Happy Santa_Smex, Marksykins!
To: marksykins
From: shikishi and pixxers
Title: Seven Forty in the Afternoon
Recipient's name: marksykins
Rating: PG-15 (for mentions of smexxing)
Pairing(s): Inui/Kaidoh
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: If The Flintstones has taught us anything, it's that pelicans can be used to mix cement. (Thanks, Homer)
Author's Notes: First I must humbly apologize to the PoT Fandom, Bandom, Panic at the Disco, all panda's kept in captivity for our amusement, Ryan Ross, the colour pink and any person sporting the Caesar Emo 'do. Marks, this fic refused to be written and in it's place is a jumble of AU crack. Mainly because Momo is a moron and Inui insisted on being all angsty pants. So we took full advantage of your prompt and completely left anything related to PoT canon behind. I also cannot take credit for anything in this fic that resembles actual writing. My eternal devotion to my homegirls for listening to over 100 emails of wibble. Happy Holidays, Marks.
Everything's gone missing, I've lost more songs to floods. I can't prove this makes any sense but I sure hope that it does The lyrics blasted through Kaidoh’s pink Skull Candy headphones and he frowned, hefting his bag to his shoulder awkwardly. Hazue must have been playing with his iPod © again, he thought, trying to listen to the song and make out the words. English wasn’t his strong suit but the song was kind of catchy. Kaidoh wondered idly if perhaps he should listen to more of his brother’s music when he was studying, thinking perhaps it would sink in by . . . whatever that word for things sinking in was. He was sure someone smart like Inui or Fuji-sempai would know it but it was escaping him at the moment and making him feel stupid so he stopped thinking about it and instead focused on how he was going to clean the courts with that idiot Momoshiro’s butt during practice this morning.
Except the clouds looked too low and dark and the street lights were flickering on so it couldn’t possibly be morning. That and it was snowing - big white flakes floating down in spirals drifting here and there and accumulating quickly on the ground. Kaidoh’s frown deepened and he hissed under his breath. He’d really been looking forward to that match, even if he had only just thought of it. He re-shouldered his bag as it was sliding off his shoulder again. The bag felt bulky and awkward and Kaidoh told himself he should re-organize it if he had time after practice this morning or else it was going to annoy him all day. Inui said he had an obsessive personality, whatever that meant. Kaidoh just knew he liked things to be in an order that was sensible to him and things being out of place bugged him.
The gates of the school loomed ahead and Kaidoh could make out a figure that resembled Tezuka-buchou. Only this person was tall and had slicked back hair and no glasses and was wearing one of those fancy black suits like the Italian Yakuza in that manga that Kawamura-sempai liked. The figure spotted Kaidoh and spoke into the cell phone that was pressed against its left ear - “No, I really don’t think that’s . . .” He hung up mid-sentence, glaring sharply at Kaidoh.
“You’re late.”
The guy in the suit spoke with Tezuka’s voice.
“I’m sorry, Buchou. I thought . . . practice . . . seven am . . . where are your glasses, Buchou?”
The Tezuka-bot-hitman raised its eyebrow and stared down at Kaidoh. Kaidoh shuffled his feet and felt himself blush. What? It was an honest question, wasn’t it?
His elbow was suddenly caught in a tight grip and he found himself being frogmarched towards the club house, the Tezuka whatever mumbling under it’s breath that he really really didn’t have time for this again but what was he going to do? Kaidoh tried not to listen, because he’d been taught by his mother that listening to others' conversations was rude and he didn’t think it would be a good idea to be rude to Tezuka-buchou, even when he was dressed like someone from the mob (especially not when he was dressed like a member of the mob) and not like the captain of a middle school tennis club.
They’d arrived at the door of the clubhouse and Tezuka yanked open the door, pushing Kaidoh ahead of him and calling out “FUJI!” in a no-nonsense manner. Kaidoh blinked, and then blinked again. Then he rubbed viciously at his eyes. The clubhouse had been turned into something resembling the back stage of a theater house (or at least what Kaidoh imagined the back stage of a theater house would look like, having never been in one before). Gone were the rows of lockers, the benches so worn with age that the wood looked shiny if you stared at it long enough. Instead the room was piled with stacks of clothing in bright gaudy colors. Amplifiers the size of Horio (Kaidoh knew this because Horio happened to be standing next to one, tuning the high E on a flashy baby blue Stratocaster) lined one wall and another, the one that normally lead to the showers, was covered ceiling to floor with mirrors.
Kaidoh felt his jaw tighten and his tummy sort of did this twisty thing that made him feel like he should probably sit down for a second. But just then a bear that was standing in front of one of the mirrors turned towards him, blue eyes glinting in the . . . was that a disco light spinning in the middle of the ceiling? The bear grinned at him, eyes crinkling in an unmistakably Fuji-sempai way, and bounded over to him.
