PoT: Weak (Fuji/Mizuki, Yuuta/Mizuki)
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst
Pairings: Fuji/Mizuki, minor Yuuta/Mizuki
Summary: Winning is everything. Mizuki loses, even when he wins. ;_;
People assume Yuuta has a fixation with you. It's obvious, in his open declarations of rivalry, his solemn vows to beat you, his repeated attempts to step out of your shadow... it's a little intense, but his persistence is admirable.
Mine is a more twisted version of that same obsession, well-hidden from others but consuming my thoughts every second of the day. It took seed that day you trampled over my pride and dignity, growing and festering as I re-lived the defeat, playing the details of that event over and over in my mind like broken record.
I suppose it amused you, to give me that five game lead. It might have even offered you a bit of challenge in what would otherwise be a boring game, since there was always the risk that I might take the last game before you could catch up. But more likely, it was for my benefit, to let me know in no uncertain terms that I didn't match up and no amount of luck could change the outcome.
It wasn't a close game, no matter what the score said. I learned the meaning of humility that day, the natural skills I had been so proud of meaningless when confronted with your genius. Defeat was truly very bitter as I crumbled to the ground in frustration, wanting nothing more than to start pummeling you with my racket. And you smiled, as if you could read my mind and was feeding off my anger, and said "Thank you for taking care of my brother," pleasant as the weather.
I abandoned my old habits of practicing only once or twice a week and went at it everyday, re-drilling forgotten basics and improving my much neglected body condition. All the effort - the daily 20-mile jogs, the endless reps of swings, the fierce rallies with the wall as my never-tiring tennis partner - it was all for you so that the next time, it would be you on your knees and me smiling down on you, contempt in my eyes.
But there was no way you'd allow that to happen, was there? If I had improved, you had even more so. Our debut match in high school was a humiliating 0-6, ending any hopes I had of redemption. And it was worse this time because I'd actually given it my all. I had lived, breathed, and dreamed tennis for two years for the sole purpose of defeating you, and it still hadn't been enough. Even if I practiced a hundred times harder than you did, it'd be futile exercise because I wasn't good enough and never would be compared to you.
I sympathized with Yuuta and finally understood why he hadn't left the team even after the danger I'd placed him in. He was willing to put himself through whatever crazy training I put him through because it was a cost he was willing to pay, to get stronger. To be one step closer to measuring up to you.
I kept my temper until I had taken my leave, not having heard a word the coach said. On the outside, I was composed, showing remorse but good sportsmanship so as to not embarrass the team, but inside I was screaming, throwing a fit.
"Why? Why can't I win, just this once?" I railed, barely feeling the pain as my fists hit the wall.
"Is winning that important to you?"
Did you follow me to rub in the loss? You smiled quizzically, head tilted slightly to the side as you studied me.
"Of course it is! Winning is everything, don't you know that?" I bit out harshly, jamming my bruised fists in my pockets and leaning back against the wall.
You considered that, the polite curious smile that I had come to loathe never leaving your face.
Of course you didn't know, couldn't possibly understand because you always won. You couldn't appreciate the significance of your wins because you had never lost, and I understood your feelings because I had been the same way, before you had come along.
"What would you be willing to do - to sacrifice - to win?"
The answer was out of my mouth before I could think. "Anything." And suddenly, I was vulnerable, weakness laid before you to use against me as you wished. My head bowed, and my voice cracked. "Everything."
"Would you leave Yuuta alone?" you asked lightly, not bargaining but simply trying to define the boundaries of my answer. Little did you know that there was no limit, that I'd pretty much murder to rid myself of this oppressive feeling of worthlessness. "Stop seeing him outside of club activities and don't so much as glance at him if you happen to cross paths?"
I didn't know what you were playing at, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be involved. But you nodded at me encouragingly, promising that this wasn't a pointless exercise in dictum.
"Yes," I said through clenched teeth.
You drew close, palm flat against the wall inches to the right of my ear. "What about your hair?" you continued, looking fascinated as you reached to touch a strand. Your fingers were gentle, almost loving as they wove through the mussed curls that had started to stiffen with dried sweat. The insincerity of the gesture mocked me, and bile rose in my throat. "Would you cut it all off, if you could win?"
I scowled, knocking your hand aside and ducking out into open space. "I'm getting tired of this. I have better things to do than continue this useless conversation."
