#14 Theme 40: Shake It Up - Koda Kumi; Tora/Hiroto
Title: Reason to Buy a New House #04
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 040 Shake It Up (Koda Kumi)
Rating: PG-16
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: err there are hints of smut and the usual fail
Comments: Part of an excessively long series creatively titled "Reasons to Buy a New House," the chapters of which alternate between myself and tingedwords .
Previous Reasons: [1] [2] [3]
Reason to Buy a New House #04
After a long, silent breakfastful of Hiroto pouting sadly at the kitchen floor, occasionally turning around to look at the colorless living room walls and occasionally kicking him under the table, Tora finally called Nao to tell him they couldn’t make it to practice that day.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Uh…,” stuttering, Tora tried to brush Hiroto’s hands off the seat of his pants (something giving in to Pon’s demands often warranted) and come up with a passable excuse.
“UPDOG!” he screeched as hands finally made their way into his pants.
“We’vegotupdogReallybadactuallyCan’tmakeittopractice,” Tora rambled; he only had so many hands to pry off a groping squirrel.
“… What’s updog?” Nao asked hesitantly.
“Not much, you?” Tora all but squealed. “Sorry I gotta go. Talk to you soon!” Dropping the phone like hot coal, he swiveled around and pounced.
“You’ve got one day, two days tops,” Tora voiced sternly, hips pinning the other to the ground and hands wrapped around offending paws.
“Thank you Tora-sama!” Hiroto piped up through sly lips. He would have hugged the other man (among other things) if his wrists weren’t currently attached to the ground.
“Whatever,” Tora grumbled grudgingly, “You still owe me this.” Bowing his head, Tora took a sharp nip at the tendons of Hiroto’s neck drawing a loud squawk from him, but the other didn’t complain. After all, no practice and he got to draw on the walls - what was there to complain about?
---
It was sheer guilt (the fact that he’d locked Hiroto into the basement for more than just one hour) that kept Tora from jumping out the nearest window and running off far away. Far, far away. Instead he shuffled behind the object of his deepest affections and borderline insanity, banging his head on rounded cans of paint.
He would even leave the car for love’s sake, “Just please can we leave,” Tora whispered to himself.
“Did you say something Tora?” Hiroto asked, turning around to incline his head on one shoulder.
“Nothing. I mean, how about we just get that color?” he pointed vaguely at a section of red paints, hoping Hiroto would just pick one and go.
“Hmmmm,” Hiroto hummed. He was already lugging along two cans of paint, Tora another pair, unable to decide on a color. “Well I do like it… but I like these too…” Tora groaned as the shorter man swung forward and set his cans down, adding a red one to his collection.
“Ano… Can we… Can I get them all?” Hiroto asked in a hushed voice. He turned wide, hopeful eyes on Tora, sucking in his bottom lip in an attempt to look pitifully deprived.
“No,” Tora deadpanned. Dropping his share of the colors at Hiroto’s feet he stepped back and leaned against a shelf, crossing his arms determined not to cave.
“Pick one,” he emphasized, trying to ignore the mournful way Hiroto was now looking at him.
They stayed like that for a while; Tora sneaking peaks at Hiroto while he looked back and forth between cans.
Hiroto really does like his colors though... Think hard thoughts. Think hard thoughts.
His said his world is one big, never-ending painting. Hard… thoughts…
He said I was the sun…
---
Tora replayed the same reel of guilt-tripping thoughts as he dished out thousands of yen for the tape, brushes and rollers, tarp and the six different colors of paint deemed necessary for their project.
More than one hour. More than one hour. In the basement for more than one hour. The dark wrecks havoc on his nerves and I locked him up for more than one hour.
Tora was whipped, absolutely, completely and utterly whipped, but he couldn’t seem to find the will to care when Hiroto was all smiles (and the car was finally on its way home).
Hauling their things out of the living room proved to be an uneventful task; most of the furniture was light enough for the two of them to carry, the TV a flat screen and the open room barely furnished to begin with. When they finally put the plastic tarps down and taped off the molding, outlets and such, Hiroto had only tripped twice over the rolled up rug and there were only two overturned bookshelves shoved into the kitchen (both deemed Tora’s fault because he shouldn’t have blocked the basement door or gone anywhere within five feet of Hiroto pushing those things).
