Citrus Series (Tenipuri)

BY : CrunchySalad
Category: Prince of Tennis/Tennis no Ohjisama > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 4590
Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis or its characters. I am not making any money from this fanfiction.

There was more of a commotion than she expected; but that was mostly her fault, for not expecting as much as she should have. After all, being a professional tennis player with her level of skill and celebrity tended to bring unfortunate side effects, and after winning the Australian Open and having her face flashed inside the pages of multiple international magazines (not the covers, God forbid... she hated having people dress her and make her up and pose her and make her into this pretty model girl that she wasn't), she should have expected her old classmates to make more than a little fuss.

But she wasn't expecting some of them to be as star struck as they were. And those were the ones who had never liked her in high school, had teased her for being a tomboy, for being anti-social, for getting into fights. Pathetic. She had managed to get away from them though, and had somehow blended into the crowd. To her immense relief (as she had never outgrown her anti-social ways), no one seemed to be noticing her, and she was free to wonder through the hotel ballroom as she pleased.

She felt awkward and uncomfortable, her tight black dress clinging to her skin and clumsy necklaces hanging over her chest. Her very short black hair had been teased as much as they could tease it, in a style they had told her to be 'tousled and sexy'. An ensemble courtesy of her stylist, of course, as she would have been content to wear a pair of nice pants and a button down shirt. It wouldn't hurt you to be more feminine, her manager had scolded her, it's bad enough that you don't wear skirts or dresses on the court like the other pros. Think about the endorsements you're losing out on.

She had sniffed at that, saying that she had enough endorsements as it was, but that only led to a lengthy lecture, full of snide remarks and narcissistic tandems. She had capitulated at the end only out of boredom from listening to her manager speak. Still, she couldn't help but hate the stylist he then hired her and his attempts to make her dress like some Hollywood starlet.

She stepped through small groups and clusters of her former classmates, sipping on mixed drinks all the while. She eventually ended up on a stool by the bar, wondering why she had even come to this stupid reunion. After all, she could count the number of friends she had in high school on one finger, and she already knew Yagyuu wasn't going to be here (though his waste of a best friend Niou might be).

It had been a bad idea to come. High school had, after all, been nothing but a string of embarrassments. She would leave, she decided... after one more drink. A few drinks later her head was spinning slightly, and when a voice cut through her haze she initially brushed it off as her imagination... after all, that voice had never been turned on her during high school, not even once.

"... you look just as beautiful now as you did in high school," it was saying, "Sanada-kun."

Her name, in that voice, and Sanada realized that Yukimura Seichi was, for the very first time, actually talking to her. She looked up, cringed to see that Yukimura was even more handsome than he had been in high school. He really was a beautiful man, she thought, a Ganymede or Hyacinth for the modern generation.

"How would you know," she said, surprised she could summon so much venom when talking to Yukimura. "You never noticed me in high school."

"Oh, I disagree," Yukimura replied, nonplussed, "after all, it was hard not to notice the girl who always wore a boy's uniform to school. That dress suits you, by the way."

"Then you just chose ignore me."

"Don't be so petulant, Sanada." Yukimura chuckled a little, and Sanada hated himself for flushing slightly at the sound. "I was too involved in tennis to see anything else."

And Sanada knew that, remembered from high school... remembered walking by the boys' tennis courts after the girls' club was done with practice, standing a few yards back from those fawning girls who came to see the players without knowing anything of tennis, watching as Yukimura led the others in practice. Sometimes Yukimura would just observe the other players, Yanagi Renji by his side, and Sanada wished that she could be there alongside them... she had the talent, she had the skill, but not, apparently, the proper chromosome. Other times Yukimura would play a game, and those were the times that Sanada was actually glad Rikkai's third-rate girls' tennis club was so lax as to let its members out early so often.

"Though that's not a part of my life anymore," Yukimura continued, acrimony dripping from every word. It made Sanada remember when Yukimura had stopped playing tennis, when the boys' tennis courts had become empty for weeks, afternoons spent at the hospital instead. "But you're certainly doing well in the field. I must say, that spread you did for Vanity Fair..."

Sanada frowned, her cheeks a light rose stain. She remembered that article, the British photographer... the fact that he had costumed her in little more than an obi.

"... I wasn't aware you could make that kind of face."

