Work Text:
She taps the sheaf of papers on her desk and reads the first page.
It's Toda's first foray into yaoi, no doubt inspired by that new shonen manga with intense homoerotic subtext. Toda had slaved away over a new doujin for her favorite ship and it expanded her horizons, so to speak. But of course this new foray came with her usual thoughtfulness and deep character dives.
Personally, Tanaka can't engage much with media that doesn't have at least one female protagonist. But she always makes an exception for whatever Toda is writing. She trusts her, even when on face value it doesn't seem like it would be her kind of story.
The story goes a bit like this, to Tanaka's eyes:
A chef is the king of his domain. He rules with an iron fist, and his nearly obsessive attention to detail earns him prestige and wealth. Power is his to wield, and the bedroom is no exception. After going to a love hotel for some privacy, he dominates his boyfriend (a famous food reporter) and brings him to the peak of pleasure over and over again. That same eye for detail works in his favor here, as he turns fucking into an expression of art and love. The realization dawns over the page that this isn't a cold-hearted man. He's a man who cares so much that it consumes his every waking moment. He loves cooking, and loves his boyfriend, enough to obsess over them and make them perfect. In a way, his exacting control is nothing but an act of service, and reverence, to the twin gods who rule his life. There's a direct parallel to the sweaty, exhausted boyfriend underneath him and the carnal satisfaction of the first bite of a gourmet meal. It fills the soft palate of his mouth, warm and overwhelming, base pleasure like an animal, the skill and experience of an artist.
When his boyfriend is finally limp and satisfied, the chef for the first time on page allows himself to relax. His mind turns off as he spreads the other man's legs and uses him without thought or plan or detail. For once there's no consequence or fear of failure. How can he fail at something so simple and pure? It's like failing at eating your favorite dish. They both orgasm and enjoy the afterglow and the next day the chef is refreshed and ready to be in charge at the restaurant again, with his bond to the boyfriend cemented.
"Hmm," Tanaka says.
The script is hot. No other word for it. Of course Toda is the best artist she's ever worked with, but the 'utility' of her artwork often takes lower priority than 'whatever Toda is into these days'. At her best, she manages to blend together utility with interest and produces true art. With this script, however, steam vents off the page. It scandalizes Tanaka. Heat lifts onto her palm from the paper.
She tells Toda as much. "You're cooking with gas today."
Toda must have felt something similar. She's on the edge of her chair, earnest and anxious. When Tanaka praises her, she rocks back and forth in her seat, gripping the sides and humming. She takes a decent amount of time to pull her words together. Tanaka waits patiently.
Toda says, "You like it?"
No hesitation. "I love it." Then she has to turn her editor's brain on for a second, because she knows Toda needs her to tell the truth. "But."
Toda deflates into her chair, glaring sullenly. "Mmm!"
"Don't start, you didn't even hear what I have to say!"
Closing her eyes, Toda lets out a huge huff of air. But she gives Tanaka room to talk.
It's difficult at first, because Tanaka can't say what's on her mind. She's distracted, and glances down at the script again. It's captivating, more than it has any right to be. She isn't sure why. She also isn't sure what's bothering her about it. From anyone else it would be perfect, it really would, and her feedback would be nothing more than a side-note.
To ease the sting of rejection, Tanaka keeps it clinical. She's an old hand at managing her artist when the leash needs some tightening. "It depends on a few factors, and maybe with another artist I wouldn't bring it up, but I know how much you value verisimilitude. It's about this background here— for once, reality outstrips your imagination."
She taps the offending page.
"Have you ever been to a love hotel?" Tanaka asks, and Toda blushes from her neck up to her forehead.
Tanaka texts, We'll just go get you some real life experience. I know that you only need the smallest seed to plant the greatest idea.
It's a date, then, is her last text message from Toda.
Tanaka texts back a little heart.
Her heart stirs with excitement. Finally, another field trip. It's always fun to go take reference photos with Toda. It feels like they're roommates again. Her favorite artist, only one door away. In retrospect, now that the dust has settled, Tanaka feels like she lived through one of the most important periods of her life without even realizing it. And now it's only memories.
It isn't as though she never sees Toda anymore. But she never gets to wake up and have breakfast with her, unless they schedule it in advance.
"See?" Tanaka says, smiling as Toda takes a million reference pictures ("ah, ah, ah!"). "Most modern love hotels have a check in service like this, where you don't have to interact with anyone. Just push a few buttons and..."
And they go up to their room, having booked it for three hours.
