Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/228419.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Tennis_no_Oujisama_|_Prince_of_Tennis
  Relationship:
      Sanada_Genichirou/Yukimura_Seiichi
  Character:
      Sanada_Genichirou, Yukimura_Seiichi
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-07-26 Words: 1294
****** Golden Set ******
by starfishing
Summary
     He speaks in lilting rays of sunshine. It doesn't faze Gen'ichirou.
"This is just a ruse," Gen'ichirou says, and Seiichi can hear the soft dip of
amusement in his deep voice.
Seiichi smiles. "What's a ruse, Gen'ichirou?" He speaks in lilting rays of
sunshine. It doesn't faze Gen'ichirou.
"'Training.'" There's a hint of Renji in Gen'ichirou's voice, so subtly mocking
it's almost undetectable. "I don't know why you bother."
"Because not bothering would be unprofessional," answers Seiichi, chuckling,
low and throaty. "Appearances, Gen'ichirou, appearances." He finishes fastening
on the wrist weights and flexes his arm, sleek sinew bulging and shifting
beneath pretty skin.
With a gleaming smile, he turns his gaze on Gen'ichirou. "Will it make you feel
better if I go first?" he asks.
Gen'ichirou pauses to consider the ache in his track pants. It most certainly
would make him feel better, but training is training, and Gen'ichirou trains
himself harder than anyone else. After just a moment, he replies, "No. I'll go
first."
The weights are considerably heavier than what they train with ordinarily;
Gen'ichirou can feel the pull of gravity as he moves around behind his captain.
Seiichi is tense, anticipating, willing himself not to look over his shoulder.
Gen'ichirou lets him wait, counts the seconds until Seiichi's sharp hiss of
impatience. Only six.
"Patience," he chides, smirk audible. He rests broad palms on Seiichi's
shoulders, feeling the jut of bones beneath his jacket. "Patience is just as
important as strength."
"You don't have to tell me that," Seiichi grouses, shrugging agitatedly as
Gen'ichirou slides the jacket off of him. "You're no more patient than I am."
It's a cheap stab and a lie, and neither of them cares to point it out.
Almost delicately, Gen'ichirou smooths his hands down Seiichi's arms, relishing
the twitch of his biceps. He is far more patient than Seiichi's ever been,
though it is a learned quality. He thinks he picked it up from Renji, and that
it's come easier with age. Right now, he is just this side of patient. It won't
take much before he's chomping at the bit.
His hands track down Seiichi's sides and fingers dip beneath the waistband of
the younger boy's pants. Seiichi stands stubbornly still, body held rigid to
keep himself from reacting too soon. Gen'ichirou reaches lower, slowly, the tug
of the weights on his wrist making his movements more purposeful, careful.
Letting his hand drop would be easy; lowering it deliberately takes measured
strength.
Seiichi draws in a testy breath just before Gen'ichirou touches him, calloused
palm rough on Seiichi's most sensitive skin. The breath turns breathless.
Seiichi is hard under Gen'ichirou's fingers; as always, harder and more eager
than Gen'ichirou. He has no capacity for patience, only driving force to get
what he wants now. Gen'ichirou takes advantage of this restlessness as often as
his own impatience will allow him. Seeing Seiichi writhe and growl epithets is
a soothing reminder that they're not all that different, that Seiichi is only
human, a prancing stallion of a teenage boy just like the rest of them.
With a twist of his wrist, Gen'ichirou pushes Seiichi's pants down just far
enough to pull him erect and free. Seiichi is quivering now with the effort of
not bucking into the too-slow touch. He makes a low sound, warning, sharp.
Gen'ichirou ignores it serenely. This is no place where Seiichi can order him
around; here, authority is much more evenly distributed. Here, they are
divested of rank and accomplishment.
Gen'ichirou begins to pump Seiichi's cock, unhurried, with just enough torque
and not enough grip. He sees Seiichi's fists clench at his sides as Gen'ichirou
leans over his shoulder to watch his hand move. Seiichi's breathing is ragged,
harsh, and his eyes are narrowed where they're fixed on the locker bank. The
sound makes Gen'ichirou's cock throb.
