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Jin realises the nausea is coming with barely time enough to franctically motion Kame for the washbin they keep around just in case. He clutches it with white, shaking hands as he throws up, barely aware of the way Kame’s hands are firm and soothing on his back. Jin sighs tiredly when he’s done and leans against his cushions again; he lets Kame wipe around his mouth with a wet tissue and rests his head on Kame’s shoulder when Kame climbs into bed with him. The nurse comes in to take away the washbin and replace it with a clean one. She checks on Jin’s IV and asks him if he needs anything, but she doesn’t comment on the way Kame holds Jin close to his body.
Kame’s fingers brushing over his head felt weird at first, but not anymore, even though Jin thinks Kame misses Jin’s hair. He misses it too, sometimes, but on times like this the chemicals make him dizzy enough to forget about everything that’s not the solid comfort of Kame’s shoulder under his cheeck, firm and unwavering even when the rest of Jin’s word blurries and seems to escape the grasp of his mind. On days like this Jin’s glad it’s not his mother or Reio or Ryo or Pi or even Yumi-chan with him, because on days like this Jin feels tired and sick and defeated and like all he wants to do is cry himself to sleep, and can’t do that to anyone of them. There was a time Jin wouldn’t have felt confortable letting his defenses down like that in front of Kame either, and not so long ago.
Jin doesn’t know how the distance has closed between them in such a short time, but he doesn’t really care on days like this, because Kame’s hands are firm and strong and tender and soothing and all Jin needs, when they close around his and squeeze soflty. On days like this, when the chemicals are making Jin headachy and nauseous and dizzy and he feels like a trembling leave that could get carried away by the slightlest breeze, Jin only wants someone stronger than him to support him and hold him and tell him it’ll be alright like they believe it. And Kame always does just that.
Jin scratches his hair carefully and leans in closer to his laptop’s screen, trying to figure out the details of the picture. He ends up closing it because it makes him blush and really, it’s a bit ridiculous. Jin should be past feeling ashamed at watching pornography on his computer, and this is not even pornography anyway. This is… Well, Jin thinks with a little frown, he’s not all that sure anymore.
Kame’s more than a bit surprised to find Jin in a baseball attire he doesn’t remember Jin owning when he finally arrives home. He toes his shoes off while giving Jin a weird look.
“What are you doing dressed like that?”
Jin squirms nervously on the couch, and Kame’s frown gets even more confused when he sees a bottle of lube peeking from behind Jin.
“Well… I thought you could teach me some baseball?”
“Since when are you even interested in baseball, Jin?” Kame laughs. “What do you want to learn anyway?”
Jin beams at him. “How about we start with stretching techniques?”
Kame really wishes he knew what all this is about.
Kamenashi Kazuya stands tall and proud in his ceremonial uniform, white and golden and perfect.
The bright sun shines brightly on the epaulettes on his shoulders and the big coat of arms on his cap and all he can do is try to shield his eyes with a gloved hand when he brings it up in a firm salute to the Marshal of the Intergalactical Air Force. He squared his shoulders and puffed his chest, feeling the ornamental band stretch across it. He stood firm and proud, not a mar, not a flaw, the perfect image of a proud army: Squadron Leader Kamenashi Kazuya, renowed for his recent feat of preventing the sun from burn down with only a small, unprepared fleet.
As the Marshal lists his merits with a voice that makes the ground shake and congratulates him in his promotion to Wing Commander, Kazuya’s eyes lock with Jin’s, standing behind with the rest of the aircraftmen in an old uniform, ragged and dirty with oil and blood. Jin, with his bandaged ear and his arm in a sling, smirking at him through the crowd with fiery eyes that seem to scream to the proud Wing Commander that he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Jin, anonymous and forgotten like a pawn in a chess game.
Kazuya hates the way those eyes stay burnt in his mind even as he bows to the Marshal and steps forward to take his medal and the symbolic sword.
Most of all he hates to know it’s true.
