Bruises - NewS - PG-13
Title: Bruises
Author: anamuan
Pairing/Group: RyoPi
Rating:PG-13
Word Count: 1,545
Warnings: Remember, smoking kills.
Notes: Originally for procreational for the je_holiday gift exchange. I'm glad you liked it dear. You comment made me insanely happy. Also thanks to anyone else who commented. ♥♥♥ to you all :DDDD
Thanks to sillyandmorbid and nihongofrancais for reading it over for me and giving me 'second' opinions. UNDYING LOVE AND GRATITUDE to mycroftnext for the extensive proofreading, editing, and endless support.
Summary:Some things you do because you need to.
I like the bruises on my body because they're a trail of all the places you've been. Circles around my wrists and ankles. A line walking up the inside of my left thigh. Starbursts across my back and shoulder blades. Steps down my chest, meticulously marking each of my ribs. Designs pressed into my skin by teeth or worried out by lips. Beautiful patterns, artwork entirely your own creation waterfalling across the canvas of my skin.
I like the bruises on my heart, because they're a map of all the places you haven't been yet. Minefields shaped like old, ragged relationships. Knife-wounds from angry words and vicious tongues. Battle zones and foxholes of past mistakes and too much to drink. Places you'll go someday when I won't have to worry about bruises.
What do you think? I could read it to you on Shounen Club, and you could read me a letter back about how I make you scream in bed. The fans would love it. So would management. But I guess it wouldn't really work after all. So since I'll never tell you, I hope you can understand without me actually saying it.
The commute was hell. But he'd known that getting in, knew that it wasn't all going to be fun or easy and that there were prices to pay; it was too late to start complaining now. But damn if the commute wasn't hell anyway.
It had started as an occasional thing. Once every so often. A change of pace. Just something a little different. Like getting a sudden craving for Indian food, or Italian. So it didn't happen a lot. And never while they were working together. Work came first. Even the wispy fibers that went with no-strings-attached occasional sex were too sticky to drag into the band and the office and the whole business. Work always came first.
Just a little something different. Sometimes, when they were both free. But sometimes became habit; habits neither wanted to try to kick. Habits crept into everything, spreading their sticky strings. And before they'd realized it, it was habit and more than habit; something deeper and wider than they'd planned on, but something they needed all the more for it.
So the commute was hell. Sometimes you just needed your fix. Just a little hit to hold you over, just something to help you keep your sanity. That's what Ryo told himself anyway, watching the rain slide down the windows, sitting on the last shinkansen out of Osaka, slated to arrive in Tokyo at 12:23 AM. Yamapi would be waiting for him at the station with a car. It wasn't a favor: all the trains he'd need would have stopped by then. Some things couldn't be helped.
It's time he doesn't have and he knows it. But it's time he needs, so he takes it anyway. And he can excuse the selfishness by telling himself that it's time Pi needs too, even if neither of them says as much.
Yamapi was waiting outside the station. The car was parked, off. Pi slouched under an umbrella like he wished it weren't raining because leaning against the side of the car would look so much cooler. The orange glow of the tip of his cigarette burned dully in the shadow cast by the umbrella despite the bright station lights and the fluorescence and neon reflecting off rain-slick streets.
Ryo had forgotten his umbrella. He'd meant to bring it but it slipped his mind, so now it sat 550 kilometers away in a stand by his door. He took his time walking over to Yamapi anyway though, because he knew it would annoy Pi a little, and it was fun to watch. When he finally reached Pi, Ryo reached out and took the cigarette from between Pi's lips, dragged a breath through it, and blew the smoke through the rain toward Pi.
"Ready?" Yamapi asked. He let Ryo keep the cigarette. Ryo didn't really want it; he'd just wanted to see if Pi would do anything about it. Ryo flicked ashes off the end and watched them drift down toward the rain-slick pavement before raising the cigarette to his lips for another puff.
"Yeah." Ryo exhaled again, this time tilting his face up to watch the smoke twine up through falling raindrops.
