Fic: Fan Appreciation [Shou x Hiroto/Hiroto x Shou, NC-17]

[puss_nd_boots]

Title: Fan Appreciation
Chapter: Standalone
Author: Boots
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance, smut, some humor
Warnings: Male/male sex, sex toys
Pairing: Shou x Hiroto/Hiroto x Shou (main), Tora x Saga
Disclaimer: Boys belong to PS Company, I own the story only.
Summary: On the Symphonia Supernova tour of Asia, Shou doesn’t want to admit he’s a bit jealous of all the bras that were thrown at Saga. But a much more unique gift is about to come his way - one with a lot of very nice uses.
Comments: Written for the Sex Toys square of my Season of Kink card. (For more on this new fanworks challenge, click that link!) Also my birthday fic for Shou! (Yes, it's my first Shoupon in quite awhile. Once I heard they'd kissed each other on the lips onstage, I just had to).

When Alice Nine set off on their Asian tour, there was plenty of excitement all around. They were going to places they’d never seen before, and returning to ones where they’d had success in the past. Most excitingly, they were going to be experiencing reactions from audiences who weren’t Japanese - a rare thing for them.

But still, there was one thing that gave Saga trepidation, and he voiced it while they were in the airport, waiting for their flight to China.

“Bras,” he said. “Not so much in China, but Singapore. The last time we were there, the stage looked like a lingerie store.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it,” Tora reminded him.

“Of course I minded it,” Saga said. “How am I supposed to play if there’s a bra hanging off the end of my bass? That’s like putting a fishing line on it.”

“At least we know we’re appreciated,” Nao said, looking up from his phone.

“I’d rather they show their appreciation in a way that doesn’t involve throwing balls of fancy lace at people. One of them was thrown so hard it almost knocked me off my feet.” He looked over at Tora, who was snickering. “And what’s so funny?”

“Maybe we need to make that an episode of Alice Nine Channel,” he said. “Have the staff offscreen throwing bras at us, and we have to dodge them.”

“Don’t you suggest that to the staff,” Saga said, pointing his PSP at Tora like a threatening weapon.

“I didn’t say anything about suggesting it to them,” Tora said.

“Good,” Saga replied. “Because if we ever have an episode like that, you’re sleeping on the couch for the next six months.”

Hiroto looked around them anxiously, trying to see if any fans or press heard the high-volume exchange. Shou put a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry,” he said. “The coast is clear.” Pause. “I think.”

He’d only been half-listening to the argument - because it didn’t really have anything to do with him. He hadn’t been on the business end of any of the thrown bras, for which he was extremely grateful.

Of course, he also was a little bit disappointed that they weren’t thrown his way. Just a little.

* * *

The throwing wasn’t mentioned again until they were actually going to Singapore - because the other concerts had come and gone without any kind of lacy projectiles.

“I just hope they’re not going to do it,” Saga said as they made their way down the jetway.

“What makes you think they even remember it?” Tora said. “It was a long time ago.”

“He brought it up in public,” Nao reminded them, pointing at Saga.

“I didn’t mean it as a call for people to throw things,” Saga said. They entered the body of the jet, and he bowed politely to the crew members.

Shou and Hiroto, bringing up the rear of their group, still had their phones out - they’d both been checking Twitter before boarding. “What have you seen?” Shou whispered.

“They’re talking about it,” Hiroto whispered back. “The Singapore fans are aware of what happened before - mostly thanks to Saga.”

“Think they’re going to do it again?” Shou whispered.

Hiroto shrugged. “I haven’t seen anything,” he said. “But if they’re going to organize something like that? They’re not going to do it over Twitter, where we can see it.”

He most definitely had a point there. If the band was alerted to any bra-bombing plans, that means the fans would have venue and band staff jumping in front of them during the live, making it impossible to see and interfering with their plans to pelt the stage surface with undergarments. It would definitely put a bummer on the whole thing.

Well, not my problem, Shou thought. It’s not me they’re going to be throwing them at. But again, there was a little pang of disappointment when he thought that.

* * *

While the plane was crossing the sky, Shou got up at one point to move down the aisle - less to use the bathroom than to just stretch his legs.

The other members of the band were all occupied. Tora had dozed off, leaning heavily on Saga, who was deeply engrossed in whatever was on his PSP. (A soccer game, no doubt). Hiroto was concentrating on his iPod, and Nao on the inflight entertainment system.

Shou looked back at his shoulder at his companions. Why did the underwear thing mean so much to Saga? It was a minor event their last time in this country. A joke, really.

