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chineseinkTitle: How Ryoma Fell Out of Love with Rapster Horio
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
In which Fuji causes chaos by accessorizing and saves Ryoma from the clutches of Horio’s "sexy rapping voice."
[Notes: The sequel to the horror!crack that was![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kasugai_gummie’s Horio/Ryoma drabble.]
How Ryoma Fell Out of Love with Rapster Horio
bymeitachi
“Echizen is dating who?”
Eiji made a face again, features contorted in some expression between disgust and sheer agony. “Horio,” he wailed. He clutched Fuji’s arm and shook it a bit. “Fuji, we have to help him! He must have lost his mind!” He went on to re-empathize the trauma he’d gone through when he and Inui and “stumbled” upon Echizen and Horio “accidentally” the previous afternoon.
Fuji let his friend rave and rant and wail, remaining quiet and thoughtful.
“Do you know why?” he asked gently, breaking in to Eiji’s commotion.
The redhead paused. “He said something about a ‘sexy rapping voice,’ I think.” Eiji proceeded to shudder violently. “Ewwww, Fuji, Ochibi-chan can do much better! Horio has a unibrow!”
Fuji raised an eyebrow. “Echizen likes rap?”
Eiji didn’t hear him as he was occupied with looking appalled and listing all the other people who would be much better for their ochibi. He attracted quite a few strange looks from passersby but Fuji didn’t mind the attention. Street corners were as good a place as any for the hatching of a new scheme.
Rap, he thought meditatively.
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
Ryoma lounged against the tree, hat pulled low over his face. Beside him sat his newly-acquired “boyfriend,” though they had yet to “go out” on a date of any sort. Unless sitting together under a tree counted…
“Do you only know that one song?” Ryoma asked after many long minutes of listening to Horio’s (admittedly sexy) voice rapping the same words over and over again.
“Er…yeah. Eheheh.” Horio looked sheepish and put a hand behind his head. “I only had time to practice one, you know.” His bracelets jingled as they clanked together and over each other, flashing brightly under the sunbeams that filtered through the leaves. Ryoma winced and tugged his cap lower.
“Not all rappers wear twenty bracelets, ten rings, and fourteen necklaces,” he said, shifting on the grass. “In fact, most of them don’t.”
Horio moved again, making enough clinking noises to be reminiscent of a prisoner in chains, and sat back awkwardly against the other boy. “Oh. Well, I, er, am unique. Yeah. I didn’t want to be like all those other rappers.”
“Your arm cuff is digging into my shoulder.”
“Sorry.”
They continued sitting in an uncomfortable silence for the better part of ten minutes. At last, Ryoma exhaled in exasperation. “Just rap again,” he ordered, not bothering to open his eyes.
Horio did as he was told, wondering when they could move past the early stages of their “relationship” and get on with the molestation.
Ryoma wondered how quickly Horio could pick up new songs.
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
“Does Fuji-senpai look different today?”
“Something does seem different. I wonder what it is.”
“Maybe Eiji-senpai would know?”
“He told me earlier he didn’t. Actually, his exact words were, ‘Fujiko looks weird today, nya!’”
“Oi! Mamushi! Do you know what’s different about Fuji-senpai?”
“Fshuu.”
“Fuji has altered his entire appearance in a subtle yet efficient manner: he has adorned himself with earrings. Sterling silver studs, to be exact.”
“…oh…my.”
“Fshuu.”
“…but why?”
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
“Ryoma-kun.”
Ryoma cracked open an eye at the voice, wary at the incongruence of the familiarity of the address and the person speaking. As feared, Fuji stood before him, looking unnervingly like Ryuzaki-san in all her blushing, stammering glory despite his uniform, his taller height, and the obvious gender difference.
Straightening against the wall he’d be slumped against, Ryoma’s eyes opened fully, on guard. Fuji looked like a girl all the time, sure, but he never acted like one.
“Ah, Ryoma-kun,” he repeated in that unnerving mimicry of Ryuzaki. His smile was even wavering and uncertain.
