Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ Musing in the Afterglow ❯ Musing in the Afterglow ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't in any way own, Prince of Tennis/Tennis no Ohjisama. Holy cow if I did very little tennis would be played.

 

Please, please, please, read and review. No flames, or expect my pet dragon disguised as a 15 lbs. cat to attack your toes while you sleep.

 

Summary: My very first posted fan-fic (I'm so sorry), but there are so many possible crosses from Prince of Tennis, that never get used, and this is one of those crosses. I've never seen this cross before, so I added my little bubble into the mix. Warning: Yaoi with a very slight citrus zest. If you don't like it don't read it!

 

Musing in the Afterglow

 

Sweating, panting, spent. The boys coalesced into a tangle of arms, legs and flesh, as every cell in their bodies screamed for oxygen. Collapsing on the bed, they stared into each other's sex hazed eyes, enveloped in an unbreakable embrace.

 

 

“I wonder if anyone has ever felt this before; knowing fully that they were loved?” Tezuka mumbled, looking down into his lover's languid face, smirking, as he delicately wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I know how much he loves me, I just wonder if anyone can be as lucky as I am?” he bemused quietly.

 

Tezuka gazed into the sleeping face of his lover and reminisced.

 

`He has been with me from the very beginning. Never faltering, never questioning, always there. He is my prefect match. A balance for everything I am. I know how unrelenting I can be, how cruel I may seem, and he embraces that. He is loving and tender in the moments I cannot be. Giving and sincere, the only person to ever wholly know the depths of my heart.'

 

` I watch him with the team, so gentle and caring. Almost maternal in the way he feels for every player, the way be bonds so deeply with the people he cares about. It's in his tennis too; the fact that he is a doubles player to his very core. He needs to support, protect; he never plays as well as he does when he's with someone else. Eiji knew it too, felt his tender presence and tried to be enfolded in that sensation. But this man, this beautiful man is mine.'

 

` Sometimes it hurts so much when he looks at me, knowing how much he loves me, realizing I could never deserve him. When he gazes at me, I can feel the love radiating off of him. It bores into me and I ache, I cannot even fathom why he continues to choose me.'

 

`When I was first told about the damage done to my arm, and was so angry at the world, he was the only one there, the only voice I heard. He was the only person that could spur a reaction from my dead heart. Able to usurp the rage and self-loathing that filled me. I mourn the day that I shattered. I hurt him then, deeply; I poured my anger and grief into him painfully. And he took it without question, soothed it, embraced it, and converted it into the only solace that could ever sway a blackened soul.'

 

`While I was in re-hab for treatment, he called everyday. Cheerfully telling me about our team, practices, and what I was missing in school, but never voicing the fear and concern that surged through the distance. I was left consoling him nightly, so busy trying to convince him that I was okay, it left no room for my own doubts. I have my suspicions that that was his plan all along. The morning the doctors told me I needed another surgery on my elbow I went numb. I never said a word, but the next day, I woke up to his sleeping form curled around me. He must have left seconds after he hung up the phone with me, somehow knowing that I needed him. His face was the first thing I saw when I was awakened from the anesthesia. That beautiful face was so full of love, worry, and apprehension, that all I could do was smile. I knew right then, that I was in fact going to be just fine as long as this man was by my side.'

 

The figure in Tezuka's arms stirred slightly. Gradually recovering from Tezuka's carnal attack on his dazzling body. “Hmmm.” He mumbled incoherently burying his face further into Tezuka's chest. Instinctively, Tezuka squeezed him closer to his body. Conscious that there time alone together was dwindling, to soon be replaced by masks and artificial distances. They longed for time to stop, or for sudden societal acceptance. Reluctantly, the boy in his arms looked up, “Ne Kuni-kun, are you hungry at all?” The mere hint of a smile touched Tezuka's mouth at the nickname. Shaking his head, he delicately brushed his lips against the ear of the other boy. “I love you, Oishi.”