stencilled: (pic#)
[personal profile] stencilled
Title: A Female Touch
Pairing: Kame/Anne
Word Count: 2,655
Rating: G
A/N: Prompted by the recent AnAn and this Maquia pic. Nothing else to say besides: I write when I should be doing more pressing things; it's a procrastinating coping mechanism. I'm sorry. :S As always, any corrections are MORE THAN WELCOME ♥

They're lounging in between shooting as the staff whizz by with props and hurried adjustments. It's chaotic yet oddly subdued with a side of their triangle missing.

"Where's Fuku-kun?" Anne asks, not bothering to look up from the magazine in her lap. He watches her bring a long finger tipped with gold to her mouth before flipping a glossy page.

"He's doing his homework. I don't recall getting that much homework at his age, but I was never that studious," he laughs. When Anne gives only a tiny hum in response, he tries not to frown. "What are you reading?"

"Just a fashion magazine."

He nudges his chair closer to take a peek.

"Ah, she's pretty," he says, eyeing a spread featuring a model posing along a red couch just a shade lighter than her lips. The colour goes well with her dress and her brown curls which shine almost golden under the set lights. "You model too, right? Do you like it?"

"My height comes in handy," Anne replies and that isn't an answer he's expecting; it isn't an answer at all. His frown breaks through just as Anne's head finally lifts. She flicks her finger at the rim of Bem's fedora. "It's fun, of course. It just..." He waits until she finally sighs. "It just gets tiring sometimes. Having people watch me all the time, being constantly dolled up... It's not who I am. Not really."

He smiles, the layers of foundation that are the secret to Bem's perfect youkai skin stretching at the corners. He knows the feeling.

"I understand," he says because lord knows how many times he has tried and failed to count the many faces of Kamenashi Kazuya, mystery extraordinaire, even to himself.

Anne gives him a returning smile that's soft and sad and teasing and all together confusing. "No, you don't."

"Because I'm an idol and you're a model?" he questions with a laugh. "We're not that different."

She shakes her head and the magazine beckons her attention once more.

"Because you're a man and I'm a woman."


He has an appointment scheduled with the director of AnAn magazine a week later.

"Pardon my suggestion but, Kamenashi-kun," his manager fumbles as they climb into the car after the meeting. He buckles his seatbelt and feels the curve of the steering wheel under his grip. He would rather be the one driving at the moment and Hanada doesn't seem to mind. "Kamenashi-kun, don't you think it's time? You're in a good place right now."

"And I'm thankful for it," he smiles and pulls out of the parking lot.

"It would certainly help with your popularity. KAT-TUN could do with-"

"KAT-TUN is doing fine, Hanada-san. Thank you for your concern."

"Okay, then think of yourself," Hanada continues and Kame sighs inwardly. Hanada is a great manager but he doesn't know when to quit sometimes. Actually, that might be why Kame took to him in the first place. "Think of your fans. They've all been waiting for this."

He grins at that. "Some suspense can be good, Hanada-san. Let them anticipate. It's more fun this way."

"It's not fun when you don't give them what they want," Hanada returns and to Kame's relief, finally relaxes and leans back in his seat. "Are you not ready to do it? If you're scared about the possible backlash-"

Kame snorts. Scared? He hasn't been scared for a long time. He wonders if Hanada still sees him as the frail, angry young teenager who once yelled at him because he wasn't allowed to attend a wrap-up party.

"Hanada-san, what's the point of showing all your cards at once? I'd rather not end the game so soon."

He's returned with a silence that signals his victory. He briefly turns his head to the side to see Hanada's eyes squinting as he rubs the stem of his nose, just above the square of his glasses.

Feeling a pang of remorse, he winks and promises, "Don't worry, Hanada-san. I'll think of a different surprise."


"One, two, three... Say youkai!"


The camera clicks and flashes and Kame has Fuku's tooth-less grin his hands. Just one of the hundreds of photographs he's already taken. Kame knows he's going a bit too camera-crazy, but Fuku's adorableness is like an addiction. He wonders if this is how his fans feel.

"And now for Anne-chan!"

He swings the camera and captures startled, inky eyes and a peach-ish 'o' of surprise. He laughs and saves the picture right away because there's something about Anne that's just as addicting.

"Delete it!"

He snaps another picture, this one with a tight frown and crooked eyebrows. He saves it too.

"Kamenashi-kun." She takes a step forward and he takes a step back. He's laughing and pressing down on the capture button and only realises Anne has left the room when he sees a photo of her back on the camera display, her loose hair frozen in a dismissive swish.

