Little Secrets
Summary: Bon thinks I haven't noticed. But Bon doesn't know.
A/N: This is mostly a narrative. I wanted to break out of the Naruto fandom (I haven't abandoned it), and this story came to me almost perfectly while I was sitting and watching the latest episode. Present tense, soft smut at the end and sentence repetition which I felt was justified. Since this is my first time breaking out of the Naruto mold, I would love to hear your views on this.
Disclaimer: Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu and all its characters belong to Kumota Haruko.
Bon thinks I haven't noticed when he gazes at me from the corner of his beautiful almond-shaped eyes which fill with lust as I pretend to casually lift my arms above my head, faking the drunken stupor as I stumble in the room we share; the same room which Bon never fails to mention he pays for. What Bon doesn't know is that when he's looking down and staring at his pants, my eyes trail every delicate feature on his face with equal intensity, with the same lust and greed.
Living with Bon is tricky. I have to be careful about not getting too close to him. I know he won't make a single move, but just lying beside him every night is sweet torture. He sleeps straight on his back and then turns to my side during his sleep. Waking up to his unusually long eyelashes fanning his cheek is a sight to behold. To admire his slender build become more pronounced in the plaid white yukata he wears to bed, to be able to openly gaze at him are some of my favorite moments of waking up. He stirs the fire that no woman has ever been able to quench.
And then, just then, before he opens those mesmerizing eyes, his smooth brow furrows, giving me ample time to close my eyes and pretend I've been asleep all along. Hiding my boner could be problematic, but I place my legs strategically to cover it.
Bon thinks he can hide the pain in his eyes, the longing he's had for me after I return from the war from Manchuria. What Bon doesn't know is that the only way I've been able to make it out alive from that war was the thought of him, the vision of him practicing his rakugo. The sound of his voice in my ear, droning and monotonous as he put in all those frustrating precious seconds in learning the art of rakugo, was what kept me motivated enough to return. The sight of him, with his eyes hooded, hiding the pleasure he feels when his eyes land on me, makes my heart call out to him. And when he walks, then runs to me and holds me tight, Bon thinks I do not notice the tightness of the embrace or the warmth of his tears as they soak through my army uniform. What Bon doesn't know is that I've never been more happy coming home.
Bon thinks I haven't noticed the way he gets angry unconsciously every single time I mention women. He thinks it is all innocence and drunken rambling when after our rakugo performance I ask him out for a drink and suggest we go to a place with women in it. The frown and the sharp look he gets in his eyes gives away every feeling clouding his heart. No eyes should be that clear and sharp. They take my breath away, like daggers they stab my heart as they gaze into mine.
It takes all I've got to not drag Bon to the nearest alley and kiss that unyielding and unforgiving mouth till his eyes are like liquid coal and he's all pliant and willing underneath me. And then the only choice I have is to put my arm around his shoulder and become my best boisterous self to mask my need.
What Bon doesn't know is that it is a means to keep him beside me for longer moments. And women are just a safe cover – for the two of us who can't have each other. What Bon doesn't know is that I want him so drunk that he can pour his heart to me, to tell me that everything I read in his honest eyes is true; and yet at the same time, each time Bon refuses to go drinking with me, relief washes over me, a means to run from the attraction I feel in my gut.
I'm not averse to the idea of becoming one with Bon, but the society we live in prevents me from reaching my hand out to him.
Bon thinks I haven't noticed the way he lightens up when he sees me. Be it in the theater for my performance or when I show up in that fancy American café he works at, to beg for some money; Bon makes me feel like I'm the sun and he the sunflower as he showers me with that gorgeous smile even though his mouth rattles off the usual complaints while his loud female fans bitch and shriek in irritation. What Bon doesn't know is that every penny he gives me is stored away, never to be touched. I respect him too much to squander his hard earned money in drinking and frolicking around with women.
Sometimes I think it's almost unconsciously that Bon turns to look at me, his eyes alight with a look that reeks of possession, claiming me while I go on that stage and entertain the audience. I love the admiration I see in them; they encourage me to become better at my trade.
