Revelation (Arashi)
Christmas Challenge Fic
given by; aeslis
prompt; snowed in
Title: Revelation
Pairing: Sho x Nino
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sho and Nino are snowed in after an awkward evening.
Nino awoke to the heavy smell of Jack Daniels.
His nose wrinkled as he tried to push it away, tried to clear his head of it, but it was too close, and clearly had nothing better to do beside infiltrate his senses. The room was swimming it, Nino imagined, and the bed must be soaked, the sheets stained brown and the comforter a dripping, soggy mess. That would explain the dampness of his cheek, and the strong stench of the pillow, the stickiness of his hair--Nino's eyes opened, bleary, and he found he had not only awoken to the smell of Jack Daniels: he had been sleeping in it.
"What the hell," Nino grunted, and yanked the pillow out from under his head. It hit the night stand, knocking over an alarm clock and two glasses--they fell to the floor with the horrid, screeching sound of glass, the collapse of splinters and jagged edges and angry, weeping acid. Nino clawed at his ears weakly, trying to rid his head of the sound, but it echoed, like the call of a siren or the incessant ringing of the telephone.
"Turn it off!" He cried, though it was weak and throaty, stained with the discomfort of his hangover, "Turn it off turn it off turn it--"
"Nino," came Sho's voice, steady and clear, like a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds--no, wait, that was real light breaking through the cloud of Nino's eyelashes. He cried again.
"TURN THAT OFF!"
Sho made an awkward noise and flipped the switch again, sighing beneath his breath. Placated, Nino shut his eyes and listened to the sound of feet against the hardwood. It was almost comforting; it reminded him of home, of the way the stairs would creak as his sister walked down them, or the way his father would shuffle across the hall and into the kitchen, spying on what his mother happened to be cooking. It made him smile, through the haze, though it was only a momentary comfort.
"What happened here..." Sho murmured to himself, crouching next to the bed and gingerly reaching for the pieces of glass.
"You tell me," Nino grumbled, one hand slapped over his eyes now, rubbing at his temples. "...Why am I here, anyway?"
Sho swallowed, unsure of what to answer, unsure of what Nino remembered and what should be better kept secret.
"You have a lot of time to think about that," he finally replied, holding the broken shards in his palm: "We're snowed in."
There was a god awful, terrifying rumble from the bed, and Sho bit down on his lip in an attempt to hold back his laughter.
"That adverse to spending quality time with me?" He asked through the whining, watching out of the corner of his eye as Nino tossed and turned without a regard to the clothes that lay on the bed or the extra pillows that were pushed against the headboard. One of them fell into the mess of spilled alcohol and glass--Sho sighed, tugged at the corner of it, and finally gave up.
"The power's out," Sho said again after a moment, standing, the glass sitting quietly in his palm. "So come out into the kitchen and let's have some tea."
It took twenty minutes to even get Nino out of bed, regardless of space or direction--Sho threw the glass out, turned on the gas stove, began to boil water, straightened up the counters; Nino swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed at his face: he was originally careful of glass, and then sheepishly realized it had been on the other side of the bed. He took swaggered, twisted steps towards the bathroom, and turned on the sink--the water was cold, but only because Nino chose it to be that way, and after slicking back his hair and scrubbing uselessly at his face, he was red and blathered and irritated and perfectly willing to go into the kitchen and bitch at someone in real time, not his bleary reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Sho was leaning up against the counter with a mug in his hands as Nino came in, eyes red and hooded. He almost wanted to laugh again, but he hid it against the rim of his glass, one hand on the countertop, ankles crossed.
"Here," He murmured after a sip, and nudged another mug towards Nino: it was tall and red and lined with a white stripe around the bottom. "It'll make you feel better."
"I don't think anything will," Nino said quietly, fearing the harshness of his own voice. He took the mug anyway, cupping it between both of his hands--Sho eyed him, tracing over the familiar curve of Nino's legs beneath the pajama bottoms that were clearly not his, the shirt that was wet from the sink, and the tiny splashes of water that fell from Nino's hair onto his shoulders. He would have hugged him, kissed him, had the time been appropriate--but Nino was not ready for such stimulation, and Sho began to wonder wryly if the only action he'd ever get would be while under the influence.
After a moment, Nino spoke, and he sounded almost nervous: "Are we really trapped here?"
"Yes," Sho replied, careful of his tone, trying to sound warm and encouraging, "But snow always has to melt. We'll be okay."
He took a sip, and then added, with a hint of mischeif--"I also have plenty of games for us to play."
"Games," Nino repeated, scoffing, with a hint of a smile creeping up the side of his face, "I can only imagine the kind of games Sho-chan likes to play."
You'd be surprised, Sho thought, running his tongue over his lower lip.
