that's true, but

Overture (Ryo/Subaru)

hondemo — Wed, 27 Aug 2014 05:18:27 GMT

title: Overture
pairing: Ryo/Subaru
words: 2224
rating: NC-17
summary: "What if I told you to wait?" Subaru asks, looking up at Ryo with dark eyes, wide and curious.
notes: Written for crumplelush for je_fqfest 2014. (original post)

They're sitting next to each other on the couch for this week's filming of Janiben, Subaru's legs splayed lazily so his knee knocks against Ryo's when he moves. He doesn't acknowledge it, doesn't shift away from the contact even as Ryo stiffens, nails digging little half-moons into his right palm. The guest is telling a story about the director of the movie he's here to advertise; something about cake for one of the staff member's birthday's. It's boring and Ryo's got his listening face plastered on, but all of his attention is focused on the small point of warmth where Subaru's knee touches his own. Subaru's lips are curled up slightly when Ryo glances over, and it's all the confirmation he needs that this positioning was intentional. A thrill sings through Ryo's nerves and his awareness of Subaru next to him seems to sharpen. He sits perfectly still, waiting as Subaru shifts again, letting a little more of his leg press against Ryo's. The thought floats through Ryo's brain that it's pathetic for him to be this excited, this jittery over a light touch of Subaru's clothed knee, but then he remembers the last time they'd spent the night together—more than a week ago, now.

Subaru slowly rubs his thumb up Ryo's wet cock, pressing hard against the curve of the vein, and it's all Ryo can do to keep from bucking his hips up into it. He's not tied but he's supposed to stay still, the order weighing heavy on his limbs in the place of any rope or chain.

"You wanna come?" Subaru says, leaning down so his breath blows hot over the sensitive head.

"Yes,</i>" Ryo whimpers, voice strained as he holds back from outright begging.

"But what if I told you to wait?" Subaru asks, looking up at Ryo with dark eyes, wide and curious. He's rubbing little circles with his thumb under the head and it makes Ryo's body throb with pleasure. "Would you wait? How long do you think you could?"</i>

When Ryo'd eagerly told Subaru he could wait, he had expected it to last another hour, maybe two. As the time between his last orgasm (the day before he'd promised Subaru he'd wait) stretched out behind him with no end in sight, Ryo was starting to feel like a teenager again, barely able to control his impulses. This morning, he'd almost broken his promise by rutting, half-asleep, against his mattress until he suddenly snapped into consciousness: he'd had to reach down and grab his balls, pulling hard to keep himself from hurtling over the edge, muffling a strangled cry into his pillow.

So now, even the innocent touch of Subaru's leg to his own was enough for Ryo to feel arousal stirring in his belly, and he knew Subaru knew it. Though they hadn't had sex since Ryo'd made his promise, Subaru had been unrelenting in the stream of filthy text messages he was sending, asking for updates on Ryo's "situation" and rewarding details of his discomfort with the most pornographic selfies Ryo had ever seen. The smile Subaru's trying to hide is pure sadistic glee at causing Ryo to suffer, perverted delight glinting in his eyes. Ryo can't deny that he loves this side of Subaru, but he thinks he's approaching the limit of what his body will be able to take. His morning erections are getting more and more insistent, his dreams more and more filthy, and he'd hate for his hard work to be undone by a wet dream—though he's sure if he failed there'd be an equally delicious punishment in store. He knows Subaru's schedule is free this evening and the next morning, and so is his: it would be the perfect time to end his waiting. He'd made sure Subaru knew about his availability, but an old shyness still clung and it was hard for Ryo to invite him outright.

So he waits, sitting stiff and distracted through the remaining hour of filming while Subaru takes every opportunity to touch him, sending little electric shivers over Ryo's skin until he feels like it must be obvious to everyone around them what kind of state he's in. No one says anything, though, no one looks at him funny, so he figures he must be hiding it well enough.

They're in the dressing room, Ryo trying not to stare outright while Subaru changes: he's got a few bruises on his hips, and Ryo remembers one of the pictures Subaru had sent him, the ropes criss-crossed over his belly and wrapping tight around his swollen red cock. Just thinking about the image makes Ryo's body go hot; his hands fumbling on his shoelaces. He lingers, hoping Subaru will ask him to go home together—or to get a hotel in Osaka right now, Ryo's not picky—but without even the barest of acknowledgement, Subaru leaves, tossing a general goodbye over his shoulder.

There's a moment where Ryo deflates, accepting his fate but filled with disappointment, but seconds later he's on his feet, grabbing his bag and shouting a goodbye to the others as he tears after Subaru.

He finds him in the hallway, walking a bit slower than he usually would—had he planned this, left early just to wind Ryo up? He'd certainly succeeded, Ryo thinks, glancing around to check that they're alone before grabbing Subaru by the collar and dragging him into a dead-end hallway. He shoves Subaru up against the wall, hard enough that there's a little "oof" of air out of him, followed by a low, pleased grunt at the rough treatment. Ryo's bluster deflates for a moment, but then Subaru presses his hips forward and there it is, all the urgency he'd been looking for.

"I can't do it anymore," Ryo says, trying to keep his voice low and even.

"You're giving up?" Subaru asks, a bit of challenge in his voice.

Ryo growls, frustrated. Did he have to put it like that?

"All you had to do was ask, you know," Subaru says, eyes gleaming.

Subaru says "ask" in a tone that Ryo knows means "beg," but he's prepared to do that, no problem. Just not here.

"Let's get a hotel," he says, his hands still tight on Subaru's shirt.

"I've got more toys at my place," Subaru says.

Ryo doesn't argue, just lets Subaru go and walks with him to the car that will take them to the train station.

They sit side by side on the train, and it's like so many trips back from Osaka they've made in the past: Subaru by the window, hat and hoodie and sunglasses and mask working to obscure his face and make him look somehow even tinier with all the bulk; Ryo on the aisle, music seeping through his earphones as the countryside whizzes past them in a twilight blur. Subaru falls asleep easily, snuffling occasionally in the dry train air, and while Ryo could normally doze off as well, he's too wound up tonight, thinking of what they'll do when they reach Subaru's place.

It's dark by the time they get there, the city lights filtering dimly through Subaru's curtains as they step inside. Even now there's still an awkwardness that lingers between them, and it's hard to get started, sometimes. Subaru offers Ryo a beer and he gladly accepts, gulping half of it quickly to take the edge off of his nervousness. They sit on the couch in a thick silence, broken only by the clinking of aluminum, until Subaru finally speaks.

"You haven't asked yet," he says, eyes darting over to Ryo.

"Please," Ryo says, breathing into his beer. "Please let me come, I can't take it anymore."

"It's so much fun to watch you squirm, though," Subaru says. "The way you sounded when I called you this morning—" he cuts himself off. "But if you think you really can't…"

"I can't," Ryo says, letting his voice slide into a whine. "My body, it won't—I just can't, please."

Subaru licks his lips, and Ryo shudders. "Alright."

Ryo's got his face buried in Subaru's pillow, his hands cuffed behind his head and his ass in the air, legs splayed and thighs trembling as his body tenses with every touch. Subaru's licked down the line of his spine, from the knob at the base of his neck all the down to the dip of his lower back, and Ryo's breath catches around a groan as Subaru goes lower, his tongue slipping over Ryo's hole with a hot, wet flick that makes his body twitch in anticipation. Subaru's tongue is slow to push in, and Ryo tries to get his body to relax when all it wants to do is tense up with the waves of pleasure flooding through it. He focuses on Subaru's hands, firm and warm on the backs of his thighs, and breathes out shakily as Subaru starts to fuck him with his tongue.

It feels good, beyond good, but it also makes Ryo yearn for something more, something bigger: he whines when Subaru pulls away but it feels like barely seconds before there's something hard—plastic-hard, not dick-hard—pressing at his hole. It feels slippery with lube, mixing with Subaru's saliva to push in easily. The toy has a wicked curve to it, and Ryo can feel the way it nestles itself snug against his prostate, sliding in and staying put. The first rush of vibration makes Ryo jump, and Subaru smacks his ass for the movement, making Ryo groan against the pillow.

"Turn over," Subaru says, fingers digging into Ryo's hip impatiently.

Ryo does as he's told, keeping his hands locked behind his head as he does. The movement jostles the toy inside him, sending little currents of pleasure sparking through his nerves. When he's on his back, his cock stands up, hard and neglected, and Subaru reaches out for it immediately, lube-slick hand stroking it slowly. Ryo grunts, hissing out a "please" even as Subaru slides his hand down so he's just gripping it by the base, firm enough to make Ryo want to squirm.

Subaru licks his lips, thoughtful, before reaching over to the bedside table for a condom. He rips the foil with his teeth, one hand still on Ryo's cock, and then pulls it out and rolls it down, his hand slippery and warm through latex. Ryo swallows hard, wondering how long he'll be able to last with Subaru on top of him and the toy still buzzing away against his prostate, sending low-level shocks of pleasure through him.

"Make me come, then you can come," Subaru says, climbing on top of Ryo. "You can move if you want."

Ryo watches as Subaru sits slowly down on his cock. He'd stroked some lube down it but hadn't fingered himself at all; Ryo knows he likes the burn of it, the stretch of being filled without working up to it. Subaru's head lolls back and Ryo's mouth waters at the site of him settling down onto his cock, the feel of Subaru so tight around him. He jerks his hips up, thrusting before Subaru's gotten a chance to get used to it, and Subaru makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a yowl, his hands finding Ryo's torso and scratching long pink lines over the tanned skin. Ryo pulls his hands from behind his head, the chain of the cuffs clinking as he reaches for Subaru's cock. It's hard and hot in his hand and Subaru thrusts readily into the circle of his fist, tightening around Ryo's cock in a sudden spasm that almost pushes him over the edge. But Ryo's too close now to give in early; he focuses all of his energy on making Subaru feel good, jerking him the way he knows he likes, thrusting up as much as his position allows.

Ryo's lucky that Subaru's easy, not one for self-denial or holding back (and lucky that Subaru had already fucked his mouth for a good half hour, pulling Ryo's hair and the chain of the cuffs) because he's just getting to the point where he's not sure he can hold back when Subaru comes, spilling over Ryo's hands and onto his stomach. He keeps moving, writhing on Ryo's cock the whole time his body is spasming with pleasure, and then he's leaning over to turn the dial on the toy, which springs to life with a new vigor, and Ryo very nearly screams at the toe-curling pleasure of it. Subaru leans close and urges him to come, his breath hot and his tongue wet on Ryo's ear, and hearing Subaru's voice low and rough like that is what does it, unraveling the bit of control Ryo has left and making him shake, whimper, and come.

He goes limp after, trying lethargically to twitch away from the now-painful vibrations of the toy still snug inside him. Subaru turns it off, easing it out slowly, and Ryo melts further against the bed, panting and satiated.

"So," Subaru says, sounding dreamy and faraway, "let's aim for two weeks this time, yeah?"

Even Ryo himself isn't sure how much of his groan is pleasure and how much of it is dread.

Self Preservation (Yoko/Hina)

hondemo — Mon, 24 Feb 2014 05:27:14 GMT

title: Self Preservation
pairing: Yoko/Hina
words: 8212
rating: NC-17
summary: Hina makes Yoko ask him for permission for everything he does all day. It goes about as well as you'd expect.
notes: This was originally an idea I planned to write for the kink_bingo prompt "humiliation (verbal)," then abandoned for over a year and picked back up due to some conversations about it. I started writing it and then it just spiraled into this, lol. I've got a lot of feelings about Yoko's feelings, news at 11. Thanks Amanda for the encouragement (and assistance with itunes shuffle title determination) ♥

They’ve been sitting on the couch in their dressing room for about fifteen minutes, just waiting for the time to pass until their turns, when Yoko starts to stand up to use the bathroom.

“Yoko,” Hina says, his voice low with warning, and Yoko startles, sitting back down quickly.

“Are you kidding me?” he says, trying to keep his voice quiet in hopes no one will notice them.

“I told you,” Hina says, “you’ve got to ask.”

Yoko can feel his cheeks heat up; he grits his teeth and crosses his legs, not ready to give in to Hina’s weird demands just yet. When he chances a glance over, Hina just grins at him, all fangs and a glint in his eye. Yoko's pretty sure Hina knows what he wants, and there's a rebellious part of him that just wants to get up, but the horrible part that listens to Hina's orders is stronger and he just sits on the couch, pressing his legs together.

"Something you want?" Hina mutters from the corner of his mouth after a few minutes. Yoko says nothing, teeth pushed hard against his lower lip as he tries not to squirm. "I'll sit here and watch you piss your pants," he threatens, and there's literally nothing sexy about that but Yoko shivers anyway.

"Can I go to the bathroom," he says, quiet but pleading.

"You took so long to ask," Hina says, casual. "You can wait five more minutes."

Yoko shoves his knees together, whimpering deep down in his throat.

Hina leans up against him, letting his fingertips brush over Yoko's thigh. "You've gotta learn to ask nicely," he whispers.

"Please," Yoko breathes, "please can I go?"

"I told you," Hina says, "five minutes."

Yoko wants to curse at him, but he just says nothing, focusing on his breathing, on the inane conversation Ohkura and Yasu are having, on anything but how badly he needs to pee. He’s got a distraction soon enough, though, because Subaru sits down on the arm of the couch, leaning over to peer at Yoko’s face.

“What’re you two talking about?” he asks, and Yoko immediately suspects he’s overheard, or maybe he just has some kind of pervert sixth sense thing that’s guided him over.

“Nothing,” Yoko says, too quickly and too loud, and Subaru grins at him, the kind of grin he gets before describing a weird sex dream he had in grotesque detail.

Hina laughs, loud next to him. and Subaru’s eyes flick over, his eyebrows arching a bit, and then looks back at Yoko.

“Nothing, huh,” he says, grin getting wider, and Yoko’s mind is nothing but a litany of pleas that Subaru’s won’t press the issue further.

Yoko gets lucky and the door opens, one of the staff coming in and calling Subaru’s name: it’s his turn for recording.

The rest of the five minutes passes agonizingly slowly, and Yoko inches over toward Hina, keeping his voice quiet and remembering what Hina had said about asking nicely.

“Can I please go now?” he asks, voice only shaking a little.

"I like to see you squirm," Hina says, pretending to consider it, "but I don't wanna see you pee your pants, so I guess you can go."

Yoko gets up so fast it’s like he was launched off the couch, practically running out the door.

When he comes back, Subaru’s still gone, so he figures they’ve still got some time. He sits back down on the couch, reaching for one of the magazines scattered on the table in front of them.

"Yoko." Hina says, much louder than before, and Yoko can feel every eye in the room turn to the two of them.

He freezes, then leans back slowly, eyes trained on the floor. The attention seems to shift away from the two of them quickly, thankfully, until Hina stands up, stepping into Yoko’s space.

"Come with me," he commands, not quiet enough that it doesn't draw the eyes back to them.

Yoko can feel himself turning bright red as he stands up, following Hina out the door obediently. Hina leads him down the hall, up the stairs, and into a large bathroom in an out of the way corner. He locks the door behind them before grabbing Yoko and pushing him up against the wall, hands curled too tight on Yoko’s shoulders. Blood thrums through Yoko’s body, every nerve alight at the touch.

“Seems like you need a reminder of what the rules are,” Hina says.

“Seems like you’re an asshole,” Yoko counters. He can’t get settled with the constant weight of Hina’s demands over him, and the easiest way to deal with it is to snipe at him.

“You brought this upon yourself, remember?” Hina says. “And if you keep mouthing off about it maybe I won’t touch you.”

Yoko doesn’t want to invite worse punishment, but he’s still feeling stubborn, so he just says nothing, and in response, Hina shoves him down to his knees. The tile floor hurts when he falls, heavy and unbalanced, but he’s distracted from the pain by Hina unzipping his pants, pushing them down and pulling out his cock.

“If you do a good job,” Hina says, “maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Yoko licks his lips, taking hold of the base of Hina’s cock and wrapping his lips around it. It’s only half-hard when he starts and Yoko can feel it stiffen and grow in his mouth, the skin hot against his tongue and his palm. He sucks down until his lips bump his fingers, pulling back with a wet slurp and then going back down, making a low sound of pleasure when Hina runs fingers through his hair.

“Do a good enough job,” Hina says, his voice getting that rough edge to it that makes Yoko shiver, “and I’ll let you come.”

That’s all the encouragement Yoko needs to take his hand off and try to suck Hina’s cock all the way down. It’s hard for him to do at the best of times, with practice or a slow build, but just trying to get it down all at once makes him choke, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. He keeps trying anyway and Hina groans, tugging at Yoko’s hair and thrusting a bit against the spasms in his throat.

“You’re gonna be all hoarse when you sing,” Hina says, sounding pleased, and Yoko just keeps going, the sounds that Hina makes and the tugs on his hair going straight to his cock.

By the time Hina seems close, Yoko feels like he’s ready to snap himself, like just the lightest touch would be enough to send him over the edge.

"You’re gonna be good and swallow it all, aren't you?" Hina asks, and Yoko grunts in affirmation, too absorbed in the task to get embarrassed now.

Then Hina comes and Yoko coughs against it, some of it spilling out onto his chin when he sits back. Hina rubs his fingers through it, pushing some of it back into Yoko’s mouth.

“Did I do a good job?” Yoko asks, breathless and unable to look up at Hina.

There’s a long pause and then Hina’s petting Yoko’s hair lightly. “Not good enough,” he says. “Keep working at it, maybe tonight I’ll let you come.”

Yoko whimpers, watching Hina tuck his cock back into his pants. He hands Yoko a bit of toilet paper, telling him to clean up his face.

When Yoko stands to look in the mirror, he can see how disheveled he is, along with the obvious bulge of his cock hard in his pants.

“Everyone’s going to be able to tell what you’ve been doing,” Hina says, low voice next to his ear not doing much to help. “Now let’s get back.”

“Just--give me a minute,” Yoko says, an edge of desperation to his voice.

Hina starts at sixty and counts down, panic rising in Yoko’s throat until he gets to one and grabs Yoko’s wrist, dragging him out of the bathroom.

Yoko shuffles into the dressing room after Hina, his eyes trained on the floor as he concentrates on breathing in and out, willing his erection to go down. He'd rearranged his hair as well as he could while they walked, smoothing out the places where Hina had tugged on it--Yoko stops himself before following that thought process down a path that definitely won't result in a softer dick. He glances up at the clock, settling down on the opposite end of the couch from Hina. There's probably another fifteen minutes before they'll call Yoko for his solo part. He swallows hard, his throat scratchy from coughing and his mouth still tasting like Hina's come.

He looks around, assuring himself that no one's looking, and says in a low voice, "can I please get some tea?"

Hina looks to be considering it, and Yoko tenses, waiting for the refusal, but he just tells Yoko to get a cup for him too. Yoko lets out a long breath and stands up.

It's nice to have a task to concentrate on, and Yoko can feel himself calming a little as he makes the tea. He brings both cups over, setting Hina's down in front of him before he sits down, fingers wrapped around his cup. Hina looks up at him and smiles, like they're sharing a secret.

"Good boy," he mumbles, and Yoko kind of hates himself for how pleased the praise makes him feel.

He sits quietly on the couch, sipping his tea and watching Hina read the newspaper, until one of the staff comes in and calls him for his turn. Yoko starts to stand up, then catches himself. He can feel Hina watching him, waiting. He lifts his teacup to his mouth and says quietly, "can I go, please?"

"Go ahead," Hina says. Yoko thinks it's got to be on purpose, how loud he's being.

Yoko's face burns as he follows the staff out to the set. Shooting his parts is a welcome respite from the tension of being around Hina, until Hina wanders out onto the set, sitting down next to Maru and striking up what looks like a casual conversation. The whole time he's talking, though, his eyes are on Yoko, his gaze hot and intense. Yoko stutters over the lyrics: the way Hina's looking at him feels like a promise of what's to come later, and Yoko can't help the way his heart beats faster at the prospect.

Yoko's able to finish his part with minimal problems, the heat of Hina's staring relegated to a slow burn in the back of his mind, and then it's Hina's turn. Yoko comes up to him before he starts, expecting that he'll have some kind of instructions for him.

"Yes?" he says, eyebrows raised as though he can't imagine what Yoko wants.

Yoko swallows down the impulse to curse at him and says, uncertain, "what...should I do now?"

Hina grins at him then, just a brief flash of bright eyes and fangs. "Go sit where I was sitting," he says, turning serious. "You can talk to Maru but I want you to watch me and I want you to think about what you did to deserve this punishment." He's using the low, commanding tone that sends chills of arousal down Yoko's spine. Yoko nods his assent, crossing his arms and going to sit where Hina had been.

Maru engages Yoko easily when he sits down, and they have a light conversation before just falling into quiet. Yoko watches Hina, thinking of what he'd said. What you did to deserve this.

Yoko had been on Hina's bed, his hands cuffed together and arms stretched out over his head, legs spread and anchored to each corner. He had no idea how long he'd been there, spread out while Hina teased him. It had been a week since Yoko last came, Hina testing the limits of his resistance. Yoko's whole body shook when Hina eased the vibrator back into him, turned to a setting so high Yoko could feel it behind his eyes.

"Please," he whimpered, squirming either in an effort to get away from the stimulation or get it to touch the right spot, Yoko wasn't sure at this point. "Please, I wanna come."

"Don't think you've earned it yet," Hina said lightly, running the pad of his thumb up the vein on Yoko's cock.

"What--" Yoko stuttered, "what do you want me to do?"

"Dunno," Hina said, and Yoko couldn't quash the impulse to call him a sadistic fucker. Hina didn't say anything, just slapped Yoko's cock hard. Yoko moaned, turned on for so long that the wires for pain and pleasure had crossed somewhere along the way, and any touch to his cock felt amazing.

It was when Hina started properly fucking him with the vibrator that things really started to get difficult, and it only got worse when Hina bent to tongue and bite at Yoko's nipples. Yoko pleaded with Hina to let him come, Hina said no again, and for some reason that refusal was the one that made Yoko hit his breaking point. He angled his hips, taking the vibrator deeper, and just let go of his self-control, splattering his stomach with come.

Hina had muttered something furious and terrifying about how if Yoko wanted it that badly, he'd give it to him, and then he forced orgasm after orgasm out of Yoko until he was crying, coming dry and begging Hina to stop through hiccuping gasps.

Hina had taken care of him after it, cleaning Yoko up and curling up against him until he calmed down. Yoko had thought that the orgasms were his punishment, until the next morning when Hina explained very carefully over breakfast that he wanted Yoko to ask him permission for every single thing for the entire day.

"You need training," Hina had said.

Yoko's broken out of his thoughts by the feeling of Hina's hand on his shoulder, warm and firm and big.

"You're really obvious," he says, amusement in his tone.

Yoko shifts, getting goosebumps. "It's not my fault," he grumbles.

"All of this is your fault," Hina says pleasantly, and Yoko rolls his eyes.

As the day drags on, Yoko almost starts to get used to asking Hina for everything. Hina picks what he'll eat for lunch, standing behind him and telling him to take a little more, filling his plate with a mix of things Yoko likes and a few things he doesn't (thankfully there hadn't been cucumbers; Yoko would've had a tantrum on the spot). Hina watches him struggle through eating it all with this approving look that makes Yoko's skin feel tingly and sensitive.

He's on edge all day, hyper aware of Hina and sticking close to him. By the time they're finished shooting, Yoko feels beyond ready to go home and let Hina order him around in private, but once he's gathered his things and found Hina, he's on the phone with one of his friends.

"Yeah," he says, "we're finishing up just now. I'll be there in half an hour, probably."

Yoko blinks at Hina as he hangs up, sliding his phone into his pocket.

"We made plans weeks ago, it's not like I could cancel," he says, shrugging, and Yoko feels small. He swallows.

"What should I do, then?" He hates that he's asking anyway, hates the way his voice betrays his feelings so easily.

"Go back to my place," Hina says. "I'll text you."

Yoko nods, breathing through a catch in his throat and hating himself.

The first message from Hina arrives maybe ten minutes after Yoko's left the studio.

Get yourself something to eat, it says.

There's a frustrating lack of information, and Yoko feels his discomfort rising as he types back What should I get?

It's bad enough that Hina's ordering him around with every little thing in his life, but the fact that he's putting it on Yoko to ask for clarification, to lay out his desire to please, makes it that much worse. He can't be begrudging about it if he's asking how to do it better every few minutes.

Get a bento from the supermarket. Send me all the options when you get there and I'll tell you which.

Yoko breathes out slowly. He's still uncomfortable, but the desperate, pathetic, small feeling from before is leveling off a bit at the thought that he has a specific task to complete and Hina's not just forgetting about him while he goes to dinner.

He sends Hina a detailed description of all the bento offered at the supermarket, then paces the aisles aimlessly while waiting for a response. Hina takes a while to answer, long enough that Yoko feels like people are starting to notice him skulking around without anything in his basket, and when he does answer, he’s picked the bento Yoko least wants to eat, but he buys it anyway, taking it back to Hina’s apartment and heating it up, eating at Hina’s kitchen table. He’d asked for a drink, and Hina told him just to have water. He sips at the glass, slowly working his way through the bento. Hina had told him to take a picture once he was done eating, and once the plastic container is empty, Yoko snaps a photo and sends it off to Hina, along with a request to turn on the TV.

No TV, is Hina’s reply. Take a shower, no bath, and go to my bedroom.

Yoko takes a shower, feeling annoyed that Hina wouldn’t let him have a bath or any entertainment. He lingers a bit on his cock while washing himself, rubbing up and down it with his wet palm and shivering, thinking of earlier that day, when Hina had forced him down to his knees in the bathroom. He’d do that again right now, all the way down to not being touched at all, if it would mean Hina would get back sooner. He strokes himself longer than he probably should, reveling in the memory of Hina’s hands in his hair, how he felt boxed-in with the wall behind him and Hina in front.

That was a long shower, is Hina’s reply when Yoko tells him he’s done. Do something you shouldn’t have?

I was just taking my time, Yoko writes back, knowing but not caring that Hina will know it’s a lie.

Get the leather cuffs from the drawer and cuff yourself, hands behind your back. Turn off the light and sit down on the floor at the end of my bed. You can change positions if kneeling starts to hurt, but don’t get up. Don’t use your phone again unless there’s an emergency. I’ll be home in a while.

Yoko feels like the floor’s dropped out from under him. The message is so terse; Hina’s clearly more annoyed than Yoko expected him to be about such a little lie. He reads the last two lines again, stomach tying itself in knots.

He tells himself that he won’t have to wait too long, there’s no way Hina would be that deliberately cruel, just leave him alone like that. He must be on his way home now.

With the lights off and his phone sitting silent on the nightstand, it’s impossible for Yoko to judge the passage of time. The longer he sits, the more that pathetic needy feeling creeps up on him, clutching at his heart and making it hard to breathe. He starts thinking about Hina, having fun at dinner and probably not even sparing a thought for Yoko, Yoko who’s waiting for him, who’s tried all day to be good for him. It’s not just the fact that Hina said he’d let Yoko come if he was good (though that’s undeniably a part of it), Yoko realizes as he’s sitting cuffed and alone on Hina’s floor in the dark, it’s that he wants Hina’s approval, he wants the genuine, pleased smiles Hina gave him today when he was good. He likes to put up a fight, sure, and likes to feel like he’s got no choice in the matter, but when Hina’s pleased with him it makes a part of Yoko feel good. Realizing this, finally recognizing his obvious disadvantage in this situation, is what sends Yoko’s anger over the edge and makes him stand up, uncuff himself, and get dressed.

He briefly imagines running into Hina on his way out of the building, and the thought’s enough to make him rush out, turning corners jumpily until he gets to a street big enough to hail a cab at. He holds his phone in his hand the whole ride, heart in his throat as he wonders when Hina will get home, what he’ll do when he does. He knows Hina well enough to know how much this will get to him, and he knows he won’t be able to let it go. There’s a part of Yoko that’s excited for it, to get a rise out of Hina and be subject to his full attention, even if it’s negative.

Yoko makes it all the way home without Hina contacting him, and he flops down on his sofa, turning on the TV and watching some mindless show. Even though it only lasted a day, it almost feels weird for Yoko to just do as he pleases in his apartment. He can’t concentrate on anything but the anticipation of the fight he’s going to have with Hina. Hina’s so hot when he’s angry, all threatening tones and rolled r’s, and Yoko shivers just thinking about it. He’s actually considering jerking off for a bit, just so he can tell Hina that’s what he’d been doing, one more piece of defiance to throw in his face, when suddenly he hears the sound of a key in his door.

Yoko freezes, watching as the door swings open and Hina storms in, kicking off his shoes and letting the door bang closed behind him.

“Yoko,” he says, and just that is enough to get Yoko hard, blood rushing to his cock so fast his head spins a bit. Hina’s face is flushed, his eyes wild and his body tense.

“I got bored,” Yoko says, by way of explanation. “Wanted to watch some TV, you know.”

“I--I can’t believe you,” Hina says. “After you were so fucking good all day, what--” He breaks off, crossing the room and grabbing Yoko by his shirt, hauling him up to his feet. Yoko sways just a bit, using every bit of acting skill he has to seem like this isn’t affecting him as much as it is. Hina’s so close now, anger and heat radiating off of him in waves. Yoko stands up straight as he can, bringing himself up taller than Hina.

“I was just gonna jerk off,” he says, “before you came in.”

Hina actually growls, and Yoko can’t help the shiver that runs through him. He feels a kind of perverse power, knowing he’s the one making Hina react like this. Yoko opens his mouth to continue, but Hina shoves four fingers right into it, harsh and pushing back so far Yoko almost gags on them.

“Shut. Up.” Hina says. “I don’t want to hear anything more out of you right now.”

Yoko makes a gurgling sound, just to be defiant, and Hina’s other hand skims over his throat. He tightens it, just a bit, and Yoko thinks he might actually do it before he releases the pressure.

“If I try that now I’ll just do it until you pass out,” he says, and Yoko groans. It’s so rare to see Hina get out of control like that; there’s a part of him that wants Hina to do it anyway. Hina’s hand drops down between them, palming rough over Yoko’s cock. He grabs it, hard, through Yoko’s pants, and then takes a step away, removing all their contact.

“Take your clothes off,” he orders, and Yoko’s halfway to obeying, not even thinking about it, before he stops and pretends to consider it.

“Not sure I want to,” he says, feeling himself grin as Hina fumes.

“I’m keeping track, Yoko,” Hina says, reaching to pull Yoko’s shirt over his head, tug down his pants. “I’m keeping track of every. Single. Time. You don’t do what I tell you. And I’m gonna punish you for every one of them.”

Despite Yoko being deliberately unhelpful, Hina gets the clothes off of him quickly, and then he reaches into the bag he brought with him, pulling out a roll of black tape.

“You came prepared, huh,” Yoko says, swallowing hard as Hina pulls some tape from the roll, the loud ripping sound seeming to echo through the room.

“I’ll start with that fucking mouth of yours,” Hina says, fisting a hand in Yoko’s hair and pulling his head back, hard, before pressing the tape over his mouth.

Yoko grunts, breathing out through his nose. Hina just holds him for a second, hand tight and pulling on his hair and the other lingering on Yoko's cheekbone, right above the tape.

It's a testament to how angry and worked up Yoko's gotten himself when he lifts his hands, places them on Hina's chest, and shoves him away. Yoko's never one to fight back physically, other than some squirming and small, token struggles, he usually expresses his displeasure with words, or whiny noises if Hina's gagged him.

Yoko can see the shock in Hina's face as he stumbles back, mouth open. He revels in having caught him off-balance, but then Hina's right back on him, hands on his shoulders and forcing Yoko down onto the couch. Hina's right up in his space, the denim of his jeans rubbing rough and deliberate against Yoko's cock. When Hina grabs for real, there's no resisting him, and Yoko doesn't really want to: he has a feeling that if he gets Hina any madder than this he'll end up with a black eye.

"You don't," Hina's saying, barely coherent, "just--"

Yoko puts his hands on Hina's hips, not intending to push but just testing, and Hina grabs his wrists immediately, his grip bruisingly tight, and shoves Yoko's hands down to his sides.

"Don't fucking move again or I swear--" he breaks off, burying his face in Yoko's neck and starting to suck a mark into it. Yoko goes completely rigid, a shiver crackling its way down his right side. They never do this because of work, and Yoko can't help but enjoy both how it feels and the fact that he's apparently driven Hina past the point of considering consequences. He groans, loud and rumbling in his throat, and Hina pulls back.

Hina climbs off Yoko, pulling him down to the floor with a hand in his hair. Yoko kneels, feeling like his whole body is vibrating from all the rough treatment. He's done enough to work Hina up that his own anger is ebbing a bit in place of satisfaction and arousal, though it still weighs in the back of his head, a small part of him wondering if this is really going to get him what he wants.

Hina steps behind him, and Yoko hears the tape before Hina pulls his wrists together, wrapping them a few times so they're firmly tethered together.

Hina takes a long, shaky breath. "Is that too tight?" he asks.

Yoko shakes his head, surprised Hina even bothered to check. Then Hina puts his hand between Yoko's shoulder blades, shoving him forward until his ass is in the air. Yoko's bracing himself for a spanking but instead he hears the tape again, and then Hina's fastening his ankles together. He puts his hand on Yoko's taped wrists to pull him back into a kneeling position.

"Your ankles okay?" he grumbles, and Yoko nods again.

He can hear Hina standing up, and then he crosses the room and opens the curtains. It's dark, of course, but Hina peers out toward Yoko's balcony, seemingly looking for something. He opens the door and there's a rush of chill air against Yoko's exposed skin, making goosebumps rise quickly. He can't imagine what Hina's doing out there. Maybe he'd needed some air, to calm down?

When Hina comes back, sliding the door closed, Yoko sees what's in his hand and his stomach does a flip: clothespins, from Yoko's line outside. He drops down to his knees in front of Yoko, looking pleased with himself.

"Oh good," he says, brushing his fingers over Yoko's right nipple, "they're already nice and hard for it."

Yoko whimpers. Hina rarely uses clothespins on him, knowing it's a level and type of pain that Yoko's ill-equipped to handle. The first pin closes over his nipple and Yoko squeals, unrestrained.

"That's what I like to hear," Hina mumbles, letting the other pin close over Yoko's left nipple. Yoko makes a pained sound and squeezes his eyes shut.

The only way Yoko can handle this kind of pain is if it comes with pleasure attached, something to distract him from the stinging burn in his nerves. Hina doesn’t seem ready to give him anything like that, or even, for the moment, to distract him with pain elsewhere. He stands up, reaching into his bag and pulling out his cigarettes and lighter. Yoko doesn’t let him smoke inside, and it’s pretty obvious what he’s planning to do.

Hina picks up the can of beer Yoko had been drinking, sitting down on Yoko’s couch and lighting up a cigarette. He inhales slowly, then leans forward, blowing the smoke out into Yoko’s face. Yoko’s eyes water and he tries not to breathe in, making an annoyed sound and glaring at Hina.

“If you’re not going to listen to what I say,” Hina says, flippant, “I don’t have to listen to your rules, either, do I?”

Hina just sits casually on Yoko’s couch, smoking and ashing his cigarette into the beer can (which had still been half full; somehow the wastefulness adds to Yoko’s annoyance).

“I was thinking about putting this out on you,” he says, gesturing to Yoko with the end of the cigarette, “but I don’t think you could handle it.”

It says a lot about Yoko’s personality that a large part of him now wants Hina to do it, just to prove he could handle it, but mostly he’s relieved that he won’t have to suffer that particular pain tonight. The stinging pain in his nipples still hasn’t receded much, just a high sort of ringing through his nerves. It makes it hard to concentrate on anything, almost hard to breathe, even.

Hina drops his cigarette into the can and sets it down, getting up and walking towards Yoko. He’s moving deliberately, like he’s calmed down a bit, and Yoko’s annoyed that Hina’s getting calmer while he’s just stuck here getting more worked up.

“Want these off?” Hina asks, flicking at the clothespins and sending little electric shocks of pain through Yoko.

Still feeling defiant, Yoko doesn’t nod or shake his head, just tries to breathe through the pain. It’s harder to stay calm when Hina grabs both of them and twists, hard. Yoko practically screams, then, his mind going blank with the searing intensity of the pain. Hina lets go, and Yoko sways a bit, lightheaded. He wants to collapse forward onto Hina, but he holds himself up.

“Ah well,” Hina says, “the longer I leave them on, the more fun it’ll be when I take them off.”

Yoko grits his teeth at the thought. Having them taken off provides relief, sure, but not without that awful surge of pain first.

Hina moves so he’s behind him again, and he wraps his fingers around Yoko’s wrists, using the other hand to push him forward. He pushes until Yoko’s forehead is on the floor, his knees spread, and then keeps pushing Yoko’s wrists up and up, the stretch pulling painfully at his shoulders. He’s totally immobilized like this, forced into the position Hina wants for him. The hot burn in his shoulders is a totally different kind of pain from the high stinging throb in his nipples, though, so it’s almost a bit of a reprieve.

Then Hina spanks him, ridiculously hard, hard enough that Yoko totally loses his breath, yelping. Hina doesn’t start out slow or build a rhythm or anything, just hits Yoko over and over until there aren’t any thoughts in his head, just the three separate points of pain on his body. There’s noise, and it takes him a few head-swimming moments to realize that Hina’s talking to him.

“It’s not that hard,” he’s saying, almost every other word punctuated by a slap on Yoko’s hot, sensitive skin. “If you just listened to me, I was gonna reward you tonight. You were good, Yoko. Why’d you have to do this?” He pauses, hitting the exact same spot a few times in sequence.

Yoko can barely process what Hina’s saying, but suddenly he’s letting Yoko’s arms down and he’s back in front of him. Yoko leaves his forehead on the floor, not really trusting in his ability to sit up on his own at this point. His shoulders feel sore, he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to sit down tomorrow, and he’s breathing in heaving gasps, his face wet--had he been crying? Hina lifts him up with a hand in his hair, the pull of it making Yoko’s skin prickle. He blinks, trying to clear his eyes before Hina notices.

“Maybe you’re ready to apologize,” Hina says. He puts his fingers to the tape over Yoko’s mouth and Yoko winces in anticipation of the pain. Hina rips it off quickly, drawing a stifled cry from Yoko’s throat.

“You sorry?” Hina says, expectant.

“Fuck off,” Yoko spits. His heart’s racing.

“Wrong answer,” Hina says, and pulls the clothespin off Yoko’s left nipple, no warning at all. Yoko screams, properly screams, curling in on himself automatically.

“Fucking asshole,” he says, voice shaking as Hina drags him up again.

Yoko expects Hina to go for the other clothespin, but he slaps Yoko’s face instead, his palm connecting hard with Yoko’s cheek.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” Hina asks. “Is this what you want?”

“Better than you ignoring me,” Yoko says, the words coming out before he can think it through.

“I--what?” Hina says, his face contorting into an expression of total confusion. He pauses, clearly trying to parse what Yoko’s just said. “You’re...mad that I went to dinner?”

It’s so like Hina that Yoko almost wants to laugh. Of course he goes with the explanation closest to the surface, that’s what he’s like.

“While I sat in your apartment like some kind of toy waiting for you to be ready to use me,” Yoko says, surprised at the level of vitriol in his own voice. His cheeks burn at the word choice, but it feels accurate.

“That’s not--” Hina says, eyebrows knitting together. He clearly hadn’t thought it would be a big deal at all, which makes Yoko even madder. "I thought you might get bored, but..."

"Bored?" Yoko does laugh, then, a low, breathy sound. "Yeah, I did all of this because I was bored."

"Well obviously I know it's not that now," Hina says, biting back with his tone.

"Look," Yoko says, staring down at his knees, "I don't do this shit just for my own personal satisfaction or something. I like..." he pauses, lips pursing. When he continues his voice is quieter, the words jumbled together as he tries to get them out before he loses the nerve. "I like having your attention."

He doesn't dare look at Hina after that admission, but he hears him take a long breath, and then he reaches out, his fingers brushing Yoko's knee before he speaks.

"So, you left because...you knew I'd pay attention to you if I was angry?" Hina asks. To his credit, he sounds like he's trying hard to puzzle out Yoko's motivation.

"I was also really mad at you," Yoko says, chancing a look up at Hina and biting the inside of his cheek. He lets his eyes fall again, staring at the floor as he talks. "It felt..." Yoko trails off, unable to think of the right words and hating the vulnerability he feels right now. There's a part of him that just wants to crumple and let Hina take over from here, and there's another part that just wants Hina to leave right now.

"How did it feel?" Hina asks, and Yoko can just picture his face right now, with those earnest, straightforward eyes.

"Awful," Yoko says, hoping Hina will let him leave it at that. He doesn't want to go into the way he felt almost worthless, abandoned, a lot of other emotions that were almost certainly out of proportion with the situation.

"You liked it when I made you wait before, though."

A few weeks ago, Hina had tied Yoko up and made him stay there while Hina washed the dishes, took a bath--and he's right, Yoko had liked it. He'd felt like he was ready to burst when Hina finally touched him.

"That was different," Yoko says, flushing a bit at the memory. The prickling in his skin reminds him that they're having this entire conversation while he's sitting naked and taped up, and it adds a fresh layer of embarrassment. The clothespin on Yoko's right nipple is still sending a steady whine of pain through his nerves, too.

"Different how?" Hina prods.

"You were there," Yoko says, getting frustrated about how dense Hina's being. "Tonight was--I felt so fucking alone, Hina, I couldn't--" Yoko stops, feeling a lump in his throat. The absolute last thing he wants to do right now is cry. He's not that weak, and he hates that he seems that way now.

"I didn't--" Hina starts, then pauses. Yoko's rarely heard him sound so shaken, so unsure of himself. "I guess I didn't think about how you'd feel."

"No shit," Yoko says, anger still apparently simmering through him. "You didn't think about me at all," he grumbles.

"I was thinking about you the whole time," Hina says immediately, low and earnest. "I barely remember anything we talked about, I couldn't stop thinking about getting home and fucking you."

"Could've fooled me," Yoko says. It's gratifying to know Hina was thinking about him, sure, and it dulls some of the sharper points of his anger, but it's not really enough, at this point.

"Why didn't you say something?" Hina says.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Yoko mumbles, gritting his teeth.

"It's not like you usually hold back on complaining." Hina sounds kind of resigned now.

Yoko actually looks up at him, blinking, and he looks properly contrite, his eyes wide and the corners of his mouth turned down. It's annoyingly difficult to stay mad at Hina when Yoko actually looks at him, so he brings his eyes down to his knees again.

"Don't tell me you've known me this long and you can't tell when I'm not being serious," Yoko says, trying to get close to an admission without having to lay all of his feelings out in the open.

Hina sighs. "Okay," he says. "Okay, yeah, it's different."

Yoko feels relieved he doesn't have to explain further. He breathes out slowly, calming a bit, and shifts his position. His legs are stiff, numbness starting to tingle through them.

"Oh shit," Hina says, "I forgot, are your legs okay?"

Yoko blushes. "They're, uh, they're a little tingly," he says.

Hina gets up, finding Yoko's scissors, and sits behind him, cutting the tape that binds his ankles. Yoko wonders if Hina will take the tape off his wrists, too, but he leaves it for now, peeling the tape from Yoko's ankles and helping ease his feet out from under him. Yoko wiggles his toes, rolling his ankles and trying to relieve some of the tingling tension. Hina puts his hands on Yoko's shoulders, just resting them there, and Yoko relaxes just a bit more.

"I'm sorry," Hina says, still behind him, and Yoko nods.

There's a long pause before Yoko speaks. It's easier to speak freely with Hina behind him, sort of like he's just talking to no one. "I guess I sort of made it worse," he admits.

"Just say something next time," Hina says. "I know it's hard, just. I can't always tell, you know."

"Yeah," Yoko says, feeling a blush prickle at the back of his neck. There were so many reasons he didn't say anything, but he'd just expected Hina to know, somehow, that he'd gone too far.

Hina rubs his hands down Yoko's arms. "How do you feel?" he asks. "Want some water?"

Yoko nods, breathing in and out shakily. The settling of his emotions makes his physical discomfort more prominent, and he can feel the dryness in his throat, the soreness around his body, and the sharp throbbing pain of the clothespin still on his nipple. Hina gives him some water from a bottle, then kisses him, rubbing soothing fingers through his hair.

"I'm gonna have to take that off," he says, eyes darting down to the clothespin.

Yoko stifles a whimper. "I know."

Hina sits behind him again, letting Yoko lean back so he's pressed against Hina's front, his hips bracketed by Hina's thighs and his head resting back against his chest.

"You were so good for me today," Hina says, mumbling the words into Yoko's ear as he starts stroking his cock. He gets hard fast, all the pent-up sexual energy from the day rushing back to him, and he squirms into Hina's touch, his mind going a bit blank with the pleasure. Hina keeps talking the whole time, telling Yoko all the things he'd been thinking that day, enough praise to make Yoko feel like he almost can't handle it.

Hina takes the clothespin off just as Yoko comes, and he shakes and writhes and squeals from the mix of pain and pleasure, melting back against Hina and panting. He feels empty, drained of everything that had built up through the day, and it's the most satisfying, floaty feeling.

Hina skims his hands up and down Yoko's sides while he comes down a bit, his palms warm against Yoko's skin. He's sagging back against Hina, his arms pinned under his own weight, and when he shifts a little, starting to get uncomfortable, he can feel Hina's cock hard in his jeans. Hina lets out a long, shaky breath at the touch, his hands tightening on Yoko's waist for just a second.

"You've got a really short window before I fall asleep," Yoko says, shifting more deliberately this time so his forearms rub against Hina's erection. He still feels shaky and lightheaded, and when Hina grabs him tighter it just makes the feeling all the more pleasurable and intense.

"I don't think it'll take long," Hina says, voice getting rough already.

He stands up and Yoko watches him strip off his clothes, tossing them aside one by one until he's naked and Yoko's mouth is watering. He's too far gone now to feel embarrassed about the open, appreciative way he's staring at Hina, licking his lips as Hina grips his cock with one hand.

"You liked being up against the wall today, didn't you?" Hina asks, and Yoko flushes a little bit, embarrassed that he'd been so obvious.

"Yeah," he breathes.

Hina pulls him to his feet, hands under Yoko's arms instead of tugging by his hair this time, and there's a moment where Yoko's certain he's going to fall over before he catches his balance, swaying a bit against Hina. He walks Yoko back up to the wall, his hands framing Yoko's face as he leans in and kisses him, aggressive and filled with intent. Yoko slumps against the wall a bit as Hina touches him, just little brushes of fingers over his skin. He touches Yoko's nipple and Yoko whimpers a bit, wincing against the sensitivity and unsure if it feels good or bad. Hina breaks the kiss and eases three fingers into Yoko's mouth, letting him whine around them while he keeps touching Yoko's nipple until he's wriggling and out of breath.

He stops just before Yoko feels like he's going to fall apart at the seams, pulling his fingers out and giving Yoko a second to catch his breath before guiding him down to his knees. He's pressed back against the wall, nothing but Hina in front of him, and it makes Yoko feel overwhelmed, his head spinning pleasantly.

"Open up," Hina says, touching his cock to Yoko's lips. Yoko obeys easily, closing his eyes and letting Hina slip into his mouth. Even with his eyes closed he can feel Hina leaning over him, can smell nothing but Hina's skin when he breathes in through his nose.

Hina eases his cock into Yoko's mouth, going slow and letting him get used to it, and Yoko's happy to have Hina direct the pace. He feels barely conscious, floating somewhere outside himself and just enjoying Hina's hands in his hair, moving Yoko's mouth where he wants it. He sucks a little harder and Hina groans, this low rumble above him that sends a shiver through Yoko's body and makes things feel a bit more urgent. Hina picks up the pace after that, and there's nothing but the slick noises of Hina fucking his mouth, the occasional grunts and gasps from both of them as Hina tugs Yoko's hair.

He pulls out, and Yoko blinks his eyes open, staring blearily at Hina's wet cock in front of him. Hina holds it loosely at the base, his fingers wrapped around it and stroking slowly. His other hand cards through Yoko's hair, fingers scraping lightly over his scalp before he tugs Yoko's head back so he's looking up at Hina. Yoko licks his lips, swallowing around a lump of anticipation in his throat.

Hina takes three long, loud breaths before he speaks. "You want me to come?" he asks, his voice sounding barely controlled but still commanding, and Yoko nods eagerly. "Beg for it, then."

"Please," Yoko says, watching Hina's hand speed up on his cock. "Please come, Hina, please, I wanna see."

Yoko keeps talking over Hina's groans, half of it nonsense, until Hina interrupts him, voice tight. "You want it on your face?"

Yoko shivers, moaning openly. "Yeah, I want it on my face. Do it, Hina, please."

"Close your eyes," Hina chokes out, and the second Yoko does he can feel Hina's come hit his cheek. He opens his mouth, feeling some of it land on his tongue, his lips, painting a stripe over his cheekbone.

Yoko loves the way this feels for about half a minute before it usually starts to gross him out, but this time Hina drops down in front of Yoko, licking at his face and into his mouth, and--he's never done that before. Yoko breathes through it, feeling even more drained that he had after his own orgasm. He wants to grab onto Hina, his wrists twisting unconsciously against the tape, and Hina must notice him struggling because he puts his hands on Yoko's shoulders, smoothing them down his arms to hold his wrists behind him.

"Gonna get the scissors," Hina breathes against Yoko's mouth, and Yoko nods. He slumps back against the wall for the few seconds it takes Hina to get them, and when he's back he just lets Hina bend him forward to get at the tape, cutting it and then pulling it off. The sticky pain of it is harsh in this state, and Yoko whimpers.

"That hurts," he whines, because bitching at Hina feels normal, and Yoko needs something to anchor him. The more he comes down, the more he feels embarrassment settling over him. He'd been so vulnerable, and he feels the shame starting to itch under his skin.

"Let's get you in the bath," Hina says, ignoring Yoko's halfhearted whining and helping him up.

"I can do it," Yoko says, knowing his cheeks are flushed, betraying him easily.

“I’m not saying you can’t,” Hina says, slipping his arm around Yoko’s waist. “You know it’s ridiculous to still get embarrassed about this, right?”

