[PoT] Shameless, PG, Humor, FujiRyo
Aug. 24th, 2006 12:39 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
meiface.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
chineseinkBecause I've missed them, because it's my 19th birthday today, and because I can, I wrote some FujiRyo. This is a plotbunny I've always wanted to try out. :3
Shameless
Prince of Tennis, FujiRyo, humor, 1691 words
Fuji takes Ryoma shopping for something interesting.
Shameless
by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
meitachi
When Inui proposed that the regulars attend Comiket, Tezuka frowned. The expression on his face read to the rest of the team, who had learned to their own benefit how to read his body language, “Have you been drinking too much of your own juice, Inui?”
“It would be a good team bonding experience,” said Inui, pushing his glasses up his nose. He said nothing of his prolonged desire to see Kaidou as Tuxedo Mask.
“We will discuss later,” Tezuka said, dismissing the matter for the moment. Practice was more important. He began calling out directions for first-years and second-years. The regulars shuffled and grouped together, elbowing Inui for more details on the “how”s and “why”s of going to the world’s largest anime convention.
Kikumaru was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his arms hooked around the racquet behind him. “It would be so much fun!” he enthused. “We should all cosplay!”
“Yeah!” agreed Momoshiro, grinning. He put his hands on his hips and posed. “I’m going to go as some great American superhero, like Doug!”
“That’s not a superhero, dumbass,” Kaidoh muttered, glaring at the other second-year. “It’s Quailman.” He turned his head to the side and scoffed.
“What’d you call me?” Momoshiro demanded, grabbing Kaidoh’s shirt with his free hand.
“Momo, Kaidoh...” said Oishi, putting his hands between them in a placating manner.
Ryoma yawned and put his hands behind his head, stretching. He stared at the upperclassmen around him, bored. “Buchou hasn’t even said we’ll go yet,” he said. Something like disgust crossed his face. “There’s no tennis. I bet it’s boring.”
“Aw, Ochibi, you should do some things besides tennis!”
Fuji glanced from where Kikumaru, pouting, had his arms around Ryoma to Inui. “Comiket, hmm?” he said in a musing tone. “That sounds interesting. But Tezuka would have to agree.” At Inui’s nod, Fuji forestalled any statistics that were going to be reeled off by tapping the open page of Inui’s notebook with an index finger and smiling. “You should start thinking about your costume,” he said, and turned towards Tezuka.
The next day, Tezuka announced stoically that the regulars would be attending Comiket as a team outing to strengthen bonds and explore the diversity of culture. He carefully did not look at Fuji, who only smiled when the others asked him who he was going as.
--
“Echizen,” said Fuji, accosting Ryoma as the first-year was on his way from the main building to the clubhouse. He stood at least six inches too close and was smiling and wearing his school uniform. Ryoma twitched. He said nothing and instead gave Fuji a vaguely questioning stare.
“Let’s go shopping,” said Fuji and put his hand on Ryoma’s shoulder. He turned the younger boy around and pushed gently, directing them towards the school gates. “We need to get our costumes for the con ready.”
“But what about practice?” Ryoma protested, tightening his grip on his tennis bag.
Fuji’s smile grew wider. “Tezuka canceled it,” he announced cheerfully.
Ryoma gave him a thoroughly suspicious look.
“Why, Echizen, don’t you believe me?”
Ryoma didn’t blink at Fuji’s affected innocence, complete with wide eyes and tilted head. He didn’t doubt for a moment that if Fuji said practice was canceled, then practice was canceled; Fuji wasn’t the type to play hooky. He was, however, the type to finagle exactly whatever he wanted out of the people around him, and when he wanted something, no one stood a chance against him. Ryoma was certain that Fuji had somehow convinced Tezuka to cancel practice. He was also certain, however, that he didn’t want to know how because Tezuka canceling practice happened as often as dinosaur extinctions.
He scowled. “But I wanted to play tennis,” he said instead of asking Fuji why it was necessary for Ryoma to escort him on his shopping endeavors.
