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JE Fic: "Standard Operating Procedure" (Yamapi/Jin)
Title: Standard Operating Procedure
Pairing: Yamapi/Jin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: I like to write kinky things. :) Trying to force my MA portfolio wasn't working, so I relied on ficwriting to get me back in the mood. Seems like it worked. XD
Warnings: Rude language, sexual content, kink.
They sing Seishun Amigo at Countdown and Jin forgets the steps, giggles through the words.
In spring, they go on rollercoasters until their stomachs hurt. When the floor drops out from underneath them, Yamapi reaches across and makes a loose grab at Jin's knee. It lasts for a second and Jin never says anything afterwards.
Jin calls Ryo a monkey in Wink Up and Ryo says that Jin needs to be more manly; or maybe it's the other way around. When Yamapi looks at Jin, he thinks Ryo's talking out of his ass, but he doesn't say it.
In summer, they go out for food and take it in turns to predict the bill. Jin always loses because he can't add up so Yamapi makes sure to eat a lot in advance.
Yamapi agrees with Ryo, in the end, and Jin laughs down the 'phone at him when he sees the latest Wink Up.
I never have any comebacks with you, he says.
Then write that, Yamapi says. My friend Yamapi is the champion of banter.
It's a surprise to him when Jin does.
They're shagging by then but still, it's a surprise.
It happens after the rollercoasters or after the Wink Up thing, after something, it doesn't matter because friendship seems to blur the days together. One probably drunken evening and Jin can't keep his hands to himself, can't stop himself from cornering Yamapi in their apartment. He was on his knees and mouth-full by the time Yamapi recognised that it might be a mistake.
They don't talk about it. It's happened since, every few days, enough to be a routine, a habit. But they don't talk about it. It's always fast and hard and slightly unconscious, as if neither of them want to admit that there's something going on other than pleasure and convenience. It's not like them. They've always talked about things, always. Only Jin is in the middle of a tour and Yamapi has filming and neither of them seem to have any energy for the conversation.
And as bad a friend as it makes him, thinking with his dick, Yamapi often feels that he doesn't want to talk about it. That in the heat of the moment, Jin has the best mouth he's ever known, that there's a chemistry he's never had before, that it feels so good he doesn't want to lose it. He's happy to continue until something breaks and they have to face each other.
The summer is sticky and hot and Yamapi's skin is wet and stuck to Jin. Jin is leaning over him and panting in his ear, his hair trailing around Yamapi's ears. It tickles but Yamapi's hands are busy and Jin is pushing into the hollow they make between his legs. Jin makes an attempt to hold his hair back but with an unwinding grunt, a series of long, broken moans, it falls loose again. His mouth is on Yamapi's collarbone. His back is carrying a current. Jin is quick, always quick. He takes pleasure, bundles it into a giant ball and swallows it whole. Yamapi paces it out. Jin devours.
“Fuck,” Jin spits, with a shudder that ends in a bite, and Yamapi winces, hard.
The sex suits Jin, because it races to a point and explodes. The way he likes it; no thinking, just hedonism, just pleasure. He likes Yamapi because Yamapi is slow to burn; Jin can come once when he's touched and once when he fucks Yamapi. Having his cake and his cream, too. Yamapi isn't sure what to think; he likes to feel it and feel it and feel it until he can't think of anything else, until his whole body feels like it's going to implode – and Jin hasn't patience enough for half of that. Jin likes to chase and conquer, and quickly. Like a cheetah. Sated, he lies down to sleep. Yamapi takes a while to come down afterwards, tosses and turns and tolerates Jin trying to lie on him. Can't switch his brain off.
Sometimes their eyes catch when Jin's on top or Yamapi is and sometimes, there's so much there. Too much. They both usually look away.
Yamapi sleeps and dreams about having Jin in his lap spread out and light and smiling. He dreams about their eyes meeting and staying met. About charting the look on his face; about chasing the current of pleasure into his pupils.
They wake up and grunt at each other over breakfast.
Yamapi finds playing a cool character easier than he thought he would. Somebody with strength and determination, who knows what they want and who sets out to achieve it. His character wouldn't stand for what's happening with Jin.
He'd corner him against a wall, the way Jin did him months ago.
Akanishi, he'd say. What are we doing here.
He spends his lunch breaks testing his costars on medical terminology. The least he can do is try and do Aizawa justice, though they're worlds apart. Sometimes he e-mails Jin. Jin tends to e-mail him medical questions he doesn't know the answers to.
Doctor, doctor, he writes. I've a pain in my thigh. What could it be?
Maybe your leg needs amputating, Yamapi writes back.
No, my upper thigh.
You can still amputate above the knee.
Pi, you're hopeless.
What?! You're supposed to be helping me! Have you had any tingling sensations?
Not yet, Jin writes. Hopefully later?
When Yamapi gets back, he doesn't corner Jin against the wall or demand he tell him what they're doing. He doesn't do anything that Aizawa might do, because Jin's still out. Jin gets back very late, wakes Yamapi up. Yamapi stands in the kitchen while Jin cooks and watches the line of his shoulders move beneath his t-shirt.
When Jin takes the food off the boil, Yamapi presses up against his back until Jin has to breathe in, hard. Turns, his lips wet. Yamapi backs up, unable to think straight. He watches Jin lift his hand and cup Yamapi's chin and he imagines those fingers plying his skin, tight between his thighs. His breath huffs through the kiss and he can feel Jin's hands tugging on his waistband. Too soon, he thinks. Way too soon.
Jin holds him up against the fridge and Yamapi closes his eyes until all that fills his brain is the sensation of somebody writhing against him. He lets Jin work his hand into his sweatpants and he lets himself stop thinking, just feel, until his blood pounds in his brain and explodes behind his eyes.
Afterwards, they eat quietly.
It's past two. They both toss and turn this time. They meet in the middle, shoving over the sheet.
“Too hot,” Jin mutters.
“Me or the weather?” Yamapi says.
“Both,” Jin grunts. He wrenches the sheet out of Yamapi's arms and throws it onto the floor. Slowly, they both turn onto their backs, staring at the ceiling. Yamapi's back is sticky with sweat, his ribs ache. Jin's back clicks as he turns over, and he grimaces.
“Touring,” Yamapi asks.
“Yeah,” Jin says. “Pi.”
“What,” Yamapi says.
“What're we doing. With this.”
