(Arashi) Drawing the Line
Drawing the Line
Ohno/Aiba | PG-13
Ohno likes to think he'll draw the line at kissing first thing in the morning from here on out.
The sunlight filters in through the half-closed curtains, hitting the top of Aiba’s head exquisitely, highlighting his russet strands as the only person to notice this is Ohno who has made it his duty to wake up earlier than usual whenever Aiba’s over. As to why, he still has yet to understand it himself, but ever since the first time Masaki crawled his way up the bed and under the covers (“Move over just a litt-oh, yeahyeah. Perfect. See? This bed’s too big for one, anyway.”), he’s always woken up far before Aiba has.
It’s not that he ever meant to either, but maybe it was the fact he had yet to get used to the warm body beside his, or maybe even the first night Aiba forced himself into Ohno’s bed and pushed him off of it in the middle of the night had something to do with it. Whatever it may be, Ohno doesn’t like to dwell on it; he only ends up asking more questions than finding more answers (like: Why is Aiba always over at his place now, anyway? When did Aiba stop wearing shirts before going to bed? Why does it even matter? Why hasn’t he said anything about it yet? Why does he keep opening the door every night, knowing perfectly well it’s Masaki, prepared to share the bed again? Night after night).
His early mornings now consist of him sitting up in bed; the rest of his sheets wrapped around Aiba’s sleeping form because of the sleepy tug-o-wars throughout the night that result in Aiba stealing Ohno’s half of the sheets unknowingly. Ohno can spend hours on end simply looking at Aiba, even if he’s pulled the covers over his head, as long as some part of his body is sticking out, he’s intrigued.
Yesterday, it was his right foot, partially exposed and naked. In the span of two hours, Ohno had managed to memorize the layout of every single hair on the top of his foot that would’ve been completely invisible if it weren’t for the splash of sun peeking through the window that hit it in such a way; the fine hairs looked gold. There were sporadic moments when Masaki would stretch his foot and the muscles would flex, imprinting themselves behind Ohno’s searching eyes and looking like an exotic bird.
Today it was his head; this wasn’t particularly special since he’d seen it many mornings before, but the beams of light playing across the wisps of hair begged to differ. His hair was curled at the ends and whether or not Masaki knew it, he was certainly going to wake up with half his hair smooshed to the side of his face. Ohno didn’t mind. He was used to bed heads himself and peering at an Aiba with messy hair and an even messier smile once he woke up wasn’t something he could ever regret. The colour of his hair was so bright where the sun spread, it looked more yellow than auburn, and if he wasn’t so used to the sight, he might’ve mistaken him for a sunflower.
Ohno can’t help but smile, the ends of his lips tipping up needlessly, so much so, he’s worried his face might break. But that doesn’t mean he’ll stop. Without much thought, he leans over, letting his face stare right above his head. He squints. He unconsciously blows at a tiny white feather stuck in Aiba’s hair. It’s from the pillow. He keeps forgetting to patch the hole.
Sighing quietly, sighing about something he’s not sure about, for someone he thought he had an idea about but now isn’t so sure; he lets his arm hover above Masaki’s waist, feeling the shakes start up all over again. Starting with his toes.
It’s like this every time. He goes to make a move, be it a hug or a simple tug of Aiba-chan’s ear, and it’s as if everything begins to fall apart. He can’t stop it and he never knows it’s coming until it’s here. His senses become more aware by tenfold and his tongue gets heavy, sometimes he can barely swallow without a few tries. It’s never like this with anyone else, you would think considering all the fleeting and not-so fleeting touches and glances shared between him and Nino, he’d shake then. But no. His body is completely fine. He’s completely fine. But at the mere thought of even holding Aiba’s thumb and it’s as if he’s done for.
He can admit that part of the reason why he always lets Aiba in is that the more he shares his bed, perhaps the less the shakes’ll come. The more he can be a normal person around him and not have to question every single movement his body is making before he makes it.
Biting down on his tongue hard, he lets his arm fall and sees it wrap around Aiba’s waist more than he feels it. His whole arm down to the tips of his fingers is numb and the pit of his stomach feels like it’s caging a parade of moths; he swears he can feel their flimsy wings beat against the inside of his stomach, his head is light and fuzzy.