Bon thinks I haven't noticed his jealousy over my popularity. He thinks I don't realize just how hard he's been struggling to perfect the rakugo that isn't his style. What Bon doesn't know is that his frustration frustrates me. His eyes are so erotic and his voice, that low drawl is perfect for erotic stories, but Bon has this insane urge to do what I do, to excel at my skill. And while his perseverance is arousing as hell, it irritates me to see the disappointment shadowing his sexy eyes when the audience refuses to laugh at his stories. It pains my soul to see the hurt in his eyes when everyone hollers and the theater fills with deafening applause after my performance.
Don't get me wrong. I see Bon as an equal. Hell no, I see Bon transcending my skills to achieve higher fame. I need Bon to see the light. But that isn't something that I can force upon Bon. I know how much Bon dislikes being forced to do something. He's headstrong as prouder than anyone else I know. But right now all I can do is give him a slight nudge in that direction. So when I suggest we act a play, the shock in those eyes is almost amusing. However, I leave the thought on the table for Bon to play with, and I know with enough time, he will pick it up.
Bon is breathtaking both in his getup as a woman and then playing the part of the woman. Walking beside him, playing his fiancé gives me an insurmountable amount of pleasure. Even though it's a play, pretending for the hour and a half that the person beside me, belongs to me, is heartwarming. The thunderous applause at the end is the key to open Bon's eyes and his happiness becomes mine.
Bon thinks I haven't noticed his relationship with that geisha Miyokichi. The way she clings to him, the way she smiles at him, the way she pushes me away when I have my head on Bon's lap, enjoying a rather peaceful slumber, just to get her hands all over him. What Bon doesn't know is that I've fought the urge to physically eviscerate her from her own house at that moment. What Bon doesn't know is that I've battled against my principles and secretly followed them a time or two back to her house. What Bon doesn't know is that I've had the impulse to wash his suits clean of the smell of her cheap perfume. What Bon doesn't know is that images of the two of them together have flitted across my head like a movie while I stare at his face in the moonlight, making the desire to cause physical damage almost unbearable.
Bon finds the idea of me dragging him early in the morning to the baths troublesome. But what Bon doesn't know is that I want the smell of that geisha gone from him. What Bon doesn't know is that this is a means to purge that woman from his life. Bon knows that the reason Master brought her in their lives was for Bon, but try as I might, I cannot let Bon walk away that easily. So even when Bon bitches and whines about being in the water early in the morning and then once again takes to reprimanding me about my behavior towards the seniors, I listen half-heartedly, my heart alight with glee when I feel he's clean of her scent.
Bon tries to not fuss too much over the selection of fabric and color for a kimono that he insists I need. But beneath that irritation, I can see how pleased he is to bring rolls of colorful or printed fabric to compare them against my skin as I pretend to be bored and bitch about being there with him rather than drinking. What Bon doesn't know is that I'm satisfied with just seeing him get his way. What Bon doesn't know is that his smile completes me.
Bon doesn't know how many times I have wished for a life where we would come home to this very room, to these two futons laid side-by-side. And then Bon would turn to me and I would turn to him and his smile would be full of happiness and love and his enthralling eyes would reflect my love back in them. And each kiss would be a whisper of breaths – a secret between lovers who want to consume each other. And every brush of my chin would have him murmuring about my facial hair tickle or scratch him, while he lies under me like an open buffet, waiting to be devoured.
And devour I would, as I would kiss and lick each bit of him till he squirmed beneath me and demanded more. And then finally, finally I would part the folds of his yukata completely and touch him in his most secret place and he would moan and writhe beneath me as I took his heat in my mouth, his eyes lost like liquid pools, his mouth opened silently because I know no woman has taken him like that. And when he shattered, I would hold him in my arms to piece him together, just to have him break in my arms again and again, till the line from where he begins and I end fades to nothing.
But this will always be a pipe dream within another pipe dream in a world where Bon is mine and I am his and his alone.
Bon thinks I haven't seen the love shining brightly in his eyes. What Bon doesn't see is the same love reflecting back in mine.
The End