[fic] [Thrill Pair] [Chapters 5 -7] Impulse
Title: Impulse
Pairing: Thrill Pair + a dash of AtoMo
Genre: mix of angst smut and fluff
Rating: This part, NC - 17
Disclaimer: Not Mine. Konomi Takeshi's.
Chapters 1 -4
Chapter 5: Heads Up
THWACK!
Ryoma returned Momoshiro’s serve with a vicious twist shot.
Momo yelped, only just getting his racket up in time to shield his face, not even thinking about returning the shot. “Oi, what’s eating you?” he yelled, his nerves still recuperating from the near facial disfigurement that seemed to be the aim of half of Ryoma’s shots lately. “That’s the fifth time you’ve almost knocked my head off!”
Ryoma hit a high volley. “Sorry. Just a little pent-up with… academics.”
Momo jumped and returned the ball with a dunk smash. “That’s why you should get yourself a boyfriend already,” he advised. “To help you ease all that stress. Tennis could only do so much.”
Ryoma smirked and effortlessly returned Momo’s signature move. “You and Monkey King are keeping really busy nights huh?”
Momo blushed, and missed Echizen’s relatively easy return. He stared as the yellow ball rolled on the ground and came to a stop near his feet. With a low growl, he snatched it from the ground and glared at a smug Ryoma. “You know Echizen, for someone who has stayed single AND virginal all your life, you have an incredibly filthy mind,” he shot back, as he strolled over to the service area. “That’s not what I meant. And stop calling Keigo Monkey King.”
“What did you mean then?” Ryoma asked, ignoring Momo’s blatant dig at his non-existent sex life.
Momoshiro made a powerful serve and Ryoma ran to catch up to it. “You know warmth, security, someone to wave a forkful of blueberry cheesecake in front of your face after a long day’s work,” he answered, taking some quick steps backward and hitting a low cross-court drive. “And a good backrub would be a perk too.”
“Monkey King does all that?” Ryoma asked as he hit a drive B. “What the hell did you do to him?”
“Haha. Just keep that attitude Echizen. Someday, you’ll understand what I mean when you and Fuji-senpai are finally together.”
This time, it was Ryoma’s turn to miss an easy shot. He swiftly turned and glared at a grinning Momo, a heavily sardonic remark forming at the tip of his tongue. But before he could deal it out, a new, drawling voice interjected.
“Your skills are getting rusty, Echizen.”
Ryoma glanced behind him and saw the one and only Atobe Keigo sauntering towards them in his the-world-turns-at-my-command gait, smirking.
So that’s why Momo was grinning.
Ryoma nodded stiffly. “Monkey King.”
Atobe bristled ever so slightly at the unflattering nickname Ryoma had christened him with but he kept walking until he reached Momo’s side.
Momo held up his hands before Atobe could sling an arm around him. “Heh… Before you do that, I think I should warn you that playing with the brat is no picnic and I’m sweating waterfalls.”
Atobe merely tossed his elegant locks and proceeded to draw the younger boy to his chest. “All the more reason to kidnap you so you and Ore-sama can shower together.”
A splotch of red streaked across Momo’s cheeks. “But you just took one.”
“Ore-sama can never be too clean. And you can never have too many chances to experience Ore-sama in all his finery.”
Pardon me while I gag, was Ryoma’s reflexive mental remark but Momo just beamed and wrapped a sweaty arm around his boyfriend’s waist.
Ryoma tapped his racket on his shoulder, wondering if he should just pack up and leave the two love doves alone. Dealing with couples wasn’t high on his list of bearable things and now that the Monkey King and his best friend had created that cozy airspace around themselves, he had a feeling that the match would have to be continued at some other time.
Just as he was about to slink out undetected, Atobe spoke.
“So, Echizen,” he said, the arrogant smirk gracing his fine features, “I heard from Takeshi that Fuji is your professor now.”
Ryoma shot Momo an accusatory look which Momo promptly ignored, before turning to the former Hyotei captain. Yes,” he answered begrudgingly. He paused before adding, “Unfortunately.”
“Ah.” Atobe nodded imperceptibly. “Fuji’s fiercely dedicated, I could give him that much.”
“Yes.” Ryoma eyed Atobe strangely, wondering how much the older boy knew. Echizen didn’t share all of his dramatic hooplas with Momo, but he did share a fair deal of them. And Momo, being one of Seigaku’s former resident motor mouths couldn’t keep such information to himself, and as a general rule, shared everything with either Echizen or Atobe.
Ryoma shrugged. Well, if this day was meant to suck, he might as well let it blow all the way. “If you count taking pleasure in bringing out our ugly history and sharing it with the rest of the class as dedication,” he added, knowing fully well that Atobe was willing to waste his precious breath on the matter.
As expected, Atobe raised one oh-so-elegant eyebrow at this. “Bitter much, Echizen?”
“No. Disappointed is more like it.”
“Disappointed?
Ryoma didn’t bother to hide the ire in his tone. “Disappointed that Fuji-senpai could sink that low.”
“You can’t blame him for that.”
“Yeah?” Ryoma lifted his eyes and met Atobe’s gaze in silent challenge. “Enlighten me.”
Atobe shrugged. “I think mooning over a cold-hearted bastard such as yourself for so many years deserves some form of release, one way or another.”
“Mooning?” Ryoma echoed. “Fuji-senpai has never taken me seriously.”
“Has not taken you seriously?” The mild incredulity on Atobe’s face spoke louder than his words. “Echizen, does eight bloody years mean anything to you?”
“Time doesn’t necessitate sincerity.”
“You can’t judge him just like that Echizen.”
“And I suppose you can?”
“Guys,” Momo interrupted loudly, shooting a nervous glance between the two. “Can we not get hostile please?”
Ryoma ignored him and stepped forward, meeting Atobe’s condescending gaze with his own cool one. “I’m staying away from what could hurt me.”
“And in doing so, you’re also staying away from what could help you,” Atobe countered. When Ryoma’s stubborn expression didn’t change, he sighed impatiently. “Why can’t you be happy, Echizen?”
Ryoma’s eyebrows oscillated to orbit at these words, more surprised with the fact that it was Atobe who’d asked the question than the question itself. “What are you talking about? I’m happy without him.” It was a bald-faced lie, but at least it was better than the truth, which was that Ryoma was passionately regretting spilling the beans on his complicated love life (or lack thereof). He settled on giving the Monkey King his most iron-stripping glare instead…
…which, all told, wasn’t very convincing, because Atobe merely folded his arms and fixed Ryoma with a patronizing look that clearly said he thought Ryoma was a moron. “I see that you are in dire need of Ore-sama’s wisdom,” he said regally, one side of his mouth lifting into a sardonic half-smile. “Listen to me.”
“You are not happy. And you could be happy if you’d just give Fuji what you have…” Atobe put an emphasis on the word ‘have’ and looked at Ryoma pointedly before continuing. “ …in exchange for what you lack.”
Ryoma just blinked at him.
Momo hurriedly interjected. “In simple language, pull your head out of your ass and screw it on straight,” he supplied helpfully, in an attempt to ease the crackling tension. “Fuji-senpai deserves to at least hear from you.”
Oh, he already did, Ryoma mentally answered. But he decided not to say that out loud anymore, seeing as how heated things got the first time around. Dealing with Fuji had deeply destabilized his psyche and having Atobe rub in that fact was just pouring salt on festering wounds.
So he simply shrugged and feigned resignation. “Why are you so keen on getting us together anyway?”
Atobe haughtily glared at him. “Is the concept of pure human goodness too complicated for you to comprehend?”
“… I wasn’t aware you even knew about such a concept, Monkey King.”
“Hmp. I shall pardon your slur on my generous nature for now. Anyway, you’d better make amends with Fuji. That or find--”
“-- someone else other than Momo-senpai to vent my spleen on,” Ryoma finished in his trademark bored drawl. “You know Monkey King, if you wanted more quality time with Momo-senpai, all you have to do is ask nicely and I’d gladly give you my blessings.”
“Excuse me, but I don’t recall needing your ble-“
“-Oh, wow, look at the time!” Momo piped up, checking his watch and simultaneously tugging on Atobe’s arm. “The concert’s at seven thirty.” He shot Echizen a sheepish look as he added: “And we still need to shower.”
Judging by the look on Atobe’s face, he had forgotten about his unfinished response to Ryoma. “Of course.” Momo lifted his hand in goodbye and he and Atobe began walking out of the courts.
Before they stepped out the gate however, Atobe turned around. “Echizen.” He waited until Ryoma met his eyes before speaking again.
“You can be afraid and try. Or you can just be afraid.” That said, he and Momo exited the courts.
Ryoma watched them go, gripping his racket tightly. A light breeze passed by, ruffling his longish bangs.
He thought of Fuji and what Atobe had said.
And for the first time in so long, Ryoma felt lonely.
Chapter 6: Into the Lion’s Den
Ryoma cut class the next day. He went to school but stayed inside the library, hoping to distract himself from Fuji-related thoughts with some of his more demanding schoolwork. His course had enough math and other number-heavy subjects in his curriculum to make any normal college student weep for him. Ryoma wasn’t particularly inclined to math, but he excelled in it. Math was a logical subject. It required great concentration and many convoluted processes but at least no matter how complicated the problems were, he’d always be able to understand it in the end.
Unlike people. Complicated, twisted, irrational people. Yes, people were most definitely overrated.
He suddenly remembered an incredibly insipid pun Momoshiro had come up with in one of their sparsely distributed vodka sessions some time before Ryoma entered second year college.
“Why can’t people talk like books?” he asked, after recovering from the burning sensation of Absolut Vanilia sliding down his throat.
“That’s a stupid question, Echizen,” Momoshiro answered, as he poured another shot glass of the strong, tasty alcohol. “Books don’t talk, they speak volumes to you.” He drank the vodka straight, put down the glass, and blinked a few times before realizing what he just said. Then he burst into hysterical laughter.
“Ahahaha.. Speak volumes - book, get it? Ahahahaha…”
Ryoma sent an imploring look at the ceiling, suddenly questioning his taste in drinking companions. Momoshiro was mind-nuked as far as people who’d imbibed seven shots of vodka and three bottles of beer go, but it was too early for Ryoma to deal with such banalities without being raving drunk himself.