"What if I promised you a win?" you asked, voice liltingly sweet and inviting, as surely the serpent's voice had been as it offered the apple from the forbidden tree.
"Right, like you'd throw a game" I scoffed, starting to walk away. There was no way I believed he'd do me a favor under any condition.
"Everyone has their price."
"And what would your price be, Fuji-kun? Would you like me to leave your brother alone? Fine. Shave my head? Consider it done. Lick your shoes clean, perhaps? I'd be only too glad to," I snapped sarcastically, hating you for even suggesting such a thing and hating myself even more for wishing that you were serious. I still thirsted for victory, even one that I knew wasn't real.
You didn't even have the decency to get offended, only releasing an amused little chuckle. "The third option sounds interesting."
"Fuck you."
The vulgarity just flew over your head. "I hope your school gets past the preliminaries. I'd like to play you again."
Then you took your leave and I realized that you'd gotten the better of me yet again. Your words and attitude rankled my soul, filtering into nightmares where you tempted me with your promises, only this time I fell to my knees and groveled before you in complete submission.
I wanted to quit tennis. I could forget all about you in the pursuit of more enjoyable activities, ones that didn't raise my blood pressure and lower my self-esteem. Pragmatism told me to cut my losses and get out before you drove me insane, but I'm only human, ruled not only by logic but also very human emotions.
Quitting would mean accepting I was beaten and admitting I was only average, and I'd rather die before I did that.
My school got into the districts and I continued to do the bare minimum to stay a regular, figuring that if I was going to lose, I might as well have the excuse of not trying. I had lost all passion for the sport and it was all your fault. Even acting as a manger became a dreaded chore, especially when I saw the lineups for our next game.
Singles 3... why am I not surprised? You should really be Singles 2, but I suppose toying with me is higher on your list of priorities. Tennis is just a game for you; you wouldn't have trouble leaving it if something else caught your interest.
Our third match was a horrible parody of our first. You, the prodigy of the tennis circuit, lost the first game. Then the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that. It was a convincing performance, your steps just a split-second too slow, or your racket missing the ball by a hair-breadth. You feigned contrition in front of your coach, as if you were genuinely puzzled by your less-than-stellar performance.
The strangers in the crowd, who had never seen me play but had heard of your reputation, looked at me with newfound respect. It galled me, the way you were setting me up for another complete beat-down. A part of me wanted to throw my racket aside and storm off the court, depriving you of that opportunity. Another part wanted to turn the tables, and beat you at your own sick game.
I fantasized about playing badly, lulling you into a false sense of security by letting you think that I had gotten worse in the interim. Maybe your arrogance would drive you to play along the razor's edge and take me to the match point, where I would miraculously win one rally and take the match.
Hope. Such a dangerous thing. Maybe that was your aim. I was too busy trying to quash it down that I never realized that I had won, not until you came up to the net, a bemused smile on your face.
Even then, I couldn't quite understand, didn't even hear the roaring cheers of my teammates and the disappointed groans of yours.
"Congratulations."
"Why?" I choked, upset even though this was what I had thought I wanted.
"Why?" you repeated. "What do you mean?"
As if it wasn't obvious to anyone with the least bit of tennis sense that you had lost on purpose!
"Perhaps I'm weak against you, Mizuki," you offered, expression and tone completely inscrutable. "You should be happy. Winning's the most important thing, right?"
Only I didn't feel like I had won. Right then, I felt like a complete loser.
A few days later, I sought you out, waiting at your school until practice let out. You came out of the locker room, tennis bag slung across your shoulder and regulars jersey tied around your waist. One defeat hadn't changed anything for you, not when you had an otherwise perfect record of wins. We had lost in the end anyway, my match against you being the only win and making me a celebrity of sorts.
I grabbed onto your arm, yanking you behind the supply shed and pinning you against the wall.
"I never asked you to lose," I said angrily, not bothering with petty things like greetings. "I never agreed to your demeaning terms and I don't ever plan to perform."
"Hm?" Completely unfazed, you plucked at my fingers in succession, loosened my grip on your shirt. "Did I ask you to do such a thing?"
"No, but-"
"I wouldn't dream of forcing you to do anything, Mizuki," you purred, caressing my cheek, and even though you were the one against the wall, suddenly I was the one trapped.
"I don't owe you anything."
"Not one thing," you said agreeably, hands wandering down to unbutton my top.