He closes his eyes tight now, gulping and drawing Masaki closer, so close that there’s really no point to these sheets anymore. The back of Aiba’s head acts as a magnet and pulls Ohno’s face towards it, he finds his face lost in the mass of auburn hair and he’s so dumbfounded, he pays no attention to the fact Aiba’s hair gets greasy in the morning. He uses every and any trace of sanity left in his body to hold himself back from taking in a deep whiff, he knows there’s really no need for him to do that anyway, since he knows every single morning-Aiba scent like the back of his hand. It’s a mix of stuffed animals that smells like bedrooms in grade two, Chinese take-out, and pure, unadulterated happiness. The kind of happiness you find in dad’s pushing a baby stroller down the street, nine year old girls kissing that boy they’ve known all their short lives behind the Sakura tree, and Aiba. Sleeping-dreaming Aiba who has nothing to lose but his socks every time he comes over.
The thing is, Ohno has everything to lose if he takes advantage of Aiba’s face he’s gently twisted to face him, his left hand uncertainly cupping the curve of his jaw as he studies his sleeping features anxiously. His eyelashes cast long shadows across his face and there’s nothing more Ohno would rather do than keep those shadows there forever. His hair is almost all over his face, his bangs strewn dangerously over his forehead; Ohno’s tempted to push back the stray strands from Aiba’s cheek, but he doesn’t. His mouth is partly open, light puffs of air fluttering against his nose, and Ohno’s perfectly fine with that. Because it’s Aiba.
Ohno moves in, his whole life flashing before his eyes (Dragon Ball sketches, Hawaii, his embarrassing O no Arashi segment, dressing room conversations, Nino’s shoulder pressed against his, Arashi on tour, bread, Jun going out of his way to find a common interest, fishing trips, his mom’s gentle smile when he came home late, Sho laughing out breathily at something he said that wasn’t necessarily funny, ramen at two in the morning, Aiba’s easy smile, Aiba’s contagious if not childish laughter that always bubble past his lips, Aiba’s A no Arashi pose and his MAX tension...) and as quickly as he thought he had ducked, it takes millions of years for his lips to finally graze Aiba’s. He pulls back some, leaving the tiniest of space, before deciding he’s already gotten to that bridge and crossed it, and moves back in, his lips firm and nervous against Masaki’s own. It’s not time that’s stopped but his heart as he moves his lips repeatedly and slowly, shyly taking Aiba’s top lip into his mouth and suckling on the puckered skin gingerly. He kisses him with a force that could certainly be reckoned with because he doesn’t have the guts to admit that he’s completely lost his mind (and heart to this stupid sleeping boy) and the kiss’ movement is entirely made up of uncertainty, flesh and bone.
“Hrrrmm... ” Something in Ohno clicks at the muffled sound Aiba makes beneath him and he doesn’t stop, all he does, all he can do is slide the hand holding Aiba’s jaw down his neck and around the back, letting the pads of his fingers press gently into his skin, wishing he could turn his back on the warm feeling the downy hairs on the back of Aiba’s neck give him. He tries to let the kiss speak for itself, pressing a little harder, but only so much so that Aiba knows this isn’t a dream and that, yes, Satoshi is kissing him, but wishing he was kissing him like someone who’d been sharing his bed for months now and not like someone who was scared out of his wits about what this might mean.
Ohno expects it before he actually feels it---but Aiba returns the kiss with an ease that nearly knocks the breath out of him, their mouths meet in a soft and slow joining of worlds that has Ohno tasting Aiba’s morning breath on his tongue, the tartar filling his mouth alongside the taste of last night’s marshmallows and popcorn; the inside of Aiba’s mouth is smoother than butter. Aiba’s lips are surprisingly giving and Ohno can’t help but play with the ends of Aiba’s hair, his heart smiling for his busy mouth when Aiba turns completely into his hold, his cool hand perched against his chest.
