Shota's about to walk into the hotel washroom to take the second bath when Juri's call comes through on his phone. "Hey, Tanaka," he says, juggling his toiletry bag and a fluffy white towel. "What's up?"
The video on Juri's end is a little grainy, but Shota can make out a sterile hallway and moving figures in the background. Probably the rest of SixTONES, maybe a manager or two. "Just got back to our hotel," Juri says, over the vague snatches of side conversations that filter down the line. "Concert went well." He sounds kind of breathless. His hair still looks half-styled, sweat and gel soaked into the shiny swoop of his bangs, and his eye make-up is hopelessly smudged. "You?"
"I was about to shower," Shota replies. Snow Man filmed on location all day, and his pores are truly feeling it. If he has enough time, he might even go through his entire skincare routine twice tonight.
"Yeah?" Juri says, voice suddenly pitched half an octave lower. Shota's known Juri for years, should be immune to his charms by now, but the curve of his smirk still makes Shota's stomach flip. "What a coincidence. So was I."
As if on cue, the door to the washroom swings open. A plume of steam billows out. Ryota steps through toweling his hair dry; he takes one look at Shota's phone and huffs. "I'll go hang out in Meme and Koji's room for an hour," he says, the expression on his face far too knowing.
"Make it two, Date-san," Juri calls cheerfully. Ryota rolls his eyes, jams his feet into a pair of slippers, and disappears out the door.
Shota slides into the washroom; the steam helps hide some of the pink flush rising in his cheeks. "As if you've ever lasted that long," he snipes, but Juri just laughs, the lazy arc of it buzzing through the speakers.
On the other end of the call, Juri pushes into his room and flicks the lights on. It's hard to absorb too many details about his surroundings, but the crisp white sheets that Juri falls back on give Shota a bit of deja vu. Then again, he's stayed at countless hotels across the country. They all start looking the same after a while.
"Just you today?" Shota asks, setting his toiletry bag down and propping his phone up next to the faucet. No one seems to be coming in after Juri, and he didn't hear him ask to be left alone.
Juri shakes his head, rolling over to prop himself up on his elbows. "We get our own rooms on tour this year."
"Lucky bastards," Shota murmurs, wrinkling his nose. Juri laughs again, throwing out a cheeky peace sign.
Shota hangs his towel on the door hook and starts stripping out of his clothes. Over three years into debut, they've got this part of the evening routine down to a fine art. One of them will text to see if the other is free, and if their schedules just so happen to align, they'll figure out how to grab some time alone. In this line of work, it's already hard enough to be in the same city at the same time. Long gone are the days Juri could show up at Shota's apartment any time he wanted and drag him out for dinner on a whim. Shota wouldn't trade his job for anything, but thinking about how often they used to end up at Shota's place sharing takeout and warming their feet beneath the kotatsu still makes him feel a little wistful.
By the time Shota finishes rinsing off, Juri has also migrated to his bathroom. Shota steps into the bathtub with his phone, hot water swallowing him whole, and watches Juri lose his baggy tour shirt and shimmy out of his skinny jeans. When he's fully naked, he turns back to mess with his phone, face looming close enough that Shota can see the faded moles where parts of his hardy stage foundation have melted off. In the bottom left corner of the screen, the shadow of Juri's semi swings into view, and an answering tug of arousal lurches in Shota's gut. He slips down until the waterline hits just below his nose, bites his lip, and presses his palm against the shaft of his cock.
"You look cozy," Juri says, lips curling into another smirk.
Shota huffs, water bubbling around his mouth. "Hurry up and shower already."
"Tsk, Shoppi, so impatient." Juri goes, though, the skinny line of his body framed by the dark bathroom tile. Shota's mouth goes dry watching rivulets of water wind their way down Juri's spine, his narrow hips, the divots above his ass. He must be working out — the muscles in his back are more defined than Shota remembers them being the last time they did this, and his arms flex nicely as he shampoos his hair. He scrubs way too hard as he washes his face beneath the blast of the showerhead, but Shota's mostly too turned on to care. He sits up so he can rest his head against the wall for a better angle, eyes glued to the screen, fingers curled tight around his burgeoning erection. It's embarrassing, especially after teasing Juri about the same thing two minutes ago, but he's not going to last very long at all.
Juri towels himself dry with quick, perfunctory movements; the video jostles as he takes the phone and makes his way back into the main room. Shota's hand is moving rhythmically beneath the bathwater now, little waves sloshing against the sides of the tub.
"How rude of you to get started without me," Juri says, but he doesn't sound particularly cut up about it. He holds his phone up and away so Shota can get a better look at the planes of his torso, the shadows that his collarbone casts, the way his throat bobs when he starts jerking himself off in earnest. Shota wants to reach out and be able to touch him so badly, wants to kiss Juri's trembling neck and smell the horrible two-in-one shampoo that Juri uses just to spite him, but that can't happen right now. He has to be content just feasting with his eyes. It's easier to do some days than others. Easier to focus on the rising flush and the erratic rise and fall of Juri's chest when Shota can't hear every rowdy group passing by in the hallway, but they can't afford to be picky.
