Mujintou
Mujintou
Pairing: Ohmiya
Rating: Adult
Word Count: ~16000
Summary: Arashi have the perfect 10th anniversary celebration planned, but it goes horribly wrong. Ohno's not hugely upset about it, though...
A/N: Beta done by primroseshows and augustfai, and this is a better fic because of them.
8.
The storm comes on them that night when Ohno is sleeping, but it's not that which wakes him: it's Nino. The space in their shelter is cramped and small, and even before either of them had properly sunk into dreamland, Nino had cast one bony arm over his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. So when Nino jerks awake, Ohno feels it down to his marrow.
When he opens his eyes everything he sees is fuzzy, and there's no longer a moon to cast silvery light or shadow to help him resolve anything. The shape of Nino is all shades of charcoal gray, sitting up at Ohno's side like a statue. Ohno can still hear the last lingering drumbeat of thunder; it must have been the crack of it that woke Nino.
He reaches out to find Nino's wrist, planted near his shoulder, and curls his hand around it. Nino's fingers are digging into their bed of palm fronds. They're wet, Ohno realizes groggily: the roof is dripping. "Nino?"
Nino shivers, as if Ohno's voice has reminded him of where he is. Ohno can see his eyes flash even through the dark as he turns his head. "I thought I was on the boat."
Ohno's not really good at saying things and everyone knows it; he's lost count of how many times Sho has been outwardly startled by him speaking up on set. Ohno's even worse at giving advice, so he doesn't bother trying--he just relies on that healing presence everyone always says he has, sitting up quietly to scoot the two and a half centimetres closer to Nino that he can.
A few minutes go by, both of them staring out into the heavy, fat-dropped rain. There are rivers forming in the sandy dirt, creeping and crawling like confused snakes in this direction and that, and the hiss and patter of water against earth is a wild kind of music to Ohno's ears.
Eventually, Nino sighs the windy sigh of someone that's letting out all the weight from their heart. "Come on," he says, and starts scooting forward out of their shelter.
"Huh?" says Ohno. "What--you're going out there?"
Nino already is out there, and he spreads his arms apart, soaked. His hair is plastered to his skull, and he looks completely bedraggled, almost worse than when they first pulled themselves onto the shore of this island. But even through all the gray rain, Ohno can see the pull at the corner of Nino's mouth: he's smiling. "I like rain. I don't like lightning anymore, but I like rain, and walking in the rain. Besides, even with the roof, that place is turning into a soggy mess. If I'm going to get wet, I might as well get the fuck wet."
He has a point. And there's something entrancing about Nino standing in the rain, dripping and soft edged. Ohno pulls himself out of the shelter in an awkward tumble, getting his hand in a squelching patch of mud, his already damp self soaked through within moments.
Nino laughs, pulling Ohno to his feet, his small hands like talons against Ohno's bare arm. "Let's go for a walk," he says, so they do.
The night welcomes them, and the trees, whose branches and leaves are bowing, heavy with tears of rain. Nino shows him a path that he'd found earlier and walks a step ahead, guiding Ohno around gnarled roots, impressing Ohno with his memory, because they're almost impossible to see. Eventually the trees thin out and they can walk almost anywhere--they're back near the river, and Ohno isn't quite sure how they got turned around enough for it, but he's never been good with maps or directions and so he doesn't question it.
There's water in his eyes, against his scalp, and dripping from his earlobes; water has gotten down into his pants, and his underwear is clammy. But somehow, the discomfort has faded. Sleeping on palm fronds put a lot into perspective, he realizes. And having Nino's hand back in his, guiding him unerringly towards the edge of the river, is enough to keep him from minding most anything.
"The fish are gone," Nino says, words quieter from being sliced through with rain.
"Under the rocks, probably," Ohno says, and then feels his eyes grow wide. He stares at Nino.
Nino stares back. "Where's your Princess Guard?"
Now Ohno is staring for a different reason. "My what?"
There's a line of rain tracking down Nino's forehead, over his eyebrow, making him squint one eye in irritation. Ohno reaches back and strokes away Nino's shining hair, and the stream reroutes itself down the bridge of his nose. Nino blinks. "You really need to play Final Fantasy," he says. "Your spear thing, the fish catcher. Net, whatever. Where is it?"
They fetch it together, tripping through the underbrush in their haste, arriving back at the river with new mud-splatters on their shins and breathless expectancy in their hearts. Nino is hovering, trying to see into the ripple-stained eddies of the swollen river, but Ohno doesn't wait: he darts in his branch, the piece of his shirt still twisted on the end. In and out again, quick as a flash, hurling his catch up onto the bank.
Nothing.
He tries again, and again, first under the large crooked slate stone that's set near a small waterfall, and then a seal-toned one further up the bank.
It's there, on try three, that he gets something: two somethings, in fact, little darts of life that are slipping and flipping at the edge of the water now, mouths as wide as their eyes. He can hear Nino whoop behind him.
~
The storm blows over just past dawn, the smiling sun crawling forth from her bed into a pearl gray sky, chasing away the rain clouds like a watchdog herds sheep. It's strange, Ohno thinks, how quickly storms come and go here, whistling through with the wind and then gone.
But their shelter is a lost cause, at least for now: it's waterlogged and sad, and Nino looks at it darkly. "So much for that," he mutters, plucking one of his leaves out of a mud puddle.
The only thing to do is distract him, and Ohno knows just how to do it. He takes Nino's hand and leads him to the ocean, in the direction of the sun.
Nino is unusually quiet as they walk with the sand shifting under their feet. Not that Nino is normally loud, because he's not--nine times out of ten, when the cameras are off, he's nose deep in a manga, a game, or a magic trick. But this silence is different than those silences, and different again from the melancholic silence from a few nights before. Ohno has a gut feeling that it has to do with him.
Not that Nino's been different around him. In fact, despite the outburst, on the outside it's almost as if Nino's forgotten all about the confession.
Ohno knows he hasn't, though. He watches Ohno more often, his eyes as unreadable as a foreign alphabet. Ohno's not sure if that's a good thing or bad, but it is what it is and it's not like he can undo the knot he's tied, so he tries not to worry about it too much.
The place Ohno takes Nino to isn't the tide pools, but it's close: a curve of beach where the water licks at the shore in aquamarine curls with froth like lace. It looks like something out of a fantasy world, the beach white powder.
Nino looks at him suspiciously when he starts unbuttoning his pants.
"I thought we could take a bath," Ohno explains, fingers perched on his zipper. They've been here for days, and Ohno isn't the most cleanly person in the world, but even he's starting to feel the grime. And as wet as they'd gotten in the rain, he still smells.
Nino doesn't even look like himself anymore. There's hair growing on his upper lip and tiny whiskers on his chin, and Ohno thinks it looks completely out of place even though it kind of fascinates him. His nose has started to peel and red blotches war with darker bronzing skin all down his arms. Nino's never liked the sun, so Ohno's never had a chance to see him tanned gold. He's nowhere near as dark as Ohno is, and he never will be, but Ohno thinks it would look kind of good on him if it evened out.
Nino doesn't like the ocean, either, and his suspicious look is transfered there as Ohno nearly tips over while trying to get his pants off. They're still damp from the rain and cling stubbornly to his legs, and it's more of a relief than he thought possible when they're a sodden lump dusted with white sand at his feet.
He lets Nino stew over the decision--he'll probably come, Ohno hopes he'll come--and walks himself down to the water's edge, naked as naked can be. The water that kisses at his toes and then swirls around his hot, abused feet is so soothing that he just stands there for a minute, temporarily forgetting about Nino and everything else.
The waves come and get him with a lazy, sweet dance, and he follows them as they slide back out, towards the deeper water. It's not really deep at all, though, since it's a cove, and he gets in up to his waist without even feeling any dangerous tugs of an undertow. The water around him is inexplicably flecked with gold, and he can see all the way down to his toes, wobbly through all the ripples.
He hears Nino splashing towards him a few minutes later, and turns around to watch him come. "You look ridiculous," Nino says, picking his feet up higher than he needs to. Ohno has seen Nino naked hundreds of times; it's nothing new, and there's nothing different now than any of the times they've visited an onsen and Aiba-chan has lurked through the water pretending to be a shark. But he still can't help looking at Nino's cock, soft and swinging as his weight shifts back and forth. Ohno has always privately been impressed with Nino; they've never openly compared sizes, but everyone knows Nino trumps.
