je_ficgames #3
Sooo, je_ficgames reveals went up today. :3 Team Future 'won', yay! ♥ They were my original assignment, anyway.
This one was the second pinch-hit, but I am not so good with the flashfic so it's not much. Made some edits. I still fail at, urgh. Intimacy. Though. Or whatever that stuff is called. URGH, I TELL YOU. But aaanyway. I like to think it's a little less terrible now. At least I can read through it without flinching at myself, ahaa.
*
Title: Sex=/=Talent (originally here)
Details: YaraMoto, Butoukan; PG-13.
Summary: You can admire someone's skill without wanting to get in their pants, right? Yamamoto's adamant. Senga begs to differ.
Warnings: Language. Thwarted wishes for porn. ♥ :D There is no porn. That said, there is no point either. SO.
Prompt: Shounentai's Diamond Eyes ( translation). What a ridiculous song, seriously. 8D These lyrics. I couldn't get the line about the wet nipple shirt out of my head, though that is neither here nor there.
There are things Yamamoto attributes to Yara's dance that go unsaid. That it's breathtaking. Natural. Something worth achieving, and worth beating.
There are things that Yamamoto attributes to Yara himself, which go equally unsaid. That he's selfish. Obnoxious. A freak - well. Not that Yamamoto can complain too much without being a hypocrite (half the jimusho's like that, anyway). And it's not that he wants to complain either: all Yamamoto asks is for it to be clear that what he likes about Yara is Yara's dance. No strings attached. Senga can love 'Yaracchi' itsudemo for all he cares. Things are simpler when personal stuff is left out.
"Sure," Hamanaka says. Yamamoto ignores him, though, because with that tone of voice and that deadpan face, Yamamoto can never tell if the Osakan is being sympathetic or sarcastic and neither does he want to lower himself to the level of asking.
"I understand," Tsukada says, in what is definitely sympathy. "In my case, for Yonehana-kun - after seeing him do twenty backflips on stage, I wanted to try the same thing. I mean, I admire his acrobatics a lot, but I wouldn't want to... um. You know."
Yamamoto winces. Nobody'd want to um. You know that particular MA senpai. Ever. "Yeah," he says. "I know."
Tsukada nods quickly. "Right. They're inspirations. Aspirations." The and that's that remains unsaid. He takes a long swig from his drink bottle.
"But there's nothing wrong with wanting to fuck somebody you look up to, right?" Senga chirps, discarding his pants.
Tsukada chokes on his sports water and considerately, Hamanaka thumps their resident gymnast on the back on his way past. "Don't die. See you guys next week. Not in the morgue."
"...if you miss your night bus again, just give us a call," Tsukada croaks.
"No, call me! Call me!" Senga grins. "I'd take care of you if you slept over. Hiromii does it all the time."
Hamanaka exits without another word, and Yamamoto gives Senga a withering look.
"What?"
"Nothing," Yamamoto says curtly.
"Okay," Senga says, irritatingly dismissive.
"You can admire someone's skill without wanting to get in their pants, you know," Yamamoto tells him, zipping his bag forcefully shut.
Senga looks at Yamamoto sidelong. "Okay?"
Tsukada laughs a little tightly. "This is what happens when Taipi and Kawai-kun have too much influence on young minds..."
"Oh, gross."
"Hey!" Senga protests. "What have they got to do with this?"
Tsukada valiantly sidesteps that question. "Each to their own. Na, Senga?"
"Right," Senga says decisively. "Like how Kawai-kun likes MatsuJun-senpai and Tackey, and Taipi likes Sho-kun and Koki and Tackey, and Ryo-chan likes Yara-"
"I like his dance!" Yamamoto explodes (and doesn't stomp his foot). "And that's not what Tsukada meant."
"Ahh, guys. Let's not-"
"Yaracchi's dance is Yaracchi too, you know," Senga cuts in, blithely matter-of-fact as he packs his satchel.
"I-" Yamamoto starts, before switching tack: "You know what? Never mind." It's been a long day and longer afternoon practice. His head hurts from associating with too many dumb people. "Never mind. Later guys, okay?"
"...take care," Tsukada says.
"Bye-bye cha!"
Yamamoto gets two steps out of the room, the door swinging shut in his wake, when he realizes he's forgotten his phone.
After an exit like that, though...
