
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/315102.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Tennis_no_Oujisama_|_Prince_of_Tennis
  Relationship:
      Fuji_Shuusuke/Tezuka_Kunimitsu
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-01-07 Words: 3333
****** Lines, and Those Who Cross Them ******
by honooko
Summary
     Tezuka and Fuji are fascinated by each other, and the more they
     learn, they more they want to know.
To Fuji, Tezuka is everything he never wants to be. Tezuka is reliable,
responsible, fair. He demands respect with his mere presence, and even without
trying he draws attention. Tezuka is steady and level-headed, and a born
leader. He never laughs, and his smiles are subtle and rare. Tezuka is the
embodiment of the ideal man.
Fuji doesn’t want to be like him. Instead, he simply wants him.
The first time they met, he’d felt the slight hum in his heart that meant the
person in front of him was important. Sometimes he simply knew things, in
tennis and otherwise. But in Tezuka’s case, Fuji had no idea what sort of
impact the older boy would have on his life. He could have asked Yumiko about
it; she knew everything that really mattered. But at the same time, he wanted
to nurture the strange curiosity he felt about the other boy. Fuji didn’t want
to mystery to end.
He thought at first that Tezuka would be important through tennis. The boy
played, and well; perhaps he would be the rival that Fuji craved. But no,
Tezuka’s injured arm prevented him from playing. Fuji was both furious and
touched that his new friend had risked his health in order to keep a promise,
and he realized that maybe Tezuka would become someone even more important than
he’d first expected.
~
Tezuka finds Fuji an enigma. He is a walking contradiction of truths: kind and
dangerous, fragile and powerful, intense and apathetic. He is neither, and yet,
he is both, a fountain of confusion and depth. Sometimes, looking at him, it’s
unclear where Fuji really truly ends.
Fuji is fascinating to watch. He is small, and his hair is light enough for
people to think he dyes it (he doesn’t). But when Tezuka sees his eyes, he
thinks that Fuji is, quite simply, not full Japanese. Asians don’t have eyes
that color of cerulean; he doubts any other person could have eyes that blue.
And while Fuji is undoubtedly part Japanese, he seems to have inherited the
least of those traits. The characteristics that identify him as a native could
easily belong to another nationality; his round face, delicate build, and quiet
nature are as European as they are Asian. And if Fuji’s knowledge of English is
any indication, he has been exposed to other cultures from a young age.
It disturbs Tezuka a bit that he notices these things.
~
Eiji is Fuji’s best friend, and he doesn’t say that lightly. They became close
when Yuuta left Seigaku, and Fuji was off-balance and hurting. Eiji came to
him, smiles and hugs, offering a comfort that Fuji didn’t even know that he
wanted. It was nice to have someone to protect and help, and Eiji was used to
being a younger sibling. The redhead filled the empty space that Yuuta left in
Fuji’s life, and Fuji couldn’t even begin to explain how grateful he was for
that.
Eiji had never, not once, judged Fuji. He accepted his strange friend with a
beaming openness that no one had ever shown the older boy before. With Eiji,
Fuji didn’t have to be anything other than what he was, because nothing else
was expected of him. Being around the younger boy meant that Fuji could laugh
and tease to his heart’s content.
Tezuka, however, was nearly always in a state of stiff stoicism. And Fuji took
almost a sadistic delight in making the other boy twitch.
~
Being touched hadn’t been a big problem for Tezuka in the beginning. It wasn’t
unwanted, he simply didn’t know how to react. Oishi had a comforting nature,
and often placed a gentle hand on his friend’s arm or shoulder to get his
attention or offer silent support. Tezuka appreciated the gestures for what
they were, and never found Oishi’s presence invading. Even Kikumaru’s energetic
bouncings were tolerated on the rare occasions when they overflowed to him.
But he didn’t like it when Fuji touched him. The hair on the back of his neck
stood up, goosebumps ran down his arms, and his focus narrowed to the points
where Fuji’s cool fingertips pressed against his forearm. His stomach would
tighten and he would suddenly become uncomfortably aware of the tilt of Fuji’s
head, and the way one hip jutted out as he watched the match in front of him.
Tezuka would subtly shift his weight to the other side, pulling out from Fuji’s
touch. The younger boy seemed not to notice, and Tezuka never drew attention to
it.
He was spared having to awkwardly explain that the reason he didn’t want Fuji
touching him was because he very much did.