“You know this would be a lot easier if you weren’t such a klutz. Or ADHD for that matter.” They were on their fourth wall now; fourth meaning the other three walls were halfway painted their separate colors.
Painting apparently required two people doing the same wall at once from opposite ends of the room. They were supposed to paint and paint until they met halfway in the middle to finish together, or at least in Hiroto’s twisted idea of romantic house painting. The only problem was, a fourth of the way through their first wall, Hiroto had decided he wanted to see all the colors next to each other. By then Tora had given up trying to do things the right way and compensated his apathy for desperately wide strokes of paint. He would push the paint roller as far out into the middle of the wall as he could reach before bringing it back to his cursed corner.
“You know this would be a lot easier if you could pee paint.” Sighing, Hiroto smacked his own roller unevenly against the wall. They were both shirt and shoeless, but the slight heat of extensive physical labor was starting to annoy him.
“I can pee many colors Pon, but I don’t think the smell would go too well with your peach cobbler potpourri.”
Choosing to ignore Tora’s serious lack of talent, Hiroto grabbed an unopened can of paint. The metal was heavy in his hands as he attempted to shake it and mix the color and chemicals up.
“Stir, don’t shake,” Tora frowned. He was impressively close to finishing the wall of bright magenta, still denying the fact he’d let Hiroto talk him into painting each wall a different color of the rainbow.
“Hmmm.”
Tora refused to look up at the thoughtful sound. He was on his second half-finished wall and so help him if Hiroto decided to change colors now…
“The walls still look boring.”
Tora swore as a large dollop of paint dropped onto his toes.
“How are they boring? The room looks like a fucking fruit basket and we’re not even done yet.”
Hiroto shrugged and took another look around the room.
“Can you pass me one of those brushes beside you?” Tora eyed him dubiously, extended roller poised halfway up the wall.
“What? I’m just going to paint the molding. You said if I wanted to I could paint it black and you’re already finished here.” Puffing his cheeks out petulantly, Tora threw the unopened package at Hiroto and continued painting the opposite wall an electric blue.
“People are going to have seizures when they walk in here,” Tora muttered.
“’Cuz of how awesome my color schemes are,” Hiroto chortled. Laughing despite the trouble he was being put through, Tora continued on to the next wall.
“So are we just painting the ceiling that weird blue-grey you got or what?” A noncommittal grunt made Tora glance back - a distracted Hiroto was a dangerous thing to have around paint.
“Hiroto what the hell, I said the molding not the walls!” Dropping his roller back into the pan of apple green, he tromped across the room to inspect the damage.
“Are those stick people?” Tora asked incredulously.
“It’s art,” Hiroto stressed. “The walls need a little flavor, some action. They can’t all just be one color.”
“They’re all different colors!” Tora cried. “And what the hell kind of stick people are you painting.”
He was honestly past trying to contain Hiroto’s creative urges and had learned it was best to either go with them or suffer the resulting headache.
“That one’s you,” Hiroto pointed. The blackened tip of his brush dotted a stud on the stick figure’s face. “And this one is me.” He tilted the brush to the right at a smaller outline.
“Uh-huh,” Tora sounded skeptically, crossing his paint splattered arms. “Now tell me why exactly my stick person is bent over in front of your stick person.”
“B-b-because the wall needs some action?” Hiroto stuttered. At least he had the decency to blush at the eyebrows shooting up.
“I believe,” Tora purred, “that it’s always been the other way around.” Hiroto let out a surprised gasp as he was grabbed by the waist and shoved chest-first into the purple-pink wall. He had to stifle a moan as Tora rubbed up against his backside. “Don’t you think so Pon?”
Wet fingers scrambling against an equally wet wall, Hiroto managed to about-face and glare at Tora. “Stop distracting me! We have to get the ceiling done before it gets dark and the fanlights blind us. Plus, PLUS!” Hiroto yelped as a knee found its way between his thighs. “Plus that’s Aki’s special ladder thing and he said he’d be coming sometime this week to get it and that might be tomorrow mor-” Hiroto was cut off by a lips on his and a tongue in his mouth.
