Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Matter of Perspective ❯ Yamato ( Chapter 16 )

DISCLAIMER: Digimon Adventure 02 belongs to Toei Animation, and 'Honey Bunny' belongs to Sakamoto Maaya. Download it and then you'll know what Yamato sounds like as a girl -- she's the voice-actress I decided to attribute to him. I own my interpretation of the Teen-Age Wolves, and Nakamoto Yuriko (but honestly, why would you want her?). Copyright infringement not intended, all rights reserved.

A/N: More of my Teen-Age Wolves, and the special introduction of their manager, Nakamoto-san. She's someone I created during a diary RPG, but this is the first time I've ever used her in a fic. (For those who were unaware, 'Ms.', pronounced 'mizz', is something that feminists came up as a 'Mr.' equivalent. Nakamoto-san is definitely the sort of character who would use it, though I doubt there's a Japanese equivalent.) The lyrics for 'Honey Bunny' are here. We've also got lots and lots of Yamato torture. It's the first REAL taito from Yamato's POV, everyone! Rejoice!

In spite of the advertising, they had a good crowd. Plenty of excited whispering, but without the haze of marijuana smoke that occasionally made it hard to breathe onstage in rougher establishments. This much, Yamato knew just by peering through the curtains. Whether any of them would start a riot later on was much harder to predict. That involved several different and complicated factors. At least the odds weren't overwhelming; she didn't have the right to expect anything more than that. It was part of the rush, that moment of heady anticipation that Yamato lived for. She hated being recognized in her street clothes or the phone calls that sometimes came late at night, but when she was onstage and in control, then they could scream as loud as they liked.

All she wanted was the ability to walk off that stage at the end of the day and go back home to an apartment building where she went out to get the paper in her bathrobe just like everybody else and no one knew her name without a proper introduction. That, and -- at the moment -- a new outfit. But mostly, just that.

"I am not wearing this, okay?"

The other Wolves glanced around, and Mavi tried unsuccessfully to hide a smirk. "Watch the artistic temperament, Yamato-chan. It's only cute the first ten times. Besides, what are you telling us for? The black bra is a nice touch, but it wasn't my idea."

Which meant an altercation with their friendly neighborhood manager. She sighed, and then squinted at the bowl in Mavi's hands. It looked an awful lot like some kind of sugary kids' cereal with lots of sparkles and marshmallow shapes. "Mavi...if I asked you what the hell that was, would I regret it?"

"It's Mickey Mouse cereal. Why? Do you have something against Mickey Mouse? Hey, he kicks ass in Kingdom Hearts!"

"It's turning your milk blue," Sekyou observed with evident morbid fascination.

"Blue is a nice color," Mavi said defensively. "Someday, all milk will be blue. Let's just hope it tastes better than green ketchup."

Leaving her band to their own devices (which probably wasn't a good idea, but luckily there weren't any explosives nearby), Yamato turned away and went to find Nakamoto Yuriko. She was their manager.

Ms. Nakamoto had been with the Teen-Age Wolves for pretty much their entire career, and she never let any of them forget it. As the latest and most interesting rumor went, she'd done some modeling work when she was younger and had gotten completely screwed over by her own manager, which might help to explain her take-no-prisoners attitude. Yamato was not particularly fond of her, but she seemed dedicated enough to the success of the band in spite of not actually liking it herself. And then there was the fact that she'd only blinked a couple of times when Yamato tried to explain what had happened before making emergency calls to all of her favorite designers so that they could have clothes ready for tonight's concert.

Initially, Yamato had felt extremely grateful for her manager's open-mindedness (although 'indifference' might have been a better word), but after she had been pawed by about twenty different people all trying to take her measurements and then violently disagreeing with each other on which colors to use, she felt a tad less grateful. Now that she'd had a good look at the results of that session, there wasn't really any of the gratitude left. She knew that Ms. Nakamoto only cared about the return investment on her pet goldmine, but why did that goldmine always seem to lie between Yamato's legs?

She already had the first portion of her rant worked out by the time she spotted her manager talking to some random guy about the lighting. Really, Yamato knew that her stage clothes weren't any worse than usual -- that she was simply not used to being exploited as a girl -- but so what? Yelling at Ms. Nakamoto for a few minutes before concerts always seemed to help her nerves, and Ms. Nakamoto understood that. Sometimes, they could agree on the little things. Not that she would have called her a friend; as a matter of fact, Yamato did everything in her power to spare her real friends the unpleasantness of being introduced to a necessary evil.

