Spontaneous Posting!
Lala. Well, I still don’t know when my next challenge was -supposed- to be due, but hey. I did this before the week was out, so don’t drop me yet. <3
Title: Guitar Strings, Microphone Wire.
Author: Elusive Y
Theme: #34 Eraser
Rating: PG-13/Rish? Nothing you aren't gonna see watching Court TV, CSI, or Discovery Channel.
Warnings: For implied sex, suggestion of drug use, murder, and other such good stuff.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Pairing: Ryuichi/Tohma
Summary: They had a habit, one depending on the other, and vice versa. If need be, they would do anything. Take care of anything. Whatever might come between them was erased, efficiently, effectively, and never with the question of why.
********************************
It always started with a phone call.
Through the sounds of the rain hitting the rooftops, harsh and angry in the night, as the room was lit up by each flash of light from the outside world, it rang, high and sharp, demanding and urgent.
His bed was empty tonight, as it had been for these past several, and through sleep blurred eyes the clock silently declared it was far too early for the world to be calling.
Sitting up slowly, a hand brushed through tosseled hair, and he glared silently at the device on his night stand, the sound of it, and it’s glowing screen. Not to be ignored, he brought the phone to his ear, voice hazed.
"Hello?"
********
"Do you love me?"
"What?" He was taken aback by the abruptness of the question, even without being awake enough to understand its significance.
"I need your help."
The sound of his friend’s voice on the other line was frantic, rushed, and if he was to trust instincts, it seemed . . . even frightened. "I need you to come, right away- The Pyramid Club, please . . ."
Glancing once again at the clock, as it cheerfully displayed its 3:00, he sighed, throwing his legs off the edge of the bed.
"Ryuichi, do you have any idea what time it,"
His friend cut him off abruptly.
"Tohma. Please, it’s important, there’s been an accident, just . . . Come and get me."
He was already standing by now, making his way to his closet to find something a little more suitable than the silk pajama bottoms, despite his continued arguments against the excursion.
"You know I can’t leave Eiri-kun alone; he’s only a boy. . . What have you gotten yourself into now?"
"I’ll explain when you get here, just hurry with the car."
He was muttering curses, head craned to the side to pin the cordless phone against his shoulder while he hopped around, still tired and trying to pull on a pair of jeans.
"I’m coming, I’m coming. You’re too old to be doing this sort of thing, Ryuichi; you aren’t seventeen anymore, why can’t you just act like every other drunk buffoon and call a cab?"
"Scold me later, Mother. And bring your gloves."
Seguchi Tohma was left to stare dumbfounded at the dial tone that greeted him. One last tired sigh as a farewell to any hope for sleep, and he quickly finished dressing, stopping only to leave a note for Eiri in case he should wake before he had the chance to return.
Pulling his coat tightly around himself, the apartment was locked, and the young man headed out into the pouring rain.
In all of his twenty-four years, Tohma had never met anyone else like Sakuma Ryuichi, and it was on nights like this one he prayed that he never would again. No-one in the world could have contained as much passion as his dearest friend did, and though the years between them had seen their differences, the blonde was well aware there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the other man.
Even if it meant dragging himself out of bed in the dead of night, in the middle of a storm.
Ryuichi met him at the back door, already standing out in the chill, soaked to the bone and trying to keep his cigarette from going out, hands shaking, and eyes wide. Tohma was taken aback. Very little would ever catch his friend off guard, so his first impression had been drugs.
Of course, it wouldn’t surprise him.
One of the local talents and Ryuichi’s latest flame, some generic rocker with far too many piercings and far too little taste, was only happy to supply the vocalist with as much candy as he could wish for, new and interesting varieties that made Tohma’s stomach turn simply thinking about them.
Ryuichi was supposed to be living with the man, wasn’t he? No, that wasn’t right, he had moved on, was dating the bar tender now . . . It was all he could do to try and remember the name of the newest flavor of the week, but he hadn’t yet given up trying.
Even with the two of them as they were, in what Tohma liked to think of as a . . .
Well, it wasn’t quite a partnership, but he could find no other words for it. From the beginnings, Tohma had seen that Ryuichi wasn’t one to be held down; confines and promises simply made him lash out and rush for the nearest exit, so instead, they held the understanding of a very open relationship.
Ryuichi would come and go, and Tohma would let him. Eventually, he would return, and there didn’t seem much use in arguing it. You just couldn’t change him.
Perhaps that was why none of the others lasted, why he went from one to the next, losing interest so quickly. Some understood and remained on pleasant terms, and others were not so convincible.
You could easily say that Sakuma Ryuichi was like a drug all on his own.
He seeped in under your skin, took hold of you; twisted and shaped you into something perfect, just for those few moments he stayed within your blood; and then left you feeling lost and empty when he was gone.
This guitarist was one of those who just didn’t understand . . .
Tohma’s own eyes remained wide, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to keep hold of the bottle of scotch Ryuichi had handed him, bringing it to his lips and staring down at the floor. The brunette himself paced back and fourth, on his third cigarette by now as he spoke, words sharp and firm even as they were panicked.
