Recognition

by Aiya

4:57pm Thursday October 6, 2001. 

Rehearsal studio. Years of accumulated sound equipment and boxes are stacked towards one end of the long room, covered in dust. The end closest to the door is cleaner, yet only through use. Several chairs and amps, microphones, a drum kit and two blondes are here. One sits in the darker corner, eyes fixed on the other.

The slightly shorter, slightly older one sits with his back to the room’s only window. His concentration is intense. His hands caress his guitar, its body pressed into his. Perfect together, made for each other.

“Kuso.”

The same bar, for 40 minutes the same progression has been thwarting him.

He sighs and starts again, testing the problem part again first- he can do it on its own, but in the body of the song it becomes somehow unattainable.

Smoke floats out of the lips of the slightly taller, slightly younger one as he observes. He watches the sun peak from behind clouds as it descends, a warm glow filling the room and framing the guitarist’s face.

The vocalist’s cigarette falls from his mouth as he gasps.

Mayu looks up at him.

An unusual site, a flustered Kamijo.

The vocalist almost pushes the chair over as he stands, arms flying about wildly in an attempt to keep the still smoldering butt away form his new suit.

“Daijoubu?”

“Eh- Hai. Daijoubu desu. Burnt my fingers- daydreaming and didn’t notice how much of it I’d had.”

Mayu blinks, and his eyes return to the music, but not before they notice the almost whole cigarette the other is picking up off the floor. His eyebrow raises and the information is filed away for future reference.

Kamijo smoothes his jacket and pulls the chair back to its previous position. The cool exterior returns, but inside is another matter.

You’re beautiful.

Of course he has seen Mayu as beautiful before, how could he not? Lariene itself had been beautiful. But it was the makeup, wigs, costumes… not them- something they all readily accepted and admitted.

This is different.

You’re ravishing. How could I have never seen it before?

He reaches down beside the chair and picks up his drink. He stares at the bottles white label and red logo… Blue letters question him accusingly.

“Dakara?”

 So? So, I don’t know. He’s exquisite. Nothing more to say. Is there…?

This new fact, this revelation speeds through his mind, searching through memories as it does. Every move Mayu makes now brings to consciousness another time, another moment where what is now so obvious was somehow not recognized.

Fingers ache to touch.

Must hide this, must force it inside. It’s the last thing he needs right now.

Bassist and drummer join them and he relaxes, safety in numbers.

11:58pm Saturday October 29, 2001.

The Izakaya is rowdy, typical Saturday night, full of drunken businessmen and hormone addled teenagers. In one corner a small group readies itself to leave. The three stand, and one speaks. 

“Go home, I’ll get him back to his place, he should be finished emptying his stomach by now.”

“I’m glad he doesn’t do this often.”

“Nah… only when he’s really stressing about something. It’s probably our first live ne; he’s such a perfectionist. He’ll be ok. See you on Monday.”

“O’tsukaresama desu.”

“O’tsukare.”

Mayu manages to drag Kamijo from the stalls.

He’s going to be pissed at himself tomorrow; this suit is definitely going to the cleaners.

The taxi ride is without incident, Kamijo leaning his head on the other’s shoulder, sleep tempting him. The climb up three flights of stairs also surprisingly simple.

“Keys please.”

“Hai.”

Shoes off and jacket strewn across the couch, the vocalist suddenly clamps his hand over his mouth, the trip to the toilet thankfully short. A smile crosses Mayu’s lips as he shakes his head and gets water for them both. The largest bowl in Kamijo’s kitchen joins them on a tray atop tatami. The guitarist shakes out the vocalist’s futon and then retrieves the spare one, still folded as he left it the last time he stayed.

I was the one puking my guts up that time.

Shudder at the memory, the night Machi and he had…

Past, finished. Move on.

The bedclothes are flicked out and he returns to find his sweats that he knows are stuffed somewhere in the back of the closet.

He was so understanding. He didn’t let go.

Movement from the hallway and a bedraggled vocalist stumbles in.

“You need a shower. There’s some in your hair. Come on, strip.”

So innocent and helpless like this, not the all-cool Kamijo.

The shirt is fumbled with so unsuccessfully that Mayu reaches out, brushing drunk fingers down to tend to the easier zipper, and then nimbly undoing buttons.

