iverin
in
zekkouchou
Gravity--JE
Title: Gravity
Fandom: Johnny's Entertainment
Characters: Murakami Shingo/Ohkura Tadayoshi (Kanjani8; light pairing)
Rating: strong PG-13/light R
Warnings: Semi-sexual situation but not explicit (aka almost-smut). Slow burn.
Summary: What happens when the youngest active member reaches out to the group's mother hen?
Notes: Written for the absolutely WONDERFUL feigningsleep as part of the 2007 je_holiday exchange. ~3000 words. Member-ai.
Additional author's notes--Not essential, but contains the story behind the fic and my feelings about it. Original exchange post here.
Ohkura's smile was placid, shy, perhaps a little tired as he leaned on the door frame.
Hina danced in front of the mirror, eyes focused solely on himself and his movements, thinking nothing of any possibility of an intruder.
Ohkura closed his eyes and listened to the counts Hina was muttering under his breath, to the uneven rhythm of his feet contacting the floor, occasionally scuffing, but mostly softly landing. Rhythm was something he'd felt for years, and something he could always identify with. Hina's rhythm was soothing to the drummer's ears, even after hours of solo rehearsal. Ohkura caught on to the pattern and began tapping it out on his thigh, motivated to this automatic response by repetition that his hands could never ignore.
Suddenly, Hina cursed. Ohkura's eyes snapped open, momentary awareness cutting through his usually spacey appearance. In his slightly startled rush, his feet shifted on the floor, making a soft scuff of their own.
"Nan--" Hina's gaze moved from his own face to the area over his shoulder in the reflection. His head turned to look at Ohkura a fraction of a second slower than usual; he had obviously been practicing for hours. Ohkura suspected that the older man hadn't taken a break in a while, judging from the way his chest rose and fell. Athleticism, he knew, couldn't get you anywhere if you stubbornly pushed far beyond your limits. Everyone had to rest now and then.
"Oh. Ohkura. What are you doing here?" Hina leaned down briefly, one foot coming slightly off the ground as he tipped to retrieve a towel from beside the mirror. Wrapping it around his neck, he walked slowly toward his band mate.
"I was practicing," Ohkura replied rather cheerily, but with a tinge of the exhaustion that he felt. "How long have you been at it?"
Hina glanced to his wrist for some unknown reason, as if he would somehow have a watch there while rehearsing. "Ah."
"It's 10:30," Ohkura said lazily as he glanced at his phone.
"Then... about five hours. That's longer than I thought!" And to Ohkura's amusement, Hina looked a bit astonished. It was such a rare expression on the other man's face that Ohkura couldn't help but chuckle.
"Well, it looks good," Ohkura supplied, glancing at the reflection of the two of them side-by-side as Hina moved to lean on the wall beside him. His eyelids drooped a little and he tipped his head and body in an almost awkward position, resting his head on Hina's shoulder. He swore he could feel Hina smile a bit as the tension from trying to perfect some part of the dance that was obviously frustrating him slowly melted out of his body. "If you over think it, you know, it'll just get worse."
Hina's hand reached up and tapped Ohkura lightly on the side of the head. "Don't be stupid. Practice makes perfect." His fingers trailed away for a moment, then, thinking again, he rested his fingertips lightly in Ohkura's hair. Over the next few seconds, he gently brushed his fingers through the strands of fine brown hair until they were buried and he was content. A low, soft noise of contentment issued from deep within Ohkura's throat, an echo of his baritone singing voice; Hina's breath caught for a moment, then steadied in the silence.
"Hinaaaa." Ohkura managed to turn a whine into something akin to a soft breath. Hina closed his eyes.
"Hm?"
"Let's go out for a drink." Ohkura let the back of his fingers brush over Hina's hip. At the touch, Hina's hand instinctively moved away from where it had been resting on the wall and mirrored the action. Their palms touched as they relaxed, but their fingers didn't intertwine. They just rested there, comfortable, as the weariness slowly began to muddle their finer senses.
