This Ain't Brokeback
Title: This Ain’t Brokeback
Series: Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle
Rating: R-18 (NSFW)
Summary: Written for this prompt over at clampkink. Kurogane has been in the acting game long enough to see through most people, but his co-star is proving a distraction. Kurogane/Fay modern AU.
Kurogane closed his eyes and did his damndest to pretend he wasn’t standing in a make-up trailer at 6am with three sets of hands dabbing make-up over his torso.
Fuck, if this entire production wasn’t turning out to be such a raging pain!
He could feel a familiar headache creeping into the base of his skull, and bit back a growl (just). First day of shooting, and it already felt like forever. Why the hell had he let his agent talk him into taking this part?
A fresh assault of foundation began on his thighs, and he gritted his teeth.
Oh, yeah. Now he remembered. When he signed up for this, it had seemed like the job of a lifetime. Destiny, fate - the part he was born to play (huh, if lines got cornier than that, he didn’t want to know about it). The adaptation of a wildly popular fantasy book series, with all the bells and whistles that a big budget afforded. A quest through magical worlds starring a fresh-faced teen idol who did his own stunts, and a doe-eyed up-and-coming young actress. The sets were epic, the special effects state-of-the-art; the wardrobe department just about required its own atmosphere. All in all, a Big Deal.
The producers had sent his agent the script and said they needed ‘Black Steel’ Kurogane to be their ninja, said that no-one else had the looks, the moves, the stunt-action chops; no-one else came close to matching his skill with a stunt sword - and they needed a really big sword.
They’d suggested a figure, and Tomoyo had asked them to suggest a higher one, and then he’d signed a three-movie deal.
That was all before the director (that witch!) decided the third movie needed a sex scene between the ninja and the magician.
He scowled. He’d read the books; of course he’d read them, used them to get into character, and he’d noted the growing relationship between the two men as the series wore on. Clearly, things ended up pretty cosy between them, but just as clearly that didn’t matter because no producer alive was going to include that shit in a multimillion-yen blockbuster.
The boy and the princess were the love story. The gruff ninja and the self-loathing magician would have to settle for being friends, because suburban summer audiences wouldn’t want something like that in their fantasy saga. It wasn’t Brokeback Mountain, after all.
And if he’d felt a brief irritation that the ninja’s real storyline would be, well, castrated for something so stupid, it was only because he hadn’t met the idiot who would be playing the magician yet.
When he did, he only felt profoundly grateful.
They’d brought him over from god-knew-where in Europe. The very first day, the blond bastard had spent over an hour pretending to Kurogane that he didn’t speak Japanese, smiling and patting the stunt actor’s arm as if they were old friends, and chattering away in his own language.
Kurogane had wondered how the hell this was going to work out.
Then they’d started the first script read-through, and the jack-ass - Fay, what kind of a name was that? - had miraculously recovered, bowing deeply and respectfully to the director and discussing his motivation for the first scene in fluent Japanese with a precise, lilting accent.
His blue eyes had sparkled wickedly at Kurogane over the director’s shoulder, and it had taken all of Kurogane’s self-control not to throw a chair at his head.
That had been more than a year ago. Since then, the first film had been released and they’d all done the requisite publicity circuit - early morning radio slots and late-night television interviews, and the ones Kurogane hated most, live hand-shaking events (even Fay’s smile seemed more fake than usual on those days). Now the rushes for the second film were somewhere deep in post-production, and today - today they would begin shooting the third and final instalment.
The director had decided that Scene 12 would be a good way to break the ice after the five-month break, and Kurogane couldn’t disagree more (largely because the witch had threatened to sue him for breach of contract if he tried).
His thoughts were interrupted by the door to the trailer flying open. A girl with short dark hair and far too cheerful grin for the early hour stuck her head in, and then her cheerfulness gave way to surprise.
‘Fay-san isn’t here?’
‘Already done. He came in early,’ supplied one of the owners of the hands that Kurogane was pretending weren’t there - a young woman with long blue hair.
‘Ah, right!’
And the girl slammed out again.
Kurogane scowled even harder. Why did the bastard have to come in early anyway? It would have been far less awkward if they’d sat in the make-up trailer together like they always did, while Fay chattered on about something meaningless like he always did, and Kurogane told him to shut up whenever he said something particularly inane like he always did.
In truth, Kurogane had been relying on that time - something to normalise the situation, something to remind him that Fay was just an idiot who got his kicks from watching Kurogane’s face darken and didn’t stop acting once the cameras were off.
Because something had happened during those five months. Something disturbing.
They’d scattered in different directions during the break. Sakura and Syaoran had been snapped in various trendy spots around the city, and wildly proclaimed in the press to be the hottest new ‘it’ couple - an allegation they both vehemently denied.
(This according to Tomoyo. His agent had been very well-informed about every aspect of the young actress’s life and he had no doubt Sakura would be the next talent signed to the Piffle Agency. Tomoyo had a habit of getting what she wanted.)
For himself, nothing particular had been lined up. Tomoyo made sure of that. The last shoot had been gruelling, and he’d aggravated an old shoulder injury during one particularly tough stunt. The final film promised to be even more physically demanding, and so he was happy to devote the five months to training. Training and quiet.
Quiet that he could fully appreciate, safe in the knowledge that it would not be interrupted.
Because Fay had skipped off to France to film some low-budget arthouse flick with the Italian actor Ashura (and even Kurogane knew that name - the man was film royalty). He’d been very deliberately casual about the project - its very existence, in fact, had only come to light because the director mentioned it in passing one day. And then he’d hummed and grinned, and said it was something he’d agreed to ages ago, and he adored Paris in the spring, and it would be such an honour to work with a legend like Ashura.
‘Don’t be jealous, Kuro-sama,’ he’d trilled when Kurogane curled his lip and turned away, ‘I only have eyes for you!’
At which point Kurogane had rounded on him, incensed, and it was only because he was sick of Fay’s secrecy and insincerity and forced exuberance, and not because he was in any way concerned with what that idiot did with Italian playboys in Paris!
Which meant they’d parted on fairly frosty terms. Fay had asked Kurogane to kindly mind his own business - the first time he could say he’d seen something even close to real from the man - and Kurogane had hissed that he didn’t give a damn what Fay did off-set, as long as he returned with his mind on the job.
Five months had passed quietly.
And then two weeks ago it had arrived. In a small padded envelope. Addressed to his house.
Why the bastard had his address, Kurogane didn’t know. Most mail for him came via Tomoyo’s office.
Inside the envelope was a DVD case with Fay’s face on the cover - eyes serious, gazing off to the side. There was lots of text that Kurogane couldn’t read, but given the timeframe, it didn’t take a genius to figure it had to be a pre-release screener.
And so he’d sat down to watch it one evening, not sure why. There were English subtitles that he could mostly pick up, but the film itself seemed strange and abstract and he only carried on watching, really, to finish what he’d started.
It was odd, seeing Fay in a completely different context. Not in otherworldly costumes, with synthetic gore stuck to his face, but acting in everyday clothes, pretending to be an everyday person.
But then he’d corrected himself, because he saw Fay pretending to be an everyday person, well, every day. Someone else had written his lines this time, that was all.
Truthfully, he’d had trouble following the plot. Fay seemed to be playing two different roles (Twins? A past self and a present self? He couldn’t tell.) with some ambiguous connection to Ashura’s character. Whether he was father figure, friend, mentor or something else entirely never seemed quite clear.
What was clear, though, was the sight of Fay’s character pushing Ashura’s into a chair, unzipping his fly, and then leaning his face forward over the place where the man’s dick would be.
Kurogane had stared (gaped) at the screen for a second before scowling. He hoped to hell Ashura’s character wasn’t meant to be a father figure!
Of course, it was all mimed. Fay’s loose hair formed a suitably discreet curtain against the fact that he wasn’t, in fact, performing fellatio on screen, and then the action cut away to Ashura, stayed tight on the contortions of his face for an excruciatingly long time.
Damned foreign artsy crap!
Kurogane had huffed, and reached to pour himself some more sake. Then suddenly the scene had cut to Ashura’s point-of-view.
A blond head bobbing up and down between his thighs, one slim hand hidden, the other resting on the pale skin of his lower belly.
And quite without warning, Kurogane had felt a bolt of lust run through him. Seated on the couch, his own legs were splayed not unlike the man on the screen. How would it feel to have Fay nestled between them, his hot, wet mouth around Kurogane’s cock?
The sake caught in his throat.
He’d turned the film off abruptly. Gone to load his few dirty plates into the dishwasher. Gone to check a fax he heard whirring in. Gone for an impromptu six-mile run around his neighbourhood in the cool night air.
Eventually he’d gone to have a shower, and he hadn’t thought about Fay for a second as he wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked himself to release.
Or at least, he hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t wanted to. It had just happened - Fay had popped unbidden into Kurogane’s mind as his cum spattered against the tiles, and now he couldn’t get the idiot out of it. For two weeks, he’d been plagued with thoughts about the man - that sinful mouth, that lithe body. Kurogane had spent a large portion of the last shoot cradling Fay against him, so he knew exactly what the man felt like - the soft brush of his hair, the firm muscle of his arms.
Only now Kurogane imagined holding him in rather different ways. The images would come with no regard for time or place or fucking propriety, and it was driving him rapidly insane.
That film had done something to him, he decided, eyes shut and ignoring the drag of eyeliner across his upper lid. It had tricked him somehow, made him see Fay as something other than what he really was (an utter bastard). He knew that he just needed to see the real Fay again to fully reacquaint himself with the truth, and then all this would just go away.
So, of course the idiot had come in early for make-up.
‘OK, Kurogane-san. We’re going to wrap your shoulder now.’
His attention returned to the trailer and the fluttering hands. Apparently the make-up torture was finished (for now), and he had the pleasure of a carefully concealed limb to look forward to.
Tche! Who the hell would cut off an arm for someone like Fay?
Shit.
Kurogane inhaled sharply, held it for one, two, three. Exhaled.
No. Not Fay. The magician. That was a line he didn’t need to blur today of all days.
‘This will probably be a bit cold, I’m afraid,’ said another of the hands’ owners - the girl with the glasses and headband this time.
He eyed the bottle in her hand - body glue - and grunted. ‘It’s fine.’ Rolled his shoulder one last time before it was imprisoned beneath the web of gauze. ‘Just don’t make it too loose.’
