Dangerous Fascination

Midorino Mizu

Disclaimer: Tennis no Ohjisama is the property of Konomi Takeshi.

Author’s Notes: Inspired, of course, by episode 116-117 and Fuji giggling at Kirihara. Plus, it’s fun to be mean to the Elf.

~*~*~

Fuji Syusuke was often bored.

It was a natural byproduct of being a tensai. Fuji earned perfect grades, and performed perfectly well on the tennis court, without much effort on his part. Everything was…easy.

Boring.

Sometimes, something would catch his interest for a brief time; sometimes something amused him, and sparkled a little in his mind. But it never lasted long, and eventually, he returned to his more usual, bored state.

However, on occasion, he had been known to find something absolutely fascinating, and then he lavished his undivided attention on it. Echizen had been like that, in the beginning. A supremely talented tennis player, determined, but without any real ambition – Fuji had been understandably curious about him.

But the mystique had worn off. Echizen was just a twelve-year-old boy, perhaps a little more blunt than most; his reactions were, for the most part, very typical. Not very interesting.

He was only unpredictable when he played tennis, so Fuji had eventually turned his attention to other things – specifically, to someone else.

Rikkai Dai Fuzoku’s Kirihara Akaya. Fuji had found him interesting from the moment he’d first seen him – in the video of the Rikkaidai/Fudomine match.

It had been clear, even then, that Kirihara played an unusually cutthroat game of tennis, that he was an unusual player.

Fuji liked unusual things.

Later, Echizen had had a practice match with Kirihara…he’d been pushed close to his limits, and it was a rare player who could manage that.

Yes, Kirihara Akaya was quite fascinating, indeed.

Fuji smiled across the courts at the player in question, a sharp curve of his lips accompanied by an equally sharp flash of bright blue.

The junior was sprawled across the Rikkaidai bench, an amused and arrogant expression on his face, antagonizing his teammates.

It seemed that Kirihara Akaya was good at antagonizing people. He seemed to take pride in his abilities; he seemed confident that he could goad people into doing as he wished.

Fuji’s smile widened; now, he thought, he was looking forward to his Singles 2 match, later that day. He usually didn’t consider tennis matches worth looking forward to, but this one was different.

The gleam in Fuji’s bright eyes resembled nothing more than that of a cat with a new toy. He liked Kirihara, he thought. He wanted to see what the junior could do.

This was going to be fun.

***

It was a long match, pushing each player to play with their full abilities; it was a more difficult tournament match than any other either of them had played.

Kirihara Akaya’s bright green eyes reflected his changing emotions, his changing attitude, Fuji remembered thinking. It was …entrancing, in a way, to watch the shifts from amusement and arrogance, to disbelief, and finally to bright, burning anger – all reflected in the junior’s eyes.

Kirihara couldn’t believe that Seigaku had two players of this caliber – but he was determined not to lose to both of them.

He didn’t.

“It was a good match,” Fuji said afterwards, his tone as politely conversational as it had ever been. The sun was sinking in the sky behind him, setting his light brown hair aflame.

Kirihara glared at the Seigaku senior through narrowed eyes for a moment, before a smile twisted his mouth. He shrugged as he shook Fuji’s hand.

The other boy was so delicate-looking, he thought, almost feminine. It was difficult to believe he was such a powerful tennis player, that he had the abilities to make a game that difficult for Kirihara.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “It was a good match. You couldn’t catch me, though.”

Fuji smiled, and this time it his harmless, usual, close-eyed smile. “You’re right,” he said amiably. “I couldn’t.”

They both walked away from the net, back toward their teams.

“Sorry, everyone,” Fuji said, taking in Seigaku’s stunned looks. “It looks like I couldn’t defeat him, after all.”

“It’s okay, Fuji,” Eiji said. “Rikkaidai is strong…stronger than we anticipated.

“Anyway,” he continued with false brightness. “We should go to the closing ceremonies.”

Fuji nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We should.”

He slung his tennis bag up over his shoulder, and then turned to stare across the court, where the Rikkai Dai Fuzoku team was gathered.

The object of his attention was gesticulating wildly, grinning, tossing his curly hair back.

Fuji smiled, and his eyes gleamed. “No,” he murmured low, so low that none of his teammates heard him speak. “No,” he repeated. “I didn’t catch you, this time, Kirihara.

“But I will.”

“Come on, Fuji!” called Eiji impatiently. “We’re going to be late!”

Fuji laughed softly, turning his head to face forward once more. “I’m coming, Eiji,” he said.