“Fine,” Tora grinned mischievously as he eyed the sturdy platform atop the four legged ladder. It was more of an elevated stage than a ladder in his opinion; made just for high-ceilinged antics and most likely Aki-christened if last night had been any indication of Aki’s generosity.
---
The doorbell rang just as the couple stepped out of the shower.
“I hope it’s not Nao,” Tora whispered in a conspiratory voice. He handed Hiroto a towel and followed close behind him. The phone started ringing as soon as Tora was dressed, helping Hiroto pull a t-shirt over his tired shoulders in their bedroom.
“Hello?”
“Hurry up and open the damn door Tora!”
Laughing, Tora hung up and shook Hiroto’s awake. “Come on, it’s Aki.”
“He probably just wants his ladder or something,” Hiroto mumbled. “Let me sleep,” he grumped. Grinning, Tora simply grabbed his hand and pulled him up.
“But we’ve got to show him the living room he helped paint.” Scoffing, Hiroto allowed himself to be half-carried, half-dragged down the stairs.
The door opened to SID’s bassist irritably kicking at the front porch.
“Hey Aki,” Tora sung cheerfully, Hiroto leaning heavily on his shoulder. “Come in.” The cross look left his face as Aki entered and took in the sight of Hiroto drowsily holding on to the hem of Tora’s shirt.
“Shou called and told me you two had updog,” Aki grinned playfully. “So I decided to come over with bullshit and beer.”
Tora snorted heartily at the remark, taking the proffered paper bag and tugging Hiroto along. “You might as well take your ladder while you’re here,” he added, directing them to the right. “Pon wanted to paint the living room so we took the day off.”
Aki nearly choked on his tongue piercing when he stepped into the wildly painted room.
“Shut up,” he whispered in awe. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” His initial shock broke off into peals of mirth.
“What?” Tora smirked, seating himself beside Hiroto’s slumped form. “Don’t you think it looks like it has lots of flavor? Lots of action?”
“It looks like you fucked Pon against the ceiling, that’s what it looks like,” Aki howled between giggles.
Paint splatters adorned every corner of the room bathing once pristine walls in colored splotches accompanied by a multitude of handprints fisted and splayed in smeared pigments. The occasional back and knee were also thrown in, along with a couple waves of spilled paint. But the ceiling, the ceiling was a complete mess of finger and footprints mostly concentrated in one area. High up off the ground, Hiroto had found the ceiling a pleasing enough anchor for his feet, the desperate handprints a mere afterthought.
“That had better just be paint on my ladder…” Aki observed suspiciously.
“Oh shit. I can clean it now if you want. I forgot we made a mess...” Turning in his seat, Tora gave the borrowed ladder a guilty once over.
“Whatever, I just need it clean for tomorrow.”
The bassist was smiling around the room again as he popped open a beer. “Who the fuck picked these colors? They’re so fruity,” he laughed.
“Hiroto did,” Tora replied, chuckling as he pulled his sleeping lover closer.
“Oh! Speaking of fruits, today Shou started rambling on about how you two haven’t thrown a real party since you bought this place.” Aki waved his beer disapprovingly around the room. “I thought I'd missed it on tour but... you two better give me one soon!” he warned.
"Hey now, it's our house!"
Tora watched flabbergasted as Aki simply picked up the untouched beers and stood. “I guess I’ll be taking my leave now seeing as how you’ve fucked Pon all over the place and too tired to be any fun. I just swung by to see how everything turned out.” Winking, Aki turned on his heels and let the front door slam behind him.
Running his hands up and down Hiroto’s side, Tora decided... he would sleep on it.
Parties at their old apartment had been out of the question.
Wild-sex painting had also been out of the question.
Whatever they ended up doing, he just hoped the long ago pinky promise he’d made with Shou and his liquor shots still applied.
Reason #05
A/N:
So I made a banner/header thingamajig for our series...
