Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. Not me. Please don't sue.
AN: As if we didn't all know by now, Cin is a hella slow writer. And she's also wicked. Very, very wicked. Innocent souls who wish not to subject themselves to evil Ryoma torture should turn back. Otherwise, happy reading. Comments and criticisms welcome. Enjoy.
Torture
By Cinpii
She was warm. And that was all that mattered. The exhaustion of the day had taken a toll on the young girl's system, and she slept with surprising thoroughness.
Sakuno hummed softly in drowsy contentment, rubbing her cheek against her pillow, burrowing her face deeper into the ready warmth. She was so cold before, but all she could register now was the lulling waves of heat permeating every inch of her body. It felt incredibly nice. She hadn't felt this relaxed in a long while. She sighed, luxuriating in the encompassing heat. The freezing chill was like a distant memory, faded and forgotten.
Ryoma laid there rigidly, jaws clenched, palms fisted. Kami-sama, what was she doing? His mind mentally screamed, demanding an answer to the rhetorical question. Without rhyme or reason, her hands roamed over him. Frozen from the fear of waking her up, Ryoma could only lie there and let them.
Dainty, sleep inquisitive fingers skimmed over his torso, brushing over the uncovered flesh. They trailed over the molded contours of pectorals and obliques, the movements whisper light and delicate.
His forehead wrinkled, brows worried together. Every follicle in her fingers' lazy path stood on end, the sparks of tingly sensations triggering them erect. Never had he been aware of something so paltry like the tiny, invisible hairs that covered his body. Now they were all vying, making their presence known.
The boy grimaced as her fingertips splayed, their touch becoming more insistent. Up her hands would go, smoothing over the sides of his chest. Down, caressing over his ribs and abs. A muscle in Ryoma's jaw flexed in reaction to Sakuno's sleepy caresses.
She shifted a bit, a delightful wriggle that sent his toes curling. His free arm jolted up as he gasped. Oi, oi, she shouldn't be wiggling over that section of his body. It was too… pleasurable. Anymore and he'd go cross-eyed and embarrass himself. Literally.
Ryoma laid there paralyzed, uncertain of what to do. She was shifting over an extremely sensitive area. And while he wanted to stop her, he dared not risk it. It was pertinent that she wake up first. Of course that wasn't the case for he had already beaten her to it, but he couldn't have Sakuno think that.
If she woke up first and found him unconscious, her kind-heartedness would surpass any ill feelings she harbored towards him. The guilt she'd undoubtedly feel would make her that much more receptive to his apology. He'd apologize, she'd accept, and life as he knew it would go back to normal.
If he had to be unscrupulous and sneaky to get his way, that was ok. He'd have her smiles again, her shy greetings, her presence to cheer him during his matches. He'd have…
Her.
The trouble was, the dratted girl wouldn't stop moving. How could he lie there feigning unconsciousness when she kept moving? She couldn't lie docilely and soak up his heat, no, she had to shift around, move her hands up and down his naked torso, make little moaning noises. And smell good while she did it too.
The gods hated him. They had to. He wasn't experienced enough to withstand this onslaught. They knew it, and that's why he was put in this situation. It was all some sort of divine punishment.
A cold bead of sweat rolled down the boy's temple and disappeared into his hairline. He couldn't take much more of this. This was unbearable. Ryoma's adolescent mind was on overload. Here he was on a cold, rainy night, stuck in a shed with an unconscious girl. Not only was she lying on top of him, which was bad enough, but they were both half naked, which was even worse.
While his eyesight was impaired, his hearing was not. In the darkness with one less sensory receptor, his hearing became especially acute. Ryoma had registered every plop of her wet clothing that fell to the floor. He had stood rigid and suffered from hormone-induced visions of the innocent girl undressing, pulling off her clingy, formfitting clothes. He could imagine Sakuno buffing off her rain-slicked skin, shivering delicately from the chill, drawing on his shirt.
His shirt. And nothing else.