But a small part of him knew why it was such a big deal - the same small part that was disappointed in none being thrown at him.

Thrown underwear was the audience’s way of telling you that you were so sexy they couldn’t control themselves. That they were breaking the rules for you. That you were connecting with them in a way nobody else had before.

Shou didn’t usually care about being over-the-top sexy - he didn’t perform oral antics with the microphone like Ruki or Byou. But he did want to make a solid connection with that audience.

And maybe - just maybe - if one bra came flying his way, it would mean he was truly successful at breaching those international boundaries.

It was a bit silly, he knew. But that’s how he thought of it.

He headed back to his seat, thinking that he really should stop wanting that. There were other ways to connect with fans other than being pelted with underthings - right?

But a smaller, less rational part was still hoping for flying foundation garments coming his direction.

* * *

There really was no feeling in the world like performing in front of an audience. You were doing what you loved most, sharing a part of yourself, reaching out, hearing the responses of others . . .

It was one thing to do it in your own country, in front of familiar audiences you’d played in front of many, many times before. It was another to play in a region that hadn’t seen you in years, or maybe never even saw you before at all.

Such was Alice Nine’s experience on stage in Singapore. There was a unique vibe like none of their Japanese gigs. They didn’t know when people would scream, when they would jump up and down . . . or when they would throw things.

Shou had been looking side to side down the stage throughout the show. It’s not about wanting to see bras thrown, he thought. It’s about . . . trying to figure out what they’re going to do next. Yes, that’s it.

The first projectile came sailing stageward about five songs in. It was most definitely heading in Saga’s direction. The bassist quickly got out of the way - but it managed to hit him in the leg anyway.

He looked down, sighing. Another bra.

Shou couldn’t help but see it. (But he wasn’t keeping alert for bras. Really). He told himself he really should be looking away from that side of the stage, it wasn’t polite to stare . . . but he saw the second one land right in front of Saga anyway.

They were all being thrown at the bassist again. Shou was feeling . . . well, it definitely wasn’t jealousy. Nope. Not him. No way was he wondering why they weren’t throwing them at him.

Tora seemed to be finding all this most amusing. Whether it was the bras being thrown at Saga, or Shou’s reaction to them, Shou didn’t know.

All he knew was he moved to the center of the stage singing his heart out, putting everything he had into it, wanting to entertain them a never before. It was as if the bra torpedoes had lit some kind of fire in him, a desire to match, or better, whatever it was Saga was doing.

And apparently, whatever he was doing, it was connecting the way he wanted . . . because midway through the next song, when he’d moved slightly in Tora and Saga’s direction, something hit his leg.

He felt it rather than saw it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t soft. It was quite solid, in fact. Some sort of food, maybe? Well, he couldn’t investigate the matter now.

Between songs, he quickly and discreetly snatched up whatever-it-was and put it in his pocket. He’d check it out backstage later on.

* * *

“Yes!” Nao shouted, pumping his arms over his head as they headed backstage after the last encore. “Now, that was a performance!”

“He’s right,” Tora said. “That was probably the best one of the tour yet.”

“I could have lived without the distractions,” Saga sighed as they made their way back to the dressing area.

“What distractions?” Tora said. “I didn’t think the audience was unusually wild. No wilder than the ones we had back home.

“I mean the stuff getting thrown,” Saga said. “The bras. Again. I’m not running a lingerie store here!”

“You weren’t the only one getting something thrown at you,” Tora said. “Shou, what happened to that thing you picked up?”

Shou had actually forgotten about it - after the incident, he’d gotten completely into what he was doing and just focused on the actual show. “I think it’s still in my pants pocket,” he said, reaching in.

“Someone threw things at you, Shou?” Nao said. “What did you do to deserve that?”

“More like what Saga did to deserve it,” Tora said. “I think he was our my side of the stage when it happened.”

“Let’s take a look,” Nao said. He crowded in to Shou’s right side, Tora crowding in to the left.

Shou let out a deep sigh, pushed his hand in his pocket and pulled out what was there. It was some kind of cylindrical object in a zipper case. “Makeup?” Shou said. “But it’s too big for that.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Tora said. “Open it!”

Shou paused a moment, then undid the zipper. He reached into the case, and pulled out . . .

It was a clear plastic case, containing something that did, indeed, look like a lipstick, in that it was cylindrical - more accurately, it was like two cylinders stacked atop each other, one wider than the other. The top, wider cylinder was metallic red; the one below it, white. The tip of it was of a clear plastic, a thick cap fitted over the top cylinder - and covered with nubby bumps, obviously designed to add texture.