In case you are still confused, "updog" is a seriously lame pun you kind of throw around as an excuse and when people ask you "what's updog" it's like "what's up dawg".... YEAH I KNOW I'M LAME SHUT UP! LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL
Anyways... *passes on the torch*
Archive
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 040 Shake It Up (Koda Kumi)
Rating: PG-16
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: err there are hints of smut and the usual fail
Comments: Part of an excessively long series creatively titled "Reasons to Buy a New House," the chapters of which alternate between myself and tingedwords .
Previous Reasons: [1] [2] [3]
Reason to Buy a New House #04
After a long, silent breakfastful of Hiroto pouting sadly at the kitchen floor, occasionally turning around to look at the colorless living room walls and occasionally kicking him under the table, Tora finally called Nao to tell him they couldn’t make it to practice that day.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Uh…,” stuttering, Tora tried to brush Hiroto’s hands off the seat of his pants (something giving in to Pon’s demands often warranted) and come up with a passable excuse.
“UPDOG!” he screeched as hands finally made their way into his pants.
“We’vegotupdogReallybadactuallyCan’tmakeittopractice,” Tora rambled; he only had so many hands to pry off a groping squirrel.
“… What’s updog?” Nao asked hesitantly.
“Not much, you?” Tora all but squealed. “Sorry I gotta go. Talk to you soon!” Dropping the phone like hot coal, he swiveled around and pounced.
“You’ve got one day, two days tops,” Tora voiced sternly, hips pinning the other to the ground and hands wrapped around offending paws.
“Thank you Tora-sama!” Hiroto piped up through sly lips. He would have hugged the other man (among other things) if his wrists weren’t currently attached to the ground.
“Whatever,” Tora grumbled grudgingly, “You still owe me this.” Bowing his head, Tora took a sharp nip at the tendons of Hiroto’s neck drawing a loud squawk from him, but the other didn’t complain. After all, no practice and he got to draw on the walls - what was there to complain about?
---
It was sheer guilt (the fact that he’d locked Hiroto into the basement for more than just one hour) that kept Tora from jumping out the nearest window and running off far away. Far, far away. Instead he shuffled behind the object of his deepest affections and borderline insanity, banging his head on rounded cans of paint.
He would even leave the car for love’s sake, “Just please can we leave,” Tora whispered to himself.
“Did you say something Tora?” Hiroto asked, turning around to incline his head on one shoulder.
“Nothing. I mean, how about we just get that color?” he pointed vaguely at a section of red paints, hoping Hiroto would just pick one and go.
“Hmmmm,” Hiroto hummed. He was already lugging along two cans of paint, Tora another pair, unable to decide on a color. “Well I do like it… but I like these too…” Tora groaned as the shorter man swung forward and set his cans down, adding a red one to his collection.
“Ano… Can we… Can I get them all?” Hiroto asked in a hushed voice. He turned wide, hopeful eyes on Tora, sucking in his bottom lip in an attempt to look pitifully deprived.
“No,” Tora deadpanned. Dropping his share of the colors at Hiroto’s feet he stepped back and leaned against a shelf, crossing his arms determined not to cave.
“Pick one,” he emphasized, trying to ignore the mournful way Hiroto was now looking at him.
They stayed like that for a while; Tora sneaking peaks at Hiroto while he looked back and forth between cans.
Hiroto really does like his colors though... Think hard thoughts. Think hard thoughts.
His said his world is one big, never-ending painting. Hard… thoughts…
He said I was the sun…
---
Tora replayed the same reel of guilt-tripping thoughts as he dished out thousands of yen for the tape, brushes and rollers, tarp and the six different colors of paint deemed necessary for their project.
More than one hour. More than one hour. In the basement for more than one hour. The dark wrecks havoc on his nerves and I locked him up for more than one hour.
Tora was whipped, absolutely, completely and utterly whipped, but he couldn’t seem to find the will to care when Hiroto was all smiles (and the car was finally on its way home).
Hauling their things out of the living room proved to be an uneventful task; most of the furniture was light enough for the two of them to carry, the TV a flat screen and the open room barely furnished to begin with. When they finally put the plastic tarps down and taped off the molding, outlets and such, Hiroto had only tripped twice over the rolled up rug and there were only two overturned bookshelves shoved into the kitchen (both deemed Tora’s fault because he shouldn’t have blocked the basement door or gone anywhere within five feet of Hiroto pushing those things).