Yamapi opened the car door, closed his umbrella and climbed in. Ryo circled around to the passenger side and slid in too. Both doors closed and there was a moment where they could listen to the non-silence, hear the steady rattling drum of rain hitting the windshield. Only then did Ryo lean in for a kiss.
It was all teeth and tongue and hot and hard and bruising; nothing simple, nothing sweet. Nothing like Ryo was feeling. But some things you do because you need to, not because you want to, and Pi needed this. Ryo needed Pi, so to him, one thing meant the other.
Ryo broke away from the messy kiss first, leaning back into his seat and hooking his seatbelt into place. He didn’t say anything. Yamapi turned the key in the ignition and started driving, windshield wipers swishing quickly. They drove in silence; Yamapi watching the road, and Ryo watching Yamapi.
Yamapi unlocked his front door. Ryo slipped into the entryway behind him, taking off his shoes and hanging up his wet jacket before trailing through the house behind Yamapi quietly.
Yamapi flicked a light on in the kitchen, and sat down at the table. "I brought dinner back earlier." He gestured to the take out boxes still wrapped up in their plastic bags.
"Mmm." Ryo hummed acknowledgement, but slid into Yamapi's lap instead of the chair opposite. "I'm not really hungry." He sucked a mark into the spot just behind Pi's jaw, just below his right ear. The kiss Yamapi caught Ryo in afterward was slow and sweet, all soft lips and unspoken 'I love you's. Ryo didn’t think Pi realized what he wasn’t saying, but Ryo understood it anyway.
"You should eat." Yamapi shoved Ryo off his lap and gestured toward the food. "It'll get cold. Colder." Ryo obediently went to his chair; he didn't have to look at Pi to know how he'd be smiling slightly, one hand held lightly over the new mark on his neck, savoring the feeling of knowing it was there.
Ryo nodded. "Let's eat."
Dinner was almost as silent as the ride over: the hiss of rain hitting the roof and clink of silverware. Plate to fork to mouth. Food wasn't the point, after all. Eating was just something you did. And talking; talking about nothing was pointless.
Ryo only ate half of his portion, lighting a cigarette to wait for Yamapi to finish instead. The smoke made Ryo think of spiders' threads and fading bruises.
When Yamapi put down his fork, Ryo slid back into Yamapi's lap. Ryo moved in for another kiss--hard, like the first--cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. It tasted like humidity and smoke. Ryo moved down Pi's neck to bite at his collarbone. Ryo worried the skin, placing his marks with precision. Three, four, five fledgling bruises, red and glistening with spit; the one closest to Pi's shoulder hardly more than an outline of teeth. Ryo wondered what it would look like in a week.
Yamapi took the cigarette from Ryo and stubbed it out on his plate, hand lingering on Ryo's wrist. Ryo could see Yamapi's eyes on the thin skin stretched over the veins there and wondered what Pi was thinking. Wondered if Pi thought about time and rain and bruises, or if it was just him. Ryo took Pi's wrist and sucked a mark over the lines of his veins out of spite.
It was a hell of a commute. But some things you do because you need them.
I like the bruises on my body because they're a trail of all the places you've been. A spray running across one hip and wandering down the other thigh. Clusters along my collarbones where you like to bite, and a single stray mark just below my right ear. Weaving lines trailing up from my elbow to my shoulder; the ones toward the top are messier, bigger because it tickled and I couldn't hold still. Patterns across my chest and back; words dictated in a language I only know how to moan and written in a script only you know how to read. Marks worried into skin by teeth, sucked into existence by hot lips and a soothing tongue. Beautiful patterns, artwork entirely your own creation spiraling across my skin.
I like the bruises on my heart because they're a map of all the places you haven't been yet. Places you'll go someday, broken places you'll fix simply by being there.
What do you think? I could read it to you on Shounen Club, and you could read me a letter back about how I make you scream in bed. The fans would love it. So would management. But I guess it wouldn't really work after all. So since I'll never tell you, I hope you can understand without me actually saying it.
Because now I don't have to worry about bruises.