“What . . . the . . .” Shou said.

Tora just stared at it, wide-mouthed. “A Pocket Rocket?” he said. “Somebody threw a POCKET ROCKET at you?”

“A . . .” Shou turned it over and over in his hands, hoping it would morph into something else. Maybe a bottle of soy milk. Or a candy bar. Or even a bra.

“Couldn’t they even get you a GUYS’ toy?” Saga said. “A fleshlight? Even a butt plug?”

“Maybe the person was hoping he’d use it on her,” Tora said. “Is there a phone number somewhere in the packaging?”

Hiroto, who’d gone off in search of water, wandered over. “What’s going on?” he said - and then his eyes fell on the thing in Shou’s hands, and a blush stole slowly over his face. “Where did that come from?”

“Someone threw it at me,” Shou said. Well, that or it flew on stage of its own accord. Maybe that’s what the birds were like here in Singapore. The Red-Bellied Pecker-Simulator. Or maybe that was the country’s line of defense - maybe Pocket Rockets were their idea of deadly weapons.

“Nice thought,” Nao said, “but I’d rather have them throw something like cake.” He patted Shou on the shoulder and went in search of the water bottles.

Tora and Saga were still searching through the case. “No, no phone number,” Saga said. “Maybe it was attached and it fell off.”

“They’ll find it when they sweep the stage,” Tora said. “Meanwhile, I think you win the prize for most unique gift of the tour, Shou.”

“I’ll say this,” Saga said. “It makes having bras thrown at you look good.”

Shou just looked at the thing. He wanted to be the recipient of fan love-gifts, all right - he just didn’t want it quite like this!

* * *

He found the thing in his gig bag when he got back to his hotel room. Had he dropped it there? He couldn’t remember. All he knew is it seemed to be following him around like some kind of metallic-red double-cylinder stalker.

Shou held it up and looked at it again. Why would a fan think it was a suitable gift for him? Had he ever made any kind of public jokes about sex toys? Okay, MAYBE he’d said something during the male-only live, but they were ALL cracking dirty jokes throughout that one.

Besides, not all that much of the dialogue from that show had made it out into the Twittersphere. Fanboys weren’t as eager to repeat every little detail as fangirls were.

He popped the lid open and tipped it out in his hand. Yes, very much a beginner’s sex toy. Very simple to operate - there was a little switch in the bottom with varying speeds. He pushed the button and a buzzing sound ensued. Well, the noise must be where the “rocket” part of its name came from - it sounded like it was about to take off.

He pressed the tip against his hand, gingerly - and a pleasant tingle shot from the spot. He lifted the toy, and pressed it again, harder. The sensation grew twice as intense.

If that’s how it feels like on your hand, he thought, what would it feel like on . . .

The sound of a key in the door made him jump ten miles in the air, the Pocket Rocket launching itself from his hand like its namesake. It spun around in the air, a blur of red and white, until he reached up and caught it.

“Shou?” Hiroto just stood there, blinking. Shou was sitting there holding the thing above his head like it was a magical girls’ transformation pen. Self-Pleasure Power, Make Up!

“I . . . I was just curious about it.” And then he realized he had to raise his voice, because he was talking over the hideous buzzing. It was like trying to be heard over a heard of bees. “Really. I wanted to see if it worked, and . . .”

“It’s okay.” Hiroto sat next to him and put an arm around him. “Really. You don’t have to feel embarrassed about it.”

“It’s just that . . .” Shou turned the thing off, and instantly he noticed the absence of the buzzing the way you notice the absence of your headache when the Tylenol kicks in. “I don’t know why anyone would throw this at me.”

“They might have been aiming for Saga,” Hiroto said.

“Why would they throw it at any of us?” Shou said. “The bras were one thing, but this . . .”

Hiroto shrugged. “It’s the first time we’ve gotten something like this, but I don’t think it’s all that weird. I mean, it’s a sexy gift, and you try to be sexy on stage, right?”

“I didn’t expect this to come flying!”

“You don’t like them throwing things?”

Shou finally lowered the toy into his lap. “To tell the absolute truth?” he said. “I wanted women to throw things at me. I . . . I was kind of jealous of Saga and the bras.”

Hiroto looked puzzled. “You were?”