“‘m not embarrassed,” Yoko grumbles, letting Hina guide him into the bathroom. Settling back into their familiar banter feels comfortable, and he can’t help the slight smile on his lips.

Yoko lets Hina rub his skin gently with a washcloth, cleaning him off while the bath runs, and by the time he actually climbs into the tub his eyes are drooping, exhaustion edging up into his consciousness.

“I’ll be back in five minutes to make sure you haven’t drowned,” Hina says, and Yoko just waves him off, sinking under the water in hopes of hiding his grin.

Fortune and Glory (Yoko/Hina)

hondemo — Fri, 27 Dec 2013 08:03:33 GMT

title: Fortune and Glory
pairing: Yoko/Hina, past Hina/Becky
words: 10,344
rating: PG-13
warnings: minor character death
summary: Yoko goes on a trip.
notes: Written for buzzbird for je_otherworlds 2013. Elements in this fic have been stolen from TORE and also somewhat from Indiana Jones and The Mummy. Please forgive my complete lack of knowledge about ancient Egyptian stuff, any information in this fic either comes from wiki or was completely made up to suit my needs. (original post)

Yoko can hear the bar before he even turns the corner it's on, the raucous sounds of the crowd spilling out into the street through the hastily propped-open door. As it comes into sight, he hears glass breaking and an uproar of laughter and shouting; as he stands in front of the door, patting his wallet to make sure it's secure, a large, drunk man stumbles out, blood steadily seeping from a wound on his arm—he seems unconcerned.

He spots the reason he's here within seconds of walking through the door. The man he's looking for is sitting right in the center of a crowd, his fingers curling around a shot glass as he stares down the man sitting opposite him. There's a veritable pile of discarded glasses on the table next to them, a nearly-empty bottle of liquor. Yoko watches money exchange hands amongst the spectators; he pushes closer so he can get a look at the opponent: just a glance between them confirms what Yoko already expected. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a few notes.

"Put this on Murakami," he says to the man who's taking bets.

"Who?" the man mumbles.

"Murakami," Yoko says again, louder and clearer. He gestures for emphasis. "That guy."

Yoko's calling his name seems to have caught Murakami's attention. He glances up, eyes sharp, and takes in Yoko's face before checking out the cash he's holding. He flashes a grin, showing off crooked teeth and fangs. His smile is charming, in a messy sort of way, and Yoko finds himself smiling back briefly before Murakami returns to the task at hand. He lifts the shot to his lips, throwing his head back. His throat gleams with sweat in the warm half-light of the bar, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. His opponent reaches for his own glass, but his depth perception must be gone, he misses it completely and then knocks it over, liquor spilling over the rough wood table and dripping down onto his lap. The glass rolls across the table as if in slow motion, and when the guy makes a clumsy grab for it, it rolls out of reach and onto the floor, shattering with a crash. It's only seconds later that Murakami's opponent follows the liquor and the glass, listing back and forth before spilling out of his seat and onto the floor.

Murakami breaks into a grin, and there's a commotion as people reach for their money, collecting on their bets or paying debts. Murakami picks up the bottle, standing up and making his way out of the crowd. Yoko pockets his winnings and tries to push his way out of the crowd; he accomplishes it much less smoothly than Murakami had, and he's feeling rumpled and a little anxious by the time he makes it out and over to the barstool next to Murakami's.

"I'd offer you a drink," Yoko says as he sits, "but it looks like you've got that covered." He gestures to the bottle planted on the counter in front of Murakami.

"If you knew what this swill tasted like you'd still be offering," Murakami says, tilting his head to give Yoko another once-over. "But first you can tell me what it is you want from me."

Yoko fiddles with his shirtsleeves. He'd tried to dress for the atmosphere, but he still feels like he looks really obviously out of place. Murakami fits in perfectly, his disheveled appearance right at home in the dive bar. He's got his sleeves rolled up haphazardly, baring tanned forearms with more than a few scars on them; the top few buttons on his shirt unbuttoned, enough that Yoko gets a glimpse of a shiny gold chain glinting against his clavicle when he moves.

"I think I'd like to hire you," Yoko says.

"You think?" Murakami repeats, eyebrows arching questioningly. "You can come back when you're sure."

Yoko purses his lips. "Before I hire you I'd like to make sure you're the man for the job."

"What's the job?" Murakami says. He's almost annoyingly blunt, when Yoko had been ready to have a meandering conversation, use coded language.

"There's an artifact I'd like retrieved." He doesn't want to reveal too much from the outset, but he's not sure if that's going to fly with Murakami.

Murakami rolls his eyes. "Listen," he says, "I don't have all night. Tell me what it is you want and how much it's worth to you, I'll tell you when you can expect me back with it."

"No," Yoko says, "you misunderstand, you'll be coming with me."

Murakami takes a dispassionate swig from the bottle, face screwing up a little before he swallows. "Babysitting's gonna cost you double."

"There's no way to get to it without my research," Yoko says. "And anyway, you haven't proved to me you're worth it yet." From everything Yoko's heard, Murakami is one of the only people who can get him where he wants to go, but he's still skeptical. The trip will be dangerous, sure, but he doesn't want to hire some random thug if he's not going to be worth it.

Murakami leans forward, tugs just the slightest bit on his collar. The gold chain Yoko had seen before slides across Murakami's skin, and Yoko's eyes follow the line of it down to something that makes his breath catch in his throat.

"That's…" Yoko starts, his hand reaching out almost instinctively to the gem hanging from the chain. It's a bright green stone, set in an ornate gold pendant. He's seen it in books before, but it's much more impressive in person.

"No touching," Murakami says, pulling his shirt back over the stone. "Yes it's the real one, yes I found it all by myself, no stuffy professors needed. Now close your mouth, you look undignified." His grin is smug, and if Yoko weren't so impressed he'd probably hate him.

"Okay," Yoko says, "so it looks like you're worth it."

"Now prove to me you're worth it," Murakami says, eyes flicking meaningfully to Yoko's pocket.

Yoko reaches in, flashes the wad of cash he'd brought with him in anticipation of this conversation.

"And you'll get a cut of the profits when I sell it to the museum," Yoko says. "Plus anything insignificant we pick up on the way."

Murakami's lips twitch into a smile. "Looks like I'm in. What are you after?"

"I'm looking for the lost treasure of Narmer," Yoko says.

"Never heard of it," Murakami says dispassionately.

"Well," Yoko goes on, "most people don't believe it exists."

"So it's…very lost, then." Murakami's starting to look at Yoko like he's crazy. This is what he was worried about.

"I was skeptical at first too, but I was looking at some of the old texts and I realized that there was a translation error when they were first discovered. I've pretty much got a map straight to the treasure," he says. That last part is, admittedly a bit of an exaggeration.

"You've got a sketchy idea at best," Murakami says, then laughs at the change of expression on Yoko's face. "What, you think I'm that stupid?"

"Okay, I've got a sketchy idea of how to get to the treasure," Yoko admits, "but I really think I'm right about it."

"Isn't this the sort of thing you could just get whatever school you work for to send you on an exhibition to find?" Murakami says.

"Isn't that the sort of question you're paid not to ask?" Yoko retorts. Murakami's assumed he's a professor, and Yoko's alright with him continuing to assume that—he'd rather not delve into the exact reasons he isn't exactly on good terms with any institutions of higher learning.

"Fair point," Murakami says. He leans across the bar, grabbing an empty glass and filling it halfway before nudging it toward Yoko, still holding the bottle by the neck. "Let's drink on it."

Yoko picks up the glass and Murakami clinks the bottom of the bottle against the rim before tipping it back.

***

They'd agreed to meet a few days later, giving Yoko time to pack the things he thinks he'll need and sort out transportation to their first location. His suitcase is heavy, loaded down with books and notes: there'd barely been room to pack a few changes of clothes. He meets Murakami at the airport, where they board a plane to Israel.

"So, where to first?" Murakami asks once they're settled in. He seems just as comfortable on the plane as he had in the dive bar; Yoko wonders if he's just the kind of person who's comfortable anywhere he goes.

"Huh?" Yoko says. He grips his armrest, taking a breath and trying to concentrate as the plane begins to take off.

Murakami studies him for a moment. "You're afraid of flying, aren't you?"

"I'm not—" Yoko starts, but the plane jolts a bit and he feels like he's swallowed his tongue for a few seconds. "I've just never done it before."

"You'll get used to it," Murakami says. "We'll get a stiff drink in you once we're up, that'll help."

Yoko's not sure it will, with the way his stomach's already doing some impressive acrobatics with his insides.

***

By the time they land in Jerusalem, Yoko's resolve to never board another plane again has become pretty strong. Murakami knows someone who can get them a car, so they make their way through the crowded streets to his friend's home.

Murakami knocks sharply on the door, and within seconds it's thrown open, a pretty, dark-haired woman standing in front of them.

"Shingo!" She says, breaking into a huge grin and throwing her arms around him.

Yoko stands to the side, feeling awkward as he watches them embrace.

"Becky," Murakami says when they pull apart, "this is Yokoyama Yuu."

"Nice to meet you," she says, offering Yoko a hand. She's got a firm handshake, warm and confident.

Becky invites them in for a drink, and Yoko and Murakami settle themselves on a plush, worn sofa in her living room while she runs to the kitchen. There are artifacts from all around decorating the walls, a collection rivaling some small museums Yoko's been in.

"How do you two know each other?" Yoko asks. He wonders if they have some kind of…history together. The way they hugged seemed awfully familiar.

"Same line of work." Murakami says vaguely. "Although Becky's more known for the puzzle-solving end of things."

"Are you talking about me?" Becky says, reentering the room. She sets down a pitcher of iced tea, pouring each of them a glass. The cold drink is just what Yoko needed in the desert heat.

"I'm just telling Yokoyama here about how we met," Murakami says.

"You mean the time you tried to steal that scarab from me?" Becky says, glancing at a sparkling gold scarab sitting in a display cabinet on the wall.

"It's not stealing when we both got there at the same time," Murakami says, rolling his eyes.

"Well, things ended in my favor anyway," she says, smiling, "in more ways than one, if I remember correctly."

"Anyway," Murakami says, "we need a car."

"Where are you headed?" Becky's manner shifts, becoming a bit more businesslike.

"Tel Arad," Yoko says.

If Becky has any idea what might be there, she doesn't let on, just nods. "It's a few hours drive from here; it'll take me a little while to get the car so you guys should probably just stay the night and leave in the morning."

"Sounds good," Murakami says, leaning back on the sofa and looking like he's already made himself at home.

"Can you point us to a hotel around here, then?" Yoko asks, not wanting to impose.

"Oh, there's no need," Becky says, "you can stay here. I've got a spare room."

Yoko gives some token protest, but Becky insists and soon they're all sitting down to dinner at a restaurant around the corner. It's a tiny place where everyone seems to know Becky, and about a third of them seem to know Murakami, as well. They have a delicious meal with a liberal amount of wine, Yoko mostly listening to Becky and Murakami's stories about the few jobs they've taken on together.

It turns out Becky's spare room has only one single bed, so they do rock, paper, scissors and Yoko ends up on the couch.

"I'm the one paying for everything," Yoko grumbles, "I should get the bed."

"We wouldn't have a bed to fight over if I hadn't brought us here," Murakami reminds him brightly before shutting the bedroom door.

Yoko turns on a lamp before he tries to sleep, looking over his notes for the next day. He's got a pretty good idea of where they'll need to look, but excavation isn't really an exact science, so there's still a lot of area they might need to cover. He hopes Murakami doesn't mind digging.

***

The next morning, Becky gives them a map with their route traced on it, heading south down the coast of the Dead Sea until they reach the city of Arad. Once there, they'll need to arrange transportation to Tel Arad: Becky gave Murakami the name of someone she says will help them out.

"He's a pain in the ass," she says, "but useful."

"Thanks," Murakami says. He pulls her into another long hug, then climbs into the driver's seat.

"Thank you for everything," Yoko says, shaking her hand.

Murakami turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life.

"You still haven't said what we're looking for there," Murakami says once they're out of the city and heading down the seaside. The landscape ahead of them is flat and brown, the air coming in salty through the open windows.

"Narmer's reign was the height of Egyptian presence in Canaan," Yoko explains. "Some artifacts bearing his serekh have been found in other areas, so we should be able to find something there."

"What are we looking for? Something with a map on it?"

"From what I've managed to figure out, what we're actually looking for will be statues of the Pharaoh himself. Each one of them will have a some piece of information that will lead us closer to Narmer's treasure."

"Statues, huh?" Murakami says. "Hope they're valuable."

"Oh, I'm sure they will be," Yoko says. He can imagine the look on the museum curator's face when he presents what he's found: just the thought of it makes excited pride stir in his stomach.

"Good," Murakami says, and when Yoko glances over he can see him smile slowly.

***

They arrive in Arad a few hours later, making their way to the address Becky had provided. It leads them to a small, ramshackle-looking house in a sketchy neighborhood, but the man who answers the door looks exceedingly clean cut. He has a light pink vest on over his shirt, his hair parted neatly, and he greets them pleasantly.

"Becky sent us," Murakami says. "She said you can help us get to Tel Arad."

"That I can," he says. "I'm Kasuga. Why don't you two come in for a moment?"

Inside the house, everything is clean and tidy but clearly extremely well-worn. The table that Kasuga directs them to sit at has four chairs that don't match one another, and the rug it's placed on is threadbare in more than a few places. He offers them tap water before sitting down at the table himself.

"I assume you gentlemen are traveling out there for purposes of an excavation?" he asks. There's a haughty quality to his voice that doesn't at all match the modest surroundings.

"Yeah, that's true," Yoko says. He doesn't particularly want to share all the details of their expedition with this stranger when he's barely shared them with his own partner.

"Well, you'll definitely require my services, then," Kasuga continues.

"We just need transportation and some tools," Murakami puts in. "Then we'll be on our way."

"Oh no no," Kasuga says, "that's not how I work."

***

"Becky wasn't kidding about this guy," Murakami mumbles to Yoko as they stand around, waiting for Kasuga to finish the preparations for the trip to Tel Arad. It's not a long journey, but there aren't any roads headed out to the site, so they'll go by camel, Kasuga accompanying them and staying for the dig.

"Tell me about it," Yoko says. They share a short laugh before it's time to mount their camels and start out toward the desert.

It seems Becky was true to her word when she said Kasuga is useful, though, because he has them at the old city in what seems like no time at all, easily navigating the mountainous ridges that surround the area.

"So," Murakami says as they dismount, "where do we start digging?"

Yoko wonders if this is the right time to mention he's never been on an archeological expedition before.

***

After a quick review of his maps and notes, with Murakami and Kasuga staring over his shoulders and offering "helpful" suggestions, Yoko thinks he's figured out the right place to start looking for the statue. It's an area of the old Canaanite settlement, somewhere there would likely have been storage for valuables.

The digging is rough work, and Yoko's exhausted and sweaty before they've even made much headway. He takes a break with the pretense that he needs to check his notes, standing under the shade of an umbrella and staring blankly at his book until he hears a shout from the area where they're digging. He puts his book down, rushing over to see what it is.

Murakami and Kasuga have discovered what looks like the mouth of a passageway. Yoko almost jumps up and down in his excitement, scrambling through their supplies for a lamp. They shine the light in first, and when it looks relatively safe they venture inside, Murakami first, followed by Yoko with Kasuga bringing up the rear. The passage is narrow, the cool underground air thick with dust and the stale smell of something that's gone untouched for so long. Yoko feels a chill running up his spine at the thought that they're the first people to be in here in probably hundreds—even thousands—of years.

Eventually, the passage opens up into a larger room, with three small doors in one wall and a large pedestal in the corner. Yoko holds the lamp over the pedestal, blowing the dust off and leaning in to read what's written on it. There are instructions carved around the rim of the surface: it's a puzzle, with pieces of the riddle behind each of the small doors. They try to open all three doors at once, but it seems they'll only slide open one at a time. They peer into the first open door: it looks like there's a small room there, barely large enough for one person.

"I'll go first," Murakami volunteers. He wriggles through the door, into the darkness of the small chamber. There's the sound of a match being struck, then a bit of light flickering out. "I don't see anything I can bring out, but there are levers in the wall," he yells.

"Is there anything written on the wall?" Yoko shouts back.

"Yeah," Murakami says a second later. "There are some hieroglyphs, I see the numbers one to three but I'm a bit rusty, I can't figure out the rest."

"Describe them to me," Yoko says.

"Uh, under number one there's a kind of squiggly snake going up and down, and then a boxy shape, and a half-circle with a bird flying next to it."

Yoko's opened his small notebook, scratching down his guess at what Murakami's seeing. Kasuga peers over his shoulder.

"It's 'to disappear,'" he says, confirming Yoko's guess.

"Anything under that?" Yoko asks.

"There's a scroll, and then…I think it's the one for soldiers?" Murakami says.

Murakami describes the rest of the hieroglyphs to them, and by the time he's done Yoko's got a page scratched over with transcription of what Murakami's seeing, and they've figured out that they need to pull the right lever in order to get the pieces of the puzzle. They've ruled out the first, but they're not quite sure if it's the first or the second.

"Hurry up and decide," Murakami shouts at them, "I'm getting uncomfortable in here."

"Well, which do you think it is?" Yoko says.

"Two," Murakami answers quickly.

"I really think it's three," Yoko says, tapping his pencil on the space next to the number three.

"Kasuga?" Murakami asks.

"It's definitely three," he says confidently.

"Alright," Murakami says, "three it is."

Yoko almost holds his breath as he waits, listening intently. Moments later, Murakami is shimmying out of the chamber, holding three tiles bearing hieroglyphs. He's dusty and disheveled, his shirt pulled askew and sticking to his torso with sweat, but he grins when he hands Yoko the tiles to place on the pedestal.

"I'll go in next," says Kasuga.

"What are the choices?" Yoko shouts, once Kasuga's crawled into the chamber.

"Don't worry," Kasuga yells back, "I don't need any help."

"Are you sure?" Yoko asks.

"Definitely! I'm picking number two!"

There's a loud rumbling, groaning sound of ancient rocks rubbing against each other, then a scream, and then the rumbling sound again. Yoko grabs their lamp, holding it up to the opening and seeing no sign that Kasuga had even been there: the only clue to his whereabouts is the line in the floor where the two slabs of stone line up with each other.

"Shit," Murakami says.

Yoko swallows hard. One of them still needs to go in there, and Yoko's pretty sure neither of them is keen to volunteer.

"Well," Murakami says after a moment, "it's your turn."

"I—" Yoko says, casting a panicked look into the chamber.

"This is why I hate babysitting," Murakami grumbles. "Look, what we're doing? It's not safe. There are a million different ways to get killed every step of the way. I hoped you knew that already, but since it seems to be new information for you at this point, I'm going to suggest that you think really hard about whether or not you're ready to do this or if you wanna just pay me and head back home."

Murakami's tone is cuttingly matter-of-fact, and Yoko flushes at being talked down to like that.

"I'm ready," he says, crawling into the dark chamber. He's not sure, but he thinks he hears Murakami saying "works every time" as he slides in.

Yoko looks at the hieroglyphs on the wall, studying them carefully but also quickly: he doesn't want to spend more time in this tiny space than he has to. When he looks at what's written for number two he realizes Kasuga's mistake: he'd probably read one of them phonetically instead of for its meaning. It's an easy enough mistake to make, which makes Yoko all the more terrified as he tries to choose between one and three. He shouts all the information out at Murakami, getting his input before finally pulling down the first lever, his breath caught in his throat. There's no horrible groaning rock sound, and soon a small compartment opens up, revealing three more tiles with hieroglyphs on them. Yoko crawls out, tiles in hand, and Murakami gives him a good-natured slap on the back, grinning.

"See?" he says. "It's not so bad."

They do rock, paper, scissors to decide who will go into the third chamber: Yoko loses, cursing his luck as he crawls into the final chamber. The riddle in this one is the easiest of the three, and he's out in what feels like no time at all. He places the three final tiles on the pedestal and suddenly the surface is sinking, forming three straight lines with a hollow spot in the middle where the tiles fit.

"We must have to enter the right compound," Yoko says, half to himself. He's staring intently at the tiles, mind racing with the combinations they could make.

"You'd, uh, better hurry on that," Murakami says.

Yoko looks up, annoyed that Murakami had interrupted him, and sees that the walls are closing in on them, and not terribly slowly, either. His mind goes briefly blank with terror before he turns back to the tiles, rearranging them and forcing them frantically into the spaces on the pedestal. The first few compounds he tries don't make the walls stop, and Yoko starts to panic. From the other side of the pedestal, Murakami reaches over and rearranges three of the tiles, making a compound Yoko hadn't even thought of.

"You're a genius!" he shouts, the other two compounds easily clicking into place in his mind. He arranges them, then looks up, watching the walls come to a stop, and lets out the breath he'd been holding.

Murakami looks down at the pedestal. "I have no idea what those other two even mean," he says, shrugging.

The walls slowly recede, and a small door opens up in the pedestal, revealing a small statue. Yoko lifts it out, feeling the heft of it in his hands. It has all the markings he'd been expecting, and when he checks the bottom of it there's a series of hieroglyphs, spelling out one of the clues to the treasure. Yoko actually does jump up and down with excitement this time, clutching the statue tightly.

"We found it!" He says, feeling almost giddy.

"Yeah, yeah, good job us," Murakami says, rolling his eyes with a half-smile. "Now come on, let's get out of here."

They make their way out through the passage to find it's getting dark outside. There's a chill starting in the air, the breeze making Yoko shiver a bit. It seems like a bad idea to head back to the city in the dark, considering the precarious terrain they'd had to cross getting here, so they pitch a tent and make a fire, setting up camp just a bit away from where they'd been digging. Murakami had packed some food, and he shares it with Yoko, offering him a few sips from his flask as well.

"So," Yoko asks, feeling warm and still a little high on the discovery earlier, "how'd you get into this kind of work?"

Murakami shrugs. "It's interesting, and it pays well. I used to do recovery, this isn't a big step from there."

Yoko hums. "So you like it?"

"Yeah," Murakami says, giving him a sidelong glance. "Why do you ask?"

"I dunno," Yoko says. "I spend a lot of time with books, this is just…really different."

"Yeah, well," Murakami says, "what's the saying? 'Those who can't do, teach?'"

Yoko flushes. "I'm not a teacher," he says.

"Hm," Murakami says, "I'd really pegged you for a professor."

"Well," Yoko says, "I'm not."

There's a short silence between them, broken up by the crackling of the fire in front of them. Yoko's expecting Murakami to press him about what it is he actually does, but it seems he's sticking to his earlier promise of not asking too many questions.

"Does the statue say where we're going next?" Murakami asks, gesturing with his flask to where the statue is sitting in the sand next to Yoko.

"No," Yoko says, "the stuff on the bottom has to do with the final location of the treasure. From what I've been able to figure out, though, we've got two more pieces to find. One of them's not that far from here, in Ein Besor. I thought we could head that way tomorrow and see what we find. From there, I'm pretty sure the next statue we're looking for will be in Egypt."

"Sounds alright to me," Murakami says. "We should get to sleep, then."

They snuff out the fire and crawl into the small, cramped tent to sleep.

***

The journey back to Arad takes longer than the trip out had taken, but they make it back in one piece, which Yoko decides to count as a win. They load their supplies back into the car, and Yoko spreads out the map Becky had given them, piecing together the route they'll need to take to Ein Besor.

The drive takes about two hours, and they end up in a tiny outpost town. They ask around among the locals about the route to the ruins, and eventually they're directed to a small restaurant.

"I can tell you how to get there," the man they meet says, "but it'll cost you."

Yoko's ready to make a deal; he'd extra cash with the idea that he might need to bribe someone for services. He's reaching for his wallet when he notices Murakami reaching for something as well: he draws a gun.

"Or you can just tell us out of the goodness of your heart," Murakami says, voice low and controlled.

Yoko's heart races; he didn't even know Murakami had brought a gun with him. He hopes the man across the table isn't armed as well.

Luckily, he's not, and he hands over a map, along with some supplies. There's a path leading out to it, and it's flat enough terrain that they can just drive there.

"Why did you do that?" Yoko asks on the way out of the restaurant.

"I don't have much patience for long negotiations," Murakami says flippantly.

"What if he'd shot you?" Yoko says. "And anyway, I could've paid him, there's no need to be so crude."

"Whatever," Murakami says. He obviously doesn't care much about Yoko's opinion of him, doesn't even seem the slightest bit offended.

They have about half the day to dig once they get to the site, and Yoko pores over the map he's traced into his notes, looking for the place that will be most likely to hold the pharaoh's statue. They dig for a while in the spot he chose, eventually finding a passageway. It looks quite similar to the first one, and Yoko wonders if it'll lead them to the same kind of chamber as they'd found in Tel Arad. He knew finding the statues wouldn't be easy, but there's a part of him that's still reeling from the intensity of the first day.

This passage takes a sharp downward slope, eventually leading them to a large room with a high ceiling. They stand in the doorway for a moment, surveying the room. There's not much decor in the room, just a single small door opposite the entrance. There are four long, low blocks on the floor, two each against the left and right walls, which are covered with a patchwork of vines. Nothing seems amiss, but when they step into the room, the floor starts to tilt, as if their weight is pushing it down.

"Get on the platform!" Murakami shouts, grabbing Yoko by the wrist and yanking him over to the platform. It's a tiny space, and they're pressed tight together. The floor slows its movement a bit once it's angled enough that it feels more like they're standing against a wall than lying on a floor. When Yoko looks down, he sees an expanse of black and feels his stomach turn.

"We've got to get up to the top," Murakami says. Yoko looks up: the platform directly above them is way too far for the two of them to reach. The platform on the opposite wall is lower, but the space between them and it seems insurmountable.

"How?" Yoko asks. His heart is racing. With each moment the floor's dipping just a little bit more.

"Climb on my shoulders," Murakami says. "It'll get you closer to the next platform. Then I can jump across."

"I—" Yoko starts.

"You have a better idea?" Murakami asks. "The longer we wait, the harder it's going to be. Now climb up."

Murakami bends as best he can, and Yoko clambers up onto his shoulders, limbs feeling unwieldy and awkward. Even standing on Murakami's shoulders, the platform seems far.

"You can do it," Murakami says. "Just jump as far as you can, and reach out. You can grab on and pull yourself up."

Yoko takes a deep breath, repeating Murakami's words in his head. He bends his legs and launches himself across the floor, arms flailing madly until he feels his fingers connect with the platform. He pulls himself up, arms shaking with the effort, and finally he's standing on the platform, heart racing.

"Okay," Murakami says, "now you hold the vine next to you and reach out your hand. I'm gonna jump up there."

Considering Yoko barely made it jumping from Murakami's shoulders, he's not sure how Murakami plans to just jump from the platform, but he figures that kind of question isn't the most helpful response, so he twists one of the vines around his fist and reaches out as far as he can, hoping for the best.

Murakami launches himself upward, looking for a second like he's almost walking up the wall, and then he grabs Yoko's hand, his grip firm. Yoko pulls himself back toward the wall with the vine, and Murakami's once again pressed up against him.

"Jesus," Yoko breathes, impressed. "I really didn't think you'd be able to make it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Murakami says wryly. "Now get on my shoulders."

Yoko climbs up again, his sweaty palms slipping against Murakami's back before he can find his grip and climb up. He wipes his hands on his trousers, readying himself to jump again. The wall's angle has gotten steeper since his first jump, but he knows if he waits it'll just get worse, so he swallows hard before launching himself at the platform.

It's a closer call this time, but he makes it up, hands shaking, and grabs onto the vine, holding his hand out for Murakami again. Murakami makes the second jump look just as easy as the first, but when he's shoved close to Yoko's body, he can feel how his heart is racing, too.

Now that they're closer to the final platform, Yoko can see that there's a compartment in the floor. He climbs onto Murakami's shoulders one last time, jumping with all his might. His right hand grazes the platform, and he starts to slide down. Frantic, he flails his arms upward with a shout: his left hand gets a grip on the very edge. He pulls himself up, feeling like his heart is going to pound out of his chest.

"Nice save," Murakami says. He makes it onto the platform as well, and they open the compartment. Inside is a key, but Yoko has no idea what it's supposed to unlock. The floor is getting closer and closer to a 90 degree angle, and Yoko's not sure it'll even stop there. He tries to look around but feels dizzy, clinging tightly to the vines on the wall.

"It's down there," Murakami says. "There's a hole in the wall by the second platform. We didn't see it before because the wall hadn't dropped enough."

"Are you sure?" Yoko asks.

"It's the only thing I can see that looks different," Murakami says. "You stay here."

"I'll try," Yoko says, with a frightened laugh.

Murakami drops down below the platform, and Yoko watches as he slides down to the one below them.

"There's a keyhole!" he shouts up.

Moments later, the motion of the floor stops, and then it's changing direction, dropping back into its normal floor position. Yoko stands up, feeling shaky. He steps to the door and opens it, and on the other side is another pharaoh statue. He grabs the statue, holding it up triumphantly for Murakami to see.

"Come on," he says, "let's get out of here before the floor starts moving again."

"Sounds like a plan," Murakami says.

Once they're out of the tunnel, Yoko feels relief washing over him, the ebbing of the adrenaline that had been flooding his system leaving him drained but happy.

"I really thought I was going to fall," he says, sitting down heavily on the sand. "I—I can't believe I'm still alive."

"I wasn't sure you'd make it either," Murakami says, breaking into a laugh when Yoko looks up at him, affronted. "See, how does it feel?"

Yoko laughs, remembering the effortless way Murakami had made the jumps, the confidence he had in talking Yoko through it. Yoko should probably thank him.

"Now, let's clean up and find somewhere to stay, I don't wanna sleep in a tent again if we don't have to." Murakami offers Yoko a hand, pulling him up easily from the ground—Yoko thinks of Murakami dragging him onto the platform, of Murakami grabbing onto his hand when he jumped from one to the other. His grip is firm, his hand warm and dry against Yoko's.

There's a guest house in the village with only one room open, so they have to share. Even so, it's nice to be able to bathe, to wash what feels like weeks of grime off of his body. The bed is big enough that neither one of them has to sleep on the floor, and Yoko's thankful because he can't seem to beat Murakami at rock, paper, scissors. He settles in and falls asleep easily.

***

Yoko wakes up the next morning to Murakami banging around the room, getting ready. He rolls over and sees him standing in the bathroom in boxers and an undershirt, shaving. Yoko watches blearily as Murakami drags the straight razor up his neck, chin tilted up and back and eyes hooded as he looks into the mirror. Half-awake, Yoko just watches until Murakami notices him and turns around, face still half-lathered with shaving cream, and gives him a look.

"What are you looking at?" he asks.

"Nothing," Yoko says quickly. "Just, uh. I was just waking up."

"Okay," Murakami says, turning back to the mirror. Yoko rolls over, digging his nails into his palm to distract himself from the awkwardness suddenly curling in his stomach.

***

Their next location is in Egypt, and since the easiest way to get there is to fly, they have to take back the car, so they return to Jerusalem. They drive through the morning, and they're at Becky's door around lunchtime.

"Welcome back," she says, ushering them into her living room. "I hope the trip was productive."

"Very," Murakami says.

"Was Kasuga helpful?" she asks.

"He…well. He didn't make it," Murakami says.

Becky's quiet for a moment, her face turning serious. "He was too stubborn for his own good, right?"

Murakami nods, placing a hand on Becky's shoulder. "He helped us out, though. Really."

They go back to Becky's local restaurant for lunch, raising a glass to Kasuga. Her mood seems to brighten, and she tells them a few stories of the times they'd worked together. Near the end of the meal, she asks them what their next step is.

"We're headed to Egypt," Murakami tells her.

"Oh," Becky says, "Egypt! I haven't been to Egypt in months."

"Well," Murakami says, "I think we're gonna keep this to a two-man operation, if you don't mind."

Becky pouts exaggeratedly, arms crossed. "Fine," she says, laughing. "I've got things I'm working on here, anyway."

After lunch, they arrange the trip to Egypt. They'll fly to Cairo, and from there they'll take a small plane down to Nekhen. Yoko's notes suggest the temple there should be there next stop.

***

"I'd really hoped we could just drive," Yoko says as they board the plane. He remembers the flight to Jerusalem, his stomach turning in anticipation.

"Oh, don't be a baby," Murakami says.

The flight to Cairo isn't actually too bad: it's relatively short and smooth, all things considered. Yoko really starts to panic, though, when they reach the hangar where they'll board their plane to Nekhen. It turns out to be a tiny, two-passenger plane, that Murakami is going to fly.

"You can fly, right?" Yoko asks, glancing nervously from Murakami to the aircraft.

"Yeah," Murakami says easily. "It's just like driving a car in the sky, no problem."

That statement doesn't exactly fill Yoko with confidence, but he climbs into the plane anyway, strapping himself in and hoping for the best. He hasn't gone wrong trusting Murakami so far, he figures.

The flight lasts a few hours, and while it's definitely bumpier than the ride to Cairo had been, Yoko only fears for his life once or twice—that is, until Murakami announces they'll be landing shortly.

"I don't see an airport," Yoko shouts over the noise of the engines.

"There isn't one," Murakami yells back.

"What?" Yoko says, hoping he'd misheard.

"There's no airport," Murakami repeats. "There's plenty of space, though, it's probably fine!"

"Probably?" Yoko echoes.

"I forgot to mention I'm not that great at landing," Murakami shouts.

The plane dips toward the ground and Yoko tries to keep himself from screaming as they pull in for a very bumpy landing. Yoko climbs out as quickly as he can, promising himself he'll never get in another plane piloted by Murakami again.

"No problem, you said! Like driving a car, you said!" Yoko rants as he unloads his bags.

Murakami just smiles. "Hey, we made it, didn't we?"

"Oh, shut up," Yoko grumbles.

***

The ruins at Nekhen had been excavated somewhat recently, so they don't have to do much digging before they reach the area of the temple Yoko's got marked down on the hand-drawn map in his notebook. They go below ground, down a winding staircase, and find themselves at one end of a long corridor with a large, ornately decorated door at the other end. On their side of the hall is a short block, about knee-height.

Murakami starts to step around the box, but Yoko grabs his hand, pulling him back.

"I've read about these things," Yoko says. "It's a puzzle box. We have to figure out the right way to open it, and there'll be a key inside."

Murakami crouches down in front of the box, running a hand over its surface. "It doesn't feel like it should open at all."

"There's a very specific sequence," Yoko explains. "I should have it in my notes here…"

Yoko finds the pages he'd written about the puzzle boxes, skimming through them to see if he wrote down how they're opened. He has the first steps down, but the last step is just labelled "a test of concentration." He figures they can cross that bridge when they come to it. The first few steps involve finding key pressure points on the surface of the box, each indicated with a different set of hieroglyphs. Yoko examines the box carefully, finding each one of the points and pressing them in sequence. He leans back, watching as the box slowly opens up. What it reveals is a smaller box with a hole cut in the top, just big enough to look through, and two handles sticking out of it.

"What is that?" Murakami asks, peering through the hole.

"A test of concentration," Yoko says.

"Well that's vague," Murakami says, sitting back.

Yoko leans in to look through the hole. There's a source of light coming from somewhere inside it, and he can see two rods, which must be attached to the two handles, and a hole below them. As he's staring in, a ball rolls out and onto the two rods. He grabs the handles, opening the rods slowly and watching how it allows the ball to roll toward him. There's a bump in the rods that he has to get the ball to roll over, and in his attempt he opens them too far and the ball falls to the ground. He curses, hoping there'll be another chance.

"What are you doing?" Murakami asks.

"Shh," Yoko hisses, "I've gotta concentrate."

A second ball rolls out, and Yoko takes a deep breath, manipulating the two rods as best he can. This is the kind of game he likes, and he manages to direct the second ball into the hole. He leans back, watching as a compartment opens on the side of the box, revealing a key. Murakami picks up the key, grinning, as Yoko closes his notebook and puts it back in his pocket.

"Let's go," Murakami says.

As soon as they step past the box, there's a scraping sound of stone against stone, and Yoko looks to either side of them. The walls are closing in, fast.

"Run!" he shouts, taking off as fast as he can down the hallway. The walls are getting closer and closer, and Yoko's almost certain he won't make it: Murakami's ahead of him, makes it to the door in time to turn around and look at Yoko.

"Jump," Murakami yells. "You can make it!"

With the last few feet left and not much space between him and the walls, Yoko launches himself forward, clearing the space just as the two walls slam shut. He lands on his feet, but his momentum knocks him over and he falls right into Murakami, shoving him back against the door.

"Sorry," Yoko mumbles, flushing and brushing himself off when Murakami pushes him off.

The door leads to a small room with a staircase leading up and a pedestal in the center with a pharaoh statue on it. Yoko grabs the statue, turning it over to look at the writing on the bottom. If it's what he expected, they've got their last statue and can go for the treasure now. He skims over the writing, mouth spreading into a grin as he does.

"This is it," he says, turning to Murakami. "This is the last one."

***

Yoko flatly refuses to let Murakami fly them anywhere ever again, so in order to get to their last stop, they board a boat traveling up the Nile. Yoko shells out the money to get them a cabin and some lunch: the journey's not too long, but he'd like the chance to relax a bit. They sit at the table, drinking tea and looking out the window at the Nile passing by.

"Once we get to Abydos," Yoko says, "I think we're looking for the necropolis at Umm el-Qa'ab, where Narmer was buried. From what I can tell, it seems like the statues themselves might be keys to get us to the chamber where the treasure is held."

"Sounds good," Murakami says.

"I can't believe we're so close to it," Yoko says. It seems like time has gone by so fast.

"You were well-prepared," Murakami says, tone matter-of-fact, like he's not just randomly complimented Yoko.

"I'd be dead if it weren't for you," Yoko says quickly, the phantom shiver of Murakami pulling him to safety tingling through him again.

"Yeah you would," Murakami says with a cocky smile. "I bet you'll be excited to go back to…whatever it is you do."

"I'm a librarian," Yoko admits. "Well, sort of, I mean, I work in a library but I'm not certified in anything. I just like books."

"You didn't go to school for any of this stuff?" Murakami asks, eyebrows raised.

Yoko shrugs. "Nah, I could never afford it, and my grades weren't that good, anyway."

"You sure had me fooled," Murakami says. Yoko wonders if it's just his own wishful thinking that Murakami sounds impressed.

"I've got a lot of free time," Yoko says, by way of explanation. "I spend a lot of it with the books."

Murakami hums, taking a sip of tea.

"How did you learn hieroglyphics?" Yoko asks. "You don't seem like the school type."

Murakami laughs. "No, I'm not. I just picked a bit of it up, I guess. When you travel like I do you learn a little bit of everything."

Yoko can't imagine being able to just pick up languages like that; his mind doesn't work that way. He doesn't really understand a lot of how Murakami operates, to be honest, but he certainly can get things done.

"Hey," Yoko asks, after a few minutes of silence stretches between them, "what's up with you and Becky?"

"What do you mean?" Murakami asks.

"You know…" Yoko says, raising his eyebrows. "Is there something…between you two?"

Murakami chuckles. "What are you, an elementary schooler?"

Yoko blushes, looking down at his hands. "I was just curious," he mumbles.

"We dated for a while," Murakami says, "but it's hard to stay together when you're both traveling all the time."

"Why didn't you team up?" Yoko asks. "You guys seem to get along well enough."

"We did a few times," Murakami says, "but we both like working alone."

"Ahh," Yoko says. He's out of tea, but he swirls the dregs around in his cup. He's really found himself enjoying working together with Murakami like this, and he'd kind of been hoping Murakami was enjoying it too.

"What do you want to do with the money?" Murakami asks, after a beat. "This is gonna be a huge find."

"I haven't really thought about it," Yoko says. In truth, the money isn't so much what matters to him. He wants the prestige, the chance to prove himself. "I guess I'll rub it in my boss's face."

Murakami bursts out laughing, slapping the table and making the dishes clatter.

"You're funny, you know that?" he says, eyes still crinkled with amusement.

"I guess," Yoko says. His stomach does a little flip but he doesn't really know why.

***

Umm el-Qa'ab is a short journey outside the city, a complex of tombs buried under desert sands. They've been carefully excavated previously, and Yoko had copied down the location of Narmer's tomb into his notebook.

"There are two chambers," he says, pointing to his notes, "B17 and B18."

They follow Yoko's notes, making their way to the tomb. The chambers are smaller than what Yoko expected, scarcely fancier than modern graves.

"Are you sure this is it?" Murakami says, sounding as unimpressed as Yoko feels.

"The previous excavation probably cleaned out everything that was left in here," Yoko says. "Anyway, we're not interested in what would've been in the tomb, we're looking for what's under it."

Yoko's reading of the clues on the statues had suggested that there's a network of catacombs under the tombs themselves, in which Narmer had hidden his treasures before his death.

They each take one chamber, starting to dig. Yoko's arms are sore before they even start, unused to the physical activity, but he presses on, thinking of how close they are to finding the treasure.

It turns out that the entrance to the catacombs lies almost between the two chambers, and by the time they find it Yoko feels drained. He sets down his shovel, sitting at the entrance and catching his breath. Murakami hands him a canteen and Yoko drinks greedily, draining it of at least half the water before he hands it back. He watches Murakami drink the rest, silhouetted in the late afternoon sun. His skin is tan and shiny with sweat, the shadow of a beard spread over his chin and jaw. He's stripped off his button-down shirt in the heat, now wearing just a thin, clingy undershirt. Yoko looks down, staring at his scuffed boots until Murakami asks him if he's ready to go.

"I'm pretty sure these catacombs connect to a natural complex of underground caves," Yoko explains as they make their way down the dark, narrow hallway. There's a skittering sound ahead of them and Murakami comes to a dead stop.

"What was that?" he says, voice sounding nervous in a way Yoko's never heard it.

"Probably just a beetle or something," Yoko says flippantly.

"A beetle?" Murakami says, pitch of his voice rising just a bit. "I hate bugs."

"You…what?" Yoko says, incredulous.

"I hate them!" Murakami repeats. "They're just—" he shudders visibly, then hands the torch to Yoko. "You go first."

"Alright," Yoko says, rolling his eyes. He can't believe someone as brave as Murakami is this afraid of bugs, but he supposes everyone has their thing.

The corridor eventually opens up into a small room with a door at one end. There's a line of what look like wheels with hieroglyphs on them across the door, and an indented space that's about the size of one of their pharaoh statues.

"I thought we'd get to keep these," Murakami says, disappointed, as Yoko tries to fit the statue into the space.

It's just a bit too short to accommodate the base, so Yoko takes another look at what's written on it. The first part was just a section of the clue that lead them to Narmer's tomb, but the second part hadn't made sense to Yoko until just now.

"We have to put in the answer to the riddle," he says, "and then it'll fit."

He tests the wheels on the door: only two of the five move, and they move together, showing the same characters. He rolls through the options, but a few of them seem like they'd work, so he checks the riddle again.

"It's supposed to be…the name of an animal?" he says, turning back to the wheels and spinning them again. After a minute, he lands on the combination he thinks is right, and he tries to press the statue into place. The bottom of the hollowed-out area gives easily, allowing Yoko to push the statue in. The door swings open, revealing another narrow hallway.

The second room they come to is the same as the first, a door with spinning wheels and a riddle to answer from the bottom of the statue. The third statue didn't have a riddle on the bottom, though, so Yoko suspects that the third room will have a different sort of challenge. The corridor leading to it is longer, and with every step Yoko can feel nervousness and excitement churning together in his stomach. The first two halls had sloped downward, but this one feels like it's leading them back up toward the surface. Yoko can see an opening ahead, but the light from their lamp doesn't really illuminate it much.

"This should be the last room," he says to Murakami, and then steps through the threshold.

It turns out the lamp didn't illuminate much because there's not a whole lot to see. They find themselves standing on a small platform on one side of a huge cave. There's another platform on the other side with an opening in the wall and a box that has a place carved out for their third statue. Between them and the box is a long, impossibly narrow walkway right up against the wall. Yoko looks down, his head reeling at the expanse of black he sees below him.

"Here we go," Murakami says.

Yoko swallows hard. "Here we go."

They make their way slowly onto the walkway, bodies pressed close to the rock wall. It seems smooth at first, but as they move down it, Yoko can feel parts of it start to shift, to slowly poke out seemingly at random.

"It's moving," he says, voice tight.

"Yeah," Murakami says. "Watch your step."

They slow down a bit, trying to keep a grip on the wall as it tries to throw them off. They're making alright headway until they reach a spot where the rock's completely pushed out, making a wall that goes higher than Yoko's head.

"We can't get any farther," Yoko says, feeling discouraged and panicky. "We're not going to make it, we're going to die here."

"No," Murakami says. "Calm down, we can do this. I can climb over it. You just hold on, it's not far."

"Hold on?" Yoko squeaks. There's a chunk of rock beginning to poke out where his right foot is and he readjusts, fingers scrabbling against the blocks above his head.

"You're gonna be fine," Murakami says, in this confident way that makes Yoko almost believe him. It's the closest he's got to an assurance of safety so he clings to it, letting Murakami's confidence become his own.

He watches Murakami climb the wall, gripping the rocks and pulling himself up, the muscles in his arms bulging with the movement. He grunts, launching himself around the solid wall of rock, and then he disappears from Yoko's view.

"It's close," Murakami says, voice thin with exertion, "I'll get to it soon."

Yoko bites the inside of his cheek. He wants to ask Murakami to keep talking, but he knows it's more important for him to concentrate than to reassure Yoko, at this point. Instead he listens to the echo of each sound, their heavy breaths and the scraping of boots against rock magnified by the open abyss of the cave. The part of the wall he's clinging to is still pushing slowly out, and he's contorted himself into almost an S-shape, his legs and bent and his body doubled over.

He hears a thumping sound, and then Murakami's voice echoes loud and clear: "I'm through. I'm gonna put it in."

Yoko holds his breath. What if putting the statue in doesn't stop the wall? He's not sure how much longer he can hold himself here, and there's no way he could climb over it the way Murakami had. Time seems to stop, and then suddenly the blocks are receding back into the wall. Caught off-balance, Yoko almost tips over as he tries to get back into a standing position, hands scrabbling frantically on the wall before he gets his bearings.

"Come on," Murakami calls, and Yoko though inches his way across the platform as quickly as he can, it still feels like forever before he's standing on the solid platform.

He drops down to his knees, panting, and presses his hands to the ground, just feeling it beneath his palms.

"We got it," Murakami says, sounding giddy. He tugs at Yoko's arm, pulling him up to stand in front of the now-open box. "Look at this stuff! It's gotta be worth a fortune."

In the box is an impressive and shiny array of artifacts, a treasure trove of things Yoko's sure most museums would kill to have on display. He breaks into a grin, grabbing excitedly at Murakami's forearm.

"We got it!" he echoes. "We actually got it!"

"This is one of the best finds I've ever had," Murakami says as they put everything into their bags. "We're gonna be swimming in cash."

"You really are obsessed with money, huh?" Yoko says, laughing.

"So what if I am?" Murakami says, unashamed. "If you're not in it for the money, I don't know what the appeal is."

"I guess…fortune and glory?" Yoko says.

Murakami bursts out laughing. "What are you, a character in a movie?" he says, smacking Yoko on the back of the head.

Yoko rubs the back of his head, unable to help laughing himself. "I guess that does sound kind of cheesy, huh."

The door on the platform leads to a passage that takes them up to the ground level, leaving them on the side of a rocky ridge of mountains. When they walk away from the opening, it blends easily into the landscape, invisible to the eye unless you know where to look for it.

They board a boat heading up the Nile back to Cairo, where they'll catch a flight back home. It's an overnight trip. After they have dinner, toasting their find with a bottle of expensive champagne, Yoko sits in their cabin, looking over the collection of artifacts. His mind spins with the excitement and satisfaction of the find as he goes over each piece, cradling them lovingly in his hands.

"I could get used to this," he says, half to himself.

"Nothing better," Murakami murmurs.

The champagne's gone to Yoko's head a bit, making him feel brave—it's the only explanation he can think of for what he says next.

"I know you said you like to work alone," he starts, heart thumping in his chest, "but, um, would you ever…do this again?"

Murakami's quiet for a minute. "I—" he starts, but Yoko interrupts.

"I'm sorry," he says quickly, "it was stupid of me to ask. I'm sure you're tired of me by now."

Murakami clears his throat. "I was going to say that I'd like to, but if you're gonna be so goddamn negative I might change my mind."

"What?" Yoko says, caught off-guard by the response.

"I'd like to do this again, you idiot," Murakami says. "Seriously though, you ask me again and I'm taking it back."

Yoko grins, standing up and putting his hands on Murakami's shoulders. "Great!" he says. Then, "I won't ask again, I swear."

"Good," Murakami says. "If we keep this up I can make a lot more money with you than I was on my own."

Yoko rolls his eyes. "Don't be so crass about it."

"Whatever," Murakami says, laughing easily.

The boat rocks, and Yoko tightens his grip on Murakami's shoulders, holding on for balance, then drops his hands quickly, sitting down. Murakami gives him a look that Yoko can't read at all, a sidelong glance that makes his stomach knot itself up a little, before sitting down himself.

There's a short silence, Yoko staring studiously down at the artifacts on the table, and he can feel Murakami's eyes on him, making his skin tingle.

"Stop me if I'm misreading this," Murakami says, and then he's got one hand on Yoko's thigh and he's leaning in, pressing his lips to Yoko's slow but sure. Yoko makes an involuntary sound in his throat, then grips Murakami's bicep with a shaky hand, parting his lips just a bit and kissing back.

***

Yoko keeps his job at the library, since after coming back with a box full of priceless artifacts no one really cares how he spends his time or how many vacations he takes.

"Start studying Sanskrit," Murakami tells him over the phone, a few weeks after they're back. "I've got a trip planned."

"Great," Yoko says, the excitement already bubbling up inside him.

Dreamscape (Hina/Eito)

hondemo — Tue, 27 Aug 2013 13:19:11 GMT

title: Dreamscape
pairing: Hina/all of Eito (in pairings and individually), Hina/Hina
words: 4210
rating: NC-17
warnings: drugs, dub-con, breathplay/drowning, violence (misc.), pet play, fisting, dirty talk, facial, spanking
summary: Hina has some dreams.
notes: Written for yue_akuma for je_fqfest 2013. (original post)

"Careful not to drink too much of the tea," the Janiben guest warns, "It's a dream enhancer, and for some people the results can be a bit…strange."

