not so grimm
Title: Not So Grimm
Pairing/Group: Taguchi Junnosuke/Nakamaru Yuichi, with appearances by Kamenashi Kazuya, Ueda Tatsuya, and Tanaka Koki
Rating/Warnings: R; Perhaps just a smidge of dub-con
Word Count: 2951
Summary: All work and no play makes Yuichi a dull boy.
Notes: Written for alienashi for je_holiday, originally posted here. Due to circumstances, this fic almost didn't happen; incidentally, I was terrified to even try to start for a long time. It was only with tons of encouragement from my partner in crime and beta-sticker je_levy that I persevered. Much love to both Joo and Levy. <3
It most definitely had not been there yesterday.
Nakamaru bit off a curse as he tripped over a slightly-damp pile of Ueda's laundry. He tried his best not to think of how long it had stayed in his gym locker before miraculously finding its new home in front of his bedroom door. The thought of having to touch the pile of clothes later was off-putting, almost more so than being greeted by yet another sticky note taped to the orange juice detailing Kame’s need for him to be available that evening for another acting exercise.
It wouldn’t do to try and convince him that a commercial one-liner wasn’t the same as a Shakespearean monologue; he’d been shaken by the lapels for that far too many times now.
Consumed by laundry, and the inability to just throw the clean clothes onto Ueda's bed, Nakamaru made himself comfortable in the living room. The television was a quiet hum in the background as he sorted Ueda's socks. He tried his best not to jump when Kame threw the door open; he always insisted upon dramatic entrances. Nakamaru didn't say anything, hoping that Kame had forgotten all about acting exercises. For a few precious moments, it seemed he had; Nakamaru was never happier to be folding laundry.
It wasn't to be, however, and Kame crossed the room swiftly after kicking off his shoes.
"Time's wasting! I have to be ready!"
Nakamaru winced, clutching the last pair of socks. He couldn't help muttering, "It isn't until next week" under his breath, dismayed that Kame actually heard him. His wrath was terrifying.
He heaved a sigh, flinching when Kame thrust a copy of the script at him-- something about rippling water and musky drawers. He hoped that he didn't have to talk about drawers.
"Okay, ready? I'll start off." Kame cleared his throat as he stood over Nakamaru. "The water rolls down your back."
"The scent--" Nakamaru couldn't help his voice catching.
"Start over!"
He could feel the tips of his ears turning red, but Nakamaru swallowed before trying again. "The scent of your musky drawers..."
Kame's hands were fisted in the collar of his shirt. "Again!"
Nakamaru lost track of how many times he repeated it; all he knew was that he was red in the face and Kame's hands never left his shoulders. He was pressed into the corner of the couch, Ueda's laundry crumpled behind him.
"The musky scent of your drawers," Nakamaru ground out, leaning away from Kame. That only made him lean in closer.
"Ew. I didn't know you were into that." Ueda's voice cut through the tension, but it didn't make Nakamaru feel any less awkward. "Weren't you supposed to wash those today?"
Kame finally let go of him and sat up, tossing his crumpled script onto the coffee table. "He was supposed to help with my exercises," Kame sniffed.
"Heh, I bet they were some exercises." Ueda leered at Nakamaru before his brow knit together in a frown. “If you guys hooked up, would Nakamaru still do my laundry for me?”
Nakamaru was too busy spluttering to answer, and he nearly choked at Kame’s next words.
“Yeah, he probably would.” He shrugged in conclusion, not even bothering to look his way.
That was the last straw. Nakamaru stood, flinging his own tattered script at Kame before grabbing the nearest article of Ueda’s clothing, which was unfortunately a pair of his underwear, and throwing it as hard as he could. He didn’t speak; he wasn’t sure if he could manage anything other than inarticulate screams.
It felt good to slam the door for once. He didn’t know where he was going, but Nakamaru was glad that the weather was reasonably nice and that he’d had a pair of slip-on shoes near the entrance. Stopping to tie his shoes would have interrupted his tantrum.
