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mousapelli.livejournal.comI'm watching SK8 and it's so good!! I love that both Reki and Langa are idiots. Two idiot pairings are my jam lately.
Reki/Langa, PG-ish, ~1300 words, set during episode 4.
“Again,” Reki says, gritting his teeth as he stands. He stomps on the end of his board, flipping it up so he can grab it, and trudges back around the curve of the course like a little kid being punished, cheeks and arms scratched, face bruised.
There’s something about Reki, Langa thinks, something that draws his eye like a magnet as Reki rattles around the turn for what has to be the twentieth time, the arc of his spine and the reach of his fingers just so. Each time he pops the board up on its side there’s a split second when it’s perfect, his form so beautiful in flight that Langa’s heart sings with it. Only a second, though, before his balance collapses like a folding laundry rack and Reki beefs it. Langa’s knees and palms sting sympathetically but he still doesn’t look away.
He’s never met anyone like Reki. Reki is like a small sun, heat and light pouring off of him; his gravity tugs on Langa whenever he’s near, pulling him in, a comet having his course altered.
“Ah, enough!” Miya snaps at Reki, at the limit of his patience. Reki, half-tangled in a bush, just grunts. “It hurts watching you. Anyway over-training’s worse than under-training, even a slime knows that.”
Reki groans with ragged frustration, rolling onto his back and kicking at his board. The skateboard rattles cheerfully down the slope as if excited to run on its own without Reki’s weight on top.
“I’ll get it,” Langa offers, kicking off own his own board because Reki always makes him want to run too. When he rounds the first curve, the urge to kick his board up into the rail slide for himself itches in his fingers and toes, and he takes the turn just this side of too fast, heart buzzing as his balance strains against the centrifugal force.
“Come to my place after,” Reki says while they’re eating. Langa’s mouth is jammed full of his third burger, but he tilts his head in question. “I wanna adjust some stuff on your board.”
“Kay,” Langa agrees. He nudges the basket of Super Poutine towards Reki with his elbow, smiling to himself when Reki picks at it suspiciously at first, but then lights up as soon as he puts some in his mouth.
It’s late by the time Shadow drops them off at Reki’s, Reki’s house for once quiet and dark as they walk around back to Reki’s work station. Langa sort of misses the ruckus of Reki’s siblings, but Reki seems relieved for the quiet. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to explain the bruises and scratches to his mother.
Reki pulls a spare stool up to the work bench for Langa, already unscrewing the wheel mounts from the deck by the time Langa sets his bag on the floor and gets settled. It’s peaceful, almost dreamlike, watching Reki work, cicadas chirring outside and exhaustion a thick blanket settling on Langa’s shoulders. Langa is used to seeing Reki as barely contained frenetic energy, going in all directions at once, so he’s fascinated by this focused Reki, entirely absorbed in his task. He likes Reki’s hands best of all, long fingers curled around his deck with familiarity, affectionately, the flex of the tendons in his wrists, the raw scrapes across his knuckles.
“Look at this,” Reki murmurs, and Langa leans in until their shoulders brush, heads close. “Should be more stable, you won’t have to shift your weight so deep.”
“Mmhmm,” Langa agrees, no idea what Reki is talking about. But the murmur of his voice sounds nice, and so is the warmth where their shoulders are touching, and the glint of amusement in his eyes when he looks up.
“You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about,” Reki says, not a question.
“No,” Langa admits easily. Their faces are a little too close, but that’s nice too. Without thinking about what he’s doing, Langa reaches up to brush his thumb over the bruise rising along Reki’s cheekbone. Reki’s eyes widen, and Langa realizes the weirdness of his hand cupping Reki’s cheek. “Ah—“
Reki lunges forward to press their lips together. It’s warm and imperfectly angled and nice.
Langa’s mother had warned him when they moved that kissing boys would be a much bigger deal in Okinawa than it had been in Canada. Langa had thought she’d meant, like, societally. Instead kissing Reki feels like the biggest deal in the world, Langa’s eyes wide with surprise, lungs burning with caught air, heart pounding in his ears. His other hand comes up to cradle the other side of Reki’s face, marveling at how hot Reki’s cheeks are against his palms. Reki curls fists in Langa’s hoodie to pull him closer and everything turns to static in Langa’s brain.
Then Reki tries to shift forward against him, and Langa’s stool overbalances, dumping them on the ground with yelps of surprise.
“Owwww,” Langa groans, his butt having taken plenty of abuse up on S mountain already. Reki grins up at him from his soft landing on Langa’s chest. “Don’t say it.”
“Guess you fell for me~” Reki coos, then howls laughing when Langa tries to shove him off with a disgusted groan. Reki is somehow impossible to move, making himself into limp deadweight, but when Langa struggles to sit up, Reki sits up too. The warm weight of him on Langa’s thighs keeps his heart skipping faster than it ought to. They’re nose to nose this way, Reki’s eyes molten cinnamon in the shitty lighting of the workbench. “Try again? Don’t fall down this time.”
