new words for old desires [arashi rps]
Title: new words for old desires
Author: waxrose
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Aiba/Jun
Length: ~3,000 words
Author's Notes: This is a request fic for sharksoul24, back from the arashi_on fandom fundraiser for Japan - very belated, sorry! I hope you enjoy it! Thank you again to aeslis, floweranza, and rhythmia for reading this over! The title is from Left and Leaving by the Weakerthans.
Aiba really hates the idea that he's supposed to spout off some sort of wisdom that people can follow. He's no compass for love experience; he's as messed up as most people, probably more so. He's had nasty fights and he's cried and made girls cry. He's had dates that aren't as much about hearts jumping when reaching for popcorn in the movie theater and accidentally touching a girl's hand - but more about quick fumbles in hallways, in cars, in thickly-curtained sections of exclusive clubs. He's made mistakes, and he has his own secrets.
But despite all that, he really, really believes in love, and not the kind of love that means couple outfits and love bentos and holding hands while shopping. He believes in the kind of love that continues through everyday frustration and life's downward swings, and the realization that the person you love isn't perfect at all. It's the kind of love he still sees in his parents - quiet, enduring, and unglamorous.
"What do you think love is?" the reporter asks, and Aiba taps the table. He's answered this question a million times, but he's never really had an honest answer before. Even now, it sounds like a jumbled mess in his head, but the answer is perfectly clear in his heart.
It's probably best to go with what he knows.
Aiba has been dozing, drifting in and out of dreams between the haze of photoshoots and taking medicine to stem the gunky, thick congestion that feels like it has claimed his nose and throat for its own. He feels miserable and achy and the strong air conditioning in their break room is giving him a headache - but it's the middle of a sunbaked, wet July, he can't trouble anyone else by asking to have it turned off.
He wants his bed, his pillows, and some hot tea with honey and lemon like his mom always made him. The one couch in the break room is uncomfortably lumpy, and he's taking up most of it by himself, but he can still hear the faint ping of the DS from where Nino is squashed into the far corner, immersed in his new game.
The clatter of keys on the table in front of him startles Aiba into full wakefulness. He opens his eyes groggily to see Jun opening a bottle of water, his bangs clipped back from his face.
"My place is only a few blocks from here." Jun takes a delicate sip of water. "They're not going to call for your shots until an hour after lunch or so. Go get some rest. I can text you when they're getting ready for you."
He turns and leaves the room before Aiba can say a word, or even croak his thanks. The keys feel heavy in his hand, solid and sharp. Aiba closes his hand around them, and realizes belatedly that Nino is watching him.
"Well," Nino says lightly, expression inscrutable, "It's serious now, huh?"
Jun's apartment is close enough to walk to, but their driver insists on taking Aiba in the van.
Aiba is grateful - by the time he reaches the door of Jun's apartment, his legs feel like rubber, sticky with sweat. He fumbles with the keys, feeling palpable relief as the lock clicks open.
Jun's apartment is wider and more spacious than Aiba's. His bathroom is clean, and there are fluffy white towels and medicine stacked next to the tub, as though Jun had somehow planned this - did he? Aiba wonders about this while sinking into the tub, letting the warm water soothe his aches. It was possible.
He's been in Jun's bed before, but he's always been - well, too busy to fully appreciate it. Jun's pillows are feather-soft and plush beneath his cheek, the summer quilt light against his overheated skin. Warm afternoon air flows in through the open bedroom window, along with the muted bustle of the streets below.
Aiba sleeps, and sleeps.
Some eternity later, he hears the lock to the front door click open, but doesn't even process it until the mattress dips next to him, a cool hand touching his forehead gently.
"Masaki?"
"Mm," Aiba tilts his face into Jun's hand. "S'time?" The room seems a lot darker somehow.
"Tomorrow," Jun says, his fingers combing through Aiba's hair. "During a break for the PV shooting. It's going to be pretty busy for you, sorry."
Panic rushes through Aiba, and he scrambles upright, nearly dislodging Jun. "I can't - " The moon is already rising outside the window. His tongue feels thick and gross in his own mouth, his chest rattling as he tries to speak. He can imagine Jun bowing his head for him, taking the blame -
"You'll just be a nuisance to everyone like this," Jun says firmly. He tugs Aiba back down onto the bed. "You can't do anything now but rest and get better." He hands Aiba a steaming cup that had been set on the nightstand.
