Shinji's Order [R; Ryoma/Shinji]
Title: Shinji's Order
Author: worblehat
Genre: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Ryoma/Shinji
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters owned by someone else who is not me.
Notes: Thank you to the lovely regulusa for the beta! And to inori_sakura for encouragement to, uh, try my hand at this idea.
Summary: Grip tape.
Word Count: 1,194
The box was clean and a little shiny in Shinji's hands. He opened it carefully, squatting down on the floor to lower the risk of it falling and rolling away. Slowly, he pried it open, ignoring the passers-by at the train station. His eyes opened a little wider in interest when the black grip tape fell into his left hand.
"Hmm," he mumbled. "Interesting. The texture will fit my racket perfectly. It's too bad I had to wait this long to get it."
An elderly woman passing by stopped; Shinji didn't look, still mumbling. She gave him an odd look and continued on her way.
"...if that guy Echizen had just let me have it - "
"Hmm?"
" - then I could have played better when - "
A disgruntled noise and the appearance of a racket in his face made Shinji look up. Ryoma was looking at him, his face tinged with visible annoyance - annoyance that went unnoticed by Shinji. "Hey," said Ryoma. Shinji blinked. "You're standing in my way."
"What do you mean, I'm in your way?" asked Shinji, rising.
Ryoma pointed behind Shinji. "Juice machine."
Shinji shrugged and walked away. His hands folded the grip tape neatly between his palms, rubbing back and forth, warming it up. The slick black material felt good against his skin. He gripped it sporadically, noting its smoothness with just the tips of his fingers. "This is good," he said, flopping the tape into one hand. He unfastened the end, pulling it free. Focusing solely on his hands, he began to wrap his left hand with the tape, coating layer after layer, precise in his application. The tape barely made a sound as he coated his hand with it.
Shinji brought the tape to his lips, holding it in his teeth as he tore, ripping it with skilled determination. When he looked down, he smiled at the precise cut of the tape; it had taken him three and a half weeks to be able to do that. Reaching for the box in his pocket, he settled the tape back into it with care.
Then he looked at his hand, now covered, as if wearing a glove. He extended his free, non-covered hand, running it against the tape, eyes darkening appreciatively. "Yes, this is very nice," he muttered to himself.
"What's that?"
Shinji looked up at Ryoma, eyes expressionless. "Grip tape."
Ryoma stared for a few moments. He looked down at Shinji's hand, which he was rubbing against his other hand, and made a face. "Why is it on your hand?"
"I have to test it," answered Shinji.
Intrigued, Ryoma bent lower to inspect the tape. "How?" he asked as he reached out one finger, running it across the spots Shinji had covered. The tape ran partway down his wrist and Ryoma's efforts stopped there.
"I was thinking of going home," said Shinji. "I have to see if it will stretch enough for matches and how resistant it is. I don't want to have bought the wrong kind of tape, because then I'll have to go back to the store and - "
Ryoma sighed. "What are you going to test it on?" he prompted.
"Myself."
Shinji's unusually brief answer made Ryoma's eyes widen. The brown-hazel irises flashed wildly in the soft gaze of sunset spilling onto the outside of the train station. "Will you show me?"
Shinji's head was bowed in thought. The hands had stopped moving, each one resting on either side of his body. Ryoma sighed and was about to leave when a hand reached out.
Being slammed into one of the pillars made Ryoma flinch. His bag dropped from his shoulder and Shinji's hand replaced it, pushing Ryoma hard against the wall-like protrusion behind him. Ryoma made a panicked sound in the back of his throat, which contracted around it, cutting him off. Shinji's taped hand was searching calmly through his pockets. He looked at Ryoma, placing one black finger to his lips.
"Shhh."
Ryoma looked at him. He wasn't sure what else to do.
The tape made a soft, tantilising sound as Shinji stretched it, cutting off another, much smaller piece. Ryoma was about to ask what was going on - he had to get home soon, after all - but as soon as he opened his mouth, he tasted the strange, glue taste in his mouth.
Grip tape.
"Mmmph!" he said, annoyed and a little anxious.
