Disclaimer: Gravitation and its characters are the property of Maki Murakami. I make no profit from this other than pleasure.

This is an AU, chapter one caveats still apply. :D

Warnings: Non-consensual sex, language, yaoi relationships...the usual in an adult Gravi fanfic.

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Casting Couch
Chapter 2: Vanity
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"Don't forget to lock the door behind you!"

Shuuichi silently obeyed, leaving the 'investor's' hotel room behind him, feeling lighter of heart than he had in months.

The last time. Sakano had promised. The last time, the last time, last, last, last... oh, what a beautiful, beautiful word...

He skipped and danced his way down the steps and out into the street. As usual, he was in an unfamiliar part of town and as usual, he was going to have to find his own way back to the studio. Curious how these investors of Sakano's never cared whether the lead singer of their 'investment' caught pneumonia on his way home. Or got mugged.

Or raped.

Or murdered.

To them, Shindou Shuuichi was nothing but a tax write-off. With benefits.

Shuuichi laughed off his own morbidity and on a sudden whim, headed for the park across the street from the hotel, dancing to the music in his head. He wasn't sleepy, wouldn't be until the throb in his ass dissipated, he knew that from frustrating experience. Sakano's investors always insisted they were having a good time, but somehow, his enjoyment of the evening was never particularly important. Oh, he'd come... several times. He couldn't really help himself. His own body responded with all the vigor of horny youth, but that didn't mean he liked it. Any of it.

Didn't mean he didn't cry into his pillow until the ache in his head overpowered the ache in his behind.

But he really hadn't had much choice, not if he wanted to sing. It was, so Sakano had made clear in that private meeting following the first 'dinner party,' part of the game he had to play to make it big. Sakano hadn't known how naïvely ignorant he was. Had been honestly appalled to discover his client hadn't known what he'd agreed to simply by going to that dinner. It was a game played often enough, so Sakano claimed, within the vanity label business. A game he'd simply assumed Shuuichi understood.

Sakano had explained all that, then given him the chance to back out...even as he'd made it clear that calling it quits would end the dream. Everyone, these days, so Sakano had explained, thought they could make it as a singer, a writer, or a mangaka. All those no-talents, so Sakano had explained, had milked dry all other avenues of funding long before Bad Luck came along.

Which meant, Shuuichi had had no choice. He wasn't about to give up on the dream. He knew the only place in the world he belonged was onstage, singing his heart out to the world. And that meant, quite simply, playing the game.

But the game was over now, he thought, spinning in time to the music only he heard. He had made it, damned if he hadn't. They had the CD ready to ship and a concert tour nearly finalized, awaiting only the reviews on the first week of sales, and sales, the fat man had promised, were in the bag. These nights of courting investors were finally at an end.

He spun again, wishing—Oh, how he wished—for one of those fancy MP3 players like Hiro had. He'd eyed them often enough, but couldn't justify the expenditure, no matter it could be a tax write-off for Bad Luck. In the exchange, an MP3 was a night with one of the lesser investors in one of the seedier hotels, and not worth it. Not worth it at all. Not when his own head could supply the tunes.

And so, he spun to those tunes in his head. Spun and spun until, breathless and dizzy, he came up against a railing and clung there, like a drowning man to a life preserver, eyes closed as the wonderful giddiness slowly subsided.

When it was safe, he opened his eyes...on a wonderland of spinning stars.

And laughed softly at himself: it was only the city lights, but oh, such a view.

Chilled, now he'd stopped moving, he shoved his cold hands in his pockets, found, along with those useless ducats, a paper, a napkin, from the feel. Curious, not remembering putting it there, he pulled it out.

It was the words to a song. Sort of. An idea, mostly, that had come to him in the middle of a solitary dinner at MacD's last week. He'd almost forgotten about it. It wasn't great, hadn't truly begun to gel, but it was a start. He leaned on the railing and looked out over the lights of the city, letting the feelings more than the words run through his head, trusting his hindbrain to sort out the lyrics and let him know when they were ready.

