Hands Across the Ice [PG; Atobe/Sanada]
Title: Hands Across the Ice
Author: worblehat
Genre: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Atobe/Sanada
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Konomi's, not mine.
Summary: Grumpy ice skating.
Notes: Kind of schmoopy. Oops?
Word Count: 784
Sanada skated slowly, looking at the ice and trying to keep his footing solid: it would be too mortifying to fall, especially when he'd assured Atobe that he could skate just fine.
That was, of course, a lie.
Lying wasn't something he did or thought highly of. Most of the time, he wasn't aware that he'd lied at all until much later; like now, with un-sturdy ice beneath him and feet in skates that seemed to wobble more than they should. It was Atobe's face that did it - more specifically, his smirk. Atobe's unspoken hobby was to find things that he was better at than Sanada.
It was cute.
Sometimes.
Ninety-five percent of the time though, it made Sanada want to shut his mouth permanently.
Atobe skated by him elegantly, white scarf fluffing pleasantly in the cold air inside the rink. "Going a little slow there, eh Sanada?" he taunted, doing a small twirl before settling in front of him, skating backwards as Sanada plowed forward.
"Stop distracting me," Sanada mumbled, only glancing upward briefly to glare at Atobe.
"Need help?" asked Atobe, his face lowering to sneak inside Sanada's line of vision. He offered one gloved hand to him. "I don't normally give private lessons, of course, but for you, I -"
"You're blocking my way."
Atobe frowned. "Ore-sama never blocks," he lectured. "Ore-sama lights the way with his magnificence."
"Sure he does."
"Tch," said Atobe in disgust. "You obviously lack the ability to know a good thing when you see it," he added, brushing his hair away from his face in a practiced, seemingly-subconscious movement.
Sanada gave Atobe a weird look before lacing their gloved hands together. "I see just fine," he said gruffly, looking away when even the iciness of the rink didn't seem to counteract the blush rising in his cheeks.
"Come," said Atobe, smirk softening on his lips. He pulled Sanada along, helping him pick up speed, showing him how to do some of the basic moves he'd picked up in his earlier years, before tennis. Neither said anything about how Sanada's fingers remained locked between Atobe's, even after he was able to hold his own on the ice.
It was when they'd stopped in the middle of the ice, lips two inches apart that they heard Kirihara's voice. Atobe sighed at the interruption pulling back; letting out a small gasp of surprise when Sanada pulled him close, kissing him gently.
"Sanada fukubuchou!" said Kirihara enthusiastically, skating onto the ice with minimal effort. He clapped Sanada on the shoulder, oblivious to the quick release of hands. "I thought that was you on the ice." He blinked at Atobe. "What's he doing here?"
Atobe crossed his arms against his chest. "It's an ice skating rink," said Atobe dryly, indicating his skates with a glance. "Use your imagination."
"Atobe," warned Sanada.
"Che," muttered Atobe, looking away. He hated interruptions, and most of them seemed to be done - intentionally or not - by Kirihara. However, this time he seemed to be lucky and they left the ice skating rink quickly, slipping back into their own shoes.
"Your form needs work," said Atobe as they walked.
"In tennis?" asked Sanada.
"In skating," Atobe answered.
"Why would I care about that?"
"Elegance is always important," Atobe countered.
"Not for tennis."
"For everything, Sanada. Everything counts more when it's done stylishly," he added as an afterthought.
"Why do I even go out with you?" asked Sanada exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. Elegance wasn't something he spent a lot of time thinking about: it wasn't part of the Rikkai philosophy.
"Because you love me," Atobe replied, face serene in its self-confidence.
Sanada stopped walking briefly and Atobe followed, looking at him to see what was wrong. Sanada's palm slid along Atobe's cheek, barely touching but the warmth was hard to miss.
"Yeah," Sanada said quietly.
As Atobe began to contemplate leaning into the touch, the hand was gone. He looked up to see two fists bunched up in Sanada's trouser pockets as he continued walking. Atobe stared blankly after him.
Sanada's face was amused yet stern when walked back to Atobe, pulling on his shirt, tugging until he resumed walking.
"Ore-sama is not to be pulled along," Atobe huffed, refusing to meet Sanada's eyes, still surprised at his words. Sanada had a knack of doing that - saying major things in quiet, restrained tones. It was infuriating; it was sweet.
"Then stop gawking at me," Sanada responded.
"I'm not gawking," he said, pouting through his irritation. "I'm observing."
"Right," said Sanada with disinterest, walking alongside Atobe; his cheeks a tinge redder when Atobe's arm laced through his, both walking steadily on.
