A Different Kind of Anniversary (AtoRyo)
A Different Kind of Anniversary
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: AtoRyo
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The PoT boys don't belong to me, but I’m still negotiating.
Summary: Most couples spend their anniversaries at a fancy restaurant drinking champagne and reminiscing. Atobe and Ryoma never did things like normal couples.
Wordcount: 1,493
Notes: My first entry for my 30_memories challenge. Theme: Anniversary
Not yet completely proofread. So if there are any mistakes hopefully I’ll catch them and fix them shortly. ^^; I ran out of time and I want to post this tonight before I re-enter my studio and can’t come out again. Feel free to note any mistakes though if you feel the need.^^;
xxxx
A Different Kind of Anniversary
“Let us off here.”
The high class car rolled to a soundless stop. It had been so many years that the man’s order wasn’t even questioned, despite the fact he wasn’t the employer.
Echizen Ryoma was nearly out the door when his companion lightly grasped his wrist halting his abrupt exit.
“We have a reservation for 6.” Atobe keigo stated.
Ryoma simply eyed him incredulously. “And since when have you ever even needed a reservation?”
Atobe sighed. “Point taken.” With an air of resignation he let Ryoma go and followed him out of the car. “Where do you plan on going, anyway?”
With a wave of Atobe’s well-manicured hand, his driver took off to find a better place to park and await his employer’s next order.
“Not far. Why, are you lost without your driver?”
“Of course not! I just don’t see what we’re doing out here when we are due at the restaurant in less than 15 minutes.”
Ryoma looked at him in exasperation. “It’s hard to believe you were an athlete, Keigo. How did you keep in shape when you whine at a little bit of walking?”
“Excuse me? I still AM an athlete. It’s not the walking I have a problem with.”
“You sure? Not getting slow in your old age, are you?”
“I’m only 29…”
“Positively ancient.”
“You are only 3 years younger than I am.”
“Yes, but I haven’t let myself go like you have. I still can’t believe you gave up the Pro circuits to take over your father’s company. What a sell out.”
“You act like I gave it up completely.”
“I’m bitter. There’s less competition now.”
“Tezuka still plays.”
“So? He’s different from you.”
Atobe had no response to that. He knew what Ryoma meant. Truth be told, he rather missed their official matches as well. The screaming fans and flashing cameras. The tension. The freedom to let loose their passions in front of everyone watching and not have to worry about the repercussions. He was still amazed they had managed to keep their relationship secret for so long.
But he had had no choice in the matter. His father was getting older and could no longer handle the business alone. He needed someone to help take over, and that someone had to be him.
“You know it wasn’t my desire.”
And Ryoma did know. He understood better than anyone else, in fact. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be bitter about it.
“Che.”
They continued on in silence. The only sound was the echoing clack of their dress shoes against the sidewalk.
“Ah, it’s still here.” Ryoma stopped at the top of the concrete staircase.
“Of course it is. What did you think happened to it?”
They took a moment to look out across the old street tennis courts where they had first encountered each other. It was a little unkempt compared to when they came here, but it was functional. There were a few kids playing on the courts.
Ryoma silently walked over to the surrounding bleachers, careful not to interrupt the two boy’s game. Atobe followed, but did not climb up after him.
Ryoma looked down at him and smiled. It wasn’t a big one. It was almost not there. But Atobe could see it all the same.
“This brings back memories.”
“As I recall, our positions were reversed, then.”
“Things have changed.”
“You’ve gotten taller?”
“Bastard.”
“What? It’s true.” Atobe suddenly clambered up to join the other man on the bleachers. Not that Atobe was one to clamber, but on this occasion he made an exception. “But you still aren’t taller than I am.”
Ryoma just glared.
Atobe and Ryoma settled back into companionable silence to watch the two young players struggle against each other.
After several minutes Ryoma sighed, “They are painful to watch.”
“They are only amateur players. And children. You expected brilliance?”
“I used to.”
Atobe was silent a moment. “You don’t anymore?”
Ryoma shook his head, his long dark bangs hiding his expression from view.
“Sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it anymore.”
“The playing?”
Ryoma tilted his head in acknowledgement.
Atobe looked away, unable to look at Ryoma after the unexpected confession. “You shouldn’t force yourself if you don’t want to play. Its not like we need the money.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to play. Its just there are so few worth playing.”
Atobe forced himself to look at the down turned head of the one that had become an extension to himself.