Aiba takes a sip and nearly gags. It tastes like cat pee and rotten mangoes mixed with moldy tree bark. "Thank you," he wheezes.
Jun smiles, and then he's leaning forward, kissing Aiba slowly. "Feel better." He whispers. "I'll make you some soup, okay?"
His sleep is feverish that night, with deep, wracking coughs and wild dreams - but when he wakes up, Jun is wrapped all around him, his hand fast over Aiba's heart.
Well , Aiba can hear Nino's words in his head. It's serious now, huh?
"It's not," Jun says, and his voice is flat. It carries weakly on the strong wind, rustling red and orange leaves almost obscuring his voice entirely. For a moment, Aiba wonders if he misheard him. "It's not true."
"Really?" Sho sounds skeptical.
Aiba fights to stop shivering - the weather kept changing fast today, and he had ducked out of the building without a coat - but he had to follow them when he saw Jun stroll out of the building and Sho follow him with an air of purpose.
But there's something about Jun's words that make him feel even colder, like he's swimming in ice water and it's too hard to breathe.
"I don't care, you know," Sho says, and he sounds earnest, not angry. "Whatever's going on between you and Aiba - I'm not judging you or telling you what to do. But I'm worried."
He can't see Jun's face, just a side profile. Jun's rolling a lit cigarette between his fingers, letting it burn as he weighs his reply to Sho's words. If he could just see his face - Aiba leans out a little further around the door frame he's hiding in, and grimaces as he steps on a soggy cardboard box.
"Well, you shouldn't worry," Jun says. His tone is bright, but it sounds forced. "Stop listening to Nino, he's just trying to wind you up."
The door behind Aiba cracks open a little, soundlessly, and Aiba jumps a foot in the air. Nino's face peeks around the door. His lips purse at the sight of Aiba huddled against the door frame, paper-thin white shirt flapping in the January wind.
"Idiot," Nino whispers, "Get out of the cold."
There's a strange sympathy in Nino's eyes, and Aiba lets him lead him back in by the hand. He wonders if this wasn't all Nino's way of trying to resolve things.
Jun comes over two nights later, and Aiba is jittery, trying to squash the questions that flap around his mind like panicked moths, threatening to spill out of his mouth.
Why did you lie to Sho-chan? Why did you say - ?
Was it for my sake? Did you think …
Is that really how you feel?
"I'll take a shower," Jun says casually. He hangs up his jacket and bag in Aiba's closet, neatly rearranges his shoes in the entrance space. Somehow, that pisses Aiba off even more. Jun - so neat, so precise and polished, so considerate.
Normally, Aiba will join Jun in the shower, and Jun will press him against the steam-heated tiles, his body sinking against Aiba like a hot stone, steady warmth and pressure. It's those moments that Aiba loves best, especially when he's waited for days and days for them to find a time to be together. They're so busy, these days.
Tonight, he stays on the couch, where he's been slumped for a few hours already. There's a beer open on the coffee table, and a baseball game on the television, but his heart isn't in it. He winds the sleeves of his shirt over his fingers, scrunching his hands into fists and tucking his legs under his body until he's curled up in the corner of the couch. The apartment is still and quiet, aside from the faint drumming of rushing water in the bathroom.
He can choose, can't he? He can pretend that he never heard. If he does, can they still have this?
Deep down, Aiba knows that it isn't the same.
"Masaki?" Jun's hair is dripping wet, slicked back around his ears. He's got a towel tucked around his waist, and Aiba can feel his body react in spite of itself, like a machine growling its way to life. "It's late."
They can't just say things clearly, both of them. It's a well-developed code of evasive and nonchalant little phrases that they use almost unconsciously. Aiba can say Can I come over to check out your new vacuum? I was thinking of getting one like it or There's a new Indian restaurant near my place, I think you'll like it - but he won't say Can I stay with you tonight?. Or I want to fuck you so badly, or I love you.
