Gift Fic for haruka-21
To: haruka-21
From: psychoniji
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
Title: A Distraction
Pairing/Group: NEWS, Koyama/Shige
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Horribly-idealized characters and situations from Shige’s book, kissing, implied sexual relations, and Tegoshi being kind of a jerkward (but only because he cares).
Notes: Just a few words about this: Ostensible. Foppish. Indubitably. Also, a big thank you to my beta. To haruka-21, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you exactly what you wanted, but I hope this will do!
Summary: In the last leg of editing his novel, Shige is stressed. Koyama decides Shige needs a night of distraction to keep him sane.
It’s a bad idea.
It’s a bad, bad, bad idea.
But it is because Koyama is Koyama and Shige is always unnervingly swayed by his best friend’s smile and laughter and pleading-come on, Shige, it’s to celebrate!-and constant goading-you’ve been working so hard on editing the final draft, you need a break, and I’ll make dinner and you won’t even have to think about your novel for the entire night-that he relents to a quiet evening far, far away from his laptop and cell phone.
The idea is not terrible, per se, but Shige is constantly thinking about editing this sentence or that scene, and he’s going to be forced to push away the entirety of the plot from his mind in order to truly enjoy the peace that Koyama is affording him, and this is undoubtedly going to be difficult, because despite his insistence that the novel is finished, he always comes up with new things to tweak and edit at the worst moments of his life.
God, he really needs this.
And so he relents, and can’t help but smile at the overjoyed shout Koyama gives him from over the phone.
When he hangs up, his heart feels a little bit heavier and just a little bit strange.
Tegoshi is sitting in his apartment one evening, working on his thesis because Shige refuses to let him leech internet and it’s the only way he won’t get distracted by social networking and soccer statistics, listening intently as Shige reads aloud from chapter two, constantly interrupting himself in order to change a phrase here or fix the syntax of a sentence here.
“’He stopped then, fingers grasping the micropho--’-no, it should be ‘gripping’, shouldn’t it? ‘Fingers gripping the microphone. A lone, solid clap echoed in the dark space in front of him, joined by another and then another, until the entire auditorium was filled something very much like a roar, not one person’s hands applauding’-that sounds absolutely terrible,” he laments as Tegoshi rolls over the couch with laughter.
“You seriously need to stop being anal about this,” Tegoshi rolls his eyes, returning to his paper while Shige’s fingers fly over the keyboard, changing the sentence. “No one is going to make you apologize at gunpoint if one of your sentences isn’t syntactically perfect. Slap a ‘creative liberty’ sticker on it and nobody can argue that.”
Shige is about to tear his hair out in frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to spend an evening not thinking about this stupid book and all the stupid mistakes in here? Koyama strictly forbade any thought directed towards chapters thirteen, eighteen, and twenty-three specifically, the last time we talked, except-”
He cuts himself off with a hand to his cheek, because that is exactly what he’s going to have to do in order to avoid Koyama’s stern gaze in a week. Ow.
“Did you seriously just slap yourself?”
“I’m trying not to think about chapters thirteen, eighteen, and twenty-three.”
Despite his perfectly valid excuse, Tegoshi has dropped onto the floor and is currently trying not to knock his head against the coffee table as he rolls around, clutching his stomach in laughter.
Shige sits and revels in the deafening sound of his rather embarrassing fixation on making his novel perfect. He’s always known he’s anal retentive, but just… wow, okay, this is a little bit much.
When Tegoshi is no longer breathless and has forced himself into an upright position at the foot of the couch, he looks at Shige. “Man, you’ve got it bad. I’m glad Kei-chan is taking you away from that thing.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration, Shige exhales and returns to chapter two. “Tell me about it.
Three days later, Shige shows up at Koyama’s doorstep with a box from the bakery that Koyama likes so very, very much, no laptop tucked under his arm, no powered-on cellphone, and absolutely no idea of how he’s going to make it through this evening without Koyama scolding him for thinking about editing. Even if he pretends he’s distracted by something else, Koyama will know.
Koyama always knows.