The room's walls are blood red, with black wooden flooring. There's bars all over the faux-windows and a wall devoted to the tools of the trade. They're hung up with care, pristine and polished black leather and dark wood and gleaming metal. The bed of course is the centerpiece, with plenty of spots to harness, tie, restrain, or otherwise control a willing victim.
She thinks it's so tacky.
Standing in the entryway, Tanaka crosses her arms and sighs ruefully. "I can't pretend I understand the appeal in real life, but it makes for great storytelling."
Not only a yaoi, but a BDSM one, too, and Toda managed to make me like it.
"Ah, ah," Toda agrees. Tanaka can tell her mind is racing a million miles a minute, too fast for words. Her lips purse in temporary frustration, fingers stirring in her hair like she can wrap up all her words like spaghetti around a twirling fork.
While Toda is getting her tongue in line, Tanaka takes a few reference pictures of her own. She picks up a flogger from the rack on the wall. It's heavier than she expected, and she takes care to capture it from unusual angles so they don't need to purchase any for future research.
"Do you think it's too basic?" Toda asks, so shyly that it can't be about anything but her script. Tanaka thinks about it, and realizes what she must mean.
"You mean a dominant top and a submissive bottom?" Tanaka shrugs. "It's basic, but not simple. It's actually the only male-on-male comic we've ever published, did you know that?"
Toda shakes her head no quickly.
"The fact that the chief editor signed off on it means you're being a pioneer as usual, Toda." Tanaka walks over to where Toda is sitting on the mattress, and pats her head. "Do you know what he said when I asked? He said, 'Toda can do whatever she wants'."
Unexpectedly, Toda frowns. She twists away from Tanaka's searching hand, brow furrowed. This news doesn't make her happy. Why wouldn't it make her happy? It's important to her that she's always pushing new thoughts and ideas onto the page. It's important that her erotica is different. The usual tropes are fun, but if she isn't putting her fingerprints all over it, it doesn't satisfy her.
"It's not only being published because of novelty," Tanaka tells her firmly. "Even if they were a heterosexual couple, the story is strong."
Toda twists her lips uncertainly. She turns her head away more, gazing up at Tanaka from the corner of her eye.
"It's good, Toda. Do you think I'd let you publish something I didn't enjoy?"
The moment the words leave her mouth, she sees it coming. Toda's hesitancy vanishes, replaced with a smug, knowing smile.
"When I don't like something you publish, I'm very clear about it," Tanaka corrects herself.
A little bit of time passes, and Toda says what's on her mind. "What if the control freak chef is secretly a huge bottom in the bedroom?"
Tanaka fills the rest in when Toda struggles. "To contrast with how he is at work? I hate to burst your bubble, but if you only want to do that because you think it's different ... that trope is hardly unique either."
"Ah?!" Toda says in surprise.
She's so innocent about the oddest things.
"Write what makes you happy," Tanaka reminds her. "Don't try to push yourself into another plot for a cheap surprise. You know you'd just make yourself miserable that way."
Toda's shoulders sink. She sighs, hugely, and then leans forward and hugs Tanaka around her middle. Happy with the affection, Tanaka rubs her head again, the way she likes.
Toda asks, "Why do you like yuri but not yaoi?"
Tanaka pulls on her ears. "I think the tension is totally different in those stories. Plus, I like stories centering women."
Though Toda doesn't— can't— say anything, Tanaka can clearly hear the rebuttal, then the response. They have whole conversations like this, often. Toda can't talk half the time but Tanaka just gets her. And in turn, Toda's big, dark, mysterious eyes feel like they're always combing through her for details.
Toda wants to say something like, I do too, but I wouldn't say most of the stuff I draw centers women. Maybe when she was a teenager, but she'd evolved past that.
And Tanaka huffs with amusement. "Of course, eromanga doesn't always brim with nuanced, complex female characters."
Toda bristles. This is her chosen field. It makes her alive. It's important to her. She's insulted, her massive pride wounded. That's not a real mark against it, you could say the same with nearly any genre!
"I'm not trying to mark anything against it! I'm only saying. It all depends on the story and who is telling it."
Goodness knows over the years Toda turned in her fair share of stories where the female characters were abused and degraded, with words like non-con or forcible seduction there to soften the fact that it was simulated assault on the page. Tanaka doesn't like those stories, but she isn't there to judge anyone's taste, only their plot lines and panel placement.
Toda says out loud, "So why do you like my art even when the subject material makes you sick to your stomach?"
The neutral answer is that she's her friend, and she wants to support her.
