Fear of Flying: Chiaki x Nodame lemon! Whee!
I love the character/ratings filter at the Great Cesspool! I find myself inspired to write pron for a pair when I search over there and see no M-rated fics. This is what motivated me to write some Byakuya x Yachiru; and now, this is what motivated me to write Chiaki x Nodame.
That, and some other things too. :)
So here it is, my first Nodame Cantabile one-shot.
title: Fear of Flying
genre: lemon!
rating: M, possibly X if you're picky
spoilers: the most recent chapters of the Paris arc
disclaimers: The guy sitting next to Chiaki on the plane was not harmed during the writing of this fic, and no, I do not own Nodame Cantabile.
This is dedicated to virkallea and syneiam. Thanks for recommending this title to me. :) I hope you like lemons, and I hope you think it's in character.
windxalchemist, sorry sweetie to make you wait a day when I said this would be up in an hour. *hangs head in shame* Work interfered and then I was suddenly inspired to tinker around with the ending a bit.
Calling the grammar police! Mwahahahaha! Do your worse (or your best, as these things go.) *hugs*
I'm going to post this at the_s_orchestra once you sweeties have your first dibs on it.
Fear of Flying
By Laurie Bunter
He took her from behind.
Chiaki was banging into her body ceaselessly, as if he was mindlessly following an internal metronome that kept saying presto, presto, you must play with her so fast as not to give her time to breathe between the pounding out of notes; there is no time for rests or full stops.
Damn it, that guy was wrong. Music isn’t what happens between the notes. Music is what pulsated between the narrow walls of the concert hall.
He wanted the music swelling in their bodies to overflow the acoustics of the room.
One hand was on her bare breast, rubbing the tip of her nipple as if he was tuning a violin to his satisfaction; the other was much lower, rubbing against the delicate nerves between her legs, which was unlike any instrument he had ever played in his life. Sure, he knew how to handle an orchestra… but he had never played such a temperamental duet before. For years it seems like he has been playing solos, and it wasn’t because of all the nasty rumors his old girlfriend spread about his size of his piccolo.
Nodame was whimpering. “Mukya… sempai.”
His sensei always said he had good fingering technique.
In his head he was hearing Chopin’s Minute Waltz. Even if the music said molto vivace, shouldn’t an act like this be done adagio and then build up from there? He should be thinking of something else, maybe Ravel’s Bolero…
Damn it, he was even over-thinking this act. Why couldn’t he just relax for once?
“You make me want to sing, sempai,” she gasped out between strokes.
“No singing,” he snarled.
Her heady breaths were punctuated by the squeaking noises of the bedsprings. Chiaki could not help for an occasional guttural escaping his lips.
All together, it was a rather unorthodox piece to his ears.
“Damn it, you better come!” he clenched his teeth, as he thrust so deep he felt he was going to break them both.
A single note of intense clarity pierced and resonated throughout the room as she climaxed.
“Shinichi,” she gulped, as he finally let himself drown in the waves of her body.
Now it was part for the grand finish.
Disgruntled orchestra members always likened him to Napoleon. Tonight, he felt like Julius Caesar. He saw. He conquered. He came.
As he withdrew limply from her body and flipped her around, Nodame’s eyes lit up with an inner incandescent light. “Shinichi, I love you.”
She had never used his first name before.
Chiaki felt himself get all choked up from the sort of sentimentality reserved for date movies.
It was then he realized that the bed sheets were still crisp and unwrinkled.
When he looked up at the headboard, he saw the entire Rising Star Orchestra crammed behind it. Mine and Kiyora had led the standing ovation. The photographer from Classic Life was busy snapping close-ups.
The hearty cries of “Bravo!” rang in his ears. Rage began to fill his heart.
Chiaki shook himself awake. He was shivering. It was just natural: he had just woken up from a disturbing dream mid-flight.
He climbed over the heavy-set man in the economy aisle seat and went to the lavatory to splash some cold water on his pale face.
Damn it, he still hated flying.
