SUPER SECOND STORY: Pen-Pen for Rai!
Title: Complication
Author: penombrelilas
Recipients Name: Rai_Kai_Lai
Rating: Language
Pairing: Yukimura and Shiraishi
Disclaimer: Only one man owns prince of tennis.
Warnings: None
There was something alluring about the way Seiichi's face contorted in pain. Shiraishi couldn't take his eyes away, soaked in the intimacy of every visible line on Seiichi's forehead as he was. He didn't know if he himself could be so open - not to mention so vocal - about his pain if their roles were reversed. Pain made other people uncomfortable, it paralyzed them if they did not know how to help.
That's what he felt now, a mixture of helplessness, guilt and a strange sense of familiarity. It wasn't every day that he had to take someone to the hospital, but he felt at home here among the sanitized white, and comfortable, although the accommodation was anything but.
Be prepared, his coach had used to preach. Be prepared and you'll know what to do. So they trained using images, imaginary sets and foes with different strengths and weaknesses, until they knew when and how to use their own skills. Shiraishi thought this was a good idea for enclosed settings like tennis courts, where most steps could be foreseen. But reality looked different.
Reality was a boy restless with pain until finally he was told which examining room to go to to have a physician look at his wrist. A nurse escorted them with a slow, trudging walk as if her legs were heavy from a lack of sleep. Despite her tired appearance, she was smiling softly.
They greeted the doctor in the examining room and Seiichi told him about his wrist. It could be a bad sprain, said the doctor, or a fracture. We'll have to x-ray your arm to make sure.
Shiraishi was certain no amount of image training could have prepared him for this.
Not for the guilt that turned like a deadweight inside of him; not for the sudden blush that heated his cheeks, when he imagined Seiichi prancing around in the nurse's uniform. It was such a random thought that ran away with him, but he could see it clearly: the uniform would stretch tight around his hips when he moved and fall loose from his shoulders, show off his collarbones. If Shiraishi wanted to nip at them, Seiichi would pull him closer with his stethoscope.
Beneath the skirt he would wear white nylon stockings with matching high heels that would dig into Shiraishi's thighs when Seiichi wrapped his legs around him. This close Shiraishi would be able to smell the waft of antiseptics Seiichi would give off and taste the chemicals on his lips.
The nurse closed the door behind Seiichi when they returned from the x-ray. "God, I do so hope these painkillers will work fast. My wrist is killing me."
It turned out that his scaphoid bone was fractured. Nothing complex, the doctor said. If you rest your arm and do some simple exercises, it will heal quickly. Seiichi should come back in a week for another x-ray to see what progress his mending bone made.
"Great. How am I supposed to do my assignments?" Seiichi's face contorted even more than before. It seemed like the restrictions a broken wrist brought along with it were worse for him than the pain itself. But Shiraishi could relate. "I cannot draw with my left hand."
That he would not be able to play tennis for some time, he was quiet about. Maybe this didn't matter to him as much anymore, or maybe it mattered to him so much that he did not want to worry anyone with it. Shiraishi already blamed himself for the accident, although he knew this was irrational. Things like these happened all the time and they couldn't be undone even if you committed seppuku over them. But he wouldn't know what to do if Seiichi also thought it was his fault.
Ask the teacher if you can hand them in once you can draw again, the nurse said. He will understand. Under no circumstances should you strain your wrist, before it is completely healed.
Seiichi tried a polite smile, which he always did when he did not want to openly show his annoyance, but it melted into a wince, before she could register.
Shiraishi watched the nurse with the weary smile and the crooked teeth put a cast around Seiichi's right arm. He couldn't help but continue his mental exploration of Seiichi in drag. He was sitting on a sick-bed now, legs spread open and exposed, touching himself. His hooded eyes were pure seduction and his parted mouth spoke a wordless invitation Shiraishi wouldn't be able to decline if it was anything more than fancy.
He was lucky Seiichi couldn't read minds, because he was sure to find a way to hit him with his good arm. Unless he found a liking to Shiraishi's imagination, which Shiraishi doubted very much.
"You know what irks me the most about this thing? Apart from not being able to jerk of." Seiichi asked after the formilities were done and they were alone again. "That I cannot draw you when you're sleeping. Or naked. Or both."
"Well, this gives you an incentive to heal fast." Shiraishi would not say this, but he had paid attention to the exercises Seiichi was supposed to do. Seiichi wasn't likely to forget about it, keen on control over his body as he was, but you had to be prepared for everything.
"You know, I've always wanted to use one for my portfolio. A picture of a cock, I mean. The art teachers sure like their cock, they always want us to draw them. So we know what the human body looks like beneath the clothes. Right," he rolled his eyes. "Maybe they would enjoy a beautiful, drawn-from-life cock. What do you think?"
Shiraishi shrugged. "How about crafting one? Out of marble, or whatever else you use in class."
Seiichi stopped for a moment and pinned Shiraishi with his gaze. At first, he thought he had said something that went too far, but then Seiichi said, "Now there's an idea. And if they don't like it, they can shove it up their asses. It's perfect."
Shiraishi snorted. It was good to see that even with the pain, Seiichi still hadn't lost his sense of humor.
