Girlish
Girlish
Pairing: Ohmiya
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6109 (omfg)
Summary: Nino wants Ohno. But Ohno likes girls. Well, that won't stop Nino.
A/N + Warnings: Genderswitch and hard smut warning. Buckets of love to for an awesome beta job.
Nino's phone pings as he goes through his address book, skipping right over Aiba's name from the start. Calling Aiba would be more trouble than it's worth: Aiba's heart would be in the right place, but his methods are suspect, and on top of that, Nino is positive that the first thing Aiba would do is grope him. Ohno is out by default, and Sho-kun would mean well but Nino is pretty sure he'd spend more time having fits of disbelief and questioning the mechanics of the universe than actually being helpful.
He doesn't really trust anyone outside of Arashi to really be able to understand what he wants, but luckily his last option is Jun, and Jun is just the right man for the job. He's considerate, and Nino needs that; he's also very serious and dedicated, and Nino needs that too. He'll go out of his way for Nino, and Nino intends to milk that for all that it's worth.
"I need help," Nino says into his phone, and it's the first time he's heard his voice since it happened. The timbre is different: still pitched, but softer.
"Who is this?" says Jun.
Nino sighs, "Me. I can explain when you get here, but if you really need proof I know exactly which nudie magazine you loaned to Aiba last week, it was the one with the girl in the red latex with the--"
"Who is this?" says Jun, sounding a little more panicked.
Nino sighs again. "Nino," he says, and is treated to a long silence on the other end of the line.
"Okay, I'll be there soon." And Jun hangs up.
While Nino waits, he makes tea, rich and smooth, with the leaves that Jun brought back with him from a recent vacation to Kyoto. Maybe if he drinks some he can soothe his scattered nerves. Then he looks down at himself.
It's definitely a different view than he's used to. He tugs the collar of his Dream-A-Live tour shirt open (not difficult to do, what with the way it's prone to falling off his shoulder) and studies the roundness of each breast peaked with soft, copper-brown nipples. His nipples are the same colour that they used to be, just a little bigger. He bounces, and his breasts bounce too. They're not very big, and Nino's worried a little, because he knows Ohno looks at the big ones.
By the time Jun rings the doorbell the tea has gone lukewarm, so Nino heats it up again in the microwave while Jun stares at him.
"If you didn't have the mole, I'd think you were your sister," Jun says.
"I do not look like my sister," Nino retorts, and considers dropping Jun's tea in his lap 'by mistake'. "She looks like a pear."
Jun doesn't have an answer for that. He's still too busy staring. Nino doesn't blame him, he keeps wanting to look down his own shirt. He hasn't gathered the courage to look down his pants yet. "What happened?" Jun asks, not without trepidation.
Nino places his teacup carefully on the tabletop and draws his knees up to his chest. "You can't guess?"
"I see the breasts," says Jun, a troubled curl to his lips, tea completely forgotten in the ring of his hands. "But--they're not real, are they?"
"Well they're not socks and they're not surgery," Nino says.
"You're a girl," Jun says flatly.
"So observant of you," Nino congratulates him.
Jun pauses. He is really an open book in some places, Nino thinks. Nino still doesn't know who Jun goes out to eat with after work, what books Jun has on his shelves, or how many girls he's dated, but by the wrinkle of Jun's brows and the tense set of his jaw, Nino knows that right now Jun is worried about Arashi. Sure enough: "So, what then?" he says, "We can't be a four person group. How are we going to change you back?"
"No," Nino assures him. "It's not permanent. I'll be back to normal in a couple of days."
"You..." This doesn't compute for Jun. "You did this to yourself?"
When Nino nods, he sees all the pieces fall together in Jun's mind. "Ohno."
Nino knows he must look sheepish, but Jun is too considerate to call him on it. It's unneeded proof that Jun was the right choice. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Jun says, and then adds, "And I still have no idea what you want out of me."
"I don't know anything about dresses," Nino says, willing himself not to be embarrassed. "Not to mention bras, or shoes."
"And I do?" Jun says, one hand over half his face like he's starting to get a headache.
"Think of it as a challenge," Nino grins, and when Jun groans he knows he's won.
~
"I am absolutely not going in that store with you," says Jun from behind the shield of his designer lenses. His hat is pulled down over his ears and only little curlicues of hair are poking out from beneath.
Nino hasn't bothered to hide who he is. No one would recognize him anyway, not as a girl, even while he's wearing boy's clothes. Jun had taken one look at Nino after he got dressed and insisted their first stop was for lingerie, not only because Nino's nipples were poking through his shirt ("But it's cold," Nino had whined,) but because he said Nino needed more shape ("You don't have a lot of meat on you, so why would you think you'd end up with knockers like Hoshino Aki?" Jun had reminded him).
"I suppose we couldn't say that you're my cousin," Nino agrees. He can just imagine the field day the tabloids would have with that one.
"There are too many things wrong with that sentence to count," Jun mutters, and goes to find himself a seat on one of the mall's benches, crossing his legs at the ankle and lounging like a rock star. Nino estimates at most two minutes before someone recognizes him and screams.
He's been in lingerie stores before. He's been in them and stared at the cake-like sweetness of each bra and panty set, wondered at all the lace threaded through the cups. How women manage to look like they have natural breasts under their shirts while wearing these things, he has no idea.
Running his finger over the rough surface of one pearl-pink bra cup, he balks. The numbers still make no sense to him. He doesn't know the difference between a 73 and a 75, much less a C and a D and an E. "Can I help you?" says a cheerful, perky voice over his right shoulder, and he jumps.
The employee is shorter than him, her bow-shaped lips painted glossy, a liberal amount of silvery shadow smoothed over each of her eyelids. Her skirts (because she's wearing two) give her a gypsy-like appearance with the way they swirl fluffily around her knees, and Nino gives pause to wonder if Ohno likes this kind of girl. "Um," he says. "I don't know what size I am."
"Okay!" she chirps, "This way, please." And Nino finds himself in the back of the store tucked in a changing room with an open door, the girl's hands quickly and precisely measuring his chest with a tape measure. It feels strange, how businesslike she is, as if it's not anything unusual for a girl to be touching another girl's breasts. What Aiba would say if he could see this, Nino smirks to himself.
"35C," she declares after checking her measurements twice.
Nino still doesn't know what that means. "Okay," he says. "And, I would find those..."
"Oh," she says with a graceful wave of her dainty hand, "just about everything comes in 35C."
"Right," says Nino, and escapes to go look around.
He's still lost, but not quite so lost. He's never had a good head for colour, much less what looks good on him and what doesn't, much less what colours Ohno likes, so he tries to find the most toned down pieces that don't look quite so much like confectionaries. Those just look uncomfortable.
Trying them on doesn't enlighten him any better, and what's more, it feels strange, what with the constriction of the cups pulling up at his breasts and pushing them together (they're all filled with padding--he now feels justified in his belief that girls are sneaky).
He emerges from the shop with a neon pink bag featuring the silhouette of a naked girl lounging along the edge, and Jun is still there, scrolling through his iPod, not a fangirl in sight. Nino is glad he didn't make the bet with himself out loud.
"So?" Jun says expectantly.
"I bought a black and white set," Nino says, thrusting the bag at him. Jun recoils like Nino is trying to feed him one of Aiba's vegetable and egg and ketchup concoctions. "What, you're not going to be a good boyfriend and carry my bags?"
"You need to put it on," Jun glowers, ignoring the jibe and aiming Nino at the nearest women's restroom. "You're not sagging, but I can still see your nipples, and I am not okay with that."