“You’re here! We thought we were going to have to send out the army again to get you here.”
“I . . . I . . .” Kaidoh could feel a massive headache coming on. “I’m sorry?”
Across the room Eiji-sempai slipped into the space that Fuji had vacated, pulling on a pair of tiger striped mittens with little claws on the fingertips. He waved at his reflection, face splitting into a toothy grin.
“Heya, Kaidoh. What took you so long, nya?”
Kaidoh couldn’t think of anything to say so he looked at his watch and muttered, “Am I late?” His watch said it was twenty minutes to eight, so he must be.
“Are you late?” Eiji’s grin widened. “Yeah, I’d say so - wouldn’t you, Oiiiiiiiiishi?”
Oishi had stepped out of the small covered doorway that Kaidoh desperately wished still lead to the showers, looking uncomfortable in a pair of old fashioned long underwear and two foot tall maroon hat, complete with brass buttons and a ridiculous looking feather sticking out of the top of it. His hair looked like it was glued into a permanent sweep across his forehead.
“Huh? Oh, Hi Kaidoh.” Oishi turned back to the mirror, his face deadpan as he contemplated his reflection.
“Sempais can I ask . . .” he began, but Fuji had a hold of him already - his grip surprisingly firm for someone wearing a bear mitt - and was dragging him towards the doorway that Oishi had just come through.
“Come on. We go on in 15 minutes and the crowd will swarm the stage if we have to delay again because you’ve got a case of stage fright.”
“I don’t have stage fright.” Kaidoh protested. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure this was true but it didn’t sound like him so he said it.
Next to him Fuji smiled beatifically and shoved him through the doorway.
Kaidoh came face to face with Momoshiro and his fists tightened reflexively. He scowled and hissed and the idiot smiled stupidly and leaned forward, a purple sequined baseball cap nearly covering one eye entirely.
“Yo-yo-yo, Kaidohhhhhhhhh. I’m the emcee tonight. How awesome is that? I’m totally going to slay them with my killer Momo-chan stylo.”
Well, Kaidoh exhaled; at least some of the day's happenings were sort of normal.
Fuji shoved him into a chair in front of one of the sinks. Next to him Ryoma was wearing a short plaid skirt and a white men's button-down with the tie un-knotted so that it hung open part way down his skinny chest. He was leaning against the sink and staring intently at his reflection as he pulled down his lower eyelid and slid the rounded tip of a kohl pencil along the rim. Kaidoh shuddered watching him and felt his headache get worse. On the edge of the sink Karupin sat, sedately licking his paw as he watched his owner apply eyeliner.
Ryoma didn’t turn to look at him as he released his eyelid and blinked rapidly, his wide eye tearing slightly. “Hi, sempai.”
Kaidoh nodded. He was having trouble swallowing. Behind him Fuji was rummaging through a large chest filled with t-shirts in every nauseating shade imaginable, holding them up occasionally behind Kaidoh and tilting his head to assess. He hummed under his breath as he worked.
“Aha! This will do.” Fuji pulled out a hideous chartreuse shirt that looked way too tiny to fit Kaidoh and flung it unceremoniously into his lap. He made pushy hands at Kaidoh. “Hurry, hurry.”
Kaidoh stared at the shirt. His belly hurt. His head hurt. Ryoma was applying lipstick like a seasoned pro. Karupin smiled sagely and nodded at Kaidoh before running his damped paw over his left ear.
Fuji’s brow wrinkled. “Breathe, Kaidoh. We don’t need you passing out like last time, now do we?”
Kaidoh rubbed at his forehead. “I’ve never passed . . .”
“Oh drat.” Fuji called over his shoulder, using his bear slippered foot to hold the bathroom door curtain to the side. “Tezuka! We need anxiety prevention.”
A moment later, Tezuka-bot-hitman walked into the room, ducking sideways through the curtain that Fuji had let drop back into place, his phone already pressed to his ear. “Mhm. Yes, I see but we don’t really have time for that right now. - Yes. - Yes, I know this but could we just . . .”
Inui-sempai walked through the doorway seconds behind Tezuka, an oversized Bluetooth attached to his head. He nodded at Fuji, smiled at Kaidoh. Kaidoh blinked at the large bronze calculator hanging down the front of Inui’s green spandex running suit.
“Tezuka, I really think this is the best option.” Inui was still talking into his headset, despite the fact that Tezuka was standing not four feet away.
Next to Kaidoh Tezuka 'Mhm’d' again. “If you say so, just don’t make him late.”
