Author: Juxian Tang
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Summary: Sanada and Mizuki in Senbatsu Camp. I don't know who Sanada's roommate in Senbatsu Camp was but I read many intriguing versions, so I thought it would be okay to come up with my own one :)
This story was written for Sensey Chang
Saint-Rudolph is a weak team. Their manager is an oddball. Both things are quite unforgivable in Sanada's eyes. Unforgivable enough to make him wary around Mizuki: what if it is contagious, rubs off on him at the contact. He eyes Mizuki resentfully from under the peak of his cap trying to keep the distance between them. Which doesn't come off too successfully since Mizuki considers it an invitation to expand, to occupy all the space there is. It's strange how someone so skinny can claim so much space.
Mizuki is chatty, obnoxious, annoying in his determination to familiarize everyone with his thoughts and ideas - as if anyone wants to listen - to share his opinions on people and their weaknesses - almost never spot-on; always manufacturing some schemes, trying to remake the world up to his cutting - oh, a horrible idea! - bossing around like he has the right to do so. He flicks his fingers through his hair and flutters his eyelashes in the manner that is supposed to be innocence and gentle coquetry but looks sluttish in Sanada's eyes. Mizuki's hands are small, almost girlish, and he wrings them in nervous movements but even then his voice doesn't lose its innuendo.
Sanada doesn't like to cross his ways with Mizuki. But he knows surprisingly much about him and his little habits. And no matter how hard he tries to avoid Mizuki by day, at night they still are cooped in the same room - three to four meters, two beds - Sanada's at the window, Mizuki's closer to the bathroom. Mizuki's toothepaste is of lemon taste, he uses skin tonic that smells with green tea, he sleeps in a lilac silk pajama with a slightly frayed collar and every night before sleep he puts a glass of water on the bedside-table.
And his thin fingers are amazingly deft when they pull down Sanada's boxers and there, cool and swift, wrap around his penis. Mizuki's lips are warm and wet, they cover the head of Sanada's cock, and his tongue skillfully flickers on the opening - in such a way that for a moment Sanada thinks his heart is going to stop with intensity of the feeling. It is not that Sanada forgets then who Mizuki is and what he is. But when the light is out and Mizuki's fingers play his cock like they might play a flute, Sanada can't think, can only clench his teeth not to moan. Not to moan - to keep silent when Mizuki's mouth slides along his cock - which is probably the best physical sensation Sanada has ever known, nothing like his own right hand can provide.
And sometimes, unable to stop himself, he plaits his fingers into Mizuki's hair that feels soft and resilient by touch, like fur of some animal.
He hears Mizuki stroke his own cock, in synch with the movements of his mouth - it is a soft, slapping sound; he hears a quiet sigh Mizuki makes when reaches his peak. He comes a few moments later than Sanada, in complete silence, and in the same silence leaves Sanada's bed. Mizuki doesn't find it embarrassing to go to the bathroom after that and spend there nearly half an hour with his hygienic procedures. Sanada would have found it embarrassing - such a reminder of what they've just done - but he doesn't need to wash after that, Mizuki does everything very neatly. Sanada usually falls asleep under the noise of running water.
Sanada has never asked Mizuki to do any of it - it's been Mizuki's idea from the beginning - so, he thinks it's okay not to question why and what for. He doesn't know what Mizuki gets out of it - perhaps it is another of his harebrained schemes that is not going to work. But Muzuki is smart enough never to hint at their special relations by day, and Sanada is satisfied with it.
When Sanada and Atobe are announced as a part of the international contest team, Mizuki congratulates him, like some others do, and his voice is just slightly trembling at first. And then he says he will be happy to be in the same team with Sanada - and Sanada thinks he would prefer Mizuki to demonstrate his megalomania somewhere else, without Sanada around. And he is somewhat afraid that when Mizuki finally understands how ungrounded his hopes are, he will do something loud and stupid, like throw a fit, something that would discomfit Sanada.
But on the last day, when all the participants are announced, Mizuki is silent and seems almost ill, quiet like a ghost. It's strange, Sanada always wanted him to stop babbling but now he almost wants to say something to Mizuki to cheer him up. He bites his tongue not to.
