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Books
[A Kanga na Spoon Yoshiaki/Kasumi fanfiction][PG-15][mentions of sex and lots of fluff][also, Yoshiaki swears]
Disclaimer: Kanga na Spoon and its characters belong to Ike Reibun.
Summary: For those unfamiliar to the series, Kanga na Spoon chronicles the relationship between Yoshiaki, who's a high-flying corporate business type, and Kasumi, who's the epitome of gay flamboyance. A stylist who dyes his hair pink and wears the most outrageous outfits (Yoshiaki calls him a pretentious hippy), they've been together since their school days. This is a simple fluff-drabble that expanded itself, and was written for The Yaoi Manga Fanfic Challenge (ymf_challenge). Here's hoping you like it!
They’ve been together longer than some married couples have, although they’ve only recently taken the step of having a formal ceremony. Yoshiaki knows Kasumi’s capricious nature; he loves the way that Kasumi cuddles up to him in the morning. He will never admit (except in the most private recesses of his own mind, just in case he slips and actually tells Kasumi, god forbid) that he even likes the way that Kasumi demands to be fed all the time and expects Yoshiaki to cater to his every whim. If Kasumi were a cat he would be a sleek pedigree Persian (if a Persian would ever dye its fur pink), demanding fish and milk and endless attention and petting.
Yoshiaki knows every inch of his long-haired lover’s taut slender body. He loves what Kasumi’s face looks like in the throes of an orgasm, Yoshiaki braced over him, Kasumi trapped between his arms and the bed and the sensation of Yoshiaki inside him. It’s as close as two people can ever get to becoming each other, and in that moment, there is nothing that they need to know at all, except for the fact that Kasumi knows just how to drive him crazy. The only consolation is that he knows that he knows just how to drive Kasumi crazy too.
But Kasumi often surprises Yoshiaki.
Take today, for instance.
When he walked in, Kasumi was sprawled out on their butter-colored sofa. Nothing unusual there. Nothing unusual about the fact that Kasumi was dressed in nothing but a pair of startlingly orange pants of some kind of harem material. On anyone else it would have looked positively ridiculous, but on Kasumi it somehow complemented the sofa and Kasumi’s neon pink hair, done up in a loose ponytail, soft wisps escaping the hair tie. The fact that a glass bowl of seedless grapes and cherries sat next to Kasumi was nothing new either.
But Kasumi was also reading, two stacks of books balanced on the floor beside him.
Kasumi was reading.
Yoshiaki’s hedonistic wine-drinking parfait-eating Playstation-obsessed gym-bunny sex-crazed lover was reading.
And as he got closer, he could see that Kasumi’s reading wasn’t exactly of the lightweight variety either. Banana Yoshimoto... de Lachlos... Mishima Yukio... Proust?
Kasumi was reading Proust.
Yoshiaki cleared his throat awkwardly. He’d have been less shocked to walk in and find Kasumi masturbating, or singing enka, or dressed in nothing but an apron. Hell, he’d have been less shocked to walk in and find Kasumi attempting to clean up after himself.
Kasumi put down the book and stretched, then caught sight of a thunderstruck Yoshiaki.
‘Yoshiaki? You’re home,’ Kasumi said, beckoning him over. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
He went over and bent down to meet Kasumi’s mouth, welcoming the grape-and-cherry flavor of Kasumi’s lips, the flicker of tongues as Kasumi’s arms slid around his neck, familiar as a key sliding into its grooves. This, at least, was the same. Would always be the same. He never ever tired of kissing Kasumi. It wasn’t always about sex - though he would be hard-pressed to recall that sentiment when Kasumi was naked and writhing under him. But no, sometimes it was just about coming home to find one’s lover uncharacteristically reading. Sometimes it was just about coming home to be welcomed with a sleek kiss. Sometimes, with Kasumi, it was just about coming home.
‘Mmm,’ Yoshiaki murmured back, falling onto the sofa as Kasumi obligingly tucked his legs up to make space. ‘You’re reading a lot,’ he said conversationally, loosening the tie around his neck.
