drabble; thirteenth drabble batch
It has been a long time since I've posted anything new here! O: I've been feeling pretty blegh about writing lately but these are some drabbles/ficlets that I've been working on over the past month or so. All but two are inspired by songs; like a line from the song or the feeling. I few are literal, some are more vague. But anyway, that's sort of the deal behind all of these ficlet things. :) I linked to all of the songs, so you can just click on it to listen if you haven't heard it before.
Anyway, on to the fic! There will be two posts because one turned into a really long fic, lol. If you read any of them, I hope you enjoy! ♥ :3
ryoshige / g / over you - daughtry / 755 words
There wasn’t anything he could do, in that moment. No words he could say, no other actions to take, than what had already happen. It was futile to change what couldn’t be fixed. These things happen everyday, but Shige never thought it would happen to them.
So it’s all he can do to pack up his things, the things that had accumulated throughout the past few years, and pack up the memories, the moments, the instances of their life together; a shirt that still has the scent of his laundry detergent, the photo Shige had framed after a trip to Disneyland where the smiles on their faces are bright and irrepressible, the camera he’d been eyeing for months that ended up as his birthday present one year. He puts everything into suitcases, each like a piece of this broken heart, and he leaves.
He wishes, just as he hands back the key, pressing it into guitar-calloused palms, that he would be stopped, that he would say just one thing and everything would go back to how it was.
But it doesn’t come, and his fingers tremble as he grips his luggage and looks up to meet the dark eyes he fell in love with for the last time. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look at him like this again.
“Goodbye,” he says, as steadily as he can. His voice still cracks.
Ryo looks so torn, standing there, like he doesn’t know whether to pull Shige into a hug and kiss him senseless (like he had that first time years ago, cornering him in an empty staircase at work and pressing soft lips to his), or simply turn and shut the door in his face. He does neither, and his slight, awkward attempt to reach out to touch him ends up being much more painful. He pulls his hand away at the last second, brushing his fingers through his hair. His eyes are sad, when he flicks his gaze back at Shige’s.
He licks his lips and tries, “Shige, I--”
But Shige isn’t strong enough to hear it, not yet. He’s still carrying the battered, beaten scars of a shredded heart and he can’t hear it, what Ryo has to say. He steps backward, says, “T-Thank you, Ryo. For, for everything.”
He smiles, the most pathetic idol-smile he’s ever given, and he thinks maybe Ryo’s own heart breaks then, the way he looks back at him.
And there is nothing else left to say, in that moment. No way to change what’s happened, to fix what can’t be fixed, and Shige takes a deep breath, and walks away.
Even though he knew it wouldn’t happen, gave up hoping for it long away, it still hurts that Ryo doesn’t come after him.
Now, a year later, Shige has put back together the pieces of his heart. It’s still a fragile entity in his chest, easily wounded and it cracks often, when the tiniest things remind him of what he used to have.
But for the most part he’s better. He can sit here, next to Ryo at a bar, their first time meeting on their own since that awful day. Not that Ryo hasn’t tried; Shige just wasn’t ready. He couldn’t, back then, when he used to step on those scattered shards of his life with Ryo that had laid at his feet.
He could be professional, and at work he put on his fake smile and he was as amiable as he could be, but as soon as the cameras were off, he couldn’t stop the icy facade that molded back across his face.
And now, now he can sit here and ask Ryo how she is, can hear Ryo tell him she’s good, that they’re good, that he loves her in a way he hadn’t loved Shige, that--
“She’s the one, Shige.”
The bandages on his heart fall off just a little. He grips his glass of beer tight in his hand, and he nods, once. What can he do, really, when Ryo sounds so happy? But maybe this is what he needed to hear, to know Ryo really is happy, to see it in his eyes when he glances up at him, see it honest across his face. It mends the wounds in his chest and he relaxes his fingers, takes a drink.
He smiles at Ryo, a real one, the first real smile he’s probably given anyone in a year. “I’m glad,” he says honestly, and he is.
pin / pg-13 / moves like jagger - maroon 5 ft. christina aguliera / 316 words
“You dance like a slut,” Pi remarks, but really it’s comforting that this hasn’t changed in all these years. He watches with amusement as Jin moves his hips to some American song he had put on, eagerly wanting to show Pi.
“Shut up,” Jin says, dragging his hands up his chest, and it’s very distracting. “I have the moves like Jagger, Pi,” he says in English, and then starts crooning along with the song, “I’ve got the moooooves~”
“What the fuck is a Jagger?” Pi demands, but Jin either doesn’t hear him or ignores him, continuing to move along with the song, slinking up to where Pi’s sitting on the couch.
Jin smirks and it’s sexy, his eyes are bright and mischievous and he drags his hands through his dark hair as he rolls his hips in a circle. “Do you like my moves, Pi?” he asks, tilting his head coyly.
“Your what?” Pi says, distracted, and when Jin climbs up onto his lap he sucks in a breath, his hands automatically resting on Jin’s hips.
“Kiss me til you’re drunk,” Jin sings, translating the lyrics into Japanese as he leans in close so his lips are just ghosting against Pi’s. “And I’ll show you all the moves like Jagger~”
“No thanks,” Pi says, rolling his eyes.
Jin pouts, stops rocking his hips against Pi and draws back. “You don’t want to see my moves, Pi?”
“I’ve seen them,” Pi replies. “They aren’t that great.”
Jin slugs him halfheartedly in the arm but when Pi pulls him close, fingers pressing against the back of his neck, Jin gasps. Pi kisses him, hard, tongues dancing together and wet lips sliding against each other, until they’re both panting, breathless.
“I think you like my moves,” Jin says after, and Pi laughs.
“There are other things I like better,” Pi replies and pulls Jin into another kiss.
akame / pg / i got you - leona lewis / 705 words
“Sorry, did I wake you?” Jin questions, his voice slurred, leaning against the doorframe of Kame’s apartment.
“It’s okay,” Kame replies, stepping aside to let Jin in. “You all right?”
Jin nods, stumbling just a little as he slips out of his shoes. He laughs when Kame reaches out to steady him just as he puts a hand to the wall to balance himself. Their eyes meet and Kame drops his hands. “I’m fine,” he says. “Go back to sleep. I just need to crash here.”
“It’s fine, Jin,” Kame says as he shuts the door and locks it, the sound of the latch loud in the air between them. “Come in,” he adds, his feet shuffling on the floor as he heads toward the kitchen. “I’ll get you some water. Sober you up.”
“I’m not drunk,” Jin insists and only Kame’s laughter is his response. He smiles a little, shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and follows Kame to the kitchen. There’s takeout packages on the counter, untouched, and Jin bites his lower lip. Kame doesn’t eat only when he’s too tired to, and Jin eyes the clock on the microwave; 3:48 AM.
“Here,” Kame says, setting a glass onto the counter before Jin.
Jin stares at it. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he mumbles, watching a bead of liquid drip down the side. “You should go to sleep. I’ll leave.”
Kame rolls his eyes. “I told you it’s fine.”
“You only just got home, didn’t you?” Jin counters. “You should be sleeping.”
“You act like this is the first time you’ve come and bothered me when I should be sleeping,” Kame says and he gives Jin an amused smile.
Jin lets out a soft laugh at that, because he’s got a point. “But, it’s, well, the first time since we--” He cuts himself off, not really sure what he’s trying to say, but, like always, Kame understands him completely. That’s probably what Jin misses most; Kame seems to know his every thought like its his own.
“Jin,” he says calmly, a little tiredly, like he can’t believe he has to explain these things. “It’s okay. If that’s what’s bothering you, then drink your water, and go to sleep so I can go to sleep.”
Jin pouts at him for a moment. “But--” he starts, still uncertain, and yelps when Kame flicks him in the forehead.
“Things don’t have to be so awkward just because we broke up,” Kame says easily and Jin gapes a little, because ever since it happened, months ago, they’ve never addressed it, not like this. It’s just been this huge elephant in the room the few times they’ve met since then.
“I’m not being awkward,” Jin says, awkwardly.
Kame laughs. “Yes you are,” he replies, patting Jin’s shoulder as he walks out of the kitchen.
Jin grabs the glass of water and follows quickly. “I’m sorry,” he says, stopping in the entryway of Kame’s bedroom.
Kame climbs into bed, notices Jin hovering in the doorway and waves him in. Jin does, and walks around to get in on what used to be his side. Kame grins at him and Jin looks away, busies himself with downing the glass of water in his hands. Kame wordlessly takes the glass when he’s finished and sets it onto the nightstand beside him.
Jin shucks off his hoodie, tossing it to the floor and sliding under the covers. Kame does as well and Jin instinctively curls closer to him, seeking his warmth. Kame sighs, his fingers reaching up into Jin’s hair, and Jin closes his eyes, content.
“Don’t be sorry,” Kame says, then, so quiet, Jin almost doesn’t hear him. “You don’t have to worry about it, Jin. Just because we broke up, doesn’t mean I suddenly hate you.”
“Even if I come to your apartment at three in the morning and wake you up?” Jin asks, needing to be sure.
“Even then,” Kame confirms, and adds with a tiny laugh, “Though I’ll probably hate you a little.”
Jin smiles, squashing his cheek up against Kame’s shoulder. “Thanks, Kame,” he says and the kiss Kame presses to his hairline still makes Jin’s heart beat faster.
akame / hard r-nc-17 for bloodplay and psycho!kame / please don’t leave me - p!nk / 862 words
The piercing wail makes his heart beat faster. He presses the sharp edge of the knife against the pale skin, watches with amazement as the red beads drip down and sullies it; it’s beautiful.
