usedlaserbeam | ??? | Goldenrod Radio Tower

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??? | Goldenrod Radio Tower | Broadcast;

[Ladies and gentlemen of Johto, we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming this evening for a Very Special Radio Broadcast™, coming to you direct from Goldenrod Radio Tower...and conveniently lacking in all those pesky little bits of red tape like authorization and advance permission that just get in the way of the show.

As such, the usual Pokemon favorites are conspicuously absent; they've been replaced by something a bit more palatable to the discerning listener. Tangos, jazz, the occasional rondo here and there. And the usual DJs? Yes, well, it turns out they've been replaced by something a bit more palatable, too. Namely, a pair of troublemakers calling themselves

futariniousama and

usedlaserbeam.

First up, a sultry alto (which may seem oddly familiar to a few of you), sounding perhaps more suited to a phone sex hotline than a radio station host: ]

"Evening, Johto~ Are you ready for a very special treat? Because have we got a surprise for you~"

[Then, following that alto, a deeper voice proceeds to chime in—one that a very select few might recognize as sounding very familiar to one Atobe Keigo.]

"And you should all feel honored for the once-in-a-lifetime experience you're about to be given."

[And without missing a beat, the voice switches back—]

"See, we've decided to borrow your airwaves for a little while. Oh, don't worry! We'll take good care of them, promise~"

"Tonight, instead of the usual mundane drivel you people normally content yourselves with—"

"—we're gonna turn up the heat a little bit—"

"—and bring some culture back into your poor, wanting lives."

[And as the first song cues, feel free to just sit back, enjoy the music, revel in the change of pace—or if you're really feeling moved, why not call in? The lines are open, the DJs are waiting, and they'd just love to hear what you have to say. Or, if there's some burning question that's on your mind, why not phone it in to tonight's premiere of Ask Ore-sama, and let him offer his worldly advice to you?

Regardless, we hope you enjoy the show, because all good things must end and the sweetest treats always come with an expiration date. In this case, that'd be the unmistakable sound of the Kangaskhan Cops storming the building—

—But never fear, folks. If there's one thing your hosts know how to do, it's make an exit.]

[OOC: And now, for the tl;dr explanation of these mod-approved shenanigans! Basically, Yagyuu and Niou share a mutual anniversary in Johto, and they've decided to celebrate it by hijacking the radio tower and running an impromptu radio show for an hour or two this evening. Characters are free to tune in, react accordingly, phone in to the radio station via their Gears, etc! The show itself will end rather abruptly when the Kangaskhan Cops arrive and our dastardly duo makes their escape. But hey, an inch is as good as a mile, and a narrow getaway is still a getaway, right? But they won't leave Jenny and her Kangaskhan high and dry, either; local law enforcement will find a polite note left behind for them, courtesy of 'Bonnie and Clyde'.

HOW TO TAG THIS POST:
▶ REACTION: Feel free to tag with reactions, thread amongst yourselves, etc.! No actual contact with Yagyuu and Niou necessary.
▶ CALL IN: If you'd like to call in to the radio show and give them a piece of your mind, put "Call: General" in the header of your comment! Voice correspondence only, please.
▶ ASK ORE-SAMA: A variant on just calling in—if your characters would like to participate in the "Ask Ore-sama" talk show segment, put "Call: Ask Ore-sama" in the header of your comment and ask your questions! The topic of the night is relationship advice~

Also please note—Yagyuu and Niou are thorough in their disguises and should not be recognizable as anything other than their currently borrowed identities. People who saw That One Hot Chick revealed as Niou, or who are aware of Atobe's absence, are welcome to have their suspicions about who's really up there, but anyone trying to out them on-air will be hung up upon!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ She smirks her triumph and follows right along, letting herself be turned and now led, without so much as a hint of displeasure. She forced him to take the lead back, and that in itself is a small victory. The rest of the win is in the dance, and how well she does it. She doesn't intend to miss a step.

