Disclaimers: Same as before. No money, no sue.

Author's notes: Heavy yaoi in here! Tohma and Ryuichi have sex! Enjoy.


track six

I called Tohma during a stop over to tell him I was coming. K had texted me during the flight but I didn't read the message. I had a pretty good idea what it said anyways. After all, I had just taken off before we even sat down to look at the contracts and see if I wanted to go another round as a signed musician or just hit the club scenes for a while. K was supposed to be my manager, but I was treating him horribly by not mentioning my decision until after I had left.

Of course, I had done it on purpose. I wanted to see Tohma without K there; I wanted to talk to my friend without any prying ears about. K was a good man, a good manager, but still he was another person and this was just something I really shouldn't share with anyone. Tohma had shared it with me because I had seen the aftermath, and I wasn't about to start telling people what had happened six years ago in New York.

The plane was delayed during some heavy rain so I was late getting in to the airport. I was a little worried that Tohma would have left or that he got the time wrong and was waiting for me for too long. But I really shouldn't have worried. Tohma was there, waiting off to one side of the traffic, his head down as if in deep thought. Seeing my chance, I rushed forward to glomp him.

"Whoa, whoa! Hold on!"

I blinked for a moment and then hit the side of my head, laughing a little at myself. "Oops, sorry, Tohma. I forgot. We're in Japan now."

"Oh, no worries," he replied, smiling his real smile. "Given where you've just been, I'm sure you have a lot of new habits. I don't mind. Besides, I'm too thrilled to care."

I looked up at him, shoving my sunglasses back. His smile brightened, and he led the way through the airport, still talking.

"It has been a long time since we've seen each other, Ryuichi."

I chewed on my lower lip, wanting to grab his hand, but we were in Japan and I didn't want people to stare again. That was one of the things I really didn't care about my homeland everyone was a touch too conservative for my liking. It was probably why I used the child mask a lot more while here.

Pouting, I grabbed his arm anyways and used my most childish voice ever. "Why's To-chan so mean to me?"

"Ryuichi, please," he hissed, tugging his arm away. I laughed and started skipping, singing something completely random and totally off-key. Some of the staring was going away, people finding something more interesting than a child and some guy.

Tohma caught up to me, looking slightly ruffled. I slowed down and stopped skipping, deciding to walk like a normal person. I glanced over at him, noticing that he had a slight smile on his face. At least it was a real one I knew that if he gave me a fake one, I would have started acting up again.

"So, why did you rush back home?"

I thought it over for a moment and then shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, you didn't sound so good and I thought you've missed me."

"I've talked to Mister K," he said, stopping at the exit. He looked straight at me, frowning. "I don't understand, Ryuichi. Why did you leave L.A. so fast? I thought you liked it there."

Oh. That was something I really did not want to talk about. Not the reason why I left so fast, but what I told K over the voice mail. I had been nice and everything, but it may have sounded weird even for me.

"Maybe he got it wrong?" I said, shuffling around him and walking out the door. I heard him sigh as he caught up to me and took me by the elbow. He led me over to a waiting car, where a guy in a uniform was holding the door open for us. I sat down and moved over, Tohma following me. The door was closed and I could feel the air twist and hear the thump of my suitcase being put in the trunk.

"I think you have a very good reason why you've decided to quit singing," Tohma said.

I turned, taking off my sunglasses and sitting them on top of my head. Tohma looked tired and strung out and I just wanted to tangle my fingers in his hair and pull him against me. I resisted the urge, instead tangling my fingers with each other.

"It has become work."

I felt more than saw Tohma's questioning eyebrow. I looked down at my lap and my tangled fingers, not sure how to explain that simple sentence. But then the driver got in the car and we were heading off into Tokyo, the chance for an explanation gone for the moment.

"I haven't told Noriko or Mika you're here yet," Tohma said, speaking about mundane matters since there was an extra pair of ears nearby. I thought we could surprise them later on today if you feel up to it, of course. I know how hard jetlag effects you."

"How about we just get together for dinner?" I said, leaning back in my seat. "Would that work?"

"I'll have to call Noriko and Mika, but sure, we can do that."

I smiled and leaned back, taking Kumagoro out of my pocket to chew on. We weren't going to Tohma's place or my place, but to N-G, which I thought was a little odd, but I suppose Tohma was busy for the day. I looked over at him, noticing the way he was chewing on his lower lip and lines marked the area between his eyes. I leaned over and pressed my finger against that spot, his eyes widening as he looked back at me.

"You're worrying too much," I said quietly, keeping my voice low so the guy driving couldn't hear us.

"Can you blame me?"

"Tell me?"

He nodded slightly, grabbing my hand and giving me a playful little push. "Please, Ryuichi, we are in a moving car."

"Fine, but you are so getting a Kumagoro Beam when we stop," I said, flopping down in my seat and sticking my tongue out at him.

Tohma laughed, and messed up my hair. I didn't care since it was a real laugh instead of one of his stranger laughs. The rest of the ride was a lot better feeling, even if it was still quiet. The driver took us to the parking lot under N-G and unloaded the suitcase before driving away to park. Tohma and I took an elevator up to the top floor where his office was. I tossed the suitcase on the couch and bounced over to the set up in the corner, fingers itching to poke at all the shiny gadgets of a professional keyboardist's kit.

"Please don't touch that, Ryuichi," Tohma said, closing the door with a soft click and then turning the lock.

Oh right. It was time to talk now, wasn't it? I turned away from the keyboard and computers and took a seat on top of Tohma's desk, leaning back on my hands. "So, I guess you need real answers," I said.

"I never heard you call singing work, even when we had that one producer in the early days."

