'when these fists are grenades' [Reita/Ruki, oneshot]

[colberry]

'10 Passions'
#2:  Rough Hands
Reita/Ruki

 

 

Loving me
is like chewing pearls ::

.:.:.:.

Twang~

“I said D-sharp..”

“That’s what I fucking played!”

“Yeah, if a D-sharp sounded like an orgasmic cow.”

Reita (thanks to the many arduous years of tae-kwon-doe) ducked just in time as a pile of scale sheets flew above his head with a speed his mind had reserved for jet-planes.  The bassist winced as one lone paper edge left a lovely sliver on his right temple.  Deadly aim, too.  Ruki was a hazard.  And well, he never hid from the fact that hazards and him were a pair…

“Well--!  Hit a high F!”  The crackle of fury behind the chocolate irises were indeed a sight to behold.  A little bit like white-caps and a tad more like passion Reita could easily envy.  Tilting his head slightly to the left, unaware of the thrashing insults that were pitilessly aimed for his heart, Reita absently compared the vocalist’s auburn curls to a crimson inferno because Ruki could and would swallow you and make you burn.  

“Oh wait!  You can’t!  ‘Cause you have the vocal range of an ostrich!”

Tirade complete and insults duly noted, Ruki huffed.  Crossing his arms against his chest as much as he could with the rental bass still sloppily slouched in his lap, the smaller man frowned deeply, head whipping to the other side of the room.  He didn’t need this damn bass lesson anyway. 

The small apartment stilled with the silence, even the threadbare curtains coming to an unannounced halt.  Reita paused, an amused chortle threatening to spill all over the frayed string of this civility.  He didn’t have the heart to – or, more likely, he had the self-preservation not to – inform Ruki that all venom is lost if one’s outfit consists of bedazzled pants and a Suzy-Q coif.  Instead, the elder sighed, trying to disguise the tickle that laced the exhale, and began to pick up one of the abused scales from his maple wood floor.

“You know,” His slender fingers caught the paper’s edge before bringing it into view, “it’s really all about positioning.  Screw tabs and frets.  You just need to soften up your hands.”

Ruki scoffed.  “You didn’t have any complaints last night..”

“Ru-chan, that was the worst massage ever.”

The frustrated vocalist opted to ignore the rude comment towards his magic touch (though storing it in the back of his mind for later retribution) and briefly examined his hands –

that gripped the mic so tight until he felt each insecurity suffocate

that had clawed and scratched and mauled just to get an inkling of recognition

--calloused from drumstick scars and one too many angry fits.

He snuck a glance towards Reita’s own fingers, currently absorbed in smoothing out all superficial crinkles from the music score, and furrowed his brow in thought.  Had they always been so…fragile-looking?  Reita?  The macho-man with a can of Monster that brought audiences to their bloodshot knees?  He unconsciously leaned over on the couch to get a better angle as Reita jostled the papers.  The nimble digits effortlessly swept through each sheet, careful not to rip, and Ruki felt a twinge of jealousy nip at his heart.  

He was a contradiction -- able to shred mercilessly on the fiberglass instrument he called his ‘best partner’ each night, and still be able to hold back; keep his strings intact and not bleed everywhere.   

The blonde-of-topic glanced at his friend, the sudden stillness from playful bickering too unsettling and much too long -- a cold, hollow tension settled on his shoulders.  The small, makeshift practice room of his apartment seemed to sag in its yellow color as Ruki’s eyes began to slowly drain of that ever-constant verve. 

Well.  That would never do.

“Here.”  

Ruki jumped from the sudden boast of Reita’s low voice, flickering his gaze from those fingers that were now in the midst of haste, eyes widening comically as he watched the bulky man scamper towards the back of the couch in pink glee.  While the urge to contort his spine to follow the blonde blur nibbled at his curiosity, the suspicious grunts that rumbled the house’s foundation made him hesitate.  But Reita was faster than pesky minute judgments as he suddenly catapulted onto the quivering, 20-year-old sitting specimen – the burst of creaks and inanimate screams in that millisecond coercing the vocalist to frantically plan out his will – only to reach and seize Ruki’s slender shoulders tight. 