"Strange how?" Yoko asks, putting his cup down.

"You know," she says cagily, "strange."

Subaru leans in, eyebrows waggling. "You mean sex dreams, right?"

The guest turns bright red, but she doesn't deny it.

Hina shrugs, sipping the rest of his cup while Subaru downs the rest of his own and Yoko's, too. She's probably playing it up for the camera, anyway. It won't do anything to him.

***

1.

Hina opens his eyes, panting, and comes face to face with himself. He studies the way he looks, lips wet and a little swollen from the force of the kiss. He struggles under himself, trying to turn them over and gain the upper hand, though it's difficult when he's pinned by someone with the exact same build as his, muscles toned in the same places.

"Just let me—" the Hina on top of him starts, voice sounding rough and nothing like how Hina's voice sounds in his head, but he's cut off when Hina surges up and kisses him again, catching him by surprise and using it to overturn them, slipping his leg in between the other Hina's. They're both hard, cocks rubbing rough against each other through fabric. Fleetingly, Hina thinks about how weird this is, but the thought passes quickly when the other Hina grabs his ass, dragging his hips down to grind against him. Hina fists his hands in his shirt, tugging it up until he feels hot skin, the defined ab muscles he's seen in the mirror hundreds of times. While he pulls up the other Hina's shirt, he can feel fingers slipping under the waistband of his jeans, working open the button and then pulling them down.

Hina expects the other Hina's hand on his cock to feel not much different from jerking off, but the fact that he can't control what the hand is doing,—that it's not attached to his body—makes a big difference. He groans, body shuddering a little bit at the first touch of deft fingers on him. Panting, he bends down to crush their mouths together again, rocking into the other Hina's touch and grabbing at his shoulders, hair, anything he can get his hands on.

When they break the kiss, Hina rolls to the side, his clothes suddenly feeling itchy and restrictive. He strips, and the other Hina follows suit, both of them tossing their clothes to the side. They look each other up and down, chests still heaving a little, and then they're kissing again, hands all over each other's bodies. When their cocks touch, Hina groans breathlessly, hearing almost the same sound coming from his double. Hina spits on the palm of his hand, rubbing it up and down their cocks, and then they slide slickly against each other: Hina's sure he's going to come soon.

2.

Hina wakes up in a bedroom that looks nothing like his own. There's a maid in one corner of the room, bent over to dust the floor. She's wearing a deliciously short skirt, the hem landing just below her ass when she bends over, exposing the straps of garters attached to the lacy tops of stockings covering her legs, accentuated by the heels she's wearing. Hina takes a long look, sitting up a little bit. She must hear the rustling of the sheets because she stands up, turns around, and…isn't a woman at all: she's Yoko, wearing a dress, heels, and even a long, dark wig.

"Oh," Yoko says, sounding a little surprised, "Master, you're awake." Yoko's voice is pitched higher than normal. "Shoko-chan," he shouts, "the Master is awake!"

Hina blinks a few times, watches as Yoko walks toward the bed. He seems practiced at walking in high heels, hips swishing back and forth with each step.

"Would you like the usual service this morning, Master?"

Hina purses his lips, nodding. Then the door to the room opens and Yasu walks in, done up the same way as Yoko, with a light brown, curly wig.

"Good morning, Master," he says brightly, hurrying over to the other side of the bed. They sit down on either side of Hina, and Yoko leans in first, kissing him softly on the mouth. His lips are a little sticky with gloss, tasting sweet against Hina's. When he pulls away, Yasu is right there, his mouth just as glossy and inviting. Hina reaches out blindly, pulls Yoko over to him: he has to see what's under that skirt. He drags Yoko right into his lap, breaking away from Yasu's mouth to focus on pulling Yoko's skirt up. He's wearing a pair of pink silk panties with lacy trim. They probably barely cover his cock when it's soft, but he's already half-hard now, straining against the fabric and twitching visibly when Hina brushes his fingers over it.

"Fuck," Hina says under his breath. He splays one hand on Yoko's thigh, then reaches for Yasu's skirt: he has to see. Yasu's panties are purple, stretched over a hard cock just the same as Yoko's. Hina rubs his hands over both of them, feeling the soft silk, the hot skin underneath it.

"Master," they say in breathless unison.

Hina could get used to this.

3.

Everything feels fuzzy, the edges of Hina's perception blurred and dull. He blinks his eyes and it doesn't help much, but he can make out a few faces around him, familiar even when they swirl in and out of focus.

"He's waking up." Subaru's voice.

"He looks really out of it, you dosed him way too much." Yoko's.

"It's not like I've done this before." Ryo's.

Hina tries to move but his limbs won't really listen, and it feels like he might be tied down anyway. He can feel hands starting to touch his body, slow and exploratory.

"It worked though, he's already hard," says Yoko, and Hina feels fingers wrapping around his cock, the sensation sudden in its clarity: he gasps.

"Does it feel good?" asks Maru's voice, gentle and concerned.

Hina grunts; he can't form words yet, but it does feel good, Yoko's fingers grasping and stroking him slowly, his thumb rubbing firm over the wet head.

"Who's going first?" That's Ohkura's voice.

"How about we janken for it?" Yasu says. "It's only fair."

Hina's eyes can't follow the rapid motion of the successive games of rock, paper, scissors, but he determines from the shout that finishes them all that Subaru won the right to go first; at what he's still not quite positive.

It becomes a bit clearer when he feels someone small and bony clambering on top of him. There's a wet hand stroking down his dick and then Subaru's lowering himself down, groaning loud and unashamed. Hina tries to rock his hips up, but his limbs are still heavy and he can't get much leverage, so he gives up and just lets Subaru move, slow and rhythmless at first but gradually picking up speed. There are still hands touching other parts of him, fingers trailing down his arms and up his thighs, pinching gently at his nipples, reaching down to cup his balls. When Subaru starts to move faster, Hina can feel himself being urged closer and closer to orgasm, but it seems just out of reach, a teasing promise on the horizon. He can't tell how long it is before he feels Subaru's come spilling over his stomach.

"You sure he'll stay hard?" he hears Yoko ask as Subaru climbs off, leaving Hina feeling cold and eager for whoever's next.

"Oh, definitely," Ryo says. "The guy I bought it from said we'd have hours."

4.

He's in the bathtub with Yoko, the water warm and lapping gently against his skin. The tub is big, big enough that it doesn't feel cramped with the two of them. They're kissing, Hina rubbing a hand through Yoko's hair before tugging possessively, holding Yoko's head in place while Hina mouths down his chin and neck, digging his teeth in just a little bit.

"Careful," Yoko breathes, "bruises."

"Right," Hina mumbles into Yoko's skin. So much of what he wants to do would leave bruises, he can imagine the satisfaction of putting his hands around Yoko's neck and squeezing dark purple marks onto his skin while he struggles for breath—but Hina's creative, he can find other options. He sits up, keeping his hand in Yoko's hair. His face is flushed and his bangs cling to his forehead in dark, damp tendrils.

"Deep breath," Hina says, and when Yoko inhales without questioning he adds, "good boy."

Then he shoves Yoko's head under the water. Yoko flails at first, bucking against Hina's grip so hard Hina has to brace his arm against Yoko's shoulders to keep him down. He stops struggling after the first few seconds: Hina's counting in his head, waiting until it's almost Yoko's breaking point before he lets up on his shoulders and pulls him up hard by the hair. When Yoko's head comes up he's panting, face red. He blinks, chest heaving as he takes in deep, shaky breaths. Hina watches close, and just when Yoko's gotten his bearings again he pushes him back under. Yoko struggles harder this time and Hina feels a gratified tingle run through him, the adrenaline of Yoko's panic spilling over and making him hard.

The third time Hina pushes Yoko under the water he directs Yoko's mouth to his dick. It's probably the most artless blowjob Hina's ever received, but the pleasure of it comes more from forcing Yoko onto his cock while he's struggling not to pass out. He lets the third time go on a bit longer than the other two, and he can tell when he lets Yoko up that he's lightheaded, his eyes glassy and wild as he gasps for air, obviously expecting to be pushed under again any second. That's when Hina pulls him gently into his lap, running a reassuring hand down his back and kissing him, telling him what a good boy he's been.

5.

There's a supple leather leash wrapped firm around Hina's knuckles, leading down to a collar buckled around Maru's neck. He's on his hands and knees on the ground, his head bowed and lengthening the pretty curve of his neck. There's a bowl of water on the floor and Maru is drinking out of it, tongue lapping messily like an overeager puppy. Hina hoped he'd get embarrassed by this, but really that's not Maru. He dives into everything without a hint of embarrassment, that's what makes him fun.

"That enough?" Hina asks, leaning down and petting Maru's hair with his free hand. Maru looks up, his eyes clear and honest, and nods. He doesn't speak when they do this, just uses gestures and sounds. It's kind of impressive how easily he slips into this role.

"Good puppy," Hina says. He lets his hand slip down the curve of Maru's spine, ending up on his tailbone, just above the plug in his ass. It's got a tail attached; Hina'd thought it was going too far when he bought it, but Maru happily wore it, along with the collar and the leash. Hina's hand on the small of Maru's back makes him push his ass up into the air, and Hina strokes down, over the soft fleshy curve of his ass. He pushes his hand between Maru's legs, which spread easily at the intrusion. He palms over Maru's balls, cupping them lightly before stroking slowly down his hot, hard cock. Maru makes a small, probably involuntary sound, hips bucking against Hina's hand.

"Does puppy want something?" Hina asks, tone just a little teasing.

Maru makes an affirmative sort of grunt, but Hina feels like seeing how far he can push.

"What's that, puppy?"

Maru lets out a soft, tentative bark, and Hina rewards him with a firm squeeze of his cock, a swipe of his thumb over the wet head.

"That's right," Hina mutters, and Maru does it again, a bit louder this time. Hina feels a tingle of pride rush through him and strokes Maru again. Then he takes his hand away, using the other hand on the leash to tug him up into a kneeling position so Hina can kiss him while he touches his cock.

"Such a good puppy," Hina breathes against Maru's lips, and he pulls back a bit to look at the expression of pride on his face.

6.

There's blood on Hina's knuckles, blood seeping out slowly from Ryo's lip. Ryo's sitting in a chair in front of Hina and they're in a small, dingy room. Hina's wearing a police officer's uniform and Ryo's not Ryo: he looks like him but he's not the same Ryo that Hina knows. Ryo moves and there's a clinking of handcuffs against the metal of the chair, he looks Hina in the eyes and spits at him, the saliva thick with blood. It falls short of Hina, splatters the floor right next to his shoe. Hina backhands Ryo again, watching his head whip to the side with grim satisfaction. There are bruises in different stages of severity splotched over Ryo's body. His head hangs down a bit as he catches his breath after the blow, and Hina leans over, grabbing at what looks like a particularly sore spot on his chin to pull his face up. Ryo cringes visibly before setting his mouth back into a firm line, and Hina presses harder.

"Feeling any more talkative?" Hina asks. He lets go of Ryo's chin, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood that dripped onto his fingers.

"Fuck no," Ryo says.

"That's alright," he says, "there's plenty more fun for me to have with you until you feel chatty." He picks up a cigarette from the ashtray on the table he's leaning on, takes a long drag, regarding Ryo thoughtfully. Ryo holds Hina's gaze defiantly, stirring an annoyed violence deep in Hina's gut.

The cigarette is burning close to the filter. Hina ashes it into the ashtray and then bends close. He exhales smoke right into Ryo's face, then puts the burning end right under his clavicle. Ryo stares at him, face set blank and mouth closed. Hina touches the cigarette to Ryo's flesh, pushes it in until the cherry goes out and there's a smear of ash on his skin. From anyone else he'd hear a scream of pain, a plea to stop, a confession. From Ryo he just gets a loud, long moan.

He pulls back, tosses the cigarette butt onto the floor between them. There's a red, angry burn mark on Ryo's skin, but he's just grinning back at Hina, cocky and infuriating.

"I can't tell if this is an interrogation or foreplay," Ryo says.

Hina backhands him twice more, rather than saying he can't tell either.

7.

Yoko's body stiffens under Hina's hands when he presses his teeth to Yoko's neck. Hina can barely think straight with the tantalizingly close rush of Yoko's blood pounding just under the surface, so it takes him a second before he realizes Yoko is speaking.

"Is it gonna hurt a lot?" Yoko's asking, his voice shaky and nervous.

"I can't tell you it won't hurt," Hina says, tightening his hold on Yoko's shoulders. He doesn't want to have to force him into it, but at this point he's not going to be able to walk away without getting a taste. "Try to relax."

Hina feels Yoko's throat move as he swallows. "Okay."

Yoko's nervousness makes it better, really: the blood is rushing quick and strong, and it flows easily into Hina's mouth when he breaks the skin with his fangs. Yoko makes a whimpering sound, tensing and then relaxing a bit. After the initial pain subsides, he's probably feeling a bit lightheaded as his blood pumps out into Hina's mouth. Hina sucks for a bit, drinking until he's gotten his fill and then slowing down, licking gently over the two small puncture wounds dotting Yoko's pale skin. He pulls back and Yoko slumps against the couch, his eyes a bit glazed. Hina can feel Yoko's blood coursing through him, hot and tingly, making him hard. He leans over and puts his lips to Yoko's mouth this time, kissing him slow and gentle at first, just insinuating his tongue into Yoko's mouth until he moans and shifts closer to Hina.

"How do you feel?" Hina asks, his voice low against Yoko's full lips.

"I—uh, good, I think," Yoko mumbles. He grabs at Hina's shirt, sucking on his lower lip as he tugs him closer.

Hina kisses back, running his tongue across Yoko's lip before biting down on it lightly: not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make Yoko shiver, his body arching up to press against Hina's. His hand wanders down Yoko's torso, feeling the warmth of his skin through his clothes, down to the bulge of his cock in his pants. Hina rubs firmly over it, feeling the way Yoko arches so easily under him, like a puppet under his control. He grins against Yoko's lips, then moves down back to his neck, sucking just a bit more blood out to feel the way it makes Yoko shiver.

8.

Subaru squirms back against Hina's fingers; he's got three in him now and he's pouring a bit more lube over them so they slide in easily, stretching Subaru open around them.

"More," Subaru groans, "fuck, more, please."

Hina strokes his free hand down his cock, considers putting it in. "More fingers?" he asks.

"Yeah," Subaru breathes, "sure, whatever you want."

It's not that hard to get the fourth finger in; Subaru's relaxed and lubed and ready for it. It probably seems like more from Hina's perspective because he's watching Subaru take them. He curls them down until he hears Subaru whine with pleasure.

"More," he says, quicker this time, and Hina's very much inclined to oblige, kind of wants to see how open he can get Subaru.

"That'd be my whole hand," he says warningly.

"I know," Subaru groans, pushing back against the fingers Hina has in him now. "Please."

He rubs just outside Subaru's hole with his thumb for a bit, listening to him get more and more excited before he pulls his fingers part of the way out, adds a bit more lube and then pushes all five fingers in. Subaru makes a loud, throaty sound, rolling his hips eagerly.

"Fuck," Hina says, amazed at the visual hotness of his entire hand disappearing inside Subaru.

"Yeah," Subaru breathes.

"You're a fucking slut," Hina says, without thinking, and when it gets a moan out of Subaru he continues, telling him only sluts can do this, he must let anyone fuck him any time.

"Yeah," Subaru says proudly, "I'm a big slut, yeah."

Hina doesn't really think before using his free hand to land a hard smack on Subaru's ass.

"You've been bad, haven't you?" He feels a bit like he's following the script of a bad porno but it's just spilling out of his mouth and Subaru seems into it, so he'll let it happen.

"Yeah, so bad," Subaru groans.

Hina spanks him again, simultaneously pulling his hand halfway out and thrusting back in as his palm smacks against Subaru's ass.

His hand wanders down to Subaru's cock, rock hard between his legs, and Hina slaps it a few times, loving the way Subaru clenches around his hand at the pain of it.

"You want a spanking, slut, you're gonna get it," he says, slapping Subaru's cock again as he works his hand in and out of his ass.

9.

He's got a bunch of Maru's hair in his hand, pulling hard while he shoves his cock into Maru's mouth; Maru groans, muffled but still loud. He's sucking Hina messy and wet, choking on it a bit but still easily letting Hina shove it down his throat. Hina watches raptly: Maru's eyes are closed, a bit of sweat on his face that's turned a little red. He pulls out and lets Maru breathe a bit, but after a few seconds his mouth is open again, ready and eager.

"You like this, huh?" Hina says breathily, tugging on Maru's hair.

"Yeah," Maru says, slightly sheepish. His cheeks are already tinged pink but they get a bit darker. After he speaks he leaves his mouth open again, ready for Hina to just shove his cock back in.

Instead, Hina slaps his cock lightly against Maru's cheek, just testing. When Maru closes his eyes and groans, he does it a bit harder, the sound of it wet and sticky because his cock is still covered in Maru's saliva. Then he rubs it across Maru's lips, smearing the precome all around his mouth before he shoves it back in, going as far as he can as fast as he can. Maru gags on it but he doesn't pull back, just breathes through his nose and lets Hina keep going. He almost feels like this is too easy, like it should be harder on Maru, so he keeps gagging him, thrusting down his throat over and over until he sees tears forming at the corners of Maru's eyes. Just that is enough to get Hina to feel like he might be close to coming, so he pulls out a little and starts thrusting shallowly, just watching his cock go in and out of Maru's mouth for a while.

He pulls out again, slapping his cock against Maru's cheek, hot and wet and so hard. Maru just takes it, his eyes closed and expression so content, inviting Hina to do what he wants with him. Hina holds Maru's hair, keeps his head tilted back, and uses his other hand to jerk himself off: it only takes a few strokes before he's coming across Maru's face, streaks of pearly white over his mouth, his nose, his cheeks, his closed eyes. Maru just takes it, seemingly delighted: he moans at every stripe of Hina's come that covers him.

10.

Ohkura's squirming in his lap, but Hina's got a firm hold on his arm, twisting it behind his back so he can't go far.

"I warned you, didn't I?" he says, voice low. "You didn't listen and this is what you get."

Ohkura doesn't say anything, just whines, petulant as ever, and keeps struggling. Hina lands a smack on his still-clothed ass.

"Stop moving or it'll be worse," he says warningly.

Ohkura stills. "I thought you were kidding," he says, half joking and half pleading.

"I wasn't," Hina says. He pauses, letting the silence sink in. "If I let you go will you take down your pants for me or do I have to do it myself?"

"I'll do it," Ohkura grumbles.

Hina lets go and Ohkura lifts his hips, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants before pushing them down his thighs. At Hina's instruction, he pulls down his underwear too.

"That's a good boy," Hina says, feeling the soft flesh of Ohkura's ass. Ohkura makes a little whimpering sound at the first slap, and by the fifth he's trying to squirm away again.

"I told you to stay still," Hina says, grabbing Ohkura's arm again. He tugs it up so this time Ohkura's hand rests between his shoulder blades. The stretch of it must add to the pain.

"It really hurts," Ohkura complains.

"Punishment's supposed to hurt," Hina says, rubbing his hand slowly over Ohkura's ass. The skin's hot, tinged pink already. He dips his fingers between the cheeks, just touching, and Ohkura grunts, pushes back a little. When he shifts, Hina can feel his cock pressing hard against Hina's thigh.

"Anyway," he says, pulling his hand back, "seems like you like it."

"Do not," Ohkura says, defensive. The back of his neck flushes.

"Lying," Hina says, clicking his tongue. "So naughty." He smacks Ohkura's ass again, watching his handprint appear on the skin before fading again. Ohkura cries out, muffled this time because he's pressed his face against Hina's sofa. Hina keeps hitting him, enjoying the way Ohkura writhes in his lap, his weight rubbing Hina's cock through his jeans.

It's about fifteen smacks total before Hina asks Ohkura if he's sorry yet.

"Nope," Ohkura says, though his voice is a little shaky.

"Well," Hina says, reaching down to slip the leather belt out of Ohkura's pants, "let's see if we can't do something about that."

***

Hina wakes up with his body dripping sweat, his cock rock hard. The dreams are still playing in the back of his mind, a filthy, swirling montage. He reaches into his boxers to grip his cock. His pulse is throbbing, the need thrumming through him with an undeniable force. He jerks himself quickly, impatient, but even once he comes it doesn't feel like enough. He groans, turning over on his stomach and pressing his face into the pillow.

Yoko turns over next to him, mumbling something and grinding an erection against Hina's hip.

He'd drank the tea too, after all.

Care and Feeding (Yoko/Sho)

hondemo — Fri, 12 Oct 2012 12:59:23 GMT

title: Care and Feeding
pairing: Yoko/Sho
words: 2180
rating: NC-17
warnings: breathplay, slightly unhealthy relationship dynamics
summary: Yoko's not really sure if what they're doing is helping or hurting, but if Sho wants him to play the villain, he's happy to oblige.
notes: This was written for the "breathplay" square of my kink_bingo card, and was heavily inspired by a prompt Elfie gave me about a TQS-era Yoko/Sho kinkfic that's possibly unhealthily involved with their characters.

There's a message on Yoko's phone from Aiba that reads Sho-chan's been looking a little off lately, try and take good care of him, okay? Yoko thinks about it as he slips his cell phone into the pocket of his bag, pulling the hotel's bathroom door closed behind him—he's already dressed for the part, so he doesn't really need to be in here, but he likes to have a minute to himself to get into character, as it were. Yoko's not really sure if what they're doing is helping or hurting, but if Sho wants him to play the villain, he's happy to oblige.

Yoko gazes at himself in the mirror, his pale skin looking stark against the black of his hair and his clothes, not an outfit Yoko would normally wear but perfect for their purposes. He can hear a faint rustling from the other side of the door as Sho changes clothes, pulling on a pair of loose white pajamas. He lets himself think about it, his heart starting to beat faster and his skin heating up with that increasingly familiar electric tingle.

They meet in only the most discreet of hotel rooms, places with darkened underground entrances and unlisted phone numbers. Yoko's never treated anything in his life with this level of secrecy, and it serves to enhance the surreality of it all, makes it easier to get into character.

"Are you ready?" he asks, raising his voice just enough to be heard through the door. For a moment, there's only silence, but then he hears Sho's voice, slightly muffled but clear: "Yeah." Yoko takes one last look at himself in the mirror, taking a breath and closing his eyes. When he breathes out and opens them, his expression looks colder, less like himself.

When Yoko eases the door open, Sho's sitting on the edge of the bed, so obviously full of nervous energy even though he's not fidgeting at all. Yoko's nerves tingle at the sight of him, anticipation working its way through his bloodstream. Sho licks his lips, bringing his head up slowly to meet Yoko's eyes for a moment before his gaze darts back down.

"Get on your knees," Yoko says without thinking about it, and Sho slides smoothly down to the plush carpet, his movements a whisper of fabric. Yoko steps closer, feeling every bit of the sensation of power the position gives him, standing over Sho, positioned so the room's soft lamps cast a long shadow over Sho's kneeling form. The atmosphere is important, making it easier for Yoko to slip into character. Yoko runs his fingers through Sho's hair, the touch starting out gentle but quickly turning harsh when Yoko tangles his fingers through the dyed-brown strands and pulls, yanking Sho's head back and exposing his throat. He's rewarded with a gasp and the view of Sho's throat working as he swallows. His eyes look big when he tilts them up to look at Yoko, open and just a little frightened, already.

Yoko knows that Sho isn't that good of an actor, and it's always surprised him how easily he gets into this role. For Yoko it's easy: he just accesses the part of him that likes to plot and scheme, to manipulate people and situations for the sake of entertainment. It's not a huge stretch. But in Sho, when they do this, Yoko sees weakness and fear and vulnerability that still surprises him, even now, when it's become almost routine.

Yoko keeps his right hand fisted in Sho's hair, the grip unyieldingly tight, and curls his left under Sho's chin. He rubs the pad of his index finger over the curve of Sho's lower lip, feeling heat and damp when Sho exhales over his skin. His breathing is starting to speed up with anticipation and Yoko gives him what he wants, his hand sliding down until his fingers are poised around Sho's throat. When they started this, Yoko had been fascinated by the sight of his own hands, pale skin and long fingers tightening slowly until Sho couldn't breathe anymore. Lately, he finds himself more interested in Sho's reactions, the look on his face when Yoko takes his air away.

Sho's pulse is thumping right at Yoko's fingertips, the blood moving just below the thin surface of his skin. Yoko squeezes, just a tiny, almost experimental tightening of his fingers, and Sho lets out a small sound, something between a sigh and a moan. Yoko licks his lips. Sho's excitement might be more noticeable, but the anticipation's getting to Yoko too, and he wants to have a closer look at Sho's reactions. He hauls Sho to his feet, using the hand in his hair and the one at his throat.

When Sho's standing, their bodies mere centimeters apart, Yoko lets go of his hair, smoothing the hand down his torso until it hits the unmistakeable bulge of his cock. Yoko squeezes with both hands, Sho's cock and his neck at the same time, and the sound he makes this time is much more moan than sigh. His body is tense with the obvious effort he's making not to thrust against Yoko's palm.

"You like this," Yoko says, his voice low and accusing when he leans to speak into Sho's ear. Sho just shivers; Yoko can feel his cock twitch against his hand. He makes a noise of disgust and shoves Sho hard, so he stumbles backward onto the bed. Yoko can feel himself getting into it, and it feels good. He climbs onto the bed, forcing Sho to back up against the headboard. "If you like it so much," Yoko says as he straddles Sho's stomach, grabbing the collar of his pajamas to bring his face close, "you'll let me give it to you, won't you?"

"Yes." Sho nods quickly, tongue poking out to wet his lips. His face is flushed already, the rise and fall of his chest obvious against Yoko's hands. When Yoko releases his collar, Sho collapses back against the pillow. There'd originally been a pile of them, a plush little mountain of comfort, but they'd tossed them all to one side of the bed, comfort not being one of their priorities. Yoko brings his hands to Sho's throat again, but this time with more purpose. He starts squeezing immediately, watching how Sho's eyes widen, his mouth falling open as he tries to take in as much air as he can before Yoko's hands cut him off completely. He reaches up, grabbing at Yoko's arms, but Yoko ignores it.

"You said you'd let me," Yoko says, keeping up the same amount of pressure. Sho makes a choked sound and his eyes go unfocused for a second; Yoko lets up slowly, keeping his right hand on Sho's neck and reaching back with the left to rub over his cock. It's straining against the material now, hot against Yoko's hand. "Slut," he spits out, almost surprised by the vitriol in his tone. It has the right effect, though, making Sho shut his eyes and bite his lip. Yoko keeps rubbing Sho's cock while he tightens his right hand again. He's become quite practiced at choking, knows where to place his hands, how much pressure to use, when to stop and when to go harder; but while he's doing it he doesn't think so much, just lets the instinct take over. He drags his fingernails over the fabric covering Sho's dick, drinking in the hiccuping, desperate gasp that it draws from him.

"Open your eyes," Yoko orders, partly because he wants to see the look in them, but also because it's the easiest way to check Sho's condition. His face is red, his eyes wide and frightened, and Yoko feels a shiver of arousal work its way down his spine. He squeezes until Sho's eyes unfocus again, then slowly lets up. He gives Sho's cock a final squeeze before letting go of it and reaching to undo his own pants.

Straddling Sho's stomach how he is, it's impossible for Yoko to get his pants all the way off, so he just tugs them down enough to pull out his cock, then moves so he's closer to Sho's face, almost sitting on his chest. He puts his left hand on Sho's neck and places the fingers of his right against Sho's lips. When he starts to squeeze and Sho's mouth falls open, Yoko shoves three fingers in. He pushes them in far enough that Sho chokes, throat spasming under Yoko's hand and body tensing up.

Yoko draws a shaky breath and does it again, watching tears form at the corners of Sho's eyes. Sho makes a gurgling sound and coughs, spit running down his cheek. Yoko pushes his fingers in deep one last time before he pulls them out and wraps them around his cock. They're slick with Sho's spit, slipping easily up and down the shaft and making Yoko groan.

He keeps watching Sho's face, loosing the hold on his throat and seeing how he gasps for the air that's been returned to him, face red, eyes huge and shining. The only sounds in the room are Sho's heaving breaths and the slick movement of Yoko's hand on his cock. Yoko starts to tighten his hand again, before Sho's gotten his breath back, and Sho's eyes flash with fear.

"Please," he gasps, desperate, and it just spurs Yoko on. The more frightened Sho is, the better the release will be in the end, Yoko knows. He keeps squeezing, hand on his cock quickening. When Sho's eyes turn glassy, Yoko loosens his hand and comes with a low groan, splattering Sho's face with it. He leans back, watching Sho's chest heave, and then reaches his hand back to rub over the outline of Sho's cock. Just the exploratory touch is enough to make Sho moan, and Yoko grins, squeezing a little. Sho's hips buck up into the touch immediately.

"I'm gonna make you come in your pants," Yoko says, bending so his face is close to Sho's when he speaks. Sho groans, lifting his hips again, and Yoko sits up, starting to tighten his hold on Sho's throat while rubbing his cock through his pants. Yoko's come is still on Sho's face, probably drying sticky and uncomfortable by now. Yoko watches Sho's face contort, pleasure mixing with discomfort. His hips are thrusting desperately into Yoko's hand now, arousal only growing as Yoko presses harder on his neck, the slow, gradual choking.

When Sho seems like he's getting close, Yoko lets up the pressure and slows the touch on his cock, drawing a plaintive whine from Sho's lips even as he's gasping for breath. He only lets Sho breathe for a few seconds before he puts the pressure back, hand tightening suddenly on Sho's throat as he speeds up the strokes on his cock. He goes through the tease a few more times, until Sho is whimpering and almost shaking under Yoko's touch. When Yoko's been holding Sho's throat long enough that his head's probably spinning, he urges him on in a low voice.

"Come on," he says, "I know you want it. Just let go and come for me."

Sho does, his body tensing up and cock twitching under Yoko's hand, and Yoko releases his throat, letting him take huge, gasping breaths as the orgasm rushes through him. There are faint bruises around his neck, markers of where Yoko's hands had been.

Yoko climbs off of Sho while he's still catching his breath, pulling his pants and underwear back up. Sho looks a debauched mess, and Yoko's definitely going to be picturing this later, when he jerks off again. He steps into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him. He pours some water into a glass, gulps it down, and then runs warm water over a washcloth.

When Yoko comes out, Sho's sitting on the side of the bed, a dreamy look on his face. Yoko holds out the washcloth, and Sho takes it with a small smile.

"Thanks," he says. He sounds a little hoarse.

"Drink some water, okay?" Yoko says. He shoulders his bag and walks to the door.

"Really, thank you," Sho says.

Yoko shrugs. "I had a good time too," he says, feeling uncomfortable. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Sho says, offering Yoko a smile and a small wave as he leaves.

In the elevator, Yoko tries to shake the guilty feeling that always settles over him after they do this. He pulls out his phone, looking again at Aiba's message.

You know him better than I do, Yoko writes. I don't know how to take care of him.

He gets a reply from Aiba when he's in the taxi, halfway home.

From what he told me, you're doing a fine job.

Yoko assumes Sho was vague about what exactly Yoko's doing to take care of him, until the next day he gets another message from Aiba telling him to be more careful about bruising.

Four Stars (Maru)

hondemo — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 14:15:18 GMT

title: Four Stars
character: Maru
words: 1,607
rating: NC-17
summary: Maru tries out a new toy.
notes: Written for the "fucking machines" square of my kink_bingo card. With love, for Katie ♥

It was kind of an impulse purchase—something Maru had clicked on during a late-night internet binge that had started with some porn that Subaru recommended and ended up on a website selling an impressively wide array of machines. He'd entered his credit card number without really thinking too hard about it, and when the package arrived a few days later, he didn't have time to open it up. It's been sitting in his bedroom for the past few days, and finally Maru has a free afternoon to devote to getting to know his new possession.

He unpacks the box carefully, poring over the assembly instructions. It doesn't look too complicated, and he manages to get the machine set up without much trouble. It looks strange in his slightly cluttered bedroom, sitting black and metal and shiny in the middle of the floor. The shape of it is sleek, polished, a little intimidating. Maru strips out of his clothes, at this point just feeling more curious than actually turned on, and picks up the lube he's left on his nightstand. He slicks up one finger, sitting up on his knees and reaching back to brush it lightly over his hole. He shivers at the light touch, tracing a circle to tease himself a little. He can feel his cock starting to get hard, shocks of pleasure reverberating gently through his nerves. He pushes his finger in ever so slowly, just using light pressure while he breathes slowly, relaxing his muscles. Maru loves to take his time when he's by himself, moving at his pace and his pace alone. There's something he finds immeasurably satisfying about the long, drawn out build up; it's almost more pleasurable than the orgasm itself.

It's been more than a few minutes by the time Maru finally gets his finger pushed in to the third knuckle, and by then his cock is almost fully hard. He bites his bottom lip in concentration, crooking his finger as he seeks out the spot that makes him gasp, makes his cock twitch. When Maru finds it, he rubs his finger over it relentlessly, eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming pleasure of the sensation. It's almost difficult to force himself to stop, to pull his finger out so he can add more lube and push back in with two fingers. The dildo attached to the machine isn't terribly huge—some of the models Maru had looked at where downright frightening—but it's enough that Maru wants to be ready for the stretch, especially if he wants to make it last. He keeps working his fingers, opening himself up so gradually that it almost feels natural, his body relaxing easily into the feeling of being stretched.

Maru draws the fingering out even longer than he might normally, sneaking glances at the machine and feeling a nervous fluttering in his stomach, but when he gets to the point where his cock is flushed and straining and there's sweat beading on his forehead, he decides it's time to move on. He pulls his fingers out, then pours some lube into the palm of his hand and slicks it over the dildo attached to the machine. He adjusts it to what he thinks will be the right angle, pulling the wired control box toward him as he positions himself on all fours. He eases back toward it, feeling the tip of the dildo rub slick against his ass while he tries to get in the right position. He reaches back to steady it, pushing back until the tip is right at his hole. Maru takes a breath before leaning back against it, letting it slide smoothly inside him. He sits there for a moment, with the tip just barely inside, before turning the knob to the slowest setting.

Maru gasps when the machine springs into motion, pushing slowly deeper inside him. He adjusts his position a little, tilting his hips so it's hitting the right angle, and tries to breathe. The slowest setting is really very slow, and at such a low speed what's really noticeable is the consistency of the motion. It hits the same depth every time, never slowing or speeding up: it's absolutely nothing like being fucked by a human, or even fucking himself with a dildo. There's no variation, just the same unyieldingly gradual pace. Maru pants, trying and failing to get used to the strangeness of the feeling. He thinks about how the machine could just keep doing this forever, keep fucking Maru at this torturously slow speed until the end of time, and it makes him shiver.

He reaches for the knob, slowly turning it up to a higher setting, and the machine responds immediately, increasing its pace. Maru turns the knob until it reaches a speed that feels like less of a tease, groaning under his breath when he finds it. While the speed is more like something he'd feel being fucked by a person, there's still the same level of consistency to it, and even when Maru tries to imagine it's a person instead of a machine, he can't make the fantasy take much shape. He gives up on that fantasy and switches gears to one where there's someone other than him holding the controls; he thinks about being tied down with the machine in him, powerless to stop it. The idea makes Maru's breath catch, and he pushes back against it a little, arching his back so the angle is even better.

It's a bit difficult now to keep from touching his cock, but Maru wants to draw things out longer, luxuriate in the experience, and he knows if he starts jerking himself off it'll be really difficult to stop. He wets his lips, panting, and twists the knob to a slightly faster setting. It moves quickly from a comfortable, steady sort of pace to something much more overwhelming, and Maru's toes curl reflexively as he gasps. With the increased pace comes more pressure, a rougher kind of feeling, and it becomes harder for Maru to concentrate on any kind of fantasy. Instead, he simply focuses on the sensation. The machine stretches and fills him, moving with boundless energy, but Maru's body is starting to get tired. He drops from his hands to his elbows, knees splaying a little farther apart. There's a layer of sweat forming on his skin, dripping down from his forehead, and he shuts his eyes, letting his head hang down so his forehead rests on the towel he'd laid down over his carpet.

The machine feels good, good enough that Maru's not even sure he'll need to jerk off to get himself to come. It's rubbing against the right spot with every precise, measured thrust, and Maru feels like he's being shoved closer and closer to the edge, held so he's just teetering right there; he only needs the slightest push to send him hurtling over it. He turns the knob again: he's only three-quarters of the way to the highest setting, and he wants to try that out before he comes and is too sensitive to appreciate it. This increase in speed makes Maru moan open-mouthed, turning his head to the side in an attempt to breathe better.

The next increase in speed feels like it's almost too much for Maru to take. He bites his lip, his body tensing up. The sensation is now hitting that blurry line between pleasure and pain, between enough and too much, and it makes Maru's head spin. The machine is relentless, unforgiving, and even though Maru's holding the controls and could stop it at any time, part of him feels like he's at its mercy—he's too far gone now, too close to coming, too taken in by the machine's power. He writhes weakly against it, making a sound that's high and unfamiliar to his ears. He turns up the speed again, choking out a groan as the machine pounds into him tirelessly. He's certain he'll be sore later, but it doesn't seem to matter now; he's been taken over by the pleasure of it, and he can't see any farther ahead than the inevitability of coming.

When he finally turns the knob to the highest setting, maxing out the power and speed, Maru finally wraps a hand around his cock. It's aching by now, hot and nearly dripping with precome, and he can't help the load, hoarse moan that spills from his lips at the contact. He works his hand quickly, trying but failing to match the machine's rapid pace. The sensation is unlike anything he's ever felt, an otherworldly combination of pleasure and discomfort.

Maru's not sure how long he has the machine on the highest setting before he comes, but it doesn't feel like long. His entire body tenses up and he nearly wails with the release of it as he comes hot over his fingers and onto the towel under him. He scrambles to turn the machine down while his body jerks away from it involuntarily, too sensitive. He ends up pulling himself off of it before it's turned off, and there's a moment where he watches it, mesmerized, while it fucks unfailingly at the air, before he turns the knob down.

Maru relaxes in his bed for a while after he cleans up, feeling well-fucked and sated, and then reaches for his computer. He logs into a blog site, is greeted by a home page emblazoned with the cheery title "Mr. M's Sex Toy Reviews!" He clicks the button to start a new entry.

He'll give this one four stars.

Hunger (Ohkura/Kanjani8)

hondemo — Mon, 06 Aug 2012 14:24:32 GMT

title: Hunger
pairing: Ohkura/Kanjani8
words: 4382
rating: NC-17
warnings: CONTAINS VORE. Seriously, warnings for cannibalism, character death, dub/non-con, bloody guts and gore, etc etc etc.
summary: Ohkura eats Kanjani8. Because he loves them.
notes: Written for the guro square on my kink_bingo card. Please please please take the warnings and the summary to heart and do not read this if the idea of it grosses you out XD And thank you to the few people who are interested in this kind of thing and encouraged me while writing ♥

It's not just that Ohkura's hungry—although he is, of course, he's always hungry, never satiated, and maybe that was what drew him to them in the first place, but at some point while he was biding his time, waiting for the right moment, he began to love them.

It's because he loves them that he wants to take his time, as much as he can, though he knows that if he takes too much time between them they'll start to miss each other, and he can't have that. He wants them all to be together, him inside them and them inside him, so messy that it's hard to tell where one stops and the other begins.

So that's why Ohkura decides it's best to take them all at once. It's more than he usually tries to handle, but he's willing to push himself because he knows it'll be worth it. It's the end of a tour and Ohkura invites them all to his apartment for a celebratory dinner (if he's grinning a little predatorily and thinking of double meanings, none of them seem to notice). They're all in high spirits, flushed from success and alcohol, and as Ohkura watches the proceedings, subdued but not unusually so, he feels like his heart is going to burst from how much he loves them.

He brings out the food, a special meal he'd prepared himself just for them, and watches its power take hold as they eat. Their movements become slower, their bodies turning pliant and lethargic and their eyes glazing over. Ohkura grins, his mouth starting to water as they slump against each other, ready and willing for him to feed.

"Ryo-chan," he says, and Ryo's head lifts. His pupils are blown out, his eyes glassy and his skin flushed and inviting. Ohkura beckons him over, and Ryo gets up slowly, his movements clumsy as he makes his way to the couch where Ohkura's sitting. He climbs into Ohkura's lap without hesitating, wrapping his arms around his neck and looking at him for instructions.

"I love you, you know," he says, and Ryo nods.

"I love you too," he says immediately. It sounds like it takes effort for the words to come out, but his tone is honest, straightforward. Ohkura licks his lips, feeling the sharpening points of his teeth. He puts his hands on the small of Ryo's back, pulling him in close and pressing his mouth to his neck. Ryo groans, and Ohkura takes a moment to feel the pounding of pulse under his skin before he takes the first bite. He tears into the juncture between Ryo's neck and shoulder, sinking his teeth easily into the flesh. He can feel Ryo's body tense a little, and then he lets out a soft sound, like a moan. Between the alcohol and Ohkura's power, Ryo's senses should be dulled enough that the sensation doesn't hurt at all; it's important to Ohkura that they feel good. Ryo's blood spills onto his lips, gushing stronger with each quickened beat of his heart. Ohkura probes his tongue deeper, slipping snakelike between muscles and tendons and feeling Ryo, all the things that he tries to hide deep within himself.

Ohkura pulls back, swallowing the raw flesh in his mouth with a sound of satisfaction, and Ryo's still staring at him with the same wide, loving eyes. It makes Ohkura's heart swell a little, and he pushes Ryo's shirt up, pulling it off of his limp limbs. He shifts them so Ryo's laid back against the couch, his back arched a little bit, and then Ohkura presses his nails to the spot just under Ryo's breastbone. His chest is rising and falling slowly, calmly, while Ohkura opens him up with surgeon-like precision, cutting a straight line from chest to navel. He can't help the glee that overtakes him when he pushes his fingers inside, feeling how Ryo opens up so easily for him. He's so soft inside, soft and wet and hot in Ohkura's palm. Ohkura takes careful inventory of each of Ryo's organs, spreading his skin little by little until he's wide open, his heart still beating weakly when Ohkura strokes careful fingers over it.

He surveys Ryo like a tempting buffet, trying to decide which part he wants first. The heart is always the best, so filled with life and love and just dripping with sweet, sweet blood—Ohkura can never decide if he should eat it first or last. He supposes, though, since he has all of them here now, he doesn't need to hold himself back. Ryo's heart is gone in two bites, Ohkura's mouth so full that the blood is dripping from his lips down to his chin.

Ryo's eyes look blanker now, the life gone from them, but it doesn't matter because Ohkura can feel Ryo inside him, sliding down his throat and spreading slowly, coursing through his veins and tingling through his limbs. He tears into Ryo's body with more abandon after that, all the lean muscle an easy target for his sharp teeth.

When Ohkura finishes with Ryo, he can already feel the blood soaking through his clothes, sticking them unpleasantly to his body, so he strips, discarding his clothes next to the sofa. He takes a deep breath, the scent of blood unmistakable and overwhelming in the air. He licks his lips, slick with Ryo's blood, and crosses the room to where Yasu's sitting on the floor, slumped next to Subaru.

"Hey," he says, taking hold of Yasu's chin and smearing a little bit of Ryo over his skin. Yasu's eyes brighten, looking a little less glazed, and he curls happily against Ohkura, warm against his naked body.

"Tacchon," he says, kissing Ohkura's shoulder.

"I love you," Ohkura says, running his hand gently through Yasu's hair.

"I love you too," Yasu says immediately. "So much."

Ohkura smiles, pulling at the hem of Yasu's shirt to strip it off of him, then pushing him so he's on his back. His muscles shift with each slow, sleepy movement of his limbs, and Ohkura can feel his mouth starting to water. They're all so beautiful, each delicious-looking in their own ways. He starts with Yasu's belly, sinking his teeth into soft tanned skin. He can taste the outdoors in Yasu, all the effects of his active life making him rich and heady on Ohkura's tongue. He pulls back to chew and swallow slowly, pushing his fingers into the wound he created. Yasu's breath hitches, and a small whimpering sound comes from his mouth. Ohkura moves back up his body then, sealing his mouth over Yasu's and probing with his tongue while he tightens his hand around Yasu's throat little by little. He breathes the air out of Yasu's lungs, feeling the weak struggle each time he tries to inhale.

When Ohkura finally pulls away, Yasu looks even more dazed, his face red and his eyes totally unfocused. Ohkura loosens his hold on Yasu's neck for just a second while he readjusts his grip; when he tightens his hand this time, his nails prick the skin of Yasu's throat, raising little drops of blood as he pushes in further and further until his hand is soaked and red. He leans in to drink it, probing at Yasu's throat with his tongue as he laps the blood up.

While he drinks, Ohkura drags his nails down Yasu's chest, opening him up little by little. His hands are slick on Yasu's skin, smearing his blood together with Ryo's. The flavor is intoxicating, and Ohkura shivers when he imagines how it'll taste when he's finished, when he's got all of them mixed on his tongue. He follows his nails with his mouth, licking up the soft tissue he'd easily scraped off. He looks up when he's halfway down Yasu's torso: he's not breathing anymore, with his throat torn open how it is, but he still looks beautiful, and Ohkura can't resist going back to his blood-smeared mouth and giving him one more kiss before he really starts to feed.

By the time he's finished with Yasu, Ohkura is already starting to feel lightheaded from the satisfaction of it all. He worries for a moment that it's too much, that he's bitten off more than he can chew, but when he sees Maru sprawled on a chair by his dining room table, his stomach growls and he knows he'll make it. He stands up, walks up so he's standing behind Maru, and puts his hands on his shoulders.

"Maru-chan," he says, voice light as he strokes his nails down Maru's well-muscled arms.

"I love you," Maru says easily, before Ohkura's even said it. He grins, kissing Maru's forehead when his head lolls backward a little.

"I love you too," he murmurs.

He strips Maru completely before he starts, pushing the chair away from the table and kneeling between his legs. Maru's body is a feast in itself, solid and beautifully shaped, and Ohkura can't decide where to start, so he just goes with what's closest, sinking his teeth hungrily into Maru's inner thigh. He can feel the muscles twitching against his tongue as he digs deeper, groaning with pleasure at how delicious it is. He can hear Maru panting above him, the sound weakening with each beating of his heart that sends blood gushing over Ohkura's lips. He gets down to the bone quickly, swallowing mouthfuls without even bothering to chew as he feels Maru filling him up, sliding down his throat to join Ryo and Yasu.

Switching focus, Ohkura stands up, putting one hand on the arm of Maru's chair as he leans in, tracing his fingertips across Maru's temple. The skin there is so thin, just barely covering the beating pulse at his temple, and it takes only a tiny press of Ohkura's nail to puncture it. He watches for a moment as the blood slicks down the side of Maru's face, beading invitingly over his cheekbone, before he leans in to lick it up. The skull is thick, but it's no match for Ohkura's teeth, and he crunches through the bone easily. He can feel the nerves firing in Maru's brain, like little electric shocks on his tongue, tingling through the rest of his body as he slurps them up. Eating the brain is always a bit of a strange sensation, but with Maru it's simultaneously strange and comforting. Ohkura puts his hands on Maru's shoulders as he pushes further into his skull, drawing closer and closer until he's pressed up against him, blood and tissue soft and slick on their skin.

Ohkura can feel the energy from Maru crackling through his body, making his head light. He ruts his cock absently against what's left of Maru's thigh, enjoying the slick, messy tease of it while he chews and swallows Maru's flesh.

Maru takes longer than either Ryo or Yasu had, his body longer and thicker than both of them, and by the time Ohkura's finished he's almost out of breath, the full feeling settling in his stomach, but he also feels energized, still ready for even more.

Hina's next, looking strong and solid even where he's draped limply over the arm of Ohkura's couch. Ohkura presses up against his side, burying his face in Hina's neck as he wraps his arms around him. He stays there for a moment, silent and unmoving and just feeling Hina's presence so close to him until it's too much, the tease of close but not inside becoming unbearable. He pushes his hand up Hina's shirt, feeling his abs, such a point of pride, and Hina shivers, his body moving as if in slow motion.

"I love you," he says, wondering if he'll get a reply from Hina as easily as the others.

"I love you too, Tatsu," Hina replies, his voice slurred but firm, and Ohkura's so happy he can't hold himself back, tearing into the soft skin of Hina's neck while he rips at his shirt with fumbling hands. It happens so quickly that there's a kind of gurgling sound rising from Hina's throat as the blood slicks between them, heady and fragrant. Ohkura feels hunger taking over him again, despite his full stomach, and wants nothing more than to gorge himself on Hina's body, every wonderful part of it.

When he's got Hina's shirt ripped open, exposing his perfect torso, Ohkura pauses, pulling back to look at the sight in front of him. It's going to be the last time he sees Hina, and he wants to appreciate it for just a moment before he gets Hina inside of him. He licks up the contours of Hina's abs, groaning at the salty, earthy taste of skin on his tongue. While he licks, he presses his nails into Hina's sides, feeling him arch a little bit against the touch. Ohkura can feel the blood pulsing through every artery and vein in Hina's body; pushing blood down from his heart to the hard bulge of his cock against Ohkura's thigh.

Feeling Hina aroused by his touch only spurs Ohkura on, making him press his fingers deeper into Hina's flesh, feeling the wet, hot pulse of his soft parts, so unused to touch. Ohkura grinds his cock against Hina's hip, almost choking on Hina's blood when he tries to inhale against the open wound at his neck. He tongues through the bloody mess while he pushes his fingers deeper inside, feeling how Hina's body shifts to accommodate the intrusion. Then he pulls back so he can look at it, his fingers shoved knuckle-deep into Hina's beautiful body. He can feel the thump of Hina's heart slowing down as he pushes deeper, opens him up more and more so his blood is gushing wet over Ohkura's hands and mouth.

