Frisky

Summary: They all thought he had no hormones. They could have testified against their existence in the presence of the Holy Courts. Until she helped prove them wrong. Ryoma and Sakuno.

Two-shot

Apocalyptic Response.

Everyone knew that Echizen Ryoma was the resident teen heartthrob. With his dashing good looks, super tennis skills, mighty intellect, chocolaty voice, undeniable charisma, and beautiful eyes he could have passed as a super model since birth. He was chased by girls everywhere he went, whether they knew anything about tennis or not. In fact, he was one of the main reasons tennis was so popular among the masses of Tokyo, and soon, the world.

Everyone also knew that Echizen Ryoma was the very textbook definition of asexual.

Asexual- having no sex or sexual organs; free from or unaffected by sexuality; lacking in interest or desire for sex. If looked up in a dictionary, Momo was sure that it almost said, in synonyms, SEE RYOMA.

He had absolutely no interest in women. Zero, zilch, none, nil, NADA! Both girls and women alike threw themselves at him constantly, and he did not react. At all. It was both shocking and heartbreaking to the people around him. Most of his teammates, especially those his age, were jealous. Some, mostly the older ones, worried about his health and mental state. Others, mostly those who were also plagued by women or thoroughly ignored, couldn't have cared less.

Matter of fact was, Ryoma's attention span could never fit women into the equation. After so many years, everyone had accepted that. It was obvious, it was crystal clear, and it was frustrating to the female population who could do nothing but mourn the fact that all of the good ones were either taken, gay, or just not human.

Already, in so little time, it was taken for granted that no matter how many women paraded themselves around Ryoma in varying states of undress, the only thing he would do was raise a single perfect eyebrow and say: "Aren't you cold?"

Oishi, the timeless mother of all Seigaku players, Eiji, the acrobat/team mascot, and Takeshi, the one who believed in the God of Dates, had all given up on proving the masses wrong and showing the world that, indeed, Ryoma's hormones were not sealed somewhere deep in his body.

After many failed attempts, including a knife, a gun, a stripper, a M16, and a little box of Nerds, they had called it quits and declared that Ryoma's romance status was PERMANENTLY UNATTAINABLE.

Ryoma huffed in relief once Momo-sempai, and his band of cohorts, stopped pestering him on getting a girlfriend for once and let him concentrate on what truly mattered: Tennis.

It wasn't that he had anything against women, he did, after all, love his mother and cousin. Though other females usually scared him, like a starving dog would scare a small rabbit, he truly didn't hate women or anything dumb like that. They were useful creatures, women. They could cook, clean, care for you when you were sick, love like none other, and usually sang really well (with the exception of that loud girl… what was her name again? Ah, Tomoka… right). He just didn't see the benefit in keeping some useless, long lasting relationship with some girl he hardly knew. Sure, he could try to get to know one, but it was the same basic principle.

To him, a relationship held no positive points or feedback. There was no need to maintain some semblance of normalcy or love between two people when one simply couldn't, wouldn't, care. He had no time to learn how to be human. He had no time to learn the how to's and the don't do's of the simplest structure in society. He simply didn't have the focus or the goal to strive for something he considered petty and a waste of his time.

And so, he didn't even make some attempt to redeem his name, his father was rolling in tears of agony for this, because to him it was all meaningless. Normally, his pride would have interfered and demanded the taking-back of the crude assumption of his missing sexuality. However, it had nothing to do with tennis and it helped him with his issue when it came to girls when the rumor spread.

To him, it was the most ideal statement anyone could have ever made.

Some ignorant girls still tried to coax him to the 'dark side', but most of the female population had given up to simply worshipping from a distance. Watching with teary eyes as the Prince of Tennis, of Their Hearts, of Thieves (of hearts, of souls, and of everything in between), and of the School molded and transformed into a soon-to-be most eligible bachelor.

An eligible bachelor who didn't want to change his status because he lacked the interest, the discipline, and most of all the sex drive. He had no hormones, and therefore, he was asexual.

Clean and simple.

Again, Ryoma didn't mind being thought of on par with an amoeba. He actually liked amoebas, because they lead a one-track lifestyle with no changes, no curves, no pervy fathers, and no shit headed for the fan. He envied them, as a matter of fact, and wouldn't have minded dying and being reborn as one later on in life when he beat his father once and for all in tennis.

He would have been happy to remain an amoeba for the rest of his life. Until that day. (In bold letters because it was shocking, it was apocalyptic, it was KODAK.)

'.'

It had been three months, four weeks, and two days since Momoshiro, Eiji, and Oishi (and occasionally the ever elusive Inui) had declared the failure in their mission to find Ryoma's nonexistent sexuality, but who was counting?

None the less, Ryoma was glad, for now he didn't have one, two, three, sometimes four, sempaitachi on his case anymore during practice or any other time under the sun. As he continuously hit the ball against the same spot on the wall, increasing in speed and precision with every hit, he thanks the Gods above that now he could actually think in peace.

