Nirvana, Or Something Like It
Title: Nirvana, Or Something Like It
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sho/Jun
Word count: 1432
Summary: Jun likes to do yoga. Sho, well. He likes Jun. Does that count?
Warnings/Notes: Just messing around with my favorite pair. One of those silly little things that just wrote themselves ♥
“I didn’t sign up for this,” Sho complains.
He feels hands pressing down on his back with surprising force-it’s a veritable struggle to keep his face that close to the ground in between his legs, what with his arms over his head. His face is sticking uncomfortably to the perforated rubber that has altogether seen too many workouts. He’s not one to be extra finicky about hygiene, that would be the cruel man currently parading as Jun, but he finds himself hearing his own pathetic, ragged breathing against the less-than-desirable surface.
This is nowhere as relaxing as he was assured just half an hour ago ago. It wasn’t that he expected it to be relaxing, exactly, but he couldn’t have imagined then that his small show of interest would open up to a world of pain.
“We’re already cooling down,” Jun says, his fingertips exerting effort on Sho’s nape.
“And this is supposed to help me open up my chakras?” he says, wincing as Jun bears down on him with two hands. Sho can’t help but grunt.
“A little too ambitious, aren’t we, my padawan?”
“Bad habit,” Sho wheezes, as Jun adds more force. He finds himself thinking about how he got himself into this situation, and he can’t help but moan in frustration. Surely, there are other, easier, ways? It’s just that it’s so hard to resist anything when those steely brown eyes light up in excitement.
“Breathe,” Jun intones.
How is that even possible anyway? Sho thinks. Wondering about the devious physiology of Jun’s corneas is the bane of Sho’s secret inner life, and he’s now dearly paying for it. Sho is suddenly made aware about all the muscle joints that he never even knew existed when it feels like Jun is resting his whole weight on his back. “M-Matsujun!”
“Man up, Sho-san. I can hear you gasping, and frankly, hearing you breathe like a wild boar is a little off-putting.”
“That’s because I can’t breathe!”
The death grip on his shoulder lets up and he feels his stomach muscles unclenching. He never sweats as profusely as this except for concerts, and he’s a little bit scared at the pool of sweat that has gathered on the violet mat.
"Guess we can stop here for today."
He sees Jun’s legs as he stands up with little to no effort to turn off the new-agey music that has been blasting from the speakers. Laughing earlier about Jun’s “NAMASTE” playlist on his music player earned Sho a look of deep loathing. Sho immediately stopped laughing and Jun barked at him to “close your eyes, get your hands together, and place them at your heart chakra!” which, to Sho, felt a little un-yogi-like. (Thirty minutes later, Sho gets a sense that Jun enjoyed the yoga session for reasons other than searching for inner peace.)
Jun stands a few paces away from Sho, his backcombed hair barely mussed, the sunlight streaming in from the apartment window, making him look quite unearthly in his white v-neck. “So?”
“So, what?”
“So, how was your first foray into intermediate yoga?”
Sho can’t believe the look of expectant and self-satisfied pleasure on Jun’s face.
“It was okay,” Sho says, “except for the part where you turn Yoga-tron and proceeded to attempt to kill me.”
A minute frown appears and just as easily disappears on Jun’s face. “I thought you wanted to level up.”
“I did,” Sho sighs. "I do."
He’ll do anything. If it’s Jun.
“See,” Jun says, finally smiling. “Now you’re ready to face the day all bright and stretched out!”
*
“Limits, you know about them, right?”
Jun has no idea what Ohno is talking about.
“You should be more careful,” he says, as he squeezes in to Jun’s right on the couch. Jun’s eyebrows shoot up in question but Ohno seems to take it as a signal to smile wanly and drink the coffee he’s been nursing. There’s no talking to him once he fishes out his battered copy of this month’s Lure from his bag.
*
“So rough, Matsujun! The man can barely walk!” Aiba accuses him as they walk towards the cherry blossom studio set-up where the two of them are now supposed to pose like “ViVi models playing in spring time” in their scratchy happi. At least, that’s what the frightened intern said when she briefed them.
“What?” Jun asks as he distractedly strikes a pose.
Aiba does a pouty mouth pose (how Aiba came to think that a pout is his best bet for a sexy pose is something that will always puzzle Jun) for the photographer before turning to Jun. “You know what you did.”
He almost snorts at Aiba’s chastising tone, but come to think of it, Jun hasn’t heard from him all day.
But
he
said!
*
Jun fumes when he receives a message from Nino.
“Yo, J. I’m sitting in the van with someone who reeks of Salonpas and says that you’re, and I quote, a ‘smug, tofu-addicted, balance ball-sitting bastard’. Giving you three guesses who.”
He doesn’t dignify it with a reply. Or at least, he tries his very best not to.
*
When he enters the apartment that evening, he already hears the hum of the television playing in the background. But more than what he hears, it’s what he smells that grabs his attention-it’s just as Nino said. He toes off his shoes with a sigh.
Sho gives him a shifty glance when he comes into view. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” He crosses his arms and waits for Sho to talk again.