"Relax, Echizen," said Shinji, his voice back to normal. Ryoma forced himself to remain calm, not to squirm as Shinji's hand, along with the tape, slid below the edge of his Seigaku uniform. His eyes went wide in surprise when he felt the warmed feel of tape against his body. Shinji's hands skated beneath the blue and white shirt first, rubbing with care. Ryoma had never really thought of grip tape like this before, but it seemed Shinji knew exactly what he was doing.
Shinji's hand began circling lower, fingers pulling back the elastic on the lower half of Ryoma's uniform. His mumbles fell against Ryoma's cheek, continuous and low. Ryoma felt the dig of Shinji's erection, jutting against his thigh and his eyes widened further.
And then it became hard to focus, with the smooth black grip tape all around him, stroking in swift, wanting strokes. Ryoma began to arch into the touch, trying to ignore the way Shinji kept mumbling and muttering. He tried to bite into the tape but couldn't get his mouth open; he settled for whimpering instead.
Anyone could come by. Anyone could see them, could pry them apart and see what they were doing. With Ryoma's luck, Momoshiro would walk by spend the rest of the afternoon explaining how it wasn't that sort of grip the tape was intended to be used for. He could already hear the laughter in his head...
Blind-white filled his vision, his head hitting the pillar hard. He heard a soft crack and wondered if he'd inadvertently hurt himself, though this thought was fleeting. Shinji's hand was wrapped fervently around his cock, the taste of tape in his mouth, and then his body shuddered and shook as his cock sputtered, hesitant drops of white falling bright onto Shinji's hand.
Ryoma made an annoyed, scream-like sound when Shinji ripped off the tape from his mouth. He looked, unaware of anything but the way Shinji was still muttering, standing in the middle of the train station and ripping the tape from his fingers. He curled into a ball and thrust it into his pocket; he leaned down and reached for his bag, lifting it from the floor and swinging it behind him. Ryoma blinked stupidly a few times before straightening his clothing, trying to look presentable once more. His own bag in place, he used one hand to lower his white hat over his eyes.
"Your tape looks fine," he said, nodding quickly before turning and walking the other way.
Shinji watched him.
"He didn't even say thank you. That's just the type of person he is: you bring him off with grip tape and all he can say is 'your tape looks fine...'"
Author: worblehat
Genre: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Ryoma/Shinji
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters owned by someone else who is not me.
Notes: Thank you to the lovely regulusa for the beta! And to inori_sakura for encouragement to, uh, try my hand at this idea.
Summary: Grip tape.
Word Count: 1,194
The box was clean and a little shiny in Shinji's hands. He opened it carefully, squatting down on the floor to lower the risk of it falling and rolling away. Slowly, he pried it open, ignoring the passers-by at the train station. His eyes opened a little wider in interest when the black grip tape fell into his left hand.
"Hmm," he mumbled. "Interesting. The texture will fit my racket perfectly. It's too bad I had to wait this long to get it."
An elderly woman passing by stopped; Shinji didn't look, still mumbling. She gave him an odd look and continued on her way.
"...if that guy Echizen had just let me have it - "
"Hmm?"
" - then I could have played better when - "
A disgruntled noise and the appearance of a racket in his face made Shinji look up. Ryoma was looking at him, his face tinged with visible annoyance - annoyance that went unnoticed by Shinji. "Hey," said Ryoma. Shinji blinked. "You're standing in my way."
"What do you mean, I'm in your way?" asked Shinji, rising.
Ryoma pointed behind Shinji. "Juice machine."
Shinji shrugged and walked away. His hands folded the grip tape neatly between his palms, rubbing back and forth, warming it up. The slick black material felt good against his skin. He gripped it sporadically, noting its smoothness with just the tips of his fingers. "This is good," he said, flopping the tape into one hand. He unfastened the end, pulling it free. Focusing solely on his hands, he began to wrap his left hand with the tape, coating layer after layer, precise in his application. The tape barely made a sound as he coated his hand with it.
Shinji brought the tape to his lips, holding it in his teeth as he tore, ripping it with skilled determination. When he looked down, he smiled at the precise cut of the tape; it had taken him three and a half weeks to be able to do that. Reaching for the box in his pocket, he settled the tape back into it with care.
