ageha: Made@Jounins (Eito ★ YokoHina sunshine)
[personal profile] ageha
Happy birthday Lori!!

This is the only present that I'll manage to give you on time: fic! :D :D :D

I swear it looked longer on word fdjkfhskd that's why I didn't want to post it on LJ, 2500 words look so... little D: D: I really tried my best! But I fail to write more than six pages at word, sorry DD:

But! This is filtered just for you, so unless you don't mind, only you (and [livejournal.com profile] girlearthless because she betaed it for me) will read it.

OK so I wanted to just repost it to my fic journal but since Lori is such an attention whore, all of you will be suffering and get to have the fic on your friends page. Uhm, this is R so please bear it in mind?

The style is vignette, so I hope it isn't very confusing :D YokoHina fic for you douzo~~



Yoko had never given much consideration into putting thoughts into words. He was bad at it anyway, twisting and contorting something to make it fit into a tiny cramped definition, only able to retain a small essence of what it originally was.

He never needed that with Hina. He always knew when Yoko needed to be left alone, when he just needed some comfort, when he acted strong but was actually scared to death.

There could be days, weeks even when they didn’t see or call each other and it wouldn’t even make a difference. It was that easy. That simple. The only person he could rely on always being there.

And that meant the world to him.

Never expecting anything. Never being disappointed. And Yoko knew he could never ask more than that.

He rarely dated girls. They were high-maintenance, all high heels and make up, too concerned with what the others thought or said. And even though their bodies were soft and warm they lacked life, as if they were dead fish oogling him from between chopped ice. When he was with them, he always had that feeling of being constantly watched, his every move followed – never exactly knowing how they were expecting him to act.

Hina was different.

Hina was never alone. It didn’t matter if he was with a friend or his girlfriend, but he was always with company, his voice muffled over the speaker as he tries to find a quiet place where he could hear him. Sometimes Yoko wondered how Hina was when he was just alone at home. Where did all that energy go, bottled up in that sturdy body? It was kind of sad, to realize there were things he’d never know.

Hina cried.

He cried when Wally finally returned to the sea, when his favorite soccer team lost the championship, when on a walk they saw a runner limping, determined to finish an unknown goal he had settled on. It was a loud, obnoxious crying, perfectly matching his unbearable laugh, Yoko always having to search for a Kleenex when the tears came streaming down, snot everywhere.

Yet, Hina never searched for comfort. Yoko still remembers Hina’s face when his grandfather died – he stayed right by his side during the wake and funeral but Hina’s face remained unchanged, his tanned face oddly matching his stark black worn out suit. He didn’t even flinch when Erika left him – because she knew, she’d always had known, and she hated him for it – even when he ran to his house after Hina called him to tell him the news.

“I loved her,” he said, his voice soft yet strong, “but she’s not worth losing you.”



Sometimes Yoko wondered how he was going to pay Hina back all that he gave him.

Maru knew that. He knew that he had no chance, because as much as Yoko loved Maru, he didn’t love him.

Maru didn’t seem to mind, though sometimes Yoko seemed to see the mask cracking, bitterness softly overflowing through the fissure. But when he looked again, only Maru’s ever-so-sweet expression was there and Yoko felt relieved to be able to let it slip.

Yoko wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He was selfish. Yoko wasn’t as stupid as to think he was acting this way for the happiness of the two men – he just wanted to hold on to what he had for as long as he could.

Because, Yoko knew, one day it was all going to disappear.

Nothing lasts forever. And least the things you were sure were going to last.



What he liked about Maru is that he never seemed to expect anything in return.

He was afraid one day he was going to dry up the well. Yet, he couldn’t give all of him to Maru.

Maybe because a part of him would always belong to Hina.



One time, Yoko thought how much his life resembled the heroine of a shoujo manga. He promptly proceeded to throw all the Marmalade Boy series in the trash.



Yoko was never the imaginative kind in bed. He usually left it up to the other person’s wishes, and when it was with a girl, he rarely got out of the missioner position – he felt like he was just doing a job, doing his best but never trying to give more than that.

His dreams of a pure white love had withered long time ago, he thought bitterly. But even though the memories were still painful when he recalled them, he still hoped to be able to smile back.

Sometimes, he felt he almost could.