When Nino is back and Jun declares him acceptable, they go about finding something for Nino to wear, because boy pants and his steady diet of t-shirts just is not cutting it for his figure, according to Jun. Nino actually agrees; Jun would know, and Nino wants to use his girl body to its advantage.
They settle for the Honey's chain because Nino is cheap, and Jun gives in because it's not like Nino's going to be wearing this long-term anyway. Browsing the racks, the hangers shrieking softly as he pushes through them, drives home just how little he knows about fashion in general, and women's fashion specifically.
"So," Jun starts, casually drawing out a peasant blouse with long ties that have fluffy pompoms on the ends, and Nino thinks, here it comes. "How did you...?"
"I built myself a cocoon, and came out a beautiful butterfly," Nino lies, and Jun's eyebrow twitches.
"Fine," sighs Jun, moving past a shelf filled with graphic t-shirts of flowers and bunnies and skulls, some of them glittery and loud, "I won't ask. But I'm just..."
"Worried, I know," Nino fills in, and rests a hand on Jun's elbow, giving him a grateful squeeze. "I promise I'll turn back again. Then you can think of all this as your worst nightmare."
"Oh, I don't know," Jun says, and Nino catches a private smile on his face. "You could be Aiba-chan, after all."
Nino doesn't need to ask what Jun means by that; just the thought of a female Aiba being set loose in a lingerie store is enough (he would definitely go for the most cleavage-enhancing bras). That is clearly the stuff of Jun's nightmares. He feels a little better. "Thanks," he says.
"Yeah, yeah," Jun says, and pushes a hanger into Nino's hands, and Nino holds it up to find a soft, oversized sweater-dress patterned with thick bumblebee stripes. "At least I can try to keep you from looking like an idiot while you're acting like one. Try that," Jun says. "It nearly matches your underwear, too."
"That doesn't win you any points," Nino grins, but flags down a busy saleslady who looks harried as she prepares the dressing room for him.
He looks at himself in the mirror after he strips off his shirt. He still hasn't tried to take off his pants yet; there's a strange void between his legs that he hasn't dared to face, but he tries not to think about it and unbuttons his jeans.
Nino had always been on the skinny side of skinny. As a girl, he's filled out some, his tummy softening but still firm, his hips rounding. His trump-patterned boxers actually look kind of sexy on him, giving him a sense of tomboyishness. Catching sight of his toes in the mirror, he wriggles them and then looks down for a better view. They're smaller, daintier.
Putting off the rest of his exploration, because he knows Jun is waiting outside with his arms folded, he shrugs into the dress and plucks at it to try to get it to fall right. The scoop neck is wide and his clavicles peek out, the collar of it dipping down and just giving away a hint of cleavage that wouldn't be there if he weren't wearing a bra. It's kind of embarrassing, and even more so when he opens the door to be faced with Jun.
The lazy up and down of Jun's gaze is critical. He does a little more plucking, grunts, and then turns around, shifting through hooks of ornamented hanging belts before finding what he wants. "This will do it," he declares, and fastens a wide, black, fake-leather belt around Nino's middle, higher than he ever would wear if he were still a guy. It feels like another constrictive bar, twin to the elastic of his bra.
"Good," Jun says, looking pleased with himself. "You could definitely do worse."
"Maybe they'll let me wear this out of the store," Nino muses aloud.
Jun raises a hand. "Absolutely not. We haven't gotten you waxed yet."
Nino has good ears. He knows exactly what he heard, but he still has to say, "Eh?" like an old lady who needs an ear trumpet.
"I hope you weren't planning on having sex with Ohno with hairy legs," says Jun, and Nino's face must be answering correctly Actually, I haven't thought about it at all, because Jun is making that expression that means he's trying to keep from rolling his eyes.
"I have a razor," Nino protests.
"A man's razor. I know you're all set to use it on your legs, but trust me, that is a bad idea. You'll dull the blade."
Since Jun seems to know what he's talking about (or at least, Nino isn't really willing to question when he certainly doesn't know anything), he lets Jun talk him into a pink, ergonomically correct blade that he swears he will make use of (carefully).
When Nino gets home he does everything he possibly can to avoid taking a shower, which includes writing himself a note about buying Jun a thank-you gift with a side note: doesn't have to be cheap. Maybe he can buy him cuff links.
He puts his dress in his closet and then sets the new, buckle-laden boots that Jun had fawned over for five minutes in his entryway. When everything else is put away, he sends Ohno a text.
Ohchan, I know tomorrow is your day off.
You're not allowed to go fishing, because I have a surprise for you♪♪♪
Come over at 10, or else.
When he goes to bed, he still hasn't taken a shower. He curls up in his boxers and dreams of high heels and hair accessories and being eaten by a bra that's a wedding cake at the same time.
~
Nino had chosen 10 A.M. with foresight. It gave his mother time to get out of the house and off to work, and yet an ample window of opportunity to do all those self-maintenance things that Jun had recommended, or perhaps insisted, on.
So he sucks it up and takes off his boxers, finally naked for the first time as he stands in his bathroom on the carnation-coloured shag bath mat. He's thankful there are no full-length mirrors anywhere around, now, and he gets in and lets the heat of the water work its way into his skin.
It's a new experience to actually pay attention to what he's doing with the soap and with his hands. Aside from whacking off when he feels the urge, most of Nino's showers consist of a quick soap scrub followed by a face wash and shampooing with cheap drug-store bought shampoo. Now he's hyper-aware, moving his washcloth in loose circles over his breasts, taking care with the dip of his tummy.
When he can't avoid it anymore, he massages soap into the sparse, soft hair between his legs and presses his lips together, anticipating. He knows where a woman's clit is, and when he finds his tucked near the front he almost, but doesn't quite, moan. It's as if his entire cock has been compressed into one small, sensitive point. Nino lets his hand fall away and sighs.
He manages to shave his legs without mishap, and it's not until he's safely out of the shower and dried before he hits upon a problem. First, he feels ridiculous wearing panties. Second, he has gotten a run in his stockings before even getting them up to his hips.
That means a call to Jun, of course. "Nail polish," says Jun. "Clear nail polish will stop it from running more, but you can't un-run them."
"I don't think I want to know how you know that," Nino says, staring down at his legs which are half-caught up in pantyhose.
"You can borrow your sister's," suggests Jun, who is an expert at ignoring things he doesn't want to hear (though Nino's certain he made one of those faces again, even if he can't see it).
Actually, Nino can't, because his sister took all her nail polish with her when she moved out two years prior to be all lovey-dovey with her co-worker in a sixth-floor apartment in Hiroo. He can't find his mom's nail polish, either, outside of a Valentine's shade of red, and so he gives up in disgust and throws the stockings in the trash bin. While he's at it, he changes back into a pair of boxers, too, rationalizing to himself that it really doesn't look any different under the dress.
The clock reads 9:38. Nino has not been nervous this entire time. He hadn't been nervous when he made the decision (though he had wondered if he was crazy, yes) and not nervous after he changed either, and he's still not worried about whether or not he'll turn back properly in time for work. While he's waiting he plays video games, and his belt cuts into the soft part of his tummy under his ribs so he has to shift around until he can play without frowning.
It's when the doorbell rings at 10:04 that it all hits him in a rush. His stomach clenches up and his breath gets stuck in his chest like his throat's been corked, and he almost doesn't want to open the door.
But he does. And Ohno looks at him.
And Ohno sees.
Nino's heart is insistent and frustratingly loud in his ears as he takes Ohno's wrist and leads him inside in bare feet. "Nino?" Ohno says, managing to look through all the pretty decorative layers and see right to the heart of things.
