Staring (drabble-ish)
Title: Staring
Theme: #5 Butt
Fandom: Alice Nine
Pairing: Saga/Shou
Genre: Fluff
Rating: PG
The studio was, as it often could be found during the morning hours before rehearsal, busy and loud.
Tora was standing over by the soundboard, oversized headphones crooked on his head and covering only one ear. He kept yelling at Shou to come over and listen to a recording from the day before, and each time the vocalist responded with an impossibly sunny “Yes!” before being sidetracked by Nao, who was fretting about a drum line he couldn’t get just right.
“Duh-da da-da, duh-da da-da,” Nao was saying, hands in fists around imaginary drumsticks, his eyebrows furrowed. “Does that fit, do you think? I dunno if it sounds right or not, maybe if…”
“The volume is absolute shit, you know?” in referring to their new amplifiers, which had only arrived that morning, Hiroto was much less than thrilled. Saga could tell because the small guitarist was usually excited about most things, and able to overlook small and trite imperfections. He was highly dissatisfied with the amps, which had boasted crystal clear sound. Clear didn’t count for jack, according to Hiroto, when you couldn’t even hear the music.
They were standing by the window, which was open so they could hold their cigarettes outside and blow smoke out into the city instead of into the room, which bothered Shou. The noise from cars and trucks several stories below clattered up, breaks and poor mufflers and the occasional honk or swear, and thumping deep bass lines from hip hop songs rattling the pavement as sports cars drove past with music blasting.
Saga flicked his thumb against the end of his cigarette, and ashes fell into the small lawn that circled the bottom of their building. Hiroto said, “What can we even do about it? Can you return an order like that? Give them to one of the younger bands? That’d be cruel, though, amps that bad should be left at the bottom of the ocean.”
Of course Hiroto would care more about getting rid of the foul equipment than shoving it off on someone else, even if it was a waste of company money. It was just his way; Saga was well used to his level-headed brand of irrationality.
“Shou! Shou, get over here!”
“Coming!”
Saga glanced back towards the other side of the room, to see that the vocalist had finally managed to pull himself away from conversation with Nao. Their leader was now tapping his drumsticks against a table and shaking his head to himself.
Shou noticed Saga watching him, and gave the bassist a quick, harried smile while he crossed the room to stand beside Tora. “What’m I listening to?” Saga heard him ask.
While he was still staring at the back of Shou’s head, he saw the man reach a hand behind his back and under the hem of his shirt, scratching at some itch, Saga assumed. Shou then tugged his t-shirt further down, and smoothed his hand over the back of his jeans and across his thighs in an unconscious gesture.
The clamor of traffic down on the street below seemed muted, somehow, like the window had been closed, which it hadn’t, since Saga’s arm was still resting outside on the sill. Shou accepted the headphones from Tora, seconds later nodding his head to keep time. The motion trickled through his whole body, shoulders dipping gently and hips swaying from one side to the other.
“Uh-huh,” Saga said, when it seemed that Hiroto was pausing for his input. The small guitarist continued, but his voice was all petulant and sulky. What had his panties in knots? Saga wondered distantly. Oh, right, the amps. He leaned to the side, to better see around Hiroto at the pair on the other side of the room.
Shou pulled off the headphones, nodding and smiling, then raised a hand to cover his mouth while he laughed at something Tora said. When the vocalist turned and Saga could no longer see his face, his gaze drifted down until it was parallel to the hand Shou left resting against his hip. The jeans he wore were a faded grayish blue, and they were loose on his legs but fitted in all the right places across his rear end.
“Shou-kun’s got a great ass, huh?”
Saga coughed, choking around the smoke from his cigarette. He jerked his eyes quickly to Hiroto and asked, “What did you say?”
Hiroto was glaring at him and scowling. “I asked what the hell are you staring at? I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and all you do is go uh-huh, uh-huh!” Hiroto pulled his cigarette inside and stubbed it out against an ash tray set atop a nearby amplifier. “I know you aren’t always the most focused person, Saga,” and here the shorter man pulled a face that suggested how very much he was understating, “but can’t you even keep up one short conversation without getting distracted by…”
He turned to see what it was over his shoulder that had been holding the bassist’s attention, and finished skeptically, “Shou?”
