Work Text:
The Little Spoon
If he was ever discovered in bed together with Sakurai during their private time, it would have spelled the end of them, Aiba knew. Even if society was becoming more tolerant, it was slow progress, and the agency was slower still; its refusal to advance with changing technology a testament to that (and a secret point of contention for Matsumoto, and several members of younger groups).
But Aiba did not mind so much these days; perhaps age had mellowed him, or he learned to count his blessings. After all, he and Sakurai had many perfectly legitimate reasons to share a bed over the years. Locations filming, photoshoots, concert tours where reservations had mixed ‘twin’ and ‘king’ and he and Sakurai had spent the night pressed against each other under luxurious covers.
Sakurai claims he is a poor sleeper; that he tosses and turns all night, and Aiba believes him, but he’s never seen it himself. Because when he shares a bed with Sakurai, the man snuggles close. Aiba sleeps on his side, his long frame curled inwards and his knees tucked towards his stomach like he’s trying to protect himself of the world even in slumber. When Sakurai joins him, the older man spoons against his back, his free hand stroking down Aiba’s side, along his waist and falls over his stomach. Aiba unfurls slightly, relaxing and maximising the contact of their bodies. When they sleep together, Aiba always rests well, and he thinks Sakurai does too.
But they never sleep together during their ‘off’ time. There is something unspoken between them; an understanding that the love they share is abiding and intimate and physical without the need for a baser element. Such a thing, it isn't worth the risk, personal or professional, when everything else is so perfect.
They hold hands, and they cuddle and they sleep together: they know everything important to know about another person and that's always been enough for them. Even if, some nights, when he knows Sakurai is going to climb under the quilt with him, Aiba has to lock himself in the bathroom for ten minutes first, so he can endure it. Even if some mornings, after a peaceful night's sleep, Sakurai shuffles out of bed and Aiba pretends not to notice why he is walking so awkwardly.
It's enough while they are both happy with the way things are. It's been that way for over a decade now though, and Aiba thought it would continue like that for years yet.
He’s in the dressing room, changing into his own clothes after recording a Tensai Shimura Doubutsuen with Sakurai as the guest when his phone buzzes. LINE messages are almost exclusively from the Arashi member group chat, and Aiba opens it without really looking.
It's a direct message. Sakurai is just ten feet away with his phone in his hand, but he doesn’t even look up from the screen when Aibas eyes find him across the room
[Come over tonight.] The message reads. There's nothing else for a while, as Aiba stares dumbstruck, then Sakurai is tapping quickly at his screen. [My place is closer. We can take the same car to rehearsals tomorrow.]
It's a perfectly reasonable idea, Aiba knows. It'll save time and energy tomorrow, and free up one of their managers. It's a wonderfully legitimate reason to stay over Sakurai’s place, and he has no reason to refuse. Except that they could have used the same explanation years ago; half a dozen times or more, but hadn't. It's different, and if Aiba accepts the invitation, things will be different between them. He's never been dissatisfied or wanted more than they had, so he's not sure he knows what to say.
Sakurai sends one last message: a sticker of a spoon, and finally meets Aiba's gaze, eyebrow quirked inquisitively.
Aiba barely looked down at the screen as he typed his reply. [OK]