(Untitled)
Stars and garters above! Isn't it time for a new post? The last one is just so... big now, isn't it? I don't know if even I could take it... ♥
SHIN MEGAMI TENSEI: PERSONA 4 KINK MEME
PART FIVEAs all you charming little anonymous know, in this very post of mine, you can comment anonymously with any pairing from Persona 4 and whatever astoundingly ( Read more... )
SHIN MEGAMI TENSEI: PERSONA 4 KINK MEME
PART FIVEAs all you charming little anonymous know, in this very post of mine, you can comment anonymously with any pairing from Persona 4 and whatever astoundingly ( Read more... )
Title taken from a song from the Trusty Bell ~ Chopin's Dream OST.
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At all given probability, there was only about a %7.4765 chance that he was doing it on purpose. No, make that %6.2584. In any event, the likelihood of him reciprocating was at about %0.1073, and while Souji could calculate numbers at the speed of light even he didn't think that he'd be able to predict the trajectory of an angry fist fast enough to dodge.
So he bit his lip, and waited. Tried not to stare, futilely, as his best friend hiked his T-shirt up around his neck and gyrated hips at him in a peculiar and frankly quite obscene manner.
"Yo, Souji, check it out."
I'm trying not to, thanks. Your hip is approximately 12.3 centimetres from my face. That's about 7.7 centimetres too close, give or take a few millimetres. Also, you're losing weight, again. I swear to God that if your jeans slide any lower down that pelvic bone of yours I'm no longer going to be held accountable for my actions.
"Uh," he said eloquently, too dumbstruck by the smooth expanse of taut tan skin in front of him to string together a coherent sentence. "What exactly am I supposed to be seeing, here?" There was this line, of slightly reddish fuzzy hair that started just below Yosuke's navel and disappeared somewhere below the waistband of his pants. Souji was %97.039 certain that he was not supposed to be seeing that. (And %100 certain that when he closed his eyes, from now on, that was all that he was going to be able to see. Ugh, ugh. Pull your pants up, he wanted to say. Or at the very least: Quit pretending that they're serving a function and just take them off, already.)
This particular compunction had started not long after he had left Inaba to go spend the year with his parents in Omotesando. At first, it had been normal stuff - Man, that shirt is ugly. I'm going to get it for Yosuke - but then little-by-little, in increments of about 15 or so degrees...it had started to change. He'd started sending out E-mails, a lot. And would get all tired and uncharacteristically out-of-sorts until he'd received a reply. Asked for pictures, to put on his new bedroom shelf, but found it suddenly hard to look one of those particular smiling faces in the eye. Got short of breath, once, when he'd checked the caller ID of his cell after the phone had rang.
In July, he'd started having dreams.
Rough ones, too, that came at him hard and fast and seemingly from out of nowhere. Hips squirming; hands, pinning him down. Heady, suffocating scent of vetiver. A tongue flicking at all of the places he likes best: nipples, collar, cartiledge of his ear. Him, trying to say something, and a voice that had laughed.
He'd recognized the laugh.
If p was the circumstance of frequently reccurring and increasingly vivid erotic dreams featuring himself and his best friend and q was the unfortunate condition of being in love with said best friend then it was fairly safe to assume that if p, then q. That didn't mean that he had to like it, though. While Souji usually only said something as sappy out loud to make the other boy uncomfortable, the truth of the matter was, he valued his friendship with Yosuke more than he valued most everything in the world, and couldn't imagine doing anything to jeopardize that. Q, quite frankly, could go fuck itself.
"There is this bruise," Yosuke was saying, now, pointing at a spot on his chest in a frustratingly ironic distraction, "that looks just. Like. Hokkaido. Seriously, how can you not see it, man?"
If I tell you why, you'll get angry. Actually, even worse, you'll get terrified, and I don't ever want you to be frightened of me. Souji squinted, and at last looked to where the brunet was pointing; an indeterminable point somewhere below his ribcage, where a rather large, rather vicious-looking red-purple bruise was blooming, in the shape of - yes, Souji could actually see, once he finally started paying attention - the northernmost island of Hokkaido. It looked like it hurt.