“What?”
“I-is it true that, um,” –was Fuji blushing?— “that you’re dating Ho-Horio-kun?”
Ryoma hoped fervently that this was some strange dream caused by too much beef. Or Ponta. Fuji couldn’t possibly be cornering him on the roof during morning break to act like a girl and ask if Ryoma was dating Horio. Things like that just didn’t happen.
Then Fuji laughed and he sounded genuinely amused and very much himself. “Oh, Ryoma,” he chuckled, “your expression was priceless.” He leaned over and ruffled the younger boy’s hair, his normal smile on his face.
Ryoma gaped at him. Then his expression slowly melted into a scowl. Damn Fuji and his sadism. Of all the senpai to corner him on the roof. At least Momoshiro or Inui or… Ryoma thought better of his preferences. If Kaidoh or Oishi, at least, had been there in Fuji’s place, there would be none of this teasing or invasion of Ryoma’s naptime.
“Senpai,” he groused, slumping back against the wall. “What do you want?”
Fuji seated himself beside Ryoma. “I really do want to know if you’re dating Horio.”
This earned him a suspicious look. “Why?”
“Just curious.” The tensai radiated innocence.
Ryoma knew better by now. He just remained silent, refusing to answer the question, until Fuji sighed and relented.
“All right, Ryoma. What I really wanted to know was if you were really dating him because you think he has a sexy rapping voice.”
For a moment, the world froze, Ryoma stopped breathing, and Fuji’s eyes opened. Then Ryoma snapped, “Maybe,” and Fuji smiled again. He settled back against the wall beside the sulking tennis wonder and tilted his head toward the sky.
“There’s more to a sexy rap star than his voice,” he murmured, the sun falling across his features.
Ryoma twitched for a cap to pull over his face and settled instead for crossing his arms and turning his head. Why was Fuji staying here? Why did he care who Ryoma was dating? This was still as surreal as it had been a few minutes earlier (though less damaging mentally, because a flustered, blushing Fuji was just not something Ryoma thought was possible according to the laws of the universe).
“So do you listen to American rap?” Fuji asked conversationally, seeming oblivious to the fact that Ryoma was attempting to ignore him.
“Hn.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Iisuyo.”
“Who’s your favorite artist?”
“Eminem.”
“Oh. Isn’t his real name Marshall Mathers?”
Ryoma blinked and turned back to stare. Fuji knew who Eminem was? He really was in some sort of demented dream. No more grape Ponta for him at one in the morning.
The sun glinted off the studs in Fuji’s ears.
And Ryoma knew for certain that the Universe had been officially Screwed, Sideways, Backwards, and Upside-Down.
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
That afternoon, as Ryoma approached the locker room, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his boyfriend accosted him and attempted to violate him orally. For his trouble, Horio received a whack by a bag containing three tennis rackets, a change of clothes, a water bottle, and some odd tennis balls. He was also subjected to a “shi-ne” glare and a fierce trod on his toes. When he opened his mouth to whine that boyfriends were supposed to get certain privileges, Ryoma’s glare pinned him to his undignified sprawl on the ground.
Ryoma continued on into the locker room and was greatly embarrassed to find that Eiji and Oishi had overheard the entire conversation and that Eiji was loudly promoting the acquisition of a new boyfriend.
One that wore less jewelry, he specified, because his ‘neesan wore less gold dangly stuff than Horio, nya!
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
“Fuji has acquired two new pieces of jewelry, it appears. A thin silver chain—estimated around 35 cm in length—and a small silver hoop, also sterling silver, in his left ear.”
“Fshuu…”
“The chaos caused by his new accessories has raised the energy-slash-disorder among the regulars a good 17.6%. I’m not quite certain that is beneficial, but neither is it detrimental.”
“…”
“It is 94% probable that Fuji has a certain goal in mind, which has caused these recent changes, as 86.9% of previous events testify to. The time frame he has in mind is not precisely certain, but can be pinned down to within one or two weeks… 55.1% probability that he would like to achieve his goal the sooner the better. Most people would have a higher probability, but this is Fuji we’re talking about after all…”
“Inui-senpai?”
