Work Text:
“But I love you,” Mio, beautiful young waif, cried, “I’ve always loved you and I always will.”
Takashi strode forward across the long hall, sweeping her into his arms in time to a hypothetical orchestral soundtrack, “And I love you.” He dipped her low with a remarkably long kiss before releasing her and gazing sternly into the distance. “But the aliens need me, and I must go their spaceship.”
“Takashi!” Mio called after him, tears filling her eyes, one hand raised after a man who would not return.
“Cut! Good take!”
Takashi returned, grinning, as Mio dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Excellent work Shirasagi-san,” The assistant director clapped his hands, “That’s a wrap on the film for Shirasagi-san!” The clapping grew louder as the rest of the crew joined in, pausing a thousand little tasks to praise someone who had only done one.
And so Mio disappeared (as she had never really existed) and Chisato Shirasagi took the reins of the body back. “Thank you very much, I appreciate all of your hard work.” Chisato bowed deeply but briefly. Film sets were always in motion, if you didn’t have a task you were in the way. Chisato learned that on the hard end of a piece of plywood years ago. She quickly stepped off set as production assistants swept in to strike it.
The twenty-six year old actress (twenty-something, her publicist insisted she say so Chisato could avoid the great embarrassment of aging) wondered how many more of these saccharine romances she could manage to sleepwalk through. How many more times would she have to profess her unending love for men whose faces she couldn’t remember? Chisato hardly had to research for roles any more, every character was a girl so pure she couldn’t look at herself naked in the mirror for fear of the sin between her legs.
At least, in six or so years she’d start getting offers to play young mothers in children’s films, someone for the mothers in the audience to envy and the father to desire. The material wouldn’t be any more complex but at least it’d be different. Six years after that she’d start getting similar offers for dramas, perhaps she’d get to die tragically of some nonsense illness a few times. Chisato was particularly skilled at dying tragically. Doubly so if her tragic end inspired others to greatness.
Six years after that… how old would she be? Forty-four. Matrons all the way down from there. Chisato would be relegated to playing angry, wicked mothers forbidding their daughters’ love affairs, breaking their hidden guitars, keeping them from promised meetings by locking them in their rooms. The ultimate obstacle to true love. Unless the next generation of actresses was particularly tall, no one wanted a wicked mother ten centimeters shorter than her pure child.
Or maybe she’d just die and not have to worry about this nonsense.
Chisato’s stomach rumbled. She pivoted from the set to the crafty table placed in the corner of the sound stage. It’d been a mistake to skip breakfast to do an inane morning show but such were the trials of moderate celebrity. Little anyone knew, the real passion behind her acting was pure lust for a blueberry muffin.
It was so, so close. Just past a rolling cart packed with lights, and the production assistants carrying off chunks of the set like ants with a picnic.
And her co-star leaning against the table.
Shiro Watanabe was handsome enough. Once he’d even been very handsome, when Chisato was in middle school and he’d had a full head of hair, but now he starred in independent films opposite a woman sixteen years his junior. He probably thought he looked cool, faded leather jacket hastily thrown over his costume, looking like teenage biker but teens rarely had to comb over their bald spots. Still, some people found the aging actor thing attractive, just not Chisato. To be fair, Chisato had never found any man attractive.
Pity it didn’t work the other way around.
“Chisato-chan, you were glowing today,” Shiro greeted her in the overly familiar manner Chisato had come to expect from fellow actors.
“You’re very kind Watanabe-san,” Chisato said, flashing her strongest leave-me-alone smile.
“It’s no kindness to point out something so apparent.”
Chisato shot a longing look at the muffin half hidden behind Watanabe’s leather clad shoulder. It was almost nostalgic, getting fed horrible lines from an eccentric actor. Kaoru looked better in a leather jacket though.
“Now that we’re done filming, perhaps you’ll reconsider my offer?” He straightened up, taking a step forward. The actress stepped back on instinct, right into the lighting cart. Shoot. He wasn’t a particularly large man but she was a particularly small woman.
“I’m not interested in dating right now,” Chisato offered tactfully.
“And you don’t have a boyfriend?”
“I don’t.” Technically not a lie. Possibly not a lie at all. Chisato’s situation was… intentionally hazy.
“Chisato-chan,” Watanabe leaned forward, resting his forearm on the lighting cart just above her. Chisato pressed away from him against the cart as tightly as she could. “You’ll need a boyfriend soon.”
Her eyes narrowed involuntarily, “Whatever could you mean.”
“I’m not looking for love. Just a mutually beneficial partnership,” the actor ducked his head low, lips just above Chisato’s ear. “We all have our proclivities.”
The words buzzed into her ear drum. Chisato felt her cheeks blush reflexively as a mix of hurricane of emotions whirled around in her chest: fear, anger, and most of all annoyance. She had been so careful, she still was so careful. And where did this man get off threatening her—
Oh. The pieces clicked together. Not threatening. Warning. Chisato suddenly saw a very tired man in front of her. “I appreciate your concern.”
Watanabe stepped away from her and, perhaps realizing the optics of the situations, raised his hands placatingly in front of himself, “Apologies, that was very forward of me. It would be great publicity for the film though.”
“I’m sure you’ll bring it up again, in six months, when publicity matters.”
“Shirasagi-san! There you are!” Before anything else could be said, Chisato’s publicist appeared as if lying in wait. “Let’s get you changed, and in the car.”
Chisato shot a mournful look at the muffins on her way out.
Chisato settled into the plush backseat of her town car. Technically, it was the agency’s town car but she’d used the same car with the same driver for so long her body had formed a groove in the seat. The agency started sending her the car around the same time they started sending a publicist along to prep her for every interview. She’d been offended by the implication she couldn’t find her own way to her many appointments but when she factored in the time lost to fan encounters and misread train signs the actress could hardly complain.
