5 misc. drabbles [arashi rps]
A round-up of a couple of drabbles & ficlets from an entry on my journal last week:
It's really starting to worry Jun that his holiday plans are coming together so easily. His airport tickets are waiting in his carry-on, his suitcase has been packed (and re-packed three times), and his very tiny, very expensive villa in Corsica is just waiting for him to arrive. It cost more than Jun really wanted to think about to rent it for two weeks, but he could afford it, really. It wasn't like he'd had the chance to take a vacation like this at all for - well, about twelve years, really.
He's just waiting for something to fall apart. When Nino pretends to choke on a piece of meat during Jun's farewell yakuniku dinner, Jun's mind suddenly flashes instinctively with thoughts of canceling his vacation to attend Nino's funeral.
He nearly throttles Nino later, but it's closer to a hug than either of them will admit. It's going to be hard not to miss the five people who have been with him every day for longer than he can remember.
He even lets Aiba hug him, tugging affectionately on the end of Aiba's scarf as he pulls away. "Stay out of trouble."
Aiba's eyes glitter in the late-night dark, bright on the mileage of beer and hours of smiling and laughing. "I want pictures of everything. Everything," he clarifies, "And especially the nude beaches."
Jun smacks his head with a muffled phwomf as his glove hits Aiba's woolen hat. Their laughter spills out into the frosty night air, curls of silvery smoke.
"Oh, Matsujun," Aiba wheezes as they both wind down. "Have fun, all right? Have fun."
"I will," Jun says, and he bites his lip against the urge to hug Aiba again.
-
The villa is really tiny, and Jun can't quite figure out why the kitchen sink isn't working. It's kind of pissing him off, though he's sure it's just his jetlagged mind. He leaves his suitcases piled all up around the doorway, and he just sinks into the thin hammock on the back porch.
The air is sharp and hot, salty. There are tiny birds chirping in the tree that hangs half over his roof and he can see the ocean in the near distance, a stripe of warm blue hugging the horizon.
"Oh," says the taxi driver, and Jun nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns around to see the driver who had brought him up from the ferry to his house had opened the door again. "This was on your doorstep - it must have fallen out of your mailbox."
"Thank you," Jun says politely, crossing the room and accepting the small slip of paper. It's probably a notice from the company that rented him the villa.
He tries to read the few, brief sentences of French for the next hour, but he can't figure it out. There's an address for the town on the top of the paper, though. He'll need to go into town the next day to buy groceries, anyways.
He's so tired and so busy trying to straighten things out into some semblance of settling in that Jun doesn't even feel lonely until it's already dark and he's breathing softly against his pillow, watching the fat moon shine outside the window. It's just in those short moments before sleep claims him that the distance suddenly feels huge, stretched far and wide.
-
The address turns out to be a small post office. It's really rather quaint, dark and cool inside, with carved wooden paneling and a faintly musty smell to the air.
It also has what must be the longest lines on the entire island, thought luckily not nearly as vicious as the bakery. Jun balances his baguette against his hip, feeling the handle of the plastic bag cut into his palm as the customer ahead of him argues with the clerk in rapid French.
Jun decides not to trust his French (which is ridiculously weak even though he's been planning this vacation for years) and just thrusts the notice at the clerk when his turn comes.
"Si vous-plait?", he tries gamely.
"Ah, oui," the clerk says vaguely, and disappears for a moment into a back room. She returns a moment later, holding a small envelope and hands it to Jun, with a few more sentences in rapid French that are completely incomprehensible, but also sound distinctly dismissive. Jun thanks her and ducks out of the tiny post office, taking a moment to breathe before he looks at the envelope. It has his name on it - in kanji, he - he'd recognize Aiba's writing anywhere, but how?
There's a small cafe just off the town square. Jun's expresso is perfect, hot and strong. He opens the envelope carefully, drawing out the letter inside and unfolding it. The writing is faint, lightly penciled characters scrawled haphazardly across the page.
Jun-kun,
This letter is going to beat you to France! That is, if it doesn't get lost. I think I wrote the address all right.
Do you feel lonely yet? Do you miss us? Right now, you are sitting at the table right across from me. I bet you haven't even noticed what I'm doing. Sometimes you don't notice like that. But that's all right, so this will be a surprise after all.
I bet it's beautiful where you are.
