Title: Four Days of Fangirls: Day One
Characters: Shiranui Genma, Gekkou Hayate, Uzuki Yuugao, Deidara
Warnings: Expletives, fangirls, gratuitous Genma abuse.
Notes: Commissioned by Haya. Yeah, yeah. I’m working.
Disclaimer: Naruto is not my toy, although sometimes I wish it was. Almost everyone you meet here belongs to Masashi Kishimoto, I just borrow them, occasionally. OCs herein are the property of Ywain Penbrydd.
Author’s Note: Okay, kids, this is an AU. This is, in point of fact, a rather cracky AU, based pretty firmly in the BFV. Some of you were probably present for some of these things. Other things are entirely fictional. Argue freely among yourselves.
Warnings: Yaoi, expletives, fangirls, gratuitous Genma abuse.
Shiranui Genma was a tired motherfucker when he stepped off the airplane. In point of fact, he’d been a fairly tired motherfucker since around the time that Raidou’s car had broken down close to thirty hours previous to this wretched and exhausting point. If there was one thing in the world that Genma hated as much as hospitals, it was probably flying.
Honestly, the flying itself wasn’t so much of a problem. He rather liked the sensation and the view. On the dim side, though, one had to get through airport security, deal with screaming children in an enclosed space, and then cope with landings, which inevitably gave him complete empathy for Hayate’s condition. At least he’d gotten through this one without a nosebleed. Now all he had to do was figure out how to navigate this completely foreign city — and it was a city, too, and not just a simple village, like he’d gotten used to — and get to his hotel. He was pushing forty-five hours awake, and the batteries in his Discman had started to go. He pulled up the wall of static and smiled charmingly at the woman sitting behind the information desk, hoping she would take enough pity on him to explain the bus routes in sufficient detail that he could actually get where he was going. The thought of walking thirteen miles, at this point, was wholly unappealing.
Almost an hour, a bus ride, and a mile walk later, he finally found the hotel and strode tiredly into the air-conditioned lobby, sweating in the wet heat that rose from the river. He glared at the hotel’s security guard as the man moved to intercept him before he reached the registration desk. The look did its duty and the guard stopped, still eyeing him suspiciously, but making no further movements to halt his progress. Genma began to have second thoughts about the hotel. It felt a little too posh for a tired, cranky, sweat-soaked shinobi like himself. Just the same, he’d already paid for it. He stepped up to the desk.
"May I help you, ma’am?" the clerk asked, looking only slightly suspicious.
"I have a reservation. Is it still too early to check in?" Genma’s voice was relatively low and unmistakably male as he levelled his tired and emotionless eyes at the unfortunate woman before him. He almost sounded amused, but not quite.
"Your name?" The clerk left out the gender reference entirely, this time, apparently startled that the pretty thing on the other side of her counter was very much a man.
"Shiranui Genma." By this point, he was supporting his entire body with the three fingers that rested casually on the counter.
"Ah, yes. We have a package for you." The clerk turned to retrieve it and the room key, and Genma’s heart leaped with glee. Exhausted glee. Actually, it didn’t so much leap as it sort of vaguely stumbled in a moderately vertical direction.
The box contained two very important things: his senbon and his shampoo. He’d been gnawing his lip for the past twelve hours, and he desperately wanted to wash off the stench of airport. He vaguely recalled having signed a few things before stumbling off toward the elevator, and some brief time later, he closed the door of the ice-cold hotel room behind him, leaned back against it, and just slid to the floor. He felt like hammered shit, and he had probably another twelve to fourteen hours to go, yet.
Just another fucking mission. Fuck. I thought I was supposed to be on vacation. The thought was not comforting, but the sight of a coffeemaker on the table at the far end of the room was obviously either a desperate hallucination or a gift from the gods. He pulled himself out of the straps of his bag, leaving it against the door, and pulled himself up, using the door handle for balance. Staggering across the room, he confirmed the existence of coffee, and immediately set to work preparing it. As the coffee brewed, he dug the box of soldier pills out of his bag. It was a rough thing to do to himself, but if he allowed himself to sleep, there was no guarantee that he’d be awake again when Hayate arrived — or whenever his theoretical roommate got off the train. He knocked back a pair of pills with the coffee and sent a quick message to Hayate: ‘Room 810. When’s Deidara due in?’
