The Beast And The Fairy -- 05. Misty Blue
Title: The Beast And The Fairy -- Chapter 05. Misty Blue
Authors: sphinxofthenile and
Fandom: Buck-Tick, Der Zibet
Pairing: Atsushi/Issay... eventually.
Rating: NC17 altogether, though we're far away from porn.
Disclaimer: Do not own. Make no money. Mean no harm.
Summary: "I cannot give you the formula for success, but I can give you the formula for failure, which is: Try to please everybody." ~ Herbert Bayard Swope
Warning: A decade of UST. Adult topics like marriage, cheating, prostitution, coming out, mental disorders, drinking problems, abuse, parental issues and death.
A/N: Credits can be seen, in their entirety, here. Huuuuge, huge thanks to chibipinkbunny for going through this for us!
Romance lies gently at the tips of my fingernails, when I hold you
I knew it was an illusion that we could be like this forever, and it soon disppeared
Sakurai Atsushi, Misty Blue
---
Tokyo, August 1989
“So, how is the shooting going?” Issay asked over his sandwich. And that was a sight to be admired, for more reasons than just one. Here the man was, in Atsushi’s kitchen, eating a sandwich Atsushi had quickly assembled (for himself, no less, but not like he was about to reveal that fact to Issay anytime soon), while fully dressed for a black tie event, bow tie and everything.
“Not so good,” Atsushi decided to be honest. Because that was the truth, of course. “The guys just aren’t in the mood, and who’d blame them?” Besides, they all thought Atsushi was insane after he’d presented them with the final draft of one of the songs, but Issay didn’t need to know that fact, now did he?
“Well, another evening of debauchery, and we might just oil up that poetic engine of yours,” Issay said, and Atsushi was very glad suddenly that he wasn’t eating or drinking because he was afraid of ruining that pretty shirt of his.
And to think that, six months ago, he wouldn’t think of owning a single suit... Thanks to Issay, dressing up and black tie events became common in Atsushi’s life, and it wasn’t like Atsushi was complaining or anything.
He couldn’t believe that before meeting Issay, he never even had any idea about such things existing, let alone how marvellous they were. Of course, followed by the constant commentary of a certain very eloquent and very intelligent (and, gods, very beautiful) man, who had no problems whatsoever sharing all the dirty things about pretty much anything.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll love Carmen,” Issay added and Atsushi shrugged. He had no idea, honestly. Mostly because he trusted Issay’s judgement and almost never double checked anything. If Issay invited him, it would be good, that was the general consensus. And besides, Atsushi doubted he would have liked the opera any less (or more) if he knew some extra details about it. “It’s definitely down your frilly alley.”
“Thanks,” Atsushi said rather dryly, trying to focus on his tie for a change. Instead of a man in his kitchen making him have very obscene thoughts. Not that there was much space between the bedroom and the kitchen. Atsushi hadn’t rented this apartment because it was spacious, but simply because it was close to the rest of the guys and didn’t leak when it rained.
Then he heard Issay chuckle. “Oh, how did that go?” he teased, swallowing what seemed to be the last bite of the sandwich, as he wiped his hands into the paper napkin. “Oh, I remember!” he added, getting up from his chair and, the bastard, taking up one of those stereotypically singing poses that Naomi would have surely smacked him over the head for. And he would have deserved it. “In a red, spreading flower bud, hotly...” the man started singing, and Atsushi felt his cheeks burn that very second.
“You are insane,” he said, hiding his face under his hair. At least it proved good for something. But the way this was going, Atsushi wasn’t going to finish that tie in the next half an hour.
Thank god, Issay decided to stop and, with a grin (that was, again, doing things to Atsushi’s head), he walked across the room, closing the distance between the two. “Let me,” he offered in a whisper, and Atsushi couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.
For some weird reason, Issay tended to sometimes freeze him on the spot. And Atsushi still couldn’t figure out why. He doubted his little star crush could explain everything at this point, considering all this time they kept on spending together, but Atsushi refused to self-analyse. Because he wasn’t crazy and this was going to pass eventually, of course.
“There, all pretty,” Issay offered, looking at Atsushi from under his eyebrows, and thank god for that layer of hair because it surely offered some level of protection against those eyes. “And I promise not to mock you for the rest of the evening,” Issay added and Atsushi managed to snort. “So, have you at least decided on the number of songs?” the man asked, his tone now casual, and at least it lowered the temperature in the room a bit.
“We think we can scrap out eight from the stuff we already have,” Atsushi said. Issay chuckled.
“Sounds good. Unless that precious snowflake ends up in jail, I mean,” he added, grabbing his jacket, and Atsushi found himself having to once again run after Issay like some sort of an over-excited puppy. Not exactly an image Atsushi wanted to have of himself.
---
“Okay, that was fun,” Atsushi said, unable to take the grin off his face.
“What did I tell you?” Issay teased with mock cynicism. Granted, cynicism was good, but that little smile escaping his lips was giving everything away. “Just frilly enough for you.”
