(SMAP) Frosted Flakes
Frosted Flakes
Shingo/Kimura | PG
Birthday 'fic for 25lalalee36! I hope it's all right? Hahah, I tried not to overthink it (because that's when I start second guessing and things go down the drain) and just went with the idea that ShinTaku's your OTP. It's always the thought that counts, right? I hope ;DD It was a lot of fun though and again, HAPPY VAGINAL ESCAPE! You totally deserve more, srsly, but it's the least I could do.
“Eeeeeh? Where are the waffles?” Shingo rummages through the plastic bag, knowing that there’s a dimension with his waffles hiding in it somewhere and he just has to keep looking in the empty bag. He’ll find it.
Kimura sighs, peeling a banana. “I didn’t buy waffles. You told me you wanted to lose weight last night, right?”
“Well. Yeah-but that’s so we could have sex again. What am I supposed to eat now?” Shingo whines, making a face and tossing the grocery bag aside. He huffs over to the half-open fridge now.
“Nothing wrong with cereal,” Kimura puts away the last can of pineapples.
Shingo closes the fridge, opens it then closes it again. He mumbles under his breath then opens it once more. Kimura smirks and lets this go on for another minute before slipping behind the younger man and grinning into his ear, “If you break the fridge, I can’t give you your surprise.”
Shingo turns so fast that Kimura has to pull back, catching the edge of the island with his hip. Shingo’s eyes are bright and he rolls his eyes at the big smile on his face.
“Surprise? Why didn’t you say that first! Sooooo, what is it? Huh?” Kimura merely shrugs, his gut churning at the familiar glint in Shingo’s eyes.
He wanders over to the plastic bag he put aside, ignoring the warmth of Shingo’s arm against his back as he turns back around, smiling a bit.
“Now you can’t say I never treat you.” He hands Shingo the bag, who does everything but rip the thing apart and takes out a cereal box, something green and sweet.
Kimura can’t remember the name but the last time they’d gone grocery shopping Shingo had sworn he’d arm wrestle an old lady and win if it meant he could try it. They hadn’t bought it then, they already had an unopened box of cereal at home (Shingo wouldn’t eat it though, something about it being too healthy and brown, so it was up to Kimura and he’d conquered it in a week’s time).
“You... I can’t... ” Shingo babbles and If Kimura weren’t giggling so hard, Shingo probably wouldn’t tug the older man so close and kiss him, fisting his big hand into the small of Kimura’s back and not caring that the box of cereal is wedged between them-because Kimura’s pushing his tongue into his mouth and the slick heat of his breath makes up for all the uncomfortable in the world.
Shingo slides his hand beneath Kimura’s shirt, but before he can splay playful fingers across the smooth patch of skin, Kimura’s biting his lower lip once and ducking out of his hold, the corner of his mouth upturned into something like amusement but the depth in his stare says a little more-he grins offhandedly, taking the box from Shingo’s arms and opening it.
“Eat it, I need to make a call,” Kimura says, pushing hair back from his face and walking off, squeezing Shingo’s shoulder quickly.
Shingo’s face goes from full-blown horny, to confused, to angry, and then sudden delight when he realizes that the box says there’s a prize.
Later that night, after a long day of photo-shoots, Kimura’s helping Shingo peel off a stubborn pair of jeans in the middle of the living room when Shingo makes a noise and runs off to the bedroom, part-hop and part-stumble; Kimura shakes his head.
Shingo returns, smiling and pants totally off, “Housewarming gift.”
“We’ve been living here for a year-”
“Pish, posh. Just... keep it! I know you’ll say yes.” Shingo throws something at him and Kimura barely catches it, eyebrows raised. “Imma’ shower.” Shingo sprints off as Kimura looks down. It’s a decoder ring.
He sniffs it. It smells like cinnamon and jellybeans; it’s sticky with sugar. The shower goes shhh.
It’s warm in the palm of his hand and he lets himself laugh like a five year old.
He means to murmur “idiot” to himself but he pockets the ring and dashes off to the bathroom instead.