She smiled at that, and began to brush fluid - god, it was cold - across his shoulder. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Kurogane-san.’
Kurogane stalked towards the set, uncomfortably aware of the make-up all over his body, and the arm doubled back under the bandages. He had practiced moving like this during the break - steering despite a missing left rudder - so his gait remained steady, but he grimaced nevertheless.
23 set-ups to get through that day. 23 different shots that the director wanted to capture (23 too many, as far as Kurogane was concerned). It started with a kiss, and then came a hell of a lot of pretty touchy-feely crap. The finished product was meant to be all low-lighting and close-ups and sensual hands: a two-minute montage of suggestion and artfully placed cloth, which suited Kurogane just fine.
But then there was that.
After much research (Kurogane didn’t want to know what research), the director had decided an additional climactic (and she’d actually used that word) set-up would be required. Semi-clothed Fay would straddle Kurogane’s lap, Kurogane’s hand would rest on Fay’s hip, both would rock in synch and kiss. The camera would track through the sliding doors, pan across the men on the futon, and come to a stop on the space between a second set of open doors further down-set.
A piece of garish green-screen stretch hung between them now - preparation for the full moon and night sky to be added in post-production.
More than anything, Kurogane didn’t see the point of that set-up. The director had already admitted they probably wouldn’t get the shot past the censors, not if they wanted to retain their teen-friendly rating.
‘So why bother even shooting it?’ he’d demanded when she relayed this information a month ago.
Yuuko had remained unmoved by his objections.
‘Because we must have faith that our efforts are not made in vain, no matter what forces try to disrupt us,’ she’d said, eerily sombre.
And he’d squinted at her, genuinely confused to hear a word like ‘faith’ coming from the mouth of a woman whose reputation for contract-haggling had sent many a studio executive running for the hills.
‘Huh?’
Of course, no sooner had he questioned its absence than the scheming look returned. Her red eyes had flashed menacingly.
‘There’s always the director’s cut, Kurogane.’
And the closed set made everything more intimate. Of course, that was the point - to prevent every gaffer and best boy and runner gawping at the simulated shenanigans - but things had changed now, and Kurogane wanted to keep as far away from intimate with Fay as humanly possible.
He moved past the wooden façades onto the set proper, taking in the tastefully mussed blankets, the reverently placed incense (and Kurogane had never lit incense for sex in his life). The ninja’s sword was there too, peeking from a dustsheet off to the side, and he crossed the short distance towards it. It wouldn’t be used for this scene, he knew, but seeing it was a comfort, somehow. He liked both swords he’d worked with in this movie - the sleek, smooth Souhi, but especially the heft and weight of Ginryuu, with its elegant dragon-head hilt and glittering eye. He’d half a mind to make an offer on them when all this was over…
‘Ah, so pretty!’
And then an excited bubble of voices drew his attention up, away, and towards the front of set. There, beyond the cameras and the lights, surrounded by a gaggle of wardrobe assistants, stood Fay, pale and smiling and dressed in a furisode.
Shit. Kurogane swallowed hard.
Fay glanced across the set, blue eyes flicking over the futon and the incense, and Kurogane curled his lip because no matter how brightly the idiot smiled, anybody could see he was dreading this with every fibre of his being.
Which was a relief, of course.
Then Fay’s gaze came to rest on Kurogane, still crouched with Ginryuu near the perfectly rumpled futon. The man’s eyes went wide and the smile slipped just a fraction (just enough) before he raised an arm and waved hugely. ‘Yoo-hoo, Kuro-seme! Let’s have fun today!’
In the silence that immediately settled over the set, Kurogane realised that he wouldn’t need to worry about having those thoughts about Fay today - he wouldn’t need to worry ever, in fact, because he was about to kill the man and render the entire, ridiculous, fucking stupid movie void.
His hand twitched towards Ginryuu.
‘If you aren’t careful, Kurogane, the wind may change and leave you that way,’ came an altogether too knowing voice from behind him.
And sometimes Kurogane wondered whether the witch couldn’t read his mind.
He stood and turned, his brows drawing ever tighter at the sight before him: Yuuko sprawled in her ridiculously opulent director’s chair, pipe in hand and sporting a set of headphones that were far too cutesy for a woman of her years.
‘Of course,’ she went on, infuriatingly breezy, ‘we might well be pressed to tell the difference.’
‘Are we going to do this?’ he snapped. ‘What’s the delay?’
The witch blew out a smoke ring. ‘Glad to see you’re so eager to get to grips with your co-star, Kurogane.’
His hand twitched again. Maybe he’d kill Yuuko first.
Eventually, after more fussing with Fay’s hair and more touch-ups to Kurogane’s thighs, after the 1st AD exploded at the director and told her (for the millionth time since production started) that he wasn’t her personal slave and she had assistants to bring her drinks, they were ready for the first take.
‘Quiet on set!’
The director chose that moment to slurp noisily from her teacup.
The 1st AD glared, but held tight to his temper this time. Kurogane grimaced and willed away the something twisting his stomach as Fay took his starting position mere feet away.
‘Roll camera.’
‘Rolling.’
A deep breath. In. Out.
‘Roll sound.’
‘Speed.’
Kurogane knew what to do. It was a job, and he was a professional, damn it.
‘Mark it.’
He could do this. It was Fay, for fuck’s sake. The idiot who drove him to distraction, who talked and laughed and drank too much, who had worn out his welcome in Kurogane’s life the same day he’d entered it.
Fay, who was gazing at him with one heavy-lidded blue eye, lips slightly parted, waiting his cue.
Shit.
‘Action!’
And they were on. The magician bit his lip, cast his eyes downward.
‘I never meant to…’
‘Shut up!’ he growled.
Stepped forward two paces, placed his right hand on the magician’s shoulder.
‘Hold him a little tighter, Kurogane.’
Mentally cursed the witch. Tightened his grip.
‘I told you, I don’t care about any of that.’
The magician looked up (Fay looked up) into his eyes, and Kurogane felt his stomach drop away at the want he saw in them.
‘Do you honestly mean that?’ the magician whispered.
Tilted his head to the left, leaned into the kiss on a count of two (fast but not too fast), opened his mouth, and the golden rule, kept his tongue in his own goddamn head.
Which didn’t stop the press and pull of Fay’s lips feeling fucking amazing as they moved in time with his own.
Shit.
‘And cut!’
The witch’s voice sounded above them like a klaxon, and they sprang apart. Fay’s cheeks were slightly pink and he turned quickly away from Kurogane, laughing suddenly with the dark-haired girl who had run forward to fuss with his eye-patch (again).
Beyond the edge of set, the director was murmuring to the 1st AD. The man whispered back fiercely for a minute, clearly exasperated, but at last he straightened and cleared his throat to speak. ‘That was very nice, both of you, but one more take, please. Positions, everyone!’
And Kurogane ran his free hand over his face. Shit.
From there, the day quickly descended into some well-lit, precisely choreographed round of torture. Each set-up seemed designed to maximise those thoughts that he didn’t mean to have, the thoughts he’d never wanted to have; to push him and Fay into ever more intimate holds and positions.
Fay sitting in his lap, Fay breathing against his neck. Fay on top of him, underneath him, gazing longingly up at him. Long, delicate fingers that brushed his skin, raked down his back, pulled through his hair. Creamy skin and pouting lips and spreading thighs…
‘Cut!’
(And Kurogane was beginning to hate that word.)
The thing was, this just wasn’t supposed to be sexy. It was never supposed to be sexy. Kurogane had played countless heroes before, done a hundred love scenes, and it was never sexy. It was smeared make-up and irritating clothing and positions that no-one would try in reality (not if they actually wanted to come, anyway). It was freezing sets and glaring lights and assistants that stuck their fingers in places they had no business being. It was tiring and repetitive and mechanical, and all of it was done under constant fucking scrutiny.
It was work, and Kurogane had been working long enough that it shouldn’t be affecting him like this.
(Long enough that he shouldn’t need to jerk himself off in his trailer to avoid potential embarrassment before the next set-up.)
So, why was it different with Fay?
He wiped his hand against a towel on the chair next to him, and sighed heavily.
Fay was an idiot, and he’d been even more skittish that day than usual, smiles bright and forced, the ridiculous nicknames ranging from Kuro-tripod (‘Uwa! I was talking about your limbs, Kuro-perv!’) to, well, Kuro-perv. Which just went to prove that everything about the bastard was a lie, given how gratuitously he’d been flirting with Kurogane ever since they’d first met. Not that it wasn’t probably real - Kurogane had been in the business long enough to see through most people, and however polished Fay might’ve thought his act, Kurogane still caught a flicker of something in the man’s eyes: something honest, something more.
But that didn’t matter, not now, because given the chance to get up close and personal, Fay laughed and joked and couldn’t get away fast enough - and that told Kurogane everything he really needed to know.
Hell, if Fay could run any faster, he might want to consider a career change.
Anyway, Kurogane couldn’t care less. It was just a physical thing. It was just that it had been too long (though it could be every night with whoever he wanted if that was all that mattered to him). But then, he hadn’t gone drinking with anyone except Fay for the last year or so - not regularly, at least - and truth be told, he hadn’t even noticed until now.
He huffed, and took a swig of water to clear his head, pull him back to reality. No. He hadn’t missed the idiot’s stupidity during those five months, hadn’t missed drinking the nights away with him at a certain exclusive establishment and showing up fresh for work the next morning. Hadn’t missed those moments between takes when the kids were too wrapped up in themselves to even notice another living being and Fay would lean close and say something… just something. Sharp, clever, quiet (interesting). Just something more.
Something that proved there was more to the bastard than distracting blond hair and playful blue eyes.
(Though the hair was very distracting.)
No. It didn’t matter. This… thing would pass soon enough, and then Fay would go back to being whatever the hell he’d been to Kurogane before that stupid film put these ideas (ridiculous, unwelcome, toe-curlingly good ideas) in his head.
Although he was finding it increasingly difficult to remember what that was, exactly.
The trailer door rattled and banged into his thoughts. ‘Ten minutes, Kurogane-san!’ came a disembodied voice.
He stood up and exhaled slowly. ‘Yeah!’
One more set-up to go. One more until it was over, and then it would all be business as usual tomorrow. Stunts and fight scenes and kids, and that guy who played the villain that Kurogane found inexplicably creepy. Normal stuff. Regular stuff. Not Fay crawling all over his body in a piece of perfectly tailored silk.