“Hmm? Yes, Kaidoh?”
“I don’t care.”
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
Ryoma liked to listen to Horio rap. Horio had a sexy rapping voice. When they were together and Horio was rapping, all was good with the world.
When Horio was talking, all was not.
When Ryoma closed his eyes, he could pretend he wasn’t with loudmouthed, common sense challenged Horio.
As long as Horio was rapping and Ryoma had his eyes closed.
But when Ryoma started seeing, not pretty flowers or butterflies, not old tennis matches with his baka oyaji, and not Karupin stalking his every move from the bathroom to his bedroom, but a particular senpai—then things were not well with the world.
Because slowly, over time, those images of that senpai would evolve until that senpai had nothing but those shiny silver accessories on.
Horio was mildly offended when Ryoma, on one of their “dates,” jerked violently from the park bench where he’d been sitting and took off at a dead run, looking ill.
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
“Ryoma-kun.”
“Stop that.”
Fuji beamed at him. “Ryoma-kun,” he purred, sliding his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders as they walked in step.
This earned a glare.
“Why are you walking me home, Fuji-senpai?”
“Momo-chan was busy running errands. And he couldn’t let his little kohai fend for himself, could he? I’m just being a nice senpai and doing you both a favor.”
Ryoma continued walking. “You blackmailed him, didn’t you?”
Fuji’s smile was all too expressive. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied guilelessly. “You always think the worst of me, Ryoma.”
At least it wasn’t raining, Ryoma thought morosely. The two continued down the streets in silence, Fuji leaving his arm settled comfortably around Ryoma’s shoulders and boy wonder knowing better than to tell him to move his arm. It’d probably result in the placement of Fuji’s arm around his waist, or some other unspeakably mortifying area. At least this was fairly innocent.
Ryoma didn’t need any more fodder for his imagination either, thank you. He was going insane quite well on his own.
As they walked, Ryoma noticed the chain around Fuji’s throat. “Why’re wearing that?” he asked abruptly.
“What?”
“The chain. The earrings. That,” Ryoma said descriptively.
Fuji’s smile was unreadable as always, though the younger boy was sure he detected hints of sadistic pleasure in driving the world mad with curiosity.
“Don’t you know that, for rappers, the image is far more important than the voice?”
Ryoma blinked and backtracked hastily down the train of thought that had led him down. Was Fuji saying that he was competing with Horio? For what? Ryoma quickly denied the most obvious answer. There was no good reason— Ah, well, it was Fuji, who never needed a good reason for anything. But still!
“Um,” Ryoma said intelligently.
They stopped on the corner for a streetlight. Fuji leaned down and placed his mouth beside Ryoma’s ear, until boy wonder could feel the warm breaths sliding across his skin.
“I have a tattoo, Ryoma,” Fuji whispered huskily. “Can you guess where it is?”
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
The next day, Ryoma woke up in a bad mood and threw his alarm clock at the wall for ruining a perfectly good dream. Then he dragged Horio back home with him after tennis practice, and they were greeted by Karupin, who wound his way between Ryoma’s legs and glared and hissed at Horio, as if staking a claim.
Mine, hissed Karupin in a fit a territorialism.
Horio looked confused and slightly scared at being challenged by something barely taller than his ankles.
Ryoma seemed to consider this and then nodded to himself. He then broke up with Horio, returning the wild-eyed gape and outraged shriek of Why, God, why? with a shrug and a, “Sorry, I can’t date you. My cat hates you.”
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
The day after that, Ryoma loitered and lingered in the locker room after practice until everyone but Fuji had left. Then he approached the other boy and proceeded to blink, stare at the ground, mutter to himself, and blush.
He glared at his shoes, cursing Fuji and Horio and Eminem all for existing.
Then fingers were under his chin and tilted his face up to meet Fuji’s amused gaze.
“Would you like to see my tattoo, Ryoma-kun?”