Just like how he opens the door while Shige is reaching for the doorbell, as though he foresaw Shige reaching his apartment at this exact moment. Koyama’s face lights up the way it always does, as though Shige is one of the most delightful people he knows (it’s either that or a really delicious meal, but Shige doesn’t mind pretending he’s simply one of Koyama’s favorite people), and he immediately pulls him inside with a large grin stretching his cheeks from side to side.
“How are you feeling?” is the first thing he asks, while Shige toes off his shoes.
Shige just grumbles and shoves the box into Koyama’s hands. Koyama coos with surprise and opens it to peek inside at the little pastries. “I’m fine, more or less, but chapter seventeen has left me absolutely wre-”
He’s cut off by a loud shushing, Koyama’s finger pressed against his mouth.
“Like I said, no thinking about your story tonight,” Koyama reiterates quite seriously, and doesn’t remove his finger until Shige nods slowly, balanced rather precariously on his toes in the genkan because he was just about to lift his foot from his shoe.
In retrospect, he doesn’t really know why he froze, except the warmth of Koyama’s finger was very, very much present and solid and a reminder of how long it’s been since he had real physical contact with anyone, spending too much time holed up in his apartment with no one corporeal present. (Other than the occasions that Tegoshi comes to visit, but that is only when he’s writing his thesis paper so he doesn’t count.)
Koyama, on the other hand, is very much there and his apartment smells of roasted chicken and miso soup and something vaguely spicy. Shige’s stomach grumbles-he forgot to eat lunch because he was working heatedly on revising an awkward scene in chapter seventeen in which Jun spends far too long speaking to a young woman that is clearly just trying to elevate her brush with fame by sleeping with him.
Oh, right, he’s not supposed to be thinking about his book. Damn it.
Shige only barely realizes that he’s being pushed into a chair while Koyama chatters on and on about something that he was too distracted to listen to because he was thinking about stupid Jun and the stupid girl and the stupid conversation they share. Shige watches Koyama ladle soup into bowls, hands deftly wiping up drops that spill on the table, and doesn’t say a word while Koyama continues to talk.
This time he listens, and it’s about his anchoring job and the new story he’s doing about research being done to fix acute deafness in children before they’re even born.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Koyama comments as he slides a plate of cutlets onto the table, messily shredded cabbage to soak up the grease underneath. “Not thinking about your novel, are you?”
“I wasn’t,” Shige protests. Except, okay, maybe just a little.
Koyama lets out a little tsk-ing sound, shaking his head in disapproval. “I need some way to distract you,” he says, opening the cutlery drawer to dig out chopsticks.
Shige groans, covering his face with a hand. “It’s just that I’m in the final stretch of editing and suddenly everything sounds so elementary.”
“A large part of that is in your head,” Koyama reminds him, and yes, Shige remembers him saying that last week and the week before and even when he was finishing up round six of editing right before the press release. “Now, no more chatter about this novel. You have all of December to angst over chapter twenty-three.”
Helpless to Koyama’s firm stare, Shige relents his protests and pushes away thoughts of chapter twenty-three even though Koyama put them there in the first place. Instead he accepts the chopsticks offered to him, brings his hands together to thank Koyama and whoever else it is that created every aspect of this meal, and begins to eat.
For most of the dinner, he does well. Koyama regales him with tales of his days doing research on his latest news story, and Shige finds himself slowly sinking into the effervescence that is, simply put, his friend’s enthusiasm and delight in the most minute details that he discovered and why he thinks they might matter in the end. It’s kind of how it always ends up, Koyama happily chatting away while Shige snipes back witty comments and they laugh together.
A lot of the time, Shige can’t get more than a few words in. He realizes, perhaps belatedly, that it is because Koyama knows that all Shige could talk about-at this moment, anyway-is his novel and the horrendous amount of editing that still lies ahead for him.
Damn, just like that, he’s back to thinking about chapter twenty-three, and the way he has to first wind down from the emotional peak of the previous chapter and then somehow soften the manner in which the writing spills over into chapter twenty-four. The two chapters are supposed to be a clear dichotomy, a sudden leap from deeply emotional to numb and meagerly felt.