He goes for Hina's chest with his teeth, not even bothering to open him up with his fingers first. Blood drips out of his mouth even as he tries to gulp it down amidst bites of muscle and bone, and then he finds himself at Hina's heart. Ohkura's power is strong enough to keep them alive for a little bit while he feeds, but Hina's starting to fade and Ohkura doesn't want to save his heart for last. He licks at it while it beats weakly, feeling the life draining out of it and onto Ohkura's tongue, and then he reaches in with his fingers to tug it loose, pulling it from Hina's chest with one quick move. He tries to savor it, but Ohkura's never been good at holding himself back. He finishes with Hina in a ravenous hurry, promising himself that he'll try to take his time with the last two.

By now, Ohkura's living room is a complete mess, blood splattered everywhere, torn clothes in sodden piles. Subaru and Yoko don't look like they're fazed by it at all, though, lying back on the floor with glazed, peaceful expressions. He crawls down from the sofa and moves so he's positioned over Subaru, who blinks sleepily up at him, his eyes wide and impossibly dark. Ohkura licks his lips.

"Hey," Subaru says, slow and deliberate. He brushes his fingers lightly against Ohkura's wrist, gripping at it ever so loosely, and Ohkura moves so they're palm to palm and presses his hand lightly against Subaru's.

"Hey," he says, leaning in to press his lips to Subaru's neck. "I love you."

And Ohkura can feel the vibration in Subaru's throat when he responds, each little rumble as he forces out the syllables of "I love you, too."

Ohkura groans, thinking of how he'll soon have his mouth around the source of Subaru's beautiful voice. He mouths over Subaru's throat, just barely pressing his teeth against the skin, and Subaru moans a little, which spurs Ohkura on. He pushes harder, feeling his teeth sink just slightly into Subaru's flesh. He moans again, and Ohkura presses farther in, far enough that he starts to feel blood seeping into his mouth. With each deeper press of his teeth, he feels the vibrations of Subaru's voice even more intensely, urging him to bite harder, deeper. The strangled sound Subaru makes when Ohkura finally reaches the source sounds like music to his ears, and he swallows it up, drinking it down with the blood. Subaru's voice feels amazing going down his throat, so clear and unique and perfectly Subaru, washing through Ohkura as it joins all the parts of the others he's got in him now.

There's a power in Subaru, a passion that's tangible with each bite Ohkura takes of his body. He's so thin, feels so small under Ohkura with his limbs limp and pliable, but the energy Ohkura feels from him is so strong, coursing through his veins and making him shiver, almost lightheaded from the power of it. He pushes deeper and deeper into Subaru's throat, feeling all the veins and muscles and tendons collapsing between his teeth, giving way willingly for Ohkura's touch. He strokes his other hand down Subaru's still-clothed torso, slurping up the blood that's flowing stronger and stronger into his mouth. He can still feel Subaru's heart beating, and when he pulls back, blood dripping wet and messy down his chin, Subaru's eyes are still staring at him, dark and open. They're beautiful too, and Ohkura leans in with his wet mouth, his chin slipping over Subaru's cheekbone as he licks at the soft, sensitive membrane of his eye.

Eyeballs feel kind of like grapes in Ohkura's mouth, soft and squishy and ready to pop at the slightest pressure, but he swallows carefully, wanting them to slide intact down to his stomach, preserving the beauty of Subaru's dark stare. He doesn't like looking at Subaru's face after that, though—it feels incomplete—so he closes his eyes and just dives in with his teeth, crunching through the bone structure of his face and into soft matter. He makes a complete mess of Subaru's head and neck before he even starts to touch his body at all, and by the time Ohkura gets to his heart, it's not beating anymore, but it's still delicious.

He's panting when he finishes with Subaru, and he promises himself that he'll try to take his time with Yoko. He's full enough that the ravenous feeling has receded a bit, subsiding into the kind of hunger he has for dessert—less desperate, but still mouth-watering. He crawls from the pile of Subaru's clothes to where Yoko is lying against the couch, his head lolled backward and his clothes splattered with Hina's blood.

Ohkura can't help it; he kisses Yoko's lips, feeling how plump they are as they part easily for his tongue, probably still flavored with the others. He pulls away, looking down at Yoko fondly. He blinks as if in slow-motion, gazing up at Ohkura with a small smile.

"You love us," Yoko says, slurring like he's had way too much to drink.

"I do," Ohkura says, running his fingers through Yoko's hair. He's so beautiful; they're all so beautiful and soon they'll all be together, inside him. His heart jumps at the thought of it. "I love you."

Yoko giggles, skin turning a delicious shade of pink.

"Do you love me?" Ohkura prompts. Yoko's got blood on his lips now, and Ohkura leans in to lick it up slowly.

There's a long, drawn-out pause that Ohkura only partially blames on the dulling of Yoko's senses before he finally says, "Yeah, I love you."

Ohkura undresses Yoko slowly, like he's unwrapping a present. It's still hard to take his time, every moment he's close to Yoko's flesh like a cruel tease. He accidentally leaves a scratch over his hip bone, blood rising red in a stark contrast to the paleness of the skin there, and it's all Ohkura can do not to tear into it immediately. Instead, he leans down, licking up the arc of red as Yoko's breath stutters out of rhythm above him.

When he's got Yoko naked and spread out in front of him, he looks at the single scratch and knows, then, how he's going to start. He makes another scratch, near the first, just barely pressing the point of his nail into Yoko's skin. When the blood starts to rise this time he can smell it, rich and enticing. He waits until it's just starting to bead, about to drip, and leans in to follow the line of the scratch with his tongue. He keeps at it for a while, until Yoko's torso is a patchwork of pink, raised lines. Yoko's chest is rising and falling a little more rapidly, and his mouth is open, his face flushed.

Taking his time like this has gotten Ohkura even more turned on than he was with the others, and he wraps a blood-slicked hand around his dick, stroking slowly. He's straddling Yoko, watching the blood slowly coming to the surface with each of his heartbeats, the lattice pattern of lines turning from pink into a deeper red. When Yoko's body is wet from blood, Ohkura takes his hand off his cock and bends so he can rub it on him, turning the neat pattern into a messy smear. He puts his hands on Yoko's shoulders, holding tightly to keep himself from going too far too fast, from pushing his fingers into the tiny little cuts and opening them up. Yoko's eyes are unfocused but pointed in Ohkura's direction, and Ohkura can't help himself.

"Does it feel good?" he asks, rotating his hips in a slow, dirty rhythm against the soft curve of Yoko's stomach.

Yoko's lips move, but all that comes out at first is a shaky sigh. It seems to take an immense amount of effort, but eventually he nods his head, making a noise of affirmation, and that's what spurs Ohkura to take it further. He pushes his finger into one of the places where three or four cuts meet, opening the smallest of wounds, then pushes another finger in, feeling the wet softness. He gets Yoko's body opened up with four fingers before he shoves his cock in and comes almost immediately at the hot, slick slide of it. He pulls out halfway through, letting his come splatter over Yoko's torso, and rubs it over his skin, letting it mix creamy into Yoko's blood.

He's panting with the release of coming when he hears it: just the softest, weakest little moan coming from Yoko's lips. Ohkura can't bring himself to wait any longer, now; he needs to feel Yoko inside him, with all the others. He curls forward to the space he'd opened up, using teeth and tongue to widen it. It tastes of Yoko but also of Ohkura, and the thought of them mixed together like that has Ohkura's head spinning. He's halfway to Yoko's heart when he stops, pulls himself back and reminds himself that it's going to be last, the cherry on top of his dessert. He switches gears then, moving to Yoko's face. He mouths over his jaw at first, just tasting, until he gets to Yoko's plush lips, parted as he breathes weakly, the sound having turned wet at some point.

Ohkura covers Yoko's mouth with his own, breathing his air, and then he bites down on Yoko's lower lip. He eases into it, slowly increasing the pressure until he can feel his teeth sinking in, blood mixing sticky with their saliva. Yoko's body tenses just the slightest bit, and Ohkura strokes one hand down his side while he holds Yoko's chin in the other. When he pulls away Yoko's mouth looks obscene, dripping dark red from his lips down to his chin, the blood running in rivulets over Ohkura's fingers. Ohkura smiles, licking his lips and savoring the taste of Yoko's mouth before he reaches for one of his hands.

Yoko's hands are so beautiful, the fingers long and delicate, and Ohkura just licks over them for a moment, wrist to palm to fingertips. He tastes salt and Yoko, the flavor of him seeping even through his skin as Ohkura sucks a finger into his mouth. He takes it in all the way to the third knuckle before he bites down, feeling the involuntary twitch as the tendons and nerves and muscles are severed. He goes through Yoko's fingers one by one, savoring the taste of each one in his mouth.

Going slowly with it means Yoko's stayed alive longer than any of the others, even though it's just barely at this point, his breaths shaky and wet and his heartbeat weak even under the thin skin of his wrist where Ohkura's holding him. His eyes are closed now, eyelashes settled dark over the pale, pale skin of his face. Ohkura thinks he's gotten even more pale since he'd started, the blood draining from his skin making it almost porcelain. He drags three of his nails down the sensitive, soft flesh of Yoko's forearm, licking up the trail of blood from wrist to elbow.

Ohkura savors every single part of Yoko like an expensive dessert, exercising every ounce of restraint he has in him with the reminder that Yoko is the last of them, that after he's finished with Yoko he'll be done, and he doesn't think he'll find anyone else he loves more than he loves them: he never has, in his thousands of years.

Finally, all that's left is Yoko's heart, sitting still and lifeless in Ohkura's hands. He licks through the blood, tasting the very last of Yoko's life, given to him like the precious gift that it is, then takes a small bite, his teeth tearing easily through the muscle. He can taste all the depth of Yoko's feeling in each bite, all the love he had to give flowing into Ohkura's mouth with each gush of blood.

When Ohkura's finished with Yoko's heart, he lies back on his living room floor, stretching out on the blood-soaked carpet and relaxing into the full feeling. He's never felt this full, this fulfilled, with all of them inside him he finally feels complete.

He doesn't feel hungry anymore.

Tags (Subaru/Yasu)

hondemo — Thu, 26 Jul 2012 05:26:35 GMT

title: Tags
pairing: Subaru/Yasu
words: 3,638
rating: NC-17
warnings: Not terribly safe body piercing practices
summary: AU. Subaru and Yasu are in a punk band.
notes: Written for elyndys for k8_exchange 2012. Thanks to Katie for brainstorming of the AU and Ciara for looking it over for me ♥! (original post)

"You've got to hold still," Yasu says, laughter in his voice, but the way he's shifting on top of Subaru's lap is making it really difficult for him to do that. He puts his hands on Yasu's hips, slipping his fingertips up underneath the frayed hem of his t-shirt.

"Why are you wearing this?" Subaru asks, tracing up Yasu's spine, over the twists and swirls of a tattoo Subaru's long since memorized.

"Because it's winter and we have no heat," Yasu says. His voice still sounds light, but he's pressing closer to Subaru now, more easily distracted than he'd like to pretend he is.

"Take it off and we can make some body heat." Subaru tilts his head up, straining his neck to mouth against the underside of Yasu's jaw.

"Do you want to do this or not?" Yasu says, breathless. "I don't want to have to sterilize the needle again."

"Okay, okay." Subaru pulls back, leaning comfortably against the worn fabric of their couch. It's one of the few pieces of furniture in their drafty loft, something they'd carried up from the curb a few blocks away the summer before. It's a bit lumpy, and Subaru always ends up sinking into the center cushion, but it's not horribly uncomfortable and they're pretty sure it doesn't have fleas, so they spend a lot of time there.

"Now," Yasu says, pressing the cold metal of a flask into Subaru's hand, "it's going to hurt, so have a drink first."

"You always know just how to woo a guy," Subaru jokes as he unscrews the flask's cap. The liquor feels warm going down his throat, the feeling spreading tingly through his limbs.

"You want it on the left or the right?" Yasu asks. He's leaning back, holding an open safety pin in one hand.

"You pick," Subaru says. He feels good already, with Yasu's warm weight steady on top of him, and he's ready to do this and then move on to more naked activities.

Yasu considers Subaru for a long moment, leaning back and sucking on his lower lip, before apparently making his decision. He leans in close, pulling at the skin of Subaru's right eyebrow. Subaru can feel his heart beat faster in anticipation.

"Deep breath," Yasu says, and when Subaru breathes the air out, he feels the pin piercing his skin. He gasps, pain flaring through his nerves, but manages to stay still, and it's over quickly, Yasu shutting the pin with minimal difficulty.

Subaru reaches up to touch it, wincing a little when his fingers push too hard on the still-sensitive wound.

"Cool," he says, grinning.

"You look hot," Yasu says, licking his lips before he leans in.

***

They're woken up the next morning far earlier than Subaru generally likes to be awake (the clock hung haphazardly on the wall reads 11:24) by Hina pounding on the door of the loft. It's a perfunctory sort of measure, since they don't actually have a lock on the door, and Subaru shouts at him to just come in already, keeping his eyes shut and curling against Yasu's warmth under the pile of blankets on top of them.

"Yoko says he got you guys a gig," Hina says, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Yasu sits up, and Subaru grumbles, shifting so his arm is splayed over Yasu's stomach.

"Really?" Yasu says, sounding far too energetic for someone who's only gotten four hours of sleep. "Where?"

"Some bar downtown," Hina says. "He wrote down the details for me; it's a few days from now and it doesn't pay much, but it should be a good crowd."

"If it's a few days from now," Subaru mumbles into the mattress, "why did you have to come tell us now?"

"Some of us have been up for a while," Hina says, his voice suddenly a lot closer. Subaru pulls a blanket over his head for protection, but it doesn't do him much good when Hina's palm connects with the back of his skull. " And I thought you might want to practice a little."

"You really don't understand punk, do you," Subaru says, turning over and pulling the blanket down. His forehead aches a little where Yasu'd pierced him, the wound still fresh and unhealed, and Yasu pushes his hair out of his face, grinning down at him.

"Not really," Hina admits easily. "New piercing?"

"Yeah," Subaru says. "Yasu did it yesterday. It looks cool, right?"

"Except for how it looks like you've got a black eye, sure," Hina says with a laugh.

"Don't worry," Yasu says, "it'll go away in a day or so, probably."

"Whatever," Subaru says, "I bet I look cool with a black eye too."

"Anyway," Hina crosses back to the door, "come down to the store when you guys are awake and I can tell you about the gig."

"Thanks, Hina-chan!" Yasu says brightly as the door swings shut.

***

After a great deal of coaxing from Yasu, they eventually find themselves clothed and ready to leave the apartment. Subaru spends some time in front of the mirror admiring his new piercing: it doesn't actually look like he has a black eye so much as like someone punched him in the eyebrow, but he's still pretty sure it looks cool.

On the way to Hina's store a few blocks down, they stop in at the diner on the corner, dropping themselves unceremoniously into a booth. Ryo ambles over from where he was flirting with some girls for a tip and leans his elbows on their table, twirling a pencil in his right hand.

"Coffee?" he says, looking between them.

"Please," Subaru says.

Ryo wanders off to pour their coffee, and while he's gone, Subaru runs the toe of his boot up the inside of Yasu's calf, delighting in the way he shivers and giggles. He's just made his way up to Yasu's inner thigh when Ryo gets back, and Subaru leaves his foot there despite the awkwardness of the position, just rubbing absently against Yasu's thigh.

"Hina came in earlier and said you guys've got a gig," Ryo says, sitting down next to Yasu. Yasu scoots over a little, shooting Subaru a fond look across the table when he follows with his foot.

"Hina was here and he didn't even bring us any coffee?" Subaru complains. "I'd've gotten up a lot faster if he had."

"Or you might've stayed in bed longer," Yasu says with a grin.

"I like your new piercing, by the way," Ryo says, gesturing to Subaru's face.

"Thanks," Subaru grins. "I'm sure Yasu'd do you if you wanted."

Ryo flushes a little and Subaru grins wider, knowing he's thinking of the double meaning. Yasu kicks him under the table, but he's smiling too.

"Well," Ryo says, "let me know when the gig is and I'll help you guys set up, okay?"

"Sure," Yasu says.

***

Leaving the diner, they pull on worn coats, wind scarves around their necks, and set off the rest of the way to Hina's store. When they get there it's mostly empty, a few high school kids milling around by the new pop releases. Hina's sitting behind the counter, smoking a cigarette and looking distractedly over a newspaper. He looks up when they come in, waving them over with a lopsided smile.

"Here's the details for the gig," he says, handing them a piece of paper covered in Yoko's barely legible scrawl. The date is set for the coming Friday, at a bar Subaru's been to a few times. It wasn't particularly memorable, but it wasn't lame, either, so it should be fine to play there.

"Do you know who else is playing?" Subaru asks, shoving the paper into one of the many pockets of his oversized jacket.

"No idea," Hina says with a shrug. Subaru leans over the counter, grabbing the cigarette still smoking in the ashtray and taking a drag before Hina can snatch it back, eyes narrowed.

"Have you told Maru and Ohkura yet?" Yasu asks, ignoring the small tussle going on between them.

"Not yet," Hina says. "You guys can use the phone in the back if you want, though."

"Okay, cool," Yasu says, pushing his hand up under Subaru's sleeve to wrap cool fingers around his wrist and pull him away from the counter.

***

In the back room, Subaru perches on the edge of Hina's desk while Yasu dials Maru's number. He half-listens to their conversation while shuffling through the piles of papers Hina has, invoices and receipts and bills that Subaru doesn't care to try to understand. Halfway through Yasu's conversation with Maru, Subaru gets bored with snooping through Hina's stuff and starts trying to distract Yasu.

He starts with light touches, fingers playing over Yasu's lower back and then down the curve of his ass, accentuated in his tight black pants. There's a small tear arching over the back of his left thigh, and Subaru pushes his fingers into it, feeling skin under his fingertips. Yasu's voice goes a little breathy and he kind of giggles, but he keeps up the conversation fine, so Subaru redoubles his efforts, sliding his hand around to the front of Yasu's pants to grope clumsily at his cock.

"Anyway, I was thinking we could—Shibuyan, stop it," Yasu says, swatting halfheartedly at Subaru's hand. Subaru grins triumphantly, pressing his mouth to the back of Yasu's neck and continuing to grope him. He doesn't protest again, and the hand that's not holding the phone reaches back to card through Subaru's hair.

By the time Yasu's finished talking to Maru, rushing through the goodbyes and asking him to call Ohkura for them, his dick is hard under Subaru's hands and Subaru can feel his pulse pounding at his throat. Yasu turns, standing between Subaru's spread thighs, and puts his hands on Subaru's knees before leaning in to kiss him. Subaru opens his mouth into it immediately, melting forward and wrapping one arm around Yasu's waist to pull him in closer while he uses the other to unbutton his pants.

"We shouldn't do this in here," Yasu breathes against Subaru's mouth, but he doesn't pull away or stop—in fact, he pushes his hands up from Subaru's knees so they rub warm over his thighs, then trace over the bulge of Subaru's cock in his pants. Subaru shifts his hips up with a shameless, open-mouthed groan, and Yasu shushes, him, giggling, before pressing their mouths together again. Despite his admonishment, Yasu still moans breathlessly against Subaru's lips when Subaru gets his hand down Yasu's pants, his hips bucking into the touch.

The angle's too awkward for Subaru to do much, but he jerks Yasu off as best he can, quick and rough and just the way that makes him shudder and grip Subaru's hair hard. He thinks about how annoyed Hina would be if he walked in and smiles, swiping his palm over the slick tip and listening to Yasu's half-swallowed whine. Yasu tugs harder and more insistently on his hair and Subaru knows he's getting close, so he speeds up, kissing Yasu hard as he comes over Subaru's fingertips.

When they break apart, Yasu's panting, his face flushed and eyes bright as he watches Subaru lick through the sticky mess on his hand.

"I was thinking we could do some advertising tonight," Yasu says, tugging Subaru down from Hina's desk.

"Good idea," Subaru says, curling close to Yasu. He's still turned on, feeling strung-tight and eager, but the feeling ebbs a little bit with physical contact. "We should go out the back door so Hina can't yell at us."

"Even better idea," Yasu says, laughing as they slip into the dingy alley behind Hina's store.

***

From the store, they walk another few blocks to the local hardware store, where they browse through the aisle of spray paint. Yasu picks a seemingly-random selection of colors, dropping them into a shopping basket, as Subaru trails behind him, looking around at the other things they have in the store and imagining more creative uses for them.

"We should get some rope," he says, waggling his eyebrows. Yasu laughs, but then he pulls a coil down from a shelf and tosses it into the basket anyway.

They both empty their wallets paying for the spray paint and rope, but with the gig coming up they'll probably be fine. The afternoon sun is edging down toward the horizon by the time they make their way back to the apartment, and Subaru's hungry enough to go poking through their cabinets. They have instant ramen, and Subaru heats up some water on their hot plate while Yasu sits on the floor nearby, sketching something on a big pad of paper. Subaru watches him draw while he waits the three minutes for the ramen to be done, enjoying how totally absorbed in it he looks: the little crease between his eyebrows when he draws back and looks at the page, the way he bites his lower lip while he curves a line of purple up toward the corner. Subaru especially loves when Yasu draws with chalk, the way his hands are dusted with all the different colors he's using, a contrast to his smooth tan skin and the bold black lines of his tattoos.

When the ramen's finished, Subaru pads across the room to sit down next to him, taking a deep breath of the strong, salty flavoring. He eats about half of it before pushing the steaming foam cup toward Yasu, who mumbles a thanks and takes it with color-smeared hands. While Yasu slurps up the rest of the ramen, Subaru leans over his sketchpad, looking over his drawing. It's an explosion of color and intersecting lines, and Subaru can't tell what it's supposed to be, but he likes it.

"Looks good," he says, knocking his knee against Yasu's.

"Yeah, I like it," Yasu says around a mouthful of ramen.

***

They wait until it's the middle of the night, well past an hour where most people would be out on the street, and Yasu fills his backpack with the new spray paint they bought. There's an underpass a few blocks south that doesn't usually get much traffic, and they head there. Their breath makes clouds of steam, lit up grey in the faint glow of the streetlights. They make their way to the underpass quietly, climbing over a fence to get to the block of concrete they want to use. There are already some tags there, but it's nothing Subaru or Yasu recognize from a gang or anything dangerous, so it's probably safe enough to paint there.

It's mostly Yasu who does the painting, quick swipes of the spray paint cans slowly taking the form of the sketch he'd made earlier. It's even bolder like this, the colors acid-bright and dripping wet down the grey stone surface. Subaru watches him, occasionally taking a look around to make sure they're still safe, until Yasu hands him a red can and tells him to paint something.

"Anything," he says, "whatever comes out is fine."

What Subaru settles for is an S, big and bold next to Yasu's complex design. He outlines it with black, then steps back to look again. The smell of the aerosol paint is getting to him, making his head spin a little, and he's just thinking that Yasu's art has taken on a whole new level of meaning when he hears the telltale crunch of boots on gravel. Subaru and Yasu both freeze, eyes darting around to see who's come up behind them, but when the police officer turns the corner they only need a second before they both break into a run, sprinting out to the other end of the street.

"Hey!" the cop says, "Stop! Police!"

Subaru can hear the heavy footfalls behind him as he takes off after them, running in the opposite direction of their neighborhood. They run until Subaru's edging into exhausted from the exertion, then dart down an alley and lean against the wall, panting. He's pretty sure they've lost him, but they stay in the alley for a while, sweat beading on their foreheads despite the chill in the air.

When they're sure it's safe, they emerge from the alley, walking down to the closest corner to look at the cross-streets. They're at least ten or fifteen blocks from home now, and Subaru slips his arm around Yasu's waist as they walk, feeling the warm flush of exercise emanating from his body. Yasu tugs him in even closer, and after only a block of walking, he pushes Subaru up against the rough brick wall of an apartment building, crushing their mouths together. It's always like this when they get caught doing graffiti; the rush of escaping capture sends adrenaline thrumming through both of them, but it seems especially effective for Yasu. He can't keep his hands off Subaru any time they've run from the cops.

Subaru arches into it, rubbing shamelessly against Yasu's hip. Yasu gropes him through his pants, squeezing hard enough to make Subaru moan so loud that it echoes down the empty street. A light goes on, streaming suddenly through the window right above them, and they run off down the street, laughing.

***

It's a little over half an hour before they make it home, and though it's cold out, Subaru's skin feels warm all over, half from exertion and half from the way Yasu's touching him, sneaking his hands up Subaru's shirt and pulling him in close to make out at corners. He feels like he's practically vibrating with tension, and as soon as they're through the door he's stripping off his coat, pushing Yasu down onto the worn mattress. Yasu grins, pulling Subaru on top of him and kissing him thoroughly.

Subaru wants to writhe against him, but there are too many layers between them and he breaks the kiss to tug off Yasu's jacket, then pull his own shirt off. Yasu traces his fingers over the faint outline of Subaru's ribs, touch featherlight, until he shivers and wriggles away, moving off Yasu briefly to take off his pants. After a bit more rolling around, they're both naked, skin warm and flushed where they touch. Subaru pulls Yasu close, working his way under him so he can feel Yasu's solid warmth over his body.

"You're so hot," he says breathlessly, watching Yasu leave a trail of kisses down his torso. Yasu smiles against Subaru's skin before closing his teeth over a nipple, increasing the pressure until Subaru gasps and arches up into it, burying a hand in Yasu's hair. He cranes his neck so he can see Yasu's hand stroking down his side, stopping right at the jut of his hipbone.

Yasu seems too worked up to take his time, though, and soon he's crawling backward to settle between Subaru's splayed knees, back a sharp curve as he bends to take Subaru's cock in his mouth. Subaru moans, his eyes squeezing shut at the pleasure of it, Yasu's mouth wet and hot around him. While Yasu sucks him down, Subaru reaches above his head, blindly seeking out the lube and pile of condoms they have stashed on the floor next to the pillows. It's difficult with Yasu distracting him, but after some effort, his fingers hit foil, and the lube isn't far behind. He sits up, pushing them down toward Yasu, who takes them without skipping a beat.

He keeps sucking Subaru off while he's fingering him, making Subaru writhe and groan underneath him, bucking up into his mouth. He's more than ready for it when Yasu pulls his fingers out, sitting up to roll the condom down his cock. Subaru splays his legs farther apart, lifting his knees closer to his chest so he's spread open for Yasu. He watches Yasu's body as he positions himself, the play of muscle under his skin, everything accentuated by the fluid lines of the tattoos criss-crossing over the bare flesh.

When Yasu pushes into him, slowly, he bends forward and mouths at Subaru's neck, sucking a mark into his skin while he moans and arches, shifting so Yasu's cock presses deeper inside him. Subaru wraps his legs around Yasu's waist, keeping him close even as he starts to move. He clutches at Yasu's hair, pulling him up to crush their mouths together. Yasu's lips feel swollen and wet against Subaru's, and Subaru groans into his mouth when Yasu tongues over Subaru's lower lip.

Subaru loves the energy Yasu has after a brush with the cops, all of the displaced aggression that he channels right into sex, fucking Subaru hard and fast. Subaru reaches down to stroke himself, feeling how his cock is still slick from Yasu's spit. He doesn't go too fast at first, trying to draw out the pleasure for as long as Yasu wants to go, but when he can tell Yasu's starting to get close, he jerks himself off faster, a stream of noises muffled against Yasu's lips. He comes with a shudder, tightening his legs around Yasu to keep him close and deep inside him while Subaru's body tightens around him. Yasu bites down on Subaru's neck when he comes, hard enough to make him shake with a sudden aftershock.

They collapse together, ignoring the slick mess between them for a minute until Yasu finally rolls onto his side, groping blindly next to the bed for some tissues. He cleans Subaru's stomach carefully, tossing the tissues and the condom aside to deal with later, and Subaru pulls the blankets over them and curls close to Yasu. When he looks up at the smudged, high windows, he can see the first rays of morning sun starting to seep in.

(Strung) Up For It (Ryo/Yasu)

hondemo — Sun, 22 Jul 2012 07:18:10 GMT

title: (Strung) Up For It
pairing: Ryo/Yasu
words: 1861
rating: NC-17
summary: One of the things Ryo loves about Yasu is that he's always up for anything Ryo wants to try.
notes: Written for the "bondage (wrist/ankle restraints)" square on my kink bingo card. Thanks to Katie for discussions of how hot this would be ♥

"I've got a stool in the closet if you can't reach," Yasu says, and from anyone else it would probably sound either patronizing, impatient, or both. Ryo still flushes anyway, embarrassed and kind of annoyed about it. He drops Yasu's hands, secured in the padded cuffs, and there's a clinking of chain as he lets them settle comfortably in front of him. Ryo crosses Yasu's bedroom to pull open his closet door, locating the stool that's shoved into the corner after a moment of searching, and brings it back. He sets it up behind Yasu, who lifts his hands helpfully. Ryo admires the curve of his back for a moment before taking hold of the short chain attached to the cuffs and looping it over the hook in Yasu's ceiling. He chooses to hook the chain on a few links before the end so there's less slack, forcing Yasu to stretch up a little, back arching.

"Feel okay?" he asks, stepping down from the stool and kicking it aside when Yasu nods his assent.

Yasu's still wearing his jeans, but there's an obvious bulge in them, and Ryo moves so he's standing in front of Yasu, palming over it and feeling the heat even through the layer of thick fabric. Yasu's breath hitches a little, his hips twitching forward, and Ryo grins. Yasu's so shamelessly up for it, and Ryo loves seeing the reactions he can draw from him even with such a simple touch. Ryo's close enough that he can feel Yasu's breath on his skin, and he lifts his other hand to take hold of Yasu's hair, tugging his head back so Ryo can mouth at his neck and feel the vibration against his lips when Yasu moans. He trails his hand up from Yasu's jeans to his navel piercing, tugging on it a little. Yasu makes a high, breathless sound at that, and Ryo groans, tugging again. Ryo can feel his muscles shift as he strains to press himself closer to Ryo, despite the restraints.

From Yasu's navel, Ryo follows the defined lines of his abs with his fingers up to his ribs, thumbing almost carelessly over his nipple before taking it between his fingers and pinching lightly. Yasu shivers, and Ryo brushes his fingernail over it, enjoying the small sounds of pleasure Yasu's making.

"I know you like having your nipples touched," Ryo says knowingly. "You're always letting people do it to you."

"Yeah," Yasu breathes, "it feels good."

"Do you like it hard," Ryo starts, punctuating it with a sharp pinch to Yasu's nipple, "or light?" He brushes his thumb over the skin gently.

"Both," Yasu admits with a soft laugh.

Ryo grins, pressing his mouth to Yasu's jaw. He keeps pinching and playing with Yasu's nipples until he's whimpering breathlessly, his cock pressing hard against Ryo's hip. He pulls away, taking a step back so he can look at Yasu. He's panting, his face flushed and skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. His cock looks practically obscene in his jeans, the outline obvious.

When he's finished taking his long look, Ryo drops to his knees, curling his fingers under Yasu's waistband. He looks up, and Yasu's looking down at him, his eyes dark and wide and lips curled into a small smile. Ryo doesn't take his time undoing Yasu's pants, tugging them down his legs along with his underwear and tossing them aside once Yasu's stepped out of them. He wraps his hand around the base of Yasu's cock, leaning in to lick slowly up it, following the trail of a vein all the way to the head. Yasu lets out a long, shaky breath.

As Ryo takes Yasu's cock into his mouth, he can hear the clinking of the chains as Yasu shifts against the restraint, probably wanting to put his hands in Ryo's hair, to touch him somehow. Ryo thinks about it, how Yasu's completely at his mercy, strung up for Ryo to do whatever he likes with him, and he can't suppress a moan, which makes Yasu shiver. He sucks down so that Yasu's cock is almost bumping up against the back of his throat, using his free hand to open his fly. He groans in relief when he gets his hand into his underwear, wrapping around the hot skin of his dick and tugging urgently. Letting go of the base of Yasu's cock so he can take it deeper into his mouth, Ryo palms over his balls, pressing a spit-slick finger farther back until Yasu's hips jump forward and he makes a high sound.

Ryo pulls back, grinning, and looks up at Yasu. His head is tilted back, chest heaving, and Ryo can see strands of light hair slicked dark against his neck with sweat. He wraps his hand around the base of Yasu's cock, shiny with Ryo's spit, and strokes slow and firm until he's thumbing over the head. Yasu breathes out shakily, his body strained into an arc to get closer to Ryo's touch.

"This is a good look for you," Ryo breathes, gripping his own cock hard at the base in an attempt to calm himself down a little. Yasu laughs breathlessly, looking down to grin at Ryo.

He stands up, kicking off his jeans and underwear and pulling off his shirt in a smooth motion, leaving them in a pile next to Yasu's discarded clothes, and crosses to Yasu's nightstand, where there's lube and a condom. Ryo's not exactly sure if they'll be able to make this work, but he really wants to try it, and he's sure Yasu will give it his best. He kneels down in front of Yasu again, putting his hands on Yasu's inner thighs and pushing his legs as far apart as they'll go. When Ryo's finished, Yasu's holding himself up on his toes, the strain doing wonderful things for the muscles of his thighs and calves.

"Can you stay like this?" Ryo asks as he palms up Yasu's thighs, feeling each hard contour.

"I can try," Yasu says, and that's good enough for Ryo. He slicks up his fingers, slipping back behind Yasu's balls until he can push a finger inside him, the sensation hot and tight. He licks at Yasu's cock while he fingers him, liking the way it draws breathless, half-swallowed noises from Yasu's mouth. It's almost impossible now for Yasu to shift much—with his legs spread apart he's reached the limit of his range of motion—so he's totally at the mercy of Ryo's pace, and Ryo wants to take his time, at least at first.

"Do you want more?" he says, when he's been fingering Yasu shallow and slow for at least a few minutes.

"Yes," Yasu groans, and Ryo feels gratified by the desperation in his voice. He pushes in a second finger, curling them deeper until Yasu cries out, his body tensing up.

Ryo fucks Yasu with two of his fingers, and then three, until Yasu asks, unprompted, for "more, please." Ryo stands up then, stepping close enough to Yasu that they're chest-to-chest, skin on hot skin, and he can feel Yasu's panting breath on his mouth before closing the space between them and kissing him hard. Yasu opens up for Ryo easily, letting him control the kiss while still giving back as good as he gets. By the time they break apart, Ryo's panting too, and he can feel a renewed flush of arousal spreading through him.

He walks around Yasu, taking in how he looks, stretched out and turned on, before opening the condom and rolling it down his cock. He slicks himself up with lube, uses his other hand to pull Yasu's hips back. With his back arched, the perfect curve of his ass is accentuated even more, and Ryo can't help but grab at it a little, feeling the supple but muscular flesh under his hand. Yasu clearly does his best to push his ass out for Ryo, even as he's keeping his legs spread. The strain of the position must be getting to him, but he hasn't complained yet, apparently content to let Ryo do what he wants to him. It gives Ryo an undeniable thrill, and he grabs Yasu a little roughly as he pushes his cock in, going slowly until his hips are pressed right up against Yasu's ass.

"Oh god," Yasu moans when Ryo starts moving. He keeps a firm grip on Yasu's hips, holding him in place even as his body shakes with every thrust. The position and the tension in Yasu's body make it almost unbearably tight around Ryo's cock, enough that he's biting his lip and burying his face in Yasu's shoulder, shuddering at the overwhelming pleasure of the sensation.

Ryo fucks Yasu hard and urgent, the room filling up with the sounds of their groans and the slap of Ryo's hips against Yasu's ass, until Yasu whines and says "touch me."

Yasu's cock is wet at the tip when Ryo palms blindly over it, stroking down and trying to keep up the same rhythm. The position makes it difficult, though, and he has to slow down a little, teasing himself as he works his hand over Yasu's cock. Luckily, Yasu's close, and Ryo isn't jerking him off for long before he comes, spilling over onto Ryo's fingers as he shudders, body tense.

Ryo lifts his hand, pushing his fingers into Yasu's mouth, and starts thrusting faster. Yasu's groans are muffled by Ryo's fingers in his mouth, but they sound so good to Ryo like that, wordless and helpless and wanton, and it just urges him on, getting him closer and closer to his own orgasm.

When Ryo comes, he sucks a mark into the nape of Yasu's neck, his hand still curled possessively over Yasu's hip to hold him in place. He pants against Yasu's body for a minute, spent, before pulling back to throw away the condom. Yasu slumps a little when Ryo steps away, looking even more exhausted than Ryo feels. He gets the stool, standing up behind Yasu to take the chain down from the hook. Ryo's glad he has a good hold on it, because Yasu falters a little when he's unhooked, now unused to bearing all of his own weight on his legs. He stumbles, reaching back toward Ryo with a breathy laugh.

"You okay?" Ryo asks, carding a hand gently through Yasu's hair before he steps off the stool. He leads Yasu over to the bed before unbuckling the cuffs from his wrists. Even though they used padded ones, there are still marks, and it makes Ryo's heart jump a little.

"Yeah," Yasu says. "I'm just…" he grins at Ryo, smile big and genuine and eyes squinting. "You know."

"Yeah," Ryo says. He stretches, relaxing into the spent, drained satisfaction that comes with good sex. "I'll rub your shoulders later," he promises sleepily, stretching out on Yasu's bed.

"Okay," Yasu says blissfully, and the last thing Ryo hears before falling asleep is the sound of Yasu starting to pluck out a few chords on his guitar.

Count to Twenty (Hina/Ryo)

hondemo — Fri, 20 Jul 2012 13:10:54 GMT

title: Count to Twenty
pairing: Hina/Ryo
words: 2462
rating: NC-17
summary: Hina helps Ryo enjoy some unorthodox relaxation practices.
notes: Written for lilly0 for je_fqfest 2012. (original post)

It starts with Ryo asking for it, partly because Hina likes to hear him do it and partly because they've found, over time, that they'd both rather be up-front about what they want rather than wasting time trying to hint and interpret things.

"Can I have a spanking?" Ryo says, when the soccer game Hina's been watching ends. He still feels a little embarrassed asking for it so directly, especially out of the blue, but he's had kind of a rough day and he knows it'll make him feel a lot better.

"Sure," Hina agrees easily, reaching for the remote to switch off the television. "Belt, paddle, or hand?"

Ryo thinks about it for a minute. He loves the feeling of being hit barehanded, but it doesn't always get quite as hard as he'd like it, and while the paddle works well for that, tonight Ryo feels drawn to the sharp leather cracking of a belt on his skin.

"Belt, please," he says, licking his lips.

Hina's not wearing a belt, so he sends Ryo to his bedroom to pick one out. Hina's got a nice collection of belts, and Ryo runs his fingers over them as he chooses, thinking of how they'll feel, the breathtaking stinging sensation of each strike on his ass. He eventually selects a black one, the leather supple and fragrant. He's already getting hard, just the anticipation enough to make him feel a little tingly all over. When he comes back out to the living room, Hina's sitting on the couch, looking at his phone. He sets it aside when he sees Ryo standing in front of him.

"Clothes off," he says, glancing down at the obvious bulge of Ryo's dick in his pants. Ryo feels his face heat up a little, but he pulls his shirt up over his head obediently, then unbuttons his pants. He flicks his eyes up at Hina, who's watching him with a dark, focused look that makes Ryo shiver a little with anticipation. He tugs his pants and underwear off at once, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. Hina reaches out, catching Ryo's wrist and pulling him down to his lap. Ryo straddles his legs, his cock rubbing up against the soft fabric of Hina's t-shirt. Hina palms up from the small of Ryo's back and Ryo leans in, pressing his mouth to Hina's.

Hina opens his mouth into the kiss, sliding one hand up to grip the hair at the nape of Ryo's neck. Ryo licks across Hina's lower lip, gripping his shoulders and grinding against his stomach. He can feel Hina starting to get hard under him, his hips shifting up slightly. Hina's hand slides down from the small of Ryo's back to grab his ass, and Ryo groans against his mouth. His knee knocks against the belt where he set it down next to Hina, and he can feel his cock twitch with the anticipation.

"I'm ready," he says breathlessly, "please." Hina likes him to be deferential, and it's a bit hard for Ryo to curb his demanding side, but it's worth it for the way Hina reacts to the treatment, immediately manhandling Ryo into position across his lap. Ryo rests his forearms on the surface of the couch cushion, turning his head to the side so he can breathe.

"Twenty sound good?" Hina asks, scraping his fingernails lightly over the curve of Ryo's ass.

"I can probably take more," Ryo says, shivering.

"Let's see how you do with twenty," Hina says, fond amusement in his voice.

"Fine, whatever you say," Ryo grumbles.

"Mouthy," Hina says, and there it is, the first crack of the belt against Ryo's ass. It feels like a long, sudden stripe of pain over his skin, making him gasp. "How many was that?" Hina prods, letting the belt trail over the small of Ryo's back.

"One," Ryo answers, fidgeting a little so his cock is pressed harder against Hina's thigh.

"Good boy," Hina says, and it might be a bit silly, but the praise makes Ryo feel warm inside.

Hina obviously wants him to keep count, so after the next strike Ryo breathes out "two" without prompting. He loves the way Hina does this, just going hard from the beginning instead of working up to it. It makes the pain all the more intense, since Ryo doesn't have a chance to get used to it.

Three lands just at the tops of Ryo's thighs, and he squirms involuntarily at the sharp pain, turning his face in to the couch.

"Stop moving," Hina admonishes, "or I'll stop."

"Sorry." Ryo goes still, his hands clenching into fists as he anticipates the next hit.

Four and five hit almost the same spot, and that's what draws the first cry of pain from Ryo's mouth. It's somewhere between a whine and a moan, muffled into his forearm. Hina keeps the pace varied enough that it's hard for Ryo to anticipate when the next one will come, and he feels on edge, his body tense. He can already feel the endorphin rush from the pain beginning, making his head a little light, and he can't help laughing breathlessly on the sixth hit.

"Fuck," he says, "that really hurts."

Hina knows by now that's not a complaint, and he palms gently over Ryo's back with his left hand.

He hits Ryo's tailbone on seven, the pain enough to make him arch and shiver and then apologize for moving just as the eighth strike lands across his ass. Ryo bites his lip, trying to keep still, but it's hard not to squirm when he's being flooded with crossed signals of pain and pleasure. He almost forgets to count the ninth because he's too busy thinking about how hot his skin feels, like it's striped with tongues of fire.

After ten Hina stops, nudging at Ryo's thighs with the belt and telling him to spread his legs more. Ryo obediently splays his legs open a little more, lifting his ass in the process. As he squirms into the right position, his cock pushes against Hina's thigh and he groans, a shiver running through his body. Hina runs his fingers over Ryo's cock, the light touch contrasting to the sharpness of the pain he's been feeling, and Ryo pants.

"Let's take a break," Hina says, his tone making Ryo's skin tingle with anticipation. He keeps his face buried in his arms because he doesn't want to know what's going to happen next, likes the edgy nervousness of being surprised. He hears rustling, the metal clinking sound of the belt buckle, and then Hina's fingernails are dragging blunt over his abused skin. Ryo cries out, the pain making him almost lose his breath.

"Spread yourself open for me," Hina instructs, and Ryo reaches back immediately. His skin feels just as hot as he thought it would be, warmed and sensitive against his palms. He arches his back, pushing his ass up, and soon there's the wet press of Hina's fingers on his hole. He prods lightly for a moment, not pushing in, just teasing; just when Ryo's thinking about asking for it, Hina pushes both fingers in at once. The stretch feels perfect, enough to make Ryo groan and bite his bottom lip.

The rush of pleasure thrums through Ryo's body, making the pain dull in the back of his mind. He pushes back onto Hina's fingers, hissing when they rub over the right spot.

"Feels good," he moans, breath coming faster.

"Yeah?" Hina prompts, shifting so Ryo can feel the hard heat of his cock pressed against his stomach.

"Yeah," Ryo echoes, "so good."

"Good," Hina says. He fingers Ryo for a minute longer, until Ryo's cock is dragging rough over the wet spot of precome on Hina's pants whenever he moves.

Ryo settles back in for the rest of the spanking, resting his head on his forearms and waiting. His breaths are coming short and shaky, his skin feeling sensitive and tingly with arousal. He loves when Hina draws it out like this, letting him come down a bit from the rush of the pain before picking it up again.

It takes a second for Ryo to remember what number they're on, but he manages to breathe out "eleven" before Hina prompts him for it.

"Good job," Hina says, his free hand playing across the space between Ryo's shoulder blades before pushing fingers through his hair. He tugs a little bit and Ryo groans, his eyes sliding shut. The next few strikes blur together a little bit because they come in quick succession, Hina pulling on Ryo's hair in counterpoint to each one.

"Harder, please, harder," Ryo pants between fifteen and sixteen, and Hina obliges. The belt makes a loud, sharp cracking sound against Ryo's ass and he yelps, twitching involuntarily away from the pain.

"Hands behind your back," Hina instructs, taking hold of Ryo's wrists with his free hand. He pulls a little so Ryo's stretched back, and if he tries to struggle away it'll pull painfully at his shoulders.

Seventeen is just as hard as sixteen, the pain shooting white-hot through his nerves. When it hurts this much it's like Ryo's entire head is emptied, there's nothing but the sensation and Hina's fingers anchored around his wrists. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe while he counts out the last three.

"How do you feel?" Hina asks when he's finished, his grip on Ryo's wrists loosening. He runs his fingertips over Ryo's ass, the touch featherlight but enough to make him shiver.

"Really good," Ryo says. "Thanks." He feels like he's floating, buoyed up by a cloud of endorphins.

Hina lets go of Ryo's wrists, maneuvering him so he's straddling Hina's lap again, and Ryo squirms closer, wanting more contact. He pushes his cock mindlessly against Hina's stomach, shuddering at the pleasure of it. Smiling, Hina reaches between them and takes hold of Ryo's cock, stroking firmly. Ryo thrusts his hips up into it, holding on to Hina's shoulders for leverage. He feels so worked up that it's not going to take him very long at all to come, each stroke of Hina's hand sending him closer and closer to the edge.

"Yeah, that's right, come on," Hina urges, stroking faster. Ryo lurches forward when he comes, pressing his mouth messily to Hina's. He gets come all over his own stomach, some of it on Hina's t-shirt, but that's what he gets for not getting naked earlier, Ryo thinks. Hina strokes him lightly through the aftershocks, making him shiver, until they break apart and Ryo slouches back, sated.

"Thanks," Ryo says again, eyes half-lidded.

"I can think of a better way to show your gratitude," Hina says, shifting his hips up pointedly. Ryo grins, sliding smoothly off Hina's lap and down to the floor. It hurts a little to kneel, ankles pressed against his abused skin, and the reminder of the pain makes Ryo's heart beat faster.

Hina lifts his hips, letting Ryo pull down his sweatpants, then spreads his knees so Ryo can lean in easily. He licks at Hina's cock at first, getting it slick with spit so it will slide easily into his mouth when Hina grips his hair and grumbles that he should hurry up, his voice low and rough with arousal. Ryo moans around Hina's cock when he pulls at his hair, letting Hina set the pace.

Hina always talks while Ryo sucks him off, babbling nonsense about how good it feels, how good Ryo is, and Ryo loves hearing it, finds himself getting hard again from the combination of the words, the feeling of Hina's cock hard and hot in his mouth, Hina's hand in his hair. He pulls back after a minute, panting and wiping at his mouth.

"Fuck," he breathes, staring at Hina's cock in front of him, shining wet with his spit. Hina's hand in his hair relaxes a little, carding through it and cupping the back of Ryo's head while he catches his breath. "I want—fuck me?"

He's barely through the words before Hina's sliding down off of the couch, pushing Ryo onto his hands and knees. Ryo feels ready just from Hina fingering him earlier, but he still presses his fingers inside for a minute, making Ryo groan, his head hanging down.

"I think you're gonna have a welt," Hina says, tracing his fingers over a particularly sensitive stripe of Ryo's skin. Later, Ryo will stand in front of his mirror and crane his neck to get a look at it, the reminder of the pain. He loves when he has marks; it draws out the excitement, not letting him forget about what's happened.

"Yes," Ryo hisses, pushing back onto Hina's fingers. He wants more, now, and Hina gives it to him, pushing in all the way. Ryo drops down onto his elbows, putting all his weight on his left as he reaches to jerk himself off with his right hand. Hina fucks him hard, hips slamming against Ryo's ass, and Ryo listens to the sound of skin slapping on skin, hips jerking back for more. He strokes himself quickly because he knows Hina's close, his breathing loud and uneven.

"You're so good, Ryo," he says, and Ryo groans, biting his lip. Hina responds by grabbing his ass, squeezing over the hot skin, and Ryo's body tenses up at the sudden surge of pain burning through his skin. That's enough to make Hina come, leaning over so he's pressed up against Ryo's back and mouthing at the nape of his neck. Ryo's hand speeds up, and he comes while Hina's panting against his shoulder, collapsing onto the floor from their combined weight.

They're sticky and sweaty, and the floor isn't really comfortable, but Ryo turns over, curling against Hina as they both pant. Hina's still wearing his t-shirt, and Ryo pushes his hands up under it, feeling the hot skin of Hina's stomach and chest, while Hina presses his mouth to Ryo's temple.

"Feel good?" Hina asks after a minute, reaching down to palm over Ryo's ass.

"Yeah," Ryo says, shuddering. He's starting to come down a little from the rush of endorphins, the soreness beginning to set in, but it's a satisfying sort of pain, like after a good workout.

Later, Hina will make Ryo let him put cream on the worst of the welts, reminding him that he won't want to sit down all day tomorrow if he doesn't, and Ryo will squirm and whine and insist that he can take it, but for now, neither of them is going to move for a while.

Crossing Lines (Yoko/Hina)

hondemo — Mon, 16 Jul 2012 10:50:23 GMT

title: Crossing Lines
pairing: Yoko/Hina
words: 5202
rating: NC-17
warnings: contains crying and a d/s scene not going terribly well
summary: Hina's certain he crossed a line he shouldn't have.
notes: Written for my kink_bingo free space, for which I chose the kink "orgasm denial/control." One fic down, twenty-four to go! XD

Hina's got Yoko kneeling at the foot of the bed, his hand steadily working his hard, red cock. Yoko's already whimpering, and Hina can tell he's only moments away from begging.

"Please," Yoko gasps out, "let me come or let me stop, please."

Hina pretends to think about it for a second before he tells Yoko to stop, reveling in the rush of power he feels when Yoko makes a choked, bereft sound before taking his hand off his cock.

"Sit on your hands," Hina instructs, and Yoko does it immediately. It must help him to have some kind of restraint on himself, Hina thinks.