The rest of the regulars were also rallying their balls against the wall around him, setting the pace of a thousand balls per forty five minutes, all hit toward the same spot, and whoever was unable to complete four full hours of this torture was under the threat of the dangerous new Penalty Juice Inui had concocted only some days ago. Ryoma had already achieved the goal eight hundred twenty five times in under less than half an hour along with the rest of the regulars, all working extra hard once shown the power of the Penalty when Fuji himself succumbed to its destructive capabilities on the human being.

It had been a horrifying sight to see.

Now with Fuji down and out of the ball game (pardon the pun), everyone else more of less devoted themselves to completing the task as quickly as possible as if their lives depended on it. Which, oddly enough, kind of did. Fuji looked pretty lifeless…

Pok…

Eight hundred twenty six…

Pok…

Eight hundred twenty seven…

Pok, pok, pok…

Eight hundred twenty eight, eight hundred twenty nine, eight hundred thirty…

Ryoma kept counting meticulously, hitting the ball harder, faster, more precisely with each elegant swing of his racket. His concentration never strayed, not once, from the task he had been given, one he would usually have considered menial had the Inui Juice not been added as an afterthought when Eiji rebelled against such a childish exercise.

He would normally be cursing his sempai, this was an activity he could achieve without a second thought, kind of like breathing, but he focused completely on it instead. He was throwing himself into tennis; fifteen and he had yet to defeat his father so he was getting frustrated. He would not waver, he could not afford the slightest miscalculation.

Not even once.

Not even when whispering began just outside the courts, getting louder and louder by the minute.

Not even when the annoying whistling and cat calls began, along with the crude comments, disgusting suggestions, and perverted delight that started festering around the courts.

Not even when his sempaitachi began to grow curious themselves and turned to look at what was going on, to look at what the hell the male population of their school gathered around the courts were going to insane over.

Not even when Tezuka himself, the man of the hour, turned and paused to stare at what was causing the commotion, the ball he'd been rallying bouncing off the wall and away from him as he ignored it in favor of staring at the cause of it all.

He was curious, though. Who wouldn't be? I mean, the head honcho himself had turned, not only to look, but had also ended up staring. Any sane man, or amoeba if you include the nickname for the 'asexual' Ryoma, would wonder what, exactly, in the name of all seven hells had captured the big cheese's attention so abruptly.

Other than a tennis match, of course.

Pok, pok, pok, pok…

Nine hundred seventy eight, nine hundred seventy nine, nine hundred eighty, nine hundred eighty one…

He kept going until he could go no more, completing the exercise quickly. Partly from curiosity (Tezuka and the rest of the team where still staring), partly from the fact that Inui stood off some paces away, looking eerily delighted as the forty five minute limit was hastily approaching and no one seemed to be doing anything to finish up in order to stay as far as possible from his infamous Juice.

Once done, Ryoma finally turned to look at what in the Name of all that was Tennis every seemed to be staring at like it was some form of pot full to the brim with gold.

It might as well have been.

There stood fifteen year old Sakuno, dressed in a beautiful red sundress that complimented her peach skin and full lips to an extent that was almost unbelievable. It wasn't the color that amazed, though, it was the length.

In the last three years Ryoma had known her, Sakuno had developed from a frail little girl to a young woman with assets she had inherited from her grandmother and legs that could kill. Her old shyness was gone from Ryoma's constant attempts at changing her behavior (read: teasing) that she ended up growing a backbone if only to tell him to fuck off (he had been both proud and shocked the first time she'd suggested he go and pleasure himself with a tone that would have made a towering bear cower in fear), and she stood with radiant confidence behind the fence that surrounded the courts.

In that tiny, fluttery dress that ended just above mid-thigh and dipped too deeply into her breasts to be thought of as modest... with the spiked red heels she wore, the red lip gloss, and the prettypretty necklace around her neck, she looked like a million bucks tucked and rolled into a single person.

The entire team, the cat-callers, the wolf-whistlers, and the girls around the court watched Ryoma turn away with sinking, some rising because Ryuuzaki looked almost edible in that dress, hopes. It was a well known fact that, aside from his mother, cousin, and the coach, the only other female Ryoma spoke to more than once was Sakuno. If there was anyone that could make Ryoma's latent hormones spontaneously awaken from their slumber like a new-born Dracula, it would have been her.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be…

Jaws dropped, tennis rackets bounced, eyes popped out, and surprise hit new heights when Ryoma turned back for a double take and stared.

Someone make an emergency call to Zordon. THE APOCALYPSE IS COMING!

To be continued…

Please ignore the Power Rangers reference. It was impulsive of me to add it, but the damage was done, and it stuck. I… couldn't help it?

I hope you noticed that the use of Capitalized words was all for a reason. I love being sneaky. Three cheers and maybe a free cookie to whoever guesses why correctly.

Please enjoy, review, and wait for the next chapter! I was going to make this only a one-shot, but I decided: what the hell? It's called Frisky for a reason and it would be a shame to waste the title when I thought this out SO WELL.

It came to me when I was reading something, God knows what, and I wrote it down in under five minutes. Be proud of me.