“Good work Shirasagi-san,” the latest model of publicist slid into the seat beside her, told the driver their next location and dove into his phone. Chisato idly wondered if there was a factory that produced this particular series of identical looking thirty-something year old men with boring haircuts, identical suits, and names that all ended in “da”. This one was Yamada, the last one had been Harada, and the one before that Ikeda. It helped her remember them, though they still all blended together in a slurry of deep bows and bad news anyway. Either the public relations department suffered outrageous turnover or it’s staff numbered in the thousands.
“Grrgle.” Chisato’s stomach audibly rumbled.
“We can get you pills for that,” The publicist’s eyes remained fixed to his phone.
“Pills for what?”
“Your stomach. If you’re dieting it helps to suppress your appetite.”
Chisato yelled internally, I’m not dieting! Why would I be dieting? I’m hungry! Externally, she smiled understandingly, “I’m just a bit hungry.”
“We can get you some almonds at the next location.”
Was that the royal we? She wasn’t going to get anything better out of him than that. Chisato tried to distract herself from her belly with her phone. There were a dozen new messages from the (ex) Pastel Palettes’ group chat, a few from Aya directly, and one from… Her stomach rumbled in a different manner. She’d look at that one later.
The Pastel Palettes group chat buzzed with activity, they’d disbanded almost five years ago but kept in touch best they could. A quick scroll up in the chat revealed the source of the excitement. A photo of a mountain? Was that Hina? Was that Hina on Mt. Everest? Chisato was only surprised at how unsurprised she was. While Chisato and Aya’s careers had taken boringly predictable paths: the actress and the idol, the other three had gone in wildly different directions. Hina had ditched celebrity to travel the world, only for the travelogues she uploaded for friends and family to go viral and then all of the sudden “Boppin’ ‘Round the World with Hina Hikawa” was ordered to series by Netflix. It was in it’s third season. The agency tried just about everything with Eve, pop star, television presenter, even professional wrestler, but the only thing that stuck was enka singer. In hindsight, it was the only path for Eve short of actual samurai. As for Maya, as soon as she had an opportunity to leave the spotlight she dove out. She’d pivoted neatly into a career producing music instead of performing it, though she still filled in on the studio drums from time to time. They were all shining so brightly, doing exactly what they were meant to do.
Chisato considered telling her friends about what had happened on set but opted instead to send a cheerful “Movie wrapped!” and cute line sticker. There was no point in worrying them and she hardly wanted to dive into whatever conversation would sprout from the recounting. It wasn’t anything they didn’t already know or couldn’t have guessed but… It wasn’t that Chisato Shirasagi kept secrets, she just didn’t always tell the truth.
The former idol scanned the texts from Aya. The current idol was just texting to confirm the details for that night. It was Aya’s turn on Chisato’s plus one rotation. There was some benefit, for children’s something or other, there was at least one a month. Chisato typically brought one of her former band mates or Kanon, occasionally Tae Hanazono if the event was particularly dreadful and she needed to stay awake. It kept the press on their toes.
Of course there was one teeny tiny part of her buried under layers of denial that wanted to bring someone else. A part wanted to have one specific person by her side enjoying the pomp and circumstance of being a minor celebrity with such gusto it almost made Chisato like it. But there was gossip enough as it was with their occasional public interactions and Chisato couldn’t afford the scandal (couldn’t she?). She hovered over the last unread message.
Will I see you tonight?
Besides, if she was in an on again off again on again off again kind of relationship with theater’s rising star Kaoru Seta it wasn’t anyone else’s business anyway.
“We’re here Shirasagi-san."
“Of course that’s when Aya-chan grabbed the orange with both hands and said ‘Is this how juice is made?’” Chisato let out a practiced laugh, “We’re still very close.”
“I speak for everyone when I say we’re all so glad that you’ve remained good friends all these years! Now, as a BIG fan I have to ask: reunion tour in the works?”
It was suspicious how every single talk show host in Tokyo was a giant Pastel Palettes fan. If they’d had this sort of devotion while they still made music the band would have never been broken up.
“You’ll have to ask our managers about that I’m afraid.”
How many times had Chisato been asked that exact question in tiny sound stages over the last five years? This one wasn’t particularly bad, large enough the show could pretend the host was talking to a devoted audience when she was really talking to an assortment of bored producers and exhausted cameramen she could barely see for how bright the lights were. Did any of these questions remotely have anything with the movie Chisato was sent to promote?
“Please let me hold onto hope a little longer!” The bubbly host blatantly used her over the top reaction to scan the teleprompter reflected in the camera’s eye for her next question. She reminded Chisato a little of Aya, though this woman leaned into her earnestness so hard it risked breaking.
Chisato smiled elegantly for her camera. At least that was a dynamic she understood well, blustering sincerity paired with serene maturity. She could glide through this interview, one more item off her checklist.
“One more question! I’ve GOT to know, who are you dating right now?”
Eh?
For the first time in her career Chisato Shirasagiwas thrown by a question. It barely longer than a blink, just a slight imperceptible twitch in her brow and a millisecond long pause as she raced to choose the correct response.
Chisato didn’t get asked questions about her love life. When she was younger there were boyfriend questions, but those weren’t meant to be answered, they were intended to draw a light titter and cute blush from Chisato. These interviews weren’t random, they were carefully crafted by the producers and publicists together so everyone could come off in the best light. If this show went off script just to get something viral for the internet it was an awful waste of a productive relationship.
“I’m very busy with my work right now. That sort of thing...” Chisato intentionally trailed her response off.
“Oh? But what about Shiro Watanabe?”
“He’s an excellent costar, but I’m not sure what you mean.”
“We happen to have an exclusive behind the scenes picture, take a look,” the host pointed to the graphic monitor between them. It displayed a familiar scene from earlier that day: Chisato pinned to the lighting cart by Shiro Watanabe whispering in her ear. Chisato recognized the look on her face as polite disinterest but to anyone else it could easily look like the modest embarrassment of a girl in love. There was no denying the apparent intimacy of the moment.
That bastard. He must have had an assistant lying in wait with a camera. Chisato had entertained feeling bad for him earlier but that was entirely out the window now. Though she almost admired the audacity. Leaking something like this because she wouldn’t be his beard? Underhanded jerk.
