Gift fic for vivid_decadence
For: vivid_decadence
From: Naughty Reindeer
Title: Night
Pairings/Characters: Toshiya x Die
Rating: G
Warnings: My writing style.
Notes: This was a challenge. My fics usually tend to be very short, so the 1500 requirement was difficult for me to meet. This was fun, though, and I’d definitely like to participate in an exchange again sometime in the future. (Make that “not-so-near future.” This was tough.) Thanks to Rocky Rudolph (mods) for organizing this. And I hope you enjoy this, recipient! A warning in advance - my style of writing, I think, is a bit strange. In spite of that, I do hope you enjoy what is my first DT fic. :D
Summary: Toshiya, Die, and the bus driver are the only ones awake.
It’s post-concert nap time for all but three of the bus’ inhabitants. Die is one of them, and he is reading a magazine, green bottle of Heineken nearby. The bus driver is another, and he is at the wheel, steering and quietly whistling what Toshiya thinks might be Todd Rundgren or someone equally wrinkled and white. It was a familiar foreign tune he knows he has heard in a romance movie before.
Toshiya, whose biological clock has seen the effects of tour-time exhaustion, is the third, and he is bored out of his mind trying to ignore Die. Five minutes ago, he was just as bored, but had found Kaoru’s lost Zippo wedged between the seat cushions. What a moment of triumph that had been. Now, Toshiya half sits, half lays, sprawled out on a seat, click, click, click, clicking away at the no-longer-interesting lighter. What. Click. A. Click. Drag. Click. The bus was travelling down some empty Southern Californian freeway. Here, all the roads looked the same. Without good scenery to admire or take pictures of, Toshiya finds in a lighter, some boredom relief. It’s been six days since he last got more than two straight hours of sleep at a time deemed appropriate for sleep. Some nights, when he is victim to the mercilessness of insomnia, he has the company of a band member. Last night, it was Kaoru, who clacked away at the laptop in blog updating frenzy. The night before, Shinya, who just sat and stared out the window. The night before that, Kyo graced him with his presence for all of two minutes, just walked out of the bunks, stared at Toshiya, turned around, and went back to bed. Sleep walking, perhaps?
Tonight, company is Kaoru’s lighter and Die. Die, who had taken the seat across from him, asked if he was still unable to sleep, nodded at the response, picked up a beer and a magazine, and ignored him. Toshiya tries to find things to do other than look at Die.
The Zippo, Toshiya imagines, was the portable entertainment system of early man. He’s already decided to not give the thing back to its respected owner. “Finders keepers,” or something like that. The laws of children, he thinks, still sometimes apply to men. Men, after all, are nothing but grown children.
Toshiya does stupid things, like passing his fingertips through the blue of the flame at varying speeds or seeing how long he can hold his palm over the invisible stream of heat just above the flame or trying to blow out the light with a quick blast of air from his right nostril - it is only when he is concentrating on watching the strand of hair he’s pulled out of his head shrivel and fizz in the heat of the flame that he hears the faint sound of a snore come from Die’s general direction.
Fast asleep. Die is slumped at his seat now, hair curtaining face, eyes closed, and magazine ready to fall out of his relaxed hand.
The hair thing was interesting. The end would catch fire for seconds at a time, like a match to dynamite’s fuse, and millimeters of hair would give in to the merciless heat of lighted gas. The most interesting thing Toshiya has seen all night, except for maybe the holiday themed boxers peeking out of the tops of Die’s jeans. Sleeping Die’s lax face is a close third, following the impressive red welts on Kyo’s chest - remnants of the previous night’s concert. (Kyo involuntarily has inspired Toshiya to sometimes scratch words of similar meaning to “destruction” into his naked chest after showering.) Sleeping Die is definitely the fourth most interesting thing of the night. His face flashes with the streetlamps that illuminate orange through the tinted window and he is. Definitely interesting.
Toshiya stills, stares, and starts to sit up. The half burnt strand of hair is tossed to the floor, forever to be forgotten. Ashes of other deep toasted hairs are swept off his lap and onto the vehicle’s carpeted floor. The lighter, he tucks in his back pocket - for safe keeping; the weight of the butane filled metal square is familiar there and he almost misses the feel of the light cardboard carton his butt knows should be nestled next to it. Old friends.
