Starlight: The Glimmering Sea of the Night Sky [ShouXHiroto, NC-17, sequel to Stargazer:]
Title: Starlight: The Glimmering Sea of the Night Sky
Chapter: Sequel to Stargazer:
Author: Boots
Genre: Smut, romance, some angst
Warnings: Explicit sex (oral)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: ShouXHiroto, some mentions of ToraXSaga
Summary: Budokan is approaching, and Shou is still in denial about his feelings for Hiroto. Fortunately, Hiroto isn't the only person who's noticed this . . .
Disclaimer: The boys belong to PS Company, I own the story only.
Comments: Since y'all asked so nicely for a sequel . . . here it is!
There’s a few minutes of downtime during the rehearsals for Budokan, and a big photo portfolio is being passed around, a sampling of literally thousands of photos over the seven-year rollercoaster ride that has been their career. They don’t get a chance to look over those photos and reminisce very often. That’s what Hiroto is doing right now.
Of course, he keeps lingering over the ones with Shou in them. He can remember what was going on when most of them were taken. Here he is in a photo session for White Prayer - before he invited Hiroto out for drinks that night. They’d ended up on Shou’s couch, kissing and touching and ultimately lying atop each other, grinding together until they both reached ecstasy. Two days later, Hiroto had caught Shou with his hand on Saga’s ass.
And here is a live shot taken in Hiroshima, sometime around Tsubasa. Hiroto is leaning against Shou’s back. Shou had stolen a kiss right after this was taken. Then more kisses backstage. Then even more than kisses at the hotel. And then . . . Hiroto caught him again, two days later, only this time it was Tora, and they were making out in the dressing room in Osaka.
The same pattern, over and over and over. Hiroto flips some more pages, as if he could flip the memories, the alternating pleasure and pain, off a cliff somewhere. He can’t, of course. And he really should do the logical thing and break this off, just say no to Shou next time, start accepting dates from some of the other people who’ve expressed an interest in him.
But since when was a heart ever logical? Especially the heart of a deep-feeling person like him?
He feels Shou’s eyes on him. His bandmate has wandered over and is looking over his shoulder at the portfolio. Hiroto glances up, and the reality of him is even more stunning than the carefully lit and airbrushed photos. Those gorgeous eyes, those full, soft lips, the hair that somehow manages to remain full and soft even though it’s been dyed and dyed and dyed again . . . (It’s still a frosted dark blond at the moment.)
Another flip of a page, trying to stay casual. Here’s a picture taken sometime around Rainbows. One of Shou’s brief flirtations with red hair. And Hiroto looks at his bandmate, smiling, and says, “You looked very nice like this.”
Shou smiles back at him, says, “You looked pretty nice yourself.” And puts a hand on Hiroto’s shoulder, somewhere between a friendly pat and a loving caress. Just ambiguous enough to make Hiroto’s aching, confused heart ache a little more.
* * *
Across the room, Tora and Saga take notice of what’s going on. How can they not? The vibe between the two of them is strong enough to signal to anyone within a five-mile radius that they’re meant to be. If only Shou wasn’t so dense about it.
They both know the drill by now. Shou begins to act loving toward Hiroto. They spend time together, then a little more time, then the whole night. And then, Shou backs off and throws himself at one of them. Or both. There’s been at least one occasion where he dragged both of them to a club and the night ended in a threesome.
Up until now, they haven’t said no. Because when a guy as hot as Shou flings himself at you, it’s hard to turn him down. And besides, the band always had sort of a no-strings-attached policy when it came to sex - look to your buddies for gratification, not total strangers.
Except, of course, Shou and Hiroto are definitely not no-strings-attached. Saga can tell one is there. A red one, the kind that connects hearts. It’s visible when Hiroto looks at Shou with pain in his eyes every time the singer’s back is turned. Not to mention that Saga is beginning to sense the first strands of a red string forming between himself and Tora. If they’re going to be spun into full reality, the pretty little outside distraction with the currently-frosted-dark-blond-hair has to be cut out of the picture.
Saga catches Tora’s glance, and they both nod in understanding. Neither one of them is giving in to Shou this time. It’s time he finally saw the light.
* * *
Alone in his apartment, with days to go before the big performance at Budokan, Shou lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep is eluding him yet again. There’s the excitement over the big show, to be sure. This has been his dream since he was a teenager, sitting in his grandparents’ apartment listening to Luna Sea and thinking about what it would be like to be on the stage himself.
But there’s something else that’s been bothering him. Some ache in the back of his heart, of his mind, that he can’t seem to give a name to. It formed around the time they recorded Stargazer: and it hasn’t gone away since.