That's the dangerous one. That's the one they're never meant to say.
Aiba uncurls himself, slowly stands and walks towards where Jun is standing in the entrance to the bedroom. Perversely, he knows that he's doing this partly because he's made up his mind to find out. He can't forget or act normal. He wants Jun to see him low-tension, to wonder and to ask. He can't initiate it, but he can wait.
"You're so strange tonight," Jun says, and he waits until they're in the dark of Aiba's bedroom before his hands fly out to touch Aiba, stopping Aiba in his tracks and turning him towards him. He smoothes his fingers over Aiba's forehead, the steep curve of Aiba's cheeks. Aiba holds his breath, hands unconsciously reaching for Jun, gripping the thick cotton of the towel wrapped around his waist.
He can barely see Jun's features, just the momentary glimmer of his eyes as they catch the streetlights that flicker through cracks in his curtains. "I'm fine. Long day." There, a lie for both of them. They're even now.
Jun leans forward, kissing Aiba. It's so slow, and warm - not a prelude to sex, nothing rushed or uncontrolled. It's meant to soothe, to warm. Aiba lets his hands slip to Jun's back, clinging.
"Matsujun," he says raggedly, when they finally pull apart. This is only making things worse, but Aiba is too far gone to care.
Jun traces the line of Aiba's throat with his lips, running his hands under the thin cotton of Aiba's sweater. "I can do anything," he promises.
Aiba lifts up his arms, lets Jun slide the sweater off and sling it on a nearby chair. Jun steps closer until Aiba can feel the thud of Jun's heart against his own skin. Why?, he can't help but think, with an aching sadness. You need this too, don't you?
"I didn't mean to," Nino says, and Aiba startles, only then realizing that he had been staring into space.
"What?"
Nino's mouth is a thin line. "I thought he would tell the truth." He tears open a package of onion crackers that had been sitting on the break room table between them, shoves them towards Aiba. A peace offering, like they're still twelve and Nino had borrowed his Mario game without asking.
Aiba's heart crumples. He can't hate Nino for this, as much as he wants to. "But you weren't sure. That's why you told Sho to ask." He pauses, taking a cracker out the package.
Nino's eyes are sharp, and Aiba knows, suddenly, that Nino has been in his position, too. He knows exactly how much it hurts.
"It's better to know," Nino says. "Either way. Isn't it?"
Aiba's breaths come fast and ragged as Jun sucks his cock, kneeling over Aiba as he sits pushed up against the headboard, hands gripped fast into the sheets. Jun's tongue slides slowly up Aiba's length, mouthing the tip, eyelashes fluttered shut. Aiba tips his head back against the hard wood of the headboard, feeling himself on the edge.
"Jun," Aiba moans.
"Mm?" Jun's mouth is still wrapped around his cock, so Aiba feels more than hears his reply.
"Fuck me?" Jun's eyes flicker open and catch his. Aiba's never asked for this - neither of them ever ask. It's just an extended game of give-and-take, vague mental tallies and never, ever talking about it. Aiba holds his breath as Jun watches him.
Jun's mouth slides off him, and Jun wipes at his mouth, licking at his lips to catch the last of Aiba's taste.
"Yeah," Jun says, his voice gravelly, deeper than usual. "Yeah, all right."
Sho buys him ramen for dinner, and Aiba doesn't think anything unusual of it - they do this at least once a week - until he realizes that Sho hasn't teased him about paying for his third and fourth bowl.
"You and Matsujun," Sho says, after they leave the shop and are trudging towards the main street together, the snow lightly falling around them. "Is something happening between you two?"
The same question that he had asked Jun earlier that day. Aiba isn't sure if it's anger or sadness, or the wild cold that is keeping everyone else off the streets, making it feel like they're the only ones in the world tonight - that makes him want to answer honestly. If Jun did, then so can he.
But Aiba doesn't have an answer. He doesn't know what they are anymore.
"I'm tired," he chokes out, and finds himself shamefully close to tears.
Sho looks alarmed. "I'll get you a taxi," he says. "It's okay."
"Are you really okay?" Jun says, breath hot against Aiba's ear. He's buried deep inside Aiba, still for a moment. He's lazily stroking Aiba's cock, fingers slickened with Aiba's pre-come.