He wonders, maybe if he woke up earlier in the morning and rewrote the start of it while still groggy, could he turn what begins as an unintentionally colorful chapter into something with more grey to show how much Jun has begun to resent his work.
Shige leans against his elbows, mechanically picking up a piece of pork while Koyama continues to talk, frowning now. It’s only then that he realizes that Koyama is trying to get his attention.
“-ge. Shige?” Koyama’s face is suddenly stern when Shige snaps his head back to an upright position.
“Sorry,” Shige blurts out. “What were you saying?”
Instead of picking up where he left off (wherever that would be), Koyama presses his lips together and eyes Shige apprehensively. “You were thinking about your novel again?”
With an internal groan, Shige chews, swallows, and nods. No sense in lying; Koyama knows him too well.
“It’s just so… omnipresent, you know?” Shige begins, and just like that, he finds himself rambling. “No matter what I think about, if one little thing reminds me of my novel, then I immediately launch into an internal tirade about how much this chapter needs reworking, and how this passage sucks, and that this part needs to transition more smoothly, especially chapters sixteen and seventeen, and the final chapter needs a crapload of work before I can get it the way I want it, and I just get ideas about how I could fix it, and even though I know I’m not supposed to think about my story, but when everything turns my thoughts towards it. I can’t help it. Sorry.” He takes a breath.
Unexpectedly, Koyama doesn’t smile or tell him that it’s okay, it’s only natural, just work on keeping your mind occupied; instead he places his chopsticks down, eyes narrowing into slits.
In a swift movement, Koyama reaches across the table and grabs Shige’s arm, using the leverage to pull him out of the chair as he stands.
Shige begins to protest, but Koyama suddenly has him backed up against the kitchen counter and is standing way too close for Shige’s comfort.
Understandably, Shige panics a little. “What?”
“Clearly you need something even more distracting,” Koyama replies. Shige stares at him uncomprehendingly. “So sorry about this, and you can have a gay freak-out afterward, but not until then, okay?”
“But what are you even ta-”
Shige’s cut off by Koyama’s lips pressing against his own, and for a moment it’s just like any other of Koyama’s touches, teasing and playful and a little bit reassuring.
Then he realizes that they are, in fact, Koyama’s lips, and those are his lips, and they are kissing and Koyama is moving his lips and-oh.
Oh.
Yeah, no, this is okay. This is more than okay.
Koyama kisses fast and hard, hands wrapped around Shige’s biceps and Shige curls his arms around Koyama’s waist, pressing back against his mouth insistently.
Gay freak-out? No, not going to happen any time soon, he decides, because this is Koyama and therefore it is perfectly alright.
The illogicality of his internal justifications for not backing away is pushed aside when Koyama runs his tongue over Shige’s lower lip. Things could be worse. Things could be a lot worse, so Shige isn’t about to pretend that opening his mouth to let Koyama’s tongue stroke over his own is a bad idea at all.
Shige rubs a hand over Koyama’s spine and is almost surprised when he hears him moan into his mouth, and feels him step even closer until their bodies are pressed together, the counter hard at Shige’s back and Koyama warm and angular at his front.
So Shige, being a perfectly rational human being (just pretend that he is), moves toward Koyama because the hard edge of a countertop is far less comfortable than the chest and hips of his best friend. Their hips brush together and Shige feels firm pressure against him and takes it as a sign that he’s not the only one enjoying this.
Koyama’s hands rub up and down his back, fingertips dipping under the hem of his sweater on the occasional upstroke. His fingers are slightly cold against the warm skin of Shige’s back, but it is as though the sudden chill is a constant reminder that Koyama is there, tangible, even though his mouth is plastering wet kisses to Shige’s jaw and his hips are now moving in small circles against Shige.
“How are you doing so far?” Koyama breathes against Shige’s ear a bit later, hands boldly sliding under his shirt. They’re still cold, so Shige jumps a little at the sensation, and then melts into it as Koyama’s fingers massage at his back.
