"21st Cherry Boy" (M/M, cold)

[VoOs]

You mustn't write fetish fiction about real people! Bad VoOs, bad!

Ok, so this is nothing but stupid, plot-less fangirl pr0n.

Still, I had to write it.

Why? Because BUCK-TICK singer Atsushi Sakurai has a voice that is made of smex. As is the rest of him.

Look ---> http://i166.photobucket.com/albums/u107/Vinerilla/Mirror.jpg

Acchan does not belong to me (sadly), and I make no money from using him in my fiction.

Once again, please excuse my rusty English.

---

~ 21st Cherry Boy

I wanna be your toy ~

(The title is a piece of lyrics from the BUCK-TICK song “21st Cherry Boy”. Youtube it. It's awesome)

When it was over, I took my refuge to the men's room with the intention of washing the sweat off my hands and, as far as it could be done, calm the burning blush in my face with cold water. And you're supposed to be a professional, I inwardly scolded myself, furiously. My first big TV interview, and I mess it up. Tongue-tied! Thank god that Toll had smelled the danger and come to my rescue, or else I fear that the silence would have been left unbroken until the air time was over. Cursed taciturn musicians! One would've thought they should have gained some self-reliance now after twenty years in the business...

I was still miming curses to myself when I pushed the door to the bathroom open. My tie felt like a choking noose around my neck, and I pulled at it irritably as I stepped into the room. The next thing I knew, I was looking down at a pair of shiny black shoes, and my fingers stiffened in the tie knot, as if frozen solid. I didn't dare to look up, but of course did anyway. Please, this isn't happening...

“Well, look at that. Oshiro-san.”

Yes, look at that. Look at the poor, helpless music journalist, reduced to a lusting fan without being able to hide it. Look, by all means. Look and gloat.

And judging by the the look on his face, that was exactly what he was doing. Gone was the awkwardness and the look of somebody, please get me out of here; he now seemed just as confident and relaxed as if the fluorescent lamps over the sink had been spotlights on a gigantic stage. He stood leaning his shoulder against the tile wall, suit-clad arms casually crossed over his chest, raven hair hanging in his eyes. Still, the long strands of black couldn't quite obscure the fact that he was smiling. Smiling that smile of his that, I suddenly felt, really ought to be made illegal. It was a surprisingly broad smile; charming and terrifying at the same time. A wolf's smile. Suddenly, I felt like Little Red Riding-hood.

“Thank you for your time...the interview...”, I stuttered out, lowering my head as I hastened past him to the nearest sink. Icy water gushed over my slightly trembling hands and wet the cuffs of my shirt sleeves. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that he had turned to look at me, a shamelessly amused expression on his face.

“It was a good interview”, he said, and I immediately wanted his voice illegalized as well. Like dark, raw silk, consonants just noticeably muffled by congestion. I could feel the vibrations from it in my own chest. “It was very interesting.”

What the...? I had to laugh at that, even if it came out sounding more like a fit of hiccups than anything else. “Interesting? What was interesting?” Yes, I fear that my manners had been left upstairs on the studio sofa along with my brain. But come on! There had been no 'interesting' questions, since I had forgotten them all and instead sat gaping at him like a stranded carp.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, mostly it was you, Oshiro-san.”

Say what?

“I thought I should take your cue and be completely open with what I think”, he began in a light tone as he drew closer, smile widening enough to show teeth.

My cue...? He meant my spectacular inability to hide the attraction I felt towards him. I couldn't play stupid anymore, not with him standing so close to me. Not with his curled forefinger placed under my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye.

“And what I think is that you are a very attractive man, Oshiro Takeru.”

Memories of old concerts flashed through my mind then, pictures of a singer touching, caressing, even licking his male guitarists to the sound of ecstatic screaming from a sea of female fans. Twenty years ago, homoerotic displays like these had been a common sight at the band's live shows, and even if most of it had died down over the years it had never disappeared entirely. From time to time, said singer might still let his long hands wander. All for the sake of fan service. So I had always thought. Just another way, along with provocative dancing, gestures and decadent lyrics, to give the audience what they wanted. The man was married, for god's sake, and father to a seventeen-year-old son, at that!