"You did everything of your own accord, so it's not like I'm bound to meet any of your misguided expectations," I rationalized, but it was hard to think when you were pushing the shirt off my shoulders, following with nips and sucks that was surely marking my skin.
"This is just a one time thing," I said breathlessly, closing my eyes and letting you do with me as you wished.
And that might have been the closure I needed to forget about you, memories of you fading with the hickies I hid under the high collars and long sleeves of my uniform, but it didn't work out that way. We met again at the street courts, and because there were so many people wanting to play and a high demand to challenge certain players, we agreed to draw straws to decide the matches that would be played.
Coincidence that one of the matches was me versus you? I'm certain you rigged it, although I can't think of a way you could have done it.
You didn't offer me your hand, but that was nothing new.
"Let's have a good game."
Yuuta watched with narrowed eyes the game progressed. Your counter would be a tad too slow, the spin too slight or the angle off so that it was returnable. Complain as he did about you, he admired the extent of your skills and couldn't believe you were losing to me. Once was a fluke but twice?
He looked even more confused when I won the match, dying to ask you what the hell you were doing but not being able to do so without offending me. He needn't have worried. I wanted to ask you the same thing.
I paid you another visit, more out of curiosity than any feelings of resentment. You let me into the house and offered me a drink, and in the end I was no more enlightened, except to the fact that you liked sex fast and rough and your partner to show a little pain with the pleasure.
Countless times I'd find myself on my hands and knees, pants bunched around my ankles and fingers curled tightly around the nearest available handhold or groove as I took you up the ass. My eyes would smart with tears as I bit back the screams, the coppery blood taste on my tongue.
I'd ache all over as I rolled onto my side, pleasure forgotten as cum seeped out and slid down my inner thighs. The cold, slimy trail left me feeling sick, undeniable evidence of what had been just done to me, and who I had allowed to do it. It made me feel pathetic and ashamed, to submit myself to someone who clearly thought so little of me and only saw in me the worst qualities.
Other times, you wouldn't be in the mood, but far be it for you to turn me away. You'd order me to strip off from the waist down and bend over, and I'd spread my legs and clench the edge of the desk. My eyes would be tightly shut as you penetrated me with the tennis racket, coaxing the flared end of the handle through the ring of tight muscles at an angle, fitting in one side and working it in with slight turns like a screw, until you pushed it through and made it fit. It burned as you eased it in further, as hard and unyielding as your cold blue eyes.
It was violent and painful, even with the care in which you proceeded to sodomize me, but you made sure I got off each time. Your hand kneaded me to hardness as you teased me in soft whispers, asking me what Yuuta would think if he were to walk in on us, if he'd stop seeing me as the senpai he admired and see me as a dirty little whore instead.
Afterwards, you'd kiss me on the forehead and call me your pet, tangling your soiled hands in my hair before moving to clean up. I'd watch with disgust as you unwound the ruined grip tape, blood and bits of fecal matter clinging to the unravelled strip as you disposed it into the trash bin. A condom would have been cleaner but ours was a sordid affair.
It wasn't like I couldn't find a willing partner if I wanted, someone who would be interested in a normal relationship. One involving dinner dates and cuddling, with someone I could laugh with naturally and be seen in public without fear.
Wishful thinking. It was you I was obsessed with, and only you that I'd allow to degrade me so. I even developed a taste for masochism to complement your sadism, reinventing myself for your convenience.
Oh how the mighty had fallen.
It became a routine: we'd run into each other, play some tennis, exchange polite words, then I'd follow you completely uninvited, and we'd screw. I'd limp back home and vow that was the last of it, only to chase after you the next time in a never-ending cycle. There was no variety, no excitement because I knew damn well what the outcome would be. But it didn't matter because winning was no longer the be-all and end-all.
There was a brief reprieve during summer break, when you went away to tennis camp and I stayed behind to help train the new regulars. Yuuta was one of them and in no time, I was back to training him personally on a daily basis.
"Mizuki-san, would you like to go out with me?" he asked as we walked back to school one day in the setting sun. He blushed, not daring to look directly at me, but sneaking a quick sideglance when I didn't immediately answer.
He's quite cute when he's being shy, but I'm sure you're aware of that. And because he was so cute, and he was there and you weren't, I accepted.
A movie and then ice cream at a nearby cafe - you can't get more normal than that. I allowed him a kiss at the end of the night, vaguely surprised that he didn't try any more than the quick peck of the cheek.