Yamapi thinks about this. Of course Jin would be the one to do this. He feels a bit like he's failed him, by not having similar courage.
“I don't know,” he says. “What do you think we're doing?”
Jin shuffles a bit, yanking the pillow down. “That's cheating,” he says. “I asked first.”
“Alright, alright,” Yamapi says. He wishes he had the sheet back, to hold on to. Turning over, he meets Jin's eyes. In the dim light they're wide and black, vulnerable. He only ever looks vulnerable when he's sleepy, nowadays. “Look, alright, this is. I mean. It's good, right?”
“Yeah,” Jin nods. “It's good. I don't wanna stop, I just--”
Yamapi can't hold back the smile, whispers don't u ever stop until Jin takes his pillow and whacks him with it.
“I'm trying to be serious here!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Yamapi says. “Just, look, is it just about the sex. Is it just about that?”
Jin blinks, once. “No,” he says. “I don't think it's ever been. Has it?”
“No,” Yamapi says, quickly. “Just, y'know, we don't really. Stop to think about any of it.”
“Yeah,” Jin says. “Because it's good. You don't stop to question good stuff.”
“Sometimes you do,” Yamapi says. “Like when you eat really good yakiniku. Like that. Y'know, pause for appreciation.”
“You wanna appreciate me,” Jin husks, and it's so dirty, so dirty, that Yamapi wants to hit him right back.
“Not anymore,” Yamapi says.
“Alright,” Jin says, amiably. “More appreciation. Got that. Anything else, master?”
“Stop it,” Yamapi says, shoving him. “Idiot.”
“I only want to please you,” Jin says, in a singsong voice.
“I want to strangle you,” Yamapi says, only it's half-hearted. Jin grins, ducks his head down and rests his chin on Yamapi's stomach. When Yamapi looks down, his eyes are bright.
“What do you want,” Jin says. “Tell me what you want.”
“Anticipation,” Yamapi says. “I want to be able to smell the beef while it's cooking. Think about how good it'll taste. Imagine the cook turning it over and over, until it's tender and mouth-watering.”
“God, I'm hungry,” Jin says.
“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “That. Hungry. I want to be hungry.”
“Are you not hungry?” Jin says. “Never?”
Yamapi smiles, runs a hand through Jin's hair. “You're the meal set out,” he says, not unkindly. “You're gorgeous and satisfying and you taste so fucking good, but sometimes I want to savour it first. Make sense?”
Jin tilts his head to one side. “I think so,” he says. “I'll cook myself first.”
“Something like that,” Yamapi says. He rubs his eyes. “I think you could, in this room. We need a fan.”
They have to sleep apart, which Jin hates, to cool down. When Yamapi wakes up, he's splayed out on his side of the bed, toes twitching. Yamapi is grouchy and hasn't slept properly, dreamt of strange things and Jin turning around and around on a skewer. He nudges him in the head as he makes for the bathroom.
“Urgh,” Jin says, to the pillow. “I'm never drinking again.”
“You weren't drinking,” Yamapi calls around the door.
“Oh,” Jin says. “Was I eating stupid things again?”
“No,” Yamapi says, toothbrush in mouth. “Having a discussion about important stuff.”
“Urgh,” Jin says. “I'm never doing that again.”
Jin comes into the bathroom when Yamapi's in the shower. They've long stopped caring about modesty and Yamapi just ignores him. Until Jin sticks his head around the curtain. Yamapi flicks water at him.
“What,” he says. “You can't come in here. I'm almost done. Go and brush your teeth or something.”
“I'm going to go get breakfast,” Jin says. “You'll be gone when I get back.”
“Oh right,” Yamapi says. “Don't e-mail me and tell me what you're eating. I hate you when you do that.”
“I'll send a picture,” Jin says. “Anyway, I wanted to give you something.”
“Okay,” Yamapi says. “What?”
Jin climbs into the shower then, his shirt on and his jeans on and his hair soon curling onto his neck with the steam and the water, and Yamapi's hands around his chin. The kiss is dark and deep and Yamapi doesn't feel that the water's going cold, because he's warm to the soles of his feet.
“Fuck,” he says, as they break apart. Jin's shirt has shiny spots of water on it. “What was that for?”
“You're going to need a shower tonight,” Jin says, as he walks out. “After what I'm going to do to you.”
“Jin,” Yamapi calls after him. “What does that mean?”
“Cooking myself,” Jin says. “Do I smell good?”
The door shuts behind him.
Yamapi fidgets at work. He spends the entire day concentrating on his hands, making sure that they're steady whenever there's a close-up on him. The director keeps giving him funny looks and he stammers something about not having eaten much breakfast. He's not squeamish, exactly, but sometimes the reality of being a doctor comes too close.
Jin doesn't e-mail him during lunch. Yamapi wolfs down more than he usually does, hoping it might stop him from fidgeting but when he e-mails Jin, he keeps pressing the wrong keys.
No medical questions today?
There's a long pause. Yamapi wonders whether Jin is rehearsing. Whether Kame has stolen Jin's 'cell, which he does sometimes if Jin e-mails during rehearsals. He fidgets with his scrubs, fiddles with his hair, pokes his sandwich. Soon, it's time to go back on set and Jin hasn't replied. Swearing under his breath, Yamapi wobbles to his feet, stretching to cover it up.
His 'cell beeps.
I'm in the bathroom, Jin says. Guess what I'm doing.
Yamapi is praised that afternoon for his portrayal of an angry Aizawa searching for an outlet for his tense feelings.
He feels guilty for taking the praise.
When he gets back to the apartment, there's a sheet of paper on the hall table. Sometimes they leave notes for each other when they're busy; bought milk / haven't bought milk, food in the fridge, be back late. Yamapi picks it up.
Wait for me in the bedroom.
Yamapi blinks, rubs the back of his neck. Slowly, he pads through to the bedroom. The flat is dark and there's nobody there. A part of him hoped beyond reason that Jin would be waiting for him. In the bedroom, there's nothing but mussed sheets and a chair, pulled to the centre of the room.
“Okay,” he says, lying down on the bed. He'll wait. He can do that.
He dreams about Jin lying flat on his back, his hair splayed in a halo around his head. His chin pointing to the ceiling, his mouth torn wide with moaning. He dreams about teasing Jin, about forcing him to wait, about Jin spitting rage at him. The world so dark and so thick with need by the end. He dreams about the noises Jin would make, noises that would fill the air with shimmering black dust.
