PoT: Akutsu/Mizuki Remix
Random snippets of Akutsu/Mizuki. Maybe once I write enough of them, I'll re-order the scenes and string them into a proper fic. But I don't see myself running out of scenes to write anytime soon or even really wanting to place it in chronological order. Maybe reverse chronological order, a la Memento?
Realization: I love writing Mizuki from Akutsu's POV.
--- 1 ---
He doesn't fight back but he doesn't cooperate either. There's a lot of blood and Akutsu supposes it might be Mizuki's first time. But what the fuck does he know? Akutsu isn't exactly gentle.
--- 2 ---
Mizuki tells him to enjoy the holidays. He'll be busy with exams and choir practice in preparation for his annual solo at Christmas mass.
"You don't actually buy into that religious crap, do you?"
Mizuki dips his head thoughtfully and the light wraps around his frame and halos his hair. He looks like the posterboy for Catholicism, an innocent, pure lamb for someone like Akutsu to devour.
"It doesn't matter." The tone is casual but the response is measured. "If enough people believe, that perception is reality."
Akutsu can imagine him ten years down the line, preaching to adoring crowds in pristine white robes, bilking people out of millions and being thanked for the privilege.
The thought makes him laugh.
--- 3 ---
Mizuki is bothered that his teammate has taken up smoking.
"It's such a filthy habit. Not to mention, it decreases stamina. I've warned Akazawa so many times," he rants between coughs. "It's starting to affect his tennis."
Akutsu blows more smoke on Mizuki and swiftly knocks him off his pedestal. "Yeah, like drinking cum and taking it up the ass makes you any better."
Akutsu hates self-righteous bastards, even if that self-righteous bastard is Mizuki, who he can tolerate better than he can most people.
Mizuki takes the hint and Akutsu doesn't have to listen to his bitching.
--- 4 ---
He's the type of guy Akutsu hates most, so full of himself, entrenched in the conviction of his own superiority.
His voice drips with insincere flattery and his hand flutters out to stroke Akutsu's arm.
Akutsu hates being touched almost as much as he hates being told what to do. There are consequences for such presumption but to punch the guy out would imply some level of equality, of respect.
So he delivers an open-handed slap, the same as he would to some stupid cunt who clings as if they're dating, just because he was bored enough to fuck her once.
He doesn't put his whole arm into it and his palm hardly stings, but it looks like a bloody handprint on Mizuki's cheek, especially when the rest of the color drains from his face.
"That's some power, Akutsu-kun." There's a slight tremble in his voice, but the stance remains firm. "I wonder how your backhand is."
--- 5 ---
There's a certain gleam in his eye and a set of his jaw that makes Akutsu realize... this is one stubborn fucker.
Akutsu could kick the shit out of him, could choke the life out of him, could tear him a new hole, and still Mizuki Hajime will not back down.
It reminds him a little of himself before his growth spurt, when he was a skinny runt who always bit off more than he could chew. He had been at the height of antagonism, unwilling to let the smallest slight to his pride slide. Only anger and adrenaline and unconcern for pain had carried him through his fights.
The bruise has faded to a mottled light blue, but there's the tiniest wince when Akutsu's knuckles make contact. It's a light tap, fist closed.
He thinks he might respect Mizuki, but he has no intentions of transferring to some hoity-toity private school.
--- 6 ---
Mizuki has an oral fixation and it's making Akutsu develop one of his own.
The cough drops rolls around in Mizuki's mouth, making obscene slurping and sucking sounds as he talks. His lips stain red like lipstick and shine with spit when he runs his tongue over them.
Calculated seduction or subconscious invitation?
Akutsu smashes their lips together in a rough battle, seeking to confiscate the offending item that's giving him such an inconvenient hard-on. The inside of Mizuki's mouth is sticky and smooth and coated with the cloying sweet taste of cherry and cool menthol. Mizuki's tongue fends his off, cough drop balanced tauntingly at the back of his throat, where Akutsu can't reach it no matter how much he tries. It dissolves quickly with the generated heat and they part, panting for breath, both pairs of lips now swollen and red.
Taichi stammers an apology, "I-I'm sorry desu!" and continues to gape open-mouthed until his headband slips over his eyes.
Unfazed, Mizuki unwraps another cough drop and pops it into his mouth.
--- 7 ---
Those wannabe thugs he thrashed earlier in the semester mistake Mizuki for a friend and they're out for compensation.
Akutsu pounds them to the pavement until the idea of seeking revenge breaks like their bones and they're reduced to quivering messes of blood, snot, and tears. He doesn't do it because he cares about Mizuki or anything gay like that, but to protect his own reputation.
"I didn't need you intervene," Mizuki insists, although he's a little roughed up and there's no way in hell he could've taken on all four like Akutsu easily had.
"It's practice for prison." Akutsu cracks his knuckles and his grin is all teeth and no smiles. "I can't have anyone thinking they can mess with my bitches."
--- 8 ---
Mizuki writes feverishly, reworking the scenario until it goes in his favor. It'll require much effort but he thinks he can scrape a win under these precise conditions.