Fiery licks of heat blossomed upon Ryoma's cheeks. His eyes shuttered for one intense moment as he gathered all his willpower to suppress the image of the pigtailed girl in his shirt. The white cloth would be oversized on her tiny frame, making her even more adorable and yummy. One quick smile flit across Ryoma's face at the appealing thought.
Then it died because the realization hit him. She was in his shirt. And just his shirt. And nothing else. And he had to play dead and not touch her, because the fates hated him. With his luck, the moment he did something lewd (not that he would ever consider such a thing being raised with his puritan father and all), she would wake up.
She would wake up, scream holy hell, probably slap the bejeezus outta him, and run home crying to the coach, accusing him of molestation. He'd be shunned from society, kicked out of school, and his tennis would be taken away from him before he developed the skills to trounce his father mano a mano.
Maybe the darkness was driving him crazy. His thoughts surely weren't logical or sane or even characteristic. Nonetheless, Ryoma wasn't going risk the chance of being caught doing anything. So he laid there. And suffered.
The unconscious girl remained oblivious to it all, and continued her cozy nap.
Long, dreadful minutes slunk by as the boy tried to occupy his mind with other thoughts. Think of something. Anything. Ryoma's mind blanked. He couldn't conjure a single thing that didn't involve a certain pigtailed girl. As a last resort, he screwed his eyes tight to help block her out.
Over the thumping of his heart, the rhythmic impact of rain driving into their shelter permeated his ears. The sound of thunder boomed, resonating through the walls. Senses distracted from the girl, Ryoma cocked his ears to observe more. It was then when he heard something curious. Like the sound of a leaky faucet, little plinks echoed throughout the tool shed.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
He couldn't believe it.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
Was this shed so old that it's roof was leaking?
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
It was then when he registered something cold seeping into his shoulder.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
Ryoma carefully elevated the joint, trying to move without stirring Sakuno awake.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
He blinked in realization.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
His shoulder was wet.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
Cat shaped eyes narrowed in irritation.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
Ryoma's teeth grinded together.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
Unbelievable.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
Was he getting wet all over again?
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
His right eyebrow twitched.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
His shoulder was really wet.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
Lips drew into a firm line as the tennis prodigy closed his eyes and tried to access the damage.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
How could he not have noticed it before?
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
His entire shoulder was wet.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
Stewing in bitterness, Ryoma's thoughts turned surly. What else could go wrong?
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
The boy then realized that his knee was damp too.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
No.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
No way.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
His dry school uniform was getting wet too.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
This was just fucked up wrong.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
The warm body on him shifted, and Ryoma froze, air caged in his lungs.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
It didn't occur to him until now, but if his shoulder and knee were getting wet, who knew how many other leaks their shelter had?
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
Maybe Sakuno was getting wet as well.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
And if she was getting wet…
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
She'd wake up any moment now.
Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink.
Oh hell.
Sakuno's cheek twitched when she felt something cold slide down the back of her neck. The chilly drop of water soon acclimated to her body temperature, but the initial shock was enough. Like pinpricks, drop after slow drop splattered upon her nape.
Heavy eyelids opened, bleary from interrupted sleep. Where was she? And why was her neck getting wet? With a hand she reached up to rub off the accumulated moisture, blinking rapidly while she did so.
Why was it so dark in her room? She always turned her nightlight on. It was a gift from Tomoka back in third grade. She had grown too old for it by now, but switching it on was a long formed habit.
Sakuno shifted, moving out of the path of the leak. Her right hand slid under her to support her weight. It stopped when it encountered something peculiar.
Concrete. Cold, hard, and unyielding. The extreme temperature contrast shot through her system and her hand withdrew back to the warm cavity of her chest. Sakuno paused, her sleepy brain now jolted awake.
Reddish brown eyes widened. Dark pupils dilated, trying to let in any perceivable source of light. There were none. The sound of the rain, dull white noise before, sharpened. Sakuno's ears perked as the inclement weather bore down all around her. She froze, forgetting to breathe as the memories swamped her.
