Always Believe the Comfort of Strangers [Prince of Tennis, Geisha verse: Fuji]
Geisha fic. Originally posted here, but this is edited. Fuji visits a bar after work. 498 words. Prompt from Cyn.
-
the comfort of strangers
-
Fuji gets very little work done that day, and laughs to himself when he realises quite possibly that no-one will even notice. If he redates some of the things he has been finishing ahead of time, he can pretend that is what he has spent the day doing.
Fuji heads to a bar after work and orders four drinks one after the other, downing them in such quick succession he can't recall the colour of the drinks or size of the glasses afterwards.
In the men's room he waits until he is alone and then places his suitcase up beside the sink. In a small pocket in the corner the stick of lip-colour is wrapped in paper, away from prying eyes. He brings it to his nose to breathe in the odd scent before tempting himself with it almost touching his mouth. He cannot remember whether the make-up left a mark on Tezuka's cheek, he had left too quickly to look and see. If such an obvious stain had been present, he might never have left.
That would've been a mistake. What once was indulging in harmless fantasy had all too quickly become something real with other people at stake. What would he say if he knew? What would he do?
At least Tezuka-san didn't seem the kind to resort to violence.
A sound comes from outside the door, and Fuji flinches, wrapping back up the make-up stick and shutting his briefcase firmly. He takes up a seat at the bar again and orders another drink to fortify himself against more jumpy reactions.
"Bad day?" A voice beside him enquires, and if Fuji has met the man before, he does not recognise him.
"You could say so." He replies.
"I would say so, if the amount of alcohol you're cosuming is any indication."
Fuji turns to look at him properly, and receives a smirk in reply.
"Ah, women troubles." The stranger says.
"Huh?" Fuji asks. The stranger reaches out a finger to almost touch the corner of his mouth.
"You've smudged someone's lipstick." He grins. Fuji's eyes widen and he rubs at his mouth a lot harder than he needs to. He can't remember the stick making actual contact with his lips, but he was too nervous to notice, really.
"Yeah women troubles, I guess you could say that." Fuji laughs. What if he were to say the trouble is that he isn't a woman? What then?
"Women aren't generally worth the trouble." His companion says with a smile. It's a scrutinizing smile, perhaps he heard the irony in Fuji's laughter. He is searching for something, the right response.
"I'm well aware of that." Fuji says, downing another drink in one swift gulp and using the brief moment of lightheadedness to consider the stranger's jawline, the cut of his suit. The fullness of his lips.
He tries not to think about anything other than those things, especially not Tezuka, when he ends the evening in the nameless stranger's bed.
-
-
the comfort of strangers
-
Fuji gets very little work done that day, and laughs to himself when he realises quite possibly that no-one will even notice. If he redates some of the things he has been finishing ahead of time, he can pretend that is what he has spent the day doing.
Fuji heads to a bar after work and orders four drinks one after the other, downing them in such quick succession he can't recall the colour of the drinks or size of the glasses afterwards.
In the men's room he waits until he is alone and then places his suitcase up beside the sink. In a small pocket in the corner the stick of lip-colour is wrapped in paper, away from prying eyes. He brings it to his nose to breathe in the odd scent before tempting himself with it almost touching his mouth. He cannot remember whether the make-up left a mark on Tezuka's cheek, he had left too quickly to look and see. If such an obvious stain had been present, he might never have left.
That would've been a mistake. What once was indulging in harmless fantasy had all too quickly become something real with other people at stake. What would he say if he knew? What would he do?
At least Tezuka-san didn't seem the kind to resort to violence.
A sound comes from outside the door, and Fuji flinches, wrapping back up the make-up stick and shutting his briefcase firmly. He takes up a seat at the bar again and orders another drink to fortify himself against more jumpy reactions.
"Bad day?" A voice beside him enquires, and if Fuji has met the man before, he does not recognise him.
"You could say so." He replies.
"I would say so, if the amount of alcohol you're cosuming is any indication."
Fuji turns to look at him properly, and receives a smirk in reply.
"Ah, women troubles." The stranger says.
"Huh?" Fuji asks. The stranger reaches out a finger to almost touch the corner of his mouth.
"You've smudged someone's lipstick." He grins. Fuji's eyes widen and he rubs at his mouth a lot harder than he needs to. He can't remember the stick making actual contact with his lips, but he was too nervous to notice, really.
"Yeah women troubles, I guess you could say that." Fuji laughs. What if he were to say the trouble is that he isn't a woman? What then?
"Women aren't generally worth the trouble." His companion says with a smile. It's a scrutinizing smile, perhaps he heard the irony in Fuji's laughter. He is searching for something, the right response.
"I'm well aware of that." Fuji says, downing another drink in one swift gulp and using the brief moment of lightheadedness to consider the stranger's jawline, the cut of his suit. The fullness of his lips.
He tries not to think about anything other than those things, especially not Tezuka, when he ends the evening in the nameless stranger's bed.
-