Allowing reality to slip in, Ohno kisses Aiba once more, not minding when Aiba’s tongue slips between his teeth briefly before pulling away from his mouth and his face, hoping he’s not pulling away from the rest of Aiba too. His shoulder bumps into Aiba’s arm, partially intentional, because if Aiba goes back to sleep thinking this was all a dream, Ohno doesn’t think he could ever share his bed again
“What time is it?” Aiba asks, raising his head and straining to catch a peek of the alarm clock behind my shoulder. “It’s only 6:20? Eeh... you couldn’t have waited to kiss me ‘til it was at least 8?”
“... I didn’t know there was a time constraint for these kinds of things.” Ohno manages to murmur this easily, softly, not at all like what he’s actually feeling; the moths having grown into full-out butterflies now.
Aiba peeks up at Ohno now, letting loose a huge grin that pierces his heart and makes his chest really tight. He tries to smile back but all he’s left with is an uncomfortable twitch of his mouth. He doesn’t know where this leaves them and Aiba’s grin doesn’t make things any easier.
“Yanno... you’re not that good a kisser.” Ohno’s breath stutters and he finally blushes, Aiba’s grin turns cheeky after he says that.
“That’s coz I was nervous.” Aiba laughs, his voice husky with sleep, and Ohno returns the favour by pulling away even further (yet his heart couldn’t have been any closer to the younger man beside him) from Aiba, quickly taking hold of the sheets and pulling them out from under Aiba’s unexpected form. “And anyway, your breath stinks.” With that, Aiba pounces Ohno, their knees knocking and their fingers going up one another’s sides, finding the spots they know are the most ticklish.
They’re both reduced to breathy giggles and a half-scuffle, half-mad dash to make sure the other's real that says: 'I like you.'
A/N: This really came out of nowhere, it started from the biggest urge to just write (the pit of my stomach was in actual coiled knots of anxiety - that's how big the urge was to simply get something done, no matter what it was). From there? This is what came out, after an hour and a half of writing, reading and listening to music. I finished this badboy up at 4:30 in the morning, disregarding the whole I'm getting up at 7 in the morning thing. Hahah, but yeah, I like a lot of parts of this. Ohba's a fun pairing to play with apparently, especially in the early morning when Ohno's uncertainty is at its peak. I hope some people kinda' like this, drop me a line or two with your thoughts. That'd be swell (yes, I'm clearly from the 50s, what about it? Hahah). :D
Ohno/Aiba | PG-13
Ohno likes to think he'll draw the line at kissing first thing in the morning from here on out.
The sunlight filters in through the half-closed curtains, hitting the top of Aiba’s head exquisitely, highlighting his russet strands as the only person to notice this is Ohno who has made it his duty to wake up earlier than usual whenever Aiba’s over. As to why, he still has yet to understand it himself, but ever since the first time Masaki crawled his way up the bed and under the covers (“Move over just a litt-oh, yeahyeah. Perfect. See? This bed’s too big for one, anyway.”), he’s always woken up far before Aiba has.
It’s not that he ever meant to either, but maybe it was the fact he had yet to get used to the warm body beside his, or maybe even the first night Aiba forced himself into Ohno’s bed and pushed him off of it in the middle of the night had something to do with it. Whatever it may be, Ohno doesn’t like to dwell on it; he only ends up asking more questions than finding more answers (like: Why is Aiba always over at his place now, anyway? When did Aiba stop wearing shirts before going to bed? Why does it even matter? Why hasn’t he said anything about it yet? Why does he keep opening the door every night, knowing perfectly well it’s Masaki, prepared to share the bed again? Night after night).
His early mornings now consist of him sitting up in bed; the rest of his sheets wrapped around Aiba’s sleeping form because of the sleepy tug-o-wars throughout the night that result in Aiba stealing Ohno’s half of the sheets unknowingly. Ohno can spend hours on end simply looking at Aiba, even if he’s pulled the covers over his head, as long as some part of his body is sticking out, he’s intrigued.
Yesterday, it was his right foot, partially exposed and naked. In the span of two hours, Ohno had managed to memorize the layout of every single hair on the top of his foot that would’ve been completely invisible if it weren’t for the splash of sun peeking through the window that hit it in such a way; the fine hairs looked gold. There were sporadic moments when Masaki would stretch his foot and the muscles would flex, imprinting themselves behind Ohno’s searching eyes and looking like an exotic bird.
