Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/36179. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: M/M Fandom: Prince_of_Tennis Relationship: Fuji_Shuusuke/Kikumaru_Eiji, Echizen_Ryouma/Tezuka_Kunimitsu Character: Fuji_Shuusuke, Kikumaru_Eiji, Echizen_Ryouma, Tezuka_Kunimitsu Stats: Published: 2009-12-23 Words: 1681 ****** Off the Cuff ****** by Nimori Summary Eiji's boyfriend is a bastard. This is problematic. Notes Thanks to Venivincere for the beta. Well, Eiji thought, squirming against the cold mesh of the equipment cage that was digging tracks into his naked back, it could be worse. And by the law of clichéd phrases, it immediately did get worse -- a lot worse -- as the door to the clubhouse banged open and loud voices flooded into the locker room. Fuji, of course, had left the equipment room door ajar by a good few inches when he'd left Eiji naked and handcuffed to the cage. For a few panicked moments the babble overwhelmed him, too loud and too near while he was too naked and too helpless. Lockers slammed and rackets clattered to benches and someone whooped and someone else laughed, all of it horrifyingly close through that six-inch gap. A cooler breeze from outside came in with the noise, sweeping over Eiji's belly and thighs and making his balls draw up and his nipples tighten. He shivered, and the handcuffs rattled, and he stilled, afraid someone would hear. Fuji had left the light off, but even the weak sunlight seeping down from the high narrow window seemed too bright to Eiji, and if any of the boys passing by the equipment room door looked too closely into the dimness they would see him in all his bare-assed glory. And what if someone needed a spare net? Or one of the traffic cones they used for precision training? What if the soccer team came looking for that ball that had migrated to the tennis club's equipment room two years ago? His stomach tensed at the thought, a weird fluttery feeling that trembled down his legs, and he willed Fuji to hurry up and rescue him, knowing Fuji would do no such thing. The voices thinned out as the showers started up, and no one came into the equipment room. Eiji's racing heart slowed, and he began to hear individuals in the chatter: Momo and Kaidoh arguing, Arai complaining, Taka singing, Horio reliving an apparently glorious drop shot, Katsuo and Kachiro correcting his rendition. "I can't believe Eiji didn't show up for practice." That was Oishi, and he sounded hurt. Eiji leaned forward reflexively, but the cuffs didn't give him much leeway. "Are you sure he didn't call, Tezuka? Can you check your phone again?" "When I get out of the shower," Tezuka said, sounding as irritated as Tezuka ever did, and Eiji just knew he was going to be running a billion laps for this. Fuji, he thought as hard as he could, screwing up his face in effort, utterly convinced Fuji could read his mind, you are going to run every one of my laps with me. And then he jerked as Fuji spoke up. "No need to worry, Oishi. Eiji left me a message before practice saying he wouldn't make it." "You could have said something earlier," Taka said, "instead of letting us wonder." "How odd that Eiji spoke to Fuji," Inui said. "There is an eighty-six percent chance that Fuji would withhold such information for his own amusement." "You're right, Inui," Fuji said, and Eiji could just see him smiling cheerfully, the bastard. "It was more fun to listen to Momo's theories. I especially liked the idea that he was kidnapped by aliens." "Please pass on the message next time," Tezuka said, still in a lap-assigning sort of tone. "But Tezuka, Eiji could be naked right now, chained to a metal wall, waiting to be probed." Momo and Taka laughed, and Eiji bit his lip savagely and pretended it was Fuji. The second-years were out the door first, as usual, and then the third-years as they finished putting themselves in girl-worthy order, followed by the first- years as they finished cleaning up after the rest. The regulars always took the longest, having less inclination to rush off to other activities, and Eiji was squirming by the time Taka and Inui left. Kaidoh went next, grunting something about improving his timing, and while Oishi was pestering Tezuka to check his phone once more, just in case, Fuji slipped into the equipment room, leaving