He gave his hand one more wipe on the towel before he left.
Kurogane was halfway across the lot when he collided with the blur of limbs and hair and sleeves. He managed to keep them both upright, just.
‘Uwa!’ Blue eyes peered up at him accusingly, their owner rubbing his head in a an obviously exaggerated way. ‘Kuro-steel should watch where he’s going.’
Kurogane glared. ‘Idiot! If it wasn’t for me, we’d both be on our arses by now.’
‘Oh, really?’ Fay blinked, hand still on his head, and that damned sly expression slipped onto his face, the one he always got right before he said something like, ‘Nice to know Kuro-sama is concerned about my -’
Heat flooded Kurogane’s cheeks. ‘Shut up!’
Something like that.
(He was not thinking about Fay’s arse at all!)
‘Anyway,’ Kurogane went on, and he refused to look at the eyes he just knew were sparkling up at him, ‘What are you doing? Set’s in the opposite direction.’
Fay smiled, blithe and easy. ‘Well, I was coming to find you, of course, Kuro-sama.’
Which made Kurogane huff, because it was such an obvious lie, he didn’t know why Fay bothered to waste breath on it. ‘Tche! You are such a -’
The unmistakable whirr and click of a camera interrupted that particular sentiment. Kurogane turned his head towards the noise, and sure enough, at the gate that barred entrance to the lot, two paparazzi were angling their lenses past a very harassed-looking security guard.
He rolled his eyes, ‘Bastards,’ and turned back to Fay - and then frowned. The colour had drained completely from the other man’s face and he was staring in wide-eyed horror towards the photographers. He stepped very quickly away from Kurogane, trying to move out of sight, and in his haste seemed to forget the cumbersome garment currently swathed about his legs. Fay tripped, jerked backwards, and probably would have fallen if Kurogane’s reflexes weren’t what they were.
Fortunately, they were what they were: he caught the blond by the arm and levered him upright again. The cameras clicked furiously from the lot gate, and Kurogane marched Fay around the corner, away from curious eyes and most definitely out of snapping range.
Fay’s gaze was firmly fixed on his sleeve as he smoothed out the creases where Kurogane had grabbed him. ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ he said quietly.
‘What - and let you break your damn neck and hold up production for six months?’ Kurogane snorted. ‘I’ve got better things to do with my time.’
And a tiny smile pulled at the corner of Fay’s mouth, then. He kept fussing with the sleeve, face slanted down, smiling that smile, and it was so unlike any other Kurogane had seen on the man’s face that he only just managed to avoid staring in dumb amazement.
It changed everything, that smile.
Then Fay looked up and it was replaced by 1,000 megawatts of insincerity. ‘Kuro-ninja should be careful about what he does in front of photographers,’ he said lightly. ‘He might get something bad written about him.’
Kurogane couldn’t believe Fay thought anyone would be fooled by that tone.
‘What are you talking about, idiot?’ he growled, and reached out to grab the man again, to pin him down once and for all and find out what the hell his problem was.
But Fay skipped neatly out of reach this time, his laugh high and bright. ‘Ah, I forgot Kuro-sama is already such a regular in the gossip pages, with his oh-so-sexy short shorts!’
There had been a picture of Kurogane out running (one of those runs) in one of the tattle rags a few weeks before - when Fay was supposedly still out of the country. He’d been too distracted (flustered) at the time to notice that the shorts he pulled on had shrunk in the wash, and the caption accompanying the photo had been salacious to say the least.
Kurogane growled. ‘You bastard!’
The furisode didn’t hinder Fay a second time. The chase took them all the way onto the set, Fay laughing and whooping, his blue eyes bright and alert and real for once. He looked almost happy, and if Kurogane wasn’t busy trying to punch the bastard’s lights out, he might’ve said it suited him.
‘Try to save some of that passion for the scene, Kurogane,’ and goddamn it if it wasn’t one, it was the fucking other!
He turned to find Yuuko surveying at him critically, red eyes trailing ever lower before, ‘Umi-san! Another touch-up to Kurogane’s thighs, please!’
What the… ‘You can’t even see my thighs, witch!’ he bellowed.
Yuuko’s gaze swept to his face again. ‘That’s an extremely rude way to address your director, Kurogane,’ she said coolly, and then, leaning closer, ‘Besides, this is their big scene.’
The cackles that rang across the set left him in absolutely no doubt that the woman was a demon witch sent from another dimension.
Of course, then there was more dabbing and more prodding. The dark-haired girl materialised with the eye-patch again, and there was endless fussing with the strap of the thing amongst the layers of Fay’s hair. The dolly tracks had been laid and the lights had been fixed, and there was an assistant with a reflector hovering to the side. The scene, to borrow a well-worn cliché, was most definitely set.
‘On the futon, Kurogane,’ ordered the witch, all business, suddenly, and he clenched his jaw against the roll of apprehension in his stomach. Goddamn! It was work and it was irritating and repetitive and mechanical, and that was all.
It was Fay sinking into his lap, furisode loose about his shoulders, body firm and smooth and hot as he braced his hands against Kurogane’s chest.
Shit.
Fay was so close that Kurogane could feel the man’s breath ghosting over his skin, could feel the tiny tremors in his thighs, could see the pink creeping up along his throat, and…
Wait a second. What?
‘Going for a take!’ The voice barely registered. ‘Roll sound!’
The crew started through their calls, and Kurogane didn’t give a fuck about that any more. Because, yeah, he could see through Fay, and he didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed earlier in the day - too caught up in his own head, probably - but now it was pretty obvious that the magician didn’t just want the ninja; Fay wanted Kurogane, and that, he decided, well, that was just fine. He stared up into Fay’s single blue eye that seemed darker than usual, that smouldered down at him, and they both waited for the word that would give them permission to do exactly as they liked.
‘Action!’
They kissed, and the rules didn’t apply any more. Fay’s lips were parted wide, Fay’s tongue was in his mouth, teasing, chasing, and Kurogane found it wasn’t so difficult to ignore the eyes of 20-odd people. Not when Fay was pressed against him, rocking into his lap, sending heat pooling… Oh, but, fuck, no, not that, not here...
And then he felt it. As Fay leaned forward, deepening the kiss, just before he sunk back again something brushed Kurogane’s stomach. Something hard.
It took every shred of self-restraint at that moment not to slide his hand into the furisode.
‘Cut!’
(Kurogane was really beginning to hate that word.)
‘Stay there for a moment, please.’ Yuuko’s voice was still brisk, but when he dragged his eyes away from Fay’s flushed face, something about the witch’s expression was disturbingly smug. ‘We may go for another take.’
Yeah, right. Kurogane wasn’t sure either of them would last another take.
Fay was still hot and trembling in his lap, and so he leaned closer, moved his mouth to the blond’s ear. ‘Am I giving you a lift home?’ he muttered.
And abruptly, Fay scooted backwards. The sudden fear in his eyes was jarringly genuine.
‘I…’
‘That’s a wrap for today!’ The 1st AD’s voice cut between them, and Fay scrambled hastily to his feet as the man approached, smiling warmly. ‘Thanks for your hard work today. You both did -’
‘Oi!’
A ripple of irritation ran through the 1st AD as the director of photography strode across the set, a wad of papers in his hand and the usual blank expression on his face. ‘I need to talk about these lighting set-ups for tomorrow.’
The 1st AD glared. ‘Can’t you see I’m talking right now?’
And the DOP remained unmoved. ‘I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?’
Rage exploded across the 1st AD’s face, then. ‘I have more important things to do with my time than keep you fed, you great lummox!’
And they were off. Kurogane pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away. He could only suppose that ball gags were an integral part of that particular couple’s sex life.
Speaking of sex life… Kurogane lowered his hand and glanced back across the set. The crew were packing up for the day, coiling cables and unplugging lights. Fay was nowhere to be seen.
He sighed. That slippery bastard.
By the time he’d finished in the make-up trailer and had the five inches of foundation scraped off his thighs (though he could moisturise them himself later, thank you very much!), had the bandage peeled back for the final time and the eyeliner wiped carefully away; by the time he’d returned to his own trailer, pulled on his jeans and customary black T-shirt, he’d forgotten all about Fay.
Huh, and if that wasn’t a colossal lie, he didn’t know what was.
He hadn’t forgotten about Fay, but it didn’t matter because the idiot had run away again. And, fuck, yeah, that was irritating, but Kurogane had made his move and he refused to regret it. He knew what he’d seen in the other man’s face - he’d had the man’s tongue in his mouth, for fuck’s sake! Kurogane didn’t know too many actors who tongued their co-stars for the sake of their art. No, Fay had wanted him, but Fay had gotten rattled and Fay had run away, and so that was that. Kurogane made his offer: it stood if Fay wanted to take him up on it, but he wasn’t going to chase around after the man.
He stepped out of his trailer, pulling on his jacket, and found the bastard waiting for him, a bag over his arm and a promise on his face.
Kurogane swallowed. ‘You-’
‘Ah, Fay!’ The other man’s assistant bounded up to him, her blonde hair flying, and Kurogane resisted the urge to kill everyone just then so they could stop fucking interrupting. ‘There you are! I’ll call your car-’
‘That’s alright,’ Fay cut in smoothly, patting her head. ‘Kuro-sama’s going to take me home.’
Blue eyes were dark and wicked as they looked at Kurogane, daring him to deny it.
Well, why the hell would he do that?
Kurogane cleared his throat and didn’t bother to hide his smirk. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’
He had no idea how they got to Fay’s apartment in one piece, but they did.
Inside the apartment, there were no cameras and no assistants, no ‘action’ and no ‘cut’.
Inside the apartment, Fay’s tongue was hot and wet in Kurogane’s mouth, sliding and tangling with his own. The man clutched desperately, nails scraping, fingers curling into the fabric of Kurogane’s shirt before he ripped it over his head. Their lips met hard enough to bruise, and Kurogane couldn’t give a fuck whether there would be marks tomorrow because everything about Fay felt incredible (so incredible).
Kissing was better with that tongue in his mouth.
He was only vaguely aware of moving through rooms, of lights flicking on and doors crashing open. He was slightly more aware of the bed that cushioned his fall as Fay forced him backwards, and then every nerve stood to attention as Fay crawled over him, flushed and breathless, and began to tug at his jeans with long, slender fingers.
