Positions [Kanjani8 - Yoko/Hina]
Originally posted February 24, 2008
Title: Positions
Author: Kya
Fandom: JE - Kanjani8
Pairing/characters: Yoko/Hina
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,100~
Disclaimer: Total fiction.
Summary: Yoko is vindictive and obnoxious when he’s sick.
When Yoko finds Hina's apartment empty, he vindictively drinks all the Gatorade in the fridge and falls into Hina’s bed for a nap. He's been fighting this sinus thing for a week, and when he hits the mattress it feels like a tsunami of mucus rushes to his head. His eyes ache, his nose is blocked and his lips are cracked.
Within seconds he's asleep, and when he opens his eyes again, Hina's there, sitting with his back against the headboard and reading.
“If you got snot on my pillow, I’m taking your key,” Hina murmurs.
“I didn’t,” Yoko says. He covers the wet spot with his cheek. After a few seconds of boring quiet, he paws at Hina's thigh and whines, "You're sitting on my sleeve.”
Hina glances down and raises his eyebrows. "I am not."
"Yes, you are."
Hina smacks the back of his head. "Saying it doesn't make it true," he says, grinning.
Yoko snorts back a wad of mucus.
"You sure you're up for the movie?"
"Yeah, sure." Yoko snuffles again, quieter. When that doesn't do the trick, he tilts his head back and waits for the tide to go backwards.
Hina watches him for a moment and grimaces. "Are you, like, swallowing that?"
"Some of it. What's it matter? It was in me to start with."
"And it's got germs in it, stupid." Another smack.
"Go get me a tissue then."
"Fine." Hina marks his place and sets the paperback on his pillow. Yoko turns onto his side to read the cover.
"How's David Beckham's biography?"
"It's not David Beckham. David Villa."
Yoko shrugs and closes his eyes. "Big difference." He smirks, waiting for the onslaught.
A tissue box pelts his stomach. "Beckham played for Manchester!" Hina says, obviously incredulous that Yoko doesn’t retain any of the facts or trivia Hina that tells him on a daily basis. "Villa is Spanish!"
Yoko honks into the tissue, peering at Hina from one open eye. "Which one is the forward?"
"Villa."
"Mm. So Beckham's the quarterback?"
Hina’s jaw tenses. Yoko cackles and only gets halfway across the bed before Hina tackles him and starts in on his ribs.
"You're not that stupid!" Hina yells, laughing. "I made sure to educate you better than that so I could put up with you!"
Yoko shrieks. "What are you going to do if I am that stupid, eh? AH, NOT THERE." Hina's hands go beneath his waistband and Yoko screeches long and loud, squirming and finally bucking free. He lands on the floor groaning and giggling.
Hina flops on his stomach to look over the edge of the bed down at Yoko.
"Then I'll probably trade you for Ryo-chan as cohost of Recomen."
"Nah," Yoko says, wrinkling his nose. "You totally love me, man. You couldn't live without me."
Hina snorts. "Yeah?"
Yoko sits up and lands a wet kiss on Hina's forehead. "Totally. You're in love with me, dude. You'd pine for me every Thursday night."
"Uh huh." Hina wipes his forehead. "Did you bring a coat? We should get going if the movie's at seven."
"Seven fifteen."
"Mm. I'll drive."
Yoko chuckles and lies down again, hands folded on his stomach. "Can I pick the car?"
Hina blushes. "No! Fuck you. I'm getting a jacket." He steps over Yoko's prone body, daring Yoko to trip him. Feeling contrary, Yoko just traces his fingertips on Hina's ankle as it goes over his head.
When Hina reappears in the doorway, Yoko asks, "Hey...do you mind if we don't see it tonight?"
Hina pauses as he’s fixing his collar. "Why, are you feeling all right?"
"It’s not bad. Just gross. And I’m tired."
Hina shrugs. "I don't mind either way." He grins. "We can watch the Portugal game."
Yoko makes a face and hurls a pillow at the suddenly vacant doorway. “You’re sick, Murakami!”
“Says the invalid!”
Yoko moans as he eases up to stand. His vision blurs. “Hey, Hina?”
Foreign football fans cheer manically in the other room. “Yeah!”
“Do you have sedatives?”
The sound cuts off. Hina reappears holding the remote and frowning. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Yoko wobbles to the doorway and deposits himself with a huff into Hina’s arms. “Yes,” he sighs, “I was joking. This illness is taking my funny, Hina-chan.”
Hina’s hand rubs a circle on his back, then scrunches his hair. “Come watch the game with me,” he says. “I’ll pretend not to notice if you fall asleep.”