So saying, Tezuka hung up his phone, sliding it into his suit coat pocket and turning to exit the room with precise, efficient strides.
“Sempai?” Kaidoh managed.
Inui stepped behind him, nodding at Fuji and Ryoma, who rolled his eyes, muttering 'Che' before packing his make-up into a Ziploc baggie. Both of them left the room, but not before Kaidoh saw Fuji-sempai mouth Five Minutes and hold his left hand up, fingers - er... paw - spread wide. Suddenly, Inui’s hands were heavy on Kaidoh’s shoulders.
Kaidoh cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck. “Um.”
“It’s all right, Kaidoh. It’s not like they don’t all know," Inui told him matter-of-factly.
Kaidoh nodded, resigned and reassured. Right. Right. Of course. But...
Wait. All knew what exactly?
He stiffened, wanting to pull away, but reluctant to offend his sempai. Also, it was hard to make heads or tails of anything with his head buzzing and Inui looming over him and talking to him with that voice.
"Sempai," he began, nervously twisting the ugly shirt and wrinkling it irreparably. Fuji-sempai would be angry.
"You should probably stand up, Kaidoh," Inui said, already hauling him to his feet with one hand firm at Kaidoh's bicep.
Kaidoh stood, unable to lift his eyes above Inui's adam's apple. "I don't understand..."
"Relax," is all that Inui would say as he began to tug Kaidoh's tank top up and over his head. "We're down to," he paused, glancing at the calculator resting against his chest. "Four minutes and twenty-six seconds."
It was on the tip of Kaidoh's tongue to ask Inui how he managed to tell time with a calculator, but he knew he'd only be wasting his breath. Nothing had made a bit of sense since he'd arrived and, anyway, Inui was wrapping both arms around him, pressing way, way too close when he helped to guide Kaidoh's arms into the sleeves of the shirt Fuji-sempai had so maliciously selected.
Kaidoh stopped breathing, choking on the sound he made. "Sempai!"
"Three minutes-fifty seconds," Inui murmured, not bothering to button Kaidoh's shirt when he got down on one knee before him.
Eyes wide, Kaidoh's first instinct was to look around, panicked that someone would see. But he didn't dare take his eyes off of Inui-sempai. It was suddenly very important to Kaidoh that he get onstage, regardless of the potential humiliation that awaited him there. Anything was preferable to...to...
"Already, Kaidoh?" Inui was asking, expression neutral and belying his tone of voice.
Kaidoh grunted, hands gripping Inui's shoulders. Whether it had been his intention to hold him in place or push him away wasn't a distinction Kaidoh felt he could make. Not when Inui was rubbing Kaidoh through his pants with one hand and resting the other obscenely close to Kaidoh's rear.
"Don't worry," Inui told him. "I've researched extensively."
And then Inui's hand was slipping beneath the waistband of Kaidoh's pants, touching him, holding him, cupping him. Inui handled him the way Kaidoh handled himself and even as he felt certain the embarrassment would make it impossible for him to be a part of the Seishun Gakuen Tennis Club ever again, his toes curled inside his beat-up sneakers.
When Inui leaned in, bowing his head, Kaidoh shut his eyes tight. Never in a million years had he ever imagined that Inui might - okay, so maybe that wasn't entirely true...
"Two minutes," Inui murmured. But Kaidoh wasn't listening.
"AhSempai!" he growled, fingers digging into Inui's shoulders. Inui's gold chain was cold against Kaidoh's fingers and when Inui's lips slid along the length of his cock to press snug against his groin, Kaidoh's eyes rolled back into his head.
Breath coming fast, he trembled - cold and hot and sweaty in the twists and tangles of his bedsheets - and reached out for anything, something. Someone. But he was alone and it was dark and the palm of his hand was sticky and warm.
Dimly, he was aware of the early-morning sounds that were familiar to him: his mother moving about in the kitchen, the news programs his father liked to watch before heading off to work, Hazue washing his face in the bathroom on the other side of Kaidoh's wall.
Flush with his recent release and the memory of precisely whom had been responsible for it, Kaidoh buried his face in the pillow and groaned. Suddenly, creaming big, stupid Momoshiro didn't seem as important. Nothing did. Tennis practice, English class, the math test that was scheduled today that Kaidoh had been dreading...
Math test.
Still hiding in the dent of his pillow, Kaidoh didn't smile, but his embarrassment faded somewhat. Became something else. Something bigger and better and a hundred times more monumental than mere humiliation.
Inui-sempai was always happy to help Kaidoh with his studies. Now that he thought on it, it was only to Kaidoh that Inui made such frequent offers.
Kaidoh hissed and kicked the sheets away from his legs. It was time to get moving.