“Stop.” A whimper, quiet and frightful.
Kame narrows his eyes, looking down from the drops of blood and into wide eyes. Eyes that used to look at Kame with revered respect, admiration, love. Now they burn him and scar him, and he can no longer take that.
“I won’t,” he says, his voice calm, although inside he is seething. “Not until you say it.”
Jin makes a pitiful whining noise in the back of his throat. It soon turns into a frustrated growl as he wrestles against the rope that has his arms pinned up over his head to the barred headboard of Kame’s bed. Kame sits across his legs, holding his weight down, and he watches with amusement as Jin struggles. The cut on his arm continues to drip pearls of blood until the shallow wound clots, and it is fascinating, watching it.
“What is wrong with you?” Jin spits, struggles even more violently, but Kame simply smiles at him.
He brushes his fingers down Jin’s cheek and Jin flinches, turning away so he doesn’t look at him, but Kame won’t have that. He wants Jin to see him, remember him, until Kame is all he thinks about. He turns Jin’s face back to his, fingers pressed tight on his jaw, and Jin’s mouth sets into a hard line, his eyes now are furious instead of scared. Jin’s always looked gorgeous when he’s pissed off, all raw and untameable, and now it’s no different. Kame smiles again, leans in and kisses him, bruising his full, red lips. Jin fights him, and it’s arousing, it wouldn’t really be them without the fight, but Kame forgets this isn’t like all those other times in the beginning when they met again and again, releasing pent up tension and stress in the only way that made sense. This isn’t like the times they cajoled each other just to get a rise out of them, to make it more fun, hotter.
But Jin fights him viciously this time, trying not to give in, and it takes a while for Kame to realize it. He draws back, expression steely, and Jin gasps, “What the fuck, Kamenashi?!”
Just hearing that name makes Kame’s blood boil. He still remembers when Jin would call him Kazuya, all excited, naive, and look at him with big eyes like Kame was the most amazing thing in the world.
He’d give anything to see that look again.
Frowning, Kame reaches out to slide his thumb along the wound on Jin’s arm, pinches it between his fingers Jin howls in pain, clenching his eyes shut, and Kame smirks as he presses his thumb hard against it. Blood drips across his thumb and he pulls it away a few moments later, licks the digit, Jin’s life tangy on his tongue.
Jin peeks open his eyes; they’re wet, scared again. “Why are you doing this?” he breathes.
Kame laughs, brandishes the knife in his hand, leaning in close and pressing the blunt edge against the high of Jin’s cheekbone. “You know why,” he replies. “You know exactly what you need to do to make it stop.” He drags the knife down Jin’s skin and Jin shudders, eyes darting to watch it. His chest heaves with every breath.
“I can’t,” he says, eventually, flicking his gaze back to Kame’s.
A beat. “Then I’ll make you,” Kame returns steadily, and he will.
He pulls the knife away from Jin’s face, ignores Jin’s exhaled breath of relief, and then moves back down Jin’s legs. He pulls Jin’s jeans down his legs roughly, and smirks at the sight of Jin, half-hard in his boxers. He presses his palm against the hardness, rubs at it slowly, drinking in the sight of Jin writhing under his touch, blood bright on his skin, and a similar colored blush creeping up his neck.
Beautiful, Kame thinks, and it’s all his, only his.
The next cut he makes has Jin screaming again, tiny shallow lines along his inner thigh. Drops of red pool against his skin and Kame leans back and watches the color mark Jin like his own personal brand.
“Kame,” Jin whispers again. “Kame, just stop.”
Kame chuckles, looking up from his handiwork to Jin’s face. His eyes are damp, he looks like he’s given up trying to keep the pain hidden from his face. Kame thinks he looks even more gorgeous like this, reaches out to wipe the wetness from the corner of his eyes with his fingers. He trails his fingers across Jin’s cheek again, and Jin merely lets out a shaky breath.
“I won’t,” he says, leaning close so his lips press just barely against Jin’s. “I won’t let you leave, Jin.”
“You can’t just--”
Kame smirks, drawing back and sliding the edge of the knife against Jin’s skin again.
“Watch me,” he says as Jin cries out again, and it is the most glorious sound Kame has ever heard.
nakanishi / g / chasing cars - snow patrol / 774 words
The sheets are warm from the sunlight streaming through the windows. Jin lies across them, right in the middle of the bed, and closes his eyes. The heat from the light feels like someone’s lit a candle underneath him; a soft, slow burn that warms him up from the inside out.
He pillows his head in his palms and sighs contentedly when the door to the bedroom opens.
“What are you doing?” Nakamaru says in a slightly exasperated tone. Jin thinks he sounds like Kame.
“Nothing,” Jin replies with an air of complete innocence.
He’s sure Nakamaru’s rolling his eyes but he doesn’t open his own to check. He continues to lie there, listens to the soft padding of Nakamaru’s feet on the floor, the shuffling of his clothes. He pitters around the room for a few moments, and then stops, his eyes on Jin. Jin can feel it, just as heated as the rays of sunlight from the open shades.
“What,” Jin deadpans, finally peeking his eyes open and finding Nakamaru standing by the foot of his bed.
“Nothing,” Nakamaru replies in the same way Jin had earlier, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward.
Jin closes his eyes again. “You’re weird.”
Nakamaru snorts. “Says the guy who was waiting in front of my apartment for me to get home and then just comes in to lie on my bed,” he returns. “What’re you doing here?”
“Nothing,” Jin answers again and Nakamaru sighs.
Jin feels him eyeing him a little longer and then Nakamaru says, “Stay, then, if you want. But I have to go.”
“Where?” Jin asks instantly, opening his eyes.
“Meeting the others for lunch.” Nakamaru assesses him. “You should come.”
Jin ponders this, for a second. He closes his eyes. “It’s fine, I’ll nap,” he says eventually.
“Jin,” Nakamaru starts but Jin just waves a hand at him dismissively. Nakamaru sighs again and then, after a moment, he walks out the door, leaving it open slightly. Jin hears him bustling quietly around the apartment and then just the barest click of the door opening and shutting before silence.
He sighs, rolls onto his side. He pouts a little at the bed sheets, tries to sleep, shut off his brain, but can’t get comfortable and the light from the window makes it harder. He rolls over to lie on his left, his back to the window, now grumbling, annoyed and maybe a little sad, that Nakamaru had just left him here to go--
He feels the bed dip on the right and his eyes pop open because he never heard anyone come in, and oh my god, had someone broke into Nakamaru’s apartment and--
“Shove over, Jin,” says what is undoubtedly Nakamaru’s voice, half amused, half exasperated yet again, and Jin whips around so fast he gives himself whiplash.
He rubs his neck and whines pitifully while Nakamaru laughs at him, loudly. Jin pouts again before he says, “Lunch over already? Did you guys inhale your food?”
“Very funny,” Nakamaru replies. “No, just...decided I wasn’t hungry, is all.”
Jin stares at him. His eyes are closed and he’s got his head resting in his hands upon the pillow. The sunlight dances across his face.
Jin slowly grins and attacks. Nakamaru yelps as Jin’s arms wrap around him like a limpet and grumbles, “What the hell, Akanishi?”
“Nakamaru loves me~” he sings, and Nakamaru turns a hilarious shade of red.
“What the--I do not!” he exclaims, pushing at Jin until he gives up, sagging against the bed with a heavy sigh, while Jin holds him and buries his face into his shoulder. “I think you’ve gotten even more infuriating since I last saw you. I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve proved me wrong.”
“Admit it, you missed it,” Jin taunts and Nakamaru groans.
“I changed my mind, I’m hungry,” he says and starts to get up, but Jin pulls him back down and says, “No! Stay here, just lie down with me.”
Nakamaru doesn’t say anything, turning to look at Jin who is sprawled a bit across the bed, his arms still holding onto Nakamaru’s waist. Shaking his head, Nakamaru pokes Jin in the forehead and says, “You’re weird,” but he lies down all the same.
Jin rubs his head and says, grinning, “But you love me like that, right?”
“Shut up,” Nakamaru retorts without real bite, and Jin thinks he’ll always like the way embarrassment rises in reds and pinks across Nakamaru’s face.
He smiles and presses closer to his friend, and the heat from Nakamaru’s body is warmer than the sunlight that shines over his face.
ryoshige / au / pg / sparks fly - taylor swift / 792 words
Their first kiss was while they hid from the rain, catching a bit of shelter under an awning to a closed coffee shop. The water sloshed around their feet, loud in their ears, and they stood close together for even a little bit of heat.
Shige wasn’t expecting it, but with Ryo, many things are like that. So maybe, in hindsight, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. But at that moment he was, laughing with Ryo about getting caught in the rain, reprimanding each other for not having an umbrella, and then, just like that, Ryo had kissed him on the sidewalk, pressed up against the door to the shop, all moist lips and wet hair, and cool fingers wrapped around his wrists.
Everything sort of crumbles to the floor whenever Shige is around Ryo. There’s something there, something he doesn’t really understand, but it’s easy to be himself with Ryo, to get angry and happy to extremes, to just say whatever is on his mind. The walls he had built over time come down like a drawstring bridge when they’re together.
It was like that from the first moment they met - Ryo, the famous musician, and Shige, his new manager.
Ryo, then, was nothing like Shige had imagined; everything he’d thought about him and hoped to see had shattered within the first day. Ryo, then, didn’t care about new managers, didn’t care to know who Shige was, or try to be friends. Because Shige was the seventh manager that had come to work for Ryo, and Ryo didn’t see any reason getting used to a new one, when to him, it was obvious Shige was going to leave, anyway.
