Pairing: Nino/Miharu -- borrowed from Lydia with love
Summary: Nino and Miharu's first time. The scene from Six Months to Glory that deserved to be written.
Notes: Lydia is amazing and I love her Great Big Arashi Family fics like I haven't loved anything in a long time. They are amazing and you should read them. I hope I did justice to her OC and Nino and that I did it with class. I really tried; it's so mushy and I can't even believe I wrote this. You'll notice not once did I mention boy bits or girl bits. Boobs don't count. I really hope she likes it (though she won't admit she read it). The title is kind of lame. L: do you get it? The end is total cheese but it only fits with the rest of the piece. I didn't really know how to end it because the rest of her story isn't finished yet. Enough. Let's get on with it.
Miharu perched on the edge of her bed, and Nino plodded over to her in bare feet.
“I’ve put the light table into the room, and the computer is off,” Miharu reported wanly, folding her hands in her lap.
“Thank you.” He sat down on the carpet beside her feet, hugging his knees and bringing up the rolled-open script to his face.
“What is so important?” Miharu asked, looking down at Nino’s hunched form.
“I just got this part in a movie.” He held the script to her, and she took it, her eyes fleeting over the words.
“There’s, uh, this bathroom scene I’m supposed to do with… the lead actress.” Nino cleared his throat. “I just wanted to… inform you. I didn’t want you to… Ah, I don’t know… This hasn’t exactly happened to me before, and it’s my job–” Nino realised he was blabbering, and fell silent.
Miharu flipped the page quietly, and read.
“Miharu?” Nino tested, and she looked up.
A look of realisation came upon his face. “Have you been listening to me?”
Miharu stared. “Um, no, not really.”
“But from what I’m reading… You have a… a sex scene.” Miharu winced a little as she said it.
“It won’t be real,” Nino promised.
“I know,” Miharu said softly, but the look on her face pained Nino.
Miharu then got off the bed and knelt beside Nino, facing him. He turned his head to look at her, and she took a deep breath, and spoke.
“Think of me,” she requested, and Nino drew a blank.
“Think of me,” Miharu reiterated, her ears turning pink. “When you’re doing that scene. Think of me. Don’t think of her. You can look at her, but think of me,” Miharu emphasised vehemently.
Nino unfolded himself and shifted into a more comfortable position on the floor, facing Miharu.
“I’m not sure if I can do that,” he said softly, stroking her cheek.
“Why not?” Miharu’s eyebrows furrowed together.
“Major incidents may occur,” Nino grinned, as he pulled her firmly towards him, their faces less than an inch apart.
“You idiot,” she could only say, and he bent down to brush the skin on her neck with his lips. With one hand still cradling her face, he leaned forward, putting his weight on her so she fell back onto the carpet with a soft yelp. He nosed her jaw and inhaled the scent of lavender and roses that always clung to her skin even when she’d been sitting in front of a computer all day. He supported his weight with one arm and trailed his fingertips along the column of her neck, down the front of her shirt to an exposed slice of her waist.
“I may not be able to control myself if I think of you,” he whispered into the skin just beneath her hairline. He was drawing circles and lines from her belly button to her hip when he felt her hands sneaking up under the back of his shirt. They were warm and small and probably dirty with graphite from sweeping way eraser dust.
Nino found her lips as he smoothed his hand down her jean-clad thigh, hooking his fingers behind her knee and squeezed. She squirmed slightly—he hadn’t known she was sensitive there, of all places—and made a high squeak in her throat, making him smile between kisses. She bent her knee and he slid his palm up the back of her thigh, making it easier for him to shift forward and press one leg between hers.
He liked the way she smelled, even though he’d never been one for floral before. He liked the way she tasted; it reminded him of that spicy cinnamon candy he tried for the first time in
Miharu kissed him back fiercely, tugging his shirt off and tossing it across the carpet above her head. She explored his chest and stomach with her hands while he did the same, working the tiny ivory buttons of her shirt through their holes from the bottom up. He liked the way she felt, trembling slightly at his touch, though that might have been from the air-conditioning. The texture of her skin was something fine and expensive, like cashmere or pashmina.
She wore a simple bra, white with no bells and whistles, bows, or lace, like he somehow knew she would. Her skin was pale, as if she hadn’t been out in the sun since she stepped into the working world, but it was brilliant against the rich burgundy of the carpet. He mapped the path of his hand with his lips as he pulled one of the straps off her shoulder and asked, “Miharu,” as he began a subtle gyration with his hips. “You know how your mind gets occupied with only one thing at a time?”
“…uh-huh?” was all she could manage around biting her lip and pulling at his belt loops.
“What are you thinking about right now?”
One of her hands traveled up the length of his back and weaved its fingers through his hair, while the other skated across his stomach and chest. He could feel the tremor in her fingers and see the pink spread in her cheeks; the way she tapped him in the chest lightly said, clearly, You.
“Good,” he replied grinning and reached for the other strap.
He encircled her ribcage with his hands and she obligingly arched off the carpet so he could reach the clasp behind. She was feline as she curved into him, stretching like she was waking from an afternoon nap in a pocket of sunshine.