“You know this would be a lot easier if you weren’t such a klutz. Or ADHD for that matter.” They were on their fourth wall now; fourth meaning the other three walls were halfway painted their separate colors.
Painting apparently required two people doing the same wall at once from opposite ends of the room. They were supposed to paint and paint until they met halfway in the middle to finish together, or at least in Hiroto’s twisted idea of romantic house painting. The only problem was, a fourth of the way through their first wall, Hiroto had decided he wanted to see all the colors next to each other. By then Tora had given up trying to do things the right way and compensated his apathy for desperately wide strokes of paint. He would push the paint roller as far out into the middle of the wall as he could reach before bringing it back to his cursed corner.
“You know this would be a lot easier if you could pee paint.” Sighing, Hiroto smacked his own roller unevenly against the wall. They were both shirt and shoeless, but the slight heat of extensive physical labor was starting to annoy him.
“I can pee many colors Pon, but I don’t think the smell would go too well with your peach cobbler potpourri.”
Choosing to ignore Tora’s serious lack of talent, Hiroto grabbed an unopened can of paint. The metal was heavy in his hands as he attempted to shake it and mix the color and chemicals up.
“Stir, don’t shake,” Tora frowned. He was impressively close to finishing the wall of bright magenta, still denying the fact he’d let Hiroto talk him into painting each wall a different color of the rainbow.
“Hmmm.”
Tora refused to look up at the thoughtful sound. He was on his second half-finished wall and so help him if Hiroto decided to change colors now…
“The walls still look boring.”
Tora swore as a large dollop of paint dropped onto his toes.
“How are they boring? The room looks like a fucking fruit basket and we’re not even done yet.”
Hiroto shrugged and took another look around the room.
“Can you pass me one of those brushes beside you?” Tora eyed him dubiously, extended roller poised halfway up the wall.
“What? I’m just going to paint the molding. You said if I wanted to I could paint it black and you’re already finished here.” Puffing his cheeks out petulantly, Tora threw the unopened package at Hiroto and continued painting the opposite wall an electric blue.
“People are going to have seizures when they walk in here,” Tora muttered.
“’Cuz of how awesome my color schemes are,” Hiroto chortled. Laughing despite the trouble he was being put through, Tora continued on to the next wall.
“So are we just painting the ceiling that weird blue-grey you got or what?” A noncommittal grunt made Tora glance back - a distracted Hiroto was a dangerous thing to have around paint.
“Hiroto what the hell, I said the molding not the walls!” Dropping his roller back into the pan of apple green, he tromped across the room to inspect the damage.
“Are those stick people?” Tora asked incredulously.
“It’s art,” Hiroto stressed. “The walls need a little flavor, some action. They can’t all just be one color.”
“They’re all different colors!” Tora cried. “And what the hell kind of stick people are you painting.”
He was honestly past trying to contain Hiroto’s creative urges and had learned it was best to either go with them or suffer the resulting headache.
“That one’s you,” Hiroto pointed. The blackened tip of his brush dotted a stud on the stick figure’s face. “And this one is me.” He tilted the brush to the right at a smaller outline.
“Uh-huh,” Tora sounded skeptically, crossing his paint splattered arms. “Now tell me why exactly my stick person is bent over in front of your stick person.”
“B-b-because the wall needs some action?” Hiroto stuttered. At least he had the decency to blush at the eyebrows shooting up.
“I believe,” Tora purred, “that it’s always been the other way around.” Hiroto let out a surprised gasp as he was grabbed by the waist and shoved chest-first into the purple-pink wall. He had to stifle a moan as Tora rubbed up against his backside. “Don’t you think so Pon?”
Wet fingers scrambling against an equally wet wall, Hiroto managed to about-face and glare at Tora. “Stop distracting me! We have to get the ceiling done before it gets dark and the fanlights blind us. Plus, PLUS!” Hiroto yelped as a knee found its way between his thighs. “Plus that’s Aki’s special ladder thing and he said he’d be coming sometime this week to get it and that might be tomorrow mor-” Hiroto was cut off by a lips on his and a tongue in his mouth.