"Surprise," Nino says dryly, standing awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs and debating as to what the hell to do next. He hasn't scripted this part. He hasn't dared to imagine what it might be like, because no matter what he thought it would inevitably be different anyway. Predicting the future is an exercise in futility, Nino knows.
Ohno scratches his cheek and his lips push together as he considers this new development. "Why?" he says, and it's just like Ohno to skip over the inevitable how?
"Because," says Nino with no hesitation, "I like you."
"I know," says Ohno, "but I don't--"
"Really, Leader," Nino interrupts. "Like a kiss. Like love."
Ohno is serious, no hint of mocking on his face. His eyes are stuck on Nino's collar for precisely four heartbeats as he thinks. Nino doesn't give him a chance to answer; he keeps talking, mostly because he doesn't want to hear what Ohno has to say. "I know you like girls. That's why--but just a day. I thought... just a day."
"Ah," says Ohno finally, as if he mostly understands. His tapered fingers curl through Nino's, closing tight. "You look cute with breasts."
Nino feels delirious all of a sudden, disconnected from his mind. "Let's sit down," he says, and they do, in the living room on the long, worn-out couch that has a butt-groove from Nino's hundreds of hours of playing games. Nino nearly falls into it, but manages to scoot aside with some semblance of grace. It's only a happy coincidence that this means he is closer to Ohno, and he lets a hand fall onto Ohno's knee.
Ohno picks it up. He turns Nino's palm towards the ceiling and straightens out a finger, and Nino figures out what he's doing right when Ohno says, "They're still yours. Cute little hamburgers." Ohno seems relieved, and charmed all over again.
"Yeah," Nino says, resigned, "still stupid and small." Ohno's touch is gentle and Nino doesn't pull away.
"What do they feel like?" Ohno asks suddenly, and Nino knows what he means because Ohno is eyeing his chest now.
"I'll tell you what they feel like," says Nino, and he sticks his fingers under the elastic to readjust things, because they're getting uncomfortable. "Like Jell-o, that's what they feel like. It's like I have two cups of Jell-o strapped on my chest. You can touch them."
Ohno hums, taking this all in stride in the way that only he can, and then his hand is on one of Nino's breasts, soft and almost impossible to feel through all the padding. "I like Jell-o shots," he says, musing aloud.
Nino can't help laughing. "That is so unsexy," he says, but his mind is reeling, because this is working, it's working.
Ohno takes off Nino's belt (a total waste of money, Nino thinks) and his hands are already patterning circles over Nino's body, running spirals over his bra. Ohno seems fascinated, the normal haziness of his gaze nowhere to be found.
Between his legs, Nino suddenly grows warm, going tingly, a little swollen. It's distracting, but not distracting enough to prevent Nino from putting his hands under Ohno's shirt. That part at least is familiar. It makes Ohno smile, the smile that he gives to Nino when they're communicating without words. It's the smile that Nino likes best.
There's no hurry. Ohno is exploring, his tapered fingers tracing narrow lines along Nino's collar and over the bump of his clavicle. Curious, he tugs the fabric open, taking a shameless glance down inside Nino's dress.
"I did that too," Nino tells him. "Look." He tries to jiggle, but his breasts don't jiggle with him like they did before. "Oh, hold on," he says belatedly, his hand craning around to touch at the fastening of his bra through his shirt.
Ohno makes a sound, a puff and a click of tongue that stops Nino from undoing his own bra, and he takes over, hoisting up Nino's skirt for easy access. Then he stops. "Boxers?" he says.
"I couldn't do the panties thing," Nino admits, gratified to find that Ohno is looking at him with a mixture of bafflement and fondness. "Got a problem?"
"They're cute," Ohno says with a shake of his head, giving up his quest to free Nino's breasts in favor of smoothing his palm along Nino's waist and the thick elastic stripe of his boxers.
"You say that about everything," Nino sighs.
Ohno is careful when he takes them off, making Nino lie back on the couch, and Nino stares at the ceiling. He has to grab onto the cushions when Ohno's hands slide up his thighs. "Not everything," Ohno says, and bends.
Nino's whole body feels heavy and electric the moment Ohno's mouth settles. He can feel Ohno's tongue parting him, traveling up, and the moment Ohno reaches his clit he moans loud enough to startle himself. Ohno knows what he's doing. That's the one thing that Nino clings to, the one thought that makes any sense in the midst of everything. His legs are jerking as if they want to move, like reflex actions in response to every sharp spark of pleasure.
"Ohno," Nino moans, fumbling to find Ohno's head with his hands, his fingers sliding into his hair and holding on way too tight. Ohno grunts, but he's as passive as he is in the green room and in front of cameras: he doesn't shake Nino away.
He does rise, however, and pull off his shirt, which makes Nino stare, because Ohno has always been safe (and pleasant) to stare at. He wants Ohno's mouth between his legs again; he can see a bit of shine over Ohno's lips, and thinks, that's because of me.
"You're not going to take that off?" Ohno asks, and Nino sits up in a hurry, wriggling out of his dress to sit there in nothing but his black-and-white plaid bra. He feels wet, and ready, and he needs to touch Ohno, so he does, pulling Ohno close to kiss him.
Their noses bump hard, and Ohno isn't quite prepared so Ohno's mouth isn't open where Nino's is, leaving a damp patch over Ohno's upper lip. But Ohno catches on fast, just like Nino hoped, and their kiss goes from clunky to slick as Ohno's tongue flirts out and against Nino's. Ohno tastes a little strange, but Nino knows why, and he doesn't mind.
That leaves Ohno's pants to deal with, which Nino takes care of in short order, their kisses a soundtrack over the top, breathy and short and excited. Nino's hands slide along Ohno's backside, pushing down his underwear. It's hardly the first time he's groped Ohno, but it is the first time he's done so without the stylist's wardrobe in the way, so he takes his moment and gets a good handful.
It makes Ohno laugh, which is problematic when they're kissing, so Nino goes instead for Ohno's throat.
"Nino, wait, wait--" Ohno is saying, his hands cupping Nino's shoulders, gentle even when he's pushing Nino away. "Do you have condoms?" Nino can see, now, that Ohno's cock is standing, the tip of it already dropped with pearliness.
"Of course I have condoms," Nino says, a flash of heat curling his belly tighter, like a shimmer. He's twenty-five and it's not like he's never had sex before. "In my room."
It could be awkward, moving from one place to the other mostly undressed, but it's not. Nino is light-headed and can feel Ohno's eyes on his ass as he opens the door to his bedroom.
Nino's room is not entirely the disaster zone that it normally is, but Ohno still steps on the cellophane packaging of his stockings while Nino beelines to the stash of condoms in his dresser drawer. By the time Nino turns around, Ohno has peeled it off his foot and is trying to stuff it into Nino's trash.
"You don't have to do that," Nino says, exasperated and impatient.
Ohno shrugs, and Nino doesn't know what to say next, so he busies himself with opening the shiny packet in his hands, doing his best not to break the plastic inside. He can feel Ohno coming close, the movement in his peripheral vision a warning before Ohno's arms slide around him and undo the hooks of his bra.
"There," Ohno says. "Now you can jiggle."
"You're stupid," Nino says, of course not meaning it at all, and Ohno squeezes Nino's wrist to say he knows.
They climb onto Nino's bed, which Nino hasn't made for weeks, shoving the covers completely out of the way, and Nino hands Ohno the condom. His arm feels shaky. He's ready for this, so totally ready, and yet not ready at all. When he lies down on his back, his breasts flatten like pancakes, the dark plates of his nipples pointy. He pokes at them while Ohno carefully rolls on the condom.
