Himitsu ja nai

by Aiya

~sequel to Secret~

“…And again guys.”

The shutter clicks, it’s two targets seemingly stuck in time. Blue-black hair starkly contrasts the pink of the man beneath him. Lips only moments from touching- frozen for all eternity on film.

“O’tsukaresamadeshita.”

The two men tilt away from each other and slide off the large satin covered platform to the floor, straightening their clothing as they do. They turn together to the photographer and bow slightly before heading towards the door, costume buckles and zippers already being unfastened.

Assistants scurry to change the color of the satin and adjust the lighting.

The redhead stubs out his cigarette and pushes himself up from his chair. He takes the breath mints proffered to him by another assistant. 

The other subject steps into the light, adjusting his short dress slightly as he does so.

“Sorry about this. The film we used yesterday was stale. That’s why your shots need to be redone…

It should be faster today though.”

He pauses and adjusts something on his camera.

“Lets start then shall we, we need all four poses again.”

The new subjects climb onto the platform and position themselves as they had done the day before.

The younger one waits patiently as the other leans his back against the wall, splaying his legs wide. Shinya settles back into the redhead’s arms. His eyes close as his head tilts back and towards the camera, exposing his neck to Die.

Oh fuck.

Why did they have to have bad film on this shoot… any other please? Not this shoot.

But… he isn’t showing any signs of knowing that it was me last night.

They shift into the second pose. Shinya leaning out and across the other man’s leather covered legs. One of Die’s hands touching his face, the other resting on the near bare skin of his thigh.

He doesn’t know it was me, he can’t.

He isn’t treating me any different than usual.

…

His skin is so soft. I can almost taste him.

…

I want to taste him.

Third pose.

Shinya turns around and straddles Die, their bodies close.

Gasp.

He’s hard again.

I wonder if he is always like this in photo shoots? What is it that makes him this way…? The lights? The voyeurism…?

Another fifteen minutes of shots. Makeup artists are waved over and swoop in to re-powder, sweat and heat threatening to ruin their facades.

Last pose.

This time Die lies above a now reclining Shinya. The guitarist’s far arm leaning on the satin next to the younger man’s head, his other reaches to cup his face.

“Lean in a little closer Die-san, that’s it.

Shinya-san, angle yourself more towards the camera.”

He shifts, rubbing their lower bodies together.

“Perfect.”

The camera clicks in rapid succession, its sound almost hiding Die’s whimper of pleasure from Shinya, but not quite.

Did his eyes just smile??

“O’tsukaresamadeshita.”

All nod their heads in acknowledgement.

Die slides off the bed first, stretching his arms above him and reaching down to undo the first clasp of his costume.

He jumps slightly as someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns to look at the other.

“I think you dropped this Die-kun.”

He absentmindedly takes the object Shinya is holding out to him and watches him walk out the door.

He glances at his hand and the sound from his throat is enough to make the photographer enquire…

“Daijoubu desu ka?”

“Ah, sumimasen. Nademonai

O’tsukaresamadeshita.”

He bows and moves away quickly, a bead of sweat gathering on his forehead. Erection beginning to strain at the leather of his costume.

Shit

The blindfold is soft against his palm. The note attached to it is penned in a familiar flowing hand.

11pm.  Do not keep me waiting.

Die stands outside Shinya’s apartment staring at his watch.

10:57pm.

He walks quietly to the end of the hall and uses the window as a mirror. Nervous fingers glide through his hair for the nth time during his wait.

His watch beeps.

He almost runs the few steps back to Shinya’s door. He reaches for the bell, but decides instead to knock. He raps twice and the door swings open.

“Shinya-kun?”

He presses the pads of his fingers against the door’s surface and pushes lightly.

A gush of warm Shinya scented air hits him, engulfing his senses.

He steps into the genkan carefully, nudging the door closed behind him. It clicks shut. The room is dark except for the soft glow of a line of candles on the floor.

“Shinya-kun, are you there?”

Again, no answer.

He peers into the darkness, but can see nothing more than the slight outline of lounge room furniture. He slips off his shoes and steps up to the floor level.

The candles…

He follows their path around the corner cautiously, his sock covered feet padding almost silently against the cold wooden floor.

He can see a brighter light emanating from the doorway ahead. Two more steps and he is standing in the entrance of a western style bathroom. A shower near the entry, it ‘s door open. The floor past it is covered in candles, a carpet of flame lighting and heating the room.