More water was boiling, a welcome distraction, and Nino's eyes followed the steam glancing up to the roof of the kitchen, trapping it against the ceiling. He felt much like that steam, only not as hot, and more wet than dry. He felt trapped and awkward, like his temper was bubbling to the surface for no reason, like he had a hangover for no reason, like he was purposefully pretending he didn't know anything for the sake of keeping things less confusing and more succinct.
Nino rubbed at his eyes again.
(So I really am pretending.)
"Nino?" Sho asked, setting his cup down carefully, taking a step towards him, crossing the invisible line drawn across the tile of the kitchen floor. Nino flinched, giving him a hazy smile, backing up until the plaid of his pajamas scratched the counter edge.
"I'm okay," he said softly, shaking his head a little, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks at the mere thought. "Sho, we, we did..."
The windows were covered in snow, white and flaky and packed so tightly, huddled so close that Sho couldn't see the outside world. He felt almost as if they were in another time, another place, where the only two people who existed were them--where snow storms happened just for the sole purpose of this, just for the sake of letting them work out their feelings without the constraints of time or purpose or anything. Just them. Just them and nothing else.
Sho swallowed, his eyes following the outline of the window, his ears trained to listen to the tumble of wind outside. There was silence between them, like the great, slanted expanse of a snow drift, large and impossible to cross.
But god damn it, Sho was going to cross it.
The words fell out of his mouth as he barged through the pile of snow between them, through the silence and the awkwardness, the silly little curve of Nino's embarrassed smile and the warmth of his pajamas, Sho's pajamas, the smell of alcohol in his hair and Sho's cologne, dry sweat and----
"We slept together," Sho blurted out, "And before you ask, yes, it meant something to me, it really, really did."
Another silence. Maybe he hadn't really said it out loud?
Sho started again: "We--"
Nino held up a hand; it was small and weathered, red at his fingertips from holding the rim of his glass, and his palm was damp from perspiration.
"Okay," Nino said with a hint of laughter, eyes still closed, "No need to shout it from the rooftops, I got it."
Sho looked uncomfortable. "Nino..."
"Can you start a fire?"
What a strange question. Sho glanced at him, arms crossed, trying to work through the thoughts that he could feel burrowing in Nino's mind, banging around the inside of his head. He pressed his lips together.
"Of course, but--"
Nino opened his eyes then: they were pink and bloodshot, a little damp, and sleepy; he leaned back against the counter, picking up his mug again and holding it to his stomach, mouth curved in amusement.
"Can we cuddle?"
Sho broke out into a grin.
"Of course."
given by; aeslis
prompt; snowed in
Title: Revelation
Pairing: Sho x Nino
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sho and Nino are snowed in after an awkward evening.
Nino awoke to the heavy smell of Jack Daniels.
His nose wrinkled as he tried to push it away, tried to clear his head of it, but it was too close, and clearly had nothing better to do beside infiltrate his senses. The room was swimming it, Nino imagined, and the bed must be soaked, the sheets stained brown and the comforter a dripping, soggy mess. That would explain the dampness of his cheek, and the strong stench of the pillow, the stickiness of his hair--Nino's eyes opened, bleary, and he found he had not only awoken to the smell of Jack Daniels: he had been sleeping in it.
"What the hell," Nino grunted, and yanked the pillow out from under his head. It hit the night stand, knocking over an alarm clock and two glasses--they fell to the floor with the horrid, screeching sound of glass, the collapse of splinters and jagged edges and angry, weeping acid. Nino clawed at his ears weakly, trying to rid his head of the sound, but it echoed, like the call of a siren or the incessant ringing of the telephone.
"Turn it off!" He cried, though it was weak and throaty, stained with the discomfort of his hangover, "Turn it off turn it off turn it--"
"Nino," came Sho's voice, steady and clear, like a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds--no, wait, that was real light breaking through the cloud of Nino's eyelashes. He cried again.
"TURN THAT OFF!"
Sho made an awkward noise and flipped the switch again, sighing beneath his breath. Placated, Nino shut his eyes and listened to the sound of feet against the hardwood. It was almost comforting; it reminded him of home, of the way the stairs would creak as his sister walked down them, or the way his father would shuffle across the hall and into the kitchen, spying on what his mother happened to be cooking. It made him smile, through the haze, though it was only a momentary comfort.
"What happened here..." Sho murmured to himself, crouching next to the bed and gingerly reaching for the pieces of glass.
"You tell me," Nino grumbled, one hand slapped over his eyes now, rubbing at his temples. "...Why am I here, anyway?"
Sho swallowed, unsure of what to answer, unsure of what Nino remembered and what should be better kept secret.
"You have a lot of time to think about that," he finally replied, holding the broken shards in his palm: "We're snowed in."
There was a god awful, terrifying rumble from the bed, and Sho bit down on his lip in an attempt to hold back his laughter.
