Decision [Prince Of Tennis: Fuji/Yukimura]
title: Decision
fandom: Prince Of Tennis
pairing(s): Fuji/Yukimura. There is also: Yanagi/Yukimura, Yanagi/Inui, Tezuka/Fuji, and very VERY loose hints at Inui/Kaidoh/Momo ;)
challenge: (From Cyn). AU or future!fic. Yukimura's a model and Fuji's a photographer
notes: 3809 words. Rated highish. Eventually. ENJOY CYN ;)
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Yukimura walks down the narrow corridor escorted on either side; Keiko and Yanagi act like bodyguards, though she is so tiny a strong wind could knock her over, and Yanagi is so tall and skinny every pair of trousers he wears are always too short in the leg by about half an inch.
"This is rather ridiculous really, I don't see why it's neces-"
"Kei, darling," Yanagi interrupts, softly but firmly, "you're my walking, talking Filofax, not an opinion box."
Keiko lowers her head again. "Sorry, Yanagi-san."
Her opinion on this photoshoot will no longer surface today. Yukimura isn't thrilled about having to stand about posing either, but Yanagi has insisted it will be good exposure. Not literally, Yukimura hopes, with a grin. Though Yanagi is not all that possessive (they have an open relationship; sex can advance business like nothing else), so it is all very possible.
The photos will be used for promoting the next tournament Yukimura hopes to win. And possibly for various magazines who will repeat everything they have already said before, and reel off random facts, because ninety percent of them cannot get an interview with Yukimura himself. Yanagi has a very thorough screening process for the media. This photographer, though, has a familiar sounding name, and Yanagi mentions that he is a friend-of-a-friend. That friend nearly always being Inui. Doubles partners together, enemies against one another, and now both managers. Though Inui's bright sparks run in different tournament circles to Yukimura; a doubles team he had worked with right from Junior High.
"Kei, run and find the drinks machine and grab me a coffee, there's a dear." Yanagi says outside the studio door, waving her away with one hand. "Nothing for Yuki, else he'll be standing there under the lights squirming the whole time because he needs to pee."
"Great mental image to be giving her, Renji." Yukimura smiles. He makes this his last smile for now; inside the studio he will have to adopt his persona which everyone adores. It wasn't intentional, it is just the way he plays. The court changes him, and now everyone believes he is this cold, hard creature. It helps in keeping them all at a distance, so Yukimura lets them believe it. Yanagi has assured him the persona has increased his popularity by around thirty percent, which in turn catches a lot of important people's notice. Sponsers, people who pick promising players for tournaments. Promising not always meaning the most skilled, Yukimura has come to realise.
As a teenager, he hadn't realised this world he had been dreaming of living in would be at all false or cut-throat. He knew it would happen a little; he was not naive. But some days it seems it's nothing but faked.
He wipes the smile from his face as Yanagi opens the door for him, and steps inside. He sees a man leant over a camera on a tripod, his hair hanging mostly around his face but for a tiny attempt at a ponytail at the back. His clothes are loose and non-descript; beige slacks, a white t-shirt. He looks up as he hears the door creak slightly, and smiles.
Yukimura is very tempted to smile back, but he refrains. He's never met this Fuji Syuusuke in the flesh before, but he seems familiar.
"Renji, how do you know him again?" Yukimura asks quietly, knowing he didn't get a straight answer the first time.
"Can you remember as far back as Junior High?" Yanagi asks in reply. "Our last year, when you were in hospital, we lost in the Kantou Regional Finals to a team we'd previously not believed to be a threat... Seishun Gakuen. Seigaku."
"Sanada was devestated at the time." Yukimura murmurs, and shocks himself. There's a name he hasn't mentioned for a long time. It's been hard enough to try and forget.
"Fuji Syuusuke played Singles 2." Yanagi continues. "He taught our sweet second-year of the time a lesson in How Not To Use Tennis For Bad Ends."
"Akaya." Yukimura acknowledges. "Is this wise, Renji? A lot of history hangs in the balance here."
"It will be fine." Yanagi assures him with a pat on the back. "Fuji Syuusuke never met you personally, and he no longer plays tennis, as you might be able to tell."
"Did he drop it willingly?" A shock question; Yukimura does not know why someone would willingly give up tennis, and he fears to hear the answer. Someone who defeated Kirihara, even back then, would be formidible.
"I think that is something you may have to ask him yourself." Yanagi replies finally, with a shrug. "Inui did not speak of it; he does not like to speculate upon that which he does not know. This Fuji Syuusuke is just about as close-mouthed as you." He says the last part fondly, with a smile. Yukimura is a gem as tennis players go; no attitude, no bad behaviour to cover up, no gossip and rumours from the wrong things said. Mostly because he never says or does anything where people might pick up on it.