Nakamaru crossed his arms across his chest as he walked. He fumed, counting cracks in the sidewalk. It wasn't that he hated his flatmates, except that sometimes he did; why couldn't Kame ask Ueda for help, and why was Ueda unable to do even the most basic of housekeeping?
After wandering aimlessly, Nakamaru stopped to actually look around. He was in front of a community billboard that was practically papered in neon fliers, all for a club called FLASH.
GRAND OPENING! it exclaimed, tonight!!
Nakamaru looked at his watch, and then back at the flier. It would be nice to go, and get away from the flat for a while. The only thing stopping him was his outfit; he hadn't been planning on going out, and he was sure that his oversized sweater wouldn't make the dress code.
"Those shoes wouldn't get you laid, either," a voice drawled behind him.
"Excuse me?" Surely they weren't talking to him.
“They’re slip-ons,” the voice sniffed, and Nakamaru had to find out who was criticizing his taste in footwear.
He turned around fully, embarrassed at the unashamed way the stranger was looking at him. It felt like his sweater was a non-issue, and Nakamaru crossed his arms again as he answered.
"They're comfortable."
"But they look like grandpa shoes. Are you?"
"No!" Nakamaru could feel his ears going red again.
"Well, you're dressed like one! Here, come with me and I'll hook you up."
Nakamaru followed along, not questioning why he was doing it. Maybe it was something in the self-assured way the stranger carried himself.
The way he'd sort of pouted at Nakamaru had also helped, even though there wasn't anything to pout over.
"So... where are we going?" Nakamaru couldn't keep the questions at bay, especially when he was being led to a dark alley.
"I can't just pull clothes out of my ass! I've got everything in my car."
"Oh." He opened his mouth to speak again, but got cut off.
"My name is Koki and no we aren't having twenty questions." They'd arrived at his car, surprisingly nondescript. "Just try these on."
Nakamaru was greeted with a face full of t-shirt and a ragged pair of jeans, and somehow Koki had managed to get bulky rings on his fingers. "What, right now? In the open?" He couldn't help getting a little shrill.
"What? It's not like I haven't seen it before. Time's wasting!" Koki turned back to his trunk, digging through an ornate chest.
Nakamaru shifted from foot to foot for a moment, glancing around the alley before gingerly dropping the clothes he'd been given so he could change into them as quickly as possible. He didn't ever want to find out how hard and exactly how long Ueda would laugh at that particular phone call.
At first glance, everything seemed several sizes too small, but as he pulled the jeans up his legs, they fit. They were still tight when he was done, and the shirt was sort of ridiculously oversized. He cleared his throat when he was done, unable to look directly at Koki.
"Nope. You're not... bro enough for that." Koki reached behind himself and grabbed his next outfit.
Nakamaru felt all of the blood drain from his face. "No. No no no no."
Koki glanced at what he was holding. It was a silky evening gown, red with a sheen to it. Koki looked back at Nakamaru, a challenge in his eyes. "It's one of my personal favorites."
Nakamaru didn't reply; he and Koki stared each other down until finally Koki sighed and put the dress away.
"Fine." Koki heaved another sigh, diving into the depths of the chest once more. Nakamaru wondered how so much stuff fit in there, but he figured it wouldn't be polite to question it.
After several swear-filled minutes, Koki threw a sensibly plaid pair of trousers over his shoulder. Nakamaru caught them before they slapped him in the face; they were a deep blue. By the time he'd shimmied out of the jeans and into the trousers, Koki had produced a matching vest and jacket, as well as a charcoal-colored shirt and black silk tie.
Koki watched impatiently as he finished doing up his buttons, and slapped Nakamaru's hands away to fuss with the tie. After several terrifying moments, Koki let go of the tie, and Nakamaru let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Come on then, let's get the rest of you done up," Koki mumbled as he wrestled the vest onto Nakamaru. "Never fails, this one."
Nakamaru wondered what Koki was talking about, but kept his mouth shut. He did his best to help dress himself, even though Koki didn't seem to mind it at all.
Finally, Koki stopped manhandling him and returned his attention to the trunk. He rummaged for a few seconds, and then passed a pair of black Oxfords to Nakamaru.