His satisfaction lasts two seconds before the notebook is ripped from his hands, and surprise turns to anger as Akutsu transforms his labor of love into confetti littering the ground. His copious notes, pages of data, hours of work, his entire year's goal, reduced to nothing but common trash.
"What. The. Fuck."
He rarely swears, it's so uncouth, but no acceptable substitute comes to mind to express his rage.
"Relying on that crap is what makes you weak."
It's one thing to lose straight sets in front of an audience of peers and rivals who snicker behind your back and treat you like a joke. It's another thing entirely to be looked down on by someone who quit after one loss, the trash of the junior high tennis circuit.
Akutsu can go fall in a ditch and die for all he cares but there's no way he's dragging Mizuki down with him.
--- 9 ---
He isn't expecting it so he doesn't dodge.
By luck or design, Mizuki's punch lands on the vulnerable spot beneath the chin and Akutsu's teeth slam together in an explosion of pain.
Akutsu doesn't think twice about hauling Mizuki up by his shirt, ready to return the favor with double the interest. He wants to see Mizuki cower, to maybe beg for mercy, but the stubborn little shit only glares as if to say, go ahead and do your worst. I'll still be better than you.
But beneath that superficial anger shine tears of helplessness, of frustration so great it can no longer be contained. He doesn't need Akutsu to spell it out for him. He already knows his own limits, knows he can't win, knows he won't get his way no matter how badly he wants it, and he wants to kick and scream and shout and cry about the unfairness of it all until the whole world takes notice and shares in his pain.
It's unnerving how easily he can read Mizuki because Mizuki is all about fronting, about exploiting others' weaknesses rather than revealing his own.
Akutsu slowly unballs his fists and lets Mizuki's feet touch the ground.
"Che."
--- 10 ---
The photo still sits in the bedside drawer, covered with tape and tears and the remainder of Akutsu's childhood.
He hears soft sobbing and knows it's going to be one of those nights. At times like these, he thinks he hates her more than he hates his old man, who he's never met but has no doubt is a selfish prick.
It makes him want to puke, the way she still clings to old memories like an unneeded crutch, letting that asshole have power over her even after years of absence.
When Akutsu was seven, he had ripped up the photograph.
"There. Now you can get over it." It was that simple, in Akutsu's mind.
But Yuuki had cried out, more angry than he had ever seen her, and slapped him, letting fly years of pent-up resentment toward the uncontrollable little monster who had derailed her life. The force sent him reeling, a misstep causing him to bang his head on the edge of the dresser.
The gash required three stitches and she showered him with heartfelt apologies and hugs and kisses that Akutsu stiffly endured but could not accept. He had forced her to choose and her choice was not Akutsu.
Never again does she raise a hand against him but the bitterness of the memory remains with the scar.
------
Go On to Round 2 →
Realization: I love writing Mizuki from Akutsu's POV.
--- 1 ---
He doesn't fight back but he doesn't cooperate either. There's a lot of blood and Akutsu supposes it might be Mizuki's first time. But what the fuck does he know? Akutsu isn't exactly gentle.
--- 2 ---
Mizuki tells him to enjoy the holidays. He'll be busy with exams and choir practice in preparation for his annual solo at Christmas mass.
"You don't actually buy into that religious crap, do you?"
Mizuki dips his head thoughtfully and the light wraps around his frame and halos his hair. He looks like the posterboy for Catholicism, an innocent, pure lamb for someone like Akutsu to devour.
"It doesn't matter." The tone is casual but the response is measured. "If enough people believe, that perception is reality."
Akutsu can imagine him ten years down the line, preaching to adoring crowds in pristine white robes, bilking people out of millions and being thanked for the privilege.
The thought makes him laugh.
--- 3 ---
Mizuki is bothered that his teammate has taken up smoking.
"It's such a filthy habit. Not to mention, it decreases stamina. I've warned Akazawa so many times," he rants between coughs. "It's starting to affect his tennis."
Akutsu blows more smoke on Mizuki and swiftly knocks him off his pedestal. "Yeah, like drinking cum and taking it up the ass makes you any better."
Akutsu hates self-righteous bastards, even if that self-righteous bastard is Mizuki, who he can tolerate better than he can most people.
Mizuki takes the hint and Akutsu doesn't have to listen to his bitching.
--- 4 ---
He's the type of guy Akutsu hates most, so full of himself, entrenched in the conviction of his own superiority.
His voice drips with insincere flattery and his hand flutters out to stroke Akutsu's arm.
Akutsu hates being touched almost as much as he hates being told what to do. There are consequences for such presumption but to punch the guy out would imply some level of equality, of respect.
So he delivers an open-handed slap, the same as he would to some stupid cunt who clings as if they're dating, just because he was bored enough to fuck her once.
He doesn't put his whole arm into it and his palm hardly stings, but it looks like a bloody handprint on Mizuki's cheek, especially when the rest of the color drains from his face.
"That's some power, Akutsu-kun." There's a slight tremble in his voice, but the stance remains firm. "I wonder how your backhand is."
--- 5 ---
There's a certain gleam in his eye and a set of his jaw that makes Akutsu realize... this is one stubborn fucker.