It isn't difficult, though it is taxing. Niou is the dancer, but it's a much easier identity to own as the girl than as himself. She isn't self-conscious, she isn't uncomfortable in her own skin — or is it that he isn't uncomfortable in hers? Whatever the case, she's sure she's keeping Atobe on his toes. ]

[He knows he's been baited even before he sees the flash of that smirk, beautiful and dangerous, but it's difficult to care with his thoughts so intensely focused on the more compelling matters at hand—the rhythm, the changes, the intuitive effortlessness of moving a partner around the floor.

He's Atobe, or is supposed to be, and so he does remember to accentuate his steps with some of his persona's flair; the movements are wider, more grandiose, more sweeping and expansive in contrast to Yagyuu's more favored style of sleek precision.

But he'd vowed to leave her breathless, and he makes an excellent effort toward it, taking her through more spins, more dips, more perfectly controlled falls that beg the indulgence of complete trust in his abilities. And it is different, somehow, the way the facades color the familiar movements—that somehow it's Niou but not Niou he's dancing with, and he isn't quite himself either, and the experience is all the more satisfying for it.

He barely even realizes he's humming along with the music until he feels the vibration when he parts his lips to breathe, and so the next time she draws close, he spins her around halfway and slides an arm around her waist, bringing her shoulders back to rest lightly against his chest as he ducks his head toward her ear so she can hear it, too.]

[ Her heart drops out of her chest every time she feels herself falling. Niou, tucked far beneath the girl, knows instinctively and without reservation that Yagyuu, well-hidden behind Atobe, won't drop him. He's too good for that, too proud for that, and there's no fear, deep down. But the girl doesn't trust Atobe, not completely, and there's a giddy rush of terror in the moment before she's back in his arms, steadied and safe.

And there's no hesitation, no uncertainty, no question of what does this mean or what are we doing or should we stop when she finds herself leaning into him, his satin-smooth voice in her ear and against her back. She lets the chills race down her spine and rolls her head back onto his shoulder, exposing her throat and collarbone, and she revels in his proximity.

She's aware, faintly, as though on the inner edges of her consciousness where Niou lies, that she's letting him do the dancing, that she's all but abandoned her efforts to match him. And she thinks (and Niou thinks) that it's hardly the worst thing — because Atobe will be nearly as gratified if she allows him to reduce her to a breathless, shivering, heartracing doll in his arms. And she won't be too displeased, herself. ]

[You'll have to outdo yourself, he'd taunted her, and there's no doubting that she's succeeded in it as they've progressed through this dance, periods of rapid, elegant footwork interspersed with slower moments like these, the ones where he simply holds her and feels her move without steps. It's never enough to merely move through a series of choreographed motions, he'd learned long ago; of equal importance is the connection, the trust, the emotion that the partners bring to each performance.

There's no doubting that part, either. They've got it in spades.

And it's tempting to just stay this way, possessive and snug, riding out the high of the adrenaline and the music and the movements with his partner locked tight in his arms, but he also knows full well that the song will only last so long, and that an opportunity like this comes too rarely to waste even a moment of its time.

He'll bring them back like this when the song ends—the same message telegraphed through different motions, holding her close instead of holding her up, I've got you and you're mine—but in the meantime he doesn't let her linger too long, spinning her back out for another bout of fast footwork and energized choreography.

And he keeps her at that pace until the music finally does draw to a close, but he'll make sure she's securely in his arms as the last note strikes, surrounded in red rose petals and his predatory, possessive arrogance.]

[ Her feet move without her permission, keeping her balanced and upright when he spins her away again, despite how loath she is to leave him. That reluctance is broadcast in the grasp of her hands, the magnetic draw of her hips to his, the way every inch of her lithe body tries to mold to his in the seconds when she's close to him. She wants him, more than she wants the dance; the steps are just an unfortunate preoccupation. She lets him know it with her hands, her eyes and her body, in every available moment.

When they finally still again, she's back where she wants to be, willingly trapped in his embrace, her heart outpacing her deep, slow breaths by miles. His hands on her are electric, the rise and fall of his chest a seductive rhythm behind her shoulder blades. Once again, she lays her head back, offering the skin of her throat, the curious bump of her Adam's apple, the feel of her pulse and the dips in her collarbone, and this time, her hands find the back of his head to draw him down slowly. ]

[It doesn't take much more than a touch when she reaches to draw him down; he's known since the last interlude that she would've been just as content to remain stationary, too, and in a way he'd reveled in that control over her, the power to keep her from what she wanted until he extended her his permission.

