Prince of Tennis, Slippery Slope

Title: Slippery Slope [Atobe, Shishido]
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 because Atobe is a rat bastard.
Summary: Atobe figured that if Jiroh was going to wrinkle his sheets like that, it might as well be aesthetically pleasing.
AN: Mousapelli’s Birthday Theme 16: Black satin sheets against…

Slippery Slope

“Lemme get this straight.” Shishido crossed his arms and stared at his captain. “You called me over here on some emergency, and the emergency is that your bed isn’t made?”

“That is a gross understatement,” Atobe scowled, tapping his fingers on the folds of slick black fabric that were sitting on the bedside table.

“Don’t you have people who do this?” Shishido pled. His foot bumped against something, and he looked down to find a fat sheep plushie grinning idiotically up at him.

“Yes,” Atobe cleared his throat, “but you see Ore-sama has a very limited span of time within which this operation can be performed.”

“A limited…Atobe, I don’t have time to…” Shishido paused in the middle of his eyeroll, and he glanced back down at the sheep. “Isn’t Marui’s birthday party today?”

“That has nothing to do with it.” Atobe’s back straightened, which meant Shishido had scored a direct hit.

“Oh, so this limited time isn’t based on the fact that Jiroh will be back from Rikkaidai in the next hour, hepped up on birthday cake and peeps?”

“Damned Easter birthdays,” Atobe growled. “But as you can plainly see, this is Ore-sama’s luxurious place of repose, and not Akutagawa’s…”

“Look, Atobe,” Shishido held up a hand to stop him, “as fascinating as this glimpse into your personal life is, I really do have to go, I promised I’d meet Choutarou for ice cream and if I fuck this up again, I’ll be seeing less of Choutarou’s sleeping habits than I’m seeing of yours right now, if you get my drift.”

“You’ll be seeing just as much of him if I let it drop in exactly whose bed you squeezed the first half of that tube of strawberry lube.”

Shishido scowled and Atobe smirked.

“Fine!” Shishido finally snapped. “Fine, you fucking bastard, but let’s hurry up, and I get to tell everybody that you don’t know how to make a bed by yourself.”

“Ore-sama is fifteen,” Atobe snorted as he reached for a pillow, “of course I don’t know how to do that.”

There was a few minutes of silence as Shishido helped Atobe strip the Egyptian cotton sheets from the bed and shook out the black satin ones from the table.

“Okay,” Shishido finally gave in, mostly as a way to distract Atobe from noticing that he was running fingers thoughtfully over the cotton sheets, “what I don’t get is why, if Jiroh is going to come back here all wound up and demanding, you’re replacing your good sheets with something that’s even nicer.”

“It’s more aesthetic against Jiroh’s light hair,” Atobe said stiffly, not meeting Shishido’s eye. “If you had any class, you would know that a true connoisseur of the finer things in life always looks to improving his…”

Atobe interrupted himself with a small ‘oof‘ as the hand he’d been supporting himself against the bed with slipped out from under him, skidding across the slick material.

“Oh!” Shishido laughed in sudden understanding, then laughed harder when Atobe glared at him as he righted himself. “Oh my god, you twisted bastard, you got satin sheets so Jiroh won’t be able to get any leverage, didn’t you?”

“I’ll show you leverage,” Atobe snarled, snatching up a bottle of his signature cologne that was sitting on the bedside table and spraying Shishido right in the collar.

He smirked as Shishido’s grin turned to an expression of utter horror.


“Aw, c’mon, Choutarou!” Shishido was pleading in the locker room the next day as he trailed after the second year. “I already explained!”

“Shishido-san,” Ohtori snapped, whirling around to stare Shishido-san in the eye, “do you really expect me to believe that Atobe called you over to his house to help him make his bed?”

Shishido-san wilted a little, but his jaw was still set. “That’s what happened! I swear! Atobe, you rat bastard, will you just tell him already?”

“Honestly, Ryou,” Atobe purred from his seat on the bench, stroking fingers through the gold curls that were strewn over his lap. Jiroh would be out cold for quite some time, and it really was adorable how his fingers kept twitching in his sleep like he was trying to grip something. “I do have people who do that sort of thing.”

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