Chocolate Fic for pipsqueaks
To: pipsqueaks
From: jain
Title: Fairest of All
Pairing: Kame/Meisa
Rating: G
Summary: Kame covets Meisa's style.
A/N:
The first time Kame saw Kuroki Meisa, he wanted her style. She was so poised and elegant. Not to mention stupidly beautiful, of course, but while her beauty was inescapable, it also wasn't what Kame coveted, not really.
Kame had trained the awkwardness out of himself to the point where he was beautiful, too. But it was a sharp, almost jagged beauty, all cutting cheekbones and delicately bony limbs. Compared to him, Meisa was impossibly graceful. He'd figured out how to perform beauty, using the right clothes and haircuts and makeup and seductive glances and photogenic angles. Meisa, on the other hand, simply was beautiful, seemingly without effort, and Kame craved that integrity and self-assurance, that freedom.
Wanting her didn't come until later.
They hadn't gotten particularly close while on the set of One Pound Gospel, but they stayed friendly after filming ended and got together occasionally for dinner or, after Meisa turned twenty, drinks. It was on a night when Kame had exceeded his usual three beer limit that he said, "I wish I could look like you."
Meisa's eyes widened, but she didn't laugh at him, even when Kame's mind caught up with his mouth and he blushed at what he'd just said. Instead, her expression turned faintly intrigued. "You want to look like a girl, you mean?" she asked curiously.
"No, no," Kame shook his hand in quick negation, glad for the opportunity to explain himself. "I just mean I wish I could look good without even trying. That's all."
"I try plenty," Meisa said. "I wear makeup, I pluck my eyebrows, I diet when I start putting on a little weight."
"But you'd still be beautiful even if you didn't do any of that," Kame said.
Now it was Meisa turn to blush, which naturally she did as beautifully as she did everything else, and to disagree politely.
"Anyway," Kame said over her protests, "you don't look as though you're trying, which is the important thing."
"But you know the truth," she said gravely, more than a little drunk herself, and Kame obliged her by agreeing, even though he didn't entirely agree with her.
It wasn't fair both to remember what Kame had said while drunk and to hold it over him, but Meisa didn't always play fair.
"You want me to what? Kame demanded.
"You said that you wanted to look like me," Meisa reminded him. "Our feet are even the same size. It's practically fated that we should do this."
"They are not," Kame said.
"Close enough. Come on, just try it. You can always take them off if you don't like it."
As humiliating as walking in Meisa's high-heeled shoes was likely to be, it probably wouldn't be worse than sulking like a petulant child. Kame nodded reluctantly, and Meisa sat on a nearby park bench to remove her shoes. "Look, they even have straps. That'll help."
"Not much," Kame muttered, but he slid his feet into Meisa's shoes and fastened the tiny buckles with fingers that suddenly seemed twice as big as usual.
"Lovely," Meisa said approvingly. "Now, try walking."
Kame stood and took a couple of hesitant steps forward. He didn't wobble, but neither was he at all comfortable. He was far too conscious that an unwary step could have him on the ground with a sprained ankle and a mortifying excuse for why he couldn't attend dance practice the following day.
Meisa smiled encouragement at him. It was funny to suddenly be so much taller than her than usual. It made Kame feel oddly more masculine, despite the fact that he was wearing a pair of red high heels and was on the verge of falling to the ground in a crumpled heap.
"Not bad, but you definitely aren't as steady on your feet as you could be," Meisa assessed critically. "Shorten your strides a little, and swing your hips a bit more." Kame followed her instructions, and Meisa said, "Not too much!" and grabbed his arm to steady him when he tottered slightly.
"Thanks," Kame said.
"Sure. You know, it's a little strange that you've dressed as a girl so many times, but you've only ever worn men's shoes."
"I've worn girl's shoes," Kame said, obscurely stung by the accusation.
"Mary Jane flats," Meisa said, wrinkling her nose.
"I think those are cute."
Meisa smiled at him. "Oh, they are. But I much prefer you in something like these."
"I look ridiculous," Kame said, restraining the urge to scan the bushes for paparazzi. The last thing he needed was his photograph in the tabloids while he was wearing seven centimeter heels.
"I think you look great," Meisa said, a frankly appreciative expression on her face, and Kame shrugged very carefully and tried not to take a spill on the gravel.
When Meisa opened her desk drawer and took out a camera, Kame found himself feeling almost disappointed, as though he'd expected Meisa to know better than that, to know him better than that. "I've been photographed before," he pointed out. "A lot." And he'd learned how to use the camera lens to his advantage, but knowing the right angles to tilt his head and the proper way to hold his hands had never given him Meisa's brand of natural beauty before.