"Please," Yoko whines, interrupting Hina's thoughts, "I don't know if I can take much more."

"Look at you, though," Hina says, unable to take his eyes off of Yoko, "you've taken this much just because I told you to, haven't you?"

Yoko nods. His eyes look big and black when they dart up at him; Hina can tell they've hit on something that's working really well for both of them, with this. Hina can't get enough of the power he feels over Yoko right now, the pure pleasure of controlling him like this.

"I bet you'd take a lot more if I wanted you to," he continues. Yoko's eyelids drop and his lips press together, but he doesn't say anything, so Hina puts his hand under Yoko's chin, tilting it up. "I want you to keep your head up so I can watch you do this for me."

Yoko's eyebrows knit together and he clearly struggles with the impulse to pull away.

"I can't—" he says eventually, shaking his head even as Hina still holds his chin. Hina tightens his grip, and Yoko's eyes flutter shut, lashes dark against the flushed skin of his face.

"Yes you can, Yoko, come on," Hina urges. He loosens his hold on Yoko's chin a little, thumbing over the plush curve of his bottom lip.

Yoko's eyes blink open, and though he doesn't look directly at Hina, he keeps his face raised so Hina can see him.

"Good," Hina says, "you're so good for me today."

Yoko flushes even darker at that, biting his lip.

"Touch yourself again," Hina says, wanting to see the expressions play across Yoko's face while he knows Hina's watching him. Yoko's cock is slick with a mix of spit and lube and precome, and Hina can hear the wet sounds of his hand working it slowly just seconds after Hina's told him to. Yoko's mouth falls open and he exhales, long and shaky but with a note of relief to it. Hina wonders how long they've been doing this; it's hard for him to keep track through the hazy pull of arousal. He touches his own cock, just gripping it loosely at the base, and decides it's time to change gears.

"Stop," he says, grinning a little when Yoko whines, low and desperate, but still stops, sitting on his hands again without Hina telling him to. He shifts forward on the bed, putting his hand on the back of Yoko's head. Yoko's eyes dart down to Hina's cock and he licks his lips, making them shiny and even more inviting. Hina watches Yoko's throat work as he swallows, eyelids fluttering when he blinks.

"You want it?" Hina says, keeping his tone somewhere between question and statement as he pulls Yoko's head in closer.

Yoko nods quickly, licking his lips again and leaving them parted this time, open and ready for Hina to slide his cock between them.

"Yeah," he breathes, almost like an afterthought, his eyes slipping closed.

The angle makes it difficult for Hina to get his cock in that far, but Yoko moves to accommodate him as best he can, tilting his head so that Hina can press his cock closer and closer to his throat. He moves slowly at first, easing in and out of Yoko's mouth, but when Yoko starts actually sucking rather than just letting Hina fuck his mouth, it becomes a lot harder to keep a hold on his self-control. Hina loosens his grip on Yoko's head, allowing him to bob up and down on Hina's cock, and leans back to watch.

"Open your eyes," he says, and Yoko's eyes flutter open, wide and dark. "Good, now look at me."

It must be hard, but Yoko does his best to keep eye contact with Hina while he's sucking him down, his mouth stretched open around Hina's cock. It's too much for Hina to take, and he tightens his hold on Yoko's hair again, tugging him down, all the way down so when he comes he can feel Yoko choking on it. He holds him there, feeling how he tries to jerk away, then finally lets go, allowing Yoko to sit back on his heels, coughing. There's come and spit dripping down his chin, and he's reaching up to wipe it off, but Hina grabs his wrist.

"Don't," he says. Yoko makes a face, his eyes narrowing a little.

"It's gross," he whines.

"Don't care," Hina says blithely. He feels a little less desperate now that he's come, a little more in control, but Yoko's dick is still hard in his lap, flushed and almost painful-looking.

Hina lets go of Yoko's wrist and moves up the bed until he's lying back against the pillows piled by the headboard. He can see Yoko's head over the end of the bed, watching him with a slightly wary expression. He hasn't wiped his face, though, and he seems like he's waiting for Hina to tell him what to do next.

"Come up here," Hina says, watching as Yoko clambers onto the bed, wincing a little. He'd been on his knees for a long time; his legs are probably stiff by now. He pulls Yoko close so he's straddling Hina's stomach, has him lean forward and hold onto the headboard. Yoko's stretched out on top of him now, like he's on display just for Hina to see, and he takes his time touching him, using light, gentle brushes of his fingertips over Yoko's hot skin, listening to the way his breath hitches. He thumbs over Yoko's nipples and watches how his hips twitch in response, the wet head of his cock dragging over Hina's stomach. Yoko bites his lip at that, swallowing down a whimper.

Hina reaches up with his right hand, sliding four fingers through the wetness on Yoko's chin, then into his mouth. Yoko sucks on his fingers without being told, tonguing at the pads, and Hina exhales a long, shaky breath, feeling like he's starting to get hard again already. When his fingers are thoroughly wet he pulls them out of Yoko's mouth and wraps them around his cock, stroking firm but slow, and Yoko makes a sound that's half relief and half desperation.

"You're going to tell me when you get close," Hina says, and Yoko nods, his head dropping forward a little. Hina can see his arms starting to shake a little from the strain of the position he's in.

"You're going to break my dick," he mumbles, shifting eagerly into Hina's grip.

Hina jerks Yoko off until he's edging right back into desperation and begging, then stops when Yoko whimpers that he's close. He redirects his attention to the rest of Yoko's body, pinching at his nipples until he's whining breathlessly and trying to rub himself against Hina's stomach. He keeps up the on-and-off tease, watching as Yoko becomes more and more desperate, his body shuddering from the strain of both the repetitive denial and from holding himself up above Hina.

"Hina, please, I—" Yoko breaks off, whimpering, when Hina lets go of his cock again, dragging nails lightly down his sides instead.

"You can take more," Hina says. He feels almost lightheaded from the feeling of power, the way he can make Yoko react to him, and he's not ready to give it up quite yet.

"I don't think I can," Yoko says, his voice sounding small and wrecked. Hina takes hold of his cock again and he cries out, the sound barely human. It just makes Hina's heart race, and he jerks Yoko fast and a little rough, listening to him begging Hina to let him come.

"Look at what you're letting me do to you," he says, his own voice sounding rough and a little foreign to his ears. He looks up at Yoko, at his red face, his eyes squeezed shut, swollen lower lip caught between his teeth. "Look," Hina repeats, tone harsher, "open your eyes."

Yoko's eyes look completely black when he opens them, and they track down to Hina's face, unfocused. He makes an incoherent sound, shaking when Hina rubs his thumb into the wet slit of his cock. Hina can't take his eyes off of Yoko's face, the play of pain and pleasure in each change of expression. He squeezes his eyes shut again after a moment, and Hina reaches up with his free hand to pinch one of his nipples hard.

"I said look," he says, and this time when Yoko opens his eyes they look wet. It takes Hina a moment to realize what's happening, his brain not quite catching up to what he's seeing, and by the time he's figured it out, there are actual tears running down Yoko's face, his eyes red and breath coming in uneven hiccups.

Hina takes his hand off him so fast it's like he's been burned, his brain suddenly switching into panic mode. Making Yoko whimper and whine and scream and beg, that's one thing, but making him cry—that sends guilty nausea curling through Hina's stomach, and all he can think is that they need to stop, now.

"Cucumber," he says quickly. Yoko blinks at him, mouth opening but no words coming out, and Hina tries to resist the impulse to shove him away. His face is a complete mess, red and splotchy, wet tracks of tears down his cheeks. "Cucumber," he says again, when Yoko doesn't seem to be responding. "Let go of the bed, stop—"

Yoko still doesn't say anything, but his expression changes and he springs suddenly into action, rolling off of Hina and sitting down at the side of the bed, back turned to him. Hina can see his shoulders shaking still; he presses the heel of his hand against his forehead and tries to breathe, tries to get his bearings.

"I'm sorry," he says, sitting up and reaching out for Yoko's shoulder, but Yoko's already getting up.

"I'm going to. Go home now." His voice sounds shaky and like his nose is stuffed up, and Hina wants to say something more but he's afraid he'll make it worse: he's the reason this happened in the first place, after all, and maybe it would be better for them to be alone right now. He pretends he's not watching every movement of Yoko's body as he quickly gathers his clothes, pretends he's not still hard despite the sick feeling creeping up his throat.

Yoko doesn't say anything else before he leaves, and Hina can't seem to find his voice, let alone think of something to say, so he just lets him go, listens to the sound of him walking through Hina's apartment, the water in the bathroom running, then the opening and closing of the front door, until he's left in silence. He rolls over, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on his bedside table, and lights one up, trying to calm himself down. He smokes it down to the filter and still feels so tense, the feeling unusual and unpleasant, like it's settling itself into a space where it doesn't fit, shoving out everything around it and making Hina feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

He stubs out the cigarette with a sigh, head spinning, and walks to the bathroom, where he turns on the shower. He gets under the water before it's the right temperature, running too-hot over his skin, and fiddles with the cool tap until it's slightly less scalding. He's still half-hard, despite everything, and before he can really think about it he's curling fingers around his cock, stroking slowly while he presses his forehead to the cool tile of his shower wall.

Hina's never been the type to over think things; that's always been Yoko's department, while Hina's the steadier one, the counterpoint to Yoko's neuroses. Now, though, Hina can't seem to get his mind to quiet down, even as he's working his hand up and down his cock, which is one of the most effective methods of distraction he can think of. He can't stop picturing it, the way Yoko's face looked above him, flushed red and contorted with—with whatever feeling it had been that made him cry. It makes Hina nervous and frankly kind of horrified at himself, that he could do something like that to Yoko, but there's another part of him that's undeniably thrilled by it, curling deep in the back of his mind and directing his hand to his dick. It adds to Hina's unease, and he strokes faster, hoping he can get it out of his system if he just gives in to the pleasure this once.

When he comes, splattering against the wall he's leaning on, he watches it wash slowly down the drain, still feeling just as confused as he had before, and a little more sick.

He washes himself off, wrapping up in a bathrobe and going into his living room. He'd recorded a soccer game from the other day when he was busy with work, and he turns it on, lying back on the sofa. It takes about twenty minutes of forcing himself to pay attention, but soon enough his interest the game manages to shut out the thundering of thoughts in the back of his head.

By the next morning, Hina feels less rattled than he had the night before; it's easier not to dwell on it, and he doesn't even think about it until he's getting into the company van to head to work. He's not sure how Yoko is going to act around him, and they'll be together all day. It had seemed like a good idea to get together on a Wednesday night: they both had to be at the same place in the morning, so they could just leave from Hina's place, but now it's going to mean that they're stuck working though whatever weird atmosphere is going to fall between them.

Yoko is already in the green room when Hina comes in, and he looks up, says a brief greeting, and then turns back to the manga in his lap. His eyes might look a little bit puffy, but maybe Hina's just imagining it. He goes about his usual routine, glancing over at Yoko every once in a while. A few times he catches Yoko looking at him, but he turns away quickly, pressing his lips together and not saying anything.

"Are you okay?" Hina asks after about twenty minutes of this, his voice low.

"I'm fine," Yoko says, not looking up. He turns a page. "Are you?"

It's so quiet that Hina almost doesn't hear him, and when he does he's not sure what to say. He's saved from having to respond, though, when one of the staff comes in to usher Hina off to hair and makeup. Yoko looks up as he's leaving, his expression questioning but still closed off. Hina doesn't know how to react to Yoko like this; there's none of the thinly-veiled (at least to Hina, who's quite used to reading Yoko) animosity that Yoko usually throws at him when he's angry about something. Hina wonders if maybe Yoko's not mad at him, but feeling something even deeper, something less easily solved by drinks followed by a shouting match and some angry making out. It would make sense: Hina was supposed to be in charge, was supposed to be the one taking care of Yoko—Yoko trusted Hina to take care of him and Hina did pretty much the worst job ever.

There's this weirdly tense atmosphere between them through the whole live broadcast, though it's probably not immediately obvious to anyone else since they both act fairly normal, but Hina keeps catching Yoko giving him these looks during the commercial breaks. He clearly thinks he's being subtle about it, but it's painfully obvious to Hina, and it's getting distracting, the niggling feeling of Yoko's eyes on him when there's nothing he can do about it. The discomfort manifests itself in annoyance, shortening Hina's temper and making him even quicker to respond when Yoko says something dumb. It's almost worse when Hina hits him, though, because then Yoko gets this brief, satisfied-looking expression that Hina doesn't understand at all.

He manages to make it through the broadcast without any suspicious outbursts, and then they're changing their clothes and being herded into a van for a location shoot. They sit next to each other in the back, and Yoko immediately opens up the manga he'd been reading earlier. There are too many people around for them to try talking, so Hina shoves his earbuds in, turns up his music, and pulls a book from his bag. He reads at about half his usual speed, distracted by Yoko's presence next to him, impossible to ignore. Hina hates feeling like this, unsure and confused and unable to get it out of his head, and he wishes they could just talk about it already, though he doesn't have any idea what he'll say. He's pretty sure Yoko is never going to want to do anything like that with him again, which is understandable, but Hina at least wants to apologize, even if he can't really explain himself. Just leaving it untouched between them is driving him crazy.

The location shoot they're doing features them drinking wine, and Hina watches as Yoko gets increasingly tipsy, until he's throwing Hina these weirdly heated glances, and Hina decides, the warmth of a slight buzz thrumming through him, that he needs to shove this down until they can talk about it, because otherwise he's not sure what he'll do.

Hina's thankful that he's usually got a good control on his feelings, so it isn't that hard for him to put the whole thing out of his mind when he really tries. They get through the shoot, then recomen, and then it's one in the morning and Hina is tired and still kind of on edge. They're packing up their bags in the empty studio when Hina decides he'd rather get this started now than wait another day.

"We need to talk about yesterday," he says, and Yoko freezes. His back is to Hina, and Hina can see the way his posture stiffens in response.

"Do we really?" Yoko says, his voice sounding small and a little like he's trying to make a joke.

"I'd really like to," Hina says, taking a step toward Yoko. He reaches out to touch Yoko's shoulder, then stops halfway, just letting his hand hang in the air for a moment before letting it down.

Yoko sighs and his shoulders seem to relax a little, curling down and in. "Okay," he says. "Not here, though."

"Obviously," Hina says.

The car ride to Hina's place is quiet, the atmosphere thick and awkward. Hina tries to think through some kind of explanation, then decides that Yoko's probably not going to want to hear it. He might not even want to stay over, but Hina's apartment is the most private place they can go to talk, so there's not much choice.

Hina offers Yoko a drink when they get there, but he says he's not thirsty, so they both just sit down at opposite ends of Hina's couch. Yoko looks horribly uncomfortable, shifting and avoiding Hina's gaze. They sit in silence for almost a full minute before Hina takes a deep breath and speaks.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry I did that to you."

Yoko looks at him for the first time in the last hour, and he looks—startled, almost. Did he not expect Hina to apologize? Hina knows Yoko sometimes likes to joke that he's callous or iron-hearted, but he'd hope Yoko knows by now that when something's actually important, he can be more caring.

"I don't really know what got into me," he goes on. "I hope you can forgive me eventually?"

Yoko's looking down at his hands, folded in his lap. "I'm not mad," he says, voice quiet.

"But I made you cry," Hina blurts out, then regrets it.

"It wasn't—" Yoko starts, then stops, taking a breath. "It wasn't any worse than the other stuff I let you do to me."

"I don't understand," Hina says. "Did you…I mean. Did you like it?"

"No," Yoko says. "Yes. Maybe?" Hina watches his profile as he swallows once, licking his lips before continuing. "It's…hard to explain. I don't really get it either."

Hina nods, though Yoko's still not looking at him. It's not like he can really explain why he likes doing stuff to Yoko, or the part of him that stayed interested even when Yoko started crying.

"I sort of just thought that was…too far," Hina says eventually.

"It might be," Yoko says, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "I mean, I don't want to go that far every time, or anything. It's really, um…intense, I guess."

"Yeah," Hina agrees. "I felt really bad about it."

"Well," Yoko says, his tone a little lighter, "you did make me cry."

Hina can see the corners of Yoko's mouth turning up a little, and he feels reassured, calmer. "Next time can you tell me if it gets that far?"

"I don't know," Yoko says. "It came on kind of suddenly."

"Okay," Hina says. "I'll try and be more careful?"

"And I'll, um. Try to be less sensitive," Yoko says with a laugh, turning and looking at Hina for the first time since he'd apologized. His face is a little red, and he drops his eyes quickly, biting his lip.

They sit in quiet for a few seconds before Yoko speaks again.

"Can we stop talking," he says, "and just go to bed?"

Hina feels his heart jump a little in anticipation and stands up. "Sounds good to me."

Hina tries to keep himself reined in a little, to be a little gentler and less quick to give orders, but by the time they're naked and stretched out on his bed, kissing and touching slowly, Yoko makes an annoyed sound and pulls away.

"Stop acting so nice," he mumbles, cheeks pink and gaze settled somewhere around Hina's shoulder.

"I'll act however I want," Hina says, letting a little harshness creep into his tone and turning them so he's on top, Yoko's wrists pinned to the bed. Yoko moans openly, struggling a little under Hina's grip. "If I wanna be nice to you," Hina continues, kissing down Yoko's jaw and over the arch of his neck, "you'll fucking enjoy it."

Yoko pants, not saying anything, and tries to rut up against Hina's hip. Hina shifts Yoko's wrists into his left hand, dropping his right to hold Yoko in place against the bed. He kisses a wet trail from Yoko's neck to his collar bone, taking his time and feeling each time Yoko shudders underneath him. He seems more worked up than he'd usually be from just this much touching, more pliant than normal.

"You're eager tonight," Hina observes breathlessly when he pulls back to look at Yoko's face.

"I didn't," Yoko starts, "since yesterday, I haven't—"

It takes a second for Hina to put together his meaning, but when he does, he groans at the thought of it: Yoko's still waiting, he's been waiting since yesterday. It explains the way he'd been looking at Hina after a glass of wine, the open hunger in his eyes.

"You're so good," Hina says, unable to stop the praise from spilling out of his mouth. "You deserve a reward." Yoko flushes, looking pleased despite himself, and Hina kisses him before sitting up a little. "Now be good for me and keep your hands right there, okay?" he says, letting go of Yoko's wrists. Yoko nods, not moving even a little, and Hina backs up so he's kneeling between Yoko's thighs. He wraps his fingers around Yoko's cock, feeling the heat and the blood throbbing just under the skin.

"Oh god," Yoko says, and Hina watches his hands grasp uselessly at the air.

"You can come when you're ready," Hina says, then bends to take Yoko's cock in his mouth.

It happens almost surprisingly fast; barely a minute after Hina's started sucking, Yoko is gasping out that he's going to come. Hina sucks him through it, swallowing around Yoko's cock as he comes. When he sits up, Yoko's hands are still right where Hina left them, and his face is pink, his lips parted and chest heaving as he pants.

"That was so hot," Hina says, running his hands slowly up Yoko's sides. Before, he'd been resigned to the idea that maybe he and Yoko wouldn't do this anymore, but now he feels so lucky, like he's gotten a second chance and needs to savor it. He watches Yoko for a while, long enough that Yoko starts to squirm a little under the scrutiny.

"Stop looking at me and do something," he complains, though Hina knows part of him loves the attention.

"I thought I'd made myself clear," Hina says, dropping his voice and dragging his fingernails lightly down Yoko's inner thighs, "I get to take my time if I want to."

Yoko rolls his eyes, pressing his lips together and then letting his eyes flutter shut. Hina keeps looking at him for a while, running hands over his body with a light, teasing touch until Yoko's hard again, his body getting tenser under Hina's fingers.

"Did you wake up hard this morning?" Hina asks. He can't get enough of the thought that Yoko was waiting for him, waiting to be allowed to come.

Yoko nods, shivering when Hina's fingers brush a ticklish spot on his ribs.

"Would you have kept waiting?" Hina prods, reaching over to his bedside table for lube and a condom.

"I don't know," Yoko mumbles. "Maybe."

That's close enough to a yes, coming from Yoko, and Hina grins, satisfied. He pushes Yoko's thighs apart and reaches down to press one finger into him, slowly. Yoko moans low in his throat, fingers curling into fists. Hina keeps it up until Yoko's hips are twitching up, taking his finger deeper, then pulls it out. Yoko's eyes slide open slowly, looking dark and hungry.

"Turn over," Hina says. "Ass in the air, legs spread."

Hina watches as Yoko turns himself over, trying the whole time to keep his hands where Hina had arranged them. Seeing Yoko trying so hard to obey him gives Hina a feeling almost like a head rush, the satisfaction of power working its way through his limbs like a strong drink.

"Good boy," he says, smacking Yoko's ass lightly when he's finished moving into the position Hina had asked for. He hears Yoko let out a long, shaky breath.

After spreading more lube onto his fingers, Hina circles them slowly around Yoko's hole, listening to his breath catch, the high sounds he tries to muffle by shoving his face into the sheets. When he pushes first one, then two fingers in, Yoko groans low in his throat, pushing back against them almost immediately. Hina curls the fingers down, seeking out the spot that will draw the best sounds from Yoko's lips as he stretches him open. He thinks about making Yoko ask him for it, but he's feeling a little impatient himself, so when he thinks Yoko's ready, he takes his fingers out, rolling a condom down his cock and slicking it wet with lube. He holds onto Yoko's hips with one hand, guiding him back so Hina's cock slides smoothly into him. Hina gasps at the pleasure of it, Yoko so tight and hot around him.

Hina fucks Yoko hard and fast because that's how they both like it, and he's not sure if he could hold himself back at this point anyway, thrusting into Yoko so that he's almost pushed further up the bed with each movement. Hina feels like they've barely started when Yoko shudders under him, groaning.

"I want—" he says, his voice strained, "can I come again, please?"

Hina slows down a bit at that, his hands firm on Yoko's hips as he tries to angle his thrusts to the right spot. "Again? Already?"

Yoko whines, and Hina can feel him tightening around him. "Yes," he pants, "please."

"If you show me your face," Hina says.

Yoko makes an annoyed sound, but nods. "Okay." He turns his head, and Hina can see his profile now, but that's not enough, it's not what he wants, so he pulls out, grabbing at Yoko's hips to turn him onto his back. Now Yoko's totally exposed for Hina, spread out in front of him with his arms stretched above his head.

"Can you come without me touching you?" Hina asks as he pushes back in slowly, looking down at Yoko's cock, hard and red and neglected against his stomach.

"Probably," Yoko says, voice thin. He bites his lip, shifting his hips to get closer to Hina.

"Then come," Hina says, pulling almost all the way out and thrusting in hard. With Yoko on his back, his legs up, Hina can get deeper, can hit the perfect angle, and Yoko's crying out after the first thrust, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open. Hina watches his expressions change, each tiny twitch of his features when Hina's cock brushes the right spot. He doesn't come, though, seems to be stuck teetering on the edge.

"I don't know if I can," he says, sounding apologetic and desperate, after what feels like a few minutes have passed. "Hina, please, can you—"

Hina doesn't bother letting him finish the request, wrapping his hand around Yoko's cock immediately. It only takes a single stroke for him to come, tensing all over and arching with a loud cry, splattering his stomach and Hina's fingers. Hina doesn't slow down in his thrusts, fucking Yoko hard until he comes too, just a minute later.

When Hina's caught his breath and tossed the condom into the trash can by his bed, he rubs his hands up Yoko's still-stretched arms, easing them down as he kisses Yoko and tells him again how good he is. Yoko giggles awkwardly, flushing and trying to shove Hina away, but he looks genuinely happy, and Hina just grins at him.

"If I'm so good," Yoko says, stretching languidly, "you should go run the bath for me."

"If you want me to keep thinking you're good," Hina retorts, reaching for his cigarettes, "you'll go run the bath for me."

Stasis (Ryo-centric gen)

hondemo — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 08:35:08 GMT

title: Stasis
words: 1868
rating: G
summary: He waits.
notes: This fic is inspired by Ryo's solo song "Scarecrow" and the video that played along with it during the concert tour. Written for imifumei for je_otherworlds 2012. (original post)

Every day is the same. He wakes up with the sunrise, cooks himself breakfast: miso soup and rice, some soy sauce poured over it, followed up with a strong, hot cup of coffee. While he eats, he looks out the window. The old, worn glass obscures the view, so in the summer if the weather's nice it looks like a smear of blue on top of a smear of green, and in the winter it's all white. Today it's gray. He can hear the rain beating against the roof of the small house. As he heaps another helping of rice into his mouth, he tries to remember what season it is. Is this the kind of rain that will chill through his bones, make him feel like he's never, ever going to get warm and dry; or is it the summer rain that he almost enjoys, the warm downpour that will mix with his sweat and make him feel almost cleansed? He has to look at the calendar to remember: it's June, the middle of the rainy season. He should have remembered, he thinks, because he's got the beginning of a sunburn on the back of his neck, the skin itchy and irritated.

When his breakfast is done, he washes out the dishes methodically—at first he'd let them pile up, but after a while the stacks of dishes seemed to mock him, a constant reminder that there's no one around to help out, so he'd gotten in the habit of washing up as soon as he was done. Keeping the place clean is just another part of the waiting. He can't let it get run-down, or turn undesirable. Everything has to stay the same.

With the dishes washed, dried, and put away into the cupboard, joining the other pieces from the matched set, he returns to the bedroom and opens his side of the closet, taking out the clothes he'll wear. He's got a very small wardrobe, and it barely changes from season to season. Because it's summer, he'll wear short sleeves. He gets dressed quickly, the rustling of fabric muted by the sound of the rain. It's coming down hard, droplets hitting the roof and the windows, but it doesn't deter him. Even when there'd been a typhoon last fall, he'd gotten dressed and gone outside to wait. Even three years ago, when he'd gotten sick and could barely get himself out of bed, he'd gotten dressed and gone outside to wait. He doesn't get sick anymore; he thinks maybe he's moved past it. He's not sure he even needs to eat, anymore, but he does it out of habit.

He pulls on his shoes at the door, sitting down in the entryway to knot the laces. When he opens the door, he's immediately hit in the face by drops of rain. He narrows his eyes, pulling the door shut behind him. He squints out at the field, watching the tall grass as it's blown back and forth in the wind. The rain soaks through his thin t-shirt quickly, the fabric clinging wet and clammy to his skin. His hair slicks against his forehead, a few of the longer strands making dark points in front of his eyes. When was the last time he cut his hair? He doesn't remember.

As the time has gone on, he started to forget things about himself. The small details were the first to go, little things like what elementary school he went to or what his first apartment looked like, but by now, he's forgotten almost everything: he knows his name is Ryo, and he knows he's waiting. He knows what he has to do every day, and he knows that it's very important that he keeps waiting here. He doesn't know where here is, has long forgotten what it is that he's waiting for, but he thinks maybe when it comes, or when it happens, it will bring him back to whoever he once was. He knows he has all the time in the world to wait, and he knows that nothing can stop him. He thinks he must have been a very determined person.

While he waits, he walks around the grounds of the farm. Usually he doesn't walk to the end of the field, since he knows there's nothing on the other side of the fence, but today he loses his bearings a little bit, caught off-guard by the intensity of the rain, and soon he finds himself standing in front of the fence. He reaches out, running his fingers across the rough, weathered wood post in front of him, and like a shock, he has a flash of memory.

He built this fence. Years ago, he built this fence when he was happy, before he started waiting. He remembers chopping the wood, he remembers digging the holes for each post, painstakingly settling them into the ground and linking them together with wire. He built this fence long before he knew it would be what holds him in.

He pulls his hand away, feeling like he's been burned, and the memory recedes almost immediately. It's so far out of his grasp now that he's not even sure it had really happened. It doesn't matter anyway, he thinks, turning away and walking back in the direction of the house.

When he's completed his walk around the grounds, making sure to steer clear of the fence, he takes his place at the outskirts of the field. It's hard to tell on a sunless day like this one, but he should have about six more hours of waiting to do. He stands still, feeling almost rooted into the ground as the rain and wind rage around him. The time used to pass slowly, but he's gotten so used to the waiting that it's become easy to clear his head, to let the time wash over him, and before he knows it, the small amount of light there had been is fading, and it's time to go inside.

He strips off his wet clothes and hangs them in the kitchen to dry, then makes his way into the bathroom, where starts filling the tub for a bath. Despite the warmth of the day, the wind had become a bit chilly, and the bath is a pleasant change from the cold that had been seeping steadily through his wet clothes.

In the bath, he thinks of the fence. The memory is already hazy by now, blurred by the hours of standing thoughtlessly in the rain, but it still makes something in his stomach twinge just a little bit. If touching the fence was enough to give him back that one memory, he thinks, what could be beyond it? Maybe, somewhere, is the answer to all of his waiting. Maybe he could find out why he's here. Maybe he could bring all of this to an end.

Before he realizes it, his bathwater has gone cold. He gets up, pulling the plug on the drain, and wraps a towel around himself. As he dries off and pulls on pajamas, he keeps his mind studiously empty. He doesn't eat dinner—breakfast is the only meal he still has in his routine—so he's in bed soon after. Falling asleep is easy, the silence and darkness lulling him into dreamless oblivion.

He wakes up with the sunrise, feeling a little stiff and cold, but once he gets moving it dissipates. He makes breakfast, motions mechanical, and sits down at the thick wooden table, dishes in front of him. He murmurs something before he eats, words he's long forgotten the meaning of, and lifts his eyes to look out the window.

Through the frosty, warped glass, he sees white. His eyes track to the calendar on the wall, which still reads June, then to the window. It's white, definitely, the telltale white of midwinter. He blinks a few times. How long had he spent in the bathtub last night? How long has he been waiting? How long has the calendar said it's June?

For the first time, he tries to remember things that have happened since he started waiting. He tries to remember turning pages on the calendar. He finds that he can't. He looks at the calendar more closely, squinting from across the room. There's writing on it. He gets up, leaving his bowl of rice half-eaten, his soup starting to cool in the chill morning air.

There's a day in the middle of the month circled, something scrawled on it, then something in a different handwriting, followed up by a heart mark. He blinks, trying to will the words into making sense: he hasn't read anything in so long. He stands and stares at the words, waiting for them to mean something, to jog something in his memory. He even touches them, tracing the outlines with his fingers and thinking of the feeling he'd gotten at the fence—it seems so long ago now, already.

It feels like an hour that he stands, staring at the calendar, before something comes to him.

She didn't come.

She didn't come, and that's why he's waiting.

He leaves the dishes on the table, doesn't bother changing clothes, just pulls on his coat and boots before walking out the door. He walks to the fence, to the only other place he's felt that he can remember. The trek seems long, and it's all he can do to keep himself focused on it, to keep from giving up and going back to waiting, so he keeps mentally repeating, she didn't come.

She didn't come.

She didn't come.

The fence is finally in sight, and he picks up his pace, running the last few meters. He touches the fence and things come rushing back: building the fence, tilling the soil, planting the fields, building the house for them to live in. He puts both hands on the top of the post. Planning everything, down to the last detail. Hoists himself up. Circling the date on the calendar. As he leans over, he can almost see her face, a blur of features all about to come together, ready to coalesce in his memory—

He's standing at the edge of the field. He's waiting. His name is Ryo, and he's waiting for something. He stands at the edge of the field and his mind empties; he can feel the time passing as the world continues around him. He feels himself rooting into the ground, like he's stuck on a post. He feels his insides turn light. He feels his body stiffen, his features turning to a mask. He feels himself becoming a part of the field, the unstoppable movement of time binding him to this place. He feels that he's always been here, he's always been waiting. He's always been here, and he always will be. This is where he belongs; he was made for this place, for this purpose and nothing else.

Time passes, faster and faster. The seasons turn, and he waits.

I'm here, he thinks. I'll be here.

Atsuku Penis! (Takki/Tsubasa)

hondemo — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 06:55:26 GMT

title: Atsuku Penis!
pairing: Takki/Tsubasa
words: 6036
rating: NC-17
summary: Four threesomes, one twosome.
notes: This is my entry for the two-person exchange pinkpapyrus and I decided to hold XD Her prompt to me was a list of kinks, which I split up into four groups of three. The kinks were: massage, silence, sleepy; begging, orgasm denial, sensory deprivation; mirrors, nipple play, writing on the body; and collar, jealousy, possession/marking. I also added in some breathplay and bondage, for ~reasons.

massage, silence, sleepy
Hideaki glances at his watch before he closes the green room door behind their manager. He mentally reviews their schedule for the rest of the day and concludes that they have a total of forty minutes before someone comes looking for them to drag them on to the next activity. If they're very quiet, hopefully anyone who comes to the room looking for them before that will assume they're asleep and leave them alone. Hideaki locks the door before he turns back toward the room. Tsubasa's lying on the sofa with his right forearm draped over his eyes, his t-shirt riding up and exposing a patch of smooth, tanned skin. Hideaki crosses the room and kneels down next to the sofa, pushing the shirt up a little more and palming across Tsubasa's stomach. Tsubasa shifts, sighing, and offers no other reaction than a hint of a smile. Hideaki reaches, one-handed, into his bag to search for the bottle of massage oil he keeps stashed inside, while using his other hand to slowly expose more of Tsubasa's stomach. When he finds the bottle, he taps Tsubasa's shoulder with it. Tsubasa removes his arm from his eyes and opens his right eye just slightly. He looks at the bottle, then at Hideaki, who gestures for him to turn over. Tsubasa smiles, sitting up to tug off his shirt before he turns over onto his stomach.

Hideaki climbs onto the sofa, planting his knees on either side of Tsubasa's hips and sitting down on his ass. Just the contact starts heat curling in Hideaki's stomach, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself before pouring out some lotion on the small of Tsubasa's back. Tsubasa shivers at the coolness of it, but he relaxes quickly when Hideaki rubs both hands up the line of his spine. Hideaki just rubs his hands up and down Tsubasa's back at first, feeling for tense spots. He pushes his thumb into a knot and Tsubasa hisses; Hideaki palms over his shoulder soothingly as he works at the knot until the stiff muscles relax. Tsubasa's breathing starts to even out as Hideaki keeps working on his back, his breaths slow and deep. It's been about twenty minutes and Hideaki's hands are starting to hurt when he realizes that Tsubasa's fallen asleep. He finishes the knot he's working out before leaning over to press a kiss to Tsubasa's temple. Tsubasa stirs slightly, but he doesn't open his eyes.

In an attempt to wake him up, Hideaki kisses sloppily down the side of Tsubasa's face, stopping to nip at his earlobe. He hears Tsubasa breathe out a laugh at the contact, and that's enough for him. He slides off, onto the floor, and nudges Tsubasa's shoulders to get him to turn over again. Tsubasa obliges, keeping his eyes closed. He's still breathing deeply, and his movements are slow and deliberate, sleep-fuzzy. When Tsubasa's turned over, Hideaki wriggles out of his pants and climbs back onto the sofa to straddle him. He grinds his hips down against Tsubasa's, feeling his cock getting hard in his jeans. Tsubasa opens his mouth on a sigh, and Hideaki works at the button of his pants.

When he's got Tsubasa's skinny jeans tugged down to his thighs, Hideaki grabs the bottle of lotion from where it was threatening to slip between the couch cushions and pours a generous amount onto his palm before taking hold of both his and Tsubasa's cocks. Tsubasa's eyebrows knit together and his hips twitch up, and as Hideaki strokes his hand slowly up their cocks, he bends forward to kiss him. Tsubasa returns the kiss with lazy sleepiness, parting his lips to allow Hideaki's tongue inside, making a soft noise low in his throat that Hideaki feels more than hears. He works his hand up and down their slick cocks, feeling their blood thumping in unison.

There's not enough time to draw things out, so soon Hideaki begins to stroke them faster, pulling away from the kiss to press his face against Tsubasa's neck. The room is silent save for the sound of their harsh breathing and the wet sound of Hideaki's hand on their cocks. He comes first, mouthing at Tsubasa's pulse point, but he doesn't slow down or stutter in his rhythm at all, keeps stroking up and down Tsubasa's cock until he comes with a low whine, the loudest Hideaki's heard him since they started.

When Hideaki sits up, Tsubasa is blinking up at him with hooded, sleepy eyes. He watches Hideaki lick the come off of his fingers, but by the time he's bending to clean Tsubasa's stomach with his tongue, Tsubasa's breathing's evened out and Hideaki's pretty sure he's asleep again.

"While I was napping earlier I had this great dream that you gave me a massage and a handjob," Tsubasa whispers in the car later, "wanna make that a reality?"

begging, orgasm denial, sensory deprivation

The blindfold is soft as Hideaki slips it over Tsubasa's eyes, the cloth a gentle caress over his skin. Hideaki takes his hands, and Tsubasa can feel him leaning in, his breath on Tsubasa's lips. He leans forward, lips parted, and Hideaki moves the rest of the way to kiss him. They take their time with it, lips and tongues slipping wet and lazy against each other, until Tsubasa's heart is beating faster and his cock has gone from hard to almost painfully so. He palms blindly up Hideaki's forearm, his fingers tentatively grasping the hair at the nape of his neck. When Tsubasa tugs, Hideaki sighs into his mouth, squeezing Tsubasa's other hand.

Hideaki pulls away after what seems simultaneously like an hour and just a few seconds, and then Tsubasa's left sitting alone on the bed. The abrupt lack of contact jars him a little, and he instinctively turns his head, as though looking to see where Hideaki's gone. He hears him moving next to him, and then the bed shifts as Hideaki positions himself behind Tsubasa, chest pressed to his back. Tsubasa tilts his head back, letting Hideaki press light kisses to his neck before he says "turn around," in Tsubasa's ear.

Tsubasa does, reaching out for Hideaki to steady himself and planting his hands on his spread knees.

"I want to see you," he says, fingers playing aimlessly over Hideaki's skin.

"You've only had the blindfold on for like, two minutes," Hideaki says fondly.

"I know," Tsubasa pouts. "I still want to see you."

"Use your imagination," Hideaki suggests.

Tsubasa would roll his eyes, but the gesture wouldn't have much meaning, so instead he focuses on the senses he can use. He listens to the sound of Hideaki's breathing, slow and even but hitching every so often when Tsubasa's fingers brush over sensitive spots. He lets his hands wander, feeling Hideaki's skin soft on his palms, the muscles tense underneath. He palms up Hideaki's inner thighs and feels how he spreads them automatically, all the little ways he shifts to be closer to Tsubasa. It's actually quite easy to form a mental picture of what Hideaki looks like right now: Tsubasa's seen him like this enough to have it committed to memory.

As his hands slip up Hideaki's thighs, the skin gets hotter. He lingers at his hips, and when he presses his fingertips into the skin he can feel Hideaki's blood thumping just under the surface. They'd been making out and touching for a while before Hideaki put the blindfold on him, and Tsubasa imagines he's edging from comfortably turned on into desperate. Tsubasa's suspicions are confirmed when he wraps his fingers around Hideaki's cock and is met with a low groan and Hideaki's hips twitching up into his hand.

"Fuck me," Hideaki breathes when Tsubasa rubs the heel of his palm over the slick tip of his cock.

Hideaki shoves lube into Tsubasa's hands, and Tsubasa can feel the bed shift as he positions himself for Tsubasa to finger him. He opens the lube by touch, having done it in the dark enough times that it's not much of a challenge, and soon he's got a finger curled inside Hideaki. He sighs, shifting onto it, and Tsubasa imagines how he looks: his head tilted back in pleasure, the tempting arch of his neck and the play of muscle under sweat-slicked skin as he writhes at Tsubasa's touch.

Tsubasa fingers Hideaki for a while, until he's long past ready; he's panting, making these high, half-swallowed noises with every twist of Tsubasa's fingers.

"Are you ready?" Tsubasa asks eventually.

"Yes," Hideaki says breathlessly, whining when Tsubasa crooks his fingers up, "yes."

Tsubasa's got his hands on Hideaki's thighs, is just thrusting into him when he reaches up, grabs Tsubasa's shoulder, and says, "Wait."

Tsubasa stops immediately, though Hideaki doesn't sound like he's in pain or, even really wants Tsubasa to stop. "What?" he says.

Hideaki pants, and Tsubasa can feel him shifting under him. "Don't come."

"What?" Tsubasa says incredulously, after a moment.

"Don't come," Hideaki repeats, this time sounding more confident about it. "Fuck me, but don't come until I tell you."

The challenge is tempting, interesting enough to send a jolt of arousal shivering down Tsubasa's spine. He starts to move again, thrusting in slowly and deliberately and feeling Hideaki arch into it. He groans, clenches around him, and Tsubasa shudders, biting his lip to hold back. Normally it's not difficult for him to draw things out, but it's usually on his own terms, and having been ordered not to come makes the possibility all the more enticing. The blindfold doesn't help, the way it magnifies every sensation that he's feeling. It's like the volume on everything's been turned up to eleven, making Tsubasa hypersensitive everywhere they touch, making every sound Hideaki makes ring in his ears.

Tsubasa can tell Hideaki's started touching himself because he feels him shiver, and he can hear the slick sounds of his hand on his cock. Hideaki's other hand travels down from Tsubasa's shoulder, palming over his bicep. Hideaki tilts his hips to take Tsubasa deeper, crossing his ankles at the small of Tsubasa's back. The need to come is starting to creep up on him, but he tries to shove it down. He's panting, sweat beading on his skin, and when Hideaki comes he can feel it so intensely that it makes stars explode behind his eyes. He chokes out a groan, leans blindly down and searches out Hideaki's mouth. He gets his chin first, then his cheekbone, and then Hideaki puts his hand in Tsubasa's hair, guiding him so that their lips meet.

"Keep going," he says when they pull apart, "make me come again, then you can."

Tsubasa makes a high, pained sound, feeling like the breath's been knocked out of him. He keeps going, though, feeling Hideaki pliant and sated under him, until Hideaki sits up a little, maneuvers them so he's on top. He braces his hands on Tsubasa's thighs, and Tsubasa wants so badly to see him. In an effort to distract himself from the rapidly approaching need to come, he imagines every detail of HIdeaki on top of him: the sweat sheen on his skin, the way his muscles shift as he moves, his head thrown back, his mouth wet and open.

"I can't—" Tsubasa starts, but it's interrupted by a groan when Hideaki rolls his hips, making Tsubasa's toes curl. "I want to come."

Hideaki stops moving, leans over all the way so his lips are pressed up against Tsubasa's jaw. "Beg me for it," he whispers.

"Please," Tsubasa breathes, taking hold of Hideaki's hips and thrusting up. He slides his hands around Hideaki's back, feeling all of his muscles tense under the skin. Hideaki starts to move again, sitting back up, and Tsubasa chokes out a whimper before speaking again. "Please, can I come?"

"Not yet," Hideaki says. Tsubasa feels hot all over, stuck right on the precipice of coming. It's kind of an amazing feeling, the sort of thing he doesn't usually stop to enjoy, and for a moment he completely gives himself over to the sensation, the tension throughout his body like a string pulled tight.

"Please," Tsubasa whimpers, feeling like the word being is torn out of him. Hideaki runs fingertips up Tsubasa's sides, and even the light touch feels like fireworks over Tsubasa's skin.

"Make me come again," Hideaki says, voice a little taunting.

Tsubasa takes that as the challenge it is, braces his feet on the bed and thrusts up hard. He feels a shudder work through Hideaki's body, hears him moan. Tsubasa takes hold of Hideaki's cock, hard and slick with precome in his hand. Concentrating on making Hideaki come again does a bit to take his mind off of the need settled insistent under his skin, but it's still there, impossible to really ignore.

"Yeah," Tsubasa says, his voice pitched low, "come on, come for me." Hideaki makes a high, breathy sound.

"Beg me," he repeats, his voice thin and strained.

"I'm so close," Tsubasa whines, "please, please, I don't think I can wait much longer."

"Try," HIdeaki says. He cups Tsubasa's cheek with one hand, thumbing across his lip. Tsubasa's tongue goes out immediately to lick at the pad of Hideaki's thumb, and he moans, pushing it farther in. Tsubasa bites down on it lightly, listening to Hideaki's gasp of pleasure. He bites down again, rubbing his thumb hard over the head of Hideaki's cock, and that's when he comes, shaking on top of Tsubasa. He bends forward and pants, open-mouthed, against Tsubasa's temple.

"Can I?" Tsubasa asks. Feeling Hideaki come around him a second time was almost too much to bear, and he's teetering now on the brink of coming, whether or not he has permission.

Tsubasa feels more than hears Hideaki saying "yes" against his skin, and the reaction is almost instantaneous: he comes, arching and moaning loud enough that Hideaki covers Tsubasa's mouth with his own, swallowing up the noise.

Hideaki's thighs are shaky as he climbs off of Tsubasa, and Tsubasa's still panting and drained from his orgasm when Hideaki eases the blindfold off his eyes, kissing his face lightly. The room seems unnaturally bright, and Tsubasa can only keep his eyes open for a few seconds at a time at first, but after about a minute, he sees Hideaki watching him with a fond smile. Tsubasa grins back, and when he kisses Hideaki he keeps his eyes open.

mirrors, nipple play, writing on the body

It starts because Tsubasa is bored. They're lying in bed, Hideaki having promised that he'd be done with what he was working on in less than an hour and Tsubasa having allowed him to keep working on it if he could do it in bed (a fatal mistake on Hideaki's part, but one he's not much regretting). So Tsubasa is bored and doodling designs up his left arm with a new marker. The tip is soft like a paintbrush, the ink black and bold against Tsubasa's skin as he traces swirls from his knuckles up his forearm. Hideaki is trying his best not to watch, to concentrate on the bright screen of his laptop, but it's proving extremely difficult. Hideaki's been barely paying attention for the last five minutes, but what tips his concentration off of a cliff is when Tsubasa starts in on Hideaki's right arm, the brush-tip of the marker tickling as it glides over the thin skin covering his wrist. He glances over at Tsubasa, who's barely holding back a smirk.

"Okay," Hideaki says, "I guess I can take a break."

"That's what I like to hear," Tsubasa says. He caps the marker, waiting for Hideaki to close his laptop and set it aside.

With Hideaki's laptop safely stowed, Tsubasa pushes the blanket down and slides the fingertips of his left hand over Hideaki's bare torso, the touch feather-light. Hideaki watches how the ink on his skin shifts with each slight movement. It's mesmerizing, somehow exotic despite the familiarity of the touch, and each brush of skin on skin feels electric.

"You like it?" Tsubasa asks, his voice low and breathy and so close to Hideaki's ear that it sends a shiver running down his spine.

"Yeah," he says. His mouth feels dry.

Seconds later, Tsubasa's straddling him and uncapping the marker. He looks down at Hideaki thoughtfully, like an artist surveying his canvas, before leaning in a little and grabbing his chin with his left hand. Tsubasa's about to place the pen on his cheekbone when Hideaki says, "wait."

Tsubasa pulls back, looking confused. "What?" he says. "It's not permanent marker, I already checked."

Hideaki laughs. "No, it's fine, I just…can we do it in front of the mirror?" he asks, blushing. "I wanna see."

Tsubasa grins. "Sure."

They pull a blanket out of Hideaki's closet and spread it out in front of his big, full-length mirror. It takes a little maneuvering to situate themselves so that Hideaki can easily see, but eventually they work it out: Hideaki sits cross-legged, and Tsubasa kneels in front of him. Hideaki watches as Tsubasa reaches out with his decorated arm to hold Hideaki's chin, tilting his head up. The pen feels strange on his cheekbone, cool and wet as it slips in an arc toward the corner of his eye. Tsubasa finishes it with a little swirl that sweeps toward his hairline, then leans back to admire his handiwork.

"Looks nice," he says. He's still holding onto Hideaki's chin, and he tilts his head to get a better view. "You should let me do this before the next concert."

Hideaki laughs, and he sees in the mirror how the ink moves with the crinkling of his eyes. Tsubasa leans in and kisses him, right over the swirl. The ink's not dry yet and it smudges black over his lips, a splotch staining his mouth. He grins, and Hideaki arches up to kiss his mouth while the ink's still wet, tasting it bitter on his tongue.

"At least try to wait a while before you start ruining it," Tsubasa laughs when they pull away.

"You started it," Hideaki points out, and Tsubasa grins, picks up the marker again. This time he draws in sweeps down from the corner of Hideaki's other eye, grand strokes that travel down to his jawline, that connect with the smudge around his lips. When he's done, he leans back to let Hideaki look at himself in the mirror. He's mesmerized by it, the play of the ink dark against his skin. Tsubasa moves so he's behind him, speaks into his ear with his dark mouth.

"What do you like about it?" he asks. He reaches in front of Hideaki and palms down his arms until his hands cover the backs of Hideaki's and he's lacing their fingers together, keeping Hideaki's hands stilled where he's placed them on his knees. Hideaki licks his lips, tasting traces of ink, and watches them in the mirror. He meets Tsubasa's eyes and they're dark and intense, focused.

"I like how it feels," Hideaki says, "when it's going on, how it's kind of wet and it tickles." Tsubasa nods. "And I like how it looks. It makes everything different." It's the same way Hideaki feels about stage makeup, but there's something about the intimacy of doing this alone with Tsubasa that makes it all so much more exciting. He looks down at Tsubasa's hands over his, at the clean one and the decorated one, and suddenly feels a lot more desperate.

"Touch me," he says breathlessly.

Tsubasa grins at him in the mirror, squeezes his hands. "Be patient," he says, "we'll get there."

Hideaki whines but doesn't protest, and Tsubasa lets go of his hands to pick up the marker again. He stays positioned behind him and soon Hideaki feels the wet tip of the marker at the nape of his neck. He shivers at the sudden contact, and Tsubasa blows on the skin, giving him goosebumps. He feels Tsubasa drawing aimless lines down from the nape of his neck, tracing between his shoulder blades. Hideaki sits up straight and tries not to move, tries to be a good canvas for Tsubasa. After a while it's difficult to follow the line of the marker; the sensations blend into a pleasant, teasing stroking over his skin. He relaxes into it, no longer curious about what Tsubasa's drawing: when he's done, he'll show him.

It's a few more minutes before Tsubasa pulls the marker away from Hideaki's skin and leans back; within that time Hideaki's relaxed so much that he feels like he's been pulled underwater, floating pleasantly on the sensation he's surrendered himself to.

