Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ Not Yet ❯ Mada Mada Dane ( One-Shot )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

His eyes widened as she reached up her slender arms in a stretch, tugging the end of the sundress higher up her muscled thighs. It was a little hot out here, he conceded.

Not Yet
By Cait


The day had started so innocently.

In the early-afternoon sun he’d strained, as usual, on the dirty court his father had made from the open space of the temple grounds. Sacrilege, if there was such a thing to that man, for certain. He’d felt his frustrations build as the day wore on. His father had that magical ability to get under his skin. He was gaining, though. He could feel it in his bones, but that didn’t sway his somber expression. Back and forth they went, sometimes forgetting to keep score - as though it really mattered.

You know, typical weekend.

Tired and sweating, it was mid-afternoon when he noticed she stopped by. Father had managed to ring the bell with a hard hit and in his proud glee he’d thrown two fingers up happily in the peace sign towards the bench beside the court. He didn’t know how long she’d been there. She was smiling when he looked over stupidly. Her calloused hands clapped in elegant motion and matched her eager smile. His father, the ham, bowed to the pretty high school girl so apparently impressed with his handiwork. She only smiled brighter.

Ryoma scoffed and adjusted his hat across his disheveled hair. It wasn’t until she stopped her clapping and waved sweetly and gently with her whole arm like the cute-sie girls on television that he noticed her long hair laid straight down her back, pooling at her shoulders some, rather than being restrained in their usual tight, twin braids.

“What are you doing here, Sakuno-san?” He prompted, in his usual low, stoic tone.

“Oh, nothing,” she replied with a slight blush, reaching her hand behind her slender neck to flip out her hair. It was very warm outside, he suddenly realized.

A clucking noise and the ring of the bell roused him from his reverie. His father’s impish grin was directed at him, again, and the ball he’d struck rolled behind his son like a lost chance.

“It’s so hot out here!” He wined, shoving his bent wrists against his robe-covered waist. “I think I need something cool to drink. Play nice while I’m gone!”

With that, he left. As suddenly as usual, he was marching inside the building and calling out to his wife that he wanted something tasty and cool to sooth his mighty thirst. His father obviously took too much enjoyment from beverage advertisements.

By the time he looked back to the opposing court, she was standing there: Bent over, her eyes scanning his father’s discarded racket. Why the hell had he discarded his racquet? Instinctively he tossed his own over his shoulder and watched as she casually picked it up and examined it as though it was a moon rock or a four leaf clover. She was wearing a sundress, he realized, as the wind blew and ruffled the ends of the short skirt. It was by far not the shortest thing he’d ever seen on a girl. It exposed her shoulders. It was kind of pretty, he found himself thinking.

She set down the racquet where she found it and turned on her toes. Pulling a tie from around her tiny wrist, she pulled the brunette mass into a crude ponytail that she then expertly twisted into a messy bun. Long tendrils of hair spilled out in every direction, but when she took her hands away, the heap remained stationary.

“Shall we play nice?” She asked.

He found himself blinking several times and staring a head at her. Oh yeah. His father had said that. Why the hell would his father have said that?

She picked up the racquet she’d previously set down and twisted it in her fingers. He realized the ball had somehow ended up in his hands when she fell into a familiar stance. He was game.

“Be gentle.”

He spun his racquet in his fingers and moved it from left hand to right before popping off a moderately slow underhand serve. She ran to the left and popped the ball back at him with a small grunt. It moved slow by his standards, of course. With little effort he returned. Then, she returned. Then, he returned. He made care to return her hits unhurried and straight, but with enough of a varied destination to make her work for her return.

Their volley lasted minutes. A cool breeze rustled the trees and tousled the hair beneath his cap. The lazy afternoon atmosphere hypnotized him into emitted a short yawn and stretching his shoulders as he returned again, forcing her to run to her right. She wasn’t half bad, he thought, for a girl her age.

Nearby he heard the meow of Karupin and some voice that he didn’t really care to listen to. The silly cat was almost cheering him on from the sidelines. No need for that, Karupin, he thought. Go sleep in a sunny patch or something.

It was then he heard another soft cluck and a faint ring. Behind him once again the temple bell had been struck. In the opposing court he saw Sakuno bashfully digging her toe into the ground.

