Fic: Man With a Movie Camera - Chapter Six (1/2)
Title: Man With a Movie Camera
Group: Nightmare / Sendai Kamotsu
Pairings: Ruka x Yomi, Ruka x Ni~ya, Hitsugi/Sakito (platonic?), + Sendai
Genre: Sex comedy
Ratings: PG-13 - NC-17
Summary: One man's mission to hang onto his sanity while documenting the complex web of Nightmare's sexual kookiness...
Another two-part chapter, thanks to bloody Ruka and his smut.
Chapter Five: Mirrors and Monogamy
Main pairing: Ruka x Yomi
Scene narrator: Gigaflare
Rating: NC-17
Giga relates the tale of a heatwave, recording, and Ruka's morally questionable attempt to stop Yomi seeing other people. Yes, more multiple personality disorder here...
Caution: This would be my obligatory S&M type chapter, so mild violence, restraints etc. If this is not your cup of tea, please give this one a miss!
Chapter Six: Mirrors and Monogamy
November 19th, 2009
I'm noodling around with one of Hitsugi's new ESPs, trying to get a feel for it (Keisuke says there's something odd about the bridge), when I get a call from Ryuu-chan, a photographer at Arena 37c, whom I bonded with several years ago over a mutual love of The Sopranos and who I meet sporadically so we can go drinking and recite lines from yakuza movies.
“You still doing your documentary?” he asks over the phone.
“Yup.” Ryuu-chan had declined to be filmed himself, saying that he'd rather not think about any aspect of Naito's sex lives, but I think he finds the concept amusing.
“Want some more outsider comments?” He sounds like he's grinning.
“Will they be informative?” I ask suspiciously; I'm not picky, but I do like my interviewees to have some opinion.
“No idea.” Ryuu-chan says something to someone in the background. “You'll want to meet them, though. Just get over here.”
What the hell. It's basically lunch time (also, I can hear a worrying noise from the storage closet behind me, just recognisable as Ni~ya's high-pitched giggle, and I want to get as far away from whatever's going on in there as possible). No-one will notice if I leave...
I eventually arrive at the studio where the interview/photography session is supposed to be taking place.
“There you are,” says Ryuu-chan. “They're on lunch, you timed it well.” And then, preceding me through the door, “you so owe me!”
I follow him into the room, give it a quick scan and see a man in designer stubble fiddling with a guitar, primped for a photo-shoot and playing a riff I feel I ought to recognise; behind him another man, handsome, with luxurious dark hair, is stuffing his face with consommé chips and looking far too scruffy to be allowed anywhere near a camera. Then I turn my eyes back to the guitarist in a comedic double-take.
Oh my god. Is that really who I think it is?? Ken! That's Ken!! Who's Ken, you say? Only the primo guitarist in the biggest band in the country, that's who!
I am genuinely starstruck this time: this is one of the guitar gods of my teenage years (back in the '90s when L'arc~en~ciel were sporting huge hair and some of the gayest shirts you ever did see), and here he is, sitting right in front of me!
“Yo,” says Ken casually, silencing his guitar and blowing a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. I stand there gaping like an idiot.
“This is Fujiki Ryota. He's doing a bare-all documentary about Naito,” puts in Ryuu-chan, who has apparently worked with Ken and his currently dormant side band S.O.A.P before, and has had any idol-worshipping tendencies bashed out of him by their consummately immature sense of humour. He grabs the camera from my limp hand and waves it in the legend's direction. “You have heard of them, right?”
Ken shifts the eternal cigarette to the other side of his mouth, setting his guitar down (I eye it covetously, but I'm pretty sure someone would notice if I nicked it).
“Naito schmaito,” he says dismissively. Ryuu-chan raises his eyebrows, but the guitarist hasn't finished. “Sendai Kamotsu!” he exclaims gleefully, looking more enthusiastic by the second. “That's what I'm talking about!” I hear the other man snort behind him from his pile of junk food wrappers (That's...Sakura! Sakura! Oh my god, I feel like I'm fifteen...I wonder if I can hold off asking for their autographs...).
“You know who they are, then,” says Ryuu-chan drily (Ryuu-chan is quite happy with Naito, but has been slightly off Sendai ever since Chiba tried to hump his leg at a photo-shoot back in 2003). Ken nods eagerly, dropping ash all over the floor.