He punches his pillow and rolls over onto his stomach, exhaling a deep breath. His mind keeps coming back to that night just before the recording session, when he was lying outside with Hiroto, looking up at the stars. The absolute peace that stole over him then . . .
He hasn’t been with Hiroto, sexually, since that night. They’ve been busy, of course. No time for playtime, with anyone. Interviews, rehearsals, songwriting, recording and recording and recording . . . No time to catch a breath.
He could use some of that peace and purity from that night. No, can’t think of that. Stylist session tomorrow. Then photoshoot for the Budokan book. Then PV for the new album. Need to think of what kind of look he’s going to go for this time. Need to . . .
An idea comes to him, and his eyes droop shut, his mind once again focused on brilliant stars and a feeling of peace.
* * *
Backstage at Budokan. The show went off without a hitch, and now it’s time to celebrate. The room is flooded with other J-rock singers, models, actors, A-listers who want to be able to say they were there when an already-hot band hit a career milestone. Hiroto finds himself crushed between a Korean boy-bander giving him a clap on the back and a journalist sticking her microphone in his face. He accepts the congratulations of the former and tries to give an intelligent answer to the latter.
He’s still a little overwhelmed, really. The pinnacle of seven years of work . . . It still seems surreal. Which is a pretty good thing, because it’s distracting him from certain aspects of his reality. His eyes wander the room - and there’s his reality, over in the corner, talking to two other singers with a smile on his face. That thousand megawatt smile.
And there’s the pain in his heart again, a sharp sting in the middle of the warm fuzziness of their triumph.
Saga is making the rounds of the room, champagne glass in hand, flirting with a DJ here, talking to an idol singer there. But he catches that pained look of Hiroto’s. Fine, time to finally do something about this. Nothing should wreck this night. Especially not heartache.
He crosses the room, grabs Shou’s arm and yanks him into the shower room. He slams the door behind them and locks it. Shou has a baffled look on his face - and then, he instantly knows what Saga is doing. Or thinks he knows. He pushes his bandmate against the wall, bringing his lips to Saga’s . . .
Only to find himself shoved away, roughly. Shou blinks in confusion. “What the hell? Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“It’s the last thing in the world either of us want,” Saga said. “And you should know that by now.”
“What?” Now Shou is flat-out baffled. Saga is making no sense whatsoever. Not want this? They’d had sex plenty of times. “Then why are you . . .”
Saga grabs Shou’s shoulders, spins him around and propels him toward the mirror. “Look at yourself,” he says. “Just look.”
Now Shou is beginning to wonder if his bandmate has gone insane. “Saga? Um, did somebody slip something into your drink?” Look at himself? What was he supposed to be seeing? The stage costume? The makeup? The . . .
“The HAIR.” Saga nearly barks. “The color. Who did you dye your hair for, Shou? Who were you trying to please?”
He looks. Red. He hasn’t had red hair in a long time. Not since Rainbows. Why did he choose that color, anyway? He remembers the day of that photo session - the stylist had wanted to make it a lighter blond, but he had insisted . . .
And then, a mental picture of a sweet smile, a voice saying, “You looked very nice like this.” Of course. It was for him, wasn’t it? And that song they had recorded back in the fall . . . the lyric was about him, wasn’t it? Not just that one. There had been others, so many others . . .
“If you don’t stop being chicken,” Saga says, “If you don’t go out there and fetch him and tell him exactly what you’ve been feeling, I swear I am going to shove your microphone up your ass. Without lube. And then take pictures and post them all over Twitpic.”
“You . . . Know?” Damn. Shou’s reeling. Saga means business - he does NOT make threats like this. Hell, he rarely gets angry, period.
“The whole world knows, Shou-chan,” Saga replies. “Everyone except you.”
And then, there’s a knock on the door. Saga goes over and unlocks it, and a knowing smile crosses his face. “You have a guest,” he says. He leaves the shower room, and Hiroto comes in - followed by Saga‘s departure, telling Hiroto, “Make sure you lock the door behind me.”
A click of a lock, and now they’re alone. Hiroto just stands there, fluorescent lighting bouncing off his hair and skin, making him seem paler than he already is. His heart is thudding. Tora had told him to come in here, that Shou wanted to talk to him. Is he going to give him the brush-off for good? He knew Shou had gone in here with Saga. Why tonight, of all nights?
Shou gives him a sheepish smile. “Hell of a show tonight, wasn’t it?” Hiroto gives him a sheepish smile in return, and suddenly, the world-class tease is feeling like an awkward high school boy again. “Hiroto, I . . .” A deep breath, a hand rubbing the red hair. The hair he dyed because Hiroto wanted it that color. “I’ve been thinking for a long time, or rather . . . Not thinking. Which was my mistake. You see, a guy like you deserves . . .” And the words weren’t coming to the band’s wordsmith. Wonderful. Was this what he was afraid of all along, that love would undo anything J-rock about him, make sexy Shou revert to the awkward and unhappy Kazumasa?