Shige has no idea what he’s talking about, but he pulls his mouth away from Koyama’s neck for long enough to hum a questioning sound.
Koyama laughs, a deep chuckle as he wraps arms around Shige and attempts to hoist him up onto the countertop. Shige pushes himself up with Koyama’s aid, spreading his legs so Koyama can step between them.
“Your novel,” Koyama replies, looking amusedly up at Shige. “Are you sufficiently distracted from it yet?”
With a groan, Shige smacks Koyama on the shoulder. It’s half-hearted, but Koyama feigns a whimper and reaches a hand up to bring Shige’s face down to his again, lips coming together in another kiss. Koyama nibbles against Shige’s lip in vengeance, teeth catching on the flesh as he pulls back.
“As long as you keep distracting me, I think I can keep my mind off it for the rest of the evening,” Shige responds.
A grin spreads on Koyama’s face, slightly devilish but mostly promising as he steps back. Shige slides off the countertop, shoving his hands into his pockets.
It’s not uncomfortable at all, the aftermath of a heated make-out session with his decidedly male best friend, and Shige wonders, now that he doesn’t have Koyama’s lips disrupting his thoughts, whether it is solely because it is Koyama or if there’s a reason behind it, something a lot deeper-rooted and sensible. Either way, his heart twinges when he looks at Koyama, whose cheeks are slightly flushed and lips are red and bruised, a finger beckoning Shige to follow him out of the kitchen and down the hallway.
His novel, Shige decides as he slips down the hallway after Koyama and closes the bedroom door behind him, does not compare to anything that could happen tonight.
In the early hours of the morning, Koyama makes breakfast and they eat, Shige ignoring the lewd comments Koyama throws his way in favor of making them right back.
When he gets home, his editor is not happy that he didn’t answer his phone all night.
Shige explains as he opens his laptop and begins to edit chapter seventeen, that he had other pressing matters at hand. His writing flows smoothly as she yells in his ear, sentences no longer driving him crazy. He can see where the mistakes are and how to fix them.
The night of distraction, he decides, was well worth everything.
From: psychoniji
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
Title: A Distraction
Pairing/Group: NEWS, Koyama/Shige
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Horribly-idealized characters and situations from Shige’s book, kissing, implied sexual relations, and Tegoshi being kind of a jerkward (but only because he cares).
Notes: Just a few words about this: Ostensible. Foppish. Indubitably. Also, a big thank you to my beta. To haruka-21, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you exactly what you wanted, but I hope this will do!
Summary: In the last leg of editing his novel, Shige is stressed. Koyama decides Shige needs a night of distraction to keep him sane.
It’s a bad idea.
It’s a bad, bad, bad idea.
But it is because Koyama is Koyama and Shige is always unnervingly swayed by his best friend’s smile and laughter and pleading-come on, Shige, it’s to celebrate!-and constant goading-you’ve been working so hard on editing the final draft, you need a break, and I’ll make dinner and you won’t even have to think about your novel for the entire night-that he relents to a quiet evening far, far away from his laptop and cell phone.
The idea is not terrible, per se, but Shige is constantly thinking about editing this sentence or that scene, and he’s going to be forced to push away the entirety of the plot from his mind in order to truly enjoy the peace that Koyama is affording him, and this is undoubtedly going to be difficult, because despite his insistence that the novel is finished, he always comes up with new things to tweak and edit at the worst moments of his life.
God, he really needs this.
And so he relents, and can’t help but smile at the overjoyed shout Koyama gives him from over the phone.
When he hangs up, his heart feels a little bit heavier and just a little bit strange.
Tegoshi is sitting in his apartment one evening, working on his thesis because Shige refuses to let him leech internet and it’s the only way he won’t get distracted by social networking and soccer statistics, listening intently as Shige reads aloud from chapter two, constantly interrupting himself in order to change a phrase here or fix the syntax of a sentence here.
