Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. Not me. Please don't sue.
Warning: Perverted themes.
AN: Glowing Crotch Productions (GCP) is a tribute to Touga's hilarious RyoSaku doujins. Go to the homepage in my bio and navigate to the doujin page to see exactly what I mean. GCP is meant to be a series of drabbles inspired from her works. If you want more, be sure to cheer her on.
This drabble is a deviation of "Curse of the Wobbly Hips". Think of this as an alternate ending. Feedback is always appreciated. I would love to know which version you enjoyed more.
Glowing Crotch Productions
Drabble 03: The Color of Wobbly Hips
Sunday mornings were Sakuno's favorite time of the week. While many of her classmates disliked waking up early on their only day free from school, Ryuzaki Sakuno was different. She'd bound out of bed on Sundays with a happy smile to face the world. Though a cheerful girl by nature and a morning person as well, the main reason Sakuno looked forward to Sundays was because on those mornings, she received coveted one on one time with Echizen Ryoma, tennis prodigy.
Why he coached her was muddled and unclear, something about payback of long due favors having to do with her grandma and Ryoma's father. Sakuno didn't really understand as neither bothered to explain it to her, but it didn't matter. She would receive personal tennis lessons from Ryoma, and that was good enough for her.
With a smile, she braided her hair with extra care, smoothed down her pleated skirt, and went downstairs to grab a quick breakfast before their meeting.
Ryoma didn't understand why he had to pay for his father's sins, but here he was anyways, getting ready to coach the clumsy, navigationally challenged girl once more. His stupid old man told him he couldn't get out of these Sunday obligations until Sakuno's tennis got better. Just when he was about to argue, Nanjiroh promised,
'If you can improve her tennis, I'll play you a serious game.'
It would be just like his no good father to coerce him like that. Ryoma was no fool and could see the lure for what it was, but the promise of a serious game was too good to pass up. Granted, he'd have to perform a miracle to transform the coach's granddaughter, but since when did he run away from a challenge?
And it wasn't like he held anything against her anyway. She was an eager student, and though a tad on the klutzy side, he supposed she was alright. Maybe her hair was too long and her hips too wobbly, but he could have been stuck with worse.
The cat-eyed boy yawned as he sat down to tug on his sneakers. With a glance at the clock, he strolled out the door. He normally didn't care if he was prompt or tardy, but last time he had kept her waiting. His senpai-tachi had somehow found out and scolded him about it. Ryoma quickened his pace just a notch. If it would stop the nagging, then the slight effort would be worth it.
She was late.
He tapped his foot in impatience. He had jogged the last few blocks to get there on time, and the dratted girl was late. Ryoma frowned in displeasure. Five minutes, he told himself. He was only going to wait five minutes, and if she wasn't here by then, too bad.
Sakuno bit her lip as she navigated through the park. Distracted by a talkative passenger, she had stepped off at the wrong bus stop, and had to enter the park through the far entrance.
Now she was lost. Reddish brown eyes scanned the area, searching for a cap-adorned boy. There wasn't another person in sight.
"Mou," Sakuno muttered, looking everywhere. Why did this park have to have so many trees?
She was ten minutes late now.
Ryoma's face deadpanned. He stuck his hands in his pockets, the epitome of grumpy male.
Five more minutes he told himself. He'd only wait five more minutes.
Sakuno's face brightened when she rounded the path and saw him. With a trot, she came forward.
"I'm sorry, Ryoma-kun, I was—"
"Twenty laps," he interrupted without so much as a blink of an eye. He had waited twenty minutes and he was going to punish her accordingly. One lap for every minute she kept him waiting. That would teach her to waste his time.
Twenty laps were how much the regulars were required to run everyday. But Sakuno was not a regular. Moreover, half of the boy's tennis team still had difficulty completing that many laps, especially the freshmen. Sakuno could understand that this was Ryoma's way of punishing her, but twenty was out and out sadistic.
Her mouth parted in dismay. She knew he had valid cause to be stern with her, but he was being a total ogre ordering twenty laps.
"Twenty's too much, Ryoma-kun…"
"You're slacking off, Ryuzaki. Now, hit it." Ryoma emphasized his demand by jerking his thumb over his shoulder in a no-nonsense gesture. If he was going to be bothered out of bed every Sunday morning to teach the girl, she had better be punctual.
Besides, running laps improved one's stamina, conditioned the muscles, and made one more aware of body movement. One had to coordinate one's limbs to run smoothly.
Boy, did she need help in that department – coordination. Why the girl sucked so bad at it boggled him. She was fine against the wall (when she wasn't smacking him upside the head with an errant tennis ball, Ryoma was still a little bitter about that), but when he was feeding her balls across the net, she was absolutely appalling. Her form, which was commendable, crumbled to pieces on the court. Her hips wobbled, her swing stiffened, and she stumbled all over the place.
