[DRABBLE] sleepwalker
title: sleepwalker
rating: pg-13
pairing: nishikido ryo/tegoshi yuya
summary: au-ish. that's what my brain tells me. what the voices say.
word count: 602
comments: an adaptation of some miku/bou fic i wrote in french when i was 12-13 years old. contains weirdness and ryo reciting jamisonparker lyrics.
Let’s see.
Ryo says that marrying a girl, when you’re a guy like me, is stupid. Do the smart thing like Koyama did, admit it. You’re not straight, you’re gay. A fucking homo who prefers to take it up the ass and sing along to Kinki Kids’ Garasu no Shounen. Marriage is for life, did you know? Can you picture yourself tied down to a girl for the rest of your life, with kids and the whole hormonal deal? Don’t be straight for the rest of your life. But-
I can’t really listen to what he has to say. I love her.
That’s what my brain tells me.
What the voices say.
Stupidity.
See also: schizophrenia. Insecurity. The fear of being alone.
“You’re not straight,” Ryo repeats, ever so obstinate. He’s sprawled on the couch, his body screaming sex and badass and I don’t care as he smokes his Salem. He’s wearing a V-neck shirt made of some flimsy gray material and holed, worn out jeans he’s had since forever ago. To top it off, a pair of boots. “You always kiss me on stage. We flirt like crazy.”
We call that fanservice. The fans like it and what the fans like are more or less orders.
“And you’re gonna tell me you don’t like it?” he snorts. “If you think I’ll really believe you when you say you’re only doing it for the fans, then you don’t know me at all. And, well, if you’re only in with us for the fans, I suggest you take your leave. It’s better that way.”
“It’s only a kiss, Ryo. It doesn’t mean anything. And I like it, being it a band. But that doesn’t mean I act like I do on stage in my private time.
He looks up at me.
I frown.
“Why is that so important to you?” I ask. “You going gay on me?”
Shrug. He blinks once, twice, and says: “I love you. I don’t want you to make the biggest mistake of your life, that’s all.”
“So you’re gay?”
“I have no idea. I like everything.”
A shiver runs through my spine - the homophobe inside of me protests. Ryo stands, takes a puff of his cigarette and exhales in my face. The smoke prickles at my eyes, fills my nostrils, and I blink once.
“I’ll be the best mistake you’ll ever make.”
Twice.
Our bodies are almost touching. His hand is on my hip.
“We’ll never be close enough. You’re too far away if I can’t feel your heartbeat.”
Three times.
Our hips are pressed together and his lips ghost over mine, such a subtle caress that I can barely feel it.
Four times.
Ryo, I say, I need to breathe. Give me some space.
He shakes his head, smiles. And I say it again, Ryo, leave me alone. Go see Koyama and I’ll just go outside and catch butterflies while thinking of her like nothing ever happened. Please, Ryo.
“I love you, Tegoshi. I love you.”
And I ask: “What do you want from me, Nishikido?”
He grimaces (good to know: Ryo hates it when I call him by his real name, me of all people) before answering “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of fucking you.”
I shiver again, harder this time, and I frown before screwing my eyes shut. The next minute, he’s kissing me, and when he’s pushing me down on the couch he was previously sitting on, I wonder if any of this is real. Ryo fucks me on the couch, in the dressing room, but he’s not really real.
rating: pg-13
pairing: nishikido ryo/tegoshi yuya
summary: au-ish. that's what my brain tells me. what the voices say.
word count: 602
comments: an adaptation of some miku/bou fic i wrote in french when i was 12-13 years old. contains weirdness and ryo reciting jamisonparker lyrics.
Let’s see.
Ryo says that marrying a girl, when you’re a guy like me, is stupid. Do the smart thing like Koyama did, admit it. You’re not straight, you’re gay. A fucking homo who prefers to take it up the ass and sing along to Kinki Kids’ Garasu no Shounen. Marriage is for life, did you know? Can you picture yourself tied down to a girl for the rest of your life, with kids and the whole hormonal deal? Don’t be straight for the rest of your life. But-
I can’t really listen to what he has to say. I love her.
That’s what my brain tells me.
What the voices say.
Stupidity.
See also: schizophrenia. Insecurity. The fear of being alone.
“You’re not straight,” Ryo repeats, ever so obstinate. He’s sprawled on the couch, his body screaming sex and badass and I don’t care as he smokes his Salem. He’s wearing a V-neck shirt made of some flimsy gray material and holed, worn out jeans he’s had since forever ago. To top it off, a pair of boots. “You always kiss me on stage. We flirt like crazy.”
We call that fanservice. The fans like it and what the fans like are more or less orders.
“And you’re gonna tell me you don’t like it?” he snorts. “If you think I’ll really believe you when you say you’re only doing it for the fans, then you don’t know me at all. And, well, if you’re only in with us for the fans, I suggest you take your leave. It’s better that way.”
“It’s only a kiss, Ryo. It doesn’t mean anything. And I like it, being it a band. But that doesn’t mean I act like I do on stage in my private time.
He looks up at me.
I frown.
“Why is that so important to you?” I ask. “You going gay on me?”
Shrug. He blinks once, twice, and says: “I love you. I don’t want you to make the biggest mistake of your life, that’s all.”
“So you’re gay?”
“I have no idea. I like everything.”
A shiver runs through my spine - the homophobe inside of me protests. Ryo stands, takes a puff of his cigarette and exhales in my face. The smoke prickles at my eyes, fills my nostrils, and I blink once.
“I’ll be the best mistake you’ll ever make.”
Twice.
Our bodies are almost touching. His hand is on my hip.
“We’ll never be close enough. You’re too far away if I can’t feel your heartbeat.”
Three times.
Our hips are pressed together and his lips ghost over mine, such a subtle caress that I can barely feel it.
Four times.
Ryo, I say, I need to breathe. Give me some space.
He shakes his head, smiles. And I say it again, Ryo, leave me alone. Go see Koyama and I’ll just go outside and catch butterflies while thinking of her like nothing ever happened. Please, Ryo.
“I love you, Tegoshi. I love you.”
And I ask: “What do you want from me, Nishikido?”
He grimaces (good to know: Ryo hates it when I call him by his real name, me of all people) before answering “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of fucking you.”
I shiver again, harder this time, and I frown before screwing my eyes shut. The next minute, he’s kissing me, and when he’s pushing me down on the couch he was previously sitting on, I wonder if any of this is real. Ryo fucks me on the couch, in the dressing room, but he’s not really real.