Yukimura is still musing over this mysteriousness as he shrugs off his light jacket. Yanagi has stepped forward to introduce himself and Yukimura finally. They must have looked like a couple of women standing and whispering as soon as they walked through the door. Yukimura swallows and offers out his hand. He may not be overly friendly, but he is at least polite.
Fuji Syuusuke's hands are soft, and warm, and his smile is still as contagious as when Yukimura first stepped through the door. He says nothing of their rudeness, simply introduces himself and asks if there's anything Yukimura needs.
"I think I should go and see where my coffee has gotten to!" Yanagi interrupts, leaving the room hastily. Yukimura rolls his eyes inwardly; he always behaves as such when he thinks Yukimura has an interest in someone. How could he have decided that after five seconds? Even Yukimura needed longer than that himself.
"I am honoured after all to have Yukimura Seichii in my studio," Fuji says, as though the conversation between them had not faltered. He turns back to his camera after Yukimura insists he is fine, and doesn't need anything, "because I happen to know he would not indulge just anyone." Fuji glances up. "I figured though, that it was possibly a favour from your manager to my old friend. If they are still friends; they have come through much after all."
"You remember Yanagi?" Yukimura asks. "And that he and Inui were friends?"
Fuji touches his temple. "I have a good memory." He says. "And I remember we never got to meet when your name was on everyone's lips at Junior High. You were the one to beat. The one who had the honour of being the top player of us all."
"Why don't you play tennis anymore?" Yukimura demands all of a sudden. If Fuji knows so much, and wants to drag up these memories, then he will drag up his own, too.
"Because," Fuji says, "I take pictures now. Go and stand in the light."
Yukimura isn't used to being ordered about, but it is said so softly, almost like a request, that he cannot refuse.
"That was no answer." He scowls at the camera. Fuji smiles from behind it.
"That is perfect, hold that expression."
Now he wants to smile just for the sake of changing the look on his face, but Yukimura ends up scowling deeper. The flash goes off multiple times, but he refuses to let it make him blink and look like an idiot.
"Are you going to answer me at any point?" Yukimura enquires, trying to sound more polite in the hopes that Fuji will act the same way in return. And say more than he intends to.
"Perhaps." He replies, hiding his face behind the camera lens once again. "You should smile once in a while; don't you love what you do?"
"Do you?" Yukimura asks, and scowls to himself again; he is retorting questions now like a child. It has been a long time since someone has made him want to stamp his feet in frustration.
"I do." Fuji nods.
"Then, so do I." Yukimura admits. Fuji grins.
"You love tennis because I love photography?" He asks, knowing full well it isn't what was meant.
"You're not as funny as you'd like to think you are." Yukimura declares, pointing directly at Fuji. "And humour is another way to deflect questions. Answer me."
"Let me take just one picture of the real you, and I just might tell you what you want to know." Fuji says, moving away from the camera for a moment. "I do not want my name attached to a reel of photos depicting an on-court persona. At least let one be the real player."
"That person on the court is me as a player." Yukimura says. Fuji nods.
"But that is not all of you." He says. "I watched many a match; I learnt to read people. I have seen many of your matches."
"So you still watch tennis." Yukimura says thoughtfully. "Why don't you play?"
"I've told you-"
"Yes, I know. The real me, for my answers." Yukimura repeats. "Well, tell me first, and then I will give you a picture of the real me."
Fuji smiles.
"How do I know I can trust you?" He asks.
"How would I have known it of you?" Yukimura retorts. "You just have to trust. If your answers are worthy enough, I'll keep my word. Though I don't know why it matters."
"And I don't know why my history matters to you." Fuji admits. "So together, we make a strange pair."
"How many questions do I get?" Yukimura demands. Fuji waves a hand.
"If we're going to do this, sit down. Those props in the background are structurally sound, you can sit on them." Yukimura hops onto a fake set of stone steps, and waits for Fuji to come over. "You get as many questions as it takes to be satisfied, I suppose. And in return, I get as many photographs until I am satisfied with the results."
Yukimura nods. "Sounds fair to me. When did you give up playing tennis full-time?"
"What makes you think I did?" Fuji asks. Yukimura frowns. "Sorry, no answering a question with a question. I played in Junior High, I followed my captain to High School, college... He became a pro easily. I would have too, but for stupidity."
"What did you do?" Yukimura asks. He fidgets where he sits; Fuji is still standing in front of him, looking sober.
"Once upon a time, I had watched my captain prove his dedication to the game to me by injuring himself severly. And in order to bring out my full potential, and be what he wanted me to be, I accidentally did the same. I tore ligaments in my leg."