Today it was his head; this wasn’t particularly special since he’d seen it many mornings before, but the beams of light playing across the wisps of hair begged to differ. His hair was curled at the ends and whether or not Masaki knew it, he was certainly going to wake up with half his hair smooshed to the side of his face. Ohno didn’t mind. He was used to bed heads himself and peering at an Aiba with messy hair and an even messier smile once he woke up wasn’t something he could ever regret. The colour of his hair was so bright where the sun spread, it looked more yellow than auburn, and if he wasn’t so used to the sight, he might’ve mistaken him for a sunflower.
Ohno can’t help but smile, the ends of his lips tipping up needlessly, so much so, he’s worried his face might break. But that doesn’t mean he’ll stop. Without much thought, he leans over, letting his face stare right above his head. He squints. He unconsciously blows at a tiny white feather stuck in Aiba’s hair. It’s from the pillow. He keeps forgetting to patch the hole.
Sighing quietly, sighing about something he’s not sure about, for someone he thought he had an idea about but now isn’t so sure; he lets his arm hover above Masaki’s waist, feeling the shakes start up all over again. Starting with his toes.
It’s like this every time. He goes to make a move, be it a hug or a simple tug of Aiba-chan’s ear, and it’s as if everything begins to fall apart. He can’t stop it and he never knows it’s coming until it’s here. His senses become more aware by tenfold and his tongue gets heavy, sometimes he can barely swallow without a few tries. It’s never like this with anyone else, you would think considering all the fleeting and not-so fleeting touches and glances shared between him and Nino, he’d shake then. But no. His body is completely fine. He’s completely fine. But at the mere thought of even holding Aiba’s thumb and it’s as if he’s done for.
He can admit that part of the reason why he always lets Aiba in is that the more he shares his bed, perhaps the less the shakes’ll come. The more he can be a normal person around him and not have to question every single movement his body is making before he makes it.
Biting down on his tongue hard, he lets his arm fall and sees it wrap around Aiba’s waist more than he feels it. His whole arm down to the tips of his fingers is numb and the pit of his stomach feels like it’s caging a parade of moths; he swears he can feel their flimsy wings beat against the inside of his stomach, his head is light and fuzzy.
He closes his eyes tight now, gulping and drawing Masaki closer, so close that there’s really no point to these sheets anymore. The back of Aiba’s head acts as a magnet and pulls Ohno’s face towards it, he finds his face lost in the mass of auburn hair and he’s so dumbfounded, he pays no attention to the fact Aiba’s hair gets greasy in the morning. He uses every and any trace of sanity left in his body to hold himself back from taking in a deep whiff, he knows there’s really no need for him to do that anyway, since he knows every single morning-Aiba scent like the back of his hand. It’s a mix of stuffed animals that smells like bedrooms in grade two, Chinese take-out, and pure, unadulterated happiness. The kind of happiness you find in dad’s pushing a baby stroller down the street, nine year old girls kissing that boy they’ve known all their short lives behind the Sakura tree, and Aiba. Sleeping-dreaming Aiba who has nothing to lose but his socks every time he comes over.
The thing is, Ohno has everything to lose if he takes advantage of Aiba’s face he’s gently twisted to face him, his left hand uncertainly cupping the curve of his jaw as he studies his sleeping features anxiously. His eyelashes cast long shadows across his face and there’s nothing more Ohno would rather do than keep those shadows there forever. His hair is almost all over his face, his bangs strewn dangerously over his forehead; Ohno’s tempted to push back the stray strands from Aiba’s cheek, but he doesn’t. His mouth is partly open, light puffs of air fluttering against his nose, and Ohno’s perfectly fine with that. Because it’s Aiba.
Ohno moves in, his whole life flashing before his eyes (Dragon Ball sketches, Hawaii, his embarrassing O no Arashi segment, dressing room conversations, Nino’s shoulder pressed against his, Arashi on tour, bread, Jun going out of his way to find a common interest, fishing trips, his mom’s gentle smile when he came home late, Sho laughing out breathily at something he said that wasn’t necessarily funny, ramen at two in the morning, Aiba’s easy smile, Aiba’s contagious if not childish laughter that always bubble past his lips, Aiba’s A no Arashi pose and his MAX tension...) and as quickly as he thought he had ducked, it takes millions of years for his lips to finally graze Aiba’s. He pulls back some, leaving the tiniest of space, before deciding he’s already gotten to that bridge and crossed it, and moves back in, his lips firm and nervous against Masaki’s own. It’s not time that’s stopped but his heart as he moves his lips repeatedly and slowly, shyly taking Aiba’s top lip into his mouth and suckling on the puckered skin gingerly. He kisses him with a force that could certainly be reckoned with because he doesn’t have the guts to admit that he’s completely lost his mind (and heart to this stupid sleeping boy) and the kiss’ movement is entirely made up of uncertainty, flesh and bone.