His teeth continued to clatter with every little bump of turbulence. He inched his way back to the seat, trying not to think of his dream.
Sigmund Freud - a man bred and nurtured in Vienna, one of his favorite cities - once theorized that to dream of flying was to dream of sex. What did it mean, if one dreamt of sex while actually flying?
What did it mean, to dream of having sex with Nodame?
He may be a man of enormous talent, luck, and good looks - but Chiaki Shinichi was inevitably slow in matters of the heart.
Surely there wasn’t anything more he desired than to continually hear her piano playing, and to delight in the evolution of her dazzling executions of his favorite pieces.
Chiaki was a man in an enormous amount of denial.
For starters, he sure he wasn’t ready to accept that he was hopelessly lost in the Weirdo Forest and there was no escape.
“It was just a dream,” Chiaki muttered to himself as he tried to contain his fear of sitting for hours in an aircraft. He settled back into his seat, quivering. “It was just a dream.”
“It better be,” the overweight stranger beside him growled. “Now let go of my arm, freak. I’m married.”
Chiaki looked down at his seatbelt, horrified that the seat of his pants was still tented. He realized he still had an erection from his erotic fantasy.
Burying his face in his jacket, he let go of the stranger’s arm immediately.
The plane was going to land in ten minutes.
He grimaced. Chiaki wasn’t looking forward the frisking he was bound to receive upon landing.
Nodame was an eyesore.
Chiaki considered the young woman sleeping on his bed again. He had gone straight from the airport to an exhausting practice with the Roux Marlet Orchestra. All he wanted to do now was to collapse on his feather pillows.
And yet she was there, nestled upon his bed.
In fairness, it was her bed now: didn’t he give her this apartment? Yet instead of heading straight to his new place, he found himself at the foot of the stairs of his family’s complex. There was no other choice; he was exhausted. Chiaki thought he might as well rest here than crumple on the sidewalk to be stepped on by tourists.
“I’m sorry, sempai,” Nodame said, rubbing her eyes crusted over with a sprinkling of guck. At least her breath wasn’t so bad. “I didn’t know you were coming over. Have you eaten? I have some leftover curry.”
“It’s okay,” he sighed as he made the decision to crash beside her. The bed sank a couple of inches, but not much, and Nodame involuntarily rolled closer to him.
Chiaki chucked his photograph - resting against the headboard - on to the floor. The other things littering the bed followed and made a tidy heap.
“How was your flight?” Nodame yawned. “Did Elise give you any trouble, sempai?”
“No trouble at all,” he answered. “Why I had to fill in for Stresseman, I have no idea. It was only one night. There’s got to be at least one other conductor in Vienna competent to work on Rachmaninoff!”
“Perhaps Milch likes your version best,” she said. “He trusts you.”
Did that old reprobate trust him? Chiaki wasn’t so sure about that. He thought it had more to do with some conniving to get him into the same city with his father. Thankfully, he did not encounter the old man anywhere. It would have put him off his conducting.
“What did you wear to the dinner party afterwards?”
What a stupid thing to ask him. “I didn’t have time to change from my formal attire.”
Nodame gazed up at him, blinking. “You know, you should wear something other than black and white,” she said. “It would look better for the magazines. It would bring out the color of your eyes… just like the fairy in Puri Gorota.”
Chiaki grunted. He sure wasn’t going to take fashion advice from a slob, no matter if she did clean up nicely.
“Go back to sleep, fool,” he said, almost harshly.
Her lips were pursed together. The sight of it almost irritated him. Why did she always have to do that? Did she expect him to give her a kiss? Yes, he lost his head once, he needed to admit that much to himself now - but perhaps it was the wine, or the music, or that she was wearing that ridiculous Mozart costume and the sheer romance of the dark wood had conspired against him and lowered his defenses.
It was not going to happen again, even if they were currently sleeping on the same bed, her face dangerously close to his, sharing the same pillow, and her hand resting gently on his chest.
“Go back to sleep yourself,” Nodame answered, a slight curl to her lip. “Close your eyes and relax. You will have pleasant dreams.”