He felt a smile twinge at the corner of his lips. Maybe he’d gone too easy on her. The ball found itself tossed into the air and with ferocious speed crossed the net and landed a few inches from her feet. Startled she emitted a squeal and jumped. Her borrowed racquet dropped from her thin fingers and crashed to the court below.

“My hand was so sweaty I dropped it,” she mumbled. “Maybe your dad is right. It’s quite warm out here. I could sure use something to drink.”

His eyes widened as she reached up her slender arms in a stretch, tugging the end of the sundress higher up her muscled thighs. It was a little hot out here, he conceded.

Once again the racquet found its way to his shoulder. He turned in silence towards the house. He heard her trot up behind him, a slight pant to her breath.

“It’s cooler in the house.”

“Here, I don’t know what to do with this,” she said as they reached the porch. He opened the door and set his own racquet down beside the entrance. She did the same.

“I’ve… I’ve never been in your house before, Ryoma-kun. It’s very elegant.” Her voice carried a tone of wonder. He couldn’t fathom why. Even if it was part of the temple, it was just a house.

Her gaze wandered about the walls and the mats and drank up the whole of the environment.

“Water or Gatorade?”

“Hungh?”

He scowled a little into the door of the fridge. And people called him oblivious!

“What kind?” Came the voice again, this time closer. He felt her lean over his extended arm to peer into the contents of the fridge. His arm jerked back and a blush crept to his cheeks when the undercurve of her breasts grazed his tired elbow. Her own hand reached out to steady his, seemingly unaware of the closeness.

Wait… Since when did Sakuno have breasts?

“I’ll take… This one.” She said grabbing a colored bottle and spinning on her heels. He grabbed the water for himself.

“I wonder… Where dad went.”

“Didn’t you hear him? He said him and your mother were going shopping and that they’d be back in a few hours. He didn’t sound to happy about it, though.” She chuckled lightly at the memory of Mr. Echizen’s displeasure. “Listen, I’m sorry to have disturbed your game for no reason…”

He looked up between gulps of sweet, sweet refreshment. Her deep brown eyes, he saw, were down turned. He let out a small sigh. In the time since they’d first met in that train station or bus or which ever it had been, he’d been aware of this girl’s odd shyness. This was her usual game, he knew. Or, maybe, it was his.

“No. My father was getting bored. He would have stopped soon anyway. I was too tired to put up a good fight.”

“Oh! I see! You were probably tired from last night. I’m sorry about that, too. When the others left I guess we both lost track of time.” She sputtered. They had gone out with their small brood the previous evening. It was almost conspicuous how all but her and him had suddenly remembered assignments that were past due or chores at home that needed finishing immediately upon their arrival at the restaurant. He hadn’t minded it being just the two of them. She was, after all, so much more peaceful than his other friends and acquaintances.

“I knew how late it was.” He muttered after screwing the cap back into his water bottle. His clothes were, he now realized, soaked. Though he knew she’d seen him in worse states many times, for some odd reason this now bothered him. Without word he started towards the nearby hall. He should, at the very least, change his shirt.

“I’ll be right back.”

His room was immaculate, as usual. Even his mother sometimes called him on how strange it was for a boy his age to be so tidy. He wasn’t, really. It had been a while since he’d started at Seigaku. He was rarely home to make a mess of his room was all. His hat was tossed ceremoniously onto his western-style bed. He’d grown used to them in America and didn’t care for the idea of a mat, even though he could just as easily sleep on one.

Drying hands tousled wet hair. He could feel his core temperature plummet at the new exposure. His polo shirt he pulled deftly over his head and tossed into the hamper by the door. That was one shirt he’d not be wearing again before laundry day. The hamper was full reminding him that his cousin, who usually helped his mother keep up with the laundry while he was busy at practice, was out of town.

He mulled over the replacement options hanging neatly in his closet. For some odd reason it was hard to pick. He found himself wondering what her favorite color was and not being able to recall.

“Um… Hello?” A voice called from deep in the hall.

Quickly, he grabbed a random shirt from the many available. The hanger it came from rocked violently on its rod and slipped to the floor where it bounced back into the empty recesses of the space.

