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chineseinkTitle: Christmas in Vegas
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A beginning and an end; an end and a beginning: Christmas in the City of Lights. It’s been four years for Fuji and Ryoma…
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wakkawoo and fussybishounen as a belated Xmas present.
Christmas in Vegas
bymeitachi
“Wow,” said Ryoma, and looked at the lights with wide eyes.
“Indeed,” said Fuji, smiling.
Las Vegas was at its best, neon-bright and dazzling against the dark desert sky. Casinos and hotels and nightclubs all advertised in wild colors, each warring to garner the most attention from passersby. It was an amazingly busy scene, loud and chaotic and familiar.
“Reminds me of Tokyo,” Fuji commented, tilting his head slightly.
The flashing lights, glowing letters, the honks of taxis, the blasting of music, the laughter and calling of sobriety-challenged people enjoying themselves…
Ryoma nodded. It did remind him of parts of Tokyo. He tucked his hands into his coat pockets, shivering a little. It wasn’t nearly as cold as Japan would be currently, but it was late December, after all, and the nights were far from mild. “Let’s go inside,” he said to Fuji.
“In a moment,” said Fuji, continuing to stand on the balcony in the cold air and sweeping the busy streets of Las Vegas with a contemplative gaze. “It’s been four years,” he murmured, so softly that Ryoma had lean closer to hear. Fuji smiled down at the young man pressed against his side. “Did you miss it?”
“No.” Ryoma ducked his head, avoiding Fuji’s gaze. “You left me to move here. I was only here for a week to convince you to move back. How could I miss it?” Slight bitterness stained his words. “It took you away for over a year.”
A hand lifted to smooth through his hair. “Fourteen months,” said Fuji, almost smiling down at him.
“Fourteen months and twenty days.”
“You knew I’d go back.”
Ryoma huffed, his breath visible in the air. “Well, you were taking too long about it.”
It hadn’t been easy, Fuji knew, and he was sorry he’d put Ryoma through it. But when he had come to Las Vegas during a summer trip in college, he’d never expected to fall in love with the city. And when, after graduating, he’d found Ryoma scheduled for a world tour of tournaments, he’d seen nothing holding him back in Japan.
He’d never left Ryoma; he could never do that. He’d planned on asking Ryoma to move in with him after the hassles of fame and winning championships were over, or planned on relocating himself back to Japan. He didn’t mind, either way; his photography job was flexible and Ryoma was important. He’d missed him.
But Ryoma had taken advantage of the three weeks between tournaments in France and the U.S. to chase him down. Fuji had come home one night, well into the single digits of the morning, to find a very angry Ryoma waiting for him in his kitchen, drinking his milk.
Fuji had mailed him the key over a year ago, when he first moved in, never really expecting a visit.
“Where have you been?” were the first words out of Ryoma’s mouth, irritated. “I’ve been waiting six hours.”
And Fuji had been struck with the absurdity of that question, and how well it had fit their situation, yet not. Ryoma had sounded like an annoyed wife waiting for her husband to come home. But what else could have been said in those circumstances? It had all felt so surreal.
“I was working,” he’d replied, dropping his bag by the door and thinking again that it felt as if they were playing out some inane domestic scene.
Ryoma had obviously thought so too. “You should’ve called,” he’d said, and there had been a hint of a smile playing across his lips.
“I’m sorry.” He’d taken a step toward the other boy, man, (was he a man now? When had they grown up? So quickly did time pass…) and Ryoma’s faint smile had disappeared.
“Come back,” he’d said.
Fuji had heard the sulk in those words, but he’d heard the quiet plea as well. He’d seen the serious expression in those golden eyes that were fighting not to beg. His heart turned over. His boy wonder was proud, but had matured enough to know when to ask for what he wanted. His boy wonder was beautiful and strong now, stronger than he had been.
His boy wonder had grown up.
He’d smiled. “To Japan?”
To me. “Yes.”
Fuji had then slowly removed his jacket, watching Ryoma all the while. The tennis pro had stood there, by Fuji’s kitchen table, a half-empty glass of milk sitting near his hand, returning his gaze steadily. He was lean and wiry and powerful…but still reassuringly short.
Not everything had changed in a year, Fuji had mused. Many things hadn’t.
He had known his answer as soon as he’d seen the other man.
“Saa, if that’s what you want, Ryoma.”
Ryoma had pinned him with a sharp stare. “You’ll come back?”
He’d crossed the space between them. “Yes,” he’d said when he stood before Ryoma, and then lifted a hand to touch the face tilted up towards his.
So he’d gone back to Japan with Ryoma, uprooting his newly founded life in the space of a week. It’d been frighteningly easy and Fuji found that he hardly missed Las Vegas and its siren-like attraction or shining glamour. His only tribute to his year in the City of Lights was two new cacti plants to grace his and Ryoma’s apartment.