Instead, he began to reject all physical interactions. Kikumaru re-located his
bouncing urges to Momoshiro, and Oishi only gave him one puzzled smile before
accepting, understanding, in a way that Tezuka was tremendously grateful for.
It gave him an excuse to pull away when he saw Fuji’s hands coming near, and
after only two days, Fuji seemed to understand.
Direct touching, of any kind, ceased.
~
Fuji wouldn’t admit, even to himself, how much Tezuka’s rejection of touch hurt
him. He guessed that he had crossed a line, somehow, and invaded his friend’s
carefully built personal space. And while he felt the tiniest bit guilty, he
was for the most part annoyed that such a simple pleasure was being denied him.
He retaliated the only way he knew how.
When speaking to his friend, Fuji leaned forward. Not enough to be called
anything other then subconscious, even though the motion was very deliberate.
When passing his friend in the hall, Fuji followed large groups, forcing Tezuka
to brush against him when he walked by. And he loved, more than could be called
exactly healthy, to creep up behind Tezuka and breathe against the back of his
neck. He always spoke softly, voice low, about semi-private matters that gave
him an excuse to be practically whispering against his friend’s ear.
Fuji discovered through his games that he liked not touching Tezuka even more.
~
Tezuka suspects that Fuji is teasing him, playing with him like a cat plays
with a rodent. He can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s going to end up
pounced on and devoured, and he can’t quiet decide how he feels about that.
While he ignores Fuji’s game as best he can, Tezuka finds it difficult to keep
his voice steady. His fingers clench, and he has to remind himself over and
over again that encouraging this kind of behavior from Fuji is a Very Bad Idea
Indeed.
Oishi asks him one day why Fuji likes to stand with him during club practice.
Tezuka realizes with a start that he doesn’t know.
He wants to.
~
Fuji is very glad to be a genius at times. It leaves his attention free during
lessons to do what he wishes, without his grade dropping any. Sometimes he
write lewd messages in the margins of his notebooks, so that when Eiji peeks
across to read his notes, he chokes and turns a particularly amusing shade of
red.
Now, he watches Tezuka.
His eyes follow the smooth slope of broad shoulders, so much broader than his
own. His gaze is drawn to the long, slender taper of Tezuka’s fingertips as
they tap restlessly against the desk. He finds himself noticing that upon
encountering a particularly difficult maths problem, Tezuka purses his lips in
thought. Fuji wants with a sudden ache to find out if those lips are as soft as
they seem. He wants to pull away his friend’s glasses and stare into his eyes
without the barrier of glass between them. He wants to tangle his fingers in
fine brown hair and use the extra leverage to drag the older boy down to him.
Tezuka is beautiful, Fuji thinks. He is also completely and utterly forbidden.
The thought doesn’t bother him as much as it probably should.
~
Fuji radiates a sensuality that is baffling. Tezuka knows without needing to
ask that Fuji has never been on a real date; he has fangirls, but for some
reason or another, they never confess to him. And even though many of the girls
have crushes on him, none of them expect him to return their feelings. It is
one confusing thing in a long line of confusing things about Fuji.
But Fuji is, undeniably, a sensual creature. He doesn’t so much move as he does
glide. Everything about him is delicate, but the underlying power is implied in
the way his muscles slide beneath his skin. Fuji has a languid sort of feline
grace that suggests he might purr if scratched properly. He is often mistaken
for a girl, albeit an underfed one, and Tezuka has thought (for some years now)
he would be equally beautiful as either sex. Simply put, Fuji is appealing in a
way that transcends mere attraction. He captivates, and Tezuka has caught more
than one club member eyeing his friend in the showers.
And yet, the boy himself seems not to notice his own appearance in the
slightest. He puts very little effort into his looks, and is neither modest nor
shy. Fuji, Tezuka thinks, has never looked in a mirror properly. If he had,
he’d never turn away from it again.
Tezuka has not realized that this is the reason he himself turns all date
offers down.
~
Fuji is a tease. He finds it entertaining to make his friends splutter and
blush, and he takes great pride in his ability to make perfectly innocent
suggestions sound less than kosher. Eiji is a prime victim due to the fact that
he never seems to learn, not to mention the boy’s seemingly perpetual
innocence. But Eiji had, as of late, not been quite as scandalized by Fuji’s
jokes, and the game had lost some of its fun.