He hesitates until Tsukada's muted voice breaks the silence left behind in the dressing room. "You were pretty adamant back there, Ken-chan. Something up?"
"Hm?"
"About, you know. How you can't like what a guy does without liking him as well..."
"Oh! Yeah well, I think it's true. For stuff like dance especially, you know? Since it's like what you call an Expression of Self, I think it's pretty personal. Ryo-chan probably just doesn't get it yet."
Yamamoto swallows a noise of infuriation and spins on his heel. He can live without his phone for tonight. Senga is stupid, and therefore wrong.
°•
Yamamoto's mind hasn't changed the following week. Not even after he catches himself staring at the reflection of Yara's crotch in the giant mirrors lining one side of the practice room when they're not even dancing.
It sort of can't be helped though, Yamamoto's pretty sure. The way Yara stands with his hips cocked is pretty much just asking for people to-
"Ryota!" Yara barks. Yamamoto flinches guiltily. Yara grins. "If your esteemed mind could join us for this, that'd be great."
"I'm listening," Yamamoto mutters, embarrassed.
"Mmhm," Yara smirks, and points upward. "My face is this way. Just to get you started."
Somebody snickers, and Yamamoto bites back an I know that! because while Yara is a bit of a bastard, it's to no extent MAD haven't seen before (among their own ranks, even). Yamamoto can handle something like that just fine. His frown of concentration and the way he's still not hearing a word coming from Yara's mouth has nothing to do with being snarked at.
But it might be because Yara even talks like he's performing, tones full of cocky cheer and hips tilted like any time now some background music'll cut in and he'll start moving for real. Full of careless confidence, just like the way he dances.
Yamamoto's not sure what to make of it.
But suddenly such technicalities are the least of his worries when the music does start, and "On three!" Yara calls. Yamamoto swallows a curse and tries his best to keep up with new steps he doesn't remember seeing a demo for.
It ends in fail.
Yamamoto knows it, and Yara knows it. All of Butoukan know it actually, and for once the room clears pretty fast when a break is called and Yara says loudly: "Ryota, stick around for a bit."
"...I'm sorry," Yamamoto says when they're alone, and bows.
For all intents and purposes, Yara ignores the apology.
In fact, when Yamamoto chances a glance up, Yara is smiling. "Got something on your mind, Ryo-chan?" he asks, and the look in his eyes - sharp, hard, crystal clear - makes Yamamoto's heart stall.
"Senga keeps saying if you want to beat someone, it really just means you want sex," he blurts.
"And what, you're trying not to believe him?" Yara laughs.
"Well, I-" Yamamoto hands make indignant fists. "Hey! I'm not some senpai whore, you know. I don't want to sleep with just anybody I look up to-"
Yara's smile curves at the edges then, turning a little more something else as his half-closed eyes slide slowly lower over Yamamoto's body. Acutely, Yamamoto becomes aware of the clingy way his own sweat-damp practice tee is hanging, threadbare, and goosebumps rise. He feels strangely exposed. Strangely vulnerable under Yara's gaze.
Yara takes a step forward, and Yamamoto takes a half step back-
But stops when Yara reaches out and hooks his fingers in the band of Yamamoto's sweatpants with a grin. "Well, I'd be disappointed if it were just any old senpai's dance you wanted to beat, Ryo-chan."
"...Yara-kun," Yamamoto falters over what to say and Yara closes the gap before he can think, pressing their lips together. Yamamoto stiffens but Yara is used to getting his way, firm and insistent. He strokes a light hand down Yamamoto's jaw to coax his mouth open, murmuring something soft, and Yamamoto lets him. Doesn't push him away, doesn't panic. Maybe, a little, he even kisses back.
At the feel of a smile against his lips, Yamamoto growls, frustrated with the way he finds himself melting into Yara's amusement, but he can't help it. His eyes close on a shiver despite himself when Yara chuckles and Yamamoto can feel it in his mouth and in his hands from deep in Yara's chest. His fingers curl tighter in Yara's shirt, pulling, more demanding.
Yara just laughs and tilts Yamamoto's head with a hand in his hair, pressing open kisses down Yamamoto's bared neck, and Yamamoto will deny making any stupid noises later but right now his mouth is open and gasping and he's not sure what he's asking for, except when Yara's hand slips down the front of his pants between them. "Wait, what-"
"Hm, annoying," Yara observes, pulling back, almost casual except for his charcoal-dark eyes. He snaps the tight waistband of Yamamoto's compression shorts in distaste, making Yamamoto flinch. "Yone wears these, too. And Tsuka-chan."