The sudden contact made his chest lurch with an emotion that sizzled like anger but coiled like fear, but as he quickly caught up with the dizzying movements, his fawn countenance quickly dissipated into a perilous glare as two large hands clamped down tight.  What the fu—he was not a support beam for Christ’s sake!  He tried to swat the 10-fingered menace away, tried to ignore the patter against his ribs when those warm palms pressed down even further, “What the fuck do you think you’re --!”

And promptly choked on his sentence as he was crudely rammed forward, diaphragm pushed painfully into the forgotten bass’ curves.  Ruki would’ve recounted that he flailed – if Ruki was capable of the pitiful motion (and he was not!) – so instead proudly relayed it as a momentarily lapse of muscle coordination.  Before he could settle into the awkward position of being bent-over like a prison-scoundrel, suddenly there were two thighs straddling his hips from behind, dark-wash jeans clashing ashamedly (at least in Ruki’s mind) with his own magenta slacks. 

Words died on the tip of his tongue, festering and dripping to slide across the strings still digging into his skin.  The heat behind the brunette smothered any protests he had ready to spew, the broad chest ghosting his back with feather-touches and slow breaths slathered across the nape of his neck.  He’s totally encased in Suzuki Akira, his mind weakly supplied amidst its sputtering.  Well, ‘trapped’ more like it, Ruki corrected as Reita’s pulsing arms came to slide atop his own quivering joints, the firm muscles from years strumming idly and holding dearly now closing off any last chance of escape. 

…what.

Meanwhile, with a satisfied grin spreading under a noseband polished with orchid aroma (well played, fabric softener), Reita easily, with a fluidity eerily harking to familiarity, laced their fingers together.  Calm met clammy and Reita marveled inwardly at just how small the vocalist’s hands really were – he’d always presumed they were claws, what with all the mic-raping and ‘angry-Chihuahua-like’ snarls.  Slowly situating a hand to the bass’s heart and another to its neck, the elder felt his smile of victory soften to content.

Ah.  There.

Perching his chin upon Ruki’s right shoulder, he chirped, “See?  Now you’re in the right position!  From here, we just have to – Ru-kun!  So tense!”  Indeed, the petit vocalist was pin-straight, struggling to avoid any part or parts of Reita’s much-too-warm body that had no qualms against draping itself all over his back where things could touch, knock, rub --   

“Relax~” 

Ruki felt a thumb begin to stroke harmlessly on the back of his taut hand – at least he deemed it a thumb; it could have been any finger since he was staring resolutely at the opposite wall with saucer-eyes. 

Stroke, stroke~  He grimaced and tried to focus more on the very fascinating wall before him.  Ah.  Reita certainly did have a penchant for – stroke, circle, dip, stroke --  …monster-truck.. wallpaper borders …

And Reita could slowly, slowly feel Ruki’s bones begin to unfurl and would have declared triumph with a resounding whoop and pokey-dance if he hadn’t made the fatal mistake of instinctively pressing his hips forward in fervent enthusiasm to move on to the next lesson which sort of, to the unsuspecting, felt like –

“YOU SICK BASTARD!”

So honed in on the perceived-win in his self-entitled conquest: “Battledome XVII!  Now with Ruki-flavor!”, Reita failed to see the head filled with angry teeth-gnashing and auburn locks whipping back at him in accusation.

Well, not until his nose eagerly greeted it.

“AGHHK -- !”

The sheer clash of unstoppable force slapping immovable object made windowpanes shudder and all children in a 3-mile radius wail. 

Reita immediately blinked his eyes in rapid succession and careened downward as the searing crack reverberated off his skull.  He shook his head minutely when comets whizzed by his sight, attempting to clear any ache-induced tears that threatened to spill.  No – manly men do not sob in the face of trial!  They persevere!  They persist!  They… Wow.  Had the room always been tilted at this angle?