Chiaki’s eyes fluttered open. What did she say? He turned back to study her, as she settled back to sleep.
His mind was on the cusp of a major epiphany but the truth was snatched away before he could grasp it. Never mind. He was too tired to think of it now.
Her voice always did have that hypnotic quality to it.
Without too much reluctance, Chiaki pulled Nodame closer to him and fell back into a position of repose.
She threw her arm across his waist comfortably, clutching at the soft fabric of his shirt.
Moonlight was streaming through the open window. The night was still young. There was still time to change his mind. Maybe he wasn’t so tired after all. Nodame didn’t reek of anything foul today; perhaps she had actually bathed and shampooed in honor of his return. He hadn’t told her he’d be dropping by, but perhaps she did so anyway. Her nightshirt was even slightly fragrant with fabric softener.
Who did she coerce to do her laundry for her? Chiaki did not want to hazard a guess.
With a slight tremble, his hand slid down to rest at the small of her back.
Surprised, she gave him a quizzical glance. “Sempai?”
He gave the slightest of nods.
Nodame would hold him to that gesture of acceptance. She was not one to give up an opportunity if it presented itself. She had been waiting years for this instant.
Slowly, she began to unbutton his shirt.
Chiaki tried not to bite his lip as he felt her calloused fingertips glancing off the skin of his chest.
He, too, had yearned for this moment of surrender, as much as it had always frightened him beyond all reason.
Perhaps, if he was lucky, maybe he won’t remember anything in the morning…?
No. Chiaki knew in the back of his mind that this was only a game in self-deception, and yes… he will remember every single minute of this.
Nodame pursed her lips again, as she began to wiggle on top of him awkwardly, not wanting to lose the closest of his touch yet desperate to be free of her nightshirt. It had gotten itself snagged on the edge of his belt buckle.
“Let me do that,” he said, and she looked relieved. “But later.”
Her face was pulled in close for a soft kiss. Adagio, adagio, with lots of dolce. There will be time enough later for both speed and passion. This maybe an improvisational but Chiaki wanted to do this right.
And this would be better than any music in his dreams.
- finis -
That, and some other things too. :)
So here it is, my first Nodame Cantabile one-shot.
title: Fear of Flying
genre: lemon!
rating: M, possibly X if you're picky
spoilers: the most recent chapters of the Paris arc
disclaimers: The guy sitting next to Chiaki on the plane was not harmed during the writing of this fic, and no, I do not own Nodame Cantabile.
This is dedicated to virkallea and syneiam. Thanks for recommending this title to me. :) I hope you like lemons, and I hope you think it's in character.
windxalchemist, sorry sweetie to make you wait a day when I said this would be up in an hour. *hangs head in shame* Work interfered and then I was suddenly inspired to tinker around with the ending a bit.
Calling the grammar police! Mwahahahaha! Do your worse (or your best, as these things go.) *hugs*
I'm going to post this at the_s_orchestra once you sweeties have your first dibs on it.
Fear of Flying
By Laurie Bunter
He took her from behind.
Chiaki was banging into her body ceaselessly, as if he was mindlessly following an internal metronome that kept saying presto, presto, you must play with her so fast as not to give her time to breathe between the pounding out of notes; there is no time for rests or full stops.
Damn it, that guy was wrong. Music isn’t what happens between the notes. Music is what pulsated between the narrow walls of the concert hall.
He wanted the music swelling in their bodies to overflow the acoustics of the room.
One hand was on her bare breast, rubbing the tip of her nipple as if he was tuning a violin to his satisfaction; the other was much lower, rubbing against the delicate nerves between her legs, which was unlike any instrument he had ever played in his life. Sure, he knew how to handle an orchestra… but he had never played such a temperamental duet before. For years it seems like he has been playing solos, and it wasn’t because of all the nasty rumors his old girlfriend spread about his size of his piccolo.
Nodame was whimpering. “Mukya… sempai.”
His sensei always said he had good fingering technique.