They both are packing. That is, Sanada has already thrown his things into his bag, and Mizuki is squatting before his and methodically puts a layer after layer of his clothes there, and also bottles of shampoo, conditioner and god-knows-what that occupied half a bathroom during those days. His neck with dark strands of hair falling onto it looks strangely defenseless, and Sanada catches himself wanting to pass his fingertips over it - which he strictly forbids. There are things you do by day - and there are things you do only at night, shouldn't confuse them. But the silence between them is too painful, and Sanada can't help it.
"You don't want to say you hoped to get on the team, do you?" he asks. Mizuki's small hands freeze holding a t-shirt. It is bright violet and Sanada could swear there are glittering hearts embroidered on it.
"I was sure someone from Saint-Rudolph would," Mizuki says. "Yuuta-kun at least… Fuji-san got there, after all."
What to say? Fuji Syusuke is a prodigy, as everyone says, and Fuji Yuuta is just not-so-bad a player. Two different levels - just as different as the ones Sanada and Mizuki are.
"I did everything right," Mizuki says after a pause. "I had a plan. Everything should've worked out."
A plan. Another plan of his! And Sanada snaps. "Did your plan include - *this*? You'd better include good tennis into it!"
He wasn't going to say that - something clenches in his heart when he understands what he's said. He feels… guilty. Sanada doesn't like this feeling. Mizuki slowly looks up at him.
"I thought you liked - *this*," he says.
Sanada liked… maybe, liked it too much. It is exactly why he feels such an insistent wish now to separate himself from what was happening, to put the end to it, once and for all. It was okay for the summer camp but now it is over. It's not that he expects Mizuki to go after him, they will leave today and hardly will meet again. But he sees something in Mizuki's eyes, hope maybe - as if Sanada's words, even just a confirmation that he liked it, will be important for him… will somehow mend his wounded pride.
He knows Mizuki expects something from him - some words at least. And that is why Sanada keeps silent, says nothing at all. It will be better this way, just to end it now.
Mizuki turns away, zips his bag and leaves. His back is very straight.
And standing near the Rikkai team's bus, Sanada looks askance at the Saint-Rudolph group. Mizuki is there, the center of attention as always, announcing something, disciplining poor Fuji Yuuta - and his every word, every gesture, every toss of his hair is one hundred percent Mizuki.
And when the bus starts, Sanada feels relief and strange emptiness inside.
Author: Juxian Tang
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Summary: Atobe by chance witnesses a match between "destined rivals"
This story was written for Dietrich
The sound of a tennis ball tapping is something Atobe won't ever mix up with anything else. Even if it reaches him from far away through the noise of car engines. His limousine is standing still at the crossroads and Atobe looks out of the window - because he suddenly wants to feel the wind tousle his newly cut hair. And now he hears that someone plays nearby; and, judging by the sound, they play passably well.
Atobe is used to following his wishes, the more absurd the better (it disciplines the servants). He also likes to satisfy his curiosity. So he jumps out of the car without saying a word and walks away not looking back as the driver calls after him worriedly.
The tapping sound comes from somewhere on the left. Atobe maneuvers between the buildings - and suddenly walks out to a narrow passage at the court where two people play.
Atobe recognizes one of them immediately. The so-called prodigy from Seigaku - Fuji Syusuke - angelic smile, dangerousness of a black mamba. As for the second player, it takes Atobe a moment to reconcile the name and the face. Unlike what most people think of Atobe, he never forgets names and faces - another thing is that he doesn't always deign to remember them. Oh yes. Saint-Rudolph. It is their ridiculous manager, Mizuki or whatever. Atobe looks around searching for the third participant of the well-known dramatic triangle - Fuji Yuuta - but he's not there. Mizuki and Fuji are alone - and Mizuki is losing. Badly.
For the next twelve minutes Atobe watches Fuji wipe the court with the remnants of Mizuki's dignity. It isn't so boring as it sounds: Atobe knows that seeing Fuji is killing mode is really something to appreciate. In the rays of the setting sun Fuji's eyes glitter with deep indigo.
Higuma Otoshi, and the ball whizzes past Mizuki who hasn't even had time to move. He stands frozen, with a dumb expression on his face, his hair wet with sweat. Fuji lowers his racquet and smiles. Atobe thinks that in Mizuki's place he would've run at the sight of this smile as fast as he could.
