Exclusive by Halrloprillalar
Prince of Tennis, Shiba/Kawamura, R, 800 words.
Thanks to Pond for the title.
"I don't really understand tennis," Shiba said. "But I like it."
Kawamura smiled a little and wondered where Fuji had got to.
"Your doubles match." Shiba ran her tongue over her lips. They were red and shiny. "You played so well. I could tell that tennis means a lot to you."
"Um," Kawamura said. "It was mostly Fuji."
"Oh, no." Shiba stepped closer. Her camera was on a strap around her neck and when she moved, it sort of bounced. Over her bosoms. Um. "Without your power, you would have lost."
"No," Kawamura said, backing up a bit. "Without Fuji's skill..."
"You're too modest." Her eyes were big and bright and looking right at him. "You underestimate..." She drew a deep breath and let it out. There was more bouncing. "...your skill."
Kawamura backed up more and hit the fence.
"I'd like to get..." Shiba leaned in until she was so close, so close!, that Kawamura could smell her perfume and her hair gel and her moist breath. It made him dizzy. "...an exclusive interview."
She took his wrist and pulled him and he followed her. He didn't want to be rude. From behind, she kind of wiggled as she walked and it sort of made his stomach wiggle too.
"In here," she said and pulled him into a closet where nets were piled and balls were heaped and lights were dim. "So tell me, Kawamura-kun, to what do you attribute your extraordinary power and vitality?"
"I train a lot," he said. Her hair brushed her neck and it was so pretty.
"I bet you do." She lifted the camera and blinded him. Kawamura rubbed his eyes.
Shiba rubbed his shoulder. Um.
"What?" This seemed really odd for an interview.
"Do you have a girlfriend, Kawamura-kun?" Shiba leaned in close and all of a sudden they were touching, her bosoms, her breasts!, were bushing his chest and that made him feel nervous in his head and twisty in his stomach and really warm down in his...area.
"No," he said and tried to back up again, but the closet was small and there was nowhere to go. "We're not allowed to date."
"This will be our secret then," she said. He could feel the words she spoke, buzzing over, under, inside his skin, but he wasn't sure he quite understood them. "Don't tell Inoue-senpai."
"I won't tbglr--" he said as Shiba pressed her mouth, her mouth!, up against his and did something that could only be kissing.
Nervous turned to panic. Twisty turned to panic. Warm turned to oh my fucking god.
"Relax," she said, like that was even possible, and ran her tongue over his.
This was better. Better than karate, better than sushi, better than tennis. Kawamura was still very, very confused scared um, but wouldn't it be rude to run out, even if he wanted to? So he tried to kiss. He moved his mouth and licked at Shiba's tongue and put his hands around her tiny waist.
"Oh, you are trained," she said against his lips. "Let nee-san give you a treat." She put one hand over his, on her waist, and picked it up.
Her hand was small, tiny, a woman's hand, wrapped around his, her small, tiny fingers touching his rough, tennis-callused man skin. Like she liked it!
She slid his hand inside her shirt.
It was soft, but lots of things were soft, like a towel after a match, like a handful of rice. This was soft like a pick that stabs into your brain, with a hard bit like a pebble that your rub with your thumb and oh my god.
"Oh!" said Shiba, with a catch in her voice, and Kawamura felt like he would come apart, fly apart, oh my god.
"Please," said Shiba and pressed up so tight against him, like in that movie that Momoshiro sent him the web link to, all her breasts and thighs and why is this happening? and her breasts against his body, his fingers curling around her breast and his dick poking against her thigh and how embarrassing he wanted to die.
"Let me help you," said Shiba, with her sweet breath against Kawamura's face and her sweet hand against Kawamura's shorts, pulling them, out, down, shorts, boxers, her hand there oh my god.
"Here," said Shiba, "a little push," and he was, he was, she was tight and hot and his face hurt, his chest hurt. "Move," said Shiba, and he tried to move. Oh.
"Oh," said Shiba, her voice so high and sweet and Kawamura felt his face screw up, crumple, oh my god. He moved, moved, hands on her waist, oh. Like sucking in a bubble that you've blown, like the burn after 200 push-ups, like the look on Fuji's face when Kawamura takes a point.
"Oh," said Shiba, and they were still. "Do you have a handkerchief?"