"I could have given you a blow job," Nino says, watching Ohno's hands.
"Have you, before?" Ohno asks, his curiosity conversational as he rests his body alongside Nino's.
"Not to you," Nino quips, and then has to swallow, because Ohno's fingers are teasing along his slit again.
"I would remember that," Ohno murmurs, and presses a finger inside.
Nino's mouth falls open and then Ohno is there, their kisses slower so that Nino can drown in the moment. Ohno's fingers are dexterous, which Nino has always known, but this is a far cry from a delicate grip around the wrist or a handhold onstage. Nino's knees part wider.
The sky has been layered with clouds all day, and the light that pushes into Nino's bedroom through his ratty, thin curtains is diffused and colourless. It makes Ohno pale, all the lines of his face soft when he rises over Nino. "Let me just--" he says, doing something between their legs.
And then he pushes, and Nino feels himself spread even wider, pushed apart while Ohno smooths one steady, warm stroke into his body. "Ah," Ohno says with some wonder. "You're tight." He stops. Nino is halfway through lifting a leg in an entirely instinctual move to lessen the pressure on his insides, his mind going yes, yes, ouch, and Ohno stares at him, suddenly realizing with wonder: "You're a virgin."
No I'm not, Nino almost says, because when he thinks of virginity he thinks of being seventeen again at the party with that girl who had a button nose and actually liked Sho-kun. But Ohno is right. "So?" His lungs feel trapped behind the bands of his ribs. He doesn't want conversation anymore.
Whatever Ohno is thinking, he doesn't say it. Maybe he's picked up on the thrum of urgency that's pulsing under Nino's skin; Ohno has always been perceptive of Nino's moods like that. The slick sounds of sex, of Ohno's cock moving in and out of Nino, takes the place of their words, and Nino's head falls back, too heavy to hold up. He's drinking in air and his legs are winding around Ohno's waist with desperation as his mind documents the feeling: the warm glow that fills him all the way from forehead to heels, so entirely different than the concentrated sunburst of pleasure that a cock provided.
"Nino," Ohno says, his hand on Nino's pelvis, and Nino knows exactly what he wants. Ohno's cock pops out of him with a wet sound as he rolls over and thrusts his hips up in the air, and then it's all he can do to grab onto his sheets and hold himself steady as Ohno thrusts back inside him, balls smacking against his ass steady as a percussion track.
Ohno puts his dancing hips to good use, and Nino finds himself crying out, nonsensical words that are half smothered in his mattress. It's hard to hold on. His breasts are swinging in an awkward counterpoint, and Ohno's fingers are rubbing smooth circles against his skin. "Yes," he's saying. Nino can barely hear him over the sounds of his own voice. There is sweat dripping up his back and along his brow and he almost bites his lips when his teeth clench hard.
It's too much. Nino has reservoirs of stamina, but there is something he needs that is out of reach, completely out of reach and he doesn't know how to handle that. He feels like a clock that has been wound too tight.
He doesn't get to see Ohno's face when he comes, he only knows it happens because Ohno's hands tighten on his hips and Ohno starts to slow, his thrusts losing their rough bounce. Nino can finally catch his breath. His cheeks feel hot, and his groin sore and swollen.
Ohno eases him into turning over, which is a good thing because Nino's not up for voluntary moving yet. He hasn't come, but he's too exhausted now to try figure out how to do it with this body anyway. He stretches out one leg, hogging the bottom of the mattress at a diagonal slant, and works on breathing properly. Ohno sinks down beside him with a puff of exhausted energy, his hand so low on Nino's stomach that his pinky is grazing hair.
"Condom, trash," Nino says, flinging an arm in the general vicinity of the pantyhose-filled trash can.
"You do it," whines Ohno. Nino makes a face at him, but he does, knotting the rubber and slumping across the short space to dispose of it.
Ohno is waiting with an open arm when he comes back. Nino climbs on top of him, being considerate of his soft, sensitive cock and not stepping all over Ohno with his knees.
"We can do this again, right?" Ohno asks, his nails grazing idly along Nino's spine. It almost tickles.
"I'm turning back tomorrow, or maybe the day after," Nino admits reluctantly. The window of time is too small to do everything he wants to do with Ohno. But at least he got this much, he tells himself.
"Is that a no?" Ohno says, disappointed.
It hits Nino then. He pushes himself onto his elbows and looks down straight into Ohno's face. "You don't care," he says, bemused. "You actually don't care."
"I don't not care," Ohno says, looking embarrassed. "But, you know, I've always... it's us," he finishes lamely. Nino looks at him, hard. There are thin lines around Ohno's eyes, partially from laughter, partially from age. He's dark, dark, dark from the sun, and Nino is stupidly in love with him.
"You idiot," Nino grouses, falling on top of Ohno. He manages to keep from punching Ohno's shoulder in exasperation, but only just.
"Sorry," Ohno says, and to his credit he does sound a little bit sorry. "It was a nice surprise, though."
Nino heaves a long-suffering sigh. He feels like the biggest moron, but he can't really be angry, because it's not like either of them ever talked about it before. It's as much his fault as Ohno's. More, if he's honest with himself.
"Well," says Nino, "if that's decided, we might as well make use of the time we have left."
"If what's decided?" says Ohno, and then: "Ouch," because Nino decides restraint is overrated and pinches him.
"Us dating," Nino informs him.
"Oh, that," Ohno says, pulling Nino's hand away from his skin and craftily sliding their fingers together so that Nino can't pinch him again. "So, what else can we do?"
Epilogue:
Aiba is Aiba, and Nino was exactly right in believing that Aiba would grope him, because he does it right after he finds out that Nino isn't just Ohno's hot date but also Ninomiya Kazunari in the flesh, and right before Sho drops his coffee in his lap and starts cursing.
"Here," Jun says, and hands Sho a box of tissues.
"How are you so calm about this?!" Sho demands, standing bow-legged in front of the magazine's now-soiled greenroom couch.
"How about if I just tweak the nipples, does it feel the same?" Aiba says, and Nino has to hit him.
"No wonder he didn't take you shopping," Jun says to Sho.
"He has breasts!" babbles Sho.
"Yes, he does," Aiba says appreciatively.
Nino leans on Ohno, letting his breasts push against Ohno's arm to see the little private smile bloom on his face. He watches the din with narrowed, lazy eyes: Jun is fishing new pants off the rack for Sho. He crosses his legs so his skirt rides up a little higher, and Sho diverts his eyes abruptly, looking flushed.
"So, hey, Nino," Aiba says. "Nino, can you teach me how you did it? Because I'd really like to--"
"No," comes the chorus of Jun and Sho.
"It wouldn't--"
"No," Jun insists, and Aiba wilts, his eyes going puppy-sad.
Nino can think of all the reasons he shouldn't tell Aiba. Aiba accosting Jun with requests to 'Just touch it', the probability of Aiba trying to discover just what he can and can't pick up between his breasts, Aiba experimenting with thongs and bikinis (though actually he wouldn't mind watching that so much). He can think of all that and more, but he can also think of why he should.
He catches Aiba's gaze, and winks.
Now he owes Jun two presents.
Notes:
1. Hoshino Aki is a bikini model. She was on Shukudai-kun once.
2. I used the Japanese bra sizes. Which means Nino is actually somewhere between an A and B cup. For some idea of cup sizes, you can check here. There are picture references.
3. No, I won't tell you how Nino turned himself into a girl. That's for you to decide (though I do have my own theories).