“A shower… Ok.”

His voice echoes off the tiled walls.

He strips somewhat self consciously, covering his half erection with his hand. He slips into the glass-surrounded shower and closes the door behind him.

The hot water feels good over his skin, contrasting with the cold bite of the air outside. The soap and shampoo also carry the drummer’s bouquet.

He finishes and opens the door tentatively: He starts a little. His clothes have been taken- replaced by a heavy yukata and large towel. He dries and dresses himself and steps into the slippers he finds placed at the door.

He steps out.

The candles have moved, they now invite him further down the hall. He walks slowly, breath held.

The next door opens on a wide tatami room. The candles stop at the step up, only 7 in the space before him. Four line the windowsill, three on a miniature chest to the far side of a large futon. He bares his feet and takes a tentative step into the room. The smell of tatami, candle wax and most pervasively Shinya, are strong.

He pauses, unsure of what he should do next. His eyes focus on the futon. The blindfold lies atop of it, removed from the pocket of his jacket.

A voice hidden in the shadows.

“Put it on.”

Die kneels to the floor and obeys, his fingers having difficulty staying steady. He turns around and sits on the futon with his legs extended in front of him. The air moves and tatami sighs as his band mate kneels beside him. Die reaches out to touch the other.

“Dame.”

The hand falls back to his lap and tugs nervously at the edge of his robe.

“Stand up.”

Again he obeys. A moment’s silence and he feels thin arms wrap around him from behind and long fingers tug at his yukata’s binding. It drops, and the material is lifted from his shoulders and slid down his back. It rustles gently as it is discarded to the other side of the room.

The hands rest on the skin of his shoulders and ease him a few degrees around.

“Lie on your stomach.”

He complies. Body heat emanates from the younger man as he lays next to Die. Breath caressing his neck.

“You seem, tense.”

A single digit draws a line along the back of the guitarist’s arm, from shoulder to wrist.

“You need… release.”

The same path is traced back again.

“I’m going to give you the best massage you’ve ever had.”

A deep breath.

“And then, I’m yours to do with as you please…”

Shinya sits up and away from Die, and studies what lies before him. The older man is lying flat on his stomach. His arms are somewhat awkwardly by his sides, his head turned side ways, cheek resting on the futon.

His body is almost devoid of hair, smooth and glistening faintly where the shower’s moisture still lingers.

The drummer’s eyes trace every inch of the guitarists form carefully. The curve of his calf, the hollow behind his knee, white velvety thigh and the skin above. The small of Die’s back as it flows into the expanse of his muscular shoulders. The grace of his neck and strength of his jaw… He lingers a little longer on the older one’s face, half obscured by the blindfold, eyelashes nervously beating beneath it. Die’s lips are barely touching- his mouth not open, not closed. Shinya trembles at the thought of the please that mouth gave him. Die shivers with lack of covering.

“Gomenasai. You’re cold. Let’s begin… and you’ll be warm.”

The tatami rustles as again Shinya slips to the far side of the futon. There is a sliding sound and thin a click. Shinya moves back and something is placed on the floor.

Die gasps, as warm oily hands lie flat on his left calf.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

The strong hands begin to knead.

Each leg is massaged thoroughly below the knee. Feet are relieved, knots pushed away by skillful hands. Die’s breathing slows and deepens with each touch. Hands move higher, each hard stroke of Shinya’s thumb is then soothed away be tender fingers and warm palms. Die’s relaxed state returns to anticipation as he feels the smaller man straddle him, but the hands returns to their innocent task of rubbing away stress and comforting tight muscles. Higher they move on his body, not one part of the guitarist’s skin is neglected. Back, shoulders, biceps are tended to.

Tender hands lift red hair away to expose Die’s neck; Shinya leans closer and trails a finger along one shoulder, pausing below the guitarist’s ear.

The digit slowly begins to trace circles. The sensation becomes lighter, Die drifting further into relaxation. The swirling more a delicate touch than he could imagine from fingertips. A gush of warm wet air against the back of his ear causes his entire body to tense again and realization dawns. Not hands on his neck. He feels himself grow almost unbearably hard in an instant, as if every sensation, every touch Shinya had placed on him tonight took effect simultaneously.