"Are you crazy?" Hina obviously wanted to shout it, but his voice came out soft and with only a hint of his usual indignation. "We have to sleep. We have to film tomorrow. You know that." The hand that wasn't against Ohkura's once again came across his body and he prepared to tap him on the side of his head. The younger man turned his head, and Hina's fingers contacted his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose.
"Ow," he said, unconvincingly. "You're so abusive." Ohkura closed his eyes fully and smiled softly. "You have to make it up to all of us someday, you know."
"Watch it, or I'll hit you again," Hina replied with a loud chuckle that echoed through the room. The sound of it somehow caused Ohkura's smile to broaden; that was the Hina that was always on, and the one they all loved.
Ohkura curled his fingers slightly so they put a little pressure on Hina's. "Kiss it and make it better."
There was a moment in which neither of them moved, and the only noise to be heard in the room was their steady, nearly synchronized breathing. Ohkura held his breath for a fraction of a second, then released it, settling the sound into a set of complementary rhythms. This time, Hina was the one who became acutely aware of the rhythm. It soothed him more than the synchronization. Smoothly, slowly, he pushed away from the wall; Ohkura's head rose to a near vertical position, but he only straightened his body so much, feet sliding out from the wall to accommodate his new relaxed stance.
Just as slowly, Hina leaned forward and planted a soft, brief kiss to the bridge of Ohkura's nose; Ohkura responded with a smile. "That's all you're ever getting from me," Hina scolded.
"I didn't think you'd actually do it," Ohkura drawled. He slid back up the wall as Hina began to walk back toward the mirror. "Oi, wait." It was soft, quiet, not overly concerned but somehow insistent. "You're not going to practice more, are you?"
"Eh? No, no," Hina answered, shaking his head as he leaned over to pick up his water bottle. "I think I'm going home. You should, too." He took a long, slow drink of the water, head tipped back, eyes closed; as he pulled the bottle away from his lips, he drew his body up into a lazy stretch. His shoulders eased upward, then rolled back, and as he raised his arms up to finish the stretch, the edge of his shirt to rode up, unnoticed. Ohkura, who had followed him over to the mirror out of habit, instinctively reached out to pull the material back down.
Hina glanced down. "You do that to other people, too?"
"Mm." Ohkura nodded an affirmative, giving the fabric another soft tug. He let his fingers linger there, distracted by a certain heaviness that dragged his eyelids lower. The thin white cotton slipped easily between his fingers, and he was fascinated.
Hina moved slightly closer to him, seeing the tiredness begin to dull the drummer's eyes. "You're tired," he announced in his sternest voice. "Come on, let's get you home. I'll ride part of the way with you and keep you up." He reached down and gently eased Ohkura's hand away from the shirt.
Ohkura slowly turned his hand and caught Hina's in a soft grip. "Thank you," he mumbled softly. The touch sent a wave of warmth through his body, as if there was something supernatural about Hina's touch. He looked back up into Hina's eyes with a shy smile and pulled on his hand. Hina obliged and moved forward a bit, raising the opposite arm to give Ohkura a bracing pat on the shoulder. "Let's g-- What?"
Silently, acting without thinking through the veil of sleepiness, Ohkura pulled Hina's hand to rest on his lower back and unlinked their fingers to put his hand in the same place on the older man's back. "Thank you," he repeated, head nodding downward to rest beside Hina's ear. "Somebody has to take care of us, right?"
Hina could hear the smile so close to his ear, the slight upturn in his friend's voice. He opened his mouth to remind Ohkura that it was time to go home, but he felt a soft warmth pressing against his ear. The warmth of Ohkura's lips lingered for a moment, then traveled softly, innocently to Hina's cheek. Hina closed his eyes and turned his face toward Ohkura, who responded by pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.
