.
Practice had let out early, so Ryoma was headed over to the girls’ training court. Normally, he would be training his butt off despite the early release, which was happing more and more ever since Oishi-buchou had found himself a girlfriend in the cooking club, which let out twenty minutes before the tennis club. None of the regulars needed it. They all had their own practice routines. And the only players that mattered were the regulars. Well, maybe some of the better players that would make the team once the seniors graduated mattered. A little.
But, yes, normally he would be practicing by himself. However, Momo-sempai had such a weird look on his face when he came back from the girls’ court the last time they had been let out early a few days ago. He had looked happy, but at the same time extremely stupid. His eyes wouldn’t focus and Ryoma swore he saw drool on his chin. So, he had to go and see what the hell was going on down there. They could be using some special tennis techniques that he didn't know about. It was unlikely, but still possible, and he wasn't going to run the risk of missing out.
When he got there, he was a little surprised to see a crowd around the fence. Strangely, it was a mostly male crowd. All of them had the same look Momo-sempai had. Quite a few had nosebleeds. He felt his stomach sink to his toes.
As he came up, with a certain amount of trepidation that made him want run home as fast as his athletic legs could carry him, to see just what was going on, he heard two of the boys without nosebleeds talking.
“The one with the braids is my favorite,” a guy with too voluminous hair said.
Oh, no.
“Totally, dude,” the guy with the laidback pose said. “I could stare at that short skirt all day.”
Hell no.
“Heh. I’d rather stare at what’s under it.”
Oh, hell no!
He was at the fence in less than a second, shoving the two guys aside roughly and breaking up their lascivious talk. They shouted in outrage, but he only had to shoot them a glare for them to back down and step at least two feet away from him.
He turned his glare out to the court, which was obviously the center of the crowd’s attention. What he saw made his insides burn and his stomach roil in pure dread, for down on the court, sweating up a waterfall and panting hard, was Ryuuzaki Sakuno. In a tennis skirt. And not only was she in a tennis skirt, on no. She was in a button-up tee as well!
His life was over. Ruined. Kaput. Stone dead. Knocking on St. Peter’s door. Nirvana bound. Dearly departed. His life was over because for the rest of his life, he would have to spend all of his time saving the girl from dirty, depraved, degenerate lechers.
Because everywhere he looked from the waist down, he saw skin. Long, creamy legs that looked like they would be silk to touch with hard, sleek muscle peeking through the softness ran for what seemed like miles. The thin layer of sweat running down them gleamed in the afternoon, winking sultrily as it slid sensuously along the contours. The eyes couldn’t help but follow the lines of her legs up and up, desperately trying to take it all in, until the abrupt stop at her skirt. The sudden stop only left a trip in the thought process that demanded the skirt be lifted to expose more of that skin and the eyes to continue their journey. The eyes weren’t disappointed for long. Every time she moved to hit the ball, or bounced in place to keep on her toes, the skirt would lift every so slightly to reveal the smooth cream underneath. Once, when she hit a jump shot, he knew he saw the hem of the short gym shorts she wore underneath the skirt.
And waist up was even worse. He saw no skin, but that only teased the imagination even more. The tee was wet with her sweat and clung like a second skin. With every pant, the tee rose and fell with the chest underneath. The swell of the ample breasts was kept in check by the tight tee with every inhale, instantly catching every eye that had followed the obvious curve of her hips up to the flat, most likely muscled, midriff. Was the skin there whiter? Smoother? Silkier? It didn’t matter for the eye couldn’t be caught for long. The dark stain of sweat on the tee had flowed with time from the collar to the valley between her breasts. The eye followed that trail up to the long, slim, supple line of her neck. From her neck to her graceful chin from her chin to the full, pink lips gasping for air. Most would stop at the lips. They were enough to drive any man insane with their soft and pliant look. But Ryoma’s eyes went on, gliding to the tip of her nose up to the bridge and up into honey-brown eyes fiery with passion and determination, so focused on the task at hand. It was there the burning in his stomach became almost unbearable and his hands started to itch for him to do something. Anything.
“Those legs would look so much better wrapped around me,” a guy with pretty blue eyes on his left said. The other boys around him nodded and grunted their shared sentiments.
Ryoma shook his head, clearing away the thoughts of her, and focused on the humongous task at hand.
He glared death at the boys around him, but they were all watching the girl on the court. There were too many of them to scare off with just a glare anyway. Damn it. He would have to take more drastic measures.
He growled, hating it had come to this, and stalked to the entrance of the court. One of the few girls who was watching the match tried to stop him, saying he wasn’t allowed in there, but he brushed past her without so much as a glance. He threw open the chain link door and stomped loudly up to his aim just as she hit the ball. She didn’t see him coming she was so into the match. Her opponent, however, did and with a frown, caught the ball instead of returning it. Ryoma pulled Sakuno to him before she could even look confused at the stop of the game.