And suddenly, he decides to stamp that fear out. He grasps Hiroto by the collar, pushes him against the wall and kisses him hard, the way he’d done with Saga before - but unlike that kiss, this one has genuine emotion behind it, everything he’d been damming up, holding back. That nameless pain has a name now - it was suppressed love, a wall of ice holding back his feelings.
Pulling away, he says, breathlessly, “I love you. I’ve always loved you, Hiroto. Ever since we met . . .”
Hiroto can scarcely believe his ears. Suddenly, things are surreal again. Has this whole evening been some sort of alternate reality? Is he going to wake up tomorrow and find out that he dreamt everything over the last year or so, and that playing Budokan and having Shou confess his love are both elusive fantasies that can never become reality?
But no, it’s real. Those are Shou’s arms around him and Shou’s lips on his cheek and ear and Shou’s voice telling him that just about every song he’s written and sung has something of Hiroto in it. The sad songs, those were the ache over not being able to confess his love. “Kiss Twice Kiss Me Deadly,” that was about the passion they’d shared. Songs that express romance, the feelings he couldn’t tell him directly. And then, there was “Stargazer:” . . .
And all Hiroto can do is hug back, and kiss back, and whisper “I love you too, I love you too.” He does. With everything in his body, heart and soul. He can forgive him everything that’s happened - the not telling him, the dalliances with other men. That slate’s been wiped clean now.
Another kiss, this one softer, hotter, slowly growing wetter, their tongues pressing against each other, stroking, as hands move down to clothing, starting to undo buttons and zippers. Stage costumes are made for prettiness, not ease of escape. They need to break apart for a moment to discard fabric, push aside jackets and pants. (Neither of them notices just yet that Tora, when he delivered Hiroto to the room, had also oh-so-thoughtfully pushed in both their duffle bags, so they’ll have their changes of street clothes.)
Once he has his love - yes, his love, he can admit it to himself now, and the feeling is wild and sweet and glorious - naked, Shou tilts his head a little, one of his famous teasing glints coming into his eyes, and says, “We’re in a shower room - we might as well take advantage of the shower.” He turns on the water, adjusts the temperature, and then reaches for Hiroto’s hands, pulling him under the spray and into an embrace.
It’s a rather large stall, with a ceiling-mounted shower and, to the side, a little bench built into the wall for sitting while washing up, a mesh of Japanese and Western style. It will do very nicely for their purposes, thank you.
Shou pulls Hiroto closer, tongue gently pushing into his mouth, caressing Hiroto’s lovingly. One hand moves down his chest, fingers brushing over the nipple, a thrill passing through his body as Hiroto shudders in response.
Wanting to take that response one step further, Shou starts to move downward, licking along Hiroto’s neck, placing little kisses and nips along the way. The soft moan his lover utters makes him purr in delight, and as he moves lower, he glances upward, eyes full of tease.
Then, his tongue is stroking a nipple, and Hiroto lets out a moan that probably would have been heard by people outside if not for the level of party noise. Encouraged, Shou takes the bud in his lips, sucking, as his fingers start to caress its twin. He pinches very gently between his thumb and forefinger, and Hiroto literally becomes weak-kneed, sagging down a bit as he gasps.
Shou raises his head. “You can’t stand up?” he says, in his sexiest purr. “Maybe you should sit, then.”
He guides Hiroto over to the bench, and Hiroto sinks down on it, grateful that he doesn’t have to stand up anymore, because if Shou keeps this up, he’s going to be on the floor. Shou pushes Hiroto’s legs apart and kneels in front of him, leaning over so Hiroto can get a great view of that naked ass. He brings his lips to his lover’s again, and their tongues tangle instantly, both men letting out a moan as they stroke and lick. They’ve had intimate times together before, to be sure, but not quite like this. For the first time, this is emotional as much as physical, as much about two hearts as two cocks.
It’s what it should have been all along, but better late than never.
And then Hiroto is moaning again as Shou’s tongue makes its hot, wet way down his body, stroking his nipples again, rubbing along his stomach, lapping up trails of water as they pour down his skin, more delicious to Shou than drinking the finest wine. He pauses again at Hiroto’s lower belly, giving him a teasing glance and a million megawatt smile.
Then his tongue makes its first contact with the head of Hiroto’s erection, and that brings about another luscious moan - until Shou’s finger moves up to his mouth, working its way into those soft, soft lips. Hiroto sucks on the finger, eagerly, as Shou wraps his lips around the head of the other man’s cock.