"Turn around and look," Tsubasa instructs, and Hideaki does, then cranes his neck so he can see his back. It's difficult to see all of it at once, but there's an intricate pattern of swirls and lines like latticework over his back. It feels like he's looking at someone else. When he turns back to Tsubasa, he looks pleased with his work. Hideaki smiles back at him, and Tsubasa takes his right hand, holding it palm-up.

"Close your eyes and tell me what I'm drawing," he says.

Hideaki complies, feeling the marker making an arc, first, then a straight line, then another. He suspects already what it will be, and feeling the arc and then two lines of a ツ is enough to confirm his suspicions. He starts laughing, and hears Tsubasa doing the same, but he lets him finish drawing before he guesses "ai ai gasa?" Tsubasa squeezes his hand and Hideaki opens his eyes to see the shape of an umbrella decorating his palm, their names written under it. They laugh, and he reaches his newly-decorated hand up to cup Tsubasa's cheek before he kisses him.

"Face the mirror again," Tsubasa instructs when they pull away. He positions himself in front of Hideaki, tells him to lean back onto his hands. He arches his back a little, getting into the position, and Tsubasa stares for a few moments, uncapped pen in hand. Hideaki flushes at the scrutiny, but stays still and waits, breathing steadily.

This time, Tsubasa starts at Hideaki's right hip, trailing the marker's wet tip over the jut of bone and making a small swirl. Hideaki watches it in the mirror, watches as Tsubasa slowly transforms his torso into a canvas of erratic, aimless lines, starting and stopping and moving with his whims. He traces a feathery line, vine-like, up to Hideaki's collar bone, ends it right at the dip of the base of his throat. Hideaki arches his neck in case Tsubasa wants to draw farther up, letting his eyes drop closed.

Instead of the light press of the pen, though, the next thing Hideaki feels is Tsubasa's lips soft against his neck. He breathes in fast, his eyes snapping open. Tsubasa sucks lightly on the skin and Hideaki arches into it, groaning softly.

"Tsubasa," he breathes, and Tsubasa hums against his skin. He palms up Hideaki's side, over a series of now-dry swirls, and swipes his thumb over Hideaki's nipple. He jerks, his breath stuttering, and Tsubasa grins against the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Stay still," he mumbles, then pinches it lightly, squeezing just a little between his thumb and forefinger. Hideaki sucks in a breath that sounds a bit like a whine, but he manages not to move. Tsubasa rolls Hideaki's hard nipple between his fingertips, sending little shocks tingling through his nerves and straight down to his cock. He flexes his fingers, splaying them against the blanket. His arms are getting a little tired from holding the position, though he's sure Tsubasa's noticed.

Tsubasa ducks his head down from Hideaki's neck to flick his tongue over the nipple while he takes hold of the other one, and Hideaki groans, arching a little.

"Stop," he says weakly. He doesn't expect Tsubasa to listen, so it's a surprise when he pulls back. The ink stains around his mouth have faded a bit, probably rubbed off against Hideaki's skin, and when he glances at himself in the mirror he sees gray smudged like ash on his neck. They're both breathing hard, chests rising and falling visibly. Hideaki stares at Tsubasa for a moment, wondering why he'd stopped, and Tsubasa's lips curl slowly into a smirk.

"You didn't really want me to stop, did you?" he says.

"Well," Hideaki begins, "it's complicated." Tsubasa laughs, and Hideaki laughs too. "Mostly no, though, I guess."

Tsubasa doesn't say anything, just leans back in and starts mouthing at Hideaki's nipple again. He licks and nips and sucks until Hideaki's barely able to keep from squirming, too much sensation concentrated at a single part of his body. Just when he thinks he's reached the limit of what he can possibly take, Tsubasa's hand closes around his cock, and then he does squirm, his whole body arching toward Tsubasa's touch. He leans all his weight on his left arm and buries his right hand in Tsubasa's hair, tugging his head up so he can kiss him. Tsubasa surges forward, as though he'd been waiting the whole time for Hideaki to make a move (and maybe he had). He straddles Hideaki's thighs, cock hard against his stomach, and braces his hands on his shoulders. Hideaki tilts his head up, opens his mouth against Tsubasa's lips. There's still a trace of inky bitterness on them, and Hideaki chases the flavor mindlessly, letting his hand drop from Tsubasa's hair to wrap his arm around his waist and tug him closer.

They kiss until Hideaki's breathless from it, his arm aching from the strain of holding his own weight and some of Tsubasa's. He leans back so he's on his elbow, chest heaving. Tsubasa looks down at Hideaki from where he's straddling his thighs and rolls his hips slowly and deliberately, grinding their cocks together and making Hideaki gasp.

Tsubasa positions them so that Hideaki can see him fingering himself in the mirror, back arched and writhing on Hideaki's lap. Hideaki can't tear his eyes away from it, and he takes hold of Tsubasa's cock without a glance, jerking him off as he rolls his hips back against his fingers with a low, breathless groan. As he watches Tsubasa pushing in a third finger, Hideaki runs his free hand down the curve of Tsubasa's side, fingers settling over his hipbone. He squeezes, impatient, and watches Tsubasa twist his fingers and shudder.

In the mirror, Hideaki can see as Tsubasa sinks down onto his cock, can see it slowly filling him, and the sight of it combined with how good it feels is almost too much to take. Hideaki sits up, crushing their mouths together, and Tsubasa quickly wraps his legs around Hideaki, ankles crossed at the small of his back. Hideaki thrusts up into him and Tsubasa groans into his mouth, the kiss turning messy. Tsubasa's lips slip up Hideaki's jaw until he's panting right in his ear, and Hideaki flexes his fingers at Tsubasa's waist, panting. Tsubasa rocks his hips down, their skin slick with sweat everywhere they're touching.

Hideaki opens his eyes for a second and catches a glimpse of it in the mirror, all the ink smearing black and messy between them, and it spurs him to thrust into Tsubasa harder, feeling him tight and hot around his cock. Tsubasa groans against Hideaki's skin, meeting every thrust with a roll of his hips. He flexes his fingers on Hideaki's shoulders.

"Make me come," Tsubasa murmurs, the low growl of his voice sending shocks down Hideaki's spine.

The hand he wraps around Tsubasa's cock is slick with sweat and ink, and Tsubasa jerks into it as soon as Hideaki's touches him. Tsubasa urges Hideaki on by mumbling filth against his skin, telling him how good it feels, and he's so caught up in thinking about making Tsubasa come that his own orgasm comes as a shock. He muffles his moan against Tsubasa's shoulder, his wet palm still working his cock until he feels him coming hot onto Hideaki's stomach.

They collapse on the blanket, panting, and stay there for about two minutes before Hideaki notices Tsubasa examining the ink smeared all over their bodies with a critical eye.

"I'll draw the bath," Hideaki says, "you put the blanket in the washing machine."

Tsubasa gives him an inordinately pleased look for a man who's just been given the opportunity to do laundry, then turns onto his stomach and drops a kiss onto Hideaki's shoulder.

collar, jealousy, possession/marking

The truth is, even though they'd like to do this kind of thing spontaneously, it's always carefully planned, nudged into the little empty spaces in their schedules. It's hard enough to line things up so they have time together, even harder to work it out so they can do something like this.

The collar feels tight around Tsubasa's neck, even though it fits perfectly, no snugger than it should be, but it's like a weight, like a presence he can't ignore as Hideaki winds the leash around his wrists, tethering them to the back of his neck. If Tsubasa struggles, the collar will be too tight: he pulls on it experimentally, testing the limits, and finds it cuts off his breathing easily. When Hideaki's satisfied with how he's gotten Tsubasa's arms immobilized, he kisses him hard. The kiss is insistent, not leaving room for either of them to breathe, and they're both gasping when their mouths part.

"You're mine," Hideaki says, pressing his forehead to Tsubasa's, mouth so close that Tsubasa can feel Hideaki's breath hot on his lips..

"Yes," Tsubasa confirms. He's never sure what it is that makes Hideaki's possessive streak flare up; if he had any idea, he'd be pushing that button all the time because Hideaki is hot like this, dominant and animalistic and not at all careful or controlled.

Then Hideaki's pressing his face up against Tsubasa's neck, mouthing over the smooth leather of the collar before settling at a spot just under his throat and starting to suck on the skin there. A carefully-trained part of Tsubasa starts to panic at the thought of having a mark, but they've planned this perfectly, he reassures himself: they have enough time away from cameras for the marks to heal. He takes a breath, then lets himself go, free from worrying about the consequences. Hideaki starts out sucking lightly, but soon the pressure is enough that it's just slightly painful, a little throb under Tsubasa's skin. He shivers, breathing out shakily.

While Hideaki sucks on his neck, he palms over Tsubasa's thighs, his hands warm and the touch certain, possessive. Tsubasa likes it, likes feeling taken care of, treasured, and when Hideaki pulls back to admire the beginnings of the mark he's made, Tsubasa finds himself grinning at him. Hideaki's eyes flick up to Tsubasa's face, and his lips curl into a smile.

"You're mine, too," Tsubasa says, wishing he could reach out and touch him.

"Of course," Hideaki breathes, and then he's mouthing over Tsubasa's clavicle. He nips at the thin skin, making Tsubasa jerk and the collar dig into his neck. He gasps, and Hideaki bites harder, then sucks over it. Tsubasa can already picture the patchwork of marks he'll have by tomorrow morning; the thought of it makes him groan.

Hideaki sucks a trail of marks down Tsubasa's torso, from his neck across his chest, over his abs, all the way down to the jut of his hipbone. By the time he gets there, Tsubasa feels desperate and breathless. His arms burn and tingle from holding the position they've been tied in so he doesn't choke, the ache of it making every pleasurable sensation feel magnified. Hideaki pulls back to look at it, little bruises blossoming over Tsubasa's skin, and Tsubasa pants, his whole body feeling hot.

Tsubasa doesn't expect it when Hideaki bends back down to take Tsubasa's cock into his mouth, and he forgets the collar for a second, his hands instinctively wanting to go to Hideaki's hair. He chokes as the collar tightens, hard and abrupt, around his neck, before returning his arms to the right position. With Hideaki's mouth on him it's hard for Tsubasa to concentrate on keeping his arms still, and it seems every minute or so he's pulling the collar tight and choking himself again. The sensation makes him lightheaded, little sparks exploding behind his eyes every time he does it. He moans, and Hideaki echoes the sound, muffled vibrations around Tsubasa's cock.

"Oh, god," Tsubasa moans, his vision starting to white out at the edges, and that's when Hideaki pulls back. Tsubasa pants, a high sound in his voice that's something like a whimper.

"Breathe," Hideaki says, putting his hands on Tsubasa's knees. Tsubasa nods, laughing, and Hideaki waits for him to catch his breath.

"It's okay," Tsubasa says after a minute, and Hideaki smiles before standing up, carding his fingers through Tsubasa's hair and tilting his head back gently. Tsubasa's mouth falls open, and Hideaki holds the base of his cock with his other hand, touching it to the curve of Tsubasa's bottom lip.

"Can you breathe like this?" he asks. It's a little difficult, the arch of his neck making the collar tighter, but Tsubasa's still able to breathe.

"Yeah," he says, and Hideaki slides his cock into Tsubasa's mouth. The angle, with Tsubasa's head tilted back like it is, makes it easy to take it all the way, into the back of his throat. Tsubasa breathes shallowly through his nose, trying not to move too much: he lets Hideaki do most of the work. His head starts to feel like it's spinning, and at first Tsubasa's not sure if it's from being turned on or not being able to breathe, or both. He lets himself revel in the feeling, though, a little like floating, as Hideaki thrusts his cock in and out of Tsubasa's mouth. The only things he can hear are the wet, slurping sounds he's making and Hideaki's intermittent groans.

Hideaki gets louder when he gets close to coming, more insistent. He tugs at Tsubasa's hair, repeating over and over that Tsubasa's his, and it filters into Tsubasa's mind through the haze, making arousal curl tighter in his stomach. He sucks at Hideaki's cock as best he can, and then Hideaki's coming down Tsubasa's throat. It's hard to swallow with the collar tight against his neck, and Tsubasa can feel some of the spit and come running down his chin, but Hideaki's there quickly, framing his face with both hands and kissing him. Tsubasa pants, unable to speak. His arms ache, his head is light, his cock feels impossibly hard.

Tsubasa's about to ask for it when Hideaki bends down and licks at the tip of Tsubasa's cock. He sucks all the way down in a smooth motion, and when Tsubasa thrusts his hips up into it, Hideaki just swallows around him with a groan. It only takes a few more seconds before Tsubasa's coming, writhing enough to choke himself but not caring. His vision blurs around the edges as Hideaki swallows around him, and when he opens his eyes next everything's swimming and Hideaki is unwinding the leash from Tsubasa's wrists.

When he lets Tsubasa's arms down, they feel weightless, strange with the strain of the position taken away. He pants as Hideaki removes the collar, then moves in front of Tsubasa to look at him, taking his hands and trying to rub some of the feeling back into them.

"Whoa," Hideaki says, somewhere between amazed and turned on, "you pulled hard enough to leave a mark."

Tsubasa looks at the marks later, touches them gingerly as he stands in front of the mirror. Hideaki catches him, comes up behind him and kisses his neck, following the trail of bruises with light kisses, and Tsubasa sighs, content.

Making Up is Hard to Do (Yoko/Hina)

hondemo — Thu, 01 Mar 2012 10:47:30 GMT

title: Making Up is Hard to Do
pairing: Yoko/Hina
words: 2799
rating: NC-17
summary: Yoko and Hina make up, eventually.
notes: Written for pinkpapyrus's prompt "make up sex" on my smut meme. This got way out of hand for a smut meme fill so I'm posting it like a regular fic XD

Yoko’s not even sure what they’d fought about. It had begun as something about work, but they’d both started yelling and it spiraled out into the two of them listing every tiny little thing that had been bothering them for the past year and a half or so. Yoko remembers shouting "I hate how nice your hair is," and Hina countering with "It’s stupid how your skin is so soft." He chalks most of it up to stress, pent-up frustration, but he’s not sure, now, how long he’ll have to wait until it’s okay to talk to Hina again, much less do some of the…other stuff they do, sometimes.

The problem, now, is that Yoko’s left his DS at Hina’s apartment. He has a key, so he should be able to get in and retrieve it without Hina even knowing. He goes over on Wednesday night, when Hina should be out with some of his soccer friends. Yoko eases the door open slowly, his heart racing, even though he knows Hina won’t be there.

He’s taking off his shoes in the entryway when he notices Hina’s soccer shoes sitting neatly next to a pair of dress shoes. Yoko freezes, trying not to make any noise. Maybe, he thinks, he can get out of there before Hina realizes he’s there. He’s got his hand on the doorknob when Hina appears at the end of the hall. He’s wearing an apron and rubber gloves and he looks utterly ridiculous; Yoko fights down the part of him that’s thinking how adorable he is.

"Your DS is in the living room," Hina says, then turns and goes back into the kitchen.

Yoko’s DS is sitting on a low table in front of Hina’s couch, on top of a folded-up t-shirt that he doesn’t remember having left there. He slips the DS into his pocket, picks up the shirt, and walks into Hina’s kitchen before he has time to think better of it.

Hina’s back is to Yoko; he’s scrubbing intently at a spot on the stove. He doesn’t move to acknowledge that Yoko’s there, so Yoko stands in the doorway for half a minute, trying to think of something to say.

"Thanks," he manages, eventually. Hina makes a noncommittal sound, but otherwise continues to ignore him, and Yoko feels the anger that he’d thought he’d gotten out of his system flare up again. He clenches his fist around the t-shirt, gritting his teeth.

"You’re so—" Yoko begins, then cuts himself off because he doesn’t know where he was going, starts again, "I don’t know how I put up with you."

Hina laughs, then. Actually laughs. "You don’t know how you put up with me?" he says. "Seriously?" He still hasn’t turned around, but he’s stopped scrubbing the stove, so Yoko counts it as half a victory.

"Fine," Yoko says, "I don’t know how I put up with you, you don’t know how you put up with me, why do we even bother?"

"So, what," Hina says, "you want to break up?"

"We weren’t dating," Yoko says, the pitch of his voice rising. He can feel his face turn red at the suggestion; what he and Hina are—were—doing definitely isn’t dating. He’d never date Hina.

"What would you call it, then? We have toothbrushes at each other’s places, we have sex, we’re not sleeping with anyone else, we have fights over stupid shit like this." Hina turns around, crosses his arms. "Maybe you haven’t had much experience, but I’d pretty much call what we do dating."

"I’ve dated plenty," Yoko grumbles. He hasn’t, really, but he’s annoyed at Hina’s bringing it up. "And that doesn’t have anything to do with this anyway because we weren’t, and it’s stupid that we’re talking about it."

"God, you’re an idiot," Hina says, shaking his head.

"I’m not the idiot here!" Yoko insists.

"If you wanna know why you haven’t dated much, this is a pretty good example," Hina says, going quieter. "And the whole ‘in denial about my sexuality’ thing really isn’t cute at your age."

"Is that what this is about?" Yoko says. "What, you want us to come out, or something?"

Hina makes a face. "Do you really think I’m that stupid? I’m just sick of pretending even when we’re alone together."

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't care about telling anyone else," Hina says, rubbing a hand over his face, "this is so dumb, I can't believe we're even having this conversation."

"You're the one who started having the conversation in the first place," Yoko spits. "I should have just left."

"I'm not forcing you to stay," Hina says, turning back to the stove.

Anger still boiling under his skin, Yoko doesn't think before turning to leave. He drops his key onto the table by Hina's entryway, on top of a pile of mail, and slams the door on his way out.

In his car, Yoko cranks up the music and rolls the windows down. The night air is crisp and cold on his face, just uncomfortable enough to be a distraction. It's hard to keep himself too distracted, though; the route from Hina's apartment to his own is easy and familiar, something Yoko's driven countless times. It doesn't require a huge amount of his concentration, and he finds his mind replaying the conversation he'd had with Hina.

Yoko doesn't know what Hina wants from him, what he'd meant by bringing up dating when he knows as well as Yoko does that even if they wanted to, they couldn't. They can be friends, they can be groupmates, they can fool around sometimes because it's easy and convenient, but they can't date or fall in love; it's the way things are, and Hina's an idiot to try to pretend it's not. Yoko doesn't understand what was wrong with the way they were: it was almost comfortable, sometimes. He tightens his hands on the steering wheel, trying to calm the churning anxiety in his stomach.

They don't speak to each other in the dressing room the next morning. They exchange greetings because there are other people around, but as soon as they're left to their own devices they ignore each other pointedly. Yoko thinks of about a million things to say to continue their fight, but he knows it's not the place for it, so he just lets them all stew in his mind. He thinks about the things Hina said and feels angry and confused, unsure how a stupid fight escalated into something so monumental but now determined not to lose. The quiet in the greenroom feels thick, descending over them and making the room seem cavernously spacious.

They're both professional enough to act relatively normal on air, though for Yoko the tension is palpable every time they so much as stand next to each other. He shoves it down, out of his mind, and does his best to act like his usual self. Hina hits him harder than usual, but other than that he's the same, too.

"Careful," Yoko whines, "I'm gonna get bruises!"

Everyone laughs, but Hina catches Yoko's eye and gives him this little half-smirk, and Yoko wants to strangle him.

They don't really get a moment alone until Yoko corners Hina in the hallway of the Bunka Housou studio. They've got five minutes, by Yoko's estimate, until they have to be back on the air. He knows Hina's got to be frustrated, too; ignoring things like this just isn't his style.

"What is it?" Hina says, voice low, when Yoko stands in the middle of the hall, blocking Hina's way. Yoko steps closer, anger filling him with false bravado. All the things he'd wanted to say have left his mind; mostly he wants to hit Hina, or shake him, make him explain and make him see why he's wrong. He digs his fingernails into his sweaty palms, breathing shaky.

"What did you mean," he starts, "yesterday?" He casts a look around, checking to see if they're alone. "About pretending?"

Yoko watches Hina's expression change from cautious to confused, and then barrel straight into angry.

"You really don't get it?" he says. His voice is quiet, but he's shouting with his tone, and Yoko feels himself shrink back a little. "You're a lot better at fooling yourself than I thought."

"Stop being so fucking cryptic," Yoko says, voice raising a little, but Hina just brushes past him.

Yoko tells himself he tried, that it's Hina's turn to make a move next, but what he doesn't expect is to arrive home at a little past two in the morning and see Hina's shoes sitting in his entryway.

"How the hell did you get here before me?" he says, without thinking. He hears Hina laughing, and it's almost comfortable again, until Yoko's slammed in the chest with anger and stress and tiredness. Why did Hina have to choose now to continue their fight?

"Have you thought about it at all?" Hina says when Yoko walks into the living room. He's sitting on Yoko's couch, looking like he's made himself comfortable, and Yoko's stomach twists with annoyance that Hina's somehow made Yoko's apartment feel like it's his own space.

"Yes," Yoko says. "You're being an idiot, is what I think."

"Maybe you're right," Hina says, "I'd have to be, to put up with how dense you can be."

Yoko heaves a sigh, shifting his weight. "I don't usually have to read between the lines with you."

"Fine," Hina says, "fine." He stands up. "Let me be a little more clear."

He crosses the room and grabs Yoko's wrist, yanking him forward and crushing their lips together. The kiss is intense, both of them throwing all of their pent-up energy into it. Hina squeezes Yoko's wrist hard, Yoko rakes his fingers through Hina's hair. When they pull back, they're both panting and Yoko has no idea what kind of point Hina was trying to make, but he can't bring himself to care very much. He wedges his knee between Hina's thighs, feeling his cock getting hard against Yoko's hipbone, and Hina pants against Yoko's cheek. He brings his free hand up to the back of Yoko's neck, gripping just hard enough to be uncomfortable. Yoko casts his eyes down and watches Hina's tongue as he wets his lips. He's just about to lean in and kiss him again when Hina speaks.

"I'm tired of pretending this is all this is about," he says breathlessly.

"What else is it about?" Yoko says. His hips are moving of their own accord, rutting his cock against Hina's stomach. He closes his eyes and swallows hard.

Hina leans forward so his forehead is pressed to Yoko's, his skin hot and damp. "Feelings," he grumbles, "moron."

Yoko shrinks away automatically, shaking his head, but Hina won't let him go. He meets Yoko's eyes, looking more open and vulnerable than Yoko's ever seen him, which is kind of terrifying.

"I'm not looking for a confession or something," he says after a moment. "Just tell me it's not just me."

Yoko takes a step back, and this time Hina's grip on him loosens, but he still doesn't let go.

"I don't—" Yoko starts.

"Bullshit," Hina interrupts, vulnerability gone. He pulls Yoko back in so their bodies are pressed together, so Yoko can feel Hina's breath hot against his lips.

"We—" Yoko says, but he's cut off by Hina's fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck and yanking his head back.

"If you fucking say 'we can't,' I swear I'm going to hit you," Hina says. He leans in to mouth at the exposed skin of Yoko's neck, not biting but close to it. "We can," he says against Yoko's skin, "we have been, so don't give me that kind of cop-out answer."

Hina's teeth scrape the thin skin over Yoko's racing pulse and he gasps. He lets go of Yoko's hair, but Yoko keeps his neck arched, panting, as Hina reaches between them to unbutton Yoko's fly, curling his fingers under the waistband of his underwear. Yoko grips the back of Hina's shirt with the hand that's not pinned to his side, trying to force his mind to work as Hina tugs his pants down.

"It's hard to give you any kind of answer," Yoko forces out, "when you keep interrupting me." He feels the vibration of Hina laughing against his throat as he palms over Yoko's erection through his underwear, making his hips twitch forward.

"Fine," Hina says, "go ahead."

Hina tugs at Yoko's underwear, cotton dragging rough over the already-wet head of his cock, and he swallows back a whimper. It's almost impossible to think in this state, worked up first from fighting and now from Hina's insistent touching, but Yoko tries anyway, tries to be honest and to think past the mental walls he's put up around the idea of his relationship with Hina.

"It's simple," Hina says impatiently. He's got his mouth under Yoko's left ear, the sound of his voice making Yoko shiver. "Either you have feelings or you don't."

"I do," Yoko says, without thinking. He drags his hand down the line of Hina's spine, feeling the skin hot through his shirt, then pushes his fingers up under the hem. Hina exhales against his skin, and Yoko wonders how much of it is pleasure and how much is relief.

"Okay," Hina says. "Good."

"I don't really know what difference you think it'll make," Yoko says. He regrets the words before they're even all the way out of his mouth. Hina stops sucking on Yoko's neck to pull back, and Yoko opens his eyes just a bit. He expects Hina to look mad, but he mostly looks thoughtful.

"I don't really either," he says, mouth twisting, "at least we can stop giving dumb excuses for being at each other's places?"

Hina's grip on Yoko's wrist loosens, and he swipes his palm over the back of Yoko's hand, grinning at him with his ridiculous smile and his ridiculous cute eyes. Yoko laughs, framing Hina's face with his hands and kissing him.

Ten minutes later, when Yoko's lying on his back on his futon and Hina's licking at his cock while he fingers him, he stops, looks up at Yoko.

"I knew you felt something too," he says, half smug and half delighted.

"Gloating," Yoko says, breath hitching when Hina twists his fingers, "is really not attractive on you."

Hina huffs a laugh, and Yoko sighs, shifting so Hina's fingers brush the right spot. His eyes flutter shut and he reaches for his cock, still wet with Hina's spit.

"Come on," Yoko urges, "it's like four in the morning, hurry up."

"So romantic," Hina says, rolling a condom down his cock and nudging Yoko's thighs apart.

Yoko means to say something, but he's cut off by Hina pushing into him. He groans, reaching up to clutch at Hina's bicep. It's been less than a week since they'd last had sex, but with the fight stretched out in between it seems like it was longer, long enough that Yoko had forgotten how good it feels with Hina. He pulls him down to kiss him, and Hina bites at Yoko's lower lip while he fucks him slowly. Yoko jerks himself off, panting into Hina's mouth, and Hina pulls back, thrusting in deeper.

Yoko watches HIna's face while his eyes are closed, his pink mouth open to pant, sweat on his forehead. He looks at Hina's body, the muscles shifting and flexing under his skin as he moves. He watches Hina until he's overwhelmed by the rush of affection and closes his eyes, muttering "touch me" and taking his hand off his cock. Hina obliges, his hand firm and hot around Yoko's cock. It only takes a few strokes before he's coming, arching and gasping.

"Fuck," Hina says, his voice strained, "I'm gonna come." He digs his fingers into Yoko's thigh, speeding up. "Look at me," he breathes, and Yoko opens his eyes. He meets Hina's gaze, and just when it's getting to be too much and he wants to look away, Hina's squeezing his eyes shut and coming.

He collapses on top of Yoko, panting, and Yoko waits almost a full minute before shoving at his shoulders and complaining that he's crushing him. It's not much different than it would have been before, but it feels comfortable, and Yoko lets himself think for a minute that maybe he could get used to this, or that maybe he's already gotten used to it.

Senses (Aiba/Jun)

hondemo — Thu, 23 Feb 2012 07:48:57 GMT

title: Senses
pairing: Aiba/Jun
words: 805
rating: G
summary: The worst thing about the hospital is the smell.
notes: Written for the rainbowfilling prompt "disinfectant."

The worst thing about the hospital is the smell. It settles in Aiba's nostrils, clinging to his clothes long after he's gone. He washes everything as soon as he gets home, but it still stays for weeks afterward. Aiba's complained about it before, called the others over in the green room to smell his clothes, and they tell him it's all in his head, the chemical scent that he can't seem to get away from just a product of his own imagination.

This time is the same. He can't eat any of the mediocre hospital food because the smell's tainted everything. When his mother visits, he manages to force down some rice in front of her, holding his breath and trying to suppress his gag reflex.

He's lying in bed, flipping through the channels on the wall-mounted TV, when Jun comes in. He's bundled up, not because of the weather but in an attempt to obscure his identity. Aiba may have a private room on a little-used floor in the most discreet, upscale hospital in Tokyo, but it's always better to be cautious. Jun drops his bag on the plush sofa, unwinding the scarf from his neck and pulling off his hat and coat before rushing to envelop Aiba in the most careful of hugs. Aiba breathes in Jun's scent, comforting and familiar and not yet taken over by the clinical one of the hospital.

"Masaki," Jun says to Aiba's hair, "how do you feel?"

"Okay," Aiba says. "I think they might let me out today."

"Don't tell them you're feeling better if you're not, okay?" Jun admonishes. He squeezes Aiba's shoulders and starts to pull away, but Aiba fists his hands in the soft fabric of Jun's jacket, trying to take in as much of him as he can. Jun's smell makes Aiba feel safe: it reminds him of long days spent in television studios, falling asleep against Jun's shoulder while he reads a book; of the frenzied high of concerts, sweating and singing under bright lights; of sharing a bed in Aiba's hotel room because he's too excited to fall asleep alone, a tangle of limbs and warmth as Jun strokes his hair and tells him to just go to sleep already.

They stay frozen in the hug for a long moment until Jun finally speaks, sounding a mix of fond and bewildered.

"Are you...smelling me?" he says. Aiba giggles and nods, refusing to let go. Jun doesn't try to pull away, though, even though he's bent at an awkward angle and he must be getting a bit uncomfortable now. "Why?"

"Because you don't smell like hospital," Aiba says simply, "you smell like Matsujun."

Jun huffs a laugh through Aiba's hair, tickling his scalp.

"You really need to let me go, though," Jun says. "My leg is falling asleep."

Aiba sighs and releases him. "How long can you stay?" he asks, trying to keep his tone neutral. He doesn't want to make Jun stay when he should be doing something else, but he knows if Jun thinks Aiba needs the company, he'll stay as long as he possibly can. And Aiba does need the company, but he doesn't want to cause more trouble for the others than he already has.

Jun glances at his watch as he pulls a chair up by the bed. "I've got about an hour before I need to leave for filming. I got the director to shuffle around the shooting order and give me some more time."

Aiba grins. "Will you play a game with me, then? There's a wii in here and I haven't been able to convince any of the nurses to play me in Mario Kart."

Jun laughs, shaking his head. "You need to rest!" When Aiba starts to pout, Jun stands up, muttering to himself about how he only knows one way to calm Aiba down. He toes off his shoes, shucks off his jacket so he's just in his jeans and t-shirt, and then he's climbing into the hospital bed.

Aiba scoots over to give him room, sighing happily as they curl into a comfortable position. He can't smell the hospital anymore, his senses full of Jun's presence, and it's like all the tension that's been coiled in Aiba's body since he'd been admitted is draining out of him, leaving him warm and happy and relaxed.

Jun kisses Aiba's forehead and talks to him in a low, soothing voice about the book he's been reading lately, relaying the story until Aiba falls asleep.

When he wakes up later, it's dark outside and he's alone in the bed, but it still smells like Jun, somehow; Aiba realizes that he's got Jun's scarf wrapped around his neck, like a shield against the hospital. He takes a deep breath in and feels stronger.

How to Train Your Yoko (Yoko/Hina)

hondemo — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 13:26:03 GMT

title: How to Train Your Yoko
pairing: Yoko/Hina
words: 4888
rating: NC-17
summary: Yoko loses Hina's key. Hina makes him pay for it.
notes: I wrote this for kink_bingo's February "all you can kink" mini-challenge, in which you write a fic with at least five kinks. This has...a lot more than five XD. My original list of intended links had eight: Begging, Bondage, Gags, Penance/punishment, Spanking, Object penetration, Obedience, Sensory deprivation. It also ended up including orgasm denial/control, and probably other stuff I'm forgetting. Thanks to lover_youshould for brainstorming assistance and awesome ideas ♥

Yoko presses the button under Hina's apartment number, fingers shifting on the strap of the overnight bag on his shoulder. A red light comes on, and Yoko can hear a whirring as the camera focuses on him. He stares straight ahead. There's a static, crackling noise before Hina's voice comes over the intercom.

"Didn't I give you a key last week?"

"I didn't bring it," Yoko lies.

"You lost it, didn't you?"

"Just let me in." He reaches out, jiggles the door handle just in case.

"I'm not letting you in until you admit you lost my key."

"Fine," Yoko sighs, "I'll just go home then." He shifts his weight, hoping Hina won't call his bluff.

"No you won't," Hina says. There's a click, and then the door is swinging open. "Come on, you're gonna annoy my neighbors if you just stand out there."

Yoko steps through the door, toeing off his shoes. The entryway is a step down from the rest of the apartment, and Hina's standing right at the edge, blocking Yoko in and forcing him to look up at him.

"You gonna move?" he says, after they stare at each other for a minute.

"Not until you admit you lost my key."

"I didn't lose it," Yoko says, defiant.

"You can admit it now," Hina says, voice dropping to a register that makes the hair on the back of Yoko's neck stand up, "or you can pay for it later. What'll it be?"

Yoko's feeling brave (or stupid), and he takes a step toward Hina before repeating, "I didn't lose it."

"Okay," Hina says, then steps back. "You hungry? I made curry."

They have a somewhat nice, only mildly awkward dinner, and Yoko completely forgets about the key until Hina's clearing the table and he instructs Yoko to strip and get on his knees in the living room.

Yoko stuffs his clothes into his bag before kneeling down, and he can hear the clanging of dishes, running water: Hina's doing the dishes. This is one of Hina's more infuriating power plays: making Yoko wait before they start. It's infuriating because Yoko knows exactly what it's supposed to do--make him nervous, remind him of Hina's control, embarrass him a little--but even though he knows all that, it's still frustratingly effective.

"I hate when you do this," he shouts.

"Sorry," Hina yells back, "can't hear you."

"You definitely can!" Yoko yells, annoyed.

"Go get the ball gag," is Hina's response.

"Sorry," Yoko shouts, "can't hear you."

There's silence from Hina, and Yoko stands up, shaking the tingling out of his feet, and goes into Hina's bedroom to retrieve the gag. He sets it on the table, because Hina didn't tell him to put it on and he's feeling contrary, then kneels back down.

When Hina's finally done with the dishes, he comes into the living room. His eyes track from the gag on the table to Yoko kneeling at the corner of a black throw rug.

"You didn't tell me to put it on," he says, when Hina opens his mouth.

"If I'd wanted you to," Hina says, "I would have said so."

Hina stares down at him, and Yoko can feel his skin heating up. The anticipation is the worst, waiting to see what Hina's going to do.

"So," he says after a minute, sitting down on one of the dining table chairs, "about the key you lost."

"I didn't--" Yoko starts, but Hina picks the gag up off the table, eyebrows raised, and Yoko shuts his mouth, clenching his jaw.

"Tell me the truth," Hina says. He's holding the gag by one of the straps, and it swings back and forth slowly.

"Fine," Yoko says, "I lost it. I have no idea where it is."

Hina hums, then stands up. "Since you've decided to be cooperative, I guess I'll give you a choice about your punishment."

Yoko grits his teeth, concentrating on breathing slowly while he watches Hina unbuckle his belt. He pulls it out of the loops, the soft swishing sound of leather on denim filling Yoko's ears. He can already feel the crack of leather against his skin, sharp and breathtaking.

"Do you want me to hit you with the belt or my hand?"

Yoko very nearly says "neither," but he knows that would just end with Hina hitting him with the belt, so he says, "Your hand, please."

"Doesn't seem like you want it," Hina says. He steps around behind Yoko, letting the end of the belt slip against his slouched shoulders. "Convince me."

Yoko sits up straighter, clenching his teeth. "Please hit me with your hand?"

"You know, people say you're such a good actor, but I don't really see it."

Yoko closes his eyes, swallows hard, and tries his best to sound like he means it when he says, "I deserve it, please, hit me with your hand, please."

Hina puts a hand in Yoko's hair, cupping the back of his head. "I almost believe you."

"Fuck," Yoko says, eyes still squeezed shut, "I don't--what do you want from me? Please use your hand, I don't want to get hit with the belt, I want your hand, please, please, Hina, please..."

"Good," Hina says. When he moves in front of him, Yoko can see the outline of his cock hard through his jeans.

"That really gets you off, huh?" Yoko says.

"Not when you ruin it like that," Hina grumbles, and Yoko snickers. Hina picks up the gag from the table, dropping to his knees in front of Yoko. He fists his hand in Yoko's hair, tugging his head back, and presses the ball to Yoko's closed lips. "Open," he says, "or I'm gonna use the belt and leave marks."

The last time Hina had made that threat, Yoko had spent the next day regretting not taking it seriously. He opens his mouth obediently, letting Hina push the ball in, then bows his head so he can fasten the straps. Hina steps back once the gag is fastened, then walks away without saying anything.

He comes back a minute later with a length of rope and instructs Yoko to kneel on one of the dining table chairs, facing the chair back. He grips the top of the back to support himself, and Hina begins to wrap the rope around his wrists, then through the back bar of the chair. Yoko makes a sound of dismay, imagining how he'll topple over along with the chair if he leans too far in the wrong way, and Hina laughs under his breath.

"You'll have to be careful not to move too much," he says. "You could fall right over."

Yoko whimpers, and Hina leans in, pressing his lips lightly against Yoko's forehead as he finishes the knot.

The seat of the chair is cushioned, so it's not too uncomfortable on Yoko's knees, but his whole body is tense as he tries not to rock the chair.

"I think I'll go with twenty," Hina says, palming the curve of Yoko's ass. "Don't forget to breathe, okay?"

Yoko breathes in through his nose, tightening his fingers around the back of the chair, and then Hina's hand cracks sharp against his ass. Yoko yelps, the pain flaring hot across his skin. Hina hits hard; he's had years of practice and he aims his blows perfectly so that the pain never dulls.

Yoko thinks maybe he'd have been better off choosing the belt.

By what he thinks is the tenth hit, Yoko's taking gasping breaths, his world centered around the spikes of pain he feels each time Hina hits him. Hina pauses, his hand resting warm on Yoko's lower back.

"Stick your ass out more," he instructs.

Yoko arches and leans forward, pushing his hips back, but as soon as Hina palms over his sensitive flesh, he flinches and twitches away from it. He corrects it immediately, panting.

"If you can hold that position without moving at all for one hit," Hina says, "I'll take the gag out."

Yoko whimpers. The gag is already making his jaw ache, a dull soreness in his head, and it would be nice to have it out, but he's not quite sure he can do what Hina's asking him. He braces himself for the next blow, eyes shut and breaths shallow.

When Hina hits him again, Yoko screams through the gag, but he doesn't move.

"Good," Hina says, unbuckling the strap behind Yoko's head, "really good."

When Hina pulls the ball from his mouth, Yoko swallows hard, ducking his head. Hina sets the gag aside and puts his fingers under Yoko's chin, tilting his head up, and kisses him. It's slow, teasing, almost enough to distract Yoko from the position he's in, from the pain still prickling over his skin. He lets his eyes close as Hina sucks on his lower lip, sighing.

Then Hina's pulling away and there's something metal being pressed to Yoko's parted lips. He pulls back, trying to see what it is, but Hina holds the back of his head.

"Don't lose this one," he says, and Yoko realizes: it's a key.

"Thanks," Yoko mumbles, "but I don't really have anywhere to put it right now."

Hina's hand in his hair tightens. "I can think of a few places," he says darkly, then taps the key against Yoko's bottom lip. "Open."

Yoko parts his lips, and Hina puts the key just inside his mouth, tells him to hold it between his lips.

"If you drop it," he says, "I'll add ten more hits. Understand?"

Yoko nods, mouth shut tight.

The key, Yoko decides quickly, is worse than the gag. With the gag on he was free to scream, to make noise however he wanted. Holding the key in his mouth means he's got to keep his lips pressed together, he has to concentrate on keeping it there.

"I'm going to start again," Hina warns him, and Yoko braces himself. When the smack comes he wants to cry out, but he keeps his mouth closed, breathing hard through his nose and whimpering.

The next two come in quick succession, Hina's palm landing in the exact same spot both times. Yoko makes a high sound in his throat, face screwed up with pain.

"Your ass gets so red," Hina says admiringly.

Yoko imagines what he looks like from Hina's perspective, kneeling in the chair with his ass thrust out, all covered in Hina's handprints. He feels his face flush at the embarrassment of the mental picture. He wonders if he'll have marks tomorrow, if he'll need to be careful when he changes clothes with other people around. The thought of it sends a rush of nervousness through Yoko's body, and he shivers.

After two more, Hina runs his palm over Yoko's hot, sensitive skin.

"You've got five left," he says. Yoko concentrates hard on breathing, tells himself he can handle it. "You're doing well," Hina says, "I didn't think you'd even make it this long with the key."

Yoko grits his teeth. He'll show Hina, he thinks determinedly.

The next smack feels harder than any of the ones before it. It takes Yoko's breath away, and he groans, mouth shut tight. The pain feels bright, overwhelming, like an electric shock, and Yoko blinks back tears.

The last four are just as hard, and they blur together into a neverending tangle of sensation until Yoko's crying from it, robbed of the release of screaming by the key in his mouth. Hina steps around the chair so he's in front of Yoko, pulls the key from his mouth and runs soothing fingers through his hair. Yoko takes a few gasping breaths through his mouth, trying hard to calm down. He knows it makes Hina kind of uncomfortable when he cries, and it's humiliating to have been reduced to tears from a spanking like he's a little kid. It takes a minute, but soon the tears stop and Yoko can breathe normally.

Hina works loose the knots binding Yoko's wrists, coiling up the rope to be put away. In the absence of instructions, Yoko stays in more or less the position he'd been tied in. Without the constant rush of pain, his body is starting to cool down, and he feels exposed, the air in the room cool against his skin.

"Next time, remind me that your hand is worse than the belt," he says, voice a little shaky. Hina laughs, low.

"Are you going to need help getting out of the chair?"

"No, I can--" Yoko starts, but when he tries to move his knees feel kind of weak. He flushes, embarrassed. "Okay, maybe, yeah," he mumbles.

Hina's fingers wrap firm around Yoko's forearm, giving him something to lean on as he eases off of the chair. Once he's standing, he's fine, and he shrugs Hina off, annoyed that he'd known Yoko would need help.

"You need anything?" Hina asks, and Yoko shakes his head. He knows Hina means well, but the coddling just embarrasses Yoko further.

"I'm fine," he insists, staring at the floor. It's weird to be standing freely after being tied up for a while; he feels overly aware of every movement of his body. He almost wants to kneel: the position sounds comforting, right now.

"This is embarrassing you, isn't it?" Hina asks. When Yoko says nothing, Hina prompts, "I asked you a question."

They've tried a whole series of rules governing Yoko's speaking, most of which they both forget about and which Yoko breaks all the time, but one of the longest-standing ones is that Yoko must answer any question Hina asks him, if his mouth is free.

"Yes," Yoko says, "it's embarrassing."

"Look, though," Hina says, his voice low, "you're turned on." As if to prove his point, he steps in close to Yoko and curls his fingers around his cock. Yoko gasps, bucking into Hina's hand. Yoko himself hadn't really noticed, too wrapped up in everything else he was feeling.

"You like it," Hina says, rubbing his thumb over the wet tip of Yoko's cock, "don't you?"

It's the sort of thing Hina makes Yoko admit to him on a semi-regular basis, but it's still difficult for him to force out a "yes."

"Then why don't we see if you can't get a little more embarrassed," Hina says. "Go in my room, put on the blindfold, and finger yourself for me. I'll be there in a minute." He strokes down Yoko's cock once before letting go, patting Yoko on the ass when he turns away.

Yoko bitches under his breath as he rummages through a box in Hina's closet to find the blindfold. It's black, kind of cheap: Yoko thinks Hina took it home from an airline or something. He plucks a bottle of lube from the bedside table and sits down at the edge of the bed, then immediately regrets it, hissing in pain at the contact of fabric against sensitive skin. He rolls onto his back, lying against the pillows and trying to get into the position that is both most comfortable and least humiliating. Eventually, he settles for being propped up a little against the pillows, his feet flat on the bed and knees spread, hips tilted up.

He sets the lube next to him before pulling the blindfold over his eyes, adjusting the strap so it's not over his hair, then pours some lube out over his fingers. Yoko teases himself a little at first, tracing fingers around his hole and making his breath catch. The pleasure of it is a welcome distraction from the punishment earlier, and from Hina's threat to embarrass him further.

Yoko's got two fingers in himself and is considering touching his cock when he hears movement in the direction of the doorway. He stills for a second, listening.

"Don't stop on my account," Hina says. "I'm just setting up the recording equipment."

Yoko reaches for the blindfold.

"I'm kidding!" Hina says quickly. "No recording equipment."

"You're really not funny," Yoko grumbles.

"Anyway," Hina says, "even if I wanted to record this I couldn't get a good angle with the position you're in. Turn over, I wanna see."

Yoko heaves a sigh, then turns himself over slowly. He buries his face in the crook of his left arm, legs spread, and reaches back with his right hand.

"Ass up higher," Hina instructs. His voice still sounds like he's standing near the doorway, a few feet from the bed. It's weird to have him so far away, just watching and telling Yoko what to do.

"Maybe you could see better if you came a little closer," Yoko says, but he pushes himself up on his knees a little, so his back is arched and his ass is up in the air.

"Now spread your knees farther apart," Hina says, ignoring Yoko's complaints.

Yoko can hear movement, what sounds like Hina getting something from his closet. His voice sounds neutral, like he could be completely disinterested in what Yoko's doing. It makes Yoko flush with embarrassment, imagining Hina just making him do this for his own amusement. He keeps fingering himself, though, listening to Hina move around the room. Yoko's really turned on by this point, ready for something more than his fingers. He pushes in a third, groaning at the stretch.

He can hear Hina's footsteps getting closer, then the bed shifting, and then a buzzing sound before the tip of a vibrator is being run from the nape of his neck down the arch of his spine. Yoko shivers, feeling his skin break out in goosebumps. Hina stops at his tailbone, holding it there as he wraps his fingers around Yoko's wrist and tugs his hand away.

"Fuck yourself with it," he says, placing the vibrator in Yoko's hand. He keeps hold of Yoko's wrist for a few seconds, and Yoko hears the click of the lube being uncapped, the slick sound of Hina wetting the vibrator. When he lets go, Yoko pushes the vibrator in, toes curling at the sensation. He feels the bed rocking again as Hina moves behind him.

"How does it feel?" Hina asks.

"Good," Yoko says breathlessly. "Fuck, really good."

"It's only on the lowest setting," Hina says. "If I turned it up I bet it would feel even better."

Yoko can't really imagine anything feeling better than what he's feeling right now, the dull vibrations throbbing through him and making his whole body shiver.

"Do you want me to turn it up?" Hina asks.

"Um," Yoko says. He doesn't have time to say anything more before Hina's turning it up to what Yoko can only assume is the highest setting. He makes a high sound, hips bucking away from the sudden, blinding sensation.

"Fuck, fuck, oh fuck," he whimpers, "I think I'm gonna come, fuck."

"You'd better not," Hina says warningly.

"Then turn it down, please."

It feels like the vibration is running through his entire body, setting Yoko's nerves on fire. He bites his lip until it recedes into something a little less mind-blowing. The lower vibration just feels like a tease, now, though. He turns his head so he can pant, licking his lips.

"I love watching you like this," Hina says. He's lost the neutral tone, but the words are enough to make Yoko flush and push his face into the pillow, groaning.

"I hate you," he says to the pillow.

"Heard that," Hina says, and then the vibration gets stronger. Yoko's hand almost slips on the base of the vibrator when he twitches. "Show me your face and I'll turn it back down."

Yoko turns his head and the vibration returns to a manageable level. He hates not being able to see, even though if he weren't blindfolded he'd probably have his eyes closed at this point anyway. Having Hina just watching him. not touching him at all, only connected by the instructions and the thin wire running from the vibrator to the controls, makes Yoko feel exposed and vulnerable. He flushes, unconsciously turning his face back toward the pillow. Hina turns up the vibration, and Yoko tries to ride it out, thinking the sensation might dull a bit if he waits. His body is tensed, his teeth closed sharp over his lip and the nails of his left hand digging into his palm. The pain grounds him a little, but it's not enough to keep him from feeling like he's about to come, or pass out, or both.

He turns again and the vibration immediately recedes. Yoko lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and Hina's fingers brush his ankle.

"Is it really that hard for you to know I'm watching?" Hina asks, sounding a mix of genuinely curious and exasperated.

"Yes," Yoko says, through gritted teeth.

"You look so hot like this," Hina says.

"Stop talking," Yoko pleads.

"I don't think you're using this right," Hina says, his hand suddenly on Yoko's wrist. He takes hold of the vibrator, pulling Yoko's hand away and pinning it to the small of his back. "You should be a lot more desperate by now."

Hina angles the vibrator so that Yoko's arching, his toes curling. He pushes back into it with a low groan.

"Yeah," Hina breathes, "that's it."

Hina pushes the vibrator in deep, and Yoko pants and whines and tries not to think about what he must look like right now. His body feels unbearably hot, skin covered in a sheen of sweat. His knees slip against the sheets, splaying his legs farther apart as he tries to take it deeper. Having Hina controlling the vibrator makes all of the sensations somehow more intense, and as he fucks him with it, slow and deliberate, Yoko feels like he's seconds away from coming apart.

When Hina lets go of Yoko's wrist, he lets his arm fall against the bed, leaning onto his forearm. Hina palms over the still-sensitive skin of Yoko's ass before wrapping his fingers around his cock. He slides the heel of his hand over the tip.

"You must be so turned on right now," he says, thumbing at a sensitive spot near the head that makes Yoko moan, hips bucking mindlessly into it.

"Of course I'm turned on," Yoko grumbles.

Hina's hand leaves Yoko's cock and the vibration intensifies. "Do you want to come?" he asks.

"Yes," Yoko says breathlessly, "obviously."

"Go ahead, then," Hina says. The vibration gets stronger still, a tingling shiver through Yoko's nerves.

At Hina's urging, Yoko lets go of the last vestiges of his control, fucking himself back against the vibrator until he's coming, his body tense and mouth open on a high-pitched cry. Hina keeps fucking him through his orgasm, into the point where Yoko's oversensitive and the vibration is painful. He tries to pull away from it, making a strangled sound, but Hina holds his hips with one hand and keeps at it.

"Stop," Yoko whimpers, "please, it hurts."