I don't really know what else to write. I just wanted to send you a letter. But I hope that you're having fun and that you come back all tanned and sophisticated and speaking French. Murci merci bucoup!
Remember what I said about the nudist beaches!
Je t'aime,
Aiba
The last line is smudged, like it had been erased and erased and then marked back in darkly, with resolve. The boldness of the sharp-cornered letters makes Jun feel faintly dizzy. He traces the words again with his finger, unconsciously whispering them under his breath.
"Idiot," he says to himself. He can't stop smiling, even though he knows the group at the next table is staring at him. "Idiot."
*
"Oh," Nino says, in a remarkably normal tone, given that he's still in the midst of trying to plastic-wrap Sho's nipples. "Sho-san, you're awake."
"Yes, I am," Sho mumbles under his breath. He tries to shift his position on the couch and discovers that Nino is pinning down his legs and waist with his weight. Nino has Sho's shirt hiked up to his armpits and is still concentrating all of his attention on Sho's chest. "What exactly are you trying to do to me?"
"Trying to keep you fresh," Nino says amicably, lightly tweaking one of Sho's nipples.
"You're a brat," Sho says, too sleepy still for any remotely witty retort. "Seriously."
Nino laughs, high and happy. He ducks his head, bracing his hands on Sho's shoulders and tracing his tongue slowly over one of Sho's nipples.
Sho shivers - the sensation is strangely muted by the thin layers of plastic wrap, but it's just barely there, strangely ticklish. He buries a hand in Nino's hair, thumb brushing over Nino's scalp and trying to relax while Nino alternates between sucking on Sho's nipple and darting down to bite at the bare skin of his torso, pin-point flashes of hot sensation.
"Nino," Sho groans. He is already hard, rocking almost imperceptibly up against the thigh that Nino's managed to wedge between Sho's legs. Nino bites down lazily on one of his nipples and Sho swears, bucking up against Nino. He pulls Nino's face towards him so that he can kiss Nino, deep and long and hot, like he wants to. They sink deeper into the couch together, Sho's hands sneaking under the hem of Nino's shirt to feel the heat of his skin.
"You ruined my prank, you know," Nino whispers into Sho's ear as Sho fumbles with Nino's belt, trying to shove his hand down Nino's underwear and reach his cock.
Sho kisses the side of Nino's neck, giving Nino's freed cock a long, slow pull. "I can't get any peace with you around." He strokes Nino's cock, loving the vulnerable emotions that flickered across Nino's face as he brought him close to the edge. "Love you," he adds, barely above a whisper, because he does, he really does, and it's only times like this that he feels he can say it without sounding like a complete tool.
Nino breathes harshly, burying his head in Sho's shoulder. He doesn't say anything, but Sho can see the curve of his smile and that alone says everything.
*
Ohno has clearly already had more drinks than a few by the time Nino tracks him down just off the neon dance floor of Morning Flash, slumped nearly sideways in a booth.
"Hey," Ohno says sluggishly, as Nino slides in beside him, "You got my text! N-nino. Nino-chan."
"I didn't think you would actually be here," Nino said, shoving Ohno's legs aside to make more room for himself in the cramped booth. He's starting to get some curious second glances from a group of girls dancing near the booth. Nino tugs his baseball cap lower over his face. "We've got filming in nine hours."
Ohno hums, resting his hand companionably on Nino's thigh. "We used to come here a lot, right?"
"You did." Nino dragged his finger through the wet circles left by Ohno's glass on the tabletop. "I only came with you once."
He must have been either crazy or half-drunk, because when Ohno simply said, "Dance with me?", Nino went without question, letting the deafening beat of the music slide their hips together, tangling his fingers in the belt loops of Ohno's jeans and wondering why none of it felt weird.
"Do you think we're getting old?" Ohno asks suddenly, after they both fall into a long silence.
Nino laughs, not bitterly. "Yeah," he says, "Yeah, we are."
Ohno's eyes soften and crinkle at the corners. "Dance with me?" he asks, low and evenly.
Nino smiles and he's halfway into a retort before it dies on his lips. "Sure," he says simply.
The surprise in Ohno's eyes is all the reason Nino needs as he guides him out onto the dance floor, letting the beat pick up where their words left off.
*
Ohno is almost boneless in the seat next to Sho as the van rumbles onwards towards the location shoot, eyes liquid with sleep, chin prickly with stubble. It's early December, and the air is cold this far north. It's still early enough that Sho can see the frost spread across the wide, uneven fields, cracking like sugar-spun glass.