He slides down, and Shou feels heat filling his mouth, which he savors, slowly, taking him in little by little. His finger continues to move in and out of the other man’s lips., and Hiroto continues to suck, telling Shou without words what he wants him to do, how he wants to be sucked.
Shou takes him up on the invitation, in a big way. He begins to suck with long, slow tugs of his mouth, as his head begins to move back and forth. The finger slides out of Hiroto’s mouth and slides down, over his neck and chest, finally stopping at his nipple.
Now Hiroto is moaning loudly, as his aching cock slides into the hot, wet, velvety feel of Shou’s mouth, the tongue brushing against the sensitive underside, sending showers of sparks behind his vision with every touch. He opens his eyes, and looks down, and sees the red head bobbing up and down - the color he’d told Shou he liked on him. He reaches down and strokes it, tangles his fingers in the wet strands, pulls him closer as his hips start to buck off the bench, thrusting deeper into Shou’s mouth.
“Shou,” he gasps. “Oh, I’m close . . . So, so close . . .. I’m . . .”
The orgasm floods him in long, hot waves, and Hiroto cries out, loudly, as his essence pours into Shou’s mouth, and Shou swallows it, eagerly - just deepening the intimacy of the act.
Hiroto sags forward, panting, as Shou moves up to kiss his lips. His tongue darts out, eager to taste himself within his lover’s mouth. And when he does, he wants nothing more than to return the favor, to make Shou cry out in ecstasy the same way he did.
He pushes up on Shou’s shoulders, and the older man gets the message, moving away just long enough for Hiroto to slide down from the bench until he’s sitting on the floor. Shou takes his place on the seat, but when Hiroto gets on his knees, and leans over, trying to get his mouth on Shou . . . Shou wraps his hand around his cock and moves it just out of Hiroto’s grasp. Hiroto’s mouth closes on nothing, he looks perplexed . . . And then, both men laugh, and keep laughing as Hiroto tries again, and Shou moves the target again.
The third time, however, Shou holds still, and Hiroto is able to wrap those full, plush lips around the head of his erection. He lingers there for a long moment, just tonguing it a little, then pulling it back, then tonguing it a little more. “Tease,’ Shou gasps. “You learned from me.” He hit the nail on the head, all right.
Finally, Hiroto begins to move down on it, sucking as he takes it a little more in, then pulls it out, then takes it slightly deeper the next time he goes down. His hands run along Shou’s inner thighs, caressing and massaging, listening for signs he’s doing well - and pretty soon, he gets them. That fabled, drive-the-fangirls-wild voice is soon uttering a string of long, low moans and ragged pleas for him to suck faster, suck harder, make him come . . .
Hiroto is only too happy to comply, because he loves the feel of Shou’s hardness sliding over his lips and tongue, the musky taste of precome. He begins to work him rapidly, bobbing his head up and down, and he’s starting to take him deeper than he ever has before - maybe it’s the angle, maybe just the fact that this is much more relaxed than their previous encounters, since the angst is gone, replaced with happiness and love.
Shou is calling out his name now, a raw, ragged sound that’s as sweet to Hiroto as the man’s strongest singing, and Hiroto moves faster, sucks harder, moaning in his own throat as he feels his lover tense . . . And then the explosion comes, and Shou lets out a long, low cry, his seed flowing into Hiroto’s mouth.
For Shou, it’s the most satisfying orgasm he ever had, the ecstasy flooding him like starbursts, releasing not only the tensions built up within him, but all the emotion he’d held back, dammed off within himself for too long. When it’s finally over, and Hiroto is holding him, kissing him, he clings to him tightly with both arms, as if unwilling to ever let him go.
There’s breathless kisses and whispers of “I love you” from them both as they linger, snuggled together, Hiroto still kneeling in front of Shou, his head on his shoulder. They know they can’t stay there - they at least have to put in another appearance at the party - but they’re going to make this moment last for as long as they possibly can.
Much later, after all the guests have left and the last congratulations have been said and the cake with the “Flashlight From The Past” logo has been devoured, they wait together at the back door of the dressing room, having informed the stage manager they need only one car, they’re going to the same place. The stage manager shakes his head - PS Company is saving a lot of money on cars tonight. Tora and Saga had said the same thing.
And so, the car arrives, and they head out toward it, discreetly holding hands, heading for Shou’s apartment and his bed and a long, hot, tender night of lovemaking, the perfect ending to what had turned out to be a perfect day.
It’s a beautiful, clear evening, and as they head toward the car, they can look up and see the night sky sparking with stars.
starlight: the glimmering sea of the night sky shone gently upon the two people looking up at it . . .