The coffee hit fast. He hadn’t eaten since… since… well he wasn’t sure, but it might not have been today. In fact, considering that he’d been in airports or in transit since the previous night, he was fairly certain that it had been at least twelve hours without food, and very probably more. You can either not sleep or not eat, but you can’t not do both, he reminded himself as he unpacked his bag and washed some clothes in the bathroom sink. He’d lost the time he’d meant to spend washing his clothes when he and Rai had gotten stuck on the far side of Suna, the previous morning. Had it only been a day? His time sense was starting to break down. It was probably time to find food, which likely involved showing his face in public again. Food or a shower? The question was harder to answer than it should have been. That meant the answer was food.
Picking up his phone from the bed as he left the room, Genma noticed a reply from Hayate: ‘Already checked in!? Be there at 4. Dei coming at 5.’ He answered it, with a quick acknowledgement, in the elevator, on his way to investigate the hotel bar. With any luck, the food would be reasonably priced and taste like something other than cardboard. He was right on one count — the food was good.
Several hours later, after several irritated text messages from Hayate about how he was going to be late because of something involving Yuugao — Genma didn’t ask about that, he much preferred to pretend that Yuugao didn’t exist — Deidara finally called. He’d just gotten off the train. Genma promised to be waiting in the lobby, looking like the glaringly obvious Leaf ninja. He didn’t know Deidara from a hole in the wall, but apparently ‘similarities of personality’ had made them obvious roommates when they had been looking to split the cost of the room. Genma was still pissed that he didn’t get to room with Hayate because the kid was staying with his girlfriend, instead. Like the boyfriend didn’t matter, anymore.
And Genma found that he couldn’t honestly disagree with that statement. He didn’t matter, and Hayate had just spoiled him rotten up until this point. The kid had made him believe that he was real, and then had found some girl to love while he and Raidou were off in the godforsaken desert. It served him right, he supposed. He wasn’t real; he was a shinobi. He killed. He fucked. He was completely disposable. That was how things were supposed to be.
He slumped into the chair in the lobby in a surreal daze and read the Tao — or at least stared at the Tao — until the bubbly blond in the fabulous clothes came through the revolving door. Fantastic fashion sense, that’s got. He realised that he couldn’t tell the person’s gender at all, and suddenly sympathised, if only vaguely, with the desk clerk. Genma was, in his own estimation, at least, unmistakably male. He thought he’d make a rather funny looking woman. It dawned on him over the next few seconds that the fashion fag before him had to be Deidara. Similarities of personality, indeed. He stood.
"I believe you’re looking for me." He bowed to the other man. "I’m Genma."
"Of course you are, un. I don’t see any other Leaf ninja."
Genma just yawned. Great. He’s a rabid smartass, too.
After another snarky discussion with the hotel clerk, the two were on their way back up to the room. Genma’s face started to light up as he spotted Hayate — with Yuugao and their temporary escorts — in the hall, but the kid’s sharp glare put an end to that. He’d almost forgotten, in his exhaustion, that the happy couple’s escorts were not permitted to become aware of his existence. He turned his face away and continued on toward his room. Genma was infinitely grateful when he was finally inside and able to close the door against the disaster waiting in the hall, but Deidara merely looked slightly confused by his relief.
"Did you know them?" the blond inquired, yawning with his hands as he stretched his fingers.
"I’ll know them when it’s permitted. The sick one is — was, perhaps — my boyfriend." Genma yawned and draped himself across one of the beds, looking and feeling like a rubber corpse. "The bint with the rack is his girlfriend."
"Ah, the quaint and tasteless customs of foreign lands. There’s no point if it isn’t tasteful, un." Deidara held up his hands, tongues wagging, and then set about unpacking his bags.
Genma gaped at his roommate. "You really are worse than me. I’m impressed."