Chisato chose her words very carefully, “I’m afraid it’s nothing too exciting. You grow close working on a film like this, sometimes you share a little secret between takes. Nothing so interesting as a secret relationship I’m afraid.”
“I see, I see,” the host smiled teasingly, “well, promise to call us first if there are wedding bells in your future!”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
No way in hell.
“Enough about romance!”
Finally.
“We have a game to play! It’s time for Pastel Paddles!”
Damn it.
“How wonderful, I love games.”
Chisato was nothing if not an excellent actress.
Fifteen minutes of wearing a ping pong paddle on her head and sorting colored eggs with pop stars’ faces glued to them later, Chisato was back in her car across from the publicist. He was hardly appropriately upset about the ordeal. He wore the same dull expression as always, staring deeply into his phone.
Chisato considered how to broach the subject. Of course she was angry but obvious anger was so distasteful and rarely got what one wanted. Besides, the rumor didn’t anger her as much as having it sprung on her in the middle of an interview did. Yes, she was a mature type, but mature in the way a little sister who scolds their lazy brother is mature, not the sort of person whose sex life you dug into. She’d worked hard to maintain that image, they’d worked hard, surely her publicist was frustrated by this as well. If anything, they had both been insulted.
“I would prefer not to appear on that program again,” Chisato voiced her concerns in the mildest manner possible.
The publicist did not look up from his phone, “We can make sure they don’t include a game next time.”
“That’s not it. I don’t want to associate with a show that would run wild with a rumor leaked by someone like Shiro Watanabe.”
“Shirasagi-san, I assure you Shiro Watanabe did not leak the story.”
She frowned, “How do you know that?”
“Because we leaked the story.”
“What?” Chisato’s stomach sank.
He finally looked up from his phone, “We’re scheduled to have a formal meeting on the subject but I suppose it can’t be helped. Our research shows audiences aren’t interested in the pure, serious Chisato Shirasagi anymore.” Chisato must not have been able to keep the surprise off her face because he quickly added, “Don’t worry we’re still very invested in you, Shirasagi-san, but you’ll have to show a different side to your fans. We’re laying out the ground work for you to pivot to a more adult maturity, something sexier.”
“Sexier?”
“Nothing truly risque. Actually, it’d be better if you were married. If you don’t wish to date anyone, we can help you find a suitable partner.” It was amazing how he could talk about something so seriously so casually.
“Married? Partner?”
“Apologies, this is an inappropriate moment to discuss such things. I’ll have the image meeting moved up your schedule this week.”
Chisato’s head swam. The car was remarkably stuffy, she was having trouble filling her lungs all the way. She needed air, she needed space, “I’d like to get out now.”
“You need to be fitted for your dress tonight with Maruyama-san.”
“Of course.” Chisato scolded herself. Did she really want to run away like a child? Did she really think she could do that? She was Chisato Shirasagi, she was a professional, she must always be a professional. Why was she upset anyway? If the person she was wasn’t working she would change herself, that was how it had always been. There were a thousand different Chisato Shirasagis, she could just pick new onesout like a dresses on a rack, trying them on over and over until one fit.
Her empty stomach rumbled as loud as if it were screaming.
“We can get you pills for that.”
“So that’s where I am,” Chisato finished telling Aya most of the story, the parts with the rumors and the image change, not the parts where it all made her want to throw up the empty space in her stomach. It was easier to share this sort of thing in person. They stood in front of four imposing mirrors in the back of the designer’s studio, Aya with a seamstress diligently touching up her dress on the spot, Chisato waiting for her turn.
“You’re not an idol anymore, so maybe this change is a good thing?” Aya offered, turning for the seamstress pinning her dress. “Wait. They’re not switching you to like Gravure are they?”
“That would be an odd transition for an actress in her mid-twenties.”
“Shhh don’t say that out loud!”
“Aya, not saying your age doesn’t keep it from being real.”
“Says Miss Mature! I’m getting to retirement age!” Aya twisted and groaned. “A beautiful girl of twenty-four.”
“Aya, you can’t lie to me. We’re the same age.”
“Arg!”
“Please don’t move,” the seamstress warned Aya.
“Sorry!”
Aya had a point. No matter how irritating things became for Chisato at least there wasn’t a strict expiration date on actress. Aya had her dedicated fan base, but the agency had been staring at the clock for a year now.
“Hey, Chisato-chan,” Aya looked at her longtime friend. “Shiro Watanabe’s looking for a wife right?”
“Do you want his number?”
“No! …maybe. I don’t know!” She threw up her arms.
“Please stay still!”
“Sorry!” Aya yelped.
“Shirasagi-san,” The dress designer approached them, a yellow dress in hand. “We’re ready for you.”
Chisato graciously accepted help with the dress, letting them move her back and forth as they needed, pulling and zipping along. Even if she hadn’t just been told the agency was changing her public image, Chisato still would have figured it out from the cut of the dress they’d prepared for her. It was a skin tight cocktail dress, the sort of dress worn by sexy spies not Chisa— actually, Chisato supposed, this was the exact sort of thing she would be wearing from now on. She’d have to adjust her mind.
“Chisato you look so cute in that dress I’m forbidding you from ever wearing anything else again!” Aya excitedly buzzed around her. She turned hopefully to the designer. “Can I wear something like that?”
The designer smiled sheepishly, “Unfortunately, we have strict guidelines on how to dress you, Maruyama-san.”
“Boo,” Aya sighed. “At least you get to look sexy now. I still have to dress like a kid.”
“You look very cute Aya,” Chisato said, giving Aya the compliment she was fishing for.
“Thank you!” Aya twirled around in her fluffy skirt.
“Maruyama-san! That’s it! We’re holding you down!”
“Please don’t! I said I’m sorry!”
Chisato eyed herself in the mirror. The actress had to admit, if only begrudgingly, she did look good. The dress clung to her body in a way that accented everything she liked about herself, it even turned the flatland of her ass into an attractive hill. And yellow was her color.