He slides off his seat like a worm and crawls to where Die is reclined in his chair. He stands over the sleeping man, looking down into the black vortex that is Die's open mouth. Toshiya is tempted to put his finger in there. He does, careful not to let the salty pad of his finger touch the slimy surfaces of Die's gums. A game of Operation.
Pearly whites. Toshiya has always liked Die's teeth. They are straight and so close to the sunken cheeks and protruding mouth Toshiya has also always liked. And the hard angles of his jaw line. Toshiya has always liked angles. The angles of his bass picks, the angles of a man’s hands, the angles of rooftops, the angles of pelvic bones, the angles of belt buckles, and the angles of Die’s face.
Die is a good looking guy. A beautiful man. That is something Toshiya is certain of.
Knowing the other man is asleep is like a ticket to the carnival. Access granted. Toshiya can stop pretending Die doesn’t exist.
Toshiya doesn’t know if it’s the late night slash early morning, sleep deprived, delirious, spaced out drunkenness that makes him feel this way and act this way and be this way, but he leans down, puts his face right next to Die’s and inhales the scent of alcohol permeated breath. How nice. There is a trace of tobacco in the smell, and Toshiya knows the man has been sneaking cigarettes into his strict no cigarette plan. Shinya was going to flip when he spilled the beans. But of course, “flip” on Shinya’s watch means something far less threatening and far less entertaining than what “flip” should usually mean. More like “shoot dirty looks.” So Toshiya decides not to tell.
While peering into Die’s mouth, Toshiya imagines he is a dentist. He hardly realizes what he’s doing when he lightly starts to run the tip of his finger along the tops of Die’s bottom teeth. It was that crack of dawn insanity conquering his mind again. The doctor is fearless and doesn’t consider that the anesthesia might run out.
Night time for Toshiya lasts forever.
Night time for Toshiya begins when everyone else is asleep. Everyone but the bus driver and one restless Toshiya. Bass player by day, insomniac adventurer by night.
It ends when the first person wakes up. That first person is never up before the sun. So the sun is his timer.
There is still plenty of time left on the clock.
Toshiya uses his pinky finger to trace Die’s eyebrows. His middle finger to slide down the bridge of Die’s nose. He brushes the almost invisible eyelashes with an index finger and laughs when Die’s face twitches. A finger for every feature.
Die is not just a pretty face. His collarbones, hair, and shoulders. He is beautiful everywhere. Toshiya marks all of these beautiful places with an unseen finger print.
There are seventy minutes until reality.
The world asleep is the world on pause, even when the scenery outside the window flashes past at sixty-five miles an hour. With the world on pause every night, Toshiya has all the time in the world. Toshiya spends this time learning more of Die’s sleeping face.
Left eyelid. Right eyelid Left nostril. Bottom lip. Right brow bone. Upper lip. Jaw. Chin. Jaw. Cheek. Lip. Lip. Lip.
Ten seconds before sunrise.
Toshiya doesn’t dare kissing those lips because despite his early morning madness, he’s afraid of what might happen.
Commencing countdown.
What could happen?
…Five, four, three, two…
With just two seconds until sunrise, should he risk finding out?
It’s almost like Cinderella’s fairy godmother spell. The second the clock strikes midnight - the second the sun is up - the magic ends.
The sun is up. Automatic coffee maker drips to life. Blankets are pushed away. Eyes are open.
Die is awake.
Toshiya isn’t.
He is in his seat across from Die’s and he is asleep. Die isn’t.
Die is awake and through the smell of coffee, he detects the burnt smell of fire. Die is awake and tastes salt tinged hand lotion on his teeth. Die is awake and his face tingles with phantom touches. Die is awake and he feels like he’s been kissed in a dream not too far away.
He touches his lips and looks at but doesn’t really see Toshiya in the seat across from him. Was that some strange dream? But he could have sworn…
Somewhere in the back of his subconscious mind, an omniscient James Earl Jones sort of voice narrates:
“A kiss - the glass slipper of the day and age. Left behind. Where is the matching fit?”