"If I ever see your grandpa shoes again I will set them on fire. Keep those."
Nakamaru swallowed, unable to find his voice for a minute before agreeing.
“Good. Now get going.” Koki seemed to have dismissed Nakamaru in favor of reorganizing his bottomless wardrobe.
Nakamaru stared, then reluctantly turned away. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, and then entered the address of the club into his phone. It didn’t take long at all, and soon enough, he stood in front of the plate glass doors. He fidgeted for a moment, suddenly nervous, but shook it off and pushed through them.
Inside, it was dimly lit. The bar was sleek, as were the tables surrounding the dance floor. Nakamaru made his way through the crowd; before he mingled he wanted to have a drink.
A strawberry daiquiri firmly in hand, Nakamaru settled in at one of the tables. He sipped his drink, contemplating strawberries and the relative peace of the club. All thoughts of laundry and exercises were pushed away as he enjoyed the low beats of the music.
“Nice suit,” a voice murmured behind him. Nakamaru half-turned, surprised. “I’d say you were almost as well dressed as I am.”
Nakamaru wasn’t sure what to say; the man standing behind him was tall and dark-haired. His jeans were well-tailored, tight, and the burgundy satin button-down he wore made Nakamaru’s mouth go a little dry.
“Thank you,” he managed, ducking back to his drink. He didn’t know why he felt so awkward.
“My name is Taguchi Junnosuke; welcome to my establishment. What do you think?” He slung an arm around Nakamaru’s shoulders for a brief moment.
Nakamaru was a little weirded out, but he nodded and tossed the rest of his drink back and answered. "It's a bit ostentatious. Kind of like you are."
Taguchi’s eyes lit up, amused and a little awestruck. Nakamaru felt a little flattered, though he wondered what that look was over.
Taguchi led him to the bar, holding a hand up for a drink. It was dark blue and icy, and it was almost overwhelmingly sweet when Nakamaru took his first sip. Taguchi smiled benevolently at him. Nakamaru wasn't sure where it came from, but Taguchi slipped a tiara on his head, the comb tugging at his hair, and slipped his arm around Nakamaru’s waist as he guided him past the dance floor and toward the back of the club. "I was going to have a contest, but hands down you're the best I've seen all night."
He didn’t say very much; Taguchi simply led Nakamaru to an almost-hidden room tucked away under the stairs. The room was just as dimly lit as the rest of the club, and the couches in the corner were upholstered in black velvet. Taguchi sat in the corner, wasting no time in pulling Nakamaru down to his lap.
“Stay awhile with me.”
"I can't," Nakamaru mumbled. It just wasn't proper, sitting in a stranger's lap. Especially when that stranger had insisted upon him wearing a tiny, rhinestone-studded tiara.
"Sure you can." A hand made its way to the front of Nakamaru's pants, long fingers deft as they unzipped them and slipped inside.
Nakamaru gasped; he squirmed in Taguchi's hold, torn between arching for more and utter mortification. A rough squeeze decided for him, and he moaned.
"Told you," Taguchi murmured against his ear. "Let me check your coat."
This time, Nakamaru nodded, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his jacket. Taguchi kept stroking him, his lips insistent against the side of his neck.
He shrugged the jacket from his shoulders and began working on the buttons of his vest. Taguchi kept whispering encouragement; Nakamaru's hands became bolder as he started undoing the buttons of his shirt from the bottom up.
Nakamaru whined when Taguchi let go of him to unknot his tie.
"Don't fret." Nakamaru bit his lip, shifting against Taguchi and earning a desperate noise. "Stand up for a second."
He was a little wobbly as he followed instructions, but Nakamaru stood long enough for Taguchi to yank his trousers and underwear down. He kicked his shoes and socks off along with them and wasted no time settling back in Taguchi's lap, his knees pressed into the velvet couch.
Nakamaru arched against Taguchi, the friction of his clothes too much of a temptation not to. Taguchi gasped, seemingly pleased with himself, and rummaged in his pocket. There was a crinkle, and a few hurried moments as Taguchi rolled a condom on.