Chapter: Sequel to Stargazer:
Author: Boots
Genre: Smut, romance, some angst
Warnings: Explicit sex (oral)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: ShouXHiroto, some mentions of ToraXSaga
Summary: Budokan is approaching, and Shou is still in denial about his feelings for Hiroto. Fortunately, Hiroto isn't the only person who's noticed this . . .
Disclaimer: The boys belong to PS Company, I own the story only.
Comments: Since y'all asked so nicely for a sequel . . . here it is!
There’s a few minutes of downtime during the rehearsals for Budokan, and a big photo portfolio is being passed around, a sampling of literally thousands of photos over the seven-year rollercoaster ride that has been their career. They don’t get a chance to look over those photos and reminisce very often. That’s what Hiroto is doing right now.
Of course, he keeps lingering over the ones with Shou in them. He can remember what was going on when most of them were taken. Here he is in a photo session for White Prayer - before he invited Hiroto out for drinks that night. They’d ended up on Shou’s couch, kissing and touching and ultimately lying atop each other, grinding together until they both reached ecstasy. Two days later, Hiroto had caught Shou with his hand on Saga’s ass.
And here is a live shot taken in Hiroshima, sometime around Tsubasa. Hiroto is leaning against Shou’s back. Shou had stolen a kiss right after this was taken. Then more kisses backstage. Then even more than kisses at the hotel. And then . . . Hiroto caught him again, two days later, only this time it was Tora, and they were making out in the dressing room in Osaka.
The same pattern, over and over and over. Hiroto flips some more pages, as if he could flip the memories, the alternating pleasure and pain, off a cliff somewhere. He can’t, of course. And he really should do the logical thing and break this off, just say no to Shou next time, start accepting dates from some of the other people who’ve expressed an interest in him.
But since when was a heart ever logical? Especially the heart of a deep-feeling person like him?
He feels Shou’s eyes on him. His bandmate has wandered over and is looking over his shoulder at the portfolio. Hiroto glances up, and the reality of him is even more stunning than the carefully lit and airbrushed photos. Those gorgeous eyes, those full, soft lips, the hair that somehow manages to remain full and soft even though it’s been dyed and dyed and dyed again . . . (It’s still a frosted dark blond at the moment.)
Another flip of a page, trying to stay casual. Here’s a picture taken sometime around Rainbows. One of Shou’s brief flirtations with red hair. And Hiroto looks at his bandmate, smiling, and says, “You looked very nice like this.”
Shou smiles back at him, says, “You looked pretty nice yourself.” And puts a hand on Hiroto’s shoulder, somewhere between a friendly pat and a loving caress. Just ambiguous enough to make Hiroto’s aching, confused heart ache a little more.
* * *
Across the room, Tora and Saga take notice of what’s going on. How can they not? The vibe between the two of them is strong enough to signal to anyone within a five-mile radius that they’re meant to be. If only Shou wasn’t so dense about it.
They both know the drill by now. Shou begins to act loving toward Hiroto. They spend time together, then a little more time, then the whole night. And then, Shou backs off and throws himself at one of them. Or both. There’s been at least one occasion where he dragged both of them to a club and the night ended in a threesome.
Up until now, they haven’t said no. Because when a guy as hot as Shou flings himself at you, it’s hard to turn him down. And besides, the band always had sort of a no-strings-attached policy when it came to sex - look to your buddies for gratification, not total strangers.
Except, of course, Shou and Hiroto are definitely not no-strings-attached. Saga can tell one is there. A red one, the kind that connects hearts. It’s visible when Hiroto looks at Shou with pain in his eyes every time the singer’s back is turned. Not to mention that Saga is beginning to sense the first strands of a red string forming between himself and Tora. If they’re going to be spun into full reality, the pretty little outside distraction with the currently-frosted-dark-blond-hair has to be cut out of the picture.
Saga catches Tora’s glance, and they both nod in understanding. Neither one of them is giving in to Shou this time. It’s time he finally saw the light.
* * *
Alone in his apartment, with days to go before the big performance at Budokan, Shou lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep is eluding him yet again. There’s the excitement over the big show, to be sure. This has been his dream since he was a teenager, sitting in his grandparents’ apartment listening to Luna Sea and thinking about what it would be like to be on the stage himself.
But there’s something else that’s been bothering him. Some ache in the back of his heart, of his mind, that he can’t seem to give a name to. It formed around the time they recorded Stargazer: and it hasn’t gone away since.
He punches his pillow and rolls over onto his stomach, exhaling a deep breath. His mind keeps coming back to that night just before the recording session, when he was lying outside with Hiroto, looking up at the stars. The absolute peace that stole over him then . . .