Whether or not Nino notices him looking (and he probably does) he doesn't comment on it. "You've got an equator on you. Look." He points, indicating somewhere below the water. "Your southern hemisphere is like an ice age under there, and your northern's gotten charred. Bet you there are dinosaurs and volcanos."
Nino is really one to talk. He looks equally ridiculous, and Ohno notices now as Nino draws up alongside him that he even has the same ring around his waist. He's too distracted to mention it, though, because there are spider webs of light crawling all over Nino's skin under the water.
Nino splashes him. Ohno has to blink away the brine, and finds Nino smiling at him when he does. "This was a good idea, though. Thanks."
"Hmph," Ohno says, flicking some water at Nino in pathetic retaliation. He doesn't want to start a water fight this time.
But that doesn't mean they can't play as they bathe, kicking out gently at each other under the water, competing to see who can stay under longest without having to laugh. Ohno can't see; he doesn't open his eyes. He lets his legs feel for him, finding Nino and slipping off his water-smooth skin. Nino's own advances are ticklish and sometimes dangerous: his toes glance along Ohno's thighs and low on his belly, and once Ohno feels a swish too close for comfort. He wonders just what parts of Nino he's hitting, and whether or not Nino minds.
When they finally struggle back to the shore Ohno feels lighter than he has since they landed here, and he can see the same thing echoed in Nino. The lines around his eyes have softened and each smile brings the corners of his mouth higher than before.
They wash their clothes, trading rain water for the ocean, and trudge back to their little home where their meal of fish is waiting.
~
Nino's eyes are two different colours. One is the pure bluebell of the sky on a summer morning, and the other is the deepest dark of the universe, so infinite that Ohno feels like he might be sucked into it.
"We have to go," says Nino, taking Ohno's hand.
"Where?" Ohno tries to say, but all that comes out is a wordless song that he has never sung before.
There are stairs. Ohno doesn't know where they lead except it's somewhere comfortable, and Nino is walking up them, so Ohno does too, except that his legs are short and stunted and the going is difficult. When he falls back a step, Nino looks at him sadly, his one blue eye glowing eerily.
"You can't go back," Nino says, and his arms wrap around Ohno's, swift and tight like octopus tentacles. Nino is stronger than he looks, and Ohno is starting to lose his breath--maybe he'll fall down the stairs after all.
"Ni--"
~
"--no?" Ohno's own voice has woken him up. He can hear the waves crashing down the beach, and Nino is wrapped around him and breathing in time with the ocean, holding on fiercely as he sleeps.
For a moment, the image of Nino with fae-coloured eyes remains imposed over the Nino lying against him, like a glaze, and Ohno feels his body stirring, tightening. Even when the vision clears and Nino is no longer magic, (nor angelic, what with his wrinkled brow and the way he's drooling on Ohno's shoulder), his arousal doesn't subside.
Nino snuffles and shoves his knee further between Ohno's thighs.
Ohno gives up on going back to sleep.
9.
Nino wakes up surrounded by Ohno. He hasn't even opened his eyes, but his sense of Ohno is so strong it could almost be his entire world: Ohno smells of sea salt, tangy and masculine, and his chest rises and falls under Nino's weight like a lullaby. He's comfortable, if bony, but Nino's used to that, so he doesn't think before he tucks his arm closer around Ohno like he's a teddy bear.
In retrospect, he really should have expected the morning erection before his hip found it.
Nino comes fully awake (he's really good at that when he wants to be) to find Ohno staring awkwardly at the leaf-laced ceiling, his bristly chin stubble right in front of Nino's eyes. Ohno is breathing carefully. He looks like he's trying to distract himself by counting backwards from 100, or cataloging the pairs of socks he has in his drawer.
"You've got the patience of a saint," Nino comments, finding his voice hoarser from sleep than he'd expected.
"Not really," Ohno says, his eyes blinking in a twitch.
And Nino knows, now. He finally knows just what he thinks of Ohno and his confession. Looking at Ohno brings him only a fondness so deep that he can't find the end of it. It's not just the island; it's not just being thrown together and depending on each other for survival, even if that's been the catalyst. It's not the fanservice that they do to make people scream; it's not Ohmiya SK, with shiny uniforms and ridiculous feathers and socks that make his legs look even skinnier.
It's just natural, like Ohno loving the ocean.
And maybe it's a little weird; Nino didn't see this coming, but that's what life is, anyway. Unknown variables and miracles and surprises that tie the future to the past in one long personal tapestry.
Nino has always liked to let his tapestry flow where it would. "Ohchan." He touches Ohno's chin, tracing the shape, the short hairs of Ohno's goatee prickly against his fingertip.
He can feel the question etching into the lines of Ohno's body, Ohno attuning himself to Nino's voice, waiting for whatever rebuke or distraction might come.
Nino kisses him, instead. Right under the jaw, a wet mark to seal his decision.
Ohno turns to him, his eyes opening in one surprised flash where Nino can see the ring around his irises, like he's not quite sure if he should believe it. But whatever he sees in Nino's face seems to be enough: his pupils contract, and the stress in his cheeks softens, and Nino can feel the tentative puff of breath coming closer.
It's the first kiss they've ever shared where neither has been laughing.
It's not perfect. Neither of them have brushed their teeth in days, but the thin line of Ohno's mouth is smooth and dry, easing against Nino's without demand. It's almost sweet, and just like Nino thought Ohno would kiss, the eagerness building with each soft, moist sound their mouths make.
When Ohno rolls over on top of him, elbows planted in the palms and his hand delicately circling Nino's neck, Nino gives way. He can feel Ohno's cock even through their water-stiffened pants, crooked against his hip, and his balls tighten in answer.
Nino learns things about Ohno's mouth he hadn't known before: the way he barely parts his lips to flirt with his tongue, as if he's shy; that kissing the corner of it makes Ohno's breath flicker; that his teeth are narrow and sharp but careful not to bite when Nino presses deeper, wanting to know more.
And that he's a really good kisser, as confident with his tongue as he is with his sleek fingers.
Nino forgets about kissing completely, though, when Ohno jolts down against him with a flick of his hips that's as controlled and sharp as his dancing. Nino's cock starts to swell, the zipper of his pants holding him in too tight. He hasn't masturbated once on this damn island; he's been too busy considering rain clouds and coconuts and the way Ohno's gaze strays to him even when he knows Nino is looking. Even through two layers of unforgiving fabric, Ohno has gotten him hard in record time.
Ohno's hands are sandy and pushing through Nino's hair, holding his head down, his naked chest brushing carelessly along Nino's when Nino tries to squirm; there's a rock to the left of his spine in the small of his back that's stealing precious attention each time Ohno sinks roughly into him.
Nino moans, his heart full of hummingbirds. He pushes up against Ohno, their stomachs pressed flush and tight as he shoves them over, fleeing the unpleasant scrape of stone. Ohno loses his rhythm, his eyes open and owlish in the face of Nino's surge of control. It's probably a fact that he's not used to sleeping with anyone that's not malleable and submissive from start to finish. Ohno doesn't seem like the type to take a tiger to bed.
Not that Nino is a tiger. He's just not a girl, and he's going to remind Ohno before he forgets. "Help me," he rasps, his sleep-voice clinging on long after it should be gone. He's unbuttoning his pants, shoving them down his hips, and it only takes Ohno a moment to overcome his disorientation enough to get his fingers into Nino's waistband and shove them down to his knees. Nino doesn't bother kicking them off the rest of the way; he's sprung free, his erection aimed in Ohno's direction in a slow arc of impatience.
Ohno's pants come next, Ohno doing an ungraceful little jig to try to get them out of the way, and his cock peeks into view between the v of his zipper, the head of it just pushing out of his foreskin. Nino has actually seen Ohno erect before, and more than once, but those times were all while watching group porn and pointedly not looking into each other's laps. Nino doesn't pretend not to see, this time. He looks, soaking up as many details as he can in the five seconds Ohno takes getting his clothes most of the way off. It's hard with the way Ohno's cock bobs, but Nino can see enough: Ohno's skin is pale between his legs, and with all the blood flowing Nino can see dark veins that travel along its length in sinuous patterns.
He doesn't wait for Ohno to settle properly back against the palm fronds. He climbs right on top of him, pressing the burn of his erection alongside Ohno's. The feel is entirely different now that he has Ohno against him in sharp relief, the blunt heaviness of their cocks not shielded by their pants or their inhibitions. When Nino rocks, Ohno's mouth opens in a soundless moan, his mouth red and inviting.
