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chineseinkThrill Pair Revolution
Title: Domesticity
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Ryoma thinks of Fuji and gets intimate with himself.
Domesticity
by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
meitachi
Ryoma awoke to the smell of miso soup and his stomach rumbled. Breakfast, he thought sleepily, lifting his head and casting a cursory look around the room. The sheets beside him were rumpled but empty; clearly, Fuji had already risen and probability said there was a good chance he was the one in the kitchen, whipping up a Japanese breakfast.
Sitting up, Ryoma yawned and stretched, feeling sore muscles complain. He winced and then scowled to himself. His boyfriend had been in the mood for rough sexplay last night, especially if the blindfold and handcuffs were any indication, and while Ryoma had had no complaints then, this morning was a different matter. He was glad he didn't have any tennis matches scheduled for the day--he wouldn't be up to par in his current condition. That wasn't to say he wouldn't be able to play, and most probably still defeat his opponent, but perhaps just not as quickly and decisively as usual.
Sounds of pots and pans clattered comfortingly from the kitchen and Ryoma was surprised at how content he felt suddenly. Being domestic...it wasn't something he'd ever expected when he'd gotten involved with his blue-eyed senpai all those years ago. Sadism and relentless teasing and a lot of good tennis --and sex, later on-- had been in the arena of his expectations, but this... Well. He shifted again, leaning back against the tall pillows and idly stroking his morning erection, a small smile on his face. This was good too.
And the tennis was definitely something he had no complaints about. Fuji still made him work for it, though Ryoma won more often than not, now that the other boy had taken up photography as his university major. The sex, Ryoma thought, smirking to himself, was nothing to complain about either. Especially now that Ryoma was out of high school. He'd had more...creative sex in the past few months than in the first three years of their relationship.
Ryoma breathed slow and deep, hand curling around his cock, heat pounding low and deep in his stomach. Fuji was beautiful when he played tennis, all intense blue eyes and flushed skin and sweat and flying hair-- Occasionally in the middle of a match Ryoma would find himself distracted by his boyfriend's appearance, so focused on tennis, and memories of kisses and clever fingers and a twist of the hips would rush over him and he'd find it even harder to breathe.
Sometimes he hated that about Fuji, how he took over Ryoma's consciousness even in the middle of tennis, Ryoma's livelihood and life, but then Fuji would smile at him after the match and he'd remember that there was more now, wasn't there? Breath hitching, Ryoma fisted his hand around himself, pumping up and down as he thrust into the rhythm of his hand, back arching off the bed.
Fuji...
Syuusuke, Ryoma thought, panting. Who teased him mercilessly in bed and out, who said sweet things that caught Ryoma off guard and made him flush as readily as if he'd just been groped in public, and--
Syuusuke who cooked him Japanese breakfasts because he knew Ryoma preferred it over Western-style breakfasts, who fucked him slow and hard in the depths of the night, who bit him and left distinct love-bites to present to the world, who made Ryoma's blood pound in his ears as he cupped his balls with his other hand, trailing feather-light touches as he continued thrusting.
Syuusuke with his camera and his smile and his blue, blue eyes. Syuusuke with his biting wit and sadistic streak and talented mouth, who made Ryoma irritable and grumpy and embarrassed and hot.
Stiffening, Ryoma could feel the heat, white-hot and electric with pleasure, course through him and he couldn't suppress a moan as he came all over his hands and the sheets.
He laid on the bed afterwards, breathing labored, eyes at half mast and a satisfied, content expression. He felt boneless, fluid and sprawling across the sheets, carefully avoiding the wet spot. With an almost disinterested glance, he eyed his hand, still covered with his own semen, and brought it to his mouth and licked it off.
Different from the way Syuusuke tasted, he noted to himself, sucking a finger into his mouth. His tongue wrapped around the digit as his eyes flicked to the doorway, a gentle cough catching his attention.
Fuji stood there resplendent in a pale blue apron with a peppy Kiss The Cook proclamation. He'd crossed his arms and was leaning against the doorframe, eyes open and directed at the boy on the bed. His smile was...deceptively innocuous, Ryoma thought, catching that gaze and returning it with a challenging look.
"Were you having fun without me, Ryoma?" Fuji asked in a gentle, innocent voice.
Ryoma smirked at him, wriggling across the bed to display himself more provocatively. "Maybe."
"Saa..." Fuji stepped towards him. "That's not very considerate of you." He trailed his fingers along the bare skin of Ryoma's arm and smiled again when Ryoma shifted into the touch unconsciously. He leaned down. "And while I was busy making breakfast for you, Ryoma. Tsk tsk," he admonished, breath feathering across Ryoma's cheek. "I should let you go hungry."
"Whatever," Ryoma returned indifferently, winding his arms around Fuji's neck and pulling him down for a kiss.
"Or maybe I should hold off the sex until after you eat?" Fuji murmured into Ryoma's lips.
"Iyada." Ryoma bit him.
Fuji gave in and Ryoma grinned in triumph.