"That adverse to spending quality time with me?" He asked through the whining, watching out of the corner of his eye as Nino tossed and turned without a regard to the clothes that lay on the bed or the extra pillows that were pushed against the headboard. One of them fell into the mess of spilled alcohol and glass--Sho sighed, tugged at the corner of it, and finally gave up.
"The power's out," Sho said again after a moment, standing, the glass sitting quietly in his palm. "So come out into the kitchen and let's have some tea."
It took twenty minutes to even get Nino out of bed, regardless of space or direction--Sho threw the glass out, turned on the gas stove, began to boil water, straightened up the counters; Nino swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed at his face: he was originally careful of glass, and then sheepishly realized it had been on the other side of the bed. He took swaggered, twisted steps towards the bathroom, and turned on the sink--the water was cold, but only because Nino chose it to be that way, and after slicking back his hair and scrubbing uselessly at his face, he was red and blathered and irritated and perfectly willing to go into the kitchen and bitch at someone in real time, not his bleary reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Sho was leaning up against the counter with a mug in his hands as Nino came in, eyes red and hooded. He almost wanted to laugh again, but he hid it against the rim of his glass, one hand on the countertop, ankles crossed.
"Here," He murmured after a sip, and nudged another mug towards Nino: it was tall and red and lined with a white stripe around the bottom. "It'll make you feel better."
"I don't think anything will," Nino said quietly, fearing the harshness of his own voice. He took the mug anyway, cupping it between both of his hands--Sho eyed him, tracing over the familiar curve of Nino's legs beneath the pajama bottoms that were clearly not his, the shirt that was wet from the sink, and the tiny splashes of water that fell from Nino's hair onto his shoulders. He would have hugged him, kissed him, had the time been appropriate--but Nino was not ready for such stimulation, and Sho began to wonder wryly if the only action he'd ever get would be while under the influence.
After a moment, Nino spoke, and he sounded almost nervous: "Are we really trapped here?"
"Yes," Sho replied, careful of his tone, trying to sound warm and encouraging, "But snow always has to melt. We'll be okay."
He took a sip, and then added, with a hint of mischeif--"I also have plenty of games for us to play."
"Games," Nino repeated, scoffing, with a hint of a smile creeping up the side of his face, "I can only imagine the kind of games Sho-chan likes to play."
You'd be surprised, Sho thought, running his tongue over his lower lip.
More water was boiling, a welcome distraction, and Nino's eyes followed the steam glancing up to the roof of the kitchen, trapping it against the ceiling. He felt much like that steam, only not as hot, and more wet than dry. He felt trapped and awkward, like his temper was bubbling to the surface for no reason, like he had a hangover for no reason, like he was purposefully pretending he didn't know anything for the sake of keeping things less confusing and more succinct.
Nino rubbed at his eyes again.
(So I really am pretending.)
"Nino?" Sho asked, setting his cup down carefully, taking a step towards him, crossing the invisible line drawn across the tile of the kitchen floor. Nino flinched, giving him a hazy smile, backing up until the plaid of his pajamas scratched the counter edge.
"I'm okay," he said softly, shaking his head a little, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks at the mere thought. "Sho, we, we did..."
The windows were covered in snow, white and flaky and packed so tightly, huddled so close that Sho couldn't see the outside world. He felt almost as if they were in another time, another place, where the only two people who existed were them--where snow storms happened just for the sole purpose of this, just for the sake of letting them work out their feelings without the constraints of time or purpose or anything. Just them. Just them and nothing else.
Sho swallowed, his eyes following the outline of the window, his ears trained to listen to the tumble of wind outside. There was silence between them, like the great, slanted expanse of a snow drift, large and impossible to cross.
But god damn it, Sho was going to cross it.
The words fell out of his mouth as he barged through the pile of snow between them, through the silence and the awkwardness, the silly little curve of Nino's embarrassed smile and the warmth of his pajamas, Sho's pajamas, the smell of alcohol in his hair and Sho's cologne, dry sweat and----
"We slept together," Sho blurted out, "And before you ask, yes, it meant something to me, it really, really did."
Another silence. Maybe he hadn't really said it out loud?
Sho started again: "We--"
Nino held up a hand; it was small and weathered, red at his fingertips from holding the rim of his glass, and his palm was damp from perspiration.
"Okay," Nino said with a hint of laughter, eyes still closed, "No need to shout it from the rooftops, I got it."
Sho looked uncomfortable. "Nino..."
"Can you start a fire?"
What a strange question. Sho glanced at him, arms crossed, trying to work through the thoughts that he could feel burrowing in Nino's mind, banging around the inside of his head. He pressed his lips together.
"Of course, but--"
Nino opened his eyes then: they were pink and bloodshot, a little damp, and sleepy; he leaned back against the counter, picking up his mug again and holding it to his stomach, mouth curved in amusement.
"Can we cuddle?"
Sho broke out into a grin.
"Of course."