“Screw you,” Atsushi snapped, still grinning. Two months ago, he would have bitten his right arm off before talking back at Issay, but after all the time they spent together, it just seemed... normal. “It’s a very complicated story. It’s awesome.”
“Please...” Issay rolled his eyes. “One cliché after another. But like I said...”
Atsushi grinned, not bothered in the least with Issay’s words. The man was just being mean for the fun of it. “So, a story of a promiscuous woman refusing to conform to the societal norms is cliché nowadays?”
“Yes, when it ends with her death, it is,” Issay butted in, leaning back in his chair as their waitress finally appeared with their coffees. He remained quiet through the entire ordeal, deciding to speak only once the woman was gone. “Faust, on the other hand...”
“Oh, you mean poor old workaholic who sells his soul to the devil just to get laid?” Atsushi deadpanned and Issay burst out laughing so loud a few people looked their way. Suddenly, Atsushi found himself under scrutiny of that gaze, and he felt his cheeks flush.
“That story has everything -- the fall of man, decay of morals, betrayal. And porn,” Issay added, and so much about Atsushi’s cheeks flushing earlier. “Carmen, on the other hand... It’s just a dumb fairytale for children. With added frills, of course.”
“And what frills,” Atsushi teased, taking a sip of his coffee. And damn but this was good. Good coffee and even better company. Despite the fact that it was way past midnight, Atsushi couldn’t care. He’d taken the night off just because of the opera (of course, not that the guys had any idea about that one), and he was going to be able to sleep the entire day before having to appear in the studio.
“Indeed, if there’s one thing the opera did good, it’s making her leave with style,” Issay said, and this got Atsushi’s attention.
“Sorry?”
“Oh, right.” Issay chuckled. “In the book, José just stabbed her. There was no bull ring or anything. Just a jealous guy finding out his wife was screwing around.”
“I like this better,” Atsushi said, shrugging.
“Like I said -- frilly and with style,” Issay teased. “But yes, I agree. And I’ve been thinking...” he added.
“Hm?” Atsushi urged, curious with the sudden change in Issay’s expression.
“How do you plan on celebrating Imai’s release?” Issay asked.
Atsushi snorted. “Good god, aren’t we hopeful?”
“Oh, come on, it’s just drugs. What are they going to do? Lock him up?”
“Kind of?” Atsushi offered. Not like they hadn’t already. The man had left the rehab last weekend, anyway.
“With the publicity this has caused so far, I don’t think any judge would want to bring that wrath upon them. Hell, look at the number of fans still supporting you. I’d do something to thank them, you know?”
“Like?”
“A concert?” Issay tried, fiddling with his sugar packet, before he opened it up and poured its contents into his almost half emptied cup.
“And if they lock him up?” Atsushi asked.
“Then you can always leave in style, eh? Frilly,” Issay teased, grinning.
“Like Carmen?” Atsushi chuckled.
“Sure.” Issay shrugged. “Say, want to drop by my place?”
“Why?” Atsushi asked and Issay chuckled in that adorable, almost embarrassed way.
“I’m almost positive I have the novella at home, and I’m evil enough to give you some homework for the weekend,” he teased.
“Oh, so you’re my teacher now?”
“If I were your teacher, we wouldn’t be here right now,” Issay blurted out, but he looked a tad guilty the moment the words came out of his mouth.
“And where would we be?” Atsushi decided to be bold this time, for reasons he couldn’t explain to himself.
“At my place,” Issay offered with another chuckle, obviously deciding to turn it all into a joke. And then he got up from his chair. “Finish up your coffee,” he said with a smile, and took off towards the men’s room.
---
Atsushi was adorable. While Carmen definitely wasn’t one of Issay’s favourite operas, the way Atsushi managed to talk about it non-stop during the entire car ride was... well, adorable. No reason for further eloquence there.
It was dumb, and full of clichés, and then it was morbid, had awesome plot twists, the singers were amazing, and the orchestra was fascinating, and... Before they knew it, Issay was already parking by his building, pulling the keys out of the ignition, and pondering whether there were going to be any good Mozart performances around here soon.
If Atsushi wanted a piece that sacrificed depth for technique, then Issay was more than happy to provide.
And again, once they entered Issay’s apartment, Atsushi was back to being horribly cute. “Um, wow...” he said, looking around the living room once they had taken their shoes and coats off. Issay just had to chuckle. Granted, he was used to the decorum but it had completely slipped his mind that Atsushi, on the other hand, didn’t expect this surely. “Porn? On the walls? I’m impressed.”
Issay laughed loudly. “That’s Félicien Rops*. And yes, his contemporaries unfortunately thought the same,” he explained and Atsushi grinned, obviously not exactly buying it. “With a few exceptions.” He leaned closer, and Atsushi obviously needed a few moments, rather startled with someone entering his personal space. “Charles Baudelaire being one of them,” Issay added in a low voice, and Atsushi’s grin was back on his face.
“Is that a polite way of reminding me that I still owe you the book?” the man asked, chuckling.
