Namely, drabbles in which Fuji is a creepy whore, as opposed to the Power Rangers, who simply turn into themselves with colorful suits and madd karate skillz.
So then, I started trying to write Tezuka/Ryoma, figuring that if I could write nothing else, I would at least be able to write that.
No dice, and Fuji told me that if I should attempt to write him out any more, he would do something I wouldn't like. (^_^) So now, here are several drabbles, all of which are rated PG-13 and in all of which Fuji is a creepy whore. I apologize.
Fuji drapes his arms around Tezuka’s shoulders and smiles, leaning in for a kiss. His lips move, feather-light, against Tezuka’s.
Tezuka should know better than to believe he is safe, that Fuji is only teasing him again, but teenage hormones are enough to dull anyone’s judgement.
The kiss changes quickly enough to make Tezuka’s head spin. Fuji bites Tezuka’s lower lip hard, and his hand fists painfully in Tezuka’s hair. When Tezuka opens his mouth to draw in a quick breath, Fuji’s tongue slips through his teeth, forcing him to keep his mouth open. Fuji’s tongue strokes skillfully along Tezuka’s, then performs a series of flickering motions against the roof of Tezuka’s mouth.
Tezuka has to use all of his strength to jerk himself away from Fuji’s grasp. Fuji’s smile suggests that Tezuka only got away because Fuji allowed him to do so. “No,” says Tezuka, meeting Fuji’s eyes, not letting himself step away. He knows he cannot show fear to a predator on the attack.
“No?” Fuji asks. He moves in so that his lips brush Tezuka’s ear as he murmurs, “Would it help if I called you buchou?”
Tezuka does step away then, not because it wouldn’t help, but because it would.
“Should I pretend I’m Tezuka, then?” Fuji grazes the shell of Inui’s ear with his teeth. “Or Kaidoh? I’m sure I could do a very convincing job.” His voice drops to a lower register and sounds too much like Kaidoh’s for comfort. “Don’t you think? Senpai?”
Inui should tell Fuji to stop. No, that isn’t true; he should never have let Fuji start to begin with. “Who is it you really want, Fuji?” he asks instead, his voice so hoarse that it’s unrecognizable. “Who is it you want me to be?”
The question is meant to be for strictly academic purposes. If they are doing this only because they both of them are available and willing, then that means Inui is not the only one who wants it to be someone else’s hand slipping beneath the waistband of his pants, someone else’s mouth leaving bruises on the pale skin beneath his jaw.
He should know better than to ask an academic question of the one person who always has an answer.
Fuji looks up at him and smiles. “I don’t know if I want you calling me aniki.”
Momo’s back slams against the locker and he yelps into Fuji-senpai’s mouth. Fuji won’t let him go, but takes hold of Momo’s tongue in his teeth and bites. Momo groans and bites back, but Fuji has already pulled his own tongue away, so Momo only clips the edge of Fuji’s lip.
“Ah...Fuji-senpai!” Momo makes a half-hearted attempt to push him away, but Fuji takes hold of his wrists and digs his nails into them. Fuji grinds his hips hard against Momo, and Momo can’t help jerking his own hips forward.
Suddenly, the assault stops. Fuji steps back and Momo slumps, panting, using the lockers for support. He stares at Fuji, wide-eyed, not sure whether to run or to beg for more.
Fuji smiles so sweetly at him that Momo can hardly believe what just happened a moment ago. “So you do like it rough,” Fuji muses, and then walks away.
Tezuka walks into the clubroom one day to find Fuji pinning Ryoma against the wall, kissing him. Ryoma’s head is bent back, his eyes closed, his breath coming in short panting gasps. Fuji’s hand is under his shirt, sliding it up so that Tezuka can see those few inches of skin.
Fuji sees Tezuka the instant he walks in. One of Fuji’s eyelids flutters open and gives him the lazy, satisfied stare of the cat who has not only eaten the canary, but is still in the process of doing so, without caring at all what its master might think. Fuji arches his hips against Ryoma’s, rubbing slowly, and Ryoma lets out a soft moan.
“Like to join us, Tezuka?” Fuji inquires, turning just a bit so that he is speaking, and smiling, against Ryoma’s lips.
“No.” Tezuka turns to leave, his hand on the doorknob, already turning it and opening the door. He glances back, though, which, in retrospect, is the most incredible mistake of his life so far.
Ryoma’s eyes are open now, and they fix on Tezuka, even as Fuji kisses a sensuous trail down his neck. “Buchou,” he breathes. “Stay?”
Tezuka closes the door.