Something felt radically different. Chisato tried to put her finger on it. It wasn’t like the dress was all that different than the scraps of fabric she’d worn for Pastel Palettes. Tighter maybe, sexier certainly. But her company provided Halloween costumes had often been barely more than a negligee and a thematic hat. It wasn’t amount of the fabric, or cut of the dress. It was her.
She wasn’t a little girl done up in a way she was too young to understand the implications of, or a woman made dress down in some facsimile of a girlhood she hadn’t actually experienced. For the first time Chisato Shirasagi looked in the mirror and saw something adult about herself that she hadn’t noticed in first eight years of her technically adult life.
But before she could consider it, it was time to leave.
The benefit for children’s something or other put on by someone of some importance took place in the grand ballroom of the such and such hotel. The intentions of the events changed, the locations altered but the details were eternal. The red and gold ballroom buzzed with the who’s who of B-list celebrity like a high school reunion played out monthly, with only half the dignity. Minor politicians schmoozed one another dangling the beautiful women on their arms like prize ponies for each other’s envy. A famous TV dad knocked elbows in corner with a formerly well regarded (currently disgraced) television presenter. A silver medal figure skater tried to get the attention of an aging pop star still milking a hit single from the 80s. And two members of an ex-idol group scanned the room for someone worth talking to, or at least something to eat.
Chisato had seen at least four drink trays overflowing with champagne, but not a single waiter seemed to have something to soak the alcohol up with. There was evidence of food all around them, everyone else seemed to be snacking on some sort hors d'oeuvre or another, but the source remained illusive and Chisato’s stomach remained empty. Desperately appropriate for the sort of day she’d been having.
Chisato waved at a few actresses she recognized. Half of the guests had played her mother in one film or another. She hoped they’d be satisfied with a wave, the idea of catching up over and over again exhausted her. How long did she have to stay? Long enough that people knew she was there at least. The actress was still planning her future exit when Aya nudged her in the side. Chisato knew from Aya’s cheeky smile what she’d see when she looked up.
It didn’t keep her treacherous heart from thudding to a stop anyway.
Kaoru Seta held court in the center of the ballroom. Every place she went became her kingdom, an assortment of young doe eyed actresses, easily flattered middle aged has-beens and desperate young men trying to pick up the scraps made up her subjects hanging off her every obnoxiously verbose word. As usual she looked the part of the prince clad in a deep royal purple tuxedo, bespoke, of course. Everything Kaoru wore was bespoke. Her suits, her t-shirts, even her underwear was made to order.
At least that unanswered text made sense now. It wasn’t uncommon for Kaoru and Chisato to get separate invitations to same events. Although Kaoru refused any role that involved a camera they remained in the same spheres, or rather Kaoru surpassed all social circles, encompassing everything in a shape that could only be called Kaoru Seta.
Chisato wondered which one of the flighty girls was Kaoru’s plus one. The attractive brunette clinging to her elbow? The dark haired beauty trying desperately to get a word in a conversation that had sped past her? She liked blondes, maybe it was the tiny thing just to the side. Surely it was someone so beautiful, so elegantly feminine it would drive Chisato wild with jealousy. After all, if their positions were reversed and Kaoru was the coward, isn’t that what Chisato would do?
But Kaoru didn’t know the word spite, so her plus one was poor Tomoe Udagawa, looking wildly out of place, surrounded by the drunken dregs of Kaoru’s entourage. Kaoru wasn’t vindictive, but she was the sort of person to play dress up with her former underclassman and then lose her in a sea of adoring fans. Chisato almost considered wading in to rescue Tomoe.
If Kaoru looked like she had been born in a tuxedo, Tomoe looked like she could barely afford to rent one. That wasn’t fair, Tomoe looked handsome enough. It was just that no one matched Kaoru, no one could stand next to her as an equal.
Sharp auburn eyes flashed in Chisato’s direction. Kaoru couldn’t hide the hint of an unmoderated smile creeping onto her face. Maybe one person could equal Kaoru.
Chisato tore her self away and leaned up to Aya, “I’m going to sit down for a moment.”
“Already?” Aya teased.
“I don’t even know if I can sit in this dress but I suppose I’ll find out.”
There was a small selection of tables set up on the outskirts of the ballroom, mostly occupied by women too old to be bothered with the inane politics of celebrity. If Kaoru wanted to see Chisato she could find her there. A minute passed, then another and by the third Chisato began to feel a little childish. Only her pride kept her from leaving the table, maybe leaving all together.
Then a full tray of puff pastry appeared before her.
“Something for the lady,” a rich velvet voice rolled into Chisato’s ear, traveling down her throat, her chest, her stomach, so that for a moment she felt entirely full of something more wonderful than any meal.
Still, she was very hungry. Chisato daintily plucked a few hors d'oeuvres from the plate and resisted the urged to shove them into her mouth. She cast a long sideways glance at her savior, “What would your fans think of Kaoru Seta playing cater-waiter?”
Kaoru set the tray down with a flourish and a chuckle, “Is it not perfectly in my nature to rescue a helpless maiden?”
“I’m hardly a maiden anymore.”
“A beautiful sorceress than,” Kaoru slid into the seat beside Chisato, their knees just barely brushing. She didn’t bother to hide the way her gaze drifted over Chisato, hands, chest, lips and back again. “My compliments to the designer.”
“I’ll give you her name,” Chisato popped a cheese puff into her mouth to hide the surprised noise she almost made as Kaoru’s hand found its way under the tablecloth and onto her knee, “Maybe she can make you one.”
“Wonderful, I’ll have to give her my thanks directly,” Kaoru’s eyes fixed onto Chisato’s, meanwhile her hand danced upwards.
Another cheese puff. Chisato realized just how thin and woefully unprepared to protect from a handsy paramour the dress was. “Should you really abandon poor Udagawa-san to your hoard?”
“I’ve trained my protege well, this event is a trifle for her. What about sweet Aya-chan?”
“She lives for these events. She’s taking a picture with the half the Diet right now.” The hand on Chisato’s thigh rounded inwards.
“And how do you—ow!”Kaoru recoiled, throwing her hands up. Kaoru always respected unspoken boundaries til the moment she thought she could push past them.