“Oh, by all means, take it,” Issay said, sliding onto one of his armchairs. “Consider it a gift. You like, I presume?”
“If you only knew...” Atsushi said, snorting.
“Oh?” Issay urged, crossing one of his legs over the other and lacing his fingers over the knee. “I’m a very curious man, you know?”
“Remember me mentioning how there’s pretty much one song so far that we could claim is finished? Well, kind of. Sort of...” Atsushi added, looking a tad embarrassed. “You’d never believe how I called it.”
“All ears,” Issay purred. Granted, he was pretty sure where this was heading, but still, Atsushi was cute just standing there, looking so ridiculously embarrassed.
“Flowers of Evil,” Atsushi eventually whispered and Issay chuckled.
“Oh, the power of corruption,” Issay said and Atsushi’s smile grew a fraction. “Anything specific, or?”
“Not exactly. I just... liked the feel of it.”
“You do know, you’re free to sit down,” Issay offered, pointing to the other armchair, but gods, did Atsushi look uncomfortable. Then Issay decided to smile once more and point to one of the numerous paintings on the walls. Well, reproductions, because he wasn’t the richest person in the universe right now to be able to afford everything that caught his eye for more than a second.
And no, he didn’t accidentally glance at Atsushi just thinking that.
“Familiar?” he asked, and Atsushi burst out laughing the moment his eyes landed on ‘In the Wings’**.
“And to think I spent the whole evening defending a Spanish Gypsy. But I still do like her better,” the man added then, finally making himself more comfortable in the armchair. “No offense, I hope.”
“None taken,” Issay said, smiling. “I see no reason why we should apologise for our tastes and affinities.” And gods, if Atsushi only knew one tenth of that... his head would have popped, indeed.
Issay had to mentally slap himself a few times just to get his head out of the gutter. Roughed up street thug look was a good look on him, but the suit was indeed a killer. Atsushi really did clean up nicely.
And damn, did Issay want that. So bad.
---
“Can you just imagine? That sort of high singing was even named after her. Galli-Marié parts. Nowadays they are sung by sopranos, by the way.” Issay spun around, arm in a sweeping gesture as if on an imaginary stage. How was so much grace even humanly possible? Atsushi would never know. “Such unique singing it gets named after you.”
“So, is that what you want?” Atsushi allowed himself with a grin. Teasing Issay was fun. And it made him laugh in that beautiful way of his.
“Me? Gods, no!” The man finally waltzed over to the nearby armchair, practically dropping down into it, the smile still on his lips. “No matter what Naomi might say, I’m not that much of an egomaniac. Besides, I was born a few centuries too late for that. Call it bad luck.”
“You’re impossible.” Atsushi chuckled, trying to stifle a yawn that suddenly threatened to surface and failing. “Holy, what time is it, anyway?”
“Half past two. I’m so sorry to have kept you.” Issay looked so apologetic, Atsushi just wanted to chuckle, but he didn’t want to insult him.
“Oh, please, you really should’ve kicked me out ages ago,” Atsushi said. Issay just grinned. “I should... check the trains,” he said, getting up from his chair, but Issay just shook his head.
“I assure you, that would be futile. I mean, you’re free to try, but good luck getting anywhere decent in under two hours.” He grinned then, nodding towards that open and almost empty wine bottle still standing on the table, reminding Atsushi just how much wine he’d had. No wonder Issay’s cheeks were flushed red. “I’m definitely not driving you anywhere, sorry. But I do have a guest room.”
“I couldn’t--” Atsushi started, but Issay just shook his head once more.
“I’m not going to live with the knowledge of such an aspiring young star bleeding out in some god forsaken street corner because I refused to accommodate him for the night,” the man said, pulling himself out of his seat a bit more slowly than he should have. Sober, at least. “Stay here. I'll go search for the linens.”
“Yes, sir.” Atsushi actually made a mock salute, but god forbid if he actually obeyed once in his life. For some weird reason (drunkenness, most likely), his eyes, which had been following Issay on his way out of the room (because he was moving and Atsushi was somewhat drunk, and the fact that Issay looked so damned nice in that suit, and definitely from behind, had nothing to do with it, of course), ended up stranded at one of the bookshelves, which he hadn’t paid much heed to earlier. And stupidly enough, he had no idea why.
Granted, he did have his very own pillar of knowledge sitting opposite him and talking about all the fun things that Atsushi felt so guilty missing out on for having to quit school. For thinking books are nothing but a waste of paper his teachers used to make his life miserable. Such a shame indeed.
But now that the man was gone, Atsushi decided to be bold enough and actually check a few titles.
He had to say, he was rather surprised seeing a hefty number of books both in French and in English, neither of which Atsushi could use. Well, thanks to Naomi, and numerous training sessions with Issay, he could now sing English good enough not to make a fool out of himself, but that didn’t help in actually understanding it.
French, on the other hand, was a complete mystery. Besides the fact that Issay loved it, for one reason or the other. And that it sounded shamelessly beautiful in melody. Beautiful.