Nino held her like that with his hands spread across her back and touched his lips to her collarbones, beginning his pilgrimage south. He laid her back down and covered her breasts with his hands, nipples brushing his palms. He touched her like the well-worn strings of his favourite guitar, plucking and strumming with the right tension and rhythm to create the notes to a new song or maybe an old one that he hadn’t quite known how to finish. If he breathed across her skin here, she hummed a low G; if he ran his fingers from here to there, she could hit a clean high C; flicking his tongue this way increased the tempo.
He returned to her throat, her jaw, her chin, and then her lips while he touched her navel, her waist, her hips, her thighs and then the button on her jeans. He leaned back on to his heels and pulled the hems of her pant legs, frayed and comfortable, while she pushed the denim down her thighs. He dropped the garment behind him on the round bed and she removed her panties. He ran his palms from the tops of her feet up her shins, across her knees while she spread for him.
He watched Miharu watch him, his short fingers pulling down his zipper, shedding the faded blue jeans, her breath coming short. She brushed his calf with her toes as his Calvin Klein’s joined the rest of their clothes. He kissed her again—he couldn’t get enough of the way she tasted—and fitted his hips into hers. Two jigsaw pieces. A key and a lock. And he’d thought she was soft before: he reached between her legs and she felt like fine silk, the swollen flesh of ripe, sweet fruit. He brushed his finger lightly, delicately, back and forth, just barely, over that spot that made her shudder and writhe and fist her hands in the carpet and his hair, her bottom lip red from biting back cries. He picked up his rhythm where he’d left it and wound her tight, her heavy breath hot across his shoulder.
Hard against her stomach, Nino murmured in her ear, “Where are your condoms?”
“Under the sink in the bathroom,” Miharu replied, touching his waist. “But I don’t have any right now. I meant to buy some because I figured we would do this eventually but I forgot and I don’t know what kind you like and then you were away and I—”
All he could do was smile at how flustered she was getting and kissed her thoroughly.
“It’s fine. I have some,” he said against her lips. “Wait here.”
Nino went to Miharu’s bathroom and wrapped one of her towels around his hips. It hid nothing and he could hear her laughing as he looked through peephole and then stuck his head into the hall, looking both ways before dashing out barefoot, just as he’d come in. Having a relationship with your neighbour was perfect for keeping it secret as long as the other residents or your landlord didn’t catch you naked in the hallway. He returned barely a minute later, replacing the towel in the bathroom and leaving a box under the left side of the sink.
He covered her body with his again, feeling slightly ridiculous that the bed was only six inches to their right and yet they were lying in the middle of Miharu’s burgundy carpet. But when she hugged him with her knees and snaked a hand between and wrapped her fingers smudged with graphite around him, it seemed irrelevant. She stroked him firm and slowly, making him moan into her shoulder and his skin break out in goose bumps, before taking the foil packet from his hand. Her gaze was focused but her hand was a little unsteady as she rolled the latex sheath down. When she was done, she placed her hands on his chest, somewhere over the vicinity of his heart.
“It’s been… a while,” was all Miharu said.
“Me too.” He knew what she meant and what they said they wouldn’t talk about.
He gathered her close, tucking her hair behind her ears and pushed in slowly. Slower than was probably necessary but he wanted to savour the moment, remember the way she hugged him with her arms and knees and inside so he could play it back whenever he was lonely and missing her. She matched his rhythm with ease, falling into the lazy glide like it wasn't the first time they were doing this together. He felt the rabbiting of her pulse against his tongue, her hands hot on his skin where they gripped his arms. He kept his thrusts slow and shallow, holding her tightly with his hands beneath her shoulders while she wrapped one leg around his back and pushed off the floor with the other to meet him halfway.
When she came, a choked cry escaped her as the muscles in her body fluttered and clenched from her toes curling and knees bending, thighs squeezing, inside pulsing, arms wrapped around his shoulders, anchoring herself to him so she wouldn’t get washed away with the tide. Nino loved the exquisite expression on her face. He didn’t need to hold back; half a dozen long, fast strokes while tight as a bowstring and he was groaning into her ear when instinct took over. She cradled the back of his head with both hands while he kissed her shoulder and caught his breath.
He could have lain there for hours, warm, sated and slightly tingly while she combed her fingers through his hair. But he reluctantly unwound her arms and legs from him and kissed her, sweeping his tongue across her bottom lip, before leaving her to clean up in the bathroom. When he opened the door, she was still laying on the carpet; she’d rolled onto her side, facing the window and pillowed her head on one arm. His eyes followed the line of her shoulder, across her arm and down the dip of her waist and round of her thighs to her feet crossed at the ankles.
The clock said it was near dinner time but Nino was more sleepy than hungry. The sun was drawing slowly across the sky, turning the walls the colour of milky tea. He pulled the blanket off the bed and brought it to the floor, moulding himself to Miharu’s back, holding her close with one hand on her belly. She settled against him and murmured sleepily, something about a short nap before needing to get back to work.
Nino found his script forgotten on the floor and brought his lips to the shell of her ear, wondering if she was already asleep.
“Now I won’t be able to think of anything but you.”