“Yeah!” He called through the fabric as he struggled the shirt over his head. As soon as the garment was snug in place, the door to his room slid open along its rail.

“Oh, Ryoma-kun. I… the phone was ringing and I didn’t want to answer, but… I guess it stopped now.” She was blushing again. That didn’t stop her, though, from taking a quick step forward, formally entering his room.

“This is your room.” She stated flatly, drinking in the sights as though they would reveal fantastic secrets to her if studied closely enough. “It’s very... ordered.”

She pattered her bare feet across the mats. He noticed then the way her hair had stuck to the side of her face and the back of her neck with sweat; how her arms and legs emitted a glowy sheen in his shadowed room. He noticed, she was a girl. He noticed she was in his room.

Oh god, there was a girl in his room!

Deep in the recesses of his chest his heart thumped hard against his ribcage and the spider-leg tendrils of a burst of adrenaline coursed outward from it. In the back of his mind he wondered how it was possible that she hadn’t heard his mind’s screaming revelation.

“Last night was fun, you know.” He could see her signature smile as she turned to face him, messy hair bouncing in its restraints. Suddenly he was reminded of how good he’d thought she’d looked the last time he’d seen her in her tennis uniform with that tiny pleated skirt bouncing back and forth and up and down when she moved.

Then he remembered what else had happened last night. Before leaving the restaurant she’d bent over and given him a gentle kiss on his taught little lips. He’d leaned into it without deliberation. But, it had been over quickly.

“Do you… Do you think last night counted as a real date?” Her tone was meek again. So this is what she had come over for.

“I don’t know,” he started, unwilling to face her as he spoke, “I guess so.”

He could see in his head how she would react to that. An honest rose color would rise in her cheeks and she’d be done with it. That’s how she was, he thought: Adorable, but meek.

But that wasn’t what she did.

He caught the twist of her head in the corner of his eye and turned to see her tug at the tie holding back her waves of hair. With one yank, it all fell free. Before him now stood a vixen. It was like one of the airbrushed idols from his father’s naughty books and magazines had stepped off the page and into his room. He marveled. Was this the same girl who had just asked him in such fear if their accidental outing was a date? Was this the same girl he’d toyed with in the backyard court just minutes prior?

“Ryoma-kun, do you like me? At all?” Long eyelashes battered in the low light and when her head turned, the hair moved like it was its own creature. Her bare shoulders hunched forward slightly. He found himself drawn to stare at her collar bone and the curve of her neck. Who was this woman before him?

“I…” He was speechless. He’d never really given much thought to this girl whose kindness and softness had so often been a comfort rather than an annoyance like that damnable fan club of his.

“I see…” She said and turned away again.

“No!” He tried, reaching out for that perfectly curved shoulder. “I… think… I do.”

When his hand made contact he realized a new kind of sweat had gathered on his palm. He was nervous. Somehow this strange woman, that looked remarkably like that sweet girl Sakuno who watched every game he played and nearly every practice he’d been to, had made him nervous. Sakuno who was always there. Sakuno who strangely often played a part in his flighty day dreams. Was this her?

He pulled her back around, and in the jumble her exposed thigh traced a line across his well-worn shorts. His eyes shot open as the dreaded thing happened. With a speed he usually only showed on the courts, he was seated on his bed. Plucking his pillow from its usual resting place, he threw it down on his lap. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. None of them were good. Some of them were very bad, as a matter of fact.

Sakuno, though, laughed. Oh god, he thought, does she know? Did she see?

“I guess you do like me.” Her words caught in her own throat and he could tell. She moved closer. Goosebumps had risen on her arms despite the heat. Every detail he took in of her, and tried to expel from his mind as soon as each entered. This was horrible. This was not how things were supposed to go on lazy weekend afternoons.

But, she wasn’t done yet.

She moved even closer. He could have touched her if he dared. Suddenly, she was sitting on the bed beside him. No opponent had ever been so deft and cunning. He was like the helpless freshman watching on the sidelines as the real masters played on the first day of practice.

“I… I like you, you know.” She said. The blush was back, a match to his own flushed cheeks. Of course, all of his blood was elsewhere so…

He noticed as she peered down that his own hand lay dangerously close to where her curled fingers had set. As he spied them they moved, twitched slightly closer to his. He felt compelled, almost against his will, to touch them. He picked up his shaking left hand, the dominant one, and rested his fingers across hers.