When he opens his eyes, the world is dark and thick. The air in the room is muggy and he knows, somehow, that he's not alone. He can't see it, but he knows.
When he moves, he realises why he knows.
His arms don't move where his body goes. When he stretches, they remain where they are; secured to the bedposts with two pieces of fabric.
“Jin,” he growls.
“Yeah,” Jin says, some way off, in the dark.
“Why am I tied up.”
“The answer to that is pretty simple,” Jin says. “Let's see if you can work it out.”
“Fuck,” Yamapi says. “Because you're a kinky idiot? Untie me.”
“No,” Jin says. “I like you like that.”
“I still have my clothes on,” Yamapi says. “What kind of kinky idiot are you?”
“Mm,” Jin says, fumbling for the switch on the bedside lamp. When light illuminates the room, Yamapi sees that he's sitting next to him, an amused look on his face. “I wanted you to watch me undress you. No fun when you're asleep.”
Yamapi groans. Not an idiot at all.
True to his word, Jin moves to the end of the bed, runs a hand down Yamapi's body from shoulder to hip, watching the way his body moves into the touch. His eyes are concentrated, thoughtful. A part of Yamapi wants to hit him for that; for not succumbing the way he normally does. He pushes his hips against Jin's hand.
“Greedy,” Jin says. “Haven't even taken your jeans off yet.”
Yamapi decides the best course of action is to say nothing, but he glowers at Jin, nonetheless. Jin just smirks, loosens his belt and his buttons and gently tugs his jeans off. He folds them over the edge of the bed. Yamapi watches him with a rising sensation of rage. It doesn't improve anything when Jin leans over him, undoing each button on his shirt with a kind of slow carelessness. Yamapi feels a shiver pass over his skin as it's exposed, inch by inch.
“Jin,” he says. “Get the fuck on with it.”
“Shut up,” Jin says, cheerfully. “I haven't even started yet. No patience, that's your problem.”
Yamapi nudges him, hard, with his toes. Jin just laughs. Once Yamapi's shirt is undone, he moves his attention to his underwear. Running his hands up Yamapi's calves and over his knees, Jin seems to delight at the little shivers, the little catches of breath. It's when he gets to Yamapi's thighs that his eyes narrow, gleeful, because Yamapi stammers then, full of longing and pushing forwards. Jin breathes in little snorts as he runs his hot hands between Yamapi's thighs and watches him shudder against it, trying his best to kick him off but not quite managing it.
“Fuck,” he says, under his breath. “You love that, you little-”
“Don't. Say. It,” Yamapi spits. “Don't you fucking dare.”
“Heh,” Jin says, clearly thinking it, only Yamapi doesn't care enough to do anything about it when Jin's stroking just above his knee. When Jin's other hand reaches up and begins to yank his boxers off, he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, because there's no way it's going to pass unnoticed-
“Fucking hell,” Jin says. “You really love that, don't you?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Yamapi hisses. “And touch me.”
“Mm,” Jin says. “Looks like you need it. But not yet. Meat's not fully cooked yet.”
Yamapi moans through his nose, or so it feels like. He opens his eyes and stares at Jin, wondering where he's finding the strength to keep cool. Jin has so little patience normally, so little restraint. Not to jump into the water when it's hot, it doesn't make sense. Yamapi nudges his foot across, across Jin's thighs and – fuck, he's hard, too – doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense.
“Jin,” he says. “We both want this. Just fucking...just do it.”
“No, no,” Jin says. “I have plans. I didn't send you any medical questions today. Too busy letting off steam.”
Yamapi just stares at him. “So?”
“Well, it means you haven't studied hard,” Jin says. “So I should ask you some medical questions now, before we have any leisure time.”
Yamapi's jaw is on the duvet.
“Don't you think?”
“I don't think!” Yamapi splutters. “You. I. This is. Jin.”
“You sound like me,” Jin grins. “All petulant. Don't worry, it won't take long.”
“Fuck, Jin-”
“If you get the questions right, I mean,” Jin adds. “You need to get them right, or I won't be able to reward you. But you're a good student, right?”
Yamapi clenches his fist and digs his nails into his own palm. “Yes,” he spits.
“Then we'll have no problems,” Jin says. “Will we?”
“No.”
“No, what?”
Yamapi gives him a look. It's a look that says that absolutely, under no circumstances, is there going to be any submission. Any submission at all. Of any kind. Perhaps ever again. That kind of look. Only Jin doesn't seem to be understanding the look.
“I am not calling you sensei, you perverted little fucker,” Yamapi says.
“You should,” Jin says. “I might make the questions easier.”
“First question,” Jin says. Yamapi just looks at him, his breath unsteady and achingly heavy between his legs. From this angle, he can't even touch Jin. All he wants is a bit of friction and even that is completely beyond him.
“Yes,” Yamapi says.
Jin looks at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Sensei,” Yamapi growls, every single syllable curled as tight and angry as he can make it.
“Good,” Jin says. From his pocket, he retrieves a magic marker. Yamapi blinks. It's enough of a distraction that he forgets, momentarily, about wanting to be touched.
“What the-” he says.
Jin grins, leans down between Yamapi's legs and draws an arrow from the bottom of his shin to his knee. Yamapi strains his neck, incredulous, looking at the thick black ink sinking into his skin.
“Jin, what the fuck are you-”
“What is this bone called?” Jin asks, cheerfully. “You can always consult a book if you need to, but I think you're a better student than that.”
Yamapi thinks that he's never, in all of his life, wanted to hurt another human being the way he wants to hurt Jin.
“You don't know the answer?” Jin says, all innocence.
“The tibia,” Yamapi spits. “The fucking tibia. Sensei.”
“Very good,” Jin murmurs. “You get a kiss for that.”
When Jin leans down, Yamapi kisses him with everything in him; one smooth cocktail of rage and humiliation and need. Jin cups his face and kisses it right back in little gasps and Yamapi can feel, radiating from him, how much he wants to just take. There's restraint in every single muscle and that's the moment where it all just...snaps. Leaning back down, Yamapi starts to relish the bound hands, the inhibited movement, the way his cock is dripping and Jin won't touch it. There's a buzzing in his stomach that feels far too good; that he wants to just chase.
