Sanada/Kite Drabbles

Disclaimer: I don\'t own Prince of Tennis nor the characters within. I am not writing this for profit or to make money in any way. I also do nto have permission of the original creator to use his characters.



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He stood on one side of the room. Across from him, on the other side, the more slender man stood. They were starting at each other. Had been staring for the last half hour and forty five minutes. Shinai were held at the ready, but neither made a move. Kite, unblinking, behind those glasses. Him hiding just behind the brim of his hat. Both too proud to blink. Both too proud to look away. Silence echoed between them as loud as any shouting. It bounced from one side to another line a hard hit tennis ball, going over the imaginary line that separated my side from your side, and don’t cross is you value your life. He knew he hadn’t started this, but neither had Kite. It had just started. And Sanada, being Rikkai, could not lose. Always win, Rikkai Dai.



And he ignored the fact that in the back of his mind, he was considering an old Japanese wives tale. He knew then all, because he was an old man at heart. Old and traditional. Just like Kite was. Kite was like him, abet a bit more open about his violence perhaps. They followed the old ways. Sanada carried the family stone. He proudly displayed his family mon…he was a samurai after they had all died out centuries ago. And Kite. Kite was a island warrior. He kept the old language alive. Speaking the true dialect, the true language of Okinawa, even when the modern Japanese language was slowly killing it. Kite was probably one of the only boys his age who was fluent in that ancient, dying tongue. Kite fought in a style native to his countrymen. Kite ate the national food with gusto. He was as much a child of ancient Okinawa as he was a child of Edo. And so he was sure the wives tale did not escape Kite’s mind either.



If you stared long enough at a person…you fell in love with them…That was the tale. He supposed it was because the harder one stared, the more one saw. Saw things they had never seen before. He had never noticed the casual sweep of dark hair and the fastidious Gerry curl pulled just in front. It made Sanada’s fingers itch to push it out of the way. But he knew better. Because Kite’s hair was like his hat. No one touched it under pain of death. But there were other details. That defiant mouth. Those challenging eyes. So very dark he thought they were black to begin with. After so long of staring into him Sanada realized they were actually a dark purple color…The color of unformed tamahagane, from which all katana were made. He noticed that dark warm tan. He knew it to be a natural coloring and not just from being out on the sun all day long. Of them all, Kite was the darkest at the camp, besides Jackal. And he found the color to be most intriguing.



He could go on. His swordman’s mind traveling over the frame of his opponent. Over the man standing there, staring at him. They were warriors but they were different. He was strong and built. Solid. Sturdy like a mountain. Kite was different. He was sleek and he was flexible (Sanada had watched Kite do Kata once…Kite could kick straight above his head while flat footed). He was whip thin and razor sharp, like a wild, warm Okinawan wind. Perhaps not the best analogy as wind slowly wore mountains down, but Sanada had never been one for girly things like poetic thought. In fact, when a sword or a racket was in his hand, he wasn’t really for thought at all. A state of Mu…Musashi’s fifth ring of void. One with the sword…one with the opponent.



One with the line that stretched between the like a mighty river. He heard the sound of wood hitting the floor. And then…Kite was moving. Kite was just there. Right there in front of him. Crossing the figurative river via invisible bridge. That amazing ground reduction technique of his And his hat was being flipped up and the shorter martial artist was pressing a kiss to his lips. Warm, demanding. Sanada’s eyes slid shut in pleasure. He growled slightly. Then there was nothing…Kite was back in his original position, in a hand to hand stance. There was a victorious smirk on his face. “You blinked first, Sanada…I win.”



He tugged his hat down to hide the flush on his face. From both anger and arousal. He had forgotten…He had forgotten the most important thing about the captain before him…Higa Chuu…Whatever it took to win.