Original Commentary
Pairing: Ohmiya
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6109 (omfg)
Summary: Nino wants Ohno. But Ohno likes girls. Well, that won't stop Nino.
A/N + Warnings: Genderswitch and hard smut warning. Buckets of love to for an awesome beta job.
Nino's phone pings as he goes through his address book, skipping right over Aiba's name from the start. Calling Aiba would be more trouble than it's worth: Aiba's heart would be in the right place, but his methods are suspect, and on top of that, Nino is positive that the first thing Aiba would do is grope him. Ohno is out by default, and Sho-kun would mean well but Nino is pretty sure he'd spend more time having fits of disbelief and questioning the mechanics of the universe than actually being helpful.
He doesn't really trust anyone outside of Arashi to really be able to understand what he wants, but luckily his last option is Jun, and Jun is just the right man for the job. He's considerate, and Nino needs that; he's also very serious and dedicated, and Nino needs that too. He'll go out of his way for Nino, and Nino intends to milk that for all that it's worth.
"I need help," Nino says into his phone, and it's the first time he's heard his voice since it happened. The timbre is different: still pitched, but softer.
"Who is this?" says Jun.
Nino sighs, "Me. I can explain when you get here, but if you really need proof I know exactly which nudie magazine you loaned to Aiba last week, it was the one with the girl in the red latex with the--"
"Who is this?" says Jun, sounding a little more panicked.
Nino sighs again. "Nino," he says, and is treated to a long silence on the other end of the line.
"Okay, I'll be there soon." And Jun hangs up.
While Nino waits, he makes tea, rich and smooth, with the leaves that Jun brought back with him from a recent vacation to Kyoto. Maybe if he drinks some he can soothe his scattered nerves. Then he looks down at himself.
It's definitely a different view than he's used to. He tugs the collar of his Dream-A-Live tour shirt open (not difficult to do, what with the way it's prone to falling off his shoulder) and studies the roundness of each breast peaked with soft, copper-brown nipples. His nipples are the same colour that they used to be, just a little bigger. He bounces, and his breasts bounce too. They're not very big, and Nino's worried a little, because he knows Ohno looks at the big ones.
By the time Jun rings the doorbell the tea has gone lukewarm, so Nino heats it up again in the microwave while Jun stares at him.
"If you didn't have the mole, I'd think you were your sister," Jun says.
"I do not look like my sister," Nino retorts, and considers dropping Jun's tea in his lap 'by mistake'. "She looks like a pear."
Jun doesn't have an answer for that. He's still too busy staring. Nino doesn't blame him, he keeps wanting to look down his own shirt. He hasn't gathered the courage to look down his pants yet. "What happened?" Jun asks, not without trepidation.
Nino places his teacup carefully on the tabletop and draws his knees up to his chest. "You can't guess?"
"I see the breasts," says Jun, a troubled curl to his lips, tea completely forgotten in the ring of his hands. "But--they're not real, are they?"
"Well they're not socks and they're not surgery," Nino says.
"You're a girl," Jun says flatly.
"So observant of you," Nino congratulates him.
Jun pauses. He is really an open book in some places, Nino thinks. Nino still doesn't know who Jun goes out to eat with after work, what books Jun has on his shelves, or how many girls he's dated, but by the wrinkle of Jun's brows and the tense set of his jaw, Nino knows that right now Jun is worried about Arashi. Sure enough: "So, what then?" he says, "We can't be a four person group. How are we going to change you back?"
"No," Nino assures him. "It's not permanent. I'll be back to normal in a couple of days."
"You..." This doesn't compute for Jun. "You did this to yourself?"
When Nino nods, he sees all the pieces fall together in Jun's mind. "Ohno."
Nino knows he must look sheepish, but Jun is too considerate to call him on it. It's unneeded proof that Jun was the right choice. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Jun says, and then adds, "And I still have no idea what you want out of me."
"I don't know anything about dresses," Nino says, willing himself not to be embarrassed. "Not to mention bras, or shoes."
"And I do?" Jun says, one hand over half his face like he's starting to get a headache.
"Think of it as a challenge," Nino grins, and when Jun groans he knows he's won.
~
"I am absolutely not going in that store with you," says Jun from behind the shield of his designer lenses. His hat is pulled down over his ears and only little curlicues of hair are poking out from beneath.
Nino hasn't bothered to hide who he is. No one would recognize him anyway, not as a girl, even while he's wearing boy's clothes. Jun had taken one look at Nino after he got dressed and insisted their first stop was for lingerie, not only because Nino's nipples were poking through his shirt ("But it's cold," Nino had whined,) but because he said Nino needed more shape ("You don't have a lot of meat on you, so why would you think you'd end up with knockers like Hoshino Aki?" Jun had reminded him).
"I suppose we couldn't say that you're my cousin," Nino agrees. He can just imagine the field day the tabloids would have with that one.
"There are too many things wrong with that sentence to count," Jun mutters, and goes to find himself a seat on one of the mall's benches, crossing his legs at the ankle and lounging like a rock star. Nino estimates at most two minutes before someone recognizes him and screams.
He's been in lingerie stores before. He's been in them and stared at the cake-like sweetness of each bra and panty set, wondered at all the lace threaded through the cups. How women manage to look like they have natural breasts under their shirts while wearing these things, he has no idea.
Running his finger over the rough surface of one pearl-pink bra cup, he balks. The numbers still make no sense to him. He doesn't know the difference between a 73 and a 75, much less a C and a D and an E. "Can I help you?" says a cheerful, perky voice over his right shoulder, and he jumps.
The employee is shorter than him, her bow-shaped lips painted glossy, a liberal amount of silvery shadow smoothed over each of her eyelids. Her skirts (because she's wearing two) give her a gypsy-like appearance with the way they swirl fluffily around her knees, and Nino gives pause to wonder if Ohno likes this kind of girl. "Um," he says. "I don't know what size I am."
"Okay!" she chirps, "This way, please." And Nino finds himself in the back of the store tucked in a changing room with an open door, the girl's hands quickly and precisely measuring his chest with a tape measure. It feels strange, how businesslike she is, as if it's not anything unusual for a girl to be touching another girl's breasts. What Aiba would say if he could see this, Nino smirks to himself.
"35C," she declares after checking her measurements twice.
Nino still doesn't know what that means. "Okay," he says. "And, I would find those..."
"Oh," she says with a graceful wave of her dainty hand, "just about everything comes in 35C."
"Right," says Nino, and escapes to go look around.
He's still lost, but not quite so lost. He's never had a good head for colour, much less what looks good on him and what doesn't, much less what colours Ohno likes, so he tries to find the most toned down pieces that don't look quite so much like confectionaries. Those just look uncomfortable.
Trying them on doesn't enlighten him any better, and what's more, it feels strange, what with the constriction of the cups pulling up at his breasts and pushing them together (they're all filled with padding--he now feels justified in his belief that girls are sneaky).
He emerges from the shop with a neon pink bag featuring the silhouette of a naked girl lounging along the edge, and Jun is still there, scrolling through his iPod, not a fangirl in sight. Nino is glad he didn't make the bet with himself out loud.
"So?" Jun says expectantly.
"I bought a black and white set," Nino says, thrusting the bag at him. Jun recoils like Nino is trying to feed him one of Aiba's vegetable and egg and ketchup concoctions. "What, you're not going to be a good boyfriend and carry my bags?"
"You need to put it on," Jun glowers, ignoring the jibe and aiming Nino at the nearest women's restroom. "You're not sagging, but I can still see your nipples, and I am not okay with that."