Shige, back then, could only say so bluntly, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me. So suck it up.”
That was probably what made all the difference; Shige’s words that day, the ones that had made Ryo look so shocked until that brilliant, beautiful laugh broke across his face.
Shige should have run away from him then, because Ryo’s like kryptonite. Ryo, once someone’s been around him, they can’t seem to get away. Maybe in a weird masochistic sense that was Shige’s problem; it was his job to be with Ryo, but he wasn’t his job to go along with Ryo’s recklessness. But Shige found he couldn’t say no - he just followed. Exasperatedly, irritably, curiously, he followed Ryo wherever he wanted to go.
“Come with me, Shige,” he’d say, his eyes lighting up with deviousness, and Shige could never deny him.
The Shige before he met Ryo used to hate these kinds of people; the kind that did whatever they pleased, who seemed to have everything come to them naturally, who made his skin crawl with their arrogance.
Ryo would make Shige’s skin crawl, at times when he was so infuriating Shige would threaten to quit. At those times, Ryo would scoff and say, “Fine, leave. I’m used to it.”
Shige, at those times, just wished Ryo would tell him, “Stay.”
Because, despite Ryo testing Shige’s patience every chance he got, he also made Shige’s skin burn - burn with pleasure and excitement and pride. Ryo, when he finished writing a new song and eagerly made Shige listen to it; when he came down after a performance, grinning with triumph; when he coaxed Shige into rescheduling a meeting just so they could sneak away to the beach for an afternoon.
Ryo was the type of guy Shige told himself never to get involved with. But, before he even knew it - he already was.
Ryo never needed to tell him not to go because Shige always stayed anyway.
Even now Shige can’t find the will to escape. Ryo pulls him in constantly, every second of every day, like two ends of a magnet.
His friends tell him not to give in so easily, that a guy like Ryo will ruin him with his cocky arrogance and his devil-may-care attitude. But Shige sees a different person than the man he met that first day. Now he sees a Ryo that works his hardest, that likes to do things his own way, but with reason, that might be a little lonely because no matter how much he would tell Shige it didn’t matter if he quit, he always looked relieved to see him the next morning.
Now Shige sees a Ryo that likes to pull him into storage rooms and kiss him senseless, a Ryo that likes to act spoiled because he knows Shige will always give him anything, a Ryo that is so wrong for him and yet so right, with his beautiful voice and his heartfelt music, and his smiles that make Shige feel as though sparks are flying.
ryoshige / pg-13 / wake up call - maroon 5 / 524 words
The gun that Shige knows Ryo always keeps loaded is missing one shot.
“What did you do?” Shige questions, his voice high and worried. He’d been gone for twenty minutes, far too long, that Shige had been able to strip the bed of any evidence and started a new load in the washer.
Ryo locks the door behind him. His eyes are black and expressionless. He pulls Shige close, into a hug that feels cold instead of warm, and seems to crush Shige’s bones in his body.
“Don’t worry,” Ryo says in a light voice. He holds Shige closer; it’s a little hard to breathe. “Don’t worry,” he repeats, and his fingers stroke Shige’s hair. “It’s okay. He’s gone. He’s not going to get in the way again.”
Shige’s heart beats like the thumping of a hundred elephants. He curls his fingers into the waist of Ryo’s shirt. “What...what are you talking about?”
“I forgive you,” Ryo says softly and the nervousness in Shige’s stomach fades back into guilt. He clutches Ryo tighter and lets out a shuddering sob of relief when Ryo repeats, “I forgive you.”
When he looks up, the eyes he sees are not the ones of the man he’d met at the bar that night; they’re Ryo’s eyes - Ryo’s eyes staring at him from the doorway, wide for a second before they narrow into hardness and Shige’s breath dies in his throat.
“Ryo,” Shige gasps, scrambling out from beneath the other man - he can’t even remember his name - and pushing him away, reaching for something to hide the fact that he’s half out of his clothes, that they both are, that--
“Ryo, wait, I-I can explain,” Shige says hysterically. Ryo still hasn’t moved from the doorway, but Shige can see his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.
“Shige,” the man says from beside him, looking quite positively annoyed, and Shige’s heart skids to a stop as he glances at him. “Who is this?”
And that seems to be all the more Ryo can take, stomping into the room and grabbing the guy out from the bed.
“Ryo, wait!” Shige exclaims, rushing over to stop Ryo from inducing any harm.
Ryo just pushes Shige back against the bed and says, “Stay,” in such a dangerous voice that Shige doesn’t even think to contradict him.
Instead he just watches Ryo haul the man - his name was Yuujiro, Shige remembers belatedly - out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
The man has a beautiful smile; it reminds Shige a little of Ryo, sharp and bright, lighting up his eyes. He buys Shige a drink, and another. His name is Yuujiro, and he works at a bank. His hand is warm against the small of Shige’s back.
Ryo’s gone; he’s in Osaka, working with Kanjani8. He’s been gone for a week and is not supposed to be back for another. Even then, Shige’s not sure if he will be back. He shrapnel of their last argument lies heavy in his heart.
When Yuujiro offers to take Shige home that night, Shige doesn’t turn him away.
ryoshige / au / g / this photo / 1245 words
He holds the camera in his hands like it’s an extension of himself, soft and light beneath his fingertips. He remembers when it used to feel so heavy, so bulky and foreign. Now it’s like it molds to his skin, reassuring as he peers through the viewfinder and snaps a shot.
The sun is high in the sky, but it’s hidden behind seemingly motionless grey clouds. The air smells like humidity and rain and coffee from the shop across the street. It’s comforting and he breathes it in.
He lowers his camera, lets it hang around his neck and shoulders his backpack more comfortably before heading into the open park. The trees are tall and full above his head as he walks along a winding path that makes a scuffing noise against the soles of his shoes.
It’s mostly quiet. The rush and screech of cars that make up Tokyo are ceaseless, but walking along the park it’s like another world. Peaceful and relaxing, with only a few other people in the vicinity. An elderly couple sits on a bench on the sidewalk; the man reads the newspaper while the woman seems to be stitching up an old garment. A young child cries in his mother’s arms, his knee scraped and red. A teenager in a school uniform lies across the grass, his head pillowed on his schoolbag, and his eyes closed blissfully despite skipping class.
Shige takes a shot of all three scenes, discreet and quick. He has done this for so long it’s like second nature. The shutter goes off and he moves on.
What catches his attention most is not the sunlight streaming through the leaves, or the single leaf floating in a tiny puddle just off the sidewalk (though he does stop to capture pictures of both), it’s the sudden quiet plucking of guitar strings, pelting through the silence like sharp bullets.
Shige walks a little faster, heading further into the park until he comes to a stop, his shoes skidding against the pavement.
On a bench a few feet away, almost hidden by the too-low branches of a slightly curved tree, sits a man with a beaten looking guitar over his crossed legs. His head is bowed, and his fingers slide over the strings with the experience of an expert. The melody is light but wistful, and it melts into the air around Shige, like another layer of the atmosphere.
He stands in his spot and listens, makes no move to get closer, to ruin the moment. He doesn’t want the man to stop. His guitar case is closed and leaning against the arm of the bench. He’s wearing a dark shirt, stylish faded jeans, and worn out sneakers. A long gold necklace with a cross hangs around his neck.
And before he realizes it, he’s staring at the man through the camera, stepping back quietly, shifting the camera to the side, changing the angle and - there.
The whish of the shutter goes off and when he looks again, the man is staring right back at him.
Startled, Shige quickly lowers his camera. The man has stopped playing and the silence is deafening in his ears.
“Was the picture of me, just now?” the man asks then, and he doesn’t sound cross, just curious.
Shige shuffles a bit awkwardly. He nods. “I’m sorry. I can delete it if you--” he starts but then the man just shrugs and starts to play again. It instantly calms Shige’s nerves.
“Do what you want,” the man tells him indifferently and Shige stares.
The man’s attitude feels 180 degrees from the beauty of his music and Shige feels a twinge of disappointment. But he pushes that aside, squares his shoulders and takes a step forward. The man’s eyes flick up at him before dropping down to his fingers, and Shige says, “What you were playing before. It was really good.”
The man looks back up at him but doesn’t stop playing. It’s a different song, a little lower, sadder, but just as beautiful. He stares at Shige with dark, unfathomable eyes behind his equally dark hair. “Of course it was,” he says and gives Shige the tiniest hint of a smirk.
Shige finds himself grinning; the man’s cocky demeanor seems to match him, despite the music he plays. He tilts his head a bit and assesses him further, takes in the way he seems completely in his own world, playing the guitar so naturally as though it is an extension of his body.
Gathering a bit of courage, Shige raises his camera again and looks through the lenses. He focuses in on the man’s hands along the guitar and takes another photo. The man continues to play undaunted, and Shige quietly sweeps the camera up to the man’s face, eyes closed and lips in a small smile, and lets the shutter snap once more.
He gets two more shots before the man stops playing and looks back up at Shige. “Don’t you have enough?” he questions, but he still doesn’t sound angry.
“You said I could do what I wanted,” Shige replies. He’s not sure what it is but he doesn’t quite want to leave yet. He likes the photos he’s gotten, but he’s looking for a bit more. He feels like he hasn’t captured this man as fully as he comes across Shige’s eyes in person.
The man’s eyes narrow now and he seems to be really looking at Shige for the first time. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school or something at this time?”