Hayato doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the noise of the metal bar slamming against Ryu’s back, and the scream that follows it. It took him a while to realize it was his own voice, because Ryu didn’t even make a noise. His whole body relaxed into the ground as the sounds of the fight died around them and rushed steps came into the warehouse, Yankumi’s voice calling for them just a second too late. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the long days by the hospital bed waiting for Ryu to wake up, the long weeks of tests, the unending months of rehabilitation. Doctors tell them Ryu’s lucky to still be able to move his arms and head, that walking again would be a miracle at least.
Ryu’s hands clutch Hayato’s arms tightly as he slumps against his friend, sighing tiredly. His wheelchair stands behind them, next to a bench in the park.
Today Ryu walked over 100 metres all by himself.
At seventeen years old, Kame had always thought being in a gang would be more exciting, but all they do is mostly a lot of hanging around in abandoned dirty places and illegaly drinking and smoking in between fights that leave him sore for weeks and get him kicked out of his jobs. The good thing, he supposes, is that he gets to meet Akanishi and the way Akanishi’s eyes burn with lust whenever Kame lightly drags his pocket knife against Akanishi’s throat and down his chest, leaving a trail of red.
Written by: soypelusa #Eww my gross sobbing of want is off putting to everybody in the vicinity of where I am right now
The working uniform is not as glamorous as the ceremonial one, but grey and dull like the sky over Kazuya’s head. The Intergalactical Aerial Base looks quite normal on days like these, when there is no sun to shine over the metallic ships, still on their tracks like sleeping monsters. Even the silver badge with the wings that denotes his rank on Kazuya’s chest seems dull and old.
“Akanishi.”
There are a few exchanged glances, a few whispers as Akanishi straightens up and jumps off the wing of his ship. He wipes dirty hands on his dirty overalls and brings two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. Kazuya is glad to see both the bandage and the sling are gone.
“Yo.”
Kazuya glares and fights a blush at the aircraftman mocking, sees the other pilots around them looking their way. Kazuya crosses his arms behind his back, straightens as much as he can and squares his shoulders.
“You will address me with due respect, Aircraftman Akanishi. Don’t forget with whom you’re speaking.”
Akanishi looks at him for a moment and Kazuya doesn’t know if there’s anger in his eyes, anger and surprise and maybe amusement, but finally the man bows his head.
“Yes, Wing Commander Kamenashi. At your orders, sir.”
Akanishi’s eyes look up at him from beneath his fringe and the aircrafman smirks at him; he’s telling Kazuya he shouldn’t forget who he’s speaking with either.
in thinks this is all stupid. Prince Kamenashi Kazuya, the Marshal announces with his booming voice, and the prince stands stiff and serious in his ceremonial uniform, perfect and shiny and feeling so brave and responsible, Jin figures, with his medals shining on his chest when he has done nothing to earn them. He salutes at the troops and Jin rolls his eyes, anonymous in the crowd of privates and corporals dressed in dull uniforms. For a moment Jin thinks Kamenashi’s scanning eyes lock with his, and he takes the chance to smirk mockingly. The prince must feel so brave and proud, joining the army to fill in expectations and getting straight in with a commander rank, but Jin knows better and little prince in shiny uniforms with toy swords can suck his dick. Literally, Jin mentally adds as his eye fall on Kamenashi’s seductive lips.
He’s beautiful. Kame doesn’t know if he should even be referring to the adroid as a he, because it’s an android after all, but its form is obviously male and he’s so beautiful, encased behind a crystal wall as to display him. Kame knows the barrier is in fact to protect the android, of maybe the men who work on him, but he doesn’t care. He can’t tear his eyes apart from the flawless face, soft skin and silky hair and plump lips. He’s so beautiful. He looks so sad. Kame wonders if he wants out, or what even androids think about.
He’s running out of time and it’s probably the most irresponsible idea he has had in all his career, but he has already stolen what he came for. He can do it, if he moves fast. His fingers fly over the keyboard, a mad tic-tac as he types furiously to break the security codes. The glass wall parts without a sound, and the android’s eyes slowly open.
“My name is Akanishi Jin. How can I serve you?” His first words are a reflex, automatic; he says them before his eyes are even fully open. After that he takes a second to look around, at the lack of the usual people and the man standing in front of him, staring.