“Alright,” Jin says. He brings out his marker pen, studies Yamapi's body. With one hand he reaches out, turns Yamapi's body a little by the hip. As he moves it, he ghosts his hand over the head of Yamapi's cock to make him cry out, then, licking his fingers clean he draws a steady arrow down Yamapi's chest.
“This bone?” he grunts.
“Sternum,” Yamapi hisses. “Sternum, sternum.”
“Good,” Jin says. He flicks the cap on his pen away and starts again, this time drawing an arrow across his collarbone. He has to lean down to do it and Yamapi can feel how hard he is, pressing against his thigh. It makes him groan and push up against his body, a few seconds of friction more dangerous than half the blowjobs he's had in his life.
“Clavicle,” he groans, without being prompted. Jin remains still.
“Oh, very good,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss Yamapi's neck. “I'm not sure you need teaching after all.”
“I do,” Yamapi says. “Please, please, don't stop, oh, fuck, Jin-”
“Mmm,” Jin says, biting the outline of Yamapi's jaw. “I think you need a good fuck,” he says.
“Yes,” Yamapi groans. “Yes, yes, please-”
“A few more questions first,” Jin says. When he moves back upwards, Yamapi loses the friction, loses the pressure – he cries out with it, and Jin rubs his hip in a way that's vaguely condescending. Where Jin's been pressed against his cock, his jeans are damp. Yamapi would be faintly embarrassed by it if he could think about anything but sex.
Lying down, Jin draws a slow, broad line around Yamapi's kneecap. “Difficult one,” he husks.
“Fuck,” Yamapi says. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jin, please, just. Give me a moment.”
“Clock's ticking,” Jin says. “Should know this by now, shouldn't you?”
Yamapi wants to hit him. Wants to hit him then jump on him, he's not sure in which order. Wrestling with his bound hands, he gnaws on his lip and then falls still.
“Patella,” he says.
Jin smirks. “Correct,” he says.
There's a long pause and he just looks at Yamapi, just looks and looks until Yamapi feels flustered with it, and then Jin draws his tongue over the head of Yamapi's cock. Just one swirl, slow and hot, and Yamapi tries to push up but he ducks away and that, that, is the worst sensation he's ever felt in his entire life.
“Jin,” he pleads.
“Not until you get some more questions,” Jin says. “You're not being a very co-operative student today.”
“I-” Yamapi can think of one hundred retorts, if not more. But he swallows them down and nods. “Yes. Yes, I'm sorry. Please ask me another question. Please.”
“Okay,” Jin says. Slowly, his hand creeps up between Yamapi's thighs, so that he has to shift them apart, and he groans as he does it, needy and hard and too much, always, always too much. And when Jin draws a timid line all the way from his kneecap up to his hip, he has to bite down to swallow the cry in his mouth.
“Femur,” he says, only it comes out ragged. He's dripping on Jin's hand, on the pen. Jin keeps making noises with his mouth, licking his fingers. That's as unbearable as anything else, because even with his eyes closed he can see it.
“Second last one,” Jin says, and Yamapi nods, eyes closed, breath hard and thick like wet sand. He lifts Yamapi's hips up and slowly darts the pen around his waist until it joins; a guilty black circle. Yamapi looks down at it, into Jin's eyes, huge and horny, and groans.
“Pelvis,” he says. “You should know that one.”
“Fuck yes,” Jin says, the only sign that he's as out of control as Yamapi is. His eyes keep darting to his cock, as though he wants to taste it. He probably does. Yamapi tries not to think about it.
“Last one,” he says, through gritted teeth. “That's what you said.”
“Yep,” Jin says. “Stay very still.”
If Jin had asked him to lie down on a cactus, he would. He just nods, keeps nodding, until the cold prod of the pen darts over his hip and onto his-
“Jin,” he says. “Jin, what are you doing, that's-”
“What's this bone?” Jin says, triumphant, resting the bud of his mouth on the head of Yamapi's cock. It makes his lips wet, makes Yamapi aware of what he could have if he just, if he could just-
“You are-” he begins to stutter. “The rudest person I've ever met. Fuck, Jin, you know what that is. Just touch me. Just fucking touch me. Please, please. I can't stand it, Jin. Just touch me.”
Slowly, Jin works his hand down. His fingers are wet and Yamapi's cock is dripping and that plus pen makes smudges, smudges on Jin's hand and smudges on Yamapi's cock and Yamapi can't think about that, can't think about anything, because his brain is exploding. Jin's touch feels too good for him to think about what it looks like, his dirty hands and his mouth sucking the head and, oh fuck, sucking the head. When he opens his eyes all he can see is Jin's filthy smudged hand stroking his cock and his mouth stretched tight around the head and Jin's eyes full of dark need.
He realises, just as he's coming, that Jin has his other hand worked into his jeans. That naked, Jin would be as stained as Yamapi is – that wet marker pen connects them both, that Jin's filthy fingerprints connect them both and that the roar in his belly and the fire in his blood and the shudder in his skin, are all things Jin's feeling, too.
Their eyes meet and they look at each other and as the world comes back into Yamapi's vision he swears Jin's eyes are like the sky; stars of pleasure carving a field in the darkness.
“Why did you tie me up?” Yamapi says, what feels like hours later. “Do you like me submissive?”
Jin laughs. “You were supposed to be awake and waiting for me. I was going to put you in the chair. You fell asleep, bastard. So I got annoyed and tied you up.”
“That simple, huh,” Yamapi laughs.
“That simple.”
In late summer, they sit on a beach, Yamapi and Jin and the waves. Nobody speaks but the sea. They lie back on the sand and watch the clouds and nobody speaks. It's quiet and beautiful and Yamapi realises that it's because they're not speaking. The world is enormous and yet they've carved out their own little part of it, the only little silent part in the whole world. Beyond them, the sea chuckles over the sand and the birds call further off, but the two of them are quiet. All he can hear of Jin is his breathing, happy and relaxed.
In a week's time, he will stand under bright lights, amongst stars, and listen to Jin singing the song that brought him to where he is. The song about passion and reaching one's limits, stretching for dreams. In a week's time, the tabloids will joke about them being each other's girlfriends, about the strength of this strange friendship. In a week's time, they will be singing together, the way things could be, the way perhaps they should be. The things they used to dream about, before Yamapi dreamed of Jin spread across his lap full of stars.
It's no longer only a dream.
In the bright light of the summer haze, Jin reaches across and makes a loose grab at Yamapi's knee. It lasts, and lasts, and lasts.
