Iatronudia [Prince of Tennis: Fuji, Oishi, Tezuka]
title: Iatronudia
characters: Fuji, Oishi, Tezuka. Vague Tezuka/Fuji towards the end. (And so much more in my head. And Fuji's. Cough).
summary: Fuji had been eight years old the first time he'd felt so ill the doctor had asked him to take off his shirt so that he could listen properly to his chest." A little risque by the way ;) 1745 Words.
inspiration: prompt table prompt #021: Iatronudia: The pretense of illness in order to be allowed to disrobe in front of a doctor.
-
Fuji had been eight years old the first time he'd felt so ill the doctor had asked him to take off his shirt so that he could listen properly to his chest. It had been chilly with nothing on top, and the stethoscope had been cold too, on his skin. Mostly, when he remembered that day, he shivered.
He never really worked out why until he turned fourteen and discovered the joys of getting himself off with his music turned up loud enough that no-one would hear, but not too loud that it would disturb anyone or create some kind of suspicion. He tried not to think too much when he jerked off, but thoughts came into his head anyway; short skirts exposing the backs of creamy-coloured thighs, flexing arm muscles that contracted after they had swung a racket, long eyelashes, convertible cars racing along at a hundred miles an hour, that feeling after a really cold drink on a really sweltering day. And then there it was; a doctor's office with that overly clinical yet musty smell, the chill in the air, feeling so exposed, so weak, so open. Being touched by unfamiliar hands in a disinterested manner. And he came all over his hand, and shivered.
-
He was careless when he played, just a little. Just enough for it to seem that now and then, accidents happened. Kawamura ruined it one day when he took the shot instead, but Fuji would have only injured his hand, anyway; no-one needed to disrobe to have their wrist looked at.
Male or female; the doctor's gender made no difference. Had he cared, he would have given more thought to that. All that mattered was that it was someone different every time, someone who did not even bother to remember his name after the first introduction. Someone who was efficient and detached, and utterly professional, touching any body part with equal indifference to the rest. Once he had intentionally pulled a muscle in his inner thigh, (his anatomy lessons were the most fascinating to him), and had gripped the doctor's table so hard while she was feeling the inside of his leg, inching higher and higher, that he could have sworn he could make out his fingerprints in the padding when he had finally jumped down. That encounter had fueled about a months worth of fantasies.
-
Although he would admit he leant towards his one favourite scenario, he was a teenage boy, and that meant practically no-one was free from his fantasies. Oishi's uncle was a doctor, and the vice-captain had picked up a little of the lingo after being around him for so long. Sometimes Fuji provoked Oishi into medical discussions just to hear him say technical things. It was easy to picture Oishi as a doctor; it could run in the family, and he was so concerned for people even when he did not know them. He even maintained control over the tennis club's First Aid box. Fuji spent many a night having fun imagining Oishi's face turning ever so slightly more pink in ratio to how much more clothing Fuji would have to remove for whichever particular ailment he had made up this time. But in a way, the fact that he would care ruined it. Fuji liked the anonymity.
-
Tezuka's detachment from everything made him a perfect candidate for being a fantasy-figure-doctor. Even when he played tennis (and he loved tennis more than life), he refused to let others see the passion he felt unless it was really necessary to his task. No matter who Fuji imagined in his head, the fantasy would always end in them unable to match their wills with his; either blushing, stammering, looking aside, or running away completely. Tezuka was the only one who could finish his job professionally, peering down through his glasses and concentrating in a manner that said none of this really mattered, in the bigger scheme of things. No matter what suggestion Fuji made in his head to the body part in peril, Tezuka would not flinch or tremble, simply perservere with his job. The most powerful orgasm he had ever given himself was triggered by the suggestion to Doctor Tezuka that he may have pulled his groin, and Tezuka simply replying in monotone, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world to request; "show me then."
-
"I'm so unlucky." Fuji said, coming away from the court with his left arm cradled in his right. "It seems I'm always injuring myself in minor ways these days."
"If there were a rhyme or reason to your accidents, I could suggest some way of preventing them." Inui offered over the top of his notebook. "But so far I have yet to determine a common factor in the places, times, or the opponents you are facing, in which you receive them."