“Like I could fall asleep with you bellowing at the box.”
“At the game,” Hina corrects.
Yoko puts his head on Hina’s shoulder. “Stand still. I’m enlisting you as my pillow. We’re staying like this for the next four hours, got it?”
“Not a chance,” Hina laughs, and somehow drags Yoko to the couch even though Yoko is sure he never moved his legs.
“You’re too strong,” Yoko complains as they settle on the couch. He sprawls on the arm, shoving his feet hard into Hina’s thigh. “Move over. Your ass is taking up a cushion and a half.”
Hina raises his eyebrows. “You’re the one lying across a cushion and a half. I’m barely taking up one.”
“Whatever. Move.”
“No.” The commercial ends and Hina redirects his focus to the screen. “Sh, it’s on!”
Over the next hour, Hina does bellow and cheer and make any number of other incoherent noises that Yoko tries to block out.
When he loses patience, he complains, “I’m going back to the bedroom if you can’t shut up.”
“Pot,” Hina says, staring intently at the screen.
“I’d be quiet for you-”
“YES! RED CARD!”
Yoko scowls. “Fuck you, I’m going to go blow my nose in your pillowcase.” He starts to stand.
Hina rolls his eyes. “You will not.” He grabs Yoko’s belt loop and yanks him back down.
Annoyed, Yoko folds his arms. “I could get sympathy like yours from my microwave,” he mutters.
Without looking away from the screen, Hina pulls Yoko over by the neck and kisses his temple. While someone famous chases the ball those last few inches to the other team’s net, Hina looks at Yoko. “Go sleep if you need to,” he says.
The crowd screeches, but Hina doesn’t look away from him. Yoko grins and pokes Hina’s forehead.
“You love me,” he says. “You just ignored football for me.”
Hina laughs. “And your microwave won’t do that, I bet. Anyway, it's fine. They’ll do it again.”
“Yeah, in two hours. What the hell is the appeal of this game? At least in basketball the score gets up past two.”
“Go to my room and sleep,” Hina says.
Yoko drops his head on Hina’s shoulder and yawns loudly. “Nah, I’m good here.” He rubs his chin on a curve of muscle. “You’re not fluffy, but you’re springy.”
He shuts his eyes and listens to the game escalating, and Hina doesn’t move at all.
Title: Positions
Author: Kya
Fandom: JE - Kanjani8
Pairing/characters: Yoko/Hina
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,100~
Disclaimer: Total fiction.
Summary: Yoko is vindictive and obnoxious when he’s sick.
When Yoko finds Hina's apartment empty, he vindictively drinks all the Gatorade in the fridge and falls into Hina’s bed for a nap. He's been fighting this sinus thing for a week, and when he hits the mattress it feels like a tsunami of mucus rushes to his head. His eyes ache, his nose is blocked and his lips are cracked.
Within seconds he's asleep, and when he opens his eyes again, Hina's there, sitting with his back against the headboard and reading.
“If you got snot on my pillow, I’m taking your key,” Hina murmurs.
“I didn’t,” Yoko says. He covers the wet spot with his cheek. After a few seconds of boring quiet, he paws at Hina's thigh and whines, "You're sitting on my sleeve.”
Hina glances down and raises his eyebrows. "I am not."
"Yes, you are."
Hina smacks the back of his head. "Saying it doesn't make it true," he says, grinning.
Yoko snorts back a wad of mucus.
"You sure you're up for the movie?"
"Yeah, sure." Yoko snuffles again, quieter. When that doesn't do the trick, he tilts his head back and waits for the tide to go backwards.
Hina watches him for a moment and grimaces. "Are you, like, swallowing that?"
"Some of it. What's it matter? It was in me to start with."
"And it's got germs in it, stupid." Another smack.
"Go get me a tissue then."
"Fine." Hina marks his place and sets the paperback on his pillow. Yoko turns onto his side to read the cover.
"How's David Beckham's biography?"
"It's not David Beckham. David Villa."
Yoko shrugs and closes his eyes. "Big difference." He smirks, waiting for the onslaught.
A tissue box pelts his stomach. "Beckham played for Manchester!" Hina says, obviously incredulous that Yoko doesn’t retain any of the facts or trivia Hina that tells him on a daily basis. "Villa is Spanish!"
Yoko honks into the tissue, peering at Hina from one open eye. "Which one is the forward?"
"Villa."
"Mm. So Beckham's the quarterback?"
Hina’s jaw tenses. Yoko cackles and only gets halfway across the bed before Hina tackles him and starts in on his ribs.