Chisato lifted her heel from Kaoru’s foot. “Honestly, Kaoru.”
“Heh,” Kaoru grinned sheepishly, her suave demeanor replaced by the familiar girl who used to wait outside the school gates everyday to confess her love.
“If you must know...” Chisato trailed off and then, as casually as she could muster, added, “I’d rather be home.”
Auburn eyes widened. From the way she swallowed Chisato knew the intention was not lost on Kaoru.
Chisato pretended not to notice, “I’m getting rather tired, honestly, I don’t think I’ll last the hour.”
Kaoru leaned on the table, “How curious, I find myself suddenly exhausted. I surely couldn’t last another half turn of the clock.”
“Well, perhaps you’ll make your exit soon. And I’ll make my exit...” Chisato languidly picked out one last cheese puff.
“Fifteen minutes after?”
“Ten.” And pressed the appetizer into Kaoru’s open mouth. Chisato sat back and licked a crumb off her finger. “Thanks for the food.”
It was a long way back to Chisato’s apartment.
The trip was only twenty minutes but it felt like eighty. In another world they could have ridden together, could have made the driver roll up the divider and— it didn’t matter, Chisato lived in this world. She burst out the car when it finally pulled up in front of her apartment, quickly thanking the driver. The actress briefly glanced to check if a familiar motorcycle was tucked in the alley, it was. Chisato hated the thing but she’d made the mistake of worrying out loud the one time Kaoru mentioned an interest in motorcycles and now it was the only way Kaoru travelled.
She rushed into her building and up to her apartment, pausing at the door. Chisato ran her shaky hands over her dress, smoothing out the fabric while willing her heart to stop pounding. She slid the key into the lock and opened the door to the dark room inside. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light from a single lamp as she walked straight through the entrance hall to her living room.
And there was Kaoru lounging on the ugliest, most uncomfortable couch to ever cost three hundred thousand yen. She’d discarded her tuxedo jacket somewhere in the room, probably under something gathering dust, but her vest remained tight and pristine. The satin purple bow tie hung, undone, around her neck, begging to be tugged. Chisato smiled despite herself.
“I hope it wasn’t presumptuous of me, but I opened a bottle of your finest,” Kaoru motioned with her crystal glass at the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the coffee table.
Chisato caught herself just before she laughed out loud. Kaoru always fell for the distraction bottle. She strode over to her liquor cabinet against the wall and reached back just a bit further for something old enough to order its own drink. There was no reason to waste good whiskey on someone who would water it down beyond recognition, or, god forbid, mix it. “Enjoy, Kaoru.” Not that Kaoru ever needed permission.
The blonde poured her own drink and settled beside Kaoru on her apparently fashionable couch. The interior designer swore it wasn’t denim despite it’s distinctly navy color and jeanesc texture. She regretted hiring the designer. The only thing she particularly liked in her living room was a small jellyfish painting hanging in the corner, a housewarming present from Kanon. Still, it was a distinctly Chisato Shirasagi style home.
Chisato swirled the amber liquid in her crystal glass and sipped. The stress of the day slipped away with the wash of smoky liquid burning it’s way down her throat. Heat spidered out to her chest, to the tips of her fingers, to her reddening cheeks. She closed her eyes dreamily and when she opened them there was Kaoru, red eyes watching, Kaoru’s own drink forgotten in her long fingers.
“I can get you something else. A cocktail? Champagne? I think Kanon left some wine coolers in the refrigerator.”
“I could never deprive Kanon,” Kaoru lifted the glass to her lips and, with every ounce of acting experience she had, smothered the instinct to grimace as she drank. Chisato would have been amazed if Kaoru could even taste liquor for all the water in the glass.
“Always so thoughtful,” Chisato closed the sliver of space between them, trading the back of the couch for nestling against Kaoru’s shoulder, still sipping her drink. So comfortably warm. If the heat was coming from inside or out, she couldn’t tell and didn’t care to.
Kaoru’s arm slipped around Chisato’s shoulders. Chisato accepted the gesture, leaning into the hum buzzing through Kaoru’s chest. Some song, not one the shorter actress knew, maybe it was from one of Kaoru’s more recent revues, or from her old band days. Moonlight always made Kaoru nostalgic. Of course, so did sunlight, and overcast skies.
The two actresses sat together in easy comfort for a time, Kaoru humming out a loose rhythm, Chisato sipping and drifting in and out of that comfortable purgatory between sleep and awake. She even considered giving in and letting herself drift away.
Then the humming stopped.
Chisato lifted her head, wondering if perhaps Kaoru had fallen alseep instead. But there she was. There she always was. And the uncomfortable couch was placed just so that the moonlight struck Kaoru just enough that she glowed with a blue light halo. Despite the drink, Chisato’s mouth ran dry.
“You’re very beautiful, Chisato.”
Chisato had to bite down a laugh again. Kaoru had said the same thing for twenty years, always when she wanted to kiss Chisato. From the innocent childish pecks young princes gave princesses, to hurried stolen teenage kisses with hiked skirts in empty classrooms, to sitting on an unfortunate couch in an apartment Chisato owned outright. Look how far they’d come. Sometimes Chisato even let Kaoru stay the night.
But she couldn’t bare to laugh when Kaoru looked at her like that with half lidded dark eyes and her usual sly smile traded for something small and precious. Chisato’s chest tightened.
“Am I?”
Kaoru kissed her hungrily, as if it were the first time all over. Kaoru’s hands cupped Chisato’s cheeks, fingertips pushing into her hair, body pushing her down until she was flush with the couch, Kaoru on top bearing all her weight on her forearms.
Chisato wanted to drag Kaoru down, tell her to stop being such a gentleman and crush her, let her feel the pressure of being Kaoru Seta all over her skin, down to her bones. But that would have required breaking the series of quick hot kisses pressing against her lips and that was unforgivable. She settled for clawing at Kaoru’s back, trying to drag them together.
It was alright to let Kaoru have control from time to time. They could make love on the couch, maybe move to the bedroom, it would be nice and comfortable and—
“ We all have our predilections.”