“So?”
“So, what?”
Jun barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Suit yourself.” He proceeds to the kitchen to whip up a half-hearted dinner for the two of them, taking into account Sho’s less than stellar culinary skills and his current inability to move around. As he drops the eggs in to the instant ramen (yes, he is that bedraggled), he tries to sort through the weird tantrum that he’s going through. After all, he’s not the one with the knotty muscles, yes? And he should have known better. Right?
It’s Sho.
Who can barely do a polite bow, thanks to his outstanding stiffness.
Jun makes up for the trashy menu and whips out his immaculate china to place the ramen in. He tries his best not to smile when he finds Sho already sitting at the dining table, looking both docile and stubborn at the same time. Jun knows that hunger always wins the match, so he doesn’t rub it in.
“Instant ramen,” Sho says, looking up at Jun. “I thought we’ve banned this atrocity of a food group in this household?”
Jun takes off his apron and sits down across him. “Can’t hurt.”
Sho can barely hide his glee-what a tub of lard, Jun thinks-as he takes his first slurp of instant ramen in what seems to be months. Jun silently starts to eat and could swear that he heard Sho purring after stuffing an inhuman amount of noodles inside his mouth.
Sho never purrs for his tofu with toppings, or his famed steamed bok choy.
Jun watches him grab the bowl with gusto and drink the broth right from it. He wonders how someone could be so happy eating what is essentially a bowl of refined carbohydrates, arbitrary spice, and eggs.
“You hate yoga,” Jun declares, in realization.
The slurping noises stop. Sho looks up from his bowl and looks almost guiltily at him.
“Jun,” he starts.
His face is so serious, so different from just a minute ago, that Jun couldn’t help but laugh. He realizes that probably sounds a little bit loony, but he couldn’t stop. “You hate yoga,” he repeats, breathless from laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” Sho asks, his brows scrunched together, his finger and thumb pressing on his lip, the way he is when he’s thinking or unsure. But Jun knows a smile is tugging the corners of his mouth too. They’ve been together for far too long; he has always been watching Sho.
But what a stupid day. Stupid Sho, taking yoga lessons from him for half a year already without saying a damn thing.
Such stupid, stupid feelings.
*
If this is what it feels like to be boneless, then Sho wants to be boneless, every single day. It’s that quiet voice asking him where, those fingertips that gently skim his body, those palms that thoroughly knead all the hurt away-it’s him.
He can’t control the yelp that comes out when Jun zones in on a particularly sore spot on his shoulder. “You’re the worst padawan in the world,” Jun says.
How did I get so lucky, Sho thinks.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sho/Jun
Word count: 1432
Summary: Jun likes to do yoga. Sho, well. He likes Jun. Does that count?
Warnings/Notes: Just messing around with my favorite pair. One of those silly little things that just wrote themselves ♥
“I didn’t sign up for this,” Sho complains.
He feels hands pressing down on his back with surprising force-it’s a veritable struggle to keep his face that close to the ground in between his legs, what with his arms over his head. His face is sticking uncomfortably to the perforated rubber that has altogether seen too many workouts. He’s not one to be extra finicky about hygiene, that would be the cruel man currently parading as Jun, but he finds himself hearing his own pathetic, ragged breathing against the less-than-desirable surface.
This is nowhere as relaxing as he was assured just half an hour ago ago. It wasn’t that he expected it to be relaxing, exactly, but he couldn’t have imagined then that his small show of interest would open up to a world of pain.
“We’re already cooling down,” Jun says, his fingertips exerting effort on Sho’s nape.
“And this is supposed to help me open up my chakras?” he says, wincing as Jun bears down on him with two hands. Sho can’t help but grunt.
“A little too ambitious, aren’t we, my padawan?”
“Bad habit,” Sho wheezes, as Jun adds more force. He finds himself thinking about how he got himself into this situation, and he can’t help but moan in frustration. Surely, there are other, easier, ways? It’s just that it’s so hard to resist anything when those steely brown eyes light up in excitement.
“Breathe,” Jun intones.
How is that even possible anyway? Sho thinks. Wondering about the devious physiology of Jun’s corneas is the bane of Sho’s secret inner life, and he’s now dearly paying for it. Sho is suddenly made aware about all the muscle joints that he never even knew existed when it feels like Jun is resting his whole weight on his back. “M-Matsujun!”
“Man up, Sho-san. I can hear you gasping, and frankly, hearing you breathe like a wild boar is a little off-putting.”
“That’s because I can’t breathe!”
The death grip on his shoulder lets up and he feels his stomach muscles unclenching. He never sweats as profusely as this except for concerts, and he’s a little bit scared at the pool of sweat that has gathered on the violet mat.
"Guess we can stop here for today."
He sees Jun’s legs as he stands up with little to no effort to turn off the new-agey music that has been blasting from the speakers. Laughing earlier about Jun’s “NAMASTE” playlist on his music player earned Sho a look of deep loathing. Sho immediately stopped laughing and Jun barked at him to “close your eyes, get your hands together, and place them at your heart chakra!” which, to Sho, felt a little un-yogi-like. (Thirty minutes later, Sho gets a sense that Jun enjoyed the yoga session for reasons other than searching for inner peace.)