It seemed a very good time to divest the other man of his shirt. It went flying to the floor, and then Fay arched and shivered as Kurogane thumbed his nipples, ran his fingers down the man’s smooth, milky sides.
‘Kuro-sama!’ he gasped.
Yeah, this was definitely better.
He pulled the blond down for another forceful kiss, and then his head thudded back against the mattress as Fay moved lower, scraping teeth along the curve of Kurogane’s neck, sucking hard on the skin where his neck met his shoulder, and, oh, the make-up artists were going to have a field day tomorrow.
‘Kuro-sama’s skin is so pretty,’ crooned Fay, hands feathering across his chest, making his breath catch, making his stomach twist.
Kurogane knew he ought to say something to that, only his pants were slithering past his knees and Fay was sliding backwards and, fuck, a tongue was running up the length of his cock. Sparks scattered across his brain, the air forced from his lungs, and then warm lips closed over him, took him in completely.
It was nothing like watching Fay mime in that movie. Nothing. Fay’s head bobbed up and down, tongue sliding and teasing, lips dragging around him, and Kurogane didn’t know how much longer he could last.
A groan escaped, low and drawn-out, as Fay’s tongue swept across the head of his erection, the rough tip of it making him jump and twitch.
And then Fay was pulling back, taking his lips and tongue and heat away across the bed. He’d lost his pants now, and his hard, flushed dick was staggeringly apparent against all that pale skin.
‘Where the hell are you going?’ Kurogane panted.
Fay stretched to rummage in a bedside drawer. When he looked back at Kurogane, his eyes were dark with mischief.
‘Does Kuro-eager want to try it Brokeback-style?’ he said slyly, pulling a small bottle and square packet from the drawer.
Kurogane grunted. ‘Don’t you fucking dare.’
Fay chuckled at that, fiddling with the cap of the bottle, and Kurogane was getting sick of waiting. He pulled the man roughly back to rest between his thighs, kissed him hard enough to make his point, and finally exhaled as he felt a slick finger press into him. One thrust, two thrusts, again, yes, again. Then another joined it, curled upwards, stretching and sliding, and he groaned as Fay pressed his prostate, sent pleasure zagging up his spine.
‘Fuck!’
His head swam and it wasn’t nearly enough. He moved, grabbed the square packet, pushed Fay clumsily upright and rolled the condom down over his cock. Watched as Fay wiped the wetness from his fingers against the latex and shifted into position, felt his jaw crash open as the man entered him, a sharp burst of air rushing past his teeth.
‘Ahh… Kuro-sama feels good,’ murmured Fay. He sounded far away.
He was pushing forward slowly, too slowly, the hot, hard length of him moving at a torturous rate. Kurogane could feel the man’s thighs trembling against him and thrust his hips up to urge him on, draw him deeper. Fay gave a strangled cry; his eyes snapped shut, and then he slid all the way inside.
Fuck, yeah, this was better.
Kurogane felt full and tight and fucking amazing, and if the bastard would just move…
‘What are you waiting for?’ he growled.
Fay opened his eyes, dark and hazy. His cheeks were pink now against that white skin, hair tousled. He looked down at Kurogane incredibly tenderly, somehow, and the stunt actor felt a strange shiver run down his spine, all the way to where Fay’s cock lay buried inside him. It wasn’t unpleasant.
One hand tangled in blond hair, pulled the other man’s face closer, their lips almost touching, and then, with another sharp upwards thrust,
‘Fuck. Me.’
It wasn’t a request.
Fay seemed to break from his stupor then: the wicked gleam returned to his eyes, and he began to move, sliding in and out of Kurogane in a quickening rhythm. The burn and pull of his hole around Fay’s cock made him shudder, each thrust against his prostate jolted pleasure through his body, pushing him closer and closer to orgasm. Fay’s hand wrapped around Kurogane’s cock and stroked him in a rough, jagged time that made his vision blur.
Soon the blond was crying out steadily above him, high, breathy sounds, and Kurogane arched upwards, crashing their mouths together, letting those moans slip inside him. Fay felt so good, and he needed more, needed Fay more, needed him deeper and just…
Kurogane choked and tensed. Fay’s cock was hitting just, oh, fuck… and then Kurogane was coming, thighs clenching, unable to contain the groan as his semen spilled stickily over the other man’s hand.
When the fog faded across his vision, he was still moving. He gathered the last of his strength, and ground up savagely against Fay’s cock, rolled his hips hard. Fay stiffened, eyes flying wide. His hands clutched Kurogane’s thighs as he fucked into him one last time, and then he collapsed, panting; dropped limp onto Kurogane’s chest.
A few strands of blond hair fell into his face. Kurogane didn’t open his eyes, but he raised a heavy arm, smoothed them back down. Fay murmured something he couldn’t be bothered trying to decipher and nuzzled closer, body pliant and warm. So Kurogane let his hand stay there, smoothing blond hair, because his legs were trembling and his mind felt gloriously blank and he couldn’t really think of a reason not to touch the nice hair at his fingertips.
(It was very nice hair, after all.)
Later, as he listened to the sounds of Fay doing something in the small kitchen, Kurogane spotted a familiar DVD cover resting on the coffee table. The film he’d finished just before they’d started this project - a tragic love story set in some bygone era of Central Asia, filled with bloodthirsty warlords and nomadic princesses.
He’d spent most of the film with his shirt off and wielding a huge, primeval blade.
‘When did you watch this?’ he called gruffly.
Fay’s head ducked through the counter space, and then he frowned slightly, chuckled.
‘That’s the one you sent me.’
Kurogane narrowed his eyes. Something about this felt familiar. ‘I didn’t send you a damn thing.’
‘Kuro-chest doesn’t need to be so modest, you know. I liked it, although I was surprised - I didn’t know you knew where I lived.’
Horribly familiar. Well, that explained the look on Fay’s face when he’d asked for directions.
‘Did you send me that film of yours from France?’ he demanded. Fay looked back at him, mystified. ‘The one you did with that Ashura guy?’
Kurogane could have sworn he saw a dusting of pink across those pale cheeks before Fay disappeared from view again. In the kitchen beyond, something sizzled loudly, and then, a voice, lightly,
‘That wasn’t exactly something I wanted you to see, Kuro-pon.’
Somehow that answer didn’t surprise him. He picked up the DVD case and turned it over, but there was no mark, no clue to its sender. Not that Kurogane needed one. The whole thing reeked of that interfering witch - but then he stopped, another thought tap-dancing its way into his head. Interfering usually meant only one thing to Kurogane…
‘Hey, Kuro-sama?’
He dumped the case back on the coffee table and wandered into the kitchen. Fay was standing at the small cooktop, shaking something from a canister into a pan.
‘Tomoyo-chan is your agent, right?’ Tomoyo-chan? ‘What’s she like to work with?’
Kurogane ran a wary eye over the blond. ‘That depends. Why?’
‘She contacted my manager about representing me here in Japan.’ Fay moved to the fridge, pulled out a jar and spooned some of that into the pan as well. ‘She said she thinks there’ll be a lot of opportunities for me here once the second movie is released.’
Oh, yes, interfering definitely meant one thing to Kurogane - and Tomoyo always got what she wanted.
He folded his arms across his chest. ‘She’ll look after you,’ he said shortly. ‘She doesn’t approach anyone if she’s not serious, and she doesn’t make promises she can’t keep.’
Fay glanced up at him then, and that small, gentle smile was back on his face. ‘Sounds like someone else I know,’ he said, and his eyes met Kurogane’s for a second before he turned quickly back to the stove.
Kurogane grumbled against the heat rising in his cheeks. ‘Don’t you need to go home?’ he asked.
‘I’m not in any hurry to go back,’ Fay said, and his tone was light enough that Kurogane knew something was hidden beneath it.
He said, ‘Oh, yeah? Don’t you have to promote this new movie?’
The stiffness in the other man’s frame was painfully obvious. Fay didn’t say anything for a moment, and then, ‘The producers decided it would be best if I left most of that to Ashura.’
Kurogane didn’t blink. ‘Why?’
The silence that followed really didn’t answer that question. Kurogane exhaled sharply. ‘Look, I don’t give a damn about your past, but if the only reason you want to sign with Tomoyo is because you’re running away from something-’
‘It’s not the only reason!’ Fay turned to look at him, brow furrowed. His lips pulled tight for a moment before he said, softly, ‘It’s not the only reason, but… well. There was a bit of bad press before I left.’ Kurogane kept quiet as the blond played with the wooden spoon, twisting his fingers around the handle. ‘Some paparazzi snapped me and Ashura going for drinks one night… and then a reporter got a copy of the movie somehow.’ Fay looked up, smile blinding. ‘Well, I’m sure Kuro-rin can guess the conclusions that everybody drew, and all the articles they wrote about it. Ashura’s management aren’t very happy with me.’
And that explained Fay’s reaction in the lot earlier. Kurogane rolled his eyes. That idiot.
‘They’ll stop writing that shit as soon as they photograph us together a few more times,’ he said. ‘So just forget about it.’
Fay stopped what he was doing at the stove. Turned and stared at Kurogane. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
Although perhaps he’d underestimated Fay’s stupidity.
‘They’ll have old photos of you and Ashura, and they’ll have recent photos of us. Which do you think they’re gonna-’
‘No, I understand that,’ Fay said, the air of incredulity still in his voice. ‘I mean, why would they photograph us together again?’
Kurogane shrugged. ‘It’ll happen sooner or later. The press are everywhere, and you stand out.’
‘Mmm, and Kuro-giant blends right into the crowd at ten feet tall.’
‘Who’s ten feet tall?’
Fay poked the whatever-it-was in the pan - Kurogane had to admit it smelled good - and was quiet for a moment, until, ‘Aren’t… aren’t you worried about what might happen?’
Kurogane narrowed his eyes. ‘What might happen?’
‘Scandal,’ Fay’s gaze didn’t leave the pan. ‘Career suicide. Face it, I’m bad luck, Kuro-sama.’
Which was completely idiotic.
‘I make my own luck,’ Kurogane said bluntly, because there was no point dressing it up. ‘And I do what I damn well please when I’m not working. Those guys that are too busy hiding to live their lives, I’ve got no time for them.’
Fay’s eyes widened, and he just looked at Kurogane.
(And maybe he’d let Tomoyo off the hook this time.)
Kurogane decided there was a certain satisfaction in putting that look on the blond’s face. In fact, he thought, as he pulled a couple of plates from the cupboard, he could probably get used to it.
