Fumée
Genre: Real Life
Characters/Pairings: Inoue Mao, Matsumoto Jun,
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. This is out of my bizarre randomness and inborn talent of daydreaming. No money or any financial support is made from this; only self-actualization and bliss.
A/N: This has been one of the plots that won't leave my brain. And the only thing that's left is to post it so that the burden is passed. lol I origanlly said that this might put me in jail, well for startes, I don't really like what she did here but if anything, Mao-chan is the single most adorable being on earth.
Man, she's just the cutest isnt she?
She could still hear the rush of water from the bathroom; she could still hear it splashing against the cold tiled floor. She could still hear the droplets making their way against his marble like skin. She could still feel his strong presence despite the walls and doors keeping them apart. Hurriedly, like a kid dashing to the playground, she made her way to the end of the bed and stared at his dark brown messenger bag. Kneeling close, she touched the leather straps; felt the rough edges and smooth surface. A little coarse on some parts, it must’ve been where he’d grip them most of the time. She thought. She held them, and the familiarity of his palms had her biting her lower lip. She heard the shower stop. Her heartbeat also halted. Then that same rush of water again. And her shoulders relaxed. She glanced at the bathroom’s direction. Assessed that he won’t be coming out until later, she located the zipper and tugged; inches by inches the bag opened. And she was engulfed by him. Jun and his things. A water bottle half full, some white shirt she packed for him, a pack of wet tissue, some mint, his medicine kit, (she owns one, exactly the same as his except that it is transparent green, where his is white), a notebook, a pen, it didn’t came out as a surprise when her eyes locked into his genuine leather Emporio Armani black wallet that she gave him for this 25th birthday, two handkerchiefs, his Rayban sunglasses and a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. At first glance, she couldn’t see what she’s looking for. She peeked inside the small zipped pocket and bit her lips again. Really, Matsumoto? It was the folded paper napkin that was fairly doodled with their sneaky conversation during one of her agency meetings. He keeps such things. Treasures peculiar things. She rolled her eyes and pulled it out. She could see the massive damage of ink on the fine paper, she remembered how the conversation went and all that’s left is to tuck it inside her breast pocket. Making a mental note to dispose it later. She went back to business, and unzipped yet again another inside pocket. Her left cheek pulled into a mini evil grin. Pulled its contents and-she clucked her tongue at him being an organized freak- swiftly zipped the bag close; glanced again to check if it looked the same as before her assault and with dainty footsteps, went out.
With the small, solid box inside her palm, she opened the veranda glass door and the cool autumn wind greeted her. It was as if it was expecting to see her. As if saying, you really sure you’re going out wearing just that? And probably laughed at her. Well yeah, she’s rather wearing something unfit for an autumn night- dark blue long sleeves that didn’t even guarantee to keep her body warm and her super Mario pajama pants that was loose enough to fit in another pair of legs- with a temperature like this; but who needs time to get back inside and grab some fuzzy sweater when her boyfriend will be out of the shower any minute now. Closing the door behind, she crouched at the side. Like some ninja, she’s fairly sure she’s perfectly camouflaged within the shadows. Looking at the black box with simple and minimalistic design, it was already open, and a few of the sticks were missing. Opening further the flap opening, Mao looked at all the ends staring up at her, dug her thumb and index finger and grabbed the one on the top in the middle, retrieving one impeccably white stick of cigarette. She then held it to her nose for a second and took in that bitter scent of tobacco. As if beckoning to light it now. As if warning her. As if asking her why not?
Closed her eyes, pictured him holding it elegantly, like a lady in his expert hands. And she tried mimicking him. He would hold his cigarette between the thumb and forefinger, palm out, with the cigarette pointing outward. He looked regal, like some spy from a western movie. And he’d be in deep thought. Then that white smoke would come out of his lips, never ending, like he’s some Greek god clouded with some mysterious substance. And at times he’d let them out casually, clouds of smoke emitted while he talks, while he breathes. Like seeing his white breath, like seeing him breathing. And her time would stand still.