They both struggle and shift, legs kicking out as they realign time and time again. Ohno's hands are so tight on Nino's ass as to leave bruises, and it makes him buck all the harder.
When Ohno flips them again, Nino's lost any sense of rationality and he just doesn't care anymore who's on top or where they are or that the palms are scratching up his arms. His stomach is tense and tightening with every slip of Ohno's hips, and Ohno's mouth is panting something unintelligible into his ear in heavy, guttural rhythm. His cock is on fire like sunlight, so sharp that it makes him curl his toes and jerk until he comes, sticky gobs that Ohno spreads between them like paint with the push of his belly.
It takes Ohno a little while longer. Nino's shudders have slowed and calmed by the time Ohno groans, his back arching towards the ceiling and all his muscles spasming against Nino. His come is thick, sporadic bursts over Nino's stomach, but Nino is already dirty--a little more hardly matters. Nino pets through his hair as he rides it out, sucking in air in little gasps like he's forgotten how to breathe.
Stillness settles over them, thick and comfortable, and Nino knows one more knot has been twisted into his tapestry, one that is only the start of an unending ocean of blues.
10.
Enough days have been and gone that Ohno has re-discovered something he knew all along: time is only a child of society. He's forgotten what day of the week it's supposed to be, though that's something he's never been solid on from the beginning. He's forgotten what day of the month it is, except that it's probably creeping towards the end of September, or maybe it's already October by now. It's probably not November, but he wouldn't rule it out.
Surprisingly, Nino doesn't know either, or at least he seems not to. He just shrugs and smiles each time Ohno asks, but his eyes get a faraway look that Ohno doesn't like to induce, so he's stopped bringing it up.
They've tried the giant 'HELP' on the beach, but that, Nino points out after a few days of hope and another day of resignation, only works if the airplane gets close enough.
Now it's time for a smoke signal. Nino keeps muttering that they should have thought of this before, but Ohno reminds him that they've had enough rain showers to make it impossible anyway, and he looks mildly satisfied by that rationale.
Nino emerges from within the forested section of the island, dragging two handfuls of branches through the sand to where Ohno has been making a teepee of wood, all of it crisscrossed and somewhat intimidating in size. It's up to Ohno's shoulders, and broad enough that he couldn't work his arms around it if he tried.
"Here," Nino says, dumping the wood unceremoniously at his side. "Think that's enough?"
"I don't know how long it'll burn for," Ohno says, scratching between his eyes with a frown. "But isn't it good enough for now? We just have to keep adding more."
"For however long it takes," Nino agrees, determined. He squats in the sand and watches as Ohno works with the stones, cracking them together enough to scare the birds away before he finally gets a glow of orange in the kindling.
The fire doesn't take long after that. Ohno blows, coaxing it gently, and it feeds off the oxygen enough to start eating at the wood, growing and growing, climbing greedily towards the sky.
The smoke is dark and thick, and climbs even higher, a signal to anyone near or far that they're waiting, still waiting.
~
Nino looks even rougher around the edges now, but Ohno isn't as worried as he once was. They've both gotten used to the biorhythm of the island, and Ohno's been able to catch enough fish to keep them going so long as Nino gets them coconuts and they visit the tidepools every other day or so. Nino's even found some birds' nests a time or two.
Between them, little has changed, and yet everything has changed completely. Nino holds his hand the same as ever: on a whim, and without apology. He still brushes away affection like a prickly cat half the time when Ohno tries to touch him.
At night, he lets Ohno push into his space, and pushes right back, his palms hot on Ohno's skin and stroking him till he's tangled in internal knots, finally unraveling all over the both of them. Sometimes they do it frantic and fast, eating each other's kisses in sharp bites and making a mess of themselves. Sometimes, Nino lets him take it slow, lets him map out all the angles of his body from the valleys and mountains of his face and neck to the sinew under his skin, long hours spent learning just what makes Nino's heartbeat quicken.
They don't talk about it. Ohno is too busy cataloguing all the new sides of Nino he's allowed to touch and taste, and Nino seems content without conversation. Besides, they have more immediate things to worry about, like getting off the damn island.
"What if we make a raft?" Nino says a couple days after they've started their fire, tossing more sticks on it idly. There are charred cinders in a wide ring around the base now, but they haven't let it go out yet. Ohno is grateful that the rain seems to be staying away now. Even today is clear, the clouds all fluffy and friendly as sheep.
"And go which way?" Ohno says, squinting at the sun.
"You'd know better than me," Nino says miserably. He brushes sand off his ankles in a pointless show of fastidiousness. They both know how quickly he'll be dirty again. "Can't we follow a star, or something?"
"That works if you know there's something in the direction of the star," Ohno says. In truth, he doesn't know much about the nautical side of boats, he just gets on them so he can fish, but he's picked up a few things anyway. "We don't know what direction any of the other islands are in."
"And we can't just row into open, empty sea," Nino finishes for him, squinting at the fire as if it's personally offended him.
Nino doesn't mention his seasickness at all. Ohno takes that as a sign that he's desperate. He's starting to feel despairing himself, so he understands.
The next day finds them out on the tidepools, Nino picking his way on tiptoe through a narrow section that takes him to one of the deeper pools. The tide is farther out that Ohno's seen it before, and there's no crashing spray to contend with as they hunt. Ohno catches his own reflection on the surface of the water as he peers inside, taking note of the scuttling gray crabs and their tiny pincers. They've caught a few of those, and they're good, if a little small.
He's got himself three of them, and is feeling wonderfully proud of himself when Nino gives a shout. Ohno looks up, but he already knows what Nino is pointing at, because he can hear the propellers:
There's a plane, and it's coming closer.
Epilogue
The airplane ride is longer than Nino wants it to be and yet not long enough; there are crowds of people in the airport when they get there, and Nino is more overwhelmed than he can ever remember being in front of so many eyes and so much muttering noise. Even the cameras bother him; he's gone so long considering cameras as something to purposely get in front of that wanting to avoid them and their intermittent flashing is disorienting. The staff that help them off the plane shield Nino's and Ohno's faces as best they can, and they flee the clicks and calls, making their way towards for the hospital for checks.
He hates hospitals, and the amount of tests they put him through this time to check his lungs, his skin, his reflexes, his retinas, and all the rest, doesn't help a bit.
It also doesn't help that there are doctors and a handful of short-skirted nurses between him and Ohno. He sticks his tongue out for a depressor and tries not to think about it.
He's declared as healthy as can possibly be hoped for under the circumstances and sent straight home to rest with a reminder that they'll re-start activities in two weeks' time, please be ready, and finally gets a chance to call his mother in the car on the way home with a company phone ("Yours got lost in the storm," said manager number one, his eyebrows pulling together like charging caterpillars. "Use this till you can get a new one.") She's too overwhelmed to say much of anything coherent, but gets herself together enough to tell him that she loves him before they hang up.
When Nino gets through his front door with his landlord's spare key he stops and stares, seeing everything familiar and dear that he's wanted to see for days upon days, and feels more lonely than ever. Ohno was sent home in another car, at another time, with another manager, and they didn't get a chance to exchange so much as a goodbye.
Nino sighs, pulling his feet out of his borrowed shoes to shuffle into his apartment. He puts his new phone on his tiny dining table and looks around, the familiarity of everything soothing but also strange.
His coffee maker has dust on it, but his cups don't; he starts up the machine, wondering idly just how much of a kick caffeine will give his system after so long without.
Two weeks is a long time. In truth, he doesn't like it. It's too long, and Arashi has already been out of service because of him for enough time that he knows they can't really afford to wait. Their manager has assured him that the publicity from the rescue is enough, and he gets it, he really gets it, but he doesn't want Arashi to be remembered for that--that's not what Arashi is: they work for their fans. Nino feels like he's cheating somehow, and it sits crookedly in his chest.
Not to mention the fact that he needs Arashi up and running, maybe even more than the fans do. It's his dirty little not-so-secret: he hasn't got anything if he doesn't have Arashi. He could care less about 'full recuperation'. Management never cared about them being in perfect health before, why are they caring now, right when Nino needs Arashi around him and smiling the most?
Nino waits for the coffee machine to do its magic, wriggling his feet against the carpet and appreciating the fact that it's not gravel digging into the soft space between his toes. The fact that he's home is slowly starting to penetrate. He tries to remember where he left his DS last, but realizes he had it on the boat--it's long gone now.