“’He stopped then, fingers grasping the micropho--’-no, it should be ‘gripping’, shouldn’t it? ‘Fingers gripping the microphone. A lone, solid clap echoed in the dark space in front of him, joined by another and then another, until the entire auditorium was filled something very much like a roar, not one person’s hands applauding’-that sounds absolutely terrible,” he laments as Tegoshi rolls over the couch with laughter.
“You seriously need to stop being anal about this,” Tegoshi rolls his eyes, returning to his paper while Shige’s fingers fly over the keyboard, changing the sentence. “No one is going to make you apologize at gunpoint if one of your sentences isn’t syntactically perfect. Slap a ‘creative liberty’ sticker on it and nobody can argue that.”
Shige is about to tear his hair out in frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to spend an evening not thinking about this stupid book and all the stupid mistakes in here? Koyama strictly forbade any thought directed towards chapters thirteen, eighteen, and twenty-three specifically, the last time we talked, except-”
He cuts himself off with a hand to his cheek, because that is exactly what he’s going to have to do in order to avoid Koyama’s stern gaze in a week. Ow.
“Did you seriously just slap yourself?”
“I’m trying not to think about chapters thirteen, eighteen, and twenty-three.”
Despite his perfectly valid excuse, Tegoshi has dropped onto the floor and is currently trying not to knock his head against the coffee table as he rolls around, clutching his stomach in laughter.
Shige sits and revels in the deafening sound of his rather embarrassing fixation on making his novel perfect. He’s always known he’s anal retentive, but just… wow, okay, this is a little bit much.
When Tegoshi is no longer breathless and has forced himself into an upright position at the foot of the couch, he looks at Shige. “Man, you’ve got it bad. I’m glad Kei-chan is taking you away from that thing.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration, Shige exhales and returns to chapter two. “Tell me about it.
Three days later, Shige shows up at Koyama’s doorstep with a box from the bakery that Koyama likes so very, very much, no laptop tucked under his arm, no powered-on cellphone, and absolutely no idea of how he’s going to make it through this evening without Koyama scolding him for thinking about editing. Even if he pretends he’s distracted by something else, Koyama will know.
Koyama always knows.
Just like how he opens the door while Shige is reaching for the doorbell, as though he foresaw Shige reaching his apartment at this exact moment. Koyama’s face lights up the way it always does, as though Shige is one of the most delightful people he knows (it’s either that or a really delicious meal, but Shige doesn’t mind pretending he’s simply one of Koyama’s favorite people), and he immediately pulls him inside with a large grin stretching his cheeks from side to side.
“How are you feeling?” is the first thing he asks, while Shige toes off his shoes.
Shige just grumbles and shoves the box into Koyama’s hands. Koyama coos with surprise and opens it to peek inside at the little pastries. “I’m fine, more or less, but chapter seventeen has left me absolutely wre-”
He’s cut off by a loud shushing, Koyama’s finger pressed against his mouth.
“Like I said, no thinking about your story tonight,” Koyama reiterates quite seriously, and doesn’t remove his finger until Shige nods slowly, balanced rather precariously on his toes in the genkan because he was just about to lift his foot from his shoe.
In retrospect, he doesn’t really know why he froze, except the warmth of Koyama’s finger was very, very much present and solid and a reminder of how long it’s been since he had real physical contact with anyone, spending too much time holed up in his apartment with no one corporeal present. (Other than the occasions that Tegoshi comes to visit, but that is only when he’s writing his thesis paper so he doesn’t count.)
Koyama, on the other hand, is very much there and his apartment smells of roasted chicken and miso soup and something vaguely spicy. Shige’s stomach grumbles-he forgot to eat lunch because he was working heatedly on revising an awkward scene in chapter seventeen in which Jun spends far too long speaking to a young woman that is clearly just trying to elevate her brush with fame by sleeping with him.
Oh, right, he’s not supposed to be thinking about his book. Damn it.
Shige only barely realizes that he’s being pushed into a chair while Koyama chatters on and on about something that he was too distracted to listen to because he was thinking about stupid Jun and the stupid girl and the stupid conversation they share. Shige watches Koyama ladle soup into bowls, hands deftly wiping up drops that spill on the table, and doesn’t say a word while Koyama continues to talk.