But she really loved it when he would lift his chin for a second, elongating his ivory neck for her to marvel, then his lips would part a little; elegantly. Slowly, then all at once that white fog would slip out of him upwards like some distant memory. She wanted to be embraced by that thin white smoke. She wanted to be that smoke. To be inside of him even for just a breath. She wanted to watch id disappear into thin air. And he’d trap it between his lips. It is such beauty seeing him like that. However he won’t let her near when he’s smoking. He would always go outside or move a few meters away from her. Or turn his back. She wanted to watch him. How he’s too engrossed, how he’s into the act, how his eyes would be empty and black. Like his mind is set into that particular activity. Like it’s just this white stick and him. Nothing ever mattered.
Mao finds him sexy, but Jun smoking his cigarette is divine.
She sighed. Her insides lurched at the memory of him losing himself into this stick. At one time she asked if she could try, it was a straight no. Saying it’s bad for the health, but why does he smoke if he’s well aware of such? When she asked Shun if she could try one from his box of cigarette, he snickered and shooed her away. It was as if Jun already warned him about her wanting to try. When she asked Toma how it feels like, he grinned and said no words could describe. Then again, he won’t let her try. Why? She would just try. Just once. Of course she won’t be addicted to it. She just wanted to know. Why can’t he stop? Why can’t they stop? When it’s common knowledge that it’s really benefitial to the health. She wanted to know. But does she really have to do this? It’s the only way. And sighed again, dropping the box by her side.
Curiosity got the best of her. She slipped it in between her lips and lit it with his bic. She inhaled thick scratchy smoke and felt as if she can almost not breathe, like her chest got hit by a truck. It was a headrush from the onset of the nicotine followed by lots of coughing. Mao regretted it as soon as she made her first attempt. White smoke blurred her vision as it came out of her in the most slurred manner. Coughing like crazy while her chest burned. Even as no one saw her, she became embarrassed. By the time she remembered how to exhale and inhale again, Mao was overwhelmed with the feeling of light headiness and dizziness, so she completely sat down, extending her arm away from her body, pushing the cigarette as much as possible.
The stick was still emitting that faint white smoke, and the red ember of burning cigarette glared at her. I told you. It said. With her empty hand, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand as the coughing continued. She waited a minute or so before the attacks calmed down. She licked her lips and thought, she can’t lose to this. She took another drag and it was a smoother and manageable compared to the first. But the coughing began again like some mad party was going on in her lungs. Then the world began to spin. Lightheadedness is swiftly taking over. Where is the fun in this? She thought with raised brows.
And she was starting to get annoyed.
One last. She whispered and took a deep breath. Her throat was still burning, her eyes still watery, and her lips felt dry. One more and it’s over. She decided and raised her arm close to her face, angled the lit stick between her lips-
“What on earth are you doing?!”
Mao glanced up. And felt like a bucket of ice water ran through her body, like a deer caught in the headlights. He was standing by the veranda door, both hands were in opposition to the door frame, as if preventing it from closing on him, his face was a mask of complete horror-dark and pale as he was standing against the living room lights- and it petrified her.
“N-n-nothing.” She stammered as she tried to minimize the damage and hid the cigarette on her side which was opposite him.
“Are you smoking?” he was hissing his words as his eyes went huge and his gaze fell on the cigarette box by her side, the lighter next to it, the faint white smoke coming from her side and her flushed features.
And to make matters worse, her throat was still itchy and trying not cough is like adding needles pinned on her lungs. She coughed her reply. “N-n..”
“Give it to me.” He took two long strides and he was kneeling in front of her, reaching out for her arm.
“I just- cough cough- wanted to try…”
She tried avoiding his ways on taking the still lit cigarette. She bumped her arm against the terrace wall in the process. “Ow.” But that didn’t stop her despite that it hurt so bad she’s sure it will bruise up any minute now.
“Inoue Mao.” He stopped trying to catch her hand. It was his first priority to not let her get hurt; she might burn herself if she kept on moving her hand away. With his cold and calm voice, he ordered. “Give it to me. Now.”