The sounds blurred together until Tohma couldn’t identify exactly what was being said. Going through each motion, the thoughts turned over in his mind, and the sound of thunder echoed around them.
It was strange, the way the cold of the rain had seemed to set straight into his bones, and not even the alcohol could warm him.
Like standing in the background, watching himself go through the motions, his hands so gently settled onto Ryuichi’s shoulders, his own voice soothing as it spoke reassurances, thumb brushing across a cheek.
He felt no passion from the kiss pressed forcefully to his lips, no pleasure from the grateful words spoken to him, the promises made, and not a moment of comfort or desire at the hands which pulled him close.
A movie, void of taste or sensation, where he could detach himself from the sight in playing out before his eyes.
Ryuichi was talking still, but his own voice had joined in with a steady calm, instructing his friend carefully as each played his part in this new act. It was easy to forget his own concerns, the turning of his stomach as he took the situation in hand.
The younger of the two was well aware of where the supplies were kept, frequenting the club as patron and performer, indeed why he had been here this very evening. Careful, careful, as Tohma cleaned the stage, eyes boring down into the floor, while Ryuichi did his work, binding tightly with the wire of microphones and amps.
Everything was carried out, the smallest trace erased, from guitar, to jacket, to the lines of white still laid out across the bar. Ryuichi’s protests were silenced with a single flash of green eyes, and nothing remained.
The rain beat down all the harder, and the hours began pass them by, threatening the rising of the sun as the work was finished, not a single whisper left to be heard but the slamming of the car’s doors.
Time had lost its meaning, its echo, and the clock went unseen as they drove into the last hours of the night, Ryuichi having fallen hushed, on his last cigarette, and flipping nervously through the channels of the radio, Tohma’s expression schooled and calm, eyes never wavering.
By the time they had reached their destination, Ryuichi had started to come down, and nerves were replaced with a steely sort of calm. His voice was soothing, humming along with the car radio, his voice soft and mellow.
It was the second time that evening he would curse the size of the guitarist, and the first time of many he would thank the gods for the bottle of scotch still in his possession. Even with the new calm, he shut his eyes at the shrill sound which screamed into the night as the machine did its work.
Ryuichi’s hands were at his shoulders, gently rubbing at the tension which had built up, soothing it away while lips were at the shell of his ear, kissing and whispering things he could never hear over the grinding of the guitar, its player or its case.
He felt numb, ice throughout his body as the rain served them still, hastily beating down into equipment left unguarded, washing away their tracks in distorted mud. The sound of Ryuichi’s voice never left him, all the while incapable of driving the ringing from his ears.
Ryuichi insisted on driving the way back, citing that Tohma had been a little too fond of his alcoholic friend for the evening, and the blonde felt no reason for argument.
When they finally reached the docks, it was far too close to sunrise for either of their tastes, and exhaustion had taken Tohma firmly into its hands. He would buy him new gloves, his friend promised sweetly, replace the ruined clothes.
Tohma said nothing, staring silently into the gray of morning as the rain continued to pour down, as they returned to the car a final time, Ryuichi driving the two of them home. It had started with a phone call . . . A simple phone call.
And it ended with him, turning, smiling so sweetly. . .
"Let’s go home," he said.
Home... The two of them, together. It was because Ryuichi had nowhere else to go, nowhere else to turn.
Yet, Tohma would never turn him away . . . He didn’t protest when the brunette helped him up the stairs, scolding him for his lack of tolerance and suggesting he drink less from now on, simply grateful that Eiri was a sound sleeper.
He never pushed him away when Ryuichi’s soothing words stopped or the brunette followed him into the shower, lips at his neck as he promised to make everything go away, to erase every trace of the night from his memory.
He never said he loved him.
Tohma knew he did.
He never thanked him.
It was expected.
But he kissed life back to the blonde, scrubbing away what the rain would not, bringing heat to flushed skin and pressing feeling into the body which had gone so numb. He drew real sounds from Tohma, called out the emotions in whimpers and gasps long into the morning.
It was worth it, he urged him in silence. You would do anything for me, he reminded him without words. You understand, you know, and this is why I will never leave you . . . The passion had returned to each kiss more desperate than the last; the pleasure made him shake harsher than the cold, and desire threatened to consume all that he was.
He loved him.
Tohma was well aware there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for Sakuma Ryuichi.
And for the second time that day, he found himself glad Eiri was a sound sleeper.
It always started with a phone call.
"Tohma."
"I need your help."
"Segu-chan, I’m in trouble."
"Bring the Car."
"Erase this."
"It’s not good . . ."
"Come quick."
"I need . . ."
Guitar strings.
Microphone wires . . .
A phone call.
********
Sitting up slowly, a hand brushed through tosseled hair, and he glared silently at the device on his night stand, the sound of it, and it’s glowing screen. Not to be ignored, he brought the phone to his ear, voice hazed.
"Hello?"
"Ryuichi-san," The voice on the line was clearly shaken, a whisper in fear . . .
"There’s been an accident..."
"It’s okay, Tohma . . ." he reassured his friend, already out of bed, grabbing his jacket as he started out into the night.
"I’m coming."
It always started with a phone call.