But he didn’t have trouble with the Japanese, of course, and he actually smiled upon spotting another copy of the Flowers, hand instantly flying onto the book to pull it out. His eyes scanned the pages a few times, the poems mixed with sketches reminiscent of the ones he’d seen on Issay’s walls. Being drunk, he got so lost in the book that upon hearing Issay's voice, he was so startled that he snapped it shut.
“At one point, Rops said something down the line of...” Issay started, approaching Atsushi, and suddenly Atsushi found himself just too damned close to that man. Alcohol and those smiles Issay made should never be mixed. “I know very well that I would be better off living normally, better off keeping to the straight and narrow,” Issay continued, leaning close, so close Atsushi felt like stepping back, but all the man did was take the book out of Atsushi’s hands. “I know that I do not have enough respect for the law,” he opened the book, sliding over a few pages until his lips spread into a smile, “‘I am as scatterbrained as a mayfly... but I am happy and almost proud of being like this and not otherwise.” Issay chuckled, placing the book back in Atsushi’s hand. “And I hope that this surpasses the boundaries of decent insanity,” he finished eventually, one of those long, lean fingers stubbing the page before he pulled away. “My favourite,” he added, and Atsushi finally managed to pull his eyes away from that face, looking down.***
Atsushi forced a chuckle, hoping to gods his hands weren’t shaking, because there was something so tense in the air here, he was afraid of suffocating. “My youth has been nothing but a tenebrous storm,” he started reading the words that for some reason seemed so hard to pronounce, but Atsushi was at least trying. “Pierced now and then by rays of brilliant sunshine.”****
“Pour rassembler à neuf les terres inondées,” Issay continued in perfect French. Or, at least it sounded so to Atsushi. “Où l’eu creuse des trous grands comme des tombeaux.”*****
“Wow...” Atsushi blurted out, feeling so out of place and embarrassed once Issay shot him that shy, little smile, his cheeks turning just a shade darker. “Didn’t know you spoke French...”
“I guess you don’t know many things about me, hm?” the man teased. True, Atsushi thought, but refused to let the words come out.
But for some strange reason, he obviously knew enough about the man to end up in the same room with him, and eventually bed too. It was a slow progression though, discussing one poem, then another, then the third, grabbing another bottle of wine before Issay shooed Atsushi to the guest room so he could choose his pillows and all. Five minutes later, and they were nicely relaxed there, Issay half seated and leaning against the headboard, while Atsushi squeezed two pillows under his head, at the bottom of the bed.
And Issay had most of these poems memorised. For some recital, as he’d said, for graduation. And he never allowed himself to forget them. It was almost surreal, lying there in such comfort that only a tiring day topped with alcohol could produce, and just listening to Issay turn those old words into music and passion while they passed the bottle between them.
“You really were born in the wrong century,” Atsushi broke the lazy, sleepy silence that somehow covered them like a very thick blanket. In all honesty, Atsushi would have been more than happy to just close his eyes and doze off, but there was this voice at the back of his mind telling him how unique of an opportunity this was. Who knows, maybe they’d never have such a moment again in their lives. Stupid, depressing thoughts, but Atsushi didn’t care. Staring at the ceiling and grinning was good. Always.
“Hell, no,” Issay droned lazily, trying to laugh, but he seemed too slow for that. “Then I would have been a social outcast fighting for breadcrumbs, and now I’m rich and famous and with company that is indeed a definite improvement in the bedroom decorum,” he said, patting Atsushi’s thigh a few times lazily. Normally, Atsushi would have felt so awfully self-conscious, but he was drunk beyond that. “Granted, cheap absinthe would have been nice.” Issay fell into a fit of giggles, which were so incredibly infectious Atsushi didn’t even bother fighting against them.
“Absinthe?” he did ask after what seemed like hours, but was most likely minutes. “What’s that?” There was no reply. “Issay?” Atsushi tried, and waited for a few more minutes before he pulled himself slightly up to see what was wrong with Issay.
Nothing wrong, definitely, nothing wrong in this world. The man was just sleeping and, drunk as he was, Atsushi had to admire that beauty all over again. At least for a little while, before he dozed off himself, disconnected thoughts about romance and fingertips rushing through his drunken brain, but he was going to deal with this in the morning. If he remembered.
If only they could stay like this forever.
---
ETA: Because I'm as scatterbrained as a mayfly, I forgot to add the notes. *head desk*
* Félicien Rops was a Belgian artist whose work is known to mix sex and death. He has been highly impressed by Charles Baudelaire, and has even illustrated parts of Les Fleurs du Mal.
** In The Wings, or Dans les coulises here. And if you're still not sure of the reference, just remember Faust.
*** If you want to see the original quote, you can always go here.
**** L'Ennemi by Charles Baudelaire.
***** Pour rassembler à neuf les terres inondées, Où l'eau creuse des trous grands comme des tombeaux is from L'Ennemi as well, continuation of the verses Atsushi reads. And they translate to, To gather back the inundated soil, In which the rain digs holes as big as graves.