Mao coughed twice, thrice and she could see the seriousness in his eyes. Looks like someone’s in trouble. She patted herself inside her inner mind theater. And obliged. Handed him the close to halfway stick and gave out her most puppy sad eyes expression. She’s in big trouble; she could smell it reeking from him. The guy is fuming.
Jun closed his eyes for a moment, that which felt like eternity to her.
He didn’t waste time. Stubbed the stick until it stopped emitting smoke and disposed it on the ashtray on top of the veranda’s glass table. As soon as he’s done, Mao opened her mouth to explain, but a series of cough came out. Then she felt his hand massaging the little of her back.
“Come. Let’s get inside.” He drawled, grabbed both her arm and pulled her up.
“Jun…” she started, her head was still spinning. Thank you nicotine.
And then she found herself in his arms, carried by him who’s going to lecture her all night long. His body was rigid against her trembling one. She’s scared. She had always been scared of him, but right now, she felt like a child who did something so wrong, and that her last resort is to wait and listen to his blows and lecture. Yet all she did was grip on him, pull him closer, bury her face inside the crook of his neck and inhale his just-out-of-bath-Matsumoto-Jun which smelled like soap and skin. Despite that she’s terrified, she can’t help but be tempted by this man. She can’t help but want him more and more. Like some addicting drug. Her personal heroine.
He took a step inside and used his left foot to close the veranda door behind him. “You’re freezing…” feeling the fabric of her pajama. “Don’t you have thicker clothes other than this?” his voice is still icy. Then settled her carefully, like a fragile flower, on top of the sofa. Jun picked up the AC’s remote and adjusted the temperature.
“I’m sorry…” Mao began but he turned and was about to leave. She took hold of his hand. “Don’t be mad at me. Please.”
“Water. I’m going to get you something to drink.” And then he went to the kitchen.
She hugged the cream colored throw pillow and cleared her throat. Her excuse is the lamest. She heard his distinct footsteps drawing near. “I just wanted to try. I just want to know why you can’t quit.”
“Drink.”
Mao obliged until she was halfway.
“More.”
She peeked at him, knowing it’s best to follow. She handed him the now empty glass and watch as he cautiously placed it on the table.
“You feeling okay now?”
Mao nodded.
“No problem with breathing?”
Mao took a lungful of air then exhaled. It was still hard to breathe, like pulling something from her shocked lungs. And her throat still wanting to cough. But she needed to tell him otherwise. Well, this was better than ten minutes ago when somehow she felt as if a fish out of water. She shook her head. And opened her mouth to apologize again but she saw him slump on the floor and dropped his head on top of her lap. His whole face pressed against her thigh. “What’s wrong?” as she tried peeking, her fingers began to brush against his still damp hair. “Jun?”
A moment of silence.
“What am I going to do with you and your stubborn ways?” he mumbled against her leg. “Seriously.” He looked up and with a grunt, leaned forward and took her lips.
Mao felt the ferocity of this kiss. He was demanding, pulling and taking her into an ecstasy of desire with just one kiss. She just sat there, dug her fingernails against his back and tried to keep up with his tempo, despite that it seemed unattainable, he was eating her alive ; his tongue tasted every corner of her mouth, bit her lower lip and tugged. And they were sharing the same breath. Not that they won’t kiss in the same intensity as this but it was as if he wanted to tell her something and he’s conveying it through this instead of words. It was that type of kiss which could drive her crazy. It was neither sweet nor tender. It was all his emotions wrapped up into one single kiss. It was his way of lecturing her. This was Jun scolding Mao.
And when he pulled away- which she thought was already impossible- her lips felt tender and swollen. Her face felt different, her insides lurched and the butterflies inside her stomach were still dancing in trance, trying to leap out of her mouth. His face was still inches away from her that the tip of her nose would brush on the sensitive flesh just below her left eye, he murmured. “I’m losing my mind.” His eyes were closed. His breathing uneven. He pecked her lips. “And”,
One kiss.
“it’s”,
He leaned in.
“all”,
Another.
“..your”
Again.
“…fault.”
And this one much longer and deeper than the rest.
~~
P.S.
