Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis and as such do not make any money from the production of this work. This is a work of fan-fiction and all rights belong to the respective parties.

A/N: Greetings and welcome to my first Prince of Tennis fic. Just a couple of quick things before you continue reading so please bare with me! Firstly, this will a yaoi fic as in boy x boy. If you don't like that sort of thing or it makes you feel uncomfortable then I would suggest hitting the back button in your browser. If you choose to continue regardless then please don't flame. You have been warned.

Secondly, this will be a Yukimura/Ryoma fic. I seem to find a distinct lack of multi-chaptered Sensual Pair where Ryoma isn't a girl so I thought I'd write my own. Also, this does not take in to account Shin Tennis no Ouji-sama and there is a slight time jump from the end of the original manga. I've incorporated some of the anime too just because I like how things a worded better at certain points. Just remember that Ryoma is now fifteen.

Lastly, I don't know Japanese fluently by any stretch of the imagination so if I do mess up anything I apologise in advance and thank you for any help. Reviews are always welcome and I hope to update this regularly along with my Bleach work too. Thanks for braving this and I hope you enjoy Challenge Me.

Challenge Me
A Prince of Tennis Fanfiction

Chapter One: Yasashii no Yume

We are drawn to each other
Like drops of water, like the planets
Kubo Tite

"Hmm, you're not too bad..."

"This game isn't about jacket dropping, bouya..."

"Rai...Koori no Sekai...Super Great Ultra Delicious Daisharin Yama Arashi..."

"Do you mean to continue in this fashion, bouya?..."

"Where is the ball?..."

"This is your loss, bouya..."

"Bouya...bouya...bouya..."

Ryoma woke with a start, a light sheen of sweat glistening upon his body. He panted lightly, his heart beating frantically in his chest. He put a hand over it attempting to calm down and regulate his breathing. It had happened again. Ever since he had competed in the Zenkoku Taikai against Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku he had been having these dreams; ever since he had played against him.

He turned over and glanced at the digital display of the clock beside his bed. The numbers glowed red as his eyes adjusted to the soft glare they emitted. 04:48. He groaned, knowing from previous experience that he would never be able to get back to his precious sleep. He loved his sleep almost as much as he loved tennis. He half-heartedly smirked at the irony that him of all people could usually sleep so well in the city that never sleeps.

He lay on his back staring at the shadowed white ceiling of his room. Why can't I forget about him? Why is he haunting me? I haven't seen him since the match and yet it's still like he has some sort of hold over me! He audibly sighed before chastising himself for thinking about him again.

"Mada mada dane, Ryoma."

It was barely 5am when Ryoma left the warmth of his single bed and ambled over to his wardrobe, careful to not trip over any of the tennis balls that he knew littered his floor. He opened it and quickly pulled on his usual tennis outfit: navy shorts, red polo top, sweat band and tennis shoes. If he wasn't so used to getting changed in the dark of the early morning then he would have been surprised that he managed to actually dress himself. He left his bedroom and made his way in to the hall of his apartment snatching his plain, black sports jacket along the way. He would have taken his old Seigaku regulars one if it wasn't for the fact that it was now horribly too small for him. He had finally had a growth spurt the previous year although he knew that he still fell short of the height of his old senpai-tachi. He completed the look with his white cap.

He let him self out of the apartment before slipping the earphones of his i-pod in to place. He took off, jogging down the plethora of streets that New York City had to offer, sure to keep himself out of the way of those that had already started to move. Music blared from the small buds lodged in his ears as he smirked over the fact that he was willingly running without the 'incentive' of Inui Juice. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of the volatile drink as he continued to think of his year at Seishun Gakuen. He missed the other regulars from the team, hell he sometimes found himself missing Horio of all people. It wasn't just them either: Hyoutei, Fudomine, they had all become friends during that year and they had all helped him when he had lost his memories, even Sanada from Rikkai Dai...No! Don't think about them, you're not supposed to be thinking about him. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he continued to run and paced it to the rhythm of the song that was playing.

He had left Japan to enter in to the pro-tennis circuit and now a mere two years later he was bored. He wasn't in it for the money like some people that he had played, but rather he was there for the want and the need to play tennis against good players. He had wanted a challenge and most of the time he didn't even have to play seriously against them. It wasn't only the lack of players either, but also the fact that he had fangirls. Sure, he had had them back at Seigaku, but he hated people who were obnoxiously loud and fawned over him; he especially hated the attention. He wasn't a naïve twelve year old whose world revolved around beating his father any more, although tennis was still an integral part of him. It irked him that he had lost his dream and was without one. He wanted to beat his father and he finally had; he wanted to become a pro and now that he was, he secretly hated it. He hadn't played or even seen anyone from Japan that he knew, his only contact being the occasional e-mail. He had never finished his match with Fuji; he'd never gotten the chance to play Tezuka or Atobe again.

He stopped suddenly when he realised where is thoughts were actually heading. He wiped the sweat from his brow and tugged his trademark cap down. He had come to the conclusion that it wasn't only the people themselves that he actually missed and the friendship that they gave him, but also it was the sheer challenge that they had always provided. It was the underlying rivalry and need to be the best that had always had his heart pounding and adrenaline surging through his body. In essence, he missed playing tennis in Japan.

He levelled his breathing and reached in to the pocket of his shorts withdrawing his phone. He flipped it open as he removed the earphones from his ears letting them bounce lightly on his chest. He scrolled down the contact list before pressing the call button and placing it to his ear. He waited as he heard the tell-tale sound of the phone that he was calling ring once, twice, thrice; before connecting with a click.

"Moshi moshi."

"Oyaji," Ryoma replied to the voice at the other end.

"Seishounen, you're up rather early...or are you still awake after a wild night with some hot babes," Nanjirou teased.

"Urusai, baka."

"Gomen gomen. So why are you calling? You never call."

Ryoma remained silent for a moment thinking over how exactly to tell his father what he was thinking without the man resorting to his favourite pastime; teasing.

"Seishounen..."

"Ne, Oyaji," Ryoma interrupted, "I want to come back to Japan."