A Lame Yaoi Story

Author: Bet You Love That

Category: Anime-Slam Dunk

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer apply

Rating: R for bad words and sexual implications

Genre: Romance/General

Dedication: For Mike, naturally

Summary: Rukawa is a secret lover; a stalker more like of someone we all know who...Yaoi. One shot

A/N: Mike said he feels that 'Of Love and Basketball' isn't yet the most decent one I can come up with. So here's a try at my best. Believe it or not.

Some dawn something complained about the vocabulary and the convoluted way I write so at this one, I'm gonna keep the deep and some invented vocabulary(yes, I like inventing words especially when they don't have the noun form) in minimum and flush them to the toilet. But this is still (read: extremely) convoluted and senseless with no plot whatsoever; much less edited, or if you want I can make my swine pet Porky edit this crap.

This is my first yaoi fic. I don't adore yaoi fics but I love them better than Ocs, much better.

Flame me or sue me whatever. I'm Mary 'Maria' Sue!

He's being sentimental again.

Tears will well up at the tips of his foxy eyes like a crystalline dew drop on a bamboo leaf only to be sustained there by his obstinacy; thus it never falls down to complete the methods of 'crying'. He will draw breath; a weighty scrim of anxieties will fly out of his mouth to lighten up his chest a bit. It's been heavy the whole evening and he hasn't slept a wink. He wonders why he is worrying sick of his feelings when he is the undisputed master of his emotions all the while until this time. It's weird, not to mention hard. Because he has never felt this way before (rephrase this cliché if you want). He doesn't know where to begin since in all his educational life, he has never encountered a topic that discusses anything about animal magnetism. And he needs it only too badly. Fuck knows how badly.

God damn it; how many times does he have to freaking repeat it to himself that he's Rukawa Kaede? Surely, remembering your own name shouldn't be a hard feat but why the hell is he being such a softy? Rukawa isn't a softy, never was, and never will be for Satan's sake. At one time it was even inappropriate to put the words 'Rukawa' and 'cold' in the same sentence because that would've resulted to redundancy. But it would've even been a worse case had some good for nothing blabber put 'Rukawa' and 'softy' together, much less describe him directly in that manner; softy Rukawa. It would be an outrageous contradiction of what has been simply a long standing fact. Yes, it would've been; and Rukawa would've instantly murdered the person who'd dare call him that. But the problem is; he's the one who's calling himself softy and sentimental and romantic at this very moment. Either he keeps it to himself or murder himself at this point; but of course blurting it out to somebody else is not a goddamn option.

How silly, how inexplicably silly; and how he hates to be silly at that.

But can he possibly resist it? Later on he will be arriving, wearing a pair of scandalously short shorts and a loose, sweat repellent shirt. He will be selecting a comfy spot where he can pump up his muscles and massage his oh-so gorgeous biceps. He will be spreading his legs 2 feet apart to perform a semi split to avoid potential cramps, and that's where the exciting part takes place; while he's busy with this process, the tension in his shorts' linen will cause them to reduce their actual length. The catch? Nah, it's too obvious. But since I ain't a joy-killer, here it is; the shorts will get tighter and shorter and poof! The off-limits area of his legs' skin will be revealed! And that's what Rukawa is craving for; that well polished layer glittering with stadium lights, its never-been-touched softness that makes Rukawa even more enamored of the owner, its tired-of-warming-up firmness...how alluring.

No. It doesn't end there. A little while later they will be in one sweaty contest, he and Rukawa in a singular action filled with physical prowess; how blissfully unbearable! There will be more wonderful chances than just gawking at his hunky exterior and nursing a hopeless delusion. It isn't enough just to watch, especially when the object of his amatory passion can be made attainable by body contact. Once they start with a practice game Rukawa can practically reach out his hand and brush his arm against his chest; forget the pushing foul that he can get from it, he can always make up the commonest yet most effective excuse; 'It was a fucking accident.' Everyone will buy it for sure, after all who will ever suspect that Rukawa, the ever so passive Ice King of Kanagawa Basketball history, is deliberately committing a violation to steal just one caress? What, is this some sort of a cheesy joke? That will have been a lousy dud about some humorless jock like Rukawa so...yes, it's a joke if they will rather have it that way.

And does he hate it? No, he detests it. Being obsessed, being always hungry for someone else's presence...it's more than a little too stupid, a little too crooked. A more prudent individual will even describe it as something malicious; simply put, bad. It's insane also; because there mingles a feeling of excessive enthusiasm that may be related to a psychopath's behavior. Or could it be? Let's take a closer study.

Rukawa is ever looking for something. That's one thing. And this something can only be found in that someone, the object. That's another thing. But if we condense the two variables into one we get a curious answer out of the equation; tada! There is attraction. What a big surprise. But it's not just plain attraction as what one may get upon passing by a female stranger with very low neckline that bulges out half of her tits; because that kind of encounter is utterly forgettable like a shit off to its voyage to the septic tank. This is a serious one, no kidding; if it isn't serious, Rukawa won't bother to peep at the unclad him in the showers with only the steamy air on. It's one of his favorite hobbies; sneak peak with no nothing. The only thing he hates about it is the ineluctable hardening of some length between his legs, you know, unintended arousal which will inevitably lead to a criminal masturbation in a forbidden area. One can't do without getting one, as the proverbs say. He isn't in love by the by; the reason being that it was the body that Rukawa is hunting, and not the affection that may issue from the subject. But needless to say, affection from him will make do. Well well. Don't ask why.

Therefore we can conclude by the above evidences that our dear Rukawa, the heartthrob who unknowingly founded the biggest fan group of bimbos in Kanagawa HS Basketball, is not just some silly slob who's getting all of a sudden too sentimental; he is turning to an impish, mischievous pervert whom studs like Kanagawa boys shall avoid. Yeah, I shouldn't be stating what's morbidly obvious but I did make Rukawa an irreversible perv, and a sly maniacal one for that matter.

END

After word: If you're wondering who the object of his lust is...well, it's Akagi. I didn't bother to include the stupid revelation in the story's body because it makes me want to puke. I told you I don't like yaois too.