ketchup (ketchupblood) wrote in ironman7, @ 2007-08-20 23:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | ketchupblood, prince of tennis, week 1: prompt 1 |
Prince of Tennis (Tezuka/Fuji) [week 1 - prompt 1]
Title: Lamb in Wolf’s Skin
Author: ketchupblood
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: A lot of after-sex, slash
Word Count: 1,700~
Summary: He knows I am a wolf disguised as a lamb, but doesn’t realize that I am only a lamb in wolf’s skin.
Author's Notes: They’re not actually in junior high. It’s all a lie! They’re really middle aged men. -shifty eyes- Really. Written for ironman7. Un-proofed.
Prompt 1: The path that I have chosen now has led me to a wall, and with each passing day I feel a little more like something dear was lost.
I lie there panting and watch Tezuka pick up the clothes that we so carelessly tossed aside in our haste to make love. At least, that’s how I think of it. I’m not sure he does. For him, it can’t be more than just fucking though he wouldn't word it so crudely. In those precious moments when he’s buried deep inside of me, though, I like to think that this is love, even when I know it isn’t.
I like to watch his face when he comes, to know that I caused this and that this is how I affect him, even when I didn't and it's not. I don’t like watching him pick up after we finish, erasing any signs that we might have once known each other in the locker room. He never looks at me when he picks up; I pretend to myself that I don’t know why. I never offer to help, because even if I don’t like watching him now, I still do.
He picks up his clothes, then mine and my heart flutters at the little act of kindness. I know that he would do it for anyone—perhaps especially someone he has just fucked—but I still think that maybe, just maybe, he cares. He hands them to me, my jersey and my boxers. I had already gotten out of my shorts before we had started, so those were already in my duffel. I nod and smile and thank him, and he leads the way to the showers. I follow him because I like watching him when he walks. I don’t know if it makes him uncomfortable, but he hasn’t told me to stop and so I don’t.
I don’t watch him while he washes, because I don’t want to have to explain why I’m suddenly excited again, but I want to. I think about how he must be carefully washing every inch of himself, wiping away what we had just done and going from naughty, hungry, sexy Tezuka to the responsible Tezuka that he showed everyone else. I start to get a little hard again, so I start thinking of something else—my cacti, this time—and carefully avoid looking at him until we’re both safely dressed and he’s about to leave.
"Fuji." He turns to me and says, "Tomorrow."
I smile and I nod, happy that this isn’t going to be the last time.