"That can be corrected with surgery, can't it?"
"It can." Fuji nods. "And it was, eventually. I had too much pride to admit it had done any real damage for a long time. Pride was a new concept to me then, and I embraced it fully. And pride came before a fall. But, as you say, it can be healed with surgery, and it was. Which is why you don't see me limping now."
"You're in full working order." Yukimura agrees, admiring Fuji's body rightfrom head to toe. "So why are you still not playing tennis anymore?"
"The time it took to heal me... Was a long time." Fuji says. "I had to rediscover my old interests so that I would not go mad without being able to play tennis. And not only the tennis, because I was not mad on it, so much as I was utterly in love with the one person who had made me get serious about it. Who had made me believe I was worth something."
"Seigaku... Your captain was Tezuka Kunimitsu!" Yukimura remembers suddenly. "I think a lot of people were a little bit in love with him. Very untouchable."
"Not to all of us." Fuji says, and winks. "But as with tennis, that is in the past. By the time I was healed, I was very disappointed in myself for letting it go so far. And mad at Tezuka for not stopping me. Though not as much as when he had injured himself; I had played the biggest part in my own folly, but not in his. But I vowed I could not get so lost in something, and someone, again so much that I would end up hurting myself. I began to focus on my photography instead, but it drew me back to tennis. I told myself watching tennis through a lens meant I could still be a part of it and yet keep my distance."
"You tell a wonderful tale." Yukimura says, his heart full of pity. "And perhaps I wouldn't have accepted anything less. But I think you have punished yourself for long enough. You should pick up a racket again, and play. Play against me."
"You people," Fuji smiles. "You captains. Who think of nothing but tennis, who love nothing so deeply as tennis, and believe everything can be solved with tennis."
"Can't it?" Yukimura asks, and for a moment he looks so starry-eyed and trusting in his sport that Fuji wishes he had his camera in hand.
"I missed my shot." He mutters, smiling to himself. "You think you can call back that look onto your face?"
"What look?" Yukimura asks, and Fuji knows he has lost. Things like that are always best when people aren't aware of what they are doing, or that they are doing it.
"Never mind." He says with a smile and a wave of his hand. "Just stand up again, and at least smile for me."
"You think you will get to see the real me from a smile?" Yukimura asks.
"No, but it will be a start."
Yukimura is thoughtful for a moment. "You didn't just ask me for the real me, you asked for all of me." He recalls suddenly. Fuji nods, uncomprehending as he adjusts the zoom on the camera.
"Yes, I did." He replies, distracted.
"Well, that I can show you much more easily..." Yukimura's voice drops to a seductive tone as he sits down again, his hands slipping to the buttons at the top of his shirt, which he begins to undo. Fuji looks up at the change of tone in Yukimura's voice, and his eyes widen when he realises what is happening, but doesn't tell him to stop. Of course not, Yukimura thinks to himself. He knows he is attractive. He has never had anyone turn him down before.
"I don't think these kind of pictures will make it into the magazines we all first intended..." Fuji says eventually, eyes still focused on the skin appearing between the two front halves of Yukimura's shirt.
"So come and stop me." He says, his voice husky. Fuji takes a hesitant step forward, and then another, and another until he is in front of Yukimura, who has stopped unbuttoning his shirt for the time being. He will not put up a fight, if Fuji can say no. But he won't.
The force behind Fuji's movements surprises Yukimura, and all of a sudden there is a hand tangled into his hair, and a mouth on his own, hot and demanding. Probing, just as much as the other hand as it slips under the shirt fabric and strokes warm skin. Yukimura can't control his own hands enough to pull at Fuji's own clothes; all he can do is bunch the fabric in his fists and hold on tight. And then Fuji's mouth is gone from his, but his lips are on Yukimura's neck, and he knows when he groans that Fuji must feel the vibrations on his tongue, because it's right there licking and sucking beside his adam's apple. And it makes it's way down to the fleshier part where his neck meets his shoulder, and then the teeth come out, and bite, but not hard at first, just persistent, over and over until Yukimura can feel a bruise knotting its way to the surface of his skin. The ache is wonderful, and he feels it all over. Especially in one place in particular.
He is making noises, Yukimura realises suddenly. Coming out of his mouth are little panting sounds interspersed with deep, throaty groans. Not that Fuji seems to care in the slightest. It's just that Yukimura is surprised at himself. All the sweet-talking really must have gotten to him.
Yukimura pulls Fuji closer by wrapping his legs around him as much as he can. He attempts to get his hands to work the way he wants them to, and they react finally, and he lifts Fuji's shirt higher and higher until he has to remove his hands from Yukimura for a moment to get his arms out of the sleeves. It's done quickly, but he still notices the abscence of hands, and then lips, but before he can whimper for their loss, they are back.
