This is just a silly little thing i wrote at uni yesterday. i wrote part of it while sitting next to
philalethia in class, which was really very surreal. anyway, this is for
soundczech because in my head this is her Tezuka and Ryoma, post-
Playing Grown Ups, and I really have no idea what they are doing here.
Match, 436 words
Ryoma's
muscles are stretched and tired, but not nearly as tired as he would
like them to be. He wants to ask Tezuka for a match, because the
warm-up courts are still open and Ryoma is restless; but where Ryoma's
match in the quarterfinals was light, Tezuka's against Roddick was
difficult, and the starry-eyed press conference that followed his win
ran long. When he enters their hotel suite later, Ryoma can tell he is
tired and decides playing tennis isn't what he wants now anyway.
"Hey."
He hands Tezuka a glass of ice water and watches for the flicker in
Tezuka's eyes as Tezuka thanks him. Then he watches the slide of
muscles in Tezuka's throat as he drinks. The water condenses on the
glass and he thinks of sweat on Tezuka's skin, the way his shirt had
clung to him after the match. Tezuka has already showered it off. Ryoma
wishes he hadn't.
Tezuka sets the glass of water down and sweeps
his fingers through Ryoma's hair. The taut untouchable thing in Ryoma's
chest loosens; he slips into Tezuka's space, feeling some of his
edginess fading before the relaxed expression Tezuka wears. He touches
Tezuka's wrist. "They shouldn't let so many unseeded players do Grand
Slams. I feel like I'm playing Horio."
Tezuka runs his fingers
along the underside of Ryoma's forearm. "You should be grateful for new
opponents," he says. "The veterans are all tired of playing you."
Ryoma grins. He leans in and closes his arms around Tezuka's waist. "I heard your opening guy
cried when he found out you were his first match. First time in a Grand Slam and he gets you."
"He played a good game," Tezuka responds, but Ryoma can see the lie in the shape of his lips.
"Yeah, well," he says. "Yours was better."
Tezuka
smiles at that and loops his arms around Ryoma's back. His chest is
warm, and Ryoma can feel his muscles relaxing as Ryoma presses closer.
"Everyone
has their Baghdatis," Tezuka says. "That opponent who demands something
more from you, who calls you to advance to a level you never expected
they would push you."
Ryoma feels suddenly solid in the rush of
feeling that washes over him, as if Tezuka is grounding him, teaching
him to evolve just standing there. He loves it when Kunimitsu says such
things without any sense of irony. He loves it when Kunimitsu is just
himself.
He reaches up and removes Tezuka's glasses, satisfied
with the way the light softens Tezuka's eyes as he does. "Che, Buchou,"
he says. "Some of us found ours in junior high."
Marcos Baghdatis's
final match against Federer in the 2006 Australian Open
began with Baghdatis completely dominating play until Federer snapped
and won eleven games straight to win the Slam. Thank you to Orphne for
the beta, and for letting me despair over how much I would rather be
writing about James Blake.