Arashi Gets a CLUE
Title: Arashi Gets a CLUE
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Aiba/Jun, Ohno/Nino, Nino/Jun, Aiba/Ohno, Sho/Nino, Jun/Sho
Summary: They just happen to be color-coded like the characters in Clue
Notes/Warnings: For the JE Crackfic Anonymeme, Sept 09
In the Lounge with the Rope, "Mr. Green"/"Professor Plum"
Mr. Green had the world’s greatest job. He was a zookeeper, used to dealing with unruly animals of all shapes and sizes. He wasn’t really used to unruly humans.
He wasn’t sure what Plum was actually a professor of actually, but he certainly was an expert with his hands. And with his mouth. They’d barely gotten the lounge door closed before Plum pounced on him like one of the tigers he dealt with every day.
Which was why Green had taken the rope from his bag and tied the man to the chair. Plum didn’t like being in bondage - he seemed to be more of a sadist type, watching others struggle. He didn’t like being at someone else’s mercy. Or maybe he just didn’t like being at the mercy of a zookeeper.
Green circled Plum, running a lazy finger along the man’s face, pulling it back every time the professor tried to bite him, take the finger in his mouth and suck on it. “Even our lions know when feeding time is,” Green informed him. “Patience is a virtue.”
“Fuck you.”
He wrenched Plum back by the hair and smiled. “That’s not very nice, Professor. I didn’t want to have to resort to this.” He went back for his bag, pulling out a smaller rope. Plum nearly bit a hole through his hand as Green gagged him with it. He was used to breaking horses at the zoo too.
Plum just looked furious, but he wasn’t moving. Which was how Green liked them. He knelt between Plum’s legs, running his hands up and down the man’s trousered thighs.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
In the Conservatory with the Wrench, "Mr. Peacock"/"Colonel Mustard"
Never in his life had he met someone with the peculiar last name Peacock - and the person with said name was just as peculiar. He was in the conservatory when Colonel Mustard entered. There was a nice breeze flowing through the room - he saw that the older man had propped open one of the windows with a wrench.
“What are you up to?” the Colonel inquired, examining the canvas before Peacock.
“Painting.”
He rolled his eyes. Obviously. “I get that. But what are you painting?” There were only a few green streaks across the canvas.
“Ferns.”
“Well, what about painting me?”
Peacock looked him up and down. “Don’t do people. At least not people in clothes.”
The artist was good looking, if a bit reticent. Mustard wasn’t as shy as he used to be - living in the trenches with a hundred other men helped break anyone of shyness. He shrugged out of his jacket. Peacock’s head appeared around the side of the canvas.
“Oh,” was all he said as Mustard finished stripping down. The colonel sat down in one of the wicker conservatory chairs while Peacock moved his brush against canvas. He felt the man’s appreciative eyes running up and down his body as he shrewdly examined him. Mustard didn’t know much about art, but Peacock was being pretty damn thorough.
“Done yet?” Mustard inquired when Peacock finally set his brush down. The artist just shook his head, rising from his seat and setting down his paints. He was surprised when watercolor-stained fingers left a mix of orange and pink on his shoulder and even more surprised when Peacock pulled him close for a kiss.
“Portrait can wait,” Peacock whispered as he moved his hand between Mustard’s legs.
In the Billiard Room with the Revolver, "Colonel Mustard"/"Professor Plum"
“You really a Colonel?” Professor Plum asked, spying the holster at the man’s hip.
Mustard just smiled. “I’d never lie about my rank.” All the brass buttons on his military coat gleamed as he took the revolver from the holster and set it down on the shelf. “Don’t look like a soldiering man?”
“Nope,” Plum shot back, taking Mustard by the hand. “Am I supposed to call you sir?”
“I’d prefer it,” Mustard replied as he pulled Plum’s glasses from his nose and tossed them aside. He shoved Plum back against the billiard table, enjoying the hissing sound the scholar made. Mustard got the impression that Plum was eager to please.
Mustard took Plum’s lips, claiming them like he was defiantly planting a flag on enemy soil. He ground his hips against Plum’s, thumping the man back against the table. “On your knees.”
“What?” Plum mumbled against his mouth, already trying to undo the belt of Mustard’s pressed uniform trousers.
“I said on your knees,” Mustard demanded, biting down on Plum’s lip. He grasped hold of the professor’s purple tweed jacket and shoved him down.
“Yes, sir,” Plum muttered as an afterthought. Mustard could already see a trickle of blood at the corner of the man’s mouth. He was already standing at attention when the professor pulled the trouser zipper down.