A sweet-scented breeze rose, bringing with it a hint of a melody, a suggestion of the soul behind those elusive lyrics hanging almost forgotten in his hand. He closed his eyes and as the scent washed over him, he began to hum, adding the formative melody to the breeze.

"Nice voice." The dry, cynical tone set oddly on the beautiful baritone voice. "But you should take it to a karaoke bar before some nature lover has you arrested for disturbing the peace."

Shuuichi started, twisting away from the railing, turning toward the voice, wincing from the bright light on the far side of a tall graceful figure.

"You write this?" The silhouette lifted a hand. A piece of paper fluttered wildly between two fingers, as if trying to escape.

Shuuichi realized, suddenly, that his own hands were empty, and recognized the backlit napkin. "Yes."

"Lyrics?"

"Yeah." Wasn't it obvious?

What sounded very like a snort of disgust still managed, somehow, to be elegant. "You should stick to karaoke. Your voice doesn't totally suck, but those lyrics do. Bunch of virginal romantic tripe." The man began to walk toward him, his stride smooth, panther-like in its grace. "When will you teenyboppers learn you have to live life before you can write about it?"

The tall man released the paper as he passed Shuuichi. It fluttered away in the breeze, eluding Shuuichi's fingers to come to rest on the gravel. Shuuichi stopped its escape with the toe of his sneaker.

"You're welcome to your opinion," he said, bending to rescue the paper.

A pregnant pause, then: "Cocky little bastard, aren't you?"

"Maybe." He folded the paper and shoved it back in his pocket. "And maybe I just write about the way I think love can be, if only you try hard enough."

"Bull shit is bull shit, no matter how you sugar coat it." The man grunted and began to walk away. "Fuck. Write what you want. What do I care? It's not like anyone will ever hear that crap."

Defiance flared. He didn't know why he gave a damn about this cold-voiced bastard's opinion—maybe it was because tonight was the 'last time.' Maybe he just felt like finally, somehow, he was legitimate and didn't have to take crap from anyone—but suddenly, he wanted to shove that insult down the fancy-dressed throat.

"Hold up."

The tall figure paused, and twisted toward him, and the man's now-visible face took Shuuichi's breath away. He was... gorgeous. Sculpted features, pale hair glowing in the streetlight... not even the arrogant frown could destroy the effect.

If anything, it only increased the mysterious attraction.

"Yes?" Sharp. Annoyed. Impatient to be off.

Shuuichi fumbled in his pocket for the ducats, pulled out two and thrust them toward the man, who looked down his thin nose at the slips of paper.

"Passes," Shuuichi said abruptly. "To my next concert. Two of them, on the off-chance you can find some poor girl desperate enough to accept a date with a jerk like you."

He didn't know why he offered them, but it wasn't as if he needed them. Other than the one for Maiko, they'd just go to waste.

"Concert, eh?" A slow, one-sided smile tightened the thin mouth. "How old are you, brat?"

"Not that it matters, but I'm nineteen. Twenty, next month."

The gorgeous man... snorted. That was, positively, a snort. "So... what is this, brat? A challenge? Planning to prove me wrong?"

"You are wrong, you arrogant prick." He strove for taunting, but somehow it came out a mumbled protest.

"Why? Because you've managed to convince the poor owner of some local dive to let you charge fifty yen a head to endure your caterwauling?"

"It's not a dive." And those tickets were worth considerably more than fifty lousy yen!

"No?"

"Scared?" Surely that qualified as a taunt, he thought triumphantly, and wiggled the fingers holding the passes suggestively.

Another snort, and the man snatched the passes with a lightning quick move of his hand.

Like a snake striking.

A slow, deliberate perusal of the tickets, and Shuuichi's triumph died as quickly as it had been born.

The gorgeous man was laughing.

"So," the disgustingly gorgeous-elegant-graceful-blond man said, when he'd caught his breath. "You're Touma's newest boy toy."

Indignation flared, but before he could protest, strong fingers gripped his chin and held him face-to the light for an inspection that had his blood racing before the inspection ended in a condescending pat of his cheek. "Sure, brat, why not?"

