trope challenge fill from tumblr #2
harinezumi_kun put in two prompts for me and i told her i wanted to write both of them because i looooooved them. i'm filling this one first because it's been a while since i've written sakumoto and i love them as a pairing. also, there's a lot of room for angst with them but there is also a lot of room for schmoop and i aimed at both (the angst is really, really light, i swear. REALLY. REALLY.)
title: it's just you and i tonight, why don't you figure my heart out?
pairing: sakurai sho/matsumoto jun
rating: g
word count: 1,459 whoops
disclaimer: this never happened or maybe it did i mean what do i know
summary:
To his credit, at least Satoshi looks apologetic. “We just can’t take it anymore,” he says, trying to be firm but pleading, “it’s driving us all crazy.” He hands the key off to Nino, who does not look even a little bit sorry. He’s grinning. So is Aiba.
“But,” Sho tries, desperately, “we can’t do anything like this- work, bathroom, sleep- shower! We can’t even shower!”
“Then sort your shit out,” Nino says, sliding the key into his back pocket and patting it, “and do it fast.”
Jun is glaring at him but his wrist is twisted awkwardly in its cuff, as far from Sho’s matching one as it can get. Sho thinks it probably hurts. Honestly, he can’t focus on that- he’s having trouble relaxing his own hand. He says, “I think they’re a little tight,” but Aiba is already shaking his head.
“Nice try, Sho-chan,” he says, “but we aren’t taking those handcuffs off until you two relax.”
--
“We could always just break them off,” Jun suggests, an hour later, when they’re trying to decide which apartment will be home for the night and which car to take and how to even drive like this. “It can’t be that hard, right? Or we could go to a, a specialist, or something.”
Sho doesn’t know why he’s making excuses but he quickly says, “What’s the point? They’re just going to do it again, and it’s not like we can avoid them, or each other.” He allows Jun to guide them through the parking garage to his car (he’s on Sho’s right; it just makes more sense). One problem solved. “A specialist? Like therapy? I don’t think that’ll work in our favor, and it’ll probably be less cost-effective.”
Jun stops them, an eyebrow raised. He looks amused even in his frustration. “A specialist like a locksmith, Sho-san.”
A beat of silence follows before Jun starts walking again, their footsteps echoing loudly around them. Sho is red with embarrassment but he’s glad that Jun is avoiding looking at him. “Of course,” he mutters, feeling a strange mixture of petulance and humiliation, “I would think most locksmiths would be closed after ten, though.”
Driving involves Sho mostly leaning over Jun’s center console uncomfortably, trying not to knock the gear stick, a cup holder jabbing him in the hip. He bites back any sharp comments when Jun turns the wheel in a way that bends his wrist painfully. It isn’t Jun’s fault, he reminds himself, even though Jun doesn’t seem too upset about hurting him. He’s just angry, Sho thinks, and a voice in the back of his head shouts, So am I!
“We could have gone to my place, at least,” Sho grumbles, getting out the same way he climbed in- up and over Jun’s seat as Jun eases his way out of the car. He nearly face-plants on the asphalt when Jun moves too quickly and drags him the rest of the way forward.
“I’m sorry,” Jun says, and means it, his free hand steadying Sho and helping him the rest of the way out. It’s the longest that he’s touched him since Satoshi had blindfolded them for a “surprise” and handcuffed them together. It’s the longest that he’s touched him for as far back as Sho can recall.
When Sho glances up, Jun immediately looks away. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or just not entirely surprised.
--
“No.”
Sho sighs, irritably. “What am I supposed to do, then?”
Jun turns the stove down, leading Sho around his kitchen in search of a colander. He’s making Sho’s favorite, which is to say that he’s still attempting to be a good host, despite the situation. Sho’s offers of help have gone rejected repeatedly over the last half hour, leaving all conversation argumentative and stilted. “You don’t have to do anything,” Jun says, “it’s almost done.”
Except he seems to be struggling to drain the pasta one-handed.
“Why are you being so stubborn?” Sho wonders, reaching out to take the other handle of the pot. Jun’s frown deepens but he doesn’t say anything as they tilt it together, steam rising between them like a wall. Jun’s face disappears into it. Sho turns his cuffed hand and brushes his fingers against the inside of Jun’s wrist and though he can’t see his face, he can feel the yank against the metal, and the pot clatters against the stainless steel of the sink.
The steam clears and Jun comes back into focus, a flush in his cheeks, though Sho assumes that could be from the boiling water. “I’m not being stubborn,” he responds finally, stiff as a board.
Sho casts his gaze down to the chain keeping them together, sees how taut it’s pulled between them, and blurts out, “it’s just me, Jun. Why can’t you relax?”
Jun gives him a dirty look and fires back, “Because it’s you.” He looks like he immediately wants to take it back, but it hangs around them, filling the silence with its echo. Sho gets it. But Jun can’t run away or pretend like it’s nothing. It’s never been nothing, between them.
That’s what it comes down to, really, when Sho thinks about it. They don’t touch because it means more, it means too much, and it’s been like this for so long now that he’s not surprised that their meddlesome group mates decided to get involved.