END
Series: Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle
Rating: R-18 (NSFW)
Summary: Written for this prompt over at clampkink. Kurogane has been in the acting game long enough to see through most people, but his co-star is proving a distraction. Kurogane/Fay modern AU.
Kurogane closed his eyes and did his damndest to pretend he wasn’t standing in a make-up trailer at 6am with three sets of hands dabbing make-up over his torso.
Fuck, if this entire production wasn’t turning out to be such a raging pain!
He could feel a familiar headache creeping into the base of his skull, and bit back a growl (just). First day of shooting, and it already felt like forever. Why the hell had he let his agent talk him into taking this part?
A fresh assault of foundation began on his thighs, and he gritted his teeth.
Oh, yeah. Now he remembered. When he signed up for this, it had seemed like the job of a lifetime. Destiny, fate - the part he was born to play (huh, if lines got cornier than that, he didn’t want to know about it). The adaptation of a wildly popular fantasy book series, with all the bells and whistles that a big budget afforded. A quest through magical worlds starring a fresh-faced teen idol who did his own stunts, and a doe-eyed up-and-coming young actress. The sets were epic, the special effects state-of-the-art; the wardrobe department just about required its own atmosphere. All in all, a Big Deal.
The producers had sent his agent the script and said they needed ‘Black Steel’ Kurogane to be their ninja, said that no-one else had the looks, the moves, the stunt-action chops; no-one else came close to matching his skill with a stunt sword - and they needed a really big sword.
They’d suggested a figure, and Tomoyo had asked them to suggest a higher one, and then he’d signed a three-movie deal.
That was all before the director (that witch!) decided the third movie needed a sex scene between the ninja and the magician.
He scowled. He’d read the books; of course he’d read them, used them to get into character, and he’d noted the growing relationship between the two men as the series wore on. Clearly, things ended up pretty cosy between them, but just as clearly that didn’t matter because no producer alive was going to include that shit in a multimillion-yen blockbuster.
The boy and the princess were the love story. The gruff ninja and the self-loathing magician would have to settle for being friends, because suburban summer audiences wouldn’t want something like that in their fantasy saga. It wasn’t Brokeback Mountain, after all.
And if he’d felt a brief irritation that the ninja’s real storyline would be, well, castrated for something so stupid, it was only because he hadn’t met the idiot who would be playing the magician yet.
When he did, he only felt profoundly grateful.
They’d brought him over from god-knew-where in Europe. The very first day, the blond bastard had spent over an hour pretending to Kurogane that he didn’t speak Japanese, smiling and patting the stunt actor’s arm as if they were old friends, and chattering away in his own language.
Kurogane had wondered how the hell this was going to work out.
Then they’d started the first script read-through, and the jack-ass - Fay, what kind of a name was that? - had miraculously recovered, bowing deeply and respectfully to the director and discussing his motivation for the first scene in fluent Japanese with a precise, lilting accent.
His blue eyes had sparkled wickedly at Kurogane over the director’s shoulder, and it had taken all of Kurogane’s self-control not to throw a chair at his head.
That had been more than a year ago. Since then, the first film had been released and they’d all done the requisite publicity circuit - early morning radio slots and late-night television interviews, and the ones Kurogane hated most, live hand-shaking events (even Fay’s smile seemed more fake than usual on those days). Now the rushes for the second film were somewhere deep in post-production, and today - today they would begin shooting the third and final instalment.
The director had decided that Scene 12 would be a good way to break the ice after the five-month break, and Kurogane couldn’t disagree more (largely because the witch had threatened to sue him for breach of contract if he tried).
His thoughts were interrupted by the door to the trailer flying open. A girl with short dark hair and far too cheerful grin for the early hour stuck her head in, and then her cheerfulness gave way to surprise.
‘Fay-san isn’t here?’
‘Already done. He came in early,’ supplied one of the owners of the hands that Kurogane was pretending weren’t there - a young woman with long blue hair.
‘Ah, right!’
And the girl slammed out again.
Kurogane scowled even harder. Why did the bastard have to come in early anyway? It would have been far less awkward if they’d sat in the make-up trailer together like they always did, while Fay chattered on about something meaningless like he always did, and Kurogane told him to shut up whenever he said something particularly inane like he always did.
In truth, Kurogane had been relying on that time - something to normalise the situation, something to remind him that Fay was just an idiot who got his kicks from watching Kurogane’s face darken and didn’t stop acting once the cameras were off.
Because something had happened during those five months. Something disturbing.
They’d scattered in different directions during the break. Sakura and Syaoran had been snapped in various trendy spots around the city, and wildly proclaimed in the press to be the hottest new ‘it’ couple - an allegation they both vehemently denied.
(This according to Tomoyo. His agent had been very well-informed about every aspect of the young actress’s life and he had no doubt Sakura would be the next talent signed to the Piffle Agency. Tomoyo had a habit of getting what she wanted.)
For himself, nothing particular had been lined up. Tomoyo made sure of that. The last shoot had been gruelling, and he’d aggravated an old shoulder injury during one particularly tough stunt. The final film promised to be even more physically demanding, and so he was happy to devote the five months to training. Training and quiet.
Quiet that he could fully appreciate, safe in the knowledge that it would not be interrupted.
Because Fay had skipped off to France to film some low-budget arthouse flick with the Italian actor Ashura (and even Kurogane knew that name - the man was film royalty). He’d been very deliberately casual about the project - its very existence, in fact, had only come to light because the director mentioned it in passing one day. And then he’d hummed and grinned, and said it was something he’d agreed to ages ago, and he adored Paris in the spring, and it would be such an honour to work with a legend like Ashura.
‘Don’t be jealous, Kuro-sama,’ he’d trilled when Kurogane curled his lip and turned away, ‘I only have eyes for you!’
At which point Kurogane had rounded on him, incensed, and it was only because he was sick of Fay’s secrecy and insincerity and forced exuberance, and not because he was in any way concerned with what that idiot did with Italian playboys in Paris!
Which meant they’d parted on fairly frosty terms. Fay had asked Kurogane to kindly mind his own business - the first time he could say he’d seen something even close to real from the man - and Kurogane had hissed that he didn’t give a damn what Fay did off-set, as long as he returned with his mind on the job.
Five months had passed quietly.
And then two weeks ago it had arrived. In a small padded envelope. Addressed to his house.
Why the bastard had his address, Kurogane didn’t know. Most mail for him came via Tomoyo’s office.
Inside the envelope was a DVD case with Fay’s face on the cover - eyes serious, gazing off to the side. There was lots of text that Kurogane couldn’t read, but given the timeframe, it didn’t take a genius to figure it had to be a pre-release screener.
And so he’d sat down to watch it one evening, not sure why. There were English subtitles that he could mostly pick up, but the film itself seemed strange and abstract and he only carried on watching, really, to finish what he’d started.
It was odd, seeing Fay in a completely different context. Not in otherworldly costumes, with synthetic gore stuck to his face, but acting in everyday clothes, pretending to be an everyday person.
But then he’d corrected himself, because he saw Fay pretending to be an everyday person, well, every day. Someone else had written his lines this time, that was all.
Truthfully, he’d had trouble following the plot. Fay seemed to be playing two different roles (Twins? A past self and a present self? He couldn’t tell.) with some ambiguous connection to Ashura’s character. Whether he was father figure, friend, mentor or something else entirely never seemed quite clear.
What was clear, though, was the sight of Fay’s character pushing Ashura’s into a chair, unzipping his fly, and then leaning his face forward over the place where the man’s dick would be.
Kurogane had stared (gaped) at the screen for a second before scowling. He hoped to hell Ashura’s character wasn’t meant to be a father figure!
Of course, it was all mimed. Fay’s loose hair formed a suitably discreet curtain against the fact that he wasn’t, in fact, performing fellatio on screen, and then the action cut away to Ashura, stayed tight on the contortions of his face for an excruciatingly long time.
Damned foreign artsy crap!
Kurogane had huffed, and reached to pour himself some more sake. Then suddenly the scene had cut to Ashura’s point-of-view.
A blond head bobbing up and down between his thighs, one slim hand hidden, the other resting on the pale skin of his lower belly.
And quite without warning, Kurogane had felt a bolt of lust run through him. Seated on the couch, his own legs were splayed not unlike the man on the screen. How would it feel to have Fay nestled between them, his hot, wet mouth around Kurogane’s cock?
The sake caught in his throat.
He’d turned the film off abruptly. Gone to load his few dirty plates into the dishwasher. Gone to check a fax he heard whirring in. Gone for an impromptu six-mile run around his neighbourhood in the cool night air.
Eventually he’d gone to have a shower, and he hadn’t thought about Fay for a second as he wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked himself to release.
Or at least, he hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t wanted to. It had just happened - Fay had popped unbidden into Kurogane’s mind as his cum spattered against the tiles, and now he couldn’t get the idiot out of it. For two weeks, he’d been plagued with thoughts about the man - that sinful mouth, that lithe body. Kurogane had spent a large portion of the last shoot cradling Fay against him, so he knew exactly what the man felt like - the soft brush of his hair, the firm muscle of his arms.
Only now Kurogane imagined holding him in rather different ways. The images would come with no regard for time or place or fucking propriety, and it was driving him rapidly insane.
That film had done something to him, he decided, eyes shut and ignoring the drag of eyeliner across his upper lid. It had tricked him somehow, made him see Fay as something other than what he really was (an utter bastard). He knew that he just needed to see the real Fay again to fully reacquaint himself with the truth, and then all this would just go away.
So, of course the idiot had come in early for make-up.
‘OK, Kurogane-san. We’re going to wrap your shoulder now.’
His attention returned to the trailer and the fluttering hands. Apparently the make-up torture was finished (for now), and he had the pleasure of a carefully concealed limb to look forward to.
Tche! Who the hell would cut off an arm for someone like Fay?
Shit.
Kurogane inhaled sharply, held it for one, two, three. Exhaled.
No. Not Fay. The magician. That was a line he didn’t need to blur today of all days.
‘This will probably be a bit cold, I’m afraid,’ said another of the hands’ owners - the girl with the glasses and headband this time.
He eyed the bottle in her hand - body glue - and grunted. ‘It’s fine.’ Rolled his shoulder one last time before it was imprisoned beneath the web of gauze. ‘Just don’t make it too loose.’
She smiled at that, and began to brush fluid - god, it was cold - across his shoulder. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Kurogane-san.’