Now begins Gen'ichirou's impatience. He picks up the pace, his motions becoming
less awkward as he adjusts to the weight on his wrist. His fingers squeeze just
behind the head, pressure easing off with each downstroke.
It's impossible for Seiichi to hide his body's reactions now. His head falls
back, finding Gen'ichirou's shoulder, and his eyes close, laboured breathing
turning to low, almost whining groans. He lets his hips twist up into
Gen'ichirou's hand, adopting a counter-rhythm to satisfy the primal urge to
fuck something — anything.
The same urge is wearing on Gen'ichirou's precarious self-control, and
Seiichi's body arching and contorting in his arms does nothing to dissipate it.
Before he knows it, Seiichi's back is flush up against him, the bulge of his
cock pressing tight against Seiichi's ass. They moan in unison, high and
keening overlapping low and coarse.
"Should've let me — aah — go first," Seiichi pants. The imperious tone is lost
in translation, but Gen'ichirou understands his intention.
"Shut up," he warns.
Seiichi's eyes flash open at the edge in Gen'ichirou's voice. It's a dangerous
one, the same gleaming edge that comes in when Renji presses all the wrong
buttons and won't stop. It turns Seiichi on.
"What? Pissed that you can't handle it?" Seiichi arches his back, sacrificing
friction for his ass against Gen'ichirou's straining hard-on. He moans, voice
dropping into dark velvet. "All you have to do is ask."
All at once, Seiichi is flipped around, pinned to the locker bank, his mouth
crushed beneath Gen'ichirou's and his bare cock rubbing harshly against the
fabric tented over Gen'ichirou's crotch. He grunts and laughs into the kiss,
his hands suddenly free from his self-assigned restraints as they delve into
Gen'ichirou's pants. Gen'ichirou muffles indistinct, wordless groans in
Seiichi's hair, the sounds broken by gasping endeavours for air.
Seiichi's hands are heavy, his motions haphazard as he jerks Gen'ichirou off,
his own arousal pitching higher with every unconscious thrust of Gen'ichirou's
hips. "Can't handle — ngh — a little heavy training, you — nnfuck—ing
weakling?" he manages. Gen'ichirou's mouth finds his again, words growled
against his lips.
"Shut up, Seiichi, shut up."
They kiss, and it swallows the last of Seiichi's breath. He feels light-headed.
Gen'ichirou's hand is as rough and reckless as his own, tight grip just shy of
painful. Seiichi's head spins dizzyingly, the spiralling feeling coiling down
into his stomach, warm and aching and climbing and tensing — Seiichi's whole
body draws taut, and his cock pulses against Gen'ichirou's as he comes,
breathing in gasps and strained curses when Gen'ichirou surrenders his lips.
As soon as he can see again, Seiichi's hand remembers to move, and two more
quick jerks bring Gen'ichirou off, groaning from deep in his chest. He grinds
against Seiichi, their cocks still pressed together between them, and Seiichi
feels his knees trying to buckle at the overstimulation. He's grateful to be
pinned between Gen'ichirou and the lockers.
They breathe harshly in the silence, neither moving until Gen'ichirou nuzzles
Seiichi's neck, then pulls away.
"Game, set and match, Sanada," he declares, picking up a confident stride once
his legs agree to work. He leaves the wrist weights in place as he cleans up
and washes his hands.
Seiichi doesn't move an inch, just watches Gen'ichirou with a lazy smirk, like
the cat who didn't have to catch the canary, because the canary came to him. He
looks on as Gen'ichirou frowns at the white smears on his pants, wetting a
towel to wipe them off. "What game were you playing, Gen'ichirou? That was a
golden set — game, set and match, Yukimura; six games to love."
Whether it's a bluff or not, Gen'ichirou throws the wet towel at him. Seiichi
laughs, tired and uncontrived. "You're still too early to win against me," he
says, beginning to clean himself up.
"It's a good thing you make losing so rewarding for me," Gen'ichirou retorts,
"or I might decide to win someday."
"If you think losing against me is rewarding, you should."
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