He hasn’t been with Hiroto, sexually, since that night. They’ve been busy, of course. No time for playtime, with anyone. Interviews, rehearsals, songwriting, recording and recording and recording . . . No time to catch a breath.
He could use some of that peace and purity from that night. No, can’t think of that. Stylist session tomorrow. Then photoshoot for the Budokan book. Then PV for the new album. Need to think of what kind of look he’s going to go for this time. Need to . . .
An idea comes to him, and his eyes droop shut, his mind once again focused on brilliant stars and a feeling of peace.
* * *
Backstage at Budokan. The show went off without a hitch, and now it’s time to celebrate. The room is flooded with other J-rock singers, models, actors, A-listers who want to be able to say they were there when an already-hot band hit a career milestone. Hiroto finds himself crushed between a Korean boy-bander giving him a clap on the back and a journalist sticking her microphone in his face. He accepts the congratulations of the former and tries to give an intelligent answer to the latter.
He’s still a little overwhelmed, really. The pinnacle of seven years of work . . . It still seems surreal. Which is a pretty good thing, because it’s distracting him from certain aspects of his reality. His eyes wander the room - and there’s his reality, over in the corner, talking to two other singers with a smile on his face. That thousand megawatt smile.
And there’s the pain in his heart again, a sharp sting in the middle of the warm fuzziness of their triumph.
Saga is making the rounds of the room, champagne glass in hand, flirting with a DJ here, talking to an idol singer there. But he catches that pained look of Hiroto’s. Fine, time to finally do something about this. Nothing should wreck this night. Especially not heartache.
He crosses the room, grabs Shou’s arm and yanks him into the shower room. He slams the door behind them and locks it. Shou has a baffled look on his face - and then, he instantly knows what Saga is doing. Or thinks he knows. He pushes his bandmate against the wall, bringing his lips to Saga’s . . .
Only to find himself shoved away, roughly. Shou blinks in confusion. “What the hell? Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“It’s the last thing in the world either of us want,” Saga said. “And you should know that by now.”
“What?” Now Shou is flat-out baffled. Saga is making no sense whatsoever. Not want this? They’d had sex plenty of times. “Then why are you . . .”
Saga grabs Shou’s shoulders, spins him around and propels him toward the mirror. “Look at yourself,” he says. “Just look.”
Now Shou is beginning to wonder if his bandmate has gone insane. “Saga? Um, did somebody slip something into your drink?” Look at himself? What was he supposed to be seeing? The stage costume? The makeup? The . . .
“The HAIR.” Saga nearly barks. “The color. Who did you dye your hair for, Shou? Who were you trying to please?”
He looks. Red. He hasn’t had red hair in a long time. Not since Rainbows. Why did he choose that color, anyway? He remembers the day of that photo session - the stylist had wanted to make it a lighter blond, but he had insisted . . .
And then, a mental picture of a sweet smile, a voice saying, “You looked very nice like this.” Of course. It was for him, wasn’t it? And that song they had recorded back in the fall . . . the lyric was about him, wasn’t it? Not just that one. There had been others, so many others . . .
“If you don’t stop being chicken,” Saga says, “If you don’t go out there and fetch him and tell him exactly what you’ve been feeling, I swear I am going to shove your microphone up your ass. Without lube. And then take pictures and post them all over Twitpic.”
“You . . . Know?” Damn. Shou’s reeling. Saga means business - he does NOT make threats like this. Hell, he rarely gets angry, period.
“The whole world knows, Shou-chan,” Saga replies. “Everyone except you.”
And then, there’s a knock on the door. Saga goes over and unlocks it, and a knowing smile crosses his face. “You have a guest,” he says. He leaves the shower room, and Hiroto comes in - followed by Saga‘s departure, telling Hiroto, “Make sure you lock the door behind me.”
A click of a lock, and now they’re alone. Hiroto just stands there, fluorescent lighting bouncing off his hair and skin, making him seem paler than he already is. His heart is thudding. Tora had told him to come in here, that Shou wanted to talk to him. Is he going to give him the brush-off for good? He knew Shou had gone in here with Saga. Why tonight, of all nights?
Shou gives him a sheepish smile. “Hell of a show tonight, wasn’t it?” Hiroto gives him a sheepish smile in return, and suddenly, the world-class tease is feeling like an awkward high school boy again. “Hiroto, I . . .” A deep breath, a hand rubbing the red hair. The hair he dyed because Hiroto wanted it that color. “I’ve been thinking for a long time, or rather . . . Not thinking. Which was my mistake. You see, a guy like you deserves . . .” And the words weren’t coming to the band’s wordsmith. Wonderful. Was this what he was afraid of all along, that love would undo anything J-rock about him, make sexy Shou revert to the awkward and unhappy Kazumasa?