But Meisa just said, "I know," and handed the camera to him.
"You want me to take pictures?"
Meisa nodded. "Of me," she clarified. "You direct me as you like, and I'll do my best to follow your orders."
"Um, okay." Kame lifted the camera to his eye and peered at Meisa through it. She stood there stiffly, like a soldier at attention. "Sit on the bed," Kame said.
Meisa sat.
"Tilt your chin towards me, and put your right hand flat on the bed by your hip." It wasn't quite right when she did, but Kame snapped a picture anyway, wanting to capture the idea as it was forming in his head. "Lean away from me a little."
Meisa leaned.
"Now: small changes to the position of your head and the direction of your eyes."
Meisa complied, shifting slowly from one position to the other, allowing Kame time to snap as many pictures as he liked in between changes.
He almost didn't notice the feeling, the...serenity, that spread slowly inside him as he worked, too focused on Meisa to think overmuch on himself. All he could see were the infinite possibilities that opened up from his camera lens and from Meisa's willingness to reproduce his growing vision.
"This is the next step of your program to make me beautiful," Kame asked, eyebrows raised, when Meisa kissed him softly on the mouth.
"Of course not," Meisa said, smiling a little to take the sting out of her words. "Besides, there isn't really a program; I just thought that the high heels and the photography might take you out of yourself a little, let you...catch your balance?"
"Sex takes me out of myself, too," Kame said.
"Fair enough. But I wouldn't use that. I just thought you might want to, with me. And I want to, so I thought I'd offer."
It didn't take much consideration. Kame rushed through his usual for-and-against arguments in his head at breakneck speed, so that it was practically a foregone conclusion when he concluded, "Yes. Yes, please," and kissed her back.
After a long minute, Meisa pulled away. "Though, speaking of the high heels, if you were to wear them in bed, that might be interesting."
Her eyes invited him to agree. Kame pictured it for a moment: the long lines of his legs tipped in ruby-red high heels, tangling in the white sheets of Meisa's bed or curving around Meisa's bare limbs. "I could do that," he said, a little breathless.
Meisa smiled again. "I'm glad. You really do look graceful in them, you know."
And even as Kame reflexively denied her statement, he couldn't help but believe it to be true. At least a little bit.
From: jain
Title: Fairest of All
Pairing: Kame/Meisa
Rating: G
Summary: Kame covets Meisa's style.
A/N:
The first time Kame saw Kuroki Meisa, he wanted her style. She was so poised and elegant. Not to mention stupidly beautiful, of course, but while her beauty was inescapable, it also wasn't what Kame coveted, not really.
Kame had trained the awkwardness out of himself to the point where he was beautiful, too. But it was a sharp, almost jagged beauty, all cutting cheekbones and delicately bony limbs. Compared to him, Meisa was impossibly graceful. He'd figured out how to perform beauty, using the right clothes and haircuts and makeup and seductive glances and photogenic angles. Meisa, on the other hand, simply was beautiful, seemingly without effort, and Kame craved that integrity and self-assurance, that freedom.
Wanting her didn't come until later.
They hadn't gotten particularly close while on the set of One Pound Gospel, but they stayed friendly after filming ended and got together occasionally for dinner or, after Meisa turned twenty, drinks. It was on a night when Kame had exceeded his usual three beer limit that he said, "I wish I could look like you."
Meisa's eyes widened, but she didn't laugh at him, even when Kame's mind caught up with his mouth and he blushed at what he'd just said. Instead, her expression turned faintly intrigued. "You want to look like a girl, you mean?" she asked curiously.
"No, no," Kame shook his hand in quick negation, glad for the opportunity to explain himself. "I just mean I wish I could look good without even trying. That's all."
"I try plenty," Meisa said. "I wear makeup, I pluck my eyebrows, I diet when I start putting on a little weight."
"But you'd still be beautiful even if you didn't do any of that," Kame said.
Now it was Meisa turn to blush, which naturally she did as beautifully as she did everything else, and to disagree politely.
"Anyway," Kame said over her protests, "you don't look as though you're trying, which is the important thing."
"But you know the truth," she said gravely, more than a little drunk herself, and Kame obliged her by agreeing, even though he didn't entirely agree with her.
It wasn't fair both to remember what Kame had said while drunk and to hold it over him, but Meisa didn't always play fair.
"You want me to what? Kame demanded.
"You said that you wanted to look like me," Meisa reminded him. "Our feet are even the same size. It's practically fated that we should do this."