Shige feels slightly affronted. “I’m not a student,” he replies waspishly; he’s usually told he looks older than he is and definitely hasn’t ever been mistaken for a student in years. “I’m twenty-seven. I’m a professional photographer.”
The man looks only slightly surprised. “Twenty-seven, huh? You’re not much younger than me, then,” he says, but doesn’t disclose his own age. He does stop playing though, and stretches his arms up over his head with a deep sigh. When he drops them, his face breaks into a bright, startling smile.
It’s gone before Shige can react, can lift up his camera and take the shot, to keep it as a memento of his man and his striking music, nevermind that he already has five. The man is standing up, pulling his guitar case over. The silver latches snap open and he slides the guitar inside carefully before shutting it.
“Done already?” Shige finds himself asking. It feels like the rest of the world is slowly refocusing around him, having faded into the background behind his man’s persona and his music that continues to play on in Shige’s ears.
“Yup,” the man replies easily. “Places to go. People to see.” He smiles again, lighting up his eyes, and Shige has to take a step back because his it feels as though his heart has grown wings and is fluttering like a trapped bird within his ribcage.
The man lifts a hand in a silent goodbye before he takes off the way Shige had come, walking slowly down the path.
Shige stares after him for a long time, and just before he disappears from view, he raises his camera and takes one last shot.
It’s not until he makes it home, pops in the memory card into his computer and pulls up the pictures of the man, does he realize he never once thought to ask for his name.
nakame / pg / this gif / 1654 words
Kame likes fanservice. Kame likes to roll his hips, muse up his hair, and run his tongue across his lip. Kame like making the fans scream and scream and scream. It’s a bit of power, that, to do something so completely sensual (sometimes even silly) and make hundreds of girls swoon in synch. It’s fun and it’s so very Kame, and after all these years, it hasn’t once changed.
Nakamaru goes with the flow. Most of the time, he just likes watching Kame slut around, oozing confidence. Nakamaru doesn’t think he could ever do it like Kame does - exuberating this self-assuredness and energy, this carelessness, that it doesn’t matter if he takes something a little too far and it turns from sexy to trying-too-hard. Kame just does it, like it’s second nature. And, usually, it’s hypnotizing.
Nakamaru doesn’t actively seek out moments to be sexy like Kame does. He doesn’t say or do certain things that would make the fans shriek. He’s just sort of in the middle of the spectrum, swinging in either direction given the circumstances.
But when it’s Kame, Nakamaru finds he has to try to hold back, just a little. If it’s Kame leaning in and sliding a hand down his arm, Nakamaru stays stoic and impassive. Maybe he’ll toss a smile at the camera, but he won’t reach for Kame himself, and usually, by the time his brain has caught up to Kame’s antics - Kame’s already moved away and all that’s left is this tingling sensation beneath his skin.
Sometimes he thinks Kame likes to taunt him with it. Leaning up against him, pretending to kiss him, it’s like he does it because he knows Nakamaru won’t react. Because if Nakamaru reacts, then Kame will have to retaliate with something even bigger, and so it’s easy with Nakamaru, to just get in close and give the sense of fanservice without the reciprocation.
Nakamaru entertains reacting. Especially when Kame tries to kiss him again as they film the new PV. With his fluffy, curly hair and bright eyes, he reminds Nakamaru of a little puppy, looking for attention, a little affection, and it could be easy, to just lean in as well and actually kiss him - or simply pretend to. He’s not sure what he would most rather do; both would surely surprise Kame, but maybe there is one slightly more appealing than the other.
He doesn’t though, because the cameras are still rolling and he can feel them on his face, so all he can do is just stare back at Kame resolutely, a little amused. They just laugh afterward, joking about it, but Nakamaru’s heart thuds painfully in his chest for a long time afterward.
The next time it happens, there are thankfully no cameras around. It’s just them in the dressing room, mulling about before a photo shoot, and when Kame starts making kissy faces, Nakamaru has to force himself to look away.
But Kame is persistent and rather annoying when he wants to be. He turns into a little kid, trying to get a rise out of someone, he likes to push boundaries - particularly Nakamaru’s because Nakamaru doesn’t react as willingly as Koki, or as easily as Taguchi. Ueda sort of puts up with Kame when he’s like this, but Nakamaru is different, and Nakamaru’s certain Kame thinks of him as some sort of challenge.
Except this time it gets a little too far, and when their lips actually brush, it feels like Nakamaru has been electrocuted into place, his eyes widening as his brain seems to malfunction.
“Ew,” comes Ueda’s voice, popping the bubble that seemed to have enveloped Nakamaru, and suddenly Kame is backing away, his darting to the floor while a light blush paints his cheeks. “Get a room, you two.”
Nakamaru just coughs behind his hand, feeling the heat in his own cheeks, and his eyes seek out Kame again. Kame is busying himself at the counter, straightening up his makeup, but then he looks up into the mirror and their eyes meet through the glass.
Kame drops whatever is in his hands and Nakamaru looks away quickly, while Ueda groans again and says, “Seriously, just make out already and stop making the rest of us sit through your utter awkwardness.”
“Shut up, Ueda,” Nakamaru huffs, but when he glances at Kame again, his eyes are warm, and his smile makes Nakamaru’s stomach flutter.
Nakamaru doesn’t expect something like that to happen again, but it does, and this time it’s exactly as Kame had asked during the filming that Nakamaru’s not sure he didn’t do it completely on purpose.
Kame gets drunk easily and he turns into a clingy, less put-together version of his usual self. And so it’s normal when he’s practically hanging off Nakamaru’s shoulders as they’re all gathered at Ueda’s place for a night of drinking and relaxing.
When Kame kisses him, really kisses him - not like the time in the dressing room a week ago, but a full on kiss - Nakamaru’s brain malfunctions and all he remembers is Kame asking him What would you do?
But his instincts react before he can really think about it and he’s kissing Kame back, sliding his lips against Kame’s smooth ones. Their tongues meet and Kame gasps as Nakamaru presses in closer, tastes the fruity flavor of the drink he’d had Ueda make.
“I’m going to kick you guys out if you don’t stop,” Ueda’s voice filters through Nakamaru’s clouded mind and he’s tempted to ignore him because, damn if Kame doesn’t feel really, really good, but reluctantly he pulls back and licks his lips.
Kame is staring at him with an expression somewhere between wonder and lust and Nakamaru feels his blood rise in his cheeks. He glances around the room to where Ueda looks a bit repulsed, Koki seems amused (and maybe a little jealous), and Taguchi is just grinning knowingly.
“What?” he snaps, feeling a little like a lab rat being scrutinized. Beside him Kame snuggles closer, and his warmth seeps into Nakamaru’s skin.
“Nothing~” Koki sings and Nakamaru tries his best to glare at them all.
“Took you guys long enough,” is all Taguchi says, still beaming.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nakamaru says, not meeting anyone’s eyes, but smiling when Kame repeats his words in a drunken voice.
They others laugh while Nakamaru looks over at Kame and feels a bit like his heart has suddenly taken flight. Kame just grins at him and says, “I admit, that’s not what I was expecting.”
Nakamaru flushes again and Kame adds before he can sputter a response, “Though it is what I was hoping for.”
Nakamaru’s eyes widen, and his heart is thudding in his ears.
“If you two start getting all mushy, you can leave,” Ueda says.
Kame laughs. “Aw, Uebo, you don’t have to be so jealous,” he teases and Ueda looks sorely tempted to go through with his earlier threat of kicking them out.
“As if,” Ueda returns, rolling his eyes, and as they others start to poke fun at him a bit more, Nakamaru quickly escapes to the kitchen on the pretense of getting some water.
His whole body still feels warm and tingly from the earlier kiss, no matter how short it was. He licks his lips subconsciously and can almost still make out Kame’s taste and hastily pours himself a glass of water, downing the whole thing in one go. The glass clinks against the counter when he sets it down and heaves a deep sigh, and jumps a mile at the hand that grabs his shoulder.
Whirling around he finds Kame standing before him with amused eyes, a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t do that!” Nakamaru hisses. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” Kame says, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Nakamaru says, though he’s not really, mainly because Kame’s hand is still on his shoulder.
“No, I mean, you just ran away like that. Are you really okay?”
Nakamaru nods automatically. “I’m fine, really.” He smiles and makes to move, muttering, “We should probably go back before they get the wrong idea and Ueda really does kick us out and--”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Kame suddenly cuts him off with his mouth. It’s different than their kiss a few minutes ago because Kame is more persistent and Nakamaru is too stunned, but eventually they both seem to relax and create a gentle meeting of lips again and again. Nakamaru leans back against the sink and Kame fits against him perfectly, arms sliding up his back while Nakamaru’s settle with surprising confidence on Kame’s waist.
Kame smiles into the kiss and it makes Nakamaru laugh a little breathlessly, and he’s starting to think he could possibly go on kissing Kame like this forever.
Forever just lasts until the need to breathe, and Kame pulls back first, looking slightly dazed with a blush across his cheekbones. Nakamaru’s not sure what’s appropriate etiquette after making out with one’s band mate, but thankfully Kame seems to understand, stepping back to give them both space.
“So,” Kame says quietly. “This is okay?”
Nakamaru’s a little surprised by Kame’s insecurity; Kame is the most confident person he knows. It calms him down though, knowing that Kame’s feeling the same as him, and he smiles, reaches out to pull Kame close again.
“Yes,” he answers then and Kame grins. “Though you’ll have to stop trying to kiss me on camera now. I probably wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Kame breaks into laughter and nods his promise. He slides his hands back around Nakamaru’s waist and his earlier uncertainty fades into deviousness. “But it’s okay now, right?”