Ruki, not expecting the sudden blow, groaned softly in late commissary.  The thudding in the back of his mind was a dull roar, slick with petty frustration at how all of this could’ve been avoided if he had called Kai instead this morning… 

A gravelly whimper hiccupped from behind, interrupting his wallowing, followed by a forehead plopping onto his shoulder with a resounding ‘oomph’.  Quirking a meticulously plucked eyebrow at the display, the vocalist cocked his head to find a fluff of blonde clinging to his shoulder.  The mass shifted quietly as Reita buried his head deeper into the soft and safe thing, a hushed hiss inaudibly trailing in his breath. 

Light concern gleaming in his gaze, Ruki ventured cautiously, “You good?”

The absurdity felt dirty against Reita’s bones, the grimace he hid by Ruki’s shoulder blade widening as pain pulsed like a hellcat.  “Jus’ peachy.”

Just a little concussed.

Ruki squirmed uncomfortably as the larger man stayed put in the lackadaisical position.  If anything, the weight increased tenfold as the elder slumped.  What a fucking spectacle.  The brunette scowled.  The hands locked with his own had tightened their grip, a small tremor flickering through them – a few bass strings plucking incoherently.  With a hedonistic sigh, he turned his upper body to meet Reita’s forehead, “Lemme see it.”

“…No.”

A nerve ticked dangerously.

“Don’t be a baby.  Just let me see it.”

A soft noise crooned, reminding Ruki of a pout.

“It’s fine.”

“And you just like to bury your face into random parts of my body.”

“…I could –“

A feral growl painting his lips black, Ruki shoved the clingy hands away from his, bass abandoned, and none-too-gently grabbed the chin of the bassist and jerked him upwards. 

Oh.

Chocolate eyes a tad glassy from pain stared back at him, a little uncomprehending and dazed, as the pristine noseband was slowly seeping in scarlet.  The ragged stain across the fabric almost resembled a name, but the rivulets slithering out from under it made Ruki’s lip pull back in something akin to horror and snap his eyes back to Reita’s own fevered gaze.  The look in those eyes was indiscernible.  The intensity lapped at his eyelashes.  

“Why.. are you staring at me like that?  Blood loss much –?“

A hand tentatively reached for the band’s clip to see the collateral damage, but Reita’s knuckles were upon him, slowly sliding down the smooth contours of cheek and jaw.  He tensed, shoulders becoming rigid as each calloused finger became splayed across his face.  One, two, and three. 

A trembling breath fell from his lips at the chaste touches.  He’s fucking delirious, needs a fucking hospital --  His knees quaked, the rental catching the light.  And for one split second, they were bathed in ethereal gasps.  

And Reita smiled, delirium plastered onto his face to mingle with the lurid splatter of blood, as his thumb poked Ruki’s open lip.  The skin was soft, even when gaping in shock, and he playfully nudged the tip inside. 

He smirked, despite his head swimming and nose clogged with gore, and ordered (once again), “D-sharp.”

He stroked the wet flesh in a fleeting touch.

A timid mewl trickled beneath his pulse. 

Reita panted, the throb of want and pain so intertwined he could do nothing but stare as those endless eyes flickered shut.  Clumsy hands rubbed against his thigh blindly and Reita almost woke up from whatever dream he fell into. 

A pesky wave of nausea made his thumb slip, casting a glistening stream of wet to Ruki’s chin.

Reita dipped his head to fit snugly into the crook of Ruki’s neck and slid his thumb to the underside of the man’s jaw.  He could feel every tremor of each lungful, each flutter, and each hesitation.  He sighed, breath fanning across the alabaster collarbone of the high-strung vocalist in tepid heat. 

Ruki bit the inside of his cheek, face flushed in acute embarrassment and slight anger at being so casually played with.  He moved to shove the bassist off, send him to the floor, and leave him to bleed until bone-dry.  But a muttered, partially existing utterance hijacked all intention.

“I said D-sharp…”

A small silence wafted, lolled and settled.

“You’re the worst fucking teacher, ever.”

.:.:.:.

A/N:  Arghh finally done.  This was hard to write for some reason...  Maybe I haven't attained my "Ruki voice" yet.  Anyhoo, second installment of '10_passions' -- I tried to offset the tone from the last piece with some humor, but I started to linger back into the lovely world of smut near the end.  So, I cut myself off, haha!  Hope you all enjoyed :D