He did wonder though, if the hypothetical concept of book talk applied to people. Talking was a lot like running on a treadmill, plenty of movement and effort, but going absolutely nowhere.
He didn’t realize he had said the words out loud until Momoshiro stopped laughing long enough to wheeze out a reply. “Yeah. Imagine a world where all we have to do is read people’s minds to communicate.”
For some perverted reason, the first thing that popped up in Ryoma’s mind at those words was a certain kitsune-like tensai he was very familiar with. A horrible image of a smiling Fuji reciting Ryoma’s thoughts verbatim made the tiny hairs at the back of Ryoma’s neck stand up on end.
“No thank you,” he said after a delayed beat, nose crinkling in distaste. “ I’d rather stick to talking.”
“Coming from you, that’s saying something.”
Ryoma poured himself another shot. “I just don’t want my mind to be read by certain people.”
“In Echizen talk, “certain people” is synonymous to Fuji-senpai.”
The shot glass in Ryoma’s hand stopped midway to his mouth and he threw Momo a dirty look. “In Echizen talk, mentioning certain people’s names is synonymous with a lot of pain.”
Momoshiro smirked. “You’re such a drama queen Echizen.”
“And apparently you’re not drunk enough yet.”
“Heh.” The dunk-smash specialist stuck his tongue out at him. “Wouldn’t you love to know what goes on in Fuji-senpai’s mind though?”
“Even if I could read Fuji-senpai’s mind, I wouldn’t understand it.”
“Of course.” Momo paused, eyeing Echizen knowingly for a brief period before speaking again. “ YOU of all people can attest to that.”
Ryoma responded by finishing off his vodka.
Irked with the unwarranted trip down memory lane, Ryoma shook his head and quickly chose a spot beside the window overlooking the gardens. He sat down, wanting to drive all painful thoughts from his brain via continuous assault of numbers and formulas as soon as possible. He pulled out his discrete math textbook and began solving some problems on permutations.
An hour later, he had only finished three problems. He looked distastefully at the crumpled sheets of yellow paper in front of him. Every single one of them had doodles of smiley faces and jagged scrawls of the words burgers, little prince, and fox.
Frustrated, Ryoma leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He remembered Atobe’s words.
“Give him what you have in exchange for what you lack. You can be afraid and try or you can just be afraid.”
He looked outside the window and into the Social Sciences Building, which housed the Psychology department.
Then he stood up, gathered his things and walked out of the library.
-----
This was stupid. Ryoma had been standing for a whole ten minutes in front of the Psychology department, his hand making a remarkable pattern of reaching for the knob, hesitating, pulling his hand back and repeating the whole cycle.
The door was made of ordinary oak, with the plaque of Psychology Department at the center. It was a simple, unremarkable door but Ryoma was intimidated by it. It might as well be made of molten rock with the words “Residence of Jack the Ripper” written in blood on the plaque.
And he would be walking into it.
For what?
For answers.
To what?
He didn’t know, nor was he willing to find out. But he had to, didn’t he? He needed to find out why Fuji had stayed on his trail for as long as he did. He needed to find out why he let Fuji plant himself in his mind, even as he pushed him away.
He needed closure. He needed to put this game to an end.
So pushing aside the last of his misgivings, he opened the door and stepped inside the room.
The first thing that Ryoma noticed was the depressing whiteness of the entire place. White walls, fluorescent lights, and even white couches. It looked disturbingly like the lobby of an asylum. But then again, this was the psychology department, and perhaps this was their idea of appropriate ambiance.
The other thing he noticed was the absence of teachers. Only the secretary was there, typing away. She didn’t even notice Ryoma.
He approached the secretary behind the desk. “Excuse me, is Fuji-sensei in?”
She glanced up irritably before pointing to a sign on the desk. “Can’t you read?”
Ryoma eyes veered towards a makeshift sign haphazardly pasted on the bulletin board. Academic Convocation today at the Iwasaki Theater, 1600 H to 2000 H. Attendance of all full-time professors is required.
Oh. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Mumbling a quick “sumimasen” to the irate secretary, he turned and walked back.
He opened the door and nearly did a double take when he saw Fuji standing there, a container of sushi in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. Fuji’s surprised expression mirrored Ryoma’s for a moment before resuming its characteristic polite smile.
“Echizen,” he acknowledged warmly. “What a pleasant surprise. I missed you in class today.”
Ryoma recovered from his surprise. “Fuji-sensei, what are you doing here? Isn’t there an academic convocation going on?”
“I’m just a part-time teacher. I’m not required to go.”
“I see.”
For a few seconds, the sounds of the secretary’s typing filled the silence. For some reason, Ryoma found himself staring at his shoes, the words he wanted to say deserting him.
Fuji broke the awkwardness. “I hate to be nosy Echizen, but why are you here?”
Good question. Why was he here? That’s what he was about to find out right?
Right. Ryoma worked out a verbal response. “I want to clarify something with you.”
“Oh?” Fuji raised one fine eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”
Ryoma shifted his weight, still not meeting Fuji’s eyes. “Sort of.”
Fuji studied Ryoma curiously before smiling. “…Saa, let’s head into the faculty lounge then.”
Chapter 7: Closure
“Do you want anything?” Fuji offered, as he shut the door of the rather spacious faculty lounge and locked it. “We have coffee , tea and cookies. Or would you like some sushi?” He cheerfully held the plastic container towards Ryoma.
Ryoma eyed the sushi with much trepidation, noting the thick layer of wasabi on each piece. “No thank you.”
“Alright.” Fuji plopped down on a couch, and gestured towards an armchair. “Take a seat.”
“I think I’ll just stand.”
Fuji shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He fished a pair of chopsticks from his bag. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
Ryoma watched Fuji pop a kani sushi in his mouth as he worked out a way to get his message across. Should he be diplomatic? Should he engage in small talk first? Should he wait until Fuji had finished eating before proceeding to tongue lash the living daylights out of him?
None of the options sounded appealing so he stuck to what he did best and got straight to the point. “Goddamit, Fuji-senpai, what the fuck were you thinking yesterday?!”
That… went well.
Fuji was still chewing his food when he looked up at Ryoma, expression not the slightest bit surprised. If it were any other person, the image would’ve been incredibly hilarious but this was Fuji and Fuji didn’t do hilarious. He just looked irritatingly placid, even with his mouth full of sushi and with Ryoma seething in front of him.
Fuji finished chewing and swallowed. “I was humoring my students,” he answered in a neutral tone.
“You were deliberately baiting me.”
“It wasn’t deliberate, it just cannot be avoided.”
“Bullshit.” The coldness in Ryoma’s voice could freeze hot coals. “What do you want to happen?”
Fuji gazed up at him calmly. “I think I made that clear eight years ago.”
“I said no.”
“If I ask you again, will you still say no?”
“Yes. No. Crap-- I mean, my answer will still be no.” Ryoma silently cursed his clumsy language.
There was the faintest hint of disappointment in Fuji’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Then I won’t ask it.”
What. The. Fuck? This was getting nowhere. Ryoma fixed Fuji a disbelieving look. “Are you a glutton for misery, Fuji-senpai?”
“Perhaps. But I’d like to call it patience, if you may.”
“Just stop this already.”
“I’m not doing anything now, Echizen,” Fuji answered smoothly, as he looked Ryoma straight in the eye. “You’re the one who came to me.”
“Only because you brought it up yesterday.”
There was a long pause. Ryoma glared back fiercely, never breaking the stand off.
Finally, Fuji looked away. “Do you really hate me that much, Echizen?” he asked quietly, and there was such sadness in his voice that Ryoma couldn’t help the guilt that tugged at him, an emotion that had suddenly acquainted itself with him for the past few days and had impeccably horrible timing.
But he steeled himself, fighting back the grotesquely familiar emotion. He couldn’t afford to wither now, no. He wouldn’t let Fuji win. “I don’t hate you,” he answered slowly. “I’m just tired of playing your games.”
Fuji’s eyes widened questioningly. “Games?”
“Yes. Games.” Fuji opened his mouth to speak again but Ryoma quickly interrupted. “I don’t care if you don’t call it that, but I’m sick of being toyed with.”
Those words seemed to trigger something within Fuji, for he suddenly looked deathly solemn. The sushi forgotten, he threw aside his chopsticks, stood up from the couch, walked around the center table and stopped in front of Ryoma, one hand swiftly grabbing Ryoma’s chin. “I was serious about you from the very start,” he whispered, blue eyes knife-like and smoldering.
Ryoma stared back defiantly, although his insides quailed nervously at the silent force of Fuji’s gaze. “Of course, you are, you express it just so frequently,” he retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You tell me, three times is some kind of record for you isn’t it?”
“I admit that it was a misjudgment on my part to have been so detached. But I meant every single word I said on those three times.”
“You didn’t act on them. I’d say that’s a good reason to doubt your sincerity.”
“You’re the one who said no.”
“Well whose fault is that?”
“…” Fuji said nothing, but his grip on Ryoma’s chin tightened so much it hurt.
Ryoma could feel the fast beat of his pulse echoing in his ears. Get out now Ryoma, a familiar voice inside him urged. Before he pulls you in… Before YOU give in. Before… before--
Ryoma gathered the last of his courage. “Che. I thought so.” He glared at Fuji one last time, before knocking the older boy’s hand off and turning. “I’m leaving.” He walked swiftly towards the door, fighting the tenuous tears rising at the back of his eyelids.
“Wait.”
Ryoma didn’t stop walking, his eyes focused only at the door in front of him. It was starting to blur. He was just about to unlock it when Fuji grabbed on to his wrist.
“Ryo-Echizen.” Fuji spoke very softly but his voice reverberated in Ryoma’s ears as if Fuji had shouted. “If… if it’s a game you insist on… then I shall grant it. If only as a means to an end.”
What? Ryoma’s eyes widened. He lifted his hand from the knob and glanced at Fuji, blinking first to stave off the premature tears. “What do you mean?” he asked, certain that whatever it was the former tensai had in mind wasn’t good at all… and yet wanting to listen to it all the same.