“Yes?” The tall man looked towards them, lips parted a fraction and eyes wide, curious. Saga forgot what Hiroto had been complaining about.
“You making funny faces at Saga, or something?” Shou shrank into himself (quite a feat because of his height, but somehow Shou managed), chagrined simply by Hiroto’s accusing tone. He sent a questioning glance towards Saga, then shook his head.
“M-my face is funny?” he mumbled.
“I wasn’t staring at Shou,” Saga grumbled, sounding a bit more flustered than he liked. It was kind of true, anyway, at least he hadn’t been staring at Shou’s face.
The vocalist was looking self conscious, and now Tora was observing the exchange, expression stuck between amusement and impatience.
Hiroto scoffed loudly and overdramatically. “Oh, really? Then what were you staring at? Did a leprechaun suddenly appear in the middle of the room and do a jig before poofing off to fairyland?” Because simply saying the words wasn’t enough, Hiroto tucked his arms against his chest, hands curled into fists, and suddenly spread his fingers to indicate the poofing.
There was a distinct high pitched laugh; Saga hadn’t realized Nao was listening, too. “Actually,” their leader interrupted thoughtfully, “That sounds a bit like Saga’s excuse for coming into practice late yesterday, doesn’t it?”
“No, no,” that was Tora. Saga still couldn’t tell if he was more annoyed or amused by the conversation. “It was a wood nymph, right? Like Totoro? It delayed traffic and that’s why Saga’s taxi took so long driving to the studio.”
Nao laughed again, and Shou smiled uncertainly. Saga had to fight the urge to defend his wounded pride (it really hadn't been his fault that he was late yesterday, the cabby had been mostly blind and nearing eighty); but Hiroto was laughing at the comment and not badgering him, and since he wasn’t willing to admit that he’d been staring at Shou’s -- well, he thought it would be best if he just bit his tongue and let it go. For now.
Notes: Not much to it, I just really needed to post something, and how about a start to that theme set I claimed in, like, June? D: Lately I just can't seem to find my muses, they snuck off somewhere I guess. Probably taking a break from all the OT5 orgy planning I've been subjecting them too. =3=
Theme: #5 Butt
Fandom: Alice Nine
Pairing: Saga/Shou
Genre: Fluff
Rating: PG
The studio was, as it often could be found during the morning hours before rehearsal, busy and loud.
Tora was standing over by the soundboard, oversized headphones crooked on his head and covering only one ear. He kept yelling at Shou to come over and listen to a recording from the day before, and each time the vocalist responded with an impossibly sunny “Yes!” before being sidetracked by Nao, who was fretting about a drum line he couldn’t get just right.
“Duh-da da-da, duh-da da-da,” Nao was saying, hands in fists around imaginary drumsticks, his eyebrows furrowed. “Does that fit, do you think? I dunno if it sounds right or not, maybe if…”
“The volume is absolute shit, you know?” in referring to their new amplifiers, which had only arrived that morning, Hiroto was much less than thrilled. Saga could tell because the small guitarist was usually excited about most things, and able to overlook small and trite imperfections. He was highly dissatisfied with the amps, which had boasted crystal clear sound. Clear didn’t count for jack, according to Hiroto, when you couldn’t even hear the music.
They were standing by the window, which was open so they could hold their cigarettes outside and blow smoke out into the city instead of into the room, which bothered Shou. The noise from cars and trucks several stories below clattered up, breaks and poor mufflers and the occasional honk or swear, and thumping deep bass lines from hip hop songs rattling the pavement as sports cars drove past with music blasting.
Saga flicked his thumb against the end of his cigarette, and ashes fell into the small lawn that circled the bottom of their building. Hiroto said, “What can we even do about it? Can you return an order like that? Give them to one of the younger bands? That’d be cruel, though, amps that bad should be left at the bottom of the ocean.”
Of course Hiroto would care more about getting rid of the foul equipment than shoving it off on someone else, even if it was a waste of company money. It was just his way; Saga was well used to his level-headed brand of irrationality.
“Shou! Shou, get over here!”
“Coming!”
Saga glanced back towards the other side of the room, to see that the vocalist had finally managed to pull himself away from conversation with Nao. Their leader was now tapping his drumsticks against a table and shaking his head to himself.
