|For Kitti with ♥♥♥
||[Aug. 27th, 2006|09:05 pm]
For Kitti, on the event of her august birth. (Hee, punny.)
The Patron Saint of Distraction
...because I couldn't think of a good title. Sorry.
Tezuka stands at the sidelines, shading his eyes, watching the Regulars critically, noting the areas needing further improvement. Faintly, he becomes aware of someone approaching, but no matter how aware he is, nothing prepares him for the sensation of Fuji nearly pressing into his side, using the others' practice as an excuse to watch Tezuka instead under long lashes the color of charcoal.
"Hot, isn't it?" Fuji finally says, his voice just this close to a purr. Lazily, he pulls the front of his shirt away from his body. Tezuka looks in his direction just in time to see Fuji unbutton two of the buttons on his shirt.
Fuji repeats his question, meeting Tezuka's eyes squarely this time.
"Hot, isn't it?"
"Hot, isn't it?" Fuji says, fiddling with the knobs of the shower as Tezuka leans against
the bathroom wall, watching him hungrily with no room for any other emotion.
Especially not shame.
Fuji steps out of the shower and walks over to Tezuka, who just stands there, silently, while Fuji unbuttons Tezuka's shirt and pulls down his pajama bottoms and his underwear, and pulls him into the shower area, smiling all the while.
It's only when Fuji hands him the liquid soap that Tezuka speaks, if only to answer Fuji's question of, "Am I going to have to do all the work?"
After the practice matches, the Regulars begin their laps. Loser samples the newest poison/concoction Inui has whipped up out of who-knows-what.
Tezuka runs with even strides. He feels every footstep that he leaves behind, grounding him, keeping him on his feet and out of his head.
Or alternatively, and more dangerously, his heart.
He doesn't look back to see who's behind him.
Fuji's panting makes him think of crumpled sheets of blue cotton on a bed, and Fuji's scent, spicy and strong, trapped in the hollows of his palms and driving him mad.
Fuji's stretches make him think of just how flexible Fuji can be, bending over just so for Tezuka to get that angle that can make him scream, make him beg, make him come like he's never going to come again, ever in his life.
Tezuka increases his pace so the other Regulars fall behind, complaining and whining good-naturedly.
It's unlike Tezuka to do this, but then again, this whole thing with Fuji is completely off the tangent Tezuka put himself on. Honor student, council president, team captain, dependable son and only heir... these are things that weigh him down, that keep him from floating away on an aimless, unproductive cloud.
Tezuka can give no logical reason about this thing he has with Fuji or for Fuji, no justification that will make people understand exactly why he does this. He's too young for love, but he knows it can't be infatuation when Fuji can make him feel so complicated and yet so utterly light at the same time.
He wishes sometimes that he could dismiss it as a hormonal thing, a sexual need that they're filling because to become involved with a girl the way they are with each other is senseless, not to mention illegal and stupid if she manages to get knocked up.
(At least with each other they just get knocked out.)
Fuji makes him think, makes him want, makes him feel on a level that's deeper and further that he's ever gone before, and sometimes he gets so side-tracked from what he's doing, just by remembering Fuji's legs wrapped around him that it's enough to freak him out. If he were the type to freak out. Which he's not.
Tezuka doesn't look back when he runs because it's so easy to get distracted and trip and fall.
He only ever falls anyway where Fuji is concerned.