[Prince of Tennis] [ZukaFuji (Romantic)] [Set#2/Theme#12 fling/one night stand] Since the Accident
Title: Since the Accident
Author:
serenityrages
Set + Theme: 2 + 12
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: ZukaFuji (Romantic)
Rating: PG - 13
Genre(s): Angst, Romance
Warning(s): Mucho Angst and descriptions of sexual situations
Word Count: 485
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It won't make sense if you haven't read "Mistakes" and "Consequences of Mistakes".
Every night since the accident feels so unbelievably wrong.
Fuji sneaks into Tezuka's room; he's charmed the nurses enough for them to understand that this is necessary, this is urgent, this is valuable and true.
He tries not to hear them ask if it's love.
The Tezuka he fell in love with in Junior High was strong and solid and there. The Tezuka he's trying to love is wary, distant, apologetic.
Fuji misses things. He persuades Yumiko to bring him a shoebox under his bed where his prized photographs are kept.
He slips out a picture of Tezuka in Germany, asleep. Tezuka after the Nationals, triumphant. Tezuka, surprised, with that little smile dancing on the edge of his mouth like a promise.
Tezuka, Tezuka, Tezuka. With each flip of the photos Fuji finds himself more breathless and closer to screaming.
Tezuka, Tezuka, Tezuka. The chant is interspersed with accusations.
Your fault, your sin, your grief.
Fuji forges his physician's handwriting to up his morphine intake.
---
Every night since the accident feels so unbelievably wrong.
Fuji knows he shouldn't feel this way, this body, the lost soul inside it... it's still, essentially, Tezuka.
But Fuji trembles when he straddles Tezuka and kisses him into full wakefulness, tempts him into total arousal.
I can't be cheating on Tezuka, Fuji whispers to himself desperately, between kisses and that relentless chant in his head. This is Tezuka, it IS.
Then he catches Tezuka's surprised look of pleasure as he realizes that running his fingers down Fuji's spine will make the smaller man shudder and pulse with desire.
Fuji closes his eyes and doesn't open them until it's time to leave.
(Tezuka had found that out when they were fifteen and hiding in his room, Fuji biting his lip to muffle his screams and Tezuka suppressing his moans into Fuji's neck.)
Tezuka would've known that, the traitorous voice in his head says spitefully. Tezuka would've stopped the moment you closed your eyes, just to find out what was wrong.
---
Every night since the accident feels so unbelievably wrong.
That's to be expected. They're in a mental hospital, Tezuka's an amnesiac and Fuji's declared himself semi-publicly as a nympho.
It cannot, Fuji tells himself as he buttons up his shirt without looking at Tezuka's spent and sated face. Possibly get wronger than this.
But, of course, it can.
The guilt builds up in his eyes and his head, choking his words and his stomach clenches and tenses until he can hardly lie down.
I would stop it in a second, Fuji swears.
But he knows he's lying, every time that he sneaks out of his room and into Tezuka's. He feels like some high-class courtesan, weaving images of smoke and mist, flame and fragrance into some mysterious reflection of truth.
He'd stop it in a second, Fuji would...
...if only every night since the accident didn't feel so right.
---
End
---
Author:
serenityragesSet + Theme: 2 + 12
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: ZukaFuji (Romantic)
Rating: PG - 13
Genre(s): Angst, Romance
Warning(s): Mucho Angst and descriptions of sexual situations
Word Count: 485
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It won't make sense if you haven't read "Mistakes" and "Consequences of Mistakes".
Every night since the accident feels so unbelievably wrong.
Fuji sneaks into Tezuka's room; he's charmed the nurses enough for them to understand that this is necessary, this is urgent, this is valuable and true.
He tries not to hear them ask if it's love.
The Tezuka he fell in love with in Junior High was strong and solid and there. The Tezuka he's trying to love is wary, distant, apologetic.
Fuji misses things. He persuades Yumiko to bring him a shoebox under his bed where his prized photographs are kept.
He slips out a picture of Tezuka in Germany, asleep. Tezuka after the Nationals, triumphant. Tezuka, surprised, with that little smile dancing on the edge of his mouth like a promise.
Tezuka, Tezuka, Tezuka. With each flip of the photos Fuji finds himself more breathless and closer to screaming.
Tezuka, Tezuka, Tezuka. The chant is interspersed with accusations.
Your fault, your sin, your grief.
Fuji forges his physician's handwriting to up his morphine intake.
---
Every night since the accident feels so unbelievably wrong.
Fuji knows he shouldn't feel this way, this body, the lost soul inside it... it's still, essentially, Tezuka.
But Fuji trembles when he straddles Tezuka and kisses him into full wakefulness, tempts him into total arousal.
I can't be cheating on Tezuka, Fuji whispers to himself desperately, between kisses and that relentless chant in his head. This is Tezuka, it IS.
Then he catches Tezuka's surprised look of pleasure as he realizes that running his fingers down Fuji's spine will make the smaller man shudder and pulse with desire.
Fuji closes his eyes and doesn't open them until it's time to leave.
(Tezuka had found that out when they were fifteen and hiding in his room, Fuji biting his lip to muffle his screams and Tezuka suppressing his moans into Fuji's neck.)
Tezuka would've known that, the traitorous voice in his head says spitefully. Tezuka would've stopped the moment you closed your eyes, just to find out what was wrong.
---
Every night since the accident feels so unbelievably wrong.
That's to be expected. They're in a mental hospital, Tezuka's an amnesiac and Fuji's declared himself semi-publicly as a nympho.
It cannot, Fuji tells himself as he buttons up his shirt without looking at Tezuka's spent and sated face. Possibly get wronger than this.
But, of course, it can.
The guilt builds up in his eyes and his head, choking his words and his stomach clenches and tenses until he can hardly lie down.
I would stop it in a second, Fuji swears.
But he knows he's lying, every time that he sneaks out of his room and into Tezuka's. He feels like some high-class courtesan, weaving images of smoke and mist, flame and fragrance into some mysterious reflection of truth.
He'd stop it in a second, Fuji would...
...if only every night since the accident didn't feel so right.
---
End
---