FANDOM: Prince of Tennis
SUMMARY: They have a dark secret—one that could ruin more than just their friendship if they’re not careful. Still, they take that chance.
NOTES: I feel it appropriate to mention that the timeline of Behind Closed Doors is sometime in the future (of the anime). It would probably make this a tad AU with a fair dose of OOC-ness if you’d like to be precise.
He began to remember some fairly significant words just then, as he gazed down into her heated cheeks and watery eyes. But before the said words could form plausible sentences and adapt a familiar voice, he pushed the thought away and concentrated on something much more important—something that inevitably required his utmost attention.
“Don’t stop.” He heard her whisper softly, brushing her lips against his arm. And a smile curved his own lips; Oh, how he enjoyed torturing his little doll. He loved to see her squirm and to hear her beg, he loved the flush that covered her entire body as if they hadn’t done this sinful act dozens of times already, he loved her cries of protest just as he loved her tears of release. He supposed, with a shrug, that that was what made her special. It was odd though, that he found himself pondering on such trivial matters now. He shook his head as he allowed himself to focus on her and what she presented at that moment. Needless to say, it was not a letdown.
She was a vision in white, lying helplessly atop his school shirt, laid out before him like a banquet for a king. Her hair, a reddish brown in the dim light, fell effortlessly against the backdrop, curling on ends like it beckoned anyone who dared. And he dared, no questions asked. He would have been insane not to.
“Senpai, please don’t…” Her voice was a soothing melody to him, heavy in the right kind of way and light in a means to tease. He doubted that she knew of her effect on him. And at the same time, it suited him just fine.
In this unusual arrangement of theirs, he made the rules. He was the one to be followed, he was the one who required submission, he was the winner. And if she pleased him, he would make her… happy (for lack of better word). That was all it was, really.
He bent his head low, grazing her neck with his tongue. She writhed, holding him close and wanting to let him go at the same time. His hands were at her waist, one traveling up to play with a swollen peak whilst the other ventured down to a place no one else had ever touched. And then she screamed, the sound muffled against his kiss, her senses utterly drugged.
“Say my name,” he whispered into her ear, his voice hypnotizing, his breath warm. She shook her head and turned away, as if he would let her off that easily.
“Sa-ku-no,” he tried again, emphasizing each syllable with a playful tone. And in a way, it frightened her that she was immediately reminded of the him three years ago. She had adored him, placed her faith in him, watched him. She still did. The only difference was that he now knew of it, too. He could manipulate her in any way he wanted; she would let him. He could break her if he wished; with as much protest from her conscience, she would still let him. Yet for some strange reason, he hadn’t tried to. Not yet. And for that, she was thankful.
To her, he was… different, in every possible way. He was softer, easier to talk to, in those moments for her and her alone. He was also harder, too tedious to read, too complicated to understand. But she wasn’t one to complain. In a heavily guarded part of her heart, she knew that she was beginning to care more for him than what was allowed. That was why she couldn’t tell him, he didn’t need to know. At the same time, she couldn’t stop it. And that would be her downfall.
She cried out again just as he bit her neck, “Syuusuke!”
“I’ll see you after class.” Though it hadn’t sounded forceful, it also wasn’t a question. He knew she would comply, she always did. She turned to him and smiled, and somewhere in a place he didn’t know existed, he felt something shatter.
“Mmm, yeah. I’ll see you later, Fuji-senpai.” With a small customary bow, she was gone, walking away from him with a slight spring in her step. Like what just happened between them hadn’t mattered at all to her. He found himself quite angered with that notion.
“Fuji,” he heard a voice call from behind him and fastened his old mask into place. He then greeted Inui with his own smile.
“I don’t think that what you’re doing is a good idea,” his teammate said, his tone deadpan like it always was. Beneath that façade, however, was a whole lot of worry. Inui had known for a long time and he had trusted his friend to not say a word about it to anyone else. It had gone into his notes automatically though, he was sure. Silently shrugging, he reasoned out that it would be difficult to use that piece of information against him. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe.
“He’ll be back, I’m 60% certain of that. And she is about 85% the reason why.” Trust Inui to use facts and calculations against him. Well, though those were fine points…
“That isn’t good enough,” he breathed, running a hand through his hair, still smiling. And it really wasn’t. Ryoma hadn’t cared for her, hadn’t even thought of her when he chose to leave. She, on the other hand, had watched and waited and in the end, he hadn’t looked back. He hadn’t seen her cry and suffer alone as she always did. And then here he was, the genius tennis player of Seigaku. He had found her, had held her, had listened, had soothed. Clearly, it wasn’t Ryoma Echizen’s business anymore. His time had come and passed.
“Are you saying that you’re good enough?” He frowned, hearing Inui’s remark. Well, was he? Although it wasn’t exactly care and concern for her, he did feel something. He didn’t like seeing her sad, yet he enjoyed inflicting certain kinds of pain on her. He didn’t like seeing her so nonchalant about what they were to each other, yet found that that was the best way to deal with it. He especially did not like the thought of Ryoma Echizen coming back so that the boy could confuse her with feelings she certainly didn’t have anymore, yet told himself that he was not jealous. Just rational. But was he just being rational?
It was then that those words he earlier recalled returned in full force, like they had been said only yesterday by the cat-eyed boy before the fated departure.
“Senpai, take care of her.”
And as his eyes widened, he firmly (and foolishly) tried to make himself believe that he had kept his promise.