When he has his coffee in his Smurf mug with three sugars and a teaspoon of cream, his phone beeps a series of notes as shrill as a fire alarm, nearly startling him into dropping the whole cup into his trash. "Catfish whiskers," he swears, putting it down before he burns himself.
It's a text from Ohno, asking if he can visit. It's completely naked of exclamation points and emoji and would be foreboding if Nino didn't want to see his face so badly. He types something back, making too many mistakes with the new interface on the impersonal black company phone, and promises himself he'll buy his old one again as he hits send.
After he sips down a third of his cup and gives up on the rest, leaving it in the sink to go cold, he takes a shower. He'd had one at the hospital, but it was too quick to be satisfying, just enough to clean the dirt out of his cuts for the antiseptic. The faucet squeaks as he turns the handles, and when he steps under the stinging water he feels like ten years have been lifted off of him. Hot water, he thinks, is an even better invention than video games.
Soap is pretty awesome too, and so are washcloths. He takes his time, relaxing properly for the first time since he saw the airplane on the horizon glittering like a diamond in the sunlight.
When he gets out, he luxuriates in the feeling of having a bone fide bath towel for longer than seems reasonable, rubbing his hair and going to get a change of clothes that will actually fit him. Sweat pants are called for.
Another text comes before Ohno shows up, the siren wail of it making him grit his teeth. It's Aiba-chan: I'm coming over, with Sho-chan. You don't get a say in the matter, either, so don't bother replying! Nino doesn't. He frowns, and pokes through the menu options on the phone to try to get it to shut up just in case anyone else wants to inflict their presence on him.
The doorbell rings as he's cleaning out his ears. Ohno doesn't bother waiting for him to get all the way to the door, though--he just comes right in, poking his head around the door frame first before the rest of him follows. His hair is properly brushed and his clothes clean, his t-shirt the same one he's worn for six years that has a hole in the armpit that Nino likes to stick his fingers into. "Nino?" he says. He looks around, as if he's not sure where he is. "I thought you'd be playing games by now."
"I can't quite bring myself to turn on the TV yet," Nino admits, letting his towel hang around his neck. "I'm not used to it."
He gets Ohno a glass of water with a couple of ice cubes, because he doesn't trust anything else in his fridge except the beer, and he's not quite sure how he feels about that yet, especially after coffee.
That's when Aiba-chan shows up, his motorcycle helmet under his arm and Sho in tow behind him, looking a bit ruffled. Nino doesn't blame him--he's seen how Aiba rides a bike, and he's vowed to never be his passenger, ever.
"Nino! Captain, you look--" And Aiba pauses, eyes roving over them both before giving up on finding a polite word and throwing his arms around Nino in the most lung-crushing hug Nino has ever suffered. It feels wonderful.
"Satoshi," Sho says, equally ineloquent with his words, but the feeling filling up all the space between the letters enough so that Nino is almost awash with how relieved he is. He gives Ohno a hug in a manner that doesn't look quite so suffocating. "Matsujun is on the way over, I hope you don't mind, I know you need some time to rest and--"
"But we have to see them," Aiba interrupts, putting his hand in Ohno's and holding on tight. "Just to make sure they're okay."
"What are you, a doctor?" Sho laughs, seeming more at ease now that he's gotten physical proof of their existence.
"Don't give him ideas, Sho-chan," Nino says, filling more glasses and getting an extra one ready for Jun.
"I couldn't be a doctor, I'm in Arashi," Aiba says. He doesn't let go of Ohno all the way to the couch. "That's too much studying. Keio-boy could do it, though."
By unspoken accord, none of them bring up the topic of the island or the rescue until Matsujun gets there, looking harried, the circles under his eyes deeper than Nino can remember them ever being before. Matsujun's never been one for physical affection, which makes the fierceness of his embrace pull at Nino's heart far more than it should.
"Have you eaten anything?" Jun says, pulling back to look at Nino's face as if he can tell from the fullness of his cheeks, or lack thereof. "I can make you something. Just tell me what you want. Something simple would probably be best, like eggs, or rice--you keep your rice in the bin next to the sink, don't you?"
Nino pulls Jun closer to where they're sitting. "Don't worry about it, they fed us at the hospital--it was crap food, but I'm full, and if you make anything it'll just go in the trash."
"They're okay, Matsujun," Aiba says, though he hasn't let go of Ohno yet, like he's not sure if Ohno might disappear if there's not something there to hold him down.
Jun looks stubborn, but he still half-settles into his spot on the armrest of Nino's chair, his legs kicked out in a sprawl, arms crossed over his chest. He looks poised, like he'd be ready to jump up and do something for them at any moment.
It's Sho that starts filling them in on what happened while they'd been gone, and Aiba starts interjecting his own commentary, but Jun remains silent and watchful on his perch. Nino discovers that they'd gotten back to Hawaii safely in a life raft, and that Arashi hadn't halted individual activities while the search for them went on--and there was a search.
But none of them ask what happened to Ohno and Nino, so Nino brings it up, telling the story in sketchy detail and leaving out anything he thinks is irrelevant, which is most of it. Ohno, unlike Aiba, doesn't help him narrate the story; he listens to Nino as if he's hearing it all for the first time, too, his expression vague but interested.
"Wow," Sho says when Nino finishes. "That must've been hard, figuring out how to get a fire going. You've never done that before, have you? ... Satoshi, have you?"
Ohno jerks a little, like he's just realized someone was talking. "Huh?"
"...Somehow I feel like very little has changed," Jun remarks dryly.
"It hasn't," Nino says, firm. Jun's expression flickers, as if he's about to apologize, but Nino butts in before he can: "Sticking Leader and me on a deserted island doesn't change who we are. We're Arashi, and we ride out storms."
"We'll make a storm throughout the world," Aiba says, soft, the corners of his mouth creeping into a hesitant grin.
"And still be ourselves in the center of it," Nino says, knowing it's true and wanting the others to know, too.
Sho is looking a little damp-eyed, and Aiba-chan has already started to cry: he wipes inelegantly at his eyes. "See?" Nino says, pointing at Aiba, scapegoating him like he always does: "This guy hasn't changed either."
"You're an ass," Aiba laughs through his tears.
They have to go before it gets too late. There's still work for them, and Nino feels guilty, but Sho won't hear of it. "We're doing this for Arashi, not for you, so if you want to help Arashi too you'll take your time off seriously. Otherwise Matsujun will probably give himself an ulcer from worrying too much, and nobody wants that."
"Me?" says Jun, incredulity written all over him. Ohno gives him a comforting pat on the back.
Nino grudgingly agrees. He still wants to get back to work, to have the rhythm of his life back to normal, but his friends are at his side and that's what he needs the most.
"Captain, are you coming?" Aiba says. Ohno is hanging back in the hall, hands in his pockets, watching them all get on their shoes and Aiba and Sho take up their helmets, his manner so nonchalant it almost seems like he's standing in his own apartment.
Nino doesn't want him to leave. "No, he's staying," he says.
"Oh, I get it," Aiba says, looking between them in the manner of someone who's trying to read between the lines. "You guys got used to being together, didn't you? All the time, I mean. It must be sort of weird to be apart, now."
"Yeah," Ohno says, smiling sheepishly.
"C'mon, Aiba-chan," Sho says, hooking his hand through Aiba's elbow. "Let them sleep. You can see them next time you have time off."
"Bye bye, guys," Aiba says, his smile glowing as only Aiba can as he lets himself out.
And then he and Ohno are alone. Nino looks at him, and Ohno looks back, his posture radiating tiredness. "Wanna get in bed?" Nino says, and Ohno just nods.
Ohno already knows the way, but Nino leads him there anyway and climbs into his bed, reveling all over again at how good civilization feels. The sheets whisper against each other as Ohno climbs in beside him.
But he holds himself apart.
"Nino," he whispers, and Nino turns over, squirms in place to face Ohno. Ohno's expression is carefully blank, not a smile or a frown, his hand curled by his chin and all of him lit by the streetlights through Nino's not-completely-closed curtain. "Is this okay?"
Nino understands what he's asking. The world they're in now is a different one, not private in the way only a deserted island can be. They can go back to normal, to how they were before, where before means that they can pretend they've never chased seagulls together, never made their fingers bleed pulling mussels from stone, and that they never kissed or went through nights naked with the sweat of their sex drying as they slept.
Ohno is letting him change his mind. Ohno is giving him the chance to erase it all.
But Nino doesn't need it. His tapestry has been knotted, and it's a knot he loves.
"Yes," he says, and closes the distance between them.