Then life had gone on.
But they were back now, four years later, for winter vacation, because part of Fuji was nostalgic in ways that weren’t quite regretful or sorry, but still poignant. He didn’t dwell in the past, but he liked closure. He wanted a beginning and an end in Las Vegas. The beginning of an end, that night Ryoma had invaded his kitchen, and the end of a beginning, tonight.
Christmas, he thought, and found it oddly appropriate that it was bitingly cold but not snowing.
“Can we go inside now?” The long silence was interrupted when Ryoma grumbled and turned to press his face into Fuji’s shoulder, seeking warmth. He had tired of light-watching.
“Are you cold?” he asked teasingly.
“No, actually, I find negative temperatures to be quite refreshing,” was the caustic, if muffled, response into his jacket. “The part where my nose falls off and my fingers turn black with frostbite is loads of fun.”
Fuji kissed the top of Ryoma’s head. “It’s a shame I like your nose so much. I just might have to spoil your fun and make you go back inside.” He smiled when the younger man raised his head then leaned down to kiss said nose, smiling when the other made a face.
Ryoma shifted and pressed their mouths together. “’s warmer,” he breathed, sliding his arms around Fuji.
“Happy birthday, Ryoma,” Fuji whispered, and they kissed again against the backdrop of colorful lights that flickered and danced year-round, illuminating the night and outlasting fickle holiday spirits and decorations that vanished too soon into darkness. Christmas in Las Vegas was yearlong, a celebration of temptation and lights.
A beginning and an end.
--
Finished: 12.28.04
Edited: 12.28.04
--
Notes:
…I don’t like the end. I don’t like it in general. I feel like they’re both completely OOC. Wah, the problems of writing them older… ::le sigh::jennifier_d does it better. But Fuji-muse pressed me into it, since Ryoma-muse was being a prude about the kitchen smut—they’ve both still got clothes on! Fuji-muse is greatly upset. I agree with him. So he conned me into writing this, just so I’ll have something to give (late) and hope we can scheme together to de-prude Ryoma-muse. ::bares fangs:: Prepare to be deflowered, thou. (Maybe I need to call on Karupin…) (Don’t hate/hit me! It will get done, even if I have to chain Ryoma-muse to Fuji-muse. It will just take…time. v_v;; …meep.)
…I’ll leave now, before I shame myself further.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A beginning and an end; an end and a beginning: Christmas in the City of Lights. It’s been four years for Fuji and Ryoma…
For
wakkawoo and fussybishounen as a belated Xmas present. Christmas in Vegas
by
meitachi“Wow,” said Ryoma, and looked at the lights with wide eyes.
“Indeed,” said Fuji, smiling.
Las Vegas was at its best, neon-bright and dazzling against the dark desert sky. Casinos and hotels and nightclubs all advertised in wild colors, each warring to garner the most attention from passersby. It was an amazingly busy scene, loud and chaotic and familiar.
“Reminds me of Tokyo,” Fuji commented, tilting his head slightly.
The flashing lights, glowing letters, the honks of taxis, the blasting of music, the laughter and calling of sobriety-challenged people enjoying themselves…
Ryoma nodded. It did remind him of parts of Tokyo. He tucked his hands into his coat pockets, shivering a little. It wasn’t nearly as cold as Japan would be currently, but it was late December, after all, and the nights were far from mild. “Let’s go inside,” he said to Fuji.
“In a moment,” said Fuji, continuing to stand on the balcony in the cold air and sweeping the busy streets of Las Vegas with a contemplative gaze. “It’s been four years,” he murmured, so softly that Ryoma had lean closer to hear. Fuji smiled down at the young man pressed against his side. “Did you miss it?”
“No.” Ryoma ducked his head, avoiding Fuji’s gaze. “You left me to move here. I was only here for a week to convince you to move back. How could I miss it?” Slight bitterness stained his words. “It took you away for over a year.”
A hand lifted to smooth through his hair. “Fourteen months,” said Fuji, almost smiling down at him.
“Fourteen months and twenty days.”
“You knew I’d go back.”
Ryoma huffed, his breath visible in the air. “Well, you were taking too long about it.”
It hadn’t been easy, Fuji knew, and he was sorry he’d put Ryoma through it. But when he had come to Las Vegas during a summer trip in college, he’d never expected to fall in love with the city. And when, after graduating, he’d found Ryoma scheduled for a world tour of tournaments, he’d seen nothing holding him back in Japan.
He’d never left Ryoma; he could never do that. He’d planned on asking Ryoma to move in with him after the hassles of fame and winning championships were over, or planned on relocating himself back to Japan. He didn’t mind, either way; his photography job was flexible and Ryoma was important. He’d missed him.