The man’s expert lips closed around him, and Mustard groaned. No amount of training could really prepare him for the hot mouth taking him deep inside. Plum was between him and the billiard table, so he could only hold on to Plum’s shaggy black hair. He held on tight, bucking against the scholar’s mouth again and again.
To think - they’d only come to the billiard room for a round of cards.
In the Kitchen with the Lead Pipe, "Mr. Green"/"Mr. Peacock"
Mr. Peacock loved eating. He didn’t exactly have a demanding palate - whatever was placed in front of him was usually satisfying enough. Mr. Green was making a cake, and Mr. Peacock was determined to please his sweet tooth.
“Can you mix those eggs for me?” Green asked, and Peacock obeyed. He could cook a little, but Green came from a family of chefs. Why he’d gone into zookeeping Peacock didn’t understand.
For all that the man seemed gentle and kind, his eyes took on a different focus with the baking task before him. Peacock appreciated people who took their work seriously. He tended toward the lazier side of things, even with his art, but people working hard around him always made him pull his weight a bit more.
Green was biting his lower lip as he measured out flour, adding the eggs Peacock had helped prepare. His face was all concentration and seriousness. If he had his paints, even his sketchpad, it would be something worth capturing. Worth preserving.
But sometimes Peacock got greedy. He yanked the mixing spoon from Green’s flour-covered hand and pulled him close. He was a bit taller, but didn’t seem to mind having to stoop a bit to brush his lips against the artist’s mouth. Green was a bit clumsy, and they fell to the kitchen floor. Peacock’s back hit the linoleum hard, almost like a lead pipe to his spine.
“Sorry,” Green said with a breathy laugh. “You’re keeping me from baking.” Peacock just smiled, reaching to give the zookeeper’s ass a squeeze.
“Let’s postpone that cake a while. I can wait.”
In the Ball Room with the Candlestick, "Mr. Scarlet"/"Colonel Mustard"
He found the Colonel playing the piano in the ball room. Scarlet didn’t bother to sneak up on him - the guy was in the military. He could hear anyone in a hundred yards. Scarlet stood beside the baby grand, watching the man’s fingers nearly float over the keys.
“Where have you been hiding all this time?” the Colonel asked him, stopping his playing to pat the piano bench beside him.
“Here and there. The maid…Mrs. White…she needed help setting up in the dining room.”
“Mmm,” Mustard said quietly, getting back to his playing. It had been years since Scarlet had played. He didn’t know this piece. All he knew was he’d had to comb the entire house to find the soldier - he wanted him. Badly.
He brought his fingers to the back of the Colonel’s neck, enjoying the feel of the closely cropped hairs there under his touch. Mustard’s eyelids fluttered closed, and his playing grew a bit lazier.
Scarlet leaned over to whisper, brushing his lips against the Colonel’s earlobe. “Mind if I outrank you, just for tonight?”
The piano went silent as Mustard smiled, letting Scarlet turn his face to meet his own. His lips were warm and inviting, and he allowed Scarlet to brush his fingers along the medals adorning his uniform coat. Mustard moaned quietly, reaching to tug Scarlet by his crimson tie and pull him closer. He needed more, they both did. Sitting at a piano wasn’t going to let him have all he wanted.
He stood, holding his hand out for Mustard. The Colonel leaned forward to blow out the light at the top of the gleaming silver candlestick before joining him.
In the Library with the Knife, "Professor Plum"/"Mr. Scarlet"
The books in Mr. Boddy’s library were mostly for decorative effect, Scarlet noticed. He brushed a layer of dust off of the old economics book he pulled from the shelf. Upon opening it, he discovered that some of the pages hadn’t even been separated.
There was still time before dinner, so he rustled around in a desk drawer until he found a thin knife. It would have to do. He was just slicing through the first few pages when the door opened. The lanky fellow with the glasses and tweed sweater, Professor Plum.
Plum looked anything but scholarly when he closed the door behind him, throwing the lock. “Thought I’d find you here.”
“It’ll be dinner soon,” Scarlet managed to mumble as Plum stalked across the room. The book and knife trembled in his hands as the professor’s dark eyes looked him up and down appreciatively. “There’s no time.”
“There’s always time,” the professor assured him, slipping the knife and book from his grasp and setting them on the desk. The gentle movement turned rough in an instant, and Scarlet found himself facing the bookshelves, his fingers landing in dust as he braced himself.
Plum was behind him, breathing heavily. Scarlet felt the man’s length pressing against his backside. “Thought you could do a little reading before you ate?”
Scarlet shuddered as Plum trailed long, wet kisses down his neck. “I…I was planning to…” The professor’s lithe fingers were on his spine, on his hips, then inside his pants. “Oh god…”
“Ssh,” he heard Plum whisper as he undid Scarlet’s trousers. “You have to be quiet. This is a library after all.”