“They are fucking brilliant!” Another one, I think to myself. He looks wistful. “Wish I could've gone to one of their lives.”
“What's the attraction?” I enquire, forcing myself out of my shy fanboy silence. Ken waves his arms around, trying to convey...well, I'm not exactly sure what he's trying to convey. He gives up and beams at the camera.
“What's not?” he states, grinning in a way very reminiscent of Hitsugi Senior (they're obviously the same breed). “I just hope we can be that fucking funny if we start touring again!”
“You mean filthy,” puts in Sakura, throwing a cup noodle pot good-humouredly at Ken's head. Ken just grins wider. Now I understand. Though for someone with a band called Sons Of All Pussys, who have been known to go onstage sporting giant penises as hats, he seems easily impressed. “If only I had the confidence,” begins Ken soulfully, and at which Sakura and Ryuu-chan let out identical cackles of amusement, “to run around stage in a thong!” He sighs. “How happy I'd be...”
“Is that a tuner in your pocket?” breaks in Sakura rudely, pointing to his sometime bandmate's tight jeans, “or do you like them that much?”
“It's a tuner,” says Ken, pulling it out.
“Oh.”
“Anyway,” states the guitarist, defensively, “they're really catchy!” Sakura shrugs neutrally.
“I'd rather their other band,” he muses. Ken looks amazed, as if he can't conceive of anyone preferring beautiful men in gorgeous outfits to a midget dressed as Tutankhamen.
“Why?”
I stand there, googly-eyed, and happily watch my idols bicker: I don't care if they have no relevant information or anecdotes whatsoever. Sakura pushes a hand through his thick hair.
“They're cute like that,” he explains. “And just the right level of funny. And I approve of their drummer.”
“Because he's a good drummer?” asks Ryuu-chan. Sakura huffs out a breath impatiently.
“Er, no. 'Cos he's like me.” He smirks. “I've seen their video clips.” Ken rolls his eyes and manages to look nostalgic at the same time, and it occurs to me that Sakura is probably no stranger to groping tiny singers, if L'arc's early years of fanservice are anything to go by.
“Horny bastard,” scolds the guitarist, cheerfully.
“Get it while you're young.” Sakura begins tapping his legs in a complicated rhythm - the invariable drummer's fidget - and looks admiring. Ken lights up another cigarette.
“Oh, he does,” I mutter, and Sakura grins. Sakura grinned at me! I retreat behind Ryuu-chan before I go all giggly and ridiculous; but what a coup for my movie (not that anyone's going to see it): two rock gods talking about my little band(s)! Keisuke is gonna be fucking green.
But they have, once again, managed to turn the subject back to Ruka, whose reputation has obviously spread wider than even I had dreamed. That man is a phenomenon all by himself. And, like almost every other person I talk to, I seem to be morbidly fascinated by it.
I have a bad feeling about this...
**************
November 22nd, 2009
It's barely a week since Ni~ya took up so much of my poor innocent camera's memory with another of his erotic visual novels. And yet here I am, talking to him again. How did this happen? I blame my recent encounter with my musical idols: it's made me feel brave enough, confident enough, to enter the Dweeb Den while Ni~ya and his main tech, Masa, are trying out some new Killer basses.
“Yo, Ryo-kun,” says Ni~ya. He holds up a jewel blue Fervency model. “Whaddya think?”
“It's hot,” I tell him. Ni~ya nods, glancing down at himself and back at the bass.
“I'll keep it then.” He jerks his head at the stool next to him. “Sit down.” I obey, with some trepidation. “Got the camera?” he demands.
“I'll go get some tea!” squeaks Masa, the coward, beating a hasty retreat; my colleagues have long since learned what to expect when band members and my video camera collide. I plonk it on the table.
“This isn't going to be another of your stories, is it?” I ask. Best to get that out of the way before he even gets started.
“Nope,” says Ni~ya, raising a shapely eyebrow. “Just wanted to add a footnote to last week's film.”
“Is it important?” I switch the camera on and aim it in his general direction.
“I think I might as well say it. For posterity. In case anyone was wondering.”
“Right...”
“I'm speaking for Chen-chen here too, you understand.”
“Go on then!” Ni~ya gives the camera a level stare.