“One hour.” Fuji’s grip on his wrist tightened. “If I can’t make you change your mind after that, then you win. I shall leave you alone. You will never hear from me again, except for academic reasons.” Saying those words seemed to cost Fuji a lot, the gentle, silken voice breaking into something akin to desperation.
Fuji was desperate. Ryoma was hard-put not to gape at this surreal transformation, a facet of Fuji that Ryoma had never seen before. He didn’t see this coming. He always thought that it would be him to give the ultimatum and not the other way around. Slowly, he turned around. “And if I lose?”
“You’ll find out.”
Ryoma frowned. “That’s not fair.”
“I never said it would be.” When Ryoma didn’t reply for a long time, Fuji spoke again. “If it’s the only thing you do for me, please accept. One hour is all I ask.”
Ryoma bit his lip, willing himself to refuse but lacking the courage and desire to do so. “Are you going to seduce me?” he asked instead. Normally, he’d feel perturbed with his blasé choice of words but Ryoma was beyond caring at this point.
“Saa… that’s not the way I would put it. But the sentiment stands.”
Ryoma checked the clock. Four thirty-seven.
He turned towards Fuji and Fuji just looked back at him, waiting.
He should say no. He was sick of games, wasn’t he? One hour was a long time. Enough time for Fuji to break through to him. Enough time to reel him back in so that he could never walk away again.
Never walk away again. The thought terrified him and at the same time filled him with a delicious thrill. It was an ambivalent mix of emotion that only Fuji had succeeded in stirring in him, and he was feeling it again, here, in the most inopportune of times.
But no. He needed to be strong. Strong enough to withstand the temptation that was Fuji who was looking at him now with that maddening desperation, the normally impassive face now vulnerable, the smiling mask gone.
Looking at him now in the way Ryoma had always wanted Fuji to look at him.
But….
He couldn’t. He needed to be strong.
He needed to walk away…
He needed… he needed…
Ryoma closed his eyes.
“Fine. I accept.”
-----
If the conditions prior to the agreement were already unfair to begin with, the actual game was indefinitely worse.
Worse in the sense that Ryoma was definitely headed for a humiliating loss- and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Long, elegant fingers sheathed muscles that flexed under Fuji’s tantalizing caress, causing Ryoma to arch his back against the wall. Ryoma needed that wall, if he wanted to keep his balance. His knees were close to caving in, and he was pretty certain his brain would be doing the same soon after. Fuji did nothing more than touch him, but already, Ryoma was aching with need. It was as if Fuji’s hands had radars for sensitive spots, triggering unholy jolts of pleasure from the most innocent of places.
One hand found its way to Ryoma’s jaw, while the other hand worked itself up Ryoma’s back, fingers tracing the contours of Ryoma’s spine with such delicacy, Ryoma couldn’t stop the purr that had been trying to escape his throat upon Fuji’s first touch.
Then Fuji kissed him, and this time, the sensations were indescribable. A hot piece of wet velvet touched on his palate, and Ryoma tasted an odd mix of wasabi and lemon and a nameless flavor that was uniquely Fuji. Unable to resist, he kissed Fuji back.
Ryoma knew he was damned. Damned from the very moment he agreed to this game, a game he knew he couldn’t win.
He wondered why that fact didn’t bother him so much. Then he remembered something Fuji taught a while back.
In impulse, there is truth.
And all impulses pointed towards Fuji.
The firm pressure on his mouth disappeared. “Echizen.”
Ryoma’s eyes fluttered open and his vision was instantly dominated by cobalt eyes emitting dark blue heat. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” Fuji whispered, his hot breath tickling Ryoma’s cheek.
“Nnh.” Was Ryoma’s coherent reply. And with it came the realization that it could only go downhill from there.
“Saa…” Ryoma could almost hear Fuji mentally chuckling in amusement, although that could just be because Fuji’s forehead was leaning on his.
“Good answer.”
Then Fuji kissed him again, and Ryoma felt the hand previously holding his chin in place slide down, down into more unchartered territory, and he heard the faint ripping sound of zippers being unzipped and buttons popping out of their holes. Ryoma was helpless to protest, and he could only moan against Fuji’s mouth as a slender hand slipped beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers and wrapped around his arousal. He found himself scouring that unfairly skilled mouth with equal aggression, attempting to grasp at the fraying threads of self-control, control that Fuji had so easily snatched away.
As Fuji kissed him deeper, hand working miracles on his cock, his mind lost itself in the ripples of sensation, and sank into something deep-rooted within him, in a place locked up for so long, he forgot it even existed.
On the outside, his body melted under Fuji’s touch like butter in the sun. On the outside, his hands clung tightly, desperately at the warm graceful body pressed against his. On the outside, Fuji’s hungry lips nudged his apart and enticed his mouth to participate in a sinful play of tongues and lips.
On the inside, he watched himself from a distance and mentally confronted Fuji a thousand times.
I need this.
No I don’t.
Yes, I do.
I need it badly.
This is what I’ve been waiting for all my life.
No it’s not.
No, you’re not screwing my life again..
Don’t blame me, it’s all your fault.
Fuck, I blame you for everything!
Why couldn’t you have given me this eight years ago?
I waited for you!
Waited for you to prove that love you claimed to have for me.
But you didn’t.
I waited for you every day, yet in the space of eight years, you only came THRICE.
THRICE!
And you ask me why I can’t be with you?
All I wanted was constant physical presence.
An assurance that you’ll always be around.
You couldn’t give it to me.
So you deserve to hurt. Just like I did.
So what if I need this?
So what if I need YOU?!
It’s too late now.
Is it?
Yes, it is.
We should’ve been together years ago.
WHY DID YOU THROW ALL THOSE YEARS AWAY?!
Ryoma’s eyes flew open, and before he knew it, he had pushed Fuji off him and into the coffee table. There was the sound of something breaking and a plastic bottle clattering to the ground but it barely registered to Ryoma, who was breathing hard, the wavering currents of emotion caused by his inner voices still fresh in his psyche.
Fuji stared up at him, very much surprised, one hand clutching his shoulder.
The loss of stimuli had every nerve in Ryoma’s body screaming in outrage, and it showed, his legs quivering like jelly, his arousal still throbbing painfully in his pants. His mind was suffused with denial and he looked down at Fuji, golden eyes wild and just a bit scared.
“No. You can’t continue.”
Fuji merely looked at him, impassiveness in check. “I want to.”
“You can’t!”
“Why not?”
In the hesitant stillness that followed, Ryoma’s instinct kicked in.
“Because I’m going to fuck you.”
---
“Because I’m going to fuck you.”
The words jumped out of his mouth, completely bypassing mental consent. Few things shocked Echizen Ryoma, but it never occurred to him that one such thing would be himself.
In impulse there is truth.
He couldn’t pedal back now. To hell with everything else, Ryoma would figure things out later. He watched as Fuji settled himself steadily on his feet, his attention momentarily checking out his bruised shoulder. Then, after a few moments, his eyes lifted and looked directly at Ryoma.
Ryoma was pinned by the intensity of Fuji’s gaze. Fuji would refuse, that was almost certain, but Ryoma wouldn’t yield either and he looked back at Fuji with the same directness.
“Saa…” Fuji smiled and let his hands drop to his sides. “Then…” Still looking at Echizen, he took a few steps back towards the couch, and blindly grabbed his bag from behind him. He picked out an item and tossed it at Ryoma, who fumbled a bit before grabbing the item firmly in his hand.
Ryoma glanced briefly at it. Hand lotion. His eyes widened before veering to meet Fuji’s again.
Fuji’s smile took a challenging turn.
“Do it if you can, Echizen.”
---
This wasn’t the way he pictured it happening.
But it’s just as well, wasn’t it? Someone had to give. Fuji’s acquiescence surprised Ryoma but he managed to keep his facial reactions at bay.
He purposefully made his way towards Fuji, clutching the bottle tightly in his hand. Almost mechanically, he stepped directly in front of Fuji, glaring at him all the while. Fuji’s amusement with the matter grated at his already worn nerves. With a swift hand, he reached out and slowly unbuttoned Fuji’s khaki trousers, noting the unashamed bulge inside it.
Then he made another split-second decision. Quickly pulling down the rest of Fuji’s underwear, he grasped the stiff shaft hanging at full mast and knelt down.
Suffice to say, Fuji was surprised with this. “Echizen…”
Ryoma tentatively run his tongue along the flushed tip dotted with creamy drops of liquid, tasting an odd mixture of salt, musk and an underlying flavor that was Fuji’s own. His tongue darted out again, this time navigating the length of Fuji’s cock, his hands grasping Fuji’s hips. He relished with a certain savageness the tortured gasp his action elicited from the older man. Then, pushing aside all reservations, he took the hot swollen length in his mouth, suppressing a short-lived gag reflex as he did so. He heard Fuji suck in a harsh breath, and that was all the push he needed to continue.
Ryoma had no idea how he was supposed to go about this but he let his instincts lead the way for him. As he continued sucking Fuji, one hand went on the move in coating Fuji’s entrance, slick fingers sliding, scissoring and coaxing the tight muscles to relax.
He felt a sharp pain tug at his head and realized that Fuji’s fingers were tangled in his hair. The taut muscles under his mouth’s mercy trembled and Ryoma knew that it wasn’t long before Fuji came.
But instead of allowing Fuji his release, he immediately freed the pulsating organ from his mouth and very slowly drew out his fingers. He smirked when Fuji made an involuntary sound of protest.
Without bothering to stand up, he pushed Fuji towards the couch. Fuji didn’t even have any time to recover when Ryoma was already on him, slamming him down none-too-gently on his back. The soft couch bounced at the violent impact.
Ryoma pushed Fuji’s knees apart and settled himself between them. Fuji watched Ryoma with unhidden fascination, as the latter wrapped a lotion-spattered hand around his shaft, preparing himself.
When he was done, he looked down at Fuji. Strange, Fuji’s calmness didn’t unnerve him this time. It still surprised him though, how Fuji could even afford to be calm in such a questionable situation.
Then Fuji smiled. And Ryoma, not wanting to prolong his own gratification, proceeded.
He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t make any cautious navigation and impaled Fuji completely in one fast thrust, making the older man gasp in pain. Fuji’s hands gripped Ryoma shoulders and drew him closer with every buck of the younger man’s pelvis until his chin was resting on Ryoma’s shoulder, arms wrapping around Ryoma’s neck.
