Used To, by kishmet. Written for matchynishi's request: Fujicest. Prompt - hot pink. I wrote this during class, again. XD It's a good thing my professors don't know that I'm not dutifully taking notes.
"What's this?" Yuuta stared at the roll of grip tape in his hand. He held it gingerly between two fingers as though it was a poisonous snake that was likely to bite.
"I bought an extra roll, and I remembered that it used to be your favorite color," said Syusuke, smiling at him. "Do you like it?"
"Aniki..." Yuuta said, disgusted. "I haven't liked pink since I was five!"
"But you loved it then. I remember you played with your Barbie car every night after kaa-san turned off the light..."
"I did not!" Yuuta snapped, turning red.
"You did," said Syusuke. "It was this exact shade of hot pink, wasn't it? You'd put nee-san's Barbie in the front seat and drive it around under the covers. The bumper always used to fall off, and you'd bring it in for me to fix, don't you remember?"
"Kind of," Yuuta muttered. Actually, he remembered pretty clearly, but since the memory involved him in tears, running into his aniki's bed with the Barbie car, he preferred to think about it as little as possible.
"You borrowed nee-san's skirt once, too," said Syusuke, sighing in a way that sounded disturbingly nostalgic to Yuuta. "It was the same color as the car. You just loved that skirt, the way it flared when nee-san twirled."
"Aniki, cut it out!" Yuuta said, ducking his head so his brother wouldn't see that he was blushing furiously. He knew what came next in this little story. He'd put on the skirt, run into Syusuke's room, tried a twirl, and had fallen over and cried until Syusuke comforted him and showed him how to twirl carefully without tripping over the edges. Probably Syusuke had pictures of it, too. When Syusuke didn't say anything else, Yuuta looked up.
His brother leaned over and planted a kiss directly on Yuuta's mouth.
"You used to love it when I kissed you," Syusuke said.
"I haven't liked that since I was five either!" He rubbed at his lips with the back of his hand, then realized that he was acting like he was five years old and stopped.
"You don't have to take the grip tape if you don't want to," said Syusuke. "It just reminded me of you."
"I'll take it," said Yuuta finally, fingering the roll of tape. "That doesn't mean I'll use it, though."
The next day at practice, the first years eyed him. Luckily, they were easily put off when he glared at them, and they scattered.
Unfortunately, the other St. Rudolph regulars didn't fear him quite so much.
"Hey, Yuuta." Atsushi stopped staring at Yuuta's racket and asked the question Yuuta had been dreading. "What's up with that grip tape?"
Yuuta looked down at the hot pink handle of his racket and scowled. "Oh, shut up."
With, by kishmet. TezuRyo, PG. I originally wrote this for pillarchallenge, then realized that it was no longer actually feasible what with the new flight regulations. Oh well.
Ryoma leaned over, pretending as though he was looking at the magazine Tezuka was reading. “Want to join the Mile High Club?” he whispered against Tezuka’s ear.
Tezuka glanced up from the magazine, a dull one provided by the airline that had nothing to do with tennis. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Ryoma was startled, but he recovered quickly. He smirked. “Should I go wait in the bathroom, then?”
“No,” said Tezuka, returning to his magazine.
“We’re doing that right here?” Ryoma breathed, though he knew very well that Tezuka hadn’t meant any such thing.
“No,” said Tezuka.
“We’re running out of places, unless you want to go up with the pilots,” said Ryoma. “I don’t think they’d let us, though.”
“We’re not doing that anywhere on this plane.”
“But I thought you said you wanted to…buchou.” He said the last part in the soft, half-pleading voice that was guaranteed to make Tezuka react, whether he wanted to or not.
“I said that I wanted to, not that I was going to, Echizen.” Ryoma wondered for the thousandth time how his name in a voice so ridiculously platonic could make him shiver the way it did. Someday he’d figure it out.
“Excuse me, would you two gentlemen like something to drink?” The flight attendant stood by their seats with a cart, smiling. Probably she thought Tezuka was Ryoma’s older brother, or something.
“Sake,” said Ryoma, and when she opened her mouth to object, he added, “For him.”
Tezuka gave him a look, and then shook his head quickly before the flight attendant could pour the drink. “Orange juice, please.”
“Do you have grape Ponta?” Ryoma asked.
The flight attendant shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir, we don't, but if you'd care for some other kind of soda..."
"I wouldn't," said Ryoma.
"All right..." she looked nervous, as though Ryoma was going to throw a tantrum if he didn't get his way. Naturally, Ryoma didn't. She relaxed. "Your son is very well-behaved, sir."
"Thank you," said Tezuka, nodding politely. She smiled and moved down to the next aisle.
"How old would that make you? Thirty?" Ryoma asked, without bothering to check if she was out of earshot.
"You should have taken the sake," said Ryoma. "I'll be bothering you the whole time."
"You're not bothering me."
"Oh." Ryoma paused for a second. "Should I try harder?"
"No." Tezuka put the magazine back in the pocket in front of him. He picked up the water bottle that he'd set in the cupholder at the beginning of the flight. Tezuka handed the water bottle to Ryoma. "Here."
"Water?" Ryoma asked skeptically, taking the bottle.
Ryoma uncapped and took a sip. His eyes widened. It was grape Ponta. "Thanks, buchou," he said casually, taking another sip and savoring it for more than one reason.
Tezuka said nothing, but picked the magazine up again.
"Buchou?" said Ryoma, tracing a finger around the rim of the water bottle. "Can we join the Mile High Club next time?"
Ryoma could tell that Tezuka was trying not to smile. "We'll see."