In his head he was hearing Chopin’s Minute Waltz. Even if the music said molto vivace, shouldn’t an act like this be done adagio and then build up from there? He should be thinking of something else, maybe Ravel’s Bolero…
Damn it, he was even over-thinking this act. Why couldn’t he just relax for once?
“You make me want to sing, sempai,” she gasped out between strokes.
“No singing,” he snarled.
Her heady breaths were punctuated by the squeaking noises of the bedsprings. Chiaki could not help for an occasional guttural escaping his lips.
All together, it was a rather unorthodox piece to his ears.
“Damn it, you better come!” he clenched his teeth, as he thrust so deep he felt he was going to break them both.
A single note of intense clarity pierced and resonated throughout the room as she climaxed.
“Shinichi,” she gulped, as he finally let himself drown in the waves of her body.
Now it was part for the grand finish.
Disgruntled orchestra members always likened him to Napoleon. Tonight, he felt like Julius Caesar. He saw. He conquered. He came.
As he withdrew limply from her body and flipped her around, Nodame’s eyes lit up with an inner incandescent light. “Shinichi, I love you.”
She had never used his first name before.
Chiaki felt himself get all choked up from the sort of sentimentality reserved for date movies.
It was then he realized that the bed sheets were still crisp and unwrinkled.
When he looked up at the headboard, he saw the entire Rising Star Orchestra crammed behind it. Mine and Kiyora had led the standing ovation. The photographer from Classic Life was busy snapping close-ups.
The hearty cries of “Bravo!” rang in his ears. Rage began to fill his heart.
Chiaki shook himself awake. He was shivering. It was just natural: he had just woken up from a disturbing dream mid-flight.
He climbed over the heavy-set man in the economy aisle seat and went to the lavatory to splash some cold water on his pale face.
Damn it, he still hated flying.
His teeth continued to clatter with every little bump of turbulence. He inched his way back to the seat, trying not to think of his dream.
Sigmund Freud - a man bred and nurtured in Vienna, one of his favorite cities - once theorized that to dream of flying was to dream of sex. What did it mean, if one dreamt of sex while actually flying?
What did it mean, to dream of having sex with Nodame?
He may be a man of enormous talent, luck, and good looks - but Chiaki Shinichi was inevitably slow in matters of the heart.
Surely there wasn’t anything more he desired than to continually hear her piano playing, and to delight in the evolution of her dazzling executions of his favorite pieces.
Chiaki was a man in an enormous amount of denial.
For starters, he sure he wasn’t ready to accept that he was hopelessly lost in the Weirdo Forest and there was no escape.
“It was just a dream,” Chiaki muttered to himself as he tried to contain his fear of sitting for hours in an aircraft. He settled back into his seat, quivering. “It was just a dream.”
“It better be,” the overweight stranger beside him growled. “Now let go of my arm, freak. I’m married.”
Chiaki looked down at his seatbelt, horrified that the seat of his pants was still tented. He realized he still had an erection from his erotic fantasy.
Burying his face in his jacket, he let go of the stranger’s arm immediately.
The plane was going to land in ten minutes.
He grimaced. Chiaki wasn’t looking forward the frisking he was bound to receive upon landing.
Nodame was an eyesore.
Chiaki considered the young woman sleeping on his bed again. He had gone straight from the airport to an exhausting practice with the Roux Marlet Orchestra. All he wanted to do now was to collapse on his feather pillows.
And yet she was there, nestled upon his bed.
In fairness, it was her bed now: didn’t he give her this apartment? Yet instead of heading straight to his new place, he found himself at the foot of the stairs of his family’s complex. There was no other choice; he was exhausted. Chiaki thought he might as well rest here than crumple on the sidewalk to be stepped on by tourists.
“I’m sorry, sempai,” Nodame said, rubbing her eyes crusted over with a sprinkling of guck. At least her breath wasn’t so bad. “I didn’t know you were coming over. Have you eaten? I have some leftover curry.”