"What the hell," Yamamoto glares as much as he can with a certain discomfort in his undergarments and sudden rampant blush across his cheeks. "That's something I did not need to know right now."
Yara just grins. "Makes quick access difficult, is all," he says, half-shrug all mock apology, and steps back, turning away.
Yamamoto wants to complain, but just ends up gaping. Get back here you ass, it's not fair to make me totally want you then just drop the ball somehow doesn't sit right with his high moral code (or what's left of it anyway). "...I hate you," he manages instead, but it comes out a growl, lower than usual.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Yara winks over his shoulder.
Yamamoto feels a tantrum coming on, but suddenly the door cracks open and Senga pokes his head in. "...Yaracchi-kun?"
Yamamoto stares.
Hamanaka's head pops up a little higher, also curious. "Done?" His ears are red.
"Yeah, come back in," Yara tells them much to Yamamoto's mortification. "I think Ryo-chan's over himself now."
"-asshole!"
Yara smirks, turning to pin Yamamoto with his stare, sharp and hard and crystal clear. "Can't say he's over me yet, though."
Yamamoto's jaw drops. "What the hell are you smoking!"
Tsukada dives to cover Senga's ears, bowling Hamanaka over.
"MA's dressing room after practice if you're up for it," Yara tells Yamamoto, off-hand like the weather's nice today, isn't it? "If you're game."
Yamamoto just stares right back, equal parts curious and furious, and a little bit why me? too, despite thought of it being anyone else only irritating him all the more. Which makes no sense, since Yara's selfish. Obnoxious. A freak. And only a dumb shit like Senga would think about wanting someone like that.
"I'll kick your ass," Yamamoto scowls.
Yara just grins. "Bring it on. After we nail this routine - if you can, that is."
°•
"Hickeys," Senga says in the dressing room later. "A thousand yen."
"Bruises," Tsukada shakes his head, trying not to think too hard about it. "Two thousand."
"Both," Hamanaka votes.
"Oh!" Senga claps. "Can I change my bet to that, too? I want to vote for that, too."
This one was the second pinch-hit, but I am not so good with the flashfic so it's not much. Made some edits. I still fail at, urgh. Intimacy. Though. Or whatever that stuff is called. URGH, I TELL YOU. But aaanyway. I like to think it's a little less terrible now. At least I can read through it without flinching at myself, ahaa.
*
Title: Sex=/=Talent (originally here)
Details: YaraMoto, Butoukan; PG-13.
Summary: You can admire someone's skill without wanting to get in their pants, right? Yamamoto's adamant. Senga begs to differ.
Warnings: Language. Thwarted wishes for porn. ♥ :D There is no porn. That said, there is no point either. SO.
Prompt: Shounentai's Diamond Eyes ( translation). What a ridiculous song, seriously. 8D These lyrics. I couldn't get the line about the wet nipple shirt out of my head, though that is neither here nor there.
There are things Yamamoto attributes to Yara's dance that go unsaid. That it's breathtaking. Natural. Something worth achieving, and worth beating.
There are things that Yamamoto attributes to Yara himself, which go equally unsaid. That he's selfish. Obnoxious. A freak - well. Not that Yamamoto can complain too much without being a hypocrite (half the jimusho's like that, anyway). And it's not that he wants to complain either: all Yamamoto asks is for it to be clear that what he likes about Yara is Yara's dance. No strings attached. Senga can love 'Yaracchi' itsudemo for all he cares. Things are simpler when personal stuff is left out.
"Sure," Hamanaka says. Yamamoto ignores him, though, because with that tone of voice and that deadpan face, Yamamoto can never tell if the Osakan is being sympathetic or sarcastic and neither does he want to lower himself to the level of asking.
"I understand," Tsukada says, in what is definitely sympathy. "In my case, for Yonehana-kun - after seeing him do twenty backflips on stage, I wanted to try the same thing. I mean, I admire his acrobatics a lot, but I wouldn't want to... um. You know."
Yamamoto winces. Nobody'd want to um. You know that particular MA senpai. Ever. "Yeah," he says. "I know."
