This post is liable to be edited, because fuck, it's almost 4 am. XD;
Disclaimer: Konomi's, not mine
Rating: PG-13 for talk of sex
Warnings: BL in various forms, talk of sex, language
Author's Note: The animators really can't decide what colour Sengoku's eyes are... XD;
Sengoku Kiyosumi is popular. At any given high school with anything of a tennis team in the greater Tokyo area, he has connections, acquaintances, friends, even; he could show up at any school he wanted, and no matter which he chose-- even if he rolled a die, or picked a name out of a hat!-- he'd be greeted, welcomed, probably get a dinner date out of it. People simply like him, and really, what isn't there to like? He's fun, easygoing, friendly-- the sort of guy who can make conversation with anyone, because even if they have nothing in common, somehow, some way, Sengoku makes chatting easy, fun. He's attractive, too-- tall, toned but still lanky, somehow, handsome without being too masculine, pretty without being too feminine. Half Japanese, half British, he has brilliant orange hair, stunning eyes that are blue on some days and green on others-- he begs attention be paid to him without even trying. All of this simply adds up to popularity; and no one is ever upset to see Sengoku, practically anyone will stop to say hello, to chat, to go out together because it's Sengoku, so why not?
Of course, it all doesn't just happen on its own. Sengoku likes being popular-- he thrives on it. He's never really been into having a tight group of friends, because it's just that much more interesting, more fun to see different people all the time. He likes being liked, likes being well known, and besides, he gets the feeling that if he ever stopped to get to know any one person with whom he occasionally spent time, he'd be bored. It isn't that he doesn't like people, because he does, but he likes them on again and off again, never for too long at once. Fun is precious and attachment only messes things up, gets people into fights and bad situations. So Sengoku mingles often throughout the tennis circuit, rotating through schools weekly, spending time with different people everyday. It's the easiest, the best way, and Sengoku likes it very much.
Of course, he doesn't only visit other schools. Upon entering high school, Sengoku discovered the amazing joy of parties-- what could be better than a crowded room of so many different people in one place? It's perfect, it's easy, and with drinks and dancing, there's always something fun to be done, but always an excuse to find someone else to talk to, if need be. And Sengoku likes things that are pointlessly fun, and partying and drinking and dancing are certainly pointlessly fun. And it all worked out perfectly (things always did, for Sengoku), because, with so many different schools, there was generally one tennis circuit party or another every weekend, with the exception of tournament weekends, of course, and so it never got monotonous, never got boring.
It was because of parties and dancing and drinking, too that Sengoku discovered something else fun, so long as no strings were attached-- sex. Of course, it wasn't as if he hadn't heard or sex before (quite to the contrary, this was the tennis circuit, after all, and gossip got around fast, ever since middle school), but he hadn't ever tried it, because he'd never been dating, and he had a very strong feeling that sex wasn't worth the complications of a relationship. But once he started going to parties (especially at the more wealthy schools... hell, no one partied like Hyoutei, no one), he realized that sex didn't have to have a relationship-- or anything, really-- as a prerequisite. He stumbled upon the fact quite by accident, really, when, at a particularly wild party, Mukahi from Hyoutei approached him with a coquettish grin on his lips wearing something obscenely tight-fitting and asked him to dance, and though Sengoku had a feeling it was against his best judgement, after staring at Mukahi's ass in dumb awe for a few moments, he agreed. Mukahi had taken his agreement for "yes, please invade every inch of personal space I might posses, press your ungodly flexible hips as close to mine as you possibly can, and and gyrate until I can't think anymore," and that's pretty much what happened up until Mukahi took his hand and dragged him off to a bedroom, and that had been one hell of a night. It might have been more enjoyable if Sengoku hadn't come back to his senses afterwards to a feeling of absolute horror at what he had done, but when Mukahi hopped out of bed, pulled his clothes on, and departed with a blown kiss and a "Run along now~" he decided that perhaps this whole sex thing was worth pursuing, after all.
And it was, oh, but it was. Sex really was an excellent thing to spend time on, and Sengoku had never been aware of how easy it was to get it. After all the stories about Seigaku's Golden Pair ("They waited two years, two fucking years, can you believe it?" was the gossip from Fuji Yuuta, and he got his information from a very reliable source), he had been sure it was unattainable outside of a monogamous relationship, and maybe, other places, it was, but on the tennis circuit, it was anything but. As long as one knew how to go about it (and Sengoku was a quick learner) and who to go to (or who to let approach him), it was just like anything else. Of course, there were subtleties, like understanding when not to get involved (that threesome, for instance, with Yagyuu and Niou had been a bad idea), and like keeping tabs on who not to flirt with (Echizen Ryoma, Fuji Yuuta, Ootori Choutarou, and Yukimura Seiichi were first on the "do not, under any circumstances, touch for fear of castration" list), but in general, it was easy as a chance ball, and Sengoku always got lucky, anyway.
This was all fine and well for the first two years of high school, but then, at the end of second year, Sengoku made a fatal mistake. At an end-of-the-school-year party before spring break over in Chiba, Sengoku noticed none other than Mizuki Hajime sitting by himself off to the side, sipping one of those funny colourful drinks that were always served at Rokakku's parties. He looked bizarrely melancholy; it was strange to see anything but smugness playing across that pretty face, but without the sneer and the sparkle of manipulation in those dark eyes, Sengoku was drawn in by the softness of his features, the perfection of his complexion, the almost-feminine curve of his slim body. And that was when he made his unforced error-- he asked Mizuki to dance.