After buttoning down the shirt he lent her, she had turned around, intending to ask if she could also borrow his belt. His top was too big for her. Using a belt would help conserve warmth. So distracted by the sheer awkwardness of their situation, Sakuno had forgotten about the soaking puddles of material that encircled her feet. She had tripped on the wet clothes she had discarded in her haste to dress.
And now Ryoma was a victim of her stupid clumsiness.
The realization of her situation couldn't have stunned her more. How could something so innocuous as solitary wall practice result in this? She was lying on Echizen Ryoma. Her heart thumped in her chest at the thought. She was lying on Echizen Ryoma.
And he wasn't moving.
The braided girl closed her eyes, wallowing in her shame. What she did was wretchedly egregious. Why was she so klutzy? She would never forgive herself if he wasn't okay.
The tentative whisper of his name slowly threaded its way into the still air. Laced with uncertainty and regret, Sakuno's voice caressed the prone boy's senses. Seizing the opportunity to carry out his plan, Ryoma feigned unconsciousness. Play dead.
The gentle weight on his body disappeared and for a moment, Ryoma lamented the absence. It wasn't long before he was besieged with a new stimulus though.
"Ryoma-kun?" It was soft and breathy against his cheek. And warm. Luxuriously warm. She repeated the words, the puffs from her inquiry above his lips. Her breath was sweet, just like how he always imagined she'd be. Sweet. Soft. Warm. Ryoma laid there in hazy, almost dreamy contentment from the pleasure of her attention.
Sakuno was getting worried. He must have hit his head harder than she thought. Ryoma wasn't responding and this was making her uneasy. Small tendrils of panic curled around her heart, tightening painfully.
"Ryoma-kun. Say something. Please." The beginning of small tears sprung in her eyes. What was she going to do? With a hand, she blindly patted in the general direction of his head. Upon contact, fingers threaded through his hair and smoothed over his profile. All vestiges of demureness were lost in Sakuno's panicked state when he remained unmoving.
She needed to ascertain his breathing. One palm slid over his naked chest to feel if it would rise while she lowered her ear to his nose. In the darkness with obscure references, Sakuno's judgment of distance was off. His lips grazed the swell of her cheek and she blushed. She didn't intend that at all.
The girl adjusted positions with a tiny movement of her head, the delicate shell of her ear hovering centimeters from his mouth. His soft expel of air caressed the sensitive area, making her shiver unexpectedly.
Sakuno immediately withdrew, blushing hard and chastising herself. She couldn't have this reaction to a boy who didn't like her back. It'd just make her vulnerable again, and dealing with the hurt the first time was bad enough.
He insulted her. Flippantly commented that no one would ever want to date her. His words were so callous, arrogant and hurtful; the pigtailed girl trembled in anger as the memories came rushing to the fore.
With the circumstances being as it was, she had forgotten all about that little comment. The darkness, rain and thunder had struck so quickly, so unexpectedly, she forgot everything. Echizen Ryoma was a cad. Just because he came and saved her from being alone on a scary night, just because he was here with her, what did that have to do with anything?
He was a stupid, dense boy and she was equally stupid for falling for him. For letting herself feel something for him, when it was so obvious he didn't feel the same. A month had passed and nothing had changed. He didn't care. And if he didn't, then she wouldn't either.
Sakuno pushed off him with angry energy, unmindful of how the rough cement floor ate into her tender palms. Tomo-chan can have you, she thought. Although frankly, you're not good enough for her, either.
She was getting on her knees, gung ho about marching home. She'd rather brave thunder and lightening and pelting bullets of rain than be stuck here any longer with Him.
So intent on leaving, what happened next took her by surprise. Sakuno's muscles tensed up. Her body froze into place when the hand closed around her wrist. The voice was low, but filled with steely determination. A soft spoken command.
"Don't go."