He wasn't much more daring by our fifth date, and impatient with the slow pace, I came onto him, casually unbuttoning his pants in the dark theater and sucking him off right there. There was a sharp intake of breath as I devirginized him with my mouth and tongue, sardonically amused that a relative of yours could be so innocent.
The rest of summer passed and I didn't see you, although I heard you were back from Yuuta. He spent more time in the dorms to avoid you, and thus more time with me. It was inevitable that we'd have sex... the only question was how I'd react to it.
He was unbelievably gentle, taking his time with the foreplay and making sure I was comfortable with each action before he moved forward. As he murmured words professing love, I looked into his gray eyes and saw myself as he saw me.
Beautiful. Sensitive. Likable. Worthy of affection.
I couldn't stand those eyes because it was all wrong. He didn't know the real me beneath the surface or else he wouldn't be able to stand touching me.
I was filthy inside, and if I continued this, I'd end up dirtying him too. Once the walls came down and he discovered the flaws I'd tried so hard to conceal with a self-confident facade and the distance that came from his kouhai deference, the pure affection in his eyes would surely turn to revulsion and rejection. He would see me as you saw me, as I saw myself...
The tears came, self-pitying and silent as they tracked down my cheeks, but he noticed them anyway.
He cried out with concern, immediately pulling out and apologizing for hurting me . I choked out something, "It's not your fault," maybe, and then asked him to leave.
He did so, reluctantly, not wanting to force the issue.
The tournament season started again and we were both seniors, our last chance at the nationals since neither of us were going pro. My team had grown much stronger since the last year and the coach named me captain, accrediting the improvement to me.
You also became captain, but we didn't have a chance to face each other in the preliminaries as the matches ended before it got to Singles 1. But we'll face each other again before the nationals and I'll be prepared for that.
For now, I brace myself for our long-needed talk, as you're approaching from the other side of the fence.
"So..."
I wait patiently, a virtue I had picked up from you.
"I heard you had a fling with Yuuta," you remark carelessly.
I shrug, feeling unreasonably guilty, as if I had been caught cheating. But you can't cheat when there's no commitment in the first place. At least none on your side. "I heard Tezuka-kun was also at the tennis camp," I shoot back, sounding jealous and accusing, in the way you hadn't. "Did you have a chummy little reunion?"
"It was nice seeing him again," you concede. "His team's really earned their reputation of being the best. I wouldn't be surprised if they won the nationals."
"But you won't give in without a fight." More of a comment than a question.
"Nor will you," you point out.
"If we play again..."
"I don't plan on losing, Mizuki."
"I don't expect you to," I say quietly. "I never did, any of those times." An acknowledgment of our relationship, when I could have let it stay buried in the past where it belonged.
It's funny, but I think I'd rather you play me seriously and beat me than our prior arrangement. Other people's opinions have ceased to matter and I'm more interested in having you see me as something of an equal, even if I can't earn your respect.
I say so out loud, and you look at me with surprise in your eyes.
"Mizuki, you're strong." Simple and direct, yet I can't believe the words.
"Do you think you haven't been getting better, after all of our games? Really, you had me in a pinch during the last few faceoffs. If I had been playing to win..." you shrug, "I'm not positive I could have beaten you."
"You're just trying to screw with my head again," I accuse. "Make me lose my edge."
"We'll find out, won't we?"
You smile again and although it's no different than usual, it seems friendlier somehow.
As you walk away, I wonder if I had completely misread you the entire time we were together. Perhaps I had projected my own views of myself onto you and convinced myself that was how you really felt, because you were a convenient bad guy to make me out the innocent victim.
I'm weak against you because I care too damn much, while you're strong enough to stand on your own. You don't feel the compulsion to define yourself in relation to me, like I do to you.
Yet...
Perhaps I'm weak against you, Mizuki.
Did you mean that? If I had opened my eyes during sex and looked into yours, what would I have seen? Was it possible that you were just as drawn to me as I was to you? That you didn't see me as just a temporary distraction, to be tolerated but not particularly wanted?
"I'll be seeing you around, Mizuki."
"Aa. I'll make sure of it, Fuji-kun."
-----
The End.
