what comes is better than what came before
;439
;One-shot
;Ohno Satoshi/Ninomiya Kazunari (slight Ohno Satoshi/Matsumoto Jun)
;In which Ohno paints, and nothing and everything happens.
;R
;I don't even know what genre this belongs in.
;One cookie to Johnny Kitagawa.
“Draw me.”
“Okay.”
Ohno manages to find scrap paper from the centerfold of a magazine and coloured felt-tip pens in the dressing room. He’s slightly tired, adrenaline leaving him with each exhalation of breath, but Ohno knows that some things are meant to be more than just mental pictures.
Jun is still flushed, aglow with a sheen of sweat and beaming rosy pink at Ohno. His hair is curling in wet tendrils against his forehead and he’s still smiling, so that when Ohno squints all he sees is eyebrows, creamy skin and teeth.
Ohno thinks Jun is quite beautiful.
Felt-tip pens are hard to work with, and he doesn’t like how the paper gets splotchy with ink when he lingers there too long, but Ohno manages to sketch Jun into infinity within that moment, unabashed grin and all.
“It’s really good,” Jun says, when Ohno hands it to him.
Ohno shrugs. It’s not his best one of Jun, but he has a feeling that it will end up being framed, like the one Ohno did of him back in the jimusho.
“So, how much?”
“It’s okay.”
Fifteen minutes later Ohno is getting a blowjob in the third bathroom stall from the left, his glittery costume pooling around his ankles. He comes with a soft groan into Jun’s mouth.
“MY EARS, MY EARS!”
Jun stands up, wipes the corner of his mouth and, pining Ohno with a sultry gaze, tells Sho to piss off.
When Ohno looks up, he can see Aiba’s hand waving a Super Soaker menacingly from the first stall, aiming the nozzle in his direction. He ends up missing and wets Sho’s clean boxers instead. Jun laughs, and Sho laments on how this would not have happened if, for fuck’s sake, the two of them had waited till they got back to the hotel.
The last stall is quiet.
It’s nearly midnight by the time they reach the hotel. Ohno lets himself into his room and eats umeboshi onigiri from the bento they were all given for supper. He contemplates going out into the balcony, but his fingers feel frozen when they touch the glass window, so he sits down on the floor instead, and tells himself to count to a thousand. He’s out the door before he hits five hundred.
Ohno’s toes dig grooves into the plush carpet along the corridor, and he repeats the room number to himself in his head. It’s something he tries to do now, ever since that time in Osaka when he almost went into Aiba’s room by mistake. Ohno knows he’s got the correct room when he can see light peeking out from under the door.
He presses the doorbell once, and before he can blink he’s being pulled in and pushed against and his arms are full of freshly shampooed hair and warm male skin.
“Hello,” he says to Nino, who’s currently busy nuzzling into his neck.
“Mmmm.”
Ohno smiles, and lets his hands roam across Nino’s bare back.
“You’re early.”
“Yeah.”
Nino hums happily and bites Ohno’s ear.
Splaying his hands on the base of Nino’s spine, Ohno starts walking him slowly backwards.
“Jun blew me today,” Ohno says, as if Nino doesn’t already know. Nino doesn’t pause in his ministrations, but Ohno feels his eyelashes fluttering faster against the nape of his neck. “Then I jerked him off.”
He’s not sure if Nino wants to hear it, and he knows that he doesn’t have to say a single thing, but Ohno tells Nino everytime he fucks Jun, everytime Jun sucks him off. He still doesn’t know why. Nino pulls himself away, finally, and doesn’t look at Ohno as he turns and walks towards the bed.
“The thing about being a kept secret, Ohno-kun,” Nino throws over his shoulder with a smirk, “is that nothing really makes you feel betrayed anymore.”
He slides his boxers down his narrow hips and sits on the foot of the bed, tilting his head to the side and giving Ohno a small smile.
“Come here.”