While Taguchi ripped open a packet of lube, Nakamaru fisted both hands in his shirt, the material slipping in his grasp. He had to touch; had to be at least somewhat even as he began to yank at the buttons at Taguchi’s collar. A low chuckle encouraged him, and he arched again as slick fingers slowly slid against his rim.
Nakamaru’s fingers faltered as Taguchi's opened him, a lingering stretch and burn. He hissed in a quiet breath, willing himself to breathe normally.
“You’re doing well,” Taguchi whispered. Nakamaru couldn’t find the words to answer; instead he dug his fingers into Taguchi’s chest, nails digging crescents into his skin. A harsh gasp, and Nakamaru got another finger, faster and more insistent, in return.
He didn’t know how long it went on; all Nakamaru knew was how much he wanted it to never end. Eventually it did, though, only for Taguchi to ease himself in. Nakamaru forgot how to breathe then, all of his concentration on staying upright, fingers clawing at Taguchi’s shoulders and lips against his ear.
Taguchi seemed just as wrecked as he did. Nakamaru felt overwhelmingly pleased, full to the brim. When he felt hands at his hips, Nakamaru rose up, tentative and halting, before finding his rhythm. It was blazing, fast and reckless, especially for Nakamaru’s earlier hesitance; he squashed those thoughts down.
With each roll of Nakamaru’s hips, Taguchi’s own met them. His hands roved, squeezing and dragging blunt fingernails down Nakamaru’s back. Nakamaru returned each swipe with one of his own, pushing Taguchi’s shirt off his shoulders as much as he could before finally giving in to his own urgency and working a hand between them.
Nakamaru gasped at his first dry touch, surprised at the friction. Taguchi nuzzled against his neck, whispering filthy nothings and fervent encouragement, letting go of his hip long enough to assist, taking over completely. Nakamaru hitched a sob, nearly at his end.
It didn’t take very long at all; too soon stars burst in Nakamaru’s vision, all movement seizing as Taguchi continued to push into him, his hand working him through his orgasm. Finally, Taguchi himself groaned, pulling Nakamaru down for one final thrust. Nakamaru slumped, gasping to catch his breath, pleased that Taguchi was in the same state.
They stayed entwined in the afterglow, all of Nakamaru’s earlier worries forgotten, at least until his phone shrilled. He groaned, unwilling to disentangle himself from Taguchi. Taguchi didn’t seem to want him to leave, completely uncaring of the mess that Nakamaru had made of him as he gripped his hip one last time.
Nakamaru stood, legs wobbly, and cast about for his clothes. He felt a mess, but he knew it was high time for him to go back to the flat. He stepped back into his underwear, grimacing at how sticky he was, but ignored it in favor of dragging his trousers up his legs. Taguchi watched, silent.
Hurriedly, he slipped back into his shirt, hasty as he buttoned it. He didn’t bother with the vest’s buttons, slinging it on and hooking a finger into the collar of his jacket. Faintly, Nakamaru thought he heard something hit the floor; he patted his pockets, satisfied that his phone was still there.
“At least tell me your name,” Taguchi said. His face was carefully blank, and Nakamaru felt something twist in his chest.
“Nakamaru Yuichi.” He paused for a moment, and then leaned in for a quick kiss. “And… thank you.”
He left, stubbornly resolute. He’d had his evening out; it was time to get back, even if all that waited for him at home was laundry and acting exercises.
*
Days later, Nakamaru folded yet another stack of Ueda’s laundry. He hadn’t had anything cheeky to say when Nakamaru had come in that night, so he felt a little more charitable than usual. He wasn’t expecting it when the doorbell rang; it was unlike Kame to lock himself out.
“You left something,” Taguchi said, smarm threatening to overtake him. He held up the tiara he’d given Nakamaru. “Your fairy godmo--father told me your address; he said something about grandpa shoes but I didn’t ask. Sometimes it’s just easier to let his rants go without commentary.”
Nakamaru felt his ears go red, but he couldn’t help grinning.