Original Commentary
Pairing: Ohmiya
Rating: Adult
Word Count: ~16000
Summary: Arashi have the perfect 10th anniversary celebration planned, but it goes horribly wrong. Ohno's not hugely upset about it, though...
A/N: Beta done by primroseshows and augustfai, and this is a better fic because of them.
8.
The storm comes on them that night when Ohno is sleeping, but it's not that which wakes him: it's Nino. The space in their shelter is cramped and small, and even before either of them had properly sunk into dreamland, Nino had cast one bony arm over his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. So when Nino jerks awake, Ohno feels it down to his marrow.
When he opens his eyes everything he sees is fuzzy, and there's no longer a moon to cast silvery light or shadow to help him resolve anything. The shape of Nino is all shades of charcoal gray, sitting up at Ohno's side like a statue. Ohno can still hear the last lingering drumbeat of thunder; it must have been the crack of it that woke Nino.
He reaches out to find Nino's wrist, planted near his shoulder, and curls his hand around it. Nino's fingers are digging into their bed of palm fronds. They're wet, Ohno realizes groggily: the roof is dripping. "Nino?"
Nino shivers, as if Ohno's voice has reminded him of where he is. Ohno can see his eyes flash even through the dark as he turns his head. "I thought I was on the boat."
Ohno's not really good at saying things and everyone knows it; he's lost count of how many times Sho has been outwardly startled by him speaking up on set. Ohno's even worse at giving advice, so he doesn't bother trying--he just relies on that healing presence everyone always says he has, sitting up quietly to scoot the two and a half centimetres closer to Nino that he can.
A few minutes go by, both of them staring out into the heavy, fat-dropped rain. There are rivers forming in the sandy dirt, creeping and crawling like confused snakes in this direction and that, and the hiss and patter of water against earth is a wild kind of music to Ohno's ears.
Eventually, Nino sighs the windy sigh of someone that's letting out all the weight from their heart. "Come on," he says, and starts scooting forward out of their shelter.
"Huh?" says Ohno. "What--you're going out there?"
Nino already is out there, and he spreads his arms apart, soaked. His hair is plastered to his skull, and he looks completely bedraggled, almost worse than when they first pulled themselves onto the shore of this island. But even through all the gray rain, Ohno can see the pull at the corner of Nino's mouth: he's smiling. "I like rain. I don't like lightning anymore, but I like rain, and walking in the rain. Besides, even with the roof, that place is turning into a soggy mess. If I'm going to get wet, I might as well get the fuck wet."
He has a point. And there's something entrancing about Nino standing in the rain, dripping and soft edged. Ohno pulls himself out of the shelter in an awkward tumble, getting his hand in a squelching patch of mud, his already damp self soaked through within moments.
Nino laughs, pulling Ohno to his feet, his small hands like talons against Ohno's bare arm. "Let's go for a walk," he says, so they do.
The night welcomes them, and the trees, whose branches and leaves are bowing, heavy with tears of rain. Nino shows him a path that he'd found earlier and walks a step ahead, guiding Ohno around gnarled roots, impressing Ohno with his memory, because they're almost impossible to see. Eventually the trees thin out and they can walk almost anywhere--they're back near the river, and Ohno isn't quite sure how they got turned around enough for it, but he's never been good with maps or directions and so he doesn't question it.
There's water in his eyes, against his scalp, and dripping from his earlobes; water has gotten down into his pants, and his underwear is clammy. But somehow, the discomfort has faded. Sleeping on palm fronds put a lot into perspective, he realizes. And having Nino's hand back in his, guiding him unerringly towards the edge of the river, is enough to keep him from minding most anything.
"The fish are gone," Nino says, words quieter from being sliced through with rain.
"Under the rocks, probably," Ohno says, and then feels his eyes grow wide. He stares at Nino.
Nino stares back. "Where's your Princess Guard?"
Now Ohno is staring for a different reason. "My what?"
There's a line of rain tracking down Nino's forehead, over his eyebrow, making him squint one eye in irritation. Ohno reaches back and strokes away Nino's shining hair, and the stream reroutes itself down the bridge of his nose. Nino blinks. "You really need to play Final Fantasy," he says. "Your spear thing, the fish catcher. Net, whatever. Where is it?"
They fetch it together, tripping through the underbrush in their haste, arriving back at the river with new mud-splatters on their shins and breathless expectancy in their hearts. Nino is hovering, trying to see into the ripple-stained eddies of the swollen river, but Ohno doesn't wait: he darts in his branch, the piece of his shirt still twisted on the end. In and out again, quick as a flash, hurling his catch up onto the bank.
Nothing.
He tries again, and again, first under the large crooked slate stone that's set near a small waterfall, and then a seal-toned one further up the bank.
It's there, on try three, that he gets something: two somethings, in fact, little darts of life that are slipping and flipping at the edge of the water now, mouths as wide as their eyes. He can hear Nino whoop behind him.
~
The storm blows over just past dawn, the smiling sun crawling forth from her bed into a pearl gray sky, chasing away the rain clouds like a watchdog herds sheep. It's strange, Ohno thinks, how quickly storms come and go here, whistling through with the wind and then gone.
But their shelter is a lost cause, at least for now: it's waterlogged and sad, and Nino looks at it darkly. "So much for that," he mutters, plucking one of his leaves out of a mud puddle.
The only thing to do is distract him, and Ohno knows just how to do it. He takes Nino's hand and leads him to the ocean, in the direction of the sun.
Nino is unusually quiet as they walk with the sand shifting under their feet. Not that Nino is normally loud, because he's not--nine times out of ten, when the cameras are off, he's nose deep in a manga, a game, or a magic trick. But this silence is different than those silences, and different again from the melancholic silence from a few nights before. Ohno has a gut feeling that it has to do with him.
Not that Nino's been different around him. In fact, despite the outburst, on the outside it's almost as if Nino's forgotten all about the confession.
Ohno knows he hasn't, though. He watches Ohno more often, his eyes as unreadable as a foreign alphabet. Ohno's not sure if that's a good thing or bad, but it is what it is and it's not like he can undo the knot he's tied, so he tries not to worry about it too much.
The place Ohno takes Nino to isn't the tide pools, but it's close: a curve of beach where the water licks at the shore in aquamarine curls with froth like lace. It looks like something out of a fantasy world, the beach white powder.
Nino looks at him suspiciously when he starts unbuttoning his pants.
"I thought we could take a bath," Ohno explains, fingers perched on his zipper. They've been here for days, and Ohno isn't the most cleanly person in the world, but even he's starting to feel the grime. And as wet as they'd gotten in the rain, he still smells.
Nino doesn't even look like himself anymore. There's hair growing on his upper lip and tiny whiskers on his chin, and Ohno thinks it looks completely out of place even though it kind of fascinates him. His nose has started to peel and red blotches war with darker bronzing skin all down his arms. Nino's never liked the sun, so Ohno's never had a chance to see him tanned gold. He's nowhere near as dark as Ohno is, and he never will be, but Ohno thinks it would look kind of good on him if it evened out.
Nino doesn't like the ocean, either, and his suspicious look is transfered there as Ohno nearly tips over while trying to get his pants off. They're still damp from the rain and cling stubbornly to his legs, and it's more of a relief than he thought possible when they're a sodden lump dusted with white sand at his feet.
He lets Nino stew over the decision--he'll probably come, Ohno hopes he'll come--and walks himself down to the water's edge, naked as naked can be. The water that kisses at his toes and then swirls around his hot, abused feet is so soothing that he just stands there for a minute, temporarily forgetting about Nino and everything else.
The waves come and get him with a lazy, sweet dance, and he follows them as they slide back out, towards the deeper water. It's not really deep at all, though, since it's a cove, and he gets in up to his waist without even feeling any dangerous tugs of an undertow. The water around him is inexplicably flecked with gold, and he can see all the way down to his toes, wobbly through all the ripples.
He hears Nino splashing towards him a few minutes later, and turns around to watch him come. "You look ridiculous," Nino says, picking his feet up higher than he needs to. Ohno has seen Nino naked hundreds of times; it's nothing new, and there's nothing different now than any of the times they've visited an onsen and Aiba-chan has lurked through the water pretending to be a shark. But he still can't help looking at Nino's cock, soft and swinging as his weight shifts back and forth. Ohno has always privately been impressed with Nino; they've never openly compared sizes, but everyone knows Nino trumps.
