Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ Culpa ❯ Chapter 1
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Mikken 
Hints of YuuMi; Yuuta misses practice, and Mizuki tries to get him to make up for it.
Anime/Manga: Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 01.19.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 440 | Visits: 763 | Status: Completed
Hints of YuuMi; Yuuta misses practice, and Mizuki tries to get him to make up for it.
Anime/Manga: Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 01.19.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 440 | Visits: 763 | Status: Completed
Culpa
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is property of Konomi Takeshi.
"Yuuta."
That elicits a little startle of guilt from the second year standing in the doorway. It takes Yuuta a while to register the fact that he's feeling guilty for standing in the doorway of his own room, that there's no explanation as to why Mizuki is even in his room.
"Yuuta-kun," the name comes again, and there's something in Mizuki's tone that makes him flinch. "Why weren't you at practice today?"
Ah, so maybe that's where that twinge of guilt had come from. He isn't sure, exactly, how to respond to that, when it was because his brother had invited him home (lured with pie, he thought, that his sister had made). Not that he has a chance to, anyway, when Mizuki begins speaking again.
"You missed practice, Yuuta-kun." Mizuki's voice licks across his name, like it's something to be savored. "How are you going to make up for it, now?"
"Tomorrow, Mizuki-san, I promise."
"I think tonight might be better," and Mizuki pushes off the bed and slinks over to where Yuuta stands. Mizuki's lips are dry against his, but the tip of the warm, wet tongue induces him to allow entrance. Mizuki's fingers are working on the buttons of his shirt, and he hooks his thumb at the hem of Mizuki's pants. No more than that - he's not so cruel, but he can't help un-tucking the white blouse to slip his hands against warm skin.
Yuuta turns them around so that Mizuki's back faces the wall, breaks the kiss, and closes the door between them.
Across the door, Mizuki says his name again, "Yuuta," angry and acerbic, and it doesn't take much for Yuuta to picture him on the other side, arms crossed, teeth worrying at his lower lip as he is apt to do.
"I said tomorrow, Mizuki. I promise."
There's no reply for awhile, and Yuuta thinks that maybe Mizuki has left, but then he hears Mizuki's voice through the door, not so harsh, tinted again with that unctuousness that is so familiar. "I'll hold you to that."
"Of course."
Yuuta notices, long afterward, that Mizuki never asked why.
That elicits a little startle of guilt from the second year standing in the doorway. It takes Yuuta a while to register the fact that he's feeling guilty for standing in the doorway of his own room, that there's no explanation as to why Mizuki is even in his room.
"Yuuta-kun," the name comes again, and there's something in Mizuki's tone that makes him flinch. "Why weren't you at practice today?"
Ah, so maybe that's where that twinge of guilt had come from. He isn't sure, exactly, how to respond to that, when it was because his brother had invited him home (lured with pie, he thought, that his sister had made). Not that he has a chance to, anyway, when Mizuki begins speaking again.
"You missed practice, Yuuta-kun." Mizuki's voice licks across his name, like it's something to be savored. "How are you going to make up for it, now?"
"Tomorrow, Mizuki-san, I promise."
"I think tonight might be better," and Mizuki pushes off the bed and slinks over to where Yuuta stands. Mizuki's lips are dry against his, but the tip of the warm, wet tongue induces him to allow entrance. Mizuki's fingers are working on the buttons of his shirt, and he hooks his thumb at the hem of Mizuki's pants. No more than that - he's not so cruel, but he can't help un-tucking the white blouse to slip his hands against warm skin.
Yuuta turns them around so that Mizuki's back faces the wall, breaks the kiss, and closes the door between them.
Across the door, Mizuki says his name again, "Yuuta," angry and acerbic, and it doesn't take much for Yuuta to picture him on the other side, arms crossed, teeth worrying at his lower lip as he is apt to do.
"I said tomorrow, Mizuki. I promise."
There's no reply for awhile, and Yuuta thinks that maybe Mizuki has left, but then he hears Mizuki's voice through the door, not so harsh, tinted again with that unctuousness that is so familiar. "I'll hold you to that."
"Of course."
Yuuta notices, long afterward, that Mizuki never asked why.