Authors: sphinxofthenile and
Fandom: Buck-Tick, Der Zibet
Pairing: Atsushi/Issay... eventually.
Rating: NC17 altogether, though we're far away from porn.
Disclaimer: Do not own. Make no money. Mean no harm.
Summary: "I cannot give you the formula for success, but I can give you the formula for failure, which is: Try to please everybody." ~ Herbert Bayard Swope
Warning: A decade of UST. Adult topics like marriage, cheating, prostitution, coming out, mental disorders, drinking problems, abuse, parental issues and death.
A/N: Credits can be seen, in their entirety, here. Huuuuge, huge thanks to chibipinkbunny for going through this for us!
Romance lies gently at the tips of my fingernails, when I hold you
I knew it was an illusion that we could be like this forever, and it soon disppeared
Sakurai Atsushi, Misty Blue
---
Tokyo, August 1989
“So, how is the shooting going?” Issay asked over his sandwich. And that was a sight to be admired, for more reasons than just one. Here the man was, in Atsushi’s kitchen, eating a sandwich Atsushi had quickly assembled (for himself, no less, but not like he was about to reveal that fact to Issay anytime soon), while fully dressed for a black tie event, bow tie and everything.
“Not so good,” Atsushi decided to be honest. Because that was the truth, of course. “The guys just aren’t in the mood, and who’d blame them?” Besides, they all thought Atsushi was insane after he’d presented them with the final draft of one of the songs, but Issay didn’t need to know that fact, now did he?
“Well, another evening of debauchery, and we might just oil up that poetic engine of yours,” Issay said, and Atsushi was very glad suddenly that he wasn’t eating or drinking because he was afraid of ruining that pretty shirt of his.
And to think that, six months ago, he wouldn’t think of owning a single suit... Thanks to Issay, dressing up and black tie events became common in Atsushi’s life, and it wasn’t like Atsushi was complaining or anything.
He couldn’t believe that before meeting Issay, he never even had any idea about such things existing, let alone how marvellous they were. Of course, followed by the constant commentary of a certain very eloquent and very intelligent (and, gods, very beautiful) man, who had no problems whatsoever sharing all the dirty things about pretty much anything.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll love Carmen,” Issay added and Atsushi shrugged. He had no idea, honestly. Mostly because he trusted Issay’s judgement and almost never double checked anything. If Issay invited him, it would be good, that was the general consensus. And besides, Atsushi doubted he would have liked the opera any less (or more) if he knew some extra details about it. “It’s definitely down your frilly alley.”
“Thanks,” Atsushi said rather dryly, trying to focus on his tie for a change. Instead of a man in his kitchen making him have very obscene thoughts. Not that there was much space between the bedroom and the kitchen. Atsushi hadn’t rented this apartment because it was spacious, but simply because it was close to the rest of the guys and didn’t leak when it rained.
Then he heard Issay chuckle. “Oh, how did that go?” he teased, swallowing what seemed to be the last bite of the sandwich, as he wiped his hands into the paper napkin. “Oh, I remember!” he added, getting up from his chair and, the bastard, taking up one of those stereotypically singing poses that Naomi would have surely smacked him over the head for. And he would have deserved it. “In a red, spreading flower bud, hotly...” the man started singing, and Atsushi felt his cheeks burn that very second.
“You are insane,” he said, hiding his face under his hair. At least it proved good for something. But the way this was going, Atsushi wasn’t going to finish that tie in the next half an hour.
Thank god, Issay decided to stop and, with a grin (that was, again, doing things to Atsushi’s head), he walked across the room, closing the distance between the two. “Let me,” he offered in a whisper, and Atsushi couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.
For some weird reason, Issay tended to sometimes freeze him on the spot. And Atsushi still couldn’t figure out why. He doubted his little star crush could explain everything at this point, considering all this time they kept on spending together, but Atsushi refused to self-analyse. Because he wasn’t crazy and this was going to pass eventually, of course.
“There, all pretty,” Issay offered, looking at Atsushi from under his eyebrows, and thank god for that layer of hair because it surely offered some level of protection against those eyes. “And I promise not to mock you for the rest of the evening,” Issay added and Atsushi managed to snort. “So, have you at least decided on the number of songs?” the man asked, his tone now casual, and at least it lowered the temperature in the room a bit.
“We think we can scrap out eight from the stuff we already have,” Atsushi said. Issay chuckled.
“Sounds good. Unless that precious snowflake ends up in jail, I mean,” he added, grabbing his jacket, and Atsushi found himself having to once again run after Issay like some sort of an over-excited puppy. Not exactly an image Atsushi wanted to have of himself.
---
“Okay, that was fun,” Atsushi said, unable to take the grin off his face.
“What did I tell you?” Issay teased with mock cynicism. Granted, cynicism was good, but that little smile escaping his lips was giving everything away. “Just frilly enough for you.”
