she was drawing heat from, and his body that was throbbing from the fucking fall.
Suddenly angry with self-importance, Ryoma raised his hand and nudged at the body draped unconsciously upon him.
"Oi," he prompted. "I'm not your damn pillow."
A soft whimper permeated the air. Ryoma blinked. He nudged her again, more forcefully.
"Get off."
Sakuno moaned softly from being stirred from her gentle slumber. She nuzzled deeper into him before quieting down, her breaths slow and peaceful.
Ryoma exhaled loudly, closing his eyes in defeat. What the hell was he supposed to do now? It didn't take a genius to figure out that the only reason she was cuddling against him so desperately was because she was cold and unconsciously seeking his body heat.
This wasn't working. The boy grit his teeth in frustration. How could he get her off him if she didn't cooperate?
Ok, so that was a weak excuse. If he really wanted to shove her off, he could. She wasn't that heavy. And there was enough space in this narrow shed for her to lie. But she was shivering. And it wasn't that bad having her lay on him. It was actually kind of… nice.
Not that Ryoma let him admit it to himself. Instead, he rationalized his slip of generosity. Sakuno needed him. Without him, she'd probably die from hypothermia.
So that was how Ryoma slid down the slippery slope of rationality. He ended up convincing himself that she was cold, freezing really, and needed his body heat. The clothing he lent her, a plain white button down shirt, was hardly enough to fend off the chill. And she was so fragile and delicate, he'd feel guilty if her health was negatively affected from this whole ordeal. Especially if all he had to do was lie there and let her soak up his body warmth.
Besides, Ryoma rationalized even farther, she was so clumsy and slow, he was practically obligated to look after her. Even though it was her fault they were in this mess, he would have to be the one cleaning it up. Because she was just too helpless.
Right.
He deserved an award for his altruism. The tennis prodigy mentally patted himself on the back.
So why did he feel like he was taking advantage of her? He frowned as his thoughts cycled again to whose fault this was. If he really thought about it, it all started because he said something stupid and cruel.
Ryoma huffed. He didn't want to think about it anymore, it made him feel bad. Made him feel guilty. But his mind didn't listen to his will, and pondered the questions once more. Why did she have to be there when he said it? Why did he have to say it in the first place? And why did it hurt so much when she ignored him?
Why did it still hurt, even now?
He was the prince. The rising star. She was a little nobody no one was ever going to look twice at. Easily replaceable, people like her were a dime a dozen.
As soon as those thoughts entered his mind, Ryoma knew they were false. He had to stop lying to himself. He liked her. He didn't want to, but he did. Sakuno was… special. He didn't know how or why but it was time to stop deluding himself. Maybe then their relationship could actually go somewhere.
Which only meant one thing. Ryoma grimaced. He'd have to suck it up and apologize. No running away this time. His resolve hardened and the boy nodded, knowing that this was the right thing to do. Then Sakuno shifted, and something else hardened.
Damn, that felt good. Ryoma mentally slapped himself. Don't think about that.
But she shifted again, and he couldn't help it. All those sexy wiggles were doing things to him. Sakuno mumbled an incoherent phrase, and her warm breath caressed the sensitive column of Ryoma's neck. A shiver of pleasure jolted through him and he gasped in surprise.
Ryoma swallowed thickly. Was it getting hot in here? He was suddenly wearing way too much clothes. Although the logical part of his mind told him it was freezing cold outside and he was only clad in his pants and school uniform, Ryoma was suddenly, unbearably, insufferably overheated.
She nuzzled into his throat, unconsciously seeking the heat he emitted. Her small palms bunched, grabbing fistfuls of his open top. His open, unbuttoned top. The top he didn't get the chance to fasten before the fall. Which meant that the only thing separating their bodies was a thin, white dress shirt. And that thin white shirt was probably the only thing covering her.
Oh boy.
His breathing shallowed, but for other reasons now. He was going to go lightheaded from the lack of oxygen to his brain.
So breathe.
Ryoma released the pent up air in his lungs. Sakuno's prostrate body sank even deeper into him. He inhaled quickly, and she rose as his chest expanded. He repeated the process only to realize that the more he kept doing it, the more aware of her he became.
The tennis prodigy closed his eyes in defeat. Deep breaths weren't working. He supposed it didn't matter anyway. The way things were going, all that oxygen-rich blood was going down his pants.
Ryoma tried not to think about the position of their bodies, but the more he tried not to, the more he did. Little tremors enveloped his frame and he stiffened, trying to fight off the sensations. He'd never thought it'd feel like this. Having the soft, pliant form of Sakuno's body on him, breathing in her strawberry-scented hair, entertaining impure thoughts of him feasting on her sweetness…
She started to stir and Ryoma panicked. Irrationality seized him. If she woke up and found him awake, what would she think? She certainly wouldn't be thanking him for enjoying the potential grope session, that was for sure. Although he was innocent on that count, the boy was taking no chances.
Out of self-preservation, Ryoma decided to play dead. He wasn't ready for the confrontation yet. And the logical part of his mind told him that she probably wouldn't be receptive to an apology in their current situation – which was naked. Practically. There was a time and place for everything, and right now was definitely not it.
The boy went limp and held his breath, although his heart was thumping furiously. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead. She was shifting again, and oh, that shifting felt so good, and yet so bad at the same time.
Hoping that his body wouldn't betray him, Ryoma sent a request to the heavens, praying to the gods that she wouldn't wake up. Too bad his luck sucked.