
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10526.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Prince_of_Tennis
  Relationship:
      Inui_Sadaharu/Tezuka_Kunimitsu
  Character:
      Inui_Sadaharu, Tezuka_Kunimitsu
  Additional Tags:
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, First_Time, Hand_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2007-01-24 Words: 2213
****** Popups ******
by mayhap
Summary
     Tezuka is experiencing technical difficulties.
At precisely 8:00 PM, Inui pulled the brim of his baseball cap down over his
forehead and marshaled the salient points from his evening shift of data-
collection. He had made some particularly interesting observations that day and
he estimated that it would take no fewer than four and perhaps as many as six
phone calls to Tezuka to convey all the particulars.
Tezuka answered after half of a ring, catching Inui off-guard. Generally,
Tezuka answered after precisely two rings, although Inui had known him to be
delayed on occasion. Once, he had not picked up until the fourth ring was
nearly concluded. Inui wished he knew the circumstances of these variations in
Tezuka's near-mechanical precision, but he contented himself with noting the
dates and times under Tezuka Kunimitsu, Personal Data, Miscellaneous.
"Tezuka," he began, speaking rapidly, "Fudomine's Kamio challenged Momoshiro to
a match on one of the street courts. Unfortunately it devolved into a wrestling
match after three games, but Momoshiro attempted some interesting techniques
for throwing Kamio off of his rhythm."
Inui paused, himself thrown off of his rhythm. Tezuka had not hung up on him
yet. He quickly checked his phone to make sure it was not malfunctioning, but
the display appeared normal. He pressed the phone to his ear again and thought
he detected breathing on the other end of the line, although it was possible
that he was simply imagining it, familiar as he was with the regular pattern of
Tezuka's inhalations and exhalations. He forged on, although he found himself
including various trivial observations and completely forgot several of the key
points he had intended to pass on to Tezuka.
"Kaidoh has improved his control of his snake shot by thirteen percent under
controlled conditions. Kikumaru has replaced all of his book covers with ones
depicting the Chocolates, a musical group consisting of young females. Echizen
recovered the handle of his racket using two different kinds of grip tape,
although I am uncertain if he had any particular reason for this innovation.
Fuji informed me that his little brother has undertaken a completely different
training regime that sounds potentially intriguing, but unfortunately I was
prevented from entering the grounds of St. Rudolph by a group of overzealous
female soccer players."
Inui paused again. He wondered if Tezuka were still on the line. "What do you
think, Tezuka?" he inquired, although he was not precisely certain what he was
asking -- Tezuka's opinion about female soccer players?
"Inui," Tezuka said finally. "I need your help with something. Could you come
to my house this evening?"
Inui's heart began to thud in an irregular and undisciplined manner. "Of
course," he said at once. "I am presently approximately point seven kilometers
from your house, so I estimate my arrival in less than ten minutes."
He took the familiar sound of a click and a dial tone to mean that Tezuka was
content with this state of affairs, although he wished every step of the point
seven kilometers that he had asked Tezuka the reason for his unprecedented
request. None of his data concerning Tezuka suggested anything relevant, not
that Inui was in any state to carefully weigh his data. He felt unusually
flushed, all out of proportion to his level of physical exertion, and when he
rang Tezuka's doorbell, he found that his hands were dripping with
perspiration, which was completely illogical.
Tezuka's mother greeted him at the door, a small woman as neat and collected as
Tezuka was. "Kunimitsu-kun is in his bedroom," she added as Inui removed his
tennis shoes, fumbling with the laces as though they were a string of tangled
Christmas lights.
Tezuka was sitting cross-legged on his bed when Inui entered. He had an odd
expression on his face that Inui didn't quite know how to interpret.
"Inui," he said, jumping up to greet him. "Thank you for coming." His voice was
oddly subdued.
"Of course," Inui said. "What do you need help with?" He always thought of
Tezuka as having a complete mastery of everything; or at least, everything that
he actually chose to do.