-----
I dearly love Mizuki. There could be a companion fic from Fuji's POV, titled "Strong." But there isn't. Yet.
originally posted on: tenipuri_yaoi [October 1, 2003]
Genre: Angst
Pairings: Fuji/Mizuki, minor Yuuta/Mizuki
Summary: Winning is everything. Mizuki loses, even when he wins. ;_;
People assume Yuuta has a fixation with you. It's obvious, in his open declarations of rivalry, his solemn vows to beat you, his repeated attempts to step out of your shadow... it's a little intense, but his persistence is admirable.
Mine is a more twisted version of that same obsession, well-hidden from others but consuming my thoughts every second of the day. It took seed that day you trampled over my pride and dignity, growing and festering as I re-lived the defeat, playing the details of that event over and over in my mind like broken record.
I suppose it amused you, to give me that five game lead. It might have even offered you a bit of challenge in what would otherwise be a boring game, since there was always the risk that I might take the last game before you could catch up. But more likely, it was for my benefit, to let me know in no uncertain terms that I didn't match up and no amount of luck could change the outcome.
It wasn't a close game, no matter what the score said. I learned the meaning of humility that day, the natural skills I had been so proud of meaningless when confronted with your genius. Defeat was truly very bitter as I crumbled to the ground in frustration, wanting nothing more than to start pummeling you with my racket. And you smiled, as if you could read my mind and was feeding off my anger, and said "Thank you for taking care of my brother," pleasant as the weather.
I abandoned my old habits of practicing only once or twice a week and went at it everyday, re-drilling forgotten basics and improving my much neglected body condition. All the effort - the daily 20-mile jogs, the endless reps of swings, the fierce rallies with the wall as my never-tiring tennis partner - it was all for you so that the next time, it would be you on your knees and me smiling down on you, contempt in my eyes.
But there was no way you'd allow that to happen, was there? If I had improved, you had even more so. Our debut match in high school was a humiliating 0-6, ending any hopes I had of redemption. And it was worse this time because I'd actually given it my all. I had lived, breathed, and dreamed tennis for two years for the sole purpose of defeating you, and it still hadn't been enough. Even if I practiced a hundred times harder than you did, it'd be futile exercise because I wasn't good enough and never would be compared to you.
I sympathized with Yuuta and finally understood why he hadn't left the team even after the danger I'd placed him in. He was willing to put himself through whatever crazy training I put him through because it was a cost he was willing to pay, to get stronger. To be one step closer to measuring up to you.
I kept my temper until I had taken my leave, not having heard a word the coach said. On the outside, I was composed, showing remorse but good sportsmanship so as to not embarrass the team, but inside I was screaming, throwing a fit.
"Why? Why can't I win, just this once?" I railed, barely feeling the pain as my fists hit the wall.
"Is winning that important to you?"
Did you follow me to rub in the loss? You smiled quizzically, head tilted slightly to the side as you studied me.
"Of course it is! Winning is everything, don't you know that?" I bit out harshly, jamming my bruised fists in my pockets and leaning back against the wall.
You considered that, the polite curious smile that I had come to loathe never leaving your face.
Of course you didn't know, couldn't possibly understand because you always won. You couldn't appreciate the significance of your wins because you had never lost, and I understood your feelings because I had been the same way, before you had come along.
"What would you be willing to do - to sacrifice - to win?"
The answer was out of my mouth before I could think. "Anything." And suddenly, I was vulnerable, weakness laid before you to use against me as you wished. My head bowed, and my voice cracked. "Everything."
"Would you leave Yuuta alone?" you asked lightly, not bargaining but simply trying to define the boundaries of my answer. Little did you know that there was no limit, that I'd pretty much murder to rid myself of this oppressive feeling of worthlessness. "Stop seeing him outside of club activities and don't so much as glance at him if you happen to cross paths?"
I didn't know what you were playing at, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be involved. But you nodded at me encouragingly, promising that this wasn't a pointless exercise in dictum.
"Yes," I said through clenched teeth.
You drew close, palm flat against the wall inches to the right of my ear. "What about your hair?" you continued, looking fascinated as you reached to touch a strand. Your fingers were gentle, almost loving as they wove through the mussed curls that had started to stiffen with dried sweat. The insincerity of the gesture mocked me, and bile rose in my throat. "Would you cut it all off, if you could win?"
I scowled, knocking your hand aside and ducking out into open space. "I'm getting tired of this. I have better things to do than continue this useless conversation."