The fact that what she wants is him just makes it all the more satisfying in the end.

And he'll let her, but slowly, always at his own pace and his own discretion, bringing his head down to lay a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder as his arm tightens more firmly around her waist, bringing their hips more securely together in an understated yet unmistakable reminder of who is really in control, and that every liberty she takes now is a gift, is because he let her.]

[ The possessive edge is almost tangible in his movements, the precise control of them; he's indulging her, almost as if he'd like to pretend that all of this, his lips on her skin, his hips against her backside, are all for her benefit. And she doesn't mind, really, she doesn't, because she is selfish, and she likes to be indulged — but he's also not the only one who feels a little smug when his partner's desire is nothing short of obvious.

So she exhales, letting the breath make her tremble a bit, and then her hand turns forceful, long nails digging into the back of his neck just hard enough to prove she means business. She arches her back just so, leaving the swell of her breasts beneath her dress as the focus of the picture, and presses herself back against him with purpose, lips parting on a soft pant.

Here's your permission, Atobe. ]

[There's one thing that no one could possibly deny about the girl in his arms, and it's that in all things, she knows how to put on a show. It's bait again, and he knows full well it is, but her shudder still catches him off-guard long enough for the abrupt sting of nails digging into skin to elicit a sharp intake of breath—and he answers it with teeth, firm enough to leave marks blooming red against the rest of her skin before dragging his way up to her ear.]

Play nice.

[And then it's his turn for force, his free hand finding the side of her face, guiding her head toward him in search of a better angle, never stopping to consider if the twisting is discomforting her before capturing her open lips with his.]

[ The soft, breathy sounds she was making turn into a gasp, a high note of pain and keen pleasure escaping her throat. Her skin prickles, the same feeling of crawling electricity that his hands imparted earlier now racing down her spine. Play nice, he says. Well, one of them should.

The kiss prevents her from retorting, but she doesn't complain. Even the ache in her neck isn't enough to make her protest or break the kiss. She opens her mouth to him more, eager and firm, her nails at the back of his neck now drawing teasing circles. ]

[If Yagyuu were paying full attention, he might've spent a moment marveling at how different this kiss feels from the last he'd had with this girl (who Yagyuu, of course, would know isn't precisely a girl at all), and what a strange sensation that is, that something as simple as thinking he's someone else could change the experience in such a notable way.

But Yagyuu isn't paying full attention, because his veil of Atobe's arrogance is still secure and in full effect, and what Atobe cares about at the moment is making certain the girl is nothing but awed by his prowess (and, perhaps, breath control). And so he keeps it on his terms, responding to her urging only when he cares for it, sometimes denying her further contact just for the sake of doing it—

And when he finally draws away from the kiss to let her gasp for breath, he watches her through amused eyes unhindered by glasses as he leans in and brushes noses with her with almost mocking gentleness.]

[ She realizes she's trembling when she can finally breathe again, tiny, helpless breaths, nothing like the exhausted gasping that comes after a hard match. He's looking at her and she feels mocked; it makes her bristle and recoil slightly, but she can't quite escape him, and she realizes soon enough that she doesn't care to, anyway.

Because if she gets away from him, she can't try again to drive him mad. She can't use the slight distance now between them to keep her curves ever-so-slightly apart from his body. She can't lean in, chest pressing gently to his, to breathe and brush her lips along jaw and ear and jugular. She can't target his libido with a well-blended mix of stark seduction and maddening helplessness in the wake of him.

But since he's so intent on keeping her there, she can and she does. She deliberately tempts and then she falters, breathless and flushed; she touches and teases and then she shivers, the motion bringing her closer to him for one heated second before she's leaning back again. ]

[And if her aim is to drive him mad, it's working; it's not the deliberate actions that catch at him so much as it is the seemingly involuntary ones—the shivering, the faltering, the tacit admissions of his effect on her. It's Yagyuu that wants the fight and Atobe that targets the weakness, and the both of them reveling in the shift and tilt of power as it moves between them.