the door just as far open as it had been. Asshole, Eiji mouthed, and Fuji blew him a silent kiss. Shut the door. Fuji shook his head. Eiji tried to kick him without rattling but Fuji just used the opportunity to get between his legs, all clean-smelling and damp-haired and annoyingly smug. "What are you doing?" Eiji breathed, afraid to speak any louder. "You made me miss practice." "Isn't this more fun?" Fuji's voice was low but not low enough; Oishi and Momo had finally gone and the locker room was silent except for a sneaker squeak, a zipper, a bag hitting the bench. "Fuji, be quiet! Buchou and Ochibi are still here." "So it is fun, then." Fuji nibbled on his ear, and even though being handcuffed naked right next to a roomful of his teammates hadn't been fun at all -- not very much anyway -- the nibbling was fun and Fuji knew it. Eiji knees wobbled and the cuffs took more of his weight. "Stop that." He didn't sound very convincing to himself, but it was hard to be firm while whispering. "I'm serious. I'm mad at you." Fuji cupped him, and Eiji's traitorous dick swelled a little more. "Interesting way of expressing your anger." I hate you, Eiji thought at Fuji, but Fuji only smiled and ran his thumbnail lightly across his slit. Okay, it was getting a little more fun. Eiji wriggled. A bit more pressure and-- "Buchou." Echizen's voice rang through the clubhouse and Eiji almost leapt out of his skin. Fuji's hand clamped down on him, slow firm strokes now, and Eiji glared as well as he could with his eyes wanting to cross. "Buchou, Fuji-senpai was lying about Eiji-senpai, wasn't he?" Tezuka was silent for a moment and Fuji decided now would be a good time to start sucking on Eiji's neck and kneading his balls like a cat. Eiji stomped his bare foot and concentrated on not yelling. "He was," Tezuka said. "My guess is he tricked Kikumaru into believing practice was canceled or moved somewhere else. Kikumaru will deal with him." "Really? How will you deal with me?" Fuji whispered into Eiji's ear, and Eiji bit his shoulder, hard. Fuji only rocked his hips forward, stiff under his gakuran, the material rough against Eiji tender skin. "I'm going to beat you with your own racket," Eiji managed to say, and he bit an earlobe, but not as hard. Fuji hummed. "So buchou," Echizen said, and Tezuka didn't answer. "Here we are." "But why won't they leave?" Eiji moaned under his breath, and Fuji laughed silently, pressing his face to Eiji's chest, shoulders shaking. "Alone in the clubhouse," Echizen continued, stressing the words for some reason Eiji couldn't decipher with Fuji fingering the grooves the cage made on his ass. "Just us." "Echizen." Tezuka sighed. "Is there something you wanted?" "Che. Buchou, I'm trying to get you to take advantage of me again." Eiji sucked in a breath, his ass forgotten, but his shout died when Fuji clapped a hand over his mouth and nose. Fuji's eyes had opened, and they were gleaming and dangerous and wickedly amused. "I knew it," he whispered, and let Eiji breathe again. In the other room Tezuka was talking, saying something about mistakes and not happening again and abuse of authority. Fuji rolled his eyes. Eiji hadn't quite managed to put his back in his head. Again?! "I see," Echizen said, and there was a soft thump, and then a rustle. "What are you doing?" Tezuka's voice had gone up a notch. "I know what he's doing," Fuji whispered. "Echizen's blowing him." Eiji squirmed, suddenly hot down to his toes. "He is not!" "Is so. I saw them at it last week." Fuji wriggled a hand between them and unzipped his uniform pants; he was damp and clean from his shower and his dick rubbed harshly over Eiji's until Fuji spat in his hand and slicked them. He fluttered his lashes. "Has anyone ever blown you, Eijiko?" Eiji flushed. Fuji knew the answer to that, because Fuji had been teasing him about it for weeks. "Do you know why I tied you up, Eiji?" Fuji's mouth was hot at one ear, and the shuffling sounds coming from the locker room burned the other. Eiji wriggled. "It's because you just can't hold still long enough for me to lick my way down your belly--" Eiji whimpered. (In the other room Tezuka gasped.) "--down to your dick--" Eiji arched. (The bench screeched across the floor and a racket fell to the ground.) "--where I can wrap my lips around