The chain is still stretched tight. Jun gives himself a shake and stirs the sauce on the stove with his unoccupied hand. Then he holds out the wooden spoon to Sho to taste. It’s a peace offering. Sho wants peace but he wonders if he wants a different kind of peace than Jun.
Sho steps into his space, curling his fingers over Jun’s on the spoon, and tastes obediently. Jun doesn’t pull away in a rush like usual but he twitches under Sho’s touch. It could be an accident but Jun has to know, he must know that it isn’t. Then he turns back to the sauce.
Not prepared to give up, Sho doesn’t move away. There’s slack on the chain now and he wants to see how close he can get, wants to be close. “Because it’s you, too,” Sho says, like he’s spent half of his life trying to figure out how to say it without screwing it up. Maybe he has. He always thought Jun knew.
Jun drops the spoon and turns, exasperated, and Sho catches his hand, the chain completely lax, cuffs touching. “Sho,” he begins, so Sho grabs his elbow and pulls him impossibly close. He pauses; if Jun really doesn’t want this, he can pull away.
He doesn’t. Sho kisses him because he’s been waiting, because years of missed touches and pent-up feelings are more than he can handle after being forced into such close proximity. He could have it all and he wants it all and if he can just show that to Jun, maybe-
Jun lets go of his hand to bring his own up, to put his fingers into Sho’s hair, and the cuffs make a thumping noise against the back of Sho’s head. He winces and steps back, breathing hard; Jun covers his face with his opposite hand and groans.
“Ow,” Sho says, delayed. His arm is bowed at an odd angle behind his head, where Jun pets his hair apologetically before dropping their hands back between them.
“I’m calling Nino,” Jun decides, flicking the stove off entirely, dinner all but forgotten.
“Good idea,” Sho agrees, “I’ve had to go to the bathroom for an hour.”
Jun tries to hide it, but Sho can see that he’s laughing as he digs out his phone.
--
“What do you want?” Nino demands, sleepily, his voice crackling on speakerphone. “I was just about to beat the boss and go to bed. It’s too late for calling.”
“Key,” Jun says, as Sho pipes up, “I have to pee!”
There is a long pause, silent but for some slight static. “Those are magician’s handcuffs,” Nino says. It sounds like he’s laughing. “There’s a quick release button on them.”
--
The button on each cuff had been so tiny that Sho would have mistaken it for a screw. His wrist is red and chafing. But even after they’re free, Sho stays the night anyway (“besides,” Jun points out, not looking at all dissatisfied, “your car isn’t even here.” It’s difficult to argue with logic, more so when it comes with the added bonus of sleeping in Jun’s bed. With him.).
The other three idiots high-five when they show up to work together the next day, finally looking, for all the world, comfortable with each other. Sho’s only a little embarrassed (but mostly grateful).
title: it's just you and i tonight, why don't you figure my heart out?
pairing: sakurai sho/matsumoto jun
rating: g
word count: 1,459 whoops
disclaimer: this never happened or maybe it did i mean what do i know
summary:
To his credit, at least Satoshi looks apologetic. “We just can’t take it anymore,” he says, trying to be firm but pleading, “it’s driving us all crazy.” He hands the key off to Nino, who does not look even a little bit sorry. He’s grinning. So is Aiba.
“But,” Sho tries, desperately, “we can’t do anything like this- work, bathroom, sleep- shower! We can’t even shower!”
“Then sort your shit out,” Nino says, sliding the key into his back pocket and patting it, “and do it fast.”
Jun is glaring at him but his wrist is twisted awkwardly in its cuff, as far from Sho’s matching one as it can get. Sho thinks it probably hurts. Honestly, he can’t focus on that- he’s having trouble relaxing his own hand. He says, “I think they’re a little tight,” but Aiba is already shaking his head.
“Nice try, Sho-chan,” he says, “but we aren’t taking those handcuffs off until you two relax.”
--
“We could always just break them off,” Jun suggests, an hour later, when they’re trying to decide which apartment will be home for the night and which car to take and how to even drive like this. “It can’t be that hard, right? Or we could go to a, a specialist, or something.”
Sho doesn’t know why he’s making excuses but he quickly says, “What’s the point? They’re just going to do it again, and it’s not like we can avoid them, or each other.” He allows Jun to guide them through the parking garage to his car (he’s on Sho’s right; it just makes more sense). One problem solved. “A specialist? Like therapy? I don’t think that’ll work in our favor, and it’ll probably be less cost-effective.”
Jun stops them, an eyebrow raised. He looks amused even in his frustration. “A specialist like a locksmith, Sho-san.”
A beat of silence follows before Jun starts walking again, their footsteps echoing loudly around them. Sho is red with embarrassment but he’s glad that Jun is avoiding looking at him. “Of course,” he mutters, feeling a strange mixture of petulance and humiliation, “I would think most locksmiths would be closed after ten, though.”
Driving involves Sho mostly leaning over Jun’s center console uncomfortably, trying not to knock the gear stick, a cup holder jabbing him in the hip. He bites back any sharp comments when Jun turns the wheel in a way that bends his wrist painfully. It isn’t Jun’s fault, he reminds himself, even though Jun doesn’t seem too upset about hurting him. He’s just angry, Sho thinks, and a voice in the back of his head shouts, So am I!
