(no subject)
Title: It Started With (~Apronfic Remix~)
Original Author: elfiepike, here.
Group/Pairing: Arashi/Ohmiya
Ohno watched them on TV. He'd taken to watching Mago Mago Arashi religiously, if only because it was twice as amusing cut and edited, and it made him feel especially fond towards his friends; he also liked that it was a cut-and-dried memory, full of laughter and tears.
That was probably why Sakurai took so many videos, he realized one day, watching an episode that had Nino in the kitchen, slicing celery with a knife that looked large enough to take off several fingers.
Nino was wearing an apron. It was blue, and looked soft, and there was lace on the hem that was girly in a way that would probably seem more ridiculous if they didn't wear things that were twice as horrible for concerts.
Actually, Ohno realized, Nino wore aprons quite often on Mago Mago Arashi.
He watched the screen with fascination, noting the way it tied low on Nino's spine and puffed out over his thighs.
He vaguely wondered when he might see Nino next.
~
The store his mother recommended had a selection wider than Ohno had ever dreamed of. Ohno had wanted to buy it himself; somehow it didn't seem proper to have his mother buy clothes he intended to dress other people in. Once he found the proper aisle (getting lost in the cookware section on the way), Ohno gazed over the options: gingham with cherries across the chest, peach and cream, roses crisscrossed over the skirt and plain navy blue.
How was he even supposed to choose? How did people do this?
Eventually he grabbed one that was near to hand--it was icy pink, with two wide-mouthed pockets and a broad waistband. It would do just as well as any other, he supposed, and took it to the register.
~
"You want me to what?" To his credit, Nino didn't seem appalled at the idea. Rather, his expression conveyed the fact that Ohno was most definitely crazy, but he loved him anyway.
"Can we see if it fits?"
Nino shook his head in dismay, taking the apron out of Ohno's hands with a movement jerky enough to announce that he would do it, but it was just because it was Ohno. When he pulled it over his shoulders and reached around to tie the back, Ohno reached to help.
Nino didn't seem particularly surprised when Ohno pulled him in, backwards, hiding his hands under the apron and fitting Nino's hipbones in his palms. "So that's what this is about," he murmured, doing absolutely nothing to help. "Things like this turn you on? You sure are kinky, Ohchan."
It wasn't exactly that, Ohno supposed, but he wasn't sure how to explain it, and anyway, Nino was tilting his head back to rest on Ohno's shoulders. "Well, go on."
So Ohno did. With Nino bent over the sink, back arched and head bowed, pants stuck around his knees, Ohno took him, rolling against him with movements inexorable as the waves on the beach. Nino fought, like he usually did, tried to push the rhythm, but Ohno had bought the apron and it was his turn to have his way: the slow, careful thrust of his hips remained even.
Nino's breath caught, hitching, echoed against the clean metal of the sink. Ohno could see his fingers curl against the edge of the counter as he came, and he felt the reverberation, the tense and release through Nino's body.
Ohno's concentration didn't waver; he took all this in (the shudder of Nino's body, the pink straps of fabric crossing over his back) and kept on, the warm feeling building, the waves crashing higher.
Nino waited for him, like he always did: waited until Ohno went up, up, up, and came spiraling back down, orgasm spreading along his limbs and out fingertips clenched over Nino's hips.
There were long, silent moments as they both just breathed.
"We're throwing this out, right?" Nino said finally, his voice raspy and tired, but Ohno could hear the cheekiness underneath.
"Yes," Ohno agreed, smiling.
"Good," said Nino. "Because I am not cleaning it up."
Which was fine with Ohno; he would just buy another one.
Original Author: elfiepike, here.
Group/Pairing: Arashi/Ohmiya
Ohno watched them on TV. He'd taken to watching Mago Mago Arashi religiously, if only because it was twice as amusing cut and edited, and it made him feel especially fond towards his friends; he also liked that it was a cut-and-dried memory, full of laughter and tears.
That was probably why Sakurai took so many videos, he realized one day, watching an episode that had Nino in the kitchen, slicing celery with a knife that looked large enough to take off several fingers.
Nino was wearing an apron. It was blue, and looked soft, and there was lace on the hem that was girly in a way that would probably seem more ridiculous if they didn't wear things that were twice as horrible for concerts.
Actually, Ohno realized, Nino wore aprons quite often on Mago Mago Arashi.
He watched the screen with fascination, noting the way it tied low on Nino's spine and puffed out over his thighs.
He vaguely wondered when he might see Nino next.
~
The store his mother recommended had a selection wider than Ohno had ever dreamed of. Ohno had wanted to buy it himself; somehow it didn't seem proper to have his mother buy clothes he intended to dress other people in. Once he found the proper aisle (getting lost in the cookware section on the way), Ohno gazed over the options: gingham with cherries across the chest, peach and cream, roses crisscrossed over the skirt and plain navy blue.
How was he even supposed to choose? How did people do this?
Eventually he grabbed one that was near to hand--it was icy pink, with two wide-mouthed pockets and a broad waistband. It would do just as well as any other, he supposed, and took it to the register.
~
"You want me to what?" To his credit, Nino didn't seem appalled at the idea. Rather, his expression conveyed the fact that Ohno was most definitely crazy, but he loved him anyway.
"Can we see if it fits?"
Nino shook his head in dismay, taking the apron out of Ohno's hands with a movement jerky enough to announce that he would do it, but it was just because it was Ohno. When he pulled it over his shoulders and reached around to tie the back, Ohno reached to help.
Nino didn't seem particularly surprised when Ohno pulled him in, backwards, hiding his hands under the apron and fitting Nino's hipbones in his palms. "So that's what this is about," he murmured, doing absolutely nothing to help. "Things like this turn you on? You sure are kinky, Ohchan."
It wasn't exactly that, Ohno supposed, but he wasn't sure how to explain it, and anyway, Nino was tilting his head back to rest on Ohno's shoulders. "Well, go on."
So Ohno did. With Nino bent over the sink, back arched and head bowed, pants stuck around his knees, Ohno took him, rolling against him with movements inexorable as the waves on the beach. Nino fought, like he usually did, tried to push the rhythm, but Ohno had bought the apron and it was his turn to have his way: the slow, careful thrust of his hips remained even.
Nino's breath caught, hitching, echoed against the clean metal of the sink. Ohno could see his fingers curl against the edge of the counter as he came, and he felt the reverberation, the tense and release through Nino's body.
Ohno's concentration didn't waver; he took all this in (the shudder of Nino's body, the pink straps of fabric crossing over his back) and kept on, the warm feeling building, the waves crashing higher.
Nino waited for him, like he always did: waited until Ohno went up, up, up, and came spiraling back down, orgasm spreading along his limbs and out fingertips clenched over Nino's hips.
There were long, silent moments as they both just breathed.
"We're throwing this out, right?" Nino said finally, his voice raspy and tired, but Ohno could hear the cheekiness underneath.
"Yes," Ohno agreed, smiling.
"Good," said Nino. "Because I am not cleaning it up."
Which was fine with Ohno; he would just buy another one.