“You can play tennis any day,” Fuji said pleasantly, tightening his grip on Ryoma’s shoulder. “You can only accompany your respected senpai on a bargain hunt this once. Think of it as a quest, if you want. Like the ones in your video game.”
Ryoma didn’t think searching for costumes—or materials for costumes—was anything like killing Sephiroth, but he held his tongue. Ducking his head in grouchy resignation, Ryoma let Fuji lead him to the subways. As they stood next to each other on the gently swaying, rattling Rinkai Line to Odaiba, crowded by other afternoon shoppers, Ryoma did his best to ignore the way breaths feathered across the back of his neck, over the narrow strip of skin between the collar of his uniform jacket and his hair. When he sneaked glances at Fuji, the other boy always seemed to be standing straight and staring out the windows into the dark tunnel they were in, smiling at nothing in particular.
“You look like an escaped mental patient on drugs,” Ryoma told him.
Fuji chuckled and let the fingertips of his free hand trail lightly across the nape of Ryoma’s neck.
Ryoma’s shoulders hunched, flinching away from the touch automatically. He didn’t know how Tezuka stood it. Maybe that was why he always had such a pinched look on his face whenever Fuji stood near him. “Do you think this is appropriate in public, Fuji-senpai?” he asked with a raise of his eyebrow.
“The youth of today,” Fuji agreed, sighing despairingly and shaking his head. He let his fingers linger.
Ryoma was very glad when the subway emerged from the underground tunnel and pulled into its Odaiba station. People pushed to the doors and carried him and Fuji in their wave of motion, depositing them at last on the crowded platform. Fuji put himself within six inches of Ryoma again and directed them up the stairs and down the shop-lined streets.
“This one,” said Fuji seemingly randomly, pushing Ryoma into the small shop before him. He greeted the shopkeeper with a smile and—finally—stepped away from Ryoma, beginning to browse.
It was the strangest shop Ryoma had ever seen, crammed full to take advantage of every last inch of space and featuring merchandise ranging from ribbons to soup ladles. He eyed the bright purple shirt loudly declaring in neon pink font: WEAPON OF ASS DESTRUCTION with a cynical eye, wondering if the people who bought it (and they’d be people like Fuji, for sure) knew what it meant. (Then again, if they were like Fuji, they would know and that would be the reason for the purchase in the first place.)
“What are you looking for?” he asked Fuji, edging towards the older boy and trying not to knock anything over with his bulky tennis bag.
Fuji was examining a roll of white bandages. He already had a tube of fake blood in his hand.
“It’s not Halloween, Fuji-senpai,” Ryoma remarked offhandedly. “If you were thinking of going as a mummy.”
“Of course not, Echizen.” Fuji had apparently decided that the bandages were acceptable and moved toward the corner of the shop where the shopkeeper was watching them with a hungry smile on his face, a greedy light in his eyes. “That’s too boring. My character is far more interesting. Saa, I don’t suppose you have a trench coat with fur trim?” This last was directed to the shopkeeper.
“No, no, it’s a shame. I was just thinkin' the other day that I should start investin’ in some good clothin’ materials, you know? I think I will, I will, but fer now all I got is what you see. That’s real-grade quality fake blood there, y’know?” The shopkeeper’s shuffled towards them. “But I know what yer lookin’ fer. How about this right here?” He held up a pair of cat ears, sleek and black and silky, attached to a slim black headband. “I can get you ‘em at ¥1800 and that’s cuttin’ me own throat.”
Fuji’s eyes gleamed. “Why, that’s exactly what I’m looking for. However did you know?” His smile was charming. “Do you have a tail to go with that?”
Ryoma narrowed his eyes, a bad feeling settling somewhere around his stomach. “Who are you going as?” he wanted to know as the shopkeeper rummaged under the counter.
Fuji put the cat ears and tail, the roll of bandages, and the fake blood on the counter. He said amiably, “Hand me those fake glasses to your left, would you, Echizen?” When he’d taken the wire frames from Ryoma and placed them on top of the pile, he turned back to face Ryoma.
