chineseink | [PoT] &design;, PG, Abstract Gen, TezuFuji

&design;
Prince of Tennis, TezuFuji, PG, 932 words
Late nights and their own abstract version of dependability.

Note: Okay, mostly this was written just so I could play around with table design and fic formatting. I got bored, okay? And I'm very talented in procrastinating on my final paper, half of which remains to be written in less than 12 hours. Ohshit.

☆ you& me; here now forever

&design;
everything Fuji does is by design

»square one
Tezuka shrugs out of his uniform top, feeling the fabric catch slightly against his hair as he tugs it over his head. He folds it neatly, movements brisk, and tucks it into his locker, placing his folded glasses on top. World blurry, he strips off his uniform pants and sneakers and wraps a towel around his waist, heading towards the showers with shampoo and soap in hand. It was a long practice, he muses to himself as his bare feet pad against the chilly tile, but productive. Inui's new training menu looks promising. The regulars are shaping up well under the hard work. He reaches out a hand to turn on the tap, twisting the handle until hot water streams from the showerhead, misting against his chest. Slinging the towel off and onto a nearby bench, Tezuka steps forward under the spray and tilts his head back, eyes closing as he relaxes.

it takes two
Fuji looks at the darkened clubroom with hooded eyes, smile absent as he evaluates the dim outlines of the lockers through the one window. It is late but he knows Tezuka was held up with paperwork after the long afternoon practice. If Fuji slides inside, whisper-quiet, it will be just the two of them in the shadows and fading light of the changing room. Alone together, he thinks as his mouth curves, an oxymoron. Hand rising, he opens the door and steps inside, tennis bag still slung over his shoulder. He didn't go home after practice either, instead accompanying Eiji to the subways before meandering along the strip of nearby shops and making his way back to the deserted courts. He can hear the sound of water running, pattering against the tiles, interrupted by a sleek, muscled body. "Are you ready to go, Tezuka?" he almost asks but then he swallows his voice and stands in the darkness, turning his back to the faint light coming from the showers.

third time's the charm
He doesn't see Fuji when he first leaves the brightly lit showers for the dim locker room. His vision is blurry, anyway, and it isn't until a hand falls upon his left wrist, soft breaths tickling the air before him, that Tezuka realizes how close Fuji is. "What are you doing here?" he asks, frowning. "You should be at home." It is late and practice is long over. He brushes past him to reach his locker, fingers skating over rough-smooth cotton, searching. He blinks when Fuji moves in front of him again and he sees the glint of light off the frames of his glasses. His mouth tightens briefly. "Fuji," he says softly, disapprovingly, and the other boy's features are nothing but a blur of shadows and light before him. He sighs and waits.

four by six
"Sorry," says Fuji unrepentantly as he hands over the glasses with a smile. He tilts his head as Tezuka slips them on and focuses his eyes, dark, on him. "I was just looking at them. You were taking a really long shower, na?" His fingers trail carelessly down Tezuka's arm, smoothing away water droplets with apparent concentration. His touch is carefully light. "Saa, you should get dressed or you'll get a cold. And we can't afford a sick captain right now." A teasing smile flickers as he steps back, slipping his hands into his pockets and letting cool air rush between them, and Tezuka shivers slightly. "I'll walk you home."

five little piggies
He dresses in silence, aware of the ever-present gaze on his back. It doesn't make him uncomfortable because Tezuka has long since grown into the feel of his skin over his bones, but it makes him think that he isn't the only one waiting. "Why are you here?" he asks again, voice gentler this time; curious, not reprimanding. He turns after gathering his things, slinging his bag over his shoulder and shutting the locker. His keys are in his hand, ready to lock up the clubhouse, and his eyes meet Fuji's again.

six ways to Sunday
A rustle of cloth and a whisper of rushing air and then Fuji has a hand at the back of Tezuka's neck, tugging his head lower. Their mouths meet in an awkward, gentle collision of surprised lips and warm breath. Fuji can feel the edges of Tezuka's glasses pressing into his cheek, sharp and cool in contrast to the shower-heat still rising from Tezuka's skin. Damp hair tickles his fingers and Fuji licks his lips, shifts his body, and feels his tennis bag weigh heavily, familiarly, against his back and the new, warm press of Tezuka against his front. He sighs.

seventh wonder of the world
Tezuka swallows and pulls back, staring into simmering blue eyes. "Fuji," he says, unsettled. His keys jangle as he lets his arm drop from where it unconsciously rose to rest on the other boy's hip. It has been so long that he's been waiting, subconsciously, for this, he thinks. Since their first year. "This doesn't change anything," he says, because he is still captain of the tennis club, because they still have to work their way to Nationals, and he still has a pillar to mold, a team to lead, games to play. Fuji's answering smile is amiable, agreeable, and Tezuka knows that as capricious as their prodigy can be, he can be leaned on when the need arises. Fuji's chatter is a soft murmur in the background as he locks the door, comfortingly dependable.

∵
you are my pillar of support

Started/Finished: 05.04.2006