Fuji's light fingers are pushing Yukimura's own shirt off his shoulders for good when there is the tiniest click of the door. Yukimura's eyes are instantly on it, and all he sees is Yanagi's completely smug smile, and coffee in his hand. He hovers, as though inclined to watch, until Yukimura sticks his middle finger up, which doesn't last long when Fuji pinches a nipple so unexpectedly hard that Yukimura's hands both grab at his lower back and his nails dig into skin. Fuji doesn't so much as flinch, and the door falls shut again.
"Does he always try to watch?" Fuji murmurs into Yukimura's ear.
"Only when he thinks he's... right!" He replies with a gasp. Fuji doesn't ask what Yanagi thought he was right about; maybe it's obvious, maybe he doesn't care. He obviously has better things to do.
Yukimura realises with sudden clarity that although he initiated this, Fuji has taken over the control. And it will just not do. He brings his hands round to the front of Fuji's slacks, going for his belt, and using it to tug his body where he wants it, bringing their mouths together again. Yukimura prefers it when he is calling the shots.
"Captains..." Fuji murmurs between kisses. "Former or present, they always think they're in charge."
"They are." Yukimura insists, whipping Fuji's belt out of the loops and throwing it across the room.
"You're not." Fuji replies, taking Yukimura's wrist in his hand and pulling him up before pushing him gently but firmly to lay on the studio floor. He sits all his weight on Yukimura's middle so that he can't get up or push Fuji off easily, and takes his time undoing first his own button and zip, and then reaching down to Yukimura's. He rocks his hips gently, idly, as though moving to music, and Yukimura suppresses the strangled sound he can feel coming up his throat before it can surface. It couldn't feel any more wickedly wonderful. Unless there were no clothes between them at all.
Fuji remedies that quickly enough; somehow pulling off Yukimura's without taking his weight off. As if he knows one tiny chance and Yukimura will grasp the opportunity. And he will, and he does when Fuji realises he will have to get up to get his pants off properly. Yukimura brings his feet under himself until he is crouching, and then pounces like a cat when Fuji is finally naked, pushing him back and back and back until they come to a wall, and then suddenly all their hot skin is pressed up against one another, sizzling together. And there are hands everywhere, far more hands than the two of them have combined, surely. And it feels like the only way to cool down is to run your tongue all over that hot skin, so Yukimura does.
Just when he thinks this is it, and he's going to do what he wants now, Fuji kisses him and as he pulls away his mouth stays latched to Yukimura's bottom lip and just sucks, and his knees go wobbly. Fuji has him, holds on tight to keep Yukimura from stumbling even a little, but he has it again, quickly as he lost it. Though it wasn't for long.
Fuji is so well-prepared Yukimura finds a second to wonder how many people he has fucked on this floor. And then Fuji pushes in and he can't find it in him to care anymore. Ever. His back arches a little without him prompting it, and when he thinks he sees stars, he blinks, and realises it's the fucking camera going off. How long has it been doing that? Can it even reach them on the floor?
"Fuji..." Yukimura says breathlessly, into the silence. He can't lift his arms because they feel like lead, but Fuji's body on top of his just feels warm. And his breath is blowing through Yukimura's hair. He wants to ask about the camera, but everything feels too good, even if they are a mess, the both of them. Everything is still floating and fuzzy, and he hasn't come back down to earth properly yet.
"Did that camera just go off?" Fuji asks, after another random flash. Yukimura tries to reply coherently, and manages an, "Mmmm."
"Uh huh." Fuji replies, and begins to run circles around the bruise forming on Yukimura's neck with his fingers. Eventually, they get up, glance around for their discarded clothes but don't bother to gather them up, yet. the camera flashes again.
"Hasn't it run out of fucking film yet?!" Yukimura asks angrily. Fuji smiles.
"It's digital, it has a high number of shots to use." He replies. "Want to check the archives?"
Neither of them are really sure what it will have caught, but the idea of it makes them both stir, and they walk over to it more quickly than they should. Fuji presses some buttons and brings up the archives. And begins to flick through them.
"Even the camera appreciates your ass." Fuji comments as he flicks through at least six photos of it in succession. With Fuji pinned against the wall.
"I hope you got the real me." Yukimura says, flicking his hair from his face casually. It's so sweat-drenched it sticks to his skin.
"I'll keep these, shall I?" Fuji asks.
"Only if you think you'll be needing them to remember me by." Yukimura shrugs. "But the reality is better. Sex and tennis both." He leans down to pick up his clothes and pull them on slowly. "Next time, we'll have a match."
"It'll be as good as the sex?" Fuji asks with a smirk. Yukimura narrows his eyes.