“I’m going as Agatsuma Soubi from LOVELESS,” he said. He tilted his head slightly and pursed his lips. “Oh. I’ll need to get a wig, too, I suppose.”
The bad feeling got worse. “Soubi doesn’t have cat ears,” Ryoma pointed out, crossing his arms.
“Ah, you know LOVELESS?” Fuji asked, looking delighted. Ryoma swore and ducked his head, cursing his cousin and the volume of the TV when he was trying to not do his math homework. “That’s wonderful!”
Ryoma glared at the floor. “Soubi doesn’t have cat ears,” he repeated.
“True,” said Fuji and Ryoma looked up when he heard the purr in Fuji’s voice. Blue eyes were slit at him, bright and amused. “...but Ritsuka does.”
To Ryoma’s credit, he didn’t immediately back up and leave the store at a run. Neither did he shout, “Hell no!” and blush violently. Rather, his eyes widened fractionally and he and Fuji exchanged looks for roughly two heartbeats before Ryoma narrowed his eyes and let his mouth curl up into a familiar smirk. “Does that mean I can order you around, senpai?”
“You can order me around anytime you’d like,” Fuji said in a much too agreeable tone, his eyes still trained on Ryoma, “but then I can do this anytime I want,” and with that he leaned forward and planted a kiss on Ryoma’s surprised mouth.
Ryoma could hear the coughing chortles of the shopkeeper behind Fuji but Fuji’s tongue was in his mouth and then it was gone. Ryoma blinked when Fuji drew back. He blinked again and then wrinkled his nose.
Then he said, casually, “Does this mean buchou is Seimei?”
--
Started: 08.16.2006
Finished: 08.21.2006
--
Notes: I suppose you have to know a bit about LOVELESS to understand this, but I'm pretty sure most if not all of you know enough. Plus, Minagawa Junko love. ♥
Also, I had too much fun with the obscure references in this fic for the various people who will know what I'm talking about. ::laugh:: Here's the list: dinosaurs, FF7, this picture, Dibbler, math homework. Yes, I amuse myself.
Shameless
Prince of Tennis, FujiRyo, humor, 1691 words
Fuji takes Ryoma shopping for something interesting.
Shameless
by
meitachiWhen Inui proposed that the regulars attend Comiket, Tezuka frowned. The expression on his face read to the rest of the team, who had learned to their own benefit how to read his body language, “Have you been drinking too much of your own juice, Inui?”
“It would be a good team bonding experience,” said Inui, pushing his glasses up his nose. He said nothing of his prolonged desire to see Kaidou as Tuxedo Mask.
“We will discuss later,” Tezuka said, dismissing the matter for the moment. Practice was more important. He began calling out directions for first-years and second-years. The regulars shuffled and grouped together, elbowing Inui for more details on the “how”s and “why”s of going to the world’s largest anime convention.
Kikumaru was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his arms hooked around the racquet behind him. “It would be so much fun!” he enthused. “We should all cosplay!”
“Yeah!” agreed Momoshiro, grinning. He put his hands on his hips and posed. “I’m going to go as some great American superhero, like Doug!”
“That’s not a superhero, dumbass,” Kaidoh muttered, glaring at the other second-year. “It’s Quailman.” He turned his head to the side and scoffed.
“What’d you call me?” Momoshiro demanded, grabbing Kaidoh’s shirt with his free hand.
“Momo, Kaidoh...” said Oishi, putting his hands between them in a placating manner.
Ryoma yawned and put his hands behind his head, stretching. He stared at the upperclassmen around him, bored. “Buchou hasn’t even said we’ll go yet,” he said. Something like disgust crossed his face. “There’s no tennis. I bet it’s boring.”
“Aw, Ochibi, you should do some things besides tennis!”