The soft frill of the dress tickled his skin as he lied on his back, his body somehow oversensitive at the touch of lace and cotton. He looked helplessly at the side of the bed, where a pair of three inch stilettos looked back at him.

He wondered if he could still return the purchases even though they were used. He could say they didn’t fit his sister, couldn’t he?

The next day he hugged the velvet lined box and promised to never think of separation again.



She had always told him that she liked how the cigarette looked between his fingers.



If there was something Yoko hated, it was woman’s lingerie. It was itchy, uncomfortable and small. He couldn’t see why people fancied thongs either, they just stuck on your assline and were a pain.

“It’s fine if it’s a girl, but it’s gross with guys,” Hina said in agreement. “Besides, you have no ass.”

That night, Hina slept on the couch.



One day Maru rings him after work – he talks about going to a new yakitori restaurant and Yoko accepts without thinking much because this is how things with Maru go - unexpected, but strangely fitting, always warm and welcome. The place is a small, noisy one with cheerful waiters and loud chefs but the food is delicious and the beer feels doubly good after a long day of work. Being with Maru is relaxing like a bubble bath – he doesn’t need to think of anything, just letting the words flow without thinking whether they make sense or not, comforted by Maru’s deep and warm laugh that contrasted with his own high-pitched giggle.

He doesn’t think much when Maru’s palm slides to cup his own hand, but his laugh staggers as he looks up, Maru looking at him halfway expectantly, and he can feel his throat dry up.

Yoko wishes he could say “I love you” as much as he wishes Maru would not say it so easily.



The worst moment of the day is the time between when he lies on the bed and when he falls asleep, his brain racking and fuming, remembering and wondering, never stopping; just waiting for the inevitable crash. The only thing that can make him forget are Hina’s lips on his own, his strong hands returning his soul to each part of his body, retrieving their original warmth; oblivion wrapping him up, only able to think of the touch that makes his breath hitch.



When he changes phones, he doesn’t put the bear strap on the new one.



Yoko can tell when Hina is getting all worked up – it shows on his face and his body, on how he moves and how he talks – he doesn’t even have to look at him to know. Hina gets riled up the most after a football match, whether his team (whichever it might be, as Yoko swears he cheers on a different one each week) loses or wins, all the energy pent up inside of him gets released as though he were a energy generator that has to be discharged.

And when Hina plays, he plays hard.



Yoko can feel, but he can’t see; soft fabric covering his eyes, velvet surrounding his ankles and wrists, softly tying him to the bed. It’s almost laughable, how Hina has planned each and every detail so that he feels comfortable – he almost wants to smack him and tell him this is supposed to hurt and would he just get on with it?, but it wouldn’t feel right.

His train of thought breaks as he feels Hina approaching – he doesn’t even make any noise, but his body unconsciously arches up, reaching for what he intuitively knows is there. Hina chuckles, soft and benign, but doesn’t concede and moves again; this time Yoko can’t follow. He waits for what he feels an eternity, but it can’t be more than half a minute – he aches for something, anything, before being abandoned like that. And then, he feels it.

Cold.

“You fucker, why are you putting ice cubes on me?”

“Don’t be such a wuss!” Hina grumbles, and Yoko suddenly feels how the sides of the cube grow warmer as Hina’s lips touch his skin, the contrast strangely pleasant.

That’s the only part of Hina’s body that he can feel as Hina languidly slides up Yoko’s body – can’t even tell if he’s naked or not, what he’s doing, the expression his face. That uncertainty leaves him strangely unsettled – he feels like a doll that some child is playing with, but he doesn’t know when the other one will get tired and find a shinier toy.

When Hina arrives at his head the ice cube has nearly melted, only a caramel-sized piece remaining that Hina softly pushes into his mouth before kissing him - and somehow Yoko pins himself to the kiss, wanton and full of need, not breaking it until only water droplets remain on his tongue and they are both short of breath.

Hina takes a step back and Yoko can tell he’s pondering what to do next, his brain racking so hard he can almost hear it from where he is. He feels Hina’s hands tentatively moving up his tights and when they reach his crotch he arches yet again, his body craving for the friction; but Hina moves back yet again and Yoko hisses in frustration.

“C’mon Shingo, what the heck are you doing?”

“I’m playing,” Hina smirks, his tone dangerously low, “and you’d better not move if you don’t want me to stop again.”

“You’re not serious,” Yoko snaps back in disbelief, but he knows Hina means it.