“ Audiences aren’t interested in the pure Chisato Shirasagi.”
“It’d be better if you were married.”
Chisato pulled away, covering the retching bile in her throat with a cough. She waved away Kaoru’s concerned look.
She didn’t need tenderness tonight.
“Sit up.”
Kaoru obeyed, rising over her like a bear before settling at the other end of the couch.
Chisato sat up, not looking at Kaoru as she gathered her hair in her hand and swept it around her neck and over her left shoulder. She didn’t need to look to know Kaoru was staring at her bare nape. Then, as matter of factly as pouring a drink, she knelt in front of Kaoru. She mentally chided the designer as the dress tightened around her waist, after all, she was hardly the first actress to get on her knees in borrowed couture.
“C-Chisato?”
Chisato smiled, sweetly as she could, “Is there a problem? Kao-chan?”
Kaoru tried to cover her embarrassed pleasure with her hand pressed to her mouth, turning pointedly to the side, ponytail hitting the back of the couch. But she could hardly hide the way her breath hitched or the way her eyes widened. She murmured something incomprehensible.
“Use your words Kao-chan.”
“There’s—”
Chisato reached up and neatly unbuttoned Kaoru’s pants. “Hmm?”
“There’s no...”
Chisato looped her fingers around the edge of the slacks and tugged, pulling them low, below Kaoru’s knees. She eyed the growing dark patch on Kaoru’s tight boxer-briefs with pride. Oh Kao-chan, so wonderfully predictable.
“There’s no—” Kaoru tried to speak with shaky breaths. Her hands fell to her sides, gripping at the taut couch.
“No what, Kao-chan?” Chisato dipped under the waistband, running her fingers along the tender skin under the elastic. She clawed her way up Kaoru, one hand trailing down to cup the squirming woman’s center the other jerking on the undone bowtie, “look at me when you speak.”
“There’s no… problem.”
“Good girl,” Chisato purred and ground her palm into Kaoru.
Kaoru cried out, a combination of the praise and the pressure sending a full shudder through her body. This was what Chisato needed, she thought, the warmth of the liquor replaced with the warmth of her arousal. Kaoru looked at her with so much needy desire it wiped the questions from Chisato’s mind. She kissed the taller woman roughly, biting at her bottom lip as they parted to Kaoru’s weak protest. With one fluid motion Chisato slid back onto her knees, taking Kaoru’s underwear with her.
Chisato pulled Kaoru’s lower body within comfortable range. She didn’t have to touch Kaoru to know those thick dark curls were coated, but she wanted to anyway. Chisato reached out with curious fingers, testing, dripping, dragging along the slick slit.
Kaoru jerked at the sensation. “Chisato,” she gasped at her partner’s continued delicate strokes.
Chisato spun lines along Kaoru’s inner thighs with the carefully dulled tips of her finger nails. She was always getting chided for biting her nails by people who couldn’t imagine reason a woman like her would keep them short on purpose. She took heady pleasure in the little mewling noises Kaoru made as she wove around the space she really wanted to enter. A woman like her? What sort of woman was that? The sort who watched another woman drip onto her hideously expensive couch and smirked.
She’d teased enough, Chisato gingerly spread Kaoru’s lower lips and filled the empty space with her tongue.
Kaoru moaned so deliciously Chisato couldn’t help but follow up with several long, slow licks, up and down and back again. She traced patterns into Kaoru, circles, numbers, kanji, slipping her tongue inside and out, never letting Kaoru settle into a rhythm. Trembling hands finally left the couch to roughly grip the back of Chisato’s head, coaxing her on and on.
Her senses were filled with Kaoru, Kaoru under her hands, Kaoru in her ears, Kaoru on her tongue. Chisato’s mind hazed over. She stopped drawing shapes and letters with her tongue, defaulting to the one thing she’d never forget. And so Chisato signed her signature into Kaoru’s pussy, the last o circling her clit, again and again. Kaoru’s voice rose higher each time until her thighs clamped tight around Chisato’s head, her hands tearing at blonde hair. Then as suddenly as it started she fell still, hands falling slack.
Chisato sent one last goodbye flick to Kaoru’s clit before leaning back on her haunches, daintily cleaning her mouth with a long forgotten cocktail napkin. She looked up, pleased at the bundle of collapsed twitching nerves that made up Kaoru, still ready for a dinner party from the waist up. That wouldn’t do. “I’ll be in the bedroom, join me when you can stand.”
It only took five minutes for Kaoru to appear in the doorway of Chisato’s small bedroom, mostly bed and closet. Her pants were tugged snugly back around her waist, managing to appear only lightly disheveled. “Chisato.”
Chisato glanced over her shoulder from in front of the closet, “Unzip me?” She held up her hair and offered Kaoru her back.
“I thought you weren’t a fair maiden.”
Chisato finally let herself laugh, the comedy of Kaoru trying to act casual, as if she hadn’t just ruined Chisato’s couch, too much to handle. “Please, rescue me before I completely destroy this borrowed dress.”
Kaoru steadied herself on Chisato’s waist with one hand and pulled the zipper down in one long, slow stroke with the other. Chisato slipped out of the yellow fabric, immediately smoothing it out and slipping it onto a hanger. All the while Kaoru’s hands lit fires on her waist. Kaoru leaned in, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. Chisato wanted to lean into her, let those hands dance up and down but no. Not yet.
“No touching.”
Kaoru lifted her hands without protest. She understood the word ‘no’ better than any dog Chisato had ever owned. There was something uniquely powerful about standing in front of someone in most of a tuxedo wearing only her underwear. The carefully crafted Chisato Shirasagi on display for one night only.
“Well, well well, as Shakespeare says—”
“Kaoru,” Chisato pressed the tips of her fingers on Kaoru’s chest and pushed. “Get on the bed.”
Kaoru tumbled onto the bed in a theatrical fall, laying a dramatic hand to her forehead, “Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her.”
