What was the score again?
Mfor language and well, horny scenes.
I have a feeling this might come backto bite me in the ass, but yeah :)
Reviews are most appreciated.
"Get away you bastard…"
Shuichi felt himself being jabbed fiercely in the ribs by annoyed, random fingers and took it as a cue to wrap himself around Yuki even more.
The room was freezing in the middle of winter; they only had two blankets and one fell abandoned on the floor some time during the night – what else was he supposed to do?
"Shuichi…please," Yuki half-begged, trying to gather the blankets around him as tightly as possible, away from any offending wasps of cold air.
"I'm cold," Shuichi whined.
"Get your own blanket," Yuki groaned. He curled up tighter as Shuichi wriggled some more.
The air fell silent as the both of them gave up simultaneously—Yuki was never a morning person; he left any arguments and important matters unfinished until he had enough energy to get his brain functioning normally and Shuichi knew, by heart, the clockwork of Yuki's brain.
He dug his freezing toes into the soft cottony material that was Yuki's favorite grey pajama pants and snuggled into Yuki's sweatshirt. It was too freaking cold to go bare-chested like Yuki normally did but that did not stop Shuichi from reaching under the folds of Yuki's shirt to touch bare skin.
Yuki yelped in surprise and threw the blanket –and in the midst of it, Shuichi- off the bed.
"What the…" he shrieked, followed by a string of colorful profanities that had Shuichi wincing and carefully putting on his wounded puppy look before Yuki turned to glare at him, his tousled golden hair sticking up on both ends.
"You…" he frowned and jabbed a finger forcefully in Shuichi's direction. "Don't touch me when your fingers are all frostbitten!"
"I'm cold," Shuichi wibbled, and stuck out his lower lip.
"You…Aargh.."
Yuki huffed and pushed his way out of bed, to reach for the bedroom slippers at the foot. He headed to the wardrobe and tossed Shuichi several sweatshirts and some more blankets before threatening to kick him out if he woke Yuki up again and promptly fell asleep, curled up snugly and Shuichi-proof this time.
It was another three hours before the phone alarm rang, signaling the time for Shuichi to wake up and haul his ass to the studio to record the band's latest album, yet to be titled.
Bad Luck has long surpassed best-new-rock-band status in Japan and was fast etching its name as the nation's biggest rock act, nudging Nittle Grasper off the top to claim the throne. It was a long time coming, but the band had been handled by the most capable and musically influential producers and managers. Besides, Shuichi's enthusiasm was like a drug—it was infectious.
In the four years since they released their first single, Rage Beat, the band under the helm of Shuichi, the face of Bad Luck, and with the backing of their passive but neurotic producer, Sakano-san; gradually evolved their sound to a more rock edge, as compared to their techno-inspired beginnings. That decision fitfully exposed the band to the mainstream, and the media, in turn, embraced them with glee. Ever since then, there was hardly time to stop and breathe when every section of the band was demanded for and obsessed over.
Shuichi loved every second of it.
He slipped on his black heavy turncoat and knotted a brown and blue striped scarf around his neck before reaching for his similarly patterned gloves on the top drawer of the cabinet.
He padded over to the bedroom and said as loudly as he could from the doorway, "I'm going out now Yuki. Bye, Love you!" and received a grunt and an obliging wave of hand from the mountains of warm comfy sheets. He felt like an old bag sometimes from all the corny, sugary things he would say to Yuki almost on a daily basis but it could be worse- they used to be hourly.
Both Yuki and his paychecks have grown significantly larger – Shuichi was now earning a fraction more than Yuki, so Yuki could no longer raise an eyebrow and smugly close all their arguments with his "I'm the one earning money for the both of us plus you live in my house so shut up" line. In spite of the bankrolls, there was never a need to pack and move in to a five bedroom, three bathroom penthouse like all the normal millionaires so they had stay put, warm and comfortable in that apartment.
The place still looked horrendously like a bachelor pad—there was hardly any food around and beer was the official drink. Even so, the details of the two of them have somehow molded and pieced together, like pieces of a puzzle. The Playstation was in front of the television, with one controller on the floor and the other on the couch. Shuichi always got all excited playing Street Fighter and the floor was a better place to run around and celebrate after he pawned Yuki. His tea mug would be in the sink in the morning, and back into the cabinet by evening when Yuki washed it. Yuki's latest SLK Mercedez convertible keys was forever on the table top, unmoved from its position the night before, where Yuki had come into the house, removed his shoes and tossed the keys there with a careless air and an exhausted sigh.