‘Mm hmm,’ Kasumi replied, tucking his elegant nose back into Banana Yoshimoto’s N.P., which Yoshiaki only vaguely remembered as having read once. ‘I passed by the library and decided to pick up a couple of books.’
‘It’s certainly unexpected of you,’ Yoshiaki continued, picking up the massive tome of Proust translated and leafing through it at random.
‘Yoshiaki, make me a snack,’ Kasumi commanded, flipping a page.
‘Go get it yourself,’ he chuckled, settling in against the leather of the couch with the book opened to the first page.
Only to be viciously kicked by Kasumi.
‘Fuck, that hurt!’ he yelled, glaring. Kasumi simply smiled beatifically back at him, one slim finger holding his place in the book. ‘If you wanna read my books, Yoshiaki, the least you could do is get me something to eat,’ he said, his tone honey-sweet.
‘Fine,’ Yoshiaki snarled. Oh, if only his subordinates at work could see him now. ‘What do you want?’
‘Parfait!’ Kasumi exclaimed. ‘With lots of whipped cream. And chopped nuts, and chocolate sprinkles.’
Yoshiaki made it, the wry smile on his face directed at himself. Kasumi really had him completely under his thumb. Had had him for years.
When he brought it back to the couch, Kasumi smiled at him in thanks, then promptly opened his mouth and said, ‘Ahh.’
‘Feed yourself!’
‘But it’s difficult to eat and read at the same time!’ Kasumi whined, staring at him with the slightest of pouts hovering about those full lips. ‘Please, Yoshiaki?’ And he closed his eyes and opened his mouth again.
He sighed - for what felt like the millionth time - and gave in. ‘I hope you choke,’ he muttered.
Kasumi laughed around his mouthful, shifting to lean against Yoshiaki. ‘You don’t actually mean that,’ he pointed out triumphantly.
‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ Yoshiaki pointed out shortly, but leaned against Kasumi as well. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, nodding at the book in Kasumi’s hands.
‘Mm, kinda,’ Kasumi answered. ‘Have you read it?’
‘Once, but that was quite a while ago, so I don’t really remember.’
‘It’s about this book where the translators keep dying off before they can finish it. And the relationships are pretty complicated too,’ Kasumi said, flipping another page. ‘I read another one of her books and I didn’t really like the ending.’
‘Mmm?’ Yoshiaki said, holding up another spoonful of ice-cream.
Kasumi ate it, read another page, and then continued. ‘Or, more like, towards the end there was nothing that needed resolution. It felt like she could have ended earlier or continued, and it wouldn’t have made any difference.’
‘Life is like that,’ Yoshiaki observed.
‘Ahhh,’ Kasumi said. ‘Point taken, but are books supposed to be like that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Yoshiaki laughed. ‘It’s rare that you should think about all this, though?’
‘Are you trying to say I’m shallow?’ Kasumi huffed.
‘I’m not trying,’ Yoshiaki answered, grinning.
‘I hate you.’
Yoshiaki smirked. ‘You don’t actually mean that.’
Kasumi glared. ‘Fine. I love you. Happy? I love you to pieces. I love you so much that if anyone ever wrote a book about us no one would buy it because we would be a boring happy married couple and it wouldn’t be interesting at all.’
‘And it would just go on and on, wouldn’t it?’ Yoshiaki answered whimsically. ‘A story that doesn’t really have a proper ending. Just lots of bizarre incidents with your damn fashion sense and where you blow up the kitchen by attempting to bake a cake or where your mother decides that it’d be a good idea to try and get my company to invest in a cabaret show -’
‘She didn’t do that!’
‘The other two are true. Who’s to say the third might not happen?’
‘I hate you, Yoshiaki.’
‘Our book is still going to be a boring sappy one, isn’t it?’ Yoshiaki teased.
‘Feed me.’
‘Is it, isn’t it?’
Kasumi swallowed the mouthful of ice-cream and stuck out his tongue at Yoshiaki. ‘Of course it is. I said it would be, didn’t I?’
Yoshiaki laughed delightedly and leaned in for another kiss, that tasted of strawberry ice-cream and chocolate sprinkles. The flavor will change, he thought to himself, but this will always be Kasumi.
