[fic]
untitled (or: Drinking With Nomads)
rating: R-ish, almost.
fandom: NEWS
pairing: Ryo/Yamapi
summary: And then he forgets all thoughts, all reasons, all everything, as Yamapi makes him burn and see stars.
comments: AUish First attempt at NEWS!fic ever. Do not expect anymore. Slightly lacks real plot, purpose or reason.
Ryo’s mouth burns a path up Yamapi’s body, in the dip of his stomach, over the lines of his chest and up along the curve of his neck. He feels Yamapi shudder beneath him, beneath lips and tongue and the fingers of one hand, pressed flat against a thigh; the skin is warm, almost hot, against his palm. Ryo shudders, this time.
Yamapi draws a long breath; Ryo can hear it shake inside his chest. His fingers clutch, just a little, at warm skin, slide along, up, slipping over bare thigh with ease, like silk melting beneath his fingertips, and a small, barely-there smile tugs at the edges of Ryo’s lips; Yamapi’s chest shakes again, as Ryo’s fingers tug, pull, and slide the last remaining article of clothing from his body.
“Why,” Yamapi whispers, lips suddenly against the side of Ryo’s face, teeth tugging, teasing, on soft skin, “are you always so damn slow,” and he licks a burning trail of his own along the shell of Ryo’s ear, down the side of his neck, and only stops just before their mouths can meet. Teasing, and Yamapi loves to tease, especially when Ryo frustrates him like this.
“Maybe I just like to enjoy it,” Ryo snaps back in a whisper, though it isn’t an angry retort. He pushes Yamapi down, flush against the mattress and against his own body, and grins. Their hips align and it all but takes the breath right from his lungs. “Savour the moment.” And his eyes drink in the sight of Yamapi, flushed and frustrated, beneath him, drinks him in like Ryo’s going to himself very, very soon.
Fingers fist in Ryo’s hair, tug - but not too hard - and a hand works its way between them and down, down, a taunting, pressing path of palm and fingertips. “There won’t be anything to savour,” Yamapi pushes his hips up, and they both gasp, quietly, “if you don’t get a move on.” He grins, and Ryo almost thinks it’s the very devil himself grinning up at him.
And then he forgets all thoughts, all reasons, all everything, as Yamapi makes him burn and see stars.
It wasn’t supposed to turn into this. It wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. It probably wasn’t supposed to even happen in the first place. Ryo works in an office, a boring job, steady and pays the bills, but mind-numbingly boring. And Yamapi had…actually, when he tries to remember the how and the why, he finds he simply… can’t. It’s as if someone has just come and plucked that memory from him, left a small, curious little hole behind with no explanation.
And Ryo finds it doesn’t quite bother him. Maybe it should, but it doesn’t. What does it matter, after all? Isn’t that what Yamapi likes to tell him all the time. What does it matter.
That’s actually one of the first conversations Ryo can recall between them. There had been drinking - of course, Ryo doesn’t usually associate with people like Yamapi unless otherwise convinced with alcohol - and talking and lord knows what. Mostly talking, a lot of that. And Yamapi had told him about how he moves around a lot, doesn’t like to - can’t - stay in any one place for too long. Nomadic. And Ryo had admitted to never having left his hometown before.
‘Don’t you get bored?’ Yamapi had asked, bottle poised against his mouth, waiting, and Ryo had thought to himself how very soft and round Yamapi’s lips had looked just then. Inviting. Yes, that had been the word for them, inviting.
And Ryo had shaken his head, ‘no, not really,’ and found himself watching as Yamapi had licked the excess moisture from his lips; the thought had burned through him then, and for the rest of that evening, how he kind of wanted to be the one to lick Yamapi’s lips like that.
Then, more drinking, and talking. That usual drunken talk that doesn’t really make any sense but sounds very, very convincing with an edge of alcohol. Or several edges, as it had been for them that night. And Yamapi had started to expound upon his nothing matters theory.
‘What does it matter? What does anything matter? Things are going to happen anyway, so what does it matter. Let them happen!’