Pairing/Group: Taguchi Junnosuke/Nakamaru Yuichi, with appearances by Kamenashi Kazuya, Ueda Tatsuya, and Tanaka Koki
Rating/Warnings: R; Perhaps just a smidge of dub-con
Word Count: 2951
Summary: All work and no play makes Yuichi a dull boy.
Notes: Written for alienashi for je_holiday, originally posted here. Due to circumstances, this fic almost didn't happen; incidentally, I was terrified to even try to start for a long time. It was only with tons of encouragement from my partner in crime and beta-sticker je_levy that I persevered. Much love to both Joo and Levy. <3
It most definitely had not been there yesterday.
Nakamaru bit off a curse as he tripped over a slightly-damp pile of Ueda's laundry. He tried his best not to think of how long it had stayed in his gym locker before miraculously finding its new home in front of his bedroom door. The thought of having to touch the pile of clothes later was off-putting, almost more so than being greeted by yet another sticky note taped to the orange juice detailing Kame’s need for him to be available that evening for another acting exercise.
It wouldn’t do to try and convince him that a commercial one-liner wasn’t the same as a Shakespearean monologue; he’d been shaken by the lapels for that far too many times now.
Consumed by laundry, and the inability to just throw the clean clothes onto Ueda's bed, Nakamaru made himself comfortable in the living room. The television was a quiet hum in the background as he sorted Ueda's socks. He tried his best not to jump when Kame threw the door open; he always insisted upon dramatic entrances. Nakamaru didn't say anything, hoping that Kame had forgotten all about acting exercises. For a few precious moments, it seemed he had; Nakamaru was never happier to be folding laundry.
It wasn't to be, however, and Kame crossed the room swiftly after kicking off his shoes.
"Time's wasting! I have to be ready!"
Nakamaru winced, clutching the last pair of socks. He couldn't help muttering, "It isn't until next week" under his breath, dismayed that Kame actually heard him. His wrath was terrifying.
He heaved a sigh, flinching when Kame thrust a copy of the script at him-- something about rippling water and musky drawers. He hoped that he didn't have to talk about drawers.
"Okay, ready? I'll start off." Kame cleared his throat as he stood over Nakamaru. "The water rolls down your back."
"The scent--" Nakamaru couldn't help his voice catching.
"Start over!"
He could feel the tips of his ears turning red, but Nakamaru swallowed before trying again. "The scent of your musky drawers..."
Kame's hands were fisted in the collar of his shirt. "Again!"
Nakamaru lost track of how many times he repeated it; all he knew was that he was red in the face and Kame's hands never left his shoulders. He was pressed into the corner of the couch, Ueda's laundry crumpled behind him.
"The musky scent of your drawers," Nakamaru ground out, leaning away from Kame. That only made him lean in closer.
"Ew. I didn't know you were into that." Ueda's voice cut through the tension, but it didn't make Nakamaru feel any less awkward. "Weren't you supposed to wash those today?"
Kame finally let go of him and sat up, tossing his crumpled script onto the coffee table. "He was supposed to help with my exercises," Kame sniffed.
"Heh, I bet they were some exercises." Ueda leered at Nakamaru before his brow knit together in a frown. “If you guys hooked up, would Nakamaru still do my laundry for me?”
Nakamaru was too busy spluttering to answer, and he nearly choked at Kame’s next words.
“Yeah, he probably would.” He shrugged in conclusion, not even bothering to look his way.
That was the last straw. Nakamaru stood, flinging his own tattered script at Kame before grabbing the nearest article of Ueda’s clothing, which was unfortunately a pair of his underwear, and throwing it as hard as he could. He didn’t speak; he wasn’t sure if he could manage anything other than inarticulate screams.
It felt good to slam the door for once. He didn’t know where he was going, but Nakamaru was glad that the weather was reasonably nice and that he’d had a pair of slip-on shoes near the entrance. Stopping to tie his shoes would have interrupted his tantrum.