“It’s okay,” he sighed as he made the decision to crash beside her. The bed sank a couple of inches, but not much, and Nodame involuntarily rolled closer to him.
Chiaki chucked his photograph - resting against the headboard - on to the floor. The other things littering the bed followed and made a tidy heap.
“How was your flight?” Nodame yawned. “Did Elise give you any trouble, sempai?”
“No trouble at all,” he answered. “Why I had to fill in for Stresseman, I have no idea. It was only one night. There’s got to be at least one other conductor in Vienna competent to work on Rachmaninoff!”
“Perhaps Milch likes your version best,” she said. “He trusts you.”
Did that old reprobate trust him? Chiaki wasn’t so sure about that. He thought it had more to do with some conniving to get him into the same city with his father. Thankfully, he did not encounter the old man anywhere. It would have put him off his conducting.
“What did you wear to the dinner party afterwards?”
What a stupid thing to ask him. “I didn’t have time to change from my formal attire.”
Nodame gazed up at him, blinking. “You know, you should wear something other than black and white,” she said. “It would look better for the magazines. It would bring out the color of your eyes… just like the fairy in Puri Gorota.”
Chiaki grunted. He sure wasn’t going to take fashion advice from a slob, no matter if she did clean up nicely.
“Go back to sleep, fool,” he said, almost harshly.
Her lips were pursed together. The sight of it almost irritated him. Why did she always have to do that? Did she expect him to give her a kiss? Yes, he lost his head once, he needed to admit that much to himself now - but perhaps it was the wine, or the music, or that she was wearing that ridiculous Mozart costume and the sheer romance of the dark wood had conspired against him and lowered his defenses.
It was not going to happen again, even if they were currently sleeping on the same bed, her face dangerously close to his, sharing the same pillow, and her hand resting gently on his chest.
“Go back to sleep yourself,” Nodame answered, a slight curl to her lip. “Close your eyes and relax. You will have pleasant dreams.”
Chiaki’s eyes fluttered open. What did she say? He turned back to study her, as she settled back to sleep.
His mind was on the cusp of a major epiphany but the truth was snatched away before he could grasp it. Never mind. He was too tired to think of it now.
Her voice always did have that hypnotic quality to it.
Without too much reluctance, Chiaki pulled Nodame closer to him and fell back into a position of repose.
She threw her arm across his waist comfortably, clutching at the soft fabric of his shirt.
Moonlight was streaming through the open window. The night was still young. There was still time to change his mind. Maybe he wasn’t so tired after all. Nodame didn’t reek of anything foul today; perhaps she had actually bathed and shampooed in honor of his return. He hadn’t told her he’d be dropping by, but perhaps she did so anyway. Her nightshirt was even slightly fragrant with fabric softener.
Who did she coerce to do her laundry for her? Chiaki did not want to hazard a guess.
With a slight tremble, his hand slid down to rest at the small of her back.
Surprised, she gave him a quizzical glance. “Sempai?”
He gave the slightest of nods.
Nodame would hold him to that gesture of acceptance. She was not one to give up an opportunity if it presented itself. She had been waiting years for this instant.
Slowly, she began to unbutton his shirt.
Chiaki tried not to bite his lip as he felt her calloused fingertips glancing off the skin of his chest.
He, too, had yearned for this moment of surrender, as much as it had always frightened him beyond all reason.
Perhaps, if he was lucky, maybe he won’t remember anything in the morning…?
No. Chiaki knew in the back of his mind that this was only a game in self-deception, and yes… he will remember every single minute of this.
Nodame pursed her lips again, as she began to wiggle on top of him awkwardly, not wanting to lose the closest of his touch yet desperate to be free of her nightshirt. It had gotten itself snagged on the edge of his belt buckle.
“Let me do that,” he said, and she looked relieved. “But later.”
Her face was pulled in close for a soft kiss. Adagio, adagio, with lots of dolce. There will be time enough later for both speed and passion. This maybe an improvisational but Chiaki wanted to do this right.
And this would be better than any music in his dreams.
- finis -