Hina doesn’t even bother answering as he goes down Yoko’s body again, his hands retracing the same path as before and Yoko needs all his strength not to move when Hina reaches his cock, half hardened.

“Let’s see what we have here,” Hina says, and before Yoko can even tell him to stop watching and start doing, he feels Hina’s tongue slide across the full length, making him moan.

“I see you like that,” Hina continues, talkative as ever, even though Yoko is sure he’s the only member that has ever heard that tone from Hina.

“Do you want me to continue?” Hina asks, and Yoko can almost see the smirk that accompanies the question.

“Fuck yes.” He knows Hina too well to act prude and sincere - there is no reputation to maintain here.

“Good,” Hina says, and his voice drops an octave when he adds, “then don’t utter a word if you don’t want me to stop.”

Yoko rolls his eyes, but then remembers Hina can’t see it through the blindfold. However, it seems Hina can read his thoughts because he nonchalantly says, “My game, my rules,” a matter of factly before resuming.

Hina licks his cock from base to tip again, and Yoko has to bite his lip even though he’s not sure if it is to refrain a moan or to not urge him to go faster. Hina does the same motion again and again until Yoko is completely hard, his every muscle tense when Hina places a soft kiss on the tip of his dick, licking the precum; this time, he can’t help a sigh from escaping from his lips. He freezes, his heart pounding in his chest as the seconds tick away but before he can even think what to do he feels a warmth surrounding him, Hina’s lips circling his base and then moving up, engulfing, and he can feel the tension steadily raising up, so fast, so fast, so fast…

And then Hina stops.

He opens his mouth to protest but Hina is already there, kissing him like there is no tomorrow, and he thinks how strange it is that he can taste himself in the kiss, the thought turning his cheeks bright red. Then he suddenly feels Hina’s hand between his legs but not down there but around his cock, putting something and…

“A cock ring?!” Yoko protests but Hina is already moving down again and he can’t do anything as Hina slicks one finger with lube and enters him, softly probing. Yoko can’t stop his body from arching up this time when Hina touches the spot but Hina seems too engrossed himself to even remember his own rules, a second finger scissoring as he urges him to be faster damnit and Hina complies, a third one already on the way. Yoko can feel Hina positioning, the soft rustle of the sheets moving and the mattress sinking with the added weight as Hina removes his fingers and places his own cock at the entrance.

Hina penetrates him slowly, letting Yoko adapt and waiting until Yoko’s grip on the sheets lessens, searching for his hand and entwining their fingers together before starting to move; the pace already an old friend. Yoko wants to come with each thrust but he can’t, his cock twitching in agony every time he is denied. Hina kisses him again and he expresses his frustration, hungrily devouring the other’s mouth until he can feel that Hina isn’t going to last much longer. It’s only then that Hina finally places his free hand on his cock, pumping him in time with the increasing rhythm until he comes, spilling all over Hina’s hand and himself. Hina only takes a couple more of thrusts to finish too, resting for a few minutes before Yoko can hear him dispose of the condom and loosening up the cock ring, promptly flopping on the bed next to him.



Yoko is still half groggy from all the flu medicine when he hears the doorbell ring. Two minutes later, when he realizes that the ignoring won’t work, he drags himself four meters that separate him from the entrance and opens the door.

“You’d better be dying, because I’m ditching the Champions’ finale because of you,” Hina grumbles as he enters the tiny apartment and makes his way to the kitchen with two plastic bags. “Go back to bed, I’m cooking you something.”

“But your cooking is horrible, I’ll get even worse!” he mumbles, but there is a smile forming as he makes his way back to the bed.



Yoko wishes Hina played Monhan so he could be the one helping him for once.



The first day Yoko wakes up and Hina is still there, he feels that a wheel is starting to move.

There are arguments over who gets to use the shower first and Yoko refuses Hina’s use of his toothbrush, the breakfast ends up burned and the miso soup is salty; and worst of all, Hina stretches his t-shirt so much that he knows he’ll have to throw it out- but when Hina kisses him goodbye, Yoko feels he can take the pain a little while longer.



Yoko will later say it was Subaru who prompted him to write that message after very devilishly luring him to drink, but Hina knows better.

There are words that are better left unsaid and others that have to be said before it’s too late.

This time, Yoko doesn’t want to regret it.

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Ageha

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