And suddenly, he decides to stamp that fear out. He grasps Hiroto by the collar, pushes him against the wall and kisses him hard, the way he’d done with Saga before - but unlike that kiss, this one has genuine emotion behind it, everything he’d been damming up, holding back. That nameless pain has a name now - it was suppressed love, a wall of ice holding back his feelings.
Pulling away, he says, breathlessly, “I love you. I’ve always loved you, Hiroto. Ever since we met . . .”
Hiroto can scarcely believe his ears. Suddenly, things are surreal again. Has this whole evening been some sort of alternate reality? Is he going to wake up tomorrow and find out that he dreamt everything over the last year or so, and that playing Budokan and having Shou confess his love are both elusive fantasies that can never become reality?
But no, it’s real. Those are Shou’s arms around him and Shou’s lips on his cheek and ear and Shou’s voice telling him that just about every song he’s written and sung has something of Hiroto in it. The sad songs, those were the ache over not being able to confess his love. “Kiss Twice Kiss Me Deadly,” that was about the passion they’d shared. Songs that express romance, the feelings he couldn’t tell him directly. And then, there was “Stargazer:” . . .
And all Hiroto can do is hug back, and kiss back, and whisper “I love you too, I love you too.” He does. With everything in his body, heart and soul. He can forgive him everything that’s happened - the not telling him, the dalliances with other men. That slate’s been wiped clean now.
Another kiss, this one softer, hotter, slowly growing wetter, their tongues pressing against each other, stroking, as hands move down to clothing, starting to undo buttons and zippers. Stage costumes are made for prettiness, not ease of escape. They need to break apart for a moment to discard fabric, push aside jackets and pants. (Neither of them notices just yet that Tora, when he delivered Hiroto to the room, had also oh-so-thoughtfully pushed in both their duffle bags, so they’ll have their changes of street clothes.)
Once he has his love - yes, his love, he can admit it to himself now, and the feeling is wild and sweet and glorious - naked, Shou tilts his head a little, one of his famous teasing glints coming into his eyes, and says, “We’re in a shower room - we might as well take advantage of the shower.” He turns on the water, adjusts the temperature, and then reaches for Hiroto’s hands, pulling him under the spray and into an embrace.
It’s a rather large stall, with a ceiling-mounted shower and, to the side, a little bench built into the wall for sitting while washing up, a mesh of Japanese and Western style. It will do very nicely for their purposes, thank you.
Shou pulls Hiroto closer, tongue gently pushing into his mouth, caressing Hiroto’s lovingly. One hand moves down his chest, fingers brushing over the nipple, a thrill passing through his body as Hiroto shudders in response.
Wanting to take that response one step further, Shou starts to move downward, licking along Hiroto’s neck, placing little kisses and nips along the way. The soft moan his lover utters makes him purr in delight, and as he moves lower, he glances upward, eyes full of tease.
Then, his tongue is stroking a nipple, and Hiroto lets out a moan that probably would have been heard by people outside if not for the level of party noise. Encouraged, Shou takes the bud in his lips, sucking, as his fingers start to caress its twin. He pinches very gently between his thumb and forefinger, and Hiroto literally becomes weak-kneed, sagging down a bit as he gasps.
Shou raises his head. “You can’t stand up?” he says, in his sexiest purr. “Maybe you should sit, then.”
He guides Hiroto over to the bench, and Hiroto sinks down on it, grateful that he doesn’t have to stand up anymore, because if Shou keeps this up, he’s going to be on the floor. Shou pushes Hiroto’s legs apart and kneels in front of him, leaning over so Hiroto can get a great view of that naked ass. He brings his lips to his lover’s again, and their tongues tangle instantly, both men letting out a moan as they stroke and lick. They’ve had intimate times together before, to be sure, but not quite like this. For the first time, this is emotional as much as physical, as much about two hearts as two cocks.
It’s what it should have been all along, but better late than never.
And then Hiroto is moaning again as Shou’s tongue makes its hot, wet way down his body, stroking his nipples again, rubbing along his stomach, lapping up trails of water as they pour down his skin, more delicious to Shou than drinking the finest wine. He pauses again at Hiroto’s lower belly, giving him a teasing glance and a million megawatt smile.
Then his tongue makes its first contact with the head of Hiroto’s erection, and that brings about another luscious moan - until Shou’s finger moves up to his mouth, working its way into those soft, soft lips. Hiroto sucks on the finger, eagerly, as Shou wraps his lips around the head of the other man’s cock.
