Hair

Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis. I am NOT making a profit off this fic.

Who: Kite and Ryou (Diva-chan)
Rating: hard R
Warning: this story contains extreme Higa Hair fetish


The boy panted in front of him, naked. His body rocked forward with each slow and sinuous stroke. The body behind him was hard and warm. He could feel the panting breaths tickling his ear. He could hear the soft moaning grown each time he felt the soft pull and slide. Each and every stroke sent a shiver down his exposed spine, sending tingles from the tips of his toes all the way to his scalp. His eyes were such tightly with the pleasure of it. The electric thrill that came from the act. They weren’t supposed to be doing this. They weren’t. This was so very wrong. The man behind him, so hard and warm and vital, was not his. That man was Atobe-san’s. And they shouldn’t be doing this. They shouldn’t, because this should have been a pleasure only Atobe should have been feeling. He knew he should have said no. he should have said no the minute that undeniably sexy tanned boy had slid behind him and gathered up his flowing inky locks in one hand and breathed the scent him. A predator taking in the pheromones of his soon to be mate.

He should have said no. But there was just something about the way kite had said it. The way the other boy had spoken, so hungry and husky into the shell of his ear. “Please…” Kite never said please for one. “Please let me… I want to, so badly…” The deep desire in that tone was enough to get Ryou rock hard and nodding his permission to allow Kite to do anything he wanted. Anything at all. What harm was there in it? It couldn’t hurt, he supposed.

And now, they were like this. His hat thrown aside even as those hands, so dangerous and rough pushed him back, slowly, skillfully, sinfully. Rendering his naked. Naked without his hat, naked without the band that he sometimes used to keep his flowing locks back. And there was Kite, looming behind him, a dark sensual presence, a strong, calloused hand sliding, slowly…oh so slowly though his hair. Down…down… Tangling, untangling, giving small little tugs. Tugs that never hurt and only felt so very good. Ryou was gone. He was swept away in the small, appreciative moons that came from the Okinawan.

He was dipped back and there was wetness. Head back, throat exposed to this predator. The sink filled with water and his dark tresses. A sweet heady fragrance of orchid and hyacinth and something that was purely the wild jungles of Okinawa filled the air. It smelled like heat. It smelled like danger. It smelled like sex. It smelled like Kite. And he could feel the other boy. His fingers, massaging into his scalp, strong and sure, each stroke feeling of so good, sending tingled down his spine towards his grain. He could feel lips. Full and with a hungry smirk right against his neck. So near his jugular. Would Kite bite him? His neck moved more, exposing more of himself at the tug to his hair as a lather was built up. Then more water, washign the suds free. Careful nto to get in his tightly shut eyes.

He could feel those strong hands, pulling, twisting. Squeezing. Then softness. The warm of a towel, gingerly sapping the rest of the water away. A white towel, when he cracked an eye. A white towel to better display his dark tresses in all their glory. And then Kite was moving him again. Leading him around, so confident and sure and in charge. Tugging him ever so expertly by his hair until he was seated on the bed. He could feel his shirt tugged off. “So it won’t get wet.” and he could feel it behind him. The hard warmth of a muscled chest against his back. Kite’s breath against his shoulder, in soft desperate pants even as he lifted a section and examined it quite thoroughly twisting it in his fingertips letting his own ends brush just slightly over his nipped until it was hard.

“Let me…” Was the purr, right against his shoulders. One more time. And Ryou could only nod, breath gone, pleasure looming once more. Once more, eyes closed obediently and once more the pleasure started. He could feel it. Fingers in his hair and then the brush. Oh god…the brush. How long as he sat here, Kite brushing his hair. 100 strokes…200...His hair was dry and shone like silk and yet Kite continued to brush it. Tough light and passionate. Ryou moaned softly, whimpering “More.” 500 strokes…It was all over. He could feel the martial artist’s nose, his lips, his chest, his hands, as Kite gathered up his hair once last time and touched it reverently. “Thank you…” He words were sated, satisfied.

And as Ryou watched that magnificent tight ass as it walked away, he vowed…This was the last time…the very last time he ever let anyone with a hair fetish wash his hair. The last time…because if he didn’t…he knew he was going to do his damndest to take Kite from Atobe-san…Just so he could get more of that.