The Bet

Midorino Mizu

Disclaimer: Tennis no Ohjisama and all associated characters are the property of Konomi Takeshi.

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Breath hissed out between clenched teeth, and green eyes glared with an intensity that would have destroyed a lesser person.

Fuji Syusuke wasn’t fazed.

He raised an eyebrow at Kirihara. “Is there something wrong?” he asked. “You look uncomfortable, Akaya.”

His fingers were tracing patterns on Kirihara’s pale skin, hidden from view underneath the younger boy’s shirt, occasionally grazing his fingers lightly across a spot that made the dark-haired Rikkai player gasp softly.

Fuji Syusuke, Kirihara thought, was infuriating.

“I might not look uncomfortable,” he managed to spit out, “If you’d let me go!”

Fuji chuckled, pushing the hem of Kirihara’s cotton school shirt up higher, bending down to suck lightly at the exposed skin. Kirihara jerked up, and a slightly satisfied smile curved Fuji’s lips.

“I can’t let you go,” he murmured softly. “You haven’t learned how to play by the rules. Until you do, I have to take some…precautions.”

He wouldn’t have bothered, he reflected, but Eiji had seen his back after practice, and he’d been horrified by the violently red marks.

Naturally, a horrified Kikumaru Eiji had managed to draw the attention of the entire tennis club, and Fuji had been faced with the task of explaining away the long thin scratches that ran up and down his back. It hadn’t been any easy thing to manage, even for him, and he had no desire to do it a second time.

He didn’t mind the marks; he even liked the sharp burning pain when Kirihara’s fingernails raked down his back. But he didn’t like being the center of attention, not unless he’d planned on it himself. So Kirihara needed to be taught a few lessons in restraint, in order to prevent such situations from occurring a second time.

Besides, he reflected. It was fun. Kirihara had the most amusingly furious reactions.

“When you show me you can control yourself,” Fuji murmured, “I’ll consider letting you loose.” Maybe. A struggling, hissing Kirihara Akaya was a lot of fun, and in truth, Fuji was loath to let go.

“I can control myself,” muttered Kirihara sulkily. He fidgeted, testing the fabric that Fuji had knotted around his wrists again.

It wasn’t fair, he thought to himself. Fuji was using his own school tie against him. And when he got home, his mother was going to scold him, and make him iron it himself.

It wasn’t even his fault.

He scowled at the eyebrow Fuji had lifted. “What?” he said. “I can control myself. You’re not even letting me try to prove it.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Fuji murmured. His mouth curved into a smile that was almost benign. Kirihara wasn’t fooled.

“Well, then,” the older boy continued. “Shall we make a bet?”

“A bet?” asked Kirihara. Suddenly, he thought, he felt a little cautious. There was a familiar glint in Fuji’s blue eyes – the one he saw every time the Seigaku player was planning something. “What kind of bet?”

“If you can stay completely still for ten minutes,” Fuji said. “Then I’ll untie you. But if you can’t…” He let his words dangle in the air and shrugged.

“If I can’t, then what?” asked Kirihara irritably.

Fuji’s smile widened. “Well…if you win, then you won’t have to find out, will you? Hold still.”

Kirihara gritted his teeth. “Fine,” he muttered. He’d play Fuji’s game, he continued determinedly to himself, and he’d win it.

Fuji smiled as he flicked open the button of Kirihara’s school pants and slowly lowered the zipper, his knuckles grazing across the younger boy’s hardening cock. Kirihara quivered, he noted, just slightly; but he didn’t move.

“Good boy,” murmured Fuji as he slipped the heavy fabric of Kirihara’s pants down over his hips. He traced his fingertips down the length of the other boy’s erection, and smiled when Kirihara stiffened; when he almost arched up, almost jerked forward in reaction.

“Now, careful, Akaya,” he admonished. “You don’t want to give up the game just yet, do you?”

Kirihara scowled at Fuji for a long moment before forcing his lips to curve into a smirk. “Who’s giving up?” he asked. “Are you afraid you won’t win…Syusuke?”

Fuji’s eyes widened slightly; he’d called Kirihara ‘Akaya’ for a while now, almost since their strange little relationship began, but Kirihara had always stubbornly called him Fuji. As if calling Fuji anything more familiar would be accepting an intimacy he wasn’t ready to admit to.

Fuji chuckled, bending his head. “Not at all, Akaya,” he said in a low whisper. Fuji slowly began to slip the small translucent buttons of Kirihara’s shirt through their holes, revealing the other boy’s pale, muscled chest to his gaze. “I always win. When I want to.”

His smile widened as Kirihara’s dark eyebrows drew together in a confused line, as a perplexed frown twisted his mouth. For all his boredom with the majority of his opponents, tennis or otherwise, Fuji thought, Kirihara always wanted to win. And he couldn’t fathom anyone who didn’t want that. Someone who had other motivations.

Fuji Syusuke almost always had other motivations.

He bent his head, light brown hair obscuring his face, and grinned as Kirihara drew in his breath, as he shivered at the feel of Fuji’s small, sharp teeth dragging across his skin.

He was, he thought, going to win this game – Kirihara Akaya didn’t stand a chance. But it would be interesting, Fuji mused as he sucked lightly at the other boy’s hard, flat nipple. It would be interesting to see how long Kirihara would last.

Not very long, from the looks of things. Fuji gave him two minutes, tops.

A string of invectives spilled from Kirihara’s lips, growing more desperate and angrier as Fuji kissed a path down his chest, slowly edging closer to the loosened waist of his pants.

He wanted to squirm, to arch up, to press closer to Fuji’s hot mouth – but he didn’t. He couldn’t…and Kirihara wasn’t sure if anything had frustrated him more in his entire life.

