cashew (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} cashew) wrote,@ 2006-05-18 13:41:00 |
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Princes of X - continuation
Title: Princes of X - continuation
Author: Me
Series: Psydai, continuing from the events of Princes of X
Fandom: Tenipuri
Pairing: TAT...sort of...
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Summary: Atobe puts makeup on Tezuka. Or tries to.
Author's note: A brief scene that popped to mind demanding to be written. Not much entertainment value. Will require knowledge from Princes of X to make sense.
===
It took all of Tezuka’s discipline training to refrain from twitching in his seat as he felt the spread of liquid powder across his skin. He could almost feel the thick makeup clogging his pores as the unfamiliar sensation of foundation brushed along the edges of his hairline.
Thanks to Atobe’s insistence on a dress rehearsal on the first day of practice (and who in their right minds had dress rehearsals on the first day anyway?), the tennis club was in a frenzy of backstage chaos as young men who only distantly recognized makeup as something their mothers used on special occasions were getting a crash course on the proper use of mascara and the intricacies of padding bras with falsies. Why Atobe thought putting on a stage play was an appropriate past time for tennis club members was a mystery better left unanswered.
Meanwhile, as he felt the first jab of something hard and pointy along the edge of his eyelid, Tezuka involuntarily tightened his eyes, squeezing the muscles together against the offensive touch. In response, the pointed end jerked away along with an almost immediate reprimand.
“Don’t move, Tezuka. You’re ruining the lines.”
Tezuka pried open an eye to glare at his makeup artist in defiance.
“Is all this really necessary, Atobe? It’s the first day of rehearsals.”
Atobe scoffed and waved the pencil of kohl in a majestic manner that made Tezuka want to wince.
“Of course it’s necessary,” Atobe was saying as he gesticulated. “We must take each rehearsal seriously if we want to put on a decent play in two weeks. Since the club is full of acting amateurs, they’ll need time to acquaint themselves with the intricacies of maneuvering in cumbersome costumes.”
“Why are we putting on a play at all?” Tezuka muttered the question under his breath.
“Are you questioning ore-sama’s brilliance?”
“No. I’m questioning your sanity.”
At the utterance, Atobe grabbed Tezuka’s chin between forceful fingers and tilted Tezuka’s head until he could glare fully into the apathetic gaze, warning in a soft hiss, “Tezuka, ore-sama is sitting on you with one knee between your legs and dangerously close to certain areas where knees have no business ever being, especially in short, forceful movements, which is what would happen if you continue to question ore-sama. Are we at an understanding?”
Tezuka allowed one brow to raise slightly at the tirade and asked blandly, “Are you threatening me?”
“If that’s what it takes to keep you from trying to ruin ore-sama’s perfect makeup, then yes.”
Before Tezuka could form a retort, a lacey bra came flying from behind and landed sloppily on Atobe’s head. The two young men in the chair blinked in unison as bits of silk dangled into Atobe’s eyes and one satin cup hung askew from Atobe’s ear. Then, with a controlled slowness, Atobe turned toward the direction from which the flying bra arrived, glaring at Sanada who was standing at the doorway in a school skirt and wearing a scowl.
“What was the meaning of that?” Atobe bit out each syllable with a click of his teeth, hands hovering over Tezuka’s shoulders in stilled anger.
“I refuse to wear lingerie,” replied Sanada, who managed to hold a dignified air despite being dressed in a school girl costume, complete with leg warmers and Mary-Janes. The absurdity of the moment was compounded by the fact that he was still wearing his ubiquitous cap.
His point made, Sanada executed a perfect about face and left the dressing room. Atobe continued to stare into the emptied doorway for a few moments longer before scrabbling off of his perch on Tezuka’s lap and stormed out of the room, demanding loudly, “Don’t be preposterous, Sanada! You can wear a school girl uniform but not lingerie? Are you daft? Ore-sama will not have a flat-chested Arashi! Sanada? Sanada!”
Tezuka began to wonder if he should brave the dangers of blinding an eye to learn the proper application of eyeliner if it offered a brief respite from Atobe’s brand of lunacy. However, before he could begin weighing the benefit of escaping makeup in the dressing room to the humiliation of asking his mother to teach him how to use kohl, Atobe had reappeared in the room, head peaking around the frame of the doorway and ordering, “Don’t you dare touch that makeup Tezuka. Ore-sama will be right back.”