Fuji glanced from where Kikumaru, pouting, had his arms around Ryoma to Inui. “Comiket, hmm?” he said in a musing tone. “That sounds interesting. But Tezuka would have to agree.” At Inui’s nod, Fuji forestalled any statistics that were going to be reeled off by tapping the open page of Inui’s notebook with an index finger and smiling. “You should start thinking about your costume,” he said, and turned towards Tezuka.
The next day, Tezuka announced stoically that the regulars would be attending Comiket as a team outing to strengthen bonds and explore the diversity of culture. He carefully did not look at Fuji, who only smiled when the others asked him who he was going as.
--
“Echizen,” said Fuji, accosting Ryoma as the first-year was on his way from the main building to the clubhouse. He stood at least six inches too close and was smiling and wearing his school uniform. Ryoma twitched. He said nothing and instead gave Fuji a vaguely questioning stare.
“Let’s go shopping,” said Fuji and put his hand on Ryoma’s shoulder. He turned the younger boy around and pushed gently, directing them towards the school gates. “We need to get our costumes for the con ready.”
“But what about practice?” Ryoma protested, tightening his grip on his tennis bag.
Fuji’s smile grew wider. “Tezuka canceled it,” he announced cheerfully.
Ryoma gave him a thoroughly suspicious look.
“Why, Echizen, don’t you believe me?”
Ryoma didn’t blink at Fuji’s affected innocence, complete with wide eyes and tilted head. He didn’t doubt for a moment that if Fuji said practice was canceled, then practice was canceled; Fuji wasn’t the type to play hooky. He was, however, the type to finagle exactly whatever he wanted out of the people around him, and when he wanted something, no one stood a chance against him. Ryoma was certain that Fuji had somehow convinced Tezuka to cancel practice. He was also certain, however, that he didn’t want to know how because Tezuka canceling practice happened as often as dinosaur extinctions.
He scowled. “But I wanted to play tennis,” he said instead of asking Fuji why it was necessary for Ryoma to escort him on his shopping endeavors.
“You can play tennis any day,” Fuji said pleasantly, tightening his grip on Ryoma’s shoulder. “You can only accompany your respected senpai on a bargain hunt this once. Think of it as a quest, if you want. Like the ones in your video game.”
Ryoma didn’t think searching for costumes—or materials for costumes—was anything like killing Sephiroth, but he held his tongue. Ducking his head in grouchy resignation, Ryoma let Fuji lead him to the subways. As they stood next to each other on the gently swaying, rattling Rinkai Line to Odaiba, crowded by other afternoon shoppers, Ryoma did his best to ignore the way breaths feathered across the back of his neck, over the narrow strip of skin between the collar of his uniform jacket and his hair. When he sneaked glances at Fuji, the other boy always seemed to be standing straight and staring out the windows into the dark tunnel they were in, smiling at nothing in particular.
“You look like an escaped mental patient on drugs,” Ryoma told him.
Fuji chuckled and let the fingertips of his free hand trail lightly across the nape of Ryoma’s neck.
Ryoma’s shoulders hunched, flinching away from the touch automatically. He didn’t know how Tezuka stood it. Maybe that was why he always had such a pinched look on his face whenever Fuji stood near him. “Do you think this is appropriate in public, Fuji-senpai?” he asked with a raise of his eyebrow.
“The youth of today,” Fuji agreed, sighing despairingly and shaking his head. He let his fingers linger.
Ryoma was very glad when the subway emerged from the underground tunnel and pulled into its Odaiba station. People pushed to the doors and carried him and Fuji in their wave of motion, depositing them at last on the crowded platform. Fuji put himself within six inches of Ryoma again and directed them up the stairs and down the shop-lined streets.
“This one,” said Fuji seemingly randomly, pushing Ryoma into the small shop before him. He greeted the shopkeeper with a smile and—finally—stepped away from Ryoma, beginning to browse.
It was the strangest shop Ryoma had ever seen, crammed full to take advantage of every last inch of space and featuring merchandise ranging from ribbons to soup ladles. He eyed the bright purple shirt loudly declaring in neon pink font: WEAPON OF ASS DESTRUCTION with a cynical eye, wondering if the people who bought it (and they’d be people like Fuji, for sure) knew what it meant. (Then again, if they were like Fuji, they would know and that would be the reason for the purchase in the first place.)