Unexpectedly, Ryoma looked up, their eyes locked, and his piercing gaze burrowed straight into Atobe’s soul.
“Play me.”
“What?”
“Play me.”
“You mean here? Now?!”
“Yes.”
“But we aren’t dressed for it!”
“I don’t care. I want to play you.”
“Ryoma…”
“You backing out again?”
“Again?”
“You never answered that first challenge I made here.”
“You have got to be kidding!”
But Ryoma was serious. He didn’t even blink, waiting patiently for Atobe’s response.
Atobe sighed, knowing he would inevitably give in. “We don’t even have rackets.”
“Not a problem.”
Atobe observed his lover climb down from the bleachers, every move measured and with an unconscious grace developed after years on the tennis courts. Or maybe he had been born to it. It was sometimes hard to tell if there was even a difference.
He watched Ryoma approach the boys who at first looked annoyed and put out. It didn’t take long for the recognition to kick in. Then came the awe and worshipful looks.
Echizen Ryoma was like an idol to the tennis world. Those who didn’t wish to be him, revered him. Many felt a combination of the two. Atobe had grown accostumed to the world eyeing his lover like a thing to be devoured. He wasn’t concerned. After all, he was the only one who knew the real Echizen Ryoma.
Golden eyes were staring straight at him,, a challenge swirling in their depths. Two borrowed rackets were held loosely in the skilled hands.
Atobe smiled and stood with a flourish. He quickly removed his expensive dinner jacket and carefully folded it. He laid it beside Ryoma, who had left his own in an inelegant pile on the bleacher. He could feel the powerful gaze still boring into him.
Slowly, he carefully came down to ground level, unbuttoning his shirt to the cool night air, and completely ready to meet that challenge head on.
“Your shoes will get scuffed.” Ryoma smirked in amusement as Atobe approached with a well-remembered air of grace and flashiness.
Atobe barely glanced down at his highly shined designer dress shoes unconcerned. “I can always get a new pair. They will be a worthy sacrifice.”
“Promise?” Ryoma’s eyes glinted strangely.
“I always keep my word,” Atobe stated sincerely.
“You had better,” Ryoma tossed him one of the rackets.
“You serve.”
Ryoma blinked at him, “You sure?”
“Positive.” Atobe grinned at the familiar smirk thrown his way. It had been a long time since they had just let loose like this.
“You’ll regret that.”
“Never.” No matter which direction the match went, Atobe wouldn’t regret it. There was a thrill every time he saw Ryoma use his trademark serve. He had long ago broken it, but that didn’t matter. Whenever they played Ryoma would serve. It was tradition. Atobe hadn’t realized how much he had missed it.
It didn’t take long for them to be completely absorbed in their game. They forgot about their inexperience audience. They ignored the state of their expensive suit pants, and their sweat dampened dress shirts. None of these details mattered. All that mattered was each other and their tennis.
xxxx
Later that evening the two strolled into the high class restaurant, their reservation time long passed.
Ryoma thought it amazing how Atobe could command a room’s attention and be fawned over even while wearing a rumpled suit and scuffed shoes. His normally well-styled hair was damp from their earlier exertions, and clung to the skin of his forehead and neck deliciously. And yet, he still acted, and for the most part was treated like, royalty. Very yummy royalty, to Ryoma’s mind. It had to be the charisma, the attitude. Not to mention his name.
Even without their reservation, they were quickly seated. Their table was in a small corner a little away from the gossiping tables that were at the center of the room. Eyes watched them enter in their mussed clothes and looked on them in disdain.
Not that either of the men being watched cared one whit for what the other diners thought.
Atobe eyed his companion fondly, while Ryoma searched through the menu.
While most couples spend their anniversaries at a fancy restaurant drinking champagne and reminiscing, their anniversaries were never predictable, a fact which Atobe secretly enjoyed. Echizen Ryoma never did anything typically. He found himself wondering what his lover would plan for next year.
xxxx
The End
xxxx
author’s rambles: I always wanted Atobe to accept that challenge on the street tennis courts. That’s where this really comes from. :p And the idea of them playing tennis in designer dinner wear amuses me for some reason. XD Who needs Armani when you have Tennis? I have no idea how plausible tennis in dress shoes is but it doesn’t matter because I could see them doing it anyway just to see if they could. XD
Question about my rating… would a curse like bastard/damn cause it to go up to PG? I don’t think they are that bad, but I don’t know. Especially if used only once in a fic. What do you guys think? *wants her fics to be rated correctly*
Feedback equals food for the soul
11/10/06
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: AtoRyo
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The PoT boys don't belong to me, but I’m still negotiating.