“Screw you,” Atsushi snapped, still grinning. Two months ago, he would have bitten his right arm off before talking back at Issay, but after all the time they spent together, it just seemed... normal. “It’s a very complicated story. It’s awesome.”
“Please...” Issay rolled his eyes. “One cliché after another. But like I said...”
Atsushi grinned, not bothered in the least with Issay’s words. The man was just being mean for the fun of it. “So, a story of a promiscuous woman refusing to conform to the societal norms is cliché nowadays?”
“Yes, when it ends with her death, it is,” Issay butted in, leaning back in his chair as their waitress finally appeared with their coffees. He remained quiet through the entire ordeal, deciding to speak only once the woman was gone. “Faust, on the other hand...”
“Oh, you mean poor old workaholic who sells his soul to the devil just to get laid?” Atsushi deadpanned and Issay burst out laughing so loud a few people looked their way. Suddenly, Atsushi found himself under scrutiny of that gaze, and he felt his cheeks flush.
“That story has everything -- the fall of man, decay of morals, betrayal. And porn,” Issay added, and so much about Atsushi’s cheeks flushing earlier. “Carmen, on the other hand... It’s just a dumb fairytale for children. With added frills, of course.”
“And what frills,” Atsushi teased, taking a sip of his coffee. And damn but this was good. Good coffee and even better company. Despite the fact that it was way past midnight, Atsushi couldn’t care. He’d taken the night off just because of the opera (of course, not that the guys had any idea about that one), and he was going to be able to sleep the entire day before having to appear in the studio.
“Indeed, if there’s one thing the opera did good, it’s making her leave with style,” Issay said, and this got Atsushi’s attention.
“Sorry?”
“Oh, right.” Issay chuckled. “In the book, José just stabbed her. There was no bull ring or anything. Just a jealous guy finding out his wife was screwing around.”
“I like this better,” Atsushi said, shrugging.
“Like I said -- frilly and with style,” Issay teased. “But yes, I agree. And I’ve been thinking...” he added.
“Hm?” Atsushi urged, curious with the sudden change in Issay’s expression.
“How do you plan on celebrating Imai’s release?” Issay asked.
Atsushi snorted. “Good god, aren’t we hopeful?”
“Oh, come on, it’s just drugs. What are they going to do? Lock him up?”
“Kind of?” Atsushi offered. Not like they hadn’t already. The man had left the rehab last weekend, anyway.
“With the publicity this has caused so far, I don’t think any judge would want to bring that wrath upon them. Hell, look at the number of fans still supporting you. I’d do something to thank them, you know?”
“Like?”
“A concert?” Issay tried, fiddling with his sugar packet, before he opened it up and poured its contents into his almost half emptied cup.
“And if they lock him up?” Atsushi asked.
“Then you can always leave in style, eh? Frilly,” Issay teased, grinning.
“Like Carmen?” Atsushi chuckled.
“Sure.” Issay shrugged. “Say, want to drop by my place?”
“Why?” Atsushi asked and Issay chuckled in that adorable, almost embarrassed way.
“I’m almost positive I have the novella at home, and I’m evil enough to give you some homework for the weekend,” he teased.
“Oh, so you’re my teacher now?”
“If I were your teacher, we wouldn’t be here right now,” Issay blurted out, but he looked a tad guilty the moment the words came out of his mouth.
“And where would we be?” Atsushi decided to be bold this time, for reasons he couldn’t explain to himself.
“At my place,” Issay offered with another chuckle, obviously deciding to turn it all into a joke. And then he got up from his chair. “Finish up your coffee,” he said with a smile, and took off towards the men’s room.
---
Atsushi was adorable. While Carmen definitely wasn’t one of Issay’s favourite operas, the way Atsushi managed to talk about it non-stop during the entire car ride was... well, adorable. No reason for further eloquence there.
It was dumb, and full of clichés, and then it was morbid, had awesome plot twists, the singers were amazing, and the orchestra was fascinating, and... Before they knew it, Issay was already parking by his building, pulling the keys out of the ignition, and pondering whether there were going to be any good Mozart performances around here soon.
If Atsushi wanted a piece that sacrificed depth for technique, then Issay was more than happy to provide.
And again, once they entered Issay’s apartment, Atsushi was back to being horribly cute. “Um, wow...” he said, looking around the living room once they had taken their shoes and coats off. Issay just had to chuckle. Granted, he was used to the decorum but it had completely slipped his mind that Atsushi, on the other hand, didn’t expect this surely. “Porn? On the walls? I’m impressed.”
Issay laughed loudly. “That’s Félicien Rops*. And yes, his contemporaries unfortunately thought the same,” he explained and Atsushi grinned, obviously not exactly buying it. “With a few exceptions.” He leaned closer, and Atsushi obviously needed a few moments, rather startled with someone entering his personal space. “Charles Baudelaire being one of them,” Issay added in a low voice, and Atsushi’s grin was back on his face.
“Is that a polite way of reminding me that I still owe you the book?” the man asked, chuckling.