--
Started/Finished: 09.26.2005
Title: Domesticity
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Ryoma thinks of Fuji and gets intimate with himself.
Domesticity
by
meitachiRyoma awoke to the smell of miso soup and his stomach rumbled. Breakfast, he thought sleepily, lifting his head and casting a cursory look around the room. The sheets beside him were rumpled but empty; clearly, Fuji had already risen and probability said there was a good chance he was the one in the kitchen, whipping up a Japanese breakfast.
Sitting up, Ryoma yawned and stretched, feeling sore muscles complain. He winced and then scowled to himself. His boyfriend had been in the mood for rough sexplay last night, especially if the blindfold and handcuffs were any indication, and while Ryoma had had no complaints then, this morning was a different matter. He was glad he didn't have any tennis matches scheduled for the day--he wouldn't be up to par in his current condition. That wasn't to say he wouldn't be able to play, and most probably still defeat his opponent, but perhaps just not as quickly and decisively as usual.
Sounds of pots and pans clattered comfortingly from the kitchen and Ryoma was surprised at how content he felt suddenly. Being domestic...it wasn't something he'd ever expected when he'd gotten involved with his blue-eyed senpai all those years ago. Sadism and relentless teasing and a lot of good tennis --and sex, later on-- had been in the arena of his expectations, but this... Well. He shifted again, leaning back against the tall pillows and idly stroking his morning erection, a small smile on his face. This was good too.
And the tennis was definitely something he had no complaints about. Fuji still made him work for it, though Ryoma won more often than not, now that the other boy had taken up photography as his university major. The sex, Ryoma thought, smirking to himself, was nothing to complain about either. Especially now that Ryoma was out of high school. He'd had more...creative sex in the past few months than in the first three years of their relationship.
Ryoma breathed slow and deep, hand curling around his cock, heat pounding low and deep in his stomach. Fuji was beautiful when he played tennis, all intense blue eyes and flushed skin and sweat and flying hair-- Occasionally in the middle of a match Ryoma would find himself distracted by his boyfriend's appearance, so focused on tennis, and memories of kisses and clever fingers and a twist of the hips would rush over him and he'd find it even harder to breathe.
Sometimes he hated that about Fuji, how he took over Ryoma's consciousness even in the middle of tennis, Ryoma's livelihood and life, but then Fuji would smile at him after the match and he'd remember that there was more now, wasn't there? Breath hitching, Ryoma fisted his hand around himself, pumping up and down as he thrust into the rhythm of his hand, back arching off the bed.
Fuji...
Syuusuke, Ryoma thought, panting. Who teased him mercilessly in bed and out, who said sweet things that caught Ryoma off guard and made him flush as readily as if he'd just been groped in public, and--
Syuusuke who cooked him Japanese breakfasts because he knew Ryoma preferred it over Western-style breakfasts, who fucked him slow and hard in the depths of the night, who bit him and left distinct love-bites to present to the world, who made Ryoma's blood pound in his ears as he cupped his balls with his other hand, trailing feather-light touches as he continued thrusting.
Syuusuke with his camera and his smile and his blue, blue eyes. Syuusuke with his biting wit and sadistic streak and talented mouth, who made Ryoma irritable and grumpy and embarrassed and hot.
Stiffening, Ryoma could feel the heat, white-hot and electric with pleasure, course through him and he couldn't suppress a moan as he came all over his hands and the sheets.
He laid on the bed afterwards, breathing labored, eyes at half mast and a satisfied, content expression. He felt boneless, fluid and sprawling across the sheets, carefully avoiding the wet spot. With an almost disinterested glance, he eyed his hand, still covered with his own semen, and brought it to his mouth and licked it off.
Different from the way Syuusuke tasted, he noted to himself, sucking a finger into his mouth. His tongue wrapped around the digit as his eyes flicked to the doorway, a gentle cough catching his attention.
Fuji stood there resplendent in a pale blue apron with a peppy Kiss The Cook proclamation. He'd crossed his arms and was leaning against the doorframe, eyes open and directed at the boy on the bed. His smile was...deceptively innocuous, Ryoma thought, catching that gaze and returning it with a challenging look.
"Were you having fun without me, Ryoma?" Fuji asked in a gentle, innocent voice.
Ryoma smirked at him, wriggling across the bed to display himself more provocatively. "Maybe."
"Saa..." Fuji stepped towards him. "That's not very considerate of you." He trailed his fingers along the bare skin of Ryoma's arm and smiled again when Ryoma shifted into the touch unconsciously. He leaned down. "And while I was busy making breakfast for you, Ryoma. Tsk tsk," he admonished, breath feathering across Ryoma's cheek. "I should let you go hungry."
"Whatever," Ryoma returned indifferently, winding his arms around Fuji's neck and pulling him down for a kiss.
"Or maybe I should hold off the sex until after you eat?" Fuji murmured into Ryoma's lips.
"Iyada." Ryoma bit him.
Fuji gave in and Ryoma grinned in triumph.
--
Started/Finished: 09.26.2005
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