Jun stands a few paces away from Sho, his backcombed hair barely mussed, the sunlight streaming in from the apartment window, making him look quite unearthly in his white v-neck. “So?”
“So, what?”
“So, how was your first foray into intermediate yoga?”
Sho can’t believe the look of expectant and self-satisfied pleasure on Jun’s face.
“It was okay,” Sho says, “except for the part where you turn Yoga-tron and proceeded to attempt to kill me.”
A minute frown appears and just as easily disappears on Jun’s face. “I thought you wanted to level up.”
“I did,” Sho sighs. "I do."
He’ll do anything. If it’s Jun.
“See,” Jun says, finally smiling. “Now you’re ready to face the day all bright and stretched out!”
*
“Limits, you know about them, right?”
Jun has no idea what Ohno is talking about.
“You should be more careful,” he says, as he squeezes in to Jun’s right on the couch. Jun’s eyebrows shoot up in question but Ohno seems to take it as a signal to smile wanly and drink the coffee he’s been nursing. There’s no talking to him once he fishes out his battered copy of this month’s Lure from his bag.
*
“So rough, Matsujun! The man can barely walk!” Aiba accuses him as they walk towards the cherry blossom studio set-up where the two of them are now supposed to pose like “ViVi models playing in spring time” in their scratchy happi. At least, that’s what the frightened intern said when she briefed them.
“What?” Jun asks as he distractedly strikes a pose.
Aiba does a pouty mouth pose (how Aiba came to think that a pout is his best bet for a sexy pose is something that will always puzzle Jun) for the photographer before turning to Jun. “You know what you did.”
He almost snorts at Aiba’s chastising tone, but come to think of it, Jun hasn’t heard from him all day.
But
he
said!
*
Jun fumes when he receives a message from Nino.
“Yo, J. I’m sitting in the van with someone who reeks of Salonpas and says that you’re, and I quote, a ‘smug, tofu-addicted, balance ball-sitting bastard’. Giving you three guesses who.”
He doesn’t dignify it with a reply. Or at least, he tries his very best not to.
*
When he enters the apartment that evening, he already hears the hum of the television playing in the background. But more than what he hears, it’s what he smells that grabs his attention-it’s just as Nino said. He toes off his shoes with a sigh.
Sho gives him a shifty glance when he comes into view. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” He crosses his arms and waits for Sho to talk again.
“So?”
“So, what?”
Jun barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Suit yourself.” He proceeds to the kitchen to whip up a half-hearted dinner for the two of them, taking into account Sho’s less than stellar culinary skills and his current inability to move around. As he drops the eggs in to the instant ramen (yes, he is that bedraggled), he tries to sort through the weird tantrum that he’s going through. After all, he’s not the one with the knotty muscles, yes? And he should have known better. Right?
It’s Sho.
Who can barely do a polite bow, thanks to his outstanding stiffness.
Jun makes up for the trashy menu and whips out his immaculate china to place the ramen in. He tries his best not to smile when he finds Sho already sitting at the dining table, looking both docile and stubborn at the same time. Jun knows that hunger always wins the match, so he doesn’t rub it in.
“Instant ramen,” Sho says, looking up at Jun. “I thought we’ve banned this atrocity of a food group in this household?”
Jun takes off his apron and sits down across him. “Can’t hurt.”
Sho can barely hide his glee-what a tub of lard, Jun thinks-as he takes his first slurp of instant ramen in what seems to be months. Jun silently starts to eat and could swear that he heard Sho purring after stuffing an inhuman amount of noodles inside his mouth.
Sho never purrs for his tofu with toppings, or his famed steamed bok choy.
Jun watches him grab the bowl with gusto and drink the broth right from it. He wonders how someone could be so happy eating what is essentially a bowl of refined carbohydrates, arbitrary spice, and eggs.
“You hate yoga,” Jun declares, in realization.
The slurping noises stop. Sho looks up from his bowl and looks almost guiltily at him.
“Jun,” he starts.
His face is so serious, so different from just a minute ago, that Jun couldn’t help but laugh. He realizes that probably sounds a little bit loony, but he couldn’t stop. “You hate yoga,” he repeats, breathless from laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” Sho asks, his brows scrunched together, his finger and thumb pressing on his lip, the way he is when he’s thinking or unsure. But Jun knows a smile is tugging the corners of his mouth too. They’ve been together for far too long; he has always been watching Sho.
But what a stupid day. Stupid Sho, taking yoga lessons from him for half a year already without saying a damn thing.
Such stupid, stupid feelings.
*
If this is what it feels like to be boneless, then Sho wants to be boneless, every single day. It’s that quiet voice asking him where, those fingertips that gently skim his body, those palms that thoroughly knead all the hurt away-it’s him.
He can’t control the yelp that comes out when Jun zones in on a particularly sore spot on his shoulder. “You’re the worst padawan in the world,” Jun says.
How did I get so lucky, Sho thinks.