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Most favorite parts are:
- "[...] while Souji could calculate numbers at the speed of light even he didn't think that he'd be able to predict the trajectory of an angry fist fast enough to dodge."
- "Q, quite frankly, could go fuck itself."
- And all the italics in Yosuke's second dialogue, LOL.
Hope you can find the time and inspiration to write the next part(s)! Thanks again! xD
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Also, I totally got the mathnerd!Souji concept from The Prisoner's Dilemma on page 3, so THANK THAT OTHER ANON, NOT ME. :D?
More of this forthcoming, hopefully. Maybe.
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Outside, the cicadas were humming, and a little plastic inflatable pool was slowly being filled with water, the unsatisfactory speed at which that was occurring the reason why they were sitting there, in the 30.3C of the Dojima's living room, discussing a surface hemmorage that may or may not have been considered a national tribute.
"It was totally this baseball," Yosuke told him, excitedly, almost slapping Souji in the face as he elaborately hand-gestured his way to a reenactment of the event. At least he finally pulled his shirt back down, though the way it clung tightly to his waist and shoulders may in fact have made the situation worse. He was excruciatingly cute when he was excited, though, and he was at his most excited when he was telling a story, so Souji settled back, leaning back against the hardwood floor propped up on his palms, and just let it be. Go ahead, he thought dizzily; perhaps a bit stupidly, considering: just break my nose. Please. I'll probably actually like it, so long as you do it while you're smiling.
"Actually, it was a fence post - no, technically, it was... Well, whatever, I was running at the fence post because of that kid - you remember the one, right?"
"Nope," said Souji, smiling serenely.
"Anyway, it was me, and him, and - huh?" Yosuke paused, in the process of counting fingers out on his left hand, then waved the digits in front of his face, dismissively. "Dude, sure you do. It's that one kid - Nakajima-kun, or what-the-hell-ever, that you tutored part-time when you were here last year."
"Oh." Actually, he could see it, when he actually bothered to apply a formula to it. Shu always had sort of reminded him of a snobbier, considerably smarter version of Yosuke. Not that Yosuke was dumb, by any measure. Just...consistently distracted. Well, that was sort of irrelevant, on the whole. Souji tapped fingers against the hardwood floor a bit irritably, irrationally angry at his parents for being so successful. As much as he liked listening to the brunet tell an exaggerated and in dome parts likely fabricated story, he would have liked even more to have been a part of if himself. "So...you, Shu, and...?" he prompted, tapping his toes along with his hands.
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lol gdmit anon this is amazing YOU ARE AMAZING
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Outside, the cicadas were humming, and a little plastic inflatable pool was slowly being filled with water, the unsatisfactory speed at which that was occurring the reason why they were sitting there, in the 30.3C of the Dojima's living room, discussing a surface hemmorage that may or may not have been considered a national tribute.
"It was totally this baseball," Yosuke told him, excitedly, almost slapping Souji in the face as he elaborately hand-gestured his way to a reenactment of the event. At least he finally pulled his shirt back down, though the way it clung tightly to his waist and shoulders may in fact have made the situation worse. He was excruciatingly cute when he was excited, though, and he was at his most excited when he was telling a story, so Souji settled back, leaning back against the hardwood floor propped up on his palms, and just let it be. Go ahead, he thought dizzily; perhaps a bit stupidly, considering: just break my nose. Please. I'll probably actually like it, so long as you do it while you're smiling.
"Actually, it was a fence post - no, technically, it was... Well, whatever, I was running at the fence post because of that kid - you remember the one, right?"
"Nope," said Souji, smiling serenely.
"Anyway, it was me, and him, and - huh?" Yosuke paused, in the process of counting fingers out on his left hand, then waved the digits in front of his face, dismissively. "Dude, sure you do. It's that one kid - Nakajima-kun, or what-the-hell-ever, that you tutored part-time when you were here last year."