"They are not," Kame said.
"Close enough. Come on, just try it. You can always take them off if you don't like it."
As humiliating as walking in Meisa's high-heeled shoes was likely to be, it probably wouldn't be worse than sulking like a petulant child. Kame nodded reluctantly, and Meisa sat on a nearby park bench to remove her shoes. "Look, they even have straps. That'll help."
"Not much," Kame muttered, but he slid his feet into Meisa's shoes and fastened the tiny buckles with fingers that suddenly seemed twice as big as usual.
"Lovely," Meisa said approvingly. "Now, try walking."
Kame stood and took a couple of hesitant steps forward. He didn't wobble, but neither was he at all comfortable. He was far too conscious that an unwary step could have him on the ground with a sprained ankle and a mortifying excuse for why he couldn't attend dance practice the following day.
Meisa smiled encouragement at him. It was funny to suddenly be so much taller than her than usual. It made Kame feel oddly more masculine, despite the fact that he was wearing a pair of red high heels and was on the verge of falling to the ground in a crumpled heap.
"Not bad, but you definitely aren't as steady on your feet as you could be," Meisa assessed critically. "Shorten your strides a little, and swing your hips a bit more." Kame followed her instructions, and Meisa said, "Not too much!" and grabbed his arm to steady him when he tottered slightly.
"Thanks," Kame said.
"Sure. You know, it's a little strange that you've dressed as a girl so many times, but you've only ever worn men's shoes."
"I've worn girl's shoes," Kame said, obscurely stung by the accusation.
"Mary Jane flats," Meisa said, wrinkling her nose.
"I think those are cute."
Meisa smiled at him. "Oh, they are. But I much prefer you in something like these."
"I look ridiculous," Kame said, restraining the urge to scan the bushes for paparazzi. The last thing he needed was his photograph in the tabloids while he was wearing seven centimeter heels.
"I think you look great," Meisa said, a frankly appreciative expression on her face, and Kame shrugged very carefully and tried not to take a spill on the gravel.
When Meisa opened her desk drawer and took out a camera, Kame found himself feeling almost disappointed, as though he'd expected Meisa to know better than that, to know him better than that. "I've been photographed before," he pointed out. "A lot." And he'd learned how to use the camera lens to his advantage, but knowing the right angles to tilt his head and the proper way to hold his hands had never given him Meisa's brand of natural beauty before.
But Meisa just said, "I know," and handed the camera to him.
"You want me to take pictures?"
Meisa nodded. "Of me," she clarified. "You direct me as you like, and I'll do my best to follow your orders."
"Um, okay." Kame lifted the camera to his eye and peered at Meisa through it. She stood there stiffly, like a soldier at attention. "Sit on the bed," Kame said.
Meisa sat.
"Tilt your chin towards me, and put your right hand flat on the bed by your hip." It wasn't quite right when she did, but Kame snapped a picture anyway, wanting to capture the idea as it was forming in his head. "Lean away from me a little."
Meisa leaned.
"Now: small changes to the position of your head and the direction of your eyes."
Meisa complied, shifting slowly from one position to the other, allowing Kame time to snap as many pictures as he liked in between changes.
He almost didn't notice the feeling, the...serenity, that spread slowly inside him as he worked, too focused on Meisa to think overmuch on himself. All he could see were the infinite possibilities that opened up from his camera lens and from Meisa's willingness to reproduce his growing vision.
"This is the next step of your program to make me beautiful," Kame asked, eyebrows raised, when Meisa kissed him softly on the mouth.
"Of course not," Meisa said, smiling a little to take the sting out of her words. "Besides, there isn't really a program; I just thought that the high heels and the photography might take you out of yourself a little, let you...catch your balance?"
"Sex takes me out of myself, too," Kame said.
"Fair enough. But I wouldn't use that. I just thought you might want to, with me. And I want to, so I thought I'd offer."
It didn't take much consideration. Kame rushed through his usual for-and-against arguments in his head at breakneck speed, so that it was practically a foregone conclusion when he concluded, "Yes. Yes, please," and kissed her back.
After a long minute, Meisa pulled away. "Though, speaking of the high heels, if you were to wear them in bed, that might be interesting."
Her eyes invited him to agree. Kame pictured it for a moment: the long lines of his legs tipped in ruby-red high heels, tangling in the white sheets of Meisa's bed or curving around Meisa's bare limbs. "I could do that," he said, a little breathless.
Meisa smiled again. "I'm glad. You really do look graceful in them, you know."
And even as Kame reflexively denied her statement, he couldn't help but believe it to be true. At least a little bit.