“We could have gone to my place, at least,” Sho grumbles, getting out the same way he climbed in- up and over Jun’s seat as Jun eases his way out of the car. He nearly face-plants on the asphalt when Jun moves too quickly and drags him the rest of the way forward.
“I’m sorry,” Jun says, and means it, his free hand steadying Sho and helping him the rest of the way out. It’s the longest that he’s touched him since Satoshi had blindfolded them for a “surprise” and handcuffed them together. It’s the longest that he’s touched him for as far back as Sho can recall.
When Sho glances up, Jun immediately looks away. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or just not entirely surprised.
--
“No.”
Sho sighs, irritably. “What am I supposed to do, then?”
Jun turns the stove down, leading Sho around his kitchen in search of a colander. He’s making Sho’s favorite, which is to say that he’s still attempting to be a good host, despite the situation. Sho’s offers of help have gone rejected repeatedly over the last half hour, leaving all conversation argumentative and stilted. “You don’t have to do anything,” Jun says, “it’s almost done.”
Except he seems to be struggling to drain the pasta one-handed.
“Why are you being so stubborn?” Sho wonders, reaching out to take the other handle of the pot. Jun’s frown deepens but he doesn’t say anything as they tilt it together, steam rising between them like a wall. Jun’s face disappears into it. Sho turns his cuffed hand and brushes his fingers against the inside of Jun’s wrist and though he can’t see his face, he can feel the yank against the metal, and the pot clatters against the stainless steel of the sink.
The steam clears and Jun comes back into focus, a flush in his cheeks, though Sho assumes that could be from the boiling water. “I’m not being stubborn,” he responds finally, stiff as a board.
Sho casts his gaze down to the chain keeping them together, sees how taut it’s pulled between them, and blurts out, “it’s just me, Jun. Why can’t you relax?”
Jun gives him a dirty look and fires back, “Because it’s you.” He looks like he immediately wants to take it back, but it hangs around them, filling the silence with its echo. Sho gets it. But Jun can’t run away or pretend like it’s nothing. It’s never been nothing, between them.
That’s what it comes down to, really, when Sho thinks about it. They don’t touch because it means more, it means too much, and it’s been like this for so long now that he’s not surprised that their meddlesome group mates decided to get involved.
The chain is still stretched tight. Jun gives himself a shake and stirs the sauce on the stove with his unoccupied hand. Then he holds out the wooden spoon to Sho to taste. It’s a peace offering. Sho wants peace but he wonders if he wants a different kind of peace than Jun.
Sho steps into his space, curling his fingers over Jun’s on the spoon, and tastes obediently. Jun doesn’t pull away in a rush like usual but he twitches under Sho’s touch. It could be an accident but Jun has to know, he must know that it isn’t. Then he turns back to the sauce.
Not prepared to give up, Sho doesn’t move away. There’s slack on the chain now and he wants to see how close he can get, wants to be close. “Because it’s you, too,” Sho says, like he’s spent half of his life trying to figure out how to say it without screwing it up. Maybe he has. He always thought Jun knew.
Jun drops the spoon and turns, exasperated, and Sho catches his hand, the chain completely lax, cuffs touching. “Sho,” he begins, so Sho grabs his elbow and pulls him impossibly close. He pauses; if Jun really doesn’t want this, he can pull away.
He doesn’t. Sho kisses him because he’s been waiting, because years of missed touches and pent-up feelings are more than he can handle after being forced into such close proximity. He could have it all and he wants it all and if he can just show that to Jun, maybe-
Jun lets go of his hand to bring his own up, to put his fingers into Sho’s hair, and the cuffs make a thumping noise against the back of Sho’s head. He winces and steps back, breathing hard; Jun covers his face with his opposite hand and groans.
“Ow,” Sho says, delayed. His arm is bowed at an odd angle behind his head, where Jun pets his hair apologetically before dropping their hands back between them.
“I’m calling Nino,” Jun decides, flicking the stove off entirely, dinner all but forgotten.
“Good idea,” Sho agrees, “I’ve had to go to the bathroom for an hour.”
Jun tries to hide it, but Sho can see that he’s laughing as he digs out his phone.
--
“What do you want?” Nino demands, sleepily, his voice crackling on speakerphone. “I was just about to beat the boss and go to bed. It’s too late for calling.”
“Key,” Jun says, as Sho pipes up, “I have to pee!”
There is a long pause, silent but for some slight static. “Those are magician’s handcuffs,” Nino says. It sounds like he’s laughing. “There’s a quick release button on them.”
--
The button on each cuff had been so tiny that Sho would have mistaken it for a screw. His wrist is red and chafing. But even after they’re free, Sho stays the night anyway (“besides,” Jun points out, not looking at all dissatisfied, “your car isn’t even here.” It’s difficult to argue with logic, more so when it comes with the added bonus of sleeping in Jun’s bed. With him.).
The other three idiots high-five when they show up to work together the next day, finally looking, for all the world, comfortable with each other. Sho’s only a little embarrassed (but mostly grateful).