He told himself, when Mizuki smiled up at him sweetly and took his hand and followed him to the dance floor, that he was in control. He told himself, as Mizuki put slender arms around his neck and pressed close, that he wasn't going to take this too far. He told himself, when he somehow found his hands on Mizuki's waist and Mizuki's face resting against his chest, that this would all come to a stop soon. But then Mizuki had looked up at him with an expression of pure sweetness and said that he was feeling a little dizzy, and there was so much smoke in here, and couldn't they step outside for a little bit? And he had clutched so tightly to Sengoku's arm, squeezed his hand in such a way that there was no way Sengoku could ever refuse.
In the slight chill of the night air, Mizuki pressed close to his side, that melancholy look in his eyes again, and Sengoku felt the undeniable urge to kiss him. He curbed it by asking what was wrong instead-- double-fault, and this one was going to cost him the point. Looking up at him with wide, glistening eyes, Mizuki had informed him that he had broken up with Yuuta and it was terrible and he was so alone now, and what was he going to do? And the way he met Sengoku's eyes wiped all of Sengoku's reserve clear from his mind, and that was when he did the unthinkable-- he slept with Mizuki.
It wasn't necessarily the act of having sex with Mizuki that was so terrible-- hell, if it had just been that, everything would have been fine (and Mizuki was very good in bed). The problem was that anyone Mizuki set his eyes on ended up wrapped as tightly around Mizuki's little finger as the strands of hair he so often played with, and it wasn't until, halfway through spring break, Sengoku happened to catch Mizuki kissing none other than Fuji Yuuta and he realized just how stupid he had been.
That was when Sengoku decided that enough was enough-- if he was going to be an idiot about it and end up attached when he didn't want to be, then he was going to have to be responsible about it-- no more one-nighters, not, at least, until he was more confident that the Mizuki incident would not be repeated. Of course, it was easier said than done, but Sengoku wasn't the type to give in to temptation when he set his mind not to. Still, it was utterly miserable to sit by and watch other people get laid-- when he stepped back to take a look, it seemed like almost everyone had a steady boyfriend these days, and those who didn't either weren't bothered by it at all or were all getting it on with one another. It was painful, really, because now that he had had his taste, Sengoku wanted it, but he knew what was good for him, and so he forced himself to hold back.
This led to a lot of frustration, and, finally, Sengoku decided that he needed something else to take up his free time besides partying. The easiest choice, of course, was tennis, which is why, now, Sengoku is out on the street courts on a Saturday afternoon, wondering if there's anyone around worth playing. He's about to give up and go to that party at St. Rudolph anyway when, out of the corner of his eyes, he notices someone sitting on a bench looking bored as well. A second glance gives him the identity of the boy-- Momoshiro. Perfect-- someone interesting to keep him occupied. Grinning, Sengoku approaches with a casual, "Hey."
Momoshiro looks up at him, and for a moment, Sengoku can swear that he looks... well... sullen, almost. But then he grins, too, if less enthusiastically. "What's up?"
Sengoku shrugs. "Wanna play?"
Momoshiro seems to consider it. Sengoku wonders exactly why he's on the street courts if he doesn't want to play, but he doesn't say anything as Momoshiro shrugs. "Sure. It'll take my mind off of it, I guess."
Sengoku speaks before he realizes it. "Off of what?"
Momoshiro's silent another moment, looking down at the ground beneath him, pushing a rock around with his racquet, and Sengoku wonders if it was really something bad. But then Momoshiro laughs, even if it's a halfhearted one, and stands, shrugging again. "Off of the fact that I'm not getting laid," he replies, and Sengoku can't help but grin at that. "Hey, me either."
Momoshiro looks at him funny for a moment, which, he realizes, is probably because Sengoku has gotten himself somewhat of a reputation of being easy from his constant sleeping around, but he doesn't ask any questions, instead heading out onto the court. "Which?"
"I'll serve," Sengoku replies automatically, and, to his surprise, Momoshiro sighs with a grin.
"Fine, go ahead. Just don't complain when I kick your ass in your own service game."
Sengoku has forgotten just how challenging it is to play against Momoshiro, with all of his power and force behind the ball. It's really all-consuming; his mind is entirely on the game, and already, three games in, he's already getting worn out. He has to concentrate to think of strategic ways to return the ball, to hit it so that Momoshiro can't brute force it back to him so hard that it breaks his strings. In fact, it isn't until the break to get a drink of water that Sengoku realizes he's been entirely distracted from the woes of his life-- he's only been thinking about the game, about Momoshiro.
Afterwards, they get soda together and cool off on the bench overlooking the doubles courts. "It was fun, thanks," Sengoku says offhandedly but honestly, and Momoshiro nods. "Yeah, it was."
Silence for a moment, before, "Uh... wanna do it again next week?"
Sengoku is surprised but acquiescent. After all, this has gotten his mind off of his sexual frustrations for a good hour, and Momoshiro is easy company. "Sure," he replies, "Let's meet up again next week." And as he waved goodbye to Momoshiro before heading back to his own home, he wondered if life could possibly be this easy, because he was feeling less and less like going to the party, and was more and more looking forward to next weekend.