Whether or not Nino notices him looking (and he probably does) he doesn't comment on it. "You've got an equator on you. Look." He points, indicating somewhere below the water. "Your southern hemisphere is like an ice age under there, and your northern's gotten charred. Bet you there are dinosaurs and volcanos."
Nino is really one to talk. He looks equally ridiculous, and Ohno notices now as Nino draws up alongside him that he even has the same ring around his waist. He's too distracted to mention it, though, because there are spider webs of light crawling all over Nino's skin under the water.
Nino splashes him. Ohno has to blink away the brine, and finds Nino smiling at him when he does. "This was a good idea, though. Thanks."
"Hmph," Ohno says, flicking some water at Nino in pathetic retaliation. He doesn't want to start a water fight this time.
But that doesn't mean they can't play as they bathe, kicking out gently at each other under the water, competing to see who can stay under longest without having to laugh. Ohno can't see; he doesn't open his eyes. He lets his legs feel for him, finding Nino and slipping off his water-smooth skin. Nino's own advances are ticklish and sometimes dangerous: his toes glance along Ohno's thighs and low on his belly, and once Ohno feels a swish too close for comfort. He wonders just what parts of Nino he's hitting, and whether or not Nino minds.
When they finally struggle back to the shore Ohno feels lighter than he has since they landed here, and he can see the same thing echoed in Nino. The lines around his eyes have softened and each smile brings the corners of his mouth higher than before.
They wash their clothes, trading rain water for the ocean, and trudge back to their little home where their meal of fish is waiting.
~
Nino's eyes are two different colours. One is the pure bluebell of the sky on a summer morning, and the other is the deepest dark of the universe, so infinite that Ohno feels like he might be sucked into it.
"We have to go," says Nino, taking Ohno's hand.
"Where?" Ohno tries to say, but all that comes out is a wordless song that he has never sung before.
There are stairs. Ohno doesn't know where they lead except it's somewhere comfortable, and Nino is walking up them, so Ohno does too, except that his legs are short and stunted and the going is difficult. When he falls back a step, Nino looks at him sadly, his one blue eye glowing eerily.
"You can't go back," Nino says, and his arms wrap around Ohno's, swift and tight like octopus tentacles. Nino is stronger than he looks, and Ohno is starting to lose his breath--maybe he'll fall down the stairs after all.
"Ni--"
~
"--no?" Ohno's own voice has woken him up. He can hear the waves crashing down the beach, and Nino is wrapped around him and breathing in time with the ocean, holding on fiercely as he sleeps.
For a moment, the image of Nino with fae-coloured eyes remains imposed over the Nino lying against him, like a glaze, and Ohno feels his body stirring, tightening. Even when the vision clears and Nino is no longer magic, (nor angelic, what with his wrinkled brow and the way he's drooling on Ohno's shoulder), his arousal doesn't subside.
Nino snuffles and shoves his knee further between Ohno's thighs.
Ohno gives up on going back to sleep.
9.
Nino wakes up surrounded by Ohno. He hasn't even opened his eyes, but his sense of Ohno is so strong it could almost be his entire world: Ohno smells of sea salt, tangy and masculine, and his chest rises and falls under Nino's weight like a lullaby. He's comfortable, if bony, but Nino's used to that, so he doesn't think before he tucks his arm closer around Ohno like he's a teddy bear.
In retrospect, he really should have expected the morning erection before his hip found it.
Nino comes fully awake (he's really good at that when he wants to be) to find Ohno staring awkwardly at the leaf-laced ceiling, his bristly chin stubble right in front of Nino's eyes. Ohno is breathing carefully. He looks like he's trying to distract himself by counting backwards from 100, or cataloging the pairs of socks he has in his drawer.
"You've got the patience of a saint," Nino comments, finding his voice hoarser from sleep than he'd expected.
"Not really," Ohno says, his eyes blinking in a twitch.
And Nino knows, now. He finally knows just what he thinks of Ohno and his confession. Looking at Ohno brings him only a fondness so deep that he can't find the end of it. It's not just the island; it's not just being thrown together and depending on each other for survival, even if that's been the catalyst. It's not the fanservice that they do to make people scream; it's not Ohmiya SK, with shiny uniforms and ridiculous feathers and socks that make his legs look even skinnier.
It's just natural, like Ohno loving the ocean.
And maybe it's a little weird; Nino didn't see this coming, but that's what life is, anyway. Unknown variables and miracles and surprises that tie the future to the past in one long personal tapestry.
Nino has always liked to let his tapestry flow where it would. "Ohchan." He touches Ohno's chin, tracing the shape, the short hairs of Ohno's goatee prickly against his fingertip.
He can feel the question etching into the lines of Ohno's body, Ohno attuning himself to Nino's voice, waiting for whatever rebuke or distraction might come.
Nino kisses him, instead. Right under the jaw, a wet mark to seal his decision.
Ohno turns to him, his eyes opening in one surprised flash where Nino can see the ring around his irises, like he's not quite sure if he should believe it. But whatever he sees in Nino's face seems to be enough: his pupils contract, and the stress in his cheeks softens, and Nino can feel the tentative puff of breath coming closer.
It's the first kiss they've ever shared where neither has been laughing.
It's not perfect. Neither of them have brushed their teeth in days, but the thin line of Ohno's mouth is smooth and dry, easing against Nino's without demand. It's almost sweet, and just like Nino thought Ohno would kiss, the eagerness building with each soft, moist sound their mouths make.
When Ohno rolls over on top of him, elbows planted in the palms and his hand delicately circling Nino's neck, Nino gives way. He can feel Ohno's cock even through their water-stiffened pants, crooked against his hip, and his balls tighten in answer.
Nino learns things about Ohno's mouth he hadn't known before: the way he barely parts his lips to flirt with his tongue, as if he's shy; that kissing the corner of it makes Ohno's breath flicker; that his teeth are narrow and sharp but careful not to bite when Nino presses deeper, wanting to know more.
And that he's a really good kisser, as confident with his tongue as he is with his sleek fingers.
Nino forgets about kissing completely, though, when Ohno jolts down against him with a flick of his hips that's as controlled and sharp as his dancing. Nino's cock starts to swell, the zipper of his pants holding him in too tight. He hasn't masturbated once on this damn island; he's been too busy considering rain clouds and coconuts and the way Ohno's gaze strays to him even when he knows Nino is looking. Even through two layers of unforgiving fabric, Ohno has gotten him hard in record time.
Ohno's hands are sandy and pushing through Nino's hair, holding his head down, his naked chest brushing carelessly along Nino's when Nino tries to squirm; there's a rock to the left of his spine in the small of his back that's stealing precious attention each time Ohno sinks roughly into him.
Nino moans, his heart full of hummingbirds. He pushes up against Ohno, their stomachs pressed flush and tight as he shoves them over, fleeing the unpleasant scrape of stone. Ohno loses his rhythm, his eyes open and owlish in the face of Nino's surge of control. It's probably a fact that he's not used to sleeping with anyone that's not malleable and submissive from start to finish. Ohno doesn't seem like the type to take a tiger to bed.
Not that Nino is a tiger. He's just not a girl, and he's going to remind Ohno before he forgets. "Help me," he rasps, his sleep-voice clinging on long after it should be gone. He's unbuttoning his pants, shoving them down his hips, and it only takes Ohno a moment to overcome his disorientation enough to get his fingers into Nino's waistband and shove them down to his knees. Nino doesn't bother kicking them off the rest of the way; he's sprung free, his erection aimed in Ohno's direction in a slow arc of impatience.
Ohno's pants come next, Ohno doing an ungraceful little jig to try to get them out of the way, and his cock peeks into view between the v of his zipper, the head of it just pushing out of his foreskin. Nino has actually seen Ohno erect before, and more than once, but those times were all while watching group porn and pointedly not looking into each other's laps. Nino doesn't pretend not to see, this time. He looks, soaking up as many details as he can in the five seconds Ohno takes getting his clothes most of the way off. It's hard with the way Ohno's cock bobs, but Nino can see enough: Ohno's skin is pale between his legs, and with all the blood flowing Nino can see dark veins that travel along its length in sinuous patterns.
He doesn't wait for Ohno to settle properly back against the palm fronds. He climbs right on top of him, pressing the burn of his erection alongside Ohno's. The feel is entirely different now that he has Ohno against him in sharp relief, the blunt heaviness of their cocks not shielded by their pants or their inhibitions. When Nino rocks, Ohno's mouth opens in a soundless moan, his mouth red and inviting.