Chisato sat on the edge of the bed, bemusedly reaching for the top button of the tuxedo vest, swatting away Kaoru’s attempts at assistance. “Twelfth Night, Kaoru?” It was one of Chisato’s favorite Shakespeare’s comedies, not in the least because Viola, the heroine, was the only female Shakespearean role Kaoru actually played.
The purple vest gave way to the starched white shirt underneath. Chisato fingered the stiff collar, impeccable as always, following down the edge of the shirt, and along the skin underneath it, popping open the first button and the second until Kaoru’s sharp collarbone was accessible.
“She made good view of me,” Kaoru twitched as Chisato pressed her mouth to the edge of her collarbone sucking along the ridge. “Indeed, so much that, as methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, a-ah—” Chisato found the pulse point of her neck and sucked on it roughly, letting her teeth assist. “For she did speak in starts distractedly.”
Chisato glanced up at Kaoru, looking down with the hints of a blush and a sly smile, “You’re going to do the whole monologue, aren’t you?” It wasn’t the first time Kaoru used her favorite playwright to hold herself together in bed. Some people thought of puppies, Kaoru recited.
A fresh line of red ovals glistened against the actress’ pale skin, Chisato admired them with pride, then made quick work of the rest of Kaoru’s shirt. And there were Kaoru’s breasts, usually so hidden, finally revealed, mounds clad in light fabric. Chisato didn’t bother to take off the bra, simply slipping her hands under the fabric to tease circles into supple skin.
It was Kaoru who actually threw off her bra, unable to make eye contact with Chisato. “She loves me, sure...”
“Presumptive of you,” Chisato chuckled into the Kaoru’s chest in the midst of a kiss.
Kaoru squirmed and whined, “The cunning of her passion invites me in this churlish messenger.” Her back arced as Chisato rolled the nipple between her lips. Kaoru’s hands rose up from the bed, straining for Chisato, but one sharp look sent them scurrying back to Kaoru’s sides.
Chisato pulled away with a messy pop. “Not yet.” Her lungs struggled to find enough air, looking at Kaoru who was trying so desperately to obey, to let herself be touched and not touch in return. Something curled in the center of Chisato, a little knot that grew tighter and tighter with every pant and moan. The smaller actress crawled over Kaoru’s body, straddling her. The soaked center of her panties sat right over Kaoru’s hips. “What comes next Kaoru?”
Kaoru jerked. She pressed the side of her head into the pillow. Her eyes screwed shut. “I-it’s…” Pained breaths filled the spaces between words, “Poor lady, she were better love a dream.” Her hands clung to the sheets with knuckles so white they were translucent, “D-disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness.”
“You missed a few lines,” Chisato teased. Abbreviated or forgotten, both equally likely. She ran both hands up from Kaoru’s taut stomach, over every bony rib, around her breasts, finally grabbing Kaoru’s chin and forcing her to look at Chisato. “Look at me Kao-chan.” It was like teasing a tiger in a cage, knowing the door wasn’t locked but trusting the tiger not to bite anyway.
Kaoru longed for her with heavy eyes. Her teeth ground to the gums in her mouth.
Chisato didn’t know how much longer she could stand it. How much longer could she bear not to grind against something? Kaoru’s knee, Chisato’s own hand, even that damned couch would do, anything to relieve that desperate ache. They were all twisted up, Kaoru wanted nothing so much as to touch and to please and Chisato was so desperate to be ripped apart and devoured. But the lack and the yearning was almost as good as the thing itself.
“How easy is it for the proper-false in women’s waxen hearts to set their forms,” Kaoru clung to the monologue like a mantra. Her velvet rich voice, pitched lower from arousal, flowed into Chisato’s ear sending hot chills down her spine.
She couldn’t take it. Still holding Kaoru’s chin, making sure she was watching, Chisato slowly rolled her hips, rubbing an inelegant rhythm against Kaoru’s stomach. It was almost better than nothing.
“A-alas, our frailty is the cause, n-not we.”
Chisato couldn’t imagine being wetter than this, than leaving puddles on her lover’s skin, but there was always more. More heat, more throbbing, more aching, more desire. There was an end in sight but she wasn’t willing to let herself go. She wanted to see how long they could last, how far they could push before one of them broke. But did she want Kaoru to break? Or was Chisato secure in knowledge that she would always give in first? That Kaoru was always the stronger one?
“F-for such as we are made of… such we be.”
Fuck the rest of this monologue, Shakespeare was too verbose for the bedroom.
Chisato pulled Kaoru into herself with both hands, smashing their lips together in a painful, wonderful, messy kiss, still gyrating. She wanted to cry, it wasn’t enough. Chisato yanked away, lowering her lips to the rim of Kaoru’s ear. “Kaoru, skip to the end. Thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me to untie.”
With a slow, broken breath Chisato added, “touch me.”
The air burst out of Chisato’s chest as she suddenly found herself thrown onto her back, Kaoru looming over her. Somewhere along the way Kaoru’s hair had come loose, now spread wild, framing the hungry look in her eyes in a way that made Chisato writhe without being touched. Kaoru gathered Chisato’s thin wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head. The other arm snaked around Chisato’s back, holding their naked chests together.
Chisato struggled at Kaoru’s grip but it was pointless. The taller woman had always been stronger, even at Chisato’s fittest at the height of her idol career Kaoru could still move her around like a doll. She’d asked for this, all she could do was hope their desires aligned.
Kaoru nipped at her earlobe then dragged down with sharp teeth to her throat. Chisato stretched her neck up, trying to expose more flesh to be ruined, give her makeup artists some overtime. Kaoru got the message, attacking with teeth and lips, sucking, licking, biting, pinching the skin beneath her mouth.
Chisato hissed at the shock of the sensation. It was a good sort of pain but she could see the beginnings of regret forming on Kaoru’s face. “Apologize later, bite me now.”
And Kaoru did, biting Chisato’s collarbone in a way just painful enough to leave a mark and then another and another. Marking up Chisato’s skin like a brand, silent promises written in flesh. Kaoru released Chisato’s hands to finally remove that infernal bra keeping hands from breasts. It still wasn’t enough.