From: Naughty Reindeer
Title: Night
Pairings/Characters: Toshiya x Die
Rating: G
Warnings: My writing style.
Notes: This was a challenge. My fics usually tend to be very short, so the 1500 requirement was difficult for me to meet. This was fun, though, and I’d definitely like to participate in an exchange again sometime in the future. (Make that “not-so-near future.” This was tough.) Thanks to Rocky Rudolph (mods) for organizing this. And I hope you enjoy this, recipient! A warning in advance - my style of writing, I think, is a bit strange. In spite of that, I do hope you enjoy what is my first DT fic. :D
Summary: Toshiya, Die, and the bus driver are the only ones awake.
It’s post-concert nap time for all but three of the bus’ inhabitants. Die is one of them, and he is reading a magazine, green bottle of Heineken nearby. The bus driver is another, and he is at the wheel, steering and quietly whistling what Toshiya thinks might be Todd Rundgren or someone equally wrinkled and white. It was a familiar foreign tune he knows he has heard in a romance movie before.
Toshiya, whose biological clock has seen the effects of tour-time exhaustion, is the third, and he is bored out of his mind trying to ignore Die. Five minutes ago, he was just as bored, but had found Kaoru’s lost Zippo wedged between the seat cushions. What a moment of triumph that had been. Now, Toshiya half sits, half lays, sprawled out on a seat, click, click, click, clicking away at the no-longer-interesting lighter. What. Click. A. Click. Drag. Click. The bus was travelling down some empty Southern Californian freeway. Here, all the roads looked the same. Without good scenery to admire or take pictures of, Toshiya finds in a lighter, some boredom relief. It’s been six days since he last got more than two straight hours of sleep at a time deemed appropriate for sleep. Some nights, when he is victim to the mercilessness of insomnia, he has the company of a band member. Last night, it was Kaoru, who clacked away at the laptop in blog updating frenzy. The night before, Shinya, who just sat and stared out the window. The night before that, Kyo graced him with his presence for all of two minutes, just walked out of the bunks, stared at Toshiya, turned around, and went back to bed. Sleep walking, perhaps?
Tonight, company is Kaoru’s lighter and Die. Die, who had taken the seat across from him, asked if he was still unable to sleep, nodded at the response, picked up a beer and a magazine, and ignored him. Toshiya tries to find things to do other than look at Die.
The Zippo, Toshiya imagines, was the portable entertainment system of early man. He’s already decided to not give the thing back to its respected owner. “Finders keepers,” or something like that. The laws of children, he thinks, still sometimes apply to men. Men, after all, are nothing but grown children.
Toshiya does stupid things, like passing his fingertips through the blue of the flame at varying speeds or seeing how long he can hold his palm over the invisible stream of heat just above the flame or trying to blow out the light with a quick blast of air from his right nostril - it is only when he is concentrating on watching the strand of hair he’s pulled out of his head shrivel and fizz in the heat of the flame that he hears the faint sound of a snore come from Die’s general direction.
Fast asleep. Die is slumped at his seat now, hair curtaining face, eyes closed, and magazine ready to fall out of his relaxed hand.
The hair thing was interesting. The end would catch fire for seconds at a time, like a match to dynamite’s fuse, and millimeters of hair would give in to the merciless heat of lighted gas. The most interesting thing Toshiya has seen all night, except for maybe the holiday themed boxers peeking out of the tops of Die’s jeans. Sleeping Die’s lax face is a close third, following the impressive red welts on Kyo’s chest - remnants of the previous night’s concert. (Kyo involuntarily has inspired Toshiya to sometimes scratch words of similar meaning to “destruction” into his naked chest after showering.) Sleeping Die is definitely the fourth most interesting thing of the night. His face flashes with the streetlamps that illuminate orange through the tinted window and he is. Definitely interesting.
Toshiya stills, stares, and starts to sit up. The half burnt strand of hair is tossed to the floor, forever to be forgotten. Ashes of other deep toasted hairs are swept off his lap and onto the vehicle’s carpeted floor. The lighter, he tucks in his back pocket - for safe keeping; the weight of the butane filled metal square is familiar there and he almost misses the feel of the light cardboard carton his butt knows should be nestled next to it. Old friends.
