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They’d been rocking out for hours – and Jabberrock wasn’t done yet! They couldn’t be done – not yet, not with the utter bliss of being lost in the feeling of a live show, not with the sweaty bodies pressed against each other, the blinding stagelights, the too-close speakers, not with the delirious feeling of freedom and light that came from an island of war criminals trying to enjoy the teenage years they lost to despair.
And certainly not with Hajime – Her Hajime – letting loose into the microphone, screaming out everything in his poor head that Ibuki knew wouldn’t shut up. The man – Ibuki’s man, Ibuki’s wonderful, wild, shouty man who deserved to be loud – was practically a hurricane onstage, barely contained in his cute little button-up, wild energy slowly spreading to the drummer – Kazuichi, Kaz, Kazzy – and even the bassist – pretty, pretty Mahiru. He was the perfect frontman, keeping the party going into the dead of night with nothing but hype and that beautiful voice (no one could sing and sling profanity like her Hajime), inspiring the band to keep rocking on.
And he inspired Ibuki especially, fingers flying across her guitar so fast they were starting to ache. The music had a hold on her, skipping her like a stone across dozens of different riffs, each perfect and each messy, each beloved and each chopped up and worked into another, each amazing, each pulse-pounding, head-banging, heart-stopping, electrifying…
She was floating kilometers above herself and giving a guitar solo to angels, but she could still hear Hajime screaming back on Earth – and she could hear herself yelling with him, and Kaz, and even Mahiru. It was amazing how loud they could get, one band playing for an audience of less than twenty.
But that was the magic of live music.
That was the magic of live music with Hajime – with her bandmate.
And it was a magic that was still pounding in her head as she flung open the door backstage and– well, she didn’t so much walk inside as stumble like she was wasted (which, of course, she was, because music was her drug of choice – music and the gaggle of pretty island girls she was doomed to spend eternity with, woe is her…). When she moved, she felt her clothes weighed down with sweat. When she blinked, she saw stagelights in every color of the rainbow. Her fingers still twitched with unplayed and previously-played chords.
It was like a truck had slammed into her – but the truck was rock and roll, baby!
“Thank you, Jabberwock… Thank you, Jabberwock…” she muttered to herself, voice vibrating her spent throat in a really funny way, remembering how she and Hajime had practically crawled on top of one another to shout it into the mic together at the end of the show. “Thank you, Jabberwock… Thank you, Jabberwock…”
Ibuki plopped down in front of her vanity, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and cackled. Her oh-so-carefully (worshipfully, really!) applied rock goddess aesthetic was totally ruined – which meant that it was perfect, of course. Sweat and headbanging and, yes, maybe a few tears from the sheer glowing majesty of live music had turned her knife-sharp eyeliner into black streaks down her cheeks, her lipstick into one big smudge, and her hair into a ratty, wild, unkempt mess. She knew she should clean up, but… Nah, she was gonna rock this – she was a legitimate, guitar-soloing, groupie-kissing, crowd-surfing, stage-destroying rockstar, and she deserved to look the part!
Besides, it wasn’t like Mahiru was here to nag her about it! Oh, Ibuki-chan, you’re gonna get acne! Bleh! In fact, judging by how tidy and cold her own vanity looked, Mahiru had apparently skedaddled a while ago – maybe to go play around with the legion of adoring fangirls that Ibuki knew for a fact she had (because wow was a lady-bassist a yuri fantasy come true) but probably just with Hiyoko (still cute, but Mahiru deserved groupies).
Kaz, meanwhile, was still hammering away at his drums outside. It was actually pretty common for him to be last man standing – sometimes it an encore for his biggest fans (Nekomaru, Ryota, and Akane just loved that boy), other times it was just him getting out all the energy Ibuki had built up for him (she was such a good hype-woman), and other-other times it was, as he’d explained, just therapeutic to bang on the drums all day.
(Sometimes, Ibuki liked to jam out with him deep into the night after the show, half because it was just fun to play around with her silly pink friend, half because of her pride as a guitarist and her refusal to surrender in her traditional rivalry with the drummer, but tonight she’d just decided to let Kazzy dance with himself.)
Kaz was still drumming, and Mahiru was away. Hajime had hopped off stage – literally; now, he was also the Ultimate Gymnast, and Ultimate Acrobat, and, hell, maybe there was some Ultimate Kangaroo there too! – to mingle with his fans (read: to get pounced on by Mikan while Ryota and Nagito looked on jealously) and–
Before she could even wonder if he was done with them – which, it was okay if he wasn’t, because getting sugar poured on you by Mikan was heaven – Ibuki felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her (and wrap around her, because he so effortlessly dwarfed her; was he especially big, or was she just tiny?) and a soft pair of lips barely graze her cheek.
“Hey, bandmate,” chuckled Hajime into her ear, his tone somewhere between mocking and full of love, his breath hot against her skin. She felt herself immediately relax into his touch, all the tension of the show melting away.
“Hey,” she half-giggled, half-purred. “Where was all this during the show? Ibuki missed you.”
“I wanted to,” he said shamelessly, and Ibuki shivered because shameless looked good on Hajime (and because she loved how much he loved her). “I wanted to, but… You seemed busy with your solo– ah, sorry – your six solos. In a row. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
He snuggled into the crook of her neck. Ibuki giggled. “Good call. Ibuki probably woulda smacked you.”
Hajime “mmm-ed” at that, and she felt him pull her tight against him. “It was so hard not to,” he whispered reverently, worshipfully. “It’s so hard to keep my hands off you sometimes.”