His pulse quickened.

Their hands communicated more than a thousand words. She moved her fingers underneath his. His adjusted into the groves of hers. She pulled her thumb up to enclose his, and suddenly their palms had met. It happened in a flash.

“Yeah,” he squeaked out. “I know.”

Mustering up as much bravery as he could, he reached out to her perfectly round face. His right was no less shaken than the left. His fingers radiated heat onto her jaw line as they pulled her in towards him. It was like their bodies had each become rusted machines in that moment. They each jerked forward, willing to be nearer, but so afraid of what they might do when they got there. Eyes fell closed like blinds with the string let loose. When their lips touched, it was an explosion of sensation.

They broke contact almost instantly and pulled back to look at each other. Shock was written across each young face. But, not alarm. He pulled her back into him and once again pressed their lips together, this time feeling her tug his lower lip between hers. Their eyes remained dutifully shut as he let her brush her tongue across his parched lips, wetting them for him. He tried to do the same for her and found that she’d had the same idea. Their tongues met in the middle and the tips danced across each other. Driven by some deep seeded desire, he pushed further. Both pulled back when his forcefulness caused them to bump teeth.

But, their hands still held.

He watched, pleased now, as she reached up to the back of her little sundress and fiddled a little. Catching on, his right hand met and overlapped hers as the shy girl he’d just realized he harbored a thing for, untied the only thing holding her dress up. He held his fingers in place over hers, daring to meet her eyes. Was she really going to do that? Was he going to let her?

She leaned in again, ready to give him another exploratory kiss. She was more confident, now. But, he turned away. Eyes shut she pecked him unwittingly on the cheek. Even that burned his flesh.

His normally cool and confident exterior was in shambles. If he let her do what she was trying to do, he’d be at her mercy.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” His low, quiet voice twisted out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He’d imagined it before, and the previous night had set the stage for something more. Still… should they?

She reacted to his words, he could tell. Two little points appeared sharply underneath her sundress. She pulled away from him and stood. Good, he thought leaning back on his bed with the pillow still firmly in place. She was thinking about this.

“I’ve wanted to do this with you for a long time, Ryoma.” There was no suffix added. It was daringly familiar. The way his name rolled off her tongue, a tongue he’d just been exploring with his own, sent chills down his spine. Both hands this time reached behind her neck and finished untying the bow and let the dress crash to the floor around her.

He instantly decided that none of the girls in his father’s books came close to the creature in front of him, though he’d never admit to his father that he’d looked at most of those books - even made off with some of the older ones which he then kept stuffed deep underneath his bed. Not one could compare to this Sakuno.

She turned to face him again and he wondered for the second time when she’d developed so beautifully. His mental image of her was evolving as she moved in her matching bra and panties, an image of young teenage sexuality. He was hungry to see what was underneath them. Also unlike the idols in the picture books, this sweet thing before him was live and she seemed more than willing to help him fulfill this desire.

She blushed a little under his intense gaze proving this was indeed still Sakuno. He’d always had that impact on her. He wondered lazily if he could possibly be doing to her anything like what she was doing to him. His internal thought was answered when the nearly naked girl sauntered back over to his seat and whispered, “You, too.”

Faster than he’d removed his previous shirt, this new one came flying off. They both froze in their places. She looked him up and down, examining the firm muscle he’d developed after years of athletic activity. His gaze wondered from the lips he’d just wetted himself to the swell of young breasts and hips, to the hidden lips his instincts drove him to.

She sat down beside him again and rested her arm around his neck, pulling him towards her. He rushed in himself, pulling her down to his bed. His feet dangled free across the edge as she pressed down on his upper body. Their eager lips met again, daintily feeling out new paths, working their way around each other in shallow, but pleasing, teases.

It only made his hidden problem throb more.

He found his hand, possessed by its own will, working its way from her hip across her stomach and up to her covered chest. It reached under the protection of her undergarment and waved across the firm tip. He’d always wondered what these felt like and she was happy to let him learn.

Her free hand worked its own way up and down the ridges of his chest, but while his fingers had ventured north on her body, hers ventured south. They rubbed across his exposed bellybutton and traced awkward circles around his defined muscles. His stomach went taught under her touch.