you, so big and hot, and use my tongue to--" Eiji came all over Fuji's school trousers. (Echizen gave a surprised sort of grunt and said, "Buchou, my hair.") "Well," Fuji said, blinking down at the mess, "it's a good thing it's laundry day." Eiji shut his eyes and let his head fall against the mesh, not caring if anyone heard them. "I hate you so much, Fujiko." "You're welcome, Eijiko." Outside, a locker rattled and Tezuka stomped by the open door, muttering about laps and pushy freshmen. The faucet ran briefly, and then Echizen wandered along in his wake, cap tugged down over his wet hair. When the door had shut Eiji straightened up and shook his wrists. "Are you going to let me down now, you pervert?" "Mmm." Fuji reached up, and the tension loosened. "Let's go to my house. You still have to punish me. Captain's orders." "Fine, fine. But I'm not dressing up again, and I don't care how expensive the costume rental was. Where did you get real handcuffs anyway?" Eiji grumbled, rubbing the circulation back into his arms. "Oh, I stole those from Yuuta's magic kit." Fuji tilted his head, smiling. "You did find the release catch on the side, right?" If Tezuka or Echizen were surprised to see a naked Eiji chasing Fuji across the courts, neither of them had the nerve to mention it. Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!   “Be quiet, I’m trying to lose them.”   “Try harder.” Eames says, then falls silent.   Once they’re over the bridge, it’s easier to shake their pursuers in the winding city streets. After ten minutes free of sightings, Arthur relaxes and turns the car toward his house. He circles the block three times, just to be safe, before pulling into his garage.   “Where are we?” Eames asks when Arthur cut the engine.   “They’ll be looking for you. You can’t go back yet.”   “Yeah, no shit. But where are we?”   Arthur climbs out of the car, opening the back door for Eames. “My house.”   Eames stares up at him, shocked.   “Are you getting out of the car, or would you prefer to spend the night in here?”   Eames unfolds himself from the backseat, moving carefully and staring at Arthur like he doesn’t know what he should expect next.   Arthur lets them into the house, flicking lights on as he goes. He tosses his keys on the kitchen counter, draping his jacket and tie over a chair.   “Won’t your wife be upset you brought home a street urchin?” Eames asks, eyes roaming around the house, taking in the sparse furnishings.   “Look around. You really think a woman lives here?” Arthur chuckles, pulling a bottle of beer out of the fridge.   “Good point. Although, it’s better than my place.”   “The alley I found you in is better than the shithole you call an apartment.” Arthur twists the top off his bottle and drinks deeply.   “Hey,” Eames says, hurt.   Arthur mentally kicks himself for being an asshole. “Let me take those cuffs off.”   Eames holds out his hands, eyes downcast.   “I’d offer you a beer, but you’re not of legal age yet.” He removes the cuffs.   “Yes, it is prudent to abide the law and not give alcohol to the underage rent boy you brought home.” Eames shakes his head, some of his good humour returning.   Arthur lets out a surprised laugh, smiling. Eames beams at him, rubbing his wrists.   “Were they too tight?” Arthur asks.   “No, just feels weird to have them off around you. There’s something comforting about them, yeah?”   A coil of heat unfurls in Arthur’s belly at the words and he busies himself with getting Eames a beer to cover it. Bringing the kid home with him may not have been such a good idea.   “Ta,” Eames takes the bottle and Arthur absolutely does not watch the way his throat moves as he swallows.   Arthur feels trapped with Eames blocking the entrance to the kitchen. He clears his throat. “Let’s go in the living room, I have some questions for you.”   Eames stands sideways, forcing Arthur to brush past him before following. Arthur collapses in the armchair, rubbing a hand over his face. Eames goes to the bookshelf, running his finger along some of the spines.   “I miss books,” he says quietly.   “You can borrow some, if you’d like.” Arthur blurts before he can stop himself.   “Nah, they’d just get stolen,” Eames smiles sheepishly, settling on the sofa. “But thanks.”   Arthur raises the bottle to his lips.   “So, what did you want?” Eames asks, voice low.   Arthur chokes on the last sip of beer, sputtering. Eames looks alarmed, but Arthur holds out a hand to stop him from approaching.   “Sorry, that, um, went down the wrong way.” His face is aflame. He carefully sets his empty bottle on the coffee table and avoids Eames’ gaze.   “You’re much smoother when we’re in your car,” Eames observes, raising his eyebrow. “You seem nervous now. It’s a little adorable.”   Arthur can’t think of anything to say that won’t make him sound like an asshole, so he ignores the kid and grabs himself another beer. He takes a healthy swig and a few deep breaths before returning to the chair.   “A man by the name of Stephen Sylvania was shot two nights ago in the lot of the BigWay. Have you heard anything?” Arthur stares straight ahead, deciding to treat Eames like he does during their normal meetings.   “I wasn’t out Wednesday night. It was pouring.”   “I didn’t ask if you were out, I asked if you’d heard anything. I wouldn’t think a little rain would deter you.”   “Why because I should be out every night turning tricks? I get days off too, you know. And no, I haven’t heard anything, just that someone got shot.” Eames takes a drink.   Arthur glances at him, surprised by the anger in the kid’s voice. “I actually meant because it rains a lot in England. At least I think it does, I’ve never been.”   Eames looks chagrined. “Oh, yeah. It does. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”   “I didn’t consider that. I’m from California and I feel like the sun never fucking shines here.”   “Do you miss it?” Eames asks, leaning on the arm of the sofa.   “I dream about sunshine. It’s depressing.”   Eames laughs. “I dream about the seaside where I grew up.”   Arthur watches him, lost in thought with a small smile on his face. The kid is really quite beautiful. The swelling mark on his cheek when he turns his head ruins the illusion, and Arthur frowns.   “The guy in the alley do that?” He flicks his hand.   “Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess so.” Eames sits back.   “Does it hurt?” Arthur asks, unable to stop staring at the damage to the kid’s otherwise unblemished face.   “It’s fine.” Eames sniffs.   Arthur goes into the kitchen, returning with a baggie of ice wrapped in a dish towel. He tosses it to Eames. “Put that on it, it’ll help.”   Eames grumbles his thanks.   “He hit you twice.” Arthur says, thinking back.   “No, just the one.”   “No, I heard two. Where else did he get you?” Arthur scowls, meaning to intimidate Eames into confessing.   “Your face isn’t nearly as scary as you think it is. Especially now that I know you have dimples.” The kid takes a swig of beer.   “Fuck you.”   “But only if I ask nicely, right?” Eames leers at him.   Arthur’s cock twitches, deepening his scowl. The kid is deflecting the only way he knows how and Arthur needs to keep a clear head if he wants answers.   “I can drop you back at that bar if you’d prefer. I’m sure your friend is conscious by now and looking for you. Or maybe Carlos will get lucky and find you first.” Arthur drains his second bottle, hating the steel in his voice.   Eames sobers, huffing angrily through his nose. “He got in a kick to my ribs. I’m fine, though.”   “Let me see.” Arthur stands.   “You’re bossy, you know that?” Eames asks, scooting forward to pull up his shirt.   “Yes,” Arthur crouches in front of the couch, frowning at the violent purple bruising across the kid’s ribs. “This is older than tonight.”   Eames tries to pull his shirt down but Arthur’s hand shoots out to stop him, pushing until the shirt is off. “Who did this?”   “Look, I don’t actually have to tell you anything. This Nightingale act isn’t part of our deal.”   “I’m protecting my investment. Who did this?” Arthur trails his fingers over the marks, making Eames wince.   “Same guy, different night.” He grits his teeth.   “He pull a knife on you that night, too?”   “No, the knife was new.” Eames mutters.   Arthur raises his eyebrows. “Just liked it a little rough, huh?”   Eames rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe he had something else in mind, but I still had everything in control.”   “You can’t let people do that. They’re not allowed to do whatever they want to you, just because they paid.” Arthur’s hand clenches against the couch cushion, his other still wrapped around the kid’s injured ribs.   “Yes, they can. That’s how it works, Detective. You think I can afford to be picky? I start saying no and they either take it anyway, or I starve. Being your ears doesn’t pay as well as you think it does.” Eames breaths are coming hard and fast, his face inches from Arthur’s.   “Why didn’t you say something? I could have done,” Arthur stops, at a loss. “Something.” He finishes lamely.   Eames snorts, dragging a hand through Arthur’s hair. “What can you do? You can’t save me, Arthur. Not the way you want to.”   Arthur pushes to his feet, falling back into his chair with his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.”   “For what?” Eames asks.   “You know for what,” he spits.   “I want to hear you say it. I think I’ve been honest with you, now it’s your turn. What are you sorry for, Detective.”   When Arthur raises his head, Eames’ eyes are hard. “For using you. I’m no better than that man in the alley. Than any of them.”   “It’s not quite the same.”   “Yes it is, God. I paid you to get what I wanted. I put your life in danger for my gain. How is that different than some asshole tossing down a few bills and shoving his cock in you?” Arthur’s voice is raw.   “It’s different because I say it is. It’s different because when it’s for you, I want to do it. You know what my favourite part of our nights together is?”   Arthur shakes his head, wary of the passion in the kid’s voice.   “When we eat. Because we sit across from each other and you actually talk to me. You don’t press for answers, it’s not out of pity, or fake, it’s just two blokes talking to each other like they’re both human, and worth the fucking effort of the conversation. You know who else talks to me like that? No one. You are the only person who treats me like I’m worth anything more than what I do for a living. So do you have any idea how much it hurts to hear you say all of that means nothing because you pay me for information? It fucking hurts, Arthur.” Eames is perched on the edge of the couch, pain etched across his face.   Arthur has no words. He has no idea what to say to take away the strain in Eames’ voice. Anything he does will only make things worse.   Eames slides off the couch, kneeling on the shitty grey carpet. “This would be so much easier if you were like those guys, believe me. If you’d taken my offer the first time, treated me like just another hooker on the street, then I could hate you. If you didn’t buy me dinner and ask my opinion, I wouldn’t have to like you. If you’d hadn’t refused me, I wouldn’t want to give you things.”   Eames’ eyes are boring into his and Arthur can’t deny the heat he sees in them. “What do you want to give me?” He asks, voice cracking.   Eames crawls toward him slowly, giving him time to bolt. Arthur stays where he is, willing his hands to stop shaking. Eames’ hands land on Arthur’s knees, sliding up his thighs, heavy and warm.   “Everything.” Eames whispers, his lips mere inches from Arthur’s.   “If I take it, doesn’t that make me like them?” Arthur’s eyes dart down to the kid’s lips.   “Not if I’m offering. And not if you give back.”   Arthur drags his eyes back to Eames’. “What do you want from me?”   Eames smiles, slow and wide. “Everything.”   Arthur pulls Eames in with a hand on the back of his neck, pressing their mouths together. Eames surges forward, pushing into him, but Arthur holds him back, not wanting to rush this. He kisses Eames, soft and slow, savouring the taste of him. The kid’s hands are everywhere, plucking at Arthur’s buttons, rubbing over his crotch, and Arthur pulls away, grasping his wrists.   “Calm down,”   “What if you change you mind?” Eames asks, breathless.   “I won’t. Let’s just go slow, okay?”   Eames huffs a laugh. “I’m not sure I remember how to do that.”   Arthur pushes him back, dropping a kiss to his brow when Eames whimpers. He goes into the kitchen for the cuffs.   “Will these will help?” He lays them in Eames’ hand.   “Yes,” Eames says, closing his eyes. “Please.”   “In front or behind your back? Tell me what you want.” Arthur sits, brushing Eames’ hair away from his face.   Eames licks his lips, frowning. “Behind, I think. It’s easier to stay calm like that.”   “Okay, turn around.”   Arthur smiles at the shudder that goes through Eames when the cuffs go on.   “Tighter. Just a bit.” Eames asks over his shoulder.   “How’s that?”   Eames flexes his wrists, the muscles of his back making Arthur’s mouth water.   “Perfect.”   Arthur turns him around with a hand to his jaw, kissing him once he’s in range. “You’re sure? I don’t want to to feel trapped.”   Eames smiles, blushing. “It’s not like that. It makes me feel safe. Like you’re in control and you’ll take care of me. I know it’s weird.”   “No, it’s fine. I like it. I’ll do whatever you want,” Arthur’s hands run over the kid’s heated skin. “You’re so beautiful.”   Eames laughs, leaning into his touch. “What can I do?”   “Anything. Everything.” Arthur says.   “I want to suck you off. Can I do that?” Eames looks worried, like Arthur might actually say no.   “God, yes.” Arthur fumbles for his belt.   “Wait, just, let me.” Eames leans forward, pressing his face into Arthur’s crotch, nuzzling.   Arthur groans at the pressure, trying not to buck.   “You smell amazing, you know that?” Eames’ lips brush across Arthur’s cock as he speaks. “Sometimes when we’re in your car, it’s all I can do not to lean over and lick you. God, I want to eat you up.”   Arthur makes an inelegant noise, digging his hands into the armrests as Eames mouths at him through the layers of his clothing.   “Can you open your pants for me, please?” Eames asks, cheeks reddened and looking up at Arthur from beneath lowered lashes.   Arthur forces himself to go slow as he open his belt and pulls it through the loops. Eames make a sound of approval, licking his lips. His hands shake as he slips the clasp free and he struggles with the button before it slides free. Eames eyes are on his, clear and dark, as he lowers the zipper.   Eames starts rubbing his face against Arthur’s cock again, groaning. He suckles at the wet spot on Arthur’s briefs, making him jerk. He mouths along the shaft, breath warm and wet.   Arthur is quickly coming undone, unsure of how much he should be reacting. “What can I do?”   “Hmm, you’re doing it,” Eames grins up at him, smile faltering when he sees the tension in Arthur’s face. “Oh, pet, I’m sorry. Take off your pants, let me get to you.   Arthur hurries to comply, slouching back in the chair once his pants and underwear are gone. Eames kisses his way up Arthur’s inner thigh, drawing his nose, then his tongue over his balls. He drags his lips up Arthur’s cock, and Arthur can’t keep his whole body from shivering when Eames sucks the head between his lips.   “Fucking hell,” he breathes, forcing his eyes to stay open. “Can I touch you?”   Eames hums around him, pulling a moan from Arthur’s throat. He sinks one hand into the kid’s short hair, resting on the curve of his skull. The other hand cups his jaw, enjoying the movements of the bone under his fingers.   Eames pulls him deeper, shuffling forward on his knees. His mouth is hot and slick, and Arthur is certain nothing has ever felt this good. Eames bobs his head slowly, sucking harder as Arthur drags out of him.   Heat is building quickly in Arthur’s gut, despite his need to make this last. Eames mouth is too good, and too tight, and he’s gasping a warning before he can stop it. Eames sinks down on him, groaning as Arthur comes. He pulls of with a wet pop and scrambles back.   “Please, Arthur, please.” He’s gasping, trying to shove his pants down with his hands trapped beneath him.   Arthur straddles him, pressing down to still his bucking hips. He barely gets the jeans open and a hand around his cock before Eames is coming with a shout, spurting over Arthur’s hand and his own belly. Arthur presses his head to Eames’ chest, panting, before going in search of the cuff key. He rolls Eames onto his side, releasing his wrist and rubbing his arms to soothe the strain. Eames curls into him, clutching at Arthur’s shirt and smearing the mess between them. He’s taking deep, shuddering breaths and pressing his wet mouth to Arthur’s neck.   Arthur hold him close, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders and burying his nose in Eames’ hair. He’s not sure what happens next, but for right now he can’t bear the thought of letting go of the boy in his arms.   End Notes Find me on tumblr at teacuphuman09 Comments and kudos are like rainbow kisses! Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!