Chapter 04

Fuji hoped Ryoma’s opponent was decent. He’d gotten tired of watching matches that made a mockery of the sport. The sonic twins, the leaping duo, the pretender…it was ridiculous. If this was coordination tennis, then he wanted nothing to do with it.

He frowned as Shinjyou took the court. The height difference between him and Ryoma was staggering. And, he acknowledged, that would make it look like another circus match. But hopefully the guy had enough skill to offer Ryoma a decent challenge.

The first love game gave him pause. Shinjyou’s weak play wasn’t consistent with someone who played singles. It had to be a decoy. Then Shinjyou dropped a second game and he began having doubts. Doubts that disappeared as soon as Ryoma missed his first return. There was something hidden…his concentration deepened as he watched. Ah! That was it. Shinjyou’s form never changed.

Fuji smiled. This match was going to be enjoyable. While the other Seigaku members seemed confused by Ryoma’s insistence on using the twist serve, Fuji saw it for what it was and when his lover broke through the mirage, he smirked. It seemed Shinjyou, while not the perfect opponent for Ryoma, would at least offer some enjoyment.

His eyes flew open when Shinjyou hit the first Deep Impulse serve that knocked Ryoma’s racquet out of his hand and left an abrasion on the right side of his face. Astonishment warred with anger. Shinjyou was good. Better than the mirage trick had indicated. But he’d hurt Ryoma.

Fuji frowned. He was torn. Part of him relished watching this, because he knew it wouldn’t scar Ryoma psychologically the way it would other players. Especially since Ryoma enjoyed pain. Those little abrasions meant nothing to the freshmen, though Shinjyou wouldn’t know that. But on the other hand, someone else was hurting Ryoma. And that didn’t set well with him.

He couldn’t go after this guy, though, not like he’d done with Akutsu. Because Shinjyou wasn’t hurting Ryoma to hurt him specifically–it was just the style of tennis he played. Because it wasn’t personal on his end, it wouldn’t be right to turn it into something more than what it was.

That dilemma would have to wait for later. Right now, he was watching Ryoma return Deep Impulse for the first time. He realized before the others that returning that deadly shot just made the abrasions worse. It was a good strategy. It would be easy to lose your nerve in front of a shot like that one, easy to lose the will to play. The only problem with that strategy was that Ryoma was the one on the receiving end.

Ryoma was stubborn and he hated to lose. The better his opponent played, the better he played. And if his opponent was going to use tennis to injure him, then he was going to find a way to counter that tennis.

Fuji’s eyes widened as he watched Ryoma settle into a stuttered step. “He’s using counter-tennis,” he said. That amazed him. He didn’t know his lover knew any counter-tennis, but he was using the stuttered step like it was second nature. He smiled to himself. Why had he ever been worried about this game?

Near the end, the game turned into an endurance match. Ryoma was supporting his left wrist by returning Shinjyou’s power shots with the support of his right hand and he was using Shinjyou’s power against him. His wrist would be able to take more strain than Shinjyou’s would and when Ryoma’s last return of the game broke through his opponent’s racquet, Fuji wasn’t surprised.

It had been a match worth watching, although he was slightly disappointed he hadn’t gotten to play himself. But the person in Singles 1 rarely got to play if the rest of the team did what they were supposed to, and it meant they’d made it to the best 4. Now they just had to make it the rest of the way.

He took Ryoma home with him after the team had been treated to all-you-can-eat sushi. He was quiet as he took the tennis equipment and stowed it in the hallway closet. Ryoma had gone on ahead of him to wait in his room, which was what he usually did when he was at Fuji’s house.

“That was a good match,” Fuji said, taking a seat beside Ryoma on the bed.

“It was okay,” Ryoma said. “I prefer tennis matches where I don’t get injured.”

Fuji smiled, running a hand over one of the abrasions on Ryoma’s arm. “I don’t like seeing other people’s marks on you.”

Ryoma met Fuji’s eyes and swallowed. “I know,” he whispered.

“You’re lucky this happened during a match,” Fuji said.

Ryoma arched an eyebrow. “Like I’d let anyone but you hurt me otherwise,” he said, voice coming out in a drawl.

“Good,” Fuji said. “Now take off your shirt and brace yourself against the door.”

Ryoma shivered and dropped his eyes as he obeyed. He knew how much it bothered Fuji to see another man’s marks on his body, even if they’d been caused by tennis. He admitted to himself that he hated those marks himself. The only pain he wanted to feel was the pain Fuji inflicted on him.