Their hotel is in the snazzy part of Shinjuku. Spectrums filter through the window, drenching Nino in shades of skyscraper and mirrored flakes. Ohno dips his finger into the cornflower pooling in Nino’s bellybutton and draws around in spirals, aqua fading into seafoam green.
Jun might be Ohno’s favourite subject but Nino is his favourite canvas.
“Hurry, hurry. Please,” Nino whispers. He pulls frantically at Ohno’s belt and arches his hips upwards. Ohno bites back a groan, reaches down for Nino’s wrists and pins them together over his head.
“No,” he says, and Nino growls in frustration. “No. You’re not. You’re more than that and you know it. So don’t… don’t talk like that.”
Nino’s still panting, but he looks at Ohno with fond exasperation. “You’re a tad slow today, aren’t you?”
He smiles into Nino’s collarbone.
Then his pants and his boxers are finally off, and when he pushes into Nino he hears a sharp intake of breath.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is rough and jagged against Nino’s ear.
They push and pull, Nino is nipping at Ohno’s wrist and Ohno is marking Nino’s jaw and it feels like a game. Only - it’s not.
“I don’t blame you,” Nino says. “I don’t blame you.”
It’s softer, this time, and it feels like petals covering Ohno’s ears.
He thinks he’s going to lose it any moment now, so he tries not to think of Nino and his pink lips and fuck, yes, harder and focuses instead on the blushing spot behind Nino’s ear and how maybe some things are better left as mental pictures, because Ohno doesn’t want to share this with anybody.
Ohno moves faster, grips Nino’s hips tighter and pushes bruises beneath his skin.
Then
“Satoshi.”
Ohno thinks this is what free falling must feel like.
They collapse in a tangle of limbs and murmurs, hair plastered to their foreheads with sweat. When he looks down he sees Nino flushed all over, and Ohno would like to claim credit for painting him in streetlamp and red billboard, but that’s all Nino.
“Stay.”
“Okay.”
Ohno likes it when he has Ninomiya Kazunari warm and sleepy in bed, muted and psychedelic under his fingertips.
{end.}
;One-shot
;Ohno Satoshi/Ninomiya Kazunari (slight Ohno Satoshi/Matsumoto Jun)
;In which Ohno paints, and nothing and everything happens.
;R
;I don't even know what genre this belongs in.
;One cookie to Johnny Kitagawa.
“Draw me.”
“Okay.”
Ohno manages to find scrap paper from the centerfold of a magazine and coloured felt-tip pens in the dressing room. He’s slightly tired, adrenaline leaving him with each exhalation of breath, but Ohno knows that some things are meant to be more than just mental pictures.
Jun is still flushed, aglow with a sheen of sweat and beaming rosy pink at Ohno. His hair is curling in wet tendrils against his forehead and he’s still smiling, so that when Ohno squints all he sees is eyebrows, creamy skin and teeth.
Ohno thinks Jun is quite beautiful.
Felt-tip pens are hard to work with, and he doesn’t like how the paper gets splotchy with ink when he lingers there too long, but Ohno manages to sketch Jun into infinity within that moment, unabashed grin and all.
“It’s really good,” Jun says, when Ohno hands it to him.
Ohno shrugs. It’s not his best one of Jun, but he has a feeling that it will end up being framed, like the one Ohno did of him back in the jimusho.
“So, how much?”
“It’s okay.”
Fifteen minutes later Ohno is getting a blowjob in the third bathroom stall from the left, his glittery costume pooling around his ankles. He comes with a soft groan into Jun’s mouth.
“MY EARS, MY EARS!”
Jun stands up, wipes the corner of his mouth and, pining Ohno with a sultry gaze, tells Sho to piss off.
When Ohno looks up, he can see Aiba’s hand waving a Super Soaker menacingly from the first stall, aiming the nozzle in his direction. He ends up missing and wets Sho’s clean boxers instead. Jun laughs, and Sho laments on how this would not have happened if, for fuck’s sake, the two of them had waited till they got back to the hotel.
The last stall is quiet.