Kurogane stalked towards the set, uncomfortably aware of the make-up all over his body, and the arm doubled back under the bandages. He had practiced moving like this during the break - steering despite a missing left rudder - so his gait remained steady, but he grimaced nevertheless.
23 set-ups to get through that day. 23 different shots that the director wanted to capture (23 too many, as far as Kurogane was concerned). It started with a kiss, and then came a hell of a lot of pretty touchy-feely crap. The finished product was meant to be all low-lighting and close-ups and sensual hands: a two-minute montage of suggestion and artfully placed cloth, which suited Kurogane just fine.
But then there was that.
After much research (Kurogane didn’t want to know what research), the director had decided an additional climactic (and she’d actually used that word) set-up would be required. Semi-clothed Fay would straddle Kurogane’s lap, Kurogane’s hand would rest on Fay’s hip, both would rock in synch and kiss. The camera would track through the sliding doors, pan across the men on the futon, and come to a stop on the space between a second set of open doors further down-set.
A piece of garish green-screen stretch hung between them now - preparation for the full moon and night sky to be added in post-production.
More than anything, Kurogane didn’t see the point of that set-up. The director had already admitted they probably wouldn’t get the shot past the censors, not if they wanted to retain their teen-friendly rating.
‘So why bother even shooting it?’ he’d demanded when she relayed this information a month ago.
Yuuko had remained unmoved by his objections.
‘Because we must have faith that our efforts are not made in vain, no matter what forces try to disrupt us,’ she’d said, eerily sombre.
And he’d squinted at her, genuinely confused to hear a word like ‘faith’ coming from the mouth of a woman whose reputation for contract-haggling had sent many a studio executive running for the hills.
‘Huh?’
Of course, no sooner had he questioned its absence than the scheming look returned. Her red eyes had flashed menacingly.
‘There’s always the director’s cut, Kurogane.’
And the closed set made everything more intimate. Of course, that was the point - to prevent every gaffer and best boy and runner gawping at the simulated shenanigans - but things had changed now, and Kurogane wanted to keep as far away from intimate with Fay as humanly possible.
He moved past the wooden façades onto the set proper, taking in the tastefully mussed blankets, the reverently placed incense (and Kurogane had never lit incense for sex in his life). The ninja’s sword was there too, peeking from a dustsheet off to the side, and he crossed the short distance towards it. It wouldn’t be used for this scene, he knew, but seeing it was a comfort, somehow. He liked both swords he’d worked with in this movie - the sleek, smooth Souhi, but especially the heft and weight of Ginryuu, with its elegant dragon-head hilt and glittering eye. He’d half a mind to make an offer on them when all this was over…
‘Ah, so pretty!’
And then an excited bubble of voices drew his attention up, away, and towards the front of set. There, beyond the cameras and the lights, surrounded by a gaggle of wardrobe assistants, stood Fay, pale and smiling and dressed in a furisode.
Shit. Kurogane swallowed hard.
Fay glanced across the set, blue eyes flicking over the futon and the incense, and Kurogane curled his lip because no matter how brightly the idiot smiled, anybody could see he was dreading this with every fibre of his being.
Which was a relief, of course.
Then Fay’s gaze came to rest on Kurogane, still crouched with Ginryuu near the perfectly rumpled futon. The man’s eyes went wide and the smile slipped just a fraction (just enough) before he raised an arm and waved hugely. ‘Yoo-hoo, Kuro-seme! Let’s have fun today!’
In the silence that immediately settled over the set, Kurogane realised that he wouldn’t need to worry about having those thoughts about Fay today - he wouldn’t need to worry ever, in fact, because he was about to kill the man and render the entire, ridiculous, fucking stupid movie void.
His hand twitched towards Ginryuu.
‘If you aren’t careful, Kurogane, the wind may change and leave you that way,’ came an altogether too knowing voice from behind him.
And sometimes Kurogane wondered whether the witch couldn’t read his mind.
He stood and turned, his brows drawing ever tighter at the sight before him: Yuuko sprawled in her ridiculously opulent director’s chair, pipe in hand and sporting a set of headphones that were far too cutesy for a woman of her years.
‘Of course,’ she went on, infuriatingly breezy, ‘we might well be pressed to tell the difference.’
‘Are we going to do this?’ he snapped. ‘What’s the delay?’
The witch blew out a smoke ring. ‘Glad to see you’re so eager to get to grips with your co-star, Kurogane.’
His hand twitched again. Maybe he’d kill Yuuko first.
Eventually, after more fussing with Fay’s hair and more touch-ups to Kurogane’s thighs, after the 1st AD exploded at the director and told her (for the millionth time since production started) that he wasn’t her personal slave and she had assistants to bring her drinks, they were ready for the first take.
‘Quiet on set!’
The director chose that moment to slurp noisily from her teacup.
The 1st AD glared, but held tight to his temper this time. Kurogane grimaced and willed away the something twisting his stomach as Fay took his starting position mere feet away.
‘Roll camera.’
‘Rolling.’
A deep breath. In. Out.
‘Roll sound.’
‘Speed.’
Kurogane knew what to do. It was a job, and he was a professional, damn it.
‘Mark it.’
He could do this. It was Fay, for fuck’s sake. The idiot who drove him to distraction, who talked and laughed and drank too much, who had worn out his welcome in Kurogane’s life the same day he’d entered it.
Fay, who was gazing at him with one heavy-lidded blue eye, lips slightly parted, waiting his cue.
Shit.
‘Action!’
And they were on. The magician bit his lip, cast his eyes downward.
‘I never meant to…’
‘Shut up!’ he growled.
Stepped forward two paces, placed his right hand on the magician’s shoulder.
‘Hold him a little tighter, Kurogane.’
Mentally cursed the witch. Tightened his grip.
‘I told you, I don’t care about any of that.’
The magician looked up (Fay looked up) into his eyes, and Kurogane felt his stomach drop away at the want he saw in them.
‘Do you honestly mean that?’ the magician whispered.
Tilted his head to the left, leaned into the kiss on a count of two (fast but not too fast), opened his mouth, and the golden rule, kept his tongue in his own goddamn head.
Which didn’t stop the press and pull of Fay’s lips feeling fucking amazing as they moved in time with his own.
Shit.
‘And cut!’
The witch’s voice sounded above them like a klaxon, and they sprang apart. Fay’s cheeks were slightly pink and he turned quickly away from Kurogane, laughing suddenly with the dark-haired girl who had run forward to fuss with his eye-patch (again).
Beyond the edge of set, the director was murmuring to the 1st AD. The man whispered back fiercely for a minute, clearly exasperated, but at last he straightened and cleared his throat to speak. ‘That was very nice, both of you, but one more take, please. Positions, everyone!’
And Kurogane ran his free hand over his face. Shit.
From there, the day quickly descended into some well-lit, precisely choreographed round of torture. Each set-up seemed designed to maximise those thoughts that he didn’t mean to have, the thoughts he’d never wanted to have; to push him and Fay into ever more intimate holds and positions.
Fay sitting in his lap, Fay breathing against his neck. Fay on top of him, underneath him, gazing longingly up at him. Long, delicate fingers that brushed his skin, raked down his back, pulled through his hair. Creamy skin and pouting lips and spreading thighs…
‘Cut!’
(And Kurogane was beginning to hate that word.)
The thing was, this just wasn’t supposed to be sexy. It was never supposed to be sexy. Kurogane had played countless heroes before, done a hundred love scenes, and it was never sexy. It was smeared make-up and irritating clothing and positions that no-one would try in reality (not if they actually wanted to come, anyway). It was freezing sets and glaring lights and assistants that stuck their fingers in places they had no business being. It was tiring and repetitive and mechanical, and all of it was done under constant fucking scrutiny.
It was work, and Kurogane had been working long enough that it shouldn’t be affecting him like this.
(Long enough that he shouldn’t need to jerk himself off in his trailer to avoid potential embarrassment before the next set-up.)
So, why was it different with Fay?
He wiped his hand against a towel on the chair next to him, and sighed heavily.
Fay was an idiot, and he’d been even more skittish that day than usual, smiles bright and forced, the ridiculous nicknames ranging from Kuro-tripod (‘Uwa! I was talking about your limbs, Kuro-perv!’) to, well, Kuro-perv. Which just went to prove that everything about the bastard was a lie, given how gratuitously he’d been flirting with Kurogane ever since they’d first met. Not that it wasn’t probably real - Kurogane had been in the business long enough to see through most people, and however polished Fay might’ve thought his act, Kurogane still caught a flicker of something in the man’s eyes: something honest, something more.
But that didn’t matter, not now, because given the chance to get up close and personal, Fay laughed and joked and couldn’t get away fast enough - and that told Kurogane everything he really needed to know.
Hell, if Fay could run any faster, he might want to consider a career change.
Anyway, Kurogane couldn’t care less. It was just a physical thing. It was just that it had been too long (though it could be every night with whoever he wanted if that was all that mattered to him). But then, he hadn’t gone drinking with anyone except Fay for the last year or so - not regularly, at least - and truth be told, he hadn’t even noticed until now.
He huffed, and took a swig of water to clear his head, pull him back to reality. No. He hadn’t missed the idiot’s stupidity during those five months, hadn’t missed drinking the nights away with him at a certain exclusive establishment and showing up fresh for work the next morning. Hadn’t missed those moments between takes when the kids were too wrapped up in themselves to even notice another living being and Fay would lean close and say something… just something. Sharp, clever, quiet (interesting). Just something more.
Something that proved there was more to the bastard than distracting blond hair and playful blue eyes.
(Though the hair was very distracting.)
No. It didn’t matter. This… thing would pass soon enough, and then Fay would go back to being whatever the hell he’d been to Kurogane before that stupid film put these ideas (ridiculous, unwelcome, toe-curlingly good ideas) in his head.
Although he was finding it increasingly difficult to remember what that was, exactly.
The trailer door rattled and banged into his thoughts. ‘Ten minutes, Kurogane-san!’ came a disembodied voice.
He stood up and exhaled slowly. ‘Yeah!’
One more set-up to go. One more until it was over, and then it would all be business as usual tomorrow. Stunts and fight scenes and kids, and that guy who played the villain that Kurogane found inexplicably creepy. Normal stuff. Regular stuff. Not Fay crawling all over his body in a piece of perfectly tailored silk.