“I know…”
“Especially when you’re onstage… When you’re all focused like that, all into the music, you’re just…” He sighed. “You’re gorgeous. You’re absolutely stunning. You get this intense look, all… You’re just so into it. You love it so much, and that’s so beautiful. No other word for it.”
Ibuki shook– was shook, shaken right down to her toes! She could feel her blood tingling with diabetes as it raced to her cheeks. Only her Hajime could get away with saying something so sugary sweet, so sappy – only he could say those things to her and make her just melt. She craned her head around, caught a glimpse of those pretty Christmastime eyes (red and green, what a perfect combo, very punk!) half-lidded and full of love, nearly popped her neck out of place trying to plant a kiss on her Hajime’s lips – and her Hajime, so smart and thoughtful and precious, met her halfway.
The contact was electric, bright lightning racing through her and bouncing her on chord after chord, note after note – whoa, yeah, baby! – and pushing a moan from her chest. Hajime hugged her even tighter to him, practically smothering her little body in his big, strong, cozy arms. She was already melty – what she wouldn’t give to just melt into him sometimes…
But– but then she had a thought, and as much as it hurt, she had to break the kiss – immediately feeling the mood kick down a few notches; bleh! – and mumble to Hajime, “You’re beautiful too, y’know…”
He chuckled – dark, rich, husky, heavy, other descriptions that Ibuki didn’t have brainpower for – and moved in to kiss her cheek, her jaw, down to her throat – but he didn’t respond, and Ibuki couldn’t let that slide. “H-Hajime-chan, wait.”
She turned around in his arms and caught those pretty eyes directly as they looked down at her. He was so tall – or maybe she was just so short. He’d sweated through his makeup, leaving his foundation runny and his lipstick – a deep black, matching hers – smudgy. His own heavy eyeliner, still there, made his gaze so much more intense – which meant Ibuki could see the little spark of worry in his eyes.
“Everything okay?’ he asked, the flirty little bite in his voice replaced with concern.
“Yes!” Ibuki blurted out, suddenly desperate to take that worry away – Hajime didn’t need any more. “Ibuki just has to say… Ibuki– She–” She shook her head, jumbling her thoughts to try and get them in order. “Hajime-chan’s beautiful too, okay?”
“I–”
“Hajime-chan’s absolutely amazing!” Ibuki grabbed his cheeks and squished them like a baby’s. “He’s good at so many things! He’s– he’s super talented, and if he’s looking at Ibuki because she’s amazing, he should be looking at himself too! Ah, um, n-not that that’s what matters! I mean, it does, but– well, no, it doesn’t!” Ibuki shook her head. “Well, what Hajime-chan’s best at is loving Ibuki and that’s really what matters, and he’s so good at that, and –”
Hajime mercifully cut off her rambling by grabbing her hips tight – she yelped – pushing her hard against the vanity with the loud clink of falling makeup bottles – she yelped again – she kissing her deep and hot and with tongue – she moaned into his mouth, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair. Ibuki whimpered against his lips, mewled against his lips, so soft and delicate and needy and– and all the things the goddess of music never was! Ibuki Mioda was loud and bold and knew she was hot shit.
But with Hajime… With her Hajime…
Again instinctively, she pressed her body against Hajime’s and he matched the motion– overwhelmed the motion. He was so, so much bigger than her. Ibuki felt him grind his pelvis into hers. The force made her gasp into the kiss, and– and he pulled away, chewing her lower lip a little before he did, and smiled down at her – smiled that stupid, cute, cutely-stupid, stupidly-cute little smile, smiled so smugly self-satisfied, so in control, so comfortable, so at ease, at peace, carefree, silly, happy…like the little kid she knew he’d never gotten to be, like the boy she felt like, if she didn’t nurture and protect, no one would.
He smiled the way she always wanted to see him smiling.
Ibuki’s got it bad, she thought – for the millionth-billionth-uno-dos-tres-illionth time. Right down to the bones.
“Thank you,” he said so sweetly, so calmly, like he hadn’t just taken her breath away, like he hadn’t just proved that he had Ultimate Kisser in there somewhere. “Thank you, Ibuki-chan. But…” He bit at his lower lip (aw, but Ibuki wanted to do that!). “But, I’m– I’m okay. I’m okay. I don’t need you always reassuring me that I’m talented. I… It doesn’t hurt like it used to.” He looked away, and Ibuki saw a flash of pain – of years of pain. “It doesn’t hurt like that anymore. Not when I’m…like this. Not when I’m here. Not…”
Hajime looked back, something in his eyes growing so warm when they found her. He leaned in close, and captured her lips in yet another kiss – slower, gentler, softer, more ballad than headbanger. Ibuki still groaned into his mouth, and her hands still moved to the back of his head, relishing in the mess of sweat and product still in his hair after the show. When Hajime started to pull away, Ibuki kissed him right back, and he obliged her – and again, and again, and again for long enough that she almost forgot what he had even been saying…
He barely pulled away and murmured against her lips, “Not when you’re here, Ibuki-chan…”
And then he kissed her again. And again, and again, and again.
Ibuki could kiss him for hours – and she’d never be satisfied! She couldn’t be satisfied – not with the utter bliss of melting into this amazing man, this amazing bandmate; not with his hard, cozy body pressed against hers; not with the blindingly bright feeling she felt whenever he touched her, spoke to her, looked at her; not with how loud he made her heart pound; not with the delirious feeling of affection and closeness and safety and love that came from just being near him, from being one and one, together forever and against the world, from making sweet, beautiful music with him, their heartbeats the rhythm.
“Besides,” he whispered against her lips, “we’re talking about how good you look, rock goddess.” He nipped at her ear. “My rock goddess…”