“Okay. Now look. I'm basically straight, you know. We are. I expect I'll get married one day,” he says easily. “That's all.” He shrugs. “Well, I don't suppose it'll be for a while, but...”
I can feel my eyebrows travelling up my forehead. Is another sexuality crisis about to raise its head? Is he in denial? Is Chen-chen? At least the others seem to know what they want.
“How does that fit in with Ruka?” I ask. Ni~ya shakes his head, grinning fondly.
“I love Ruka,” he assures me. “'Course I do. And what he can do with his tongue should be illegal. But I adore women, I love everything about 'em. I'm not like Yomi, I'm not gonna let Ruka sulk his way to making me go exclusive with him.” He snorts. “Besides, I reckon if he and I actually tried to live together we would literally kill each other in a fortnight.” He casts about for a suitable analogy. “If me and Ruka were male and female, right, we'd be the kind of couple who get married while they're shag-drunk, then fight and go at it like rabbits for eighteen months, have an acrimonious divorce, still end up meeting every few weeks by 'accident' and fucking each other's brains out even though they know how totally screwed up it is, and eventually spiral into a sea of alcoholic depression and anger management issues.” I blink. “And that's why we can't ever go monogamous,” he concludes.
I think back to some of the truly tempestuous arguments the two of them have had in studios, buses, hotels, bars, and I can't help but agree with him: why imagine it would be any different if they shared a home?
“It's a moot point, anyway,” Ni~ya informs me calmly, taking a drag on his cigarette as if his little tirade had never happened. “Ruka loves Yomi. I mean, he loves me too. But he's in love with him.”
“And you know this how?”
“Oh,” says Ni~ya, “it's obvious. If you know what Ruka's like.” He gives a low whistle, and smirks - he has a mouth pretty much designed for it, and he knows it looks good. “You should ask him about the time he found out Yomi was still sleeping with women. I don't often say this, but - poor little guy!” He must notice my look of horror, because he waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, don't worry, he loved it. Just ask Ruka.”
“Do I want to?”
“Probably not,” admits Ni~ya. “But you should. In the interests of research.”
Goddammit.
**************
November 23rd, 2009
I know as soon as I get hold of Ruka that this is going to be a non-starter.
“Yeah,” says Ruka laconically, leaning back in his chair with one of Ni~ya's basses resting nostalgically in his lap. He gives me the patented glower. “I told him. I showed him: I don't like seeing him with anyone else.”
“Showed?”
“I don't want to talk about it,” he says stubbornly. “So long as everyone knows that Yomi doesn't go with anyone but me.”
“And who else are you going with?” I ask, genuinely interested; he seems to be able to juggle Yomi and Ni~ya pretty easily, after all, I wouldn't be surprised if he could manage a few more. Ruka closes his mouth and stares at me incredulously.
“Who else?” he exclaims, clearly aghast at the very idea. “Don't you think I've got enough on my plate keeping those two satisfied?!”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, man, you got no idea how exhausting they are.” He huffs sulkily. “I'm good, but I'm not the fucking Duracell bunny!”
And flatly refuses to talk about himself any more. Well, I might have expected it. But my professional pride (hah) won't let me give up that easily.
**************
November 27th, 2009
Luckily for me there is someone else who can speak with authority about Ruka and his goings-on, is much easier to find in a good mood, and is quite thrilled to be asked.
I'm talking about Ruka's biggest fan: Gigaflare.
It takes a few days of covert watching before Giga emerges (Ruka is clearly the dominant personality, and since Sendai have been on hiatus it's been harder to catch their drummer), but when he does I'm ready with my camera.
“Ruka's so awesome, isn't he,” Giga sighs enviously, clasping his hands together in an enthusiastic, teenage way that's amusingly at odds with his deep voice. He lolls back on the sofa (yes, the sofa, though I doubt Giga has had half as much fun on it as his alter ego), shaking his head in wonder. “When he says do something...his singer does it. Can you imagine...!” A panicked, if fond, look flits across his face at the thought of Chiba before he returns to his gushing. “He's just so manly and cool.”
I stifle a snigger, imagining how this would appear to anyone who didn't know the ins and outs of the Naito/Sendai arrangement; it would just look like Ruka sitting here praising himself to the skies like a starry-eyed fangirl. The image tickles me, but I try to stay on point and get to the story; Giga must know about it; I just have to get him to tell me.