It had made no sense to Ryo, even then, just as drunk as Yamapi had been. But it didn’t matter; ever since, those words had been ringing inside his head, a quiet, almost constant, reminder. What does it matter?
‘And I’m not being cynical, y’know? I just mean, what’s the point? Tomorrow doesn’t matter. Its tomorrow, isn’t it, and you can’t do anything about it today. So, you know. Whatever.’
Ryo had laughed then, laughed and told Yamapi he was an idiot who made no sense and was too damn drunk for his own good. And Yamapi had laughed with him, ‘what does it matter?’ and that laugh, those pretty, pretty lips curved in a smile and then he had poured another drink for Ryo. And Ryo had reciprocated.
And from there, strangely enough, they seemed to have become friends. As much as anyone could probably be friends with Yamapi, anyway. Or Ryo too, for that matter.
The next time they had gotten together for drinks, Ryo gave in to his urges and had kissed Yamapi. Alcohol still wet and burning on his lips, and they had felt almost - not quite, but almost - as soft as he had imagined them to be. And now here they were, fucking in Ryo’s bed.
Yamapi made him burn. From the inside out, and then from the outside in. Made his skin ache and his chest heave and his head spin. Made Ryo see stars - fucking goddamn stars. For a little slice of time, Yamapi made nothing matter. Not work in the morning. Not the laundry Ryo had lying in the basket, waiting to be done. Not the dishes in the sink, and not the neighbours in the apartment next door, who no doubt could hear some of their more, ah, raucous, revelry.
What does it matter? What does it matter indeed.
Sometimes, Yamapi stays the night. Mostly on nights when Ryo has work in the morning, so he can make him late. Or simply get him all worked up, and then push him out the door. Tonight, he stays.
Ryo looks over. His hand smoothes the creases in the sheet thoughtlessly. His skin still feels warm all over, the knots in his stomach not quite finished untwisting.
Yamapi stares up at the ceiling, looks for all the world like a content cat, stretched out and sated. “I’m leaving,” he says suddenly. “Tomorrow.” He doesn’t even look at Ryo. Maybe it’s easier to tell the ceiling his news. Maybe it doesn’t actually matter to Yamapi, one way or the other. Ryo doesn’t know.
“Bored already?” His tone is carefully casual, neutral. Nothing else to it.
Yamapi nods, but still doesn’t look at him. One hand slips beneath the sheet, scratches absently at his stomach. Ryo remembers how the muscles can clench and shake against his hand, beneath the press of his mouth. He remembers how Yamapi came, not ten minutes ago, over that very skin. His mouth is suddenly strangely dry.
Ryo thinks, wonders, if perhaps he should try and persuade Yamapi otherwise. Ply him with pleases and don’t go’s, tell him he should stick around a while yet. Tell him that Ryo might like it if he stuck around for a bit.
But he doesn’t. The wonders stay as just that, small little question marks inside his head, popping and evaporating like burst bubbles soon after being thought into existence. He licks his lips, swallows, and nods his head. Then realises that Yamapi still isn’t looking.
“I remember,” Ryo starts, wants, feels a need, to regain Yamapi’s attention, turn that face from the ceiling and on to his own, “something someone once told me. That tomorrow doesn’t matter, because it’s tomorrow.”
He watches, sees a slight curve, barely there, to Yamapi’s lips. “Oh yeah? Who told you that?”
“Some drunken idiot.” Ryo grins. “But there might be some truth to it.”
Yamapi turns to look at him then. “Sounds like he was just a drunken idiot.” And he grins back.
True to his word, Yamapi is gone the next day. Ryo doesn’t see him or hear from him again, not after that morning. They don’t even say goodbye, even though a large part of Ryo thinks he’s never going to see Yamapi again. He’d known him for not even two months, and found in that time that Yamapi had been a better friend in that time than most of the people he considered to be his actual friends.
It doesn’t really matter though.
But Ryo realises some of the things Yamapi had said, believed, or maybe even made up - who could ever be sure of which? - were true. Drunken ramblings or not. Tomorrow was tomorrow, and he’d have to get through all the today’s first.
A week after Yamapi leaves, Ryo quits his boring office job. And it feels like the best decision he’s ever made in his life.