Summary: Most couples spend their anniversaries at a fancy restaurant drinking champagne and reminiscing. Atobe and Ryoma never did things like normal couples.
Wordcount: 1,493
Notes: My first entry for my 30_memories challenge. Theme: Anniversary
Not yet completely proofread. So if there are any mistakes hopefully I’ll catch them and fix them shortly. ^^; I ran out of time and I want to post this tonight before I re-enter my studio and can’t come out again. Feel free to note any mistakes though if you feel the need.^^;
xxxx
A Different Kind of Anniversary
“Let us off here.”
The high class car rolled to a soundless stop. It had been so many years that the man’s order wasn’t even questioned, despite the fact he wasn’t the employer.
Echizen Ryoma was nearly out the door when his companion lightly grasped his wrist halting his abrupt exit.
“We have a reservation for 6.” Atobe keigo stated.
Ryoma simply eyed him incredulously. “And since when have you ever even needed a reservation?”
Atobe sighed. “Point taken.” With an air of resignation he let Ryoma go and followed him out of the car. “Where do you plan on going, anyway?”
With a wave of Atobe’s well-manicured hand, his driver took off to find a better place to park and await his employer’s next order.
“Not far. Why, are you lost without your driver?”
“Of course not! I just don’t see what we’re doing out here when we are due at the restaurant in less than 15 minutes.”
Ryoma looked at him in exasperation. “It’s hard to believe you were an athlete, Keigo. How did you keep in shape when you whine at a little bit of walking?”
“Excuse me? I still AM an athlete. It’s not the walking I have a problem with.”
“You sure? Not getting slow in your old age, are you?”
“I’m only 29…”
“Positively ancient.”
“You are only 3 years younger than I am.”
“Yes, but I haven’t let myself go like you have. I still can’t believe you gave up the Pro circuits to take over your father’s company. What a sell out.”
“You act like I gave it up completely.”
“I’m bitter. There’s less competition now.”
“Tezuka still plays.”
“So? He’s different from you.”
Atobe had no response to that. He knew what Ryoma meant. Truth be told, he rather missed their official matches as well. The screaming fans and flashing cameras. The tension. The freedom to let loose their passions in front of everyone watching and not have to worry about the repercussions. He was still amazed they had managed to keep their relationship secret for so long.
But he had had no choice in the matter. His father was getting older and could no longer handle the business alone. He needed someone to help take over, and that someone had to be him.
“You know it wasn’t my desire.”
And Ryoma did know. He understood better than anyone else, in fact. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be bitter about it.
“Che.”
They continued on in silence. The only sound was the echoing clack of their dress shoes against the sidewalk.
“Ah, it’s still here.” Ryoma stopped at the top of the concrete staircase.
“Of course it is. What did you think happened to it?”
They took a moment to look out across the old street tennis courts where they had first encountered each other. It was a little unkempt compared to when they came here, but it was functional. There were a few kids playing on the courts.
Ryoma silently walked over to the surrounding bleachers, careful not to interrupt the two boy’s game. Atobe followed, but did not climb up after him.
Ryoma looked down at him and smiled. It wasn’t a big one. It was almost not there. But Atobe could see it all the same.
“This brings back memories.”
“As I recall, our positions were reversed, then.”
“Things have changed.”
“You’ve gotten taller?”
“Bastard.”
“What? It’s true.” Atobe suddenly clambered up to join the other man on the bleachers. Not that Atobe was one to clamber, but on this occasion he made an exception. “But you still aren’t taller than I am.”
Ryoma just glared.
Atobe and Ryoma settled back into companionable silence to watch the two young players struggle against each other.
After several minutes Ryoma sighed, “They are painful to watch.”
“They are only amateur players. And children. You expected brilliance?”
“I used to.”
Atobe was silent a moment. “You don’t anymore?”
Ryoma shook his head, his long dark bangs hiding his expression from view.
“Sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it anymore.”
“The playing?”
Ryoma tilted his head in acknowledgement.
Atobe looked away, unable to look at Ryoma after the unexpected confession. “You shouldn’t force yourself if you don’t want to play. Its not like we need the money.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to play. Its just there are so few worth playing.”
Atobe forced himself to look at the down turned head of the one that had become an extension to himself.
Unexpectedly, Ryoma looked up, their eyes locked, and his piercing gaze burrowed straight into Atobe’s soul.