Nakamaru crossed his arms across his chest as he walked. He fumed, counting cracks in the sidewalk. It wasn't that he hated his flatmates, except that sometimes he did; why couldn't Kame ask Ueda for help, and why was Ueda unable to do even the most basic of housekeeping?
After wandering aimlessly, Nakamaru stopped to actually look around. He was in front of a community billboard that was practically papered in neon fliers, all for a club called FLASH.
GRAND OPENING! it exclaimed, tonight!!
Nakamaru looked at his watch, and then back at the flier. It would be nice to go, and get away from the flat for a while. The only thing stopping him was his outfit; he hadn't been planning on going out, and he was sure that his oversized sweater wouldn't make the dress code.
"Those shoes wouldn't get you laid, either," a voice drawled behind him.
"Excuse me?" Surely they weren't talking to him.
“They’re slip-ons,” the voice sniffed, and Nakamaru had to find out who was criticizing his taste in footwear.
He turned around fully, embarrassed at the unashamed way the stranger was looking at him. It felt like his sweater was a non-issue, and Nakamaru crossed his arms again as he answered.
"They're comfortable."
"But they look like grandpa shoes. Are you?"
"No!" Nakamaru could feel his ears going red again.
"Well, you're dressed like one! Here, come with me and I'll hook you up."
Nakamaru followed along, not questioning why he was doing it. Maybe it was something in the self-assured way the stranger carried himself.
The way he'd sort of pouted at Nakamaru had also helped, even though there wasn't anything to pout over.
"So... where are we going?" Nakamaru couldn't keep the questions at bay, especially when he was being led to a dark alley.
"I can't just pull clothes out of my ass! I've got everything in my car."
"Oh." He opened his mouth to speak again, but got cut off.
"My name is Koki and no we aren't having twenty questions." They'd arrived at his car, surprisingly nondescript. "Just try these on."
Nakamaru was greeted with a face full of t-shirt and a ragged pair of jeans, and somehow Koki had managed to get bulky rings on his fingers. "What, right now? In the open?" He couldn't help getting a little shrill.
"What? It's not like I haven't seen it before. Time's wasting!" Koki turned back to his trunk, digging through an ornate chest.
Nakamaru shifted from foot to foot for a moment, glancing around the alley before gingerly dropping the clothes he'd been given so he could change into them as quickly as possible. He didn't ever want to find out how hard and exactly how long Ueda would laugh at that particular phone call.
At first glance, everything seemed several sizes too small, but as he pulled the jeans up his legs, they fit. They were still tight when he was done, and the shirt was sort of ridiculously oversized. He cleared his throat when he was done, unable to look directly at Koki.
"Nope. You're not... bro enough for that." Koki reached behind himself and grabbed his next outfit.
Nakamaru felt all of the blood drain from his face. "No. No no no no."
Koki glanced at what he was holding. It was a silky evening gown, red with a sheen to it. Koki looked back at Nakamaru, a challenge in his eyes. "It's one of my personal favorites."
Nakamaru didn't reply; he and Koki stared each other down until finally Koki sighed and put the dress away.
"Fine." Koki heaved another sigh, diving into the depths of the chest once more. Nakamaru wondered how so much stuff fit in there, but he figured it wouldn't be polite to question it.
After several swear-filled minutes, Koki threw a sensibly plaid pair of trousers over his shoulder. Nakamaru caught them before they slapped him in the face; they were a deep blue. By the time he'd shimmied out of the jeans and into the trousers, Koki had produced a matching vest and jacket, as well as a charcoal-colored shirt and black silk tie.
Koki watched impatiently as he finished doing up his buttons, and slapped Nakamaru's hands away to fuss with the tie. After several terrifying moments, Koki let go of the tie, and Nakamaru let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Come on then, let's get the rest of you done up," Koki mumbled as he wrestled the vest onto Nakamaru. "Never fails, this one."
Nakamaru wondered what Koki was talking about, but kept his mouth shut. He did his best to help dress himself, even though Koki didn't seem to mind it at all.
Finally, Koki stopped manhandling him and returned his attention to the trunk. He rummaged for a few seconds, and then passed a pair of black Oxfords to Nakamaru.