And it's hard to say who it is that breathes in sharply at the brushes, whose fingers tighten at the feather-light contact of her lips on his skin, who leans after her when she ducks in and draws away, instinctively trying to keep contact even a moment longer. It's hard to say whose arms move to support her, one hand finding the back of her neck, the other securing her waist against any mishaps with those impossible heels.

But it isn't hard to say whose leg moves to sweep her feet out from under her, arms already placed and poised to catch her as gravity takes its hold. That's all Yagyuu, devilishly amused behind Atobe's smile.]

[ She yelps a little, despite herself, caught completely off-guard by the sudden drop. There's that split-second of terror again before she's safe in his arms and already glowering up at — at Yagyuu?

She falters slightly and Niou resurfaces in the eyes, a little taken aback and his heart thumping hard in his ribcage. It's not just Yagyuu, it's Atobe, too, but the illusion isn't quite solid anymore, and Niou would be lying if he said that seeing Yagyuu through that smirk didn't make him want to drop the girl entirely.

But he can't, not yet — he retreats again, leaving the girl awash in indignation. She's breathless, but it doesn't detract from her sassy tone. ]

Has anyone ever called you a prick?

[Atobe would be far too straightforward to resort to tricks like that one, he thinks to himself, drinking in that flicker of Niou behind the subtle crack in the illusion—and he takes a minute to muse if that wasn't exactly why he did it, that one intentional flaw to draw attention like a beacon. It's not a mistake this time, not a lack of control; on the contrary, it's the confidence that a momentary break in character won't undo the whole thing, and this time he's confident in it.

Niou is somewhere in there, too—a thought he indulges for a single fleeting moment—and Yagyuu, somewhere in here, hasn't forgotten that.]

What can I say? I like it when beautiful women fall for me.

[But then it's back to arrogance once again.]

[ She makes a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, irritation mixed with disdain and a roll of her eyes, and she lifts one leg to drape it around his lower back. Some small part of her is reluctant to take one foot off the ground, but she thinks that if she can get a rise out of him, it's worth it.

She arches her back just so, letting her weight lean further back over his arm, and turns her head away with an expression of acute disinterest. ]

Isn't it less rewarding when you have to make them fall?

Not when they answer like that.

[By which he means her shift in stance, but it might also be the tilt of her head; she may be looking away, but he's more than willing to take that arched back and newly-bared line of her neck as an invitation. The hand that isn't supporting her weight slides from her waist, running down over her hip and along the outside of her thigh in appreciation before he reaches to show the same admiration for her throat.

It's a steady, confident motion, but it isn't enough to disguise the slight twitch in his fingers, or the way he can't seem to turn his gaze from her face.]

[ And while her gaze remains markedly dispassionate, she can't conceal the goosebumps racing in the wake of his touch, or the way her very skin shivers when his fingers pass over it. They're playing at something stupid here, she thinks, and Niou agrees. Niou has more patience for these games than she does, though, and so she moves again, deliberate, but quick and impatient.

She returns her foot to the ground, a sliding motion down the back of his thigh and calf, then shifts, moving her other knee to seek between his and creep steadily upward.

Let's see how long you can stand this. She doesn't speak, but the challenge is clear when she turns her head to meet his eyes. ]

[Now that, that is a dangerous game in more ways than one, and he knows it shows in his eyes when she looks at him. It's not much of a reaction, but he's willing to bet it's still one that she wants, and it'd bother him more except for the fact that he currently has two very pressing concerns on his mind, one of which involves what she's doing and the other of which involves not dropping her while she does it.

Which is why he's not precisely gentle as he hauls her back up, his fingers still trembling slightly as he battles to keep control. All games aside, the chances are high that he'll drop her if she keeps this up—and given that challenge in her eyes, she clearly plans to for quite some time—and that's not an outcome he's willing to let happen, no matter what he has to sacrifice to prevent it.

