Complex Fic 2
Feb. 14th, 2009 11:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chachingFic: Untitled. "We Don't Do Dishes" maybe.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Jackal and Marui (and Marui's little brothers)
Rating: PG-16 for subject matter and swearing. Lots of swearing.
Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis, nor The Complex AU.
Notes: Set in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
the_complex_au, but following it isn't necessary, I don't think. This is obviously AU in which Marui owns Jackal.
Notes 2: This isn't very long either, but it sets up the character dynamics. I named the Marui twins, and I don't think there are canon names for them anywhere.
Puberty sucks ass, at least in Marui Bunta’s opinion. He doubted anybody else dealing with it would disagree with him either. That had been the third math class in the row where he’d been called to the front of the room while he had a hard-on. He couldn’t even blame the stiffy on his teacher, because she was nearly seventy and covered in chalk. After a week of ridicule he was nearly ready to turn his penis in and exchange it. Nearly, because he heard that girls go through gross shit, and he would take a below-the-belt salute over that any day.
Marui was nothing but noise the moment he slammed his front door, kicked over the table next to the coat closet, and marched into his living room. Marui tossed his bag over the couch, nearly beaning one of his little brothers with it, and stormed into the kitchen, then was back five seconds later with a dirty pot.
“Why are these still dirty?”
The twins looked up from the TV together, then went right back their video game. “We don’t do dishes,” Kenta said, hand moving in a dismissive gesture. “And that guy said he doesn’t either.”
“What? Make him do them. He’s the slave. He’s supposed to work,” Marui said, waving the pot like a teaching baton, as if knowledge was hiding inside of it, and if he moved it through to air enough, it would waif in their direction.
They shrugged, but both looked at him from the corner of their eyes, characters on the screen not even pausing in their pounding of each other. “He won’t listen to us,” Kenji offered in defense. Kenta gave an eye roll, “Said he didn’t have to, ‘cause he’s not our slave.”
Marui dropped the pot in Kenta’s lap. “Wash these while I go teach him a lesson.”
“You must have heard wrong,” Kenji said. “We don’t do dishes.”
“Ten bucks. They have to be washed so he can cook dinner when I’m done.”
“Twenty.” The twins said in unison.
“Fuck no. It’ll take you ten minutes. That’s a dollar a minute. So I’m paying you sixty bucks an hour.”
Marui watched their fourteen-year-old brains do the math and their eyes light up. They shuffled past him to the kitchen, and Marui felt satisfied for the first time that week.
When Marui found him, Jackal was lying on the guest futon in the room that used to be Marui’s father’s office. Marui had set him up in there, since the only bedroom that was empty was his parents, and he couldn’t make himself go in there. Jackal was flipping through an old science journal like it was a tabloid magazine.
“Alright. I’ve had enough,” Marui started. “You’ve done absolutely nothing since I’ve brought you home. The dishes are dirty. Dinner is not ready, and I’m tired of eating those leftovers those friends of my parents sent over. Get down there and do something.”
Jackal paused in his page turning and seemed to be examining a chart. “No.”
Marui turned and was half out the door before he froze up and sent Jackal a scathing look. “Wait. . . what?”
“I said no,” Jackal said. “I’m not cooking or cleaning your house.” He looked up from the journal then and sat it aside. “I’m not a house slave.”
“I don’t care what kind of slave you are,” Marui said, reaching for the nearest object so he could wave it threateningly. “You’re a slave, do what you’re told.”
“Or what?” Jackal said, moving to sit up straight. “You’ll send me back? Try to beat me up?” Jackal sent him a look that spoke clearly that the latter had a low chance of success, more so since he was waving a tissue box. “I don’t mind going back.”
Marui chucked the box at him, and Jackal let it bounce off his shoulder. He took two steps forward so he could loom over him. Marui had heard that looming was intimidating, but he’d never had the chance to try it before. He cocked his head, so he could look down his nose at him. “I’m not sending you back, so if you think misbehaving is going to get you that, you’re wrong. You’re going to do exactly what I bought you for.”
“Alright.”
“And I’m not going to just stand here and let you not do—wait,” Marui slumped a little and stared. That had worked better than he thought. “You’re agreeing now?”
“Yeah. I’ll do exactly what you bought me for.”
Marui sorted through the conversation he just had. There was a loophole in there somewhere . . . . “Good then. Get to it.”