He slides off his seat like a worm and crawls to where Die is reclined in his chair. He stands over the sleeping man, looking down into the black vortex that is Die's open mouth. Toshiya is tempted to put his finger in there. He does, careful not to let the salty pad of his finger touch the slimy surfaces of Die's gums. A game of Operation.
Pearly whites. Toshiya has always liked Die's teeth. They are straight and so close to the sunken cheeks and protruding mouth Toshiya has also always liked. And the hard angles of his jaw line. Toshiya has always liked angles. The angles of his bass picks, the angles of a man’s hands, the angles of rooftops, the angles of pelvic bones, the angles of belt buckles, and the angles of Die’s face.
Die is a good looking guy. A beautiful man. That is something Toshiya is certain of.
Knowing the other man is asleep is like a ticket to the carnival. Access granted. Toshiya can stop pretending Die doesn’t exist.
Toshiya doesn’t know if it’s the late night slash early morning, sleep deprived, delirious, spaced out drunkenness that makes him feel this way and act this way and be this way, but he leans down, puts his face right next to Die’s and inhales the scent of alcohol permeated breath. How nice. There is a trace of tobacco in the smell, and Toshiya knows the man has been sneaking cigarettes into his strict no cigarette plan. Shinya was going to flip when he spilled the beans. But of course, “flip” on Shinya’s watch means something far less threatening and far less entertaining than what “flip” should usually mean. More like “shoot dirty looks.” So Toshiya decides not to tell.
While peering into Die’s mouth, Toshiya imagines he is a dentist. He hardly realizes what he’s doing when he lightly starts to run the tip of his finger along the tops of Die’s bottom teeth. It was that crack of dawn insanity conquering his mind again. The doctor is fearless and doesn’t consider that the anesthesia might run out.
Night time for Toshiya lasts forever.
Night time for Toshiya begins when everyone else is asleep. Everyone but the bus driver and one restless Toshiya. Bass player by day, insomniac adventurer by night.
It ends when the first person wakes up. That first person is never up before the sun. So the sun is his timer.
There is still plenty of time left on the clock.
Toshiya uses his pinky finger to trace Die’s eyebrows. His middle finger to slide down the bridge of Die’s nose. He brushes the almost invisible eyelashes with an index finger and laughs when Die’s face twitches. A finger for every feature.
Die is not just a pretty face. His collarbones, hair, and shoulders. He is beautiful everywhere. Toshiya marks all of these beautiful places with an unseen finger print.
There are seventy minutes until reality.
The world asleep is the world on pause, even when the scenery outside the window flashes past at sixty-five miles an hour. With the world on pause every night, Toshiya has all the time in the world. Toshiya spends this time learning more of Die’s sleeping face.
Left eyelid. Right eyelid Left nostril. Bottom lip. Right brow bone. Upper lip. Jaw. Chin. Jaw. Cheek. Lip. Lip. Lip.
Ten seconds before sunrise.
Toshiya doesn’t dare kissing those lips because despite his early morning madness, he’s afraid of what might happen.
Commencing countdown.
What could happen?
…Five, four, three, two…
With just two seconds until sunrise, should he risk finding out?
It’s almost like Cinderella’s fairy godmother spell. The second the clock strikes midnight - the second the sun is up - the magic ends.
The sun is up. Automatic coffee maker drips to life. Blankets are pushed away. Eyes are open.
Die is awake.
Toshiya isn’t.
He is in his seat across from Die’s and he is asleep. Die isn’t.
Die is awake and through the smell of coffee, he detects the burnt smell of fire. Die is awake and tastes salt tinged hand lotion on his teeth. Die is awake and his face tingles with phantom touches. Die is awake and he feels like he’s been kissed in a dream not too far away.
He touches his lips and looks at but doesn’t really see Toshiya in the seat across from him. Was that some strange dream? But he could have sworn…
Somewhere in the back of his subconscious mind, an omniscient James Earl Jones sort of voice narrates:
“A kiss - the glass slipper of the day and age. Left behind. Where is the matching fit?”