This time he listens, and it’s about his anchoring job and the new story he’s doing about research being done to fix acute deafness in children before they’re even born.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Koyama comments as he slides a plate of cutlets onto the table, messily shredded cabbage to soak up the grease underneath. “Not thinking about your novel, are you?”
“I wasn’t,” Shige protests. Except, okay, maybe just a little.
Koyama lets out a little tsk-ing sound, shaking his head in disapproval. “I need some way to distract you,” he says, opening the cutlery drawer to dig out chopsticks.
Shige groans, covering his face with a hand. “It’s just that I’m in the final stretch of editing and suddenly everything sounds so elementary.”
“A large part of that is in your head,” Koyama reminds him, and yes, Shige remembers him saying that last week and the week before and even when he was finishing up round six of editing right before the press release. “Now, no more chatter about this novel. You have all of December to angst over chapter twenty-three.”
Helpless to Koyama’s firm stare, Shige relents his protests and pushes away thoughts of chapter twenty-three even though Koyama put them there in the first place. Instead he accepts the chopsticks offered to him, brings his hands together to thank Koyama and whoever else it is that created every aspect of this meal, and begins to eat.
For most of the dinner, he does well. Koyama regales him with tales of his days doing research on his latest news story, and Shige finds himself slowly sinking into the effervescence that is, simply put, his friend’s enthusiasm and delight in the most minute details that he discovered and why he thinks they might matter in the end. It’s kind of how it always ends up, Koyama happily chatting away while Shige snipes back witty comments and they laugh together.
A lot of the time, Shige can’t get more than a few words in. He realizes, perhaps belatedly, that it is because Koyama knows that all Shige could talk about-at this moment, anyway-is his novel and the horrendous amount of editing that still lies ahead for him.
Damn, just like that, he’s back to thinking about chapter twenty-three, and the way he has to first wind down from the emotional peak of the previous chapter and then somehow soften the manner in which the writing spills over into chapter twenty-four. The two chapters are supposed to be a clear dichotomy, a sudden leap from deeply emotional to numb and meagerly felt.
He wonders, maybe if he woke up earlier in the morning and rewrote the start of it while still groggy, could he turn what begins as an unintentionally colorful chapter into something with more grey to show how much Jun has begun to resent his work.
Shige leans against his elbows, mechanically picking up a piece of pork while Koyama continues to talk, frowning now. It’s only then that he realizes that Koyama is trying to get his attention.
“-ge. Shige?” Koyama’s face is suddenly stern when Shige snaps his head back to an upright position.
“Sorry,” Shige blurts out. “What were you saying?”
Instead of picking up where he left off (wherever that would be), Koyama presses his lips together and eyes Shige apprehensively. “You were thinking about your novel again?”
With an internal groan, Shige chews, swallows, and nods. No sense in lying; Koyama knows him too well.
“It’s just so… omnipresent, you know?” Shige begins, and just like that, he finds himself rambling. “No matter what I think about, if one little thing reminds me of my novel, then I immediately launch into an internal tirade about how much this chapter needs reworking, and how this passage sucks, and that this part needs to transition more smoothly, especially chapters sixteen and seventeen, and the final chapter needs a crapload of work before I can get it the way I want it, and I just get ideas about how I could fix it, and even though I know I’m not supposed to think about my story, but when everything turns my thoughts towards it. I can’t help it. Sorry.” He takes a breath.
Unexpectedly, Koyama doesn’t smile or tell him that it’s okay, it’s only natural, just work on keeping your mind occupied; instead he places his chopsticks down, eyes narrowing into slits.
In a swift movement, Koyama reaches across the table and grabs Shige’s arm, using the leverage to pull him out of the chair as he stands.
Shige begins to protest, but Koyama suddenly has him backed up against the kitchen counter and is standing way too close for Shige’s comfort.
Understandably, Shige panics a little. “What?”
“Clearly you need something even more distracting,” Koyama replies. Shige stares at him uncomprehendingly. “So sorry about this, and you can have a gay freak-out afterward, but not until then, okay?”