The professional answer is that Tanaka is her editor. They won't always see eye to eye. She'll make suggestions, but the last thing she wants to do is change Toda or limit her enthusiasm. Nine times out of ten, Toda and her have the exact same taste. If that means one out of ten times she has to deal with a gorey revenge fantasy or a pseudo-incestuous plot twist, so be it.
Tanaka shifts her hands to frame Toda's cheeks, gripping her by the ears and squeezing her soft, round face.
"You're a little pervert with a great sense of pathos," she answers.
Toda says, "Ah, ah, ah," and it sounds like a stilted laugh.
She's taller than Tanaka, so all she has to do is stand up to be in her face, and kisses her cheek.
That same feeling Tanaka had when she read the script rushes back to her. It courses in a current, like electricity, or a flooded river. A sudden wind uplifting her, a swelling of blood and noise.
It takes that much time for Tanaka to realize she hadn't just enjoyed the new script.
It had turned her on.
It's such a different sensation, so new and so strange and alien. She isn't sure she'd ever properly felt it before, which makes it so difficult to recognize. Certainly she has never felt it louder than this second. Loud enough to drown her in the soft press of another woman's lips.
Liquid heat gushes between her legs— and immediately her editor brain flickers on, wondering, Is gush the right word here?
It is one of those words she never really likes in erotica. Like moist. It has a bad taste to it, like a sickly sweet fruit candy filled with syrup. It's a gross word. Vaginas aren't geysers.
Except at this moment, Tanaka is hard-pressed to find a better verb, and bitterly accepts defeat.
Toda falls back to sit on the edge of the mattress, staring up at her, breathless and hopeful.
"Can you help me take," Toda says, her face flushed, her eyes shining. She looks like she might cry. "Some reference photos?"
Tanaka says, in a completely normal and bright tone of voice, "Sure, but I need to use the little girl's room first."
She wobbles to the bathroom and sits down on the toilet, hard.
Half convinced her period came early, she pushes her fingers between her lips and into herself, searching. Her hand comes back with nothing but clear, sticky arousal. It clings in drooping, heavy strings between her fingers, and thoughtlessly she sucks them up.
Tanaka washes her hands and returns to the bedroom. Toda is frozen right where she left her, staring at a spot between her shoes with a stricken expression.
Tanaka sits next to her. She sets a hand on her shoulder. "So, where do you want me?"
I'm lusting after my artist! Tanaka's inner voice screams wildly. Oh my god. OH MY GOD. No one can ever know. All those times my co-workers called her my wife. Did they suspect? Did they know before I knew? WERE THEY FINE WITH IT? OH MY GOD, WE WERE ROOMMATES!
"What?" Toda says.
"For the reference photos," she says, helpfully.
After staring at her hard, Toda says, "Okay."
"A lot of stories just use it as window-dressing, you know?"
Toda snaps one of Tanaka's wrists to the manacles on the bed frame.
"There's a whole subculture there that rarely gets accurately depicted." Tanaka flexes her wrist. "It's all about toys, or as a quick visual cue for shock value."
Shifting over Tanaka's body, Toda fastens her other wrist.
Ever since day one, Toda had a way of cutting right through to the bleeding, emotional heart of her story. She made going belly-side up and vulnerable look easy. It took most people years to both accurately and skillfully expose themselves like that.
"I just think what you're doing with it is really unique, you know?"
Toda kneels over her chest. "Sit still."
Tanaka sits still for the picture, then continues. "It would be awkward in real life, wouldn't it? Not to knock on it, I just don't think I... could."
"Is that so?" Toda asks.
She relaxes a little, her head falling back on the pillow. Tanaka stares at the dark ceiling, the lights dim and intimate. "Yeah. For instance, what if my arms start to cramp?"
Toda taps the manacles gently with her key. I'll free you, she promises with her actions if not her mouth.
"What if it's too scary?"
Toda grins, playfully. She holds one of Tanaka's hands to reassure her that they're together. She's listening.
"What if I don't like it?" Tanaka shifts, twisting, already a little nervous. Those steel bars are no joke. Her arms are going to go numb if she holds them like this for too long. Shifting down to straddle her lap, Toda unbuttons Tanaka's shirt and takes another picture. "What if I mess it up?"
Toda presses a finger to her mouth and she quiets down long enough for Toda to think.
"You're usually the one calming me down and encouraging me," Toda says, after getting her thoughts in linear order. She finishes unbuttoning Tanaka's shirt. Then she scoots lower, hands up Tanaka's skirt, rubbing up her thighs and positioning them. Heels on the bed, knees parted. Another photo. "It's weird to have it be the other way around."