Oblivious of the noise it would make, Hina let the bottle of water slip from his fingers; somehow the sound was muffled--neither of them flinched. He knew that Ohkura was tired, could feel the younger man's weight shift forward slightly after their lips parted. Following his instincts to the letter, he pulled Ohkura closer and gently reached up to push limply hanging strands of hair out of his face. His hand rested with Ohkura's hair pushed back into place, once again relishing the comforting closeness of touch.
"You're tired," he repeated quietly, concern edging his tone. Ohkura just hummed quietly in response and pressed their foreheads lightly together. There was a long silence that seemed rather like an eternity to Hina, an instant to the half-dozing Ohkura. The aftereffects of his hours of practice were heavily pressing on him, and it was getting harder and harder to speak. "I'm tired," Hina added, to absolutely no effect.
"But I'm resting now," Ohkura mumbled. Hina had to agree with that. Things were very comfortable as they stood, and Hina was solidly enough built to support that little weight Ohkura put on him, the weight Ohkura trusted to put on him. He was always looking out for everyone, keeping up the tough love that the public saw. Moments like this reminded him how much they needed each other.
The urge to speak again rose in Hina's throat, but he pushed it down, instead tipping his head slightly to reciprocate the earlier kiss: soft, gentle, lips closed and barely touching Ohkura's for a brief instant before pulling away. Brow wrinkling slightly, the younger man made a low noise and lazily slid his other arm around his friend's waist. It took very little effort for him to tilt his own head, closing the small gap between their lips, and he did it without thinking.
As the band's members always did, they gravitated toward each other; Ohkura pulled Hina close, bodies comfortably near but still with slight room to breathe. The kiss was firmer this time, but no less gentle, even as Ohkura's lips urged the older man's for a response.
For a split second, Hina wondered if he should just duck out and guide Ohkura out the door, toward home. As soon as the drummer's lips started moving almost imperceptibly against his, though, the thought melted away and he tipped his head back. It was fine, for a little while, to just be close. Exhaling slowly, he relaxed his fingers in Ohkura's hair and parted his lips slightly, giving consent for the younger man to continue.
Effortlessly, they settled into a familiar mood. Even as the gap between their bodies closed, there was no sense of romantic possession. In the back of their minds, what echoed was the comfort of home. It was natural, a completely automatic expression of the affection they felt for each other. The kiss was sure, but unrushed; the urgency Hina had felt about getting them both home was momentarily suspended.
Things escalated by degrees. Ohkura would rarely make any sort of bold move without some form of reassurance. When he wanted more, he would hesitate. Hina would read it, and respond. The drummer eased his mouth open, tracing a small line across Hina's bottom lip with his tongue, then pulled away slightly. Hina, in turn, gently pulled Ohkura back and mirrored the action slowly. The younger man responded by pouring more intensity into the act, their tongues softly touching, the near hesitation so much more effective than any sort of force.
It was slow, lazy, comfortable, but Hina knew after the first five minutes that if he didn't stop it soon it wouldn't stay completely innocent. Under Ohkura's exhaustion was a tension, unspent desire that he usually saved for the stage. Hina could feel it in his arms, his hands, his back, the taut muscles that barely relaxed at his touch. He thought it might have been from too much practice, that Ohkura had simply not been taking enough time for himself lately.
The truth was that, somehow, Hina had become an extension of the rhythm the drummer felt, a part of it, just as he was a part of the band and the music.
If he had been asked to put it into words, Ohkura would have faltered. He found it much easier to express things through movement. Absently he ran one hand up Hina's spine, then back down. The hand in his hair was soon resting at the side of his neck, Hina solidly committing to the kiss. The lower Ohkura's hand went, the more insistent the kiss became. After letting his hand linger at the hem of Hina's shirt, Ohkura instinctively flexed his fingers, tangling them in the fabric. One finger slipped past the edge of the shirt and contacted Hina's sweat-slicked skin. Ohkura quickly abandoned his grip on the cloth in favor of spreading his hand across the plane of Hina's back.
