A/N: A fic in which Yamato is addicted to sex and Booster Juice, and Tai is addicted to Yamato.
WARNINGS: Swearing, sex, etc.
Playing for Keeps
Prologue
by: neo-chan
Yamato Ishida is a slut.
There's really not much else to it than that. He's a slut, plain and simple. He's not your average slut, I'll admit; he does have standards, and he's not reckless when it comes to sex. But he believes that where there's a mutual attraction, there's no reason not to indulge.
Yamato Ishida is also my best friend. How did I come to be friends with one of the biggest manwhores ever, you ask? Well, he wasn't always such a slut.
Yamato and I go way back. We met in elementary school and initially clashed, but it was more of a rivalry than anything and our bickering turned into banter and our rivalry into comradery as the years went on. By the time we were in seventh grade, we were inseparable. It was a few years later, in the middle of high school, that Yamato suddenly transformed into one of the most gorgeous guys on this planet. His blonde hair and blue eyes had always been there, but suddenly his hair was made of golden feathers and his eyes were pools of brilliant sapphire. His skinny limbs turned into a beautifully slender body and his pearly smile became accentuated by the cheekbones he had grown into perfectly. Girls began fawning over him, and no one could blame them for it. When Yamato casually came out as bisexual, the guys began fawning over him, too, and that was it; basically everyone he encountered wanted him. Now he's twenty years old and has probably slept with half of those people—although he's narrowed his preference down to just guys now, so the female population who hasn't slept with him yet has lost their chance.
Everyone loves a pretty face (and body), but that's only half of the equation. What makes Yamato's allure so widespread is his looks plus his persona. He has a natural, casual charisma and is witty and smart, and he also happens to be an amazing singer. He's the frontman of a band he started in high school called The Teenage Wolves, and when he's on stage, he owns the entire room. Yup, Yamato is the entire package.
Me? I'm just plain old Taichi Yagami. Okay, okay—I'm not so plain; I'm one of the top players on our college's soccer team, and I'm pretty good-looking, too, if I do say so myself. But I'm nothing compared to Yamato. And, unfortunately, being his best friend doesn't make me immune to his allure. I've had feelings for Yamato ever since I realized that I like guys as well as girls.
As you can imagine, it kills me that he's such a slut—especially since I'm the one person he talks to about everything, and I mean everything. My head is filled with tidbits about his sex life; for instance, I know that his last bedroom partner liked to moan "Sugar" instead of Yamato's name when he fucked him. The guy he was with before that has a fetish about cumming in bellybuttons, and the one prior to that was obsessed with hygiene and wouldn't suck Yamato's dick unless Yamato showered first. Granted, hearing about some of his weirder partners is amusing, but through the amusement there's always a twinge of jealousy in my gut.
It really is painful, though, to be in love with him—and not just because I have to hear the details of his love life. It's painful because he's unintentionally made it very clear that I'm just a friend to him and will never be anything more. He laughs when anyone asks if we're dating and brushes it off carelessly with a "God, no, he's my best friend". On one occasion, he actually said while joking about his own promiscuity that I'm one of the very few people he'll never have sex with. He doesn't know how much that stung.
Regardless, I've still got this silly little hope buried deep down inside of me that one day he'll see me as more than a friend and that I'll be the one he changes his promiscuous ways for. No one knows this, of course, because it's stupid and I'd rather suffer in silence than fuck up our friendship. Besides, with the extensive list of various flaws that Yamato finds bothersome in a partner, it's doubtful that we would last as a couple even if he did decide that he wanted to attempt an exclusive, long-term relationship.
So I just suck it up and deal with the fact that I'm in love with my best friend, the slut. Maybe when we're seventy-five and he has a lower sex drive and is all ugly and wrinkly, I'll tell him. My chances will be better then, right?
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