"Thank you for the concern." Fuji said with a smile, and turned to make his way to the locker room, and privacy to jerk his arm backwards a little in a painful manner as to make the shoulder worse. The more stress put on it, the more attention he got from doctor's fingers, he had noticed. All the curious probing and rubbing at aggravated muscles. It was almost more fun than when he simply found himself in the doctor's office completely making up stories as to what was wrong. Those were the times when the urge had suddenly come upon him and he had just acted on it without thinking too much. These moments were carefully planned and crafted, and deserved appreciation for the time and effort they took to cultivate.
He stepped into the locker room and pulled off his shirt in haste, so as to purposely trouble his shoulder. He grimaced, but it was tainted with a smile.
"You know well enough by now I reprimand people thoroughly for carelessness." Tezuka's voice was loud in the silence. Fuji had not realised he had been followed.
"Tezuka, I am never careless." He replied, turning to look at Tezuka and flash him a small, purposeful smile. "I'll be paying a visit to the doctor's surgery on my way home today."
"I would assume you are becoming a familiar part of the scenery there." Tezuka said. Of course Fuji wasn't about to tell him that he changed doctors as often as most people changed their bedsheets. Especially if they were fifteen year old boys. "They must be disappointed that you are still too young to have to pay for your appointments."
"You save this sarcasm for me, don't you." It wasn't a question. And it wasn't even covering up offense because Fuji's warm tone was the truth.
"You are behaving this way on purpose." He didn't even add an 'aren't you' to the end. It was Tezuka's way not to waste words, and to know instead of just suspect, but the air of indifference it was giving off was mildly reminiscent of a few vague fantasies Fuji had once had...
"Why would I do that?"
"I would know, if you would tell me." Tezuka said pointedly. "Sit down; you're not visiting the doctor today."
Fuji sat, and watched in utter fascination as Tezuka approached him. So perhaps the methods on injury were not entirely all that random, but that did not mean he wasn't actually hurt. And then he felt cold fingertips touch his shoulder, and burn.
Oh. Tezuka already knew that.
-
"Mmm, you're quite the masseuse, Tezuka," Fuji murmured as the fingers worked at the knots in his shoulder. "Who taught you?"
Tezuka did not reply. Fuji had realised long ago that Tezuka's silences said a lot more than words ever could, anyway. But you could not experience a lack of a reply without still asking a question. Was it still a question when you knew there would be no response? Maybe he should ask Tezuka.
It was strange; he should have felt irritated at his plan for the afternoon being thwarted, he should have felt frustration. He should have felt that this was not good at all, because it was not anything like being in the doctor's office, being treated like a test subject, being touched by someone you did not know. He had known Tezuka for going on three years now, and they'd certainly seen each other in various states of undress; it wasn't new, exciting or dangerous at all.
And yet, it was nice. Who would have known someone capable of such overpowering speech and action could be so gentle with his hands? It was not like anything Fuji had fantasized about before at all, and yet his eyes were firmly shut and he could feel a contented humming trapped in his throat that was enjoying being unable to voice itself in front of Tezuka.
"I don't understand you at all." Tezuka said, almost absently, except that he never said anything out of place; much like Fuji himself in that respect, and Fuji's breath hitched a little. There were more ways than the superficial in which you could be utter strangers to one another. You could know someone's name, birthday, favourite colour, the food they liked best to eat... And still only be reciting a list of random facts, holding no real knowledge at all. And Fuji didn't even know if Tezuka had a favourite colour. Perhaps if the Seigaku uniforms hadn't always been the same style, since before they had gone to the school, he would have guessed it was one of the three colours in those clothes. Perhaps it was more likely Tezuka hadn't wasted thought on something so superfluous.
-
Nothing further had happened in the locker room, and yet Fuji felt vaguely satisfied as he walked home, alone. And when he found himself on his bed with his pants undone and his eyes just barely shut, for the first time in a long time the sense of alienation he always associated with being in the doctor's office transformed itself, and became a living, breathing person. A being who knew him, or knew of him, and yet did not really know anything of importance at all. Someone whose touch was full of care, and yet completely professional. Someone who did not even know what it was they were doing, an embodiment of everything which made Fuji feel electric from head to toe.