A few minutes later, the expected knock finally came. Genma poured himself to his feet like a regurgitated pudding and pulled the door open. "Hey. Saw you in the hall."
"Yeah, you looked like you were going to say something," Hayate sounded generally displeased with the way of things, that day. "You also look like shit. Are you okay?"
"Pfft. Don’t worry about me. I’m not going to die from it." Stumbling back from the door, Genma allowed the visitors to enter the room. He waved in the direction of the blond fashion-fag. "This is Deidara. Deidara, this is Hayate and … um …" He looked at Hayate, expectantly.
Yeah, Hayate was unhappy about something, and Genma was going to have to do something useful about it. "Yeah. Right. Her." He picked up his coffee cup and ducked into the bathroom, returning with a cup of water, which he drank as Hayate told the story of checking in to the hotel with no pants on. Genma found himself vividly disgruntled at having missed these shenanigans.
The next several hours were a haze of finding the convention hall, checking in, and generally trying not to upset each other. Hayate didn’t want to hear about food. Yuugao didn’t want to know that anything had ever gone on between Genma and her Hayate. Genma was just plain tired of giving a shit and had mostly stopped checking the words that came out of his mouth, and Deidara just kept egging him on. It was a lesser act of at least one god, if not several working together, that they all made it back to the hotel in one piece. As they got out of the elevator, Hayate held Genma back.
"She goes to sleep early. When she gets tired, we’ll just move over to your room, so she can sleep, and I’ll stay with you."
Genma felt his heart flip in his chest. The kid hadn’t forgotten him — hadn’t just blown him off while he was away. He touched his fingers to Hayate’s lips and smiled temptingly as he followed Deidara and Yuugao up the hall. He felt the kiss against his fingertips as his hand drew away. It was the last touch he would have for hours, yet.
Epic shenanigans surrounded the acquisition of a much needed dinner. First, some method of acquiring food needed to be chosen — they decided that pizza would be simple enough — and then someone actually had to make the call. Genma declined, being on the very outer edge of his ability to make sense, and eventually, the phone passed to Yuugao, who disgruntledly made the call and then snarled something about the person on the other end having hung up before giving her a total.
The next hour and a half was wasted in discussions of aesthetics and the art of appropriate soundtrack. Genma brought music and Deidara brought art. Hayate, having spent too many years listening to Genma rattle about the inherent artistry of all things, successfully brought a viable opinion. After the first hour, Yuugao turned on the television in disgust. By the time the pizza arrived, the conversation had turned almost exclusively to the art of pizza and why food was such a brilliant idea.
Yuugao looked significantly more tired and irritated after having eaten, and it took more and more effort for Genma not to say something wholly appalling to the woman. He looked pleadingly at Hayate, who seemed to take the hint.
"Hey, um, we should take this party back to your room, guys. I think Yuu-chan would like to get some sleep. She got up pretty early this morning."
Genma covered his derisive snort by blaming it on the altitude change. "Air travel does nasty things to my head," he complained, spitting into the trash. Yuugao looked disgusted with him, and he and Deidara smiled wickedly at each other.
"Finish your spitting in here, un. I don’t want you bringing an ugly habit like that into the room I’m sleeping in." Deidara stood, hand-tongues still licking the pizza grease from his fingers. Genma wedged his fist into his mouth, wheezing with the suppressed cackle that refused to stay in his chest, and Hayate rushed them both out of the room.
"I’ll be back, later, Yuu-chan. I’ll try not to wake you up when I come in." He shoved Genma out the door and pulled it closed behind them. As he glared at Genma, the older tokujou began to choke from the strain of simultaneously breathing, snickering — and keeping the snicker to a minimal volume — and attempting to apologise for his uncontrollable laughter.
Stumbling up the hall behind Deidara, Genma fished the key to his room from his vest pocket and renewed his cackling each time Hayate jabbed him in the kidney with one cold finger. Once they made it into the room, he slid to the floor in a five-minute fit of unabated hysterics. Crawling up onto the bed, he grabbed the hotel’s complimentary sleep-aids packet and tossed it to Deidara. "Earplugs. You’ll want them. This one’s a bit of a howler."
