Plastic Tree (J-rock) fanfic. Akira/Ryutaro. A couple of years down the drain, and deja vu crept up on him again in a sunny spring afternoon.
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12 Mar 2008 Cập nhật:
12 Mar 2008
Fandom: Real people - Plastic Tree (J-rock)
Warnings: non-explicit sex scene
Disclaimers: No own no sue.
Summary: A couple of years down the drain, and deja vu crept up on him again in a sunny spring afternoon.
A/N: A short thing... 'cause I hate spring days.
The sky was a light shade of blue, dry and soft and faded. The golden sunshine was cracking against solf blue silk. It brought that jaded feeling of a brilliantly bright spring day, an all-too-perfect day that made your skin itch with uneasiness. That uneasy feeling crawled under his skin, wrapping its scratchy vines around his body and dragging him down down down under watery sand. Ryutaro desperately tried to hang on with every shudder of breath and moan of pleasure.
The bedsheet felt rough and far too warm against his bare skin, and Akira's body, pressing flush against his own, felt real. Every thrust sent him reeling with an influx of thoughts and feelings, all rushing across his mind so fast he failed to grasp on just one. Mouth opening in a soundless scream, Ryutaro felt like he was choking on his words. His body arched up, his hands buried into Akira's dark locks, gripping them tightly as if trying to keep himself from sinking. Akira didn't seem to mind, simply returning the gesture with a tighter grip on the back of his thighs. Akira's hands felt hotter than the bed of sand he was lying on, but in a good way. Akira's touch burned, and the searing pain reminded him that he was still alive and clinging on to this reality.
When Akira collapsed next to him on the bed, left arm draping over his chest, mouth pressing small kisses against his lips, Ryutaro thought about how the dry sunlight was cracking him open and he was sinking back into the hot watery sand again and he felt so real in this single moment. He lied still, savouring the feeling of hot cotton sheets scratching against his bare skin and Akira's hair tickling at his left cheek. When his brain finally caught up to him, one single thought rapidly ran through his head like electricity -
'This isn't about love and affection. This is about needs and wants.'
The sky was a light shade of blue, dry and soft and faded. The golden sunshine was cracking against solf blue silk. It brought that jaded feeling of a brilliantly bright spring day, an all-too-perfect day that made your skin itch with uneasiness. That uneasy feeling crawled under his skin, wrapping its scratchy vines around his body and dragging him down down down under watery sand. A couple of years down the drain, and deja vu crept up on him again in a sunny spring afternoon.
The cotton sheet still felt uncomfortably warm and rough against his skin. The dry sunlight was still threatening to crack him open. Ryutaro wiggled his toes and spread his arms under the comforter, feeling idle and lethargic. It wasn't hot and real, the air just felt too warm and hazy.
Somewhere at the back of his mind, he was distantly reminded that he was ditching practice today without telling anyone. He idly wondered why his phones still didn't start ringing endlessly, but then he remembered that he had really tried to call the others but when he picked up the phone and opened his mouth, he was just choking on his own words and nothing came out. He then turned his cellphone off and unplugged the phone in the living room. He returned to his bedroom and locked the door, climbing back into bed.
He wondered who would wonder about his absence, if any of them wondered about it at all. Who would take up the task of calling him and dragging him back to work? Probably Tadashi. Or manager-san. Or... He cut off his own thoughts at that. It was so simple to cut one off from the world, really.
Lying still on the too-warm cotton sheets, he felt himself sinking and waited for a knock on the door until the dawn of the next day. He heard nothing but the distant sounds of the crumbling city.
Eight in the morning of a new day, the sky had lost its brazen perfection of yesterday. The view outside his window was a mass of wet grey shadows. Sand-paper in his throat, Ryutaro fumbled for his cellphone and turned it on. One missed call. He put it away without looking at the caller ID and climbed out of bed, getting ready for practice. He didn't think he wanted to know whom that single phone call was from.
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