“Play me.”
“What?”
“Play me.”
“You mean here? Now?!”
“Yes.”
“But we aren’t dressed for it!”
“I don’t care. I want to play you.”
“Ryoma…”
“You backing out again?”
“Again?”
“You never answered that first challenge I made here.”
“You have got to be kidding!”
But Ryoma was serious. He didn’t even blink, waiting patiently for Atobe’s response.
Atobe sighed, knowing he would inevitably give in. “We don’t even have rackets.”
“Not a problem.”
Atobe observed his lover climb down from the bleachers, every move measured and with an unconscious grace developed after years on the tennis courts. Or maybe he had been born to it. It was sometimes hard to tell if there was even a difference.
He watched Ryoma approach the boys who at first looked annoyed and put out. It didn’t take long for the recognition to kick in. Then came the awe and worshipful looks.
Echizen Ryoma was like an idol to the tennis world. Those who didn’t wish to be him, revered him. Many felt a combination of the two. Atobe had grown accostumed to the world eyeing his lover like a thing to be devoured. He wasn’t concerned. After all, he was the only one who knew the real Echizen Ryoma.
Golden eyes were staring straight at him,, a challenge swirling in their depths. Two borrowed rackets were held loosely in the skilled hands.
Atobe smiled and stood with a flourish. He quickly removed his expensive dinner jacket and carefully folded it. He laid it beside Ryoma, who had left his own in an inelegant pile on the bleacher. He could feel the powerful gaze still boring into him.
Slowly, he carefully came down to ground level, unbuttoning his shirt to the cool night air, and completely ready to meet that challenge head on.
“Your shoes will get scuffed.” Ryoma smirked in amusement as Atobe approached with a well-remembered air of grace and flashiness.
Atobe barely glanced down at his highly shined designer dress shoes unconcerned. “I can always get a new pair. They will be a worthy sacrifice.”
“Promise?” Ryoma’s eyes glinted strangely.
“I always keep my word,” Atobe stated sincerely.
“You had better,” Ryoma tossed him one of the rackets.
“You serve.”
Ryoma blinked at him, “You sure?”
“Positive.” Atobe grinned at the familiar smirk thrown his way. It had been a long time since they had just let loose like this.
“You’ll regret that.”
“Never.” No matter which direction the match went, Atobe wouldn’t regret it. There was a thrill every time he saw Ryoma use his trademark serve. He had long ago broken it, but that didn’t matter. Whenever they played Ryoma would serve. It was tradition. Atobe hadn’t realized how much he had missed it.
It didn’t take long for them to be completely absorbed in their game. They forgot about their inexperience audience. They ignored the state of their expensive suit pants, and their sweat dampened dress shirts. None of these details mattered. All that mattered was each other and their tennis.
xxxx
Later that evening the two strolled into the high class restaurant, their reservation time long passed.
Ryoma thought it amazing how Atobe could command a room’s attention and be fawned over even while wearing a rumpled suit and scuffed shoes. His normally well-styled hair was damp from their earlier exertions, and clung to the skin of his forehead and neck deliciously. And yet, he still acted, and for the most part was treated like, royalty. Very yummy royalty, to Ryoma’s mind. It had to be the charisma, the attitude. Not to mention his name.
Even without their reservation, they were quickly seated. Their table was in a small corner a little away from the gossiping tables that were at the center of the room. Eyes watched them enter in their mussed clothes and looked on them in disdain.
Not that either of the men being watched cared one whit for what the other diners thought.
Atobe eyed his companion fondly, while Ryoma searched through the menu.
While most couples spend their anniversaries at a fancy restaurant drinking champagne and reminiscing, their anniversaries were never predictable, a fact which Atobe secretly enjoyed. Echizen Ryoma never did anything typically. He found himself wondering what his lover would plan for next year.
xxxx
The End
xxxx
author’s rambles: I always wanted Atobe to accept that challenge on the street tennis courts. That’s where this really comes from. :p And the idea of them playing tennis in designer dinner wear amuses me for some reason. XD Who needs Armani when you have Tennis? I have no idea how plausible tennis in dress shoes is but it doesn’t matter because I could see them doing it anyway just to see if they could. XD
Question about my rating… would a curse like bastard/damn cause it to go up to PG? I don’t think they are that bad, but I don’t know. Especially if used only once in a fic. What do you guys think? *wants her fics to be rated correctly*
Feedback equals food for the soul
11/10/06