Then he looked at his hand, now covered, as if wearing a glove. He extended his free, non-covered hand, running it against the tape, eyes darkening appreciatively. "Yes, this is very nice," he muttered to himself.
"What's that?"
Shinji looked up at Ryoma, eyes expressionless. "Grip tape."
Ryoma stared for a few moments. He looked down at Shinji's hand, which he was rubbing against his other hand, and made a face. "Why is it on your hand?"
"I have to test it," answered Shinji.
Intrigued, Ryoma bent lower to inspect the tape. "How?" he asked as he reached out one finger, running it across the spots Shinji had covered. The tape ran partway down his wrist and Ryoma's efforts stopped there.
"I was thinking of going home," said Shinji. "I have to see if it will stretch enough for matches and how resistant it is. I don't want to have bought the wrong kind of tape, because then I'll have to go back to the store and - "
Ryoma sighed. "What are you going to test it on?" he prompted.
"Myself."
Shinji's unusually brief answer made Ryoma's eyes widen. The brown-hazel irises flashed wildly in the soft gaze of sunset spilling onto the outside of the train station. "Will you show me?"
Shinji's head was bowed in thought. The hands had stopped moving, each one resting on either side of his body. Ryoma sighed and was about to leave when a hand reached out.
Being slammed into one of the pillars made Ryoma flinch. His bag dropped from his shoulder and Shinji's hand replaced it, pushing Ryoma hard against the wall-like protrusion behind him. Ryoma made a panicked sound in the back of his throat, which contracted around it, cutting him off. Shinji's taped hand was searching calmly through his pockets. He looked at Ryoma, placing one black finger to his lips.
"Shhh."
Ryoma looked at him. He wasn't sure what else to do.
The tape made a soft, tantilising sound as Shinji stretched it, cutting off another, much smaller piece. Ryoma was about to ask what was going on - he had to get home soon, after all - but as soon as he opened his mouth, he tasted the strange, glue taste in his mouth.
Grip tape.
"Mmmph!" he said, annoyed and a little anxious.
"Relax, Echizen," said Shinji, his voice back to normal. Ryoma forced himself to remain calm, not to squirm as Shinji's hand, along with the tape, slid below the edge of his Seigaku uniform. His eyes went wide in surprise when he felt the warmed feel of tape against his body. Shinji's hands skated beneath the blue and white shirt first, rubbing with care. Ryoma had never really thought of grip tape like this before, but it seemed Shinji knew exactly what he was doing.
Shinji's hand began circling lower, fingers pulling back the elastic on the lower half of Ryoma's uniform. His mumbles fell against Ryoma's cheek, continuous and low. Ryoma felt the dig of Shinji's erection, jutting against his thigh and his eyes widened further.
And then it became hard to focus, with the smooth black grip tape all around him, stroking in swift, wanting strokes. Ryoma began to arch into the touch, trying to ignore the way Shinji kept mumbling and muttering. He tried to bite into the tape but couldn't get his mouth open; he settled for whimpering instead.
Anyone could come by. Anyone could see them, could pry them apart and see what they were doing. With Ryoma's luck, Momoshiro would walk by spend the rest of the afternoon explaining how it wasn't that sort of grip the tape was intended to be used for. He could already hear the laughter in his head...
Blind-white filled his vision, his head hitting the pillar hard. He heard a soft crack and wondered if he'd inadvertently hurt himself, though this thought was fleeting. Shinji's hand was wrapped fervently around his cock, the taste of tape in his mouth, and then his body shuddered and shook as his cock sputtered, hesitant drops of white falling bright onto Shinji's hand.
Ryoma made an annoyed, scream-like sound when Shinji ripped off the tape from his mouth. He looked, unaware of anything but the way Shinji was still muttering, standing in the middle of the train station and ripping the tape from his fingers. He curled into a ball and thrust it into his pocket; he leaned down and reached for his bag, lifting it from the floor and swinging it behind him. Ryoma blinked stupidly a few times before straightening his clothing, trying to look presentable once more. His own bag in place, he used one hand to lower his white hat over his eyes.
"Your tape looks fine," he said, nodding quickly before turning and walking the other way.
Shinji watched him.
"He didn't even say thank you. That's just the type of person he is: you bring him off with grip tape and all he can say is 'your tape looks fine...'"