Hina responded by sliding his hand to the nape of Ohkura's neck, toying with his hair briefly before trailing his fingers down the younger man's back. When his hand settled in the same position as Ohkura's, it was like a switch had been flipped. Hina had no time to react before Ohkura nudged him backward a few steps, his shoulder blades bumping gently into the mirror.
Just as suddenly, Ohkura's lips were on Hina's neck, and the older man tilted his head back. There was a moment when it seemed like things would push forward almost too quickly, but they were too fatigued to really rush. Slowly, deliberately, hands traveled over skin and pulled fabric along with them, breaths quickened ever so slightly, and the warmth between them flickered closer to raw heat. Hina, the more awake of the two, focused his efforts on actually removing Ohkura's shirt; the task was made difficult by the drummer's refusal to stop biting and lapping at the one spot on Hina's neck that made him absolutely shudder. "Tacchon--"
"Mm?" Ohkura stopped, pulling back and looking into his friend's eyes. "Ah..." The shyness began to creep over his tired features, and for a moment Hina wanted to tell him again... We should go home. You should go home. You're tired.
"I'm tired," Ohkura said slowly, voice dark and near drawling.
"Right..." Hina shifted his weight to move away. Ohkura's arms tightened around him, fingers brushing against his skin. His lips were by Hina's ear as he glanced into the mirror.
"Five more minutes?"
Hina's muscles relaxed completely. He breathed steadily, deeply, finally paying attention to the skin-to-skin contact the younger man's embrace had brought. They were fatigued, ready for a shower more than anything else, but the proximity couldn't be labeled in their minds as wrong. Hina smiled and nodded.
Their lips met again, this time fully led by Ohkura, Hina willingly accepting and relishing every miniscule shift in position and touch. It was almost like being on stage, a full sensory experience with bursts of deeply personal intensity. Hina's weight rested on the mirror again and Ohkura somehow nudged one of his legs between Hina's.
Inevitably, naturally, their bodies settled against each other. Once more, there was skin on skin, fingers tracing lines of muscle and bone. The kiss never broke, but the intensity flared for a moment as Ohkura's grip tensed at Hina's side. The movement of his hips was gentle, slow, inoffensive in every way; Hina mirrored the motions through pure instinct at first. There was no need to think about what they were doing. Their focus was on the intimacy of the kiss, the feel of skin beneath their hands, the way warmth radiated between them. What their bodies did naturally--pleasantly--was secondary.
Nothing hastened their movements. Every shift was exploratory, yet familiar; casual, but deliberate. Caught up in everything, five minutes passed without either noticing. They would not have stopped, as Ohkura had promised, if Hina hadn't tipped his head up during a brief break in the kiss. Ohkura's lips lingered on the older man's jaw line even as he spoke. "The lights are off."
Ohkura ducked his head, resting it on Hina's shoulder. "It's late."
Hina nodded, turning his face toward his friend. He hesitated, unsure of whether it was a brief lull or if they were going to accept the jimusho's hours. After a moment of stillness, he dropped his voice. "We should probably go home then." His usual confidence and character rang through his tone, masking his exhaustion and the warm, lightheaded feeling he was coming down from.
"Right," Ohkura replied, straightening up slightly. For a brief moment, Hina's hold on Ohkura tightened, and he simply held him. Neither could help but smile at the other. Slowly, they untangled arms and legs. There was no awkwardness, just a sense of resignation.
In the dim security lighting, they gathered their few belongings. "We can split a cab," Hina offered; Ohkura accepted wordlessly with a smile.
As they exited, they both reached for the door at the same time. When their hands met, Ohkura bowed slightly, just before taking a glancing thwap to the back of the head.
Many thanks to swtjemz and jackoweskla for their advice and for hosting the exchange. Also, thanks to my betas, including but not limited to lady_gemma, honooko, hikariblue, zukkii, and elyndys; bravo to those of you who had no idea what you were betaing~. Special thanks to konliza for characterization consultation. And, of course, thanks to feigningsleep for giving me the impetus to really chase a crazy idea.