Outside the hotel, the sharp wail of an ambulance cuts through the ringing in Shota's ears and their mixed breathing; a second later, a fire truck siren intertwines with the ambulance, as if the entire universe is making a concerted effort to throw them off their game. For a moment, there's a weird echo from the other end of the line, the same pattern of screeching sirens, like the ambulance and the fire truck are close to wherever Juri is, too. It takes Shota a long beat to register that, but then—"Wait a second," he mumbles, forcibly clawing through the haze clouding his brain. "Juri. Are you in Osaka right now?"
"Huh?" Juri's eyes blink open, and he heaves himself up on one elbow. "Yeah, we just had our concerts here. Hold on, are you in Osaka too?"
"Yes," Shota says, comprehension slamming into him with the force of a speeding emergency vehicle. "The whole group, we were filming — whatever, it doesn't matter. What hotel are you at?"
"The Karaksa next to the shinkansen station," Juri says, because of course he is, and the universe is just thumbing its nose at them now.
Shota lets out a slightly hysterical noise. "Are you fucking kidding me," he says, nearly slipping on the edge of the bathtub as he pushes himself further upright. "I'm on the third floor. Room 327."
"Oh my God," Juri says, sitting up so fast that the video blurs. The line goes dead. Shota spends a good two minutes sitting dazed on the edge of the tub, thoughts racing, and then he hears a flurry of rapid knocking. His heart leaps into his throat. When Shota yanks the door open, Juri's wrapped up tight in a fluffy white bathrobe, hands on his hips. "Shoppi, what the hell."
"In my defense, I can barely keep my own schedule straight on a good day," Shota says. He stares up at Juri's damp bangs, his high cheekbones, the expression on his face, simultaneously exasperated and pleased. It's hard to believe he isn't just a horny hallucination that Shota's feverish hindbrain made up. "How was I supposed to remember the tour was coming here this weekend?"
"This is why I keep saying we need a shared calendar," Juri complains, but he's already starting to grin when he steps into the room. The door swings shut behind them; Juri kicks his Adidas slides off to the side. The sirens seem to have finally left the general vicinity. In fact, it feels as though the entire rest of the city has suddenly fallen silent.
They're alone together for the first time in months, face-to-face, in real life. Juri's close enough to touch, to smell, to taste. Shota's still half-hard. He's lucky no one else was walking by in the hall; anyone could have gotten a flash of full frontal. "Should I text Ryota to offer him your fancy suite?" he says, tilting his head.
Juri chuckles; it's been too long since Shota last heard the husky sound unfiltered. "We can deal with that later," he says, tugging at the loose tie around his waist. Their bodies move in tandem as he lets the robe fall to the floor, Shota taking a step back for every stride forward that Juri advances, and then they're horizontal on the double bed closest to the windows. Juri hovers over him for a moment, caging Shota with his arms, eyes raking down the length of Shota's body and back up again. "You look great, Watanabe."
"Shut up," Shota mutters, embarrassed despite himself.
"What I mean is," Juri continues, ducking so that their mouths are centimeters away from each other, "it's really good to see you."
"I should hope so," Shota says, reaching up to tuck his arms around Juri's shoulders, and pulls him the rest of the way down.
Juri's always been a good kisser, but they must both be feeling extra desperate today, because Shota loses his breath almost immediately. Juri groans into his mouth when Shota's teeth scrape his lower lip. The air fills with the wet sound of their tongues sliding against each other, and the hard line of Juri's cock presses hot against the inside of Shota's thigh. He smells clean and warm, which — Shota already knew he would, but being able to confirm it himself feels like nothing short of a miracle under these circumstances. Shota's hands shift around to cup Juri's neck, squeezing gently as Juri's weight bears him further into the mattress, and then wander lower. His fingers trace Juri's collarbones before trailing toward—
Shota glances down and clicks his teeth. "Juri. Why are your pecs so dry?"
Juri's laughing again, the rumble of it traveling through everywhere they're touching. "Well, if I had known we would actually be meeting today…"
"You still wouldn't have done shit," Shota accuses. He runs his thumb across one dusky nipple and does feel slightly appeased by the way Juri shivers.
"I would have at least thought about moisturizing," Juri counters, as if that makes any difference, and swallows Shota's rebuttal with another long kiss.
Soon enough, Juri's hips start rocking slowly against Shota's hip. Shota can feel his own erection dripping against his stomach. When he pulls back to survey his handiwork, Juri's lips have been bitten suitably red. Shota makes a satisfied noise and reaches down to jack Juri off a few times, watching the way his brow wrinkles. Then he opens his mouth and says, "Do you want to put it in?" He grins when Juri's mouth drops open.
"That's on the table?"