- end -
rating: R-ish, almost.
fandom: NEWS
pairing: Ryo/Yamapi
summary: And then he forgets all thoughts, all reasons, all everything, as Yamapi makes him burn and see stars.
comments: AUish First attempt at NEWS!fic ever. Do not expect anymore. Slightly lacks real plot, purpose or reason.
Ryo’s mouth burns a path up Yamapi’s body, in the dip of his stomach, over the lines of his chest and up along the curve of his neck. He feels Yamapi shudder beneath him, beneath lips and tongue and the fingers of one hand, pressed flat against a thigh; the skin is warm, almost hot, against his palm. Ryo shudders, this time.
Yamapi draws a long breath; Ryo can hear it shake inside his chest. His fingers clutch, just a little, at warm skin, slide along, up, slipping over bare thigh with ease, like silk melting beneath his fingertips, and a small, barely-there smile tugs at the edges of Ryo’s lips; Yamapi’s chest shakes again, as Ryo’s fingers tug, pull, and slide the last remaining article of clothing from his body.
“Why,” Yamapi whispers, lips suddenly against the side of Ryo’s face, teeth tugging, teasing, on soft skin, “are you always so damn slow,” and he licks a burning trail of his own along the shell of Ryo’s ear, down the side of his neck, and only stops just before their mouths can meet. Teasing, and Yamapi loves to tease, especially when Ryo frustrates him like this.
“Maybe I just like to enjoy it,” Ryo snaps back in a whisper, though it isn’t an angry retort. He pushes Yamapi down, flush against the mattress and against his own body, and grins. Their hips align and it all but takes the breath right from his lungs. “Savour the moment.” And his eyes drink in the sight of Yamapi, flushed and frustrated, beneath him, drinks him in like Ryo’s going to himself very, very soon.
Fingers fist in Ryo’s hair, tug - but not too hard - and a hand works its way between them and down, down, a taunting, pressing path of palm and fingertips. “There won’t be anything to savour,” Yamapi pushes his hips up, and they both gasp, quietly, “if you don’t get a move on.” He grins, and Ryo almost thinks it’s the very devil himself grinning up at him.
And then he forgets all thoughts, all reasons, all everything, as Yamapi makes him burn and see stars.
It wasn’t supposed to turn into this. It wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. It probably wasn’t supposed to even happen in the first place. Ryo works in an office, a boring job, steady and pays the bills, but mind-numbingly boring. And Yamapi had…actually, when he tries to remember the how and the why, he finds he simply… can’t. It’s as if someone has just come and plucked that memory from him, left a small, curious little hole behind with no explanation.
And Ryo finds it doesn’t quite bother him. Maybe it should, but it doesn’t. What does it matter, after all? Isn’t that what Yamapi likes to tell him all the time. What does it matter.
That’s actually one of the first conversations Ryo can recall between them. There had been drinking - of course, Ryo doesn’t usually associate with people like Yamapi unless otherwise convinced with alcohol - and talking and lord knows what. Mostly talking, a lot of that. And Yamapi had told him about how he moves around a lot, doesn’t like to - can’t - stay in any one place for too long. Nomadic. And Ryo had admitted to never having left his hometown before.
‘Don’t you get bored?’ Yamapi had asked, bottle poised against his mouth, waiting, and Ryo had thought to himself how very soft and round Yamapi’s lips had looked just then. Inviting. Yes, that had been the word for them, inviting.
And Ryo had shaken his head, ‘no, not really,’ and found himself watching as Yamapi had licked the excess moisture from his lips; the thought had burned through him then, and for the rest of that evening, how he kind of wanted to be the one to lick Yamapi’s lips like that.
Then, more drinking, and talking. That usual drunken talk that doesn’t really make any sense but sounds very, very convincing with an edge of alcohol. Or several edges, as it had been for them that night. And Yamapi had started to expound upon his nothing matters theory.
‘What does it matter? What does anything matter? Things are going to happen anyway, so what does it matter. Let them happen!’
It had made no sense to Ryo, even then, just as drunk as Yamapi had been. But it didn’t matter; ever since, those words had been ringing inside his head, a quiet, almost constant, reminder. What does it matter?