"What if I promised you a win?" you asked, voice liltingly sweet and inviting, as surely the serpent's voice had been as it offered the apple from the forbidden tree.
"Right, like you'd throw a game" I scoffed, starting to walk away. There was no way I believed he'd do me a favor under any condition.
"Everyone has their price."
"And what would your price be, Fuji-kun? Would you like me to leave your brother alone? Fine. Shave my head? Consider it done. Lick your shoes clean, perhaps? I'd be only too glad to," I snapped sarcastically, hating you for even suggesting such a thing and hating myself even more for wishing that you were serious. I still thirsted for victory, even one that I knew wasn't real.
You didn't even have the decency to get offended, only releasing an amused little chuckle. "The third option sounds interesting."
"Fuck you."
The vulgarity just flew over your head. "I hope your school gets past the preliminaries. I'd like to play you again."
Then you took your leave and I realized that you'd gotten the better of me yet again. Your words and attitude rankled my soul, filtering into nightmares where you tempted me with your promises, only this time I fell to my knees and groveled before you in complete submission.
I wanted to quit tennis. I could forget all about you in the pursuit of more enjoyable activities, ones that didn't raise my blood pressure and lower my self-esteem. Pragmatism told me to cut my losses and get out before you drove me insane, but I'm only human, ruled not only by logic but also very human emotions.
Quitting would mean accepting I was beaten and admitting I was only average, and I'd rather die before I did that.
My school got into the districts and I continued to do the bare minimum to stay a regular, figuring that if I was going to lose, I might as well have the excuse of not trying. I had lost all passion for the sport and it was all your fault. Even acting as a manger became a dreaded chore, especially when I saw the lineups for our next game.
Singles 3... why am I not surprised? You should really be Singles 2, but I suppose toying with me is higher on your list of priorities. Tennis is just a game for you; you wouldn't have trouble leaving it if something else caught your interest.
Our third match was a horrible parody of our first. You, the prodigy of the tennis circuit, lost the first game. Then the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that. It was a convincing performance, your steps just a split-second too slow, or your racket missing the ball by a hair-breadth. You feigned contrition in front of your coach, as if you were genuinely puzzled by your less-than-stellar performance.
The strangers in the crowd, who had never seen me play but had heard of your reputation, looked at me with newfound respect. It galled me, the way you were setting me up for another complete beat-down. A part of me wanted to throw my racket aside and storm off the court, depriving you of that opportunity. Another part wanted to turn the tables, and beat you at your own sick game.
I fantasized about playing badly, lulling you into a false sense of security by letting you think that I had gotten worse in the interim. Maybe your arrogance would drive you to play along the razor's edge and take me to the match point, where I would miraculously win one rally and take the match.
Hope. Such a dangerous thing. Maybe that was your aim. I was too busy trying to quash it down that I never realized that I had won, not until you came up to the net, a bemused smile on your face.
Even then, I couldn't quite understand, didn't even hear the roaring cheers of my teammates and the disappointed groans of yours.
"Congratulations."
"Why?" I choked, upset even though this was what I had thought I wanted.
"Why?" you repeated. "What do you mean?"
As if it wasn't obvious to anyone with the least bit of tennis sense that you had lost on purpose!
"Perhaps I'm weak against you, Mizuki," you offered, expression and tone completely inscrutable. "You should be happy. Winning's the most important thing, right?"
Only I didn't feel like I had won. Right then, I felt like a complete loser.
A few days later, I sought you out, waiting at your school until practice let out. You came out of the locker room, tennis bag slung across your shoulder and regulars jersey tied around your waist. One defeat hadn't changed anything for you, not when you had an otherwise perfect record of wins. We had lost in the end anyway, my match against you being the only win and making me a celebrity of sorts.
I grabbed onto your arm, yanking you behind the supply shed and pinning you against the wall.
"I never asked you to lose," I said angrily, not bothering with petty things like greetings. "I never agreed to your demeaning terms and I don't ever plan to perform."
"Hm?" Completely unfazed, you plucked at my fingers in succession, loosened my grip on your shirt. "Did I ask you to do such a thing?"
"No, but-"
"I wouldn't dream of forcing you to do anything, Mizuki," you purred, caressing my cheek, and even though you were the one against the wall, suddenly I was the one trapped.
"I don't owe you anything."
"Not one thing," you said agreeably, hands wandering down to unbutton my top.