"My computer," Tezuka said, waving a hand at the desktop across the room, which
was switched off and lifeless. It was rational enough. After all, Inui was very
knowledgeable about computers. He took a seat at the desk, a position nearly as
familiar and comfortable to him as standing on the tennis court, and powered
the computer up.
"What problems are you experiencing with your computer?" he inquired, watching
it run through a perfectly routine boot-up sequence.
"It's just ... not working," Tezuka mumbled evasively. Inui glanced sharply at
him. Tezuka's posture was uncharacteristically slumped, and Inui thought that
his face was seven percent redder than usual.
The computer presented him with an icon of a tennis ball next to Tezuka's name
and prompted him for a password. Tezuka leaned past him to type it, and Inui
found himself inhaling the clean scent of Tezuka's lavender shirt. It was
strangely pleasant. He made a mental note to discover what brand of fabric
softener Tezuka's mother used, then cursed himself for not observing Tezuka's
fingers on the keyboard more closely. That was the kind of data he dreamed of
gathering, sometimes literally, waking up all sticky in the morning.
Tezuka's computer desktop was as neat and unremarkable as his bedroom, with no
wallpaper and no extraneous icons. Inui turned in his seat to attempt to meet
Tezuka's eyes.
"Your computer seems to be perfectly functional," Inui remarked, puzzled. "I'm
not sure what you want me to do."
Tezuka was now undeniably blushing and staring fixedly at a point on the floor,
neither of which were behaviors that Inui had observed previously. "Just look
at it," he muttered.
Inui returned to his original position in front of the monitor and found that
Tezuka's desktop was plastered with popup windows, most of which depicted
explicit homosexual sex acts.
"Your system seems to have been infected with some malware," Inui said,
struggling to keep his voice even. His fingers tapped the keyboard furiously as
he examined Tezuka's cookies and registry. "It can come disguised as a piece of
perfectly innocent software."
"Perfectly innocent," Tezuka repeated, "of course. That must be it."
Inui quickly located and eliminated the program responsible for the cascading
pornographic popups. In their absence, it was much easier for him to explore
Tezuka's internet browsing habits, and from there to discover Tezuka's sizeable
cache of homosexual pornography, all of which was neatly labeled and organized
into subfolders, stashed away deep in a hierarchy of innocently-labeled
folders. It was nothing compared to the lengths to which Inui went to conceal
the homosexual pornography he kept on his computer involving multiple layers of
encryption and misdirection, but it was sufficient to deter casual inspection.
"Very likely you visited some website that installed this malware on your
computer automatically," Inui went on. He recognized a number of Tezuka's
pornographic materials from his own browsing. He wanted to inspect the rest of
them at that very moment, but he contented himself with uploading them all to
his computer where he could collate, graph and chart every aspect of Tezuka's
pornographic preferences, which were becoming increasingly evident.
"Oh," Tezuka said. "I didn't know that was possible."
"You need to employ a firewall and keep your anti-virus software up to date,"
Inui said. He pushed back his chair and rose. "Don't be careless," he added.
Tezuka was looking at anything in the room besides Inui's face. "I'll do that,"
he said.
Inui was dizzy with arousal. It wasn't the predictable, carefully-controlled
pleasure that came with looking at his favorite porn and stroking himself to
orgasm, or the secret, voyeuristic thrill of gathering some interesting data
and adding it to one of his notebooks. He had determined that the most
appropriate course of action would be to say goodbye to Tezuka, leave the house
as quickly as humanly possible, and find the nearest public restroom or other
vaguely private spot for masturbatory purposes, and yet his body seemed
unwilling to cooperate. Instead, he took another step towards Tezuka, who
licked his lips nervously and backed away.
"Thank you for fixing my computer," Tezuka said formally.
"It was nothing," Inui said, and shoved Tezuka backwards onto his bed. Owing to
an apparent miscalculation, Tezuka's head slammed into the wall and Inui landed
awkwardly on top of him and it felt so, so good.
"Wait," Tezuka gasped as Inui fumbled for Tezuka's zipper.
"Probability that you are enjoying this, one hundred percent," Inui noted,
shoving Tezuka's waistband down around his thighs. The tip of Tezuka's cock
bobbed up against Inui's stomach and Tezuka moaned and tried to wriggle away
from him.