“Turn around.”

Shirt is slipped off and pants fall. The near naked one pads back towards the bathroom.

“Don’t forget to take off your socks.”

Or the tatami will suffer wet footprints like the last time you got completely plastered.

The guitarist changes into his sweats. He then collects shirt, pants, jacket and finds a plastic bag to seal them in.

Cleaner is going to love this smell, not.

He returns to find the other fighting to deal with his yukata binding.

“Why do you insist on wearing these even when you’re drunk?”

“Suki.”

“Hmph.”

“Tatsukete.”

“Hai, hai. You’re at least talking now, the alcohol starting to wear off?”

Hands hold the sash and wrap around Kamijo’s waist, flicking the fastening into place.

“You’re shaking. I’ll turn up the heat.”

He moves to the other side of the room.

“Touch me again.”

“Did you say something?”

Kamijo shakes his head and lowers himself slowly to the floor. Change in angle brings back the warm, safe drunk feeling in force and he drifts into sleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Mayu flicks off the light and pulls up his covers, sleep also beckoning him. He is almost taken when the other’s voice wakes him.

“Mai-chan…”

“Unn Jo-chan?”

“Mai-chan…”

Ahh, he’s dreaming.

“Touch me again, hold me…”

…

The vocalist’s face slowly comes into focus in the darkness. Eyes are flickering wildly; one hand almost reaches up from the warmth of his body.

“Hold me… Mayu no koto ga…”

Mayu no koto ga …?

He reaches to the other’s palm, it clamps around his own hard. With his free hand he touches Kamijo’s face lightly, then pulls him to his chest, rearranging the covers so they lie together.

I’ve never looked at you in this light. I’ve never looked at you with anything even close to lust in my eyes. All I knew for Machi. I thought I loved him. With you I feel safe, comfortable, whole. Is this…?

He finally drifts into dreams, stroking the other’s hair gently.

When he wakes he pries himself from Kamijo’s grip, dresses and leaves.

9:47pm Thursday November 1, 2001.

Three days to do nothing. Watch cable, sleep and sleep some more. Almost heaven, almost.

Light flickering from the T.V. and occasionally across the sky outside. Warmth radiates from the heater above him. Wine close at hand. Curled up in his favorite yukata and blanket on the sofa.

Knocking on the door and a familiar voice.

“Gomen kudasai…”

Mayu, calm, calm.

“Douzo.”

He twists around to watch the other blond enter.

“Sorry I didn’t call first.”

He drops his dripping coat onto a hook and steps out of the genkan.

“Just thought I’d come and say hello. We haven’t spent anytime with each other in the last few weeks.”

Except when you were holding my hand while I puked my guts up.

I had the sweetest dreams of sleeping in your arms.

The guitarist nods towards the TV.

“Anything interesting on?”

“Mind numbing crap.”

“Sounds perfect… may I?”

“Please do.”

“I’ll dry myself off first. It’s absolutely pouring out there.”

“Wine?”

“Onegai.”

Kamijo hauls himself off the couch to get another glass as the other disappears to the bathroom, bag in tow.

He pours and the other returns, another blanket bundled in his arms.

Only when he sits and reaches for the glass does Kamijo realize.

A yukata…

He touches the sleeve.

“I thought you hated these?”

“Only when I’m struggling to tie one around a drunk blonde man.”

“Touché.”

Mayu drinks quickly and twists to refill his wine from the table behind them, his robe opens slightly as he does and the vocalist shivers.

“I stole half the heat when I came in ne, gomen.”

He pours.

“Here- more wine will warm you.”

He leans closer, placing the glass against the quiet man’s lips. The vocalist sips, thoughts flying wildly.

He’s just being friendly, nothing more.

Anything for you to touch me, hold me.

The cold glass leaves his skin. Lightening cracks once more and the television blackens, darkness swallowing them.

Warm hands touch his face.

“There you are...”

They trail down his neck, over his shoulders and along his arms till they reach his own; lifting them around Mayu’s waist, and pulling the two together.

“Nanda…”

“You talk in your sleep when you are drunk Jo-chan, you always have. But last week was the first time I ever heard something that made my heart beat faster.”

Oh god.