Nakamaru nods quickly. “Definitely,” he replies and meets Kame halfway for another kiss.
Anyway, on to the fic! There will be two posts because one turned into a really long fic, lol. If you read any of them, I hope you enjoy! ♥ :3
ryoshige / g / over you - daughtry / 755 words
There wasn’t anything he could do, in that moment. No words he could say, no other actions to take, than what had already happen. It was futile to change what couldn’t be fixed. These things happen everyday, but Shige never thought it would happen to them.
So it’s all he can do to pack up his things, the things that had accumulated throughout the past few years, and pack up the memories, the moments, the instances of their life together; a shirt that still has the scent of his laundry detergent, the photo Shige had framed after a trip to Disneyland where the smiles on their faces are bright and irrepressible, the camera he’d been eyeing for months that ended up as his birthday present one year. He puts everything into suitcases, each like a piece of this broken heart, and he leaves.
He wishes, just as he hands back the key, pressing it into guitar-calloused palms, that he would be stopped, that he would say just one thing and everything would go back to how it was.
But it doesn’t come, and his fingers tremble as he grips his luggage and looks up to meet the dark eyes he fell in love with for the last time. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look at him like this again.
“Goodbye,” he says, as steadily as he can. His voice still cracks.
Ryo looks so torn, standing there, like he doesn’t know whether to pull Shige into a hug and kiss him senseless (like he had that first time years ago, cornering him in an empty staircase at work and pressing soft lips to his), or simply turn and shut the door in his face. He does neither, and his slight, awkward attempt to reach out to touch him ends up being much more painful. He pulls his hand away at the last second, brushing his fingers through his hair. His eyes are sad, when he flicks his gaze back at Shige’s.
He licks his lips and tries, “Shige, I--”
But Shige isn’t strong enough to hear it, not yet. He’s still carrying the battered, beaten scars of a shredded heart and he can’t hear it, what Ryo has to say. He steps backward, says, “T-Thank you, Ryo. For, for everything.”
He smiles, the most pathetic idol-smile he’s ever given, and he thinks maybe Ryo’s own heart breaks then, the way he looks back at him.
And there is nothing else left to say, in that moment. No way to change what’s happened, to fix what can’t be fixed, and Shige takes a deep breath, and walks away.
Even though he knew it wouldn’t happen, gave up hoping for it long away, it still hurts that Ryo doesn’t come after him.
Now, a year later, Shige has put back together the pieces of his heart. It’s still a fragile entity in his chest, easily wounded and it cracks often, when the tiniest things remind him of what he used to have.
But for the most part he’s better. He can sit here, next to Ryo at a bar, their first time meeting on their own since that awful day. Not that Ryo hasn’t tried; Shige just wasn’t ready. He couldn’t, back then, when he used to step on those scattered shards of his life with Ryo that had laid at his feet.
He could be professional, and at work he put on his fake smile and he was as amiable as he could be, but as soon as the cameras were off, he couldn’t stop the icy facade that molded back across his face.
And now, now he can sit here and ask Ryo how she is, can hear Ryo tell him she’s good, that they’re good, that he loves her in a way he hadn’t loved Shige, that--
“She’s the one, Shige.”
The bandages on his heart fall off just a little. He grips his glass of beer tight in his hand, and he nods, once. What can he do, really, when Ryo sounds so happy? But maybe this is what he needed to hear, to know Ryo really is happy, to see it in his eyes when he glances up at him, see it honest across his face. It mends the wounds in his chest and he relaxes his fingers, takes a drink.
He smiles at Ryo, a real one, the first real smile he’s probably given anyone in a year. “I’m glad,” he says honestly, and he is.
pin / pg-13 / moves like jagger - maroon 5 ft. christina aguliera / 316 words
“You dance like a slut,” Pi remarks, but really it’s comforting that this hasn’t changed in all these years. He watches with amusement as Jin moves his hips to some American song he had put on, eagerly wanting to show Pi.
“Shut up,” Jin says, dragging his hands up his chest, and it’s very distracting. “I have the moves like Jagger, Pi,” he says in English, and then starts crooning along with the song, “I’ve got the moooooves~”
“What the fuck is a Jagger?” Pi demands, but Jin either doesn’t hear him or ignores him, continuing to move along with the song, slinking up to where Pi’s sitting on the couch.
Jin smirks and it’s sexy, his eyes are bright and mischievous and he drags his hands through his dark hair as he rolls his hips in a circle. “Do you like my moves, Pi?” he asks, tilting his head coyly.
“Your what?” Pi says, distracted, and when Jin climbs up onto his lap he sucks in a breath, his hands automatically resting on Jin’s hips.
“Kiss me til you’re drunk,” Jin sings, translating the lyrics into Japanese as he leans in close so his lips are just ghosting against Pi’s. “And I’ll show you all the moves like Jagger~”
“No thanks,” Pi says, rolling his eyes.
Jin pouts, stops rocking his hips against Pi and draws back. “You don’t want to see my moves, Pi?”
“I’ve seen them,” Pi replies. “They aren’t that great.”
Jin slugs him halfheartedly in the arm but when Pi pulls him close, fingers pressing against the back of his neck, Jin gasps. Pi kisses him, hard, tongues dancing together and wet lips sliding against each other, until they’re both panting, breathless.
“I think you like my moves,” Jin says after, and Pi laughs.
“There are other things I like better,” Pi replies and pulls Jin into another kiss.
akame / pg / i got you - leona lewis / 705 words
“Sorry, did I wake you?” Jin questions, his voice slurred, leaning against the doorframe of Kame’s apartment.
“It’s okay,” Kame replies, stepping aside to let Jin in. “You all right?”
Jin nods, stumbling just a little as he slips out of his shoes. He laughs when Kame reaches out to steady him just as he puts a hand to the wall to balance himself. Their eyes meet and Kame drops his hands. “I’m fine,” he says. “Go back to sleep. I just need to crash here.”
“It’s fine, Jin,” Kame says as he shuts the door and locks it, the sound of the latch loud in the air between them. “Come in,” he adds, his feet shuffling on the floor as he heads toward the kitchen. “I’ll get you some water. Sober you up.”
“I’m not drunk,” Jin insists and only Kame’s laughter is his response. He smiles a little, shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and follows Kame to the kitchen. There’s takeout packages on the counter, untouched, and Jin bites his lower lip. Kame doesn’t eat only when he’s too tired to, and Jin eyes the clock on the microwave; 3:48 AM.
“Here,” Kame says, setting a glass onto the counter before Jin.
Jin stares at it. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he mumbles, watching a bead of liquid drip down the side. “You should go to sleep. I’ll leave.”
Kame rolls his eyes. “I told you it’s fine.”
“You only just got home, didn’t you?” Jin counters. “You should be sleeping.”
“You act like this is the first time you’ve come and bothered me when I should be sleeping,” Kame says and he gives Jin an amused smile.
Jin lets out a soft laugh at that, because he’s got a point. “But, it’s, well, the first time since we--” He cuts himself off, not really sure what he’s trying to say, but, like always, Kame understands him completely. That’s probably what Jin misses most; Kame seems to know his every thought like its his own.
“Jin,” he says calmly, a little tiredly, like he can’t believe he has to explain these things. “It’s okay. If that’s what’s bothering you, then drink your water, and go to sleep so I can go to sleep.”
Jin pouts at him for a moment. “But--” he starts, still uncertain, and yelps when Kame flicks him in the forehead.
“Things don’t have to be so awkward just because we broke up,” Kame says easily and Jin gapes a little, because ever since it happened, months ago, they’ve never addressed it, not like this. It’s just been this huge elephant in the room the few times they’ve met since then.
“I’m not being awkward,” Jin says, awkwardly.
Kame laughs. “Yes you are,” he replies, patting Jin’s shoulder as he walks out of the kitchen.
Jin grabs the glass of water and follows quickly. “I’m sorry,” he says, stopping in the entryway of Kame’s bedroom.
Kame climbs into bed, notices Jin hovering in the doorway and waves him in. Jin does, and walks around to get in on what used to be his side. Kame grins at him and Jin looks away, busies himself with downing the glass of water in his hands. Kame wordlessly takes the glass when he’s finished and sets it onto the nightstand beside him.
Jin shucks off his hoodie, tossing it to the floor and sliding under the covers. Kame does as well and Jin instinctively curls closer to him, seeking his warmth. Kame sighs, his fingers reaching up into Jin’s hair, and Jin closes his eyes, content.
“Don’t be sorry,” Kame says, then, so quiet, Jin almost doesn’t hear him. “You don’t have to worry about it, Jin. Just because we broke up, doesn’t mean I suddenly hate you.”
“Even if I come to your apartment at three in the morning and wake you up?” Jin asks, needing to be sure.
“Even then,” Kame confirms, and adds with a tiny laugh, “Though I’ll probably hate you a little.”
Jin smiles, squashing his cheek up against Kame’s shoulder. “Thanks, Kame,” he says and the kiss Kame presses to his hairline still makes Jin’s heart beat faster.
akame / hard r-nc-17 for bloodplay and psycho!kame / please don’t leave me - p!nk / 862 words
The piercing wail makes his heart beat faster. He presses the sharp edge of the knife against the pale skin, watches with amazement as the red beads drip down and sullies it; it’s beautiful.
“Stop.” A whimper, quiet and frightful.