Akutsu could kick the shit out of him, could choke the life out of him, could tear him a new hole, and still Mizuki Hajime will not back down.
It reminds him a little of himself before his growth spurt, when he was a skinny runt who always bit off more than he could chew. He had been at the height of antagonism, unwilling to let the smallest slight to his pride slide. Only anger and adrenaline and unconcern for pain had carried him through his fights.
The bruise has faded to a mottled light blue, but there's the tiniest wince when Akutsu's knuckles make contact. It's a light tap, fist closed.
He thinks he might respect Mizuki, but he has no intentions of transferring to some hoity-toity private school.
--- 6 ---
Mizuki has an oral fixation and it's making Akutsu develop one of his own.
The cough drops rolls around in Mizuki's mouth, making obscene slurping and sucking sounds as he talks. His lips stain red like lipstick and shine with spit when he runs his tongue over them.
Calculated seduction or subconscious invitation?
Akutsu smashes their lips together in a rough battle, seeking to confiscate the offending item that's giving him such an inconvenient hard-on. The inside of Mizuki's mouth is sticky and smooth and coated with the cloying sweet taste of cherry and cool menthol. Mizuki's tongue fends his off, cough drop balanced tauntingly at the back of his throat, where Akutsu can't reach it no matter how much he tries. It dissolves quickly with the generated heat and they part, panting for breath, both pairs of lips now swollen and red.
Taichi stammers an apology, "I-I'm sorry desu!" and continues to gape open-mouthed until his headband slips over his eyes.
Unfazed, Mizuki unwraps another cough drop and pops it into his mouth.
--- 7 ---
Those wannabe thugs he thrashed earlier in the semester mistake Mizuki for a friend and they're out for compensation.
Akutsu pounds them to the pavement until the idea of seeking revenge breaks like their bones and they're reduced to quivering messes of blood, snot, and tears. He doesn't do it because he cares about Mizuki or anything gay like that, but to protect his own reputation.
"I didn't need you intervene," Mizuki insists, although he's a little roughed up and there's no way in hell he could've taken on all four like Akutsu easily had.
"It's practice for prison." Akutsu cracks his knuckles and his grin is all teeth and no smiles. "I can't have anyone thinking they can mess with my bitches."
--- 8 ---
Mizuki writes feverishly, reworking the scenario until it goes in his favor. It'll require much effort but he thinks he can scrape a win under these precise conditions.
His satisfaction lasts two seconds before the notebook is ripped from his hands, and surprise turns to anger as Akutsu transforms his labor of love into confetti littering the ground. His copious notes, pages of data, hours of work, his entire year's goal, reduced to nothing but common trash.
"What. The. Fuck."
He rarely swears, it's so uncouth, but no acceptable substitute comes to mind to express his rage.
"Relying on that crap is what makes you weak."
It's one thing to lose straight sets in front of an audience of peers and rivals who snicker behind your back and treat you like a joke. It's another thing entirely to be looked down on by someone who quit after one loss, the trash of the junior high tennis circuit.
Akutsu can go fall in a ditch and die for all he cares but there's no way he's dragging Mizuki down with him.
--- 9 ---
He isn't expecting it so he doesn't dodge.
By luck or design, Mizuki's punch lands on the vulnerable spot beneath the chin and Akutsu's teeth slam together in an explosion of pain.
Akutsu doesn't think twice about hauling Mizuki up by his shirt, ready to return the favor with double the interest. He wants to see Mizuki cower, to maybe beg for mercy, but the stubborn little shit only glares as if to say, go ahead and do your worst. I'll still be better than you.
But beneath that superficial anger shine tears of helplessness, of frustration so great it can no longer be contained. He doesn't need Akutsu to spell it out for him. He already knows his own limits, knows he can't win, knows he won't get his way no matter how badly he wants it, and he wants to kick and scream and shout and cry about the unfairness of it all until the whole world takes notice and shares in his pain.
It's unnerving how easily he can read Mizuki because Mizuki is all about fronting, about exploiting others' weaknesses rather than revealing his own.
Akutsu slowly unballs his fists and lets Mizuki's feet touch the ground.
"Che."
--- 10 ---
The photo still sits in the bedside drawer, covered with tape and tears and the remainder of Akutsu's childhood.
He hears soft sobbing and knows it's going to be one of those nights. At times like these, he thinks he hates her more than he hates his old man, who he's never met but has no doubt is a selfish prick.
It makes him want to puke, the way she still clings to old memories like an unneeded crutch, letting that asshole have power over her even after years of absence.
When Akutsu was seven, he had ripped up the photograph.
"There. Now you can get over it." It was that simple, in Akutsu's mind.
But Yuuki had cried out, more angry than he had ever seen her, and slapped him, letting fly years of pent-up resentment toward the uncontrollable little monster who had derailed her life. The force sent him reeling, a misstep causing him to bang his head on the edge of the dresser.
The gash required three stitches and she showered him with heartfelt apologies and hugs and kisses that Akutsu stiffly endured but could not accept. He had forced her to choose and her choice was not Akutsu.
Never again does she raise a hand against him but the bitterness of the memory remains with the scar.
------
Go On to Round 2 →