“Of the attention he was getting, I mean. I wanted that kind of attention, too. Not just regular attention, but . . . well, having them get crazy. Ruki can make fangirls crazy. Byou can. With me, it’s always been . . . they’ve been wild, but not over the edge.”

Hiroto nodded. Shou was wondering if Saga possessed the kind of erotic quality Byou and Ruki had - and which Shou thought he was lacking. “Do you really need to drive them over the edge, though?” Hiroto said.

“What do you mean?” Shou said.

“You’ve always had more than your share of attention,” Hiroto said. “They can’t take their eyes off you. I’ve seen women run all over the live house during a show because they wanted to keep following you through the whole thing. That’s pretty powerful.”

“Okay, maybe that’s true,” Shou said. “But, well . . .” He held out the Pocket Rocket. “How come this is the only thing that’s ever been thrown at me, then?”

“Because the fans respect you too much to throw things,” Hiroto said. “Except the woman who threw that.”

“I don’t think this thing conveys respect for anyone, does it?” Shou said.

Hiroto shook his head. “Maybe we should be glad it didn’t land on Saga,” he said. “If it did, we’d probably never hear the end of it.”

“He’d be trying to track down the thrower for days,” Shou said. “All the while talking about it to anyone who would listen.”

“And asking over and over what he’s supposed to do with it,” said Hiroto. “And speaking of which - what are WE supposed to do with it?”

Shou suddenly had a gleam in his eye - the kind of which made his bandmates roll their eyes and say, “There goes the demon king again.” It was when he reminded the world that he wasn’t as sweet and innocent as he seemed sometimes - indeed, he could be quite the opposite.

Especially when he got a seemingly innocent question from a man he was in a long-term relationship with.

He put an arm around Hiroto. “I don’t know,” he said. “What do you think we could do with it? Personally, I can see some very, very interesting . . . possibilities.”

And with that, he leaned over and brought his lips to his lover’s. Hiroto just melted into the kiss instantly - they’d been through this drill innumerable times, they each knew what the other wanted, what he needed, what he expected.

It didn’t make every experience any less thrilling, of course. Not when Hiroto let Shou know right away that he was very receptive to whatever devious thing the Demon King’s mind was dreaming up, by parting his lips softly and pushing his tongue forward.

Shou eagerly accepted the offer, pulling Hiroto in, holding him close, brushing his tongue against his lover’s . . . and letting his hands start to roam over his body, traveling familiar, yet well-loved territory.

He found the bottom of the other man’s T-shirt automatically, by instinct, and yanked up on it, pulling it up toward his head. Hiroto pulled away long enough for Shou to rid him of it.

“I guess that present was inspiring,” Hiroto murmured as he tipped his head back, letting Shou lick his way down his neck, his fingers seeking out the nipples.

“You have no idea,” Shou said. “Or, rather, you’re about to find out very shortly.”

“I can’t wait,” Hiroto said, breathlessly, reaching for the buttons of Shou’s shirt as well. Shou pulled away just long enough to unbutton the garment, stripping it off and flinging it to the floor.

“We’ve been trying out a lot of new hotel beds lately, haven’t we?” Shou went back to kissing and nibbling his lover’s neck, reaching down to unzip his pants. “I’d say it was about time we try out this one.”

“I thought we were trying out the toy?” Hiroto replied, lifting his hips, encouraging Shou to get rid of the last garments.

“We’re trying that out, too,” Shou said. “I figured we’d kill two birds with one stone.”

Hiroto’s pants hit the floor, followed by Shou’s, and soon they were in each other’s arms on the bed, laughing, kissing passionately. Shou groped on the mattress beside them, reaching for the object that was of greatest interest this night.

He found it. Fortunately, it was right within reach, because interrupting what they were doing to search the entire bed would have been one hell of a mood-killer.

Shou began by stroking it up Hiroto’s leg, then his side . . . not turning it on just yet, merely letting him feel the texture of the nubbins in the tip, the graceful and sleek shape of the thing. He smiled when he felt his lover wriggle a bit - no doubt he’d awakened his imagination.

He pressed it against a totally neutral patch of skin - just a small area on his belly - and turned it on, just for a second, turning it off again - giving Hiroto a preview of how it was going to feel where he really, really wanted it.

“Do you like that?” Shou said in his teasing tone.

“Yes,” Hiroto said, wriggling again.

“Would you like more of it? Maybe in . . . a nicer place? More sensitive?”

“Oh, yes.” There was a pleading edge to the other man’s tone now, and it made Shou give a little wriggle of his own - knowing he was holding his lover’s pleasure in his hands was a very, very hot thing.