"Stop it," Sanada muttered, because Yukimura's hand was on her thigh, and she could feel Yukimura's breath on her neck.

"Sanada," Yukimura mumbled, voice so close to her ear, "haven't you always liked me?"

Sanada was hurt by the fact that Yukimura knew that, that he knew that and had never said anything. She hated Yukimura's confidence, hated how it came from fact rather than ego, because despite it all she had liked Yukimura ever since then, hadn't she.

Her brow furrowed as Yukimura's hand moved up her thigh, moved inside the folds of her skirt, and she could only focus on the empty glass in front of her. Then Yukimura's finger was pressing against the cotton of her panties, rubbing a trail in between the folds of her labia, and she couldn't help but move into the touch.

"I have a room upstairs," Yukimura whispered in her ear, "come up with me."

Yukimura's hand slid out of her dress, and she was nodding, letting Yukimura help her up. She was sure that her face was flushed now, hoped no one noticed, but their path to the elevator was thankfully an eventless one. As soon as the elevator door shut Yukimura was reaching out for her, hands on her waist and lips pressing against her lips. She opened her mouth, letting Yukimura's tongue slide in, and felt Yukimura's hand pull on the fabric of her dress strap. She felt it slide down her shoulders, felt her breasts exposed to the air, and then Yukimura's lips were moving down, pressing kisses along her neck and collarbone.

Sanada arched as Yukimura's mouth enclosed around a nipple, her voice a slight pant, and Yukimura's other hand was underneath her skirt, pulling her underwear to the side. She was already wet, and then Yukimura's fingers were sliding into her, and she could taste the blood from where she bit down on her lip. He curled them inside her, slid them in and out, his lips back on hers and their tongues intertwining.

"You're so wet," Yukimura murmured against her lips, but then the elevator was ringing, and Yukimura's fingers were sliding out of her as she pulled up the shoulders of her dress.

They stumbled to Yukimura's room, then stumbled to the bed, Yukimura falling easily between her legs as their lips met again. His fingers were pulling at the fabric at her waist, tugging her dress up, and she could feel his hard cock pressed against her through the fabric of his pants.

Sanada reached between them with one hand as the other tangled on Yukimura's suit jacket, pressing her palm between Yukimura's legs. She could feel the lines of Yukimura's cock even through the cotton, could make out the ridges of his shaft and the outline of his cockhead. Her fingers found the outline of a button, of a zipper, and she undid Yukimura's pants and fumbled through the hole in his boxers. Her fingers met flesh, and she wrapped them around Yukimura's cock, and he was so hot and hard as she pulled him out, leaking pre-cum as she slid a thumb into the slit.

Yukimura pushed up on her thighs, spreading her legs out a little more, and she could feel the lips of her cunt spread out as she guided Yukimura's cock inside of her. She gasped as Yukimura pushed into her, inch after inch, and she wrapped both arms around Yukimura's neck as the man filled her. Then Yukimura was completely inside, and it felt so good, and Sanada wrapped her legs around his torso as he started fucking her. The room was filled with her moans, his heavy breathing, and the wet sound of their flesh meeting every time he pushed himself into her.

He licked a trail down her neck as he fucked her, a hand cupping and squeezing her breast, and Sanada could feel that familiar pleasure build up. Yukimura pushed himself up off the bed, still fucking her, but now he was half kneeling and his cock felt like it could go deeper and harder than before. His thumb reached down and found her clit, and as he rubbed it Sanada felt herself come, eyes shut as the sensation overtook her body and her pussy spasmed. Yukimura thrust into her a few more times before he pulled out, and she opened her eyes just enough to see him give his cock a few tugs, and then she felt spurts of hot semen land on her stomach and cunt.

Things after were a little bit of a haze. They lay in bed for a few moments to recover, and somehow went through the motions of cleaning up, and then Yukimura was straightening his suit, saying something about an early meeting in the morning, and Sanada knew when she was being brushed off after a one night stand. She really hadn't expected anything more than that, though she still felt a little down to think about it. But then he was pressing a business card into her palm and leaning down to press a kiss to her lips.

"I'd ask for your number, but for some reason women never trust a man who tells them he'll call them back. I'd like to see you again, so call me."

Yukimura left, the door a loud thud as it closed, and Sanada smiled to herself as she read over the cream-colored sliver of paper.


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