Spoilers: none - Timeline: pre-Kanto tournament - Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji - Warnings: Shounen-ai. English ain't my native language. So fluffy it will clog your brain. Cliché. - Length: oneshot - Rating: K+ (contains BL snuggling) -still hates the rating system-
Disclaimer: Tennis hawtness © Takeshi Konomi, writing © me.
Summary: (oneshot)(TezuFuji) Seigaku camping out in the woods. No plot whatsoever, just a lethal dose of Tezuka and Fuji.
A/N: (short version) Wanted to write angst, ended up with a cargo container worth of fluff. I've always wanted to know how Tezuka and Fuji would approach each other for the first time.
Not a Word
Maybe it was because of the chilly night air. Maybe it was because of the surrounding darkness. Or the loneliness. Maybe it was simply something that had brewed over the last three years. Either way, as the campfire slowly smoldered into nothingness and stars shone brightly, Fuji moved to sit closer, tentatively leaning onto Tezuka's side.
Not a word was said.
The silence wasn't awkward, as no words were necessary. Fuji didn't have the will to look in his companion's face, though he placed his head on Tezuka's shoulder, watching the night sky with slanted eyes. The silence wasn't awkward as it wasn't complete silence in the first place. The fire crackled softly, the wind hummed in the forests around, sometimes a giggly laughter echoed from where the tents were. The tensai almost closed his eyes, focusing on the spreading warmth where their bodies touched. He felt every rise and fall of Tezuka's chest, every calm, deep breath. He gladly let go of his sight, enjoying every bit of it, the crisp night air laden with the scent of forest with last traces of burning wood from the fireplace tingling in his nose.
The next evening wasn't much different. Only the scent had changed into something definitely carcinogenic yet unnaturally sweet as Momo tried to roast marshmallows for Echizen earlier that evening. Fuji, amiable smile permanently etched on his face, watched the regulars slowly leave the fireplace for one reason or another as the night grew late. He tried to read Tezuka's face, but his expression was obscured by the last flickering flames reflecting in his glasses. Then the captain leaned a bit backwards, bracing himself on his arms widely, the blanket previously draped over his shoulders sliding down, pooling around his wrists.
An invitation.
Fuji gracefully rose to his feet, slowly easing himself in the crook of Tezuka's arm. Suddenly, the said arm snaked around his shoulder, carefully wrapping the blanket around them both, then retreating to the ground to support Fuji's back. Fuji immediately clutched the blanket tightly, snuggling even closer to Tezuka.
Not a word was said.
Again, Fuji tilted his head back, looking at the stars. He felt Tezuka's chin brush against the top of his head lightly, then resting there. After a while Fuji edged away, the sudden void of warmth and contact almost painful. But he swiftly grasped the arm he was leaning on, dragging it with determination over his shoulder, setting back. Tezuka reacted immediately, gently pulling Fuji in a loose headlock. His hand moved, fingers wandering across tensai's chest, unsure where to land. Fuji sensed the restlessness and let his own fingers meet Tezuka's, lacing them together.
Not a word was said.
The hitch in Tezuka's breath spoke for itself as well as the tightening of his grip on Fuji's fingers. Stars were forgotten and Fuji felt his body relax and melt, his mouth slightly open as Tezuka buried his face in his hair completely.
Not a word was said during the next day, not a gesture was made when others were watching. The next night Tezuka's hand automatically gripped Fuji's shoulder as he settled down, hesitant, as if giving Fuji a chance to escape. But the tensai deftly dragged the hand down in his lap, both of his hands caressing it lightly. Tezuka's fingers responded, equally giving and taking soft, tentative touches. Fuji seemed mesmerized by this activity, scratching, touching, nipping, holding.
It didn't take Tezuka long to bend forward, thus giving Fuji both of his hands to play with. The tensai exhaled loudly, the air coming out in a ragged gasp from his parched lips. He squirmed, climbing in Tezuka's lap completely, the blanket tugged closely around them.
Not a word was said, yet there was always a moment of hesitation for the other to back off. Neither did. Fuji sat still, enveloped in Tezuka's warmth, almost afraid to breathe not to break the spell. He felt Tezuka's head on his shoulder, hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of his neck, making his whole body shudder. He entangled their arms and fingers again, silently begging Tezuka to crush him in his embrace even more. The wind in the woods and the distant shouting contest between Kaidoh and Momo were tuned out, the only sound ringing in Fuji's ears was Tezuka's low, shaky breathing.
The cold midnight air was biting at their legs, no matter the excess of shared warmth between them. Neither of them found the idea of getting up appealing at all.
It was the final day of the summer camp and letting go meant that everything was over, shattered, irreparable. It was almost unbearable, and neither of them wanted to take the responsibility for destroying it.
It was Fuji who pulled away first, only to twist in the embrace. He gently clasped Tezuka's left elbow, sandwiching it between his warm hands, his eyes searching for Tezuka's. The captain gazed at him softly, yet his eyes were filled with bitter disappointment that it was his injury causing the trouble yet again. The cold was piercing through his elbow like a thousand of needles, and even if he tried his best to suppress the occasional spasms, Fuji somehow always knew.
Not a word was said, just a slight nod, a low sigh, tug at a sleeve and rustling of a blanket being folded.
Not a word was said as Tezuka paused meaningfully by the entrance of his tent. Fuji stopped his solemn way back to his tent he shared with Kawamura; he simply watched Tezuka, a black silhouette against the fair fabric of the tent. He didn't need his tensai eyes to see the curt, decisive nod of Tezuka's head. He felt his legs move back to his captain, letting his body act before any thoughts made the whole situation unreasonably complicated.
The tent was almost completely dark and so filled with Tezuka's scent it made Fuji dizzy. In the past few days, he had learned to savour the scent, to recognize it anywhere. It was almost addictive. Then a sound of a sleeping bag zipper was heard along with a click of glasses being set safely aside. Soon, Fuji found his way under the sleeping bag that Tezuka had left open to cover them both. He knew they would regret sleeping in their jerseys in the morning, but two people under one sleeping bag didn't have much of a choice. Fuji finally moved closer, pressing his chest to Tezuka's side and using his shoulder as a pillow, tucking his head under his chin. The moment he draped his arm over Tezuka's heaving chest, he felt another arm encircling his waist, pulling him closer; a warm hand stroking his forearm in a slow, entrancing pattern.
Fuji knew it would be truly unforgivable waste to sleep, but every breath he took clouded his mind and he felt his muscles go limp. The days of practicing took their toll and he felt himself giving into the warmth Tezuka offered, his consciousness slipping. He wanted to tell him so much, yet knowing any words of affection would sound hollow and empty, but he found himself unable even to wish him a good night. Soon, their breaths merged, chests rising evenly.
Not a word was necessary, yet Tezuka felt like voicing his thoughts.
"Thank you, Syuusuke."
------
A/N 1: (full version) Really, I wanted to write a serious fic, dripping with angst more than a faulty fire hydrant. Wanted to try my hand on post-Germany reunion (I was suddenly inspired after reading the latest chapter of Darth Claire's Wrath of Fuji), but what was supposed to be a prologue paragraph wriggled out of my grasp and turned into something so sappy in such a weird way it makes me question my sanity. Ideas, comments, reviews, suggestions and bribes are warmly accepted:3