"About what?" Aiba manages. He's sweating all over, flame-hot with Jun's body joined to his in every way possible. It feels amazingly good.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."Aiba shifts, and Jun catches his breath in a gasp as the position drives him deeper into Aiba. It only takes a few thrusts, Aiba clinging on desperately as Jun drives into him, slowly losing his carefully-built control.
They were young, so young. It was Aiba who had reached out first, acting purely on instinct.
Aiba's lips had barely touched his, and Jun was already trembling like a leaf, his hands shaking as they rested on Aiba's hips, fingers tangling in the worn softness of Aiba's t-shirt.
"Don’t," Jun said, even though there's no weight to his words, his body already tilting into Aiba. "We can't -"
"Can't we?" Aiba murmured. "There aren't any rules, Matsujun."
"Of course there are." Jun's heart thudded wildly under Aiba's hand. "Don't be stupid."
"Maybe," Aiba said, other hand reaching out to smooth Jun's hair behind his ear. "But don't we make them ourselves?"
The cloth is too wet, and Jun accidentally drips water all over Aiba's sheets in an attempt to clean them both up. "Sorry,” Jun says, leaning over the wet spot to clean off Aiba. "My bad."
"It's nothing," Aiba says, and the force of his own words hangs in an unsteady silence between them. Jun keeps wiping up, but his movements are awkward and mechanical. They're both thinking about the same thing.
"I heard you talking to Sho yesterday." It's a relief to say it. He watches Jun as he brings the cloth back to the bathroom, silhouetted for a moment in the light of the doorway.
Jun turns around. With the light behind him, his face is in shadow. "Masaki." He crosses back to the bedroom, but hesitates from getting into the bed. He stands at the end, arms crossed. "I'm sorry."
Aiba crawls up onto his knees. "You don't have to apologize." He can't look at Jun. "You can think about this any way you want."
"I don't think that way, though," Jun says fiercely. His voice cracks with intensity. "It was a mistake."
Aiba shakes his head. "Mistakes happen when you don't think about things."
"What am I supposed to say?" Jun says, voice rising. "I panicked. I thought - you wouldn't want people to know. I didn't know if you were - "
Aiba can't take this. "It's all right." Nino was right - it was better to know that things like this couldn't last. They can't keep fooling each other.
"No, it isn't," Jun says. He sits down on the bed, just on the edge, and Aiba can see that he's shaking. "I'm serious - about this," he says, his voice unsteady. "But I don't know how you feel."
"Serious?" Aiba takes a moment to absorb the impact of Jun's words. "You really are?"
Jun looks down at his hands. "Like I said - I had no place telling him without knowing how you felt. If it was just me being selfish, I might have made trouble for you."
"When you told him," Aiba says finally, it hurt, he thinks, but he can't let Jun feel even more guilty. He's not that cruel. "I didn't think about it before that. When it was just us - I didn't have to think about it."
"You see?" Jun says, and he sounds tired. "That's it."
This time, the silence isn’t as tense. Aiba scoots closer to Jun on the bed, until their sides are touching, their feet dangling off the edge together. "I'm serious, too," he confesses. "I like this. Us."
Jun's hand finds his, and the instant their fingers tangle together, Aiba feels grounded again. "Really?"
"Yeah. Really." Aiba hasn't felt this nervous in a long time. Saying this - it means something. It's something he's afraid to lose, or get wrong.
"Well," Jun says, and there's a barely controlled excitement in his voice, an almost palatable relief that Aiba feels, too. "I guess I'll have to go tell Sho I was wrong."
Aiba feels warmth all through their joined fingers. "Let's sleep for now."
It feels good, it feels right, letting himself curl up against Jun and drift to sleep with no questions left to choke off the space between them.
"Love," Aiba says finally, "Is when someone else's happiness comes first."
"I said that in the last Orista," Nino says from over on the couch. "Get original."
"I said it with more emotion," Aiba retorts.
"I made it sound more romantic," Nino says. "But I'll let you borrow it this time. No copyright issues or anything. I'm generous like that."
"Can we - ?" The reporter asks tentatively.
