fic: In the clubroom
Title: In the clubroom
Rating: PG13/very mild R
Summary: Everytime Ryoma thinks buchou, it gets hard to think anything else. It's always buchou, buchou, buchou. Ryoma's body reacts to those thoughts.
Echizen Ryoma was the last one in the dressing room. Buchou had had a meeting with one of his teacher and was supposed to come back later and lock the door, so when Echizen had been in the shower, the last person to leave had turned off the light. Echizen had walked into an empty room where the only light sources were the windows near the ceiling. He sat on a bench and leaned his head backwards towards his locker.
The practice had been hard. Ryoma suspected that even Kaidou-senpai was tired, even if he didn't let it show. Tezuka-buchou did not want to waste any time and wanted to build the strongest team as soon as possible. Not just the team needed to be strong, he wanted the whole tennis club to be at its best. Ryoma had thought buchou wasn't able to be more in love with ordering laps to everyone, but the practice today had proved him wrong. More laps, more swings, more everything. Nothing was enough, there was always a chance of being faster, stronger, better.
Buchou. It had been three years since Ryouma had referred him as buchou, at least out loud. In his mind Tezuka had always stayed buchou, even after his graduation. Not that that Kaidou-senpai wasn't a good captain. He was. He and Momo-senpai had made a good leader pair.
Now Ryoma was in his first year in high school and buchou was buchou again, officially and everything. The tennis team wasn't the same as it had been three years ago, but it was good. They could definitely go far.
Ryoma let his head drop when he leaned forward and rubbed his eyes tiredly, leaning his elbows on his thighs. Buchou. The man, who had more than once showed Ryoma how much more tennis could be, who had told him to become a pillar of support to Seigaku and who had made Ryoma determined to find his own path in life and in tennis.
The cool air in dressing room was making Ryoma shiver. He should get up and put clothes on, if he continued to sit like this in just a towel, he would catch a cold. Buchou would not appreciate that, Ryoma smirked to himself. He would probably make Ryoma run 50 laps after he'd get better again.
Ryoma wasn't sure why everytime he thought about buchou, it got difficult thinking anything else. It was like all his thoughts gravitated towards buchou and became buchou. And then it would just be buchou, buchou, buchou, until his body started to react.
Like now. Ryoma could feel a warm, familiar feeling start in the pit of his belly, making the blood rush to his cock. He bit his lip and tried to gather his thoughts. But like it had a mind of its own, his hand moved and he used one finger to stroke himself, up and down, before taking a grip. He breathed sharply for the surprisingly warm feeling and leaned his head back again, when his hand started to move.
Some part of his brain was telling him to stop doing what he was doing, telling him that he could finish it when he got home and that right now he should put clothes on and get the hell out of there before someone would see him like that. But Ryoma couldn't stop. He breathed in the air that was smelled like sweat, tennis balls and soap, and he could see buchou's face in front of him. He moaned softly for the mental image, of buchou being close and touching him in the way Ryoma was touching himself. His fantasies were never exactly graphic, but just thinking about touching Tezuka's skin, kissing him, feeling his body close to his was enough to bring Ryouma into a happy ending. With a low grunt he came over his belly, his head still leaned back and eyes closed.
Sooner than he would have liked, his brains got enough blood to start functioning properly and forced him to stand up and go towards the showers. He washed himself lazily, twisting his neck that felt stiff and yawned. His thoughts were now occupied with food and homework and his own warm bed.
When he walked out of the showers, the room wasn't empty. Buchou was standing by his locker.
”I didn't think anyone would be left,” he marked calmly to Ryoma, who had stopped at the doorway. Something twisted in Ryoma's guts but he pushed the feeling away determinedly. Buchou had no way of knowing what he had done just a minute ago.
”I took a long shower,” Ryoma muttered and walked to his locker. He started to change his clothes hurriedly because even though buchou didn't know what he had done, Ryoma did, and he didn't want to be in the same room alone with buchou, in a room that smelled like sweat, tennis balls and soap.
”Tomorrow.” Tezuka said without looking at Ryoma. ”Tomorrow too I will come and lock the club room later. In case you want to take a longer shower again.”
Ryoma could feel the blush spreading quickly on his cheeks but a small sense of victory appeared inside of him.
”Mada mada dane, buchou,” Ryoma said with a smirk before gathering his belongings and heading out the door. Perhaps it was just the sun playing with his eyes, but he thought he saw the faintest pink on Tezuka's cheeks, when he walked past him.