Ryoma buried his face in the crook of Fuji’s neck to stifle his own cries. He decreased the speed of his thrusts just fractionally but it was enough for Fuji to release a small sound of relief.
It wasn’t long now. Soon, Fuji released a soft cry and came, and that was the match to the tinder as Ryoma, after burying himself as far as he could inside the tight, velvet heat, felt the world disappear into a siege of dead white.
---
It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, but time was irrelevant for the meantime, as Ryoma slowly came to his senses, recovering from the powerful explosion of release that had shaken him out of his wits.
He realized that he was still draped on top of Fuji. Grunting, he shakily pulled out. He was about to get off, but the arms around his neck kept him in place.
“It isn’t one hour yet.”
Ryoma was too spent to argue and just dropped himself back on top of Fuji, still breathing heavily, brain still not in prime working condition.
A few seconds later, amidst his struggle for breath, Ryoma rasped out the first thing he could think of. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you let me do it?”
Fuji managed to shrug, despite Ryoma’s weight. “It’s what you wanted.”
Ryoma closed his eyes. “But I thought…”
Fuji laughed bitterly. “Echizen, if all I wanted was to bed you, I wouldn’t wait eight years to do it.”
Ryoma’s eyes cracked open. “But why this game?”
Fuji was silent for a long time. Then…
“If it will come to an unfavorable end,” he finally spoke, “I could say that I had at least known what if felt like to experience you with all my senses. I could have had something to hold on to, to pretend a happy ending with.”
Oh. Ryoma had no idea what to say to that. He wasn't prepared for this kind of revelation. He wasn't prepared for ANYTHING that happened for the past minutes, for that matter.
However, he did realize something though. Something he regretted not realizing sooner.
Fuji was sincere. Somehow, along the way of accepting his own desires, discovering Fuji’s very mutual ones and acting on said desires, Ryoma had come to terms with the fact that despite lack of past evidences, Fuji truly cared. And perhaps Ryoma was too wrapped up with the idea of a constant physical awareness, that he failed to see past the seemingly random nature of Fuji’s affection.
His eyes fluttered open again and it suddenly occurred to him that he had been carrying on with the conversation while still on top of Fuji.
While he found the situation slightly embarrassing, Ryoma didn't mind at all and Fuji had no qualms about keeping Ryoma on him. Truth be told, Ryoma liked the feel of Fuji’s body beneath his. He closed his eyes again, and nuzzled his nose against the crook of Fuji’s neck, inhaling the other’s scent, an intoxicating mix of peaches and clean male sweat.
For a moment, there was nothing but comfortable silence, as both men recovered from their activity, Fuji’s fingers playing with Ryoma’s hair and Ryoma breathing into Fuji’s neck. Then, Fuji’s voice cleaved through the stillness.
“Echizen.” He took a deep breath before uttering the next words. “Are you happy with this?”
Ryoma lifted his head and met Fuji’s eyes. “… I’m not unhappy.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“What? I said-“
“Being not unhappy and being happy are two different matters. The negation of a negative emotion does not equate to its positive counterpart. Emotions do not possess mathematical properties, Echizen.”
Ryoma scowled. It was such a Fuji thing to do, pulling the professor status in such a compromising situation. Somehow though, Ryoma didn’t find it unfitting.
Reluctantly, but knowing the necessity, he forced Fuji’s arms off him and swung his feet to the floor. He shakily stood up, and noted for the first time, the sticky wetness on his and Fuji’s shirts. Frowning, he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and started cleaning up. “I don’t know Fuji-senpai,” he said bluntly in between swipes. “It depends.”
Fuji slowly sat up as well, wincing as he did so. “It depends on what?” he questioned, starting to fix his own bearing.
“On what will become of this game.”
Fuji paused and looked at him. “You resisted me. I didn’t resist you.”
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
“Saa…” Fuji smiled and tilted his head. “What do you think?”
Ryoma paused, mulling things over. He had certainly cleared some things up from this, but there were many things that still disconcerted him. “I think I could win this,” he started slowly. “But…” He bit his lip, as the implications of what he was about to reveal hit him.
“But…” Fuji gently prodded.
Ryoma swallowed. And before he could chicken out, he spoke.
“But… I don’t want to.”
For a moment, it was as if all the different emotions waged war with each other on Fuji’s face, before finally settling on a safe combination of relief and delight. “And what will you make of that?” he asked, the silken voice reflecting his expression.
“I don’t know,” Ryoma answered honestly, frowning. He threw his handkerchief into the trash bin and glanced sideways at Fuji. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Fuji shook his head regretfully. “I couldn’t tell you Echizen, for I cannot articulate them myself,” he admitted. “However, I can show you.” A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “If you’ll let me.”
“What, are you going to seduce me again?” Ryoma knew he was blushing, but that was the least of his worries. He didn’t want Fuji to think he was giving in too easily.
Fuji laughed, but not unkindly. “If things were that easy we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he remarked dryly. “Although I will admit, I had my share of frustrations. Maybe that’s part of why I didn’t come close.” He paused, appearing to think of something.
Then, without warning, he was suddenly in Ryoma's face, leaving the smallest, calculable space where skin didn’t touch skin betweeen them, making Ryoma blush even harder.
”Because I couldn’t stand to be so near you without having the impulse to bite you,” he whispered. “Somewhere.” His smile took a devious turn. “Anywhere.”
So why didn’t you? was the first thought that popped up in Ryoma’s head, but saying that would be completely self-cauterizing. There was only so much heat his face could take before steam blew out of his ears. In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, he decided to pull a reverse of Fuji’s professor stunt. “Heh. Impulse never lies. Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just do it,” he quoted smugly, noting with much satisfaction the surprise on Fuji’s face as he recognized the words. “You’re a bloody hypocrite Fuji-sensei.”
Fuji chuckled again. “I know. I’ve learned my lesson. And I’m glad you’ve been studying yours well.”
Ryoma smiled cockily. “No teacher has ever given me a grade lower than B before and you’re not about to be the first.”
Fuji only smiled in response. Ryoma looked down at his sneakers and again, there was a long pause.
And again, it was Fuji who spoke first.
“So, what now, Echizen? What happens from here?”
Ryoma bit his lip. The segue of events was so surreal, moving in a pace that was twice as fast as Ryoma was capable of going. He still couldn’t understand how getting a little physical with Fuji could swing his opinions so effectively. Was he that shallow? Or was Fuji just that good? He knew for certain now that he had been wrong in his judgment of Fuji’s sincerity but while he felt glad that he was wrong, he was still confused as how to go about… everything that would or should follow, whatever ‘everything’ was.
So he could only answer the only thing he considered as truth for the moment. “I really don’t know.”
Fuji wasn’t discouraged. “It all boils down to what you want, Echizen,” he responded in a mildly persuasive tone. “I told you, I’m willing to wait for as long as long extends. So I’m going to ask you: What do you want now?”
To that, Ryoma had an answer ready. God knows how many people had asked him that. “I want to be happy.”
“Ah. That’s a very tricky thing to want. Common, but tricky.” Fuji smiled. “But be that as it may, I believe I can give you that.”
Ryoma didn’t reply and continued staring at his shoes. A few moments later, he heard Fuji sigh. Then, a familiar hand grasped his cheek, turning it slowly.
“Ryoma.”
It was the first time Fuji called him by his first name. Ryoma hesitantly lifted his eyes and met Fuji’s serious, earnest ones.
“Let me teach you.”
Ryoma bit his lip again. And as he stood there, with Fuji waiting for his response, he thought of the things he didn’t do, the things he had already done and the things he could still do.
With Fuji.
He thought about the past eight years, years spent running away, eight years of suppressed impulses.
He thought of Fuji’s honey colored hair, dripping wet and thrown into sharp relief as he sliced a Higuma Otoshi in the rain. He thought of Fuji’s voice, soft yet resonating, barely heard but producing endless echoes in his mind.
He thought of Fuji’s azure eyes, eyes that had always watched him, eyes that could see through him, eyes that shattered his icy visage beyond repair.
He thought of Fuji, waving a burger in front of his face, Fuji, who was always there, hardly around him but always with him, ever watching, silent, patient, waiting. And waiting still.
He thought of love and happiness and how things end.
He looked at the clock. It read 5: 17.
And then, almost without conscious volition, he was reaching up and enveloping Fuji’s warm hand with his own. “Yes,” he answered decisively, feeling the corners of his mouth lift into a genuine smile. “Teach me, please.” He squeezed Fuji’s hand.
“Sensei.”
Fuji smiled back. It was the only thing he did but it was all he needed to do anyway. Ryoma was satisfied, and he readily responded when Fuji pressed his smile on Ryoma’s own, into a kiss that was gentle and unassuming yet spoke a promise of much more to come.
Fuji had won, of that there could be no doubt.
But Ryoma did not lose either.
---
Graduation day in Tokyo University found Ryoma hugging Fuji to him, amidst the rain of togas and hats.
“Ryoma.”
Ryoma pulled back and met Fuji’s gaze. “What?”
Fuji touched Ryoma’s chin and tilted it to look directly in his eyes. “Are you happy?”
Ryoma smiled and said nothing. He just pulled Fuji closer and kissed him.
And Fuji understood.
~Owari~
Date started: 08/18/05
Date Completed: 08/24/05
Post A/N: Just four notes:
1.) MS Word corrupted is the most evil thing in the world. Had to rewrite this fic from scratch when I was three fourth’s done (3/4 being 8,000 + words T____T ) I never knew how long my list of profanities was until that moment, when I opened my file and saw rows of squares staring back at me. ::le sigh:: I’m just glad I got it rewritten on time.
2.) I just realized what a whore Ryoma’s being in all of my NC-17 fics-coz yeah, he’s ALWAYS the one giving head.
3.) The student-teacher plot bunny came from Mei. I just pedigreed it and brought it up to Godzilla size.
4.) Much love goes to arctic_dragon, who betad most of this fic. :: squishes ::
Again, a very hearty OTENJOUBI OMEDETOU to MEI! ::huggles::
Am I too late? It's 0857 Aug 25 back here but I know I'm at least 13 hours ahead of most USA timezones. ^^;;
Pairing: Thrill Pair + a dash of AtoMo
Genre: mix of angst smut and fluff
Rating: This part, NC - 17
Disclaimer: Not Mine. Konomi Takeshi's.