‘And I’m not being cynical, y’know? I just mean, what’s the point? Tomorrow doesn’t matter. Its tomorrow, isn’t it, and you can’t do anything about it today. So, you know. Whatever.’
Ryo had laughed then, laughed and told Yamapi he was an idiot who made no sense and was too damn drunk for his own good. And Yamapi had laughed with him, ‘what does it matter?’ and that laugh, those pretty, pretty lips curved in a smile and then he had poured another drink for Ryo. And Ryo had reciprocated.
And from there, strangely enough, they seemed to have become friends. As much as anyone could probably be friends with Yamapi, anyway. Or Ryo too, for that matter.
The next time they had gotten together for drinks, Ryo gave in to his urges and had kissed Yamapi. Alcohol still wet and burning on his lips, and they had felt almost - not quite, but almost - as soft as he had imagined them to be. And now here they were, fucking in Ryo’s bed.
Yamapi made him burn. From the inside out, and then from the outside in. Made his skin ache and his chest heave and his head spin. Made Ryo see stars - fucking goddamn stars. For a little slice of time, Yamapi made nothing matter. Not work in the morning. Not the laundry Ryo had lying in the basket, waiting to be done. Not the dishes in the sink, and not the neighbours in the apartment next door, who no doubt could hear some of their more, ah, raucous, revelry.
What does it matter? What does it matter indeed.
Sometimes, Yamapi stays the night. Mostly on nights when Ryo has work in the morning, so he can make him late. Or simply get him all worked up, and then push him out the door. Tonight, he stays.
Ryo looks over. His hand smoothes the creases in the sheet thoughtlessly. His skin still feels warm all over, the knots in his stomach not quite finished untwisting.
Yamapi stares up at the ceiling, looks for all the world like a content cat, stretched out and sated. “I’m leaving,” he says suddenly. “Tomorrow.” He doesn’t even look at Ryo. Maybe it’s easier to tell the ceiling his news. Maybe it doesn’t actually matter to Yamapi, one way or the other. Ryo doesn’t know.
“Bored already?” His tone is carefully casual, neutral. Nothing else to it.
Yamapi nods, but still doesn’t look at him. One hand slips beneath the sheet, scratches absently at his stomach. Ryo remembers how the muscles can clench and shake against his hand, beneath the press of his mouth. He remembers how Yamapi came, not ten minutes ago, over that very skin. His mouth is suddenly strangely dry.
Ryo thinks, wonders, if perhaps he should try and persuade Yamapi otherwise. Ply him with pleases and don’t go’s, tell him he should stick around a while yet. Tell him that Ryo might like it if he stuck around for a bit.
But he doesn’t. The wonders stay as just that, small little question marks inside his head, popping and evaporating like burst bubbles soon after being thought into existence. He licks his lips, swallows, and nods his head. Then realises that Yamapi still isn’t looking.
“I remember,” Ryo starts, wants, feels a need, to regain Yamapi’s attention, turn that face from the ceiling and on to his own, “something someone once told me. That tomorrow doesn’t matter, because it’s tomorrow.”
He watches, sees a slight curve, barely there, to Yamapi’s lips. “Oh yeah? Who told you that?”
“Some drunken idiot.” Ryo grins. “But there might be some truth to it.”
Yamapi turns to look at him then. “Sounds like he was just a drunken idiot.” And he grins back.
True to his word, Yamapi is gone the next day. Ryo doesn’t see him or hear from him again, not after that morning. They don’t even say goodbye, even though a large part of Ryo thinks he’s never going to see Yamapi again. He’d known him for not even two months, and found in that time that Yamapi had been a better friend in that time than most of the people he considered to be his actual friends.
It doesn’t really matter though.
But Ryo realises some of the things Yamapi had said, believed, or maybe even made up - who could ever be sure of which? - were true. Drunken ramblings or not. Tomorrow was tomorrow, and he’d have to get through all the today’s first.
A week after Yamapi leaves, Ryo quits his boring office job. And it feels like the best decision he’s ever made in his life.
- end -