Which is why she almost tripped over herself when she realized that the random guy chatting amiably with Ms. Nakamoto was Taichi.

"Really?" the vicious businesswoman murmured. "You know, I've always made a point of telling them to use more blue in the spotlight. So as to bring out Yamato's lovely eyes."

Her best friend shrugged his shoulders. "Why would you need to bring them out? Look, this is just my opinion -- s'not like I've ever been to art school or anything. All I know is that Yamato looks washed out back here. She's too pale as it is. Were we going for 'undead'?"

Perhaps most shocking of all was the sight of Ms. Nakamoto actually nodding in response to criticism. She would have to take Taichi aside later and ask him how he got this woman to listen. Not once in all the time they'd known each other had Yamato ever gone to see her manager expecting results. Oh, she got the occasional concession (there was a picture of the whole band on the cover of their CD instead of her shirtless in glossy black-and-white), but only when Ms. Nakamoto was feeling generous.

Carefully interceding before Taichi could break any other laws of physics, she waved the black bra pointedly. "Nakamoto-san? Can I talk to you about this?"

Reluctantly, Ms. Nakamoto turned to face her and then gaped. "My god! What is wardrobe thinking?"

She lost her grip on the offending undergarment. "Excuse me?"

But Ms. Nakamoto had already gestured someone over and was now taking hold of her blouse angrily. "Hello! Can I get someone with actual eyes to really look at this girl for a minute? What sort of mixed message are you trying to send? We would want a chemise with this outfit if we could get away with it, and you give her a Playboy bra? Honestly, I don't know why I even bother trying to give people instructions! Find Hiroshi if your pea-sized brain can handle that and get me a white bra. Pink if he absolutely must have color, and lace please! Lots of lace."

So close and yet so far, the blonde reflected sourly as her manager went back to tugging on her clothes. Ms. Nakamoto was a tiny woman in reality, barely coming up to Yamato's own shoulders, but when she got mad she was suddenly much taller. The poor stagehand she'd abducted had an absolutely petrified look on his face as he scurried away. Then Ms. Nakamoto turned back to face Yamato and tugged at her outfit musingly.

"Overall, though, this is very cute. I'll compliment Hiroshi-kun before I fire him. So 'girl next door'! Remember, Yamato, you can be as sexy and aloof onstage as you like so long as your clothing still makes you look obtainable." She hmm'ed. "You know what, this outfit would almost work better without any bra at all. What size are you?"

Had Ms. Nakamoto seriously asked her that? With Taichi standing by, waiting patiently to resume their lighting discussion? Yamato squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pretend this wasn't happening...but if there was one thing Ms. Nakamoto hated, it was having people avoid her direct questions. She narrowed her eyes very slightly and then reached out to pinch Yamato's breasts. Lifted them experimentally. Murmured, let them go. Sometimes, Yamato thought that the only thing that prevented her from filing a sexual harassment lawsuit was the fact that she knew her manager didn't get off on anything but money.

This time? The thought didn't even cross her mind. All she could do was wonder whether seeing that had made Taichi think of Sunday night in his kitchen. She was thinking of it.

"...Almost into the D's," Ms. Nakamoto was saying unhappily. "You'll give yourself stretch marks if you spend the whole concert like that, and who knows how that would translate as a boy? Oh, well. White should work well enough. Especially if it's a push-up," she finished brightly. Then she went to find Hiroshi or whomever she meant to replace him with at the end of the day.

Which left Yamato alone with the man she'd come way, way too close to sleeping with a few nights ago. "So..." It had started intelligently enough, but now she trailed off and found herself staring at the floor uncomfortably. "I didn't know you knew Nakamoto-san."

"I don't really," Taichi said. "She seems nice enough."

"Then you're right. You don't know her very well."

One of those tense, awkward silences that fell so often when they saw each other now. It made Yamato ache inside.

"You, um, you didn't tell me you were coming," she offered. Trying to keep the conversation going just a little bit longer.

"Yeah." That was it. He gave her a very fake-looking smile and backed away casually. "I'll get back to the others. The gang's all here, you know. Probably wondering where I went. Good luck, Yamato. Not that you need it, right?"

She forced herself to laugh, and Taichi left without even a backwards glance. The others were waiting? Yamato? But they were best friends! He always blew things off to spend more time with her. Always. Sure, that was before he'd said he loved her, but Yamato hadn't thought that would change anything. It wasn't as if Taichi had meant it. The whole girl thing had just screwed with his head a little. He couldn't really love her. She...didn't deserve it.