--
Posted: 12.16.2004
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
In which Fuji causes chaos by accessorizing and saves Ryoma from the clutches of Horio’s "sexy rapping voice."
[Notes: The sequel to the horror!crack that was
kasugai_gummie’s Horio/Ryoma drabble.]How Ryoma Fell Out of Love with Rapster Horio
by
meitachi“Echizen is dating who?”
Eiji made a face again, features contorted in some expression between disgust and sheer agony. “Horio,” he wailed. He clutched Fuji’s arm and shook it a bit. “Fuji, we have to help him! He must have lost his mind!” He went on to re-empathize the trauma he’d gone through when he and Inui and “stumbled” upon Echizen and Horio “accidentally” the previous afternoon.
Fuji let his friend rave and rant and wail, remaining quiet and thoughtful.
“Do you know why?” he asked gently, breaking in to Eiji’s commotion.
The redhead paused. “He said something about a ‘sexy rapping voice,’ I think.” Eiji proceeded to shudder violently. “Ewwww, Fuji, Ochibi-chan can do much better! Horio has a unibrow!”
Fuji raised an eyebrow. “Echizen likes rap?”
Eiji didn’t hear him as he was occupied with looking appalled and listing all the other people who would be much better for their ochibi. He attracted quite a few strange looks from passersby but Fuji didn’t mind the attention. Street corners were as good a place as any for the hatching of a new scheme.
Rap, he thought meditatively.
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
Ryoma lounged against the tree, hat pulled low over his face. Beside him sat his newly-acquired “boyfriend,” though they had yet to “go out” on a date of any sort. Unless sitting together under a tree counted…
“Do you only know that one song?” Ryoma asked after many long minutes of listening to Horio’s (admittedly sexy) voice rapping the same words over and over again.
“Er…yeah. Eheheh.” Horio looked sheepish and put a hand behind his head. “I only had time to practice one, you know.” His bracelets jingled as they clanked together and over each other, flashing brightly under the sunbeams that filtered through the leaves. Ryoma winced and tugged his cap lower.
“Not all rappers wear twenty bracelets, ten rings, and fourteen necklaces,” he said, shifting on the grass. “In fact, most of them don’t.”
Horio moved again, making enough clinking noises to be reminiscent of a prisoner in chains, and sat back awkwardly against the other boy. “Oh. Well, I, er, am unique. Yeah. I didn’t want to be like all those other rappers.”
“Your arm cuff is digging into my shoulder.”
“Sorry.”
They continued sitting in an uncomfortable silence for the better part of ten minutes. At last, Ryoma exhaled in exasperation. “Just rap again,” he ordered, not bothering to open his eyes.
Horio did as he was told, wondering when they could move past the early stages of their “relationship” and get on with the molestation.
Ryoma wondered how quickly Horio could pick up new songs.
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
“Does Fuji-senpai look different today?”
“Something does seem different. I wonder what it is.”
“Maybe Eiji-senpai would know?”
“He told me earlier he didn’t. Actually, his exact words were, ‘Fujiko looks weird today, nya!’”
“Oi! Mamushi! Do you know what’s different about Fuji-senpai?”
“Fshuu.”
“Fuji has altered his entire appearance in a subtle yet efficient manner: he has adorned himself with earrings. Sterling silver studs, to be exact.”
“…oh…my.”
“Fshuu.”
“…but why?”
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
“Ryoma-kun.”
Ryoma cracked open an eye at the voice, wary at the incongruence of the familiarity of the address and the person speaking. As feared, Fuji stood before him, looking unnervingly like Ryuzaki-san in all her blushing, stammering glory despite his uniform, his taller height, and the obvious gender difference.
Straightening against the wall he’d be slumped against, Ryoma’s eyes opened fully, on guard. Fuji looked like a girl all the time, sure, but he never acted like one.
“Ah, Ryoma-kun,” he repeated in that unnerving mimicry of Ryuzaki. His smile was even wavering and uncertain.
“What?”
“I-is it true that, um,” –was Fuji blushing?— “that you’re dating Ho-Horio-kun?”