He crashed his lips onto hers, finally feeling firsthand those soft, warm lips. He could feel her sharp breaths on his upper lip and the heat rising off her body from all the activity of tennis. He looked directly into eyes that had gone wide in surprise before closing his own and flicking out his tongue to taste the sweetness on her lips. He felt them move apart as she gasped and wasted no time in deepening the kiss. If he had thought the burning in his stomach unbearable before, it was nothing compared to now. It was molten and white hot and he was sure with enough exposure he would pass out. Surely he had to be burning brain cells because it was hard to think about anything else besides her. When her lips pressed shyly back and her tongue touched his meekly, he gave up trying to think of anything else. He slid his tongue across hers, loving the fire and cherry taste.
He wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her closer, wanting to feel her heat on him. He wasn’t prepared for the surge of fire from his chest every time her breasts pushed against him with her breath. He loved that feeling. He bit her lip hungrily, wanting more, but not knowing what more was. Experimentally, he trailed the hand at her waist down to her hip, down to the fringe of the skirt and then lower to feel the velvet and silk of her skin that burned like the sun and he realized that was what he wanted. Skin.
Somehow, in some way, he was able to not practically rape her in front of a crowd of perverted high school boys. Somehow, by what must have been divine intervention, he was able to calm the fire in him that screamed to rip off her clothes. Somehow, through the cloud of what must be desire, he was able to put his hand back on her waist. Somehow, with a return of propriety, he was able to break the contact of their lips after a few quick kisses. Somehow, he was able to look up at that crowd of gawkers with a smirk and a beautiful girl in his arms.
And then, he did what he had stalked onto that court to do.
“******** off.”
Everyone watching the court and who had heard what he had said knew whom he was talking to. It wasn’t just the sick bastards watching her with their indecent grins and base comments. It was to any man, anywhere, at any time that thought Ryuuzaki Sakuno was a pretty little thing to stare at. Or dream about. Or talk to. Or smile at. Or even think about. No, everyone knew it was a command that any man stay the hell away from the girl (by a ten meter radius) or else he would be taken to the courts and pummeled with tennis balls. Hell, the crazy son of a b***h might even start hitting outside of the court.
Safe to say, all the boys except the most stubborn sighed and went away. The girl with the braids was obviously taken. The stubborn ones were shooed away by the girl who had tried to stop Ryoma and he forgave her for trying to stop him earlier. With another smirk at the disappearing crowd, he turned back to the girl, fully intending to suggest they go somewhere more private and ease this fire still burning inside him at their proximity. However, before he could get a word out, her opponent cut in from across the court.
“Sakuno-chan. Care to explain what you and Echizen are doing?” the tall girl in glasses demanded with a sharp edge in her voice.
“Ah, Arisa-buchou…um…”
“We’re making out,” Ryoma answered, immediately taking a dislike to the girl who talked to Sakuno as if she owned her. “Are you blind?”
“Ryoma!” the girl in his arms protested. He ignored her scolding tone in favor of the team captain’s answer.
“No, but you will be if you don’t get off my court. And don’t think Oishi won’t hear about this.”
Ryoma scowled and was about to argue, but he could feel Sakuno tense and knew he was upsetting her badly. He sighed and stepped away. His hands, however, stayed on her hips.
“We’re going to talk after practice is over,” he told her, leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be at the water fountains.”
She nodded, looking rather confused and put upon.
He smirked and let go, walking very slowly off and out of the court as a final act of defiance.
“Oi, Echizen,” the team captain called.
He spared a glance over his shoulder.
“Thanks for getting rid of the peanut gallery,” she said with a smile.
He smirked at her.
“Anytime.”
--
“Momo-sempai?”
Momoshirou stopped smashing a tennis ball into a wall and looked over at his kohai, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Yeah, Ochibi?”
“Do you remember that day you went to the girls’ tennis courts after practice?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Yeah,” the taller boy said hesitantly, a slight blush rising as he remembered the event.
“Did you see Ryuuzaki there by any chance?”
Oh, s**t! Momoshirou blushed profusely and pinched his nose to be sure no blood would come out. The mental image of that girl in that skirt could do that to a guy.
“Maybe,” he said to the other boy, who was looking angry after that little display. “Wh-Why do you want to know?”
He didn’t see the tennis ball that smacked him in the side of the head, dropping him to the ground and making him see stars.
“Mada mada dane, Momo-sempai. Find another girl to ogle.”
Ryoma walked away. Momoshirou was grateful for that. He knew he had gotten off light after practically admitting he had been ogling Ryoma’s future wife (not that the kid knew she was yet).
“I wasn’t ogling,” Momoshirou mumbled once he thought Ryoma out of hearing range.
He heard Ryoma snort and cursed himself for not waiting longer to say something. After all, they both knew he was lying. What red-blooded male wouldn’t ogle Ryuuzaki Sakuno? The answer to that now was a red-blooded male that didn’t want a tennis ball sized fracture to the skull.
Oh, well. There was always Ann.
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