Fandom: Johnny's Entertainment
Characters: Murakami Shingo/Ohkura Tadayoshi (Kanjani8; light pairing)
Rating: strong PG-13/light R
Warnings: Semi-sexual situation but not explicit (aka almost-smut). Slow burn.
Summary: What happens when the youngest active member reaches out to the group's mother hen?
Notes: Written for the absolutely WONDERFUL feigningsleep as part of the 2007 je_holiday exchange. ~3000 words. Member-ai.
Additional author's notes--Not essential, but contains the story behind the fic and my feelings about it. Original exchange post here.
Ohkura's smile was placid, shy, perhaps a little tired as he leaned on the door frame.
Hina danced in front of the mirror, eyes focused solely on himself and his movements, thinking nothing of any possibility of an intruder.
Ohkura closed his eyes and listened to the counts Hina was muttering under his breath, to the uneven rhythm of his feet contacting the floor, occasionally scuffing, but mostly softly landing. Rhythm was something he'd felt for years, and something he could always identify with. Hina's rhythm was soothing to the drummer's ears, even after hours of solo rehearsal. Ohkura caught on to the pattern and began tapping it out on his thigh, motivated to this automatic response by repetition that his hands could never ignore.
Suddenly, Hina cursed. Ohkura's eyes snapped open, momentary awareness cutting through his usually spacey appearance. In his slightly startled rush, his feet shifted on the floor, making a soft scuff of their own.
"Nan--" Hina's gaze moved from his own face to the area over his shoulder in the reflection. His head turned to look at Ohkura a fraction of a second slower than usual; he had obviously been practicing for hours. Ohkura suspected that the older man hadn't taken a break in a while, judging from the way his chest rose and fell. Athleticism, he knew, couldn't get you anywhere if you stubbornly pushed far beyond your limits. Everyone had to rest now and then.
"Oh. Ohkura. What are you doing here?" Hina leaned down briefly, one foot coming slightly off the ground as he tipped to retrieve a towel from beside the mirror. Wrapping it around his neck, he walked slowly toward his band mate.
"I was practicing," Ohkura replied rather cheerily, but with a tinge of the exhaustion that he felt. "How long have you been at it?"
Hina glanced to his wrist for some unknown reason, as if he would somehow have a watch there while rehearsing. "Ah."
"It's 10:30," Ohkura said lazily as he glanced at his phone.
"Then... about five hours. That's longer than I thought!" And to Ohkura's amusement, Hina looked a bit astonished. It was such a rare expression on the other man's face that Ohkura couldn't help but chuckle.
"Well, it looks good," Ohkura supplied, glancing at the reflection of the two of them side-by-side as Hina moved to lean on the wall beside him. His eyelids drooped a little and he tipped his head and body in an almost awkward position, resting his head on Hina's shoulder. He swore he could feel Hina smile a bit as the tension from trying to perfect some part of the dance that was obviously frustrating him slowly melted out of his body. "If you over think it, you know, it'll just get worse."
Hina's hand reached up and tapped Ohkura lightly on the side of the head. "Don't be stupid. Practice makes perfect." His fingers trailed away for a moment, then, thinking again, he rested his fingertips lightly in Ohkura's hair. Over the next few seconds, he gently brushed his fingers through the strands of fine brown hair until they were buried and he was content. A low, soft noise of contentment issued from deep within Ohkura's throat, an echo of his baritone singing voice; Hina's breath caught for a moment, then steadied in the silence.
"Hinaaaa." Ohkura managed to turn a whine into something akin to a soft breath. Hina closed his eyes.
"Hm?"
"Let's go out for a drink." Ohkura let the back of his fingers brush over Hina's hip. At the touch, Hina's hand instinctively moved away from where it had been resting on the wall and mirrored the action. Their palms touched as they relaxed, but their fingers didn't intertwine. They just rested there, comfortable, as the weariness slowly began to muddle their finer senses.