“Fine,” Tora grinned mischievously as he eyed the sturdy platform atop the four legged ladder. It was more of an elevated stage than a ladder in his opinion; made just for high-ceilinged antics and most likely Aki-christened if last night had been any indication of Aki’s generosity.
---
The doorbell rang just as the couple stepped out of the shower.
“I hope it’s not Nao,” Tora whispered in a conspiratory voice. He handed Hiroto a towel and followed close behind him. The phone started ringing as soon as Tora was dressed, helping Hiroto pull a t-shirt over his tired shoulders in their bedroom.
“Hello?”
“Hurry up and open the damn door Tora!”
Laughing, Tora hung up and shook Hiroto’s awake. “Come on, it’s Aki.”
“He probably just wants his ladder or something,” Hiroto mumbled. “Let me sleep,” he grumped. Grinning, Tora simply grabbed his hand and pulled him up.
“But we’ve got to show him the living room he helped paint.” Scoffing, Hiroto allowed himself to be half-carried, half-dragged down the stairs.
The door opened to SID’s bassist irritably kicking at the front porch.
“Hey Aki,” Tora sung cheerfully, Hiroto leaning heavily on his shoulder. “Come in.” The cross look left his face as Aki entered and took in the sight of Hiroto drowsily holding on to the hem of Tora’s shirt.
“Shou called and told me you two had updog,” Aki grinned playfully. “So I decided to come over with bullshit and beer.”
Tora snorted heartily at the remark, taking the proffered paper bag and tugging Hiroto along. “You might as well take your ladder while you’re here,” he added, directing them to the right. “Pon wanted to paint the living room so we took the day off.”
Aki nearly choked on his tongue piercing when he stepped into the wildly painted room.
“Shut up,” he whispered in awe. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” His initial shock broke off into peals of mirth.
“What?” Tora smirked, seating himself beside Hiroto’s slumped form. “Don’t you think it looks like it has lots of flavor? Lots of action?”
“It looks like you fucked Pon against the ceiling, that’s what it looks like,” Aki howled between giggles.
Paint splatters adorned every corner of the room bathing once pristine walls in colored splotches accompanied by a multitude of handprints fisted and splayed in smeared pigments. The occasional back and knee were also thrown in, along with a couple waves of spilled paint. But the ceiling, the ceiling was a complete mess of finger and footprints mostly concentrated in one area. High up off the ground, Hiroto had found the ceiling a pleasing enough anchor for his feet, the desperate handprints a mere afterthought.
“That had better just be paint on my ladder…” Aki observed suspiciously.
“Oh shit. I can clean it now if you want. I forgot we made a mess...” Turning in his seat, Tora gave the borrowed ladder a guilty once over.
“Whatever, I just need it clean for tomorrow.”
The bassist was smiling around the room again as he popped open a beer. “Who the fuck picked these colors? They’re so fruity,” he laughed.
“Hiroto did,” Tora replied, chuckling as he pulled his sleeping lover closer.
“Oh! Speaking of fruits, today Shou started rambling on about how you two haven’t thrown a real party since you bought this place.” Aki waved his beer disapprovingly around the room. “I thought I'd missed it on tour but... you two better give me one soon!” he warned.
"Hey now, it's our house!"
Tora watched flabbergasted as Aki simply picked up the untouched beers and stood. “I guess I’ll be taking my leave now seeing as how you’ve fucked Pon all over the place and too tired to be any fun. I just swung by to see how everything turned out.” Winking, Aki turned on his heels and let the front door slam behind him.
Running his hands up and down Hiroto’s side, Tora decided... he would sleep on it.
Parties at their old apartment had been out of the question.
Wild-sex painting had also been out of the question.
Whatever they ended up doing, he just hoped the long ago pinky promise he’d made with Shou and his liquor shots still applied.
Reason #05
A/N:
So I made a banner/header thingamajig for our series...
In case you are still confused, "updog" is a seriously lame pun you kind of throw around as an excuse and when people ask you "what's updog" it's like "what's up dawg".... YEAH I KNOW I'M LAME SHUT UP! LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL
Anyways... *passes on the torch*
Archive