Kame narrows his eyes, looking down from the drops of blood and into wide eyes. Eyes that used to look at Kame with revered respect, admiration, love. Now they burn him and scar him, and he can no longer take that.
“I won’t,” he says, his voice calm, although inside he is seething. “Not until you say it.”
Jin makes a pitiful whining noise in the back of his throat. It soon turns into a frustrated growl as he wrestles against the rope that has his arms pinned up over his head to the barred headboard of Kame’s bed. Kame sits across his legs, holding his weight down, and he watches with amusement as Jin struggles. The cut on his arm continues to drip pearls of blood until the shallow wound clots, and it is fascinating, watching it.
“What is wrong with you?” Jin spits, struggles even more violently, but Kame simply smiles at him.
He brushes his fingers down Jin’s cheek and Jin flinches, turning away so he doesn’t look at him, but Kame won’t have that. He wants Jin to see him, remember him, until Kame is all he thinks about. He turns Jin’s face back to his, fingers pressed tight on his jaw, and Jin’s mouth sets into a hard line, his eyes now are furious instead of scared. Jin’s always looked gorgeous when he’s pissed off, all raw and untameable, and now it’s no different. Kame smiles again, leans in and kisses him, bruising his full, red lips. Jin fights him, and it’s arousing, it wouldn’t really be them without the fight, but Kame forgets this isn’t like all those other times in the beginning when they met again and again, releasing pent up tension and stress in the only way that made sense. This isn’t like the times they cajoled each other just to get a rise out of them, to make it more fun, hotter.
But Jin fights him viciously this time, trying not to give in, and it takes a while for Kame to realize it. He draws back, expression steely, and Jin gasps, “What the fuck, Kamenashi?!”
Just hearing that name makes Kame’s blood boil. He still remembers when Jin would call him Kazuya, all excited, naive, and look at him with big eyes like Kame was the most amazing thing in the world.
He’d give anything to see that look again.
Frowning, Kame reaches out to slide his thumb along the wound on Jin’s arm, pinches it between his fingers Jin howls in pain, clenching his eyes shut, and Kame smirks as he presses his thumb hard against it. Blood drips across his thumb and he pulls it away a few moments later, licks the digit, Jin’s life tangy on his tongue.
Jin peeks open his eyes; they’re wet, scared again. “Why are you doing this?” he breathes.
Kame laughs, brandishes the knife in his hand, leaning in close and pressing the blunt edge against the high of Jin’s cheekbone. “You know why,” he replies. “You know exactly what you need to do to make it stop.” He drags the knife down Jin’s skin and Jin shudders, eyes darting to watch it. His chest heaves with every breath.
“I can’t,” he says, eventually, flicking his gaze back to Kame’s.
A beat. “Then I’ll make you,” Kame returns steadily, and he will.
He pulls the knife away from Jin’s face, ignores Jin’s exhaled breath of relief, and then moves back down Jin’s legs. He pulls Jin’s jeans down his legs roughly, and smirks at the sight of Jin, half-hard in his boxers. He presses his palm against the hardness, rubs at it slowly, drinking in the sight of Jin writhing under his touch, blood bright on his skin, and a similar colored blush creeping up his neck.
Beautiful, Kame thinks, and it’s all his, only his.
The next cut he makes has Jin screaming again, tiny shallow lines along his inner thigh. Drops of red pool against his skin and Kame leans back and watches the color mark Jin like his own personal brand.
“Kame,” Jin whispers again. “Kame, just stop.”
Kame chuckles, looking up from his handiwork to Jin’s face. His eyes are damp, he looks like he’s given up trying to keep the pain hidden from his face. Kame thinks he looks even more gorgeous like this, reaches out to wipe the wetness from the corner of his eyes with his fingers. He trails his fingers across Jin’s cheek again, and Jin merely lets out a shaky breath.
“I won’t,” he says, leaning close so his lips press just barely against Jin’s. “I won’t let you leave, Jin.”
“You can’t just--”
Kame smirks, drawing back and sliding the edge of the knife against Jin’s skin again.
“Watch me,” he says as Jin cries out again, and it is the most glorious sound Kame has ever heard.
nakanishi / g / chasing cars - snow patrol / 774 words
The sheets are warm from the sunlight streaming through the windows. Jin lies across them, right in the middle of the bed, and closes his eyes. The heat from the light feels like someone’s lit a candle underneath him; a soft, slow burn that warms him up from the inside out.
He pillows his head in his palms and sighs contentedly when the door to the bedroom opens.
“What are you doing?” Nakamaru says in a slightly exasperated tone. Jin thinks he sounds like Kame.
“Nothing,” Jin replies with an air of complete innocence.
He’s sure Nakamaru’s rolling his eyes but he doesn’t open his own to check. He continues to lie there, listens to the soft padding of Nakamaru’s feet on the floor, the shuffling of his clothes. He pitters around the room for a few moments, and then stops, his eyes on Jin. Jin can feel it, just as heated as the rays of sunlight from the open shades.
“What,” Jin deadpans, finally peeking his eyes open and finding Nakamaru standing by the foot of his bed.
“Nothing,” Nakamaru replies in the same way Jin had earlier, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward.
Jin closes his eyes again. “You’re weird.”
Nakamaru snorts. “Says the guy who was waiting in front of my apartment for me to get home and then just comes in to lie on my bed,” he returns. “What’re you doing here?”
“Nothing,” Jin answers again and Nakamaru sighs.
Jin feels him eyeing him a little longer and then Nakamaru says, “Stay, then, if you want. But I have to go.”
“Where?” Jin asks instantly, opening his eyes.
“Meeting the others for lunch.” Nakamaru assesses him. “You should come.”
Jin ponders this, for a second. He closes his eyes. “It’s fine, I’ll nap,” he says eventually.
“Jin,” Nakamaru starts but Jin just waves a hand at him dismissively. Nakamaru sighs again and then, after a moment, he walks out the door, leaving it open slightly. Jin hears him bustling quietly around the apartment and then just the barest click of the door opening and shutting before silence.
He sighs, rolls onto his side. He pouts a little at the bed sheets, tries to sleep, shut off his brain, but can’t get comfortable and the light from the window makes it harder. He rolls over to lie on his left, his back to the window, now grumbling, annoyed and maybe a little sad, that Nakamaru had just left him here to go--
He feels the bed dip on the right and his eyes pop open because he never heard anyone come in, and oh my god, had someone broke into Nakamaru’s apartment and--
“Shove over, Jin,” says what is undoubtedly Nakamaru’s voice, half amused, half exasperated yet again, and Jin whips around so fast he gives himself whiplash.
He rubs his neck and whines pitifully while Nakamaru laughs at him, loudly. Jin pouts again before he says, “Lunch over already? Did you guys inhale your food?”
“Very funny,” Nakamaru replies. “No, just...decided I wasn’t hungry, is all.”
Jin stares at him. His eyes are closed and he’s got his head resting in his hands upon the pillow. The sunlight dances across his face.
Jin slowly grins and attacks. Nakamaru yelps as Jin’s arms wrap around him like a limpet and grumbles, “What the hell, Akanishi?”
“Nakamaru loves me~” he sings, and Nakamaru turns a hilarious shade of red.
“What the--I do not!” he exclaims, pushing at Jin until he gives up, sagging against the bed with a heavy sigh, while Jin holds him and buries his face into his shoulder. “I think you’ve gotten even more infuriating since I last saw you. I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve proved me wrong.”
“Admit it, you missed it,” Jin taunts and Nakamaru groans.
“I changed my mind, I’m hungry,” he says and starts to get up, but Jin pulls him back down and says, “No! Stay here, just lie down with me.”
Nakamaru doesn’t say anything, turning to look at Jin who is sprawled a bit across the bed, his arms still holding onto Nakamaru’s waist. Shaking his head, Nakamaru pokes Jin in the forehead and says, “You’re weird,” but he lies down all the same.
Jin rubs his head and says, grinning, “But you love me like that, right?”
“Shut up,” Nakamaru retorts without real bite, and Jin thinks he’ll always like the way embarrassment rises in reds and pinks across Nakamaru’s face.
He smiles and presses closer to his friend, and the heat from Nakamaru’s body is warmer than the sunlight that shines over his face.
ryoshige / au / pg / sparks fly - taylor swift / 792 words
Their first kiss was while they hid from the rain, catching a bit of shelter under an awning to a closed coffee shop. The water sloshed around their feet, loud in their ears, and they stood close together for even a little bit of heat.
Shige wasn’t expecting it, but with Ryo, many things are like that. So maybe, in hindsight, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. But at that moment he was, laughing with Ryo about getting caught in the rain, reprimanding each other for not having an umbrella, and then, just like that, Ryo had kissed him on the sidewalk, pressed up against the door to the shop, all moist lips and wet hair, and cool fingers wrapped around his wrists.
Everything sort of crumbles to the floor whenever Shige is around Ryo. There’s something there, something he doesn’t really understand, but it’s easy to be himself with Ryo, to get angry and happy to extremes, to just say whatever is on his mind. The walls he had built over time come down like a drawstring bridge when they’re together.
It was like that from the first moment they met - Ryo, the famous musician, and Shige, his new manager.
Ryo, then, was nothing like Shige had imagined; everything he’d thought about him and hoped to see had shattered within the first day. Ryo, then, didn’t care about new managers, didn’t care to know who Shige was, or try to be friends. Because Shige was the seventh manager that had come to work for Ryo, and Ryo didn’t see any reason getting used to a new one, when to him, it was obvious Shige was going to leave, anyway.
Shige, back then, could only say so bluntly, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me. So suck it up.”