They're about five miles away. Sho nudges Ohno gently. "Ohno-san," he says softly, and then, "Satoshi?" more insistantly when Ohno doesn't even stir.
Ohno's waking-up comes in slow flutters, the up-down of his eyelashes blinking against the early morning light and the fragemented colour of reality, the dipping stretch of his mouth as he yawns, the unconscious curling of his fingers against the plush seat. Sho takes all this in, feeling sleepier himself. They both got picked up at 4:00AM to travel to the shoot.
"Hmm," Ohno says, looking at Sho and past Sho, scratching sleepily at his chin. "S'all white."
Sho laughs. "Just frost. It'll be gone by noon."
It is beautiful, Sho thinks, as they climb out of the van, stretching stiff limbs and breathing in the sharp, chilly air. The trees are picked out in deep, silvery white, each branch sweetly frozen, clean and demanding against the contrast of the dark mountains.
A hand finds his, tugs. Ohno's smile is sheepish, and Sho can't help but smile back. "It's cold," Ohno says, his excuse.
Sho wraps their fingers together without a word, and they watch the smooth, white shapes of the trees shine like crystal as the rising sun spills across their forms.
*
"I'm sure that we can just get more dry ice," Aiba says quickly, because Jun's eyebrows are starting to pinch together in a way that usually signaled a very long, tense coffee break for all involved. It wasn't really his fault - Jun had agreed! Willingly! - and he honestly didn't regret it. The flames from Jun's dry-iced Dolce and Gabbana dry-iced briefs when he'd lit them on fire had been spectacular.
"What we need," Nino says loudly, over from where he's sulking in a corner of the set, "Is our underwear. Not more dry ice to put it in. Not more matches to light it on fire. Just my underwear, and have I mentioned that THESE PANTS ARE STARTING TO CHAFE?"
Aiba fumbles desperately for his cue cards while Jun cracks his knuckles threateningly.
"Since Nino wears a cheaper brand, will that mean that they burn faster?" he asks the camera.
"Good luck staying alive long enough to find out," Nino says dryly, as Matsujun swings the remains of his underwear at Aiba's head.
It's really starting to worry Jun that his holiday plans are coming together so easily. His airport tickets are waiting in his carry-on, his suitcase has been packed (and re-packed three times), and his very tiny, very expensive villa in Corsica is just waiting for him to arrive. It cost more than Jun really wanted to think about to rent it for two weeks, but he could afford it, really. It wasn't like he'd had the chance to take a vacation like this at all for - well, about twelve years, really.
He's just waiting for something to fall apart. When Nino pretends to choke on a piece of meat during Jun's farewell yakuniku dinner, Jun's mind suddenly flashes instinctively with thoughts of canceling his vacation to attend Nino's funeral.
He nearly throttles Nino later, but it's closer to a hug than either of them will admit. It's going to be hard not to miss the five people who have been with him every day for longer than he can remember.
He even lets Aiba hug him, tugging affectionately on the end of Aiba's scarf as he pulls away. "Stay out of trouble."
Aiba's eyes glitter in the late-night dark, bright on the mileage of beer and hours of smiling and laughing. "I want pictures of everything. Everything," he clarifies, "And especially the nude beaches."
Jun smacks his head with a muffled phwomf as his glove hits Aiba's woolen hat. Their laughter spills out into the frosty night air, curls of silvery smoke.
"Oh, Matsujun," Aiba wheezes as they both wind down. "Have fun, all right? Have fun."
"I will," Jun says, and he bites his lip against the urge to hug Aiba again.
-
The villa is really tiny, and Jun can't quite figure out why the kitchen sink isn't working. It's kind of pissing him off, though he's sure it's just his jetlagged mind. He leaves his suitcases piled all up around the doorway, and he just sinks into the thin hammock on the back porch.
The air is sharp and hot, salty. There are tiny birds chirping in the tree that hangs half over his roof and he can see the ocean in the near distance, a stripe of warm blue hugging the horizon.
"Oh," says the taxi driver, and Jun nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns around to see the driver who had brought him up from the ferry to his house had opened the door again. "This was on your doorstep - it must have fallen out of your mailbox."
"Thank you," Jun says politely, crossing the room and accepting the small slip of paper. It's probably a notice from the company that rented him the villa.