This, he thought as he walked slowly behind the rest of his team, this would prove to be very interesting, indeed.

He couldn’t wait.

***

The first time Fuji Syusuke showed up at Rikkai Dai Fuzoku’s late evening practice, he didn’t do anything. He stood on the sidelines and watched as Kirihara routed all the pre-regulars he came up against, his eyes following the junior’s every move.

Kirihara Akaya moved like a panther on the court, Fuji thought. He smiled faintly. Grace like that should be appreciated.

Kirihara didn’t notice him until just after his second match.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Fuji Syusuke.”

Fuji smiled, his genteel mask firmly in place. “Mmm,” he murmured. “Well, I thought I might do some scouting. If that’s acceptable?”

Kirihara snorted, and his green eyes sparkled with amused laughter. “If you think watching will help you, then go right ahead.” He set his water bottle down with a slight thump. “Who’s next?” he asked, striding back onto the court.

Fuji opened his eyes and turned his blue stare on Kirihara’s straight back. Watching, he thought, would do just fine. For now.

“I was under the impression that Sadaharu was in charge of Seigaku’s scouting efforts,” murmured a voice from behind him.

Fuji turned his head, smiling at Yanagi Renji. “Inui? He is, usually.” Seigaku’s tensai tipped his head to the side, silently regarding Rikkaidai’s strategist before returning his attention to the court, and Kirihara.

After a long moment of silence, he spoke again. “Sometimes I like to take a more personal interest, however.”

“Ah,” sighed Renji. “I see.”

Akaya, he thought, had apparently drawn the attention of Fuji Syusuke. It was a dangerous thing to do.

It would be interesting to see how their cocky junior would react to it. Fuji could be very…persistent when he wanted to be.

The very thought was nearly enough to make Renji smile.

“Are you ‘scouting’ the entire team, or just Kirihara?” he asked conversationally.

Fuji turned his head again, pinning Renji with a bright stare. Yanagi was very sharp, he thought. “Just Kirihara,” he murmured with a smile. “I trust that Inui has information on the rest of your team.”

“I’m sure he does,” returned Renji. “He’s always been very thorough.”

“Mmm, yes,” says Fuji, his attention once again on the courts, where Kirihara was luring in another prey. “He’s very dependable, that way.”

“Yes,” agreed Renji softly. He turned his head, looking over at the next court, over at where Sanada stood on the sidelines.

Sanada was looking at Kirihara and Fuji, and he looked concerned.

He was probably wise to be worried, thought Renji; he wasn’t entirely certain, himself, that Kirihara could handle Fuji Syusuke’s undivided attention.

“Well,” Rikkaidai’s data specialist said after a moment of silence. “I’m certain that I’ll see you again.”

“Yes,” returned Fuji with a smile. “I’m sure you will.”

Yes, thought Renji as he walked away from the court and over towards Sanada’s side, Kirihara was in over his head.

The interesting part would be seeing how he dealt with it.

***

Kirihara cast an irritated glance over at the sidelines. He was there again. He’d been there every evening this week.

And today, he’d brought Marui-senpai a cake.

It was driving him absolutely insane.

Kirihara flinched as his smash was met with a particularly hard return from his opponent.

“You’re distracted,” Sanada said. “If you can’t concentrate on your game, then you shouldn’t bother playing it.”

Kirihara’s eyes narrowed into thin slits of emerald green. “I can concentrate fine,” he said.

“Then do it,” replied Sanada. “The court should be your only focus right now.”

Kirihara needed to learn how to harness his energies, Rikkai’s vice-captain thought, or he would never make a good captain.

And he needed to learn how to ignore everything extraneous when he played tennis, or he would never be a better player than he was now.

“Focus,” repeated Sanada as he threw the ball up in the air and hammered it across the court.

Kirihara narrowed his eyes, limiting his vision to the court in front of him, focusing only on the game before him.

Fuji Syusuke and his infuriating behavior, he thought as he returned Sanada’s serve with force, would have to wait until later. After the match.

But when the match was over, and Kirihara looked over at the sidelines, Fuji was gone.

“Where’d he go?” he demanded of Marui.

“Huh?” Marui was still working on the cake – Fuji had brought him a two-layer strawberry chiffon, and those were meant to be savored. “Oh, he had to go. Why? Miss your boyfriend, Akaya?”

Kirihara’s eyebrows twitched and he gritted his teeth. “No,” he said vehemently. “He’s not my boyfriend. I was just wondering.”

“Uh-huh,” grinned Marui knowingly. He opened his mouth to say more, when Sanada’s deep voice cut through the air.

