Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ The Trick Is To Keep Breathing ❯ Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Warnings: yaoi/slash/bl/mm/whatever else you want to call it, a little drama, language, alcohol consumption (does that need a warning?), and a decently graphic scene
A/N: Thanks so much to the readers for their patience. I’ve been taking my sweet time with this chapter, I know, and I apologize. It’s been rough writing for me, but I hope you enjoy it. Love to HDA for looking over this for me and suffering through my neediness.

The Trick Is to Keep Breathing
by Solanum Dulcamara

What would happen if we kissed
Would your tongue slip past my lips
~Meredith Brooks, What Would Happen

Part 2:

Momo woke slowly with a large yawn. His brain was still a little muggy from the evening previous’ festivities, and he wanted to roll over and just sleep the day away, but he needed to answer the call of nature and get some water for the awful case of cottonmouth he was suffering. As he started to crawl out of bed, however, he encountered something, or someone, more specifically. His roommate lay snuggled against his side, red hair splayed over his white pillow, lashes dark against pale cheeks in the morning light filtering through his blinds, and sleeping quite as naked as he himself was. Icy foreboding pooled in Momo’s stomach. What had he done last night?


There was drinking, and dancing, and lots of laughter. The night passed in an alcohol glossed haze. Late… very late, they stumbled out into the cold night air, leaning heavily on one another, offering giddy goodbyes to Fuji, who seemed completely unaffected by the vast quantities of liquor they’d consumed. Eiji hung onto his side, arms wrapped around his midsection in a clumsy, pseudo-hug, as they walked; thin fingers seeming so small through the fabric of Momo’s jacket. Momo slung an arm around his companion (for whose balance he wasn’t sure) and they made their way to the train station with very few stumbles.

During the ride, Eiji, head resting comfortably on Momo’s shoulder, disentangled himself to take one of Momo’s hands in both of his; cold, slender fingers tracing scars, thumbs smoothing over creases in his palm. When he tried to tell the redhead he was ‘weird but kinda cute’, Eiji looked up at him, eyes a little bleary, and smiled, crinkling his nose. At that moment, Momo had the most peculiar urge to nibble that pert nose, which he promptly shook off, almost knocking his roommate off his seat in the process. The rest of the ride was a blur of passing tunnels, scenery, and stops that weren’t theirs.

Though the more unsteady of the two, Eiji popped up and pulled Momo from the train when they reached their stop and, still wrapped together, the pair returned to their apartment without major event (although the stairs proved a minor trial). They leaned together, stifling giggles; as Eiji fumbled through Momo’s pockets for the key and managed to fit it in the lock on his third try. A certain sense of habit descended as they entered: remove shoes and coats and head for their separate rooms.

Momo began a battle with the row of buttons on his shirt once in the confines of his bedroom, and upon achieving success, tossed the garment in the vague direction of the hamper and went to work on his jeans. Just as he managed to kick them off, he felt his white undershirt catch on something. Fingers, he discovered looking down. He turned to find Eiji standing in his favorite pajamas, faded blue fleece, though he apparently hadn’t gotten around to buttoning the top. Eiji was biting his lip and looking at his bare feet (toes clenching and unclenching on the carpet) rather than his roommate. “What’s up?” Momo asked, reaching out to ruffle red hair.

“I liked it better when you had your arm around me… my room feels lonely…” his whispered answer trailed off more than ended.

Momo experienced an odd combination of an ache in his chest and a flutter in his stomach. Without hesitation, he snagged his best friend and tugged him close, arms wrapping tight around the smaller man. Eiji’s body shook, and he fisted his hands in Momo’s tee and tucked his face against the broad shoulder. It took several moments, but his roommate’s surprisingly tense body gradually relaxed against him, and Momo felt his own arms tighten in response. He looked down; past mussed red hair, to Eiji’s face, to try to gauge his mood, briefly wondering when he’d gotten taller than his former teammate. Eiji lifted his head slightly and met his gaze, wide eyes warm and welcoming, if a bit unfocused (had Eiji’s eyes always been so blue?). He felt small hands fidget where they held his undershirt, rolling fabric between fingertips, before releasing the shirt to slide flat palms up his back. Despite knowing Eiji’s hands must be cold (they always were) he felt them burning through his shirt. And everything from that afternoon that he’d been trying to deny, without success, swept over him.