Chapters 1 -4
Chapter 5: Heads Up
THWACK!
Ryoma returned Momoshiro’s serve with a vicious twist shot.
Momo yelped, only just getting his racket up in time to shield his face, not even thinking about returning the shot. “Oi, what’s eating you?” he yelled, his nerves still recuperating from the near facial disfigurement that seemed to be the aim of half of Ryoma’s shots lately. “That’s the fifth time you’ve almost knocked my head off!”
Ryoma hit a high volley. “Sorry. Just a little pent-up with… academics.”
Momo jumped and returned the ball with a dunk smash. “That’s why you should get yourself a boyfriend already,” he advised. “To help you ease all that stress. Tennis could only do so much.”
Ryoma smirked and effortlessly returned Momo’s signature move. “You and Monkey King are keeping really busy nights huh?”
Momo blushed, and missed Echizen’s relatively easy return. He stared as the yellow ball rolled on the ground and came to a stop near his feet. With a low growl, he snatched it from the ground and glared at a smug Ryoma. “You know Echizen, for someone who has stayed single AND virginal all your life, you have an incredibly filthy mind,” he shot back, as he strolled over to the service area. “That’s not what I meant. And stop calling Keigo Monkey King.”
“What did you mean then?” Ryoma asked, ignoring Momo’s blatant dig at his non-existent sex life.
Momoshiro made a powerful serve and Ryoma ran to catch up to it. “You know warmth, security, someone to wave a forkful of blueberry cheesecake in front of your face after a long day’s work,” he answered, taking some quick steps backward and hitting a low cross-court drive. “And a good backrub would be a perk too.”
“Monkey King does all that?” Ryoma asked as he hit a drive B. “What the hell did you do to him?”
“Haha. Just keep that attitude Echizen. Someday, you’ll understand what I mean when you and Fuji-senpai are finally together.”
This time, it was Ryoma’s turn to miss an easy shot. He swiftly turned and glared at a grinning Momo, a heavily sardonic remark forming at the tip of his tongue. But before he could deal it out, a new, drawling voice interjected.
“Your skills are getting rusty, Echizen.”
Ryoma glanced behind him and saw the one and only Atobe Keigo sauntering towards them in his the-world-turns-at-my-command gait, smirking.
So that’s why Momo was grinning.
Ryoma nodded stiffly. “Monkey King.”
Atobe bristled ever so slightly at the unflattering nickname Ryoma had christened him with but he kept walking until he reached Momo’s side.
Momo held up his hands before Atobe could sling an arm around him. “Heh… Before you do that, I think I should warn you that playing with the brat is no picnic and I’m sweating waterfalls.”
Atobe merely tossed his elegant locks and proceeded to draw the younger boy to his chest. “All the more reason to kidnap you so you and Ore-sama can shower together.”
A splotch of red streaked across Momo’s cheeks. “But you just took one.”
“Ore-sama can never be too clean. And you can never have too many chances to experience Ore-sama in all his finery.”
Pardon me while I gag, was Ryoma’s reflexive mental remark but Momo just beamed and wrapped a sweaty arm around his boyfriend’s waist.
Ryoma tapped his racket on his shoulder, wondering if he should just pack up and leave the two love doves alone. Dealing with couples wasn’t high on his list of bearable things and now that the Monkey King and his best friend had created that cozy airspace around themselves, he had a feeling that the match would have to be continued at some other time.
Just as he was about to slink out undetected, Atobe spoke.
“So, Echizen,” he said, the arrogant smirk gracing his fine features, “I heard from Takeshi that Fuji is your professor now.”
Ryoma shot Momo an accusatory look which Momo promptly ignored, before turning to the former Hyotei captain. Yes,” he answered begrudgingly. He paused before adding, “Unfortunately.”
“Ah.” Atobe nodded imperceptibly. “Fuji’s fiercely dedicated, I could give him that much.”
“Yes.” Ryoma eyed Atobe strangely, wondering how much the older boy knew. Echizen didn’t share all of his dramatic hooplas with Momo, but he did share a fair deal of them. And Momo, being one of Seigaku’s former resident motor mouths couldn’t keep such information to himself, and as a general rule, shared everything with either Echizen or Atobe.
Ryoma shrugged. Well, if this day was meant to suck, he might as well let it blow all the way. “If you count taking pleasure in bringing out our ugly history and sharing it with the rest of the class as dedication,” he added, knowing fully well that Atobe was willing to waste his precious breath on the matter.
As expected, Atobe raised one oh-so-elegant eyebrow at this. “Bitter much, Echizen?”
“No. Disappointed is more like it.”
“Disappointed?
Ryoma didn’t bother to hide the ire in his tone. “Disappointed that Fuji-senpai could sink that low.”
“You can’t blame him for that.”
“Yeah?” Ryoma lifted his eyes and met Atobe’s gaze in silent challenge. “Enlighten me.”
Atobe shrugged. “I think mooning over a cold-hearted bastard such as yourself for so many years deserves some form of release, one way or another.”
“Mooning?” Ryoma echoed. “Fuji-senpai has never taken me seriously.”
“Has not taken you seriously?” The mild incredulity on Atobe’s face spoke louder than his words. “Echizen, does eight bloody years mean anything to you?”
“Time doesn’t necessitate sincerity.”
“You can’t judge him just like that Echizen.”
“And I suppose you can?”
“Guys,” Momo interrupted loudly, shooting a nervous glance between the two. “Can we not get hostile please?”
Ryoma ignored him and stepped forward, meeting Atobe’s condescending gaze with his own cool one. “I’m staying away from what could hurt me.”
“And in doing so, you’re also staying away from what could help you,” Atobe countered. When Ryoma’s stubborn expression didn’t change, he sighed impatiently. “Why can’t you be happy, Echizen?”
Ryoma’s eyebrows oscillated to orbit at these words, more surprised with the fact that it was Atobe who’d asked the question than the question itself. “What are you talking about? I’m happy without him.” It was a bald-faced lie, but at least it was better than the truth, which was that Ryoma was passionately regretting spilling the beans on his complicated love life (or lack thereof). He settled on giving the Monkey King his most iron-stripping glare instead…
…which, all told, wasn’t very convincing, because Atobe merely folded his arms and fixed Ryoma with a patronizing look that clearly said he thought Ryoma was a moron. “I see that you are in dire need of Ore-sama’s wisdom,” he said regally, one side of his mouth lifting into a sardonic half-smile. “Listen to me.”
“You are not happy. And you could be happy if you’d just give Fuji what you have…” Atobe put an emphasis on the word ‘have’ and looked at Ryoma pointedly before continuing. “ …in exchange for what you lack.”
Ryoma just blinked at him.
Momo hurriedly interjected. “In simple language, pull your head out of your ass and screw it on straight,” he supplied helpfully, in an attempt to ease the crackling tension. “Fuji-senpai deserves to at least hear from you.”
Oh, he already did, Ryoma mentally answered. But he decided not to say that out loud anymore, seeing as how heated things got the first time around. Dealing with Fuji had deeply destabilized his psyche and having Atobe rub in that fact was just pouring salt on festering wounds.
So he simply shrugged and feigned resignation. “Why are you so keen on getting us together anyway?”
Atobe haughtily glared at him. “Is the concept of pure human goodness too complicated for you to comprehend?”
“… I wasn’t aware you even knew about such a concept, Monkey King.”
“Hmp. I shall pardon your slur on my generous nature for now. Anyway, you’d better make amends with Fuji. That or find--”
“-- someone else other than Momo-senpai to vent my spleen on,” Ryoma finished in his trademark bored drawl. “You know Monkey King, if you wanted more quality time with Momo-senpai, all you have to do is ask nicely and I’d gladly give you my blessings.”
“Excuse me, but I don’t recall needing your ble-“
“-Oh, wow, look at the time!” Momo piped up, checking his watch and simultaneously tugging on Atobe’s arm. “The concert’s at seven thirty.” He shot Echizen a sheepish look as he added: “And we still need to shower.”
Judging by the look on Atobe’s face, he had forgotten about his unfinished response to Ryoma. “Of course.” Momo lifted his hand in goodbye and he and Atobe began walking out of the courts.
Before they stepped out the gate however, Atobe turned around. “Echizen.” He waited until Ryoma met his eyes before speaking again.
“You can be afraid and try. Or you can just be afraid.” That said, he and Momo exited the courts.
Ryoma watched them go, gripping his racket tightly. A light breeze passed by, ruffling his longish bangs.
He thought of Fuji and what Atobe had said.
And for the first time in so long, Ryoma felt lonely.
Chapter 6: Into the Lion’s Den
Ryoma cut class the next day. He went to school but stayed inside the library, hoping to distract himself from Fuji-related thoughts with some of his more demanding schoolwork. His course had enough math and other number-heavy subjects in his curriculum to make any normal college student weep for him. Ryoma wasn’t particularly inclined to math, but he excelled in it. Math was a logical subject. It required great concentration and many convoluted processes but at least no matter how complicated the problems were, he’d always be able to understand it in the end.
Unlike people. Complicated, twisted, irrational people. Yes, people were most definitely overrated.
He suddenly remembered an incredibly insipid pun Momoshiro had come up with in one of their sparsely distributed vodka sessions some time before Ryoma entered second year college.
“Why can’t people talk like books?” he asked, after recovering from the burning sensation of Absolut Vanilia sliding down his throat.
“That’s a stupid question, Echizen,” Momoshiro answered, as he poured another shot glass of the strong, tasty alcohol. “Books don’t talk, they speak volumes to you.” He drank the vodka straight, put down the glass, and blinked a few times before realizing what he just said. Then he burst into hysterical laughter.
“Ahahaha.. Speak volumes - book, get it? Ahahahaha…”
Ryoma sent an imploring look at the ceiling, suddenly questioning his taste in drinking companions. Momoshiro was mind-nuked as far as people who’d imbibed seven shots of vodka and three bottles of beer go, but it was too early for Ryoma to deal with such banalities without being raving drunk himself.