“You’re not…”
“Come with me.” Kame wraps his fingers around Jin’s wrist and the skin in soft and warm, nothing like Kame had imagined it to be; the feeling sends a tingling through his fingertips.
Jin looks even more beautiful when he smiles.
Kame’s fingers brushing over his head felt weird at first, but not anymore, even though Jin thinks Kame misses Jin’s hair. He misses it too, sometimes, but on times like this the chemicals make him dizzy enough to forget about everything that’s not the solid comfort of Kame’s shoulder under his cheeck, firm and unwavering even when the rest of Jin’s word blurries and seems to escape the grasp of his mind. On days like this Jin’s glad it’s not his mother or Reio or Ryo or Pi or even Yumi-chan with him, because on days like this Jin feels tired and sick and defeated and like all he wants to do is cry himself to sleep, and can’t do that to anyone of them. There was a time Jin wouldn’t have felt confortable letting his defenses down like that in front of Kame either, and not so long ago.
Jin doesn’t know how the distance has closed between them in such a short time, but he doesn’t really care on days like this, because Kame’s hands are firm and strong and tender and soothing and all Jin needs, when they close around his and squeeze soflty. On days like this, when the chemicals are making Jin headachy and nauseous and dizzy and he feels like a trembling leave that could get carried away by the slightlest breeze, Jin only wants someone stronger than him to support him and hold him and tell him it’ll be alright like they believe it. And Kame always does just that.
Jin scratches his hair carefully and leans in closer to his laptop’s screen, trying to figure out the details of the picture. He ends up closing it because it makes him blush and really, it’s a bit ridiculous. Jin should be past feeling ashamed at watching pornography on his computer, and this is not even pornography anyway. This is… Well, Jin thinks with a little frown, he’s not all that sure anymore.
Kame’s more than a bit surprised to find Jin in a baseball attire he doesn’t remember Jin owning when he finally arrives home. He toes his shoes off while giving Jin a weird look.
“What are you doing dressed like that?”
Jin squirms nervously on the couch, and Kame’s frown gets even more confused when he sees a bottle of lube peeking from behind Jin.
“Well… I thought you could teach me some baseball?”
“Since when are you even interested in baseball, Jin?” Kame laughs. “What do you want to learn anyway?”
Jin beams at him. “How about we start with stretching techniques?”
Kame really wishes he knew what all this is about.
Kamenashi Kazuya stands tall and proud in his ceremonial uniform, white and golden and perfect.
The bright sun shines brightly on the epaulettes on his shoulders and the big coat of arms on his cap and all he can do is try to shield his eyes with a gloved hand when he brings it up in a firm salute to the Marshal of the Intergalactical Air Force. He squared his shoulders and puffed his chest, feeling the ornamental band stretch across it. He stood firm and proud, not a mar, not a flaw, the perfect image of a proud army: Squadron Leader Kamenashi Kazuya, renowed for his recent feat of preventing the sun from burn down with only a small, unprepared fleet.
As the Marshal lists his merits with a voice that makes the ground shake and congratulates him in his promotion to Wing Commander, Kazuya’s eyes lock with Jin’s, standing behind with the rest of the aircraftmen in an old uniform, ragged and dirty with oil and blood. Jin, with his bandaged ear and his arm in a sling, smirking at him through the crowd with fiery eyes that seem to scream to the proud Wing Commander that he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Jin, anonymous and forgotten like a pawn in a chess game.
Kazuya hates the way those eyes stay burnt in his mind even as he bows to the Marshal and steps forward to take his medal and the symbolic sword.
Most of all he hates to know it’s true.
Hayato doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the noise of the metal bar slamming against Ryu’s back, and the scream that follows it. It took him a while to realize it was his own voice, because Ryu didn’t even make a noise. His whole body relaxed into the ground as the sounds of the fight died around them and rushed steps came into the warehouse, Yankumi’s voice calling for them just a second too late. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the long days by the hospital bed waiting for Ryu to wake up, the long weeks of tests, the unending months of rehabilitation. Doctors tell them Ryu’s lucky to still be able to move his arms and head, that walking again would be a miracle at least.