It’s nearly midnight by the time they reach the hotel. Ohno lets himself into his room and eats umeboshi onigiri from the bento they were all given for supper. He contemplates going out into the balcony, but his fingers feel frozen when they touch the glass window, so he sits down on the floor instead, and tells himself to count to a thousand. He’s out the door before he hits five hundred.
Ohno’s toes dig grooves into the plush carpet along the corridor, and he repeats the room number to himself in his head. It’s something he tries to do now, ever since that time in Osaka when he almost went into Aiba’s room by mistake. Ohno knows he’s got the correct room when he can see light peeking out from under the door.
He presses the doorbell once, and before he can blink he’s being pulled in and pushed against and his arms are full of freshly shampooed hair and warm male skin.
“Hello,” he says to Nino, who’s currently busy nuzzling into his neck.
“Mmmm.”
Ohno smiles, and lets his hands roam across Nino’s bare back.
“You’re early.”
“Yeah.”
Nino hums happily and bites Ohno’s ear.
Splaying his hands on the base of Nino’s spine, Ohno starts walking him slowly backwards.
“Jun blew me today,” Ohno says, as if Nino doesn’t already know. Nino doesn’t pause in his ministrations, but Ohno feels his eyelashes fluttering faster against the nape of his neck. “Then I jerked him off.”
He’s not sure if Nino wants to hear it, and he knows that he doesn’t have to say a single thing, but Ohno tells Nino everytime he fucks Jun, everytime Jun sucks him off. He still doesn’t know why. Nino pulls himself away, finally, and doesn’t look at Ohno as he turns and walks towards the bed.
“The thing about being a kept secret, Ohno-kun,” Nino throws over his shoulder with a smirk, “is that nothing really makes you feel betrayed anymore.”
He slides his boxers down his narrow hips and sits on the foot of the bed, tilting his head to the side and giving Ohno a small smile.
“Come here.”
Their hotel is in the snazzy part of Shinjuku. Spectrums filter through the window, drenching Nino in shades of skyscraper and mirrored flakes. Ohno dips his finger into the cornflower pooling in Nino’s bellybutton and draws around in spirals, aqua fading into seafoam green.
Jun might be Ohno’s favourite subject but Nino is his favourite canvas.
“Hurry, hurry. Please,” Nino whispers. He pulls frantically at Ohno’s belt and arches his hips upwards. Ohno bites back a groan, reaches down for Nino’s wrists and pins them together over his head.
“No,” he says, and Nino growls in frustration. “No. You’re not. You’re more than that and you know it. So don’t… don’t talk like that.”
Nino’s still panting, but he looks at Ohno with fond exasperation. “You’re a tad slow today, aren’t you?”
He smiles into Nino’s collarbone.
Then his pants and his boxers are finally off, and when he pushes into Nino he hears a sharp intake of breath.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is rough and jagged against Nino’s ear.
They push and pull, Nino is nipping at Ohno’s wrist and Ohno is marking Nino’s jaw and it feels like a game. Only - it’s not.
“I don’t blame you,” Nino says. “I don’t blame you.”
It’s softer, this time, and it feels like petals covering Ohno’s ears.
He thinks he’s going to lose it any moment now, so he tries not to think of Nino and his pink lips and fuck, yes, harder and focuses instead on the blushing spot behind Nino’s ear and how maybe some things are better left as mental pictures, because Ohno doesn’t want to share this with anybody.
Ohno moves faster, grips Nino’s hips tighter and pushes bruises beneath his skin.
Then
“Satoshi.”
Ohno thinks this is what free falling must feel like.
They collapse in a tangle of limbs and murmurs, hair plastered to their foreheads with sweat. When he looks down he sees Nino flushed all over, and Ohno would like to claim credit for painting him in streetlamp and red billboard, but that’s all Nino.
“Stay.”
“Okay.”
Ohno likes it when he has Ninomiya Kazunari warm and sleepy in bed, muted and psychedelic under his fingertips.
{end.}