“Ow!” She mumbled into his parted lips. His mind filled with mortal fear that he had some how hurt her and unwittingly ended this little adventure. No, no. She pulled her hands free and reached behind her to unhook the insulting party. Her hair had gotten tangled in her strap.

He pulled her back down as soon as the offending garment was in a pile with the rest of her clothes. After just a few minutes, they were old pros. He reveled in the feel of her hair teasing his skin, cool against his hot flesh.

It wasn’t long before her daring hands wandered south again. They brushed the pillow onto the floor and out of reach and it was like a secret being shouted in a quiet room. His breath caught and he couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears.

He was embarrassed, but for some reason she wasn’t.

Both of their stomachs flittered with butterflies as she started to slip the elastic waistband of his shorts down, catching his own underwear in the process. A pulse of fear made him grab her hand, eyes wide in alarm. How had they gotten this far this fast?

They looked at each other for an eternity, it seemed. He lay sprawled and nearly flat on his back, his clammy hand halting hers. Excitement, fear, anticipation, and hesitation hung in the air as the smell of sex started to make its presence known.

“Should we stop?” It was a breathless whisper, asked to each other and to themselves. No, no. At least this they had to reveal. No secrets here. It had gone too far already. Months of curious day dreams, and tumultuous nights of decidedly more damp dreams, had all anticipated this moment.

He pulled up to a sitting position, for the moment ignoring his own predicament.

“At the same time,” he said, standing and taking her hand in his. They stood facing each other. Her hair danced in the room’s air flow. His remaining garments strained with the pressure. Two pairs of hands unceremoniously grasped at the elastic retaining the last bit of decency each had in the dimly lit room. As soon as he began to pull downward, so did she.

He was pleased when she didn’t comment or cry out at his nakedness. It helped to stifle his initial bought of shame. He found himself only drawn in by hers. He reached for her again, letting her step out of her remaining clothes as she sprawled backwards into the nearby wall. He pressed his fingers against it, flexing them across its strength to restrain his growing desire to allow base thrusting motions to overtake his movement.

He became painfully aware that her bare legs were parted. As he dove in for another kiss, the part of him that screamed in such agony brushed the sides of her thighs. She let out a silent gasp. He was inspired, then, by the risqué shows he’d seen in America. He wet his lips again and kissed town her neck and along that defined collar bone and down to her delightfully full chest. He kissed around the firm nipple and paused to see if she was appalled or pleased. Her face had the look of panic and he realized that his lips were only half the problem. Below, her ripe opening was responding to his faint touch. Her lower body was racked by a wave of motion and he felt that she did not share his need to restrain the urge to buck forward and back.

Rubbing against the outside edge of where he deeply wanted to plunge was killing him. Probably her, too. It was lucky she still retained the urge to speak.

“No… No, we can’t go that far. Not today. Not yet.” It seemed to break her heart to say it, but his relaxed with relief.

Suddenly, he remembered something he’d once heard one of his senpai say to the others in the celebratory chitchat after a tournament. Something about shallow… Oh yeah.

He regained some of his composure, secure that she was crumbling more than him in the strain of their current physical activity. He pulled back and moved to the right some, positioning his left side. “Can I touch you?” Came his low and stoic voice.

“Wha… What?”

“You heard me,” he said with confidence.

“Yeah…”

Her previous words on the court, man that seemed like years ago, came back to him. Be gentle.

He reached down to touch her hip bone with his left hand, and rolled his fingers downward so she could understand what he had in mind. She tensed. Somehow she was still shy after all but giving herself like a present to him earlier. Some things would never change, he thought. Her own left hand came to meet his and in a twist of luck, she figured it all out. The two hands cupped one another. Her breath became heavy, raspy. Carefully, her slender thighs moved further apart and she guided his hand across its goal.

He could tell by her breathing and shivers and closed eyes that she knew what she wanted him to do and that together they were doing it perfectly. His slow and shallow motion became constant and she removed her sticky hand from the back of his. He learned the game quickly and thoroughly enjoyed when she arched her back against the wall and moved her entire lower body with the motion of his hand.