"Are you crazy?" Hina obviously wanted to shout it, but his voice came out soft and with only a hint of his usual indignation. "We have to sleep. We have to film tomorrow. You know that." The hand that wasn't against Ohkura's once again came across his body and he prepared to tap him on the side of his head. The younger man turned his head, and Hina's fingers contacted his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose.
"Ow," he said, unconvincingly. "You're so abusive." Ohkura closed his eyes fully and smiled softly. "You have to make it up to all of us someday, you know."
"Watch it, or I'll hit you again," Hina replied with a loud chuckle that echoed through the room. The sound of it somehow caused Ohkura's smile to broaden; that was the Hina that was always on, and the one they all loved.
Ohkura curled his fingers slightly so they put a little pressure on Hina's. "Kiss it and make it better."
There was a moment in which neither of them moved, and the only noise to be heard in the room was their steady, nearly synchronized breathing. Ohkura held his breath for a fraction of a second, then released it, settling the sound into a set of complementary rhythms. This time, Hina was the one who became acutely aware of the rhythm. It soothed him more than the synchronization. Smoothly, slowly, he pushed away from the wall; Ohkura's head rose to a near vertical position, but he only straightened his body so much, feet sliding out from the wall to accommodate his new relaxed stance.
Just as slowly, Hina leaned forward and planted a soft, brief kiss to the bridge of Ohkura's nose; Ohkura responded with a smile. "That's all you're ever getting from me," Hina scolded.
"I didn't think you'd actually do it," Ohkura drawled. He slid back up the wall as Hina began to walk back toward the mirror. "Oi, wait." It was soft, quiet, not overly concerned but somehow insistent. "You're not going to practice more, are you?"
"Eh? No, no," Hina answered, shaking his head as he leaned over to pick up his water bottle. "I think I'm going home. You should, too." He took a long, slow drink of the water, head tipped back, eyes closed; as he pulled the bottle away from his lips, he drew his body up into a lazy stretch. His shoulders eased upward, then rolled back, and as he raised his arms up to finish the stretch, the edge of his shirt to rode up, unnoticed. Ohkura, who had followed him over to the mirror out of habit, instinctively reached out to pull the material back down.
Hina glanced down. "You do that to other people, too?"
"Mm." Ohkura nodded an affirmative, giving the fabric another soft tug. He let his fingers linger there, distracted by a certain heaviness that dragged his eyelids lower. The thin white cotton slipped easily between his fingers, and he was fascinated.
Hina moved slightly closer to him, seeing the tiredness begin to dull the drummer's eyes. "You're tired," he announced in his sternest voice. "Come on, let's get you home. I'll ride part of the way with you and keep you up." He reached down and gently eased Ohkura's hand away from the shirt.
Ohkura slowly turned his hand and caught Hina's in a soft grip. "Thank you," he mumbled softly. The touch sent a wave of warmth through his body, as if there was something supernatural about Hina's touch. He looked back up into Hina's eyes with a shy smile and pulled on his hand. Hina obliged and moved forward a bit, raising the opposite arm to give Ohkura a bracing pat on the shoulder. "Let's g-- What?"
Silently, acting without thinking through the veil of sleepiness, Ohkura pulled Hina's hand to rest on his lower back and unlinked their fingers to put his hand in the same place on the older man's back. "Thank you," he repeated, head nodding downward to rest beside Hina's ear. "Somebody has to take care of us, right?"
Hina could hear the smile so close to his ear, the slight upturn in his friend's voice. He opened his mouth to remind Ohkura that it was time to go home, but he felt a soft warmth pressing against his ear. The warmth of Ohkura's lips lingered for a moment, then traveled softly, innocently to Hina's cheek. Hina closed his eyes and turned his face toward Ohkura, who responded by pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.