And then it hit me, as I stood dumbstruck before my idol's invitation – maybe this, too, was a kind of fan service? And I was a fan, wasn't I? The temptation lasted for maybe two seconds before the sheer madness of the situation struck me full force and broke my bewitchment. I drew my gaze free of his and moved sideways to wipe my hands on a paper towel, fumbling for my sanity with the frenzy of a drowning man. I had to say something, jokingly, uncomprehendingly, dismissively, anything, just to draw attention from the revealing pounding of my heart.

“Why did you come here?” Oh yes, my brain was still safely out of reach up in the studio. He chuckled and moved his fingers around something he was holding, making a soft rustling sound. A bunch of tissues. Oh, please...

“I had some problems with this earlier, as I'm sure you noticed", he said, briefly touching a finger to the tip of his nose. "I haven't been feeling one-hundred percent well, as of late.”

“That's unfortunate. Maybe it would be best if you went home and got some rest, then. After all, you vocalists need to take good care of your voices.” It's hard to keep your voice cold when the rest of your body is burning like a heated brand, but I think I managed to pull if off pretty convincingly. Until he inhaled again, that is.

It was just like during the earlier interview. One sharp gasp for breath – eyes fluttering shut beneath slightly knitted brows – hand lifting to waver before his mouth as he turns away -

The same sound, again. Deep baritone just noticeable through the first syllable, the rest of it untamed, unarticulated, moist -

“Hha'gkSCHHhh!”

In the two seconds it took for him to recover and straighten, all my good reasons had gone up in flames. A long, white forefinger lingered under his nose, rounded nostrils flaring slightly as he gave a soft sniffle, blinked, sniffled again, a little deeper this time. I could hear the wetness loosen and travel upward through swollen passages.

“Hm. Excuse me.”

And, just like that, I had lost. He knew it as soon as he met my gaze, knew that he wouldn't meet any resistance as he stepped closer and placed his hands on my shoulders. Still, I think it surprised him when I kissed him first. He tasted vaguely of cigarette smoke. Somewhere above our heads, in a now-dark TV studio, a forgotten little journalist's brain exploded in a white flash of lust.

“Here...” he mumbled against my tongue, steering me towards one of the toilet stalls. I made some kind of unintelligible noise in response, my hands busy finding their way in under his suit jacket, running up and down the sides of his waist. So slender...

He was now nosing through my hair in outdrawn, liquid sniffs, as if determined to pick up my scent even through his thickening congestion. Somehow he'd managed to maneuver us both into the stall and seated himself on the closed toilet lid with me half-kneeling between his legs. We didn't speak, as there were no breaths to spare between fevered kisses. Also, I suspected that talk might accidentally summon my brain back into my skull, and I really didn't want that now...

“Mmfh...wait, I...hh -”

Nope, definitely no brain needed here, thank you very much.

He had broken our mingling of mouths, turning to show me his profile as his upper lip curled back from his teeth in an expression of irritation that was almost aggressive. His left hand tangled itself free of my hair and came to hoover expectantly in front of his face as his breath caught and eyelids squeezed shut once again.

“Hah-ngSCHh'gh!”

He shook is head a little, sniffling in the aftermath. There were still lines of irritation around his dark brown eyes, which quickly began to grow unfocused again.

“Nnh, tickly...” he muttered, rubbing his wrist against his nose in a frustrated fashion, once, twice, then lowering his hand to gaze up at the light in the ceiling. I could see moisture sticking to his lashes as he blinked.

The light seemed to do the trick. He gasped once more and snapped his head down with yet another shuddering “Hah'gkSCHHh!”, hair falling in his face, and I think I, too, must have made a sound of some kind then, most likely one of senseless want, for he turned to look at me, still blinking and sniffling, but smiling his illegal smile.

“I'm sorry. Where were we?”

“Here”, I said hoarsely, and leaned forward again, with a silent prayer that my brain would have the courtesy to stay away for the rest of the night.

~ Finis ~

Mod note: Edited at author's request.

[Vetinari]

VoOs that is dangerously hot!

Ouchy!

And yum and drool!

[doggo]

You are a naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty girl.

Did I say naughty?

I love it. He is such an incredibly sexy man. And here you have written him as a sexy, sneezy man.

Guhhh... I need a cool shower with him.

Thank you for writing this.