Rating: PG13/very mild R
Summary: Everytime Ryoma thinks buchou, it gets hard to think anything else. It's always buchou, buchou, buchou. Ryoma's body reacts to those thoughts.
Echizen Ryoma was the last one in the dressing room. Buchou had had a meeting with one of his teacher and was supposed to come back later and lock the door, so when Echizen had been in the shower, the last person to leave had turned off the light. Echizen had walked into an empty room where the only light sources were the windows near the ceiling. He sat on a bench and leaned his head backwards towards his locker.
The practice had been hard. Ryoma suspected that even Kaidou-senpai was tired, even if he didn't let it show. Tezuka-buchou did not want to waste any time and wanted to build the strongest team as soon as possible. Not just the team needed to be strong, he wanted the whole tennis club to be at its best. Ryoma had thought buchou wasn't able to be more in love with ordering laps to everyone, but the practice today had proved him wrong. More laps, more swings, more everything. Nothing was enough, there was always a chance of being faster, stronger, better.
Buchou. It had been three years since Ryouma had referred him as buchou, at least out loud. In his mind Tezuka had always stayed buchou, even after his graduation. Not that that Kaidou-senpai wasn't a good captain. He was. He and Momo-senpai had made a good leader pair.
Now Ryoma was in his first year in high school and buchou was buchou again, officially and everything. The tennis team wasn't the same as it had been three years ago, but it was good. They could definitely go far.
Ryoma let his head drop when he leaned forward and rubbed his eyes tiredly, leaning his elbows on his thighs. Buchou. The man, who had more than once showed Ryoma how much more tennis could be, who had told him to become a pillar of support to Seigaku and who had made Ryoma determined to find his own path in life and in tennis.
The cool air in dressing room was making Ryoma shiver. He should get up and put clothes on, if he continued to sit like this in just a towel, he would catch a cold. Buchou would not appreciate that, Ryoma smirked to himself. He would probably make Ryoma run 50 laps after he'd get better again.
Ryoma wasn't sure why everytime he thought about buchou, it got difficult thinking anything else. It was like all his thoughts gravitated towards buchou and became buchou. And then it would just be buchou, buchou, buchou, until his body started to react.
Like now. Ryoma could feel a warm, familiar feeling start in the pit of his belly, making the blood rush to his cock. He bit his lip and tried to gather his thoughts. But like it had a mind of its own, his hand moved and he used one finger to stroke himself, up and down, before taking a grip. He breathed sharply for the surprisingly warm feeling and leaned his head back again, when his hand started to move.
Some part of his brain was telling him to stop doing what he was doing, telling him that he could finish it when he got home and that right now he should put clothes on and get the hell out of there before someone would see him like that. But Ryoma couldn't stop. He breathed in the air that was smelled like sweat, tennis balls and soap, and he could see buchou's face in front of him. He moaned softly for the mental image, of buchou being close and touching him in the way Ryoma was touching himself. His fantasies were never exactly graphic, but just thinking about touching Tezuka's skin, kissing him, feeling his body close to his was enough to bring Ryouma into a happy ending. With a low grunt he came over his belly, his head still leaned back and eyes closed.
Sooner than he would have liked, his brains got enough blood to start functioning properly and forced him to stand up and go towards the showers. He washed himself lazily, twisting his neck that felt stiff and yawned. His thoughts were now occupied with food and homework and his own warm bed.
When he walked out of the showers, the room wasn't empty. Buchou was standing by his locker.
”I didn't think anyone would be left,” he marked calmly to Ryoma, who had stopped at the doorway. Something twisted in Ryoma's guts but he pushed the feeling away determinedly. Buchou had no way of knowing what he had done just a minute ago.
”I took a long shower,” Ryoma muttered and walked to his locker. He started to change his clothes hurriedly because even though buchou didn't know what he had done, Ryoma did, and he didn't want to be in the same room alone with buchou, in a room that smelled like sweat, tennis balls and soap.
”Tomorrow.” Tezuka said without looking at Ryoma. ”Tomorrow too I will come and lock the club room later. In case you want to take a longer shower again.”
Ryoma could feel the blush spreading quickly on his cheeks but a small sense of victory appeared inside of him.
”Mada mada dane, buchou,” Ryoma said with a smirk before gathering his belongings and heading out the door. Perhaps it was just the sun playing with his eyes, but he thought he saw the faintest pink on Tezuka's cheeks, when he walked past him.