“Oh, by all means, take it,” Issay said, sliding onto one of his armchairs. “Consider it a gift. You like, I presume?”
“If you only knew...” Atsushi said, snorting.
“Oh?” Issay urged, crossing one of his legs over the other and lacing his fingers over the knee. “I’m a very curious man, you know?”
“Remember me mentioning how there’s pretty much one song so far that we could claim is finished? Well, kind of. Sort of...” Atsushi added, looking a tad embarrassed. “You’d never believe how I called it.”
“All ears,” Issay purred. Granted, he was pretty sure where this was heading, but still, Atsushi was cute just standing there, looking so ridiculously embarrassed.
“Flowers of Evil,” Atsushi eventually whispered and Issay chuckled.
“Oh, the power of corruption,” Issay said and Atsushi’s smile grew a fraction. “Anything specific, or?”
“Not exactly. I just... liked the feel of it.”
“You do know, you’re free to sit down,” Issay offered, pointing to the other armchair, but gods, did Atsushi look uncomfortable. Then Issay decided to smile once more and point to one of the numerous paintings on the walls. Well, reproductions, because he wasn’t the richest person in the universe right now to be able to afford everything that caught his eye for more than a second.
And no, he didn’t accidentally glance at Atsushi just thinking that.
“Familiar?” he asked, and Atsushi burst out laughing the moment his eyes landed on ‘In the Wings’**.
“And to think I spent the whole evening defending a Spanish Gypsy. But I still do like her better,” the man added then, finally making himself more comfortable in the armchair. “No offense, I hope.”
“None taken,” Issay said, smiling. “I see no reason why we should apologise for our tastes and affinities.” And gods, if Atsushi only knew one tenth of that... his head would have popped, indeed.
Issay had to mentally slap himself a few times just to get his head out of the gutter. Roughed up street thug look was a good look on him, but the suit was indeed a killer. Atsushi really did clean up nicely.
And damn, did Issay want that. So bad.
---
“Can you just imagine? That sort of high singing was even named after her. Galli-Marié parts. Nowadays they are sung by sopranos, by the way.” Issay spun around, arm in a sweeping gesture as if on an imaginary stage. How was so much grace even humanly possible? Atsushi would never know. “Such unique singing it gets named after you.”
“So, is that what you want?” Atsushi allowed himself with a grin. Teasing Issay was fun. And it made him laugh in that beautiful way of his.
“Me? Gods, no!” The man finally waltzed over to the nearby armchair, practically dropping down into it, the smile still on his lips. “No matter what Naomi might say, I’m not that much of an egomaniac. Besides, I was born a few centuries too late for that. Call it bad luck.”
“You’re impossible.” Atsushi chuckled, trying to stifle a yawn that suddenly threatened to surface and failing. “Holy, what time is it, anyway?”
“Half past two. I’m so sorry to have kept you.” Issay looked so apologetic, Atsushi just wanted to chuckle, but he didn’t want to insult him.
“Oh, please, you really should’ve kicked me out ages ago,” Atsushi said. Issay just grinned. “I should... check the trains,” he said, getting up from his chair, but Issay just shook his head.
“I assure you, that would be futile. I mean, you’re free to try, but good luck getting anywhere decent in under two hours.” He grinned then, nodding towards that open and almost empty wine bottle still standing on the table, reminding Atsushi just how much wine he’d had. No wonder Issay’s cheeks were flushed red. “I’m definitely not driving you anywhere, sorry. But I do have a guest room.”
“I couldn’t--” Atsushi started, but Issay just shook his head once more.
“I’m not going to live with the knowledge of such an aspiring young star bleeding out in some god forsaken street corner because I refused to accommodate him for the night,” the man said, pulling himself out of his seat a bit more slowly than he should have. Sober, at least. “Stay here. I'll go search for the linens.”
“Yes, sir.” Atsushi actually made a mock salute, but god forbid if he actually obeyed once in his life. For some weird reason (drunkenness, most likely), his eyes, which had been following Issay on his way out of the room (because he was moving and Atsushi was somewhat drunk, and the fact that Issay looked so damned nice in that suit, and definitely from behind, had nothing to do with it, of course), ended up stranded at one of the bookshelves, which he hadn’t paid much heed to earlier. And stupidly enough, he had no idea why.
Granted, he did have his very own pillar of knowledge sitting opposite him and talking about all the fun things that Atsushi felt so guilty missing out on for having to quit school. For thinking books are nothing but a waste of paper his teachers used to make his life miserable. Such a shame indeed.
But now that the man was gone, Atsushi decided to be bold enough and actually check a few titles.
He had to say, he was rather surprised seeing a hefty number of books both in French and in English, neither of which Atsushi could use. Well, thanks to Naomi, and numerous training sessions with Issay, he could now sing English good enough not to make a fool out of himself, but that didn’t help in actually understanding it.
French, on the other hand, was a complete mystery. Besides the fact that Issay loved it, for one reason or the other. And that it sounded shamelessly beautiful in melody. Beautiful.