For the first time, when he came, there was a name left unspoken on his lips.
-
characters: Fuji, Oishi, Tezuka. Vague Tezuka/Fuji towards the end. (And so much more in my head. And Fuji's. Cough).
summary: Fuji had been eight years old the first time he'd felt so ill the doctor had asked him to take off his shirt so that he could listen properly to his chest." A little risque by the way ;) 1745 Words.
inspiration: prompt table prompt #021: Iatronudia: The pretense of illness in order to be allowed to disrobe in front of a doctor.
-
Fuji had been eight years old the first time he'd felt so ill the doctor had asked him to take off his shirt so that he could listen properly to his chest. It had been chilly with nothing on top, and the stethoscope had been cold too, on his skin. Mostly, when he remembered that day, he shivered.
He never really worked out why until he turned fourteen and discovered the joys of getting himself off with his music turned up loud enough that no-one would hear, but not too loud that it would disturb anyone or create some kind of suspicion. He tried not to think too much when he jerked off, but thoughts came into his head anyway; short skirts exposing the backs of creamy-coloured thighs, flexing arm muscles that contracted after they had swung a racket, long eyelashes, convertible cars racing along at a hundred miles an hour, that feeling after a really cold drink on a really sweltering day. And then there it was; a doctor's office with that overly clinical yet musty smell, the chill in the air, feeling so exposed, so weak, so open. Being touched by unfamiliar hands in a disinterested manner. And he came all over his hand, and shivered.
-
He was careless when he played, just a little. Just enough for it to seem that now and then, accidents happened. Kawamura ruined it one day when he took the shot instead, but Fuji would have only injured his hand, anyway; no-one needed to disrobe to have their wrist looked at.
Male or female; the doctor's gender made no difference. Had he cared, he would have given more thought to that. All that mattered was that it was someone different every time, someone who did not even bother to remember his name after the first introduction. Someone who was efficient and detached, and utterly professional, touching any body part with equal indifference to the rest. Once he had intentionally pulled a muscle in his inner thigh, (his anatomy lessons were the most fascinating to him), and had gripped the doctor's table so hard while she was feeling the inside of his leg, inching higher and higher, that he could have sworn he could make out his fingerprints in the padding when he had finally jumped down. That encounter had fueled about a months worth of fantasies.
-
Although he would admit he leant towards his one favourite scenario, he was a teenage boy, and that meant practically no-one was free from his fantasies. Oishi's uncle was a doctor, and the vice-captain had picked up a little of the lingo after being around him for so long. Sometimes Fuji provoked Oishi into medical discussions just to hear him say technical things. It was easy to picture Oishi as a doctor; it could run in the family, and he was so concerned for people even when he did not know them. He even maintained control over the tennis club's First Aid box. Fuji spent many a night having fun imagining Oishi's face turning ever so slightly more pink in ratio to how much more clothing Fuji would have to remove for whichever particular ailment he had made up this time. But in a way, the fact that he would care ruined it. Fuji liked the anonymity.
-
Tezuka's detachment from everything made him a perfect candidate for being a fantasy-figure-doctor. Even when he played tennis (and he loved tennis more than life), he refused to let others see the passion he felt unless it was really necessary to his task. No matter who Fuji imagined in his head, the fantasy would always end in them unable to match their wills with his; either blushing, stammering, looking aside, or running away completely. Tezuka was the only one who could finish his job professionally, peering down through his glasses and concentrating in a manner that said none of this really mattered, in the bigger scheme of things. No matter what suggestion Fuji made in his head to the body part in peril, Tezuka would not flinch or tremble, simply perservere with his job. The most powerful orgasm he had ever given himself was triggered by the suggestion to Doctor Tezuka that he may have pulled his groin, and Tezuka simply replying in monotone, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world to request; "show me then."
-
"I'm so unlucky." Fuji said, coming away from the court with his left arm cradled in his right. "It seems I'm always injuring myself in minor ways these days."
"If there were a rhyme or reason to your accidents, I could suggest some way of preventing them." Inui offered over the top of his notebook. "But so far I have yet to determine a common factor in the places, times, or the opponents you are facing, in which you receive them."