"My family is nearby, they're going to hear us," he protested.
"Then I recommend that you try to make as little noise as possible," Inui said.
He held Tezuka's shoulder firmly in place with one hand as he worked on
perfecting his technique with the other. Soon he found an angle and speed of
stimulation that drew a highly satisfactory involuntary sound from Tezuka.
"Oh, no, I can't, stop," Tezuka mumbled incoherently. Inui ceased his
activities for a moment, and Tezuka thrust hungrily against him, confirming
Inui's hypothesis that Tezuka did not really want him to stop.
"Shall I help you reduce your audible output?" Inui murmured, and Tezuka
nodded, frantically. Inui leaned forward to kiss him and his own erection
rubbed against Tezuka's through the dual layers of his pants.
Inui had attempted to practice kissing before, but had concluded that all the
variables could not be accounted for without a human partner. Certainly, he
could never have emulated how Tezuka's feathery hair felt among his fingers as
he cradled his head with one hand, or how Tezuka's deceptively-slender body
writhed and rippled against his own, or how his own glasses kept sliding down
his sweaty nose and he flung them across the room, not caring if they were
smashed and he had to stumble home legally blind. However, the unpredictable,
subtle lip movements that he had worried about proved to be surprisingly
unproblematic. At least, based on Tezuka's enthusiastic response, he assumed
that he must be doing it correctly.
Tezuka felt awkwardly at Inui's crotch, trying to find the fastening mechanism,
and Inui diverted his free hand to help him and couldn't remember when his
trousers had become so complicated. The button wouldn't unbutton and the zipper
wouldn't unzip and Inui was getting so, so close, just feeling Tezuka's hand
down there, doing unspeakable things to him. He couldn't think and he couldn't
breathe and then the equation fell into place and he didn't know whether it was
his semen or Tezuka's, staining Tezuka's clean lavender shirt, and he decided
that they must have climaxed together because surely he would not have
neglected such an important piece of data; surely he would never have been that
careless.
They lay in a tangled, sweaty, sticky, satisfied heap for a time, Inui didn't
know how long; he could only time it by the sound of Tezuka's thudding heart
(or perhaps it was his own, or perhaps they were beating together), and his
data told him nothing about Tezuka's post-coital heart rate. Tezuka was the
first to stir, and Inui rolled over obligingly to let him rise, draping himself
contentedly over Tezuka's bed.
"Oh, shit," Tezuka muttered, and Inui was certain that he had never heard his
calm, collected captain swear, regardless of the circumstances. "Oh, fuck."
Tezuka started to remove his soiled shirt and then pulled it back down over his
torso, awkwardly. Inui got to his own feet and began to feel gingerly about the
floor for his glasses, which, if he recalled correctly, were most likely
located somewhere in the northeastern corner of the room.
It was Tezuka, who knew what it was to be temporarily blinded, who handed them
to him. Inui reached awkwardly for the dark frames, trying not to brush
Tezuka's palm with his fingers. Once he could see again, he expected to feel
more in control of the situation, but instead he felt less so, trying to avoid
Tezuka's glance, afraid of what he might find there. Inui always tried to be a
responsible scientist, recording data regardless of his personal feelings or
prejudices, but he found that the situation was slightly different after having
a sexual encounter with the object of his incoherent desire ever since freshman
year. He wasn't sure if Tezuka hated him and never wanted to see him again and
he didn't think he wanted to know.
"If you have any further trouble with your computer," Inui said finally, "you
can ask me for assistance. I promise that I won't cause problems for you." He
gathered up his things and had his hand on the doorknob when Tezuka touched his
elbow.
"Thank you," he said, still staring fixedly at the ground. "I think my computer
will be having quite a bit of trouble in the future, with these unscrupulous
sites that install software automatically without my permission."
"Of course," Inui said, neglecting to mention that with the various technical
precautions he had implemented, this was unlikely at best. "Just let me know,
any time."
"Of course," Tezuka repeated. "Any time."
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