"Uh oh," Fuku says and sends him an anxious look.

He lowers the camera at last and rubs Fuku's head, taking a moment to echo the sentiment and assure him before following after. He's never thought of himself as a jerk, but there's a first time for everything.

He finds her in her dressing room, shuffling inside her bag and pulling out something small and silver.

"Anne-chan?" he calls, knocking lightly at the doorframe.

"Do you still have the camera?" she asks, back still turned away.

"I do, but I've turned it off. I'm sorry I went too far. I should have stopped when you told me to." He quietly berates himself because he's an idol. He can't walk down the street without shades and a hat and - he should know better.

His relief when Anne turns to face him is as strong as the gust of wind shaking the treebranches outside the window, shedding his worries like crumpled leaves. He meets her round eyes and tries for a sheepish, apologetic smile.

"Will you delete the pictures?"

"Only if you want me to." There's silence and he moves to step inside before remembering etiquettes. He's always been mindful about manners and it's strange how he forgets to think around her. "Can I come in?"

There's a small nod and he steps inside, standing just a few feet away. He fiddles with his camera and scratches at its metallic surface, childishly punishing it for dumping him in this situation. For bringing in questions and doubts in a friendship -it is a friendship, isn't it?- that was as easy as tying Fuku's shoes.

He catches Anne watching his hands play with the camera and he stills, leaving it hanging by his side.

"Sorry! I'm not. I won't do it again. Promise."

Anne releases a giggle that rings like a song. "I know. You can relax, I'm not going to jump at you."

"Ah, okay," he says, risking a laugh and trying to shoo away the thought that he wouldn't be entirely opposed to that. "I... You didn't say anything when I took pictures of you before..." and I've taken a lot.

"I didn't mind then," Anne mumbles, leaning back against the dresser and looking down at her slippered feet. Long locks of black hair fall across her face like ribbons of silk and his eyes focus on the small, silver cylinder held tightly in her hand. Lipstick.

He wants to smack himself for being so obtuse.

He steps forward and leans against the dresser so that he's standing right next to Anne. She has taken to wearing flats for the duration of the drama period and he knows its a courtesy to his pride; he's thankful for it in moments like these.

"Anne-chan," he whispers, the same way he whispers to Fuku when he's about to tell him something of great importance. She only has to tilt her head slightly for their eyes to lock together. They're that close - and he can see everything so clearly without the lens between them. He could count her eyelashes, thick and black even without a touch of mascara, if he was daring enough. "Anne-chan," he repeats. "I look like a youkai without makeup, but you're always beautiful."

In his mind, he can picture the KAT-TUN members puking up their lunch, but he could care less because Anne is laughing. Which means she's smiling. Which means that the pink spreading along her cheeks is real and he didn't completely destroy everything by overstepping his boundaries.

"Is this why your fans love you?" Anne asks.

"Why? Are you feeling it, too?" He's mostly not teasing but pretends he is and moves on before she can reply with her own mostly teasing answer. It's how things work between them: half-truths jumbling together with whole truths, too difficult to untangle. Too embarrassing to risk untangling. "I'm serious, though. There's no need to be shy. You look great with or without."

He watches her eyes flicker away and back and away again.

"I used to play baseball, you know."

For a brief moment, he wonders if she's trying to seduce him in her own special way.

"I know," he replies with a fond smile, imagining whisps of her hair peeking through a helmet. "I think that's fantastic!"

"I used to hike and roll in the dirt. I didn't know a thing about makeup and being beautiful," she explains, her words slow and quiet. "I was a tomboy. I didn't know how to be a girl."

Pausing in thought, he thinks of his mother who dedicated her life to raising four hyperactive, rough-housing boys, all without a trace of lipstick. A woman who was a force to be reckoned with even when her plain face stood out amongst the other mothers. He remembers his mother's joy when he first took her to the salon with him, how she glowed.

Gently, he tugs the lipstick from Anne's grip and holds it in the air.

"So what does this mean to you?" he asks with genuine curiousity. "Beauty? The essence of being a woman?"

Anne shrugs, her eyes squinting in thought. "Maybe? It makes me feel stronger."

He mulls that answer over for a few moments before flashing a smile.

"Anne-chan, can I borrow this?"


The camera clicks and he resists the urge to lick his lips. He's given instructions to turn his face slightly to the left, to jut out his hips just so. It's a different transformation today. He's neither Bem or Bela.