He slides down, and Shou feels heat filling his mouth, which he savors, slowly, taking him in little by little. His finger continues to move in and out of the other man’s lips., and Hiroto continues to suck, telling Shou without words what he wants him to do, how he wants to be sucked.
Shou takes him up on the invitation, in a big way. He begins to suck with long, slow tugs of his mouth, as his head begins to move back and forth. The finger slides out of Hiroto’s mouth and slides down, over his neck and chest, finally stopping at his nipple.
Now Hiroto is moaning loudly, as his aching cock slides into the hot, wet, velvety feel of Shou’s mouth, the tongue brushing against the sensitive underside, sending showers of sparks behind his vision with every touch. He opens his eyes, and looks down, and sees the red head bobbing up and down - the color he’d told Shou he liked on him. He reaches down and strokes it, tangles his fingers in the wet strands, pulls him closer as his hips start to buck off the bench, thrusting deeper into Shou’s mouth.
“Shou,” he gasps. “Oh, I’m close . . . So, so close . . .. I’m . . .”
The orgasm floods him in long, hot waves, and Hiroto cries out, loudly, as his essence pours into Shou’s mouth, and Shou swallows it, eagerly - just deepening the intimacy of the act.
Hiroto sags forward, panting, as Shou moves up to kiss his lips. His tongue darts out, eager to taste himself within his lover’s mouth. And when he does, he wants nothing more than to return the favor, to make Shou cry out in ecstasy the same way he did.
He pushes up on Shou’s shoulders, and the older man gets the message, moving away just long enough for Hiroto to slide down from the bench until he’s sitting on the floor. Shou takes his place on the seat, but when Hiroto gets on his knees, and leans over, trying to get his mouth on Shou . . . Shou wraps his hand around his cock and moves it just out of Hiroto’s grasp. Hiroto’s mouth closes on nothing, he looks perplexed . . . And then, both men laugh, and keep laughing as Hiroto tries again, and Shou moves the target again.
The third time, however, Shou holds still, and Hiroto is able to wrap those full, plush lips around the head of his erection. He lingers there for a long moment, just tonguing it a little, then pulling it back, then tonguing it a little more. “Tease,’ Shou gasps. “You learned from me.” He hit the nail on the head, all right.
Finally, Hiroto begins to move down on it, sucking as he takes it a little more in, then pulls it out, then takes it slightly deeper the next time he goes down. His hands run along Shou’s inner thighs, caressing and massaging, listening for signs he’s doing well - and pretty soon, he gets them. That fabled, drive-the-fangirls-wild voice is soon uttering a string of long, low moans and ragged pleas for him to suck faster, suck harder, make him come . . .
Hiroto is only too happy to comply, because he loves the feel of Shou’s hardness sliding over his lips and tongue, the musky taste of precome. He begins to work him rapidly, bobbing his head up and down, and he’s starting to take him deeper than he ever has before - maybe it’s the angle, maybe just the fact that this is much more relaxed than their previous encounters, since the angst is gone, replaced with happiness and love.
Shou is calling out his name now, a raw, ragged sound that’s as sweet to Hiroto as the man’s strongest singing, and Hiroto moves faster, sucks harder, moaning in his own throat as he feels his lover tense . . . And then the explosion comes, and Shou lets out a long, low cry, his seed flowing into Hiroto’s mouth.
For Shou, it’s the most satisfying orgasm he ever had, the ecstasy flooding him like starbursts, releasing not only the tensions built up within him, but all the emotion he’d held back, dammed off within himself for too long. When it’s finally over, and Hiroto is holding him, kissing him, he clings to him tightly with both arms, as if unwilling to ever let him go.
There’s breathless kisses and whispers of “I love you” from them both as they linger, snuggled together, Hiroto still kneeling in front of Shou, his head on his shoulder. They know they can’t stay there - they at least have to put in another appearance at the party - but they’re going to make this moment last for as long as they possibly can.
Much later, after all the guests have left and the last congratulations have been said and the cake with the “Flashlight From The Past” logo has been devoured, they wait together at the back door of the dressing room, having informed the stage manager they need only one car, they’re going to the same place. The stage manager shakes his head - PS Company is saving a lot of money on cars tonight. Tora and Saga had said the same thing.
And so, the car arrives, and they head out toward it, discreetly holding hands, heading for Shou’s apartment and his bed and a long, hot, tender night of lovemaking, the perfect ending to what had turned out to be a perfect day.
It’s a beautiful, clear evening, and as they head toward the car, they can look up and see the night sky sparking with stars.
starlight: the glimmering sea of the night sky shone gently upon the two people looking up at it . . .