Shuichi sat on the steps of the front of their apartment to wait for Hiro. He had a car of his own—a company sponsored sleek, black, Lamborghini convertible—but years of depending on Hiro and his trusty bike never quite wore off, except for the bike. He had gone all out last year and bought for Hiro's birthday, the Ducati bike his best friend has lusted over the most part of his life when he wasn't lusting after girls or guitars. Sakano was of course, beside his mind when he found out. Why can't they be normal people and drive to work? Motorcyclists have higher accident risks, what would the insurance company think? He went on and on until Hiro threatened to run him over with the bike.
"Yo…" Hiro smiled, taking out his helmet and resting it on his hip. He rubbed his gloved hands together and blew on them. "It's cold today," he remarked.
Shuichi hopped to his feet and caught the helmet Hiro threw him.
"Yeah, the weather's getting worse," he grimaced and tucked the ends of his scarf into his coat. He climbed onto Hiro's monster of a bike and secured himself properly before Hiro took off, speeding off into the cold Tokyo morning.
In fact, it was so cold, it might as well be raining icicles instead of spewing and recycling biting, freezing wind.
The wind beat down on them mercilessly, seeping in between clothing to get at bare skin, and it was all Shuichi could do to keep from falling down the bike to get his teeth to stop making horrible, chattering noises. He clung on to Hiro tighter, fighting the possibility of somehow being pried away and falling off. With his weight, you just never know.
Their latest album was scheduled to be released in six months' time. So far, production of the album has been skidding dangerously on the line, if not for a few detours here and there. They had released two singles so far, the latest only a week ago, and the chaos that came along with the release was inevitable, with them having to perform in various music programs and oblige interviews and photoshoots, in between gaps of recording new songs for the album.
K-san was already waiting impatiently for them at the management office, tapping his AK-47 impatiently against his hip. He looked rather ridiculous, having battled the weather by wearing a bright orange beanie with a jacket that was an even brighter shade of orange. He visibly brightened when he saw the two approaching and then turned the aim of his weapon towards them.
"Ah, you are finally here," he said smoothly, laced with a thick American accent.
Hiro smiled. "Right on time," he said. He pointed to the blob on top of K's head. "Nice beanie."
Their manager beamed his pride (and put the gun away, much to Shuichi's relief) before dropping the grin and replacing it with a business-like frown, and a dangerous glint in his eye. "You guys have a tight schedule today. You have five hours of studio time—" he ignored Shuichi's horrified gasp, "—and a performance on Hey! Hey! Hey! to record at four, since Shuichi might need five tries or thirteen to get it perfect and if time permits, a photo shoot at eleven thirty because we don't ever have night shots for you guys so this might be a perfect time to do it."
He took another look at Shuichi's face which was red going on blue and said, "I got Tohma to call Yuki which means, Shuichi—" he flashed said singer a perfect smile, "—you can't use that calling card to get off early. Now boys, off to work!"
Shuichi whined and complained the rest of the way to the recording studio. K-san was always particularly mean to him, but he was obnoxiously evil today, he wailed, and promptly ignored Hiro's reasoning that K had covered all bases that day and in a rare moment of rare moments, came one up on top of Shuichi which was why he was upset and the fact that he was upset had nothing to do with work since Shuichi had turned into a workaholic lately.
"It's just his way of showing his affection, Shu," Hiro laughed, clapping Shuichi on the back and steering the both of them towards studio number eleven.
"He's out to get me," Shuichi moaned, milking Hiro's sympathy for all it was worth.
Hiro nodded, sympathizing. They pushed the door open to reveal the sounds of a maniac jamming away on his keyboards—Suguru was practicing the chords to the sounds of Rage Beat.
Raising his eyebrows slightly at such a nostalgic choice of song, Shuichi pressed the button and took a deep breath before bellowing into the microphone "HI SUGURU!" and received an ear-jarring combination of the wrong chords of fingers crashing onto the keyboards and Suguru shrieking five times too off-keyed for his vocal chords.
Shuichi beamed and Suguru gave him the finger.
