Characters: Namiashi Raidou, Shiranui Genma
Warnings: Expletives, implications
Notes: Genma is too good with his hands for anyone’s continued health. Raidou decides he should come with warning labels. As (sort of) requested, half the story about Raidou’s feet.
Genma threw the remote at the television with an irritated groan. It was three in the morning, and there was nothing on — no late night movies or Twilight Zone re-runs, nothing but infomercials on every channel, except the channels with a constant stream of phone sex ads. He looked down the couch to where Raidou looked equally disgruntled with the state of the viewing options.
"Hey, Rai, give me your feet." Genma turned to lean on the arm of the couch and held his hands out.
Raidou looked extraordinarily suspicious. "My … feet? Why?"
"The price of my popularity seems to be giving good head and better massages. I wanted to practice the less messy of those on you." Genma grinned temptingly. "Come on, you already know I’m good with your back."
"Yeah, that’s what worries me. I know what you can do with your hands." Raidou rubbed at the scar on his face, a habit that hadn’t faded once it stopped itching.
"Aw, come on, you hate it, tell me to stop. When has that ever not worked?" Had it not been Raidou at the other end of the couch, he’d have leaned over and pulled at his companion’s pants. But it was Rai, and this was an uncomfortable subject for his friend.
"Fuck. Fine. Whatever." Turning to lean on the other arm of the couch, Raidou dropped his feet heavily into Genma’s lap, slightly surprised when his friend raised an eyebrow, but didn’t flinch. "You get to take my shoes off, though. I’m too damn lazy to do it for your amusement."
"Done. At least you don’t wear boots. I might be too lazy if you did — mine are more than enough." Genma laughed and untied Raidou’s shoes, pulling them off and tossing them over his shoulder. There was nothing in that direction that they’d hurt. He squinted warily at Raidou’s socks before shrugging and peeling those off, too, tossing them after the shoes. "I’m sure this is the part where I’m glad you put on clean socks every day. Irritatingly enough, I can tell. I’ve fucked enough people who didn’t…"
"Man, do you try to gross me out? Because you’re doing a damn good job of it." Raidou shuddered in exaggerated disgust.
"I don’t have to try. You’re a fucking prude." Genma pressed his thumbs into the bottom of one of Raidou’s feet, getting his bearings. He quickly found two pressure points that put the rest of the foot into perspective for him, and started to work.
"I am not a prude! I just have —" A look of stunned pleasure slid across Raidou’s face. "What was the question?"
Genma laughed and pressed his thumb into the same spot again. "I forgot."
Raidou grabbed the back of the couch so hard his knuckles whitened as his fist closed, and he squirmed, staring incredulously at Genma. "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. That’s really good." He blinked a few times and then patted himself down, checking to make sure all his body parts were where he’d left them. "Christ, if I knew girls who could do that, maybe I’d let them." He shook his head whistled.
Still laughing, Genma shook his head. "No, you wouldn’t. Not unless they could talk about the anachronistic glitches in historical fiction while they did it." His hands never stopped moving, finding new points to test and watch the effects of.
"Fuck you!" Raidou complained. "I like my girls intelligent and my history accurate!"
"And I prefer my history to be crossovers, time-travel, or steampunk. Steampunk especially — Victorian mad scientists are hot as hell." Genma watched Raidou’s face as his hands relentlessly pressed and squeezed. "And one of these days I’ll get a girl who wasn’t too kinky for Aoba. And then I won’t know what to do with her," he laughed.
Raidou snickered and kicked Genma in the side of the head with his other foot. "Dork."
"Asshole." Genma moved one thumb back to the spot he’d found that was so distracting, leaving the other where it was. As he pressed in, Raidou blanched and jerked his foot back with a skittering look of panic. "Oh, shit. What did I do? Are you okay?"
Raidou looked contemplative and nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I just wasn’t expecting — What the fuck did you just do?" He moved his foot back toward Genma. "Do it again, but slower, this time. That’s really fucking freaky."
Genma cradled Raidou’s foot, but made no move to repeat the action. "Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you — that kind of defeats the purpose."
"That — that was not pain. If there was one thing that didn’t do, it was hurt." Raidou still looked shaken. "Just do it. I want to know if that’s what I think that is."
Eyeing his friend in confused concern, Genma pressed his thumbs in again, gently at first. "These were the spots, I think. Am I right?"
Raidou shivered and rubbed his face, then nodded. He looked slightly ill. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, that’s where it was. A little harder?"
Still baffled, Genma complied. "Are you sure you’re okay?" he asked, gazing concernedly at the look of fascinated horror on Raidou’s face.
"Stop. You don’t need to move your hands, but you do need to stop pressing." Raidou was twisting the couch cushions in his hands, and he still looked more than slightly green around the edges. "You need to know what you’re doing before you do any more of it."
The last statement was definitely loaded, but Genma’s mind refused to fill the blank with anything but static. That was okay, he figured, Raidou was about to tell him what he was rather insistently not seeing. He pulled his thumbs back and looked at Raidou in inquisitive concern, waiting for an answer.
"That’s, ah… I mean, I … You’re…" Raidou shook his head, looking moderately distressed. "Genma, you’re turning me on. Pretty badly, too. I, ah…" He shrugged and gestured futilely, and then tugged at the leg of his pants. "Really badly. And you— You’re not— I wouldn’t…"
"Jesus." Genma just stared blankly for a very long moment. "I’m sorry. Come on, I know you better than that."
"I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose. Do you think I wouldn’t have kicked you in the face if I thought you’d done it on purpose?" Slipping a hand into the collar of his shirt, Raidou picked at the scar on his shoulder. "One of these days, maybe I’ll want you to help me figure out how far that goes, but right this minute I’m just a little freaked out. Okay, I’m a lot of freaked out. Girls, man. Tits. Bouncy bouncy." His other hand flapped uselessly, and then both hands rose to cover his face.
"Hey, it’s all right. Just tell me what you want me to do." Genma stayed as still as he could.
Raidou pulled his feet back. "Go put the television back on. I want to watch a few phone sex ads and remind myself that I really do like girls, even if they’re not as frighteningly talented as you are, and suddenly I think I might be glad most of them aren’t." He stared at Genma for a good half a minute. "Yeah, okay, just checking. You really don’t do it for me. Nothing there. It’s not you, it’s just your hands. You’re fucking dangerous, man."
"I should come with warning labels." Genma stood up to get the remote, switching the television on again as he sat back down.
"You should. They’d say ‘Warning — Biohazard — This bastard is made of pure, contagious sex’," Raidou laughed, nervously.
"I should paint that on a shirt." Genma nodded. "I like it."