They both struggle and shift, legs kicking out as they realign time and time again. Ohno's hands are so tight on Nino's ass as to leave bruises, and it makes him buck all the harder.
When Ohno flips them again, Nino's lost any sense of rationality and he just doesn't care anymore who's on top or where they are or that the palms are scratching up his arms. His stomach is tense and tightening with every slip of Ohno's hips, and Ohno's mouth is panting something unintelligible into his ear in heavy, guttural rhythm. His cock is on fire like sunlight, so sharp that it makes him curl his toes and jerk until he comes, sticky gobs that Ohno spreads between them like paint with the push of his belly.
It takes Ohno a little while longer. Nino's shudders have slowed and calmed by the time Ohno groans, his back arching towards the ceiling and all his muscles spasming against Nino. His come is thick, sporadic bursts over Nino's stomach, but Nino is already dirty--a little more hardly matters. Nino pets through his hair as he rides it out, sucking in air in little gasps like he's forgotten how to breathe.
Stillness settles over them, thick and comfortable, and Nino knows one more knot has been twisted into his tapestry, one that is only the start of an unending ocean of blues.
10.
Enough days have been and gone that Ohno has re-discovered something he knew all along: time is only a child of society. He's forgotten what day of the week it's supposed to be, though that's something he's never been solid on from the beginning. He's forgotten what day of the month it is, except that it's probably creeping towards the end of September, or maybe it's already October by now. It's probably not November, but he wouldn't rule it out.
Surprisingly, Nino doesn't know either, or at least he seems not to. He just shrugs and smiles each time Ohno asks, but his eyes get a faraway look that Ohno doesn't like to induce, so he's stopped bringing it up.
They've tried the giant 'HELP' on the beach, but that, Nino points out after a few days of hope and another day of resignation, only works if the airplane gets close enough.
Now it's time for a smoke signal. Nino keeps muttering that they should have thought of this before, but Ohno reminds him that they've had enough rain showers to make it impossible anyway, and he looks mildly satisfied by that rationale.
Nino emerges from within the forested section of the island, dragging two handfuls of branches through the sand to where Ohno has been making a teepee of wood, all of it crisscrossed and somewhat intimidating in size. It's up to Ohno's shoulders, and broad enough that he couldn't work his arms around it if he tried.
"Here," Nino says, dumping the wood unceremoniously at his side. "Think that's enough?"
"I don't know how long it'll burn for," Ohno says, scratching between his eyes with a frown. "But isn't it good enough for now? We just have to keep adding more."
"For however long it takes," Nino agrees, determined. He squats in the sand and watches as Ohno works with the stones, cracking them together enough to scare the birds away before he finally gets a glow of orange in the kindling.
The fire doesn't take long after that. Ohno blows, coaxing it gently, and it feeds off the oxygen enough to start eating at the wood, growing and growing, climbing greedily towards the sky.
The smoke is dark and thick, and climbs even higher, a signal to anyone near or far that they're waiting, still waiting.
~
Nino looks even rougher around the edges now, but Ohno isn't as worried as he once was. They've both gotten used to the biorhythm of the island, and Ohno's been able to catch enough fish to keep them going so long as Nino gets them coconuts and they visit the tidepools every other day or so. Nino's even found some birds' nests a time or two.
Between them, little has changed, and yet everything has changed completely. Nino holds his hand the same as ever: on a whim, and without apology. He still brushes away affection like a prickly cat half the time when Ohno tries to touch him.
At night, he lets Ohno push into his space, and pushes right back, his palms hot on Ohno's skin and stroking him till he's tangled in internal knots, finally unraveling all over the both of them. Sometimes they do it frantic and fast, eating each other's kisses in sharp bites and making a mess of themselves. Sometimes, Nino lets him take it slow, lets him map out all the angles of his body from the valleys and mountains of his face and neck to the sinew under his skin, long hours spent learning just what makes Nino's heartbeat quicken.
They don't talk about it. Ohno is too busy cataloguing all the new sides of Nino he's allowed to touch and taste, and Nino seems content without conversation. Besides, they have more immediate things to worry about, like getting off the damn island.
"What if we make a raft?" Nino says a couple days after they've started their fire, tossing more sticks on it idly. There are charred cinders in a wide ring around the base now, but they haven't let it go out yet. Ohno is grateful that the rain seems to be staying away now. Even today is clear, the clouds all fluffy and friendly as sheep.
"And go which way?" Ohno says, squinting at the sun.
"You'd know better than me," Nino says miserably. He brushes sand off his ankles in a pointless show of fastidiousness. They both know how quickly he'll be dirty again. "Can't we follow a star, or something?"
"That works if you know there's something in the direction of the star," Ohno says. In truth, he doesn't know much about the nautical side of boats, he just gets on them so he can fish, but he's picked up a few things anyway. "We don't know what direction any of the other islands are in."
"And we can't just row into open, empty sea," Nino finishes for him, squinting at the fire as if it's personally offended him.
Nino doesn't mention his seasickness at all. Ohno takes that as a sign that he's desperate. He's starting to feel despairing himself, so he understands.
The next day finds them out on the tidepools, Nino picking his way on tiptoe through a narrow section that takes him to one of the deeper pools. The tide is farther out that Ohno's seen it before, and there's no crashing spray to contend with as they hunt. Ohno catches his own reflection on the surface of the water as he peers inside, taking note of the scuttling gray crabs and their tiny pincers. They've caught a few of those, and they're good, if a little small.
He's got himself three of them, and is feeling wonderfully proud of himself when Nino gives a shout. Ohno looks up, but he already knows what Nino is pointing at, because he can hear the propellers:
There's a plane, and it's coming closer.
Epilogue
The airplane ride is longer than Nino wants it to be and yet not long enough; there are crowds of people in the airport when they get there, and Nino is more overwhelmed than he can ever remember being in front of so many eyes and so much muttering noise. Even the cameras bother him; he's gone so long considering cameras as something to purposely get in front of that wanting to avoid them and their intermittent flashing is disorienting. The staff that help them off the plane shield Nino's and Ohno's faces as best they can, and they flee the clicks and calls, making their way towards for the hospital for checks.
He hates hospitals, and the amount of tests they put him through this time to check his lungs, his skin, his reflexes, his retinas, and all the rest, doesn't help a bit.
It also doesn't help that there are doctors and a handful of short-skirted nurses between him and Ohno. He sticks his tongue out for a depressor and tries not to think about it.
He's declared as healthy as can possibly be hoped for under the circumstances and sent straight home to rest with a reminder that they'll re-start activities in two weeks' time, please be ready, and finally gets a chance to call his mother in the car on the way home with a company phone ("Yours got lost in the storm," said manager number one, his eyebrows pulling together like charging caterpillars. "Use this till you can get a new one.") She's too overwhelmed to say much of anything coherent, but gets herself together enough to tell him that she loves him before they hang up.
When Nino gets through his front door with his landlord's spare key he stops and stares, seeing everything familiar and dear that he's wanted to see for days upon days, and feels more lonely than ever. Ohno was sent home in another car, at another time, with another manager, and they didn't get a chance to exchange so much as a goodbye.
Nino sighs, pulling his feet out of his borrowed shoes to shuffle into his apartment. He puts his new phone on his tiny dining table and looks around, the familiarity of everything soothing but also strange.
His coffee maker has dust on it, but his cups don't; he starts up the machine, wondering idly just how much of a kick caffeine will give his system after so long without.
Two weeks is a long time. In truth, he doesn't like it. It's too long, and Arashi has already been out of service because of him for enough time that he knows they can't really afford to wait. Their manager has assured him that the publicity from the rescue is enough, and he gets it, he really gets it, but he doesn't want Arashi to be remembered for that--that's not what Arashi is: they work for their fans. Nino feels like he's cheating somehow, and it sits crookedly in his chest.
Not to mention the fact that he needs Arashi up and running, maybe even more than the fans do. It's his dirty little not-so-secret: he hasn't got anything if he doesn't have Arashi. He could care less about 'full recuperation'. Management never cared about them being in perfect health before, why are they caring now, right when Nino needs Arashi around him and smiling the most?
Nino waits for the coffee machine to do its magic, wriggling his feet against the carpet and appreciating the fact that it's not gravel digging into the soft space between his toes. The fact that he's home is slowly starting to penetrate. He tries to remember where he left his DS last, but realizes he had it on the boat--it's long gone now.
