Title: Togetherness (or Part 1/2 of Kimono!pr0n)
Rating: Pg on this part I think…if the next part does come out it will indubitably be past R…if
there is a next part.
Summary: Arashi…and drunkedness…and orgy-ish pairings and kimonos coming up. Yep. That’s about it. Sorta, in a way Ohno’s perspective, though in third-person.
Disclamer: I only own the lint in my pockets. And on a stretch maybe the muses, but that’s about it.
Notes: Umm…well…this is all Karen’s fault. I know, first posting in a while, and while it is as bad as everything else I have written and not posted, since it is for someone…well I feel I have to.
Their responses to merriment -- mixed with alcohol mixed with a heady pleasure of soul-filled friendship mixed with…mixed with -- were different, peculiar to each of them, as individual as their looks, and yet fitting together in that same strange manner that their personalities intertwined in the band.
Ohno, perhaps the least changed of them all – still the half aware captain, still thoughtful and caring and soft
-- watched drowsily as Nino once again pushed at a clinging Jun. Any other time, perhaps…perhaps something, but this was their time, their togetherness, and no amount of grouchiness, no amount of jokes at the expense of others would bring them down from the buzz of joining that they created.
“Get off me Matsumoto, I’m not your fucking pillow! And if you could stop wiping your damn drool on my shoulder…really,” voice seemingly venom filled, yet his pushing was half-hearted at best and his fingers kept catching on the other’s shirt, tugging him closer, fiddling, teasing him with promises of warm embraces.
Ohno watched the exchange quietly, watched as Jun turned -- still sober enough to feel jilted – latching on to Sho’s shirt with slightly clumsy fingers, noticed with an artist’s eyes how Sho leaned into him just so, shuddering just barely as Jun buried his face in the other’s neck, nuzzled, whining.
Could almost imagine how Sho was feeling lips and breath and comfort.
Stroking softly through the soft, still bleached strands of hair, he watched, turning away just for a brief moment to follow his fingers as they traced their way down Aiba’s neck, gentling over his collarbone, dipping beneath his shirt, and his eyes were back again – on Sho, who’s hands stroked Jun’s back softly, caringly, on Nino, who was glaring and grumbling, filling his glass again and wincing as the liquid went down, fast and rough and hitting hard.
Didn’t even move much except to shift his arm and Nino almost fell into his side, hands going around his torso, fluttering to land where Aiba wasn’t, alcohol and Nino all mixed together in words, speech.
A bit harsh, laugher brittle as bitterness faded into sated murmurs.
Aiba shifted fitfully, stirring from his spot. Eyes bright and eager -- glittering with another idea, bursting from the seams with an unnatural, strange intelligence.
“Kimonos! Lets go see who looks best ne? Shopping!” not even the pretense of experiments, not needed when the cameras were away, just curiosity, a score of maliciousness deeply hidden.
So deeply that not even Aiba notices the hints. The urge to embarrass, to probe, to find weaknesses and weariness and the kind of laughter people are ashamed of deep in the night when the occasion passes.
Nino sputters, remarks full of his own barbs mixed in what he must have stolen from Jun, prying with alcohol and a boy’s whimsy. Sho blushed, stuttering about ideas and gentling remarks meant to mean “you’re off your rocker” with a singularly polite tone.
Aiba is already standing, fumbling, stumbling. Hands landing in places only seemingly calculating, pulling first Ohno to his feet, then Jun. Knowing in a way that only comes from doing this too often that they would be easily pervaded, would follow anywhere to new experiences, new opportunities.
The rest would follow, strung along with something invisible, yet almost tangible.
If this one doesn’t suck too bad the second part is coming.