"Is this okay?" Tanaka asks in a whisper.
Soothingly, Toda rubs her knee with a little noise. "Mmm."
Her hands go higher up Tanaka's legs. She braces her palms over Tanaka's lower stomach, thumbs rubbing over the elastic on her underwear. Tanaka wishes she was wearing something cuter. She makes a mental note to buy some cute panties later, if she manages to survive this. Her heart is pounding so hard it might explode in her chest.
Toda peels her underwear to the side. ( Peels is a good word because it evokes fruit imagery, something juicy and wet and exposed.) There's no hiding how drenched she is, and Toda is intensely studying that spot between her legs. Scooting up and to the side, she tucks her knees under Tanaka's thighs, curling around her with their faces only an inch apart.
She's looking at her face when she starts to touch her. It's messy and without any rhythm, and Tanaka squirms and can't stop thinking about what they must look like from the outside, with an invisible camera filming them and framing them. She thinks, What must Toda be thinking about all this? and she thinks about how long they can keep this a secret and if she'll ever be able to look Toda in the eye again.
Toda tugs up Tanaka's skirt a little more, frowning in deep thought as she watches her fingers sink inside of Tanaka.
"I wish I had two sets of eyes," she says, seriously, "so I could look at your pussy and your face at the same time."
Tanaka twists away, braying in laughter.
Toda sits back and grunts, flustered and red-faced. She doesn't touch her again. She twists her hands in her own hair and tries to squeeze the words into the right order. This situation is rattling her brain like a can of beans. At the very least, Tanaka is rattled.
"I'm not making fun of you," Tanaka says gently, smiling. She arches her hips towards Toda again. "It was a funny mental image. I'm sorry."
Toda wants to be good at this so badly, she can tell. She's trembling now, too, and briefly Tanaka wonders if she should be worried that all her ideas about sex might have come from hentai. While she has a little more faith in her than that— and hardly has any experience of her own— she realizes Toda needs a little gentle encouragement. It's no different than their normal relationship. As her client, Toda just needs to be given free rein to follow her bliss.
So.
"Keep touching me," she tells her. "Anywhere you want. I'll let you know if I don't like it."
Toda makes an agreeing noise, voice uncertain, and ducks her head down to kiss her over her wet mound. Then she struggles to take Tanaka's panties off, so she can focus entirely on her. She grips Tanaka's thighs, whining in between her legs. Enthusiasm works in her favor where experience does not, and Tanaka feels like she is being ravaged by a wild animal in the best possible way.
Toda makes a whole new set of noises, whining and desperate, and then she whimpers, "Katsumi."
Her own bare name, no adornments or honorifics, said on the edge of a cry. Toda pushes inside her with hunting, hungry fingers, licking her over and over in between sobbing little, Katsumi, Katsumi, Katsumi' s. Toda says it like it is more forbidden than what she is doing to her, like she isn’t allowed the intimacy of being peers yet.
Toda hasn’t even kissed her yet.
Somehow that's what set her off, surprising them both. Her vision goes black, thumping her head back against the mattress. She can't hear anything, can't say anything, and wonders exactly what Toda thinks of the awful, embarrassing noises coming out of her own mouth.
Slumped against the headboard, she comes down slowly but refuses to open her eyes. She's too flustered. "Can you untie me?"
She feels Toda do it, but still can't look at her. Facing it all is too much.
Then she realizes she's being silly. Someone has to be the adult in the room, after all. So she braces herself and blearily looks up at Toda, who is gazing at her with concern, her eyes wide and vulnerable and her mouth smeared with arousal.
"That was great," Tanaka says, exhausted. Toda tugs her arms around her and Tanaka squeezes her, laughing. "That was great."
Toda makes a surprised noise when Tanaka kisses her, pulling away to wipe her mouth clean. Tanaka laughs and kisses her again anyway, letting her know she doesn't mind the mess.
Holding onto her until her heartbeat slows down, Tanaka kisses the top of her messy black mane. "Can I expect to see this in the next script you deliver?"
In response, Toda reaches between Tanaka's legs again. It's a jolt to realize she's still aroused, and those rubbing, searching fingers are quickly getting her there again. Tanaka forgets all about her question until she comes again, and then again, and only when Toda is finished unleashing all of her pent up energy— for now— does she have something to say.
They're lying side by side, both of them naked and on their backs. Limbs casually strewn over each other, and Toda reaches over again and slicks her fingers into Tanaka.