A ride to home
Title: A ride to home
Pairing: Senga/Kitayama
Rating: G
Word count: 734
A/N: Such a random drabble again. I needed to prove damagea that it's possible to write kitasenga without any bigger difficulties. She sent me a prompt picture and I wrote, so simple. :D (Annikaaaa, kiitos promptista ja rarepairing-koulutus jatkuu! XD ♥)
- - -
“Is your foot okay?” Senga asked Kitayama when they were leaving work and Kitayama limped towards his car while Senga walked next to him with his bike. Kitayama had twisted his ankle fifteen minutes before they had planned finishing the day’s practice.
“Quite okay, yes,” Kitayama said but Senga saw the uncertain look in the man’s eyes as he eyed his car.
“Can you drive?”
“I guess.”
Senga waited next to Kitayama’s car and frowned at the older man’s pained grimace when he tried to press the clutch pedal with his damaged foot.
“You’re not going to drive home by yourself,” Senga pointed out from the open window of Kitayama’s car and the frustrated man rolled his eyes.
“Then who do you think will drive me there? As far as I know you still lack a driving license.”
“I don’t need a driving license when I have this,” Senga said and gently patted the settle of his old bike, “come on, I’ll take you home.”
Kitayama stared at Senga and his bike skeptically.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he finally snorted and Senga frowned.
“I’m not. C’mon, I’ve done this with my friends hundreds of times before. Just make sure you’re properly holding on something and it’s going to be all right. You won’t need to drive and you can come to work by train tomorrow unless,” he added and winked, “you want a ride back on the morning.”
While talking, Senga had already moved his bag from the parcel rack into the basket he had on the front of the bike, and he looked at Kitayama, waiting for the man to move.
“Hurry up,” he said, “give me your bag and climb on the rack.”
“Are you sure it’s okay? Won’t it break?”
“Nah, it’s okay. It has carried much heavier things before. Just come on,” Senga waved his hand and threw his other foot on the pedal.
Finally Kitayama got up from the car, locked the doors and limped to Senga and his bike. He sat on the rack carefully, and searched for something to hold on.
“Okay, I’m ready,” he said and clenched his fingers around the edges of the rack, and Senga kicked the bike in motion.
Senga kept a peaceful speed when driving along the narrow streets of the suburb. Every now and then he glanced behind to see Kitayama who was looking around as if he had never seen the city around him.
“When did you drive a bike the last time?” Senga asked amusedly and Kitayama let out a small laugh.
“I was just wondering the same thing. It’s been ages.”
Senga nodded and smiled at himself.
“Watch out, there’re bumps on the road,” he said when he noticed the sudden danger. In the next moment he had difficulties to breathe as Kitayama swiftly wrapped his arms around his waist.
“I’d still like to get some air,” he gasped when the asphalt was undamaged and safe to drive again.
“Sorry,” Kitayama said sheepishly, “can’t help being over-careful. As a kid, I once hurt myself quite badly when I fell from my bike.”
Senga understood Kitayama’s feeling very well and he nodded, never commenting aloud the fact that Kitayama was still holding on him. He smiled and silently continued driving. It felt nice to have Kitayama’s warm chest pressed against his back.
“Kento,” Kitayama said after a long while, and Senga felt his eyes widen in surprise. Nikaido and Fujigaya tended to call him Kento all the time but for his life he couldn’t remember the last time Kitayama had used his given name.
“Hmm?”
“If it’s not too much of a bother for you,” Kitayama said slowly, “could you take me to work tomorrow morning? This is quite fun a way to move around actually.”
“No problem,” Senga said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.
They didn’t talk much on the rest of the way before Senga dropped Kitayama at his door but the nice warm feeling in Senga’s chest stayed the whole evening, and when Kitayama greeted him with a smile on the same place next morning, his heart jumped a little.
“Your face is red,” Kitayama amusedly pointed out and Senga grinned without a trace of confusion. He calmly blamed the physical effort of driving the bike. Kitayama didn’t need to know the real reason for his red cheeks and shining smile.