[A Kanga na Spoon Yoshiaki/Kasumi fanfiction][PG-15][mentions of sex and lots of fluff][also, Yoshiaki swears]
Disclaimer: Kanga na Spoon and its characters belong to Ike Reibun.
Summary: For those unfamiliar to the series, Kanga na Spoon chronicles the relationship between Yoshiaki, who's a high-flying corporate business type, and Kasumi, who's the epitome of gay flamboyance. A stylist who dyes his hair pink and wears the most outrageous outfits (Yoshiaki calls him a pretentious hippy), they've been together since their school days. This is a simple fluff-drabble that expanded itself, and was written for The Yaoi Manga Fanfic Challenge (ymf_challenge). Here's hoping you like it!
They’ve been together longer than some married couples have, although they’ve only recently taken the step of having a formal ceremony. Yoshiaki knows Kasumi’s capricious nature; he loves the way that Kasumi cuddles up to him in the morning. He will never admit (except in the most private recesses of his own mind, just in case he slips and actually tells Kasumi, god forbid) that he even likes the way that Kasumi demands to be fed all the time and expects Yoshiaki to cater to his every whim. If Kasumi were a cat he would be a sleek pedigree Persian (if a Persian would ever dye its fur pink), demanding fish and milk and endless attention and petting.
Yoshiaki knows every inch of his long-haired lover’s taut slender body. He loves what Kasumi’s face looks like in the throes of an orgasm, Yoshiaki braced over him, Kasumi trapped between his arms and the bed and the sensation of Yoshiaki inside him. It’s as close as two people can ever get to becoming each other, and in that moment, there is nothing that they need to know at all, except for the fact that Kasumi knows just how to drive him crazy. The only consolation is that he knows that he knows just how to drive Kasumi crazy too.
But Kasumi often surprises Yoshiaki.
Take today, for instance.
When he walked in, Kasumi was sprawled out on their butter-colored sofa. Nothing unusual there. Nothing unusual about the fact that Kasumi was dressed in nothing but a pair of startlingly orange pants of some kind of harem material. On anyone else it would have looked positively ridiculous, but on Kasumi it somehow complemented the sofa and Kasumi’s neon pink hair, done up in a loose ponytail, soft wisps escaping the hair tie. The fact that a glass bowl of seedless grapes and cherries sat next to Kasumi was nothing new either.
But Kasumi was also reading, two stacks of books balanced on the floor beside him.
Kasumi was reading.
Yoshiaki’s hedonistic wine-drinking parfait-eating Playstation-obsessed gym-bunny sex-crazed lover was reading.
And as he got closer, he could see that Kasumi’s reading wasn’t exactly of the lightweight variety either. Banana Yoshimoto... de Lachlos... Mishima Yukio... Proust?
Kasumi was reading Proust.
Yoshiaki cleared his throat awkwardly. He’d have been less shocked to walk in and find Kasumi masturbating, or singing enka, or dressed in nothing but an apron. Hell, he’d have been less shocked to walk in and find Kasumi attempting to clean up after himself.
Kasumi put down the book and stretched, then caught sight of a thunderstruck Yoshiaki.
‘Yoshiaki? You’re home,’ Kasumi said, beckoning him over. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
He went over and bent down to meet Kasumi’s mouth, welcoming the grape-and-cherry flavor of Kasumi’s lips, the flicker of tongues as Kasumi’s arms slid around his neck, familiar as a key sliding into its grooves. This, at least, was the same. Would always be the same. He never ever tired of kissing Kasumi. It wasn’t always about sex - though he would be hard-pressed to recall that sentiment when Kasumi was naked and writhing under him. But no, sometimes it was just about coming home to find one’s lover uncharacteristically reading. Sometimes it was just about coming home to be welcomed with a sleek kiss. Sometimes, with Kasumi, it was just about coming home.
‘Mmm,’ Yoshiaki murmured back, falling onto the sofa as Kasumi obligingly tucked his legs up to make space. ‘You’re reading a lot,’ he said conversationally, loosening the tie around his neck.