When Nino is back and Jun declares him acceptable, they go about finding something for Nino to wear, because boy pants and his steady diet of t-shirts just is not cutting it for his figure, according to Jun. Nino actually agrees; Jun would know, and Nino wants to use his girl body to its advantage.
They settle for the Honey's chain because Nino is cheap, and Jun gives in because it's not like Nino's going to be wearing this long-term anyway. Browsing the racks, the hangers shrieking softly as he pushes through them, drives home just how little he knows about fashion in general, and women's fashion specifically.
"So," Jun starts, casually drawing out a peasant blouse with long ties that have fluffy pompoms on the ends, and Nino thinks, here it comes. "How did you...?"
"I built myself a cocoon, and came out a beautiful butterfly," Nino lies, and Jun's eyebrow twitches.
"Fine," sighs Jun, moving past a shelf filled with graphic t-shirts of flowers and bunnies and skulls, some of them glittery and loud, "I won't ask. But I'm just..."
"Worried, I know," Nino fills in, and rests a hand on Jun's elbow, giving him a grateful squeeze. "I promise I'll turn back again. Then you can think of all this as your worst nightmare."
"Oh, I don't know," Jun says, and Nino catches a private smile on his face. "You could be Aiba-chan, after all."
Nino doesn't need to ask what Jun means by that; just the thought of a female Aiba being set loose in a lingerie store is enough (he would definitely go for the most cleavage-enhancing bras). That is clearly the stuff of Jun's nightmares. He feels a little better. "Thanks," he says.
"Yeah, yeah," Jun says, and pushes a hanger into Nino's hands, and Nino holds it up to find a soft, oversized sweater-dress patterned with thick bumblebee stripes. "At least I can try to keep you from looking like an idiot while you're acting like one. Try that," Jun says. "It nearly matches your underwear, too."
"That doesn't win you any points," Nino grins, but flags down a busy saleslady who looks harried as she prepares the dressing room for him.
He looks at himself in the mirror after he strips off his shirt. He still hasn't tried to take off his pants yet; there's a strange void between his legs that he hasn't dared to face, but he tries not to think about it and unbuttons his jeans.
Nino had always been on the skinny side of skinny. As a girl, he's filled out some, his tummy softening but still firm, his hips rounding. His trump-patterned boxers actually look kind of sexy on him, giving him a sense of tomboyishness. Catching sight of his toes in the mirror, he wriggles them and then looks down for a better view. They're smaller, daintier.
Putting off the rest of his exploration, because he knows Jun is waiting outside with his arms folded, he shrugs into the dress and plucks at it to try to get it to fall right. The scoop neck is wide and his clavicles peek out, the collar of it dipping down and just giving away a hint of cleavage that wouldn't be there if he weren't wearing a bra. It's kind of embarrassing, and even more so when he opens the door to be faced with Jun.
The lazy up and down of Jun's gaze is critical. He does a little more plucking, grunts, and then turns around, shifting through hooks of ornamented hanging belts before finding what he wants. "This will do it," he declares, and fastens a wide, black, fake-leather belt around Nino's middle, higher than he ever would wear if he were still a guy. It feels like another constrictive bar, twin to the elastic of his bra.
"Good," Jun says, looking pleased with himself. "You could definitely do worse."
"Maybe they'll let me wear this out of the store," Nino muses aloud.
Jun raises a hand. "Absolutely not. We haven't gotten you waxed yet."
Nino has good ears. He knows exactly what he heard, but he still has to say, "Eh?" like an old lady who needs an ear trumpet.
"I hope you weren't planning on having sex with Ohno with hairy legs," says Jun, and Nino's face must be answering correctly Actually, I haven't thought about it at all, because Jun is making that expression that means he's trying to keep from rolling his eyes.
"I have a razor," Nino protests.
"A man's razor. I know you're all set to use it on your legs, but trust me, that is a bad idea. You'll dull the blade."
Since Jun seems to know what he's talking about (or at least, Nino isn't really willing to question when he certainly doesn't know anything), he lets Jun talk him into a pink, ergonomically correct blade that he swears he will make use of (carefully).
When Nino gets home he does everything he possibly can to avoid taking a shower, which includes writing himself a note about buying Jun a thank-you gift with a side note: doesn't have to be cheap. Maybe he can buy him cuff links.
He puts his dress in his closet and then sets the new, buckle-laden boots that Jun had fawned over for five minutes in his entryway. When everything else is put away, he sends Ohno a text.
Ohchan, I know tomorrow is your day off.
You're not allowed to go fishing, because I have a surprise for you♪♪♪
Come over at 10, or else.
When he goes to bed, he still hasn't taken a shower. He curls up in his boxers and dreams of high heels and hair accessories and being eaten by a bra that's a wedding cake at the same time.
~
Nino had chosen 10 A.M. with foresight. It gave his mother time to get out of the house and off to work, and yet an ample window of opportunity to do all those self-maintenance things that Jun had recommended, or perhaps insisted, on.
So he sucks it up and takes off his boxers, finally naked for the first time as he stands in his bathroom on the carnation-coloured shag bath mat. He's thankful there are no full-length mirrors anywhere around, now, and he gets in and lets the heat of the water work its way into his skin.
It's a new experience to actually pay attention to what he's doing with the soap and with his hands. Aside from whacking off when he feels the urge, most of Nino's showers consist of a quick soap scrub followed by a face wash and shampooing with cheap drug-store bought shampoo. Now he's hyper-aware, moving his washcloth in loose circles over his breasts, taking care with the dip of his tummy.
When he can't avoid it anymore, he massages soap into the sparse, soft hair between his legs and presses his lips together, anticipating. He knows where a woman's clit is, and when he finds his tucked near the front he almost, but doesn't quite, moan. It's as if his entire cock has been compressed into one small, sensitive point. Nino lets his hand fall away and sighs.
He manages to shave his legs without mishap, and it's not until he's safely out of the shower and dried before he hits upon a problem. First, he feels ridiculous wearing panties. Second, he has gotten a run in his stockings before even getting them up to his hips.
That means a call to Jun, of course. "Nail polish," says Jun. "Clear nail polish will stop it from running more, but you can't un-run them."
"I don't think I want to know how you know that," Nino says, staring down at his legs which are half-caught up in pantyhose.
"You can borrow your sister's," suggests Jun, who is an expert at ignoring things he doesn't want to hear (though Nino's certain he made one of those faces again, even if he can't see it).
Actually, Nino can't, because his sister took all her nail polish with her when she moved out two years prior to be all lovey-dovey with her co-worker in a sixth-floor apartment in Hiroo. He can't find his mom's nail polish, either, outside of a Valentine's shade of red, and so he gives up in disgust and throws the stockings in the trash bin. While he's at it, he changes back into a pair of boxers, too, rationalizing to himself that it really doesn't look any different under the dress.
The clock reads 9:38. Nino has not been nervous this entire time. He hadn't been nervous when he made the decision (though he had wondered if he was crazy, yes) and not nervous after he changed either, and he's still not worried about whether or not he'll turn back properly in time for work. While he's waiting he plays video games, and his belt cuts into the soft part of his tummy under his ribs so he has to shift around until he can play without frowning.
It's when the doorbell rings at 10:04 that it all hits him in a rush. His stomach clenches up and his breath gets stuck in his chest like his throat's been corked, and he almost doesn't want to open the door.
But he does. And Ohno looks at him.
And Ohno sees.
Nino's heart is insistent and frustratingly loud in his ears as he takes Ohno's wrist and leads him inside in bare feet. "Nino?" Ohno says, managing to look through all the pretty decorative layers and see right to the heart of things.