"You did everything of your own accord, so it's not like I'm bound to meet any of your misguided expectations," I rationalized, but it was hard to think when you were pushing the shirt off my shoulders, following with nips and sucks that was surely marking my skin.
"This is just a one time thing," I said breathlessly, closing my eyes and letting you do with me as you wished.
And that might have been the closure I needed to forget about you, memories of you fading with the hickies I hid under the high collars and long sleeves of my uniform, but it didn't work out that way. We met again at the street courts, and because there were so many people wanting to play and a high demand to challenge certain players, we agreed to draw straws to decide the matches that would be played.
Coincidence that one of the matches was me versus you? I'm certain you rigged it, although I can't think of a way you could have done it.
You didn't offer me your hand, but that was nothing new.
"Let's have a good game."
Yuuta watched with narrowed eyes the game progressed. Your counter would be a tad too slow, the spin too slight or the angle off so that it was returnable. Complain as he did about you, he admired the extent of your skills and couldn't believe you were losing to me. Once was a fluke but twice?
He looked even more confused when I won the match, dying to ask you what the hell you were doing but not being able to do so without offending me. He needn't have worried. I wanted to ask you the same thing.
I paid you another visit, more out of curiosity than any feelings of resentment. You let me into the house and offered me a drink, and in the end I was no more enlightened, except to the fact that you liked sex fast and rough and your partner to show a little pain with the pleasure.
Countless times I'd find myself on my hands and knees, pants bunched around my ankles and fingers curled tightly around the nearest available handhold or groove as I took you up the ass. My eyes would smart with tears as I bit back the screams, the coppery blood taste on my tongue.
I'd ache all over as I rolled onto my side, pleasure forgotten as cum seeped out and slid down my inner thighs. The cold, slimy trail left me feeling sick, undeniable evidence of what had been just done to me, and who I had allowed to do it. It made me feel pathetic and ashamed, to submit myself to someone who clearly thought so little of me and only saw in me the worst qualities.
Other times, you wouldn't be in the mood, but far be it for you to turn me away. You'd order me to strip off from the waist down and bend over, and I'd spread my legs and clench the edge of the desk. My eyes would be tightly shut as you penetrated me with the tennis racket, coaxing the flared end of the handle through the ring of tight muscles at an angle, fitting in one side and working it in with slight turns like a screw, until you pushed it through and made it fit. It burned as you eased it in further, as hard and unyielding as your cold blue eyes.
It was violent and painful, even with the care in which you proceeded to sodomize me, but you made sure I got off each time. Your hand kneaded me to hardness as you teased me in soft whispers, asking me what Yuuta would think if he were to walk in on us, if he'd stop seeing me as the senpai he admired and see me as a dirty little whore instead.
Afterwards, you'd kiss me on the forehead and call me your pet, tangling your soiled hands in my hair before moving to clean up. I'd watch with disgust as you unwound the ruined grip tape, blood and bits of fecal matter clinging to the unravelled strip as you disposed it into the trash bin. A condom would have been cleaner but ours was a sordid affair.
It wasn't like I couldn't find a willing partner if I wanted, someone who would be interested in a normal relationship. One involving dinner dates and cuddling, with someone I could laugh with naturally and be seen in public without fear.
Wishful thinking. It was you I was obsessed with, and only you that I'd allow to degrade me so. I even developed a taste for masochism to complement your sadism, reinventing myself for your convenience.
Oh how the mighty had fallen.
It became a routine: we'd run into each other, play some tennis, exchange polite words, then I'd follow you completely uninvited, and we'd screw. I'd limp back home and vow that was the last of it, only to chase after you the next time in a never-ending cycle. There was no variety, no excitement because I knew damn well what the outcome would be. But it didn't matter because winning was no longer the be-all and end-all.
There was a brief reprieve during summer break, when you went away to tennis camp and I stayed behind to help train the new regulars. Yuuta was one of them and in no time, I was back to training him personally on a daily basis.
"Mizuki-san, would you like to go out with me?" he asked as we walked back to school one day in the setting sun. He blushed, not daring to look directly at me, but sneaking a quick sideglance when I didn't immediately answer.
He's quite cute when he's being shy, but I'm sure you're aware of that. And because he was so cute, and he was there and you weren't, I accepted.
A movie and then ice cream at a nearby cafe - you can't get more normal than that. I allowed him a kiss at the end of the night, vaguely surprised that he didn't try any more than the quick peck of the cheek.