Chisato squirmed with need, desperately trying to rub her legs together to get some sort of friction back. She needed Kaoru, needed those long fingers too busy rubbing her chest. Pleasure buzzed through her body but the knot only tightened.
She could barely sputter out the word, “I-inside.”
Kaoru stopped, pulling her hands back. She rose up over Chisato, just watching. Chisato mourned the sudden lack of touch, of pressure, of anything. Just Kaoru watching her naked body. Was this revenge? She probably deserved it but—
Kaoru forced Chisato’s knees apart and ripped her underwear off so suddenly and violently they were surely ruined (they were already ruined). Chisato clenched uselessly at the empty air with a pitiful whimper. And Kaoru slid up Chisato’s body, one hand on her inner thigh, the other cradling her head as Kaoru brought them together for a slow, sensual kiss. All the while the hand on her thigh crept closer, finally dipping into Chisato’s dripping folds.
Chisato reflexively bucked, moaning into their kiss. Her hands flew around Kaoru’s back, holding her shoulders like handlebars, trying somehow, anyhow, to coax those fingers in. She could feel Kaoru’s self-satisfied smile at the way she writhed at the most delicate touch.
She forced them apart. Chisato didn’t beg, she never begged but—“Please.”
Kaoru entered Chisato with two fingers.
All dignity was forfeit, traded for gyrating hips in time to a strong, steady beat pounded into Chisato. It was messy. She was loud. And they were both too far gone to care.
Chisato was only vaguely aware of Kaoru pulling her from the bed, cradling her in one arm as the other continued its work in time to their heartbeats. The knot at her center stretched and twisted. She could feel the smallest hint of satisfaction in the way Kaoru’s fingers curled, in the way her body curled back. And then...
Chisato came like she was in a hurry. She would have felt embarrassed, if she still had the mind for nuanced emotions beyond wanting. The tension burst through her body, but when explosion faded, the tension remained, still tight, still unsatisfied. She needed more.
Through the residuals of that first orgasm Chisato could feel Kaoru start to slow. “Keep going,” she practically shouted, almost frightened of the possibility she could be left feeling like this. “Don’t stop.”
“Chisato,” Kaoru groaned into her neck, somehow finding the energy to speed up. Chisato’s walls clutched around Kaoru’s hand. It felt raw and painful in the best way, a beating reminder of being alive.
The faster Kaoru moved, the more waves of pain-pleasure crashed over Chisato. Her mind wandered, grabbing out for anything to hold onto. she couldn’t help but let glimpses of those people, her publicist, her costar, all those gossipy reporters flash through her mind. If they could see her now… Chisato had spent so long being afraid of the threat of scandal but now the idea was practically a fetish. Let them know Kaoru Seta fucked her raw every night.
Forget the pure type, the mature type, forget every kind of type. Did those even mean anything? Let her be dirty, let her be filth, let her be marked in a way that couldn’t be covered up, let Kaoru tear Chisato apart and put her back together as some new, wholly her own Chisato Shirasagi.
“More Kaoru,” she cried out, “more.”
Kaoru pumped harder and threatened a third finger at Chisato’s opening. Swiftly, and without breaking rhythm, she forced it in alongside the others.
Chisato doubled over, the stretch inside of her almost too much to bear. She could only scream, totally losing herself in the fullness inside her and the arm holding her up, “fuck, fuck, Kaoru, fuck, Kaoru, please.”
Faster and faster Kaoru’s hand went, her thumb roughly circling Chisato’s clit.
It was too much, it wasn’t enough, Chisato couldn’t keep a grip on either thought, both flipping back and forth in her mind as the pressure built and built-
“I love you, Chii-chan.”
Was it the fingers, or the phrase, or the name that was the last drop that broke Chisato’s surface pressure, sending all of her pouring out with a hoarse cry and a body wracking shudder. The knot shorn in two.
And for one brilliant moment it felt as though she was floating in the space between Chisato Shirasagis. Could the world be so cruel that there were a thousand possible Chisato Shirasagis but only only one was real? Could that true self linger in this lost space between her selves? If she could only hold on to this moment for another beat, would she see that self? Would she know herself if they met?
And then that self disappeared (had she ever really existed?) and Chisato Shirasagi took the reins of the body again.
Kaoru’s fingers slowed inside her, gently guiding her back down to earth, pulling away one at a time until Chisato was empty again with only Kaoru softly stroking her soreness and her trembling limbs to remember it by. Chisato let herself collapse around Kaoru. Kaoru’s arms held her tight, Chisato’s own wetness on her back.
Gently, Kaoru laid them both down on the bed. Chisato let Kaoru lay soft kisses around her eyes, her shoulders, her fingers, soothing out raw bite marks and hickeys and a number of other things that could be covered with make up and forgotten. It was something so twee, so Kaoru, any other time Chisato might put a stop to it. But right now, body still humming with the aftershock and mind still a little lost, she accepted it, maybe even needed it.
“I love you,” Kaoru nuzzled Chisato’s forehead.
“I know Kaoru,” The actress sighed with a smile. “I’d hope your opinion of me hadn’t changed so quickly.” She cuddled closer. As their legs tangled together Chisato finally noticed something strange. “Are you still wearing your pants?”
“My attention was directed elsewhere.”
“Take off your pants,” Chisato reached out.
“I’m quite satisfied, I assure you,” Kaoru guided Chisato’s hand away very bashfully for someone who had literally just been inside her.
Chisato rolled her eyes, “I don’t have the energy for more. You won’t be comfortable if you sleep in those.”
“I can stay the night?” It was normal for Chisato to chase Kaoru out before daybreak, when the watchful eyes of the press started to creep around. But something felt different now, and the idea of being alone felt… well, awfully lonely.
“Maybe even the morning if you’re good.”
“Far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth but...”
“I just realized I have a PR team for a reason.”Maybe it was time for Chisato Shirasagi to plant a few rumors of her own. If the world was going to end, it would be on her terms.
Kaoru laughed low from the center of her chest and swept the covers around them. Chisato settled against her, letting exhaustion finally set in. That night Chisato slept well for the first time in a long while.