Shou noticed Saga watching him, and gave the bassist a quick, harried smile while he crossed the room to stand beside Tora. “What’m I listening to?” Saga heard him ask.
While he was still staring at the back of Shou’s head, he saw the man reach a hand behind his back and under the hem of his shirt, scratching at some itch, Saga assumed. Shou then tugged his t-shirt further down, and smoothed his hand over the back of his jeans and across his thighs in an unconscious gesture.
The clamor of traffic down on the street below seemed muted, somehow, like the window had been closed, which it hadn’t, since Saga’s arm was still resting outside on the sill. Shou accepted the headphones from Tora, seconds later nodding his head to keep time. The motion trickled through his whole body, shoulders dipping gently and hips swaying from one side to the other.
“Uh-huh,” Saga said, when it seemed that Hiroto was pausing for his input. The small guitarist continued, but his voice was all petulant and sulky. What had his panties in knots? Saga wondered distantly. Oh, right, the amps. He leaned to the side, to better see around Hiroto at the pair on the other side of the room.
Shou pulled off the headphones, nodding and smiling, then raised a hand to cover his mouth while he laughed at something Tora said. When the vocalist turned and Saga could no longer see his face, his gaze drifted down until it was parallel to the hand Shou left resting against his hip. The jeans he wore were a faded grayish blue, and they were loose on his legs but fitted in all the right places across his rear end.
“Shou-kun’s got a great ass, huh?”
Saga coughed, choking around the smoke from his cigarette. He jerked his eyes quickly to Hiroto and asked, “What did you say?”
Hiroto was glaring at him and scowling. “I asked what the hell are you staring at? I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and all you do is go uh-huh, uh-huh!” Hiroto pulled his cigarette inside and stubbed it out against an ash tray set atop a nearby amplifier. “I know you aren’t always the most focused person, Saga,” and here the shorter man pulled a face that suggested how very much he was understating, “but can’t you even keep up one short conversation without getting distracted by…”
He turned to see what it was over his shoulder that had been holding the bassist’s attention, and finished skeptically, “Shou?”
“Yes?” The tall man looked towards them, lips parted a fraction and eyes wide, curious. Saga forgot what Hiroto had been complaining about.
“You making funny faces at Saga, or something?” Shou shrank into himself (quite a feat because of his height, but somehow Shou managed), chagrined simply by Hiroto’s accusing tone. He sent a questioning glance towards Saga, then shook his head.
“M-my face is funny?” he mumbled.
“I wasn’t staring at Shou,” Saga grumbled, sounding a bit more flustered than he liked. It was kind of true, anyway, at least he hadn’t been staring at Shou’s face.
The vocalist was looking self conscious, and now Tora was observing the exchange, expression stuck between amusement and impatience.
Hiroto scoffed loudly and overdramatically. “Oh, really? Then what were you staring at? Did a leprechaun suddenly appear in the middle of the room and do a jig before poofing off to fairyland?” Because simply saying the words wasn’t enough, Hiroto tucked his arms against his chest, hands curled into fists, and suddenly spread his fingers to indicate the poofing.
There was a distinct high pitched laugh; Saga hadn’t realized Nao was listening, too. “Actually,” their leader interrupted thoughtfully, “That sounds a bit like Saga’s excuse for coming into practice late yesterday, doesn’t it?”
“No, no,” that was Tora. Saga still couldn’t tell if he was more annoyed or amused by the conversation. “It was a wood nymph, right? Like Totoro? It delayed traffic and that’s why Saga’s taxi took so long driving to the studio.”
Nao laughed again, and Shou smiled uncertainly. Saga had to fight the urge to defend his wounded pride (it really hadn't been his fault that he was late yesterday, the cabby had been mostly blind and nearing eighty); but Hiroto was laughing at the comment and not badgering him, and since he wasn’t willing to admit that he’d been staring at Shou’s -- well, he thought it would be best if he just bit his tongue and let it go. For now.
Notes: Not much to it, I just really needed to post something, and how about a start to that theme set I claimed in, like, June? D: Lately I just can't seem to find my muses, they snuck off somewhere I guess. Probably taking a break from all the OT5 orgy planning I've been subjecting them too. =3=