Author: worblehat
Genre: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Atobe/Sanada
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Konomi's, not mine.
Summary: Grumpy ice skating.
Notes: Kind of schmoopy. Oops?
Word Count: 784
Sanada skated slowly, looking at the ice and trying to keep his footing solid: it would be too mortifying to fall, especially when he'd assured Atobe that he could skate just fine.
That was, of course, a lie.
Lying wasn't something he did or thought highly of. Most of the time, he wasn't aware that he'd lied at all until much later; like now, with un-sturdy ice beneath him and feet in skates that seemed to wobble more than they should. It was Atobe's face that did it - more specifically, his smirk. Atobe's unspoken hobby was to find things that he was better at than Sanada.
It was cute.
Sometimes.
Ninety-five percent of the time though, it made Sanada want to shut his mouth permanently.
Atobe skated by him elegantly, white scarf fluffing pleasantly in the cold air inside the rink. "Going a little slow there, eh Sanada?" he taunted, doing a small twirl before settling in front of him, skating backwards as Sanada plowed forward.
"Stop distracting me," Sanada mumbled, only glancing upward briefly to glare at Atobe.
"Need help?" asked Atobe, his face lowering to sneak inside Sanada's line of vision. He offered one gloved hand to him. "I don't normally give private lessons, of course, but for you, I -"
"You're blocking my way."
Atobe frowned. "Ore-sama never blocks," he lectured. "Ore-sama lights the way with his magnificence."
"Sure he does."
"Tch," said Atobe in disgust. "You obviously lack the ability to know a good thing when you see it," he added, brushing his hair away from his face in a practiced, seemingly-subconscious movement.
Sanada gave Atobe a weird look before lacing their gloved hands together. "I see just fine," he said gruffly, looking away when even the iciness of the rink didn't seem to counteract the blush rising in his cheeks.
"Come," said Atobe, smirk softening on his lips. He pulled Sanada along, helping him pick up speed, showing him how to do some of the basic moves he'd picked up in his earlier years, before tennis. Neither said anything about how Sanada's fingers remained locked between Atobe's, even after he was able to hold his own on the ice.
It was when they'd stopped in the middle of the ice, lips two inches apart that they heard Kirihara's voice. Atobe sighed at the interruption pulling back; letting out a small gasp of surprise when Sanada pulled him close, kissing him gently.
"Sanada fukubuchou!" said Kirihara enthusiastically, skating onto the ice with minimal effort. He clapped Sanada on the shoulder, oblivious to the quick release of hands. "I thought that was you on the ice." He blinked at Atobe. "What's he doing here?"
Atobe crossed his arms against his chest. "It's an ice skating rink," said Atobe dryly, indicating his skates with a glance. "Use your imagination."
"Atobe," warned Sanada.
"Che," muttered Atobe, looking away. He hated interruptions, and most of them seemed to be done - intentionally or not - by Kirihara. However, this time he seemed to be lucky and they left the ice skating rink quickly, slipping back into their own shoes.
"Your form needs work," said Atobe as they walked.
"In tennis?" asked Sanada.
"In skating," Atobe answered.
"Why would I care about that?"
"Elegance is always important," Atobe countered.
"Not for tennis."
"For everything, Sanada. Everything counts more when it's done stylishly," he added as an afterthought.
"Why do I even go out with you?" asked Sanada exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. Elegance wasn't something he spent a lot of time thinking about: it wasn't part of the Rikkai philosophy.
"Because you love me," Atobe replied, face serene in its self-confidence.
Sanada stopped walking briefly and Atobe followed, looking at him to see what was wrong. Sanada's palm slid along Atobe's cheek, barely touching but the warmth was hard to miss.
"Yeah," Sanada said quietly.
As Atobe began to contemplate leaning into the touch, the hand was gone. He looked up to see two fists bunched up in Sanada's trouser pockets as he continued walking. Atobe stared blankly after him.
Sanada's face was amused yet stern when walked back to Atobe, pulling on his shirt, tugging until he resumed walking.
"Ore-sama is not to be pulled along," Atobe huffed, refusing to meet Sanada's eyes, still surprised at his words. Sanada had a knack of doing that - saying major things in quiet, restrained tones. It was infuriating; it was sweet.
"Then stop gawking at me," Sanada responded.
"I'm not gawking," he said, pouting through his irritation. "I'm observing."
"Right," said Sanada with disinterest, walking alongside Atobe; his cheeks a tinge redder when Atobe's arm laced through his, both walking steadily on.