Sooooo. *cough cough* should i make a part two? lol :>
Characters/Pairings: Inoue Mao, Matsumoto Jun,
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. This is out of my bizarre randomness and inborn talent of daydreaming. No money or any financial support is made from this; only self-actualization and bliss.
A/N: This has been one of the plots that won't leave my brain. And the only thing that's left is to post it so that the burden is passed. lol I origanlly said that this might put me in jail, well for startes, I don't really like what she did here but if anything, Mao-chan is the single most adorable being on earth.
Man, she's just the cutest isnt she?
She could still hear the rush of water from the bathroom; she could still hear it splashing against the cold tiled floor. She could still hear the droplets making their way against his marble like skin. She could still feel his strong presence despite the walls and doors keeping them apart. Hurriedly, like a kid dashing to the playground, she made her way to the end of the bed and stared at his dark brown messenger bag. Kneeling close, she touched the leather straps; felt the rough edges and smooth surface. A little coarse on some parts, it must’ve been where he’d grip them most of the time. She thought. She held them, and the familiarity of his palms had her biting her lower lip. She heard the shower stop. Her heartbeat also halted. Then that same rush of water again. And her shoulders relaxed. She glanced at the bathroom’s direction. Assessed that he won’t be coming out until later, she located the zipper and tugged; inches by inches the bag opened. And she was engulfed by him. Jun and his things. A water bottle half full, some white shirt she packed for him, a pack of wet tissue, some mint, his medicine kit, (she owns one, exactly the same as his except that it is transparent green, where his is white), a notebook, a pen, it didn’t came out as a surprise when her eyes locked into his genuine leather Emporio Armani black wallet that she gave him for this 25th birthday, two handkerchiefs, his Rayban sunglasses and a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. At first glance, she couldn’t see what she’s looking for. She peeked inside the small zipped pocket and bit her lips again. Really, Matsumoto? It was the folded paper napkin that was fairly doodled with their sneaky conversation during one of her agency meetings. He keeps such things. Treasures peculiar things. She rolled her eyes and pulled it out. She could see the massive damage of ink on the fine paper, she remembered how the conversation went and all that’s left is to tuck it inside her breast pocket. Making a mental note to dispose it later. She went back to business, and unzipped yet again another inside pocket. Her left cheek pulled into a mini evil grin. Pulled its contents and-she clucked her tongue at him being an organized freak- swiftly zipped the bag close; glanced again to check if it looked the same as before her assault and with dainty footsteps, went out.
With the small, solid box inside her palm, she opened the veranda glass door and the cool autumn wind greeted her. It was as if it was expecting to see her. As if saying, you really sure you’re going out wearing just that? And probably laughed at her. Well yeah, she’s rather wearing something unfit for an autumn night- dark blue long sleeves that didn’t even guarantee to keep her body warm and her super Mario pajama pants that was loose enough to fit in another pair of legs- with a temperature like this; but who needs time to get back inside and grab some fuzzy sweater when her boyfriend will be out of the shower any minute now. Closing the door behind, she crouched at the side. Like some ninja, she’s fairly sure she’s perfectly camouflaged within the shadows. Looking at the black box with simple and minimalistic design, it was already open, and a few of the sticks were missing. Opening further the flap opening, Mao looked at all the ends staring up at her, dug her thumb and index finger and grabbed the one on the top in the middle, retrieving one impeccably white stick of cigarette. She then held it to her nose for a second and took in that bitter scent of tobacco. As if beckoning to light it now. As if warning her. As if asking her why not?
Closed her eyes, pictured him holding it elegantly, like a lady in his expert hands. And she tried mimicking him. He would hold his cigarette between the thumb and forefinger, palm out, with the cigarette pointing outward. He looked regal, like some spy from a western movie. And he’d be in deep thought. Then that white smoke would come out of his lips, never ending, like he’s some Greek god clouded with some mysterious substance. And at times he’d let them out casually, clouds of smoke emitted while he talks, while he breathes. Like seeing his white breath, like seeing him breathing. And her time would stand still.