Pairing: Yamapi/Jin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: I like to write kinky things. :) Trying to force my MA portfolio wasn't working, so I relied on ficwriting to get me back in the mood. Seems like it worked. XD
Warnings: Rude language, sexual content, kink.
They sing Seishun Amigo at Countdown and Jin forgets the steps, giggles through the words.
In spring, they go on rollercoasters until their stomachs hurt. When the floor drops out from underneath them, Yamapi reaches across and makes a loose grab at Jin's knee. It lasts for a second and Jin never says anything afterwards.
Jin calls Ryo a monkey in Wink Up and Ryo says that Jin needs to be more manly; or maybe it's the other way around. When Yamapi looks at Jin, he thinks Ryo's talking out of his ass, but he doesn't say it.
In summer, they go out for food and take it in turns to predict the bill. Jin always loses because he can't add up so Yamapi makes sure to eat a lot in advance.
Yamapi agrees with Ryo, in the end, and Jin laughs down the 'phone at him when he sees the latest Wink Up.
I never have any comebacks with you, he says.
Then write that, Yamapi says. My friend Yamapi is the champion of banter.
It's a surprise to him when Jin does.
They're shagging by then but still, it's a surprise.
It happens after the rollercoasters or after the Wink Up thing, after something, it doesn't matter because friendship seems to blur the days together. One probably drunken evening and Jin can't keep his hands to himself, can't stop himself from cornering Yamapi in their apartment. He was on his knees and mouth-full by the time Yamapi recognised that it might be a mistake.
They don't talk about it. It's happened since, every few days, enough to be a routine, a habit. But they don't talk about it. It's always fast and hard and slightly unconscious, as if neither of them want to admit that there's something going on other than pleasure and convenience. It's not like them. They've always talked about things, always. Only Jin is in the middle of a tour and Yamapi has filming and neither of them seem to have any energy for the conversation.
And as bad a friend as it makes him, thinking with his dick, Yamapi often feels that he doesn't want to talk about it. That in the heat of the moment, Jin has the best mouth he's ever known, that there's a chemistry he's never had before, that it feels so good he doesn't want to lose it. He's happy to continue until something breaks and they have to face each other.
The summer is sticky and hot and Yamapi's skin is wet and stuck to Jin. Jin is leaning over him and panting in his ear, his hair trailing around Yamapi's ears. It tickles but Yamapi's hands are busy and Jin is pushing into the hollow they make between his legs. Jin makes an attempt to hold his hair back but with an unwinding grunt, a series of long, broken moans, it falls loose again. His mouth is on Yamapi's collarbone. His back is carrying a current. Jin is quick, always quick. He takes pleasure, bundles it into a giant ball and swallows it whole. Yamapi paces it out. Jin devours.
“Fuck,” Jin spits, with a shudder that ends in a bite, and Yamapi winces, hard.
The sex suits Jin, because it races to a point and explodes. The way he likes it; no thinking, just hedonism, just pleasure. He likes Yamapi because Yamapi is slow to burn; Jin can come once when he's touched and once when he fucks Yamapi. Having his cake and his cream, too. Yamapi isn't sure what to think; he likes to feel it and feel it and feel it until he can't think of anything else, until his whole body feels like it's going to implode – and Jin hasn't patience enough for half of that. Jin likes to chase and conquer, and quickly. Like a cheetah. Sated, he lies down to sleep. Yamapi takes a while to come down afterwards, tosses and turns and tolerates Jin trying to lie on him. Can't switch his brain off.
Sometimes their eyes catch when Jin's on top or Yamapi is and sometimes, there's so much there. Too much. They both usually look away.
Yamapi sleeps and dreams about having Jin in his lap spread out and light and smiling. He dreams about their eyes meeting and staying met. About charting the look on his face; about chasing the current of pleasure into his pupils.
They wake up and grunt at each other over breakfast.
Yamapi finds playing a cool character easier than he thought he would. Somebody with strength and determination, who knows what they want and who sets out to achieve it. His character wouldn't stand for what's happening with Jin.
He'd corner him against a wall, the way Jin did him months ago.
Akanishi, he'd say. What are we doing here.
He spends his lunch breaks testing his costars on medical terminology. The least he can do is try and do Aizawa justice, though they're worlds apart. Sometimes he e-mails Jin. Jin tends to e-mail him medical questions he doesn't know the answers to.
Doctor, doctor, he writes. I've a pain in my thigh. What could it be?
Maybe your leg needs amputating, Yamapi writes back.
No, my upper thigh.
You can still amputate above the knee.
Pi, you're hopeless.
What?! You're supposed to be helping me! Have you had any tingling sensations?
Not yet, Jin writes. Hopefully later?
When Yamapi gets back, he doesn't corner Jin against the wall or demand he tell him what they're doing. He doesn't do anything that Aizawa might do, because Jin's still out. Jin gets back very late, wakes Yamapi up. Yamapi stands in the kitchen while Jin cooks and watches the line of his shoulders move beneath his t-shirt.
When Jin takes the food off the boil, Yamapi presses up against his back until Jin has to breathe in, hard. Turns, his lips wet. Yamapi backs up, unable to think straight. He watches Jin lift his hand and cup Yamapi's chin and he imagines those fingers plying his skin, tight between his thighs. His breath huffs through the kiss and he can feel Jin's hands tugging on his waistband. Too soon, he thinks. Way too soon.
Jin holds him up against the fridge and Yamapi closes his eyes until all that fills his brain is the sensation of somebody writhing against him. He lets Jin work his hand into his sweatpants and he lets himself stop thinking, just feel, until his blood pounds in his brain and explodes behind his eyes.
Afterwards, they eat quietly.
It's past two. They both toss and turn this time. They meet in the middle, shoving over the sheet.
“Too hot,” Jin mutters.
“Me or the weather?” Yamapi says.
“Both,” Jin grunts. He wrenches the sheet out of Yamapi's arms and throws it onto the floor. Slowly, they both turn onto their backs, staring at the ceiling. Yamapi's back is sticky with sweat, his ribs ache. Jin's back clicks as he turns over, and he grimaces.
“Touring,” Yamapi asks.
“Yeah,” Jin says. “Pi.”
“What,” Yamapi says.
“What're we doing. With this.”
Yamapi thinks about this. Of course Jin would be the one to do this. He feels a bit like he's failed him, by not having similar courage.