Shou brought the Pocket Rocket up to Hiroto’s nipple, turning it on quickly, then turning it off, then turning it on again - hearing his lover gasp at the sudden onslaught of sensation.

He decided that if he was going to get this kind of reaction, he was going to do it one better - he leaned over, touching his tongue to the little bud and moving it back and forth, slowly. He felt Hiroto shift below him, heard him moan, felt hands tangling in his hair.

And then, he raised his head and brought the little toy to the spot, turning it on, rubbing it on the nipple . . .

“Aaaah!” Hiroto cried. He was feeling the buzzing on already sensitive skin, hot and softened and wet, making the feelings that shot all over his body three times as intense.

“It gets better, you know,” Shou said in his most devious voice. “I could do this . . .”

He moved the toy downward, until it was touching Hiroto’s thigh. He swept it back and forth, then in a long, slow line, moving toward his cock by centimeters, drawing out the anticipation, the want, the need.

Just when it got close to his ultimate desination, he lifted it off Hiroto’s skin entirely, moving it back to the lower part of his thigh, starting all over again - this time, stroking slower. Then, a few seconds where it moved quickly, followed by a slow stroke again.

The reaction was a sight for sore eyes. Hiroto leaned back, eyes closed, lips parted, letting out a wanton moan of lust and need, one hand reaching down for the one holding the toy, as if to push it upward faster.

“Please,” Hiroto murmured.

“Please, what?” Shou said, lifting the toy, keeping it hovering tantalizingly in the air.

“Please use that on me,” Hiroto panted. “On my cock.”

“I don’t get to hear you talk dirty that often,” Shou said. “I like it.” So he decided to reward his lover and give him exactly what he asked for, bringing the toy up to his erection.

He pressed it against the tip, turning it on, starting to move it around slowly. The buzzing piece of metal circled the tip, drawing little patterns, darting up to the little slit, then back down again.

Keeping an eye on his lover’s face, watching the reactions, Shou moved the toy down the shaft, shifting from one sensitive area to another, looking for those areas that he knew from experience would get the biggest moans . ., . like a certain little spot near the base.

Shou slid the toy down to that spot - touching it lightly, then pulling it away, then touching it again . . . and finally, he leaned over and lightly brushed his tongue against the head of Hiroto’s erection while he pressed the vibrator over the hot spot.

“Oh!” Hiroto cried. “Oh, my God, oh, my God, Shou .. . .”

That was Shou’s cue to take it further. He took the tip of his lover’s erection in his lips, sucking, as he moved the toy back and forth, hitting the spot, then dancing away from it, then hitting it again. Hirito began to arch off the bed, letting out wild animal sounds, completely lost in passion . . .

But then, he suddenly lifted his head and said, “Stop . . . stop, for a moment.”

Shou suddenly stopped, all right. And he nearly fell on the floor with shock. He lifted his head. “Hiroto - is there something you didn’t like? Was it too intense for you?”

Hiroto smiled at him, sweaty and flushed and absolutely gorgeous. “No,” he said. “It’s not that. It’s just that I have something to share with you.” He reached next to the bed, groping for his own gig bag. “You’re not the only one who got something thrown to you tonight. This landed on my leg during the second encore.”

“Why didn’t I see it?” Shou said.

“Staff picked it up,” Hiroto said. “They were on the lookout after you got hit with yours. They made sure they gave it to be backstage, though - when I went to get the water.”

He withdrew a long, bullet-shaped cylinder, gleaming silver in the hotel lighting. “It’s called a Silver Bullet,” he said. “And I want to make us both come with it.”

Shou’s eyes widened. The new toy looked almost dangerous. It was sleek and gorgeous and much bigger than the Pocket Rocket. “But . . . how can we . . .”

Hiroto got on his knees on the bed, turning Shou on his back. “I’ll show you,” he said.

The smaller man switched on the new toy, and it made a noise that was almost closer to a hum than a buzz - it was obviously vibrating at a high rate. He leaned over, kissing Shou’s lips - and touching the toy to his shaft.

Oh, oh, yes, was it intense. As soon as it made contract, he let out a loud moan. It felt like a thousand nerve endings being stroked and caressed at once, tingles shooting from his cock to his nipples to his fingertips, his whole body a ball of heat .. .

Hiroto began to move it along his hardness, stroking up and down, and every bit of skin it slid over felt alive, electric, tingling and throbbing and making the vocalist writhe and pant and grasp the sheets in his hand, pulling them, as if they could contain the passion that was roaring through his body.