He did wonder though, if the hypothetical concept of book talk applied to people. Talking was a lot like running on a treadmill, plenty of movement and effort, but going absolutely nowhere.
He didn’t realize he had said the words out loud until Momoshiro stopped laughing long enough to wheeze out a reply. “Yeah. Imagine a world where all we have to do is read people’s minds to communicate.”
For some perverted reason, the first thing that popped up in Ryoma’s mind at those words was a certain kitsune-like tensai he was very familiar with. A horrible image of a smiling Fuji reciting Ryoma’s thoughts verbatim made the tiny hairs at the back of Ryoma’s neck stand up on end.
“No thank you,” he said after a delayed beat, nose crinkling in distaste. “ I’d rather stick to talking.”
“Coming from you, that’s saying something.”
Ryoma poured himself another shot. “I just don’t want my mind to be read by certain people.”
“In Echizen talk, “certain people” is synonymous to Fuji-senpai.”
The shot glass in Ryoma’s hand stopped midway to his mouth and he threw Momo a dirty look. “In Echizen talk, mentioning certain people’s names is synonymous with a lot of pain.”
Momoshiro smirked. “You’re such a drama queen Echizen.”
“And apparently you’re not drunk enough yet.”
“Heh.” The dunk-smash specialist stuck his tongue out at him. “Wouldn’t you love to know what goes on in Fuji-senpai’s mind though?”
“Even if I could read Fuji-senpai’s mind, I wouldn’t understand it.”
“Of course.” Momo paused, eyeing Echizen knowingly for a brief period before speaking again. “ YOU of all people can attest to that.”
Ryoma responded by finishing off his vodka.
Irked with the unwarranted trip down memory lane, Ryoma shook his head and quickly chose a spot beside the window overlooking the gardens. He sat down, wanting to drive all painful thoughts from his brain via continuous assault of numbers and formulas as soon as possible. He pulled out his discrete math textbook and began solving some problems on permutations.
An hour later, he had only finished three problems. He looked distastefully at the crumpled sheets of yellow paper in front of him. Every single one of them had doodles of smiley faces and jagged scrawls of the words burgers, little prince, and fox.
Frustrated, Ryoma leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He remembered Atobe’s words.
“Give him what you have in exchange for what you lack. You can be afraid and try or you can just be afraid.”
He looked outside the window and into the Social Sciences Building, which housed the Psychology department.
Then he stood up, gathered his things and walked out of the library.
-----
This was stupid. Ryoma had been standing for a whole ten minutes in front of the Psychology department, his hand making a remarkable pattern of reaching for the knob, hesitating, pulling his hand back and repeating the whole cycle.
The door was made of ordinary oak, with the plaque of Psychology Department at the center. It was a simple, unremarkable door but Ryoma was intimidated by it. It might as well be made of molten rock with the words “Residence of Jack the Ripper” written in blood on the plaque.
And he would be walking into it.
For what?
For answers.
To what?
He didn’t know, nor was he willing to find out. But he had to, didn’t he? He needed to find out why Fuji had stayed on his trail for as long as he did. He needed to find out why he let Fuji plant himself in his mind, even as he pushed him away.
He needed closure. He needed to put this game to an end.
So pushing aside the last of his misgivings, he opened the door and stepped inside the room.
The first thing that Ryoma noticed was the depressing whiteness of the entire place. White walls, fluorescent lights, and even white couches. It looked disturbingly like the lobby of an asylum. But then again, this was the psychology department, and perhaps this was their idea of appropriate ambiance.
The other thing he noticed was the absence of teachers. Only the secretary was there, typing away. She didn’t even notice Ryoma.
He approached the secretary behind the desk. “Excuse me, is Fuji-sensei in?”
She glanced up irritably before pointing to a sign on the desk. “Can’t you read?”
Ryoma eyes veered towards a makeshift sign haphazardly pasted on the bulletin board. Academic Convocation today at the Iwasaki Theater, 1600 H to 2000 H. Attendance of all full-time professors is required.
Oh. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Mumbling a quick “sumimasen” to the irate secretary, he turned and walked back.
He opened the door and nearly did a double take when he saw Fuji standing there, a container of sushi in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. Fuji’s surprised expression mirrored Ryoma’s for a moment before resuming its characteristic polite smile.
“Echizen,” he acknowledged warmly. “What a pleasant surprise. I missed you in class today.”
Ryoma recovered from his surprise. “Fuji-sensei, what are you doing here? Isn’t there an academic convocation going on?”
“I’m just a part-time teacher. I’m not required to go.”
“I see.”
For a few seconds, the sounds of the secretary’s typing filled the silence. For some reason, Ryoma found himself staring at his shoes, the words he wanted to say deserting him.
Fuji broke the awkwardness. “I hate to be nosy Echizen, but why are you here?”
Good question. Why was he here? That’s what he was about to find out right?
Right. Ryoma worked out a verbal response. “I want to clarify something with you.”
“Oh?” Fuji raised one fine eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”
Ryoma shifted his weight, still not meeting Fuji’s eyes. “Sort of.”
Fuji studied Ryoma curiously before smiling. “…Saa, let’s head into the faculty lounge then.”
Chapter 7: Closure
“Do you want anything?” Fuji offered, as he shut the door of the rather spacious faculty lounge and locked it. “We have coffee , tea and cookies. Or would you like some sushi?” He cheerfully held the plastic container towards Ryoma.
Ryoma eyed the sushi with much trepidation, noting the thick layer of wasabi on each piece. “No thank you.”
“Alright.” Fuji plopped down on a couch, and gestured towards an armchair. “Take a seat.”
“I think I’ll just stand.”
Fuji shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He fished a pair of chopsticks from his bag. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
Ryoma watched Fuji pop a kani sushi in his mouth as he worked out a way to get his message across. Should he be diplomatic? Should he engage in small talk first? Should he wait until Fuji had finished eating before proceeding to tongue lash the living daylights out of him?
None of the options sounded appealing so he stuck to what he did best and got straight to the point. “Goddamit, Fuji-senpai, what the fuck were you thinking yesterday?!”
That… went well.
Fuji was still chewing his food when he looked up at Ryoma, expression not the slightest bit surprised. If it were any other person, the image would’ve been incredibly hilarious but this was Fuji and Fuji didn’t do hilarious. He just looked irritatingly placid, even with his mouth full of sushi and with Ryoma seething in front of him.
Fuji finished chewing and swallowed. “I was humoring my students,” he answered in a neutral tone.
“You were deliberately baiting me.”
“It wasn’t deliberate, it just cannot be avoided.”
“Bullshit.” The coldness in Ryoma’s voice could freeze hot coals. “What do you want to happen?”
Fuji gazed up at him calmly. “I think I made that clear eight years ago.”
“I said no.”
“If I ask you again, will you still say no?”
“Yes. No. Crap-- I mean, my answer will still be no.” Ryoma silently cursed his clumsy language.
There was the faintest hint of disappointment in Fuji’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Then I won’t ask it.”
What. The. Fuck? This was getting nowhere. Ryoma fixed Fuji a disbelieving look. “Are you a glutton for misery, Fuji-senpai?”
“Perhaps. But I’d like to call it patience, if you may.”
“Just stop this already.”
“I’m not doing anything now, Echizen,” Fuji answered smoothly, as he looked Ryoma straight in the eye. “You’re the one who came to me.”
“Only because you brought it up yesterday.”
There was a long pause. Ryoma glared back fiercely, never breaking the stand off.
Finally, Fuji looked away. “Do you really hate me that much, Echizen?” he asked quietly, and there was such sadness in his voice that Ryoma couldn’t help the guilt that tugged at him, an emotion that had suddenly acquainted itself with him for the past few days and had impeccably horrible timing.
But he steeled himself, fighting back the grotesquely familiar emotion. He couldn’t afford to wither now, no. He wouldn’t let Fuji win. “I don’t hate you,” he answered slowly. “I’m just tired of playing your games.”
Fuji’s eyes widened questioningly. “Games?”
“Yes. Games.” Fuji opened his mouth to speak again but Ryoma quickly interrupted. “I don’t care if you don’t call it that, but I’m sick of being toyed with.”
Those words seemed to trigger something within Fuji, for he suddenly looked deathly solemn. The sushi forgotten, he threw aside his chopsticks, stood up from the couch, walked around the center table and stopped in front of Ryoma, one hand swiftly grabbing Ryoma’s chin. “I was serious about you from the very start,” he whispered, blue eyes knife-like and smoldering.
Ryoma stared back defiantly, although his insides quailed nervously at the silent force of Fuji’s gaze. “Of course, you are, you express it just so frequently,” he retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You tell me, three times is some kind of record for you isn’t it?”
“I admit that it was a misjudgment on my part to have been so detached. But I meant every single word I said on those three times.”
“You didn’t act on them. I’d say that’s a good reason to doubt your sincerity.”
“You’re the one who said no.”
“Well whose fault is that?”
“…” Fuji said nothing, but his grip on Ryoma’s chin tightened so much it hurt.
Ryoma could feel the fast beat of his pulse echoing in his ears. Get out now Ryoma, a familiar voice inside him urged. Before he pulls you in… Before YOU give in. Before… before--
Ryoma gathered the last of his courage. “Che. I thought so.” He glared at Fuji one last time, before knocking the older boy’s hand off and turning. “I’m leaving.” He walked swiftly towards the door, fighting the tenuous tears rising at the back of his eyelids.
“Wait.”
Ryoma didn’t stop walking, his eyes focused only at the door in front of him. It was starting to blur. He was just about to unlock it when Fuji grabbed on to his wrist.
“Ryo-Echizen.” Fuji spoke very softly but his voice reverberated in Ryoma’s ears as if Fuji had shouted. “If… if it’s a game you insist on… then I shall grant it. If only as a means to an end.”
What? Ryoma’s eyes widened. He lifted his hand from the knob and glanced at Fuji, blinking first to stave off the premature tears. “What do you mean?” he asked, certain that whatever it was the former tensai had in mind wasn’t good at all… and yet wanting to listen to it all the same.
“One hour.” Fuji’s grip on his wrist tightened. “If I can’t make you change your mind after that, then you win. I shall leave you alone. You will never hear from me again, except for academic reasons.” Saying those words seemed to cost Fuji a lot, the gentle, silken voice breaking into something akin to desperation.