"Six to one," Fuji says. "Game and match."
"Huh?" Mizuki looks like he needs some time to figure out what happened.
"You've lost," Fuji says. "Now do you remember our bet? You do what I ask you for. It was my condition when I agreed to play you."
It looks like Seigaku has got to enjoy putting bets on the result of the game, Atobe thinks unconsciously rumpling his hair. Mizuki somewhat comes round, tries to smile weakly and tosses his hair away with a gesture that he probably repeated in front of the mirror for hours. Well, as far as Atobe notices, Fuji is quite immune to the grace of this gesture.
"Of course, Fuji-san. I always pay my debts."
"Then, I wish you to leave my brother alone."
Mizuki looks so startled - as if it is the last thing he's expected to hear. And what could he expect, Atobe thinks, that Fuji would ask him to strip tease here?
"What?" Mizuki asks in such a voice that if Atobe were a more compassionate man, he would feel sorry for him. "What?"
"Ideally I would ask you to leave all our family alone. But Yumiko and I are capable of looking after ourselves. So I ask only for Yuuta. It's autumn already, you aren't in the club any more, and Yuuta doesn't need private training. And stop dragging him along like some kind of minion. Your way of living might influence him badly."
I wonder what way of living it is, Atobe thinks. He watches Mizuki raise his hand and solemnly wrap a strand of hair around his finger. But his voice sounds fluent as always.
"Nfu. Does Fuji-san think Yuuta-kun is some kind of a thing to take and leave alone? Yuuta-kun himself decides in whose company to spend his time and whose menu for training to use. I don't think he'll understand why his brother tries to interfere his life *like that*."
"I thought you'd say that," Fuji says calmly. "Should've known better than to play someone who is ready to wiggle out of his loss. And just think of all that talk of destiny and rivals."
Hm, it looks like Fuji has talents in other fields but tennis. For example, in manipulating people, Atobe thinks, in such a way that even he could envy.
"I'm not…" Mizuki starts. "I'm not going to go back on my word."
"Nice to hear," Fuji says and looks up. "The more so as we have a witness. Atobe-san?"
"Fuji-san." Atobe leisurely walks down to the court. He ignores Mizuki - why, some manager from Saint-Rudolph shouldn't get an idea that Atobe might remember his name! - and Mizuki looks satisfyingly chagrined with this attitude. "You lose - you pay, matter of honor," he says.
"All right." It seems Fuji is musing but Atobe is sure his next remark has been prepared well in advance. "If Mizuki-san doesn't want to do what I ask of him, I'll choose another request. What about… would you, for example, walk the railing of the bridge? Three spans. I hope it's not something you'll mind."
Atobe looks up at the bridge over the railway, then looks at Fuji.
"You want to get him killed?"
"There is a net. Expressly to prevent suicides. Mizuki-san's life will be completely out of danger."
Is Fuji getting more merciful, seeing that his plan regarding Yuuta hasn't worked? Walking the railing seems like an easy thing. He could've asked Mizuki to cut his hair, Atobe thinks darkly.
Mizuki is silent, and Atobe looks at him in wonder - and my God, he's so white - as if he's going to pass out right now. His stare is frozen, pupils huge like saucers.
"Yuuta…" His voice doesn't obey him immediately. "Did Yuuta-kun tell you about my acrophobia*?"
"He mentioned to Yumiko that he had an acquaintance with such a problem," Fuji answers conversationally. "And I made a conclusion you would be the only who'd know such a word. Though I think it really is simple cowardice."
Cruel, Atobe thinks; well, Fuji Syusuke might look like an angel but beware believing in his angelic nature.
"You wanted that," Fuji says. "You insisted on playing this match. Stalked me, followed me around, said we're destined rivals." Mizuki looks like he's going to be sick. "Besides, you have a choice," Fuji says.
For a few moments Mizuki keeps silent looking down at the toes of his shoes, then takes a deep breath. "All right. All right, I'll do it." Fuji has won, Atobe thinks, he won't have to share his bother with anyone from now on. Fuji's eyes gleam with bright blue. "All right, I'll walk there."