But he didn’t have trouble with the Japanese, of course, and he actually smiled upon spotting another copy of the Flowers, hand instantly flying onto the book to pull it out. His eyes scanned the pages a few times, the poems mixed with sketches reminiscent of the ones he’d seen on Issay’s walls. Being drunk, he got so lost in the book that upon hearing Issay's voice, he was so startled that he snapped it shut.
“At one point, Rops said something down the line of...” Issay started, approaching Atsushi, and suddenly Atsushi found himself just too damned close to that man. Alcohol and those smiles Issay made should never be mixed. “I know very well that I would be better off living normally, better off keeping to the straight and narrow,” Issay continued, leaning close, so close Atsushi felt like stepping back, but all the man did was take the book out of Atsushi’s hands. “I know that I do not have enough respect for the law,” he opened the book, sliding over a few pages until his lips spread into a smile, “‘I am as scatterbrained as a mayfly... but I am happy and almost proud of being like this and not otherwise.” Issay chuckled, placing the book back in Atsushi’s hand. “And I hope that this surpasses the boundaries of decent insanity,” he finished eventually, one of those long, lean fingers stubbing the page before he pulled away. “My favourite,” he added, and Atsushi finally managed to pull his eyes away from that face, looking down.***
Atsushi forced a chuckle, hoping to gods his hands weren’t shaking, because there was something so tense in the air here, he was afraid of suffocating. “My youth has been nothing but a tenebrous storm,” he started reading the words that for some reason seemed so hard to pronounce, but Atsushi was at least trying. “Pierced now and then by rays of brilliant sunshine.”****
“Pour rassembler à neuf les terres inondées,” Issay continued in perfect French. Or, at least it sounded so to Atsushi. “Où l’eu creuse des trous grands comme des tombeaux.”*****
“Wow...” Atsushi blurted out, feeling so out of place and embarrassed once Issay shot him that shy, little smile, his cheeks turning just a shade darker. “Didn’t know you spoke French...”
“I guess you don’t know many things about me, hm?” the man teased. True, Atsushi thought, but refused to let the words come out.
But for some strange reason, he obviously knew enough about the man to end up in the same room with him, and eventually bed too. It was a slow progression though, discussing one poem, then another, then the third, grabbing another bottle of wine before Issay shooed Atsushi to the guest room so he could choose his pillows and all. Five minutes later, and they were nicely relaxed there, Issay half seated and leaning against the headboard, while Atsushi squeezed two pillows under his head, at the bottom of the bed.
And Issay had most of these poems memorised. For some recital, as he’d said, for graduation. And he never allowed himself to forget them. It was almost surreal, lying there in such comfort that only a tiring day topped with alcohol could produce, and just listening to Issay turn those old words into music and passion while they passed the bottle between them.
“You really were born in the wrong century,” Atsushi broke the lazy, sleepy silence that somehow covered them like a very thick blanket. In all honesty, Atsushi would have been more than happy to just close his eyes and doze off, but there was this voice at the back of his mind telling him how unique of an opportunity this was. Who knows, maybe they’d never have such a moment again in their lives. Stupid, depressing thoughts, but Atsushi didn’t care. Staring at the ceiling and grinning was good. Always.
“Hell, no,” Issay droned lazily, trying to laugh, but he seemed too slow for that. “Then I would have been a social outcast fighting for breadcrumbs, and now I’m rich and famous and with company that is indeed a definite improvement in the bedroom decorum,” he said, patting Atsushi’s thigh a few times lazily. Normally, Atsushi would have felt so awfully self-conscious, but he was drunk beyond that. “Granted, cheap absinthe would have been nice.” Issay fell into a fit of giggles, which were so incredibly infectious Atsushi didn’t even bother fighting against them.
“Absinthe?” he did ask after what seemed like hours, but was most likely minutes. “What’s that?” There was no reply. “Issay?” Atsushi tried, and waited for a few more minutes before he pulled himself slightly up to see what was wrong with Issay.
Nothing wrong, definitely, nothing wrong in this world. The man was just sleeping and, drunk as he was, Atsushi had to admire that beauty all over again. At least for a little while, before he dozed off himself, disconnected thoughts about romance and fingertips rushing through his drunken brain, but he was going to deal with this in the morning. If he remembered.
If only they could stay like this forever.
---
ETA: Because I'm as scatterbrained as a mayfly, I forgot to add the notes. *head desk*
* Félicien Rops was a Belgian artist whose work is known to mix sex and death. He has been highly impressed by Charles Baudelaire, and has even illustrated parts of Les Fleurs du Mal.
** In The Wings, or Dans les coulises here. And if you're still not sure of the reference, just remember Faust.
*** If you want to see the original quote, you can always go here.
**** L'Ennemi by Charles Baudelaire.
***** Pour rassembler à neuf les terres inondées, Où l'eau creuse des trous grands comme des tombeaux is from L'Ennemi as well, continuation of the verses Atsushi reads. And they translate to, To gather back the inundated soil, In which the rain digs holes as big as graves.