Fuji was desperate. Ryoma was hard-put not to gape at this surreal transformation, a facet of Fuji that Ryoma had never seen before. He didn’t see this coming. He always thought that it would be him to give the ultimatum and not the other way around. Slowly, he turned around. “And if I lose?”
“You’ll find out.”
Ryoma frowned. “That’s not fair.”
“I never said it would be.” When Ryoma didn’t reply for a long time, Fuji spoke again. “If it’s the only thing you do for me, please accept. One hour is all I ask.”
Ryoma bit his lip, willing himself to refuse but lacking the courage and desire to do so. “Are you going to seduce me?” he asked instead. Normally, he’d feel perturbed with his blasé choice of words but Ryoma was beyond caring at this point.
“Saa… that’s not the way I would put it. But the sentiment stands.”
Ryoma checked the clock. Four thirty-seven.
He turned towards Fuji and Fuji just looked back at him, waiting.
He should say no. He was sick of games, wasn’t he? One hour was a long time. Enough time for Fuji to break through to him. Enough time to reel him back in so that he could never walk away again.
Never walk away again. The thought terrified him and at the same time filled him with a delicious thrill. It was an ambivalent mix of emotion that only Fuji had succeeded in stirring in him, and he was feeling it again, here, in the most inopportune of times.
But no. He needed to be strong. Strong enough to withstand the temptation that was Fuji who was looking at him now with that maddening desperation, the normally impassive face now vulnerable, the smiling mask gone.
Looking at him now in the way Ryoma had always wanted Fuji to look at him.
But….
He couldn’t. He needed to be strong.
He needed to walk away…
He needed… he needed…
Ryoma closed his eyes.
“Fine. I accept.”
-----
If the conditions prior to the agreement were already unfair to begin with, the actual game was indefinitely worse.
Worse in the sense that Ryoma was definitely headed for a humiliating loss- and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Long, elegant fingers sheathed muscles that flexed under Fuji’s tantalizing caress, causing Ryoma to arch his back against the wall. Ryoma needed that wall, if he wanted to keep his balance. His knees were close to caving in, and he was pretty certain his brain would be doing the same soon after. Fuji did nothing more than touch him, but already, Ryoma was aching with need. It was as if Fuji’s hands had radars for sensitive spots, triggering unholy jolts of pleasure from the most innocent of places.
One hand found its way to Ryoma’s jaw, while the other hand worked itself up Ryoma’s back, fingers tracing the contours of Ryoma’s spine with such delicacy, Ryoma couldn’t stop the purr that had been trying to escape his throat upon Fuji’s first touch.
Then Fuji kissed him, and this time, the sensations were indescribable. A hot piece of wet velvet touched on his palate, and Ryoma tasted an odd mix of wasabi and lemon and a nameless flavor that was uniquely Fuji. Unable to resist, he kissed Fuji back.
Ryoma knew he was damned. Damned from the very moment he agreed to this game, a game he knew he couldn’t win.
He wondered why that fact didn’t bother him so much. Then he remembered something Fuji taught a while back.
In impulse, there is truth.
And all impulses pointed towards Fuji.
The firm pressure on his mouth disappeared. “Echizen.”
Ryoma’s eyes fluttered open and his vision was instantly dominated by cobalt eyes emitting dark blue heat. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” Fuji whispered, his hot breath tickling Ryoma’s cheek.
“Nnh.” Was Ryoma’s coherent reply. And with it came the realization that it could only go downhill from there.
“Saa…” Ryoma could almost hear Fuji mentally chuckling in amusement, although that could just be because Fuji’s forehead was leaning on his.
“Good answer.”
Then Fuji kissed him again, and Ryoma felt the hand previously holding his chin in place slide down, down into more unchartered territory, and he heard the faint ripping sound of zippers being unzipped and buttons popping out of their holes. Ryoma was helpless to protest, and he could only moan against Fuji’s mouth as a slender hand slipped beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers and wrapped around his arousal. He found himself scouring that unfairly skilled mouth with equal aggression, attempting to grasp at the fraying threads of self-control, control that Fuji had so easily snatched away.
As Fuji kissed him deeper, hand working miracles on his cock, his mind lost itself in the ripples of sensation, and sank into something deep-rooted within him, in a place locked up for so long, he forgot it even existed.
On the outside, his body melted under Fuji’s touch like butter in the sun. On the outside, his hands clung tightly, desperately at the warm graceful body pressed against his. On the outside, Fuji’s hungry lips nudged his apart and enticed his mouth to participate in a sinful play of tongues and lips.
On the inside, he watched himself from a distance and mentally confronted Fuji a thousand times.
I need this.
No I don’t.
Yes, I do.
I need it badly.
This is what I’ve been waiting for all my life.
No it’s not.
No, you’re not screwing my life again..
Don’t blame me, it’s all your fault.
Fuck, I blame you for everything!
Why couldn’t you have given me this eight years ago?
I waited for you!
Waited for you to prove that love you claimed to have for me.
But you didn’t.
I waited for you every day, yet in the space of eight years, you only came THRICE.
THRICE!
And you ask me why I can’t be with you?
All I wanted was constant physical presence.
An assurance that you’ll always be around.
You couldn’t give it to me.
So you deserve to hurt. Just like I did.
So what if I need this?
So what if I need YOU?!
It’s too late now.
Is it?
Yes, it is.
We should’ve been together years ago.
WHY DID YOU THROW ALL THOSE YEARS AWAY?!
Ryoma’s eyes flew open, and before he knew it, he had pushed Fuji off him and into the coffee table. There was the sound of something breaking and a plastic bottle clattering to the ground but it barely registered to Ryoma, who was breathing hard, the wavering currents of emotion caused by his inner voices still fresh in his psyche.
Fuji stared up at him, very much surprised, one hand clutching his shoulder.
The loss of stimuli had every nerve in Ryoma’s body screaming in outrage, and it showed, his legs quivering like jelly, his arousal still throbbing painfully in his pants. His mind was suffused with denial and he looked down at Fuji, golden eyes wild and just a bit scared.
“No. You can’t continue.”
Fuji merely looked at him, impassiveness in check. “I want to.”
“You can’t!”
“Why not?”
In the hesitant stillness that followed, Ryoma’s instinct kicked in.
“Because I’m going to fuck you.”
---
“Because I’m going to fuck you.”
The words jumped out of his mouth, completely bypassing mental consent. Few things shocked Echizen Ryoma, but it never occurred to him that one such thing would be himself.
In impulse there is truth.
He couldn’t pedal back now. To hell with everything else, Ryoma would figure things out later. He watched as Fuji settled himself steadily on his feet, his attention momentarily checking out his bruised shoulder. Then, after a few moments, his eyes lifted and looked directly at Ryoma.
Ryoma was pinned by the intensity of Fuji’s gaze. Fuji would refuse, that was almost certain, but Ryoma wouldn’t yield either and he looked back at Fuji with the same directness.
“Saa…” Fuji smiled and let his hands drop to his sides. “Then…” Still looking at Echizen, he took a few steps back towards the couch, and blindly grabbed his bag from behind him. He picked out an item and tossed it at Ryoma, who fumbled a bit before grabbing the item firmly in his hand.
Ryoma glanced briefly at it. Hand lotion. His eyes widened before veering to meet Fuji’s again.
Fuji’s smile took a challenging turn.
“Do it if you can, Echizen.”
---
This wasn’t the way he pictured it happening.
But it’s just as well, wasn’t it? Someone had to give. Fuji’s acquiescence surprised Ryoma but he managed to keep his facial reactions at bay.
He purposefully made his way towards Fuji, clutching the bottle tightly in his hand. Almost mechanically, he stepped directly in front of Fuji, glaring at him all the while. Fuji’s amusement with the matter grated at his already worn nerves. With a swift hand, he reached out and slowly unbuttoned Fuji’s khaki trousers, noting the unashamed bulge inside it.
Then he made another split-second decision. Quickly pulling down the rest of Fuji’s underwear, he grasped the stiff shaft hanging at full mast and knelt down.
Suffice to say, Fuji was surprised with this. “Echizen…”
Ryoma tentatively run his tongue along the flushed tip dotted with creamy drops of liquid, tasting an odd mixture of salt, musk and an underlying flavor that was Fuji’s own. His tongue darted out again, this time navigating the length of Fuji’s cock, his hands grasping Fuji’s hips. He relished with a certain savageness the tortured gasp his action elicited from the older man. Then, pushing aside all reservations, he took the hot swollen length in his mouth, suppressing a short-lived gag reflex as he did so. He heard Fuji suck in a harsh breath, and that was all the push he needed to continue.
Ryoma had no idea how he was supposed to go about this but he let his instincts lead the way for him. As he continued sucking Fuji, one hand went on the move in coating Fuji’s entrance, slick fingers sliding, scissoring and coaxing the tight muscles to relax.
He felt a sharp pain tug at his head and realized that Fuji’s fingers were tangled in his hair. The taut muscles under his mouth’s mercy trembled and Ryoma knew that it wasn’t long before Fuji came.
But instead of allowing Fuji his release, he immediately freed the pulsating organ from his mouth and very slowly drew out his fingers. He smirked when Fuji made an involuntary sound of protest.
Without bothering to stand up, he pushed Fuji towards the couch. Fuji didn’t even have any time to recover when Ryoma was already on him, slamming him down none-too-gently on his back. The soft couch bounced at the violent impact.
Ryoma pushed Fuji’s knees apart and settled himself between them. Fuji watched Ryoma with unhidden fascination, as the latter wrapped a lotion-spattered hand around his shaft, preparing himself.
When he was done, he looked down at Fuji. Strange, Fuji’s calmness didn’t unnerve him this time. It still surprised him though, how Fuji could even afford to be calm in such a questionable situation.
Then Fuji smiled. And Ryoma, not wanting to prolong his own gratification, proceeded.
He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t make any cautious navigation and impaled Fuji completely in one fast thrust, making the older man gasp in pain. Fuji’s hands gripped Ryoma shoulders and drew him closer with every buck of the younger man’s pelvis until his chin was resting on Ryoma’s shoulder, arms wrapping around Ryoma’s neck.