When's the next time we'll have the opportunity? Shota thinks, but he knows better than to say it out loud. "I think I have a condom in my wallet," he says, ignoring the suggestive leer that crosses Juri's face. "Might be expired though."
As Shota grabs a pillow for his lower back, Juri reaches over to rummage through Shota's wallet. He hisses when Shota's hand finds his dick again, lazily moving his wrist. "No, the condom's good," Juri says. He rips the packet open, bats Shota's arm away, and rolls the condom on. His hair falls into his eyes as he pulls himself back to full hardness; then he presses his free hand to the back of one of Shota's knees and pushes his thigh toward his chest. For a moment, Juri just looks at him, like he's trying to commit the whole picture to memory. Before Shota can start feeling too self-conscious, Juri turns to brush a kiss along the side of Shota's calf and extends his right hand up toward Shota's chin.
Shota takes two of Juri's fingers inside his mouth, the coil of pleasure in the pit of his stomach spreading as he gets them nice and wet. Juri watches him, unblinking, transfixed; he exhales gustily when Shota's tongue flicks the soft skin between his fingers. It's far from the first time something like this has happened between them, but it's been long enough that everything feels new all over again. His whole body feels like it's tingling. When Juri retracts his hand and moves it back down, Shota wonders aloud, "Have we gotten better at sex, or is my stamina just worse now?"
Juri barks out another laugh; the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Maybe a little bit of both." The stretch of the first finger inside Shota feels good; the second one makes him sigh, breath jumping. He fingers himself with some regularity, but the unpredictability of Juri's pace kicks everything up several notches.
Precome smears across his belly as Juri reaches further, sparking . "Enough," Shota croaks, cupping Juri's face with his hands and tugging him close again. "That's enough. Can you just—"
"Yeah," Juri says, voice rougher than Shota's favorite exfoliant, and lines himself up. They both groan as Juri sinks into him with one swift push. Shota closes his ankles behind Juri's back, thighs squeezing around his waist. He can't trust himself to say anything right now, so the only solution is to keep kissing, which Juri seems more than happy to oblige.
Each thrust pitches Juri a little deeper, and at some point his hand reaches down to curl around Shota's cock, jerking him in time with the snap of Juri's hips. Shota cranes his neck back, the top of his head sinking into the mound of pillows behind it. "Juri," he gasps, breath hitching in his chest, toes curling in the sheets. "I'm gonna—"
"Go for it, sweetheart," Juri murmurs, pressing his mouth to the thundering pulse in Shota's neck, and all of Shota's pent-up desire boils over at once. His body shakes, his legs tingle, his stomach contracts so hard that he's fleetingly afraid he might get an abdomen cramp, but the moment passes as he's swept along the tumultuous wave of his orgasm. He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches tight around Juri's cock, fingers digging into Juri's shoulders. Juri fucks Shota through the aftershocks, fast and hard, sweaty brow furrowed with concentration. He goes rigid above Shota when he comes, raspy moan dredged up from the depths of his chest, lower lip tucked between his teeth. Afterwards, he slumps over, heedless of the sticky mess on Shota's stomach.
Shota doesn't remember dozing off, but it must happen, because when he comes to, his skin has been scrubbed as clean as it'll get without another shower, and most of the residual soreness in his ass is already beginning to fade. Juri's got his bathrobe on again, and he's murmuring in low tones at the door. Shota rolls over onto his side, elbow braced against the mattress.
When Juri returns, he explains, "I gave Date-san my room key," eyes twinkling. He sheds the robe and climbs back into bed. Shota tucks his arms around Juri's middle and pushes his nose against Juri's collarbone. "You're so clingy," Juri huffs, but one of his hands comes around to brush softly down Shota's back, so there's no way he really minds. "Hey," he continues after a moment, breath puffing across Shota's bangs. "What about your skincare regimen? I know you haven't done it yet."
On one hand, Snow Man has more filming tomorrow, and it'll be annoying if Shota wakes up with zits that the make-up artists have to cover. On the other hand: "Skipping one day won't hurt that much. It's not the end of the world."
Juri goes still. Then: "You really love me, huh," he says, half-teasing. Shota knows that tone. Sometimes, when you desperately want something to be true, turning it into a joke makes it a lot easier to deal with.
They've never said it in as many words to each other, not in private like this, but Shota is too tired to be anything but truthful right now. "Is that a problem?" he grumbles.
A longer pause. Juri clears his throat and drops a kiss against Shota's hairline. "No," he says, sounding a little awestruck. "I just — I love you too, you know."
"I should hope so," Shota sniffs. His heart thuds in his rib cage once, twice, and then curls up and settles like a sleepy cat. He lets out a long breath and snuggles as close as he can, rubbing his face against Juri's neck until Juri squirms and laughs. Tomorrow, Shota will have to figure out how to drag Juri out of bed in time to beat his manager's wake-up call, while also juggling his entire morning routine; tomorrow they'll rejoin the rest of the world, and who knows when they'll see each other next, but for now, this, here — it's good. It's enough.