He gave his hand one more wipe on the towel before he left.
Kurogane was halfway across the lot when he collided with the blur of limbs and hair and sleeves. He managed to keep them both upright, just.
‘Uwa!’ Blue eyes peered up at him accusingly, their owner rubbing his head in a an obviously exaggerated way. ‘Kuro-steel should watch where he’s going.’
Kurogane glared. ‘Idiot! If it wasn’t for me, we’d both be on our arses by now.’
‘Oh, really?’ Fay blinked, hand still on his head, and that damned sly expression slipped onto his face, the one he always got right before he said something like, ‘Nice to know Kuro-sama is concerned about my -’
Heat flooded Kurogane’s cheeks. ‘Shut up!’
Something like that.
(He was not thinking about Fay’s arse at all!)
‘Anyway,’ Kurogane went on, and he refused to look at the eyes he just knew were sparkling up at him, ‘What are you doing? Set’s in the opposite direction.’
Fay smiled, blithe and easy. ‘Well, I was coming to find you, of course, Kuro-sama.’
Which made Kurogane huff, because it was such an obvious lie, he didn’t know why Fay bothered to waste breath on it. ‘Tche! You are such a -’
The unmistakable whirr and click of a camera interrupted that particular sentiment. Kurogane turned his head towards the noise, and sure enough, at the gate that barred entrance to the lot, two paparazzi were angling their lenses past a very harassed-looking security guard.
He rolled his eyes, ‘Bastards,’ and turned back to Fay - and then frowned. The colour had drained completely from the other man’s face and he was staring in wide-eyed horror towards the photographers. He stepped very quickly away from Kurogane, trying to move out of sight, and in his haste seemed to forget the cumbersome garment currently swathed about his legs. Fay tripped, jerked backwards, and probably would have fallen if Kurogane’s reflexes weren’t what they were.
Fortunately, they were what they were: he caught the blond by the arm and levered him upright again. The cameras clicked furiously from the lot gate, and Kurogane marched Fay around the corner, away from curious eyes and most definitely out of snapping range.
Fay’s gaze was firmly fixed on his sleeve as he smoothed out the creases where Kurogane had grabbed him. ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ he said quietly.
‘What - and let you break your damn neck and hold up production for six months?’ Kurogane snorted. ‘I’ve got better things to do with my time.’
And a tiny smile pulled at the corner of Fay’s mouth, then. He kept fussing with the sleeve, face slanted down, smiling that smile, and it was so unlike any other Kurogane had seen on the man’s face that he only just managed to avoid staring in dumb amazement.
It changed everything, that smile.
Then Fay looked up and it was replaced by 1,000 megawatts of insincerity. ‘Kuro-ninja should be careful about what he does in front of photographers,’ he said lightly. ‘He might get something bad written about him.’
Kurogane couldn’t believe Fay thought anyone would be fooled by that tone.
‘What are you talking about, idiot?’ he growled, and reached out to grab the man again, to pin him down once and for all and find out what the hell his problem was.
But Fay skipped neatly out of reach this time, his laugh high and bright. ‘Ah, I forgot Kuro-sama is already such a regular in the gossip pages, with his oh-so-sexy short shorts!’
There had been a picture of Kurogane out running (one of those runs) in one of the tattle rags a few weeks before - when Fay was supposedly still out of the country. He’d been too distracted (flustered) at the time to notice that the shorts he pulled on had shrunk in the wash, and the caption accompanying the photo had been salacious to say the least.
Kurogane growled. ‘You bastard!’
The furisode didn’t hinder Fay a second time. The chase took them all the way onto the set, Fay laughing and whooping, his blue eyes bright and alert and real for once. He looked almost happy, and if Kurogane wasn’t busy trying to punch the bastard’s lights out, he might’ve said it suited him.
‘Try to save some of that passion for the scene, Kurogane,’ and goddamn it if it wasn’t one, it was the fucking other!
He turned to find Yuuko surveying at him critically, red eyes trailing ever lower before, ‘Umi-san! Another touch-up to Kurogane’s thighs, please!’
What the… ‘You can’t even see my thighs, witch!’ he bellowed.
Yuuko’s gaze swept to his face again. ‘That’s an extremely rude way to address your director, Kurogane,’ she said coolly, and then, leaning closer, ‘Besides, this is their big scene.’
The cackles that rang across the set left him in absolutely no doubt that the woman was a demon witch sent from another dimension.
Of course, then there was more dabbing and more prodding. The dark-haired girl materialised with the eye-patch again, and there was endless fussing with the strap of the thing amongst the layers of Fay’s hair. The dolly tracks had been laid and the lights had been fixed, and there was an assistant with a reflector hovering to the side. The scene, to borrow a well-worn cliché, was most definitely set.
‘On the futon, Kurogane,’ ordered the witch, all business, suddenly, and he clenched his jaw against the roll of apprehension in his stomach. Goddamn! It was work and it was irritating and repetitive and mechanical, and that was all.
It was Fay sinking into his lap, furisode loose about his shoulders, body firm and smooth and hot as he braced his hands against Kurogane’s chest.
Shit.
Fay was so close that Kurogane could feel the man’s breath ghosting over his skin, could feel the tiny tremors in his thighs, could see the pink creeping up along his throat, and…
Wait a second. What?
‘Going for a take!’ The voice barely registered. ‘Roll sound!’
The crew started through their calls, and Kurogane didn’t give a fuck about that any more. Because, yeah, he could see through Fay, and he didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed earlier in the day - too caught up in his own head, probably - but now it was pretty obvious that the magician didn’t just want the ninja; Fay wanted Kurogane, and that, he decided, well, that was just fine. He stared up into Fay’s single blue eye that seemed darker than usual, that smouldered down at him, and they both waited for the word that would give them permission to do exactly as they liked.
‘Action!’
They kissed, and the rules didn’t apply any more. Fay’s lips were parted wide, Fay’s tongue was in his mouth, teasing, chasing, and Kurogane found it wasn’t so difficult to ignore the eyes of 20-odd people. Not when Fay was pressed against him, rocking into his lap, sending heat pooling… Oh, but, fuck, no, not that, not here...
And then he felt it. As Fay leaned forward, deepening the kiss, just before he sunk back again something brushed Kurogane’s stomach. Something hard.
It took every shred of self-restraint at that moment not to slide his hand into the furisode.
‘Cut!’
(Kurogane was really beginning to hate that word.)
‘Stay there for a moment, please.’ Yuuko’s voice was still brisk, but when he dragged his eyes away from Fay’s flushed face, something about the witch’s expression was disturbingly smug. ‘We may go for another take.’
Yeah, right. Kurogane wasn’t sure either of them would last another take.
Fay was still hot and trembling in his lap, and so he leaned closer, moved his mouth to the blond’s ear. ‘Am I giving you a lift home?’ he muttered.
And abruptly, Fay scooted backwards. The sudden fear in his eyes was jarringly genuine.
‘I…’
‘That’s a wrap for today!’ The 1st AD’s voice cut between them, and Fay scrambled hastily to his feet as the man approached, smiling warmly. ‘Thanks for your hard work today. You both did -’
‘Oi!’
A ripple of irritation ran through the 1st AD as the director of photography strode across the set, a wad of papers in his hand and the usual blank expression on his face. ‘I need to talk about these lighting set-ups for tomorrow.’
The 1st AD glared. ‘Can’t you see I’m talking right now?’
And the DOP remained unmoved. ‘I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?’
Rage exploded across the 1st AD’s face, then. ‘I have more important things to do with my time than keep you fed, you great lummox!’
And they were off. Kurogane pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away. He could only suppose that ball gags were an integral part of that particular couple’s sex life.
Speaking of sex life… Kurogane lowered his hand and glanced back across the set. The crew were packing up for the day, coiling cables and unplugging lights. Fay was nowhere to be seen.
He sighed. That slippery bastard.
By the time he’d finished in the make-up trailer and had the five inches of foundation scraped off his thighs (though he could moisturise them himself later, thank you very much!), had the bandage peeled back for the final time and the eyeliner wiped carefully away; by the time he’d returned to his own trailer, pulled on his jeans and customary black T-shirt, he’d forgotten all about Fay.
Huh, and if that wasn’t a colossal lie, he didn’t know what was.
He hadn’t forgotten about Fay, but it didn’t matter because the idiot had run away again. And, fuck, yeah, that was irritating, but Kurogane had made his move and he refused to regret it. He knew what he’d seen in the other man’s face - he’d had the man’s tongue in his mouth, for fuck’s sake! Kurogane didn’t know too many actors who tongued their co-stars for the sake of their art. No, Fay had wanted him, but Fay had gotten rattled and Fay had run away, and so that was that. Kurogane made his offer: it stood if Fay wanted to take him up on it, but he wasn’t going to chase around after the man.
He stepped out of his trailer, pulling on his jacket, and found the bastard waiting for him, a bag over his arm and a promise on his face.
Kurogane swallowed. ‘You-’
‘Ah, Fay!’ The other man’s assistant bounded up to him, her blonde hair flying, and Kurogane resisted the urge to kill everyone just then so they could stop fucking interrupting. ‘There you are! I’ll call your car-’
‘That’s alright,’ Fay cut in smoothly, patting her head. ‘Kuro-sama’s going to take me home.’
Blue eyes were dark and wicked as they looked at Kurogane, daring him to deny it.
Well, why the hell would he do that?
Kurogane cleared his throat and didn’t bother to hide his smirk. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’
He had no idea how they got to Fay’s apartment in one piece, but they did.
Inside the apartment, there were no cameras and no assistants, no ‘action’ and no ‘cut’.
Inside the apartment, Fay’s tongue was hot and wet in Kurogane’s mouth, sliding and tangling with his own. The man clutched desperately, nails scraping, fingers curling into the fabric of Kurogane’s shirt before he ripped it over his head. Their lips met hard enough to bruise, and Kurogane couldn’t give a fuck whether there would be marks tomorrow because everything about Fay felt incredible (so incredible).
Kissing was better with that tongue in his mouth.
He was only vaguely aware of moving through rooms, of lights flicking on and doors crashing open. He was slightly more aware of the bed that cushioned his fall as Fay forced him backwards, and then every nerve stood to attention as Fay crawled over him, flushed and breathless, and began to tug at his jeans with long, slender fingers.
It seemed a very good time to divest the other man of his shirt. It went flying to the floor, and then Fay arched and shivered as Kurogane thumbed his nipples, ran his fingers down the man’s smooth, milky sides.