The drummer’s tongue leaves Die’s skin, lips descend and begin to kiss his neck and along his jaw. Shinya lifts himself carefully off and lays next to the other. Their mouths meet almost cautiously, and one strong hand urges Die onto his side, and then back. Shinya crawls back over him and licks along Die’s swollen lip. He begins to lean up and back but is tempted back as Dies tongue flicks out, asking for more. Shinya relents, allowing one gentle but deep kiss and then pulls away.

He sits above the other, his back straight, hair trailing over his eyes. Shinya’s long fingers reach for Die’s and bring them to rest on his yukata’s sash. The guitarist moves slowly but his breathing betrays the strength of his lust as the robe slides off the younger ones shoulders, he licks his lips at the thought of bare skin.

The second yukata joins the first as it is flung against the wall.

Die reaches for Shinya’s thighs but is halted as he did to Shinya last night.

“Let me finish the massage, and then…”

Their fingers intertwine and Die’s arms rest back on the futon. The drummer’s hands slide from wrists to elbows, elbows to shoulders. Light fingers trail down Die’s chest. Die groans as they linger momentarily over his nipples, sending more blood to his groin.

“I need…”

“Shhhhh.”

The drummer slides down Die’s legs and gently nudges them apart. He places himself between them and puts a light kiss on the inside of Die’s thigh, watching as the other man’s cock twitches as he does so. Another kiss, higher, closer; another twitch. Pre-cum is dripping from Die’s tip, the clear liquid on his belly now being joined by something less translucent. Shinya presses his face against the hard rod of flesh. The red head gasps, Shinya can feel his heart beating harder than he can imagine. Die is so close…

The drummer inhales the musky scent heavily, then deep throats Die, sucking with all his might as he rasps his tongue against tender flesh.

Die bucks and screams as he cums long and hard onto the back of Shinya’s throat．The younger man’s tongue continues to massage until he feels pulsing subside and disappear. He crawls back up next to the spent man and kisses him gently, fingers tugging off the blindfold. Shinya studies him again, now glistening with oil and sweat. Die is lying on his back, eyes closed, his lips parted, panting residing.

The red head rolls slowly to face him, his eyes opening a little as their lips tentatively meet again.

Kiss.

“Massage…”

Tongues begin to explore each other.

“…finished.”

Kiss again as hands slide around waists, bodies melding.

“Now you can…”

Lips tenderly bitten and licked as legs intertwine.

“…do anything you want.”

Die breaks away from the kiss to lock the other’s gaze with his own, one hand pushing soft brown locks away.

“Anything?”

“Unn.”

Dies gaze drops, his cheeks reddening a little. He buries his head in Shinya’s hair.

“But I think you wont want what I want. So I don’t want what I want, I want what you what… Whatever it is that you want.”

Shinya’s puzzled expression is lost to nothingness. It is his turn to smooth away hair, uncovering the older man’s face a little.

Kawaii.

“How do you know I wont want it?”

Dies face buries deeper, arms tightening themselves around the drummer’s tiny waist some more, and then slacking off as if beaten.

He made the first move, he came to me.

He was so gentle, undemanding; unexpected.

This is also part of him I’ve never seen before.

He draws question marks slowly in the small of Die’s back.

I’m not horny after every photoshoot, am I? Only when they’re with him.

The pattern transforms into circles.

I want his arms holding me tightly again, I will make the next ‘first’ move.

“I’m glad it was red.”

A incomprehensively muffled reply.

“I’m glad it was red.”

“What was red?”

“The hair caught under my ring last night. I’m glad.”

The pattern changes again and the arms around him tighten a little.

Shinya pushes the others face with his own, trying to tempt lips for another kiss, unsuccessfully.

“Any other color wouldn’t have been…”

One of Die’s eyes appears out from under the tangle of hair.

“Wouldn’t have been…?”

“..what I wanted.”

Shinya again nuzzles against Dies chin and cheek, this time succeeding in his quest. Their lips press together, tongues slowly growing less timid.

“Anything you want…”

The older man pauses, his eyes lowered again.

“I want to feel you inside me, and then I want to be inside you.”

He surrenders himself to any possibility as he walks in my door and then is so bashful for only a request of sex?

“Anything…”

“I, I..”

Again Die’s face seeks refuge in the younger ones hair, his lips almost touching the other’s ear as he dares to whisper.

“I want to keep you.”

+owari+

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