“Fuck, Fuji,” he groaned as the older boy traced a path with his tongue just above the thatch of curly hair around his cock. He shook with the effort to hold himself still, and Fuji chuckled.

“I don’t think so,” he whispered against Kirihara’s skin. “Not yet, at any rate.

“You’re doing very well, Akaya,” he continued as he slipped the other boy’s trousers down his tensed thighs. “I’m impressed.”

He leaned back for a moment, looking down at the younger boy, admiring his handiwork. Kirihara’s eyes were narrowed, angry slits of bright green, and his cheeks were high with color. Fuji ran light fingers over Kirihara’s thigh. And Akaya’s muscles were all tense, he thought. They practically quivered under his skin.

Kirihara Akaya had unexpectedly good self-control, Fuji thought as he bent his head and rained soft kisses across the Rikkaidai player’s hipbone and down his thigh. He smiled, feeling already hard muscles bunch and tense as he brushed his lips lower. Yes, he mused, Kirihara had done unexpectedly well, but the game was about to end. He could feel it.

“Dammit, Fuji!” groaned Kirihara as he felt warm breath wash over his cock for a moment, before he felt Fuji’s mouth again, this time licking and nipping at the skin of his inner thigh. “Don’t!”

He felt himself start to squirm, trying to avoid Fuji’s hot mouth, and he knew he’d lost, again.

Fuji, he thought furiously, had probably never doubted the outcome. No, he corrected himself as Fuji looked up, pinning him with a sharp, knowing, blue gaze, there was no ‘probably’ about it. Fuji had known what would happen, eventually. It had just been a matter of seeing how long Kirihara would last.

He wondered if there would ever be a game with Fuji that he could win.

Kirihara scowled down at Fuji. “Well?” he snapped.

Fuji smiled and bent his head, his loose hair brushing across Kirihara’s cock. The younger boy shuddered slightly, no longer bothering to try to contain his reactions. “I’ll let you know what prize I’m claiming,” he murmured, his words a rush of air over Kirihara’s sensitive skin. “Later.”

And then his mouth was on Kirihara, and the other player jerked up with a harsh cry. Fuji didn’t do this to him very often, he thought. Kirihara didn’t know why – Fuji Syusuke’s motives, as always, were something of a mystery – but he thought, sometimes, that the Seigaku student just liked to keep him off-guard. It would be very like him.

A long, loan moan broke through Kirihara’s lips as he felt Fuji’s tongue trace a slow path up his cock. “Uh, faster,” he groaned. “Fuji…”

Fuji chuckled softly, and Kirihara thrashed on the bed at the feel of it, before he felt Fuji’s mouth leave him. He opened his eyes to see Fuji leaning over him. “You’re still so impatient, Akaya,” he whispered before bending down to kiss the other boy. “We’ll have to work on that,” he continued before sliding back down Kirihara’s body, and taking the Rikkaidai player in his mouth again.

Kirihara’s fingernails dug into his palms as Fuji’s tongue swirled around his cock in expert motion, and a choked groan broke passed through his lips. “Fuji,” he gritted out between labored breaths. “Stop teasing. It’s not fair.”

This time, Fuji Syusuke didn’t bother to answer; instead he applied his teeth and his tongue, doing something that made Kirihara toss back his head and yank at his bonds again. Akaya was always so wild, Fuji thought, as he held the other boy’s thrusting hips still. His own little wild child…sometimes he only seemed half-civilized. But Fuji didn’t mind that, either.

Kirihara Akaya was interesting because he wasn’t like other people; Fuji had no desire to try to change him, make him ‘normal.’ There wasn’t any challenge to normal, after all.

The challenge was what Fuji liked best.

He slipped his mouth off Kirihara’s cock and started to manipulate it with his fingers, long, smooth strokes interspersed with shorter rougher ones. He never let Kirihara finish in his mouth, he mused; that might be selfish of him. But he liked to watch Akaya’s face when he came, watch his bright eyes dilate into there was only a rim of burning green around pure black pools, watch Kirihara bite viciously into his own lip to try to contain his cries.

It never quite worked, Fuji thought as the younger boy’s back bowed back and his eyes flared wide. No matter how much Kirihara tried, he could never really bite back his screams. And that was fine.

Akaya had such a pretty voice, Fuji reflected as he felt Kirihara explode in his hand. It was at it’s prettiest when he couldn’t help but scream.

***

The sight that greeted Kirihara Akaya a few minutes later, when he opened his eyes, made him scowl.

“Why haven’t you untied me yet, Fuji?” he snapped.

“Hmm?” murmured the older boy. He was lazily tracing patterns on Kirihara’s chest with his finger, as if they had all the time in the world. “Oh, I didn’t think of it. You lost, after all. Didn’t make it for more than five minutes.”

Kirihara gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore Fuji’s gentle taunting. “Would you like to ‘think of it’ sometime in the near future?” he asked. “I need to go home, I have homework.”

“That’s a shame,” Fuji said low. He came gracefully to his feet, and unknotted Kirihara’s tie with ridiculous ease. He smiled when the other boy scowled at him, rubbing vigorously at his wrists. “And I was looking forward to having some more fun.”

It was always a little gravitating, he thought, when he could make Kirihara Akaya blush.

“My mother’s probably already got dinner fixed,” the Rikkaidai player said gruffly. His eyes widened when he saw Fuji’s expression brighten. “What the hell are you thinking this time?”

“Nothing at all, Akaya,” Fuji said innocently. “But it’s been a while since I had your mother’s excellent cooking. Won’t you invite me?”

Kirihara gave the Seigaku senior a suspicious look before sighing. “Like I have a choice,” he muttered. “Well, come on.”

They were silent on the walk home; Kirihara was thinking up excuses his mother would buy.

Fuji was thinking about Kirihara’s ties.