Nakamaru Yuichi can say confidently that he has seen many dicks in his life. He’s not easily shocked, at work or in his personal life, and not so long ago, he would have said that it takes a lot to upset him. Sadly, he has recently found out that it only takes Kikuchi Fuuma.
The day started normally: he arrived at the studio, chatted with his boss and friend Nino, grabbed a cup of coffee, then he went into the editing room. The previous day's rushes were waiting for him on a hard drive. A quick look at the script girl's notes confirmed that the video was exactly what the title suggested, namely ‘Yama-chan and Fuuma get laid in the living room’. Janino tries to offer new content at least once a week to keep the channel busy, which results in a mix of classic videos and more ambitious concepts, plus almost family-friendly interviews and quizzes, because Nino firmly believes that their audience enjoys getting to know the actors (or ‘talents’ as he likes to call them). Nakamaru himself had to explain his job as an editor and let his colleagues answer fifteen questions about him on camera.
The video of the day fell into the unambitious category. Nakamaru is happy with an easy and mindless job from time to time, so that morning he gladly set to work without delay. The editing was progressing fast: it wasn't noon yet when Yamada got Fuuma on his back and accelerated his thrusts, causing the both of them to moan louder. Unaffected by their ‘I’m close’ and their ‘so good’ and other desperate pleas meant for the viewers, Nakamaru watched Yamada take Fuuma’s member in his hand and stroke it energetically until Fuuma tensed with a choked cry, his face distorted with pleasure.
“Yuichi...!”
He spit out his coffee.
—
A few minutes later, Nino is sitting in that same editing room, hiding his face in his hand, giggling nervously, his shoulders shaking. Nakamaru keeps looking at him without a word until he wipes away a tear of laughter with a long sigh.
“That brat...”
“Please fire him,” Nakamaru asks calmly.
“For that, I need a better reason than his attempted flirtation.”
Nakamaru shudders at the idea.
“He just wants to piss me off. And he screwed up a take in the process.”
Nino gets serious again and Nakamaru is pleased to have brought the conversation back to work. Surely, Nino won't allow a take to be ruined for the sake of a joke, not to mention that Fuuma couldn't ejaculate again in the time allotted for shooting, so the video itself is kind of ruined too.
“This is a problem,” Nino lets out.
Nakamaru nods vigorously.
“We can’t let that happen.”
Nakamaru nods again.
“You should record Fuuma’s voice again, then.”
Nakamaru chokes on his own saliva.
—
“Sorry for the intrusion,” Fuuma says as he enters the editing room.
Nakamaru is positive that Fuuma isn't the least sorry. He seems relaxed, almost pleased with himself, with his half-smile and his annoyingly handsome face. There's something natural about Fuuma's beauty, something fascinating, but it loses its charm every damn time he opens his mouth.
“How was your day, Nakamaru-san?”
“Terrific,” Nakamaru replies without thinking, because dry irony is the only language he knows when Fuuma is in sight. “Let's fix your crap, shall we?”
“Can't wait,” Fuuma teases but Nakamaru ignores him.
The recording device is ready, so that they won't spend more time than required alone in a dark, soundproof room. Nakamaru shows him the empty chair in front of him and they sit face to face. Nakamaru's nerves could have used more distance from the young man, but he manages to remain unaffected – or at least to look like he does.
“What should I do?”
“You have to say ‘Yama-chan’ like you were supposed to at the end of yesterday's video, but I want you to moan first.”
Fuuma raises his eyebrows with a smirk.
“I didn’t expect that from you, Nakamaru-san.”
“Just do as you’re told.”
“Kinky,” Fuuma comments and Nakamaru has to refrain himself from throwing his mic in Fuuma’s face.
Understanding that he won't get anything more from Nakamaru than a stern look, the actor lets a couple of seconds pass before he starts panting and sighing, first softly, then louder and faster, until he starts to raise his voice. He clearly enjoys looking the editor straight in the eye, only looking away at the end of the show he is putting on as he leans back in his chair, twitching, tilting his head as if struck by an unprecedented pleasure.
“Yama-chan,” He whines finally, before pretending to recover.
Nakamaru waits in silence, staring at his throat. He tries not to think that it seemed a bit off and that his own name sounded better in the other man’s mouth during the original take.
“Don't move your body. I could hear the chair squeak,” He adds flatly, needlessly pointing to his headphones.
Fuuma straightens up, looking only slightly disappointed.
“You're a real pro, just as expected.”
“You doubted it?”
Nakamaru immediately regrets playing along. Thankfully, Fuuma choses this moment to behave and they go back to work without further ado, except this time he closes his eyes and remains perfectly still, so Nakamaru isn’t too embarrassed to gaze at his face. For once he finds it more handsome than annoying.
When they get to the ‘Yama-chan’ part, it sounds choked enough to look like a ‘Yuichi’ on his lips. Nakamaru makes him do it a third time just in case, but he can already tell that he’s keeping the second take.
“I think we’re good.”
Fuuma opens his eyes again as if nothing happened. As Nakamaru transfers the files to the hard disk, he feels more than he actually sees the younger man looking at what he’s doing.
“Do you watch porn?”
The editor hesitates to answer that, but he decides that being straightforward and showing no signs of shyness is the best way to handle this brat.
“Like anyone else. Not ours, obviously.”
“Yeah, it'd remind you of work,” Fuuma says knowingly. “Do you read hentai, though? You seem like the kind of guy who reads hentai.”
“I drew hentai.”
He turns around to appreciate his effect. Indeed, watching Fuuma’s jaw fall to the floor is quite pleasant.
“No waaaaay? And I thought you were a prude.”
“Really? A prude, working here?”
“I don’t know, perhaps you owed Nino one or he had something on you.”
Nakamaru opens his mouth to argue, but on second thought this is not the most absurd thing he heard today.
“What kind of hentai do you draw?” Fuuma asks with an excited smile.
“Any sorts. People with specific kinks are willing to pay and I needed the money for my student loans. I don’t have to do it anymore.”
“So you just quit drawing?”
“No. I draw things I like.”
“Not porn, then?”
“Not porn,” He agrees with a smile. “What’s with the questions?”
“Just curious. Don’t you like to know people’s secret hobbies?”
“It’s not a secret if you just never asked.”
“What are your drawings about?”
“I won’t tell.”
“Oh. So that’s your secret.”
Nakamaru lets out a laugh.
“I’m keeping it to myself for now, but who knows, maybe one day I’ll get to publish it.”
Fuuma’s face enlightens, and somehow, it’s even more beautiful than his casual, slightly flirtatious look.
“I’m looking forward to it,” He says so genuinely that Nakamaru blushes a little and he has to quickly think about something to retort in order to distract himself from that observation.
“What about you? Do you have any secret hobbies?”
Fuuma seems shy for a second, but he quickly pulls himself together.
“It’s getting late,” He dodges the question. “Maybe I can tell you later over a meal? What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing,” Nakamaru answers, smiling because he can see how hard Fuuma tries to sound cool.
“Great. Text me when you’re done, so I can pick you up.”
“Sure.”
Nakamaru can’t help but chuckle as Fuuma winks at him and leaves the room. Alone at last, he starts to put away the sound equipment while humming to himself, his smile not leaving his face, happy to have cleverfully got rid of Fuuma.
Then he realizes that he just basically agreed to go on a date with him.