“Fuck yo—“ Langa’s retort is cut off by Reki’s mouth back on his. He closes his eyes this time; this kiss is slower, deeper, better. Reki pushes fingers up into Langa’s hair, and Langa wraps arms around Reki’s waist to pull him closer, closer, already thinking about what it’ll be like to do this without the bulk of their hoodies blocking Reki’s warmth from him.
They’re both breathing hard when it breaks, faces too close to look at each other without going crosseyed. Neither pulls back. Reki slides a hand under the hem of Reki’s hoodie, pressing his palm flat over Reki’s spine and feeling how fast he’s breathing.
“Did you kiss boys in Canada too?” Reki asks. His asks it like he’s teasing, but there’s a real question under it.
“Sometimes. Cute ones,” Langa answers honestly. None of them were as cute as Reki, none of them turned everything inside him into static snow. “What gave it away?”
“I think it was the purple sneakers,” Reki teases, stealing one more kiss. “Mm. Gotta finish your board. I’m so tiiired.” Reki lets his forehead thunk down on Langa’s shoulder. “Wanna stay over?”
“I want to,” Langa answers immediately. “But my mom’ll worry.”
Reki huffs a laugh, warm against Langa’s collarbone. “Isn’t she right to worry? Out all night, kissing boys, getting your pretty face bruised up. She probably thinks you’re getting bullied for being the transfer student.”
“The only person bullying me is you,” Langa says, frowning. “Did you call my face pretty?”
“I mean, you obviously are.” Reki straightens up and examines Langa’s face as if judging a street art installation or a new sticker design. “But I like it best when it’s scraped up just a little, I guess that’s pretty weird.”
Heat floods Langa’s chest, creeping up his face. He wants to kiss Reki again, wants to push him down flat on his back and press down into him hard enough that all his bruises ache. “I…me too.”
“Good.” Reki climbs to his feet; Langa misses the heat and weight of him immediately. Reki holds out a hand to help haul Langa up, and when Langa takes it, he can feel all their calluses slide against each other. Instead of letting go of Reki’s hand, he brings it up to his mouth and kisses his scraped knuckles. Reki’s breath hitches. “What a distraction.” He curls his hand into a fist and taps Langa’s chest with it, over his heart. “Let’s finish up already.”
----
Next up is greeneggs101!
Reki/Langa, PG-ish, ~1300 words, set during episode 4.
“Again,” Reki says, gritting his teeth as he stands. He stomps on the end of his board, flipping it up so he can grab it, and trudges back around the curve of the course like a little kid being punished, cheeks and arms scratched, face bruised.
There’s something about Reki, Langa thinks, something that draws his eye like a magnet as Reki rattles around the turn for what has to be the twentieth time, the arc of his spine and the reach of his fingers just so. Each time he pops the board up on its side there’s a split second when it’s perfect, his form so beautiful in flight that Langa’s heart sings with it. Only a second, though, before his balance collapses like a folding laundry rack and Reki beefs it. Langa’s knees and palms sting sympathetically but he still doesn’t look away.
He’s never met anyone like Reki. Reki is like a small sun, heat and light pouring off of him; his gravity tugs on Langa whenever he’s near, pulling him in, a comet having his course altered.
“Ah, enough!” Miya snaps at Reki, at the limit of his patience. Reki, half-tangled in a bush, just grunts. “It hurts watching you. Anyway over-training’s worse than under-training, even a slime knows that.”
Reki groans with ragged frustration, rolling onto his back and kicking at his board. The skateboard rattles cheerfully down the slope as if excited to run on its own without Reki’s weight on top.
“I’ll get it,” Langa offers, kicking off own his own board because Reki always makes him want to run too. When he rounds the first curve, the urge to kick his board up into the rail slide for himself itches in his fingers and toes, and he takes the turn just this side of too fast, heart buzzing as his balance strains against the centrifugal force.
“Come to my place after,” Reki says while they’re eating. Langa’s mouth is jammed full of his third burger, but he tilts his head in question. “I wanna adjust some stuff on your board.”
“Kay,” Langa agrees. He nudges the basket of Super Poutine towards Reki with his elbow, smiling to himself when Reki picks at it suspiciously at first, but then lights up as soon as he puts some in his mouth.
It’s late by the time Shadow drops them off at Reki’s, Reki’s house for once quiet and dark as they walk around back to Reki’s work station. Langa sort of misses the ruckus of Reki’s siblings, but Reki seems relieved for the quiet. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to explain the bruises and scratches to his mother.