Hina twists the vibrator, tilting it to find the spot that makes stars explode behind Yoko's eyes and just keeping it there.

"You're hard, though," Hina says. "You like it."

Yoko writhes and shakes, but he can't get away from the stimulation. Hina's hand is tight on his hip, and while Yoko could get away from him if he really wanted, he's not yet at the point where he wants to. Instead, he begs Hina to stop, his voice thin and high.

"I wonder how soon I could make you come again," Hina says, when Yoko stops talking to gasp for breath. The sensation is still way too much, but it almost feels good, too, somewhere underneath the discomfort, the feeling like he's being pulled inside-out.

"Don't," Yoko pleads, "not again, please."

"Oh, come on," Hina says, "I can see how your hips are moving, you want it."

Yoko takes a shuddering breath, trying to still his body's involuntary movements, but he doesn't try to deny it. He thinks about how Hina's watching him and feels a wave of embarrassment crashing warm through his body. The sensations are making his mind foggy, losing the distinction between discomfort and pleasure.

"Tell me you want to come again," Hina says.

"I want to," Yoko says, with a sound like a sob.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you," Hina urges, his voice low and rough. "Beg me for it."

Yoko is rapidly reaching the point where he'd probably beg Hina to slit his throat if he asked him to, so it's easy for him to beg Hina to fuck him, the words spilling from his lips almost unbidden. Hina slips the vibrator out and Yoko shivers at the feeling of loss. Then he feels lube being poured cool and slick onto his hole and arches his back, waiting for Hina's cock. The bed rocks with motion, and Yoko hears the crumpling sound of a condom package, then Hina's voice close to his head.

"Get on top of me," Hina says, tugging Yoko's arm. Yoko reaches to take the blindfold off, but Hina tells him to leave it on. He slides his hand up Yoko's forearm to his wrist, and Yoko pushes the rest of the way to lace his fingers loosely between Hina's as he tries to sit up. Yoko feels shaky and disoriented, a little silly as he clambers to straddle Hina. He makes it okay, only kneeing him once or twice, and then he's poised with his knees on either side of Hina's body.

Yoko reaches blindly behind him to take hold of Hina's cock. When his fingers brush the shaft, Hina lets out a shaky sigh. Yoko braces himself with Hina's hand as he sits down slowly, Hina's cock filling him bit by bit. He's bigger than the vibrator, thicker and longer. When he's all the way in, Hina lets go of his hand and reaches for his hips. He runs a hand up Yoko's side and then flicks his thumb over a nipple, making Yoko shudder and clench around him.

"Fuck," Hina groans. He does it again, then pinches it between his thumb and forefinger. Yoko whines, rocking his hips. He starts to move, lifting himself up with shaky thigh muscles, then down, the full feeling of Hina's cock inside him making him breathless. Hina keeps pinching at Yoko's nipple, nothing too painful, but enough to make him whine and shiver.

"Your nipples are so sensitive," Hina breathes, lifting his other hand so he can play with both at once.

Yoko opens his mouth to speak but all he can do is pant. He tries to keep moving, but his muscles ache from holding the position he'd been in before, from all the stimulation he's felt all night, and he slows down, bracing his hands on his thighs.

"You look really nice on top of me," Hina starts, "but this isn't quite working."

Yoko heaves a sigh of relief, and Hina laughs under his breath. He sits up, then eases Yoko onto his back, staying fully inside him the whole time. Yoko splays his legs open, knees up, and Hina pulls out almost all the way. He stays there for a moment, trailing his fingers down Yoko's inner thigh, before thrusting back in, hard. Yoko tilts his hips into it, groaning.

"Jerk yourself off," Hina says, "I want you to come again."

Yoko spits in his palm, wraps his hand tight around his cock. The stimulation is still a little too much, and he shudders, making a pained sound, but strokes himself anyway.

"Does it hurt?" Hina asks. From his voice and the speed with which he's thrusting into Yoko, he's pretty close to coming.

"Yeah," Yoko breathes. He thumbs at the tip, dripping wet with precome, and gasps. Hina groans, pushing at Yoko's knees so he's bent further, and thrusts in again. It hits the perfect spot and Yoko cries out.

When Yoko comes this time, his body is wracked with shudders. He bites his lip, whining, until Hina leans in close and kisses him. He nips at Yoko's bottom lip, which feels swollen from him biting it, as he fucks him relentlessly. Yoko can't do much but groan and pant into Hina's mouth, letting him control the kiss completely.

Hina breaks the kiss when he comes, mumbling nonsense against Yoko's lips as he thrusts into him a few more times.

When Hina pulls out, Yoko lets his legs collapse bonelessly onto the bed. He feels fingertips on his cheekbones, and then the blindfold is being eased off. He lifts his head slightly, letting Hina pull it away, but keeps his eyes closed.

"You gonna open your eyes?" Hina asks.

"When I feel like it," Yoko says. He knows from experience that the light in the room will seem blinding when he first opens his eyes after being blindfolded, and he wants to avoid that unpleasant experience for a while if he can.

"If you're not going to open your eyes, I guess I'll just tell you," Hina says, "Subaru's been here the whole time."

Yoko keeps his eyes closed when he swats at Hina, and he only opens them because he misses.

Three Idiots Are Better Than Two (Hina/Subaru/Yoko)

hondemo — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 04:31:00 GMT

title: Three Idiots Are Better Than Two
pairing: Hina/Subaru/Yoko
words: 1036
rating: NC-17
summary: Sanbaka, double penetration. That's…pretty much all you need to know.
notes: Started this back in September or something, at the encouragement of pinkpapyrus ♥ Now we've both DPed our favorites! XD

Subaru traces a lube-slicked finger over where Yoko's stretched around Hina's cock, and Yoko makes a choked sound and shivers.

"I can't," he says, "I can't do this."

"Yes you can," Subaru says, and pushes the finger in.

Yoko whimpers, burying his face in Hina's shoulder, but after a moment he seems to relax.

"Okay," he says, voice shaky, "that's not so bad."

"You do know that's just his finger, right?" Hina says.

Yoko says nothing.

"Fuck you," Subaru says, and bites Yoko's shoulder blade in retaliation.

"I'm starting to think leaving this part up to you was a mistake," Hina says, lifting his head to glare at Subaru over Yoko's shoulder.

Subaru splays his free hand over the small of Yoko's back, feeling how hot his skin is. The back of Yoko's neck is flushed red, and when he turns his head to breathe Subaru can see how his eyes look glassy and wet. He pushes another finger in, stretching him further, and watches Yoko pant against Hina's skin.

"You okay?" Hina asks, and Yoko nods, making a high sound.

Hina meets Subaru's eyes, face flushed and pupils blown out, and suddenly it becomes a lot harder for Subaru to take his time. He withdraws his fingers, rolling a condom down his cock and pouring out a generous amount of lube onto his palm. When he strokes his hand down his cock to coat it with lube, he can't help but let out a low moan.

"I'm gonna…" Subaru says, pressing his dick up against Hina's. Yoko takes a deep breath, his fingers shifting where they're gripping Hina's sheets.

"It's too much," Yoko says as Subaru pushes in, "it's too much, I can't, I--" his voice breaks and he just whines, panting.

"Do you want to stop?" Subaru asks, summoning up all of his self-control to pause.

There's a long silence, but then Yoko shakes his head and Subaru lets out the breath he'd been holding. Hina curls his hand around the back of Yoko's head, petting him lightly.

"It's okay," he says, "you're fine."

"Just a little more," Subaru says. His voice sounds strained from the effort of holding back. "It's so fucking tight."

Yoko whimpers weakly against Hina's skin, breathing hard.

When Subaru's all the way in, he stops, and for a moment the only thing he can hear is the harsh sound of their breathing. Yoko starts to say something, but then Hina uses his limited leverage to thrust up, and whatever word Yoko was in the middle of turns quickly into a groan.

"Okay?" Hina says. He's still holding the back of Yoko's head, fingers twisted in his hair.

Yoko takes a shaky breath and nods. Subaru can feel his thighs shaking. He licks a meandering stripe up the curve of Yoko's spine as a distraction of sorts while he pulls out almost all the way, then leans back so he can see it, his and Hina's cocks pressed together inside Yoko.

"Fuck," he says. It's kind of amazing, the sort of mind-blowingly dirty thing he never thought he'd see outside of porn movies. He can't help himself, and he reaches out, pushes the tip of his finger in, just to see what will happen.

What happens is Yoko practically screaming as he tries to twitch away. Hina grabs his hips to hold him in place, and Subaru pulls his hand away.

"Subaru," Hina says, voice strained, "stop fucking around and fuck him."

"I hate you both," Yoko manages between pants.

Subaru puts his hands on Yoko's sides, his pinkies fitting between Hina's thumbs and forefingers, and starts to move. Yoko shudders, turning his head so he can breathe easier. He's got his eyes squeezed shut at first, his mouth pink and open, but when Subaru thrusts all the way back in, his eyes flutter open, nothing but white for a second. He groans, a shiver running through him, and then tilts his hips to take them deeper. Hina lets go of Yoko's hips to push at his shoulders, making a bit of space between them so he can reach Yoko's dick. Subaru knows when Hina starts jerking him off because Yoko tightens around them with a choked cry.

Hina grabs Yoko's hair with his free hand, pulling his head down to kiss him, and Subaru watches their mouths crush together. He sees Hina's teeth closing over the plump curve of Yoko's lower lip, the already-flushed skin turning dark and swollen. Subaru speeds up, his cock sliding tight against Hina's. He wants to draw it out, since it's not likely Yoko's going to volunteer to do this again very often, but it's too good, and Subaru's never been one for teasing himself. He grips Yoko's hips tightly as he thrusts in harder and faster, and Yoko and Hina break their kiss to pant and groan.

After Subaru comes, he pulls out slowly, sitting back on his knees. Hina shoves Yoko so he's sitting up and kneeling over him, his head tilted back and his eyes unfocused. Hina lets Yoko writhe on top of him for a minute or so before sitting up himself, pushing Yoko so he's sprawled back against Subaru's lap. When Hina thrusts back in, Yoko arches with a throaty moan, taking hold of his cock. Subaru pinches at his nipples, watching his face contort. Hina leans over, breath hot on Subaru's mouth, and kisses him while Yoko squirms and comes between them. Hina breaks the kiss when he comes, groaning breathlessly with his eyes squeezed shut.

Yoko's weight is heavy and too hot against Subaru, damp and sticky where their skin touches. He shoves at Yoko's shoulders, trying to get him to move, but it's not much use and he just wiggles out from under him.

"I need a shower," Subaru says. He pokes at Yoko, who's still breathing hard, his face pink.

"We all need a shower," Hina agrees. Subaru pokes at a sensitive spot on Yoko's ribs and he twitches away with a breathless giggle.

"Who's gonna carry me there?" Yoko asks, fixing them both with a grin and batting his eyelashes.

Hina hits him as Subaru collapses against the pillows, laughing.

Mysterious Mocha Man and Aiba: A Love Story (Aiba/Nino)

hondemo — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 11:55:57 GMT

title: Mysterious Mocha Man and Aiba: A Love Story
pairing: Aiba/Nino
words: 700
rating: G
summary: Aiba's worked in the coffee shop long enough to have memorized the usual orders of most of their regulars.
notes: This is the third fic I started for this month's round of rainbowfilling XD It is written for the prompt "Frothy milk." Thanks to pinkpapyrus for telling me it wasn't stupid XD

Aiba's worked in the coffee shop long enough to have memorized the usual orders of most of their regulars. Most of them, he knows by name, but there's one guy who comes in every Tuesday and Thursday right around four pm who gives him a different name every time he comes in. He's short, with messy dark hair and a spark in his eyes that Aiba was fascinated by the first time he saw him.

Their exchanges go something like this:

"Grande soy mocha," the mystery guy will say, depositing the exact change (it's always exact change) on the metal tray.

"Can I have your name?" Aiba will say, cup in one hand and fat black magic marker in the other.

Then the guy will look up from the counter, grin, and give him a name. Sometimes the names are Japanese, sometimes they're foreign, sometimes they're the names of manga or video game characters.

Aiba will write down whatever name he gives him and tell him he can pick up his drink at the green counter to the right, and the guy will say "Thanks, Aiba-san," and walk away.

This has been the extent of their interaction, but for some reason Aiba finds himself haunted by thoughts of the Mysterious Mocha Man, as he calls him privately (and once out loud, but Jun laughed so hard that Aiba's decided to keep the nickname to himself in the future).

"Why don't you just talk to him?" Aiba jumps, startled, and realizes that he's been standing in front of the refrigerator daydreaming. He puts away the carton of milk he'd been holding and shuts the door, turning to see Jun fixing him with a look of mixed annoyance and pity.

"I can't do that!" Aiba says. He's a little embarrassed to have been caught, wondering if he's really that obvious.

"Why not? You talk to plenty of the other customers."

Jun has a point: Aiba's not one to be shy about chatting with their regulars, and he's gotten to know some of them quite well, but for whatever reason he's never taken that step with Mysterious Mocha Man.

Aiba's saved from having to respond by the beginning of the evening rush: a hoard of suit-clad business people descending upon the shop for the caffeine fix they'll need to survive the long commute home. He thinks about it later, though, wondering just why he's so afraid to talk to him. Maybe, Aiba thinks, he doesn't want to get to know him because then he won't be Mysterious Mocha Man, and there's something fun about having a crush on a stranger: you don't have to worry about the flaws in their personality if you don't know enough about them to know what those flaws are.

He explains his reasoning to Jun in the break room and just gets an eye-roll in response.

"You're way past having a crush," Jun says. "Your eyes get all sparkly when you look at him, it's like a shoujo manga or something."

Aiba blushes, busying himself with tying the strings of his apron.

"Maybe I'll try to talk to him," he says vaguely, and it seems enough to get Jun to drop the subject.

When Mysterious Mocha Man comes in later that day, Aiba fully intends not to deviate from their usual pattern, but MMM apparently has other ideas.

"Tall steamed milk with almond," he says, tapping his fingers absently on the counter.

"Huh?" Aiba says, incredulous.

"Tall steamed milk with almond," he repeats, the corners of his mouth turning up a little.

Flustered, Aiba concentrates on keying the order into the register.

"Come on," MMM says, tone playful, "you're not going to ask?"

"Ask what?" Aiba plucks one of the tall cups from the stack next to the register.

"Why I'm not getting my usual." He seems far too amused by all of this, and Aiba wonders if he's being played with.

"Why aren't you getting your usual?" he asks.

"Thought I'd try something new," MMM says with a shrug, dropping the exact change for his drink into the coin tray.

"Can I have your name?" Aiba says, magic marker poised against the cup.

"I'm Nino."

Happy Birthday, Asshole (Yoko/Hina)

hondemo — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 06:10:17 GMT

title: Happy Birthday, Asshole
pairing: Yoko/Hina
words: 654
rating: G
summary: If you can't be a dick to your friend on your birthday, when can you?
notes: Just a little something written for Hina's birthday~ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

There's no card attached to the small box Hina finds in his coat pocket, but the coat's been hanging in the dressing room he shares with Yoko, and he's pretty sure no one else would make that kind of weird gesture. It explains the strange way Yoko's been acting all morning, anyway.

Later, Hina rips off the paper, revealing a box printed with the logo of an upscale department store. In the box is a keychain that looks to be made of gold, kind of flashy but suited to Hina's style. He grins, puts the box back in his pocket, and decides he's going to take this opportunity to mess with Yoko as much as possible.

He says nothing about it until Recomen begins, and then, as soon as they're on air: "So I haven't gotten a present from you yet."

Yoko's face goes through a comical series of horrified expressions, and Hina wonders if he's going to fess up to the gift. It's difficult for Hina to keep a straight face, and he's pretty sure if Yoko weren't having a minor panic attack he'd definitely notice something was up, but as it is he seems oblivious.

"Maybe I didn't get you anything," Yoko says, after a lengthy bit of dead air.

"After all our time together?" Hina asks, dramatically pathetic.

"Shut up and let's do the title call," Yoko grumbles.

Hina doesn't say anything about it during the commercial breaks or other people's segments, and Yoko doesn't bring it up either, but he keeps casting nervous looks at Hina's jacket. Hina can imagine exactly what's going on in Yoko's head: he's wondering if Hina just didn't notice it, or didn't know it was from him, dismissing that as impossible, and is now freaking out thinking it somehow got lost. The gift was obviously expensive, and Hina imagines Yoko is thinking about how much money he's lost on it. Hina laughs to himself, enjoying watching Yoko squirm.

The show ends, and Hina watches as Yoko eyes him nervously while he puts on his jacket. He'd gotten rid of the box earlier, and he puts his hand into his pocket and pulls out his keys, attached to the new keychain. There's an alarmed noise from Yoko, and Hina turns on him with a grin, holding up the keychain.

"Look at the present I found in my jacket pocket this morning! I think I might have a secret admirer…"

Yoko turns bright red, looking away in an attempt to cover it, and Hina can't hold it in: he bursts out laughing. There's a moment where Yoko looks utterly puzzled, but then realization dawns on his face and he chucks his half-full water bottle at Hina's face.

"Oh, fuck you," he shouts, but he's starting to laugh too. "This is the last time I try to do something nice for you!"

"Seriously, though," Hina manages between bursts of laughter, "what did you think you were doing, not putting a card in it or anything?"

"I don't know," Yoko mumbles, coloring again, "I thought it'd be a nice surprise, or something…I guess."

Yoko looks like he's feeling like an idiot, and Hina has a stab of pity for him: he'd only wanted to mess with him a little, not make him feel bad about the gift.

"It was," Hina says. "I really like it."

Yoko smiles, avoiding Hina's eyes. "Good," he says, "because it was really expensive."

Hina smacks him on the back of the head. "It kind of loses the coolness value when you point that out, you know."

Yoko laughs, rubbing the spot. There's a pause before Hina speaks again.

"So?" he says, deciding he's not quite done messing with Yoko.

"So?" Yoko echoes, confused.

Hina crosses his arms, eyebrows raised expectantly. "You have something to say to me?"

Yoko rolls his eyes. "Happy birthday, asshole."

Hina shoves at his shoulder, grinning. "Thanks."

Wish Fulfillment (Yoko/Hina)

hondemo — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 08:04:46 GMT

title: Wish Fulfillment
pairing: Yoko/Hina
words: 2059
rating: NC-17
summary: The first week or two after the dreams start it's fine, but once he's at the point where the only thing he thinks of while he's jerking off is Hina fucking him on the recomen table, Thursday nights become a bit more of a minefield.
notes: Some time in July, I asked pinkpapyrus for a Yoko/Hina prompt, and she gave me "recomen table." I wrote the first half of this and then got distracted, decided to finish it today so here it is! :D

It's not a fantasy Yoko ever intended to have, but after he wakes up sweaty and sticky for the third night in a row after the same goddamn dream, he decides he may as well indulge it in his waking life.

He lets himself think about it in the shower first, soap-slick hand tight around his dick as he imagines his face pressed against the cool surface of the table. In the dream they're on air, and Yoko has to hold back the noises threatening to spill from his mouth. In the dream he has to read from the script as Hina hits his prostate with every thrust.

The fantasy rapidly becomes the quickest way to get himself off, and Yoko finds himself relying on it more and more.

The first week or two after the dreams start it's fine, but once he's at the point where the only thing he thinks of while he's jerking off is Hina fucking him on the recomen table, Thursday nights become a bit more of a minefield.

"You're acting weird," Hina says as they leave.

"No I'm not!!" Yoko says, too quickly.

"You were messing up the script more than usual."

Yoko tries to breathe, to act normal. "I'm just tired," he says.

Hina just gives him a weird look, then gets into his car.

Yoko determinedly doesn't think about the dream when he jerks off that night, watching a lesbian porno Subaru loaned him where one of the actresses looks disturbingly like Yasu.

That night he dreams of Hina finding out, forcing him to talk out the entire fantasy in excruciating detail. While they're on air. As Hina bends him over the table and fingers him.

Three days later, when Yoko's drunk out of his mind, he sends Hina a text: "have you ever fantasized about having sex on the recomen table?"

He wakes up the next morning to three texts from Hina. The first just says "no." The second says "why, have you?" The third, sent at 4:30 am, says "well, now I have."

Yoko's first thought is to ask "with who?", and he must still be drunk because he types it out and hits send. Then he turns his pillow over to the dry side and goes back to sleep.

"Who do you think?" is the response he reads when he wakes up a second time.

"K-taro?"

Yoko's brushing his teeth, trying to get the vile taste out of his mouth, when Hina's reply comes. It's just an emoticon, the open hand that most people use for a wave. Yoko laughs to himself.

He types out "I had this dream," then deletes it, closes his phone and shoves it in his pocket.

It vibrates as Yoko's taking out his trash.

"You never said if you did or not."

Yoko makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and almost throws his phone into the pile of garbage bags. Why does anyone let him near his phone when he's drunk?

Ten minutes later, he decides the damage has already been done and he may as well answer.

"Yes," he types. "I had a dream." He sends it. Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he sends, "with you."

The reply comes in less than a minute. "Are you still drunk?"

"No," Yoko sends. Then, "fuck you."

"Oh, is that how it went?"

Yoko blushes bright red and throws his phone at the wall. It's a few minutes before it vibrates again, but then it goes three times in quick succession. Yoko picks it up from the floor, flipping it open.

"The other way around, then?"

Yoko grits his teeth.

"Sounds hot."

His breathing quickens a little.

"I'm coming over."

Yoko estimates he has about half an hour before Hina gets there. He spends the first twenty minutes of that half hour in the shower, mostly just standing under the water with his eyes squeezed shut. The last ten minutes are spent standing in front of his closet in his boxers, trying to decide if he needs to bother putting clothes on to greet Hina when he's coming over with the express purpose of…doing whatever it is they're going to do.

He's digging through a drawer for condoms and lube when the doorbell rings. Hina's standing at the door with a smile on his face, looking totally normal and not awkward at all.

"How are you not uncomfortable with this?" Yoko says, stepping out of the way and wishing he'd gotten dressed.

Hina shrugs. "It's nothing we haven't really done before, right?"

"All those times we were drunk."

"Maybe I'm drunk now," Hina says with a laugh.

"It's one in the afternoon and you've got your car keys in your hand," Yoko says.

"Look," Hina gets slightly more serious. "If you don't actually want to do this we can just watch TV or something."

Yoko shakes his head. He doesn't want to be the one to back down, here, and he figures it's kind of his own fault since he's the one who brought it up in the first place.

"I was thinking we could do it on your kitchen table," Hina says casually. "I mean, if we want to act out a fantasy we need to at least make it sort of accurate, right?"

"Right," Yoko says. The table is a mess at the moment, since it's where Yoko generally puts down everything he's carrying when he gets into his apartment, so he has to clear it off. When he turns back to Hina, he's stripped off his shirt.

Yoko swallows hard, takes a few breaths. Hina smiles at him, annoyingly cheerful and self-assured.

"Oh, come over here," Yoko mumbles after a moment. Hina takes a few steps closer, then Yoko reaches out to close his fingers around his wrist and pull Hina in the rest of the way. He kisses the corner of Hina's mouth, letting his eyes fall shut. Hina makes a small, quiet sound and brings his hand up to cup Yoko's face. They kiss for a while, until Yoko feels a little less nervous and a lot more turned on, and then Hina's backing him into the table. Yoko reaches between them and presses his palm to Hina's dick. He shifts against Yoko's hand at the touch, moaning into his mouth. Hina breaks the kiss but doesn't move away much, so his lips brush Yoko's when he speaks.

"You need to be naked," he says, fingers curled in the waistband of Yoko's boxers.

"Man," Yoko says, "you really don't go in for the subtle seduction, do you?"

"With you, why would I?" Hina laughs, and Yoko has to concede it's a good point; he'd probably be even less able to keep a straight face through this if Hina were trying to romance him.

Yoko tugs down his boxers and steps out of them. "You too," he says, gesturing at Hina's pants.

"So," Hina says once they're both naked.

"So," Yoko echoes. He stifles a laugh. The lube and condoms Yoko had gotten out earlier sit on the table, and he picks up the lube and hands it to Hina, avoiding his eyes.

"Turn around," Hina says, and his voice sounds different: a little gruffer, more serious. It makes the hairs on the back of Yoko's neck stand up and he turns away, planting both hands on the table but not bending very far. Hina takes a step closer so he's pressed up against Yoko's back, cock hard against his ass. He puts his hand on Yoko's hip, as if to hold him there, even though Yoko can't really go anywhere and wouldn't want to if he could. Then Hina's pushing a slicked finger into him, and Yoko spreads his legs a little, lets his head drop forward limply.

"You've thought about this, right?" Hina asks, in the same voice that makes Yoko shiver a little, as he starts to fuck him with one finger. Yoko nods. "Tell me about it."

Yoko feels himself blush, knows Hina can probably see the redness on his neck even if he can't see his face. He takes a shaky breath. "It started because of a dream," he begins. "We're, um, in the dream we were on the air and you were fucking me while I was, um. While I was trying to read the script?"

Hina's mouth touches Yoko's shoulder and he can feel him trying to stifle his laughter. Part of Yoko is annoyed, but he has to admit it is kind of hilarious, so he doesn't complain.

"It's hotter than it sounds," he says. Hina presses Yoko's shoulders with his free hand, and Yoko bends forward, leaning on his elbows. Hina pushes in a second finger, curving them down, and Yoko gasps, shifting back involuntarily.

"You should try to be quiet," Hina says, "for the fantasy and all."

"If you're going to mock me, I don't want to do this with you."

"If you didn't want me to mock you, you shouldn't've told me about it in the first place."

"Just shut up and get on with it."

"Oh, and I'm the one who's not romantic enough, here?"

Hina twists his fingers, making Yoko shiver and whimper, then shushes him. Yoko turns his head, pressing his mouth against his bicep. He's embarrassed and turned on and annoyed, which is pretty much par for the course when it comes to interacting with Hina, and he focuses on keeping his breathing steady while Hina stretches him open. When he adds a third finger, he reaches in front of Yoko to grip his cock, stroking it slowly. Being quiet like this, Yoko can hear the slick sounds of Hina fingering him. He wants to speak, to make noise or something to make it seem more normal, but then Hina's pulling his fingers out and Yoko's breath catches as Hina pushes into him.

"Your dick," Yoko says, breathing hard, "is just unnecessarily big."

Hina laughs and pushes the rest of the way in.

"You always say that."

"It's always true."

Hina pulls almost all the way out, then thrusts back in, hard, and Yoko just barely stifles the high-pitched noise his body wants to make. He wraps his hand around his cock, arching his back to push back against Hina. Yoko might complain about Hina's dick being too big, but he loves how it feels inside him, full and overwhelming. Hina's hands are tight on Yoko's hips, the blunt ends of his fingernails digging into Yoko's skin a little, and Yoko's knees are starting to go weak. He leans harder on the table, slipping forward a little when Hina thrusts particularly enthusiastically. The hard surface of the table is uncomfortable enough to keep Yoko a little distracted, and by the time Hina's groaning and coming, Yoko's still only about halfway there.

Hina pulls out and Yoko stays there while he throws away the condom, jerking himself lazily until Hina's back and grabbing at his hips, demanding that he turn around.

"Hold onto the table," Hina says, and drops to his knees.

"What, you think you're gonna give me such a good blowjob that I won't be able to stand up?" Yoko says, looking down at Hina with raised eyebrows. Hina just shrugs, smiling, and then he leans in and sucks Yoko's cock down in one smooth motion.

"Holy shit," Yoko says (says, definitely says, not squeaks), "when did you learn to do that?" Hina starts to pull back, like he's planning to answer, and Yoko grabs at his hair. "Tell me later!"

Hina laughs, the sound vibrating around Yoko's cock, and he lets go of Hina's hair to grab the table again. Yoko's already stretched and wet, so Hina's two spit-slicked fingers slide into him easily. He curls them forward while he swallows down Yoko's cock over and over until Yoko's coming and moaning incoherently, his head thrown back.

It turns out, Yoko realizes the following Thursday, that acting out your fantasy isn't the greatest way to get it out of your head; especially not when you do it with someone as horrifically unsubtle as Hina, who seems determined to spend the entire three hours of their broadcast staring at Yoko like he wants to fuck him through the floor.

In Which Takki is Jealous and Tsubasa Proves his Love: A BDSM Tale (Takki/Tsubasa)

hondemo — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 08:03:21 GMT

title: In Which Takki is Jealous and Tsubasa Proves his Love: A BDSM Tale
pairing: Takki/Tsubasa
words: 3042
rating: NC-17
summary: Takki learns that jealousy gets you strung up from your bedroom ceiling.
notes: The second reward fic for pinkpapyrus. This time, she requested that I include jealous!Takki and edging. The bondage is just a bonus because I love her ♥ Title by the always brilliant elfiepike.

It takes two light techs, an AD, their driver, and a convenience store clerk all eyeing Tsubasa with the same look of hunger in their eyes before Hideaki snaps and mutters, "Can't you put on a hat or something?"

Tsubasa runs absent fingers through his hair, pushing it back out of his face, and regards Hideaki with a raised eyebrow over his big sunglasses.

"Your...hair," Hideaki stammers, eyes caught on the few strands still brushing across Tsubasa's cheekbone. "It's..." He wishes Tsubasa would interrupt, but he's just standing there patiently as Hideaki flounders for words, finally settling on, "people are looking."

"Are you sure they're not staring at that blinding monstrosity you call a shirt?" Tsubasa deadpans. He turns away with a smirk, walking up to the counter where the starry-eyed clerk rings up his bottle of oolong tea. Hideaki watches Tsubasa smile as he hands over his money, their hands touching, before he turns away, jealousy burning in his stomach. Frustrated, he kicks at the nearest shelf, sending a hi-chew display clattering to the floor.

"Fucking Kanjani," he says, a little too loudly, and bends to pick it up. Their ridiculous faces grin back at him, and he mentally curses Hina as he puts them upright again.

When he stands up, Tsubasa is looking at him from the other side of the shelf, sunglasses pulled down so Hideaki can see his eyes.

"You ready?" he says.

"Yeah," Hideaki answers, blushing. "I just...thought we should support our kouhai." He picks out a package of hi-chew and strides, as confidently as he can, to the register.

Forty-five minutes later, Hideaki's fingers are the ones running through Tsubasa's hair, as he crowds him against the bedroom wall. He tugs lightly, fingers curled at the base of Tsubasa's skull, and opens his mouth against Tsubasa's lips to moan as Tsubasa pushes a hand up the back of his shirt. Hideaki steps back to let Tsubasa pull his shirt up over his head, then takes four steps backward before the backs of his knees hit the bed and he lies back, unbuttoning his pants. Tsubasa's on him before he can get the pants down, his knees planted on either side of Hideaki's thighs. He rolls his hips deliberately, pressing against the bulge of Hideaki's cock in his pants, and Hideaki arches up against the stimulation. Hideaki reaches up, wanting Tsubasa closer, but Tsubasa grabs hold of his wrists, forcing them down by his sides and then repositioning himself so that Hideaki's hands are pinned under his thighs.

Hideaki shivers and bites his lip, struggling with no intention of actually freeing himself. Tsubasa shifts his weight down, rubbing against Hideaki's cock again, and they both moan, Tsubasa throwing his head back. Hideaki's fingers twitch, wanting to touch where the ends of Tsubasa's hair are curling softly around the arch of his throat. Tsubasa looks down at him with his head still tilted back, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. His eyes are half-lidded and dark, a look Hideaki privately thinks of as Tsubasa's "You'd better clear your schedule for at least three hours" look. He can't help but grin, anticipating whatever it is Tsubasa has in mind.

What Tsubasa has in mind, at least at first, turns out to be Hideaki on his knees on the floor, sucking Tsubasa off. He's still got his pants on and unbuttoned, and the zipper is pressing uncomfortably against his cock, but it's difficult to notice with Tsubasa's cock hot and heavy on his tongue. Tsubasa's hands are tight in Hideaki's hair, just shy of pulling, as he bobs his head and sucks. Tsubasa comes with a low groan that sends shivers down Hideaki's spine. He pulls back to catch his breath, but Tsubasa seems far from spent: he drags Hideaki up onto the bed and kisses him hard. Hideaki puts his hands on either side of Tsubasa's face, groaning into the kiss. For a few minutes there's no sound in the room but muffled moans and the slick movement of lips and tongues.

While they kiss, Tsubasa maneuvers them so Hideaki is lying on his back, his head more or less at the head of the bed. Tsubasa curls his fingers around the waistband of Hideaki's pants, tugging them down little by little. Hideaki lifts his hips, trying to make it easier, but Tsubasa takes his time anyway, pulling slowly until he's at the foot of the bed, the pants in his hands. Hideaki moves to pull his underwear off, but Tsubasa's hand on his ankle startles him and he pauses. Tsubasa leans in, putting his lips to the swell of bone at Hideaki's ankle. The skin there is sensitive and unused to touch, and the sensation makes Hideaki shiver. Tsubasa moves up from there, kissing Hideaki's calf, his shin, the side of his knee where he's got a tiny scar from trying to jump over a fence when he was younger, then up his inner thigh, where the kisses get longer, wetter.

Hideaki splays his legs apart to give Tsubasa better access, breathing slowly through his nose as Tsubasa mouths his balls through the soft cotton of his underwear. Tsubasa's breath feels warm, tantalizingly damp. He kisses and sucks up the outline of Hideaki's dick, then closes his lips hot over the head. Hideaki groans and runs his fingers through Tsubasa's hair, pulling it back so he can watch his face. Tsubasa flicks his eyes up, smirking a little, and then he's got his teeth on the elastic of Hideaki's underwear and is tugging them down. Hideaki groans, his cock twitching.

Tsubasa gives up on using his mouth after half a minute, apparently impatient to get to the next step, and Hideaki certainly can't complain about that. The air of the bedroom feels cool against his suddenly exposed cock, until Tsubasa's fingers are wrapping around it, his skin hot. He swipes his thumb across the wet tip, pressing into the slit, and Hideaki's hips jerk upward.

"Stay still," Tsubasa says, then gets up from the bed. He comes back with a bottle of lube, which he uncaps and pours directly onto Hideaki's cock. Hideaki shivers but tries not to squirm, remembering Tsubasa's instruction. Tsubasa's hand is back on his cock seconds later, smearing the lube over it and stroking firmly. Tsubasa stokes him expertly, fast and deliberate in the way he does when he's in a hurry to make him come, and it's just a matter of minutes before Hideaki is panting and right at the edge.

That's when Tsubasa takes his hand away.

Hideaki shudders and whines pathetically, his cock twitching. He opens his eyes, blinking against the room's dim light, and Tsubasa's staring at him with this almost hungry look.

"Ask me," Tsubasa says. "Ask me to come." He reaches out and wraps his slick fingers around the head of Hideaki's cock, pushes his thumb up against the sensitive spot on the underside.

"Please," Hideaki breathes, "please let me."

Tsubasa looks thoughtful for a moment, rubbing his thumb in a small, lazy circle.

"No," he says finally, "not yet, I think."

Tsubasa works his hand down slowly, and now that Hideaki's been denied permission to come, the sensation changes quickly from pleasant to painful. He exhales a whimper, gripping the blanket as he tries not to move.

It's easy for Tsubasa to bring Hideaki to the edge, and he does it again quickly, backing off just as Hideaki's getting close. The third time Tsubasa does it, Hideaki gives himself over completely to the sensation of almost coming, of stimulation with no immediate hope of release, and it's enough to make his head light. He pants, licking his lips, and looks down his body to watch Tsubasa's hands working his cock in slow, steady strokes.

"Tsubasa," he says, "please, can I come?"

"No," Tsubasa answers flippantly. He presses two wet fingertips right behind Hideaki's balls, making him arch with a strangled cry. "Especially if you're not going to keep still," Tsubasa adds.

"It's..." Hideaki pauses to swallow and breathe, "it's a little difficult. Staying still."

"If you wanted me to tie you up, you could have just asked," Tsubasa says, laughter in his voice. He pauses to pour a bit more lube onto Hideaki's cock, smearing it down from the head. "Jerk yourself off while I go find the rope."

Hideaki fists his cock, ignoring the almost overwhelming urge to make himself come. It's more difficult when he's the one controlling the pace; it would be all too easy just to get caught up and go too far. He concentrates on keeping a slow, steady pace, enough to keep him near the edge like Tsubasa wants, but not so much that he can't bring himself back. It feels like Tsubasa rummages around in the drawer for an hour, but it's probably only a minute or so before he comes back with a length of rope. It's different from the one they usually use, which means Tsubasa's probably going to try something new. Hideaki's heart pounds as he imagines the possibilities.

"Up on your knees," Tsubasa instructs, then pulls Hideaki's arms back to tie his wrists together behind his back. Tsubasa always takes his time with ropework, tying each knot slowly and meticulously. When he was first learning, it would easily take him an hour to get Hideaki tied up to his satisfaction. He's gotten faster at it with practice, but it's still a long, deliberate process. Hideaki concentrates on the feeling of rope encircling his wrists, Tsubasa's fingers working it deftly around them. He finds himself breathing easier as Tsubasa goes on; the process of being bound with such thoroughness, such attention to detail, makes him feel calm and secure.

When Tsubasa's finished securing Hideaki's wrists together, there's still quite a bit of rope left; Hideaki can feel it curled against the ball of his right foot. He feels movement behind him, the bed shifting with Tsubasa's weight, and he can't help but turn his head to look behind him. Tsubasa is looking upward, and Hideaki follows his gaze to one of the small hooks in the ceiling. His throat goes dry with anticipation, and then Tsubasa stands up on the bed.

"Lean forward," he says, and Hideaki folds himself over so his cheek is pressed against the blanket. Then there's a pulling at his wrists, and Hideaki's arms are forced upward. He relaxes into the position, breathing deeply. It's the kind of stretch he can do himself with relative ease, but the rope tugs his arms a little farther and it suddenly becomes uncomfortable, a shock of pain in his muscles that makes him gasp.

"Too far?" Tsubasa asks, and puts a little slack in the rope.

Hideaki shakes his head, doing his best to hold the same position anyway, just to show that he's fine. "It's a lot," he says, "but it's okay."

"Tell me if it starts to hurt too much," Tsubasa says, his tone suggesting he thinks Hideaki probably won't. He pulls the rope taut again, then holds it there for a moment without doing anything. "Can you sit up a little?"

Hideaki lifts himself up a little, feeling the strain in his abs already, and Tsubasa tugs the rope tight again to pick up the slack. Hideaki tries to take a deep breath, but it's hard to breathe. His head feels light.

"Okay?" Tsubasa asks, but he's already securing the rope.

"Yeah," Hideaki breathes. The feeling of helplessness is starting to set in, blurring all the sensations together into a tangle of stimuli and rendering him unable to think straight.

Then Tsubasa's in front of him, his hand firm on Hideaki's chin as he forces his head up to kiss him. The kiss is deep and possessive, and when Tsubasa finally pulls away, Hideaki gasps desperately for breath. He lets his head fall forward when Tsubasa releases his chin. With his eyes closed, he listens to Tsubasa pouring lube onto his hands, the slick sound of it giving him goosebumps.

"Can you get your knees farther apart?" Tsubasa asks. Hideaki shifts, spreading his legs as best he can in his current position, and then Tsubasa reaches forward to get his hand on Hideaki's cock. He strokes slowly, and in this position, tied up like he is, there's nothing Hideaki can do but take what Tsubasa's giving him. He listens to the sound of their harsh breathing, the wet sound of Tsubasa's hand stroking up and down his cock. He'd calmed down a little while Tsubasa had been tying him up, but all of the desperation he'd felt before has come back stronger.

"Please," Hideaki says, not consciously deciding to speak. Tsubasa's hand slows, the touch turning lighter. He runs his other hand through Hideaki's hair, curling his fingers around the nape of his neck, then trailing fingertips over his shoulder blades. The touch makes Hideaki acutely aware of the pain, the burning stretch in his muscles, and his breath stutters out of rhythm.

"So," Tsubasa begins, his hand trailing over Hideaki's clavicle, "what was that about earlier, in the convenience store?"

Hideaki's brain is operating at about 20% of its normal functions, so the question doesn't really get through.

"Huh?" he says, followed immediately by a yelp, as Tsubasa's fingers close around his left nipple. Hideaki tries to jerk away, but he can't get very far. Tsubasa flicks his thumbnail over it as he continues.

"If I didn't know any better," Tsubasa says, "I'd say you were jealous." He pinches Hideaki's nipple and tugs lightly. "Were you jealous, Hide-kun?"

"Yes," Hideaki gasps, feeling his face turn red, "kind of."

"Tell me why and maybe I'll let you come." Tsubasa lets go of his nipple, stroking fingers through his hair instead. Hideaki leans into the touch, trying to gather his thoughts into something coherent. It's difficult to think past the immediate physical sensations, the pain settling dull and achey over everything in his mind.

"The way people were looking at you," Hideaki says, after a few moments. "I hate seeing people look at you like that." He realizes how childish that sounds, but he's not in the right frame of mind to phrase it any better, or to be anything other than completely honest.

Tsubasa exhales a laugh, rubbing his thumb across Hideaki's cheekbone.

"I think we're in the wrong line of work, then," he says. He lifts Hideaki's head to kiss him, deliberate and just a little teasing, then he pulls back and just holds his head there, looking at him. "I like you like this," he says thoughtfully. "We should have all our discussions while you're tied up."

Hideaki snorts, and Tsubasa kisses him once more before letting go. Hideaki lurches forward a little, unprepared to hold himself up, and it pulls sharply at his shoulders, making him cry out. He breathes hard, waves of heat washing over him.

"It's okay," he says breathlessly, anticipating Tsubasa's concern. It is, in fact, better than okay. The spark of pain was enough to send Hideaki hurtling over the edge of physical pain, into a pure, overwhelming adrenaline rush. Tsubasa's hand tightens around his cock and he moans, deep and throaty. Every single touch feels like fireworks on his skin; he's sensitive everywhere.

"Fuck," Tsubasa says, "I really like you like this."

He takes his hand away, then, and Hideaki whines at the loss, cock twitching painfully. The bed shifts as Tsubasa moves, and then there's lube being poured directly onto Hideaki's hole. He hisses at the coolness, helpless as it drips down between his legs.

"Tsubasa," he says, voice raspy. "Tsubasa, please."

Tsubasa palms the small of Hideaki's back while he pushes two fingers in at once. Hideaki feels powerless to stop the noises spilling incessantly from his mouth, all desperate incoherence. He tries to shift back against Tsubasa's fingers, but it just makes the pain flare hot and sharp in his arms and shoulders. Tsubasa stretches him open deftly, apparently having tired of taking his time, and soon he's pushing his cock in slowly. Hideaki pants, mouth dry and head spinning. Every time Tsubasa thrusts into him, Hideaki's body is rocked back and forth, a steady, rhythmic pulling at his bound arms.

"Do you want to come?" Tsubasa asks, breathless and turned on. His hands are tight on Hideaki's hips, holding him still when he picks up the pace.

"Yes," Hideaki says, "yes, please, please let me come, I want to, please." He's approaching the point where he won't be able to control it anymore, but he wants Tsubasa's permission, craves it bone-deep like nothing he's ever felt before.

Tsubasa pushes his hand up the taut curve of Hideaki's spine, pressing down between his shoulder blades. The pain explodes in Hideaki's nerves, bright and hot and breathtaking. Tsubasa thrusts in deeper and Hideaki's vision blurs. His mind barely registers Tsubasa's voice urging him to come, but his body reacts to it immediately, and he comes without any stimulation on his cock. He can feel Tsubasa coming too, his fingers digging in to Hideaki's hipbone. He eases the pressure on Hideaki's back, palming at his hot skin when he pulls out.

The post-orgasmic fog begins to dissipate as Tsubasa's letting the rope down from the hook, and when the pressure on Hideaki's arms and shoulders is released he just collapses, exhaustion hitting hard and sudden. Tsubasa unties his arms quickly, rubbing them as Hideaki's skin tingles, then pulls him close. Hideaki slumps bonelessly against Tsubasa's warmth as Tsubasa presses kisses against his forehead, pulling him into a lying position. Hideaki's face is wet; he feels unable to speak or move or do anything other than let Tsubasa pet his hair and kiss him softly.

"I should go get you some painkillers," Tsubasa says after a few minutes. "Whenever you come down you're really going to need some."

Hideaki hums his assent, but when Tsubasa starts to get up, he curls fingers around his arm and tugs him back, murmuring "stay."

"You'll thank me tomorrow," Tsubasa says when he wakes him up an hour later to make him take some pills and get under the blanket properly.

Worth the Wait (Yoko/Hina)

hondemo — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 10:39:25 GMT

title: Worth the Wait
pairing: Yoko/Hina
words: 849
rating: R
summary: Hina makes a promise he may or may not be able to keep.
notes: The idea for this pounced on me at work today, and I wrote it in about an hour. And hey look, it's the first Yoko/Hina fic I've ever written that's actually Yoko/Hina rather than Hina/Yoko, if you pay attention to that sort of thing XD

Hina corners Yoko against their dressing room door on Thursday morning and shoves his hand down his pants. He jerks Yoko off until he's right at the edge of coming, flushed and panting and about thirty seconds away from begging Hina for something more, and then stops moving his hand.

"Don't come," he says, his breath hot against Yoko's ear.

"What?" is Yoko's choked response. He digs his fingers into Hina's shoulders, trying to shift for friction.

"Don't come," Hina repeats, "don't go finish yourself off after this." He pauses, pulling back a little and licking his lips. His eyes are dark, pupils blown out, and Yoko feels like his stomach's just dropped out. "I'll make it worth your while."

Yoko wants to ask what the hell Hina means by that, but by the time he feels like he can form words, Hina's already gone, leaving Yoko leaning against the wall, breathing hard.

He spends the day distracted and hornier than he's been since he was a teenager who hadn't yet discovered the wonders of having sex with his fellow Johnnys. He tries to ask Hina a few times what he meant, but he just smiles that infuriating smile of his and says that Yoko will have to wait and see. Of course, this sends Yoko's imagination into overdrive, and by the time the Recomen broadcast starts Yoko's head is so full of filthy imagery that he's legitimately concerned about saying something on air that's going to get him yelled at. It doesn't help that he's got Hina sitting across the table from him, wearing some stupid tight t-shirt that looks like it would be soft against Yoko's hands. Hina stretches, muscles shifting and head tilting back with a long exhale, and Yoko feels like he's going to pass out.

"I hate you," he says, during the next commercial break.

Hina grins at him, then licks his lips. Yoko hates his life.

When the broadcast is over, Yoko follows Hina to his car, feeling physically incapable of tearing his eyes away from how amazing HIna's ass looks in the jeans he's wearing.

"What are you doing?" Hina asks, and Yoko can tell he's trying to seem nonchalant, but Hina's never been difficult for him to read, when it comes to stuff like this.

"You're going to make the hell of a day I just had worth my while," Yoko says, sliding into the passenger seat. "Remember?"

"Oh," Hina says, "I was planning on waiting a few days, actually."

"Very funny."

When they get to Hina's apartment, Yoko lets Hina get through half of a sentence offering him something to drink before he shoves him up against the refrigerator and kisses him hard. Hina bites Yoko's lip, fisting a hand in the hair at the nape of his neck to pull his head back. He kisses down Yoko's throat and Yoko squirms, grinding his already-hard cock against Hina's hip.

"Fuck," Yoko says. His voice sounds high-pitched and desperate, and he bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to breathe so this isn't over embarrassingly quickly.

"Bedroom," Hina mutters against Yoko's clavicle.

In Hina's bedroom, both of their clothes end up in a pile on the floor and Yoko stretches out on his back as Hina straddles his hips, his cock hot against Yoko's stomach.

"So," Yoko asks, "how exactly are you planning on making it worth the wait?"

"Only you," Yoko says as Hina lowers himself onto Yoko's cock, "would be conceited enough to think that this is enough to count as 'making it worth my while.'"

It takes a moment for Hina to answer, and his voice sounds thin when he does. "Come on," he says, fingers flexing where they're gripping Yoko's shoulders, "we barely ever do it this way, I thought you'd like the change."

"I like bottoming," Yoko says, gripping Hina's hips and thrusting up, just to watch Hina's eyes roll back in his head for a second.

"Well, we can stop any time you want." It's clear from Hina's tone that he knows he's won, and he knows Yoko's just making token protests now because he's annoyed about having to wait so long. This time when Yoko thrusts up Hina clenches around him, and he nearly bites through his bottom lip trying not to come.

"You're just doing this because you know it's not gonna last very long," he says, because bitching at Hina helps keep his mind off of the blinding heat pooling in his stomach. He opens his mouth to speak again, but before he can get any words out, Hina's shoving three fingers into his mouth.

"Shut up, Kimi," he says, voice low and rough, and Yoko whimpers.

From there, he lets Hina do most of the work. He pulls his fingers out of Yoko's mouth a minute later, once they're slick and wet, and wraps his hand around his cock. It occurs to Yoko, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Hina's been waiting too, that he's probably just as worked up, and that's the last coherent thought he has before he comes.

"So," Hina asks later, while Yoko's drawing himself a bath, "was it worth it?"

"No," Yoko says immediately, and Hina just laughs.

Tales From the Toy Drawer (Takki/Tsubasa)

hondemo — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 05:45:38 GMT

title: Tales From the Toy Drawer
pairing: Takki/Tsubasa
words: 1322
rating: NC-17
summary: There's a drawer in Hideaki's closet that's full of a variety of things they've ordered online, under an assumed name, and had delivered to a post office box Hideaki's had since he was 18 and paranoid about fangirls going through his mail.
notes: Written for pinkpapyrus as either a reward for not doing any memes before finishing her hols fic, or for the super-impressive feat of guessing which fic I wrote, since I was so very stealthy this year.

There's a drawer in Hideaki's closet that's full of a variety of things they've ordered online, under an assumed name, and had delivered to a post office box Hideaki's had since he was 18 and paranoid about fangirls going through his mail. Some of the stuff they don't use often (it takes a fair bit of convincing to get Tsubasa to use the flogger, and the marks it can leave mean they have to be careful about timing), but they both have a few favorites. When Tsubasa pulls away from Hideaki's mouth, panting, and says "be right back," Hideaki relishes the tingle of excitement in wondering what it is he'll come back with. He turns on his side to watch Tsubasa rummaging through the drawer, enjoying the view as he bends forward, all lean muscles and tempting bare skin.