"Thank you for the concern." Fuji said with a smile, and turned to make his way to the locker room, and privacy to jerk his arm backwards a little in a painful manner as to make the shoulder worse. The more stress put on it, the more attention he got from doctor's fingers, he had noticed. All the curious probing and rubbing at aggravated muscles. It was almost more fun than when he simply found himself in the doctor's office completely making up stories as to what was wrong. Those were the times when the urge had suddenly come upon him and he had just acted on it without thinking too much. These moments were carefully planned and crafted, and deserved appreciation for the time and effort they took to cultivate.
He stepped into the locker room and pulled off his shirt in haste, so as to purposely trouble his shoulder. He grimaced, but it was tainted with a smile.
"You know well enough by now I reprimand people thoroughly for carelessness." Tezuka's voice was loud in the silence. Fuji had not realised he had been followed.
"Tezuka, I am never careless." He replied, turning to look at Tezuka and flash him a small, purposeful smile. "I'll be paying a visit to the doctor's surgery on my way home today."
"I would assume you are becoming a familiar part of the scenery there." Tezuka said. Of course Fuji wasn't about to tell him that he changed doctors as often as most people changed their bedsheets. Especially if they were fifteen year old boys. "They must be disappointed that you are still too young to have to pay for your appointments."
"You save this sarcasm for me, don't you." It wasn't a question. And it wasn't even covering up offense because Fuji's warm tone was the truth.
"You are behaving this way on purpose." He didn't even add an 'aren't you' to the end. It was Tezuka's way not to waste words, and to know instead of just suspect, but the air of indifference it was giving off was mildly reminiscent of a few vague fantasies Fuji had once had...
"Why would I do that?"
"I would know, if you would tell me." Tezuka said pointedly. "Sit down; you're not visiting the doctor today."
Fuji sat, and watched in utter fascination as Tezuka approached him. So perhaps the methods on injury were not entirely all that random, but that did not mean he wasn't actually hurt. And then he felt cold fingertips touch his shoulder, and burn.
Oh. Tezuka already knew that.
-
"Mmm, you're quite the masseuse, Tezuka," Fuji murmured as the fingers worked at the knots in his shoulder. "Who taught you?"
Tezuka did not reply. Fuji had realised long ago that Tezuka's silences said a lot more than words ever could, anyway. But you could not experience a lack of a reply without still asking a question. Was it still a question when you knew there would be no response? Maybe he should ask Tezuka.
It was strange; he should have felt irritated at his plan for the afternoon being thwarted, he should have felt frustration. He should have felt that this was not good at all, because it was not anything like being in the doctor's office, being treated like a test subject, being touched by someone you did not know. He had known Tezuka for going on three years now, and they'd certainly seen each other in various states of undress; it wasn't new, exciting or dangerous at all.
And yet, it was nice. Who would have known someone capable of such overpowering speech and action could be so gentle with his hands? It was not like anything Fuji had fantasized about before at all, and yet his eyes were firmly shut and he could feel a contented humming trapped in his throat that was enjoying being unable to voice itself in front of Tezuka.
"I don't understand you at all." Tezuka said, almost absently, except that he never said anything out of place; much like Fuji himself in that respect, and Fuji's breath hitched a little. There were more ways than the superficial in which you could be utter strangers to one another. You could know someone's name, birthday, favourite colour, the food they liked best to eat... And still only be reciting a list of random facts, holding no real knowledge at all. And Fuji didn't even know if Tezuka had a favourite colour. Perhaps if the Seigaku uniforms hadn't always been the same style, since before they had gone to the school, he would have guessed it was one of the three colours in those clothes. Perhaps it was more likely Tezuka hadn't wasted thought on something so superfluous.
-
Nothing further had happened in the locker room, and yet Fuji felt vaguely satisfied as he walked home, alone. And when he found himself on his bed with his pants undone and his eyes just barely shut, for the first time in a long time the sense of alienation he always associated with being in the doctor's office transformed itself, and became a living, breathing person. A being who knew him, or knew of him, and yet did not really know anything of importance at all. Someone whose touch was full of care, and yet completely professional. Someone who did not even know what it was they were doing, an embodiment of everything which made Fuji feel electric from head to toe.
For the first time, when he came, there was a name left unspoken on his lips.
-