Reki pulls a spare stool up to the work bench for Langa, already unscrewing the wheel mounts from the deck by the time Langa sets his bag on the floor and gets settled. It’s peaceful, almost dreamlike, watching Reki work, cicadas chirring outside and exhaustion a thick blanket settling on Langa’s shoulders. Langa is used to seeing Reki as barely contained frenetic energy, going in all directions at once, so he’s fascinated by this focused Reki, entirely absorbed in his task. He likes Reki’s hands best of all, long fingers curled around his deck with familiarity, affectionately, the flex of the tendons in his wrists, the raw scrapes across his knuckles.
“Look at this,” Reki murmurs, and Langa leans in until their shoulders brush, heads close. “Should be more stable, you won’t have to shift your weight so deep.”
“Mmhmm,” Langa agrees, no idea what Reki is talking about. But the murmur of his voice sounds nice, and so is the warmth where their shoulders are touching, and the glint of amusement in his eyes when he looks up.
“You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about,” Reki says, not a question.
“No,” Langa admits easily. Their faces are a little too close, but that’s nice too. Without thinking about what he’s doing, Langa reaches up to brush his thumb over the bruise rising along Reki’s cheekbone. Reki’s eyes widen, and Langa realizes the weirdness of his hand cupping Reki’s cheek. “Ah—“
Reki lunges forward to press their lips together. It’s warm and imperfectly angled and nice.
Langa’s mother had warned him when they moved that kissing boys would be a much bigger deal in Okinawa than it had been in Canada. Langa had thought she’d meant, like, societally. Instead kissing Reki feels like the biggest deal in the world, Langa’s eyes wide with surprise, lungs burning with caught air, heart pounding in his ears. His other hand comes up to cradle the other side of Reki’s face, marveling at how hot Reki’s cheeks are against his palms. Reki curls fists in Langa’s hoodie to pull him closer and everything turns to static in Langa’s brain.
Then Reki tries to shift forward against him, and Langa’s stool overbalances, dumping them on the ground with yelps of surprise.
“Owwww,” Langa groans, his butt having taken plenty of abuse up on S mountain already. Reki grins up at him from his soft landing on Langa’s chest. “Don’t say it.”
“Guess you fell for me~” Reki coos, then howls laughing when Langa tries to shove him off with a disgusted groan. Reki is somehow impossible to move, making himself into limp deadweight, but when Langa struggles to sit up, Reki sits up too. The warm weight of him on Langa’s thighs keeps his heart skipping faster than it ought to. They’re nose to nose this way, Reki’s eyes molten cinnamon in the shitty lighting of the workbench. “Try again? Don’t fall down this time.”
“Fuck yo—“ Langa’s retort is cut off by Reki’s mouth back on his. He closes his eyes this time; this kiss is slower, deeper, better. Reki pushes fingers up into Langa’s hair, and Langa wraps arms around Reki’s waist to pull him closer, closer, already thinking about what it’ll be like to do this without the bulk of their hoodies blocking Reki’s warmth from him.
They’re both breathing hard when it breaks, faces too close to look at each other without going crosseyed. Neither pulls back. Reki slides a hand under the hem of Reki’s hoodie, pressing his palm flat over Reki’s spine and feeling how fast he’s breathing.
“Did you kiss boys in Canada too?” Reki asks. His asks it like he’s teasing, but there’s a real question under it.
“Sometimes. Cute ones,” Langa answers honestly. None of them were as cute as Reki, none of them turned everything inside him into static snow. “What gave it away?”
“I think it was the purple sneakers,” Reki teases, stealing one more kiss. “Mm. Gotta finish your board. I’m so tiiired.” Reki lets his forehead thunk down on Langa’s shoulder. “Wanna stay over?”
“I want to,” Langa answers immediately. “But my mom’ll worry.”
Reki huffs a laugh, warm against Langa’s collarbone. “Isn’t she right to worry? Out all night, kissing boys, getting your pretty face bruised up. She probably thinks you’re getting bullied for being the transfer student.”
“The only person bullying me is you,” Langa says, frowning. “Did you call my face pretty?”
“I mean, you obviously are.” Reki straightens up and examines Langa’s face as if judging a street art installation or a new sticker design. “But I like it best when it’s scraped up just a little, I guess that’s pretty weird.”
Heat floods Langa’s chest, creeping up his face. He wants to kiss Reki again, wants to push him down flat on his back and press down into him hard enough that all his bruises ache. “I…me too.”
“Good.” Reki climbs to his feet; Langa misses the heat and weight of him immediately. Reki holds out a hand to help haul Langa up, and when Langa takes it, he can feel all their calluses slide against each other. Instead of letting go of Reki’s hand, he brings it up to his mouth and kisses his scraped knuckles. Reki’s breath hitches. “What a distraction.” He curls his hand into a fist and taps Langa’s chest with it, over his heart. “Let’s finish up already.”
----
Next up is greeneggs101!
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