“Oh, that,” says Giga, once he's finished wittering and I can get a word in edgeways. “God, that was amazing...” Uh-oh, he's off again.
“Well how did it happen?” I break in. “What happened? I need details, please!” What am I saying? Giga gives the camera a solemn look.
“It was all Yomi's fault.” He rests his chin on his hands. “And I must say, Ruka handled it perfectly.”
“I'm thinking more along the lines of when, what, where, how, Giga.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah.” The drummer, who is evidently never given this much opportunity to talk without an interruption from one bandmate or other, makes a visible effort to pull himself together. “Sorry. Just better at writing stuff than telling stories.”
“It's okay,” I tell him soothingly, “take your time, there's no-one around. So. Ruka. Yomi. Monogamy.”
“...All right,” says Giga, tucking his long limbs up to sit cross-legged on the sofa. “It happened like this...”
He gives me a moment to steel myself, and begins.
“It was a perfectly ordinary day,” Giga says thoughtfully. “Insofar as recording is ever ordinary. I don't think you were there that day, Ryo-kun, it was mainly vocals.” He blinks. “Oh, sorry. I should say that this was July 2008, and Naito were in the middle of recording 'Majestical Parade'. It was also unbelievably bloody hot, and the five band members were spending their days trying to get from their apartments to the studio without having to endure more than twenty seconds of the furnace outside. Once in the air-conditioned rooms they would lounge around languidly and watch whichever poor bugger was in the sound-proof (and air-conditioning-less) recording booth at the time, lying prostrate on the sofas and storing up their energy for when they would have to suffer the sweat-box.
At the moment it was Hitsugi, who was doing some backing vocals while Yomi took a break. He was barefoot, in shorts and tshirt, with a towel tied across his forehead to keep his long hair out of his eyes, and looked thoroughly exhausted. Sakito, cool as a cucumber with a paper fan and the flimsiest white cotton clothing imaginable and the air-con blowing across his neck (thoughtfully directed right at him by a smitten studio tech), stood leaning against the booth window making encouraging little signs at his partner.
I don't know where Ni~ya was that day - it must have been something important because the vocals, more than anything else, need a lot of consideration, and all of them liked to be around if they could, to give Yomi some moral support if nothing else. Not that he seemed to need it much: he had just done some excellent takes for 'Lost In Blue', and was now texting busily from the small area of sofa not taken up by Ruka. The drummer, who enjoys crowding people but likes a lot of space for himself (and why not, he's band leader after all, and all that responsibility has got to have its perks!), had one leg slung heavily over Yomi's lap, and was lying with his head back, observing Hitsu upside-down over the sofa arm.
Yomi made a little noise of annoyance, and Ruka lifted his head the bare minimum required to see his singer frowning at his phone, his tongue stuck out in concentration. He leaned up on his elbow and propped his head in his hand, poking Yomi in the stomach with one foot and granting him a fond, patronising smile.
“What's up?”
“Kanji,” said Yomi absently, scrolling bemusedly down his keitai screen. Really, that weird little face could look just plain adorable, thought Ruka, feeling proprietary; he debated moving closer to give Yomi the old stretch-and-grope move, but decided it was too much effort.
“What kanji?” he demanded, holding out his hand. “Give it here, I'll show you the right one.”
“No, it's fine!” Yomi told him, clutching his phone to his chest indignantly. “I can do it on my own!” He blew a lock of chestnut-coloured hair out of his face and resumed typing. Ruka eyed him gleefully: the inability to read unusual characters was just another of his vocalist's charming points - not that he would ever say so - and made Ruka feel even more intelligent than he obviously already was (just as Yomi's height could make him feel even taller; was there nothing about him that didn't serve to put Ruka in a good mood whenever he thought about it?).
“Who're you messaging?” asked Ruka lazily.
“No-one!” Hmm. A certain tendency toward secretiveness, maybe; but Ruka was dealing with that habit by the simple expedient of either taking Yomi's phone to get a look at his schedule or sitting on him until he spilled whatever information Ruka thought he was hiding. Right now, though, he just could not be arsed. He looked around for something else to entertain him; but Hitsu was competent and reliable when it came to vocals, and rarely needed his input.