Love, Pi.
Author: anamuan
Pairing/Group: RyoPi
Rating:PG-13
Word Count: 1,545
Warnings: Remember, smoking kills.
Notes: Originally for procreational for the je_holiday gift exchange. I'm glad you liked it dear. You comment made me insanely happy. Also thanks to anyone else who commented. ♥♥♥ to you all :DDDD
Thanks to sillyandmorbid and nihongofrancais for reading it over for me and giving me 'second' opinions. UNDYING LOVE AND GRATITUDE to mycroftnext for the extensive proofreading, editing, and endless support.
Summary:Some things you do because you need to.
I like the bruises on my body because they're a trail of all the places you've been. Circles around my wrists and ankles. A line walking up the inside of my left thigh. Starbursts across my back and shoulder blades. Steps down my chest, meticulously marking each of my ribs. Designs pressed into my skin by teeth or worried out by lips. Beautiful patterns, artwork entirely your own creation waterfalling across the canvas of my skin.
I like the bruises on my heart, because they're a map of all the places you haven't been yet. Minefields shaped like old, ragged relationships. Knife-wounds from angry words and vicious tongues. Battle zones and foxholes of past mistakes and too much to drink. Places you'll go someday when I won't have to worry about bruises.
What do you think? I could read it to you on Shounen Club, and you could read me a letter back about how I make you scream in bed. The fans would love it. So would management. But I guess it wouldn't really work after all. So since I'll never tell you, I hope you can understand without me actually saying it.
The commute was hell. But he'd known that getting in, knew that it wasn't all going to be fun or easy and that there were prices to pay; it was too late to start complaining now. But damn if the commute wasn't hell anyway.
It had started as an occasional thing. Once every so often. A change of pace. Just something a little different. Like getting a sudden craving for Indian food, or Italian. So it didn't happen a lot. And never while they were working together. Work came first. Even the wispy fibers that went with no-strings-attached occasional sex were too sticky to drag into the band and the office and the whole business. Work always came first.
Just a little something different. Sometimes, when they were both free. But sometimes became habit; habits neither wanted to try to kick. Habits crept into everything, spreading their sticky strings. And before they'd realized it, it was habit and more than habit; something deeper and wider than they'd planned on, but something they needed all the more for it.
So the commute was hell. Sometimes you just needed your fix. Just a little hit to hold you over, just something to help you keep your sanity. That's what Ryo told himself anyway, watching the rain slide down the windows, sitting on the last shinkansen out of Osaka, slated to arrive in Tokyo at 12:23 AM. Yamapi would be waiting for him at the station with a car. It wasn't a favor: all the trains he'd need would have stopped by then. Some things couldn't be helped.
It's time he doesn't have and he knows it. But it's time he needs, so he takes it anyway. And he can excuse the selfishness by telling himself that it's time Pi needs too, even if neither of them says as much.
Yamapi was waiting outside the station. The car was parked, off. Pi slouched under an umbrella like he wished it weren't raining because leaning against the side of the car would look so much cooler. The orange glow of the tip of his cigarette burned dully in the shadow cast by the umbrella despite the bright station lights and the fluorescence and neon reflecting off rain-slick streets.
Ryo had forgotten his umbrella. He'd meant to bring it but it slipped his mind, so now it sat 550 kilometers away in a stand by his door. He took his time walking over to Yamapi anyway though, because he knew it would annoy Pi a little, and it was fun to watch. When he finally reached Pi, Ryo reached out and took the cigarette from between Pi's lips, dragged a breath through it, and blew the smoke through the rain toward Pi.
"Ready?" Yamapi asked. He let Ryo keep the cigarette. Ryo didn't really want it; he'd just wanted to see if Pi would do anything about it. Ryo flicked ashes off the end and watched them drift down toward the rain-slick pavement before raising the cigarette to his lips for another puff.
"Yeah." Ryo exhaled again, this time tilting his face up to watch the smoke twine up through falling raindrops.