"Oh." Actually, he could see it, when he bothered to apply a formula to it. Shu always had sort of reminded him of a snobbier, considerably smarter version of Yosuke. Not that Yosuke was dumb, by any measure. Just...consistently distracted. Well, that was sort of irrelevant, on the whole. Souji tapped fingers against the hardwood floor a bit irritably, irrationally angry at his parents for being so successful. As much as he liked listening to the brunet tell an exaggerated and in some parts likely fabricated series of events, he would have liked even more to have been a part of if himself. "So...you, Shu, and...?" he prompted, tapping his toes along with his hands.
"Right." Apparently satisfied, Yosuke went back to using his fingers as a substitute abacus. "Me, and him, and Kanji, and Naoki Konishi, and those two assholes from 3-3 - "
"'Those two assholes'...?" Souji repeated, probing for clarification, but wasn't really surprised when he received none. True to form, Yosuke was passionate about the things that interested him, but had an uncanny ability to simply gloss over the rest.
"Right," he went on, happily, "those two assholes. I don't know, Kanji knows them, somehow. I think they're teaching him how to drive. Which - holy Christ. Kanji, behind the wheel of a car. Can you imagine? Do you know that he smashed some dude's sideview mirror in, just because the guy wouldn't wait for some duck and it's ducklings to finish crossing the street? And then went home and made an afghan. That's whack. That's seriously..."
"So...those two assholes from 3-3, and...?" Souji reiterated, a bit tiredly this time, because it was about 35C outside and he was getting kind of pricklish, honestly, about all of these people and their events and their lives and how he was no longer allowed to be a part of them. Inside, there was a burdgeoning sense of paranoid. Need me! he wanted to scream. Miss me, depend on me, turn to ashes without me! At least whack off to my picture at night, for God's sake! But of course, subtraction was a mathematical method that would produce entirely different solutions when written in the reverse, so he was aware more than anyone that he was wishing in vain.
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Outside, the cicadas were humming, and a little plastic inflatable pool was slowly being filled with water, the unsatisfactory speed at which that was occurring the reason why they were sitting there, in the 30.3C of the Dojima's living room, discussing a surface hemmorage that may or may not have been considered a national tribute.
"It was totally this baseball," Yosuke told him, excitedly, almost slapping Souji in the face as he elaborately hand-gestured his way to a reenactment of the event. At least he finally pulled his shirt back down, though the way it clung tightly to his waist and shoulders may in fact have made the situation worse. He was excruciatingly cute when he was excited, though, and he was at his most excited when he was telling a story, so Souji settled back, leaning back against the hardwood floor propped up on his palms, and just let it be. Go ahead, he thought dizzily; perhaps a bit stupidly, considering: just break my nose. Please. I'll probably actually like it, so long as you do it while you're smiling.
"Actually, it was a fence post - no, technically, it was... Well, whatever, I was running at the fence post because of that kid - you remember the one, right?"
"Nope," said Souji, smiling serenely.
"Anyway, it was me, and him, and - huh?" Yosuke paused, in the process of counting fingers out on his left hand, then waved the digits in front of his face, dismissively. "Dude, sure you do. It's that one kid - Nakajima-kun, or what-the-hell-ever, that you tutored part-time when you were here last year."
"Oh." Actually, he could see it, when he bothered to apply a formula to it. Shu always had sort of reminded him of a snobbier, considerably smarter version of Yosuke. Not that Yosuke was dumb, by any measure. Just...consistently distracted. Well, that was sort of irrelevant, on the whole. Souji tapped fingers against the hardwood floor a bit irritably, irrationally angry at his parents for being so successful. As much as he liked listening to the brunet tell an exaggerated and in some parts likely fabricated series of events, he would have liked even more to have been a part of it himself. "So...you, Shu, and...?" he prompted, tapping his toes along with his hands.
"Right." Apparently satisfied, Yosuke went back to using his fingers as a substitute abacus. "Me, and him, and Kanji, and Naoki Konishi, and those two assholes from 3-3 - "
"'Those two assholes'...?" Souji repeated, probing for clarification, but wasn't really surprised when he received none. True to form, Yosuke was passionate about the things that interested him, but had an uncanny ability to simply gloss over the rest.