But Ryoma had taken advantage of the three weeks between tournaments in France and the U.S. to chase him down. Fuji had come home one night, well into the single digits of the morning, to find a very angry Ryoma waiting for him in his kitchen, drinking his milk.
Fuji had mailed him the key over a year ago, when he first moved in, never really expecting a visit.
“Where have you been?” were the first words out of Ryoma’s mouth, irritated. “I’ve been waiting six hours.”
And Fuji had been struck with the absurdity of that question, and how well it had fit their situation, yet not. Ryoma had sounded like an annoyed wife waiting for her husband to come home. But what else could have been said in those circumstances? It had all felt so surreal.
“I was working,” he’d replied, dropping his bag by the door and thinking again that it felt as if they were playing out some inane domestic scene.
Ryoma had obviously thought so too. “You should’ve called,” he’d said, and there had been a hint of a smile playing across his lips.
“I’m sorry.” He’d taken a step toward the other boy, man, (was he a man now? When had they grown up? So quickly did time pass…) and Ryoma’s faint smile had disappeared.
“Come back,” he’d said.
Fuji had heard the sulk in those words, but he’d heard the quiet plea as well. He’d seen the serious expression in those golden eyes that were fighting not to beg. His heart turned over. His boy wonder was proud, but had matured enough to know when to ask for what he wanted. His boy wonder was beautiful and strong now, stronger than he had been.
His boy wonder had grown up.
He’d smiled. “To Japan?”
To me. “Yes.”
Fuji had then slowly removed his jacket, watching Ryoma all the while. The tennis pro had stood there, by Fuji’s kitchen table, a half-empty glass of milk sitting near his hand, returning his gaze steadily. He was lean and wiry and powerful…but still reassuringly short.
Not everything had changed in a year, Fuji had mused. Many things hadn’t.
He had known his answer as soon as he’d seen the other man.
“Saa, if that’s what you want, Ryoma.”
Ryoma had pinned him with a sharp stare. “You’ll come back?”
He’d crossed the space between them. “Yes,” he’d said when he stood before Ryoma, and then lifted a hand to touch the face tilted up towards his.
So he’d gone back to Japan with Ryoma, uprooting his newly founded life in the space of a week. It’d been frighteningly easy and Fuji found that he hardly missed Las Vegas and its siren-like attraction or shining glamour. His only tribute to his year in the City of Lights was two new cacti plants to grace his and Ryoma’s apartment.
Then life had gone on.
But they were back now, four years later, for winter vacation, because part of Fuji was nostalgic in ways that weren’t quite regretful or sorry, but still poignant. He didn’t dwell in the past, but he liked closure. He wanted a beginning and an end in Las Vegas. The beginning of an end, that night Ryoma had invaded his kitchen, and the end of a beginning, tonight.
Christmas, he thought, and found it oddly appropriate that it was bitingly cold but not snowing.
“Can we go inside now?” The long silence was interrupted when Ryoma grumbled and turned to press his face into Fuji’s shoulder, seeking warmth. He had tired of light-watching.
“Are you cold?” he asked teasingly.
“No, actually, I find negative temperatures to be quite refreshing,” was the caustic, if muffled, response into his jacket. “The part where my nose falls off and my fingers turn black with frostbite is loads of fun.”
Fuji kissed the top of Ryoma’s head. “It’s a shame I like your nose so much. I just might have to spoil your fun and make you go back inside.” He smiled when the younger man raised his head then leaned down to kiss said nose, smiling when the other made a face.
Ryoma shifted and pressed their mouths together. “’s warmer,” he breathed, sliding his arms around Fuji.
“Happy birthday, Ryoma,” Fuji whispered, and they kissed again against the backdrop of colorful lights that flickered and danced year-round, illuminating the night and outlasting fickle holiday spirits and decorations that vanished too soon into darkness. Christmas in Las Vegas was yearlong, a celebration of temptation and lights.
A beginning and an end.
--
Finished: 12.28.04
Edited: 12.28.04
--
Notes:
…I don’t like the end. I don’t like it in general. I feel like they’re both completely OOC. Wah, the problems of writing them older… ::le sigh::
jennifier_d does it better. But Fuji-muse pressed me into it, since Ryoma-muse was being a prude about the kitchen smut—they’ve both still got clothes on! Fuji-muse is greatly upset. I agree with him. So he conned me into writing this, just so I’ll have something to give (late) and hope we can scheme together to de-prude Ryoma-muse. ::bares fangs:: Prepare to be deflowered, thou. (Maybe I need to call on Karupin…) (Don’t hate/hit me! It will get done, even if I have to chain Ryoma-muse to Fuji-muse. It will just take…time. v_v;; …meep.)…I’ll leave now, before I shame myself further.
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