He wasn't much more daring by our fifth date, and impatient with the slow pace, I came onto him, casually unbuttoning his pants in the dark theater and sucking him off right there. There was a sharp intake of breath as I devirginized him with my mouth and tongue, sardonically amused that a relative of yours could be so innocent.
The rest of summer passed and I didn't see you, although I heard you were back from Yuuta. He spent more time in the dorms to avoid you, and thus more time with me. It was inevitable that we'd have sex... the only question was how I'd react to it.
He was unbelievably gentle, taking his time with the foreplay and making sure I was comfortable with each action before he moved forward. As he murmured words professing love, I looked into his gray eyes and saw myself as he saw me.
Beautiful. Sensitive. Likable. Worthy of affection.
I couldn't stand those eyes because it was all wrong. He didn't know the real me beneath the surface or else he wouldn't be able to stand touching me.
I was filthy inside, and if I continued this, I'd end up dirtying him too. Once the walls came down and he discovered the flaws I'd tried so hard to conceal with a self-confident facade and the distance that came from his kouhai deference, the pure affection in his eyes would surely turn to revulsion and rejection. He would see me as you saw me, as I saw myself...
The tears came, self-pitying and silent as they tracked down my cheeks, but he noticed them anyway.
He cried out with concern, immediately pulling out and apologizing for hurting me . I choked out something, "It's not your fault," maybe, and then asked him to leave.
He did so, reluctantly, not wanting to force the issue.
The tournament season started again and we were both seniors, our last chance at the nationals since neither of us were going pro. My team had grown much stronger since the last year and the coach named me captain, accrediting the improvement to me.
You also became captain, but we didn't have a chance to face each other in the preliminaries as the matches ended before it got to Singles 1. But we'll face each other again before the nationals and I'll be prepared for that.
For now, I brace myself for our long-needed talk, as you're approaching from the other side of the fence.
"So..."
I wait patiently, a virtue I had picked up from you.
"I heard you had a fling with Yuuta," you remark carelessly.
I shrug, feeling unreasonably guilty, as if I had been caught cheating. But you can't cheat when there's no commitment in the first place. At least none on your side. "I heard Tezuka-kun was also at the tennis camp," I shoot back, sounding jealous and accusing, in the way you hadn't. "Did you have a chummy little reunion?"
"It was nice seeing him again," you concede. "His team's really earned their reputation of being the best. I wouldn't be surprised if they won the nationals."
"But you won't give in without a fight." More of a comment than a question.
"Nor will you," you point out.
"If we play again..."
"I don't plan on losing, Mizuki."
"I don't expect you to," I say quietly. "I never did, any of those times." An acknowledgment of our relationship, when I could have let it stay buried in the past where it belonged.
It's funny, but I think I'd rather you play me seriously and beat me than our prior arrangement. Other people's opinions have ceased to matter and I'm more interested in having you see me as something of an equal, even if I can't earn your respect.
I say so out loud, and you look at me with surprise in your eyes.
"Mizuki, you're strong." Simple and direct, yet I can't believe the words.
"Do you think you haven't been getting better, after all of our games? Really, you had me in a pinch during the last few faceoffs. If I had been playing to win..." you shrug, "I'm not positive I could have beaten you."
"You're just trying to screw with my head again," I accuse. "Make me lose my edge."
"We'll find out, won't we?"
You smile again and although it's no different than usual, it seems friendlier somehow.
As you walk away, I wonder if I had completely misread you the entire time we were together. Perhaps I had projected my own views of myself onto you and convinced myself that was how you really felt, because you were a convenient bad guy to make me out the innocent victim.
I'm weak against you because I care too damn much, while you're strong enough to stand on your own. You don't feel the compulsion to define yourself in relation to me, like I do to you.
Yet...
Perhaps I'm weak against you, Mizuki.
Did you mean that? If I had opened my eyes during sex and looked into yours, what would I have seen? Was it possible that you were just as drawn to me as I was to you? That you didn't see me as just a temporary distraction, to be tolerated but not particularly wanted?
"I'll be seeing you around, Mizuki."
"Aa. I'll make sure of it, Fuji-kun."
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The End.
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I dearly love Mizuki. There could be a companion fic from Fuji's POV, titled "Strong." But there isn't. Yet.
originally posted on: tenipuri_yaoi [October 1, 2003]