Soft lips descend on his, gentle strokes of Mayu’s tongue gliding across shaking skin. Hands around his neck again. Disbelief teases him, but the sensation of warmth and wetness is too real. He responds with parted lips, alluring, enticing, allowing. The guitarist moans in gratitude and continues his soft assault, delving deeper, caressing further.

“I thought Mai-chan wouldn’t want…”

“Oh, I want, I just didn’t know it until I heard it on your breath.”

Mouth is hungrier as it tastes this time, nipping, tugging at lips. Hands slip away, and Mayu stands. He takes the other’s wrist and guides him to stand. Blankets are dragged behind with the other hand. Kamijo is now not surprised to find his futon unfolded, bedroom warm.

“I want more than I thought possible. I have never sought with soul and body at the same time Jo-chan, never.”

Mayu touches the still stunned ones face again before dropping to his knees to find and light the candles he had placed here before. Once done, he stands again and looks at the man before him. He slips Kamijo’s fingers under his sash and waits. Shivering hands are stronger than they now seem and the yukata falls apart, blue eyes drifting over bared skin before palms rest flat on the guitarist’s arms. Both robes are soon discarded, and tongues meet again as naked bodies sit together.

“You whispered to me in your dreams, you asked me to…”

“Furete kudasai.”

Lips return to Kamijo, tasting his neck and nudging him to lie flat, head on his pillow. Hands move his legs apart and Mayu kneels straight back between them. Now the guitarist’s turn to trace exposed skin with eyes, his fingers follow. He rests his hands at first on shoulders, then moves them slowly in loops across the appealing expanse, pausing at the junction between neck and body, and then sliding up to draw along the jaw line. Slightly calloused tips move leisurely down Kamijo’s pale torso, circles continuing, smaller, larger. The movements avoid the hard nubs of flesh on Kamijo’s chest, and stay above the forbidden patch of dark hair… coming dangerously close but never quite relinquishing their resolve. Down thighs, behind knees, back to the chest again, this time fluttering almost weightlessly across his nipples. He moans at the touch, pulse quickening, his body hardening more than he had imagined feasible.

“I can touch you like this all night my love… but would you prefer…?”

“Motto.”

Mayu places his hands on the futon, supporting his weight completely. His bangs feather across them first, and then his tongue flicks out across one swollen nipple. He leans a little further and takes it between his teeth before sucking delicately. Hair sweep, suckle, hair sweep, suckle. Each side of his torso is tended to with care until shaking hands rest on his biceps and a trembling voice pleads again.

“Motto.”

The guitarist pushes himself up again and drinks in the view lying before him, so strong, so cool, so vulnerable all in one moment. He burns the sight into his memory before he proceeds.

Kamijo almost cries out as Mayu finally tastes him. The same complicated path is traced across his member, light strokes torturing him, inching him closer but never allowing him release.

He does scream as his head is taken into a cavern of bliss, sudden suction almost pushing him over the edge.

“No!! Yamete kure…”

Breathless.

“Isshou ni…”

“Can I be inside you Jo-chan?”

“Onegai…”

Lube appears magically over the vocalist’s hand, Mayu gasping as it is smoothed over his sex. Kamijo takes his hands and spreads it over them too, and pulls him into to taste his mouth again. His kiss and stroke increase as warm digits enter him momentarily and then leave as soon. He releases his grip and lifts his legs around the other. He opens his eyes as he feels his friend push into him. Mayu doesn’t slow his movement, no need. The vocalist feels tight around him but not unnaturally so. Kamijo has never felt this relaxed with someone inside him before; this is not the first time, but neither is it a common occurrence. He pulls the other closer to taste more, feel more, experience entirely. Hands slide under him to complete their embrace. Each stroke between their bodies slow and tempered, Mayu using every ounce of his control to do so.

“I’m so close Mai-chan, I can’t…”

Mayu finally surrenders himself and drives hard into the uke, feeling warmth on his body as Kamijo moans again, pressing his fingers into his back hard enough to leave bruises. A heartbeat later he too comes, almost crushing the vocalist in his hold. They part, and fingers reach to taste the cream covering on their skin, a towel appears to wipe the excess away.

“Ne, Mai-chan, now that you’ve had me… do you still want me?”

“Itsu made mo hoshii. Itsu made mo.”

2:24am. Friday November 2, 2001.

owari~

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