After a moment, Tsubasa turns around. In his hands are a set of four leather cuffs: two for wrists, two for ankles, with metal clips dangling from each of them so they can be attached to each other. The leather feels soft and supple against Hideaki's skin as Tsubasa buckles the cuffs on, starting with his ankles. He does it slowly and carefully, glancing up at Hideaki's face every few seconds, his eyes dark with promise. He straddles Hideaki's lap when he's buckling on the wrist cuffs, cock hot and hard against his stomach. When the cuffs are all buckled, Tsubasa laces their fingers together, leaning in for a kiss. Hideaki shudders under him, already half out of his mind from the anticipation. The cuffs feel secure even without being attached to anything; the leather circles Hideaki's wrists and ankles like a pleasant weight, letting him relax against the bed and wait for Tsubasa to make his next move.

Tsubasa's next move is to climb, somewhat reluctantly, off of Hideaki's lap, and regard him contemplatively.

"Hmm," he says, tilting his head to the side. Hideaki grins at him, and Tsubasa seems to try to hold back his smile for all of half a second before the corners of his mouth quirk up. "Stop it," he says, "I'm trying to be serious and dominant here."

"Sorry," Hideaki says. Then, in a singsong tone, "Master~"

Once they're both done cracking up, Tsubasa instructs Hideaki to get on his knees. He clips the cuffs on his wrists to the ones on his ankles so that his hands are held behind his back. Hideaki pulls experimentally at the restraints, shivering at the feeling of helplessness. He's got his eyes closed, taking a slow breath, when Tsubasa reaches out and brushes two fingers over his right nipple. Hideaki jerks away, feeling his face turn red.

"Don't," he whines, knowing that's not going to deter Tsubasa.

Tsubasa just huffs out a little laugh before taking Hideaki's nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching slowly until a spark of pain flares under the skin and Hideaki lets out a breathless moan. By the time Tsubasa lets go to flick his thumbnail over the now-sensitive skin, Hideaki is panting, his head tilted back. Tsubasa goes for the left nipple with his mouth, tonguing it and then biting down lightly. Hideaki whines, arching into the pain.

When Tsubasa pulls away, he blows cool air over the wet skin, making Hideaki shiver. Tsubasa takes Hideaki's cock in his hand, thumbing at the wet tip. He presses the sensitive spot just under the head and Hideaki's hips jerk up, his wrists pulling at the restraints. He wants to reach out and touch Tsubasa, pull him close for a kiss, feel the heat of Tsubasa's skin against his, and knowing that he can't makes him breathless with want.

Tsubasa leans in slowly, his hair brushing soft over Hideaki's stomach, and licks a deliberate, hot stripe up Hideaki's cock. He puts his lips over the head, sucking lightly and moaning low in his throat. Hideaki's hips jerk up again, but then Tsubasa's holding him in place with both hands. He goes down easily, mouth hot and wet and tight around Hideaki's cock, but it still feels like a tease. Hideaki grips his ankles, just to have something to hold on to. He focuses on the points of contact between them: Tsubasa's hands firm and warm on his hips, fingers splayed out, Tsubasa's hair tickling his skin, and Tsubasa's mouth on his cock.

Tsubasa bobs his head slowly and deliberately, hovering right at the edge of what might be enough stimulation to make Hideaki come. Instead, he's held tantalizingly close to what he wants, until he's panting and desperate and whining Tsubasa's name.

Hideaki's cock is wet when Tsubasa sits up, wiping his mouth before planting his hands on Hideaki's thighs and kissing him, slow and deep. Hideaki's head feels light when they break apart, and Tsubasa is breathing hard, his pupils huge in the dim light of the room. He reaches for the lube on the bedside table, and Hideaki tries to imagine what position he'll need to get in for this to work.

"I think you have to un--oh." Hideaki stops mid-sentence, mouth hanging open, because Tsubasa's got his legs spread and he's reaching behind himself, back arched and eyes closed. He opens his eyes slowly, turning a half-lidded gaze on Hideaki. He's always known that Tsubasa's a good performer, but seeing him like this, Hideaki feels like he never really knew just how good he really is. He's rolling his hips in perfect, smooth motions onto his fingers, the muscles in his torso shifting with every movement, and his skin is glistening with a light sheen of sweat. He's not taking his eyes off of Hideaki, and it feels like the gaze is burning, lighting a fire under his skin. There's a bit of a smile on his face, like he knows exactly what he's doing and is enjoying torturing him: which, Hideaki thinks, is definitely true.

By the time Tsubasa is stroking lube down Hideaki's cock and straddling his lap, Hideaki feels like he's been on the brink of coming for as long as he can remember.

Tsubasa sinks down onto his cock with a shaky sigh, his hand tight on Hideaki's shoulder. His lips are right next to Hideaki's ear when he says, voice low, "You'd better not come before I do."

Hideaki chokes out a whimper, takes three deep breaths, and nods. "Got it."

It is, of course, easier said than done, because Tsubasa moves his body in ways that Hideaki is pretty sure should be impossible. He moves his hips in slow circles, working Hideaki's cock deeper into himself, tight and hot. Hideaki feels totally helpless against the onslaught of pleasure, the overwhelming sensations of Tsubasa above him and around him. Luckily, from the sounds he's making, Tsubasa is close to coming, too. He starts to jerk himself off, mouthing at Hideaki's temple. Hideaki uses his limited range of motion to thrust his hips up, and Tsubasa groans against his skin. Hideaki does it again, feeling Tsubasa tighten around him, and it's nearly impossible to keep himself from coming at that, but then Tsubasa groans something incoherent and comes. Hideaki's halfway through asking for permission to come when Tsubasa shakes through an aftershock, and that's enough to make Hideaki come, whether he's supposed to or not.

Tsubasa slips off of him, panting, and crawls behind him to unfasten the cuffs. He kisses the nape of Hideaki's neck as he unhooks the clips from each other, his hands gentle against Hideaki's tingling skin. It takes him about half a minute to figure out that his skin's not tingling simply as an aftereffect of orgasm, but because his legs have fallen asleep from kneeling.

"You're supposed to tell me if your legs fall asleep," Tsubasa says, sounding amused, as Hideaki wiggles his toes experimentally.

With his hands finally free, Hideaki gives in to the urge he's had since they were put in the cuffs and turns around, running both hands through Tsubasa's hair before pulling him close and kissing him.

Too Much Free Time (Maru/Ryo)

hondemo — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 15:57:53 GMT

title: Too Much Free Time
pairing: Maru/Ryo
words: 2211
rating: NC-17
summary: Maru has too much free time.
notes: Written for intoxikatie for help_japan. Lol latest, ino. Thanks to pinkpapyrus for the looking over~ ♥

It starts with a text.

Actually, it probably started quite sometime before that, but Ryo's choosing to place the blame squarely on the message that's currently sitting in his inbox.

From: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
To: nskd@i.softbank.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

Ryo-chan~
Let's play a game! Guess where I took the picture~
I hope this is entertaining enough!

There's a picture attached, blurry and poorly-lit but unmistakably skin, and what looks like part of Maru's bellybutton in the corner. Ryo swallows against the lump in his throat and hits "reply."

From: nskd@i.softbank.jp
To: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

…in your bathroom?

There's got to be something seriously wrong with him, Ryo thinks, that he's gotten this flustered over a blurry photo of what may or may not be part of the stomach area of a person he's seen naked, in person, plenty of times.

From: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
To: nskd@i.softbank.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

Guess again~

Another picture, this one taken from slightly farther away. He can see the jut of Maru's hip, the red fabric of a towel, and what might be tile behind him. Ryo's having a hard time concentrating on the background with (part of) Maru there distracting him, so he tries another random guess.

From: nskd@i.softbank.jp
To: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

your kitchen?

Ryo slips his phone back into his pocket, staring out the window at scenery he's seen countless times (Ryo thinks he may have ridden the Shinkansen more than anyone else in Japan, save the people who work on it). He calculates how long it'll be until he gets home, thinking about the karaage bento he's going to buy from the shop on his street.

From: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
To: nskd@i.softbank.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

Here's a hint: I'm not at home!

This time the picture includes the side of Maru's face. Ryo can make out the crease next to his left eye, a bit of his eyebrow, his hair, and something metallic in the background. Ryo has even less idea where he is, now.

From: nskd@i.softbank.jp
To: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

locker room?

Ryo tries to remember what Maru was supposed to be doing today, but either Maru hadn't told him or he'd forgotten: both equally likely. Ryo has enough trouble keeping his own schedule straight; he's hopeless with other people's. The speed of the replies suggests that Maru's not doing anything at the moment, but Maru's usually prompt with replying anyway so it doesn't tell him much.

From: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
To: nskd@i.softbank.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

Nope!

This picture is of Maru's hand, his fingers curled around something red. It looks familiar, and when Ryo scrolls back through the other pictures he realizes it's the same towel. That means, of course, that Maru's taken it off and is now very likely naked, which is a nice mental picture, but doesn't help Ryo with the game. He tries a totally random guess, hoping the next picture will be more helpful.

From: nskd@i.softbank.jp
To: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

a hotel room in italy

The LED screen at the front of the car reads "Shin-Yokohama" and Ryo's busy picturing Maru naked when his phone buzzes again.

From: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
To: nskd@i.softbank.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

You're getting colder

The next photo is of the back of Maru's neck, taken at a strange angle because he's done it himself. The ends of his hair, curling damp and dark against his skin, appear in one corner, and in other, under Maru's head, is what looks like…

From: nskd@i.softbank.jp
To: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

how did you get into my apartment

From: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
To: nskd@i.softbank.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

Have you already forgotten giving me a key?

The picture attached is a shot of Maru's grinning face, holding a keyring in his teeth and flashing a peace sign at the camera.

Ryo had forgotten about giving Maru a key, to be perfectly honest. He's given keys to a few people: his parents, his manager, Yamapi (he claims to have lost it but Ryo's worried Jin stole it), Uchi (with express instructions never to lend it to anyone in Kanjani8, especially Yoko), Yasu (with the same instructions); and he did have an extra one left, but he doesn't remember giving it to Maru.

From: nskd@i.softbank.jp
To: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

was i drunk?

From: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
To: nskd@i.softbank.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

Yuuchin took it from Yasu, and I got it from him
You should thank me for saving it from his clutches~

Ryo feels a burst of legitimate fear at the idea of Yoko getting ahold of his key, and resolves not to return the key to Yasu once he gets it back from Maru.

From: nskd@i.softbank.jp
To: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

that's not really "giving you a key," you know

From: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
To: nskd@i.softbank.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

Close enough!

From: nskd@i.softbank.jp
To: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

why are you bathing in my apartment, anyway?

From: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
To: nskd@i.softbank.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

Your bathtub is nice!
I hope you're not mad~

Attached to this email are two pictures: one is of the timer on Ryo's rice cooker, the display showing it's just begun its cooking cycle. The other is a bag bearing the logo of the bento shop on his street. Ryo grins.

From: nskd@i.softbank.jp
To: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

apology accepted

Ryo's ten minutes from home when Maru's reply comes.

From: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
To: nskd@i.softbank.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

So, which would you like first?
Dinner?
A bath?
…Or me?

Ryo chokes on the breath he's taking. It's a testament to how hungry he is that he almost texts back "dinner," but he's been picturing Maru naked since somewhere around Mt. Fuji and there's only so much more waiting he can take.

From: nskd@i.softbank.jp
To: paaaaaaaan@docomo.ne.jp
Subject: re: i am so bored right now

don't bother getting dressed

When Ryo comes through the door of his apartment, shoulders stiff from traveling, the place is warm and clean, more welcoming than usual.

"I'm home," he calls, and when he hears Maru's response from the direction of his bedroom, his heart does a little anticipatory skip.

Maru's spread out on his stomach on Ryo's bed, half-covered by a blanket. It slips down when he turns over, revealing smooth, tanned skin over well-toned muscles. He grins at Ryo, stretching in a way that Ryo would suspect is meant to be a tease, if it weren't Maru.

"You really do have too much time on your hands," Ryo mumbles, a lame attempt to cover how turned on he already is, and Maru shrugs.

"Not really," he says, "I just prioritize my free time."

Ryo sheds his clothes in record time, launching himself at Maru with aggressive abandon. Maru's skin is warm against Ryo's, and he shivers, laughing breathlessly when Ryo strokes a hand down his side.

Ryo rolls them over so that Maru's on top of him, hooking his right leg around the back of Maru's thigh to draw him closer. He kisses Maru's lower lip, right over the mole, feeling Maru's smile against his mouth. Maru's weight on top of him is perfect, making Ryo breathless with the feeling of it. He rolls his hips up, pressing his cock against Maru's, and moans against his parted lips. Maru rakes his fingers through Ryo's hair, sucking lightly on his lower lip, and Ryo moans again, shivering as Maru tugs lightly on his hair.

"Fuck," Ryo breathes, trying to tug Maru closer with his leg around him, his hands on Maru's shoulders. Ryo knows exactly what he wants, but he needs a bit more time before he's actually going to ask for it, so he just enjoys the moment, trying to feel every sensation as it happens. Maru is leaning most of his weight on his right arm, propped up next to Ryo's head, and when Ryo turns his head to moan, he can smell his own soap on Maru's skin, feel the tension of Maru's bicep against his mouth.

Maru puts his lips to the line of Ryo's jaw, kissing from the corner of his mouth up to the sensitive spot just behind his ear. Ryo arches with a groan when Maru mouths at it, sucking lightly, and he rakes his fingernails down the curve of Maru's back. The sound of Maru's breathless moan right next to Ryo's ear is what really spurs him on, and he slides his hand down from the small of Maru's back to grab his ass and pull him closer.

"Fuck me," Ryo says, his voice low and insistent. Maru seems to hesitate for a moment, and Ryo shifts his hips up, grinding his cock against Maru's as encouragement.

After a moment, Maru pulls away, sitting up on his knees, and Ryo rummages under his pillow for lube and a condom packet, pressing them into Maru's hands before spreading his legs and lifting his knees.

Maru's fingers are slippery and warm when they close around Ryo's cock, one hand stroking him slowly while the other circles his balls lightly before pushing a finger inside. Ryo arches at the sensation, his breath catching. No matter how many times he does this, it always takes him by surprise a little, electric shocks of pleasure mingled with discomfort. Maru fingers him slowly at first, steadily working Ryo's cock with his other hand, and Ryo watches him as he does it. He's not looking at Ryo's face, and he has this look of concentration, his eyes focused: it makes Ryo shiver.

"More," he says, shifting down onto Maru's finger, "more."

"Okay," Maru says, in this slightly breathless voice, lower than what Ryo's used to hearing from him. Ryo bites back the noise he wants to make, something embarrassingly high-pitched, and closes his eyes as Maru pushes two fingers into him.

On the second thrust of his fingers, Maru crooks them up, pushing in at just the right angle to make Ryo whimper in helpless pleasure. Once he finds the spot, Maru strokes his fingers over it almost every time, until there's not a coherent thought left in Ryo's head. He clutches at his sheets, back arching and sweat beading at his hairline, and then he feels Maru pull back a little. Ryo watches him pour a little more lube onto his fingers, but before Maru can add a third finger, Ryo stops him, sitting up and grabbing the condom packet.

"Wait," Maru says, stuttering as Ryo rolls the condom over his cock, "it'll hurt…"

"Yeah," Ryo breathes, skin tingling with the anticipation. He leans in and kisses Maru, gripping his hair insistently, before lying back.

When Maru pushes in it's just this side of too much, making Ryo lose his breath for a second. Maru bends forward till they're skin-to-skin and kisses Ryo, slow and open-mouthed, until Ryo's shifting under him, ready for more.

Maru starts off slow, and Ryo matches his pace with his hand around his cock, forcing himself to keep his eyes open so he can watch Maru's face. His eyes are hooded and he's got his lower lip caught between his teeth; he's making these small sounds of pleasure in his throat. Ryo lifts his knees higher, splaying his legs farther apart, and it lets Maru thrust deeper. Ryo says Maru's name in a choked voice, urging him on as he jerks himself faster.

It's not long after that Ryo comes, his back arching. Maru leans in and sucks at the arch of his neck, making him shiver through the aftershocks. Maru thrusts in again, once Ryo's all loose-limbed and sated, and it makes his eyes flutter open. Maru's leaning over him, lips parted, panting, and, on impulse, Ryo turns them over. He straddles Maru's hips, reaching back with one hand to hold his cock as he sinks down onto it. Once Maru's all the way in, Ryo lifts up, then settles back down again. He picks up a slow, steady rhythm, watching Maru's face.

After a few minutes, Ryo can feel himself starting to get hard again, and there's a steady stream of high, breathless sounds coming from Maru. Ryo knows Maru likes the tease of it, the slow build-up, so he keeps at it for a while, until he feels Maru's hands on his hips and then he's on his back again, a sudden flash of movement. He opens his mouth on a throaty groan when Maru thrusts back into him, and then all the sensations blur together because Ryo's second orgasm feels even more intense than the first, tingling through him and making his whole body tense up. Maru's hands tighten on Ryo's hips when he comes, choking out a moan.

Maru gets up to throw away the condom, and he comes back with a warm, wet washcloth, sitting on the side of the bed and wiping away most of the mess of come smeared on Ryo's stomach. It's soothing, and Ryo's nearly asleep when he hears the unmistakeable beeping sound of his rice cooker coming from the kitchen. He'd forgotten about dinner, but as soon as he's reminded, the hunger hits him like a punch to the stomach.

"Dinner?" Maru says, just as Ryo's opening his mouth. Ryo nods, moving to get up, but Maru just shoves him back gently. "I'll get it."

"You can keep the key," Ryo mumbles into his pillow.

7:48 (Yoko/Hina)

hondemo — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 15:51:23 GMT

title: 7:48
pairing: Yoko/Hina
words: 14,000
rating: R
summary: It's 7:48 on a sunny Tuesday morning in September, and Yoko is naked in Hina's bed.
notes: Thank you to Katie for tirelessly supporting the creation of this fic. Thanks also to Elfie for looking it over in the final stages, and others for listening to my whining at various points in the writing process. Written for pinkpapyrus ♥ for je_holiday 2011. (original post)

Yoko's first thought upon waking up is oh god, what time is it? The sun is peeking in through hastily-drawn curtains, long stripes of light over the floor and across the end of the bed. Yoko turns over, feeling his stomach churn in protest at the movement, and looks at the clock: 7:48.

It's 7:48 on a sunny Tuesday morning in September, and Yoko is naked in Hina's bed.

He thinks back over the previous night: they'd gone out, both knocking back more than they might usually to cover for the awkwardness of being alone together, and somehow Hina had convinced Yoko to come back to his place. Yoko remembers a taxi ride, remembers stumbling through Hina's door. They'd drank more once they got there, sitting on Hina's floor and watching something stupid on TV while they sipped at their beers. Yoko remembers Hina's lips pressed firm and demanding against his own, but that's not all that out of the ordinary; he's woken up more than a few times to the memory of being kissed by Hina. He doesn't know what made that night so much different, how the kiss led to the string of hazy memories he has now: of the smooth, muscled planes of Hina's body under his hands, of Hina pressing him back against the bed.

The memories bring a rush of conflicting feelings flooding through Yoko, a host of things he doesn't really want to examine while he's both horrifically hungover and also on the verge of what will probably be the most awkward morning after he's ever experienced (possibly the most awkward morning after any human being has ever experienced, if Yoko allows his dramatic tendencies to come out a bit). He hears shifting next to him and tries to even out his breathing, so Hina can't tell he's already awake. He'll have plenty of time to think about the previous night later: for now Yoko needs to concentrate on getting out of there without having to acknowledge what happened. There's a sleepy snuffling sound from the other side of the bed, a rustling of sheets, but then Hina's still. Yoko can hear the evenness of his deep breaths, and he's had Hina fall asleep next to him on the train often enough to identify the sound. He's fast asleep, so if Yoko's quiet enough he shouldn't wake up at a little movement.

Luckily, Yoko's on the outside edge of the bed. He looks around the room in the early morning dimness, searching for the clothes he'd been wearing yesterday. He sees his t-shirt on the floor near the bedroom door, Hina's shirt lying next to it; and his jeans are at the foot of the bed, one leg inside out. He casts a hopeful eye around in search of his underwear, but they're nowhere to be seen. Yoko mentally debates the risk of getting up and trying to look around for them, but eventually decides to leave them as a casualty. Getting out without waking Hina is more important.

Yoko slips out of the bed slowly, grabbing his pants and padding across the floor for his shirt. He spares a backward glance at Hina, who's sprawled out on the right side of the bed, face mashed against his pillow. A traitorous part of Yoko thinks, cute, but he squashes it down, slipping out through the half-closed bedroom door.

He gets dressed in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and running a comb quickly through his hair so he looks like slightly less of a complete mess, and then he picks up his bag from where he'd left it by the sofa and slips out the door. The elevator ride to the building's lobby doesn't do much to help the state of Yoko's stomach, still threatening to remind him just what he'd eaten last night at every sudden movement he makes, but he makes it down, pulling on a hat he'd left in his bag and a pair of sunglasses before stepping out the door.

Hina's apartment building is tucked into a somewhat quiet neighborhood, so Yoko has to walk a few blocks before he reaches a street busy enough to find a cab. The morning air is cool; he'd probably think the breeze was pleasant if he were in a better mood, but as it is all he can think about is getting home, taking a shower, and then curling up on his futon to sleep (or worry endlessly).

The ride from Hina's place to Yoko's takes about half an hour if the traffic is good, but it's a weekday morning so the going is slow, a series of lurching starts and stops that have Yoko worrying he's going to have to roll down the window to throw up. He tries to keep his mind occupied, listening to the inane morning radio program the cab driver's playing, but it doesn't last long, and soon enough he's thinking about the night before. There's an uncomfortable tingling rush as Yoko pieces together the memories, recalls pushing his hand into Hina's pants, mouthing at his hot skin, lying back on Hina's bed with his knees up while Hina fingered him. It feels like trying to remember a dream, the details slipping away whenever he tries to grasp at them, nothing but a series of finely-connected images and sensations. Yoko remembers the feeling of Hina's cock inside of him almost too clearly and he shivers, throat going dry.

He does roll down the window then, hoping the cool air will lessen the sudden warmth he feels in his face, creeping down the back of his neck. No, Yoko thinks, trying to remember what happened definitely isn't going to help. But there's a part of him (a rather big part of him, if he's honest) that wants to remember every detail, if only because he knows it's never going to happen again. Then, of course, there's the anxious, insecure part of him that's thinking, was I any good?

Yoko's certainly not a blushing virgin, but he knows for a fact (if rumors, dressing room whispers, and drunken bragging count as fact: to Yoko, they do) that Hina's got more experience than he does, and it's not like he was at his best last night, if his current hangover and inability to remember the details of the encounter are anything to go by.

There is something seriously wrong with his life, Yoko concludes, when he's just woken up from a drunken one-night-stand with one of his best friends, someone he's known half his life, someone he basically considers family, and the first thing he thinks is whether or not it had been good for him.

Thinking of it that way reminds Yoko of all of the other potential reasons for anxiety, like, most notably, the fact that this is surely going to screw up their friendship, how awkward it's going to make working together--working together, oh god, they work together, they can't just avoid each other until the awkwardness blows over, and what if the other members find out?

Yoko's panic attack is interrupted by the taxi arriving outside his building. He distractedly counts out the fare, ducking out of the cab and heading inside. He's kind of hungry, but there's not much to eat in his apartment, aside from bananas. He peels one and gets through about half of it before feeling like he's going to throw up, so he sets it down on the kitchen counter, going to take a shower instead.

The shower makes Yoko feel slightly more human. He stands under the spray, warm water beating down on his head, and tries to clear his mind. It's marginally easier now than it had been in the cab, his thoughts not racing as much anymore, but there's still a ball of anxiety sitting in the pit of his stomach, and Yoko knows from experience the only thing that will make it go away is time (or alcohol, but he doesn't even want to think about drinking, the way he feels).

By the time Yoko's out of the shower it's 9:30, almost time for him to go to work. He has photoshoots and magazine interviews scheduled for today, nothing with the other members, and never before has he been so thankful for the annoying monotony of answering a series of inane questions and taking a bunch of stupid pictures. It's not taxing enough that he can't do it hungover and sleep-deprived, but it requires enough of his attention that he can't spend the day thinking about what had happened with Hina. When he gets home, he has just enough energy to eat the bento he'd picked up on the way, take a bath, and collapse onto his futon.

When Yoko wakes up the next morning, he has about thirty seconds of blissful, sleep-fuzzy unawareness before his brain reminds him, you slept with Hina, and you're going to have to see him today.

Thankfully, they have meetings about the concert tour that day, so the other members will be there. He'll hopefully be able to avoid talking to Hina without seeming too weird; the other members will probably just chalk it up to Yoko being in a mood and not think anything of it, if they notice at all. Yoko's more worried about how he's going to handle Thursday: between Hirunandesu and Recomen, he basically spends the whole day with Hina. He tries to put it out of his mind for now, figuring he can take it one day at a time. Maybe, he thinks with a burst of uncharacteristic optimism, it won't even be that awkward.

It's more awkward than Yoko could have possibly imagined. He arrives to the meeting just barely on time, not wanting to be early in case Hina was also early and they got stuck alone together. When he comes into the meeting room he sees everyone else there but Ohkura. They all look at him, mumbling their greetings, and Yoko says good morning, looking anywhere but at Hina. He slides into an empty chair between Subaru and Ryo, the farthest away from Hina he can get, and they continue the conversation they'd been having about some TV show Yoko hasn't seen. He finds himself relaxing a bit, listening to the familiar chatter of his bandmates. Things seem almost normal, enough that Yoko decides to chance a look over at Hina. He's playing with his phone, and Yoko watches for a moment until Hina looks up. Yoko's frozen, heart in his throat, but Hina just smiles at him, like everything's totally normal, and then looks back at his phone.

How can he be acting normal about this? Yoko thinks. Of course, it kind of figures. Hina's like a brick wall; it's almost impossible to knock him off-balance. Yoko finds himself sort of annoyed just thinking about it. Here he was, agonizing over how horrible it was going to be the next time they saw each other, while Hina probably hadn't even given it a second thought! It makes Yoko feel insignificant, somehow, like he's not even important enough to catch Hina's attention. He probably has no idea how Yoko's feeling right now.

He's just about to look up from where he's been staring at a spot on the table to glare at Hina a little bit, but then Ohkura walks in, and shortly after that the meeting starts. They talk for seemingly hours about staging things in the domes, how they want the layout to look and what kind of pyrotechnics they can get away with. Yoko tries to throw himself into the discussion of every minute detail, even stuff he wouldn't normally care about, because every time he lets his mind rest, he's suddenly reminded of Hina's presence, of the tangled knot in his stomach.

"I like this one better," Hina says, pointing to one of the five possible stage diagrams laid out on the big meeting table.

"That one's stupid," Yoko says. He'd normally be a bit more diplomatic, but his earlier annoyance is getting the best of him. He regrets it as soon as he says it, though, because then Hina's looking at him with this weird, confused expression, and the others are giving him sidelong glances. He feels his face heat up a little and leans back in his chair, avoiding their eyes. "I mean, that's just my opinion," he mumbles. "What do you guys think?"

There's a moment of awkward silence before the discussion continues as normal. Thankfully it's not that unusual for one of them to make a comment like that; long meetings mean tempers run high, and no one seems all that concerned about it.

Maru invites Yoko out for dinner after the meeting.

"Who's coming?" Yoko asks, trying not to glance obviously over to the corner where Hina's sliding a folder into his bag.

"Just you, so far," Maru says, smiling. When Yoko says nothing, he goes on, "I asked Shin-chan, but he said he has plans already."

"Of course he does," Yoko mumbles, mostly to himself. He clears his throat, looking back at Maru. "Yeah, sure, I'll go."

Maru invites Subaru along as they're on their way out, and the three of them head to a restaurant near the company building. Yoko figures it's better to go out and keep his mind off of the fact that he's going to have to work with Hina for half the day tomorrow, and Maru and Subaru are fun, easy to be around. The beer flows freely, and Yoko can just sit back, stuff his face, and watch the two of them telling and cracking up at jokes no one else understands. By the time he's climbing into a taxi, Yoko's already starting to nod off, and he's on autopilot when he gets home and takes a bath before curling up on his futon and falling asleep.

Yoko wakes up on Thursday morning overwhelmed with a feeling of dread. He mentally reviews his schedule for the day: Hirunandesu filming, then recording for the album, then Recomen. He doesn't know if Hina has recording today too; if he does, they'll probably take the same car there. At the very least, he's going to be spending something like six hours with Hina. Yoko (tenuously) trusts himself to be professional while they're actually on air, and Hina, if the previous day is any indication, is going to act as though everything's totally normal, but what's tying Yoko's stomach into knots is the thought of sitting in the green room with him, sharing a car, or sitting through other people's corners and commercial breaks during Recomen.

As Yoko brushes his teeth and gets dressed, he mentally reviews the parts of the songs he's supposed to record today, trying to keep his mind busy. As soon as he gets in the car to head to the studio, he pulls out his PSP. Games are always a surefire distraction.

Yoko's just finished killing a particularly troublesome monster when the car pulls up at the studio. He takes a deep breath, thanks the driver, and gets out. As he walks through the halls, he tries to steel himself, to calm his nerves. It's just Hina, he tries to tell himself, but a louder part of his mind is screaming you had sex with him!!!, and at the moment, that's the part that's winning.

"'Morning," Yoko mumbles, pushing open the door of the green room. Hina's already there, sitting in front of a mirror and messing with his hair.

"'Morning," he says back, looking at Yoko through the mirror.

Yoko puts his bag down, busying himself with looking through the wardrobe rack for his clothes. He sneaks glances at Hina through the mirror, watching him play with his hair a little more. It occurs to Yoko that he has to change clothes, that normally he'd have no problem stripping down in their dressing room with Hina right there, but now the thought of taking off his clothes while in the same room as Hina makes him want to hide in the wardrobe rack and never come out. He's frozen with his hand on a hanger when he hears movement next to him, and he turns.

"I found these when I was cleaning," Hina says, holding out a plastic grocery bag. Yoko takes it, opening it apprehensively. Inside the bag is a pair of underwear. His underwear. His underwear that he'd been unable to find the other morning. His underwear that had been left somewhere in Hina's apartment after they had sex with each other.

"Thanks," he mumbles, staring, dumbstruck, at the bag. He watches Hina's feet move away in his peripheral vision.

"No problem," he says, then slips out the door, leaving Yoko standing by the wardrobe rack, holding a grocery bag with his underwear in it.

Yoko looks again. They're nicely folded, and he can smell Hina's laundry detergent when he opens the bag. That means Hina not only found them and identified them as Yoko's, but he actually put them in the wash, folded them and brought them here. Yoko imagines what he would have done if the situation were reversed, if he'd found Hina's underwear in his own apartment. He has a brief vision of setting up a barrier around the area, with traffic cones and police tape. In reality, he'd probably stuff them into the bottom of his hamper and leave them for his future self to deal with. He might throw them away, if they didn't seem expensive. What he would definitely not do is wash them, fold them, and cheerily bring them to Hina at work.

Yoko crumples up the bag, shoving it into the bottom of his own bag. He takes the opportunity of Hina being gone to change, as quickly as possible. If there's one thing Yoko's gotten the hang of in his years in Johnny's, it's how to change his clothes quickly, and he's finished long before Hina comes back. He flops down on the couch, sighing heavily. How can Hina be so casual about this? Yoko again finds himself offended by Hina's seeming lack of concern. It's not that he wants to talk about it, or something: far from it. He just wishes Hina would seem at least a little shaken up, a little uncomfortable, a little different somehow.

Hina comes back, then, and Yoko checks his watch. He still has about half an hour before he needs to be in makeup, so he pulls out his PSP and switches it on. As the title screen loads, he glances across the room at Hina, who's leaning back in a chair flipping through the newspaper. Then the game starts, and Yoko loses himself in it until it's time for them to head over to makeup.

Filming goes pretty much the same as usual, almost easier than Yoko had expected. He's reminded of his own discomfort each time Hina happens to hit him, but he manages to shake it off quickly enough, sliding smoothly into his usual television persona.

"What are you doing now?" Hina asks as they head back to the green room after the show.

"Recording," Yoko says. "You?"

"Just going to lunch," Hina says, and Yoko lets out a breath. "I'm doing recording tomorrow."

The moment they walk into the dressing room, Hina's already stripping off his shirt, pulling up on the back of it with one hand and revealing the curve of his back. Yoko immediately turns away, trying to shove down the visions his mind immediately provides, of Hina doing the same thing the other night. He recalls, with uncomfortable clarity, the way Hina had shivered as Yoko ran fingertips over his bare skin.

"Fuck," Yoko mutters under his breath, frustrated with himself, with the situation, with pretty much everything going on in his life right now.

Of course, Hina turns around at that, giving Yoko a quizzical look.

"I, uh. I think I lost my phone." Nice cover, Yoko thinks to himself. Hina will definitely believe that.

Hina's eyebrows climb higher, but it's not an expression that suggests anything out of the ordinary, just his usual exasperated face.

"It's right there," he says, pointing to where Yoko's cell phone is poking out of the pocket of his bag.

"Oh," Yoko says, "right. Thanks."

Hina returns to the task of changing clothes, and Yoko pretends to be busy checking his phone for messages, hoping that if he stalls long enough Hina will just leave and he won't have to get undressed in front of him.

"Well," Hina says eventually, "see you tonight."

Yoko waves absently, then actually looks at his phone's screen and realizes he's going to be late for recording if he doesn't leave within the next ten minutes. He changes quickly, washes his face to remove the layer of TV makeup, and is out the door eight minutes later.

During the car ride to the recording studio, Yoko tries to zone out with Monhan, but finds his mind wandering back to Hina any time he stops consciously concentrating on the game. It's like all of the awkwardness he was able to clamp down on while they were on the air together is rushing belatedly through him, mixed with uncomfortable images of Hina taking his clothes off. He shuts off his PSP after the third failure to defeat an extremely easy monster, sighing and rubbing his temples.

Why can't I stop thinking about this? Yoko wonders. He stares out the window at the passing traffic, letting his mind wander since it seems he's helpless to stop it. He remembers something he heard once, about it being easier to solve a problem when you look at it from an outside perspective, so he tries that. If one of his friends came to him and described this problem (in an imaginary world where anyone would actually bring something like that up to Yoko), what would he say to them? What would be the first thing he'd ask?

He thinks for a minute before the answer comes. He'd ask if they had feelings for the person, if maybe they were in love with them.

Oh god, Yoko thinks, am I in love with him?

At this point, Yoko's imagination clicks into overdrive. He imagines himself and Hina in a nice little house outside Osaka, Hina coming home from work in a suit as Yoko finishes dinner in the kitchen. He pictures himself in a pink, frilly apron, drawing Hina a bath. Hina buying him jewelry. Attending their children's school events. Going to bed together every night.

Yoko bangs his forehead against the car window to stop that train of thought, shaking his head. What in the world is wrong with him? And why had he made himself the woman? He takes a few deep breaths, trying to think about the question seriously. Is he in love with Hina?

His immediate reaction is a very firm no, and when Yoko tries to examine it further he finds himself quite sure he doesn't have romantic feelings for Hina. Obviously he thinks Hina's good-looking, and it's not like he didn't enjoy sleeping with him, but when Yoko thinks of Hina, he doesn't feel any differently than when he thinks of any of the other members, or any of his close friends (other than the current addition of extreme awkwardness).

It would almost be easier, really, if he were in love with Hina. At least then he'd have a goal, something he wanted. As it is he just wants to go back to normal, but he's not sure he can do it. That's what's really upsetting him about it, Yoko realizes: the thought that he's irreparably screwed up one of the most important friendships in his life. He tilts his head back with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. If only he were more like Hina, able to plow through these feelings and behave as though nothing out of the ordinary had ever gone on.

Despite Yoko's rush to leave earlier, the car still pulls up in front of the recording studio a few minutes late. He hurries in, muttering apologies to the staff. Yoko always feels guilty if he makes them wait. Maru's already there, sitting on a couch in the back of the studio and looking over some lyric sheets, humming to himself.

"Hey," Yoko says. Maru looks up and smiles as Yoko walks over. The music he's got is for Pan Panda, which they'll record first. Maru had gotten there earlier, to record some of his parts for the other songs, so once they finish he'll be done for the day.

The recording goes pretty smoothly, considering it's one of the parts of his job Yoko tends to hate the most. Listening to his voice played back over headphones still kind of embarrasses him, and he wants to pick at every little mistake. Working with Maru is nice, though. He's strangely attuned to Yoko's moods, and he knows just the right way to distract him and make him laugh when he gets discouraged.

Maru sticks around even after they're done, while the staff get the studio set up for Yoko's parts of one of the album songs. Apparently he'd gotten in early the other day and seen Subaru recording for his solo, and when Yoko asks how it was, Maru does an impression of Subaru, singing the tune of Subaru's song but changing the words into nonsensical puns, and it has Yoko practically hyperventilating with laughter on the sofa.

They call Yoko into the recording booth a little while later, and Maru starts gathering up his things to leave.

"Thanks for staying," Yoko says, before he goes in.

Maru smiles, almost knowingly. "Anytime."

Yoko wonders if Maru can tell what's wrong, or if he just noticed there was something off in Yoko's mood. Hopefully the latter; Yoko hates to think about any of the other members having even an inkling of what went on between him and Hina. He's pretty sure they'd never live it down.

Yoko records for about two hours more, doing his parts in some of the other album songs. It doesn't go quite as smoothly as the recording with Maru had; Yoko's feeling more on edge, especially with the thought in the back of his mind that other people are noticing that something's wrong. He tries to tell himself that thinking about it will only make it more obvious, but he can't stop the wheels from turning in his head, and he keeps making small mistakes, messing up the lyrics or losing his place in the music and singing off-key.

He apologizes profusely to the staff on his way out. The parts he recorded were only supposed to take an hour, maybe an hour and a half, but it had ended up longer because of his mistakes.

It's about 7:30, and Yoko calculates in his head whether or not it would be worth it to try going home before Recomen. He'd lose about an hour in the traveling, and he'd have to make himself dinner; laziness wins out and he finds himself wandering around the neighborhood of the recording studio, looking for somewhere to eat. The studio is in a slightly quiet, residential area near Roppongi, and most of the restaurants around seem kind of upscale, not the type of places Yoko can go into by himself and sit in the corner, maybe play games.

After about half an hour of aimless walking, he finds a suitable-looking family restaurant. He orders one of the dinner sets, eating it quickly when it arrives. Between filming and recording, Yoko hasn't eaten anything other than stuff he'd picked off the snack platter at the filming location. He checks his watch; he still has about half an hour to kill before he needs to go for Recomen.

Don't think about it, he tells himself, do not think about it, but that only works for a few seconds, and then he's getting wound up about how he's going to be stuck in a room with Hina for three hours, trying to act normal. He's more worried about this than he was with Hirunandesu; having people actively watching makes it easier to play a role, but Recomen is so relaxed that some of the time Yoko's just being himself. It doesn't help that there's not really anyone else to depend on to hold up the conversation, just him and Hina.

In the course of his worrying and wishing they had someone else on the show, Yoko comes up with the idea to call Subaru for his birthday, a week early. It'll only take the pressure off for a few minutes, but it'll definitely be more entertaining than if they wait to call when he's expecting it, and Yoko starts to get excited about the idea.

It's a suitable distraction as he heads to the radio station, thinking about how funny it will be, especially if Subaru doesn't figure out at first who the call's come from.

"Let's call Subaru tonight," he says when he walks into the booth.

"His birthday's not until next week," Hina says, glancing up from the magazine in his lap.

"Yeah, but it'll be more fun if we do it tonight," Yoko says. "It's always better when they're not expecting it."

Hina seems to consider it for a minute, smiling. "Good point," he says.

Yoko settles into his chair, opening a bottle of water. He gives the evening's script a cursory scan, leafing through the pages absently, then pushes it away. If he's trying to act normal, actually reading the Recomen script is the last thing he should be doing.

"We should make him comment as Yasu," Hina says, after a few minutes of silence.

"Huh?"

"Subaru. Since we made Yasu pretend to be him before."

Yoko laughs, remembering it. "Good idea," he says. "That'll be great."

It almost seems normal, until Yoko reaches for his water bottle just as Hina's setting down his script, and their hands touch. Yoko jerks his hand away.

Nope, he thinks. Not normal, definitely not.

Hina gives him a sidelong look, but doesn't say anything to acknowledge Yoko's behavior. It's almost time for the broadcast to start, and Yoko wishes he'd just been able to keep up the illusion of normalcy a bit longer. He rubs at his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut, and takes a deep breath.

"I'm gonna have a cigarette," Hina says, getting up. Yoko watches him go through the glass of the booth. He seems perfectly normal, chatting to the staff before he heads out the door.

Yoko wonders if it's possible Hina hasn't noticed the way he's acting. He dismisses that possibility pretty quickly: while Hina can seem oblivious at times, he knows Yoko better than most people, and it's not as if Yoko's been particularly good at hiding his feelings, he thinks ruefully. Why, then, is Hina just letting him go through this mental torture without acknowledging a thing? Does Hina think Yoko's in love with him? The thought makes Yoko laugh at first, imagining Hina worrying about ways to let Yoko down easily, but then it just makes him kind of annoyed. Yoko wonders if Hina's ever going to confront him about it, wonders what good talking about it could even do.

Hina comes back three minutes before the broadcast will start, smelling of smoke. Yoko wrinkles his nose.

"You smell," he says, with more bite than he'd usually put into the words.

"At least I have a reason for it," Hina says, grinning at him.

Yoko pouts, then pulls out his phone to set it to silent.

The show starts out smoothly, the familiar pattern of banter easy enough to settle into, and the first hour goes by easily. Partway through the second hour, Hina's foot knocks against Yoko's under the table, and Yoko spends the next half hour sitting rigid in his chair, feet tucked behind the legs. After midnight they call Subaru, Yoko putting on a Tokyo accent to confuse him, and it's just as hilarious as Yoko had imagined. They ride that out until the end of the show, and Yoko feels mostly okay, until the on-air light goes off and he's no longer on the radio, just in a room with Hina.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Hina asks as they gather up their things to leave.

It's not an out of the ordinary question, probably just an attempt to make conversation, but Yoko still feels nervous and wary.

"I've got Morning Bird with Ohkura and Subaru, then I'm filming Zettai Reido," he says carefully. "Why?"

"Just wondering," Hina says. "Are you nervous about working with Aya?"

Yoko feels himself blush, cursing inwardly. "No," he mumbles.

Hina laughs at him. "I can tell you are," he says, grinning.

In that moment, Yoko kind of hates him.

"I kind of hate you," he says, and maybe he sounds more serious than he'd really intended to because Hina shuts up.

Yoko feels bad, for a second, but then he feels annoyed again: annoyed at himself, annoyed at Hina, annoyed at this idiotic, ridiculous situation he's stuck himself in. He stays annoyed pretty much the whole way home, mentally berating himself for being an idiot and sleeping with Hina, for being unable to deal with it like a normal person, Hina for being the kind of freak who's not bothered by something like this (because secretly Yoko thinks he's the one dealing with it like a normal person), Hina for kissing him in the first place, himself for letting him. It's like a tennis match of annoyance going on in Yoko's head, the blame pinging back and forth between the two of them.

It becomes obvious that Yoko's not successfully hiding his mood when the old lady who works at the convenience store near Yoko's apartment building tells him that she knows he's busy, but he really ought to get some more sleep. He nods guiltily, thanking her as he pays for his onigiri.

Yoko has to be up early, so he plans to rush through his bath, eating the onigiri in front of the television as the tub fills up. As he soaks, he thinks about the next day. He's nervous, of course, despite not wanting to admit it to Hina. Working with Aya on The Quiz Show had done a little bit to make her seem a little more real and dull Yoko's crush on her, but not much; she still stars in the occasional daydream (or masturbatory fantasy). Being a guest in the last episode of a drama is weird enough anyway, with the cast all close with each other already, and Yoko's certain he'll feel like an outsider. At least a lot of the staff know him.

It figures, Yoko thinks bitterly, that the day he gets a break from Hina he has to be thrown into another totally awkward situation. It feels like there's a ball of nerves in his chest any time his mind wanders to Hina, and his brain supplies him with a thousand hazy, alcohol-soaked images of what happened before he can successfully push them out of his thoughts. The bath is usually an easy place for Yoko to relax, to actually turn his mind off for a bit before he falls asleep, but he can't stop the racing of his thoughts, and before he knows it, his fingers have gone pruney and he's probably been in the tub for something like an hour.

Yoko gets out, pulling the drain plug and toweling himself off before pulling on his pajamas. According to the clock under his TV, it's past three in the morning, and when Yoko climbs into his futon, he falls asleep within a few minutes.

It feels like no time's passed at all when Yoko's alarm blares next to his head. He punches the snooze button, rolling over and shoving his face into his pillow, but he can't go back to sleep, so he just lies there, half-awake, until the annoying beeping of his alarm sounds again. He's got about half an hour before it's time to go, so he turns on the TV to have something to half-listen to as he goes about his morning routine.

Subaru's already dozing in the back seat of the car when it pulls up in front of Yoko's building.

"Morning," he says, poking Subaru in the side. He twitches, curling into a ball and mumbling something incoherent without opening his eyes. Yoko pokes him again, to see what will happen.

"Lemmealone," Subaru grumbles, voice sleep-slurred.

"You haven't thanked me for your birthday call yet," Yoko says, pushing through the thick, soft material of Subaru's hoodie to find his ribs. Subaru bats Yoko's hand away, eyes opening briefly before snapping shut against the bright morning sun. He burrows further into the hoodie, hands retracting into the overlong sleeves like a turtle.

"Why are you so wide awake?" he asks.

Yoko shrugs, though Subaru can't see it. He's not particularly sure why, really; he hadn't felt this way while he was getting ready, but something about seeing Subaru there had made him feel somehow at ease.

"I'm just so happy to see you," Yoko says, in as cutesy a tone as he can manage.

Subaru very deliberately opens his eyes, rolls them, and then closes them again. Yoko giggles.

"You're so annoying."

"You love me."

Subaru sticks his tongue out, then pulls his headphones from his bag and turns his ipod on. Yoko pulls his PSP from his own bag, flicking it on. Within a few minutes Subaru is looking over his shoulder as he plays, giving (unwanted) advice, until Yoko shoves him away with a hand on his forehead and tells him to play his own goddamn game.

Ohkura's already there when they get to the studio, halfway through makeup, and as the other stylist starts on Subaru, Yoko looks through the spread of breakfast foods laid out on a buffet table. There's a basket full of croissants, their rich buttery smell making his stomach growl, but Yoko just grabs a fruit cup and some coffee. He flops into a makeup chair, picking through the fruit cup with a plastic fork. He eats all the pineapple pieces first, enough of them that his mouth tingles from the acidity, then the strawberry slices, the big purple grapes, and finally the few mild green slices of melon. While he eats, he tries to listen to Ohkura's conversation with the stylist, but they're talking about foreign celebrity gossip, something about a wedding and some woman with a name Yoko can't decipher, so he tunes it out in favor of paging through a magazine in front of him. It's not much more interesting, but by the time Yoko's done eating, the stylist is finished with Ohkura and ready for him.

"You're filming for Zettai Reido later, right?" Ohkura asks conversationally. Yoko glances at him in the mirror. He's eating one of the croissants from the buffet table, fingertips glistening in the bright light from the mirrors.

Yoko hums an answer, not feeling up to having a conversation about his impending nervousness.

"Ryo-chan said he's in the next studio over," Ohkura continues, grinning and leaning in conspiratorially, "so you can go hide there if you get scared."

"Go stuff your face elsewhere," Yoko says, narrowing his eyes and meeting Ohkura's gaze in the mirror. The effect is probably ruined by the fact that he's blushing, but Ohkura wanders off anyway, a smirk on his lips.

Once the stylist is finished with Yoko, they have about fifteen minutes before they go on. They watch the show on a monitor in the green room, the hosts going over the top news stories of the morning, then a break for the weather report before they're ushered off to wait in the wings until they go to commercial.

"The show's on at eight, right?" Yoko mumbles to Subaru, thirty seconds before the cameras start to roll. He's suddenly afraid he's going to forget and say the wrong time when they ask. Subaru nods, and he's still half-laughing when the filming starts.

It goes smoothly, and Yoko's in a good mood by the time their segment is over.

They go their separate ways after they change and wash their faces, Subaru heading home, Ohkura to a studio to meet Yasu and Hina and record their song, and Yoko to the TV studio.

"Tell Hina I say thanks for the birthday call," Subaru says to Ohkura, grinning pointedly at Yoko.

Yoko sticks out his tongue, and Ohkura looks between the two of them, perplexed, before shrugging and ducking out the door.

"Ungrateful," Yoko mutters.

Subaru's leaning against the doorframe, watching Yoko gather his things.

"Nah," Subaru says, "with a married couple, saying thank you to one is just like saying it to both, anyway!"

Yoko drops his phone, the plastic casing of it clattering loudly against the floor.

"We're not a married couple!" he says, and maybe he's said it a little too emphatically because Subaru's laughing at him now, shaking his head.

"Sure, sure," he says between laughs, "whatever you say."

Yoko doesn't respond, worried that anything he says will just dig him deeper into the hole, and instead focuses on picking up his phone. The drop had loosened the battery, and the screen is blank until he jiggles it back into place. He should really get a new phone, but every time he goes into the shop he just gives up, overwhelmed by all the choices, new technology he doesn't understand. When he looks up, Subaru's still standing in the doorway, giving him a thoughtful, wide-eyed look.

"What?" Yoko says. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"I think that's you," Subaru says with a quirk of his eyebrow. Yoko looks down at the phone in his hand, the display slowly lighting up with the time, and Subaru's right; he's going to be late if he stays any longer.

On the way to the studio, Yoko pulls the script out of his bag. He only appears in the last scene, and he'd already memorized the few lines he has a couple of days ago, but he goes over it again, partly to keep his mind occupied. He doesn't want to make a mistake, either, since he doesn't have much to remember anyway.

part two