“Sakitooo,” crooned Ruka in the direction of his guitarist, in the soft, deep voice that was usually pretty effective at getting people to do him favours. “Will you go get me a CC Lemon?”
“Ha ha,” intoned Saki from where he was elegantly draped against the window, still watching their youngest member attentively. “Get it yourself; I'm not your maid.”
Ruka spent several seconds indulging himself with the image this conjured up (he had never been dumb enough to put the moves on the beautiful guitarist - he knew what reaction he'd get, and besides, he had his hands full with his two-person harem already - but that didn't mean he couldn't look), then pulled Sulk Face no.3 ('do what I want and I won't make your life a misery for the rest of the day').
“But you're up.”
“Go,” said Saki, throwing his fan in Ruka's general direction and hitting Yomi in the ear. Ruka realised this wasn't going to get him anywhere: he was still bored, Yomi, after one surprised squeak, was still texting and basically ignoring him; he might as well get up.
Having trekked the two whole floors to the vending machine and back, Ruka was feeling grouchy, and returning to the studio and seeing that Saki had claimed his place on the couch did not help. He leaned against the doorframe and silently watched the backs of his bandmates' heads, trying to decide whether it was worth getting in a mood over, since Hitsu was listening back to his latest take through his headphones and there was clearly nothing else to do.
“Let's have a look!” he heard Sakito say, unfolding one graceful hand; Yomi immediately passed his phone across. Hmph. Ruka scowled, wondering what it was about Saki that made everyone do exactly what he wanted. The slender man scrolled through Yomi's messages. “Oho!”
“Right?” exclaimed Yomi, sounding giggly. Saki nudged him.
“You're a little pervert. And you got that kanji wrong.” Yomi shrugged resignedly, and Ruka pursed his lips: Yomi was up to something.
“Look, though,” the vocalist pointed out happily. “She liked it!” Saki's dexterous thumbs flew across the keypad; then he laughed softly.
“Guess she did! So, when are you seeing her?”
“Tonight,” said Yomi. “Eight-thirty, Bistro Ku, then back to my place!” He made a suggestive noise.
“How imaginative.”
“Whatever works,” the shorter man told him, tossing his little head. “At least I have a date.”
“I don't need a date.” Saki glanced up, beaming, as Hitsu emerged from his booth looking faint and flapping desperately at his hot face with both hands. He beckoned his panting friend over and began to ply the fan in his direction, and the conversation drifted onto the subject of vocals.
Ruka had stopped listening anyway, and was leaning against the wall outside, quietly processing what he'd heard. No wonder Yomi hadn't wanted to show him his text messages. Not if he was dating. The drummer was mildly impressed that his singer had managed to keep it from him this long, but that was just a kind of background chorus to the central emotion: he was very angry. It's probably no surprise to you that Ruka has a jealous streak a mile wide, but it had never kicked in with the force it did at that moment. How dare he?!
He folded his arms, a dark, lowering look settling over his features. He wondered, briefly, why he was feeling like this all of a sudden: he'd been able to put up with Ni~ya's girlfriends perfectly well, and how was this any different? He did his best to ignore the rising wave of anger and think.
It was true that Ruka had always felt protective of his tiny singer, and fiercely possessive (albeit in secret), even back when he'd had no legitimate right to be. Perhaps it was because they had known each other since Ruka was a legend on the Sendai indies scene and Yomi was just a country bumpkin: Ruka had met him, had recognised him immediately as someone he'd be able to bully forever more, and had been instantly fascinated; and, on some deep-down level, had considered Yomi his personal property ever since. And now that the two of them were actually fucking...well, the idea of his friend getting some with anyone else would just not stand.
Ruka gave a long, deliberate sigh through his nose; his vocalist was obviously not yet clear on how their relationship worked. He was going to have to do something about this. And before Yomi had the chance to lay a hand (or worse) on another woman.”
( “So this wasn't some revenge thing?” I probe. “You know, for you and Chiba.” For an instant a sly, satisfied grin passes over Giga's lips; then he blushes as he remembers exactly what incident I'm referring to.
“No,” he says, shaking his head, “but he would stand up for me if I wanted it.” He goes all gooey again, presumably over the concept of a knight-in-shining-armour Ruka, and I'm not sure whether to laugh or suggest he seek psychiatric help. “No, this was all about Yomi. And rules. And just plain having fun.”