He's both.

It's hot with all the lights concentrated on him, but in the shadows he can see eyes watching him in fascination, onlookers murmuring to themselves in shocked whispers. He's being evaluated. He narrows his eyes and purses his lips, more than willing to give them his best.

When the shooting is over, the stylists dab at his face and from a distant mirror, he sees himself return.


There's a buzz going around the streets and subway stations that funnels into the film set when he arrives and he pats himself on the back for a job well done. He's not about to forget Hanada's expression when he handed him the magazine this morning. Always full of surprises, Kamenashi-kun.

He says his greetings to everyone before heading to his dressing room and momentarily freezes when he sees Anne leaning against the door. Her hair isn't yet braided but her lips are already bright Bela red.

"Ohayoukai," he says, raising his hand in the complimentary gesture and walking forward to unlock the door as Anne steps aside.

"Ohayoukai," she answers, voice lilting and he knows what's coming before she speaks. "Ka-zu-ko."

He grins to himself and deposits his bag on the dressing counter. When he turns around, Anne is perched on the table top, a magazine lying beside her with a face not entirely his gracing the cover.


"So," he reiterates. "How did I look?"

"Hmm? Passable," she says, her lips twitching. "It'll give Fuku-kun a scare."

His neck curves back in a laugh. "So my point is proven, then? It's the woman that makes the makeup, not the other way around?"

"Is my point proven, then?" she retorts with a curl of vermilion lips that borders on a smirk.

He pauses, shaking his head with a smile. "You never had to argue your point, Anne-chan. I understand as much as a man can understand."

Her eyes suddenly narrowing, Anne gives him a slow look over that begins at his feet and ends with a frown of concentration that lingers on his face. He finds it very hard not to do something lame like strike a pose of some sort. He doubts sticking his tongue out with a wink will win him any favours from Anne as it does with his fans.

"I take it back. I think you understand more than that, Kazuko," Anne says at last, jumping off the table and walking towards him.

"Oh? Baseball and now lipstick, I guess we have more things in common than you thought, huh?" he laughs. He finds it odd himself but he's done with packing himself into cardboard boxes labeled man and woman. He likes it better -likes himself better- when he can stretch out his limbs with ease. He's only good at pretending when he's on stage.

"About the lipstick..." Anne begins and he's quick to remember.

"Ah, right! I have it in my bag, just-"

He's reaching for his bag when he's stilled by a soft pressure against his mouth and it takes him a moment to realise that it's Anne. More specifically, Anne's lips. That's an important thing to note. It could have been her fist and that would not have half as pleasant.

Anne's lips on his.

Pleasant is an understatement.

There should be a feeling to this but he's almost numb from his mind screaming at him to do a dozen different things that don't make sense (or no, they make perfect sense but not at this stage of their relationship. slow down, Kamenashi, slow down), from all the anticipation that's been building up on set and finally coming to life. After snapping pictures after pictures and storing them away like an obsessive stalker, this is the moment he wants to remember.

He's leaning into the kiss and reaching for Anne's waist just as she pulls away. And he feels something now, something akin to regret and need.

"I... I was planning to say something," she begins, eyes wide as if she can't believe what just happened. What she just did. Kame can relate. He's having trouble separating fantasy from reality at the moment, too.

"Say what?" his throat is scratchy and he doesn't want to cough and risk breaking whatever moment they're having. It's all hazy yet fast and sort of spectacular.

"That... that... it looks good on you. The lipstick, I mean."

Blinking, he tugs his eyes up from Anne's lips -and oh, he can already sense the new fixation- to see her focusing on his own. When she feels his stare, her eyes lift as well and they share a mutual gaze before her face bursts into flames, the red of her lips seeping out to dye her cheeks. She's stuttering out an apology and running out the door before he can stop her.

"So," he says to the room, his calm voice incongruent to the speed of his pulse. He turns and sees his reflection through the dresser's mirror. Eyes alert and mouth painted red from second-hand lipstick. From a first kiss. Perhaps Anne isn't all too different from his fans; a little lipstick seems to go a long way, he muses.

He grabs a napkin from his bag and carefully presses it to his lips, pushing it into the tiny dips and crevices of sensitive flesh. He's determined not to let this be the end of it but in the meantime, he wants to save this memory for as long as he can.

Folding the napkin into a delicate square, he stores Anne's kiss safely in his pocket.


His lips tingle distractingly during the entire day's filming and Bem is forced to hold back twitching smiles that flicker alive at the sight of red.

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