But she really loved it when he would lift his chin for a second, elongating his ivory neck for her to marvel, then his lips would part a little; elegantly. Slowly, then all at once that white fog would slip out of him upwards like some distant memory. She wanted to be embraced by that thin white smoke. She wanted to be that smoke. To be inside of him even for just a breath. She wanted to watch id disappear into thin air. And he’d trap it between his lips. It is such beauty seeing him like that. However he won’t let her near when he’s smoking. He would always go outside or move a few meters away from her. Or turn his back. She wanted to watch him. How he’s too engrossed, how he’s into the act, how his eyes would be empty and black. Like his mind is set into that particular activity. Like it’s just this white stick and him. Nothing ever mattered.
Mao finds him sexy, but Jun smoking his cigarette is divine.
She sighed. Her insides lurched at the memory of him losing himself into this stick. At one time she asked if she could try, it was a straight no. Saying it’s bad for the health, but why does he smoke if he’s well aware of such? When she asked Shun if she could try one from his box of cigarette, he snickered and shooed her away. It was as if Jun already warned him about her wanting to try. When she asked Toma how it feels like, he grinned and said no words could describe. Then again, he won’t let her try. Why? She would just try. Just once. Of course she won’t be addicted to it. She just wanted to know. Why can’t he stop? Why can’t they stop? When it’s common knowledge that it’s really benefitial to the health. She wanted to know. But does she really have to do this? It’s the only way. And sighed again, dropping the box by her side.
Curiosity got the best of her. She slipped it in between her lips and lit it with his bic. She inhaled thick scratchy smoke and felt as if she can almost not breathe, like her chest got hit by a truck. It was a headrush from the onset of the nicotine followed by lots of coughing. Mao regretted it as soon as she made her first attempt. White smoke blurred her vision as it came out of her in the most slurred manner. Coughing like crazy while her chest burned. Even as no one saw her, she became embarrassed. By the time she remembered how to exhale and inhale again, Mao was overwhelmed with the feeling of light headiness and dizziness, so she completely sat down, extending her arm away from her body, pushing the cigarette as much as possible.
The stick was still emitting that faint white smoke, and the red ember of burning cigarette glared at her. I told you. It said. With her empty hand, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand as the coughing continued. She waited a minute or so before the attacks calmed down. She licked her lips and thought, she can’t lose to this. She took another drag and it was a smoother and manageable compared to the first. But the coughing began again like some mad party was going on in her lungs. Then the world began to spin. Lightheadedness is swiftly taking over. Where is the fun in this? She thought with raised brows.
And she was starting to get annoyed.
One last. She whispered and took a deep breath. Her throat was still burning, her eyes still watery, and her lips felt dry. One more and it’s over. She decided and raised her arm close to her face, angled the lit stick between her lips-
“What on earth are you doing?!”
Mao glanced up. And felt like a bucket of ice water ran through her body, like a deer caught in the headlights. He was standing by the veranda door, both hands were in opposition to the door frame, as if preventing it from closing on him, his face was a mask of complete horror-dark and pale as he was standing against the living room lights- and it petrified her.
“N-n-nothing.” She stammered as she tried to minimize the damage and hid the cigarette on her side which was opposite him.
“Are you smoking?” he was hissing his words as his eyes went huge and his gaze fell on the cigarette box by her side, the lighter next to it, the faint white smoke coming from her side and her flushed features.
And to make matters worse, her throat was still itchy and trying not cough is like adding needles pinned on her lungs. She coughed her reply. “N-n..”
“Give it to me.” He took two long strides and he was kneeling in front of her, reaching out for her arm.
“I just- cough cough- wanted to try…”
She tried avoiding his ways on taking the still lit cigarette. She bumped her arm against the terrace wall in the process. “Ow.” But that didn’t stop her despite that it hurt so bad she’s sure it will bruise up any minute now.
“Inoue Mao.” He stopped trying to catch her hand. It was his first priority to not let her get hurt; she might burn herself if she kept on moving her hand away. With his cold and calm voice, he ordered. “Give it to me. Now.”