Ryoma hoped fervently that this was some strange dream caused by too much beef. Or Ponta. Fuji couldn’t possibly be cornering him on the roof during morning break to act like a girl and ask if Ryoma was dating Horio. Things like that just didn’t happen.
Then Fuji laughed and he sounded genuinely amused and very much himself. “Oh, Ryoma,” he chuckled, “your expression was priceless.” He leaned over and ruffled the younger boy’s hair, his normal smile on his face.
Ryoma gaped at him. Then his expression slowly melted into a scowl. Damn Fuji and his sadism. Of all the senpai to corner him on the roof. At least Momoshiro or Inui or… Ryoma thought better of his preferences. If Kaidoh or Oishi, at least, had been there in Fuji’s place, there would be none of this teasing or invasion of Ryoma’s naptime.
“Senpai,” he groused, slumping back against the wall. “What do you want?”
Fuji seated himself beside Ryoma. “I really do want to know if you’re dating Horio.”
This earned him a suspicious look. “Why?”
“Just curious.” The tensai radiated innocence.
Ryoma knew better by now. He just remained silent, refusing to answer the question, until Fuji sighed and relented.
“All right, Ryoma. What I really wanted to know was if you were really dating him because you think he has a sexy rapping voice.”
For a moment, the world froze, Ryoma stopped breathing, and Fuji’s eyes opened. Then Ryoma snapped, “Maybe,” and Fuji smiled again. He settled back against the wall beside the sulking tennis wonder and tilted his head toward the sky.
“There’s more to a sexy rap star than his voice,” he murmured, the sun falling across his features.
Ryoma twitched for a cap to pull over his face and settled instead for crossing his arms and turning his head. Why was Fuji staying here? Why did he care who Ryoma was dating? This was still as surreal as it had been a few minutes earlier (though less damaging mentally, because a flustered, blushing Fuji was just not something Ryoma thought was possible according to the laws of the universe).
“So do you listen to American rap?” Fuji asked conversationally, seeming oblivious to the fact that Ryoma was attempting to ignore him.
“Hn.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Iisuyo.”
“Who’s your favorite artist?”
“Eminem.”
“Oh. Isn’t his real name Marshall Mathers?”
Ryoma blinked and turned back to stare. Fuji knew who Eminem was? He really was in some sort of demented dream. No more grape Ponta for him at one in the morning.
The sun glinted off the studs in Fuji’s ears.
And Ryoma knew for certain that the Universe had been officially Screwed, Sideways, Backwards, and Upside-Down.
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
That afternoon, as Ryoma approached the locker room, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his boyfriend accosted him and attempted to violate him orally. For his trouble, Horio received a whack by a bag containing three tennis rackets, a change of clothes, a water bottle, and some odd tennis balls. He was also subjected to a “shi-ne” glare and a fierce trod on his toes. When he opened his mouth to whine that boyfriends were supposed to get certain privileges, Ryoma’s glare pinned him to his undignified sprawl on the ground.
Ryoma continued on into the locker room and was greatly embarrassed to find that Eiji and Oishi had overheard the entire conversation and that Eiji was loudly promoting the acquisition of a new boyfriend.
One that wore less jewelry, he specified, because his ‘neesan wore less gold dangly stuff than Horio, nya!
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
“Fuji has acquired two new pieces of jewelry, it appears. A thin silver chain—estimated around 35 cm in length—and a small silver hoop, also sterling silver, in his left ear.”
“Fshuu…”
“The chaos caused by his new accessories has raised the energy-slash-disorder among the regulars a good 17.6%. I’m not quite certain that is beneficial, but neither is it detrimental.”
“…”
“It is 94% probable that Fuji has a certain goal in mind, which has caused these recent changes, as 86.9% of previous events testify to. The time frame he has in mind is not precisely certain, but can be pinned down to within one or two weeks… 55.1% probability that he would like to achieve his goal the sooner the better. Most people would have a higher probability, but this is Fuji we’re talking about after all…”
“Inui-senpai?”