The rest of the concert went off without a hitch, though perhaps some of the fans noticed that she wasn't as into it as her 'cousin'. Yamato just couldn't concentrate on the music no matter how hard she tried. She kept closing her eyes and seeing Taichi's face, as if someone had burned it into her retinas. The band had played a couple of new songs, including one of Mavi's with lots of English in it and an easy-going beat. The name was Honey Bunny or something like that. Even their old songs came out sounding okay, thanks to the hours they'd all put in creating alternate versions for her much-higher voice.

And yet, even as she rode that high, she still couldn't stop herself from thinking about Taichi. Music was her life, but...somehow it didn't mean anything without her best friend. They were supposed to go out for pizza afterwards and split a large even though she knew he would eat it all by himself. He was supposed to make fun of her for wanting to be famous, and ruffle her hair and call her 'Yama'...because he was Taichi and that was just what he did! Instead, she had her brother telling her what a great performance that had been and Hikari saying in a subdued voice that Taichi had slipped out when the lights came up.

She hadn't gotten a chance to thank him for suggesting the concert to Sekyou. That was how he'd known Ms. Nakamoto, though it didn't explain why she paid attention when he talked. Taichi hadn't meant to ever tell her about it, but Takashi wasn't very good with secrets and he had let the whole thing slip in-between sets while they all tried to relax. The concert was supposed to cheer her up, remind her that her life wasn't completely over, and it probably would have worked. If she'd been able to enjoy a single minute of it.

Riding the train home with her forehead pressed against the intensely cold glass and only the sound of the heater in her ears, Yamato's mind wandered back to Taichi. She still had to cook dinner for her dad when she got home, she should have been worrying about what to make him now so that she could crawl safely into bed that much sooner. Why couldn't she stop thinking about her best friend? And why did she keep stumbling whenever she tried to call him that? That was all she wanted from him.

Wasn't it?

Cook, microwave ding, tuck into Tupperware containers, write the old man a note. Realize that it's so late it's early. Wander blindly into her bedroom and lie down -- only to suddenly feel wide awake. Yamato rolled over miserably and pressed her face into her pillow. How could she be too tired to sleep? Taichi...

No. She was not going to think about Taichi. She was going to think about anything but Taichi. Even the extremely disturbing thing Mavi had said to her before they started setting up their instruments.

It wasn't as if she'd been participating much in the conversation. She couldn't even remember what they'd been talking about before that point. All she knew was that Mavi had looked at her and said abruptly:

"Seriously, though, I can't believe you're out in public. If I got turned into a girl with a body like that, you'd never get me out of my room. Well, at least not for the first month."

What had she done again? Shoved him so hard he fell on his ass? Then Akira's guilty muffled laughter was ringing in her ears, and Sekyou was reaching down to help their drummer stand. He'd had that perfectly calm expression on his face as he suggested that Mavi shut up -- the one he wore when he was on the very edge of losing his temper. Being Mavi, of course, he only stayed quiet for a few minutes before starting in again with what a valuable resource they were wasting.

Those were the words that Yamato now turned over thoughtfully in her mind. She had been too disgusted at the time, but now...lying there in the darkness, she found herself wondering why it hadn't occurred to her before. In just a few minutes, she could learn more about girls than most guys knew after years of marriage. It was tempting, and besides: it would definitely keep her mind off Taichi for a little while. Okay, yes. She was going to do this.

Carefully, quietly, she got out of bed and locked her door. It wasn't as if her dad would be home yet, but Yamato knew that she would never be able to go through with this with that door unlocked. She felt along the wall for her light switch and then realized slowly that she didn't really need it if she stayed in front of the full-length mirror. There was a shaft of moonlight from her window that would work well enough. Besides, the near-darkness seemed appropriate somehow for what she was about to do. She moved over to the mirror and started to unbutton her blouse haltingly. That much didn't feel any different, so Yamato let it fall away and stood there in her underwear studying her reflection.

The image did nothing for her. Even if she tried to pretend that she wasn't looking at herself, it was still just a girl. Maybe even sort of pretty; otherwise completely unremarkable. Looking at her provoked none of what she'd come to associate with arousal as a female. Where was the itch, the quiet tingly fire that she had felt when Taichi put his hands on her? Not just down there, but all over: as if her whole body needed the sex. This pale and silvery thing just stood there looking terrified while Yamato slowly unhooked her bra -- something that had taken plenty of practice, but between Mimi and Sora both insisting that not even a temporary girl should be unable to handle something so basic...