“I don't know,” he says. “What do you think we're doing?”
Jin shuffles a bit, yanking the pillow down. “That's cheating,” he says. “I asked first.”
“Alright, alright,” Yamapi says. He wishes he had the sheet back, to hold on to. Turning over, he meets Jin's eyes. In the dim light they're wide and black, vulnerable. He only ever looks vulnerable when he's sleepy, nowadays. “Look, alright, this is. I mean. It's good, right?”
“Yeah,” Jin nods. “It's good. I don't wanna stop, I just--”
Yamapi can't hold back the smile, whispers don't u ever stop until Jin takes his pillow and whacks him with it.
“I'm trying to be serious here!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Yamapi says. “Just, look, is it just about the sex. Is it just about that?”
Jin blinks, once. “No,” he says. “I don't think it's ever been. Has it?”
“No,” Yamapi says, quickly. “Just, y'know, we don't really. Stop to think about any of it.”
“Yeah,” Jin says. “Because it's good. You don't stop to question good stuff.”
“Sometimes you do,” Yamapi says. “Like when you eat really good yakiniku. Like that. Y'know, pause for appreciation.”
“You wanna appreciate me,” Jin husks, and it's so dirty, so dirty, that Yamapi wants to hit him right back.
“Not anymore,” Yamapi says.
“Alright,” Jin says, amiably. “More appreciation. Got that. Anything else, master?”
“Stop it,” Yamapi says, shoving him. “Idiot.”
“I only want to please you,” Jin says, in a singsong voice.
“I want to strangle you,” Yamapi says, only it's half-hearted. Jin grins, ducks his head down and rests his chin on Yamapi's stomach. When Yamapi looks down, his eyes are bright.
“What do you want,” Jin says. “Tell me what you want.”
“Anticipation,” Yamapi says. “I want to be able to smell the beef while it's cooking. Think about how good it'll taste. Imagine the cook turning it over and over, until it's tender and mouth-watering.”
“God, I'm hungry,” Jin says.
“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “That. Hungry. I want to be hungry.”
“Are you not hungry?” Jin says. “Never?”
Yamapi smiles, runs a hand through Jin's hair. “You're the meal set out,” he says, not unkindly. “You're gorgeous and satisfying and you taste so fucking good, but sometimes I want to savour it first. Make sense?”
Jin tilts his head to one side. “I think so,” he says. “I'll cook myself first.”
“Something like that,” Yamapi says. He rubs his eyes. “I think you could, in this room. We need a fan.”
They have to sleep apart, which Jin hates, to cool down. When Yamapi wakes up, he's splayed out on his side of the bed, toes twitching. Yamapi is grouchy and hasn't slept properly, dreamt of strange things and Jin turning around and around on a skewer. He nudges him in the head as he makes for the bathroom.
“Urgh,” Jin says, to the pillow. “I'm never drinking again.”
“You weren't drinking,” Yamapi calls around the door.
“Oh,” Jin says. “Was I eating stupid things again?”
“No,” Yamapi says, toothbrush in mouth. “Having a discussion about important stuff.”
“Urgh,” Jin says. “I'm never doing that again.”
Jin comes into the bathroom when Yamapi's in the shower. They've long stopped caring about modesty and Yamapi just ignores him. Until Jin sticks his head around the curtain. Yamapi flicks water at him.
“What,” he says. “You can't come in here. I'm almost done. Go and brush your teeth or something.”
“I'm going to go get breakfast,” Jin says. “You'll be gone when I get back.”
“Oh right,” Yamapi says. “Don't e-mail me and tell me what you're eating. I hate you when you do that.”
“I'll send a picture,” Jin says. “Anyway, I wanted to give you something.”
“Okay,” Yamapi says. “What?”
Jin climbs into the shower then, his shirt on and his jeans on and his hair soon curling onto his neck with the steam and the water, and Yamapi's hands around his chin. The kiss is dark and deep and Yamapi doesn't feel that the water's going cold, because he's warm to the soles of his feet.
“Fuck,” he says, as they break apart. Jin's shirt has shiny spots of water on it. “What was that for?”
“You're going to need a shower tonight,” Jin says, as he walks out. “After what I'm going to do to you.”
“Jin,” Yamapi calls after him. “What does that mean?”
“Cooking myself,” Jin says. “Do I smell good?”
The door shuts behind him.
Yamapi fidgets at work. He spends the entire day concentrating on his hands, making sure that they're steady whenever there's a close-up on him. The director keeps giving him funny looks and he stammers something about not having eaten much breakfast. He's not squeamish, exactly, but sometimes the reality of being a doctor comes too close.
Jin doesn't e-mail him during lunch. Yamapi wolfs down more than he usually does, hoping it might stop him from fidgeting but when he e-mails Jin, he keeps pressing the wrong keys.
No medical questions today?
There's a long pause. Yamapi wonders whether Jin is rehearsing. Whether Kame has stolen Jin's 'cell, which he does sometimes if Jin e-mails during rehearsals. He fidgets with his scrubs, fiddles with his hair, pokes his sandwich. Soon, it's time to go back on set and Jin hasn't replied. Swearing under his breath, Yamapi wobbles to his feet, stretching to cover it up.
His 'cell beeps.
I'm in the bathroom, Jin says. Guess what I'm doing.
Yamapi is praised that afternoon for his portrayal of an angry Aizawa searching for an outlet for his tense feelings.
He feels guilty for taking the praise.
When he gets back to the apartment, there's a sheet of paper on the hall table. Sometimes they leave notes for each other when they're busy; bought milk / haven't bought milk, food in the fridge, be back late. Yamapi picks it up.
Wait for me in the bedroom.
Yamapi blinks, rubs the back of his neck. Slowly, he pads through to the bedroom. The flat is dark and there's nobody there. A part of him hoped beyond reason that Jin would be waiting for him. In the bedroom, there's nothing but mussed sheets and a chair, pulled to the centre of the room.
“Okay,” he says, lying down on the bed. He'll wait. He can do that.
He dreams about Jin lying flat on his back, his hair splayed in a halo around his head. His chin pointing to the ceiling, his mouth torn wide with moaning. He dreams about teasing Jin, about forcing him to wait, about Jin spitting rage at him. The world so dark and so thick with need by the end. He dreams about the noises Jin would make, noises that would fill the air with shimmering black dust.