So Fuji had turned his bizarre sense of humor on the most straight-laced person
he knew. The results were satisfactory; Tezuka had paused, as if disbelieving
his own ears, and promptly ordered Fuji to run 30 laps. Fuji thought it was
rather worth it, and began telling his jokes to Tezuka more often. A week
later, after nearly everyone else had gone home, Fuji made a rather lewd pun as
he and Tezuka were changing. Smiling, he asked his friend how many laps it had
cost him.
He was very surprised when Tezuka replied, dryly, that Fuji seemed to be rather
fixated on laps lately.
Fuji hadn’t laughed that hard in a very long time.
~
Tezuka wasn’t so much uncomfortable with Fuji’s jokes as he was annoyed that
the other boy seemed to take delight in make cracks in the presence of first
year students. It was one thing to humor their year-mates; all of them had
overheard much worse. But Fuji went out of his way to destroy the innocence of
his kouhai one by one. Tezuka was forced to inflict laps on the other boy, or
otherwise risk one of the younger students asking Fuji to explain the joke.
And that would be a very dangerous idea.
Perhaps that was why he refrained from exchanging wit with Fuji until they were
essentially alone. Fuji had a gift for making intelligent jokes about crude
things, and Tezuka admitted that some were quite clever. So when Fuji told his
newest pun, Tezuka didn’t think twice before inflicting his own rather sardonic
sense of humor. He was startled, though, to hear Fuji laugh.
Fuji chuckled often enough, yes, but Tezuka couldn’t think off-hand of a single
time when he’d seen the other boy break out in full honest laughter. The sound
was so pleasing, it brought a small smile to Tezuka’s face, and he decided idly
to make Fuji laugh more often.
It was easier said than done, however. Fuji had a sharp wit, and was quick to
reply to any jab given. Tezuka found himself enjoying their exchanges; he
wanted to hear Fuji’s bright ringing laugh again. He was pleased to discover
that his own witticisms, if given in the perfect monotone, could cause Fuji to
break out in open laughter.
Tezuka didn’t know, for one reason or another, that he was one of only three
people to ever hear Fuji laugh that way.
~
Fuji remembered hearing once that laughter was actually a sub-conscious
psychological response that gave humans a feeling of closeness and connection.
Chemical reactions in the brain caused people to be relaxed by laughing
together, and were thereby more comfortable with each other. It seemed a rather
detached way to explain something so wonderful, in his opinion.
Tezuka had made Fuji laugh more times than he could remember since the first
joke. The captain possessed an incredibly dry sense of humor that was often
mistaken for his usual seriousness, due to Tezuka’s habit of delivering
sarcasms in the blandest tone he could muster. It never failed to break Fuji
down, and for the first time since he could remember, he wasn’t just finding
things amusing. Instead, he found them genuinely funny.
But if the theory of laughter bringing people closer was true, it might explain
why one day after practice when they were the last ones in the clubhouse, Fuji
found himself doing something he’d only really idly pondered doing. Tezuka was
in top form, tossing back replies as quickly as Fuji offered jokes. And Fuji
was almost inexplicably overcome with laughter. It bubbled up from his chest,
filling him with a fuzzy sort of warmth that he vaguely recognized as
happiness. The next thing he knew…
Tezuka’s hand on his waist, Tezuka’s breath across his face, Tezuka’s lips on
his. They were pressed together, lining up and fitting in a way that sounded
sappy and cliché when said out loud. Fuji’s head buzzed, and his fingers found
their way into the fine brown hair he’d admired for so long.
It was completely unexpected. But they’d both seen it coming.
~
Tezuka doesn’t know who moved first. It doesn’t really matter anyhow, because
Fuji’s hands are in his hair, and he’s warm and solid against Tezuka’s chest.
Tezuka thought he’d been told once that men aren’t supposed to fit against each
other, but maybe because Fuji’s smaller, they do. Neither of them know,
exactly, what they’re doing but apparently instinct takes control in these
sorts of situations, because Tezuka runs his tongue against Fuji’s bottom lip
without even thinking. And he must have done alright, because Fuji’s mouth
opens with a soft, breathy moan that robs Tezuka of his ability to think
clearly.
They shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be doing this, but he wants to do
this so very, very much that it almost hurts when he has to pull back a bit for
air. Fuji is breathing against his neck and Tezuka isn’t sure if it’s
intentional or not, but either way, he likes it. Then, experimentally, Fuji
slides his tongue along the bottom of Tezuka’s jaw. It sends a warm burst down
his spine and he groans. Fuji jumps in surprise, and Tezuka confirms his theory
that Fuji really hasn’t done this before.