"It'll be better."
-
fandom: Prince Of Tennis
pairing(s): Fuji/Yukimura. There is also: Yanagi/Yukimura, Yanagi/Inui, Tezuka/Fuji, and very VERY loose hints at Inui/Kaidoh/Momo ;)
challenge: (From Cyn). AU or future!fic. Yukimura's a model and Fuji's a photographer
notes: 3809 words. Rated highish. Eventually. ENJOY CYN ;)
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Yukimura walks down the narrow corridor escorted on either side; Keiko and Yanagi act like bodyguards, though she is so tiny a strong wind could knock her over, and Yanagi is so tall and skinny every pair of trousers he wears are always too short in the leg by about half an inch.
"This is rather ridiculous really, I don't see why it's neces-"
"Kei, darling," Yanagi interrupts, softly but firmly, "you're my walking, talking Filofax, not an opinion box."
Keiko lowers her head again. "Sorry, Yanagi-san."
Her opinion on this photoshoot will no longer surface today. Yukimura isn't thrilled about having to stand about posing either, but Yanagi has insisted it will be good exposure. Not literally, Yukimura hopes, with a grin. Though Yanagi is not all that possessive (they have an open relationship; sex can advance business like nothing else), so it is all very possible.
The photos will be used for promoting the next tournament Yukimura hopes to win. And possibly for various magazines who will repeat everything they have already said before, and reel off random facts, because ninety percent of them cannot get an interview with Yukimura himself. Yanagi has a very thorough screening process for the media. This photographer, though, has a familiar sounding name, and Yanagi mentions that he is a friend-of-a-friend. That friend nearly always being Inui. Doubles partners together, enemies against one another, and now both managers. Though Inui's bright sparks run in different tournament circles to Yukimura; a doubles team he had worked with right from Junior High.
"Kei, run and find the drinks machine and grab me a coffee, there's a dear." Yanagi says outside the studio door, waving her away with one hand. "Nothing for Yuki, else he'll be standing there under the lights squirming the whole time because he needs to pee."
"Great mental image to be giving her, Renji." Yukimura smiles. He makes this his last smile for now; inside the studio he will have to adopt his persona which everyone adores. It wasn't intentional, it is just the way he plays. The court changes him, and now everyone believes he is this cold, hard creature. It helps in keeping them all at a distance, so Yukimura lets them believe it. Yanagi has assured him the persona has increased his popularity by around thirty percent, which in turn catches a lot of important people's notice. Sponsers, people who pick promising players for tournaments. Promising not always meaning the most skilled, Yukimura has come to realise.
As a teenager, he hadn't realised this world he had been dreaming of living in would be at all false or cut-throat. He knew it would happen a little; he was not naive. But some days it seems it's nothing but faked.
He wipes the smile from his face as Yanagi opens the door for him, and steps inside. He sees a man leant over a camera on a tripod, his hair hanging mostly around his face but for a tiny attempt at a ponytail at the back. His clothes are loose and non-descript; beige slacks, a white t-shirt. He looks up as he hears the door creak slightly, and smiles.
Yukimura is very tempted to smile back, but he refrains. He's never met this Fuji Syuusuke in the flesh before, but he seems familiar.
"Renji, how do you know him again?" Yukimura asks quietly, knowing he didn't get a straight answer the first time.
"Can you remember as far back as Junior High?" Yanagi asks in reply. "Our last year, when you were in hospital, we lost in the Kantou Regional Finals to a team we'd previously not believed to be a threat... Seishun Gakuen. Seigaku."
"Sanada was devestated at the time." Yukimura murmurs, and shocks himself. There's a name he hasn't mentioned for a long time. It's been hard enough to try and forget.
"Fuji Syuusuke played Singles 2." Yanagi continues. "He taught our sweet second-year of the time a lesson in How Not To Use Tennis For Bad Ends."
"Akaya." Yukimura acknowledges. "Is this wise, Renji? A lot of history hangs in the balance here."
"It will be fine." Yanagi assures him with a pat on the back. "Fuji Syuusuke never met you personally, and he no longer plays tennis, as you might be able to tell."
"Did he drop it willingly?" A shock question; Yukimura does not know why someone would willingly give up tennis, and he fears to hear the answer. Someone who defeated Kirihara, even back then, would be formidible.
"I think that is something you may have to ask him yourself." Yanagi replies finally, with a shrug. "Inui did not speak of it; he does not like to speculate upon that which he does not know. This Fuji Syuusuke is just about as close-mouthed as you." He says the last part fondly, with a smile. Yukimura is a gem as tennis players go; no attitude, no bad behaviour to cover up, no gossip and rumours from the wrong things said. Mostly because he never says or does anything where people might pick up on it.