When he opens his eyes, the world is dark and thick. The air in the room is muggy and he knows, somehow, that he's not alone. He can't see it, but he knows.
When he moves, he realises why he knows.
His arms don't move where his body goes. When he stretches, they remain where they are; secured to the bedposts with two pieces of fabric.
“Jin,” he growls.
“Yeah,” Jin says, some way off, in the dark.
“Why am I tied up.”
“The answer to that is pretty simple,” Jin says. “Let's see if you can work it out.”
“Fuck,” Yamapi says. “Because you're a kinky idiot? Untie me.”
“No,” Jin says. “I like you like that.”
“I still have my clothes on,” Yamapi says. “What kind of kinky idiot are you?”
“Mm,” Jin says, fumbling for the switch on the bedside lamp. When light illuminates the room, Yamapi sees that he's sitting next to him, an amused look on his face. “I wanted you to watch me undress you. No fun when you're asleep.”
Yamapi groans. Not an idiot at all.
True to his word, Jin moves to the end of the bed, runs a hand down Yamapi's body from shoulder to hip, watching the way his body moves into the touch. His eyes are concentrated, thoughtful. A part of Yamapi wants to hit him for that; for not succumbing the way he normally does. He pushes his hips against Jin's hand.
“Greedy,” Jin says. “Haven't even taken your jeans off yet.”
Yamapi decides the best course of action is to say nothing, but he glowers at Jin, nonetheless. Jin just smirks, loosens his belt and his buttons and gently tugs his jeans off. He folds them over the edge of the bed. Yamapi watches him with a rising sensation of rage. It doesn't improve anything when Jin leans over him, undoing each button on his shirt with a kind of slow carelessness. Yamapi feels a shiver pass over his skin as it's exposed, inch by inch.
“Jin,” he says. “Get the fuck on with it.”
“Shut up,” Jin says, cheerfully. “I haven't even started yet. No patience, that's your problem.”
Yamapi nudges him, hard, with his toes. Jin just laughs. Once Yamapi's shirt is undone, he moves his attention to his underwear. Running his hands up Yamapi's calves and over his knees, Jin seems to delight at the little shivers, the little catches of breath. It's when he gets to Yamapi's thighs that his eyes narrow, gleeful, because Yamapi stammers then, full of longing and pushing forwards. Jin breathes in little snorts as he runs his hot hands between Yamapi's thighs and watches him shudder against it, trying his best to kick him off but not quite managing it.
“Fuck,” he says, under his breath. “You love that, you little-”
“Don't. Say. It,” Yamapi spits. “Don't you fucking dare.”
“Heh,” Jin says, clearly thinking it, only Yamapi doesn't care enough to do anything about it when Jin's stroking just above his knee. When Jin's other hand reaches up and begins to yank his boxers off, he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, because there's no way it's going to pass unnoticed-
“Fucking hell,” Jin says. “You really love that, don't you?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Yamapi hisses. “And touch me.”
“Mm,” Jin says. “Looks like you need it. But not yet. Meat's not fully cooked yet.”
Yamapi moans through his nose, or so it feels like. He opens his eyes and stares at Jin, wondering where he's finding the strength to keep cool. Jin has so little patience normally, so little restraint. Not to jump into the water when it's hot, it doesn't make sense. Yamapi nudges his foot across, across Jin's thighs and – fuck, he's hard, too – doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense.
“Jin,” he says. “We both want this. Just fucking...just do it.”
“No, no,” Jin says. “I have plans. I didn't send you any medical questions today. Too busy letting off steam.”
Yamapi just stares at him. “So?”
“Well, it means you haven't studied hard,” Jin says. “So I should ask you some medical questions now, before we have any leisure time.”
Yamapi's jaw is on the duvet.
“Don't you think?”
“I don't think!” Yamapi splutters. “You. I. This is. Jin.”
“You sound like me,” Jin grins. “All petulant. Don't worry, it won't take long.”
“Fuck, Jin-”
“If you get the questions right, I mean,” Jin adds. “You need to get them right, or I won't be able to reward you. But you're a good student, right?”
Yamapi clenches his fist and digs his nails into his own palm. “Yes,” he spits.
“Then we'll have no problems,” Jin says. “Will we?”
“No.”
“No, what?”
Yamapi gives him a look. It's a look that says that absolutely, under no circumstances, is there going to be any submission. Any submission at all. Of any kind. Perhaps ever again. That kind of look. Only Jin doesn't seem to be understanding the look.
“I am not calling you sensei, you perverted little fucker,” Yamapi says.
“You should,” Jin says. “I might make the questions easier.”
“First question,” Jin says. Yamapi just looks at him, his breath unsteady and achingly heavy between his legs. From this angle, he can't even touch Jin. All he wants is a bit of friction and even that is completely beyond him.
“Yes,” Yamapi says.
Jin looks at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Sensei,” Yamapi growls, every single syllable curled as tight and angry as he can make it.
“Good,” Jin says. From his pocket, he retrieves a magic marker. Yamapi blinks. It's enough of a distraction that he forgets, momentarily, about wanting to be touched.
“What the-” he says.
Jin grins, leans down between Yamapi's legs and draws an arrow from the bottom of his shin to his knee. Yamapi strains his neck, incredulous, looking at the thick black ink sinking into his skin.
“Jin, what the fuck are you-”
“What is this bone called?” Jin asks, cheerfully. “You can always consult a book if you need to, but I think you're a better student than that.”
Yamapi thinks that he's never, in all of his life, wanted to hurt another human being the way he wants to hurt Jin.
“You don't know the answer?” Jin says, all innocence.
“The tibia,” Yamapi spits. “The fucking tibia. Sensei.”
“Very good,” Jin murmurs. “You get a kiss for that.”
When Jin leans down, Yamapi kisses him with everything in him; one smooth cocktail of rage and humiliation and need. Jin cups his face and kisses it right back in little gasps and Yamapi can feel, radiating from him, how much he wants to just take. There's restraint in every single muscle and that's the moment where it all just...snaps. Leaning back down, Yamapi starts to relish the bound hands, the inhibited movement, the way his cock is dripping and Jin won't touch it. There's a buzzing in his stomach that feels far too good; that he wants to just chase.