“Practice is over. If you’re not going to play tennis, go home.”

Marui huffed out a breath, closing the lid on his cake box. Sanada was always ruining his fun; how many chances did one get to pick at Kirihara, after all?

“See you tomorrow,” he said to the junior.

“Yeah,” muttered Kirihara, stuffing his racket back in his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “See you at morning practice.”

He followed the redhead out the gates, and lifted his hand absently in farewell before trudging off towards home.

It was well after dark now; Rikkaidai had practices three times a day during tournament season, and the last of those sessions were in the late evening, after dinner.

Kirihara scowled at the shadowy sidewalk, scuffing his feet as he walked along.

He didn’t understand why he felt disappointed that Fuji Syusuke hadn’t waited for him; why he didn’t like that the Seigaku senior had left without a word to him.

When the other player had started showing up at their late practices, over a week previous, Kirihara had been amused. He’d defeated Seigaku’s famous tensai in an admittedly close game, and now Fuji was interested.

He’d assumed that Fuji would lose interest quickly – Yokohama was a good forty minutes away from central Tokyo, after all. It had to be a hassle.

But Fuji hadn’t; he’d kept coming by, on a daily basis, and it started to be a little disturbing. There was something about the way Fuji watched him…it was as if the older boy was memorizing his movements and patterns and cataloging them all for future reference.

It sent a shiver down his spine, and he wasn’t sure why. Fuji Syusuke was rumored to be a dangerous player – but so was Kirihara Akaya. There was no reason for him to be as wary of Fuji as he was.

And now, he thought, now he was used to the wary feeling, and the feel of Fuji’s eyes on him whenever he played. He’d gotten used to seeing that irritating smile after a match.

Kirihara had gotten used to it, but there shouldn’t have been any reason for him to miss it.

He was so lost in his thoughts, in his examination of the dusty sidewalk, that he didn’t notice the slim figure leaning against the building ahead of him.

Kirihara didn’t notice it all, not until a hand reached out, snagging his arm, and he was pushed up against the rough brick of an apartment building.

“What do you think…” Kirihara started, sputtering. Then his eyes widened. “Fuji!”

“Mmm,” hummed the slim Seigaku senior. “Yes, it’s me. Were you surprised, Kirihara?”

Kirihara gritted his teeth. “No,” he lied.

Fuji’s lips twitched into a smile. “You shouldn’t ignore your surroundings like that,” he said. “Who knows what could happen.”

Kirihara narrowed his eyes. “I can take care of myself,” he claimed. He struggled a little against Fuji’s grip; for such a small person, Fuji Syusuke was unexpectedly strong. “Let go of me,” he demanded.

“I don’t want to,” said Fuji with an open-eyed smile.

A breath hissed out through Kirihara’s clenched teeth. “Do it anyway,” he growled.

Kirihara was so cute, thought Fuji with a smile. He traced his fingers lightly over the line of the junior’s jaw. Kirihara’s green eyes flickered with confusion.

Fuji wondered idly if anyone else had ever treated Rikkaidai’s unpredictable junior like this before.

He leaned closer, his blue eyes gleaming as Kirihara blanched slightly and stiffened.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m kissing you,” murmured Fuji. “What does it look like?”

He pressed his lips to Kirihara’s parted ones, his tongue darting inside to curl around the younger boy’s.

He chuckled slightly when he felt Kirihara’s fingers dig into the flesh at his waist, and pressed the junior up harder against the hard wall of the building behind them.

Then, just as he felt Kirihara relax a little, just as he heard a soft groan rising in the younger boy’s throat, Fuji stopped.

He broke away, smiling at the Rikkaidai player.

Kirihara Akaya’s cheeks were flushed, and his lips were a little bruised from the force of Fuji’s kiss. Fuji rubbed his thumb over the swollen curve of the younger boy’s bottom lip before stepping back and turning away.

“I’ll see you later, Kirihara,” he said nonchalantly as he walked back down the street, towards the train station. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and glanced over his shoulder one last time.

“You should go home,” he said with a smile. “It’s getting late, and who knows what kind of people could be lurking around.”

Kirihara stared after him until the older student had disappeared from sight, before turning his head and gazing blindly at the building across the street.

He slumped against the wall, and waited for his breath to return to normal, for his pulse to stop racing.

His heart had never beat quite this quickly before, he thought, not with anyone else; it felt like it was going to pound out of his chest.

He glanced back down the street, almost expecting to see Fuji Syusuke, even though he’d long since left.

What was it about Fuji, he wondered, that made him different than everyone else?

~fin