Daisy-chama (daisy_chan) wrote in ichiband_weekly,

FIC: Demo {Sakurai/Kouji}

title: Demo
pairing: Sakurai/Kouji, Yamashita/the world
disclaimer: All of these boys belong to mousapelli's Chaotic Butterfly universe
a/n: takes place after About Face, chapter 5
summary: Kouji needs a moment.

After Yamashita-kun's concert, Kouji is making himself busy with running about backstage telling the crew how to do their job in an effort to steadfastly ignore everyone.

He didn't want to go out after wards for drinks. He's resolute on this point.

Yamashita can go, but Kouji. Kouji has to stay here. And do things. His job, mostly, because he's now decided it includes being a tool to the support staff and stirring up a mutiny with, crap, more concerts to go than Kouji can remember because he's still having difficulty breathing, still trying to push his heart down from its current residence in his throat.

The back beat of Itsumademo is still ringing through his pulse when he makes the critical mistake of sweeping through the changing area to shove the stupid, stupid hat back into the box with the others and yell blindly that some lackey or other should probably pick up these feathered boas before the star slips on them, cracks his head open, and bleeds on all of their ruined careers.

He should have anticipated the hand that snatched him behind the costume rack before it came for him, but, honesty, he's been away such a long time that Kouji is sometimes tired of relearning everything he's been so careful to try to forget in the first place.

“Are you okay?” Sakurai demands, keeping his hand firm and warm on Kouji's wrist.

“What the hell, Sakkun? Have you been taking lessons from Kuro-kun?” Kouji said shakily, trying to pull away, so Sakurai wasn't so much in his face.

Kouji refuses to be exposing all his layers at this moment. He can be vulnerable later, when he's alone on Yasu's couch beating the spare pillow into submission and trying not to think about the suspect way Akito-senpai had mused that he and Kurota-senpai had many glorious memories of that couch.

“Your eyes are red,” Sakurai tells him.

“Screw you,” Kouji retorts, clearly going the mature route. Being an adult was hard. Telling Sakurai he had the face of a pig was easy. A lie, but easy.

His thumb smooths across Kouji's wrist, soft and flawless from being mostly exempt from physical labor since he was twelve, and his body kept and polished like the money maker it was.

Sakurai has the sort of eyes that always seemed like he was looking only at you, even if you were in an audience of thousands. Alone, behind the coat rack in a hall that suddenly seems so empty of anything but the two of them, it is suffocating.

The corner of Kouji's eyes sting again as Sakurai backs him up, literally into a corner.

Kouji has no idea as to whether he wants to escape or fold himself into the inviting expanse of Sakurai's chest, which is broader every time Kouji looks at it.

“Yasu-senpai said,” Sakurai starts, but he's all jumbled up too, like he's just noticed how he's sequestered Kouji in a horribly incriminating way and he's not sure if he wants to comfort him, interrogate him, or do something else. Regardless, he look a bit crazed. “What did Ko-chan say?”

“Jesus, no one can keep a secret in this industry. It's really shocking that there aren't more tell all books, isn't it?” Kouji tries to regain his barrings because this has the potential to come to a head-- years of pent up abandonment issues, on both sides, really, generally do not make for the nice sort of climaxes. Or, rather, not the sort of climax Kouji would rather be having with Sakurai.

Not that he thinks about it a lot. In those terms.

“Was he mad about song list? Because I'm completely okay with Yamashita-kun using them.”

Kouji huffs because he's still a little pissed about Sakurai keeping shit from him. “I doubt it. He wants me to come in for a meeting tomorrow. Alone.”

Sakurai's nod is jerky and somehow hesitant and eager at once. “Do you,” his breath was a little ragged against Kouji's cheek. He was leaning in a little further, like they were trainees sharing a stolen bit of gossip about a senpai. Or maybe Kouji was the one leaning. “Do you think he's asking for you to come back? As an idol?”

“I really have no idea, Sakkun,” Kouji said tiredly, because, the reasons he'd been giving, since he'd come back, since he'd quit, were stale in his mouth. And the fact that he hadn't made bread in weeks sort of negated half of them.

“Maybe,” and there was definitely that crazed thing going on in Sakurai's eyes, something hopeful and mad and dizzying. Kouji was starting to feel a bit crazed too, but he prided himself on being the down to earth one for a reason, and steeled himself for whatever lunacy was about to come out of Sakurai's brain. “Maybe he saw us together, and the fans seeing us again, and, he maybe...”

“Spit it out, Sakkun!” Kouji snapped because he was starting to get really warm, and for as much bullshit as he was doing earlier, he really should be supervising the clean up and making sure Yamashita didn't actually die by feather boa.

“Maybe he wants us to debut together. As a duo.” Sakurai finishes in one long breath, like a band-aid or a guillotine’s chop.

Kouji's stomach hits the floor. “What, no, Sakkun. He's not going to offer me that.”

“Why not?” Sakurai asks, like that's a legitimate question, like he's actually been thinking about this. “Maybe he remembered how great we are together.”