Hayate turned bleach-white, followed by several shades of more and more brilliant red. "Genma…!" he hissed.
"What? It’s true. Only fair to give warnings where warnings are due." Genma sat up and grabbed Hayate by the waist, hauling him onto the bed with a few squawked complaints and misplaced elbows. "After all, I wouldn’t want to give away all my secrets on the first night." He ran a finger down the centre of Hayate’s chest, rippling the cloth of the kid’s shirt. Hayate melted into his hands.
"You’re right, un. I do want earplugs. I want them already, if you two are going to keep that up." Deidara tore open the bag in disgust and started fishing through it, muttering about sugar-coated filth masquerading as good taste.
"I’ll tell you, Dei, sometimes a little sugar sells the dick." Genma grinned lasciviously over his shoulder, and Deidara held up one hand, palm out.
"Why would I ever need to convince someone else to consider my dick?" He flicked the tongue from his palm, licking the tips of his fingers.
"I don’t know, maybe you should ask the kid. I bet he’d be more than happy to explain the uses I can get from just one tongue." Genma nearly dropped his senbon as Hayate’s hand slipped between his legs and squeezed, dangerously. "Or not. I’ve been wrong, before."
Deidara finally found the earplugs and turned out the light. "I don’t care what you do, un. I just don’t want to hear it."
In the dark, Genma pressed his lips to Hayate’s and let his body absorb the enthusiastic response. The hand on his balls switched from squeezing to caressing as Hayate’s mouth opened to his tongue, and he slipped his hand under the young swordsman’s shirt to finally touch the skin he’d so desperately missed. "My little dragon," he mumbled into the kiss. "Gods, how I’ve missed you, my love."
Hayate simply moaned quietly in response, attempting to squirm out of his shirt without interrupting the kiss. Instead of helping, Genma just made things more interesting, rolling Hayate’s nipple between his fingers and tugging at it, lightly. The moans became a pleading whine as Hayate pulled his hand away and thrust his hips against Genma’s growing erection. Genma lost track of time as his lover writhed against him, tugging at his clothes, pressing skin against his skin and tongue against his tongue. At some point, he’d become naked, but his exhausted mind couldn’t quite put the pieces together. All that mattered was that he could feel Hayate’s smooth skin against his body and hear the desperation in the little tokujou’s voice, even as he became too tired to understand the words. The world fell apart like poorly-leaded stained glass, and the parts that managed to penetrate the haze of exhaustion that hung over Genma’s mind were brilliantly erotic and entirely surreal. He had a sense of having been well and properly licked everywhere he had skin, but he was fairly certain that he’d started hallucinating by then, because Hayate, last he checked, did not, in fact, have four tongues.
But, even the tongues were forgotten as Genma’s reality shrank to a single exceptionally erotic point. Hayate leaned forward, one of Genma’s legs hooked over his shoulder, and thrust into the older tokujou’s waiting body. Genma nearly blacked out, the world dissolving into nothing more than the sensation of his lover’s cock filling him completely. He might have moaned — he knew he pleaded — but all the sounds were muffled by Hayate’s mouth on his own. Clutching desperately at the lithe young swordsman, he held on as if his very life depended on this one fuck — this one exquisite act of being ridden hard and fast by his best beloved. He was far too tired to last long as Hayate pounded expertly into him, and he felt the burning need inside him uncoil all too fast.
As Genma’s body tightened and twisted beneath him, Hayate felt his lover’s pleasure drawing him in. He slammed into Genma’s tight, hot ass, and a pleading whine accompanied every thrust. Genma squeezed tighter and rocked his hips, and Hayate emptied himself into Genma’s exhausted body with a loud and drawn-out moan.
Unhooking his leg from Hayate’s shoulder, Genma pulled the little tokujou to his chest, refusing to let go as he sank into long-awaited sleep. Tomorrow he would clean everything up — and maybe if he woke up early enough, he’d get a repeat performance before he had to wash it all off.