[one-shot] French Cancan
French Cancan
Correction status: 100% (beta'ed by Ci-kitty)
Author(s) : yue_akuma
Pairing : Tadayoshi/Shingo.
Rating : PG-16. for prostitution allusion?
Genre : alternate universe / romance.
Warnings : boykissing, cabaret life, cheesiness.
Disclaimer : Meh, I wish I had even one of Hina's shirt.
Summary : Tadayoshi never thought he would found love in a cabaret.
Notes : Wrote on a sudden urge of inspiration. Said inspiration is coming from the song "French Cancan (Monsieur Sainte Nitouche)" by Inna Modja. All the needed translations are noted at the end of the fic. Hey, I couldn't help making a fic where my language was featured! ;)
The streets are crowded; they always are in front of the Moulin Rouge. A bit farther, in a little street, a few young boys are watching at the windows, with envy. Everybody always talked about the pretty girls in the cabaret, but who talked about them?
They were, after all, part of the Coquette Compagnie, the boys dressing up as girls and dancing like them and ending up in backrooms like their feminine counterparts did. They were as beautiful, if not more; but people didn’t want to tell their friends that they slept with a transvestite or a drag queen.
Tadayoshi sighed. He was the youngest in the group, but he was one of the most popular, and this only ten months after arriving in Paris from Osaka. Gentlemen were always amazed that an Asian guy could be here, but his prettiness was so amazing that they never cared about his origins for more than ten seconds.
Checking the clock, he walked away from the windows. It was time for him to put his green sparkly dress on, like every night.
I met this pretty boy in Paris
He used to tell me that I'm jolie
I couldn't say a word just
Coco Choco Chanel
Coco Chanel Chocolat
Tadayoshi didn’t know what was the stranger thing here; that someone asked for him to come and join him at his table - it rarely happened, they all always went straight to backrooms - or that this man was actually Asian, like him.
The gentleman in a dark purple suit grinned, courteously holding his chair for him as Tadayoshi sat down. Well, tonight and in the room, he was Tadako, to be accurate. He batted his fake eyelashes decorated with emerald diamonds - fake, of course - and smiled at the man, perfectly manicured fingers curling in his long black haired wig.
“Bonsoir~ What can I do for you, Monsieur…”
“Murakami,” the man replied, finishing a glass of expensive red wine. “I just wanted some company, and it’s always really pleasant to meet someone from Japan. You’re from Japan, right? Or was I mistaken?”
The young man smiled wider, chastely hiding behind his embroidered fan. “From Osaka, to be accurate.”
“Really?” Murakami exclaimed, looking all kind of surprised; “I’m from Osaka myself!”
Tadayoshi couldn’t help but giggle at how fate was unpredictable. And also at how the man’s smile was addictive.
In my heart
In my veins
I just couldn't take him out of my brain
Just a glance
I'm in trance
This French fella was cute as hell
A few glasses of wine and a coffee later, Murakami was softly reaching out, caressing at Tadayoshi’s cheek.
“You’re so pretty… You could be mistaken for a girl really easily.”
Gracefully blushing, the boy bowed a bit. “Merci. I’m not the prettiest one here though…”
“I think you are.”
Tadayoshi blushed even harder; he already heard a handful of men saying that he was pretty, but this gentleman here looked seriously mesmerised. For a moment, the boy almost forgot where they were and what his job was.
Almost.
“Would you like… Maybe you’d like us to go in a more private place to talk?”
Murakami smirked, slightly blushing too. “Let’s do that.”
On my mind
In my bed
I just couldn't stop staring at him
Just a kiss
French kiss
I couldn't say a word just stuttering
Coco Choco Chanel Coco
Coco Choco Chanel and Chocolat
How stupid is that ?
I should tell him
Remember the night he came in my life
The room was padded in dark velvet, red for the most part; there was a little salon with a couch and a table, two flutes and a bottle of champagne waiting for them; behind a curtain, a boudoir with a big bed and everything needed for… extra activities, if Tadayoshi could say.