Not yet.
- - -
Pairing: Senga/Kitayama
Rating: G
Word count: 734
A/N: Such a random drabble again. I needed to prove damagea that it's possible to write kitasenga without any bigger difficulties. She sent me a prompt picture and I wrote, so simple. :D (Annikaaaa, kiitos promptista ja rarepairing-koulutus jatkuu! XD ♥)
- - -
“Is your foot okay?” Senga asked Kitayama when they were leaving work and Kitayama limped towards his car while Senga walked next to him with his bike. Kitayama had twisted his ankle fifteen minutes before they had planned finishing the day’s practice.
“Quite okay, yes,” Kitayama said but Senga saw the uncertain look in the man’s eyes as he eyed his car.
“Can you drive?”
“I guess.”
Senga waited next to Kitayama’s car and frowned at the older man’s pained grimace when he tried to press the clutch pedal with his damaged foot.
“You’re not going to drive home by yourself,” Senga pointed out from the open window of Kitayama’s car and the frustrated man rolled his eyes.
“Then who do you think will drive me there? As far as I know you still lack a driving license.”
“I don’t need a driving license when I have this,” Senga said and gently patted the settle of his old bike, “come on, I’ll take you home.”
Kitayama stared at Senga and his bike skeptically.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he finally snorted and Senga frowned.
“I’m not. C’mon, I’ve done this with my friends hundreds of times before. Just make sure you’re properly holding on something and it’s going to be all right. You won’t need to drive and you can come to work by train tomorrow unless,” he added and winked, “you want a ride back on the morning.”
While talking, Senga had already moved his bag from the parcel rack into the basket he had on the front of the bike, and he looked at Kitayama, waiting for the man to move.
“Hurry up,” he said, “give me your bag and climb on the rack.”
“Are you sure it’s okay? Won’t it break?”
“Nah, it’s okay. It has carried much heavier things before. Just come on,” Senga waved his hand and threw his other foot on the pedal.
Finally Kitayama got up from the car, locked the doors and limped to Senga and his bike. He sat on the rack carefully, and searched for something to hold on.
“Okay, I’m ready,” he said and clenched his fingers around the edges of the rack, and Senga kicked the bike in motion.
Senga kept a peaceful speed when driving along the narrow streets of the suburb. Every now and then he glanced behind to see Kitayama who was looking around as if he had never seen the city around him.
“When did you drive a bike the last time?” Senga asked amusedly and Kitayama let out a small laugh.
“I was just wondering the same thing. It’s been ages.”
Senga nodded and smiled at himself.
“Watch out, there’re bumps on the road,” he said when he noticed the sudden danger. In the next moment he had difficulties to breathe as Kitayama swiftly wrapped his arms around his waist.
“I’d still like to get some air,” he gasped when the asphalt was undamaged and safe to drive again.
“Sorry,” Kitayama said sheepishly, “can’t help being over-careful. As a kid, I once hurt myself quite badly when I fell from my bike.”
Senga understood Kitayama’s feeling very well and he nodded, never commenting aloud the fact that Kitayama was still holding on him. He smiled and silently continued driving. It felt nice to have Kitayama’s warm chest pressed against his back.
“Kento,” Kitayama said after a long while, and Senga felt his eyes widen in surprise. Nikaido and Fujigaya tended to call him Kento all the time but for his life he couldn’t remember the last time Kitayama had used his given name.
“Hmm?”
“If it’s not too much of a bother for you,” Kitayama said slowly, “could you take me to work tomorrow morning? This is quite fun a way to move around actually.”
“No problem,” Senga said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.
They didn’t talk much on the rest of the way before Senga dropped Kitayama at his door but the nice warm feeling in Senga’s chest stayed the whole evening, and when Kitayama greeted him with a smile on the same place next morning, his heart jumped a little.
“Your face is red,” Kitayama amusedly pointed out and Senga grinned without a trace of confusion. He calmly blamed the physical effort of driving the bike. Kitayama didn’t need to know the real reason for his red cheeks and shining smile.
Not yet.
- - -