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petroniaWhile we're uploading? Here. Have some utterly fragmentary Ryousuke x Takumi.
(Yes, I've posted the beginning of this. Like two years ago, so I'm assuming 2/3 of you haven't seen it, or if you have, you don't care to remember it. ...Did I mention fragmentary?)
[ January 7, 4:40AM ]
"For you."
Takumi blinked. Reflex made him take the bouquet, his gloved hands curling awkwardly around the length of ribbon binding the stems together. White. White roses this time, the dark mass of leaves more striking than the petals against the background of snow. Where did one find these things, in the middle of the night in January?
Maybe it wasn't hard, if one was Takahashi Ryousuke.
"I thought it would be appropriate," Ryousuke said. He took a few steps forward toward the railing; he had buried his hands in his jacket pockets, his only apparent concession to the cold. "As a formal gesture."
"Eh?"
"I've never called a truce with anyone before," Ryousuke said, smiling over his shoulder. Takumi met his eyes and - startled - felt himself beginning to blush. He looked away quickly. The glassine around the roses crumpled audibly under his grip.
It was the same feeling. That night...
Ryousuke was quiet, gazing out. Visibility was low; the lowlying hills below them were shrouded in darkness. The twin beams of the FC's headlights behind him illuminated only falling snow, feathery white against black caught for a brief moment in the light before drifting down, and past. He stared at the phenomenon until a strange hypnotic sense overcame him, as if time itself were slowing to match the leisurely pace of that downward motion. There was no wind. The snow fell with a great stillness. It filled the air, thick enough to breathe, brief flashes of cold as flakes settled on metal, wool, eyelashes and hair and skin. Stand there long enough and it would cover windshields, bury tires, blur the tracks they'd left driving up, until it would be difficult to tell that anyone had come this way at all--
"Ryousuke-san?"
Ryousuke stirred, coming out of his reverie. "It's quiet up here," he said finally. "Almost like being on the edge of the world. Isn't it?"
There was no answer from Takumi, but his eyes were on Ryousuke, observant and wondering. Ryousuke smiled ruefully and stepped away from the railing, back into the trampled and well-lit quadrant between their respective vehicles. "Are you cold?"
Takumi blinked, and stamped his feet experimentally as Ryousuke reached his side. "A little, but..."
"I'm terribly cold," Ryousuke said, took Takumi by the shoulders, leant over the flowers Takumi was still clutching reflexively and kissed him. It was a brief affair, the chastest brush of lips. A snowflake against bare skin. Takumi was warm, surprisingly so; Ryousuke could feel his sharp intake of breath at the unexpected gesture. He drew back and opened his eyes. Takumi stared back at him soundlessly, hazel-green eyes wide. His lips were parted as if about to say something, in protest or surprise, but no words came. Then the moment passed, and Ryousuke was leaning forward to kiss him again - harder, more insistently, pressing him back against the driver's side door of the 86 - not thinking of anything, really, least of all what this meant. And Takumi didn't get a second chance to protest.
They were both somewhat breathless when Ryousuke finally pulled away, with no clear idea of how long the one sweet still moment had lasted. He took a deep breath, centering himself again, then had to laugh as the other boy's shell-shocked expression came into focus. Takumi blushed furiously.
"What was that for," he mumbled. Ryousuke kept his smile as he stepped back, reaching into his pocket for his keys.
"I envy you," he said. "You're... at the very beginning of things. You have no idea of how far you can go. And all the time in the world to get there..." The door opened and he slid into the familiar seat; turned the key (engine whirring to life), the knob for defrost, wipers on to remove the snow. "I'll send someone over later in the week with the paperwork, if you want to have a look at whom and what we have together so far. The support team is essentially settled... Group practice starts up whenever racing conditions return. Probably late March. And you have my number, of course." He looked up, aware suddenly that he was speaking too fast. "Is that all right?"
Takumi nodded. He was still flushed, but he met Ryousuke's gaze straight on. "See you in March then," he said. "Ryousuke-san."
March. Two months until then; a year after that to push them as fast as they would go, as far as he was able. For Keisuke's sake, for this boy's, for his own. "See you... Fujiwara Takumi."
And he put the FC into reverse.