Murakami, sitting on the couch, was currently serving champagne for them both; Tadayoshi had disappeared in the boudoir to change his dress - the one he wore for the scene was heavy and making him sweaty and he didn’t like it. The one he was putting on, though, was made of light green silk and white lace, feeling almost feathery against his skin, flying around his long legs as he was walking back to the salon.
The other man turned to look at him, not bothering to hide the way he was watching him from head to toe, and Tadayoshi chuckled, sitting next to him.
“Liking what you see, monsieur Murakami?”
“Very much,” the man replied, licking his lips. “But now that we’re alone, please call me Shingo, no need to be too formal.”
“Fine. Do you wish to call me by my real name too?”
Reaching for the champagne and handing his flute to the boy, Murakami smiled, nodding. “Yes, please.”
“Then, I’m Tadayoshi.”
“That’s a pretty name, I like it.”
They held their drinks up, making the glass tint softly; Tadayoshi smiled seductively.
“A votre santé, Shingo.”
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Prends-moi par la main
Dis-moi des mots d'amour
Des mots qui me touchent
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Je suis enchantée
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Prends-moi par la taille
Caresse-moi l'épaule
Le creux de mes reins
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Ravie de te rencontrer
If you were to ask him how the night went by, Tadayoshi would reply that it went correctly; in his mind though, he was happily surprised while being a bit saddened at the same time.
At the point where most of men would have already jumped him - and maybe even already left - Shingo - monsieur Murakami, he corrected himself - was still talking with him; about Osaka, about his life and his job, about his friend Yokoyama who was about to get married to a lady from Nagano even though he was in love with another man; he asked Tadayoshi about his life, his family, and a whole lot of things, looking genuinely interested in his history.
Tadayoshi had felt like he was actually some priceless person, maybe someone flirting with a promised lover, and he even went as far as to put off his wig. Murakami had told him that he looked better without it, anyway.
Of course, the flirting went on and on, until the man’s hand was slowly caressing Tadayoshi’s naked thigh, almost shyly, while the boy was petting Murakami’s hair, using the excuse to sit a bit closer to him. He could feel his body’s warmth, and he almost craved for the man to take him in his arms, but instead he just chastely kissed him, a light peck on his lips.
The words stopped flowing out of the man’s mouth. Instead, he stared at Tadayoshi, smiling tenderly.
“You really are gorgeous.”
And they kissed again, and again. They actually only kissed, up until the moment the cabaret was closing and Murakami had to go, leaving Tadayoshi all kind of wanting more, and just a little bit lovestruck.
In my life
In my dreams
This man couldn't walk away from my hips
Just a bite
On my lips
I couldn't say a word just stuttering
Coco Choco Chanel Coco
Coco Choco Chanel and Chocolat
How stupid is that ?
I should tell him
Remember the night he came in my life
He can still remember it, the feeling of being more than a dancing whore. The man was so sweet and handsome; Tadayoshi, three months later, still isn’t over it. He can still feel their lips meeting and their tongues touching, his breath catching in his lungs at how perfect it felt.
Since then, more men came, more nights in the backrooms, more days spent daydreaming about the man from Osaka who liked wine and cars and who was working for an international bank ; the man with soft brown hair, thin lips, wolfish teeth, naturally classy and with a terribly addictive smile. There was also a faint smell of cold tobacco, and a bit of lavender cologne.
Tadayoshi likes lavender cologne. He likes thin lips and talkative men. He can’t keep the gentleman out of his head, wondering if his crush even remembers him.
He sighs; the sun is setting down, it’s time for him to turn into Tadako, again. And he knows that, once more, he won’t be able to stop himself from looking in the room, hoping to catch the eyes of his gentleman.
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Prends-moi par la main
Dis-moi des mots d'amour
Des mots qui me touchent
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Je suis enchantée
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Prends-moi par la taille
Caresse-moi l'épaule
Le creux de mes reins
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Ravie de te rencontrer
A year passed by. Tadayoshi is tired of his life by now. He earned quite a good amount of money, had a good time, but his mind is always full of memories from that night, long ago.