“But what are you even ta-”
Shige’s cut off by Koyama’s lips pressing against his own, and for a moment it’s just like any other of Koyama’s touches, teasing and playful and a little bit reassuring.
Then he realizes that they are, in fact, Koyama’s lips, and those are his lips, and they are kissing and Koyama is moving his lips and-oh.
Oh.
Yeah, no, this is okay. This is more than okay.
Koyama kisses fast and hard, hands wrapped around Shige’s biceps and Shige curls his arms around Koyama’s waist, pressing back against his mouth insistently.
Gay freak-out? No, not going to happen any time soon, he decides, because this is Koyama and therefore it is perfectly alright.
The illogicality of his internal justifications for not backing away is pushed aside when Koyama runs his tongue over Shige’s lower lip. Things could be worse. Things could be a lot worse, so Shige isn’t about to pretend that opening his mouth to let Koyama’s tongue stroke over his own is a bad idea at all.
Shige rubs a hand over Koyama’s spine and is almost surprised when he hears him moan into his mouth, and feels him step even closer until their bodies are pressed together, the counter hard at Shige’s back and Koyama warm and angular at his front.
So Shige, being a perfectly rational human being (just pretend that he is), moves toward Koyama because the hard edge of a countertop is far less comfortable than the chest and hips of his best friend. Their hips brush together and Shige feels firm pressure against him and takes it as a sign that he’s not the only one enjoying this.
Koyama’s hands rub up and down his back, fingertips dipping under the hem of his sweater on the occasional upstroke. His fingers are slightly cold against the warm skin of Shige’s back, but it is as though the sudden chill is a constant reminder that Koyama is there, tangible, even though his mouth is plastering wet kisses to Shige’s jaw and his hips are now moving in small circles against Shige.
“How are you doing so far?” Koyama breathes against Shige’s ear a bit later, hands boldly sliding under his shirt. They’re still cold, so Shige jumps a little at the sensation, and then melts into it as Koyama’s fingers massage at his back.
Shige has no idea what he’s talking about, but he pulls his mouth away from Koyama’s neck for long enough to hum a questioning sound.
Koyama laughs, a deep chuckle as he wraps arms around Shige and attempts to hoist him up onto the countertop. Shige pushes himself up with Koyama’s aid, spreading his legs so Koyama can step between them.
“Your novel,” Koyama replies, looking amusedly up at Shige. “Are you sufficiently distracted from it yet?”
With a groan, Shige smacks Koyama on the shoulder. It’s half-hearted, but Koyama feigns a whimper and reaches a hand up to bring Shige’s face down to his again, lips coming together in another kiss. Koyama nibbles against Shige’s lip in vengeance, teeth catching on the flesh as he pulls back.
“As long as you keep distracting me, I think I can keep my mind off it for the rest of the evening,” Shige responds.
A grin spreads on Koyama’s face, slightly devilish but mostly promising as he steps back. Shige slides off the countertop, shoving his hands into his pockets.
It’s not uncomfortable at all, the aftermath of a heated make-out session with his decidedly male best friend, and Shige wonders, now that he doesn’t have Koyama’s lips disrupting his thoughts, whether it is solely because it is Koyama or if there’s a reason behind it, something a lot deeper-rooted and sensible. Either way, his heart twinges when he looks at Koyama, whose cheeks are slightly flushed and lips are red and bruised, a finger beckoning Shige to follow him out of the kitchen and down the hallway.
His novel, Shige decides as he slips down the hallway after Koyama and closes the bedroom door behind him, does not compare to anything that could happen tonight.
In the early hours of the morning, Koyama makes breakfast and they eat, Shige ignoring the lewd comments Koyama throws his way in favor of making them right back.
When he gets home, his editor is not happy that he didn’t answer his phone all night.
Shige explains as he opens his laptop and begins to edit chapter seventeen, that he had other pressing matters at hand. His writing flows smoothly as she yells in his ear, sentences no longer driving him crazy. He can see where the mistakes are and how to fix them.
The night of distraction, he decides, was well worth everything.