"You mean that guy who looked like a porcupine hit him in the face?" He nodded and I shuddered, remembering at how weird the guy's mustache was and how he tried to sell us as being a gay band and kept on prodding us to get rid of Noriko. "It wasn't. I mean it never felt that way before. Is that why you look so sad, Tohma?"

"No, that is, I don't think so," he said, sitting down next to me. Strong piano-playing hands gripped my shoulders, tugging me closer. I sighed and leaned against Tohma, closing my eyes. "I just don't want to see you let go of something that keeps you happy."

"It can't keep me happy if it takes too much work."

"Then what will?"

I frowned and thought about it now that I was actually able to do so. What would keep me happy? Well, for the longest time, it had been the music. Everything had music after all, and I could see it and hear it, from the simplest of words to the canopy of screeches and drawn out sighs. Music in the rain, music in the cries, music in the pain, and music as someone dies. And hearing a tune in my head, I was already humming it, my face buried against Tohma's neck.

His breath hitched and he sat stiffly upright, my lips brushing his skin with the words and the tune and I think he shuddered, his hands twisting in the hair at my neck. He shifted, and I moved back, tilting just enough for warm lips to brush mine, a wet tongue touching mine. Did he know what he could do to me? Or did I do the same to him? Did it matter which one of us was gasping straining tasting the other first, the music a bright thread between us?

I was on the desk, spread out and straining, still singing and gasping, his fingers stroking over my bared skin, his teeth tugging on the chain around my neck. Somewhere I heard the beep of a disconnected phone, but it wasn't important, never important as feeling his mouth hot against me, sucking on my chest, leaving tiny wet rings over my skin. His teeth scraped against my too thin sides, mouthing ribs that were almost visible, and his hands stilling my hips.

Where did this need come from? It wasn't the tune, wasn't the sudden melody that we were sharing, his lighter voice counter weaving against mine, punctuated by soft gasps and whispered moans. Was it something more? What had happened since the last time I was here? Tohma was trembling as he hooked his arm under my right leg, pushing it up and away, his body shifting flushed against mine. I tugged at his shoulders, his shirt half hanging off, his tie gone, his eyes huge and dark against his flushed cheeks. I leaned up, feeling him strain, feeling the sweat on his chest, his thighs, and tasting his cologne on my tongue as I traced the edge of his jaw. So soft. I dug my fingers and pulled him down hard, closing my eyes against the sharpness spreading through me.

"Sorry," he whispered even as I dug the heel of my foot against the small of his back. Fingers stroke my hip and I hissed through my teeth, adding the word to the others, adding more to the melody.

He drew back, letting my leg go and pressing his hand against the solid wood of the desk, his breathing harsh and his eyes closed. I scratched along his back, squeezed and his breath broke, a sharp sob escaping his mouth. He pressed his lips against my temple and rolled his hips slowly, every inch heat and silk and hardness spreading me wide. Sharpness spiking with a delicious heat, I arched up, accepting it, him, this need.

"Don't. . . let go."

He choked on a laugh, raising his head and looking down at me. He pressed in deep and my breath caught, the music dying on my lips forgotten.

"I can't," he replied, his lips finding mine.

Tongues tangled, and I let go, my hands scrambling for something safe to hold on, something not him. Papers cracked under my fingers and something hit the floor with a loud crash and he pressed his entire weight down, his hands finding mine and stilling them. I threw my head back, the notes straining, the music growing in my head again, pounding in my chest. He was moving faster, sliding and twisting with each note, each breath on my neck another harmony, another accent. It was building in my head, in my chest and I squeezed his fingers, squeezed him hard as it filled me, my body arching up against his frantic thrusts.

He was crying, short soft sobs, his eyes closed and his mouth so hot against my neck. He lost all rhythm, all control, and his body moving the way it wanted to. The harmonies dissolving into brief staccatos of movement, heat and hardness growing and stilling before it all fell apart, his cry muffled against my skin. I squeezed his fingers, feeling the warmth spreading through me, the music descending to a soft warming glow. He loosened his grip on my hands, moving down my sides and I held him close, stroking his soft hair.

I knew he was crying but I didn't care. In many ways, Tohma only could fall apart when he was like this, sweating and relaxed in a chaotic afterglow. All his barriers were down and he was again crying for something that never really was his fault. I whispered words, pulling them out of the air and pinning them to the melody, tracing circles over his shoulders and neck. He calmed after a while, pushing himself upright, his eyes red.

"We. . ." he stopped, and winced, and I realized that I must have bit him on the neck. He brushed his lips against mine and started again, "We really need to write that song down."

"We've got equipment right over there," I said, laying where I was, not wanting to get up and accept the pain I know was waiting for me. I always bruised easily, but this time had been frantic and needy and so unlike our usual bouts that I knew I was going to be limping for a while.

"Mm," Tohma replied, pulling away slowly. "We need to clean up first."

"Bathroom?"

"This is an executive suite," he replied, finally smiling. It was a tired, sore smile but it was still open and honest and I leaned up to lick the corner of his mouth.

"Let's share."

He stood up, pulling completely away and I shivered at the suddenly cold air. It took me a few attempts to stand up myself, my knees really not in the mood to support me that well. Tohma hooked his arms around my waist, and I wobbled with him across the floor to the well-appointed bathroom. There we stripped off what was left of our clothes and he turned on the shower, letting the water steam before leading me under the spray. We washed off the sweat and semen and tears, my fingers finding scratches and bruises a plenty on my skin.

"Do you still have that song?"

I fingered a thumbprint on my hipbone and nodded. The melody and words were still bright in my head, and I could feel the same spreading heat and light in me as before. Tohma leaned down, his lips open against mine.

"Good."

We tumbled out of the shower, dried off and threw some clean clothing on. He turned on his synthesizer, booted up the computers and we went to work. This time, there was only play, only a bright shining moment of music drowning out the rest of the world.