‘Mm hmm,’ Kasumi replied, tucking his elegant nose back into Banana Yoshimoto’s N.P., which Yoshiaki only vaguely remembered as having read once. ‘I passed by the library and decided to pick up a couple of books.’
‘It’s certainly unexpected of you,’ Yoshiaki continued, picking up the massive tome of Proust translated and leafing through it at random.
‘Yoshiaki, make me a snack,’ Kasumi commanded, flipping a page.
‘Go get it yourself,’ he chuckled, settling in against the leather of the couch with the book opened to the first page.
Only to be viciously kicked by Kasumi.
‘Fuck, that hurt!’ he yelled, glaring. Kasumi simply smiled beatifically back at him, one slim finger holding his place in the book. ‘If you wanna read my books, Yoshiaki, the least you could do is get me something to eat,’ he said, his tone honey-sweet.
‘Fine,’ Yoshiaki snarled. Oh, if only his subordinates at work could see him now. ‘What do you want?’
‘Parfait!’ Kasumi exclaimed. ‘With lots of whipped cream. And chopped nuts, and chocolate sprinkles.’
Yoshiaki made it, the wry smile on his face directed at himself. Kasumi really had him completely under his thumb. Had had him for years.
When he brought it back to the couch, Kasumi smiled at him in thanks, then promptly opened his mouth and said, ‘Ahh.’
‘Feed yourself!’
‘But it’s difficult to eat and read at the same time!’ Kasumi whined, staring at him with the slightest of pouts hovering about those full lips. ‘Please, Yoshiaki?’ And he closed his eyes and opened his mouth again.
He sighed - for what felt like the millionth time - and gave in. ‘I hope you choke,’ he muttered.
Kasumi laughed around his mouthful, shifting to lean against Yoshiaki. ‘You don’t actually mean that,’ he pointed out triumphantly.
‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ Yoshiaki pointed out shortly, but leaned against Kasumi as well. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, nodding at the book in Kasumi’s hands.
‘Mm, kinda,’ Kasumi answered. ‘Have you read it?’
‘Once, but that was quite a while ago, so I don’t really remember.’
‘It’s about this book where the translators keep dying off before they can finish it. And the relationships are pretty complicated too,’ Kasumi said, flipping another page. ‘I read another one of her books and I didn’t really like the ending.’
‘Mmm?’ Yoshiaki said, holding up another spoonful of ice-cream.
Kasumi ate it, read another page, and then continued. ‘Or, more like, towards the end there was nothing that needed resolution. It felt like she could have ended earlier or continued, and it wouldn’t have made any difference.’
‘Life is like that,’ Yoshiaki observed.
‘Ahhh,’ Kasumi said. ‘Point taken, but are books supposed to be like that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Yoshiaki laughed. ‘It’s rare that you should think about all this, though?’
‘Are you trying to say I’m shallow?’ Kasumi huffed.
‘I’m not trying,’ Yoshiaki answered, grinning.
‘I hate you.’
Yoshiaki smirked. ‘You don’t actually mean that.’
Kasumi glared. ‘Fine. I love you. Happy? I love you to pieces. I love you so much that if anyone ever wrote a book about us no one would buy it because we would be a boring happy married couple and it wouldn’t be interesting at all.’
‘And it would just go on and on, wouldn’t it?’ Yoshiaki answered whimsically. ‘A story that doesn’t really have a proper ending. Just lots of bizarre incidents with your damn fashion sense and where you blow up the kitchen by attempting to bake a cake or where your mother decides that it’d be a good idea to try and get my company to invest in a cabaret show -’
‘She didn’t do that!’
‘The other two are true. Who’s to say the third might not happen?’
‘I hate you, Yoshiaki.’
‘Our book is still going to be a boring sappy one, isn’t it?’ Yoshiaki teased.
‘Feed me.’
‘Is it, isn’t it?’
Kasumi swallowed the mouthful of ice-cream and stuck out his tongue at Yoshiaki. ‘Of course it is. I said it would be, didn’t I?’
Yoshiaki laughed delightedly and leaned in for another kiss, that tasted of strawberry ice-cream and chocolate sprinkles. The flavor will change, he thought to himself, but this will always be Kasumi.