Ryu’s hands clutch Hayato’s arms tightly as he slumps against his friend, sighing tiredly. His wheelchair stands behind them, next to a bench in the park.
Today Ryu walked over 100 metres all by himself.
At seventeen years old, Kame had always thought being in a gang would be more exciting, but all they do is mostly a lot of hanging around in abandoned dirty places and illegaly drinking and smoking in between fights that leave him sore for weeks and get him kicked out of his jobs. The good thing, he supposes, is that he gets to meet Akanishi and the way Akanishi’s eyes burn with lust whenever Kame lightly drags his pocket knife against Akanishi’s throat and down his chest, leaving a trail of red.
Written by: soypelusa #Eww my gross sobbing of want is off putting to everybody in the vicinity of where I am right now
The working uniform is not as glamorous as the ceremonial one, but grey and dull like the sky over Kazuya’s head. The Intergalactical Aerial Base looks quite normal on days like these, when there is no sun to shine over the metallic ships, still on their tracks like sleeping monsters. Even the silver badge with the wings that denotes his rank on Kazuya’s chest seems dull and old.
“Akanishi.”
There are a few exchanged glances, a few whispers as Akanishi straightens up and jumps off the wing of his ship. He wipes dirty hands on his dirty overalls and brings two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. Kazuya is glad to see both the bandage and the sling are gone.
“Yo.”
Kazuya glares and fights a blush at the aircraftman mocking, sees the other pilots around them looking their way. Kazuya crosses his arms behind his back, straightens as much as he can and squares his shoulders.
“You will address me with due respect, Aircraftman Akanishi. Don’t forget with whom you’re speaking.”
Akanishi looks at him for a moment and Kazuya doesn’t know if there’s anger in his eyes, anger and surprise and maybe amusement, but finally the man bows his head.
“Yes, Wing Commander Kamenashi. At your orders, sir.”
Akanishi’s eyes look up at him from beneath his fringe and the aircrafman smirks at him; he’s telling Kazuya he shouldn’t forget who he’s speaking with either.
in thinks this is all stupid. Prince Kamenashi Kazuya, the Marshal announces with his booming voice, and the prince stands stiff and serious in his ceremonial uniform, perfect and shiny and feeling so brave and responsible, Jin figures, with his medals shining on his chest when he has done nothing to earn them. He salutes at the troops and Jin rolls his eyes, anonymous in the crowd of privates and corporals dressed in dull uniforms. For a moment Jin thinks Kamenashi’s scanning eyes lock with his, and he takes the chance to smirk mockingly. The prince must feel so brave and proud, joining the army to fill in expectations and getting straight in with a commander rank, but Jin knows better and little prince in shiny uniforms with toy swords can suck his dick. Literally, Jin mentally adds as his eye fall on Kamenashi’s seductive lips.
He’s beautiful. Kame doesn’t know if he should even be referring to the adroid as a he, because it’s an android after all, but its form is obviously male and he’s so beautiful, encased behind a crystal wall as to display him. Kame knows the barrier is in fact to protect the android, of maybe the men who work on him, but he doesn’t care. He can’t tear his eyes apart from the flawless face, soft skin and silky hair and plump lips. He’s so beautiful. He looks so sad. Kame wonders if he wants out, or what even androids think about.
He’s running out of time and it’s probably the most irresponsible idea he has had in all his career, but he has already stolen what he came for. He can do it, if he moves fast. His fingers fly over the keyboard, a mad tic-tac as he types furiously to break the security codes. The glass wall parts without a sound, and the android’s eyes slowly open.
“My name is Akanishi Jin. How can I serve you?” His first words are a reflex, automatic; he says them before his eyes are even fully open. After that he takes a second to look around, at the lack of the usual people and the man standing in front of him, staring.
“You’re not…”
“Come with me.” Kame wraps his fingers around Jin’s wrist and the skin in soft and warm, nothing like Kame had imagined it to be; the feeling sends a tingling through his fingertips.
Jin looks even more beautiful when he smiles.