Mizuki's voice breaks at the end of the phrase, he sounds like a petulant child. Atobe can swear Fuji looks disappointed. And Mizuki looks scared half-conscious, you can see it even without an insight. But a bet is a bet, Atobe thinks passing his hand over the remnants of his hair, nobody forced you to accept it.
The bridge is giving away the heat it's accumulated through the day and under the asphalt steel constructions buzz softly with the passing cars. The railroad below seems very far away. The net is here, true, but it looks like it won't be able to hold even a mosquito - although Atobe is sure it is quite sturdy.
They stand on the sidewalk, three of them, and Mizuki's thin pale hand touches the railing - as if he tries to get used to the idea of what he'll have to do. The railing is about ten centimeters wide and flat, it should be very easy to walk it... unless you're shit-scared of heights, that is. The wind tousles Mizuki's hair.
"So?" Atobe says. "Are we going to spend the whole night here?"
Fuji might be all right with it, might enjoy every moment of his rival's fear - but excessive sadism is not among Atobe's favorite pastime (the key word is "excessive"). The sooner Mizuki starts, the sooner it is over.
Atobe could swear that those sentenced to death mount the scaffold with more enthusiasm than Mizuki gets onto the railing - and squats there holding the column of the span with both hands. Atobe might have thought he's procrastinating - if not for his stare… completely lost, out of reality. As if Mizuki is functioning on autopilot. The knuckles of his fingers are white - it looks like he'll unclench them only if he gets them broken.
It's not like Atobe wants to spoil Fuji's fun - but his ability to act effectively and solve problems kicks in. He snaps his fingers in front of Mizuki's face - twice, one time more than Atobe is used to - until Mizuki focuses on him. Mizuki's eyes are dark-blue - almost black - and with such dark eyelashes that they seem to be drawn with a black pencil.
"Get up," Atobe says. "Look at me. Don't look down."
It works. Of course, it will - he is Atobe, after all. Even in his distress Mizuki can't ignore the orders of "ore-sama". His eyes cling to Atobe's face - in the last hope. Very slowly he lets the column go and straightens, with his arms thrown apart - and walks after Atobe who goes backwards step after step.
When it's about two meters to the end of the span the train below whistles. Oh no, Atobe thinks knowing what'll happen even before it actually happens. Mizuki looks away from him, looks down - and his face immediately acquires a pale-green color. His eyes roll up.
"Shit, he'll fall." And when Mizuki starts sliding down slowly, Atobe gets in time to grab his hand and pull him down onto the sidewalk.
Mizuki sags in his arms, heavy and limp, as if boneless. His eyes are closed and Atobe sees tiny drops of sweat over his upper lip. Fuji takes out a bottle of water, half-covers the neck with his finger and splashes some water onto Mizuki. Mizuki shakes his head, opens his dim eyes - and then his stare suddenly focuses on Atobe.
"Saved," Mizuki says in a shaky voice - and his hand that reaches towards Atobe, touches his hair, is also shaking. "Thank you. I knew it would happen, Atobe-sama, it was fate that united us. We have so much in common, we're meant to be together… maybe, destined soulmates… or more."
He's delirious, Atobe thinks. Then he raises his eyes at Fuji - and sees a blissful smile. He couldn't help but think he somehow got a rotten end of the stick here but he can't quite say why. Mizuki keeps holding his hand and looking at him with misty eyes.
"You don't want him to walk other two spans, do you?" Atobe asks carefully. Fuji smiles even brighter.
"No. Of course not. I have to say I'm very satisfied with the result. *Absolutely* satisfied."
"Fine." Atobe shrugs. "I probably should drive him home - well, to the dorms."
As they walk to the car, Mizuki alternately looks up at Atobe with shining eyes and looks down blushing gently. In the limo he gets a mirror from his bag, looks at it for a few moments, tidying his hair, then sprinkle mouth-refresher into his mouth- and finally turns to Atobe.
"Now you can kiss me," he says.
His lips taste with menthol and fruity lip balsam.
In the next days and weeks Atobe realizes that to be "destined anyones" according to Mizuki is not such an easy task. But sometimes, when Mizuki lies in his bed, looking at him with adoring eyes… Atobe thinks it somehow is worth it.
* Acrophobia - fear of heights