Marui started to turn, to head back downstairs, but then Jackal’s hand was on his belt, and he was pulled hard to the floor, hips hitting the futon before he realized what happened. Jackal hovered over him with a smirk that wrenched a panicked meep out of Marui.
“What the fuck are you doing?!”
“What you told me to,” Jackal said, lowering his head to Marui’s mouth for a forceful kiss. Marui’s flailing gradually stopped, and Jackal lifted his head again.
“I. . . I didn’t buy you for that,” Marui managed, voice low and rather unsure of itself.
“I’m a sex slave. People buy those for sex. Imagine that,” Jackal’s voice was low and husky, sending Marui’s spine shivering. He felt the woody from math class return with a vengeance, and Jackal smirked at him.
Marui was amazed he managed to respond without his voice breaking. “No, really, I didn’t. I just thought you’d do whatever I told you to. I’m pretty sure that’s what ‘slave’ means.”
“You should have read the fine print then, Buns,” Jackal snorted. “I’m not wired that way.”
Jackal’s hand went back to Marui’s belt, pulling the clasp open—and then there was a cacophony of noise in the hall and a twin came rolling through the door, wet and with his shirt torn.
“Don’t listen to him! He’s the one that broke the plate, I was just . . . oh, uh . . . .”
“That’s just bullshit! He’s trying to get out of—wow, fuck,” Kenji said, standing in the door, just as wet and holding a piece of broken plate. “Is that what you call teaching him a lesson?”
“I wish we got lessons like that at school,” Kenta snickered.
“Yeah, we wouldn’t have to keep skipping,” Kenji grinned.
Marui wanted to crawl beneath the desk and die. Anything so they’d quit looking at him like that. “Wait, you skipped again?” There, yeah, focus off him.
“Fuck! You and your mouth!”
“What? No. If you hadn’t broken the plate, we wouldn’t even be up here!”
“I didn’t break the plate.”
“I was there, dumbass.”
“Don’t call me—“
“Fuck!” They shouted in tandem before bolting back down the stairs, Marui following after with a stapler.
Jackal slumped back onto his futon, listening to the sounds of the Marui brothers tearing the house apart, and glad that he wasn’t a cleaner. Having sex with Marui Bunta would be infinitely better than cleaning up after him.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Jackal and Marui (and Marui's little brothers)
Rating: PG-16 for subject matter and swearing. Lots of swearing.
Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis, nor The Complex AU.
Notes: Set in
the_complex_au, but following it isn't necessary, I don't think. This is obviously AU in which Marui owns Jackal.Notes 2: This isn't very long either, but it sets up the character dynamics. I named the Marui twins, and I don't think there are canon names for them anywhere.
Puberty sucks ass, at least in Marui Bunta’s opinion. He doubted anybody else dealing with it would disagree with him either. That had been the third math class in the row where he’d been called to the front of the room while he had a hard-on. He couldn’t even blame the stiffy on his teacher, because she was nearly seventy and covered in chalk. After a week of ridicule he was nearly ready to turn his penis in and exchange it. Nearly, because he heard that girls go through gross shit, and he would take a below-the-belt salute over that any day.
Marui was nothing but noise the moment he slammed his front door, kicked over the table next to the coat closet, and marched into his living room. Marui tossed his bag over the couch, nearly beaning one of his little brothers with it, and stormed into the kitchen, then was back five seconds later with a dirty pot.
“Why are these still dirty?”
The twins looked up from the TV together, then went right back their video game. “We don’t do dishes,” Kenta said, hand moving in a dismissive gesture. “And that guy said he doesn’t either.”
“What? Make him do them. He’s the slave. He’s supposed to work,” Marui said, waving the pot like a teaching baton, as if knowledge was hiding inside of it, and if he moved it through to air enough, it would waif in their direction.
They shrugged, but both looked at him from the corner of their eyes, characters on the screen not even pausing in their pounding of each other. “He won’t listen to us,” Kenji offered in defense. Kenta gave an eye roll, “Said he didn’t have to, ‘cause he’s not our slave.”
Marui dropped the pot in Kenta’s lap. “Wash these while I go teach him a lesson.”
“You must have heard wrong,” Kenji said. “We don’t do dishes.”
“Ten bucks. They have to be washed so he can cook dinner when I’m done.”
“Twenty.” The twins said in unison.