“Oi, make room!”
Shingo/Kimura | PG
Birthday 'fic for 25lalalee36! I hope it's all right? Hahah, I tried not to overthink it (because that's when I start second guessing and things go down the drain) and just went with the idea that ShinTaku's your OTP. It's always the thought that counts, right? I hope ;DD It was a lot of fun though and again, HAPPY VAGINAL ESCAPE! You totally deserve more, srsly, but it's the least I could do.
“Eeeeeh? Where are the waffles?” Shingo rummages through the plastic bag, knowing that there’s a dimension with his waffles hiding in it somewhere and he just has to keep looking in the empty bag. He’ll find it.
Kimura sighs, peeling a banana. “I didn’t buy waffles. You told me you wanted to lose weight last night, right?”
“Well. Yeah-but that’s so we could have sex again. What am I supposed to eat now?” Shingo whines, making a face and tossing the grocery bag aside. He huffs over to the half-open fridge now.
“Nothing wrong with cereal,” Kimura puts away the last can of pineapples.
Shingo closes the fridge, opens it then closes it again. He mumbles under his breath then opens it once more. Kimura smirks and lets this go on for another minute before slipping behind the younger man and grinning into his ear, “If you break the fridge, I can’t give you your surprise.”
Shingo turns so fast that Kimura has to pull back, catching the edge of the island with his hip. Shingo’s eyes are bright and he rolls his eyes at the big smile on his face.
“Surprise? Why didn’t you say that first! Sooooo, what is it? Huh?” Kimura merely shrugs, his gut churning at the familiar glint in Shingo’s eyes.
He wanders over to the plastic bag he put aside, ignoring the warmth of Shingo’s arm against his back as he turns back around, smiling a bit.
“Now you can’t say I never treat you.” He hands Shingo the bag, who does everything but rip the thing apart and takes out a cereal box, something green and sweet.
Kimura can’t remember the name but the last time they’d gone grocery shopping Shingo had sworn he’d arm wrestle an old lady and win if it meant he could try it. They hadn’t bought it then, they already had an unopened box of cereal at home (Shingo wouldn’t eat it though, something about it being too healthy and brown, so it was up to Kimura and he’d conquered it in a week’s time).
“You... I can’t... ” Shingo babbles and If Kimura weren’t giggling so hard, Shingo probably wouldn’t tug the older man so close and kiss him, fisting his big hand into the small of Kimura’s back and not caring that the box of cereal is wedged between them-because Kimura’s pushing his tongue into his mouth and the slick heat of his breath makes up for all the uncomfortable in the world.
Shingo slides his hand beneath Kimura’s shirt, but before he can splay playful fingers across the smooth patch of skin, Kimura’s biting his lower lip once and ducking out of his hold, the corner of his mouth upturned into something like amusement but the depth in his stare says a little more-he grins offhandedly, taking the box from Shingo’s arms and opening it.
“Eat it, I need to make a call,” Kimura says, pushing hair back from his face and walking off, squeezing Shingo’s shoulder quickly.
Shingo’s face goes from full-blown horny, to confused, to angry, and then sudden delight when he realizes that the box says there’s a prize.
Later that night, after a long day of photo-shoots, Kimura’s helping Shingo peel off a stubborn pair of jeans in the middle of the living room when Shingo makes a noise and runs off to the bedroom, part-hop and part-stumble; Kimura shakes his head.
Shingo returns, smiling and pants totally off, “Housewarming gift.”
“We’ve been living here for a year-”
“Pish, posh. Just... keep it! I know you’ll say yes.” Shingo throws something at him and Kimura barely catches it, eyebrows raised. “Imma’ shower.” Shingo sprints off as Kimura looks down. It’s a decoder ring.
He sniffs it. It smells like cinnamon and jellybeans; it’s sticky with sugar. The shower goes shhh.
It’s warm in the palm of his hand and he lets himself laugh like a five year old.
He means to murmur “idiot” to himself but he pockets the ring and dashes off to the bathroom instead.
“Oi, make room!”