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Aiba/Jun, Ohno/Nino, Nino/Jun, Aiba/Ohno, Sho/Nino, Jun/Sho
Summary: They just happen to be color-coded like the characters in Clue
Notes/Warnings: For the JE Crackfic Anonymeme, Sept 09
In the Lounge with the Rope, "Mr. Green"/"Professor Plum"
Mr. Green had the world’s greatest job. He was a zookeeper, used to dealing with unruly animals of all shapes and sizes. He wasn’t really used to unruly humans.
He wasn’t sure what Plum was actually a professor of actually, but he certainly was an expert with his hands. And with his mouth. They’d barely gotten the lounge door closed before Plum pounced on him like one of the tigers he dealt with every day.
Which was why Green had taken the rope from his bag and tied the man to the chair. Plum didn’t like being in bondage - he seemed to be more of a sadist type, watching others struggle. He didn’t like being at someone else’s mercy. Or maybe he just didn’t like being at the mercy of a zookeeper.
Green circled Plum, running a lazy finger along the man’s face, pulling it back every time the professor tried to bite him, take the finger in his mouth and suck on it. “Even our lions know when feeding time is,” Green informed him. “Patience is a virtue.”
“Fuck you.”
He wrenched Plum back by the hair and smiled. “That’s not very nice, Professor. I didn’t want to have to resort to this.” He went back for his bag, pulling out a smaller rope. Plum nearly bit a hole through his hand as Green gagged him with it. He was used to breaking horses at the zoo too.
Plum just looked furious, but he wasn’t moving. Which was how Green liked them. He knelt between Plum’s legs, running his hands up and down the man’s trousered thighs.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
In the Conservatory with the Wrench, "Mr. Peacock"/"Colonel Mustard"
Never in his life had he met someone with the peculiar last name Peacock - and the person with said name was just as peculiar. He was in the conservatory when Colonel Mustard entered. There was a nice breeze flowing through the room - he saw that the older man had propped open one of the windows with a wrench.
“What are you up to?” the Colonel inquired, examining the canvas before Peacock.
“Painting.”
He rolled his eyes. Obviously. “I get that. But what are you painting?” There were only a few green streaks across the canvas.
“Ferns.”
“Well, what about painting me?”
Peacock looked him up and down. “Don’t do people. At least not people in clothes.”
The artist was good looking, if a bit reticent. Mustard wasn’t as shy as he used to be - living in the trenches with a hundred other men helped break anyone of shyness. He shrugged out of his jacket. Peacock’s head appeared around the side of the canvas.
“Oh,” was all he said as Mustard finished stripping down. The colonel sat down in one of the wicker conservatory chairs while Peacock moved his brush against canvas. He felt the man’s appreciative eyes running up and down his body as he shrewdly examined him. Mustard didn’t know much about art, but Peacock was being pretty damn thorough.
“Done yet?” Mustard inquired when Peacock finally set his brush down. The artist just shook his head, rising from his seat and setting down his paints. He was surprised when watercolor-stained fingers left a mix of orange and pink on his shoulder and even more surprised when Peacock pulled him close for a kiss.
“Portrait can wait,” Peacock whispered as he moved his hand between Mustard’s legs.
In the Billiard Room with the Revolver, "Colonel Mustard"/"Professor Plum"
“You really a Colonel?” Professor Plum asked, spying the holster at the man’s hip.
Mustard just smiled. “I’d never lie about my rank.” All the brass buttons on his military coat gleamed as he took the revolver from the holster and set it down on the shelf. “Don’t look like a soldiering man?”
“Nope,” Plum shot back, taking Mustard by the hand. “Am I supposed to call you sir?”
“I’d prefer it,” Mustard replied as he pulled Plum’s glasses from his nose and tossed them aside. He shoved Plum back against the billiard table, enjoying the hissing sound the scholar made. Mustard got the impression that Plum was eager to please.
Mustard took Plum’s lips, claiming them like he was defiantly planting a flag on enemy soil. He ground his hips against Plum’s, thumping the man back against the table. “On your knees.”
“What?” Plum mumbled against his mouth, already trying to undo the belt of Mustard’s pressed uniform trousers.
“I said on your knees,” Mustard demanded, biting down on Plum’s lip. He grasped hold of the professor’s purple tweed jacket and shoved him down.
“Yes, sir,” Plum muttered as an afterthought. Mustard could already see a trickle of blood at the corner of the man’s mouth. He was already standing at attention when the professor pulled the trouser zipper down.
The man’s expert lips closed around him, and Mustard groaned. No amount of training could really prepare him for the hot mouth taking him deep inside. Plum was between him and the billiard table, so he could only hold on to Plum’s shaggy black hair. He held on tight, bucking against the scholar’s mouth again and again.
