Sports Shounen // Kis-My-Ft2
Sports Shounen
Kitayama (+ cameos: Kame, Jin, Ohkura, Yokoo, Senga)
G, 100x10 words, AU
Kendo
When Kitayama enters the locker rooms in his regular street clothing and stylishly dyed hair, joking with his fellow trainees and bowing a polite greeting to his trainer, he looks too young to already be a 4-dan kendoka. But on the competition floor, when he's cleared his mind of all thoughts except the feel of the shinai in his hands and the wooden slats beneath his bare feet, he is intimidating, formidable. He's often been told he has "strong eyes" and more than one opponent has felt unnerved by the dark flash of them through the lattice-work of his men.
Baseball
On every team there's a player that fans love to hate, a player who's made the scapegoat whenever things start going wrong. For the Yokohama Bay Stars, that player is Kitayama Hiromitsu. Last season, he'd struck out against a Johnnys on some silly idol game show and been the butt of jokes on sports programs for a week straight.
But no one ever talks of trading him, though they'd gotten rid of Akanishi quickly enough when he couldn't get the lead out of his glove. Kitayama's secret: if he leaves, the fans will only find someone else to hate on.
Boxing
As Kitayama falls back into his corner of the ring, he feels the ropes catch him and keep him upright. That's about all he can feel. He's been hit in so many places it's all just one big ache now, and he can't even feel the cold ice pack being held to his swollen eyes and lips.
But the treatment helps to clear his head and in a moment he's aware enough of the significant way his trainer and cutman are looking at each other.
"No," he protests, pushing himself back up, "I can still fight. I can still win."
Cross-country
It's probably the endorphins speaking, but Kitayama really loves long-distance running. He'd begun reluctantly, because he hadn't the speed for sprints, and immediately fell in love. He likes pushing himself to the limits. He likes the raw, human smell of sweat; likes needing to breathe so deeply that the oxygen goes straight to his stomach, gasping for air with the very pores on his skin; likes when his thighs burn so badly it feels like he can't bear to lift his leg even one more millimeter. And then he takes another step forward, and it feels like winning against himself.
Diving
three.
two,
One,
Three steps up the diving board.
Kitayama thinks of those steps like a ritual - like always putting on his left sock first, like saying tadaima to an empty apartment, like acting happy with an endless stream of silver medals but never gold. Like something that might have been meaningful, if only he didn't feel like he was suffocating in the cloying smell of chlorine that clings to his clothes and skin, even away from the pool.
Then he breaks, a soundless, graceful entry into the water that folds in on him, caresses him in its embrace.
Dragonboat
In hindsight, as Kitayama comes spluttering up to the surface of the water, he knows he should have seen it coming. He and the drummer of the boat from Osaka had been sneaking off to flirt in hidden corners all throughout the week leading up to the competition, but despite their real attraction, the competitiveness between the two of them hadn't abated one bit. Of course Ohkura would get his team to tip Kitayama's boat.
The Yangtze isn't exactly a clean river, and as Kitayama spits foul-tasting water out of his mouth he makes a mental note to get even.
Golf
"Golf is not a sport," Kitayama insists, though he keeps his voice carefully low inside the country club. He goes through the motions of hefting the rental clubs that Yokoo hands him, but leaves it to Yokoo to pick out suitable ones. He'd made it clear from the beginning that he wasn't interested, so if Yokoo wants to drag him around a golf course then Yokoo can do all the work.
But then-"Sorry, coming through!"-a caddy with curly hair and big eyes pushes past them, and Kitayama snaps to attention. Perhaps there's something to be said about golf after all.
Hockey
There's something eminently satisfying about cutting through the icy rink at top speed and slamming bodily into someone else, so hard you feel your very bones rattle in your body. And there's something pacifying in whacking the puck so hard it whistles through the air. Something soothing in the clack of stick against stick, fighting for dominance.
Kitayama isn't a violent person, but there's an aggression in him that builds and builds during the week, hidden and throttled under his salaryman's suit and tie, until he can't wait for weekend practices and the monthly battles against the other local teams.
Riding
Kitayama leans low across his horse's neck, gripping well with his knees, eyes steady on the hedge they're rapidly approaching. The thunder of his horse's hooves seem to be in time with the beating of his heart.
"You must throw your heart over," his father had told him when he was a boy just learning to ride. It's one of the few memories Kitayama has of his father.
And then he's soaring, his heart quite honestly more in his throat than over the hedge, but he clears the jump easily with inches to spare. Like he was born to it.
Skiing
Hokkaido, with its five months of real snow every year, is practically a buffet of ski resorts. But the Wangan Resort has managed to emerge victorious through the raffle as the most popular, due in no small part to the ikemen instructors they employ.
Look at Kitayama, their ace - he has excellent form, speed, and control on both skis and snowboard, plus a pretty face and a body that warms their most elite clientèle after a cold day in the snow.
Detractors call Wangan no better than a host club, but, well, so long as the customers are happy...
