Disclaimer: Gravitation, its characters and milieu are the property of Maki Murakami. I thank her for letting us borrow them for the purposes of fanfiction.
Summary: Shuuichi sleeps through the most important photoshoot of his life.
Warnings: Nameless Photo-genius at work, voyeurism, and, well, a touch of citrus.
Dedication: To Shawn, who, if he ever chances to read this, will understand.
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Yushu
by Vindaloo
Chapter four: Photoshoot
Shuuichi was still asleep.
Nakano Hiroshi entered the lounge with a heavy heart. Dammitall, why couldn't they just let the kid sleep? Day after day, he worked his butt off here, then went home and nurse-maided his spoiled boyfriend through his DT temper tantrums. There was a limit, even to Shuuichi's Pocky-fed energy.
"Wait a second, Nakano-san."
Hiro started and looked around to find the photographer standing in the doorway, staring at Shuuichi's sleeping face. His head tipped to one side, his sharp gaze flashed toward the half-open drapes. Any moment now, his hands would lift in that silly false-frame gesture—
Except rather than hands, it was a digital camera. One shot. A second and third from alternate angles. A careful adjustment of the drape on the window. Another photo.
"K-san said the name of this CD is My Everything, is that correct?" the photographer asked, sounding distracted.
Hiro nodded.
"I have an idea ..."
Hiro, seeing that look, didn't argue. NG hired this man for his marketing instincts. Besides, every second they delayed was one more second of sleep for Shuuichi.
It said something about Shuuichi's exhaustion that they managed to move the equipment into the room without waking the singer up. Three cameras, three different angles, all with remote controls, all sending their information to a central control panel.
Ah, the joys of the electronic age.
And then, the photographer just sat there. Waiting. Latte in hand.
"Shuuichi?"
He presses his lips tight on a whimper, curls more tightly around the pillow, wishing it were something more solid.
At least the pillow doesn't fight back.
Fingers trace his shoulder.
"Shu-chan, are you all right?"
He nods, for all it's a lie.
"Dammit." The gentle touch wanders up his neck to touch his mouth, wiping away the traces of his own filth, his partner's ejaculate, and tears...Yuki's as well as his own. "I'm sorry. I...shouldn't have laughed."
"Whatever it takes," he whispers, past the pain in his throat.
Those hands tighten.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I...like it when I can make you laugh. It...happens... so...rare..." The tears start to flow despite his efforts.
A soft curse and he's pulled back into that embrace he aches for every waking moment of every day.
"What ... have ... I ... done? Do you truly believe I was amused?"
"I just don't know anymore, Yuki."
"I was disgusted. —Horrified."
"A–at me? Because I—"
"No!"
A convulsive contraction of those strong arms awakens bruises made in the deepest night. He gasps in pain and Yuki mutters something he can't understand. The arms desert him, the light flashes behind him and Yuki's hands pull him gently but firmly around, press him flat on his back and brush aside the oversized shirt he's flung on against the cold.
Yuki's shirt.
Fingers trace the bruises; he tries desperately not to flinch. His nipples tighten painfully in the cold and he prays that Yuki won't notice, unable to face another round. Not tonight.
"No, Shu, never at you." Warm breath precedes a delicate brush of lips on each purpling mark. "At myself. Just because I'd managed to get the damned thing up for the first time in days was no reason for...what I did." Another gentle brush of lips. "And these...dear god, you should call the cops on me, have me incarcerated."
Hands cup, making a cavern around those painful nubs. Warm breath eases the cold-induced tension before Yuki's borrowed shirt once again protects him from the cold air and Yuki's golden gaze.
"It's the meds..." he whispers, desperate to excuse, to ease Yuki's guilt. "The nightmares..."
Fingertips on his lips stop his defense.
"No excuse, Shu. This is...utterly unacceptable. I've got another appointment tomorrow. We'll do something, Shu. There has to be an answer."
He reaches for Yuki, pulls himself up. "Just...shut up and kiss me, will you?"
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Shuuichi moaned softly and shifted. A bare shoulder appeared from under the cover. God, he hadn't dressed before collapsing.
Hiro heard a click, cast a worried glance at the photographer who answered with a reassuring smile. "Nothing compromising," the man whispered. "I promise."
Which was a good promise, considering the next half hour. A slender hand crept up to the pillow, brushed sideways across a velvety-soft mouth, which parted ever-so-slightly to welcome it. A damp tongue appeared, and as if with a mind of its own, the index finger slipped into the darkness, drifting in and out lazily, the tongue within driving first it alone, then together with its neighbor in a slow, exotic dance.
Hiro swallowed hard, fascinated in spite of his better sense. This was his friend, dammit. His childhood buddy. They'd jerked off together regularly since they were twelve.
But he'd never seen Shuuichi like this.
And the photographer was immortalizing every minute shift. How much more 'compromising' could it get? He wanted to protest, yet at the same time, a part of him wanted to demand copies of each and every image file.
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"Oh gods...Shu-chan, I've got another."
Prodding in the darkness, more than the warm kisses and gently probing fingers that soothed more than excited.
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Suddenly, Shuuichi's mobile brows tightened, a whimper escaped, and the fingers he'd been tongue-fucking pulled free to clutch the pillow.
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"Please, Shu..."
He's so tired...but the need is there, a soft-voiced plea he can't resist.
Ever.
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Beneath the blankets, Shuuichi's slender body writhed, not, dammit, in self-satisfying thrusts, but rather in a way strongly suggestive of avoiding unwanted invasion.
Even his dreams had been contaminated by that golden-eyed bastard.