“Alright,” Jin says. He brings out his marker pen, studies Yamapi's body. With one hand he reaches out, turns Yamapi's body a little by the hip. As he moves it, he ghosts his hand over the head of Yamapi's cock to make him cry out, then, licking his fingers clean he draws a steady arrow down Yamapi's chest.
“This bone?” he grunts.
“Sternum,” Yamapi hisses. “Sternum, sternum.”
“Good,” Jin says. He flicks the cap on his pen away and starts again, this time drawing an arrow across his collarbone. He has to lean down to do it and Yamapi can feel how hard he is, pressing against his thigh. It makes him groan and push up against his body, a few seconds of friction more dangerous than half the blowjobs he's had in his life.
“Clavicle,” he groans, without being prompted. Jin remains still.
“Oh, very good,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss Yamapi's neck. “I'm not sure you need teaching after all.”
“I do,” Yamapi says. “Please, please, don't stop, oh, fuck, Jin-”
“Mmm,” Jin says, biting the outline of Yamapi's jaw. “I think you need a good fuck,” he says.
“Yes,” Yamapi groans. “Yes, yes, please-”
“A few more questions first,” Jin says. When he moves back upwards, Yamapi loses the friction, loses the pressure – he cries out with it, and Jin rubs his hip in a way that's vaguely condescending. Where Jin's been pressed against his cock, his jeans are damp. Yamapi would be faintly embarrassed by it if he could think about anything but sex.
Lying down, Jin draws a slow, broad line around Yamapi's kneecap. “Difficult one,” he husks.
“Fuck,” Yamapi says. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jin, please, just. Give me a moment.”
“Clock's ticking,” Jin says. “Should know this by now, shouldn't you?”
Yamapi wants to hit him. Wants to hit him then jump on him, he's not sure in which order. Wrestling with his bound hands, he gnaws on his lip and then falls still.
“Patella,” he says.
Jin smirks. “Correct,” he says.
There's a long pause and he just looks at Yamapi, just looks and looks until Yamapi feels flustered with it, and then Jin draws his tongue over the head of Yamapi's cock. Just one swirl, slow and hot, and Yamapi tries to push up but he ducks away and that, that, is the worst sensation he's ever felt in his entire life.
“Jin,” he pleads.
“Not until you get some more questions,” Jin says. “You're not being a very co-operative student today.”
“I-” Yamapi can think of one hundred retorts, if not more. But he swallows them down and nods. “Yes. Yes, I'm sorry. Please ask me another question. Please.”
“Okay,” Jin says. Slowly, his hand creeps up between Yamapi's thighs, so that he has to shift them apart, and he groans as he does it, needy and hard and too much, always, always too much. And when Jin draws a timid line all the way from his kneecap up to his hip, he has to bite down to swallow the cry in his mouth.
“Femur,” he says, only it comes out ragged. He's dripping on Jin's hand, on the pen. Jin keeps making noises with his mouth, licking his fingers. That's as unbearable as anything else, because even with his eyes closed he can see it.
“Second last one,” Jin says, and Yamapi nods, eyes closed, breath hard and thick like wet sand. He lifts Yamapi's hips up and slowly darts the pen around his waist until it joins; a guilty black circle. Yamapi looks down at it, into Jin's eyes, huge and horny, and groans.
“Pelvis,” he says. “You should know that one.”
“Fuck yes,” Jin says, the only sign that he's as out of control as Yamapi is. His eyes keep darting to his cock, as though he wants to taste it. He probably does. Yamapi tries not to think about it.
“Last one,” he says, through gritted teeth. “That's what you said.”
“Yep,” Jin says. “Stay very still.”
If Jin had asked him to lie down on a cactus, he would. He just nods, keeps nodding, until the cold prod of the pen darts over his hip and onto his-
“Jin,” he says. “Jin, what are you doing, that's-”
“What's this bone?” Jin says, triumphant, resting the bud of his mouth on the head of Yamapi's cock. It makes his lips wet, makes Yamapi aware of what he could have if he just, if he could just-
“You are-” he begins to stutter. “The rudest person I've ever met. Fuck, Jin, you know what that is. Just touch me. Just fucking touch me. Please, please. I can't stand it, Jin. Just touch me.”
Slowly, Jin works his hand down. His fingers are wet and Yamapi's cock is dripping and that plus pen makes smudges, smudges on Jin's hand and smudges on Yamapi's cock and Yamapi can't think about that, can't think about anything, because his brain is exploding. Jin's touch feels too good for him to think about what it looks like, his dirty hands and his mouth sucking the head and, oh fuck, sucking the head. When he opens his eyes all he can see is Jin's filthy smudged hand stroking his cock and his mouth stretched tight around the head and Jin's eyes full of dark need.
He realises, just as he's coming, that Jin has his other hand worked into his jeans. That naked, Jin would be as stained as Yamapi is – that wet marker pen connects them both, that Jin's filthy fingerprints connect them both and that the roar in his belly and the fire in his blood and the shudder in his skin, are all things Jin's feeling, too.
Their eyes meet and they look at each other and as the world comes back into Yamapi's vision he swears Jin's eyes are like the sky; stars of pleasure carving a field in the darkness.
“Why did you tie me up?” Yamapi says, what feels like hours later. “Do you like me submissive?”
Jin laughs. “You were supposed to be awake and waiting for me. I was going to put you in the chair. You fell asleep, bastard. So I got annoyed and tied you up.”
“That simple, huh,” Yamapi laughs.
“That simple.”
In late summer, they sit on a beach, Yamapi and Jin and the waves. Nobody speaks but the sea. They lie back on the sand and watch the clouds and nobody speaks. It's quiet and beautiful and Yamapi realises that it's because they're not speaking. The world is enormous and yet they've carved out their own little part of it, the only little silent part in the whole world. Beyond them, the sea chuckles over the sand and the birds call further off, but the two of them are quiet. All he can hear of Jin is his breathing, happy and relaxed.
In a week's time, he will stand under bright lights, amongst stars, and listen to Jin singing the song that brought him to where he is. The song about passion and reaching one's limits, stretching for dreams. In a week's time, the tabloids will joke about them being each other's girlfriends, about the strength of this strange friendship. In a week's time, they will be singing together, the way things could be, the way perhaps they should be. The things they used to dream about, before Yamapi dreamed of Jin spread across his lap full of stars.
It's no longer only a dream.
In the bright light of the summer haze, Jin reaches across and makes a loose grab at Yamapi's knee. It lasts, and lasts, and lasts.
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