That was probably what made all the difference; Shige’s words that day, the ones that had made Ryo look so shocked until that brilliant, beautiful laugh broke across his face.
Shige should have run away from him then, because Ryo’s like kryptonite. Ryo, once someone’s been around him, they can’t seem to get away. Maybe in a weird masochistic sense that was Shige’s problem; it was his job to be with Ryo, but he wasn’t his job to go along with Ryo’s recklessness. But Shige found he couldn’t say no - he just followed. Exasperatedly, irritably, curiously, he followed Ryo wherever he wanted to go.
“Come with me, Shige,” he’d say, his eyes lighting up with deviousness, and Shige could never deny him.
The Shige before he met Ryo used to hate these kinds of people; the kind that did whatever they pleased, who seemed to have everything come to them naturally, who made his skin crawl with their arrogance.
Ryo would make Shige’s skin crawl, at times when he was so infuriating Shige would threaten to quit. At those times, Ryo would scoff and say, “Fine, leave. I’m used to it.”
Shige, at those times, just wished Ryo would tell him, “Stay.”
Because, despite Ryo testing Shige’s patience every chance he got, he also made Shige’s skin burn - burn with pleasure and excitement and pride. Ryo, when he finished writing a new song and eagerly made Shige listen to it; when he came down after a performance, grinning with triumph; when he coaxed Shige into rescheduling a meeting just so they could sneak away to the beach for an afternoon.
Ryo was the type of guy Shige told himself never to get involved with. But, before he even knew it - he already was.
Ryo never needed to tell him not to go because Shige always stayed anyway.
Even now Shige can’t find the will to escape. Ryo pulls him in constantly, every second of every day, like two ends of a magnet.
His friends tell him not to give in so easily, that a guy like Ryo will ruin him with his cocky arrogance and his devil-may-care attitude. But Shige sees a different person than the man he met that first day. Now he sees a Ryo that works his hardest, that likes to do things his own way, but with reason, that might be a little lonely because no matter how much he would tell Shige it didn’t matter if he quit, he always looked relieved to see him the next morning.
Now Shige sees a Ryo that likes to pull him into storage rooms and kiss him senseless, a Ryo that likes to act spoiled because he knows Shige will always give him anything, a Ryo that is so wrong for him and yet so right, with his beautiful voice and his heartfelt music, and his smiles that make Shige feel as though sparks are flying.
ryoshige / pg-13 / wake up call - maroon 5 / 524 words
The gun that Shige knows Ryo always keeps loaded is missing one shot.
“What did you do?” Shige questions, his voice high and worried. He’d been gone for twenty minutes, far too long, that Shige had been able to strip the bed of any evidence and started a new load in the washer.
Ryo locks the door behind him. His eyes are black and expressionless. He pulls Shige close, into a hug that feels cold instead of warm, and seems to crush Shige’s bones in his body.
“Don’t worry,” Ryo says in a light voice. He holds Shige closer; it’s a little hard to breathe. “Don’t worry,” he repeats, and his fingers stroke Shige’s hair. “It’s okay. He’s gone. He’s not going to get in the way again.”
Shige’s heart beats like the thumping of a hundred elephants. He curls his fingers into the waist of Ryo’s shirt. “What...what are you talking about?”
“I forgive you,” Ryo says softly and the nervousness in Shige’s stomach fades back into guilt. He clutches Ryo tighter and lets out a shuddering sob of relief when Ryo repeats, “I forgive you.”
When he looks up, the eyes he sees are not the ones of the man he’d met at the bar that night; they’re Ryo’s eyes - Ryo’s eyes staring at him from the doorway, wide for a second before they narrow into hardness and Shige’s breath dies in his throat.
“Ryo,” Shige gasps, scrambling out from beneath the other man - he can’t even remember his name - and pushing him away, reaching for something to hide the fact that he’s half out of his clothes, that they both are, that--
“Ryo, wait, I-I can explain,” Shige says hysterically. Ryo still hasn’t moved from the doorway, but Shige can see his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.
“Shige,” the man says from beside him, looking quite positively annoyed, and Shige’s heart skids to a stop as he glances at him. “Who is this?”
And that seems to be all the more Ryo can take, stomping into the room and grabbing the guy out from the bed.
“Ryo, wait!” Shige exclaims, rushing over to stop Ryo from inducing any harm.
Ryo just pushes Shige back against the bed and says, “Stay,” in such a dangerous voice that Shige doesn’t even think to contradict him.
Instead he just watches Ryo haul the man - his name was Yuujiro, Shige remembers belatedly - out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
The man has a beautiful smile; it reminds Shige a little of Ryo, sharp and bright, lighting up his eyes. He buys Shige a drink, and another. His name is Yuujiro, and he works at a bank. His hand is warm against the small of Shige’s back.
Ryo’s gone; he’s in Osaka, working with Kanjani8. He’s been gone for a week and is not supposed to be back for another. Even then, Shige’s not sure if he will be back. He shrapnel of their last argument lies heavy in his heart.
When Yuujiro offers to take Shige home that night, Shige doesn’t turn him away.
ryoshige / au / g / this photo / 1245 words
He holds the camera in his hands like it’s an extension of himself, soft and light beneath his fingertips. He remembers when it used to feel so heavy, so bulky and foreign. Now it’s like it molds to his skin, reassuring as he peers through the viewfinder and snaps a shot.
The sun is high in the sky, but it’s hidden behind seemingly motionless grey clouds. The air smells like humidity and rain and coffee from the shop across the street. It’s comforting and he breathes it in.
He lowers his camera, lets it hang around his neck and shoulders his backpack more comfortably before heading into the open park. The trees are tall and full above his head as he walks along a winding path that makes a scuffing noise against the soles of his shoes.
It’s mostly quiet. The rush and screech of cars that make up Tokyo are ceaseless, but walking along the park it’s like another world. Peaceful and relaxing, with only a few other people in the vicinity. An elderly couple sits on a bench on the sidewalk; the man reads the newspaper while the woman seems to be stitching up an old garment. A young child cries in his mother’s arms, his knee scraped and red. A teenager in a school uniform lies across the grass, his head pillowed on his schoolbag, and his eyes closed blissfully despite skipping class.
Shige takes a shot of all three scenes, discreet and quick. He has done this for so long it’s like second nature. The shutter goes off and he moves on.
What catches his attention most is not the sunlight streaming through the leaves, or the single leaf floating in a tiny puddle just off the sidewalk (though he does stop to capture pictures of both), it’s the sudden quiet plucking of guitar strings, pelting through the silence like sharp bullets.
Shige walks a little faster, heading further into the park until he comes to a stop, his shoes skidding against the pavement.
On a bench a few feet away, almost hidden by the too-low branches of a slightly curved tree, sits a man with a beaten looking guitar over his crossed legs. His head is bowed, and his fingers slide over the strings with the experience of an expert. The melody is light but wistful, and it melts into the air around Shige, like another layer of the atmosphere.
He stands in his spot and listens, makes no move to get closer, to ruin the moment. He doesn’t want the man to stop. His guitar case is closed and leaning against the arm of the bench. He’s wearing a dark shirt, stylish faded jeans, and worn out sneakers. A long gold necklace with a cross hangs around his neck.
And before he realizes it, he’s staring at the man through the camera, stepping back quietly, shifting the camera to the side, changing the angle and - there.
The whish of the shutter goes off and when he looks again, the man is staring right back at him.
Startled, Shige quickly lowers his camera. The man has stopped playing and the silence is deafening in his ears.
“Was the picture of me, just now?” the man asks then, and he doesn’t sound cross, just curious.
Shige shuffles a bit awkwardly. He nods. “I’m sorry. I can delete it if you--” he starts but then the man just shrugs and starts to play again. It instantly calms Shige’s nerves.
“Do what you want,” the man tells him indifferently and Shige stares.
The man’s attitude feels 180 degrees from the beauty of his music and Shige feels a twinge of disappointment. But he pushes that aside, squares his shoulders and takes a step forward. The man’s eyes flick up at him before dropping down to his fingers, and Shige says, “What you were playing before. It was really good.”
The man looks back up at him but doesn’t stop playing. It’s a different song, a little lower, sadder, but just as beautiful. He stares at Shige with dark, unfathomable eyes behind his equally dark hair. “Of course it was,” he says and gives Shige the tiniest hint of a smirk.
Shige finds himself grinning; the man’s cocky demeanor seems to match him, despite the music he plays. He tilts his head a bit and assesses him further, takes in the way he seems completely in his own world, playing the guitar so naturally as though it is an extension of his body.
Gathering a bit of courage, Shige raises his camera again and looks through the lenses. He focuses in on the man’s hands along the guitar and takes another photo. The man continues to play undaunted, and Shige quietly sweeps the camera up to the man’s face, eyes closed and lips in a small smile, and lets the shutter snap once more.
He gets two more shots before the man stops playing and looks back up at Shige. “Don’t you have enough?” he questions, but he still doesn’t sound angry.
“You said I could do what I wanted,” Shige replies. He’s not sure what it is but he doesn’t quite want to leave yet. He likes the photos he’s gotten, but he’s looking for a bit more. He feels like he hasn’t captured this man as fully as he comes across Shige’s eyes in person.
The man’s eyes narrow now and he seems to be really looking at Shige for the first time. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school or something at this time?”
Shige feels slightly affronted. “I’m not a student,” he replies waspishly; he’s usually told he looks older than he is and definitely hasn’t ever been mistaken for a student in years. “I’m twenty-seven. I’m a professional photographer.”