Looking down at Eiji, he saw an openness and a vulnerability in those drowning blue eyes, and had a momentary flash of defiant gold, which was gone as quickly as it had come. Then there was only Momo, and Eiji’s palms that were too hot, and Eiji’s eyes that were too deep, and Eiji’s body that was too close, but not close enough. And he did what he’d wanted to do since Eiji’d pulled away so suddenly earlier that day. Sinking his hand into thick red hair, he yanked his roommate forward, swallowing Eiji’s noise of surprise. Not one to waste time with gentle coaxing, he swiped his tongue through the inviting heat of Eiji’s mouth, over hard and soft; teeth, lips, and tongue. His roommate tasted of the liquor they’d drunk, sweat from dancing, the stale smoke from the air of the club, and the unique sharp taste of Eiji himself that Momo remembered from that afternoon; a heady mix.

Then he felt the bite of fingernails on his back, heard a purring moan, and Eiji was kissing him back, delving inside his mouth, sucking on his tongue. God, it was hot. Had kissing always been this hot? He briefly thought over the handful of people he’d messed around with; not one had set him on fire like this. A tiny voice somewhere in the back of his mind tried to call out to him, perhaps to stop him, but it was quashed in the haze of alcohol and lust. Momo’s hands stole inside the open pajama top; soft fleece against his knuckles, softer skin against his palms. He felt Eiji’s breath hitch, his body shudder. Hands scrambled at his under-shirt, bereft of their usual dexterity. He stepped back, reached behind his head to grab his collar, and pulled the shirt off in one fluid motion. It fell at their feet as he returned to inviting lips and urgent hands. He moved his hands back under that well-worn pajama top, running palms over chest, shoulders, and back, feeling Eiji twitch, and shiver, and press into his touch.

Eiji’s fingers seared his back; cold, but all the more shocking, more real, more burning for their lack of temperature. The kisses were clumsy desperate presses of lips, hindered by the encouraging uncoordination that only alcohol can offer. He was drowning in Eiji’s wet, messy kisses, Eiji’s warm solid body, Eiji’s icy fingers raking down his back. He was drowning and he didn’t want to surface. He pressed his roommate towards the bed, and Eiji went obligingly, flopping back onto the mattress with a giggle. He looked down at his roommate, his best friend who was sprawled on his bed smiling up at him; the same warm, welcoming, too-deep eyes. Eiji held up a hand as he stood staring, long fingers that he knew were cold curling several times, and simply said, “Momo-chin.”

Momo’s chest and stomach were at war again, and he decided to ignore both and join his friend on the bed. Crawling over Eiji, he slid the skin of their bare chests together. It sent a shiver through him and made Eiji breathe one of his trademark “nya”s, but not the usual playful, little expression, a low, husky moan that left Momo’s nerves ragged and his hand clenched on Eiji’s hip. He looked down at the culprit, whose eyes were wide with discovery. Eiji seemed frozen for a mere moment, no more than a breath or a heartbeat, then he was leaning up, kissing Momo, hands on his hips, his ass, his thighs, tugging at the fabric of his boxers demanding, “More. Please. Momo,” in staccato breaths between kisses. It was all he could do to not just press Eiji into the mattress and grind against his eager body. With effort, he sat back to remove his boxers and watched, half-amused, half-aroused, as Eiji did a little body contortion, back arch, wiggle out of his pajama bottoms. Then Eiji was reaching for him again, and he had neither the will power nor the inclination to resist.