When he has his coffee in his Smurf mug with three sugars and a teaspoon of cream, his phone beeps a series of notes as shrill as a fire alarm, nearly startling him into dropping the whole cup into his trash. "Catfish whiskers," he swears, putting it down before he burns himself.
It's a text from Ohno, asking if he can visit. It's completely naked of exclamation points and emoji and would be foreboding if Nino didn't want to see his face so badly. He types something back, making too many mistakes with the new interface on the impersonal black company phone, and promises himself he'll buy his old one again as he hits send.
After he sips down a third of his cup and gives up on the rest, leaving it in the sink to go cold, he takes a shower. He'd had one at the hospital, but it was too quick to be satisfying, just enough to clean the dirt out of his cuts for the antiseptic. The faucet squeaks as he turns the handles, and when he steps under the stinging water he feels like ten years have been lifted off of him. Hot water, he thinks, is an even better invention than video games.
Soap is pretty awesome too, and so are washcloths. He takes his time, relaxing properly for the first time since he saw the airplane on the horizon glittering like a diamond in the sunlight.
When he gets out, he luxuriates in the feeling of having a bone fide bath towel for longer than seems reasonable, rubbing his hair and going to get a change of clothes that will actually fit him. Sweat pants are called for.
Another text comes before Ohno shows up, the siren wail of it making him grit his teeth. It's Aiba-chan: I'm coming over, with Sho-chan. You don't get a say in the matter, either, so don't bother replying! Nino doesn't. He frowns, and pokes through the menu options on the phone to try to get it to shut up just in case anyone else wants to inflict their presence on him.
The doorbell rings as he's cleaning out his ears. Ohno doesn't bother waiting for him to get all the way to the door, though--he just comes right in, poking his head around the door frame first before the rest of him follows. His hair is properly brushed and his clothes clean, his t-shirt the same one he's worn for six years that has a hole in the armpit that Nino likes to stick his fingers into. "Nino?" he says. He looks around, as if he's not sure where he is. "I thought you'd be playing games by now."
"I can't quite bring myself to turn on the TV yet," Nino admits, letting his towel hang around his neck. "I'm not used to it."
He gets Ohno a glass of water with a couple of ice cubes, because he doesn't trust anything else in his fridge except the beer, and he's not quite sure how he feels about that yet, especially after coffee.
That's when Aiba-chan shows up, his motorcycle helmet under his arm and Sho in tow behind him, looking a bit ruffled. Nino doesn't blame him--he's seen how Aiba rides a bike, and he's vowed to never be his passenger, ever.
"Nino! Captain, you look--" And Aiba pauses, eyes roving over them both before giving up on finding a polite word and throwing his arms around Nino in the most lung-crushing hug Nino has ever suffered. It feels wonderful.
"Satoshi," Sho says, equally ineloquent with his words, but the feeling filling up all the space between the letters enough so that Nino is almost awash with how relieved he is. He gives Ohno a hug in a manner that doesn't look quite so suffocating. "Matsujun is on the way over, I hope you don't mind, I know you need some time to rest and--"
"But we have to see them," Aiba interrupts, putting his hand in Ohno's and holding on tight. "Just to make sure they're okay."
"What are you, a doctor?" Sho laughs, seeming more at ease now that he's gotten physical proof of their existence.
"Don't give him ideas, Sho-chan," Nino says, filling more glasses and getting an extra one ready for Jun.
"I couldn't be a doctor, I'm in Arashi," Aiba says. He doesn't let go of Ohno all the way to the couch. "That's too much studying. Keio-boy could do it, though."
By unspoken accord, none of them bring up the topic of the island or the rescue until Matsujun gets there, looking harried, the circles under his eyes deeper than Nino can remember them ever being before. Matsujun's never been one for physical affection, which makes the fierceness of his embrace pull at Nino's heart far more than it should.
"Have you eaten anything?" Jun says, pulling back to look at Nino's face as if he can tell from the fullness of his cheeks, or lack thereof. "I can make you something. Just tell me what you want. Something simple would probably be best, like eggs, or rice--you keep your rice in the bin next to the sink, don't you?"
Nino pulls Jun closer to where they're sitting. "Don't worry about it, they fed us at the hospital--it was crap food, but I'm full, and if you make anything it'll just go in the trash."
"They're okay, Matsujun," Aiba says, though he hasn't let go of Ohno yet, like he's not sure if Ohno might disappear if there's not something there to hold him down.
Jun looks stubborn, but he still half-settles into his spot on the armrest of Nino's chair, his legs kicked out in a sprawl, arms crossed over his chest. He looks poised, like he'd be ready to jump up and do something for them at any moment.
It's Sho that starts filling them in on what happened while they'd been gone, and Aiba starts interjecting his own commentary, but Jun remains silent and watchful on his perch. Nino discovers that they'd gotten back to Hawaii safely in a life raft, and that Arashi hadn't halted individual activities while the search for them went on--and there was a search.
But none of them ask what happened to Ohno and Nino, so Nino brings it up, telling the story in sketchy detail and leaving out anything he thinks is irrelevant, which is most of it. Ohno, unlike Aiba, doesn't help him narrate the story; he listens to Nino as if he's hearing it all for the first time, too, his expression vague but interested.
"Wow," Sho says when Nino finishes. "That must've been hard, figuring out how to get a fire going. You've never done that before, have you? ... Satoshi, have you?"
Ohno jerks a little, like he's just realized someone was talking. "Huh?"
"...Somehow I feel like very little has changed," Jun remarks dryly.
"It hasn't," Nino says, firm. Jun's expression flickers, as if he's about to apologize, but Nino butts in before he can: "Sticking Leader and me on a deserted island doesn't change who we are. We're Arashi, and we ride out storms."
"We'll make a storm throughout the world," Aiba says, soft, the corners of his mouth creeping into a hesitant grin.
"And still be ourselves in the center of it," Nino says, knowing it's true and wanting the others to know, too.
Sho is looking a little damp-eyed, and Aiba-chan has already started to cry: he wipes inelegantly at his eyes. "See?" Nino says, pointing at Aiba, scapegoating him like he always does: "This guy hasn't changed either."
"You're an ass," Aiba laughs through his tears.
They have to go before it gets too late. There's still work for them, and Nino feels guilty, but Sho won't hear of it. "We're doing this for Arashi, not for you, so if you want to help Arashi too you'll take your time off seriously. Otherwise Matsujun will probably give himself an ulcer from worrying too much, and nobody wants that."
"Me?" says Jun, incredulity written all over him. Ohno gives him a comforting pat on the back.
Nino grudgingly agrees. He still wants to get back to work, to have the rhythm of his life back to normal, but his friends are at his side and that's what he needs the most.
"Captain, are you coming?" Aiba says. Ohno is hanging back in the hall, hands in his pockets, watching them all get on their shoes and Aiba and Sho take up their helmets, his manner so nonchalant it almost seems like he's standing in his own apartment.
Nino doesn't want him to leave. "No, he's staying," he says.
"Oh, I get it," Aiba says, looking between them in the manner of someone who's trying to read between the lines. "You guys got used to being together, didn't you? All the time, I mean. It must be sort of weird to be apart, now."
"Yeah," Ohno says, smiling sheepishly.
"C'mon, Aiba-chan," Sho says, hooking his hand through Aiba's elbow. "Let them sleep. You can see them next time you have time off."
"Bye bye, guys," Aiba says, his smile glowing as only Aiba can as he lets himself out.
And then he and Ohno are alone. Nino looks at him, and Ohno looks back, his posture radiating tiredness. "Wanna get in bed?" Nino says, and Ohno just nods.
Ohno already knows the way, but Nino leads him there anyway and climbs into his bed, reveling all over again at how good civilization feels. The sheets whisper against each other as Ohno climbs in beside him.
But he holds himself apart.
"Nino," he whispers, and Nino turns over, squirms in place to face Ohno. Ohno's expression is carefully blank, not a smile or a frown, his hand curled by his chin and all of him lit by the streetlights through Nino's not-completely-closed curtain. "Is this okay?"
Nino understands what he's asking. The world they're in now is a different one, not private in the way only a deserted island can be. They can go back to normal, to how they were before, where before means that they can pretend they've never chased seagulls together, never made their fingers bleed pulling mussels from stone, and that they never kissed or went through nights naked with the sweat of their sex drying as they slept.
Ohno is letting him change his mind. Ohno is giving him the chance to erase it all.
But Nino doesn't need it. His tapestry has been knotted, and it's a knot he loves.
"Yes," he says, and closes the distance between them.
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