Fuji got off the bed and took a belt out of his closet. He’d removed the buckle end weeks ago when he’d discovered the pleasure of leaving marks on his lover’s back. It calmed him to know that Ryoma bore marks of his ownership wherever he went and they’d faded before the match today. He hadn’t renewed the marks before the match because he didn’t want his lover to play an important match with them.

That had been a mistake. If Ryoma had gone to that match with his marks already on his back, then the small abrasions Shinjyou had left on his skin wouldn’t seem like such a big deal. But, Fuji reflected, he couldn’t have known that the Jyousei Shounan player was going to cause his lover pain. If he’d known, there was no way he’d have let Ryoma on the court without a solid reminder of who owned him.

Fuji snapped the belt through the air a couple times. Even though he was familiar with it, he always tested it before he laid it against Ryoma’s back. He would never risk harming his lover. Not after what he’d been through with Rick.

“Syuusuke,” Ryoma said, breathless with anticipation. He wanted that belt burning fire across his back. He needed it.

Fuji chuckled. “Hush,” he said.

Ryoma whimpered, but bit his lip to keep himself quiet. Hearing the sound of the belt in the air made him want its caress that much more. But he’d learned if he begged too much, that Fuji would drag it out and make him wait. Another form of torture they both enjoyed, but he didn’t want to go through that today. Not when another man’s marks had been burnt into his skin.

Fuji’s breath caught at the sight of Ryoma making every effort not to beg him. He loved listening to Ryoma ask for pain and then denying it, but he didn’t want to do that. He waited a minute to see if Ryoma was going to say anything further and breathed silently in relief when he realized his lover needed this as much as he did.

Fuji took his spot behind Ryoma. “Count them,” he said. “I’m giving you thirty.” The number wasn’t arbitrary. He’d counted the abrasions on Ryoma’s skin as he’d gotten them. There were twenty-three total.

“Yes, Syuusuke,” Ryoma said. That and the count was all he was allowed. He struggled to follow the rules-he wanted to beg, but he stopped himself.

Fuji watched Ryoma’s inner struggle until he calmed himself and then he snapped the belt across Ryoma’s back, reveling in the line of fire it left across his lover’s back. Ryoma hissed, but didn’t cry out. They hadn’t reached that point yet.

“One,” Ryoma said, almost too late as the second hit landed. “Two.”

“Count faster,” Fuji said, laying another stroke.

“Three.”

By fifteen, Ryoma was whimpering, arching back into every blow as much as he could while still keeping his hands on the wall. He knew not to move them. He didn’t want to invite punishment.

By twenty-five, he was sobbing and it was all Fuji could do not to throw down the belt and ravage him. But he’d promised thirty. So thirty was what Ryoma would get. He hit thirty and threw the belt on the bed, stepping up behind Ryoma and grinding against him with his chest and stomach pressed tightly against the welts on his lover’s back.

Ryoma mewled at the contact, incoherent with need.

Fuji left him against the wall just long enough to grab a condom and lube. He slipped the condom on and pulled Ryoma’s pants and boxers down, letting them pool around his ankles as he lubed his fingers, scissoring them inside Ryoma to properly prepare him. He found Ryoma’s prostrate and stroked it, causing his lover to cry out.

Ryoma ground back against Fuji and forward against the wall, desperate for relief.

Fuji snaked an arm around his waist and held him still, denying him the friction with the wall. “You’ll come with me or not at all,” he whispered.

Ryoma shuddered, but didn’t protest. That he was being given a chance to orgasm at all was rare. Fuji liked to keep him in a constant state of denial. It had been over a week since the last time he’d come. And if he failed in this-if he came too early or too late–he knew he wouldn’t get another chance for a long time. And there would be punishment on top of it. So he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down even as Fuji slid inside him.

Fuji was relentless as he drove inside Ryoma, holding his lover still so he couldn’t get any friction. He held himself tightly against the welts on his lover’s back, angling his hips for deeper thrusts. When he was close, he bit down on Ryoma’s shoulder and reached down, stroking his lover in time with his own rhythm. He came a few seconds later, Ryoma’s seed coating his hand.

Fuji leaned them both against the wall, getting his breath back before he withdrew and got rid of the condom. Ryoma didn’t move from the wall. Fuji smiled. Ryoma’s obedience sometimes amazed him. “Let’s go take a shower,” he said.

Ryoma shot him a suggestive look over his shoulder and Fuji laughed. Tonight was going to be fun.

Chapter 3     Chapter Index     Chapter 5

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