Running would help. And the faster she'd improve in tennis, the sooner he'd have his Sundays to himself again. Ryoma smiled at the pleasant thought.
Meanwhile, he'd make the most out of his weekly suffering by nursing a cool can of Ponta. Drinking the cola while supervising the girl was always the highlight of their practice sessions for him. Ryoma was already fingering the coins tucked away in his pockets when she clasped her hands together in a pretty plea.
"Can I do ten instead?" Her smile was blinding.
Ryoma stood there for a second, just staring at her. This wasn't negotiable. She had to be kidding.
Another second passed. She wasn't.
Ryoma tried to remain unfazed. His stoic façade remained in place, but his stance gave in. Damnit, this was unfair. Captain would've issued thirty laps to any peon who dared to disagree. But no, this was Wobbly Hips. And damn him, but she was really cute, especially when she begged like that.
He turned his head away so she wouldn't see how much the wretched words cost him. "Fine. Ten laps then." He couldn't believe he actually relented.
But it wasn't over. She was begging again, requesting meekly in that soft voice of hers.
"Um… W-would you run with me?" Her eyes were downcast, the tips of her index fingers tapping together in a display of nervous energy. "I-it's a little embarrassing by myself so…"
Ryoma's expression blanked. It was a good thing she wasn't looking. Great. Now she wanted him to run laps too. With an inaudible sigh, Ryoma took off, carelessly tossing his reply over his shoulder.
"Fine. C'mon." With his luck, she'd get lost or something. At least this way he could keep an eye on her. Ryoma frowned in mild irritation. The Ponta would have to wait, he supposed.
The patter of footsteps caught up with him even though he had a head start, not that catching up was difficult; Ryoma's pace was moderate and easy. He only raced through a twenty-lap marathon when the threat of Inui juice was on the line.
Hmm, maybe threatening Wobbly Hips with Inui juice would improve her tennis…
Sakuno beamed to herself, reveling in the moment. Although his face was set in a stern expression, he was being nice, running with her like this. It warmed her heart knowing that he did it for her. Sakuno's eyes closed for a moment as she smiled, soft and content.
Ryoma-kun, I'm glad I get to do this with you.
Running along side him, the caress of the sun's rays on her skin, the refreshing cool breeze in her hair, pumped up by pleasant thoughts of spending time with the boy she admired, Sakuno didn't see the uneven segment of concrete that jutted out and snagged her toe.
It happened so quickly. One second, she was running beside him, the next, she was swan diving chin first into the sidewalk. The rush of air that followed her descending passage blew up the back of her skirt. It was only a brief glimpse, but it was enough.
Wobbly Hip's panties were pink. Ryoma's eyes widened from the surprise. He slowed his momentum and jogged back.
"You ok?" Ryoma asked, fighting the blush that was threatening to emerge. He crouched down to extend his hand. She nodded and scooted on all fours to get up. Due to the combination of her position and his height advantage, Ryoma made another discovery when the open collar of her polo dipped. Wobbly Hips wasn't wearing a bra.
Oh god, those were pink too.
Ryoma stood frozen, trying his damnedest to quell the mad rush of blood to his face as she got up and dusted herself off.
Large, innocent eyes peered up at him. Her head tilted to the side. Soft, glossy lips voiced his name. "Ryoma-kun?"
Was everything about her that color? Ryoma whipped around and started jogging.
"Practice resumes. Look where you're going next time," Ryoma bit out in his gruffest voice as he lost the fight for composure. Whoosh. Fiery crimson exploded over his cheeks.
If she saw his face, she'd know something was up. He couldn't let that happen. Ryoma bolted, increasing the distance between them to give him time to recompose himself. He gritted his teeth. He had to stop thinking of that color. Maybe running would purge the thought from his system. There was nothing better than practice to keep his mind focused.
Flowers along the path jumped out at him.
Flyers stapled to a post zoomed into his mind's eye.
A mother pushed her baby girl in a stroller.
He was surrounded. The color was everywhere. His cheeks were still hot. The blush wasn't dissipating. Don't think about it. Ryoma clenched his eyes shut and ran harder.His strides lengthened, covering more ground. The scenery flashed by on either side of him, unseen, unappreciated.
"Ryoma-kun, watch out!"
He raised his head at her warning only to collide face first into a sakura. The thin, graceful tree limbs shook from the harsh velocity of the impact and released their blossoms. Clutching his throbbing, bloody nose, cat shaped eyes glazed over in horror as the shower of pale pink petals drifted around him.
Sitting on the hard, knotty roots, Ryoma gingerly lifted his fingers away. As the bright red smear competed with his face for color intensity, one surly thought ran through his mind.
Pink was evil.