He tries to read the few, brief sentences of French for the next hour, but he can't figure it out. There's an address for the town on the top of the paper, though. He'll need to go into town the next day to buy groceries, anyways.
He's so tired and so busy trying to straighten things out into some semblance of settling in that Jun doesn't even feel lonely until it's already dark and he's breathing softly against his pillow, watching the fat moon shine outside the window. It's just in those short moments before sleep claims him that the distance suddenly feels huge, stretched far and wide.
-
The address turns out to be a small post office. It's really rather quaint, dark and cool inside, with carved wooden paneling and a faintly musty smell to the air.
It also has what must be the longest lines on the entire island, thought luckily not nearly as vicious as the bakery. Jun balances his baguette against his hip, feeling the handle of the plastic bag cut into his palm as the customer ahead of him argues with the clerk in rapid French.
Jun decides not to trust his French (which is ridiculously weak even though he's been planning this vacation for years) and just thrusts the notice at the clerk when his turn comes.
"Si vous-plait?", he tries gamely.
"Ah, oui," the clerk says vaguely, and disappears for a moment into a back room. She returns a moment later, holding a small envelope and hands it to Jun, with a few more sentences in rapid French that are completely incomprehensible, but also sound distinctly dismissive. Jun thanks her and ducks out of the tiny post office, taking a moment to breathe before he looks at the envelope. It has his name on it - in kanji, he - he'd recognize Aiba's writing anywhere, but how?
There's a small cafe just off the town square. Jun's expresso is perfect, hot and strong. He opens the envelope carefully, drawing out the letter inside and unfolding it. The writing is faint, lightly penciled characters scrawled haphazardly across the page.
Jun-kun,
This letter is going to beat you to France! That is, if it doesn't get lost. I think I wrote the address all right.
Do you feel lonely yet? Do you miss us? Right now, you are sitting at the table right across from me. I bet you haven't even noticed what I'm doing. Sometimes you don't notice like that. But that's all right, so this will be a surprise after all.
I bet it's beautiful where you are.
I don't really know what else to write. I just wanted to send you a letter. But I hope that you're having fun and that you come back all tanned and sophisticated and speaking French. Murci merci bucoup!
Remember what I said about the nudist beaches!
Je t'aime,
Aiba
The last line is smudged, like it had been erased and erased and then marked back in darkly, with resolve. The boldness of the sharp-cornered letters makes Jun feel faintly dizzy. He traces the words again with his finger, unconsciously whispering them under his breath.
"Idiot," he says to himself. He can't stop smiling, even though he knows the group at the next table is staring at him. "Idiot."
*
"Oh," Nino says, in a remarkably normal tone, given that he's still in the midst of trying to plastic-wrap Sho's nipples. "Sho-san, you're awake."
"Yes, I am," Sho mumbles under his breath. He tries to shift his position on the couch and discovers that Nino is pinning down his legs and waist with his weight. Nino has Sho's shirt hiked up to his armpits and is still concentrating all of his attention on Sho's chest. "What exactly are you trying to do to me?"
"Trying to keep you fresh," Nino says amicably, lightly tweaking one of Sho's nipples.
"You're a brat," Sho says, too sleepy still for any remotely witty retort. "Seriously."
Nino laughs, high and happy. He ducks his head, bracing his hands on Sho's shoulders and tracing his tongue slowly over one of Sho's nipples.
Sho shivers - the sensation is strangely muted by the thin layers of plastic wrap, but it's just barely there, strangely ticklish. He buries a hand in Nino's hair, thumb brushing over Nino's scalp and trying to relax while Nino alternates between sucking on Sho's nipple and darting down to bite at the bare skin of his torso, pin-point flashes of hot sensation.
"Nino," Sho groans. He is already hard, rocking almost imperceptibly up against the thigh that Nino's managed to wedge between Sho's legs. Nino bites down lazily on one of his nipples and Sho swears, bucking up against Nino. He pulls Nino's face towards him so that he can kiss Nino, deep and long and hot, like he wants to. They sink deeper into the couch together, Sho's hands sneaking under the hem of Nino's shirt to feel the heat of his skin.
"You ruined my prank, you know," Nino whispers into Sho's ear as Sho fumbles with Nino's belt, trying to shove his hand down Nino's underwear and reach his cock.