Tsukada nods quickly. "Right. They're inspirations. Aspirations." The and that's that remains unsaid. He takes a long swig from his drink bottle.
"But there's nothing wrong with wanting to fuck somebody you look up to, right?" Senga chirps, discarding his pants.
Tsukada chokes on his sports water and considerately, Hamanaka thumps their resident gymnast on the back on his way past. "Don't die. See you guys next week. Not in the morgue."
"...if you miss your night bus again, just give us a call," Tsukada croaks.
"No, call me! Call me!" Senga grins. "I'd take care of you if you slept over. Hiromii does it all the time."
Hamanaka exits without another word, and Yamamoto gives Senga a withering look.
"What?"
"Nothing," Yamamoto says curtly.
"Okay," Senga says, irritatingly dismissive.
"You can admire someone's skill without wanting to get in their pants, you know," Yamamoto tells him, zipping his bag forcefully shut.
Senga looks at Yamamoto sidelong. "Okay?"
Tsukada laughs a little tightly. "This is what happens when Taipi and Kawai-kun have too much influence on young minds..."
"Oh, gross."
"Hey!" Senga protests. "What have they got to do with this?"
Tsukada valiantly sidesteps that question. "Each to their own. Na, Senga?"
"Right," Senga says decisively. "Like how Kawai-kun likes MatsuJun-senpai and Tackey, and Taipi likes Sho-kun and Koki and Tackey, and Ryo-chan likes Yara-"
"I like his dance!" Yamamoto explodes (and doesn't stomp his foot). "And that's not what Tsukada meant."
"Ahh, guys. Let's not-"
"Yaracchi's dance is Yaracchi too, you know," Senga cuts in, blithely matter-of-fact as he packs his satchel.
"I-" Yamamoto starts, before switching tack: "You know what? Never mind." It's been a long day and longer afternoon practice. His head hurts from associating with too many dumb people. "Never mind. Later guys, okay?"
"...take care," Tsukada says.
"Bye-bye cha!"
Yamamoto gets two steps out of the room, the door swinging shut in his wake, when he realizes he's forgotten his phone.
After an exit like that, though...
He hesitates until Tsukada's muted voice breaks the silence left behind in the dressing room. "You were pretty adamant back there, Ken-chan. Something up?"
"Hm?"
"About, you know. How you can't like what a guy does without liking him as well..."
"Oh! Yeah well, I think it's true. For stuff like dance especially, you know? Since it's like what you call an Expression of Self, I think it's pretty personal. Ryo-chan probably just doesn't get it yet."
Yamamoto swallows a noise of infuriation and spins on his heel. He can live without his phone for tonight. Senga is stupid, and therefore wrong.
°•
Yamamoto's mind hasn't changed the following week. Not even after he catches himself staring at the reflection of Yara's crotch in the giant mirrors lining one side of the practice room when they're not even dancing.
It sort of can't be helped though, Yamamoto's pretty sure. The way Yara stands with his hips cocked is pretty much just asking for people to-
"Ryota!" Yara barks. Yamamoto flinches guiltily. Yara grins. "If your esteemed mind could join us for this, that'd be great."
"I'm listening," Yamamoto mutters, embarrassed.
"Mmhm," Yara smirks, and points upward. "My face is this way. Just to get you started."
Somebody snickers, and Yamamoto bites back an I know that! because while Yara is a bit of a bastard, it's to no extent MAD haven't seen before (among their own ranks, even). Yamamoto can handle something like that just fine. His frown of concentration and the way he's still not hearing a word coming from Yara's mouth has nothing to do with being snarked at.
But it might be because Yara even talks like he's performing, tones full of cocky cheer and hips tilted like any time now some background music'll cut in and he'll start moving for real. Full of careless confidence, just like the way he dances.
Yamamoto's not sure what to make of it.
But suddenly such technicalities are the least of his worries when the music does start, and "On three!" Yara calls. Yamamoto swallows a curse and tries his best to keep up with new steps he doesn't remember seeing a demo for.
It ends in fail.
Yamamoto knows it, and Yara knows it. All of Butoukan know it actually, and for once the room clears pretty fast when a break is called and Yara says loudly: "Ryota, stick around for a bit."
"...I'm sorry," Yamamoto says when they're alone, and bows.
For all intents and purposes, Yara ignores the apology.