Yukimura is still musing over this mysteriousness as he shrugs off his light jacket. Yanagi has stepped forward to introduce himself and Yukimura finally. They must have looked like a couple of women standing and whispering as soon as they walked through the door. Yukimura swallows and offers out his hand. He may not be overly friendly, but he is at least polite.
Fuji Syuusuke's hands are soft, and warm, and his smile is still as contagious as when Yukimura first stepped through the door. He says nothing of their rudeness, simply introduces himself and asks if there's anything Yukimura needs.
"I think I should go and see where my coffee has gotten to!" Yanagi interrupts, leaving the room hastily. Yukimura rolls his eyes inwardly; he always behaves as such when he thinks Yukimura has an interest in someone. How could he have decided that after five seconds? Even Yukimura needed longer than that himself.
"I am honoured after all to have Yukimura Seichii in my studio," Fuji says, as though the conversation between them had not faltered. He turns back to his camera after Yukimura insists he is fine, and doesn't need anything, "because I happen to know he would not indulge just anyone." Fuji glances up. "I figured though, that it was possibly a favour from your manager to my old friend. If they are still friends; they have come through much after all."
"You remember Yanagi?" Yukimura asks. "And that he and Inui were friends?"
Fuji touches his temple. "I have a good memory." He says. "And I remember we never got to meet when your name was on everyone's lips at Junior High. You were the one to beat. The one who had the honour of being the top player of us all."
"Why don't you play tennis anymore?" Yukimura demands all of a sudden. If Fuji knows so much, and wants to drag up these memories, then he will drag up his own, too.
"Because," Fuji says, "I take pictures now. Go and stand in the light."
Yukimura isn't used to being ordered about, but it is said so softly, almost like a request, that he cannot refuse.
"That was no answer." He scowls at the camera. Fuji smiles from behind it.
"That is perfect, hold that expression."
Now he wants to smile just for the sake of changing the look on his face, but Yukimura ends up scowling deeper. The flash goes off multiple times, but he refuses to let it make him blink and look like an idiot.
"Are you going to answer me at any point?" Yukimura enquires, trying to sound more polite in the hopes that Fuji will act the same way in return. And say more than he intends to.
"Perhaps." He replies, hiding his face behind the camera lens once again. "You should smile once in a while; don't you love what you do?"
"Do you?" Yukimura asks, and scowls to himself again; he is retorting questions now like a child. It has been a long time since someone has made him want to stamp his feet in frustration.
"I do." Fuji nods.
"Then, so do I." Yukimura admits. Fuji grins.
"You love tennis because I love photography?" He asks, knowing full well it isn't what was meant.
"You're not as funny as you'd like to think you are." Yukimura declares, pointing directly at Fuji. "And humour is another way to deflect questions. Answer me."
"Let me take just one picture of the real you, and I just might tell you what you want to know." Fuji says, moving away from the camera for a moment. "I do not want my name attached to a reel of photos depicting an on-court persona. At least let one be the real player."
"That person on the court is me as a player." Yukimura says. Fuji nods.
"But that is not all of you." He says. "I watched many a match; I learnt to read people. I have seen many of your matches."
"So you still watch tennis." Yukimura says thoughtfully. "Why don't you play?"
"I've told you-"
"Yes, I know. The real me, for my answers." Yukimura repeats. "Well, tell me first, and then I will give you a picture of the real me."
Fuji smiles.
"How do I know I can trust you?" He asks.
"How would I have known it of you?" Yukimura retorts. "You just have to trust. If your answers are worthy enough, I'll keep my word. Though I don't know why it matters."
"And I don't know why my history matters to you." Fuji admits. "So together, we make a strange pair."
"How many questions do I get?" Yukimura demands. Fuji waves a hand.
"If we're going to do this, sit down. Those props in the background are structurally sound, you can sit on them." Yukimura hops onto a fake set of stone steps, and waits for Fuji to come over. "You get as many questions as it takes to be satisfied, I suppose. And in return, I get as many photographs until I am satisfied with the results."
Yukimura nods. "Sounds fair to me. When did you give up playing tennis full-time?"
"What makes you think I did?" Fuji asks. Yukimura frowns. "Sorry, no answering a question with a question. I played in Junior High, I followed my captain to High School, college... He became a pro easily. I would have too, but for stupidity."
"What did you do?" Yukimura asks. He fidgets where he sits; Fuji is still standing in front of him, looking sober.
"Once upon a time, I had watched my captain prove his dedication to the game to me by injuring himself severly. And in order to bring out my full potential, and be what he wanted me to be, I accidentally did the same. I tore ligaments in my leg."
"That can be corrected with surgery, can't it?"