"If I ever see your grandpa shoes again I will set them on fire. Keep those."
Nakamaru swallowed, unable to find his voice for a minute before agreeing.
“Good. Now get going.” Koki seemed to have dismissed Nakamaru in favor of reorganizing his bottomless wardrobe.
Nakamaru stared, then reluctantly turned away. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, and then entered the address of the club into his phone. It didn’t take long at all, and soon enough, he stood in front of the plate glass doors. He fidgeted for a moment, suddenly nervous, but shook it off and pushed through them.
Inside, it was dimly lit. The bar was sleek, as were the tables surrounding the dance floor. Nakamaru made his way through the crowd; before he mingled he wanted to have a drink.
A strawberry daiquiri firmly in hand, Nakamaru settled in at one of the tables. He sipped his drink, contemplating strawberries and the relative peace of the club. All thoughts of laundry and exercises were pushed away as he enjoyed the low beats of the music.
“Nice suit,” a voice murmured behind him. Nakamaru half-turned, surprised. “I’d say you were almost as well dressed as I am.”
Nakamaru wasn’t sure what to say; the man standing behind him was tall and dark-haired. His jeans were well-tailored, tight, and the burgundy satin button-down he wore made Nakamaru’s mouth go a little dry.
“Thank you,” he managed, ducking back to his drink. He didn’t know why he felt so awkward.
“My name is Taguchi Junnosuke; welcome to my establishment. What do you think?” He slung an arm around Nakamaru’s shoulders for a brief moment.
Nakamaru was a little weirded out, but he nodded and tossed the rest of his drink back and answered. "It's a bit ostentatious. Kind of like you are."
Taguchi’s eyes lit up, amused and a little awestruck. Nakamaru felt a little flattered, though he wondered what that look was over.
Taguchi led him to the bar, holding a hand up for a drink. It was dark blue and icy, and it was almost overwhelmingly sweet when Nakamaru took his first sip. Taguchi smiled benevolently at him. Nakamaru wasn't sure where it came from, but Taguchi slipped a tiara on his head, the comb tugging at his hair, and slipped his arm around Nakamaru’s waist as he guided him past the dance floor and toward the back of the club. "I was going to have a contest, but hands down you're the best I've seen all night."
He didn’t say very much; Taguchi simply led Nakamaru to an almost-hidden room tucked away under the stairs. The room was just as dimly lit as the rest of the club, and the couches in the corner were upholstered in black velvet. Taguchi sat in the corner, wasting no time in pulling Nakamaru down to his lap.
“Stay awhile with me.”
"I can't," Nakamaru mumbled. It just wasn't proper, sitting in a stranger's lap. Especially when that stranger had insisted upon him wearing a tiny, rhinestone-studded tiara.
"Sure you can." A hand made its way to the front of Nakamaru's pants, long fingers deft as they unzipped them and slipped inside.
Nakamaru gasped; he squirmed in Taguchi's hold, torn between arching for more and utter mortification. A rough squeeze decided for him, and he moaned.
"Told you," Taguchi murmured against his ear. "Let me check your coat."
This time, Nakamaru nodded, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his jacket. Taguchi kept stroking him, his lips insistent against the side of his neck.
He shrugged the jacket from his shoulders and began working on the buttons of his vest. Taguchi kept whispering encouragement; Nakamaru's hands became bolder as he started undoing the buttons of his shirt from the bottom up.
Nakamaru whined when Taguchi let go of him to unknot his tie.
"Don't fret." Nakamaru bit his lip, shifting against Taguchi and earning a desperate noise. "Stand up for a second."
He was a little wobbly as he followed instructions, but Nakamaru stood long enough for Taguchi to yank his trousers and underwear down. He kicked his shoes and socks off along with them and wasted no time settling back in Taguchi's lap, his knees pressed into the velvet couch.
Nakamaru arched against Taguchi, the friction of his clothes too much of a temptation not to. Taguchi gasped, seemingly pleased with himself, and rummaged in his pocket. There was a crinkle, and a few hurried moments as Taguchi rolled a condom on.