Note(s): No football/soccer because I already did that.
Kitayama (+ cameos: Kame, Jin, Ohkura, Yokoo, Senga)
G, 100x10 words, AU
Kendo
When Kitayama enters the locker rooms in his regular street clothing and stylishly dyed hair, joking with his fellow trainees and bowing a polite greeting to his trainer, he looks too young to already be a 4-dan kendoka. But on the competition floor, when he's cleared his mind of all thoughts except the feel of the shinai in his hands and the wooden slats beneath his bare feet, he is intimidating, formidable. He's often been told he has "strong eyes" and more than one opponent has felt unnerved by the dark flash of them through the lattice-work of his men.
Baseball
On every team there's a player that fans love to hate, a player who's made the scapegoat whenever things start going wrong. For the Yokohama Bay Stars, that player is Kitayama Hiromitsu. Last season, he'd struck out against a Johnnys on some silly idol game show and been the butt of jokes on sports programs for a week straight.
But no one ever talks of trading him, though they'd gotten rid of Akanishi quickly enough when he couldn't get the lead out of his glove. Kitayama's secret: if he leaves, the fans will only find someone else to hate on.
Boxing
As Kitayama falls back into his corner of the ring, he feels the ropes catch him and keep him upright. That's about all he can feel. He's been hit in so many places it's all just one big ache now, and he can't even feel the cold ice pack being held to his swollen eyes and lips.
But the treatment helps to clear his head and in a moment he's aware enough of the significant way his trainer and cutman are looking at each other.
"No," he protests, pushing himself back up, "I can still fight. I can still win."
Cross-country
It's probably the endorphins speaking, but Kitayama really loves long-distance running. He'd begun reluctantly, because he hadn't the speed for sprints, and immediately fell in love. He likes pushing himself to the limits. He likes the raw, human smell of sweat; likes needing to breathe so deeply that the oxygen goes straight to his stomach, gasping for air with the very pores on his skin; likes when his thighs burn so badly it feels like he can't bear to lift his leg even one more millimeter. And then he takes another step forward, and it feels like winning against himself.
Diving
three.
two,
One,
Three steps up the diving board.
Kitayama thinks of those steps like a ritual - like always putting on his left sock first, like saying tadaima to an empty apartment, like acting happy with an endless stream of silver medals but never gold. Like something that might have been meaningful, if only he didn't feel like he was suffocating in the cloying smell of chlorine that clings to his clothes and skin, even away from the pool.
Then he breaks, a soundless, graceful entry into the water that folds in on him, caresses him in its embrace.
Dragonboat
In hindsight, as Kitayama comes spluttering up to the surface of the water, he knows he should have seen it coming. He and the drummer of the boat from Osaka had been sneaking off to flirt in hidden corners all throughout the week leading up to the competition, but despite their real attraction, the competitiveness between the two of them hadn't abated one bit. Of course Ohkura would get his team to tip Kitayama's boat.
The Yangtze isn't exactly a clean river, and as Kitayama spits foul-tasting water out of his mouth he makes a mental note to get even.
Golf
"Golf is not a sport," Kitayama insists, though he keeps his voice carefully low inside the country club. He goes through the motions of hefting the rental clubs that Yokoo hands him, but leaves it to Yokoo to pick out suitable ones. He'd made it clear from the beginning that he wasn't interested, so if Yokoo wants to drag him around a golf course then Yokoo can do all the work.
But then-"Sorry, coming through!"-a caddy with curly hair and big eyes pushes past them, and Kitayama snaps to attention. Perhaps there's something to be said about golf after all.
Hockey
There's something eminently satisfying about cutting through the icy rink at top speed and slamming bodily into someone else, so hard you feel your very bones rattle in your body. And there's something pacifying in whacking the puck so hard it whistles through the air. Something soothing in the clack of stick against stick, fighting for dominance.
Kitayama isn't a violent person, but there's an aggression in him that builds and builds during the week, hidden and throttled under his salaryman's suit and tie, until he can't wait for weekend practices and the monthly battles against the other local teams.
Riding
Kitayama leans low across his horse's neck, gripping well with his knees, eyes steady on the hedge they're rapidly approaching. The thunder of his horse's hooves seem to be in time with the beating of his heart.
"You must throw your heart over," his father had told him when he was a boy just learning to ride. It's one of the few memories Kitayama has of his father.
And then he's soaring, his heart quite honestly more in his throat than over the hedge, but he clears the jump easily with inches to spare. Like he was born to it.
Skiing
Hokkaido, with its five months of real snow every year, is practically a buffet of ski resorts. But the Wangan Resort has managed to emerge victorious through the raffle as the most popular, due in no small part to the ikemen instructors they employ.
Look at Kitayama, their ace - he has excellent form, speed, and control on both skis and snowboard, plus a pretty face and a body that warms their most elite clientèle after a cold day in the snow.
Detractors call Wangan no better than a host club, but, well, so long as the customers are happy...
Note(s): No football/soccer because I already did that.