"Seguchi Touma is the president of NG records and my boss!" It was, Shuuichi decided, physically impossible for a man his size to look down his nose at a man as tall as the blond. Damn it. "I must ask that you speak of him with respect!"

A chuckle that was more sneer rippled the air between them. "I'll speak of and to my brother-in-law however I damnwell please, sweet-thing."

Shuuichi's blood ran cold, then hot. He didn't know what to protest more, the implication of his relationship to the owner of NG or... this man's. Seguchi Touma's brother-in-law. That famous author-person Hiro-the-bookworm always talked about. Damn... what was his name?

Memory flared. He took a deliberate step closer and in a move almost as fast as the author's had been, snatched the tickets back.

"What the—"

Triumph replaced the seething anger. He'd actually managed to startle this unforgivably-perfect person.

"I've changed my mind," he said, finding a satisfyingly chilly tone within. "You want to go? You can buy your own ticket, Yuki Eiri-san."

TBC

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A/N: Heh heh...do y'all like the way I kept the park meeting in? Not that it required much in the way of planning. There are certain images so darn key to these two, you just can't avoid them. Anyway...next time, Songbird.

Reviews: I want to thank everyone for their reviews. It really helps me pinpoint and refine potential problems in upcoming chapters. (Not to mention, plan for the sequel!) :D So, if you like the story, please keep the gut reactions of what you expect to happen coming. If those expectations aren't met in this first segment, they might well in the follow-up. I've known I wanted to write more along the story line but until your reviews started to come in, I wasn't certain where it would go. It's now taking shape. (Yay)

Because of time restraints, I'm going to keep my responses to a minimum this time, (much as I'd love to respond to everyone directly), and try to address the more universal questions/comments.

Sakano is kind of a cipher in this. He's not really bad, so much as playing a necessary and generally accepted game. I mean...is a pimp a pimp if he's not really getting anything out of it? (More on that later in the story.) This is not to excuse him, but in his own way, he's tried to look out for Shu. His manipulation of Shu's choice in the first chapter isn't all manipulation. He really means what he says about Shu's talent and the part Seguchi's refusal to even listen to their tape played in the need to take this route.

The creative business is not a pretty one. There are always those with no creative ability of their own who want to bask in the light (and who bask in the power to control that talent, even for a short time.) I have no direct evidence that this happens in the music industry (though I'd be surprised if it didn't) but I've certainly known others to be caught in the trap in different creative milieus.

So...is Sakano to blame? The industry "standard?" Seguchi (for not listening?) Or maybe fate, since this set of circumstances put the boys in the park on this fateful night? I don't really have an answer. I just found it an interesting position to put Sakano into. :D

I also always had the feeling that Sakano's a recognized "type" within Japan (and not only there!) The clever but always submissive underling who's playing an accepted role, but who also has the talent to be more than he is. Whether in the manga or the anime, it's interesting that Touma is constantly piling more responsibility on him...just as Ryu piles more and more pressure on Shu. Curious coincidence? Or conscious parallel? Who knows except MM?

YukiXShu: As I hope is obvious from this chapter, this is definitely a Yuki/Shu fic. I honestly don't think I could stand writing anything else. They simply belong together.

'Shuuichi' vs 'Shuichi': I know in the Tokyopop version, it's always translated as the single u, however, if you go by the Hiragana used in the original manga and when Shu's name is introduced, it's actually translated as "Shi-yu-u-i-chi (Shiyuuichi). The Japanese voice actors (esp K) frequently extend the "u" in the anime. Besides, one of my favorite spellings for Shuuichi uses the heart of autumn kanji for the syllable "Shuu." (As distinctly opposed to the kanji choices for "Shu") I'm not certain that's the kanji used in the manga, (guess I should look it up:D) but I've used this a couple of times in my stories and love the connotation. But mainly I just like the look and sound of the extended uu. Anyway...that's why I spell it this way. :D

Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. Hope you continue to enjoy! Til next time—Vin.