Author: penombrelilas
Recipients Name: Rai_Kai_Lai
Rating: Language
Pairing: Yukimura and Shiraishi
Disclaimer: Only one man owns prince of tennis.
Warnings: None
There was something alluring about the way Seiichi's face contorted in pain. Shiraishi couldn't take his eyes away, soaked in the intimacy of every visible line on Seiichi's forehead as he was. He didn't know if he himself could be so open - not to mention so vocal - about his pain if their roles were reversed. Pain made other people uncomfortable, it paralyzed them if they did not know how to help.
That's what he felt now, a mixture of helplessness, guilt and a strange sense of familiarity. It wasn't every day that he had to take someone to the hospital, but he felt at home here among the sanitized white, and comfortable, although the accommodation was anything but.
Be prepared, his coach had used to preach. Be prepared and you'll know what to do. So they trained using images, imaginary sets and foes with different strengths and weaknesses, until they knew when and how to use their own skills. Shiraishi thought this was a good idea for enclosed settings like tennis courts, where most steps could be foreseen. But reality looked different.
Reality was a boy restless with pain until finally he was told which examining room to go to to have a physician look at his wrist. A nurse escorted them with a slow, trudging walk as if her legs were heavy from a lack of sleep. Despite her tired appearance, she was smiling softly.
They greeted the doctor in the examining room and Seiichi told him about his wrist. It could be a bad sprain, said the doctor, or a fracture. We'll have to x-ray your arm to make sure.
Shiraishi was certain no amount of image training could have prepared him for this.
Not for the guilt that turned like a deadweight inside of him; not for the sudden blush that heated his cheeks, when he imagined Seiichi prancing around in the nurse's uniform. It was such a random thought that ran away with him, but he could see it clearly: the uniform would stretch tight around his hips when he moved and fall loose from his shoulders, show off his collarbones. If Shiraishi wanted to nip at them, Seiichi would pull him closer with his stethoscope.
Beneath the skirt he would wear white nylon stockings with matching high heels that would dig into Shiraishi's thighs when Seiichi wrapped his legs around him. This close Shiraishi would be able to smell the waft of antiseptics Seiichi would give off and taste the chemicals on his lips.
The nurse closed the door behind Seiichi when they returned from the x-ray. "God, I do so hope these painkillers will work fast. My wrist is killing me."
It turned out that his scaphoid bone was fractured. Nothing complex, the doctor said. If you rest your arm and do some simple exercises, it will heal quickly. Seiichi should come back in a week for another x-ray to see what progress his mending bone made.
"Great. How am I supposed to do my assignments?" Seiichi's face contorted even more than before. It seemed like the restrictions a broken wrist brought along with it were worse for him than the pain itself. But Shiraishi could relate. "I cannot draw with my left hand."
That he would not be able to play tennis for some time, he was quiet about. Maybe this didn't matter to him as much anymore, or maybe it mattered to him so much that he did not want to worry anyone with it. Shiraishi already blamed himself for the accident, although he knew this was irrational. Things like these happened all the time and they couldn't be undone even if you committed seppuku over them. But he wouldn't know what to do if Seiichi also thought it was his fault.
Ask the teacher if you can hand them in once you can draw again, the nurse said. He will understand. Under no circumstances should you strain your wrist, before it is completely healed.
Seiichi tried a polite smile, which he always did when he did not want to openly show his annoyance, but it melted into a wince, before she could register.
Shiraishi watched the nurse with the weary smile and the crooked teeth put a cast around Seiichi's right arm. He couldn't help but continue his mental exploration of Seiichi in drag. He was sitting on a sick-bed now, legs spread open and exposed, touching himself. His hooded eyes were pure seduction and his parted mouth spoke a wordless invitation Shiraishi wouldn't be able to decline if it was anything more than fancy.
He was lucky Seiichi couldn't read minds, because he was sure to find a way to hit him with his good arm. Unless he found a liking to Shiraishi's imagination, which Shiraishi doubted very much.
"You know what irks me the most about this thing? Apart from not being able to jerk of." Seiichi asked after the formilities were done and they were alone again. "That I cannot draw you when you're sleeping. Or naked. Or both."
"Well, this gives you an incentive to heal fast." Shiraishi would not say this, but he had paid attention to the exercises Seiichi was supposed to do. Seiichi wasn't likely to forget about it, keen on control over his body as he was, but you had to be prepared for everything.
"You know, I've always wanted to use one for my portfolio. A picture of a cock, I mean. The art teachers sure like their cock, they always want us to draw them. So we know what the human body looks like beneath the clothes. Right," he rolled his eyes. "Maybe they would enjoy a beautiful, drawn-from-life cock. What do you think?"
Shiraishi shrugged. "How about crafting one? Out of marble, or whatever else you use in class."
Seiichi stopped for a moment and pinned Shiraishi with his gaze. At first, he thought he had said something that went too far, but then Seiichi said, "Now there's an idea. And if they don't like it, they can shove it up their asses. It's perfect."
Shiraishi snorted. It was good to see that even with the pain, Seiichi still hadn't lost his sense of humor.