[ April 10, 11:22PM ]
"Sit," Ryousuke said. "Make yourself at home." Fujiwara perched obediently on the edge of the sofa island, glancing around him. He didn't look intimidated, though there had been a softly voiced 'sugee' when they'd drawn up in front of the brilliantly lit Takahashi residence. In fact there was no one home at all. It was usually himself alone, at this hour, until Keisuke's after-school social calendar freed him to sweep into Ryousuke's room like a localised whirlwind. They wasted electricity as a burglar deterrent, but he did not want to explain that to Fujiwara. "Would you like something to drink?"
Fujiwara shook his head. "No, thank you," he added softly. He was looking away, at the state-of-the-art home entertainment system – it was too expensive to call a television, Ryousuke thought wryly. He poured himself a drink anyway, not from the kitchen but from the liquor cabinet by the solarium. In the good highball crystal. Two fingers of scotch, neat – and when it touched his lips he remembered that he hated warm scotch and crossed back to the kitchen to put ice in it. The rumbling clank of the ice crusher in the refrigerator door made him jump, for all as if he hadn't been expecting the sound.
It was as if his own home had become unfamiliar to him; just as it was unfamiliar to the eyes of the boy in the next room. Foreign eyes, but a warm presence. He was conscious of it even with his back turned, like a shiver down his spine.
There were race tapes in the VCR cabinet, he remembered suddenly.
Some marked 'Akina 86', even...
He stepped back into the rec room, but Fujiwara had not moved from his seat. He only lifted his head, gazing up at Ryousuke. There must have been something in Ryousuke's face then, because a blush stained his cheekbones, but he seemed barely aware of it. His eyes were brillant, and steady.
"Ryousuke-san," he said.
Ryousuke heard ice tinkle against the side of his glass and realised that his hand was shaking. He reached out and hit the bank of light switches by the kitchen wall, casting them into darkness. Turned before Fujiwara could say anything and padded into the solarium, drawing the blinds on the glass doors aside with a clatter. This side of the house faced away from the street; he could see the full moon, hanging very low over the eaves of the house to his left. A cool ambient light flooded the room.
The weather had cleared just as he'd predicted.
Ryousuke raised his glass and tossed back the contents at one go. Set the glass down on the breakfast table; turned so that the light was at his back. Felt the whisky burn down his throat. It gave him an excuse to be hoarse, just a little.
"You followed me," he said. "You... didn't ask me why." Not even where they were going.
"No," said Fujiwara. Then, "should I have?" Ryousuke shook his head. What he wanted to say was yes. He knew with detachment that he was making a mistake, at least in the long run, but also that the decision was not one that could be rescinded easily. Second thoughts were as dangerous in life as they could be on the mountain, and he could not cede Fujiwara any advantage.
"I think you know," he said.
Fujiwara met his gaze, and stood. He moved toward the far end of the sofa, but Ryousuke got there first. As soon as the balance tipped it all became natural – Fujiwara was the one to take the extra step that put him within Ryousuke's personal space, and all Ryousuke had to do was take him by the shoulders and incline his head to kiss him, just like the last time. The kiss itself was different. Fujiwara – Takumi - met him halfway, lips warm and assured. He had figured out the fundamentals in the interim; Ryousuke didn't particularly care how. He slipped his tongue past Takumi's teeth, taking possession, and Takumi let him.
He liked the way Takumi tasted. The thought went unarticulated. It belonged to the part of him that registered things like the scent and taste of other people, a part he kept well away from his daylight self.
Takumi had taken hold of the lapels of his shirt. Ryousuke drew him closer, sliding his hands down Takumi's back: his fingers traced the indentation of Takumi's spine under the fabric of his t-shirt, and the boyish jut of his shoulder blades. He pulled at the shirt where it was tucked into the top of Takumi's jeans, and slipped his hands underneath, encircling the boy's waist.
Takumi made a soft sound, half gasp and half laugh, and broke their kiss. Ryousuke smiled. "Ticklish," he murmured. His lips hovered over Takumi's, their breaths mingling. His heart was beating fast enough to alarm him. If this was a race, he didn't think he was clearheaded enough to pull ahead. He didn't know if it was a race or not. Then they were kissing again, deeper and more leisurely, and Takumi wrapped his arms about Ryousuke's neck, almost as a child would. He was not child-like, though, Ryousuke thought; not at all.