What he doesn't do, though, is stop her; surrender is also an outcome he's not willing to let happen, not in a game like this. So instead, once he gets her upright, he leans in toward her ear and murmurs an echo of her own words, putting effort into keeping his voice steady—and in the octave it should be.]

Has anyone ever called you a tease?

[ He's so quick to pull her up, she knows she's winning. A smirk creeps across her face, her arms dropping from his shoulders to rest hands at his waist. The skin of her neck and her shoulder comes alive at his voice so close to her ear, making her shiver pleasantly.

She takes a moment to bask in his barely-veiled eagerness, humming low in the back of her throat. She could do this a while, teasing and taunting and waiting for him to give in — but it's the waiting part she can't quite abide by. ]

You don't like teasing? I'm sorry.

[ There's a pout and a mocking lilt in her voice, but the hand that slips down between their hips is all business when it takes hold. Careful what you wish for. ]

[And there are many things that his iron control can withstand, but this—no, this isn't one of them. The jolt and thrill that race along his nerves are like cracks in a mirror, the beginnings of fissure in a perfect sheet of ice, and for a second it's Yagyuu launched completely back into the forefront, preservation instincts taking over long before consciousness ever has a chance to catch up.

Atobe wasn't there when this girl's alter-ego said wait. And Atobe isn't the one who's always been charged with knowing the limits. Atobe embraces excess, defies limits simply to show he can. Atobe is never denied anything.

Yagyuu is the one who knows how to deny himself. Especially for the things he wants the most.

He doesn't say a word in response—no witty quip this time, no edged retort—but she does manage to rip something quite a bit like a low growl from his throat, half a reaction to the touch and half a warning against pushing any further. It's taking every ounce of his concentration to keep himself still, to resist the urge to let his hips snap forward in response, and for a second there's no mistaking Yagyuu in the stance, the eyes.

Preemptively, he traps her other hand at his side, fingers curling tight around the wrist; his free hand goes to her throat, this time molding lightly to the contours of her flesh, but leaving no room to doubt that he could tighten this one just as easily.

It's a clear warning, an unmistakable no. But he also knows there's no telling if she'll take it as one.]

[ She loves the reaction she earns. Just the sound alone is electrifying to her nerves, her skin alive with it and heating fast; the sudden tension in his muscles makes her hungry and anxious, wanting more even as she realizes she's not so sure she can take what she already has.

But uncertainty has never stopped Masuda Yuuki — until now. His hand at her wrist is another small terror, but his hand at her throat widens her eyes, stops her heart. She wonders, for the first time clearly, if she's gone too far. That's not Atobe anymore, and Yagyuu is inherently more frightening, less predictable, less controllable.

To Yuuki, that is.

The same touch that could have stopped Yuuki is what draws Niou inexorably forward. With the girl receding and Niou at the forefront, the tides turn again, excitement and arousal overpowering the fear, which doesn't, to be fair, abate entirely. But that's the best part, in Niou's opinion.

It's a giddy little thrill, nothing like the stomach-dropping uneasiness Yuuki had been pinned beneath. Niou knows Yagyuu, he knows what he will and won't do, he knows his limits and he knows he's standing right on them.

So he squeezes, gently, and tilts his head back, ready to be choked. ]

[It's hard to say what it is that actually thrills him more, the light squeeze of Niou's hand or the memory of that wide-eyed, uncertain look in Yuuki's eyes. It's always electrifying, a battle of the wills like the one they'd just fought, but better still—oh, the best of all—is that moment when he wins, and earns himself the distinct pleasure of watching as the realization sinks in. The look that flashed through her eyes, the sudden recognition that she'd lost control of her own game—that had been just as stimulating, if not moreso, than long legs and clever fingers.

But he knows it's Niou now. There's no mistaking it, even though nothing about the appearance has changed; it's Niou, somehow still perfectly Niou behind the delicate makeup and feminine attire, just as he's Yagyuu beneath his wig and contact lenses. It's the two of them now, and the game has changed, it's different—

And maybe it's better that it has, because he knows Niou. He can stop Niou. And Niou is the one who will know with the utmost confidence that he has nothing to fear.