"It can." Fuji nods. "And it was, eventually. I had too much pride to admit it had done any real damage for a long time. Pride was a new concept to me then, and I embraced it fully. And pride came before a fall. But, as you say, it can be healed with surgery, and it was. Which is why you don't see me limping now."
"You're in full working order." Yukimura agrees, admiring Fuji's body rightfrom head to toe. "So why are you still not playing tennis anymore?"
"The time it took to heal me... Was a long time." Fuji says. "I had to rediscover my old interests so that I would not go mad without being able to play tennis. And not only the tennis, because I was not mad on it, so much as I was utterly in love with the one person who had made me get serious about it. Who had made me believe I was worth something."
"Seigaku... Your captain was Tezuka Kunimitsu!" Yukimura remembers suddenly. "I think a lot of people were a little bit in love with him. Very untouchable."
"Not to all of us." Fuji says, and winks. "But as with tennis, that is in the past. By the time I was healed, I was very disappointed in myself for letting it go so far. And mad at Tezuka for not stopping me. Though not as much as when he had injured himself; I had played the biggest part in my own folly, but not in his. But I vowed I could not get so lost in something, and someone, again so much that I would end up hurting myself. I began to focus on my photography instead, but it drew me back to tennis. I told myself watching tennis through a lens meant I could still be a part of it and yet keep my distance."
"You tell a wonderful tale." Yukimura says, his heart full of pity. "And perhaps I wouldn't have accepted anything less. But I think you have punished yourself for long enough. You should pick up a racket again, and play. Play against me."
"You people," Fuji smiles. "You captains. Who think of nothing but tennis, who love nothing so deeply as tennis, and believe everything can be solved with tennis."
"Can't it?" Yukimura asks, and for a moment he looks so starry-eyed and trusting in his sport that Fuji wishes he had his camera in hand.
"I missed my shot." He mutters, smiling to himself. "You think you can call back that look onto your face?"
"What look?" Yukimura asks, and Fuji knows he has lost. Things like that are always best when people aren't aware of what they are doing, or that they are doing it.
"Never mind." He says with a smile and a wave of his hand. "Just stand up again, and at least smile for me."
"You think you will get to see the real me from a smile?" Yukimura asks.
"No, but it will be a start."
Yukimura is thoughtful for a moment. "You didn't just ask me for the real me, you asked for all of me." He recalls suddenly. Fuji nods, uncomprehending as he adjusts the zoom on the camera.
"Yes, I did." He replies, distracted.
"Well, that I can show you much more easily..." Yukimura's voice drops to a seductive tone as he sits down again, his hands slipping to the buttons at the top of his shirt, which he begins to undo. Fuji looks up at the change of tone in Yukimura's voice, and his eyes widen when he realises what is happening, but doesn't tell him to stop. Of course not, Yukimura thinks to himself. He knows he is attractive. He has never had anyone turn him down before.
"I don't think these kind of pictures will make it into the magazines we all first intended..." Fuji says eventually, eyes still focused on the skin appearing between the two front halves of Yukimura's shirt.
"So come and stop me." He says, his voice husky. Fuji takes a hesitant step forward, and then another, and another until he is in front of Yukimura, who has stopped unbuttoning his shirt for the time being. He will not put up a fight, if Fuji can say no. But he won't.
The force behind Fuji's movements surprises Yukimura, and all of a sudden there is a hand tangled into his hair, and a mouth on his own, hot and demanding. Probing, just as much as the other hand as it slips under the shirt fabric and strokes warm skin. Yukimura can't control his own hands enough to pull at Fuji's own clothes; all he can do is bunch the fabric in his fists and hold on tight. And then Fuji's mouth is gone from his, but his lips are on Yukimura's neck, and he knows when he groans that Fuji must feel the vibrations on his tongue, because it's right there licking and sucking beside his adam's apple. And it makes it's way down to the fleshier part where his neck meets his shoulder, and then the teeth come out, and bite, but not hard at first, just persistent, over and over until Yukimura can feel a bruise knotting its way to the surface of his skin. The ache is wonderful, and he feels it all over. Especially in one place in particular.
He is making noises, Yukimura realises suddenly. Coming out of his mouth are little panting sounds interspersed with deep, throaty groans. Not that Fuji seems to care in the slightest. It's just that Yukimura is surprised at himself. All the sweet-talking really must have gotten to him.
Yukimura pulls Fuji closer by wrapping his legs around him as much as he can. He attempts to get his hands to work the way he wants them to, and they react finally, and he lifts Fuji's shirt higher and higher until he has to remove his hands from Yukimura for a moment to get his arms out of the sleeves. It's done quickly, but he still notices the abscence of hands, and then lips, but before he can whimper for their loss, they are back.
