Fic: 夏色 : Natsuiro

Fic: 夏色 : Natsuiro
Band: Arashi
Pairing: Ohmiya
Notes: This fic is too short for me to write a summary; it's more about imagery than plot. Please enjoy!


Sometimes it happens in summer, in the evenings when the sun is gone and a comfortable, warm dark sits heavy in the air. The windows and balcony doors stand wide open, and a small windchime trills and tings and twinkles in the lightest breeze.

"Here, Captain," Nino says, and two bowls of strawberry shaved ice are placed on the table. Nino has a Doraemon shaved ice maker; the second summer on his own, Aiba purchased it for him, saying no home was complete without. Nino uses it the most frequently on nights like these, when Ohno comes over and they're lazy and lethargic from the heat. "Don't eat it too fast or your brain will freeze and you need it tomorrow. Eat up!"

The bowls are glass, and textured, and fit right in the palm of Nino's hand. The next five minutes are all about quiet, the clinking of spoons, the crunch of ice. The syrup is sweet, and slides down Nino's throat before he wants it to.

After a while: "Leader," Nino ventures, focused intently on the pink puddle in his bowl that used to be ice. The inside of his mouth is cold, but there's summer sweat on the back of his neck.

Ohno's grunt is passable as a response.

"We should probably go to bed." It's coming on midnight, and there's filming in the morning; movies to be made, an interview to go to. Nino enjoys their work more often than not, but it's on nights like these that he wishes his schedule weren't quite so rigorous--it's nice to just relax, sometimes, with Satoshi, and not worry about things like that.

Ohno nods, though, and they both rise. Ohno closes the windows while Nino puts the dishes in the sink; in the morning they'll be sticky, but he doesn't want to wash them now. They walk down the hall together hand in hand, past a photograph of Nino's sister and mother hung on the drab wooden wall.

Nino's room is stuffy, clothes scattered over the floor and the bed unmade. He sheds his shirt and lets it fall; Ohno does the same, till they're both down to their boxers, crawling in bed together. It's too hot to get under the covers so instead they twine together in the open air, Nino's chin on Ohno's shoulder, Ohno's hand low on Nino's back. Nino relishes the feel of Ohno's skin: so real and immediate, pliant and smooth.

They kiss without even thinking about it, slow and easy. Ohno tastes like strawberry still, like sugar, his tongue and the hidden places of his mouth. Nino feeds off the sweetness.

The night could last forever, and Nino wouldn't mind.

"Oyasumi ne, Ohchan."