***
And now I'm going to bed, I swear.
(Yes, I've posted the beginning of this. Like two years ago, so I'm assuming 2/3 of you haven't seen it, or if you have, you don't care to remember it. ...Did I mention fragmentary?)
[ January 7, 4:40AM ]
"For you."
Takumi blinked. Reflex made him take the bouquet, his gloved hands curling awkwardly around the length of ribbon binding the stems together. White. White roses this time, the dark mass of leaves more striking than the petals against the background of snow. Where did one find these things, in the middle of the night in January?
Maybe it wasn't hard, if one was Takahashi Ryousuke.
"I thought it would be appropriate," Ryousuke said. He took a few steps forward toward the railing; he had buried his hands in his jacket pockets, his only apparent concession to the cold. "As a formal gesture."
"Eh?"
"I've never called a truce with anyone before," Ryousuke said, smiling over his shoulder. Takumi met his eyes and - startled - felt himself beginning to blush. He looked away quickly. The glassine around the roses crumpled audibly under his grip.
It was the same feeling. That night...
Ryousuke was quiet, gazing out. Visibility was low; the lowlying hills below them were shrouded in darkness. The twin beams of the FC's headlights behind him illuminated only falling snow, feathery white against black caught for a brief moment in the light before drifting down, and past. He stared at the phenomenon until a strange hypnotic sense overcame him, as if time itself were slowing to match the leisurely pace of that downward motion. There was no wind. The snow fell with a great stillness. It filled the air, thick enough to breathe, brief flashes of cold as flakes settled on metal, wool, eyelashes and hair and skin. Stand there long enough and it would cover windshields, bury tires, blur the tracks they'd left driving up, until it would be difficult to tell that anyone had come this way at all--
"Ryousuke-san?"
Ryousuke stirred, coming out of his reverie. "It's quiet up here," he said finally. "Almost like being on the edge of the world. Isn't it?"
There was no answer from Takumi, but his eyes were on Ryousuke, observant and wondering. Ryousuke smiled ruefully and stepped away from the railing, back into the trampled and well-lit quadrant between their respective vehicles. "Are you cold?"
Takumi blinked, and stamped his feet experimentally as Ryousuke reached his side. "A little, but..."
"I'm terribly cold," Ryousuke said, took Takumi by the shoulders, leant over the flowers Takumi was still clutching reflexively and kissed him. It was a brief affair, the chastest brush of lips. A snowflake against bare skin. Takumi was warm, surprisingly so; Ryousuke could feel his sharp intake of breath at the unexpected gesture. He drew back and opened his eyes. Takumi stared back at him soundlessly, hazel-green eyes wide. His lips were parted as if about to say something, in protest or surprise, but no words came. Then the moment passed, and Ryousuke was leaning forward to kiss him again - harder, more insistently, pressing him back against the driver's side door of the 86 - not thinking of anything, really, least of all what this meant. And Takumi didn't get a second chance to protest.
They were both somewhat breathless when Ryousuke finally pulled away, with no clear idea of how long the one sweet still moment had lasted. He took a deep breath, centering himself again, then had to laugh as the other boy's shell-shocked expression came into focus. Takumi blushed furiously.
"What was that for," he mumbled. Ryousuke kept his smile as he stepped back, reaching into his pocket for his keys.
"I envy you," he said. "You're... at the very beginning of things. You have no idea of how far you can go. And all the time in the world to get there..." The door opened and he slid into the familiar seat; turned the key (engine whirring to life), the knob for defrost, wipers on to remove the snow. "I'll send someone over later in the week with the paperwork, if you want to have a look at whom and what we have together so far. The support team is essentially settled... Group practice starts up whenever racing conditions return. Probably late March. And you have my number, of course." He looked up, aware suddenly that he was speaking too fast. "Is that all right?"
Takumi nodded. He was still flushed, but he met Ryousuke's gaze straight on. "See you in March then," he said. "Ryousuke-san."
March. Two months until then; a year after that to push them as fast as they would go, as far as he was able. For Keisuke's sake, for this boy's, for his own. "See you... Fujiwara Takumi."
And he put the FC into reverse.