Yamapi opened the car door, closed his umbrella and climbed in. Ryo circled around to the passenger side and slid in too. Both doors closed and there was a moment where they could listen to the non-silence, hear the steady rattling drum of rain hitting the windshield. Only then did Ryo lean in for a kiss.
It was all teeth and tongue and hot and hard and bruising; nothing simple, nothing sweet. Nothing like Ryo was feeling. But some things you do because you need to, not because you want to, and Pi needed this. Ryo needed Pi, so to him, one thing meant the other.
Ryo broke away from the messy kiss first, leaning back into his seat and hooking his seatbelt into place. He didn’t say anything. Yamapi turned the key in the ignition and started driving, windshield wipers swishing quickly. They drove in silence; Yamapi watching the road, and Ryo watching Yamapi.
Yamapi unlocked his front door. Ryo slipped into the entryway behind him, taking off his shoes and hanging up his wet jacket before trailing through the house behind Yamapi quietly.
Yamapi flicked a light on in the kitchen, and sat down at the table. "I brought dinner back earlier." He gestured to the take out boxes still wrapped up in their plastic bags.
"Mmm." Ryo hummed acknowledgement, but slid into Yamapi's lap instead of the chair opposite. "I'm not really hungry." He sucked a mark into the spot just behind Pi's jaw, just below his right ear. The kiss Yamapi caught Ryo in afterward was slow and sweet, all soft lips and unspoken 'I love you's. Ryo didn’t think Pi realized what he wasn’t saying, but Ryo understood it anyway.
"You should eat." Yamapi shoved Ryo off his lap and gestured toward the food. "It'll get cold. Colder." Ryo obediently went to his chair; he didn't have to look at Pi to know how he'd be smiling slightly, one hand held lightly over the new mark on his neck, savoring the feeling of knowing it was there.
Ryo nodded. "Let's eat."
Dinner was almost as silent as the ride over: the hiss of rain hitting the roof and clink of silverware. Plate to fork to mouth. Food wasn't the point, after all. Eating was just something you did. And talking; talking about nothing was pointless.
Ryo only ate half of his portion, lighting a cigarette to wait for Yamapi to finish instead. The smoke made Ryo think of spiders' threads and fading bruises.
When Yamapi put down his fork, Ryo slid back into Yamapi's lap. Ryo moved in for another kiss--hard, like the first--cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. It tasted like humidity and smoke. Ryo moved down Pi's neck to bite at his collarbone. Ryo worried the skin, placing his marks with precision. Three, four, five fledgling bruises, red and glistening with spit; the one closest to Pi's shoulder hardly more than an outline of teeth. Ryo wondered what it would look like in a week.
Yamapi took the cigarette from Ryo and stubbed it out on his plate, hand lingering on Ryo's wrist. Ryo could see Yamapi's eyes on the thin skin stretched over the veins there and wondered what Pi was thinking. Wondered if Pi thought about time and rain and bruises, or if it was just him. Ryo took Pi's wrist and sucked a mark over the lines of his veins out of spite.
It was a hell of a commute. But some things you do because you need them.
I like the bruises on my body because they're a trail of all the places you've been. A spray running across one hip and wandering down the other thigh. Clusters along my collarbones where you like to bite, and a single stray mark just below my right ear. Weaving lines trailing up from my elbow to my shoulder; the ones toward the top are messier, bigger because it tickled and I couldn't hold still. Patterns across my chest and back; words dictated in a language I only know how to moan and written in a script only you know how to read. Marks worried into skin by teeth, sucked into existence by hot lips and a soothing tongue. Beautiful patterns, artwork entirely your own creation spiraling across my skin.
I like the bruises on my heart because they're a map of all the places you haven't been yet. Places you'll go someday, broken places you'll fix simply by being there.
What do you think? I could read it to you on Shounen Club, and you could read me a letter back about how I make you scream in bed. The fans would love it. So would management. But I guess it wouldn't really work after all. So since I'll never tell you, I hope you can understand without me actually saying it.
Because now I don't have to worry about bruises.
Love, Pi.