~*owari*~
Title: Princes of X - continuation
Author: Me
Series: Psydai, continuing from the events of Princes of X
Fandom: Tenipuri
Pairing: TAT...sort of...
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Summary: Atobe puts makeup on Tezuka. Or tries to.
Author's note: A brief scene that popped to mind demanding to be written. Not much entertainment value. Will require knowledge from Princes of X to make sense.
===
It took all of Tezuka’s discipline training to refrain from twitching in his seat as he felt the spread of liquid powder across his skin. He could almost feel the thick makeup clogging his pores as the unfamiliar sensation of foundation brushed along the edges of his hairline.
Thanks to Atobe’s insistence on a dress rehearsal on the first day of practice (and who in their right minds had dress rehearsals on the first day anyway?), the tennis club was in a frenzy of backstage chaos as young men who only distantly recognized makeup as something their mothers used on special occasions were getting a crash course on the proper use of mascara and the intricacies of padding bras with falsies. Why Atobe thought putting on a stage play was an appropriate past time for tennis club members was a mystery better left unanswered.
Meanwhile, as he felt the first jab of something hard and pointy along the edge of his eyelid, Tezuka involuntarily tightened his eyes, squeezing the muscles together against the offensive touch. In response, the pointed end jerked away along with an almost immediate reprimand.
“Don’t move, Tezuka. You’re ruining the lines.”
Tezuka pried open an eye to glare at his makeup artist in defiance.
“Is all this really necessary, Atobe? It’s the first day of rehearsals.”
Atobe scoffed and waved the pencil of kohl in a majestic manner that made Tezuka want to wince.
“Of course it’s necessary,” Atobe was saying as he gesticulated. “We must take each rehearsal seriously if we want to put on a decent play in two weeks. Since the club is full of acting amateurs, they’ll need time to acquaint themselves with the intricacies of maneuvering in cumbersome costumes.”
“Why are we putting on a play at all?” Tezuka muttered the question under his breath.
“Are you questioning ore-sama’s brilliance?”
“No. I’m questioning your sanity.”
At the utterance, Atobe grabbed Tezuka’s chin between forceful fingers and tilted Tezuka’s head until he could glare fully into the apathetic gaze, warning in a soft hiss, “Tezuka, ore-sama is sitting on you with one knee between your legs and dangerously close to certain areas where knees have no business ever being, especially in short, forceful movements, which is what would happen if you continue to question ore-sama. Are we at an understanding?”
Tezuka allowed one brow to raise slightly at the tirade and asked blandly, “Are you threatening me?”
“If that’s what it takes to keep you from trying to ruin ore-sama’s perfect makeup, then yes.”
Before Tezuka could form a retort, a lacey bra came flying from behind and landed sloppily on Atobe’s head. The two young men in the chair blinked in unison as bits of silk dangled into Atobe’s eyes and one satin cup hung askew from Atobe’s ear. Then, with a controlled slowness, Atobe turned toward the direction from which the flying bra arrived, glaring at Sanada who was standing at the doorway in a school skirt and wearing a scowl.
“What was the meaning of that?” Atobe bit out each syllable with a click of his teeth, hands hovering over Tezuka’s shoulders in stilled anger.
“I refuse to wear lingerie,” replied Sanada, who managed to hold a dignified air despite being dressed in a school girl costume, complete with leg warmers and Mary-Janes. The absurdity of the moment was compounded by the fact that he was still wearing his ubiquitous cap.
His point made, Sanada executed a perfect about face and left the dressing room. Atobe continued to stare into the emptied doorway for a few moments longer before scrabbling off of his perch on Tezuka’s lap and stormed out of the room, demanding loudly, “Don’t be preposterous, Sanada! You can wear a school girl uniform but not lingerie? Are you daft? Ore-sama will not have a flat-chested Arashi! Sanada? Sanada!”
Tezuka began to wonder if he should brave the dangers of blinding an eye to learn the proper application of eyeliner if it offered a brief respite from Atobe’s brand of lunacy. However, before he could begin weighing the benefit of escaping makeup in the dressing room to the humiliation of asking his mother to teach him how to use kohl, Atobe had reappeared in the room, head peaking around the frame of the doorway and ordering, “Don’t you dare touch that makeup Tezuka. Ore-sama will be right back.”