“What are you looking for?” he asked Fuji, edging towards the older boy and trying not to knock anything over with his bulky tennis bag.
Fuji was examining a roll of white bandages. He already had a tube of fake blood in his hand.
“It’s not Halloween, Fuji-senpai,” Ryoma remarked offhandedly. “If you were thinking of going as a mummy.”
“Of course not, Echizen.” Fuji had apparently decided that the bandages were acceptable and moved toward the corner of the shop where the shopkeeper was watching them with a hungry smile on his face, a greedy light in his eyes. “That’s too boring. My character is far more interesting. Saa, I don’t suppose you have a trench coat with fur trim?” This last was directed to the shopkeeper.
“No, no, it’s a shame. I was just thinkin' the other day that I should start investin’ in some good clothin’ materials, you know? I think I will, I will, but fer now all I got is what you see. That’s real-grade quality fake blood there, y’know?” The shopkeeper’s shuffled towards them. “But I know what yer lookin’ fer. How about this right here?” He held up a pair of cat ears, sleek and black and silky, attached to a slim black headband. “I can get you ‘em at ¥1800 and that’s cuttin’ me own throat.”
Fuji’s eyes gleamed. “Why, that’s exactly what I’m looking for. However did you know?” His smile was charming. “Do you have a tail to go with that?”
Ryoma narrowed his eyes, a bad feeling settling somewhere around his stomach. “Who are you going as?” he wanted to know as the shopkeeper rummaged under the counter.
Fuji put the cat ears and tail, the roll of bandages, and the fake blood on the counter. He said amiably, “Hand me those fake glasses to your left, would you, Echizen?” When he’d taken the wire frames from Ryoma and placed them on top of the pile, he turned back to face Ryoma.
“I’m going as Agatsuma Soubi from LOVELESS,” he said. He tilted his head slightly and pursed his lips. “Oh. I’ll need to get a wig, too, I suppose.”
The bad feeling got worse. “Soubi doesn’t have cat ears,” Ryoma pointed out, crossing his arms.
“Ah, you know LOVELESS?” Fuji asked, looking delighted. Ryoma swore and ducked his head, cursing his cousin and the volume of the TV when he was trying to not do his math homework. “That’s wonderful!”
Ryoma glared at the floor. “Soubi doesn’t have cat ears,” he repeated.
“True,” said Fuji and Ryoma looked up when he heard the purr in Fuji’s voice. Blue eyes were slit at him, bright and amused. “...but Ritsuka does.”
To Ryoma’s credit, he didn’t immediately back up and leave the store at a run. Neither did he shout, “Hell no!” and blush violently. Rather, his eyes widened fractionally and he and Fuji exchanged looks for roughly two heartbeats before Ryoma narrowed his eyes and let his mouth curl up into a familiar smirk. “Does that mean I can order you around, senpai?”
“You can order me around anytime you’d like,” Fuji said in a much too agreeable tone, his eyes still trained on Ryoma, “but then I can do this anytime I want,” and with that he leaned forward and planted a kiss on Ryoma’s surprised mouth.
Ryoma could hear the coughing chortles of the shopkeeper behind Fuji but Fuji’s tongue was in his mouth and then it was gone. Ryoma blinked when Fuji drew back. He blinked again and then wrinkled his nose.
Then he said, casually, “Does this mean buchou is Seimei?”
--
Started: 08.16.2006
Finished: 08.21.2006
--
Notes: I suppose you have to know a bit about LOVELESS to understand this, but I'm pretty sure most if not all of you know enough. Plus, Minagawa Junko love. ♥
Also, I had too much fun with the obscure references in this fic for the various people who will know what I'm talking about. ::laugh:: Here's the list: dinosaurs, FF7, this picture, Dibbler, math homework. Yes, I amuse myself.
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