In fact, when Yamamoto chances a glance up, Yara is smiling. "Got something on your mind, Ryo-chan?" he asks, and the look in his eyes - sharp, hard, crystal clear - makes Yamamoto's heart stall.
"Senga keeps saying if you want to beat someone, it really just means you want sex," he blurts.
"And what, you're trying not to believe him?" Yara laughs.
"Well, I-" Yamamoto hands make indignant fists. "Hey! I'm not some senpai whore, you know. I don't want to sleep with just anybody I look up to-"
Yara's smile curves at the edges then, turning a little more something else as his half-closed eyes slide slowly lower over Yamamoto's body. Acutely, Yamamoto becomes aware of the clingy way his own sweat-damp practice tee is hanging, threadbare, and goosebumps rise. He feels strangely exposed. Strangely vulnerable under Yara's gaze.
Yara takes a step forward, and Yamamoto takes a half step back-
But stops when Yara reaches out and hooks his fingers in the band of Yamamoto's sweatpants with a grin. "Well, I'd be disappointed if it were just any old senpai's dance you wanted to beat, Ryo-chan."
"...Yara-kun," Yamamoto falters over what to say and Yara closes the gap before he can think, pressing their lips together. Yamamoto stiffens but Yara is used to getting his way, firm and insistent. He strokes a light hand down Yamamoto's jaw to coax his mouth open, murmuring something soft, and Yamamoto lets him. Doesn't push him away, doesn't panic. Maybe, a little, he even kisses back.
At the feel of a smile against his lips, Yamamoto growls, frustrated with the way he finds himself melting into Yara's amusement, but he can't help it. His eyes close on a shiver despite himself when Yara chuckles and Yamamoto can feel it in his mouth and in his hands from deep in Yara's chest. His fingers curl tighter in Yara's shirt, pulling, more demanding.
Yara just laughs and tilts Yamamoto's head with a hand in his hair, pressing open kisses down Yamamoto's bared neck, and Yamamoto will deny making any stupid noises later but right now his mouth is open and gasping and he's not sure what he's asking for, except when Yara's hand slips down the front of his pants between them. "Wait, what-"
"Hm, annoying," Yara observes, pulling back, almost casual except for his charcoal-dark eyes. He snaps the tight waistband of Yamamoto's compression shorts in distaste, making Yamamoto flinch. "Yone wears these, too. And Tsuka-chan."
"What the hell," Yamamoto glares as much as he can with a certain discomfort in his undergarments and sudden rampant blush across his cheeks. "That's something I did not need to know right now."
Yara just grins. "Makes quick access difficult, is all," he says, half-shrug all mock apology, and steps back, turning away.
Yamamoto wants to complain, but just ends up gaping. Get back here you ass, it's not fair to make me totally want you then just drop the ball somehow doesn't sit right with his high moral code (or what's left of it anyway). "...I hate you," he manages instead, but it comes out a growl, lower than usual.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Yara winks over his shoulder.
Yamamoto feels a tantrum coming on, but suddenly the door cracks open and Senga pokes his head in. "...Yaracchi-kun?"
Yamamoto stares.
Hamanaka's head pops up a little higher, also curious. "Done?" His ears are red.
"Yeah, come back in," Yara tells them much to Yamamoto's mortification. "I think Ryo-chan's over himself now."
"-asshole!"
Yara smirks, turning to pin Yamamoto with his stare, sharp and hard and crystal clear. "Can't say he's over me yet, though."
Yamamoto's jaw drops. "What the hell are you smoking!"
Tsukada dives to cover Senga's ears, bowling Hamanaka over.
"MA's dressing room after practice if you're up for it," Yara tells Yamamoto, off-hand like the weather's nice today, isn't it? "If you're game."
Yamamoto just stares right back, equal parts curious and furious, and a little bit why me? too, despite thought of it being anyone else only irritating him all the more. Which makes no sense, since Yara's selfish. Obnoxious. A freak. And only a dumb shit like Senga would think about wanting someone like that.
"I'll kick your ass," Yamamoto scowls.
Yara just grins. "Bring it on. After we nail this routine - if you can, that is."
°•
"Hickeys," Senga says in the dressing room later. "A thousand yen."
"Bruises," Tsukada shakes his head, trying not to think too hard about it. "Two thousand."
"Both," Hamanaka votes.
"Oh!" Senga claps. "Can I change my bet to that, too? I want to vote for that, too."