His hopes of seeing the man again in his cabaret have now totally vanished; Murakami is surely still in Osaka, working, maybe even getting married to a girl even though he likes men, like his friend Yokoyama did.
And, all of a sudden, Tadayoshi misses his town. He misses his parents, his sister, his friends. He could go back home now, right? Right.
Two weeks later, he takes the first plane back to Japan.
I met this pretty boy in Paris
He used to tell me that I'm jolie
I called this pretty man Mon Chéri
Coco Choco Chanel
Coco Chanel Chocolat
Osaka is still the same after about two years, and Tadayoshi is glad. It still feels like home, and his mother still makes the most wonderful food in the world. He meets up with his friends from before, and his best friend, Shota, is happy to tell him all the things which happened during the time he was in France.
But, eventually, he now has to find a new job. Not that he really needs it - and his family never was a poor one to begin with - but he wants something to keep his mind off his usual daydreams.
He finds a place in a coffee shop, in a quiet area of the city; the work is a bit tiring, but the boss and his co-workers are nice and Tadayoshi likes the job in itself.
It’s only a few weeks later that, during his shift, a man who was once dressed in a dark purple suit and now in blue jeans and black shirt comes in, asking for a coffee and two muffins. The boy freezes, stares; the man stares back, and his eyes widen almost comically.
“You! It’s you! You’re back from Paris!”
Tadayoshi smiles and blushes, almost envying the times when he had a fan to hide behind. “Yes. I’m surprised you remember me, Sh-Murakami-san.”
Murakami doesn’t miss the way Tadayoshi stumbles over his name. He chuckles, and the young man feels like melting on the spot. It’s an amazing twist of fate, but now that the man he dreamt about for a whole year is in front of him, he doesn’t know what to do anymore.
Thankfully, Murakami saves the day. “When is your shift finished? Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Maybe we’ll be able to, hmm… Talk again.”
Considering the offer, Tadayoshi notices how the other one fidgets, discreetly, but still fidgeting. It gives his hopes a terrible boost.
“Sounds good! I’m off by six; would it be okay?”
“Parfait. Totalement parfait.”
They both grin stupidly.
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Prends-moi par la main
Dis-moi des mots d'amour
Des mots qui me touchent
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Je suis enchantée
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Prends-moi par la taille
Caresse-moi l'épaule
Le creux de mes reins
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche
Ravie de te rencontrer
No one would ever believe in a love story started in a cabaret in Paris and finished more than a year later in a coffee shop in Osaka. Tadayoshi himself would scoff and shrug it off; but it’s his own story by now, and he believes in it so hard that his heart feels like bouncing everytime Shingo - he can call him by his first name without guilt now - is talking to him.
The older man tells him that he never forgot about him, and Tadayoshi believes him, because that adds to the magic of the story. And now, about a bit more than five months of dating, it would be stupid to doubt about it.
Even more when he’s the one waiting in bed, stretching lazily, with Shingo coming from the kitchen with only his jeans on, carrying a tray full of delicious things to eat.
“Petit déjeuner”, he says with a big smile and a terrible Osakan accent. He sets the tray on the bed and sits next to Tadayoshi, kissing him tenderly before handing him a cup of coffee.
“Bon appétit, mon Chéri.”
---
Jolie : pretty
Monsieur Sainte Nitouche : c'est une sainte nitouche = she looks as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth
Prends-moi par la main : take my hand
Dis-moi des mots d'amour : tell me love words
Des mots qui me touchent : words which touch me
Je suis enchantée : I am enchanted (happy to meet you)
Prends-moi par la taille : hold me by the waist
Caresse-moi l'épaule : caress my shoulder
Le creux de mes reins : the small of my back
Ravie de te rencontrer : glad to meet you
Mon Chéri : my darling
Bonsoir : Good evening
Monsieur : Mister
Merci : Thank You
A votre santé : Cheers
Totalement parfait : totally perfect
Petit déjeuner : breakfast
Bon appétit : enjoy your meal
.END.