Fuji's light fingers are pushing Yukimura's own shirt off his shoulders for good when there is the tiniest click of the door. Yukimura's eyes are instantly on it, and all he sees is Yanagi's completely smug smile, and coffee in his hand. He hovers, as though inclined to watch, until Yukimura sticks his middle finger up, which doesn't last long when Fuji pinches a nipple so unexpectedly hard that Yukimura's hands both grab at his lower back and his nails dig into skin. Fuji doesn't so much as flinch, and the door falls shut again.
"Does he always try to watch?" Fuji murmurs into Yukimura's ear.
"Only when he thinks he's... right!" He replies with a gasp. Fuji doesn't ask what Yanagi thought he was right about; maybe it's obvious, maybe he doesn't care. He obviously has better things to do.
Yukimura realises with sudden clarity that although he initiated this, Fuji has taken over the control. And it will just not do. He brings his hands round to the front of Fuji's slacks, going for his belt, and using it to tug his body where he wants it, bringing their mouths together again. Yukimura prefers it when he is calling the shots.
"Captains..." Fuji murmurs between kisses. "Former or present, they always think they're in charge."
"They are." Yukimura insists, whipping Fuji's belt out of the loops and throwing it across the room.
"You're not." Fuji replies, taking Yukimura's wrist in his hand and pulling him up before pushing him gently but firmly to lay on the studio floor. He sits all his weight on Yukimura's middle so that he can't get up or push Fuji off easily, and takes his time undoing first his own button and zip, and then reaching down to Yukimura's. He rocks his hips gently, idly, as though moving to music, and Yukimura suppresses the strangled sound he can feel coming up his throat before it can surface. It couldn't feel any more wickedly wonderful. Unless there were no clothes between them at all.
Fuji remedies that quickly enough; somehow pulling off Yukimura's without taking his weight off. As if he knows one tiny chance and Yukimura will grasp the opportunity. And he will, and he does when Fuji realises he will have to get up to get his pants off properly. Yukimura brings his feet under himself until he is crouching, and then pounces like a cat when Fuji is finally naked, pushing him back and back and back until they come to a wall, and then suddenly all their hot skin is pressed up against one another, sizzling together. And there are hands everywhere, far more hands than the two of them have combined, surely. And it feels like the only way to cool down is to run your tongue all over that hot skin, so Yukimura does.
Just when he thinks this is it, and he's going to do what he wants now, Fuji kisses him and as he pulls away his mouth stays latched to Yukimura's bottom lip and just sucks, and his knees go wobbly. Fuji has him, holds on tight to keep Yukimura from stumbling even a little, but he has it again, quickly as he lost it. Though it wasn't for long.
Fuji is so well-prepared Yukimura finds a second to wonder how many people he has fucked on this floor. And then Fuji pushes in and he can't find it in him to care anymore. Ever. His back arches a little without him prompting it, and when he thinks he sees stars, he blinks, and realises it's the fucking camera going off. How long has it been doing that? Can it even reach them on the floor?
"Fuji..." Yukimura says breathlessly, into the silence. He can't lift his arms because they feel like lead, but Fuji's body on top of his just feels warm. And his breath is blowing through Yukimura's hair. He wants to ask about the camera, but everything feels too good, even if they are a mess, the both of them. Everything is still floating and fuzzy, and he hasn't come back down to earth properly yet.
"Did that camera just go off?" Fuji asks, after another random flash. Yukimura tries to reply coherently, and manages an, "Mmmm."
"Uh huh." Fuji replies, and begins to run circles around the bruise forming on Yukimura's neck with his fingers. Eventually, they get up, glance around for their discarded clothes but don't bother to gather them up, yet. the camera flashes again.
"Hasn't it run out of fucking film yet?!" Yukimura asks angrily. Fuji smiles.
"It's digital, it has a high number of shots to use." He replies. "Want to check the archives?"
Neither of them are really sure what it will have caught, but the idea of it makes them both stir, and they walk over to it more quickly than they should. Fuji presses some buttons and brings up the archives. And begins to flick through them.
"Even the camera appreciates your ass." Fuji comments as he flicks through at least six photos of it in succession. With Fuji pinned against the wall.
"I hope you got the real me." Yukimura says, flicking his hair from his face casually. It's so sweat-drenched it sticks to his skin.
"I'll keep these, shall I?" Fuji asks.
"Only if you think you'll be needing them to remember me by." Yukimura shrugs. "But the reality is better. Sex and tennis both." He leans down to pick up his clothes and pull them on slowly. "Next time, we'll have a match."
"It'll be as good as the sex?" Fuji asks with a smirk. Yukimura narrows his eyes.
"It'll be better."
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