Oblivious of the noise it would make, Hina let the bottle of water slip from his fingers; somehow the sound was muffled--neither of them flinched. He knew that Ohkura was tired, could feel the younger man's weight shift forward slightly after their lips parted. Following his instincts to the letter, he pulled Ohkura closer and gently reached up to push limply hanging strands of hair out of his face. His hand rested with Ohkura's hair pushed back into place, once again relishing the comforting closeness of touch.
"You're tired," he repeated quietly, concern edging his tone. Ohkura just hummed quietly in response and pressed their foreheads lightly together. There was a long silence that seemed rather like an eternity to Hina, an instant to the half-dozing Ohkura. The aftereffects of his hours of practice were heavily pressing on him, and it was getting harder and harder to speak. "I'm tired," Hina added, to absolutely no effect.
"But I'm resting now," Ohkura mumbled. Hina had to agree with that. Things were very comfortable as they stood, and Hina was solidly enough built to support that little weight Ohkura put on him, the weight Ohkura trusted to put on him. He was always looking out for everyone, keeping up the tough love that the public saw. Moments like this reminded him how much they needed each other.
The urge to speak again rose in Hina's throat, but he pushed it down, instead tipping his head slightly to reciprocate the earlier kiss: soft, gentle, lips closed and barely touching Ohkura's for a brief instant before pulling away. Brow wrinkling slightly, the younger man made a low noise and lazily slid his other arm around his friend's waist. It took very little effort for him to tilt his own head, closing the small gap between their lips, and he did it without thinking.
As the band's members always did, they gravitated toward each other; Ohkura pulled Hina close, bodies comfortably near but still with slight room to breathe. The kiss was firmer this time, but no less gentle, even as Ohkura's lips urged the older man's for a response.
For a split second, Hina wondered if he should just duck out and guide Ohkura out the door, toward home. As soon as the drummer's lips started moving almost imperceptibly against his, though, the thought melted away and he tipped his head back. It was fine, for a little while, to just be close. Exhaling slowly, he relaxed his fingers in Ohkura's hair and parted his lips slightly, giving consent for the younger man to continue.
Effortlessly, they settled into a familiar mood. Even as the gap between their bodies closed, there was no sense of romantic possession. In the back of their minds, what echoed was the comfort of home. It was natural, a completely automatic expression of the affection they felt for each other. The kiss was sure, but unrushed; the urgency Hina had felt about getting them both home was momentarily suspended.
Things escalated by degrees. Ohkura would rarely make any sort of bold move without some form of reassurance. When he wanted more, he would hesitate. Hina would read it, and respond. The drummer eased his mouth open, tracing a small line across Hina's bottom lip with his tongue, then pulled away slightly. Hina, in turn, gently pulled Ohkura back and mirrored the action slowly. The younger man responded by pouring more intensity into the act, their tongues softly touching, the near hesitation so much more effective than any sort of force.
It was slow, lazy, comfortable, but Hina knew after the first five minutes that if he didn't stop it soon it wouldn't stay completely innocent. Under Ohkura's exhaustion was a tension, unspent desire that he usually saved for the stage. Hina could feel it in his arms, his hands, his back, the taut muscles that barely relaxed at his touch. He thought it might have been from too much practice, that Ohkura had simply not been taking enough time for himself lately.
The truth was that, somehow, Hina had become an extension of the rhythm the drummer felt, a part of it, just as he was a part of the band and the music.
If he had been asked to put it into words, Ohkura would have faltered. He found it much easier to express things through movement. Absently he ran one hand up Hina's spine, then back down. The hand in his hair was soon resting at the side of his neck, Hina solidly committing to the kiss. The lower Ohkura's hand went, the more insistent the kiss became. After letting his hand linger at the hem of Hina's shirt, Ohkura instinctively flexed his fingers, tangling them in the fabric. One finger slipped past the edge of the shirt and contacted Hina's sweat-slicked skin. Ohkura quickly abandoned his grip on the cloth in favor of spreading his hand across the plane of Hina's back.