"Surprise," Nino says dryly, standing awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs and debating as to what the hell to do next. He hasn't scripted this part. He hasn't dared to imagine what it might be like, because no matter what he thought it would inevitably be different anyway. Predicting the future is an exercise in futility, Nino knows.
Ohno scratches his cheek and his lips push together as he considers this new development. "Why?" he says, and it's just like Ohno to skip over the inevitable how?
"Because," says Nino with no hesitation, "I like you."
"I know," says Ohno, "but I don't--"
"Really, Leader," Nino interrupts. "Like a kiss. Like love."
Ohno is serious, no hint of mocking on his face. His eyes are stuck on Nino's collar for precisely four heartbeats as he thinks. Nino doesn't give him a chance to answer; he keeps talking, mostly because he doesn't want to hear what Ohno has to say. "I know you like girls. That's why--but just a day. I thought... just a day."
"Ah," says Ohno finally, as if he mostly understands. His tapered fingers curl through Nino's, closing tight. "You look cute with breasts."
Nino feels delirious all of a sudden, disconnected from his mind. "Let's sit down," he says, and they do, in the living room on the long, worn-out couch that has a butt-groove from Nino's hundreds of hours of playing games. Nino nearly falls into it, but manages to scoot aside with some semblance of grace. It's only a happy coincidence that this means he is closer to Ohno, and he lets a hand fall onto Ohno's knee.
Ohno picks it up. He turns Nino's palm towards the ceiling and straightens out a finger, and Nino figures out what he's doing right when Ohno says, "They're still yours. Cute little hamburgers." Ohno seems relieved, and charmed all over again.
"Yeah," Nino says, resigned, "still stupid and small." Ohno's touch is gentle and Nino doesn't pull away.
"What do they feel like?" Ohno asks suddenly, and Nino knows what he means because Ohno is eyeing his chest now.
"I'll tell you what they feel like," says Nino, and he sticks his fingers under the elastic to readjust things, because they're getting uncomfortable. "Like Jell-o, that's what they feel like. It's like I have two cups of Jell-o strapped on my chest. You can touch them."
Ohno hums, taking this all in stride in the way that only he can, and then his hand is on one of Nino's breasts, soft and almost impossible to feel through all the padding. "I like Jell-o shots," he says, musing aloud.
Nino can't help laughing. "That is so unsexy," he says, but his mind is reeling, because this is working, it's working.
Ohno takes off Nino's belt (a total waste of money, Nino thinks) and his hands are already patterning circles over Nino's body, running spirals over his bra. Ohno seems fascinated, the normal haziness of his gaze nowhere to be found.
Between his legs, Nino suddenly grows warm, going tingly, a little swollen. It's distracting, but not distracting enough to prevent Nino from putting his hands under Ohno's shirt. That part at least is familiar. It makes Ohno smile, the smile that he gives to Nino when they're communicating without words. It's the smile that Nino likes best.
There's no hurry. Ohno is exploring, his tapered fingers tracing narrow lines along Nino's collar and over the bump of his clavicle. Curious, he tugs the fabric open, taking a shameless glance down inside Nino's dress.
"I did that too," Nino tells him. "Look." He tries to jiggle, but his breasts don't jiggle with him like they did before. "Oh, hold on," he says belatedly, his hand craning around to touch at the fastening of his bra through his shirt.
Ohno makes a sound, a puff and a click of tongue that stops Nino from undoing his own bra, and he takes over, hoisting up Nino's skirt for easy access. Then he stops. "Boxers?" he says.
"I couldn't do the panties thing," Nino admits, gratified to find that Ohno is looking at him with a mixture of bafflement and fondness. "Got a problem?"
"They're cute," Ohno says with a shake of his head, giving up his quest to free Nino's breasts in favor of smoothing his palm along Nino's waist and the thick elastic stripe of his boxers.
"You say that about everything," Nino sighs.
Ohno is careful when he takes them off, making Nino lie back on the couch, and Nino stares at the ceiling. He has to grab onto the cushions when Ohno's hands slide up his thighs. "Not everything," Ohno says, and bends.
Nino's whole body feels heavy and electric the moment Ohno's mouth settles. He can feel Ohno's tongue parting him, traveling up, and the moment Ohno reaches his clit he moans loud enough to startle himself. Ohno knows what he's doing. That's the one thing that Nino clings to, the one thought that makes any sense in the midst of everything. His legs are jerking as if they want to move, like reflex actions in response to every sharp spark of pleasure.
"Ohno," Nino moans, fumbling to find Ohno's head with his hands, his fingers sliding into his hair and holding on way too tight. Ohno grunts, but he's as passive as he is in the green room and in front of cameras: he doesn't shake Nino away.
He does rise, however, and pull off his shirt, which makes Nino stare, because Ohno has always been safe (and pleasant) to stare at. He wants Ohno's mouth between his legs again; he can see a bit of shine over Ohno's lips, and thinks, that's because of me.
"You're not going to take that off?" Ohno asks, and Nino sits up in a hurry, wriggling out of his dress to sit there in nothing but his black-and-white plaid bra. He feels wet, and ready, and he needs to touch Ohno, so he does, pulling Ohno close to kiss him.
Their noses bump hard, and Ohno isn't quite prepared so Ohno's mouth isn't open where Nino's is, leaving a damp patch over Ohno's upper lip. But Ohno catches on fast, just like Nino hoped, and their kiss goes from clunky to slick as Ohno's tongue flirts out and against Nino's. Ohno tastes a little strange, but Nino knows why, and he doesn't mind.
That leaves Ohno's pants to deal with, which Nino takes care of in short order, their kisses a soundtrack over the top, breathy and short and excited. Nino's hands slide along Ohno's backside, pushing down his underwear. It's hardly the first time he's groped Ohno, but it is the first time he's done so without the stylist's wardrobe in the way, so he takes his moment and gets a good handful.
It makes Ohno laugh, which is problematic when they're kissing, so Nino goes instead for Ohno's throat.
"Nino, wait, wait--" Ohno is saying, his hands cupping Nino's shoulders, gentle even when he's pushing Nino away. "Do you have condoms?" Nino can see, now, that Ohno's cock is standing, the tip of it already dropped with pearliness.
"Of course I have condoms," Nino says, a flash of heat curling his belly tighter, like a shimmer. He's twenty-five and it's not like he's never had sex before. "In my room."
It could be awkward, moving from one place to the other mostly undressed, but it's not. Nino is light-headed and can feel Ohno's eyes on his ass as he opens the door to his bedroom.
Nino's room is not entirely the disaster zone that it normally is, but Ohno still steps on the cellophane packaging of his stockings while Nino beelines to the stash of condoms in his dresser drawer. By the time Nino turns around, Ohno has peeled it off his foot and is trying to stuff it into Nino's trash.
"You don't have to do that," Nino says, exasperated and impatient.
Ohno shrugs, and Nino doesn't know what to say next, so he busies himself with opening the shiny packet in his hands, doing his best not to break the plastic inside. He can feel Ohno coming close, the movement in his peripheral vision a warning before Ohno's arms slide around him and undo the hooks of his bra.
"There," Ohno says. "Now you can jiggle."
"You're stupid," Nino says, of course not meaning it at all, and Ohno squeezes Nino's wrist to say he knows.
They climb onto Nino's bed, which Nino hasn't made for weeks, shoving the covers completely out of the way, and Nino hands Ohno the condom. His arm feels shaky. He's ready for this, so totally ready, and yet not ready at all. When he lies down on his back, his breasts flatten like pancakes, the dark plates of his nipples pointy. He pokes at them while Ohno carefully rolls on the condom.