"You're not that stupid!" Hina yells, laughing. "I made sure to educate you better than that so I could put up with you!"
Yoko shrieks. "What are you going to do if I am that stupid, eh? AH, NOT THERE." Hina's hands go beneath his waistband and Yoko screeches long and loud, squirming and finally bucking free. He lands on the floor groaning and giggling.
Hina flops on his stomach to look over the edge of the bed down at Yoko.
"Then I'll probably trade you for Ryo-chan as cohost of Recomen."
"Nah," Yoko says, wrinkling his nose. "You totally love me, man. You couldn't live without me."
Hina snorts. "Yeah?"
Yoko sits up and lands a wet kiss on Hina's forehead. "Totally. You're in love with me, dude. You'd pine for me every Thursday night."
"Uh huh." Hina wipes his forehead. "Did you bring a coat? We should get going if the movie's at seven."
"Seven fifteen."
"Mm. I'll drive."
Yoko chuckles and lies down again, hands folded on his stomach. "Can I pick the car?"
Hina blushes. "No! Fuck you. I'm getting a jacket." He steps over Yoko's prone body, daring Yoko to trip him. Feeling contrary, Yoko just traces his fingertips on Hina's ankle as it goes over his head.
When Hina reappears in the doorway, Yoko asks, "Hey...do you mind if we don't see it tonight?"
Hina pauses as he’s fixing his collar. "Why, are you feeling all right?"
"It’s not bad. Just gross. And I’m tired."
Hina shrugs. "I don't mind either way." He grins. "We can watch the Portugal game."
Yoko makes a face and hurls a pillow at the suddenly vacant doorway. “You’re sick, Murakami!”
“Says the invalid!”
Yoko moans as he eases up to stand. His vision blurs. “Hey, Hina?”
Foreign football fans cheer manically in the other room. “Yeah!”
“Do you have sedatives?”
The sound cuts off. Hina reappears holding the remote and frowning. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Yoko wobbles to the doorway and deposits himself with a huff into Hina’s arms. “Yes,” he sighs, “I was joking. This illness is taking my funny, Hina-chan.”
Hina’s hand rubs a circle on his back, then scrunches his hair. “Come watch the game with me,” he says. “I’ll pretend not to notice if you fall asleep.”
“Like I could fall asleep with you bellowing at the box.”
“At the game,” Hina corrects.
Yoko puts his head on Hina’s shoulder. “Stand still. I’m enlisting you as my pillow. We’re staying like this for the next four hours, got it?”
“Not a chance,” Hina laughs, and somehow drags Yoko to the couch even though Yoko is sure he never moved his legs.
“You’re too strong,” Yoko complains as they settle on the couch. He sprawls on the arm, shoving his feet hard into Hina’s thigh. “Move over. Your ass is taking up a cushion and a half.”
Hina raises his eyebrows. “You’re the one lying across a cushion and a half. I’m barely taking up one.”
“Whatever. Move.”
“No.” The commercial ends and Hina redirects his focus to the screen. “Sh, it’s on!”
Over the next hour, Hina does bellow and cheer and make any number of other incoherent noises that Yoko tries to block out.
When he loses patience, he complains, “I’m going back to the bedroom if you can’t shut up.”
“Pot,” Hina says, staring intently at the screen.
“I’d be quiet for you-”
“YES! RED CARD!”
Yoko scowls. “Fuck you, I’m going to go blow my nose in your pillowcase.” He starts to stand.
Hina rolls his eyes. “You will not.” He grabs Yoko’s belt loop and yanks him back down.
Annoyed, Yoko folds his arms. “I could get sympathy like yours from my microwave,” he mutters.
Without looking away from the screen, Hina pulls Yoko over by the neck and kisses his temple. While someone famous chases the ball those last few inches to the other team’s net, Hina looks at Yoko. “Go sleep if you need to,” he says.
The crowd screeches, but Hina doesn’t look away from him. Yoko grins and pokes Hina’s forehead.
“You love me,” he says. “You just ignored football for me.”
Hina laughs. “And your microwave won’t do that, I bet. Anyway, it's fine. They’ll do it again.”
“Yeah, in two hours. What the hell is the appeal of this game? At least in basketball the score gets up past two.”
“Go to my room and sleep,” Hina says.
Yoko drops his head on Hina’s shoulder and yawns loudly. “Nah, I’m good here.” He rubs his chin on a curve of muscle. “You’re not fluffy, but you’re springy.”
He shuts his eyes and listens to the game escalating, and Hina doesn’t move at all.