Hina responded by sliding his hand to the nape of Ohkura's neck, toying with his hair briefly before trailing his fingers down the younger man's back. When his hand settled in the same position as Ohkura's, it was like a switch had been flipped. Hina had no time to react before Ohkura nudged him backward a few steps, his shoulder blades bumping gently into the mirror.
Just as suddenly, Ohkura's lips were on Hina's neck, and the older man tilted his head back. There was a moment when it seemed like things would push forward almost too quickly, but they were too fatigued to really rush. Slowly, deliberately, hands traveled over skin and pulled fabric along with them, breaths quickened ever so slightly, and the warmth between them flickered closer to raw heat. Hina, the more awake of the two, focused his efforts on actually removing Ohkura's shirt; the task was made difficult by the drummer's refusal to stop biting and lapping at the one spot on Hina's neck that made him absolutely shudder. "Tacchon--"
"Mm?" Ohkura stopped, pulling back and looking into his friend's eyes. "Ah..." The shyness began to creep over his tired features, and for a moment Hina wanted to tell him again... We should go home. You should go home. You're tired.
"I'm tired," Ohkura said slowly, voice dark and near drawling.
"Right..." Hina shifted his weight to move away. Ohkura's arms tightened around him, fingers brushing against his skin. His lips were by Hina's ear as he glanced into the mirror.
"Five more minutes?"
Hina's muscles relaxed completely. He breathed steadily, deeply, finally paying attention to the skin-to-skin contact the younger man's embrace had brought. They were fatigued, ready for a shower more than anything else, but the proximity couldn't be labeled in their minds as wrong. Hina smiled and nodded.
Their lips met again, this time fully led by Ohkura, Hina willingly accepting and relishing every miniscule shift in position and touch. It was almost like being on stage, a full sensory experience with bursts of deeply personal intensity. Hina's weight rested on the mirror again and Ohkura somehow nudged one of his legs between Hina's.
Inevitably, naturally, their bodies settled against each other. Once more, there was skin on skin, fingers tracing lines of muscle and bone. The kiss never broke, but the intensity flared for a moment as Ohkura's grip tensed at Hina's side. The movement of his hips was gentle, slow, inoffensive in every way; Hina mirrored the motions through pure instinct at first. There was no need to think about what they were doing. Their focus was on the intimacy of the kiss, the feel of skin beneath their hands, the way warmth radiated between them. What their bodies did naturally--pleasantly--was secondary.
Nothing hastened their movements. Every shift was exploratory, yet familiar; casual, but deliberate. Caught up in everything, five minutes passed without either noticing. They would not have stopped, as Ohkura had promised, if Hina hadn't tipped his head up during a brief break in the kiss. Ohkura's lips lingered on the older man's jaw line even as he spoke. "The lights are off."
Ohkura ducked his head, resting it on Hina's shoulder. "It's late."
Hina nodded, turning his face toward his friend. He hesitated, unsure of whether it was a brief lull or if they were going to accept the jimusho's hours. After a moment of stillness, he dropped his voice. "We should probably go home then." His usual confidence and character rang through his tone, masking his exhaustion and the warm, lightheaded feeling he was coming down from.
"Right," Ohkura replied, straightening up slightly. For a brief moment, Hina's hold on Ohkura tightened, and he simply held him. Neither could help but smile at the other. Slowly, they untangled arms and legs. There was no awkwardness, just a sense of resignation.
In the dim security lighting, they gathered their few belongings. "We can split a cab," Hina offered; Ohkura accepted wordlessly with a smile.
As they exited, they both reached for the door at the same time. When their hands met, Ohkura bowed slightly, just before taking a glancing thwap to the back of the head.
Many thanks to swtjemz and jackoweskla for their advice and for hosting the exchange. Also, thanks to my betas, including but not limited to lady_gemma, honooko, hikariblue, zukkii, and elyndys; bravo to those of you who had no idea what you were betaing~. Special thanks to konliza for characterization consultation. And, of course, thanks to feigningsleep for giving me the impetus to really chase a crazy idea.