“You seriously think he's going to break up 5*STAR with all the money you guys are making him?” Kouji raised an eyebrow for emphasis and Sakurai starts to back off a little, swayed by Kouji's words of truth. “And you're happy with them, ne? Wouldn't it be sad to end things now?”

“Well,” Sakurai tries to regroup, but he's clearly feeling guilty for being completely okay with jilting his unit in his KouYuu dream scenario. “Maybe he wants to add you to 5*STAR?”

“As what, idiot, the cream filling?” Kouji laughs. “Maybe he wants to tell me to stop ending up on the internet while dancing terribly.”

“Maybe he wants you to become our manager!”

“Maybe he wants to borrow my hat.”

“Maybe he wants to have you host Ichi-band Weekly,” Sakurai insists.

“Maybe he wants to steal my hat.”

“Maybe he wants to steal your boyfriend.”

Maybe he wants to dye my hair blonde and have me replace Tsukioka the way he replaced me. a voice in some horrible corner of Kouji's mind snarls and he can't move for a second because he, literally, has no idea where that came from.

“Maybe he wants to sell me to South Korea in exchange for some of Adachi-kun's earlier, hard to get works.”

Sakurai rolls his eyes. The wall is still at Kouji's back and Sakurai has somehow surrounded him on all three other sides. “Nothing about Adachi is hard to get.”

And Kouji laughs, unexpected and completely lost from missing Sakurai, and missing the lights and the music and the cheers and the amazingly ridiculous hats. And the next thing Kouji knows, he's got his arms up around Sakurai's neck and guiding his head down with a frame of fingers along Sakurai's cheekbones.

And then, they're kissing, sweet and wet and desperately calm, like Kouji could just curl up with Sakurai and have a lie-in for hours with just his mouth and the little sounds Sakurai makes in the back of his throat when he has something he really wanted, but had been too proud to ask for himself.

It's not the first time, but it's the first time in a long while.

When Kouji pulls away after long, selfish minutes, Sakurai follows him, eyes half lidded and breath coming out in small, awed pants. He releases Kouji's lower lip and settles in, leaning their foreheads together, taking up each others' space.

“I have to go,” Kouji tells him reluctantly after another minute.

“No, you don't,” Sakurai tells him, sounding totally confident about this now that his hands were snug around Kouji's hips. “You never have to leave ever. I've decided.”

“Oh, sure,” Kouji allows. “Because it's that easy.”

“It is,” Sakurai assures him.

“Yeah, well, I've got responsibilities and things because I'm a real grown up now, remember?”

“Crap, I forgot.”

“Too right,” Kouji says with a mock scold in his eyes, bumping their noses together before he starts in on trying to push Sakurai away again.

Sakurai holds tight to his belt loops though and is worrying his lip like he's doing some very dangerous thinking. “Can't you leave it to Yasu this once, so we can get out of here?”

Kouji gives him a look. “What and go back to yours with your piles of nosy roommates who will either want to join in or video us for posting on the fan forum? Or would you rather the couch of a million senpai happy endings, where Yasu, Aoki-senpai, and the rest of the other evil half of JE will walk in on us.”

“Damn, we're all super popular idols and none of us have our own apartments. How did that happen?”

“Living with people is more fun, ne?”

Sakurai huffed, “not when they're cockblocking you, it isn't. Okay, how about--”

“If you offer to take me to a love hotel,” Kouji warns him in earnest, “I will punch you in the stomach and leave you here to die.”

Sakurai laughs and lets himself be pushed back through the lines of sequin and lycra to the open room.

There's a moment where Kouji thinks about how he can't look like he's trying not to make things awkward or Sakurai will pick up on it and it will be awkward from them trying not to be awkward, but then he hears a drunken giggle from the other side of the room and he's already turning the corner, and tensing for the worst, like every time he saw Kuro-kun disappear into a room he knew Tsukioka was alone in.

Only here, it's Yamashita, mostly naked, but for his shiny concert sneakers and enough glitter on his nipples to power a shuttle to the moon.

Junta doesn't look much better in the clothing department, though it's hard to tell with Yamashita's back to his front, and he looks to be trying to catch up to him on the inebriation status as well, if the way he's chugging straight from a bottle, wrapped in brown paper is anything to go by.

Kakei looks neither as drunk, nor as naked, which is a shame because that turquoise off the shoulder sweater made him look like a neglected housewife from an American soap opera in the 1980s. His hair and lack of pants just added to the picture.

They all appeared to be trying to roll themselves into a giant ball of terrible hair and slim hips, while explaining everything loud and clear into their head pieces.

Kouji turned his back on, mid-pace, and heard Junta tell Yamashita how good this was going to be, for all the stage staff hear.

“All I've got is energy jelly, Yamashita, so I hope that big mouth of yours is a good representation of the rest of your anatomy,” Kakei tells them all, gleefully before Kouji runs in to do some serious damage control and Sakurai falls to the floor, sick with laughter.

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