"I could have given you a blow job," Nino says, watching Ohno's hands.
"Have you, before?" Ohno asks, his curiosity conversational as he rests his body alongside Nino's.
"Not to you," Nino quips, and then has to swallow, because Ohno's fingers are teasing along his slit again.
"I would remember that," Ohno murmurs, and presses a finger inside.
Nino's mouth falls open and then Ohno is there, their kisses slower so that Nino can drown in the moment. Ohno's fingers are dexterous, which Nino has always known, but this is a far cry from a delicate grip around the wrist or a handhold onstage. Nino's knees part wider.
The sky has been layered with clouds all day, and the light that pushes into Nino's bedroom through his ratty, thin curtains is diffused and colourless. It makes Ohno pale, all the lines of his face soft when he rises over Nino. "Let me just--" he says, doing something between their legs.
And then he pushes, and Nino feels himself spread even wider, pushed apart while Ohno smooths one steady, warm stroke into his body. "Ah," Ohno says with some wonder. "You're tight." He stops. Nino is halfway through lifting a leg in an entirely instinctual move to lessen the pressure on his insides, his mind going yes, yes, ouch, and Ohno stares at him, suddenly realizing with wonder: "You're a virgin."
No I'm not, Nino almost says, because when he thinks of virginity he thinks of being seventeen again at the party with that girl who had a button nose and actually liked Sho-kun. But Ohno is right. "So?" His lungs feel trapped behind the bands of his ribs. He doesn't want conversation anymore.
Whatever Ohno is thinking, he doesn't say it. Maybe he's picked up on the thrum of urgency that's pulsing under Nino's skin; Ohno has always been perceptive of Nino's moods like that. The slick sounds of sex, of Ohno's cock moving in and out of Nino, takes the place of their words, and Nino's head falls back, too heavy to hold up. He's drinking in air and his legs are winding around Ohno's waist with desperation as his mind documents the feeling: the warm glow that fills him all the way from forehead to heels, so entirely different than the concentrated sunburst of pleasure that a cock provided.
"Nino," Ohno says, his hand on Nino's pelvis, and Nino knows exactly what he wants. Ohno's cock pops out of him with a wet sound as he rolls over and thrusts his hips up in the air, and then it's all he can do to grab onto his sheets and hold himself steady as Ohno thrusts back inside him, balls smacking against his ass steady as a percussion track.
Ohno puts his dancing hips to good use, and Nino finds himself crying out, nonsensical words that are half smothered in his mattress. It's hard to hold on. His breasts are swinging in an awkward counterpoint, and Ohno's fingers are rubbing smooth circles against his skin. "Yes," he's saying. Nino can barely hear him over the sounds of his own voice. There is sweat dripping up his back and along his brow and he almost bites his lips when his teeth clench hard.
It's too much. Nino has reservoirs of stamina, but there is something he needs that is out of reach, completely out of reach and he doesn't know how to handle that. He feels like a clock that has been wound too tight.
He doesn't get to see Ohno's face when he comes, he only knows it happens because Ohno's hands tighten on his hips and Ohno starts to slow, his thrusts losing their rough bounce. Nino can finally catch his breath. His cheeks feel hot, and his groin sore and swollen.
Ohno eases him into turning over, which is a good thing because Nino's not up for voluntary moving yet. He hasn't come, but he's too exhausted now to try figure out how to do it with this body anyway. He stretches out one leg, hogging the bottom of the mattress at a diagonal slant, and works on breathing properly. Ohno sinks down beside him with a puff of exhausted energy, his hand so low on Nino's stomach that his pinky is grazing hair.
"Condom, trash," Nino says, flinging an arm in the general vicinity of the pantyhose-filled trash can.
"You do it," whines Ohno. Nino makes a face at him, but he does, knotting the rubber and slumping across the short space to dispose of it.
Ohno is waiting with an open arm when he comes back. Nino climbs on top of him, being considerate of his soft, sensitive cock and not stepping all over Ohno with his knees.
"We can do this again, right?" Ohno asks, his nails grazing idly along Nino's spine. It almost tickles.
"I'm turning back tomorrow, or maybe the day after," Nino admits reluctantly. The window of time is too small to do everything he wants to do with Ohno. But at least he got this much, he tells himself.
"Is that a no?" Ohno says, disappointed.
It hits Nino then. He pushes himself onto his elbows and looks down straight into Ohno's face. "You don't care," he says, bemused. "You actually don't care."
"I don't not care," Ohno says, looking embarrassed. "But, you know, I've always... it's us," he finishes lamely. Nino looks at him, hard. There are thin lines around Ohno's eyes, partially from laughter, partially from age. He's dark, dark, dark from the sun, and Nino is stupidly in love with him.
"You idiot," Nino grouses, falling on top of Ohno. He manages to keep from punching Ohno's shoulder in exasperation, but only just.
"Sorry," Ohno says, and to his credit he does sound a little bit sorry. "It was a nice surprise, though."
Nino heaves a long-suffering sigh. He feels like the biggest moron, but he can't really be angry, because it's not like either of them ever talked about it before. It's as much his fault as Ohno's. More, if he's honest with himself.
"Well," says Nino, "if that's decided, we might as well make use of the time we have left."
"If what's decided?" says Ohno, and then: "Ouch," because Nino decides restraint is overrated and pinches him.
"Us dating," Nino informs him.
"Oh, that," Ohno says, pulling Nino's hand away from his skin and craftily sliding their fingers together so that Nino can't pinch him again. "So, what else can we do?"
Epilogue:
Aiba is Aiba, and Nino was exactly right in believing that Aiba would grope him, because he does it right after he finds out that Nino isn't just Ohno's hot date but also Ninomiya Kazunari in the flesh, and right before Sho drops his coffee in his lap and starts cursing.
"Here," Jun says, and hands Sho a box of tissues.
"How are you so calm about this?!" Sho demands, standing bow-legged in front of the magazine's now-soiled greenroom couch.
"How about if I just tweak the nipples, does it feel the same?" Aiba says, and Nino has to hit him.
"No wonder he didn't take you shopping," Jun says to Sho.
"He has breasts!" babbles Sho.
"Yes, he does," Aiba says appreciatively.
Nino leans on Ohno, letting his breasts push against Ohno's arm to see the little private smile bloom on his face. He watches the din with narrowed, lazy eyes: Jun is fishing new pants off the rack for Sho. He crosses his legs so his skirt rides up a little higher, and Sho diverts his eyes abruptly, looking flushed.
"So, hey, Nino," Aiba says. "Nino, can you teach me how you did it? Because I'd really like to--"
"No," comes the chorus of Jun and Sho.
"It wouldn't--"
"No," Jun insists, and Aiba wilts, his eyes going puppy-sad.
Nino can think of all the reasons he shouldn't tell Aiba. Aiba accosting Jun with requests to 'Just touch it', the probability of Aiba trying to discover just what he can and can't pick up between his breasts, Aiba experimenting with thongs and bikinis (though actually he wouldn't mind watching that so much). He can think of all that and more, but he can also think of why he should.
He catches Aiba's gaze, and winks.
Now he owes Jun two presents.
Notes:
1. Hoshino Aki is a bikini model. She was on Shukudai-kun once.
2. I used the Japanese bra sizes. Which means Nino is actually somewhere between an A and B cup. For some idea of cup sizes, you can check here. There are picture references.
3. No, I won't tell you how Nino turned himself into a girl. That's for you to decide (though I do have my own theories).
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