The man looks only slightly surprised. “Twenty-seven, huh? You’re not much younger than me, then,” he says, but doesn’t disclose his own age. He does stop playing though, and stretches his arms up over his head with a deep sigh. When he drops them, his face breaks into a bright, startling smile.
It’s gone before Shige can react, can lift up his camera and take the shot, to keep it as a memento of his man and his striking music, nevermind that he already has five. The man is standing up, pulling his guitar case over. The silver latches snap open and he slides the guitar inside carefully before shutting it.
“Done already?” Shige finds himself asking. It feels like the rest of the world is slowly refocusing around him, having faded into the background behind his man’s persona and his music that continues to play on in Shige’s ears.
“Yup,” the man replies easily. “Places to go. People to see.” He smiles again, lighting up his eyes, and Shige has to take a step back because his it feels as though his heart has grown wings and is fluttering like a trapped bird within his ribcage.
The man lifts a hand in a silent goodbye before he takes off the way Shige had come, walking slowly down the path.
Shige stares after him for a long time, and just before he disappears from view, he raises his camera and takes one last shot.
It’s not until he makes it home, pops in the memory card into his computer and pulls up the pictures of the man, does he realize he never once thought to ask for his name.
nakame / pg / this gif / 1654 words
Kame likes fanservice. Kame likes to roll his hips, muse up his hair, and run his tongue across his lip. Kame like making the fans scream and scream and scream. It’s a bit of power, that, to do something so completely sensual (sometimes even silly) and make hundreds of girls swoon in synch. It’s fun and it’s so very Kame, and after all these years, it hasn’t once changed.
Nakamaru goes with the flow. Most of the time, he just likes watching Kame slut around, oozing confidence. Nakamaru doesn’t think he could ever do it like Kame does - exuberating this self-assuredness and energy, this carelessness, that it doesn’t matter if he takes something a little too far and it turns from sexy to trying-too-hard. Kame just does it, like it’s second nature. And, usually, it’s hypnotizing.
Nakamaru doesn’t actively seek out moments to be sexy like Kame does. He doesn’t say or do certain things that would make the fans shriek. He’s just sort of in the middle of the spectrum, swinging in either direction given the circumstances.
But when it’s Kame, Nakamaru finds he has to try to hold back, just a little. If it’s Kame leaning in and sliding a hand down his arm, Nakamaru stays stoic and impassive. Maybe he’ll toss a smile at the camera, but he won’t reach for Kame himself, and usually, by the time his brain has caught up to Kame’s antics - Kame’s already moved away and all that’s left is this tingling sensation beneath his skin.
Sometimes he thinks Kame likes to taunt him with it. Leaning up against him, pretending to kiss him, it’s like he does it because he knows Nakamaru won’t react. Because if Nakamaru reacts, then Kame will have to retaliate with something even bigger, and so it’s easy with Nakamaru, to just get in close and give the sense of fanservice without the reciprocation.
Nakamaru entertains reacting. Especially when Kame tries to kiss him again as they film the new PV. With his fluffy, curly hair and bright eyes, he reminds Nakamaru of a little puppy, looking for attention, a little affection, and it could be easy, to just lean in as well and actually kiss him - or simply pretend to. He’s not sure what he would most rather do; both would surely surprise Kame, but maybe there is one slightly more appealing than the other.
He doesn’t though, because the cameras are still rolling and he can feel them on his face, so all he can do is just stare back at Kame resolutely, a little amused. They just laugh afterward, joking about it, but Nakamaru’s heart thuds painfully in his chest for a long time afterward.
The next time it happens, there are thankfully no cameras around. It’s just them in the dressing room, mulling about before a photo shoot, and when Kame starts making kissy faces, Nakamaru has to force himself to look away.
But Kame is persistent and rather annoying when he wants to be. He turns into a little kid, trying to get a rise out of someone, he likes to push boundaries - particularly Nakamaru’s because Nakamaru doesn’t react as willingly as Koki, or as easily as Taguchi. Ueda sort of puts up with Kame when he’s like this, but Nakamaru is different, and Nakamaru’s certain Kame thinks of him as some sort of challenge.
Except this time it gets a little too far, and when their lips actually brush, it feels like Nakamaru has been electrocuted into place, his eyes widening as his brain seems to malfunction.
“Ew,” comes Ueda’s voice, popping the bubble that seemed to have enveloped Nakamaru, and suddenly Kame is backing away, his darting to the floor while a light blush paints his cheeks. “Get a room, you two.”
Nakamaru just coughs behind his hand, feeling the heat in his own cheeks, and his eyes seek out Kame again. Kame is busying himself at the counter, straightening up his makeup, but then he looks up into the mirror and their eyes meet through the glass.
Kame drops whatever is in his hands and Nakamaru looks away quickly, while Ueda groans again and says, “Seriously, just make out already and stop making the rest of us sit through your utter awkwardness.”
“Shut up, Ueda,” Nakamaru huffs, but when he glances at Kame again, his eyes are warm, and his smile makes Nakamaru’s stomach flutter.
Nakamaru doesn’t expect something like that to happen again, but it does, and this time it’s exactly as Kame had asked during the filming that Nakamaru’s not sure he didn’t do it completely on purpose.
Kame gets drunk easily and he turns into a clingy, less put-together version of his usual self. And so it’s normal when he’s practically hanging off Nakamaru’s shoulders as they’re all gathered at Ueda’s place for a night of drinking and relaxing.
When Kame kisses him, really kisses him - not like the time in the dressing room a week ago, but a full on kiss - Nakamaru’s brain malfunctions and all he remembers is Kame asking him What would you do?
But his instincts react before he can really think about it and he’s kissing Kame back, sliding his lips against Kame’s smooth ones. Their tongues meet and Kame gasps as Nakamaru presses in closer, tastes the fruity flavor of the drink he’d had Ueda make.
“I’m going to kick you guys out if you don’t stop,” Ueda’s voice filters through Nakamaru’s clouded mind and he’s tempted to ignore him because, damn if Kame doesn’t feel really, really good, but reluctantly he pulls back and licks his lips.
Kame is staring at him with an expression somewhere between wonder and lust and Nakamaru feels his blood rise in his cheeks. He glances around the room to where Ueda looks a bit repulsed, Koki seems amused (and maybe a little jealous), and Taguchi is just grinning knowingly.
“What?” he snaps, feeling a little like a lab rat being scrutinized. Beside him Kame snuggles closer, and his warmth seeps into Nakamaru’s skin.
“Nothing~” Koki sings and Nakamaru tries his best to glare at them all.
“Took you guys long enough,” is all Taguchi says, still beaming.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nakamaru says, not meeting anyone’s eyes, but smiling when Kame repeats his words in a drunken voice.
They others laugh while Nakamaru looks over at Kame and feels a bit like his heart has suddenly taken flight. Kame just grins at him and says, “I admit, that’s not what I was expecting.”
Nakamaru flushes again and Kame adds before he can sputter a response, “Though it is what I was hoping for.”
Nakamaru’s eyes widen, and his heart is thudding in his ears.
“If you two start getting all mushy, you can leave,” Ueda says.
Kame laughs. “Aw, Uebo, you don’t have to be so jealous,” he teases and Ueda looks sorely tempted to go through with his earlier threat of kicking them out.
“As if,” Ueda returns, rolling his eyes, and as they others start to poke fun at him a bit more, Nakamaru quickly escapes to the kitchen on the pretense of getting some water.
His whole body still feels warm and tingly from the earlier kiss, no matter how short it was. He licks his lips subconsciously and can almost still make out Kame’s taste and hastily pours himself a glass of water, downing the whole thing in one go. The glass clinks against the counter when he sets it down and heaves a deep sigh, and jumps a mile at the hand that grabs his shoulder.
Whirling around he finds Kame standing before him with amused eyes, a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t do that!” Nakamaru hisses. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” Kame says, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Nakamaru says, though he’s not really, mainly because Kame’s hand is still on his shoulder.
“No, I mean, you just ran away like that. Are you really okay?”
Nakamaru nods automatically. “I’m fine, really.” He smiles and makes to move, muttering, “We should probably go back before they get the wrong idea and Ueda really does kick us out and--”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Kame suddenly cuts him off with his mouth. It’s different than their kiss a few minutes ago because Kame is more persistent and Nakamaru is too stunned, but eventually they both seem to relax and create a gentle meeting of lips again and again. Nakamaru leans back against the sink and Kame fits against him perfectly, arms sliding up his back while Nakamaru’s settle with surprising confidence on Kame’s waist.
Kame smiles into the kiss and it makes Nakamaru laugh a little breathlessly, and he’s starting to think he could possibly go on kissing Kame like this forever.
Forever just lasts until the need to breathe, and Kame pulls back first, looking slightly dazed with a blush across his cheekbones. Nakamaru’s not sure what’s appropriate etiquette after making out with one’s band mate, but thankfully Kame seems to understand, stepping back to give them both space.
“So,” Kame says quietly. “This is okay?”
Nakamaru’s a little surprised by Kame’s insecurity; Kame is the most confident person he knows. It calms him down though, knowing that Kame’s feeling the same as him, and he smiles, reaches out to pull Kame close again.
“Yes,” he answers then and Kame grins. “Though you’ll have to stop trying to kiss me on camera now. I probably wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Kame breaks into laughter and nods his promise. He slides his hands back around Nakamaru’s waist and his earlier uncertainty fades into deviousness. “But it’s okay now, right?”
Nakamaru nods quickly. “Definitely,” he replies and meets Kame halfway for another kiss.