It was a shock to his system when her sticky left hand fell down across the shaft of his own aching body part, now right at level with her dangling fingers. His mouth fell open in a silent scream. He strained to keep the motion going with his occupied hand. Her stickiness easing her fingers up and down him. Then, her nails racked lightly across, like she was just tapping impatiently on a desk. Before he could resist, her whole hand had a light grip on him and she was haphazardly working corkscrews and strokes up and down.

They remained locked into each other, enjoying something so close to their ultimate fantasies but so much safer. Each, fearless from the consequences of more serious action, surrendered themselves to the other’s touch. He rewarded her with deepened strokes. He varied the pressure when she varied hers.

He could feel her lean back against the wall, pressing hard into him. Her other hand grabbed at his, guiding him to new places and new patterns. The juices of their labors coated their fingers. Only his bracing right hand, still pressed against the wall, was spared. And, it was coming.

He could feel the start of it tingle around the usual places, but never before had someone else’s touch inspired it. It was nothing like those times alone. Nothing. There wasn’t the fear or the shame… Oh, god.

He grunted in spite of himself. She was no help – her own throat was throwing out the starts of moans and whispers of his name. It was like a dirty word the way she was saying it, and though he was on the verge, she didn’t stop. Neither stopped.

An explosion later, she was sinking to the floor. Compelled he fell with her, dark hair soaked and pasted to his forehead and neck. They both collapsed onto the awaiting floor below and stretched out. Limbs covered limbs.

It seemed like hours before either moved or spoke. He wanted to thank her. He wanted to profess his undying new love for her. He wanted to prop himself up and enter the teasing folds his fingers had just mapped. He wanted to speak. He never wanted to speak again. Instead, he found it in himself to stand, and to pull her to do the same. The logic of the real world started to dawn on them both. They’d done something wonderful and awful.

“We shouldn’t tell anyone.” She whispered as they both lay on the cool comforter that draped his bed.

Well… Should they?

“Yeah… Sure…” He said. Was she that ashamed? “Sakuno… “

She noticed the familiarity in his address. “Yeah?”

“Why shouldn’t I tell anyone that you’re my girlfriend?”

She seemed like she was on the verge of tears. “That’s… I… because of this?”

“We went on a date last night and I said I liked you. I’d like to continue to spend time with you like that. Isn’t that enough?” He’d long since shut his eyes in the serene afterglow.

“Yeah.” She said as she wrapped an arm around his chest, “That’s enough.”

But, logic regained, he realized they didn’t have the time for this. In their hustle they’d conveniently forgotten their location. Though if caught he doubted any of his family, least of all his father, would be truly upset, the thought of his father’s insufferable, and inevitable, teasing spurred him on.

Eventually, he showed her where the bathroom was and let her wash and dress herself again, in private. He did the same, eventually.

“Oh, but…” She started as she exited the bathroom. A partial handprint streaked across the back of the dress. “I should be going but…”

He stopped her and went back to his closet and grabbed his old red jacket that matched the now setting evening sun.

“Here,” he presented it to her, “it’ll be colder at night anyway.”

“Thank you,” she said with that signature bright smile. He found himself returning it easily.

“Keep it, it’s yours, now.” He was hers, now. It felt good to be giving her something like this after she’d come all the way her to give him something so precious. The smile stayed on his lips until she’d slipped away as quickly as she’d arrived, at least from his perspective. His parents weren’t long after.

“Boy! I saw that pretty girl walking the other way in a red jacket.” His father’s eyes sparkled at the thought. He whispered, “Finally taking after me, hungh?”

He found himself cringing at his father’s words and shooting a dirty look at the scruffy man before lazily wandering back towards his room. He needed to clear his bed before nightfall. Perhaps he should start doing his own laundry. His girlfriend had been right. It wasn’t time, not yet.

“No, not yet,” he muttered to himself as he made his way back to his bedroom.

End

End Notes: I’m a bad monkey. In case you couldn’t tell. I’ve just recently discovered this series so my knowledge of the cannon is limited to the first dozen or so episodes. The cute relationship between Sakuno and Ryoma reminded me of a story a boy was once forced to tell at a party I went to about his first encounter with the girl he liked. I felt the need to write it down. Hopefully this first-timer smut one-shot is good enough for you readers to forgive my haste.