He knew Shou’s sensitive spots the way Shou knew his. He touched the vibrator lightly against a certain place right under the head, and Shou arched forward, letting out a yelp. And then, there was the soft, hot wetness of Hiroto’s tongue on his nipple, stroking it as the toy was stroking his cock, and what a contrast, hard metal below, soft flesh above . . .

Shou was letting out noises that seemed to be coming from his heart, from his soul, from every goddamn drop of hormones in his body. He wanted to find whoever threw that toy at Hiroto and hug her, kiss her, tell her she was giving him the most wonderful night in years.

There was a creaking and the feel of the mattress shifting, and Hiroto started to move over Shou, lying atop him in a way they did when they wanted to grind against one another. Was that what Hiroto wanted to do? Was that how he was going to get them both off?

And then, there was the feel of the Silver Bullet again. It was being pressed against both of them, between their bodies, touching both cocks. Oh, God. Oh, yes . . .

Hiroto turned it on, and the incredible buzzing ran through both erections, through both heated bodies. The two men moaned, both starting to move their hips, grinding on the thing, feeling each other at the same time.

They arched against it, trying to get the most friction possible, feeling the cool, metallic hardness of the Silver Bullet on their hottest flesh, moving faster, harder - and then leaning toward each other for a kiss, mouths connecting solidly, hot skin on skin, as opposed to the mechanical thing they were both fucking.

Shou reached up to grab Hiroto’s ass, pulling him closer; and his hips churned hard, the buzzing and vibration moving from the bottom of his shaft to the tip and back again, growing more intense by the moment, he wasn’t going to last long, oh, no, but he wanted to, it was so wild and crazy and so very, very good . . .

He felt Hiroto arch against him first, heard his cry of completion, felt the wetness coat his own skin and the toy - just lubricating it as Shou thrust against it harder, wanting that last bit of stimulation, wanting to come . . .

And then the climax burst in him like an exploding star. He cried Hiroto’s name out, loudly, as one shudder after another ran through his body, again and again, until he was drained.

He sagged to the bed, panting, and Hiroto leaned over for a kiss again, their mouths coming together with utmost tenderness this time.

Oh, yes, this was the best fan gift he’d ever gotten.

Hiroto leaned his head on Shou’s shoulder. “I didn’t tell you about mine at first because I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said.

“It was,” said Shou. “The best kind. Well, now we have two more things to play with - and I can imagine even more possibilities.” For example, that Silver Bullet’s shape would lend itself very nicely to anal insertion.

“I’ll bet you can,” Hiroto said, kissing Shou again. “You have a good imagination. It’s one reason that I love you.”

“Just one?” Shou said, hopping off the bed to get something to clean them off. “Because I’ve got a billion reasons why I love you.”

Shou was very happy indeed right now, humming to himself as he ran the water. He’d gotten sexy attention from a fan, all right. More importantly, he’d gotten sexy attention from the one that he loved.

He’d take that over all the thrown bras in the world.

* * *

Tora couldn’t help but notice that Saga seemed well, rather sulky on the plane to Malaysia.

“You look like you’ll never see another soccer match again,” Tora said. “Was Singapore all that bad?””

Saga sighed. “They threw sex toys at those two,” he said. He’d been tipped off about the Hiroto gift by the staff member who picked it up.

“So?” Tora said. “Not like you need any more of those. You have a whole arsenal of them back home.”

“I mean, they just threw bras at me, and they threw vibrators at the two of them! What the hell? Am I losing my touch with the fans?”

“Thought you didn’t like things being thrown?” Tora looked amused.

“Bras are one thing. Sex toys are another!”

“You know, the one that hit Shou might have been intended for you. He was toward your side of . . .”

“Oh, it was for him,” Saga said. “I heard the girl yell his name out before she threw it. What’s a guy got to do nowadays?”

“He’s been doing more fanservice onstage with Hiroto lately, that’s what,” Tora said.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Saga retorted.

“The fans know they’re in love,” Tora replied. “So they wanted to give them something special for their private moments.”

“Lot of good that does me,” Saga said. “You don’t do fanservice.”

“No,” Tora said. “I prefer to keep some things for, well, private time.” He put an arm around Saga. “It’s much nicer that way - don’t you think so?”

Saga didn’t reply. But he knew, quietly, that Tora was right - he didn’t really need any thrown toys, did he?

When they were alone together, that was better than all the fan affection in the world.