The thought makes him smile.
~
The noise Tezuka makes is low and needy, and startles Fuji. He had wanted this
to happen, yes, but he hadn’t expected Tezuka to want it too. He hadn’t
expected Tezuka to want him. Tezuka smiles, and Fuji has the presence of mind
to realize he is blushing slightly. When he friend sees this, he laughs.
Fuji thinks it is the sexiest sound he has ever heard. However, Tezuka’s lips
are calling to him, and Fuji can’t bear to disappoint them. He leans forward
again, swallowing Tezuka’s laughter. Tezuka’s hands slide under his shirt, and
Fuji gasps into his friend’s mouth. It tingles, and Fuji knows for sure that
being touched on his bare skin has never felt this way before. His desire for
more of that touch overrides any other thoughts, and he presses closer to the
taller boy.
They both let out surprised moans as their hips rock together.
~
Tezuka has never in his life felt anything like this, and at the moment he
cannot for the life of him figure out why he hasn’t felt it sooner. Fuji has
him backed up against a wall, and they are gasping as they discover the
delicious friction between their bodies. Tezuka is struck with the urge to lick
Fuji’s ear and he finds this distinctly odd, but thus far, his instincts have
been doing quite well. His breath is warm and wet on Fuji’s ear, and Tezuka
feels the smaller boy shudder as he explores it with his tongue.
Fuji’s hands are clenching and unclenching on his shoulders. Tezuka’s fingers
are fumbling with the buttons on Fuji’s shirt, and some small part of him is
shouting at him to stop before they go too far. But all Tezuka can think is
that ‘too far’ is exactly what he wants, thanks.
~
Fuji is panting, and as soon as Tezuka’s hands finishing unbuttoning his shirt,
he pulls it off. Everything feels overwhelming, and he can’t quite breathe, but
he wants more, desperately. He’s not sure how far Tezuka is going to let this
go, and he plans on enjoying everything he can get. He makes a noise halfway
between a moan and a whimper, and he can’t quite bring himself to be
embarrassed about it.
Tezuka’s shirt is open now, and Fuji slides his hands along the toned abdomen
in front of him as if trying to feel every inch at once. Tezuka gasps as Fuji’s
thumbs rub across his nipples, and he arches at the sensation. Fuji thinks it
is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and promptly attacks Tezuka’s
exposed throat with his mouth. He bites down gently on the juncture between
neck and shoulder, and then soothes away the sting with his tongue. Tezuka
tastes like soap and sweat, but any other semi-coherent thought goes out the
window when Tezuka turns them around suddenly and presses them tight against
the wall. They are chest-to-chest, and Fuji rocks his hips forward, hard.
Tezuka growls and Fuji feels it rumble through his chest.
Then Tezuka is lifting him, and Fuji wraps his legs around the taller boy’s
back, pressing them together. He does whimper this time, because his pants are
tight and Tezuka’s lips on his neck are causing the most intense sensations
he’s ever felt.
~
Tezuka is beyond thought. He is beyond anything other than the need to move
against the warm body pressed between him and the wall. He and Fuji are rocking
against each other, and it’s hot and rough and good. Fuji’s mouth is on his
again, and their tongues are sliding together in imitation of the rest of their
bodies. Suddenly, Fuji throws his head back and let’s out a keening wail of
ecstasy that is like an electric current down Tezuka’s spine. His vision goes
white, and his mind is blissfully blank.
When he comes back to himself, he and Fuji are seated on the ground. They are
sweaty and dirty, their clothing in need of a very good wash. Both are
breathing as hard as if they had just run 100 laps.
Tezuka wonders suddenly, painfully, if Fuji hates him. He isn’t sure what he
feels for the other boy; ‘love’ seems like an awfully strong word for 15 year
olds. But he knows that he absolutely doesn’t want to lose Fuji as a friend. He
knows he should say something, but he is struck dumb with terror of having done
something very, very stupid.
And then Fuji’s hand closes around his, and he scoots over to sit side-by-side
with Tezuka. His head drops to rest on Tezuka’s shoulder, and he hums a soft
tune to himself. He is smiling.
Tezuka can breathe again. He leans his head against Fuji’s, and gently squeezes
the hand in his.
Second thoughts can wait, he thinks. Right now, they are happy.
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