FIN
cross-posted to kotobayori
Author: waxrose
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Aiba/Jun
Length: ~3,000 words
Author's Notes: This is a request fic for sharksoul24, back from the arashi_on fandom fundraiser for Japan - very belated, sorry! I hope you enjoy it! Thank you again to aeslis, floweranza, and rhythmia for reading this over! The title is from Left and Leaving by the Weakerthans.
Aiba really hates the idea that he's supposed to spout off some sort of wisdom that people can follow. He's no compass for love experience; he's as messed up as most people, probably more so. He's had nasty fights and he's cried and made girls cry. He's had dates that aren't as much about hearts jumping when reaching for popcorn in the movie theater and accidentally touching a girl's hand - but more about quick fumbles in hallways, in cars, in thickly-curtained sections of exclusive clubs. He's made mistakes, and he has his own secrets.
But despite all that, he really, really believes in love, and not the kind of love that means couple outfits and love bentos and holding hands while shopping. He believes in the kind of love that continues through everyday frustration and life's downward swings, and the realization that the person you love isn't perfect at all. It's the kind of love he still sees in his parents - quiet, enduring, and unglamorous.
"What do you think love is?" the reporter asks, and Aiba taps the table. He's answered this question a million times, but he's never really had an honest answer before. Even now, it sounds like a jumbled mess in his head, but the answer is perfectly clear in his heart.
It's probably best to go with what he knows.
Aiba has been dozing, drifting in and out of dreams between the haze of photoshoots and taking medicine to stem the gunky, thick congestion that feels like it has claimed his nose and throat for its own. He feels miserable and achy and the strong air conditioning in their break room is giving him a headache - but it's the middle of a sunbaked, wet July, he can't trouble anyone else by asking to have it turned off.
He wants his bed, his pillows, and some hot tea with honey and lemon like his mom always made him. The one couch in the break room is uncomfortably lumpy, and he's taking up most of it by himself, but he can still hear the faint ping of the DS from where Nino is squashed into the far corner, immersed in his new game.
The clatter of keys on the table in front of him startles Aiba into full wakefulness. He opens his eyes groggily to see Jun opening a bottle of water, his bangs clipped back from his face.
"My place is only a few blocks from here." Jun takes a delicate sip of water. "They're not going to call for your shots until an hour after lunch or so. Go get some rest. I can text you when they're getting ready for you."
He turns and leaves the room before Aiba can say a word, or even croak his thanks. The keys feel heavy in his hand, solid and sharp. Aiba closes his hand around them, and realizes belatedly that Nino is watching him.
"Well," Nino says lightly, expression inscrutable, "It's serious now, huh?"
Jun's apartment is close enough to walk to, but their driver insists on taking Aiba in the van.
Aiba is grateful - by the time he reaches the door of Jun's apartment, his legs feel like rubber, sticky with sweat. He fumbles with the keys, feeling palpable relief as the lock clicks open.
Jun's apartment is wider and more spacious than Aiba's. His bathroom is clean, and there are fluffy white towels and medicine stacked next to the tub, as though Jun had somehow planned this - did he? Aiba wonders about this while sinking into the tub, letting the warm water soothe his aches. It was possible.
He's been in Jun's bed before, but he's always been - well, too busy to fully appreciate it. Jun's pillows are feather-soft and plush beneath his cheek, the summer quilt light against his overheated skin. Warm afternoon air flows in through the open bedroom window, along with the muted bustle of the streets below.
Aiba sleeps, and sleeps.
Some eternity later, he hears the lock to the front door click open, but doesn't even process it until the mattress dips next to him, a cool hand touching his forehead gently.
"Masaki?"
"Mm," Aiba tilts his face into Jun's hand. "S'time?" The room seems a lot darker somehow.
"Tomorrow," Jun says, his fingers combing through Aiba's hair. "During a break for the PV shooting. It's going to be pretty busy for you, sorry."
Panic rushes through Aiba, and he scrambles upright, nearly dislodging Jun. "I can't - " The moon is already rising outside the window. His tongue feels thick and gross in his own mouth, his chest rattling as he tries to speak. He can imagine Jun bowing his head for him, taking the blame -
"You'll just be a nuisance to everyone like this," Jun says firmly. He tugs Aiba back down onto the bed. "You can't do anything now but rest and get better." He hands Aiba a steaming cup that had been set on the nightstand.