Round breasts. Just...very round. She was sort of at a loss as to how else to describe them, and found to her surprise that she didn't really like the idea of touching them. They reminded her of Sora's explanation on their fourth date (blushing all the while) about which parts of her could be touched and which parts were off-limits to everyone except for her husband (coy smile here). They also reminded Yamato of another date months later where the Keeper of Love had suddenly lifted up her shirt and whimpered softly. She had been the one to put a stop to it -- so confused by Sora's sudden change of heart and worried that she'd regret this, but more than anything else...

...disturbed by the idea of actually putting her hand on something that looked so gooey. She remembered wondering on the way home why the hell women had developed that way, with irregular lumps on their chests that nobody could possibly consider attractive. Of course, then she'd heard all of the other guys talking about how much they wanted to...do things with those lumps, but Yamato hadn't thought about it that much. After all, she'd had a party to go to later, and --

Maybe she was going about this the wrong way. She didn't have to see her hands on her body to know how touching it felt, right? So maybe she could get back into bed and not think about Sora anymore until morning. Right. She had to ignore the little part of her that thought dwelling on your girlfriend should have helped with something like this, but she was used to ignoring that part of her. She'd had plenty of practice. Yamato lay down on her mattress and closed her eyes.

They were soft, but sort of firm at the same time. What was it that Taichi had said when he touched them...? Squishy. Yamato found herself smiling a little, and shook the thought away violently. If she wasn't going to think about Sora, she sure as hell couldn't start thinking about him. She ran her hands over her breasts, and found that it felt sort of nice but just holding onto them was inexplicably comforting. Nothing really electric, even when she worked up the courage to brush against one of her nipples. And in spite of herself, she could not help thinking that nothing she did to herself was half as good as what he'd done to her.

Fingers going lower now, grazing the ticklish skin of her belly, and then coming to an uncertain stop at the first tiny curls. She knew what she would've done as a man -- but this was obviously going to be a bit different, and Yamato had no idea which parts to touch or even whether she was supposed to touch anything. She spread her legs impatiently. If this sort of thing was instinctive behavior, maybe she could just leave her body alone long enough and see what came naturally.

God, this was so stupid. Experiment: failure. She wished she could've just asked Taichi what to do -- he would've known for sure. Undoubtedly would have found her cluelessness extremely amusing. Even with her eyes shut, she could see his soft smile. Propping himself up on his elbows and teasing her ever so tenderly. "Naïve Yamato-chan," he would have murmured; she could almost hear his actual voice if she strained her ears. "Don't you even know how your own body works?"

And she would have been forced to shake her head, feeling humiliated. Not that Taichi would let her; he'd lean his head in close and brush his lips over her nose. He was so gentle, even as he dragged his kisses down her neck. It made Yamato groan. Something about his hot, wet mouth on her bare skin was just so sexy, though her neck wasn't particularly sensitive. She wanted him to go lower...where it would feel better.

If she arched her back, Yamato could almost feel the very tip of his tongue in the hollow between her collarbones. He spiraled downwards when she shivered; drawing back slightly at her breasts and then taking hold of one of them with that familiar hand of his. There was a slight smirk on Taichi's face that said he knew how weird that felt to her. He had done it on purpose. His other hand rested idly on her belly, and he seemed to be shifting his weight -- shifting it so that he could lean down and catch her nipple in his mouth. She whimpered at the feel of it and wondered in a brief moment of lucidity whether that was what Sora had wanted. Yamato knew she was panting, gasping as he dug his fingers into her and squeezed, but she couldn't help it.

His fingers were sliding down the curve of her body, getting between her legs. Inside of her, teasing. She wanted them deeper. She wanted him deeper. When was he going to stop fooling around and fuck her?

Only she didn't want him to fuck her. She was fairly certain of that.

She wanted Taichi to make love to her.

That thought, that single jarring thought, sat Yamato bolt upright in bed and slapped her in the face. What the hell was she doing? Her hands were still down there, and she ripped them out with sudden violence. Stared at the way her fingers glistened in the darkness and felt dirty. She'd been fantasizing about her best friend. Passing thoughts were one thing and even that she didn't want to make a habit of, but actual fantasies? On a scale of one to ten, with one being things you should be doing after turning someone down and ten being things to avoid at all costs, this was probably about a billion. Yamato raked her hands through her hair and then pulled until her roots screamed at the abuse. She had to stop thinking about him, wanted to stop thinking about him, but she just couldn't.

What was wrong with her?

End of Part Sixteen.