To think - they’d only come to the billiard room for a round of cards.
In the Kitchen with the Lead Pipe, "Mr. Green"/"Mr. Peacock"
Mr. Peacock loved eating. He didn’t exactly have a demanding palate - whatever was placed in front of him was usually satisfying enough. Mr. Green was making a cake, and Mr. Peacock was determined to please his sweet tooth.
“Can you mix those eggs for me?” Green asked, and Peacock obeyed. He could cook a little, but Green came from a family of chefs. Why he’d gone into zookeeping Peacock didn’t understand.
For all that the man seemed gentle and kind, his eyes took on a different focus with the baking task before him. Peacock appreciated people who took their work seriously. He tended toward the lazier side of things, even with his art, but people working hard around him always made him pull his weight a bit more.
Green was biting his lower lip as he measured out flour, adding the eggs Peacock had helped prepare. His face was all concentration and seriousness. If he had his paints, even his sketchpad, it would be something worth capturing. Worth preserving.
But sometimes Peacock got greedy. He yanked the mixing spoon from Green’s flour-covered hand and pulled him close. He was a bit taller, but didn’t seem to mind having to stoop a bit to brush his lips against the artist’s mouth. Green was a bit clumsy, and they fell to the kitchen floor. Peacock’s back hit the linoleum hard, almost like a lead pipe to his spine.
“Sorry,” Green said with a breathy laugh. “You’re keeping me from baking.” Peacock just smiled, reaching to give the zookeeper’s ass a squeeze.
“Let’s postpone that cake a while. I can wait.”
In the Ball Room with the Candlestick, "Mr. Scarlet"/"Colonel Mustard"
He found the Colonel playing the piano in the ball room. Scarlet didn’t bother to sneak up on him - the guy was in the military. He could hear anyone in a hundred yards. Scarlet stood beside the baby grand, watching the man’s fingers nearly float over the keys.
“Where have you been hiding all this time?” the Colonel asked him, stopping his playing to pat the piano bench beside him.
“Here and there. The maid…Mrs. White…she needed help setting up in the dining room.”
“Mmm,” Mustard said quietly, getting back to his playing. It had been years since Scarlet had played. He didn’t know this piece. All he knew was he’d had to comb the entire house to find the soldier - he wanted him. Badly.
He brought his fingers to the back of the Colonel’s neck, enjoying the feel of the closely cropped hairs there under his touch. Mustard’s eyelids fluttered closed, and his playing grew a bit lazier.
Scarlet leaned over to whisper, brushing his lips against the Colonel’s earlobe. “Mind if I outrank you, just for tonight?”
The piano went silent as Mustard smiled, letting Scarlet turn his face to meet his own. His lips were warm and inviting, and he allowed Scarlet to brush his fingers along the medals adorning his uniform coat. Mustard moaned quietly, reaching to tug Scarlet by his crimson tie and pull him closer. He needed more, they both did. Sitting at a piano wasn’t going to let him have all he wanted.
He stood, holding his hand out for Mustard. The Colonel leaned forward to blow out the light at the top of the gleaming silver candlestick before joining him.
In the Library with the Knife, "Professor Plum"/"Mr. Scarlet"
The books in Mr. Boddy’s library were mostly for decorative effect, Scarlet noticed. He brushed a layer of dust off of the old economics book he pulled from the shelf. Upon opening it, he discovered that some of the pages hadn’t even been separated.
There was still time before dinner, so he rustled around in a desk drawer until he found a thin knife. It would have to do. He was just slicing through the first few pages when the door opened. The lanky fellow with the glasses and tweed sweater, Professor Plum.
Plum looked anything but scholarly when he closed the door behind him, throwing the lock. “Thought I’d find you here.”
“It’ll be dinner soon,” Scarlet managed to mumble as Plum stalked across the room. The book and knife trembled in his hands as the professor’s dark eyes looked him up and down appreciatively. “There’s no time.”
“There’s always time,” the professor assured him, slipping the knife and book from his grasp and setting them on the desk. The gentle movement turned rough in an instant, and Scarlet found himself facing the bookshelves, his fingers landing in dust as he braced himself.
Plum was behind him, breathing heavily. Scarlet felt the man’s length pressing against his backside. “Thought you could do a little reading before you ate?”
Scarlet shuddered as Plum trailed long, wet kisses down his neck. “I…I was planning to…” The professor’s lithe fingers were on his spine, on his hips, then inside his pants. “Oh god…”
“Ssh,” he heard Plum whisper as he undid Scarlet’s trousers. “You have to be quiet. This is a library after all.”