Even supreme willpower can't keep his hips from twitching at the attention, but he's quick to remedy that slip, eyes falling with odd intensity on his partner's neck as Niou tips back to bare it for him. And he's not rough, not precisely, as his fingers begin to apply pressure; no, it's slow, deliberate, almost agonizing in its precision, because this is still a message—albeit one now amended for its new recipient.]

Let go.

[His voice is rougher than usual, the steadiness of his breathing slightly forced. And it's such a concentrated effort that his next words slip out before he realizes he's said them.]

Let go or I will.

[ Every measured step toward pain makes Niou's heart pick up, but even the looming promise of violence in Yagyuu's grip doesn't prepare him for the heat that flashes through him at the sound of his partner's voice — lower than Niou can make it, ripped out from under all its polish and shine, a thin veil over ragged breathing. It makes his knees feel weak. Stupid that he feels more like a girl now than he did when he was being one.

He's so taken with the sheer sound of it that it's a moment before he can understand what Yagyuu's actually said. Let go or I will.

The words sink in fast once he makes himself hear them. Yagyuu understands that Niou's pushing because he likes this, because he's looking forward to that moment, several seconds from now, when he can hear his own breath just barely squeezing its way through his throat. He's toeing the line because this is what he wants from Yagyuu, this barely-bridled aggression, the threat (the promise) of violence.

Shame rushes through him just as fast as the heat did moments ago, and he surrenders his grip, retreating as far as he can in Yagyuu's. He wants to be let go, and at the same time, he's afraid of what happens when this stops. When their bodies stop distracting them, they may have to speak, and then what?

Niou averts his eyes. ]

[No.

It's too familiar, all of it too familiar, variations on a recurring theme that seems to arise every time they come together like this—the game, the loss of control, the single step that somehow crosses the unspoken line, and then this, Niou's retreat, Yagyuu's guilt, the abrupt and overwhelming urge to throw it all away and reset things to normal because normal is safe and predictable and something he knows how to handle—

No.

Maybe it's because it's their anniversary. Maybe it's because one of the only things Yagyuu despises more than making a mistake is repeating it. Maybe it's just that he hates it when Niou won't look at him, as though the loss of eye contact implies a deeper loss of connection in an area that Yagyuu never wants to see severed. But this time, whatever the reason—no.

They're supposed to be at their best when they're together. Not like this.

The hand on Niou's throat loosens, fingertips stroking gently where they once squeezed, and then slides up to lightly capture his chin instead, guiding him to look back again. He'll have time to ponder the ramifications of his words and his partner's reaction later; for now, the most important thing is this.]

You've more than outdone yourself.

[It's a deliberate echo of their earlier words, the lady's prerogative for selfishness, the gentleman's pleasure to indulge. Do you think I'll find it a pleasure, indulging you?

He moves forward, just a little, not willing to let go this time. Not on this night of all nights, not under these circumstances. Not when they're supposed to be the best together.

Not when he almost thinks he might've found it a pleasure, himself.]

[ He knows how cagey he must look when their eyes meet, shame and apprehension and disgust fighting for supremacy in his expression. He wonders if Yagyuu's ever thought he was really, truly crazy, because if he ever has, he sure as hell must think so now.

Yet he's not recoiling, not pushing him away; he's holding him there, reassuring him and even drawing just that much closer, like he's afraid he might lose him if he lets go. And he might, Niou reflects, because if Yagyuu would just let him go right now, he thinks he would run until he couldn't anymore, out of the city and onto the paths and into the woods.

Not that he could outrun himself. He feels his shoulders slump slightly at the realization that he's stuck with himself, even if Yagyuu surrenders him. There's no point in running, is there? Yagyuu would catch up, too, sooner or later. He never lets Niou get far, never lets him escape out of reach.

Remembering that is what relaxes him finally, lets him breathe, but his eyes have wandered from Yagyuu's again. He feels a little tired when he reaches for Yuuki's voice. ]

Told you I would, sweetheart~.

??? | Goldenrod Radio Tower | Broadcast;

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