Ryoma buried his face in the crook of Fuji’s neck to stifle his own cries. He decreased the speed of his thrusts just fractionally but it was enough for Fuji to release a small sound of relief.
It wasn’t long now. Soon, Fuji released a soft cry and came, and that was the match to the tinder as Ryoma, after burying himself as far as he could inside the tight, velvet heat, felt the world disappear into a siege of dead white.
---
It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, but time was irrelevant for the meantime, as Ryoma slowly came to his senses, recovering from the powerful explosion of release that had shaken him out of his wits.
He realized that he was still draped on top of Fuji. Grunting, he shakily pulled out. He was about to get off, but the arms around his neck kept him in place.
“It isn’t one hour yet.”
Ryoma was too spent to argue and just dropped himself back on top of Fuji, still breathing heavily, brain still not in prime working condition.
A few seconds later, amidst his struggle for breath, Ryoma rasped out the first thing he could think of. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you let me do it?”
Fuji managed to shrug, despite Ryoma’s weight. “It’s what you wanted.”
Ryoma closed his eyes. “But I thought…”
Fuji laughed bitterly. “Echizen, if all I wanted was to bed you, I wouldn’t wait eight years to do it.”
Ryoma’s eyes cracked open. “But why this game?”
Fuji was silent for a long time. Then…
“If it will come to an unfavorable end,” he finally spoke, “I could say that I had at least known what if felt like to experience you with all my senses. I could have had something to hold on to, to pretend a happy ending with.”
Oh. Ryoma had no idea what to say to that. He wasn't prepared for this kind of revelation. He wasn't prepared for ANYTHING that happened for the past minutes, for that matter.
However, he did realize something though. Something he regretted not realizing sooner.
Fuji was sincere. Somehow, along the way of accepting his own desires, discovering Fuji’s very mutual ones and acting on said desires, Ryoma had come to terms with the fact that despite lack of past evidences, Fuji truly cared. And perhaps Ryoma was too wrapped up with the idea of a constant physical awareness, that he failed to see past the seemingly random nature of Fuji’s affection.
His eyes fluttered open again and it suddenly occurred to him that he had been carrying on with the conversation while still on top of Fuji.
While he found the situation slightly embarrassing, Ryoma didn't mind at all and Fuji had no qualms about keeping Ryoma on him. Truth be told, Ryoma liked the feel of Fuji’s body beneath his. He closed his eyes again, and nuzzled his nose against the crook of Fuji’s neck, inhaling the other’s scent, an intoxicating mix of peaches and clean male sweat.
For a moment, there was nothing but comfortable silence, as both men recovered from their activity, Fuji’s fingers playing with Ryoma’s hair and Ryoma breathing into Fuji’s neck. Then, Fuji’s voice cleaved through the stillness.
“Echizen.” He took a deep breath before uttering the next words. “Are you happy with this?”
Ryoma lifted his head and met Fuji’s eyes. “… I’m not unhappy.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“What? I said-“
“Being not unhappy and being happy are two different matters. The negation of a negative emotion does not equate to its positive counterpart. Emotions do not possess mathematical properties, Echizen.”
Ryoma scowled. It was such a Fuji thing to do, pulling the professor status in such a compromising situation. Somehow though, Ryoma didn’t find it unfitting.
Reluctantly, but knowing the necessity, he forced Fuji’s arms off him and swung his feet to the floor. He shakily stood up, and noted for the first time, the sticky wetness on his and Fuji’s shirts. Frowning, he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and started cleaning up. “I don’t know Fuji-senpai,” he said bluntly in between swipes. “It depends.”
Fuji slowly sat up as well, wincing as he did so. “It depends on what?” he questioned, starting to fix his own bearing.
“On what will become of this game.”
Fuji paused and looked at him. “You resisted me. I didn’t resist you.”
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
“Saa…” Fuji smiled and tilted his head. “What do you think?”
Ryoma paused, mulling things over. He had certainly cleared some things up from this, but there were many things that still disconcerted him. “I think I could win this,” he started slowly. “But…” He bit his lip, as the implications of what he was about to reveal hit him.
“But…” Fuji gently prodded.
Ryoma swallowed. And before he could chicken out, he spoke.
“But… I don’t want to.”
For a moment, it was as if all the different emotions waged war with each other on Fuji’s face, before finally settling on a safe combination of relief and delight. “And what will you make of that?” he asked, the silken voice reflecting his expression.
“I don’t know,” Ryoma answered honestly, frowning. He threw his handkerchief into the trash bin and glanced sideways at Fuji. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Fuji shook his head regretfully. “I couldn’t tell you Echizen, for I cannot articulate them myself,” he admitted. “However, I can show you.” A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “If you’ll let me.”
“What, are you going to seduce me again?” Ryoma knew he was blushing, but that was the least of his worries. He didn’t want Fuji to think he was giving in too easily.
Fuji laughed, but not unkindly. “If things were that easy we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he remarked dryly. “Although I will admit, I had my share of frustrations. Maybe that’s part of why I didn’t come close.” He paused, appearing to think of something.
Then, without warning, he was suddenly in Ryoma's face, leaving the smallest, calculable space where skin didn’t touch skin betweeen them, making Ryoma blush even harder.
”Because I couldn’t stand to be so near you without having the impulse to bite you,” he whispered. “Somewhere.” His smile took a devious turn. “Anywhere.”
So why didn’t you? was the first thought that popped up in Ryoma’s head, but saying that would be completely self-cauterizing. There was only so much heat his face could take before steam blew out of his ears. In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, he decided to pull a reverse of Fuji’s professor stunt. “Heh. Impulse never lies. Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just do it,” he quoted smugly, noting with much satisfaction the surprise on Fuji’s face as he recognized the words. “You’re a bloody hypocrite Fuji-sensei.”
Fuji chuckled again. “I know. I’ve learned my lesson. And I’m glad you’ve been studying yours well.”
Ryoma smiled cockily. “No teacher has ever given me a grade lower than B before and you’re not about to be the first.”
Fuji only smiled in response. Ryoma looked down at his sneakers and again, there was a long pause.
And again, it was Fuji who spoke first.
“So, what now, Echizen? What happens from here?”
Ryoma bit his lip. The segue of events was so surreal, moving in a pace that was twice as fast as Ryoma was capable of going. He still couldn’t understand how getting a little physical with Fuji could swing his opinions so effectively. Was he that shallow? Or was Fuji just that good? He knew for certain now that he had been wrong in his judgment of Fuji’s sincerity but while he felt glad that he was wrong, he was still confused as how to go about… everything that would or should follow, whatever ‘everything’ was.
So he could only answer the only thing he considered as truth for the moment. “I really don’t know.”
Fuji wasn’t discouraged. “It all boils down to what you want, Echizen,” he responded in a mildly persuasive tone. “I told you, I’m willing to wait for as long as long extends. So I’m going to ask you: What do you want now?”
To that, Ryoma had an answer ready. God knows how many people had asked him that. “I want to be happy.”
“Ah. That’s a very tricky thing to want. Common, but tricky.” Fuji smiled. “But be that as it may, I believe I can give you that.”
Ryoma didn’t reply and continued staring at his shoes. A few moments later, he heard Fuji sigh. Then, a familiar hand grasped his cheek, turning it slowly.
“Ryoma.”
It was the first time Fuji called him by his first name. Ryoma hesitantly lifted his eyes and met Fuji’s serious, earnest ones.
“Let me teach you.”
Ryoma bit his lip again. And as he stood there, with Fuji waiting for his response, he thought of the things he didn’t do, the things he had already done and the things he could still do.
With Fuji.
He thought about the past eight years, years spent running away, eight years of suppressed impulses.
He thought of Fuji’s honey colored hair, dripping wet and thrown into sharp relief as he sliced a Higuma Otoshi in the rain. He thought of Fuji’s voice, soft yet resonating, barely heard but producing endless echoes in his mind.
He thought of Fuji’s azure eyes, eyes that had always watched him, eyes that could see through him, eyes that shattered his icy visage beyond repair.
He thought of Fuji, waving a burger in front of his face, Fuji, who was always there, hardly around him but always with him, ever watching, silent, patient, waiting. And waiting still.
He thought of love and happiness and how things end.
He looked at the clock. It read 5: 17.
And then, almost without conscious volition, he was reaching up and enveloping Fuji’s warm hand with his own. “Yes,” he answered decisively, feeling the corners of his mouth lift into a genuine smile. “Teach me, please.” He squeezed Fuji’s hand.
“Sensei.”
Fuji smiled back. It was the only thing he did but it was all he needed to do anyway. Ryoma was satisfied, and he readily responded when Fuji pressed his smile on Ryoma’s own, into a kiss that was gentle and unassuming yet spoke a promise of much more to come.
Fuji had won, of that there could be no doubt.
But Ryoma did not lose either.
---
Graduation day in Tokyo University found Ryoma hugging Fuji to him, amidst the rain of togas and hats.
“Ryoma.”
Ryoma pulled back and met Fuji’s gaze. “What?”
Fuji touched Ryoma’s chin and tilted it to look directly in his eyes. “Are you happy?”
Ryoma smiled and said nothing. He just pulled Fuji closer and kissed him.
And Fuji understood.
~Owari~
Date started: 08/18/05
Date Completed: 08/24/05
Post A/N: Just four notes:
1.) MS Word corrupted is the most evil thing in the world. Had to rewrite this fic from scratch when I was three fourth’s done (3/4 being 8,000 + words T____T ) I never knew how long my list of profanities was until that moment, when I opened my file and saw rows of squares staring back at me. ::le sigh:: I’m just glad I got it rewritten on time.
2.) I just realized what a whore Ryoma’s being in all of my NC-17 fics-coz yeah, he’s ALWAYS the one giving head.
3.) The student-teacher plot bunny came from Mei. I just pedigreed it and brought it up to Godzilla size.
4.) Much love goes to arctic_dragon, who betad most of this fic. :: squishes ::
Again, a very hearty OTENJOUBI OMEDETOU to MEI! ::huggles::
Am I too late? It's 0857 Aug 25 back here but I know I'm at least 13 hours ahead of most USA timezones. ^^;;