Sho kisses the side of Nino's neck, giving Nino's freed cock a long, slow pull. "I can't get any peace with you around." He strokes Nino's cock, loving the vulnerable emotions that flickered across Nino's face as he brought him close to the edge. "Love you," he adds, barely above a whisper, because he does, he really does, and it's only times like this that he feels he can say it without sounding like a complete tool.
Nino breathes harshly, burying his head in Sho's shoulder. He doesn't say anything, but Sho can see the curve of his smile and that alone says everything.
*
Ohno has clearly already had more drinks than a few by the time Nino tracks him down just off the neon dance floor of Morning Flash, slumped nearly sideways in a booth.
"Hey," Ohno says sluggishly, as Nino slides in beside him, "You got my text! N-nino. Nino-chan."
"I didn't think you would actually be here," Nino said, shoving Ohno's legs aside to make more room for himself in the cramped booth. He's starting to get some curious second glances from a group of girls dancing near the booth. Nino tugs his baseball cap lower over his face. "We've got filming in nine hours."
Ohno hums, resting his hand companionably on Nino's thigh. "We used to come here a lot, right?"
"You did." Nino dragged his finger through the wet circles left by Ohno's glass on the tabletop. "I only came with you once."
He must have been either crazy or half-drunk, because when Ohno simply said, "Dance with me?", Nino went without question, letting the deafening beat of the music slide their hips together, tangling his fingers in the belt loops of Ohno's jeans and wondering why none of it felt weird.
"Do you think we're getting old?" Ohno asks suddenly, after they both fall into a long silence.
Nino laughs, not bitterly. "Yeah," he says, "Yeah, we are."
Ohno's eyes soften and crinkle at the corners. "Dance with me?" he asks, low and evenly.
Nino smiles and he's halfway into a retort before it dies on his lips. "Sure," he says simply.
The surprise in Ohno's eyes is all the reason Nino needs as he guides him out onto the dance floor, letting the beat pick up where their words left off.
*
Ohno is almost boneless in the seat next to Sho as the van rumbles onwards towards the location shoot, eyes liquid with sleep, chin prickly with stubble. It's early December, and the air is cold this far north. It's still early enough that Sho can see the frost spread across the wide, uneven fields, cracking like sugar-spun glass.
They're about five miles away. Sho nudges Ohno gently. "Ohno-san," he says softly, and then, "Satoshi?" more insistantly when Ohno doesn't even stir.
Ohno's waking-up comes in slow flutters, the up-down of his eyelashes blinking against the early morning light and the fragemented colour of reality, the dipping stretch of his mouth as he yawns, the unconscious curling of his fingers against the plush seat. Sho takes all this in, feeling sleepier himself. They both got picked up at 4:00AM to travel to the shoot.
"Hmm," Ohno says, looking at Sho and past Sho, scratching sleepily at his chin. "S'all white."
Sho laughs. "Just frost. It'll be gone by noon."
It is beautiful, Sho thinks, as they climb out of the van, stretching stiff limbs and breathing in the sharp, chilly air. The trees are picked out in deep, silvery white, each branch sweetly frozen, clean and demanding against the contrast of the dark mountains.
A hand finds his, tugs. Ohno's smile is sheepish, and Sho can't help but smile back. "It's cold," Ohno says, his excuse.
Sho wraps their fingers together without a word, and they watch the smooth, white shapes of the trees shine like crystal as the rising sun spills across their forms.
*
"I'm sure that we can just get more dry ice," Aiba says quickly, because Jun's eyebrows are starting to pinch together in a way that usually signaled a very long, tense coffee break for all involved. It wasn't really his fault - Jun had agreed! Willingly! - and he honestly didn't regret it. The flames from Jun's dry-iced Dolce and Gabbana dry-iced briefs when he'd lit them on fire had been spectacular.
"What we need," Nino says loudly, over from where he's sulking in a corner of the set, "Is our underwear. Not more dry ice to put it in. Not more matches to light it on fire. Just my underwear, and have I mentioned that THESE PANTS ARE STARTING TO CHAFE?"
Aiba fumbles desperately for his cue cards while Jun cracks his knuckles threateningly.
"Since Nino wears a cheaper brand, will that mean that they burn faster?" he asks the camera.
"Good luck staying alive long enough to find out," Nino says dryly, as Matsujun swings the remains of his underwear at Aiba's head.