While Taguchi ripped open a packet of lube, Nakamaru fisted both hands in his shirt, the material slipping in his grasp. He had to touch; had to be at least somewhat even as he began to yank at the buttons at Taguchi’s collar. A low chuckle encouraged him, and he arched again as slick fingers slowly slid against his rim.
Nakamaru’s fingers faltered as Taguchi's opened him, a lingering stretch and burn. He hissed in a quiet breath, willing himself to breathe normally.
“You’re doing well,” Taguchi whispered. Nakamaru couldn’t find the words to answer; instead he dug his fingers into Taguchi’s chest, nails digging crescents into his skin. A harsh gasp, and Nakamaru got another finger, faster and more insistent, in return.
He didn’t know how long it went on; all Nakamaru knew was how much he wanted it to never end. Eventually it did, though, only for Taguchi to ease himself in. Nakamaru forgot how to breathe then, all of his concentration on staying upright, fingers clawing at Taguchi’s shoulders and lips against his ear.
Taguchi seemed just as wrecked as he did. Nakamaru felt overwhelmingly pleased, full to the brim. When he felt hands at his hips, Nakamaru rose up, tentative and halting, before finding his rhythm. It was blazing, fast and reckless, especially for Nakamaru’s earlier hesitance; he squashed those thoughts down.
With each roll of Nakamaru’s hips, Taguchi’s own met them. His hands roved, squeezing and dragging blunt fingernails down Nakamaru’s back. Nakamaru returned each swipe with one of his own, pushing Taguchi’s shirt off his shoulders as much as he could before finally giving in to his own urgency and working a hand between them.
Nakamaru gasped at his first dry touch, surprised at the friction. Taguchi nuzzled against his neck, whispering filthy nothings and fervent encouragement, letting go of his hip long enough to assist, taking over completely. Nakamaru hitched a sob, nearly at his end.
It didn’t take very long at all; too soon stars burst in Nakamaru’s vision, all movement seizing as Taguchi continued to push into him, his hand working him through his orgasm. Finally, Taguchi himself groaned, pulling Nakamaru down for one final thrust. Nakamaru slumped, gasping to catch his breath, pleased that Taguchi was in the same state.
They stayed entwined in the afterglow, all of Nakamaru’s earlier worries forgotten, at least until his phone shrilled. He groaned, unwilling to disentangle himself from Taguchi. Taguchi didn’t seem to want him to leave, completely uncaring of the mess that Nakamaru had made of him as he gripped his hip one last time.
Nakamaru stood, legs wobbly, and cast about for his clothes. He felt a mess, but he knew it was high time for him to go back to the flat. He stepped back into his underwear, grimacing at how sticky he was, but ignored it in favor of dragging his trousers up his legs. Taguchi watched, silent.
Hurriedly, he slipped back into his shirt, hasty as he buttoned it. He didn’t bother with the vest’s buttons, slinging it on and hooking a finger into the collar of his jacket. Faintly, Nakamaru thought he heard something hit the floor; he patted his pockets, satisfied that his phone was still there.
“At least tell me your name,” Taguchi said. His face was carefully blank, and Nakamaru felt something twist in his chest.
“Nakamaru Yuichi.” He paused for a moment, and then leaned in for a quick kiss. “And… thank you.”
He left, stubbornly resolute. He’d had his evening out; it was time to get back, even if all that waited for him at home was laundry and acting exercises.
*
Days later, Nakamaru folded yet another stack of Ueda’s laundry. He hadn’t had anything cheeky to say when Nakamaru had come in that night, so he felt a little more charitable than usual. He wasn’t expecting it when the doorbell rang; it was unlike Kame to lock himself out.
“You left something,” Taguchi said, smarm threatening to overtake him. He held up the tiara he’d given Nakamaru. “Your fairy godmo--father told me your address; he said something about grandpa shoes but I didn’t ask. Sometimes it’s just easier to let his rants go without commentary.”
Nakamaru felt his ears go red, but he couldn’t help grinning.