“Hmm? Yes, Kaidoh?”
“I don’t care.”
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
Ryoma liked to listen to Horio rap. Horio had a sexy rapping voice. When they were together and Horio was rapping, all was good with the world.
When Horio was talking, all was not.
When Ryoma closed his eyes, he could pretend he wasn’t with loudmouthed, common sense challenged Horio.
As long as Horio was rapping and Ryoma had his eyes closed.
But when Ryoma started seeing, not pretty flowers or butterflies, not old tennis matches with his baka oyaji, and not Karupin stalking his every move from the bathroom to his bedroom, but a particular senpai—then things were not well with the world.
Because slowly, over time, those images of that senpai would evolve until that senpai had nothing but those shiny silver accessories on.
Horio was mildly offended when Ryoma, on one of their “dates,” jerked violently from the park bench where he’d been sitting and took off at a dead run, looking ill.
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
“Ryoma-kun.”
“Stop that.”
Fuji beamed at him. “Ryoma-kun,” he purred, sliding his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders as they walked in step.
This earned a glare.
“Why are you walking me home, Fuji-senpai?”
“Momo-chan was busy running errands. And he couldn’t let his little kohai fend for himself, could he? I’m just being a nice senpai and doing you both a favor.”
Ryoma continued walking. “You blackmailed him, didn’t you?”
Fuji’s smile was all too expressive. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied guilelessly. “You always think the worst of me, Ryoma.”
At least it wasn’t raining, Ryoma thought morosely. The two continued down the streets in silence, Fuji leaving his arm settled comfortably around Ryoma’s shoulders and boy wonder knowing better than to tell him to move his arm. It’d probably result in the placement of Fuji’s arm around his waist, or some other unspeakably mortifying area. At least this was fairly innocent.
Ryoma didn’t need any more fodder for his imagination either, thank you. He was going insane quite well on his own.
As they walked, Ryoma noticed the chain around Fuji’s throat. “Why’re wearing that?” he asked abruptly.
“What?”
“The chain. The earrings. That,” Ryoma said descriptively.
Fuji’s smile was unreadable as always, though the younger boy was sure he detected hints of sadistic pleasure in driving the world mad with curiosity.
“Don’t you know that, for rappers, the image is far more important than the voice?”
Ryoma blinked and backtracked hastily down the train of thought that had led him down. Was Fuji saying that he was competing with Horio? For what? Ryoma quickly denied the most obvious answer. There was no good reason— Ah, well, it was Fuji, who never needed a good reason for anything. But still!
“Um,” Ryoma said intelligently.
They stopped on the corner for a streetlight. Fuji leaned down and placed his mouth beside Ryoma’s ear, until boy wonder could feel the warm breaths sliding across his skin.
“I have a tattoo, Ryoma,” Fuji whispered huskily. “Can you guess where it is?”
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
The next day, Ryoma woke up in a bad mood and threw his alarm clock at the wall for ruining a perfectly good dream. Then he dragged Horio back home with him after tennis practice, and they were greeted by Karupin, who wound his way between Ryoma’s legs and glared and hissed at Horio, as if staking a claim.
Mine, hissed Karupin in a fit a territorialism.
Horio looked confused and slightly scared at being challenged by something barely taller than his ankles.
Ryoma seemed to consider this and then nodded to himself. He then broke up with Horio, returning the wild-eyed gape and outraged shriek of Why, God, why? with a shrug and a, “Sorry, I can’t date you. My cat hates you.”
<(^_^<) ~ ^(^_^)^ ~ (>^_^)>
The day after that, Ryoma loitered and lingered in the locker room after practice until everyone but Fuji had left. Then he approached the other boy and proceeded to blink, stare at the ground, mutter to himself, and blush.
He glared at his shoes, cursing Fuji and Horio and Eminem all for existing.
Then fingers were under his chin and tilted his face up to meet Fuji’s amused gaze.
“Would you like to see my tattoo, Ryoma-kun?”
--
Posted: 12.16.2004
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