“Hrrrmm... ” Something in Ohno clicks at the muffled sound Aiba makes beneath him and he doesn’t stop, all he does, all he can do is slide the hand holding Aiba’s jaw down his neck and around the back, letting the pads of his fingers press gently into his skin, wishing he could turn his back on the warm feeling the downy hairs on the back of Aiba’s neck give him. He tries to let the kiss speak for itself, pressing a little harder, but only so much so that Aiba knows this isn’t a dream and that, yes, Satoshi is kissing him, but wishing he was kissing him like someone who’d been sharing his bed for months now and not like someone who was scared out of his wits about what this might mean.
Ohno expects it before he actually feels it---but Aiba returns the kiss with an ease that nearly knocks the breath out of him, their mouths meet in a soft and slow joining of worlds that has Ohno tasting Aiba’s morning breath on his tongue, the tartar filling his mouth alongside the taste of last night’s marshmallows and popcorn; the inside of Aiba’s mouth is smoother than butter. Aiba’s lips are surprisingly giving and Ohno can’t help but play with the ends of Aiba’s hair, his heart smiling for his busy mouth when Aiba turns completely into his hold, his cool hand perched against his chest.
Allowing reality to slip in, Ohno kisses Aiba once more, not minding when Aiba’s tongue slips between his teeth briefly before pulling away from his mouth and his face, hoping he’s not pulling away from the rest of Aiba too. His shoulder bumps into Aiba’s arm, partially intentional, because if Aiba goes back to sleep thinking this was all a dream, Ohno doesn’t think he could ever share his bed again
“What time is it?” Aiba asks, raising his head and straining to catch a peek of the alarm clock behind my shoulder. “It’s only 6:20? Eeh... you couldn’t have waited to kiss me ‘til it was at least 8?”
“... I didn’t know there was a time constraint for these kinds of things.” Ohno manages to murmur this easily, softly, not at all like what he’s actually feeling; the moths having grown into full-out butterflies now.
Aiba peeks up at Ohno now, letting loose a huge grin that pierces his heart and makes his chest really tight. He tries to smile back but all he’s left with is an uncomfortable twitch of his mouth. He doesn’t know where this leaves them and Aiba’s grin doesn’t make things any easier.
“Yanno... you’re not that good a kisser.” Ohno’s breath stutters and he finally blushes, Aiba’s grin turns cheeky after he says that.
“That’s coz I was nervous.” Aiba laughs, his voice husky with sleep, and Ohno returns the favour by pulling away even further (yet his heart couldn’t have been any closer to the younger man beside him) from Aiba, quickly taking hold of the sheets and pulling them out from under Aiba’s unexpected form. “And anyway, your breath stinks.” With that, Aiba pounces Ohno, their knees knocking and their fingers going up one another’s sides, finding the spots they know are the most ticklish.
They’re both reduced to breathy giggles and a half-scuffle, half-mad dash to make sure the other's real that says: 'I like you.'
A/N: This really came out of nowhere, it started from the biggest urge to just write (the pit of my stomach was in actual coiled knots of anxiety - that's how big the urge was to simply get something done, no matter what it was). From there? This is what came out, after an hour and a half of writing, reading and listening to music. I finished this badboy up at 4:30 in the morning, disregarding the whole I'm getting up at 7 in the morning thing. Hahah, but yeah, I like a lot of parts of this. Ohba's a fun pairing to play with apparently, especially in the early morning when Ohno's uncertainty is at its peak. I hope some people kinda' like this, drop me a line or two with your thoughts. That'd be swell (yes, I'm clearly from the 50s, what about it? Hahah). :D