[ April 10, 11:22PM ]
"Sit," Ryousuke said. "Make yourself at home." Fujiwara perched obediently on the edge of the sofa island, glancing around him. He didn't look intimidated, though there had been a softly voiced 'sugee' when they'd drawn up in front of the brilliantly lit Takahashi residence. In fact there was no one home at all. It was usually himself alone, at this hour, until Keisuke's after-school social calendar freed him to sweep into Ryousuke's room like a localised whirlwind. They wasted electricity as a burglar deterrent, but he did not want to explain that to Fujiwara. "Would you like something to drink?"
Fujiwara shook his head. "No, thank you," he added softly. He was looking away, at the state-of-the-art home entertainment system – it was too expensive to call a television, Ryousuke thought wryly. He poured himself a drink anyway, not from the kitchen but from the liquor cabinet by the solarium. In the good highball crystal. Two fingers of scotch, neat – and when it touched his lips he remembered that he hated warm scotch and crossed back to the kitchen to put ice in it. The rumbling clank of the ice crusher in the refrigerator door made him jump, for all as if he hadn't been expecting the sound.
It was as if his own home had become unfamiliar to him; just as it was unfamiliar to the eyes of the boy in the next room. Foreign eyes, but a warm presence. He was conscious of it even with his back turned, like a shiver down his spine.
There were race tapes in the VCR cabinet, he remembered suddenly.
Some marked 'Akina 86', even...
He stepped back into the rec room, but Fujiwara had not moved from his seat. He only lifted his head, gazing up at Ryousuke. There must have been something in Ryousuke's face then, because a blush stained his cheekbones, but he seemed barely aware of it. His eyes were brillant, and steady.
"Ryousuke-san," he said.
Ryousuke heard ice tinkle against the side of his glass and realised that his hand was shaking. He reached out and hit the bank of light switches by the kitchen wall, casting them into darkness. Turned before Fujiwara could say anything and padded into the solarium, drawing the blinds on the glass doors aside with a clatter. This side of the house faced away from the street; he could see the full moon, hanging very low over the eaves of the house to his left. A cool ambient light flooded the room.
The weather had cleared just as he'd predicted.
Ryousuke raised his glass and tossed back the contents at one go. Set the glass down on the breakfast table; turned so that the light was at his back. Felt the whisky burn down his throat. It gave him an excuse to be hoarse, just a little.
"You followed me," he said. "You... didn't ask me why." Not even where they were going.
"No," said Fujiwara. Then, "should I have?" Ryousuke shook his head. What he wanted to say was yes. He knew with detachment that he was making a mistake, at least in the long run, but also that the decision was not one that could be rescinded easily. Second thoughts were as dangerous in life as they could be on the mountain, and he could not cede Fujiwara any advantage.
"I think you know," he said.
Fujiwara met his gaze, and stood. He moved toward the far end of the sofa, but Ryousuke got there first. As soon as the balance tipped it all became natural – Fujiwara was the one to take the extra step that put him within Ryousuke's personal space, and all Ryousuke had to do was take him by the shoulders and incline his head to kiss him, just like the last time. The kiss itself was different. Fujiwara – Takumi - met him halfway, lips warm and assured. He had figured out the fundamentals in the interim; Ryousuke didn't particularly care how. He slipped his tongue past Takumi's teeth, taking possession, and Takumi let him.
He liked the way Takumi tasted. The thought went unarticulated. It belonged to the part of him that registered things like the scent and taste of other people, a part he kept well away from his daylight self.
Takumi had taken hold of the lapels of his shirt. Ryousuke drew him closer, sliding his hands down Takumi's back: his fingers traced the indentation of Takumi's spine under the fabric of his t-shirt, and the boyish jut of his shoulder blades. He pulled at the shirt where it was tucked into the top of Takumi's jeans, and slipped his hands underneath, encircling the boy's waist.
Takumi made a soft sound, half gasp and half laugh, and broke their kiss. Ryousuke smiled. "Ticklish," he murmured. His lips hovered over Takumi's, their breaths mingling. His heart was beating fast enough to alarm him. If this was a race, he didn't think he was clearheaded enough to pull ahead. He didn't know if it was a race or not. Then they were kissing again, deeper and more leisurely, and Takumi wrapped his arms about Ryousuke's neck, almost as a child would. He was not child-like, though, Ryousuke thought; not at all.
***
And now I'm going to bed, I swear.