He climbed back onto Eiji, a little weak with how good it felt and how good Eiji sounded, rasping his drawn-out moans, and dragged his lips up the long neck, to the sharp jaw, and over the hairless cheek, to Eiji’s open mouth and slightly dry lips, reveling in the hands gripping his back: hard, solid, and devoid of gentleness. He shifted against Eiji, feeling their erections trapped between them, feeling Eiji’s hips buck up to meet him, feeling Eiji gasp into his mouth. God, it felt good. It felt so good! Eiji’s hands slid down his back, gripping his hips, fingernails digging into his ass, pulling him insistently closer. He thrust against Eiji again, and again. The mattress dipped where Eiji’s feet dug in as he sought leverage to press up against Momo. Lips parted for gasps and moans, and occasionally when the need for it was remembered, breath. Momo felt the slow burn crawling over his skin to smolder in his belly, felt Eiji arch up, all sound trapped in his chest, felt the warm gusts of Eiji coming against his stomach, and felt something within himself snap as the sharp pleasure of orgasm raced over him and left him raw, shaky, and short of breath. He looked down at his roommate and found his smile just as warm, if a bit sleepy. “Can I stay?” Eiji yawned his question, pulling his pajama top the rest of the way off and using it to wipe his stomach.

“Sure, Eiji,” Momo took the fleece top Eiji offered and swiped it across himself. It unfortunately smeared more than cleaned, but the day’s events, the evening’s festivities, their recent activities, and the sedation of alcohol all added up to Momo being too tired to care. Tossing the top at where the hamper might be, he joined his roommate, who’d already managed to burrow under the covers. Eiji immediately curled up to him, tucking cold hands against his chest and cold feet against his legs. Strange, but not uncomfortable, Momo found he didn’t really mind being snuggled by Eiji, and he was too worn out to think terribly hard about it. He just tossed an arm around his roommate in return, heard a vague mumble to the effect of, “…better with your arm around me…”, and exhausted, fell asleep.


Momo looked down at his still sleeping roommate, and felt panic settle in. Oh shit! What had he been thinking last night? He hadn’t been thinking and that was the problem. When was he going to learn that his “act now, worry about the consequences later” attitude was not the best policy? What would happen to their friendship? What about Oishi? What about Echizen? What did this mean? He was sure his heart was beating hard enough to wake Eiji. He felt it pounding in his head, ringing in his ears. He needed to calm down or he actually would wake Eiji. He looked down at his roommate again. Still sleeping; good. Despite himself, he had to admire the way Eiji seemed to glow in the morning sunlight. He was attractive. Momo’d always known that. It didn’t change their friendship. Maybe he could sneak out of the bed before Eiji woke up. Maybe Eiji wouldn’t remember last night. He shifted slightly, edging around his bedmate, trying to slip out without disturbing Eiji.

The mattress dipped and shifted, pulling Eiji from his warm, wonderful sleep. Without even opening his eyes, he knew it was going to be irritatingly bright. He groaned, stretching, not quite ready to wake up. His arm smacked something solid that said “ow”, and that was enough to encourage the redhead to open his eyes. This wasn’t his bed or his room. The something solid was his roommate. They were both naked. Momo looked guilty. It was awkward and unexpected, and Eiji still felt groggy and now a little dizzy. He closed his eyes and tried to figure out exactly how they ended up where they were. He remembered hot, hurried kisses, and the weight of Momo’s body, and Momo’s rough hands, and his growling moans. He remembered pressing against Momo and feeling something he’d never felt with another person. Remembering didn’t help. He only felt dizzier and a little breathless. He heard Momo calling him, but didn’t know how to answer. It was too much to think about right now, and he wasn’t going to try. It was all too surreal and disorienting, and he needed some painkillers, and his bladder felt like it was going to explode at any moment. “Ah, Momo. I can hear you. I’ve got a headache and I need to take a leak,” and having said, Eiji rolled out of the bed and escaped to the semi-sanctuary of the bathroom.

Momo watched him go. Did Eiji not remember? He can’t possibly think they just decided to have a naked slumber party. Did last night not matter to him? Eiji’d only ever kissed Oishi once, the summer before high school. Momo didn’t know of him kissing anyone else, let alone what happened last night. It can’t have meant nothing. Did Eiji just want to move on as if it didn’t happen? Maybe... but could they actually do that? He felt his stomach sink a little at every possibility. But they were friends, and Eiji didn’t seem to think any differently about him. Their relationship wouldn’t be ruined and life would go on as usual. That would be good… definitely good. So what the hell was he lying around worrying for? Scooting out of bed, he grabbed his discarded boxers and went to fetch his roommate some Tylenol.


Glossary:
nya: meow, an Eiji-ism
-chin: derivative of –chan, cutesy name suffix