"Right," he went on, happily, "those two assholes. I don't know, Kanji knows them, somehow. I think they're teaching him how to drive. Which - holy Christ. Kanji, behind the wheel of a car. Can you imagine? Do you know that he smashed some dude's sideview mirror in, just because the guy wouldn't wait for some duck and it's ducklings to finish crossing the street? And then went home and made an afghan. That's whack. That's seriously..."
"So...those two assholes from 3-3, and...?" Souji reiterated, a bit tiredly this time, because it was about 35C outside and he was getting kind of pricklish, honestly, about all of these people and their events and their lives and how he was no longer allowed to be a part of them. Inside, there was a burdgeoning sense of paranoid. Need me! he wanted to scream. Miss me, depend on me, turn to ashes without me! At least whack off to my picture at night, for God's sake! But of course, subtraction was a mathematical method that would produce entirely different solutions when written in the reverse, so he was aware more than anyone that he was wishing in vain.
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I don't even mind that the internet screwed you over and posted it 3 times because I am happy to read it thrice! I love your pining Souji and distractable Yosuke and am so looking forward to reading more.
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Anyway, I'm sure that no one actually cares. I'll, er, go back to working on this, now.
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Anyway, I am loving this, because mathematical pining Souji makes me smile.
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He said it with a smile, though; a smile that had Souji rolling his lower lip between his teeth and made him want to...he didn't know - punch puppies, or something. It had to have been the heat. He wore pants in the summer as a habit left over from living with his parents in the city; in Inaba, however, air conditioning was scoffed at as a commodity for the weak, and so he was sweltering. He felt distempered, and out of breath. The feeling only increased, exponentially, when Yosuke flopped down in front of the fan next to him, flapping open the neck of his shirt.
"Christ," he said, "it's hot." He had this really pronounced collarbone, jutting out from below his throat with every forwards and backwards motion he made with his shirt. It looked... Well, it looked painful, mostly, but somehow it also managed to look almost temptingly fragile. Eat something. Please. Put on some freaking weight. If every inch of you is all half-moon curves and 35-degree angles, I think I might do something that I'll eventually regret.
"Yeah," he agreed intently (one might theorize also slightly ironically), unable to look away from the asymetry of that exposed neck, "it really is." He tore his gaze away just in time, as Yosuke dropped the collar of his shirt and swung a hand out, again (Souji dodged), and continued onwards with his fabulous retell.
"So, the group of us - me, and Kanji, and Naoki, and...I don't know, whoever - we were setting up kind of a pseudo-crapass baseball game, for that Nakajima-kun kid. He had this game, coming up, and he said that he wanted to practice so that he wouldn't be last-at-bat, like always." The brunet shrugged, obliviously cruel. "As though a few days of practice would make any difference, jeez. Do you know, it took me two years of track and field before I could do the 500 without throwing up? And I don't throw up easily. Like, just the other day Yukiko-san decided that she wanted to try her hand at mabo curry, which I already despise, so really, it was like..."
There was this fine shimmer of sweat, on his upper lip. For some reason, it was a great effort in self-restraint for Souji not to lean forward and lick it. It just sort of...hung there, glistening. To be honest, Yosuke's lips were kind of thin, much like every other aspect of him, but he complained of coldsores regularly throughout the school year and hence put balm on them like a fiend. They were probably soft as hell. Soft, and sweet-tasting, like sucking on a cherry. Well, it actually wasn't cherry, he knew. It was bubblegum, of all things, that flavored the lip balm that Yosuke swore by, but not enough to keep the label on the tube. It smelled about as strong as it probably tasted. Shit, he was starting to savor the sensation of it, in his head.
Starting slow, uncertainty on his shoulder. (He let his head droop to the side, imagining invisible kisses from the breeze of the fan.) Still scared; breath more than anything at the base of his neck. Then bolder: mouthing at his carotid, his jawline, the space under his chin. A greedy, frantic sucking on the lobe of his ear.
"Dude! Are you even listening to me?!"
Scared shitless, Souji snapped immediately out of his reverie. He jumped approximately 6.8cm off of the floor and stared at Yosuke incredulously, feeling his face heat up to an incriminating, embarrassing red.
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