It was still surreal, this experience of theirs. The band had never felt like they were superstars, they were still them, and Hiro was still a nagging red-haired bastard who showed no trace of it at the feet of his adoring fans who duly believed he was Shuichi's bodyguard and soul mate—most of it owing to the fan service act they performed a year ago at the concert hall on their tour. If only they knew, that Hiro wasn't a saint; he was very much the devil in disguise. He launched verbal wars with the singer all the time and won most of them, thus triumphantly putting all the bills of their drinking escapades on Shuichi's tab. He coaxed and persuaded with a soothing voice and a charming air, and the rest of the band were soon tricked into his very ways. Shuchi never missed the opportunity to tell him that he should become a vocalist himself.
Hiro was very much an asset to the band as everyone else. If anything, he held them together. In a world of glitter and leather and 5-door limos and room-service and groupies, he seemed to be the only level-headed person sane enough to bring anyone's head too overloaded with fame crashing onto ground. He nurtured Shuichi's writing expeditions with coffee and a few chords of his guitar and knocked him into place whenever he hit his lows, brought Sakano a new supply of aspirin every week to calm his nerves, and wrestled with Suguru on an occasional basis after practice sessions.
For the most part, Shuichi privately thought that if Hiro wasn't there, there wouldn't ever be a Bad Luck. Suguru was much too bad-tempered (he scarily bore a resemblance to Tohma in terms of sticking the knife in the gut and then smiling), K to trigger-happy and Sakano needed professional help. Shuichi, well, Shuichi had the bad habit of thinking too much with his heart and not his head the most of the time.
The time at the studio flew by and it was pretty soon time to leave for the recording. Five hours was too short to record a decent song, and in that amount of time, Bad Luck had merely managed to secure the instrumentals of Heaven, a song Shuichi wrote on whim after a wild night of sex(don't ask) and a weird-ass conversation with Hiro and booze.
He called Yuki in the limo, just because.
"What do you want?"
He pouted. Their phone conversations nearly always started that way, unless it was Yuki calling then it would be "Oi, are you busy tonight?"
He sniffed for good measure. "Just calling to said I loved you, but it's okay, I take it that you are too busy to even say hello."
He heard Yuki snort on the other side of the phone, and an even louder snort from the person beside him. He jabbed Suguru in the leg for good measure and continued.
"I suppose Tohma called you earlier?"
"Yeah, I was thinking it might be a good idea to go out to the bar tonight and see if I could get lucky. You know, it's not very often I get an off night." He could hear Yuki smirk too, and pictured him in his smooth leather chair, his legs crossed on the table and his laptop open and blinking in front of him.
"You— hey!" he protested over the phone.
"Just kidding, my little Shu. You know how I could never get enough of you," Yuki said smoothly, a little too smoothly.
"I hate you," he settled instead, scowling and sinking in deeper into the plush leather seats of the limo.
"As do I. Now, Shu, did you remember why you were calling? I am approximately forty thousand words behind my deadline which is in 26 hours time. 'She' is going to kill me. Non-negotiable apparently, and contract will be cancelled if I don't submit it in time."
"You know I earn enough for the both of us," Shuichi said sweetly, and resisted letting out his evil laughter of doom before Yuki came right over and shot him in the head.
"With your obscene expenditures, I doubt we could."
And when Shuichi made sounds of protest, Yuki continued, "You bought three shirts yesterday in awful neon pink, and they all looked the same. The only difference was that the words 'I HATE PINK' were in three different colours."
"I thought it was cute," Shuchi retorted, indignant.
"Hah! You even bought a Nintendo console, when you already have a Playstation, and to top it off, you bought a Gameboy Advanced as well."
"But they have specific games which I want to play for each!" Shuichi argued, losing horribly.
"What's the point anyway, you never win them."
"I beat you in Street Fighter!"
"Shuichi, it's because I suck at video games. But between you and the machine alone, your brain cells aren't good enough," Yuki said slowly and kindly, in the way that grandmothers would to their grandchildren who ate too much cookies and got sick.
"I could buy 5 million units of them either way; I don't see your point." He tried for a different approach.
"I was being nice," Yuki snapped. "That's just the bottom of a horribly long list of obscene things you spend on."
"You wrote a list of obscene things I spent on?" Shuichi's mouth went slack in horror.
"I like things organized."
"Well…" Shuichi pondered. "What else did I spend on?" he whispered. Maybe it was time he got a personal assistant.
"I'm putting this down now," he heard Yuki say dryly instead and tried unsuccessfully to speak over the threat before hearing the finite click over his pleas.
Yuki-1 Shuichi-0