Mao coughed twice, thrice and she could see the seriousness in his eyes. Looks like someone’s in trouble. She patted herself inside her inner mind theater. And obliged. Handed him the close to halfway stick and gave out her most puppy sad eyes expression. She’s in big trouble; she could smell it reeking from him. The guy is fuming.
Jun closed his eyes for a moment, that which felt like eternity to her.
He didn’t waste time. Stubbed the stick until it stopped emitting smoke and disposed it on the ashtray on top of the veranda’s glass table. As soon as he’s done, Mao opened her mouth to explain, but a series of cough came out. Then she felt his hand massaging the little of her back.
“Come. Let’s get inside.” He drawled, grabbed both her arm and pulled her up.
“Jun…” she started, her head was still spinning. Thank you nicotine.
And then she found herself in his arms, carried by him who’s going to lecture her all night long. His body was rigid against her trembling one. She’s scared. She had always been scared of him, but right now, she felt like a child who did something so wrong, and that her last resort is to wait and listen to his blows and lecture. Yet all she did was grip on him, pull him closer, bury her face inside the crook of his neck and inhale his just-out-of-bath-Matsumoto-Jun which smelled like soap and skin. Despite that she’s terrified, she can’t help but be tempted by this man. She can’t help but want him more and more. Like some addicting drug. Her personal heroine.
He took a step inside and used his left foot to close the veranda door behind him. “You’re freezing…” feeling the fabric of her pajama. “Don’t you have thicker clothes other than this?” his voice is still icy. Then settled her carefully, like a fragile flower, on top of the sofa. Jun picked up the AC’s remote and adjusted the temperature.
“I’m sorry…” Mao began but he turned and was about to leave. She took hold of his hand. “Don’t be mad at me. Please.”
“Water. I’m going to get you something to drink.” And then he went to the kitchen.
She hugged the cream colored throw pillow and cleared her throat. Her excuse is the lamest. She heard his distinct footsteps drawing near. “I just wanted to try. I just want to know why you can’t quit.”
“Drink.”
Mao obliged until she was halfway.
“More.”
She peeked at him, knowing it’s best to follow. She handed him the now empty glass and watch as he cautiously placed it on the table.
“You feeling okay now?”
Mao nodded.
“No problem with breathing?”
Mao took a lungful of air then exhaled. It was still hard to breathe, like pulling something from her shocked lungs. And her throat still wanting to cough. But she needed to tell him otherwise. Well, this was better than ten minutes ago when somehow she felt as if a fish out of water. She shook her head. And opened her mouth to apologize again but she saw him slump on the floor and dropped his head on top of her lap. His whole face pressed against her thigh. “What’s wrong?” as she tried peeking, her fingers began to brush against his still damp hair. “Jun?”
A moment of silence.
“What am I going to do with you and your stubborn ways?” he mumbled against her leg. “Seriously.” He looked up and with a grunt, leaned forward and took her lips.
Mao felt the ferocity of this kiss. He was demanding, pulling and taking her into an ecstasy of desire with just one kiss. She just sat there, dug her fingernails against his back and tried to keep up with his tempo, despite that it seemed unattainable, he was eating her alive ; his tongue tasted every corner of her mouth, bit her lower lip and tugged. And they were sharing the same breath. Not that they won’t kiss in the same intensity as this but it was as if he wanted to tell her something and he’s conveying it through this instead of words. It was that type of kiss which could drive her crazy. It was neither sweet nor tender. It was all his emotions wrapped up into one single kiss. It was his way of lecturing her. This was Jun scolding Mao.
And when he pulled away- which she thought was already impossible- her lips felt tender and swollen. Her face felt different, her insides lurched and the butterflies inside her stomach were still dancing in trance, trying to leap out of her mouth. His face was still inches away from her that the tip of her nose would brush on the sensitive flesh just below her left eye, he murmured. “I’m losing my mind.” His eyes were closed. His breathing uneven. He pecked her lips. “And”,
One kiss.
“it’s”,
He leaned in.
“all”,
Another.
“..your”
Again.
“…fault.”
And this one much longer and deeper than the rest.
~~
P.S.
Sooooo. *cough cough* should i make a part two? lol :>