Hiro twitched, wanting to wake his friend up, but the photographer raised a hand, mouthed Wait...without looking up from his monitors. And indeed, Shuuichi's expression had shifted to one of mounting excitement, a twisted, pained, reluctant excitement. And beneath the covers, that slender body stiffened, convulsed—and relaxed.
Cameras clicked.
The photographer's mouth lifted in a satisfied smile, and he looked up. "Damn, I'm good."
"What—"
Another grin and the photographer began disassembling his array of cameras, setting the pieces quietly outside the room. When he was done, he gave a jerk of his head toward the door. "Let's go get you other guys."
"But—" He looked at his sleeping friend, his hands held palm-up in question.
"Let him sleep. Looks like he needs it."
"But—"
A grin. "Don't worry. I've got it under control. Trust me. Seguchi will love it."
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"Shuuichi?"
"Not yet, mum," he begged. "Just five more?"
"Fuck you, Shindou. I'm not your mum and Seguchi-san said one more delay and you were fired."
Seguchi? As in Touma? As in Nittle Grasper?
Reality crashed in. Seguchi. Not as in Nittle Grasper, but as in NG. As in boss!
As in phot—oh—"Shoot!" he screamed and scrambled wildly, searching for the floor, succeeding only in tangling himself irrevocably with the covers and finding the floor all too suddenly for his bruised butt.
"Owwwwwww!!!!!"
Laughter, and Hiro's familiar touch helping extricate himself. Too late, he realized his state of undress and glanced frantically around the room, relieved to discover it was just him and Hiro.
"Fuck," he said, clutching the blanket to his chest. "How late am I?"
"The shoot's over."
"Over?" Had he missed it then? "Touma's going to kill me."
"Oh, I don't think so."
"Huh?"
Hiro smiled and tossed him his clothes. "Just get dressed and come to CR1 ASAP, okay? Cover meeting. Already in progress, baka, so move it."
He rolled his eyes up into his head and Hiro grinned, then disappeared out the door. Shuuichi scrambled into his shirt, realizing as he did so that his dream hadn't been confined to his sleeping self. He wrinkled his nose and dashed into the lounge to clean himself off before pulling on his jeans, shoving his bare feet into his sneakers as he zipped.
He didn't bother tying, just dashed out the door and down the hall, headed for Conference Room 1.
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"Sacho-san, I'm sor—"
The apology died in his throat. He froze in mid-stride and stood there, just inside the doorway, swaying on the balls of his feet, staring at the image projected at the front of the room.
It was a face, just a sweet, sleeping face with a secret, wistful smile on its lips. The eyes, even in sleep, were a bit...bruised-looking. The young man looked exhausted. But in a good way. Kanji, in elegant, smoky-blue calligraphy, looking like the sleeping man's dreams, read My Everything.
Just that. Nothing more.
Slowly, Shuuichi acknowledged the rest of the darkened room. Faces, illumined by that projected image, all watching him expectantly, awaiting his reaction.
He swallowed hard and felt his way numbly across the room, staring once again at that image.
"Is that...me?" He tried to ask, but it only came out as a whisper.
"Untouched and sans makeup," it was the photographer who answered. "Yeah, kid, that's you."
He swallowed again, sought out his friend's face. "Wh-while I was sleeping...in there?"
Hiro nodded. Grinning.
"B–but Yuki always says—you always said—I...I snore. My mouth hangs open and I...drool."
A low chuckle. "You do. Mostly." Hiro tipped his head toward the image. "Obviously not always."
His breath caught as he approached that image, unable, somehow, to resist its pull. He didn't recognize himself. Not in the least. Finally, he came within reach, stretched a hand to trace that invitingly mysterious, vulnerable mouth. "I ..." he stumbled over his own tongue, feeling utterly and totally ashamed at the feelings rushing through him.
"It's all right, Shu," Hiro's voice urged him softly on.
Tears threatened; he blinked them away, turning his face into the shadow, not wanting anyone to see him. "I–it makes me... fall in love... with...my..."
But he couldn't finish. It was too embarrassing to admit.
"Join the rest of the world, Shu." Hiro's arms wrapped his shoulders and they stood there a moment, staring at that picture.
"What the fuck is that?"
Shuuichi's heart raced. As one, they turned toward the door.
"Yuki...?"
TBC
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Next Chapter: A Thousand Words
Reviews:
Gurabiteshiyon:
L: I think Yuki's violent tendencies are undeniable, though the reasons for them are endlessly debatable. Part of the attraction of the character for me is wondering how and when he will blow. The fact that he walls himself off from emotions to avoid such a blow up (at least as I read him) is one of his most endearing qualities.
Tsubaki: I make no bones about it, I adore Shuuichi. He's no dummy, but he's very real time and instinct-driven—again, as I read him. Hiro is...well, Hiro. One of fiction's most wonderful characters, IMO. Yuki...has a lot to face in the next few chapters.
fuzzybunnytoo: Whee...my sympathies. Not an addiction I've faced personally, but I've certainly supported many who have. Obviously, with Yuki, those violent tendencies do not interface well with nicotine withdrawal.
Madxhatta: Love that name! Shu will be fine. He's made of rubber, doncha know? Yuki OTOH is going to suffer! Oh, and Yushu shall return. His part is small, but very significant.
FF-net:
My thanks to all of you!
Riiiceballe (another great name!): I honestly don't know how these rating systems work. I just write the stuff. :D Personally, I like stories with a bit of everything, so I suppose (hope?) that's what I write. So glad you're enjoying it.
Jersey Thursday: I do like the idea that their relationship actually could mature without them being required to undergo massive personality changes. :D
More soon!—Vin