Aiba takes a sip and nearly gags. It tastes like cat pee and rotten mangoes mixed with moldy tree bark. "Thank you," he wheezes.
Jun smiles, and then he's leaning forward, kissing Aiba slowly. "Feel better." He whispers. "I'll make you some soup, okay?"
His sleep is feverish that night, with deep, wracking coughs and wild dreams - but when he wakes up, Jun is wrapped all around him, his hand fast over Aiba's heart.
Well , Aiba can hear Nino's words in his head. It's serious now, huh?
"It's not," Jun says, and his voice is flat. It carries weakly on the strong wind, rustling red and orange leaves almost obscuring his voice entirely. For a moment, Aiba wonders if he misheard him. "It's not true."
"Really?" Sho sounds skeptical.
Aiba fights to stop shivering - the weather kept changing fast today, and he had ducked out of the building without a coat - but he had to follow them when he saw Jun stroll out of the building and Sho follow him with an air of purpose.
But there's something about Jun's words that make him feel even colder, like he's swimming in ice water and it's too hard to breathe.
"I don't care, you know," Sho says, and he sounds earnest, not angry. "Whatever's going on between you and Aiba - I'm not judging you or telling you what to do. But I'm worried."
He can't see Jun's face, just a side profile. Jun's rolling a lit cigarette between his fingers, letting it burn as he weighs his reply to Sho's words. If he could just see his face - Aiba leans out a little further around the door frame he's hiding in, and grimaces as he steps on a soggy cardboard box.
"Well, you shouldn't worry," Jun says. His tone is bright, but it sounds forced. "Stop listening to Nino, he's just trying to wind you up."
The door behind Aiba cracks open a little, soundlessly, and Aiba jumps a foot in the air. Nino's face peeks around the door. His lips purse at the sight of Aiba huddled against the door frame, paper-thin white shirt flapping in the January wind.
"Idiot," Nino whispers, "Get out of the cold."
There's a strange sympathy in Nino's eyes, and Aiba lets him lead him back in by the hand. He wonders if this wasn't all Nino's way of trying to resolve things.
Jun comes over two nights later, and Aiba is jittery, trying to squash the questions that flap around his mind like panicked moths, threatening to spill out of his mouth.
Why did you lie to Sho-chan? Why did you say - ?
Was it for my sake? Did you think …
Is that really how you feel?
"I'll take a shower," Jun says casually. He hangs up his jacket and bag in Aiba's closet, neatly rearranges his shoes in the entrance space. Somehow, that pisses Aiba off even more. Jun - so neat, so precise and polished, so considerate.
Normally, Aiba will join Jun in the shower, and Jun will press him against the steam-heated tiles, his body sinking against Aiba like a hot stone, steady warmth and pressure. It's those moments that Aiba loves best, especially when he's waited for days and days for them to find a time to be together. They're so busy, these days.
Tonight, he stays on the couch, where he's been slumped for a few hours already. There's a beer open on the coffee table, and a baseball game on the television, but his heart isn't in it. He winds the sleeves of his shirt over his fingers, scrunching his hands into fists and tucking his legs under his body until he's curled up in the corner of the couch. The apartment is still and quiet, aside from the faint drumming of rushing water in the bathroom.
He can choose, can't he? He can pretend that he never heard. If he does, can they still have this?
Deep down, Aiba knows that it isn't the same.
"Masaki?" Jun's hair is dripping wet, slicked back around his ears. He's got a towel tucked around his waist, and Aiba can feel his body react in spite of itself, like a machine growling its way to life. "It's late."
They can't just say things clearly, both of them. It's a well-developed code of evasive and nonchalant little phrases that they use almost unconsciously. Aiba can say Can I come over to check out your new vacuum? I was thinking of getting one like it or There's a new Indian restaurant near my place, I think you'll like it - but he won't say Can I stay with you tonight?. Or I want to fuck you so badly, or I love you.
That's the dangerous one. That's the one they're never meant to say.