“Fuck no. It’ll take you ten minutes. That’s a dollar a minute. So I’m paying you sixty bucks an hour.”
Marui watched their fourteen-year-old brains do the math and their eyes light up. They shuffled past him to the kitchen, and Marui felt satisfied for the first time that week.
When Marui found him, Jackal was lying on the guest futon in the room that used to be Marui’s father’s office. Marui had set him up in there, since the only bedroom that was empty was his parents, and he couldn’t make himself go in there. Jackal was flipping through an old science journal like it was a tabloid magazine.
“Alright. I’ve had enough,” Marui started. “You’ve done absolutely nothing since I’ve brought you home. The dishes are dirty. Dinner is not ready, and I’m tired of eating those leftovers those friends of my parents sent over. Get down there and do something.”
Jackal paused in his page turning and seemed to be examining a chart. “No.”
Marui turned and was half out the door before he froze up and sent Jackal a scathing look. “Wait. . . what?”
“I said no,” Jackal said. “I’m not cooking or cleaning your house.” He looked up from the journal then and sat it aside. “I’m not a house slave.”
“I don’t care what kind of slave you are,” Marui said, reaching for the nearest object so he could wave it threateningly. “You’re a slave, do what you’re told.”
“Or what?” Jackal said, moving to sit up straight. “You’ll send me back? Try to beat me up?” Jackal sent him a look that spoke clearly that the latter had a low chance of success, more so since he was waving a tissue box. “I don’t mind going back.”
Marui chucked the box at him, and Jackal let it bounce off his shoulder. He took two steps forward so he could loom over him. Marui had heard that looming was intimidating, but he’d never had the chance to try it before. He cocked his head, so he could look down his nose at him. “I’m not sending you back, so if you think misbehaving is going to get you that, you’re wrong. You’re going to do exactly what I bought you for.”
“Alright.”
“And I’m not going to just stand here and let you not do—wait,” Marui slumped a little and stared. That had worked better than he thought. “You’re agreeing now?”
“Yeah. I’ll do exactly what you bought me for.”
Marui sorted through the conversation he just had. There was a loophole in there somewhere . . . . “Good then. Get to it.”
Marui started to turn, to head back downstairs, but then Jackal’s hand was on his belt, and he was pulled hard to the floor, hips hitting the futon before he realized what happened. Jackal hovered over him with a smirk that wrenched a panicked meep out of Marui.
“What the fuck are you doing?!”
“What you told me to,” Jackal said, lowering his head to Marui’s mouth for a forceful kiss. Marui’s flailing gradually stopped, and Jackal lifted his head again.
“I. . . I didn’t buy you for that,” Marui managed, voice low and rather unsure of itself.
“I’m a sex slave. People buy those for sex. Imagine that,” Jackal’s voice was low and husky, sending Marui’s spine shivering. He felt the woody from math class return with a vengeance, and Jackal smirked at him.
Marui was amazed he managed to respond without his voice breaking. “No, really, I didn’t. I just thought you’d do whatever I told you to. I’m pretty sure that’s what ‘slave’ means.”
“You should have read the fine print then, Buns,” Jackal snorted. “I’m not wired that way.”
Jackal’s hand went back to Marui’s belt, pulling the clasp open—and then there was a cacophony of noise in the hall and a twin came rolling through the door, wet and with his shirt torn.
“Don’t listen to him! He’s the one that broke the plate, I was just . . . oh, uh . . . .”
“That’s just bullshit! He’s trying to get out of—wow, fuck,” Kenji said, standing in the door, just as wet and holding a piece of broken plate. “Is that what you call teaching him a lesson?”
“I wish we got lessons like that at school,” Kenta snickered.
“Yeah, we wouldn’t have to keep skipping,” Kenji grinned.
Marui wanted to crawl beneath the desk and die. Anything so they’d quit looking at him like that. “Wait, you skipped again?” There, yeah, focus off him.
“Fuck! You and your mouth!”
“What? No. If you hadn’t broken the plate, we wouldn’t even be up here!”
“I didn’t break the plate.”
“I was there, dumbass.”
“Don’t call me—“
“Fuck!” They shouted in tandem before bolting back down the stairs, Marui following after with a stapler.
Jackal slumped back onto his futon, listening to the sounds of the Marui brothers tearing the house apart, and glad that he wasn’t a cleaner. Having sex with Marui Bunta would be infinitely better than cleaning up after him.
