Characters: Kamizuki Izumo, Hagane Kotetsu
Warnings: Expletives, yaoi
Notes: Izumo gets a little bitchy when he can’t think about what he means to be doing.
Izumo sat at his desk, feet up, staring out the window and tapping his pencil on things to keep the rhythm of the epic waves of synth and heavy bass washing from the speakers behind him. He’d finished his homework some time earlier, and had been sketching out a playlist on a blank page of his notebook. The page was covered in song titles, arrows, and obscure notations about when and how to mix tracks together. Now and then, he’d add a few more marks to the page, but as the music got heavier, his interest pulled away from the project in his notebook, and on to the music itself. One hand traced idle patterns in the air, and the pencil kept the rhythm against the edge of his desk and the side of the pop can on it. His eyes lost focus as the music possessed his senses — all colour, sound, and motion. He faded in and out of half-conscious thought until another brilliant idea seized him. Tossing the notebook onto his bed, Izumo picked up the phone and leaned back to turn down the stereo.
A few blocks away, Kotetsu was a few spots of glue away from finishing the model set he’d been working on, all week. He was covered in glue and balsa wood shavings and cloth scraps that had stuck to the glue, but the flats were perfect scale, and all the doors worked. He heard the phone ringing, but ignored it, knowing his mother would get it, and balanced another flat in a few drops of epoxy resin. It would be perfect, his mind insisted. Of course, he nearly glued his hand to the model stage when his mother shouted up the stairs that Izumo was on the phone. With a glance around the room, he determined that there was nothing that would help him get the phone without letting go of the model, and that he would not do. Finally, he kicked his desk — a trick he’d perfected for times like these — and the phone popped up, arcing into reach, where he grabbed it.
"Got it!" He called, and waited until his mother hung up. "Hey, kitten. What’s up? I thought you were busy tonight."
"I am busy. I’ve got this mix, and it almost works, but it’s not right and I can’t find the damage." Izumo paused and rubbed his forehead, tilting his chair back farther. "You should come over here and help me think. Can’t think worth a shit, today."
"You want me to help you think." Kotetsu blinked at the odd request. "Let me finish gluing this flat, or it’s going to suck to be me. I’ll be over in like fifteen minutes, yeah?"
"Yeah, fine. Just get here." Izumo dropped the phone back into the cradle and stared out the window, slightly offended. Back up. You don’t exist in a vacuum. Fifteen minutes isn’t that long. The parts of his mind that still accepted consensual reality insisted that it was thoroughly possible for other people to need to do things that in no way related to his works of genius. The rest of his mind had long since discarded the idea that anything could be more important than sound and artistry. He leapt up from his chair, kicking it irritatedly into the corner of the room, and turned the stereo back up. Kotetsu would be here, soon, and he could dance while he waited. Maybe that was it. Maybe that would help him figure out what was missing. As the rhythm tugged at him, Izumo gave in to his last rational thought and unlocked the door for Kotetsu before going back to his room to throw himself into the audio ocean.
Kotetsu found the door unlocked, and could hear the music as soon as he entered the house. Izumo’s house really was an audio funnel, he noticed, and suddenly wondered what else could be heard that far from the source. Shaking his head, he locked the door behind himself and crossed to Izumo’s room, opening the door and leaning on the frame as he waited to be noticed. Izumo had long since stripped his shirt off, and now moved with a slightly sweaty feline grace as he stomped and rippled with the music. Kotetsu was entranced, as he usually was at times like these, and sucked idly at his lip as he watched his best friend twist and whirl. As the sound cooled, and one track began to blend into the next, he reached out and knocked on the open door of the room.
"Hey, kitten. I’m here."
Izumo was on Kotetsu before the words were fully out of his mouth, pressing Kotetsu uncomfortably into the doorframe and kissing him richly. "Perfect. I need you here. I want you to touch me. Distract me so I can think."
Kotetsu just sort of stared dumbly for a long moment. "I thought that sort of thing made you stop thinking. Not that I’m going to say no. Not that I’d ever say no to an offer like that from you."
"Then stop talking and start helping," Izumo invited, stepping back and dropping his pants, kicking them toward the laundry basket as he picked up the notebook from where he’d left it on the bed. As he righted the chair, Kotetsu crossed the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
"You’re still wearing clothes." Kotetsu’s eyes gleamed as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of Izumo’s briefs.
"And you’re filthy and covered in wood shavings. Are we playing state the obvious?" Izumo leaned back to get his pencil off the desk, but made no move to stop Kotetsu as the latter slid to his knees with a wicked grin, taking Izumo’s last article of clothing with him. Instead he dropped into the chair with an irritated sigh and stared into the notebook as he freed his feet from his underwear, and then rested one foot in Kotetsu’s lap, curling his toes in time to the music as he studied his notes.
"Anything I shouldn’t do?" Kotetsu asked, sliding his hands over his friend’s bare thighs.
"Don’t do anything that would make it hard for me to read or write. So, lay off the hands and don’t bump the book." Izumo moved the notebook aside and grinned down at Kotetsu. "Everything else is fair game." The notebook snapped back into place and Izumo slid down lower in the chair with an appreciative purr as Kotetsu began to lick his inner thigh. "God, yes, Ko. Just like that."
Kotetsu learned very quickly that Izumo had an even filthier mouth than usual, when only half his mind was on sex. Izumo’s exquisitely explicit pleas filled Kotetsu’s ears as he continued to bathe Izumo with his tongue, licking away the faintly salty fingerprints he’d inflicted only moments before.
( This story was inspired by my extremely exhausted efforts with the Izumo FST last night. )