Aiba uncurls himself, slowly stands and walks towards where Jun is standing in the entrance to the bedroom. Perversely, he knows that he's doing this partly because he's made up his mind to find out. He can't forget or act normal. He wants Jun to see him low-tension, to wonder and to ask. He can't initiate it, but he can wait.
"You're so strange tonight," Jun says, and he waits until they're in the dark of Aiba's bedroom before his hands fly out to touch Aiba, stopping Aiba in his tracks and turning him towards him. He smoothes his fingers over Aiba's forehead, the steep curve of Aiba's cheeks. Aiba holds his breath, hands unconsciously reaching for Jun, gripping the thick cotton of the towel wrapped around his waist.
He can barely see Jun's features, just the momentary glimmer of his eyes as they catch the streetlights that flicker through cracks in his curtains. "I'm fine. Long day." There, a lie for both of them. They're even now.
Jun leans forward, kissing Aiba. It's so slow, and warm - not a prelude to sex, nothing rushed or uncontrolled. It's meant to soothe, to warm. Aiba lets his hands slip to Jun's back, clinging.
"Matsujun," he says raggedly, when they finally pull apart. This is only making things worse, but Aiba is too far gone to care.
Jun traces the line of Aiba's throat with his lips, running his hands under the thin cotton of Aiba's sweater. "I can do anything," he promises.
Aiba lifts up his arms, lets Jun slide the sweater off and sling it on a nearby chair. Jun steps closer until Aiba can feel the thud of Jun's heart against his own skin. Why?, he can't help but think, with an aching sadness. You need this too, don't you?
"I didn't mean to," Nino says, and Aiba startles, only then realizing that he had been staring into space.
"What?"
Nino's mouth is a thin line. "I thought he would tell the truth." He tears open a package of onion crackers that had been sitting on the break room table between them, shoves them towards Aiba. A peace offering, like they're still twelve and Nino had borrowed his Mario game without asking.
Aiba's heart crumples. He can't hate Nino for this, as much as he wants to. "But you weren't sure. That's why you told Sho to ask." He pauses, taking a cracker out the package.
Nino's eyes are sharp, and Aiba knows, suddenly, that Nino has been in his position, too. He knows exactly how much it hurts.
"It's better to know," Nino says. "Either way. Isn't it?"
Aiba's breaths come fast and ragged as Jun sucks his cock, kneeling over Aiba as he sits pushed up against the headboard, hands gripped fast into the sheets. Jun's tongue slides slowly up Aiba's length, mouthing the tip, eyelashes fluttered shut. Aiba tips his head back against the hard wood of the headboard, feeling himself on the edge.
"Jun," Aiba moans.
"Mm?" Jun's mouth is still wrapped around his cock, so Aiba feels more than hears his reply.
"Fuck me?" Jun's eyes flicker open and catch his. Aiba's never asked for this - neither of them ever ask. It's just an extended game of give-and-take, vague mental tallies and never, ever talking about it. Aiba holds his breath as Jun watches him.
Jun's mouth slides off him, and Jun wipes at his mouth, licking at his lips to catch the last of Aiba's taste.
"Yeah," Jun says, his voice gravelly, deeper than usual. "Yeah, all right."
Sho buys him ramen for dinner, and Aiba doesn't think anything unusual of it - they do this at least once a week - until he realizes that Sho hasn't teased him about paying for his third and fourth bowl.
"You and Matsujun," Sho says, after they leave the shop and are trudging towards the main street together, the snow lightly falling around them. "Is something happening between you two?"
The same question that he had asked Jun earlier that day. Aiba isn't sure if it's anger or sadness, or the wild cold that is keeping everyone else off the streets, making it feel like they're the only ones in the world tonight - that makes him want to answer honestly. If Jun did, then so can he.
But Aiba doesn't have an answer. He doesn't know what they are anymore.
"I'm tired," he chokes out, and finds himself shamefully close to tears.
Sho looks alarmed. "I'll get you a taxi," he says. "It's okay."
"Are you really okay?" Jun says, breath hot against Aiba's ear. He's buried deep inside Aiba, still for a moment. He's lazily stroking Aiba's cock, fingers slickened with Aiba's pre-come.