‘Kuro-sama!’ he gasped.
Yeah, this was definitely better.
He pulled the blond down for another forceful kiss, and then his head thudded back against the mattress as Fay moved lower, scraping teeth along the curve of Kurogane’s neck, sucking hard on the skin where his neck met his shoulder, and, oh, the make-up artists were going to have a field day tomorrow.
‘Kuro-sama’s skin is so pretty,’ crooned Fay, hands feathering across his chest, making his breath catch, making his stomach twist.
Kurogane knew he ought to say something to that, only his pants were slithering past his knees and Fay was sliding backwards and, fuck, a tongue was running up the length of his cock. Sparks scattered across his brain, the air forced from his lungs, and then warm lips closed over him, took him in completely.
It was nothing like watching Fay mime in that movie. Nothing. Fay’s head bobbed up and down, tongue sliding and teasing, lips dragging around him, and Kurogane didn’t know how much longer he could last.
A groan escaped, low and drawn-out, as Fay’s tongue swept across the head of his erection, the rough tip of it making him jump and twitch.
And then Fay was pulling back, taking his lips and tongue and heat away across the bed. He’d lost his pants now, and his hard, flushed dick was staggeringly apparent against all that pale skin.
‘Where the hell are you going?’ Kurogane panted.
Fay stretched to rummage in a bedside drawer. When he looked back at Kurogane, his eyes were dark with mischief.
‘Does Kuro-eager want to try it Brokeback-style?’ he said slyly, pulling a small bottle and square packet from the drawer.
Kurogane grunted. ‘Don’t you fucking dare.’
Fay chuckled at that, fiddling with the cap of the bottle, and Kurogane was getting sick of waiting. He pulled the man roughly back to rest between his thighs, kissed him hard enough to make his point, and finally exhaled as he felt a slick finger press into him. One thrust, two thrusts, again, yes, again. Then another joined it, curled upwards, stretching and sliding, and he groaned as Fay pressed his prostate, sent pleasure zagging up his spine.
‘Fuck!’
His head swam and it wasn’t nearly enough. He moved, grabbed the square packet, pushed Fay clumsily upright and rolled the condom down over his cock. Watched as Fay wiped the wetness from his fingers against the latex and shifted into position, felt his jaw crash open as the man entered him, a sharp burst of air rushing past his teeth.
‘Ahh… Kuro-sama feels good,’ murmured Fay. He sounded far away.
He was pushing forward slowly, too slowly, the hot, hard length of him moving at a torturous rate. Kurogane could feel the man’s thighs trembling against him and thrust his hips up to urge him on, draw him deeper. Fay gave a strangled cry; his eyes snapped shut, and then he slid all the way inside.
Fuck, yeah, this was better.
Kurogane felt full and tight and fucking amazing, and if the bastard would just move…
‘What are you waiting for?’ he growled.
Fay opened his eyes, dark and hazy. His cheeks were pink now against that white skin, hair tousled. He looked down at Kurogane incredibly tenderly, somehow, and the stunt actor felt a strange shiver run down his spine, all the way to where Fay’s cock lay buried inside him. It wasn’t unpleasant.
One hand tangled in blond hair, pulled the other man’s face closer, their lips almost touching, and then, with another sharp upwards thrust,
‘Fuck. Me.’
It wasn’t a request.
Fay seemed to break from his stupor then: the wicked gleam returned to his eyes, and he began to move, sliding in and out of Kurogane in a quickening rhythm. The burn and pull of his hole around Fay’s cock made him shudder, each thrust against his prostate jolted pleasure through his body, pushing him closer and closer to orgasm. Fay’s hand wrapped around Kurogane’s cock and stroked him in a rough, jagged time that made his vision blur.
Soon the blond was crying out steadily above him, high, breathy sounds, and Kurogane arched upwards, crashing their mouths together, letting those moans slip inside him. Fay felt so good, and he needed more, needed Fay more, needed him deeper and just…
Kurogane choked and tensed. Fay’s cock was hitting just, oh, fuck… and then Kurogane was coming, thighs clenching, unable to contain the groan as his semen spilled stickily over the other man’s hand.
When the fog faded across his vision, he was still moving. He gathered the last of his strength, and ground up savagely against Fay’s cock, rolled his hips hard. Fay stiffened, eyes flying wide. His hands clutched Kurogane’s thighs as he fucked into him one last time, and then he collapsed, panting; dropped limp onto Kurogane’s chest.
A few strands of blond hair fell into his face. Kurogane didn’t open his eyes, but he raised a heavy arm, smoothed them back down. Fay murmured something he couldn’t be bothered trying to decipher and nuzzled closer, body pliant and warm. So Kurogane let his hand stay there, smoothing blond hair, because his legs were trembling and his mind felt gloriously blank and he couldn’t really think of a reason not to touch the nice hair at his fingertips.
(It was very nice hair, after all.)
Later, as he listened to the sounds of Fay doing something in the small kitchen, Kurogane spotted a familiar DVD cover resting on the coffee table. The film he’d finished just before they’d started this project - a tragic love story set in some bygone era of Central Asia, filled with bloodthirsty warlords and nomadic princesses.
He’d spent most of the film with his shirt off and wielding a huge, primeval blade.
‘When did you watch this?’ he called gruffly.
Fay’s head ducked through the counter space, and then he frowned slightly, chuckled.
‘That’s the one you sent me.’
Kurogane narrowed his eyes. Something about this felt familiar. ‘I didn’t send you a damn thing.’
‘Kuro-chest doesn’t need to be so modest, you know. I liked it, although I was surprised - I didn’t know you knew where I lived.’
Horribly familiar. Well, that explained the look on Fay’s face when he’d asked for directions.
‘Did you send me that film of yours from France?’ he demanded. Fay looked back at him, mystified. ‘The one you did with that Ashura guy?’
Kurogane could have sworn he saw a dusting of pink across those pale cheeks before Fay disappeared from view again. In the kitchen beyond, something sizzled loudly, and then, a voice, lightly,
‘That wasn’t exactly something I wanted you to see, Kuro-pon.’
Somehow that answer didn’t surprise him. He picked up the DVD case and turned it over, but there was no mark, no clue to its sender. Not that Kurogane needed one. The whole thing reeked of that interfering witch - but then he stopped, another thought tap-dancing its way into his head. Interfering usually meant only one thing to Kurogane…
‘Hey, Kuro-sama?’
He dumped the case back on the coffee table and wandered into the kitchen. Fay was standing at the small cooktop, shaking something from a canister into a pan.
‘Tomoyo-chan is your agent, right?’ Tomoyo-chan? ‘What’s she like to work with?’
Kurogane ran a wary eye over the blond. ‘That depends. Why?’
‘She contacted my manager about representing me here in Japan.’ Fay moved to the fridge, pulled out a jar and spooned some of that into the pan as well. ‘She said she thinks there’ll be a lot of opportunities for me here once the second movie is released.’
Oh, yes, interfering definitely meant one thing to Kurogane - and Tomoyo always got what she wanted.
He folded his arms across his chest. ‘She’ll look after you,’ he said shortly. ‘She doesn’t approach anyone if she’s not serious, and she doesn’t make promises she can’t keep.’
Fay glanced up at him then, and that small, gentle smile was back on his face. ‘Sounds like someone else I know,’ he said, and his eyes met Kurogane’s for a second before he turned quickly back to the stove.
Kurogane grumbled against the heat rising in his cheeks. ‘Don’t you need to go home?’ he asked.
‘I’m not in any hurry to go back,’ Fay said, and his tone was light enough that Kurogane knew something was hidden beneath it.
He said, ‘Oh, yeah? Don’t you have to promote this new movie?’
The stiffness in the other man’s frame was painfully obvious. Fay didn’t say anything for a moment, and then, ‘The producers decided it would be best if I left most of that to Ashura.’
Kurogane didn’t blink. ‘Why?’
The silence that followed really didn’t answer that question. Kurogane exhaled sharply. ‘Look, I don’t give a damn about your past, but if the only reason you want to sign with Tomoyo is because you’re running away from something-’
‘It’s not the only reason!’ Fay turned to look at him, brow furrowed. His lips pulled tight for a moment before he said, softly, ‘It’s not the only reason, but… well. There was a bit of bad press before I left.’ Kurogane kept quiet as the blond played with the wooden spoon, twisting his fingers around the handle. ‘Some paparazzi snapped me and Ashura going for drinks one night… and then a reporter got a copy of the movie somehow.’ Fay looked up, smile blinding. ‘Well, I’m sure Kuro-rin can guess the conclusions that everybody drew, and all the articles they wrote about it. Ashura’s management aren’t very happy with me.’
And that explained Fay’s reaction in the lot earlier. Kurogane rolled his eyes. That idiot.
‘They’ll stop writing that shit as soon as they photograph us together a few more times,’ he said. ‘So just forget about it.’
Fay stopped what he was doing at the stove. Turned and stared at Kurogane. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
Although perhaps he’d underestimated Fay’s stupidity.
‘They’ll have old photos of you and Ashura, and they’ll have recent photos of us. Which do you think they’re gonna-’
‘No, I understand that,’ Fay said, the air of incredulity still in his voice. ‘I mean, why would they photograph us together again?’
Kurogane shrugged. ‘It’ll happen sooner or later. The press are everywhere, and you stand out.’
‘Mmm, and Kuro-giant blends right into the crowd at ten feet tall.’
‘Who’s ten feet tall?’
Fay poked the whatever-it-was in the pan - Kurogane had to admit it smelled good - and was quiet for a moment, until, ‘Aren’t… aren’t you worried about what might happen?’
Kurogane narrowed his eyes. ‘What might happen?’
‘Scandal,’ Fay’s gaze didn’t leave the pan. ‘Career suicide. Face it, I’m bad luck, Kuro-sama.’
Which was completely idiotic.
‘I make my own luck,’ Kurogane said bluntly, because there was no point dressing it up. ‘And I do what I damn well please when I’m not working. Those guys that are too busy hiding to live their lives, I’ve got no time for them.’
Fay’s eyes widened, and he just looked at Kurogane.
(And maybe he’d let Tomoyo off the hook this time.)
Kurogane decided there was a certain satisfaction in putting that look on the blond’s face. In fact, he thought, as he pulled a couple of plates from the cupboard, he could probably get used to it.
END