when the gales of November come early (kishmet) wrote,
when the gales of November come early

Fic: High Style (AtoRyo)

I so badly need a Royal Pair icon. I fail so much. Also, this fic may suck. I honestly have no idea. Completely unedited.

High Style, by kishmet. AtoRyo, PG. Written for royal_pair (a new Atobe/Ryoma challenge comm that you should all join!) although I think I departed somewhat from the prompt. Maybe the snark's inherent enough that it still counts...?

Ryoma slid a hand over the sheets on Atobe's bed. His palm glided, making hardly a sound. The fabric shone faintly in the light, and rippled instead of wrinkled. Ryoma looked up at Atobe. "Is this silk?"

"Of course it is," said Atobe. "Produced at a privately owned silkworm farm, inspected for any tiny flaws by ten highly-trained silk professionals. Those sheets are the finest that money can buy."

"I'm not sleeping on those," said Ryoma. He stood up, refusing to sit on them either.

Atobe frowned. "I can only assume you've spotted some defect, although I can't imagine any such thing would have made it past the inspectors." He sat where Ryoma had been, inspecting the sheets closely. "Someone may lose their job for this."

"No," said Ryoma. "Sleeping on silk sheets is stupid."

"Stupid?" Atobe drew himself up haughtily. "And what would you prefer? Store-bought cotton?" He said the word as though it was an obscenity.


"Well, there is none of that available here," said Atobe disdainfully. "You'll just have to bear the silk." He snorted, telling Ryoma exactly what he thought of that.

"Then I'll go sleep at home," said Ryoma, taking a step toward the door.

"You will not." Atobe got to his feet and caught Ryoma by the hand, pulling him closer to wrap an arm more securely around his waist. "If you're so averse to silk, you can sleep on the floor. It's too late for you to leave now."

Ryoma stopped trying to duck out of Atobe's arm for a moment to look up at him. "And you'll sleep on the floor with me?" He gave Atobe a smug grin. "At least your carpets aren't silk."

"I certainly am not going to lower myself to sleeping on the floor, just because your standards are set lower than mine." Then Atobe raised an eyebrow, suddenly realizing the point of the grin. "I won't be doing anything else on the carpet, either. You will tolerate silk."

"No I won't," said Ryoma. "I'm sleeping on the floor, or maybe one of the couches. Downstairs," he added, for extra effect.

"I don't have cotton sheets on hand," said Atobe impatiently. "What do you want me to do, have a tablecloth brought up to cover the bed with?"

"Do you want me in the bed or not?"

Atobe sighed heavily and called the butler.


"Do you have to pick me up in this every time?" Ryoma glanced out of the limo's back window to where his father was standing at the front door, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "He thinks I'm marrying into money or something."

"Aren't you?" Atobe inquired.

"Che. No," Ryoma said firmly. He stretched out on the seat, and even doing that couldn't reach the other end with his feet. "This is stupid when it's only the two of us."

"No other car would afford such luxury." Atobe handed Ryoma a glass of Ponta. The glass was genuine Swarovski crystal, with a long stem and real gold accents.

"If we get in a car accident, this'll break and kill both of us," said Ryoma, taking a sip from it. "I'm taking a bus next time."

"A bus?" Atobe asked, making it clear that he found the idea supremely distasteful. "You would prefer a bus to a limosine?" He picked up his own glass. "I shouldn't be surprised."

"No," said Ryoma. "You shouldn't."


When Ryoma walked out the front door of Seishun Gakuen the next day, he was greeted by Atobe's limo driver.

"Echizen-san," said the driver, bowing to him. "Atobe-sama ordered that you were to be brought to the mansion immediately after school and tennis practice. Please, come with me."

Horio gawked at Ryoma, along with all of the other students in the vicinity. "Echizen! Youre riding in that?" He flailed in the general direction of the limosine.

"No, I'm not," said Ryoma. He held out his books to the driver, but kept his tennis bag slung over his shoulder. The driver obediently took the books. "Take those with you, and tell him I'm taking the bus," Ryoma told him.

"Yes, Echizen-san," said the driver with another bow. "But Atobe-sama specifically said that I was to escort you."

"Che." Ryoma rolled his eyes. "Fine. Follow the bus, then."

"Yes, Echizen-san."

Every student (most of them freshmen) stared as Ryoma boarded the bus without so much as glancing at the limo. The limosine pulled away from the school after the bus, keeping perfect pace about twenty feet behind.

Horio buried his head in his hands and wailed, "Echizen is crazy!" Nobody bothered to contradict him.


"I just wanted spaghetti, you know." Ryoma poked with his fork at the traditional Italian pasta specially prepared by Atobe's chef with cheese, rich tomato-and-pepper sauce, and three different types of noodles.

"Must you always find reason to complain? By the way, these are for you." Atobe snapped his fingers, and a maid appeared with a bouquet of red roses mingled with greenery and baby's breath. She presented them to Ryoma.

Ryoma looked at the flowers disinterestedly. Not one of them had so much as a single blemish. They were in full bloom, at the exact perfect time in their growth for them to look their very best.

"They came from my personal greenhouse, behind the mansion," Atobe informed him. "They were hand-selected by several of my gardeners to be perfect."

"It's a waste of flowers," said Ryoma. "Stupid." He took a bite of his pasta and made a face.


"Echizen Ryoma?" The principal's secretary looked into the classroom.

"There! He's right there!" said Tomo, pointing. Ryoma scowled and reluctantly stood up. Tomo beamed. "Does some famous tennis player want to play Ryoma-sama? Because they have to ask me first!"

"Please calm down, Osakada-san," said the teacher.

"It was a special delivery," said the secretary with a smile. "Please come with me to office, Echizen-kun. I think it would distract your classmates if we brought it in here."

Ryoma shrugged. "Fine." He followed her out of the classroom, leaving Sakuno trying to keep Tomo in her chair, and everyone else whispering to one another, speculating on the special delivery and Ryoma's lack of interest in it.

"I'll bet it's a limo," Horio confided loudly to everyone in hearing range.

When Ryoma walked into the office, it was like walking into some kind of bizarre flowery jungle. There were red roses everywhere. Ryoma would have had to watch where he was going to avoid stepping on them, but luckily he didn't care. There were bouquets, potted roses, single flowers, and rose petals covering every flat surface.

Ryoma surveyed them for a moment, and then looked at the secretary. "Can I go back to class now?"

"Hold on, there was a card in here somewhere," she replied. "Do you want me to find it for you?"

"Not really," said Ryoma. So she sent him back to the classroom, and no matter how much his classmates asked him what he'd gotten, he'd only say, "Nothing interesting."


"I hate it when you do things like that," said Ryoma, flopping down on the newly-purchased, 100% pure imported Egyptian cotton sheets.

"I know," said Atobe with a smirk. "I'd never do them otherwise."

"Idiot," Ryoma muttered.

Atobe leaned over and gave Ryoma the kind of kiss that couldn't be refused. He stroked Ryoma's hair, sliding his tongue along Ryoma's lips until Ryoma relented and opened his mouth, flicking Atobe's tongue with his own in a way that didn't quite manage to convey his irritation.

Atobe pulled back, smiling triumphantly when Ryoma followed him, demanding silently that the kiss continue. "Only the best for you," Atobe murmured. "Whether you like it or not."

"Che," said Ryoma, but kissed him again anyway.
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