"About what?" Aiba manages. He's sweating all over, flame-hot with Jun's body joined to his in every way possible. It feels amazingly good.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."Aiba shifts, and Jun catches his breath in a gasp as the position drives him deeper into Aiba. It only takes a few thrusts, Aiba clinging on desperately as Jun drives into him, slowly losing his carefully-built control.
They were young, so young. It was Aiba who had reached out first, acting purely on instinct.
Aiba's lips had barely touched his, and Jun was already trembling like a leaf, his hands shaking as they rested on Aiba's hips, fingers tangling in the worn softness of Aiba's t-shirt.
"Don’t," Jun said, even though there's no weight to his words, his body already tilting into Aiba. "We can't -"
"Can't we?" Aiba murmured. "There aren't any rules, Matsujun."
"Of course there are." Jun's heart thudded wildly under Aiba's hand. "Don't be stupid."
"Maybe," Aiba said, other hand reaching out to smooth Jun's hair behind his ear. "But don't we make them ourselves?"
The cloth is too wet, and Jun accidentally drips water all over Aiba's sheets in an attempt to clean them both up. "Sorry,” Jun says, leaning over the wet spot to clean off Aiba. "My bad."
"It's nothing," Aiba says, and the force of his own words hangs in an unsteady silence between them. Jun keeps wiping up, but his movements are awkward and mechanical. They're both thinking about the same thing.
"I heard you talking to Sho yesterday." It's a relief to say it. He watches Jun as he brings the cloth back to the bathroom, silhouetted for a moment in the light of the doorway.
Jun turns around. With the light behind him, his face is in shadow. "Masaki." He crosses back to the bedroom, but hesitates from getting into the bed. He stands at the end, arms crossed. "I'm sorry."
Aiba crawls up onto his knees. "You don't have to apologize." He can't look at Jun. "You can think about this any way you want."
"I don't think that way, though," Jun says fiercely. His voice cracks with intensity. "It was a mistake."
Aiba shakes his head. "Mistakes happen when you don't think about things."
"What am I supposed to say?" Jun says, voice rising. "I panicked. I thought - you wouldn't want people to know. I didn't know if you were - "
Aiba can't take this. "It's all right." Nino was right - it was better to know that things like this couldn't last. They can't keep fooling each other.
"No, it isn't," Jun says. He sits down on the bed, just on the edge, and Aiba can see that he's shaking. "I'm serious - about this," he says, his voice unsteady. "But I don't know how you feel."
"Serious?" Aiba takes a moment to absorb the impact of Jun's words. "You really are?"
Jun looks down at his hands. "Like I said - I had no place telling him without knowing how you felt. If it was just me being selfish, I might have made trouble for you."
"When you told him," Aiba says finally, it hurt, he thinks, but he can't let Jun feel even more guilty. He's not that cruel. "I didn't think about it before that. When it was just us - I didn't have to think about it."
"You see?" Jun says, and he sounds tired. "That's it."
This time, the silence isn’t as tense. Aiba scoots closer to Jun on the bed, until their sides are touching, their feet dangling off the edge together. "I'm serious, too," he confesses. "I like this. Us."
Jun's hand finds his, and the instant their fingers tangle together, Aiba feels grounded again. "Really?"
"Yeah. Really." Aiba hasn't felt this nervous in a long time. Saying this - it means something. It's something he's afraid to lose, or get wrong.
"Well," Jun says, and there's a barely controlled excitement in his voice, an almost palatable relief that Aiba feels, too. "I guess I'll have to go tell Sho I was wrong."
Aiba feels warmth all through their joined fingers. "Let's sleep for now."
It feels good, it feels right, letting himself curl up against Jun and drift to sleep with no questions left to choke off the space between them.
"Love," Aiba says finally, "Is when someone else's happiness comes first."
"I said that in the last Orista," Nino says from over on the couch. "Get original."
"I said it with more emotion," Aiba retorts.
"I made it sound more romantic," Nino says. "But I'll let you borrow it this time. No copyright issues or anything. I'm generous like that."
"Can we - ?" The reporter asks tentatively.
FIN
cross-posted to kotobayori