title: the Apartment: Phone Call
fandom: Prince of Tennis
characters/pairings: Tezuka/Fuji, Yumiko
rating: Teen
warnings: mentioned societal heteronormitivity, sweaty kissing
summary: Tezuka has to call Fuji to warn him about something.
notes: the third ficlet in this would be series, and the one where, if there's gonna be a plot at all, it's sorta heating up here. maybe. ha. ^_^;;;;;;

Fuji put on one of Tezuka's shirts. He nearly put on a pair of his pants, too, but the last time he did, he got the cuffs so dirty, they were essentially trashed. Since he was photographing outside that day, it was best to wear his own pants, perhaps. He still ran his hand down the length of Tezuka's perfectly pressed jeans, smiling to himself softly.

Really, who sent their jeans to the cleaners?

He put his forefinger over the opening of Tezuka's cologne, and dabbed it behind his ears. Tezuka didn't actually wear this much, but sometimes he did, when they were going out, and when they came back, and they went to bed, the scent and Tezuka's sweat would soak into the sheets, and so the scent was intimately and irrevocably Tezuka to Fuji.

He'd been gone eleven days already.

Fuji did his usual spin around the apartment. He had three cameras, film, an extra memory card, his laptop, cell phone, wallet, keys... He knew he had to be forgetting something because he pretty much always forgot something. He wasn't flighty, at all; he just wasn't used to, yet, being a professional photographer.

Hopefully soon, he could have an assistant to take care of these details.

He was nearly out the door when he remembered that he needed water. He left the door open a crack as he went to the fridge to get it. Just as he was closing the fridge door, the phone rang. He was going to just ignore it, but out of some sense of obligation, he checked the caller ID as he passed.

He picked up the phone in a hurry. "'Mitsu! Isn't it, like, three am there? Don't tell me you've been out sipping champagne from the shoes of saucy Parisian ladies?"

"I'm glad I caught you," Tezuka replied, ignoring Fuji's joviality entirely. "There's something I have to tell you."

"Don't say it like that, 'Mitsu," Fuji complained. "You'll make me think it's serious."

"A British tabloid has been digging into my past. I guess it's a sign that I'm finally a contender."

"Or they're just a British tabloid," Fuji shrugged dismissively. "That's nothing to sound so ominous about, is it?"

"They've uncovered that my permanent residence is a two bedroom apartment that I share with a friend of mine from school and his sister." Tezuka seemed intent on sounding grim, and that made Fuji's stomach churn.

"Ah. Well. Fine, then. I mean, we've discussed being out, right? I still don't think it's anyone else's business, but you said you didn't mind being honest, so..." If Tezuka had changed his mind, Fuji might get peeved. After all, it wasn't his idea for Tezuka to be an international sports star.

"You're not getting it. The story isn't my clandestine homosexual relationship with an old school friend. The story is my engagement to the older sister of an old school friend."

Fuji felt his blood freeze.

After a moment's pause, Tezuka continued. "My manager wants me to just ignore it. If I try to answer any questions, things will get... sticky. But if I just pretend it's not happening, the subject will be dropped soon. Anyway, I should be focusing on my tennis."

Tennis was the really important thing. Absolutely. It always had been, so it should be now.

"Syuusuke, please, say something. Please... I wasn't expecting this, either."

"I have to go to work," Fuji murmured.

"Syuusuke... wait, please... just tell me what you're thinking..." Tezuka pleaded.

"I have a shoot. I'll see you soon." He hung up the phone, and walked to the door, practically running his sister over.

"Hey! Syuusuke, are you ok? The door was open... is everything all right?" she asked, reaching out to him in concern, but he slipped away.

"Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?" He chuckled to himself. "Everything's perfect. I have to go... Oh, I suppose I should tell you. This involves you, after all. By tomorrow, everyone in the world is going to think that you are Tezuka's lover."

"What?" she reeled back, her eyes wide. "What the hell... Syuusuke, where are you going? What's going on?"

He shrugged her off, though, and flung open the door. "Nothing, nothing. I have work. It's just some tabloid story. Everything's going to blow over soon, no worries. That's what he said."

"What who... Tezuka? Did Tezuka call? Syuusuke! You can't go anywhere while you're this upset!" she exclaimed, trying to grab him by the arm, but he wasn't going to let her stop him. He started for the stairs, for once not annoyed that the elevator never worked right. He wanted to run down the stairs, anyway.

"Got to work, sis. Don't worry. It's fine, isn't it? You aren't seeing anyone now. Being Tezuka's lover isn't so bad. I should know, since I actually am his lover, but who cares? It's much more believable that you would be. In a perfect world, you would be his wife, right? And everyone would be happier. You and he would make beautiful superbabies, and I'd be the doting uncle. That's the way it should be, right? Man and woman, walking down the path of life together." He was starting to build up some steam, and that was the last thing he wanted to do, but she was following him. He turned to face her. "Just go back upstairs. I need to go to work now."

"Syuusuke..." she started, but she sighed, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he shrugged. "We're the ones who are wrong, right?" He turned and took the stairs two at a time, trying to blow off his frustration through physical activity.

It wouldn't be enough.




There was much cheering, which meant the match was done. There was a monitor at the end of the hall, but Fuji waited patiently just where he had been left.

He knew Tezuka had won, anyway.

After a few minutes, there were voices in the hallway, speaking in rushed English. It sounded like such a dirty language, the way it was being used.

Fuji licked his lips, eager.

He heard his name, so he knew Tezuka would be expecting him. He braced himself, but before he knew it, Tezuka was rounding the corner, and then he was swept up into Tezuka's arms, pushed against the wall, Tezuka's body surrounding him with the smell of his sweat, which was dripping off of him, off his hair, and then Tezuka was kissing him, and all Fuji could do was hold on for dear life.

The kiss broke messily, and Tezuka smiled at him. "It's good to see you."

Fuji slipped his hands up the back of Tezuka's shirt. There was a lot that he wanted to say, but he was sure he didn't need to say any of it. Tezuka would understand.

"You're all sweaty." He grinned, and leaned forward, licking Tezuka's chin. "Any chance you could fuck me in the locker room?"

Tezuka chuckled, but Fuji could see it in his eyes. He was interested. "I'm supposed to meet the press in... well, now, to talk about how amazing I am, and how everyone else is also amazing but I'm still going to win, and then not answer any of their questions. What about fucking you in the hotel?"

"I can settle for that," Fuji murmured, wrapping his arms around Tezuka and pulling himself right up against Tezuka's gorgeously drenched body.

"You smell like my cologne," Tezuka murmured.

"Yeah," Fuji whispered. "I want you to smell like me."

"So do I," Tezuka swore, and he lifted Fuji's chin. "You know... I'm sorry..."

"So is Yumiko. But it's not your fault, and it's not hers. And I don't even care, as long as this," he ran his nails down Tezuka's back, causing Tezuka to shiver, "is always mine."

"Always," Tezuka promised, and he sealed it with another deep, messy kiss.








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