“Oh yeah, Ruka's got a charming sense of fun.”
“Right?” says Giga eagerly, completely oblivious to the truckload of sarcasm with which I'd planned to deliver my comment. Enthused, he begins to elaborate. )
“It was eight in the evening before they finally called it a day. By that time Ruka's personal green eyed monster had had plenty of time to wake up and begin plotting; and Yomi wasn't helping himself by covertly checking his phone every few minutes, oblivious to his drummer's brooding stare.
They all parted round the back of the studios: Saki and Hitsu catching a lift with Tamura-san into Shinjuku, where they could have a quiet drink and gaze moonily at each other over their yakitori; Yomi, as we know, was off to the station in order to make his date on time; he left the others at a trot, tipping Sakito a cheerful wink as the two guitarists followed their manager. As soon as they had all dispersed Ruka slipped quickly round to the car-park, paid the absolutely shocking fee, and slid behind the wheel. He had maybe three minutes, he thought.
He caught sight of Yomi again just before the main road, the vocalist's short legs motoring along like a sturdy little pony's. Ruka grinned sourly and slowed to a crawl, heading for the pavement. Yomi started and looked round as he sensed someone tailing him. Happily, Ruka's car was huge, dark, with blacked-out windows and enough menace to be appropriately unnerving and redolent of yakuza kidnappings, etc; and he enjoyed the expression that flashed over the singer's face before he twigged just who it belonged to.
Yomi came to a stop as soon as he figured it out and stood there, narrow chest heaving slightly as Ruka pulled up beside him. The drummer rolled down the window opposite him.
“Are you...gonna give me a lift?” puffed Yomi, sweating in the heat, leaning against the car door and getting smudges all over the paintwork. Ruka, who liked everything to be clean and neat to an almost fanatical extent, glared at him: just one more thing his misbehaving lover would need punishing for.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what d'you want?” demanded Yomi, jiggling up and down impatiently beside the vehicle. “Kind of in a hurry here, Ruka.”
“Get in the car,” ordered Ruka bluntly, leaning across to the passenger side and looking all dangerous and sexy. He was not in the mood to do his explaining out here; no, it demanded somewhere much more private.
“No!”
“Yes.”
“But I-” Yomi began in protest, glancing at his watch. But Ruka was an expert at choosing just the right voice and the right expression to keep his singer in line. He didn't even have to undo his seat-belt: he just stared at the little vocalist, the nails of his left hand grazing across the circle of the steering wheel in an absent way that nevertheless seemed to make Yomi rather nervous.
“I said get in,” Ruka repeated levelly, “or I will put you in.” Yomi rolled his eyes (he's never actually been scared of Ruka, he just knows when to toe the line), threw his bag through the window and tugged the door open, dropping resignedly into the spacious seat beside his drummer.
“This had better be good.” Yomi crossed his arms petulantly. And then, irritated, “I had a date.”
“That's right, just keep on talking,” Ruka told him, injecting a warning note into his low voice for Yomi to pick up on (or not) and trying to decide whether he was feeling more annoyed or anticipatory. He wasn't certain how this was going to go, but his singer needed a lesson and he was sure he was going to enjoy giving it. In a way it was a shame he hadn't put up more of an argument: the back-street was empty and quiet, and the idea of Yomi duct-taped in the boot of his car held a certain appeal.
Even at this time of night it took thirty minutes to get them home - damn Tokyo, why did he even drive here? - and to his amazement Yomi managed to keep up a disgruntled silence the entire way, not even bothering to ask where they were going or why, just staring out of the window with his tiny arms folded (after sending another text, and Ruka didn't need to ask who that was to). Occasionally he would shoot Ruka a speculative look; but the older man didn't much feel like being appraised, and maintained Sulk Face no.2 ('I'm not going to speak one word while the camera's on me today'), thwarting any attempts by Yomi to figure out what the hell was going on.
Ruka parked up beneath his building and slammed the door, herding Yomi ahead of him into the elevator. Being stuck in a confined space with him was getting Ruka rather excited, what with all the thoughts of what he could do to him if the lift happened to break down and trap them in there. But no...no, good things come to those who wait.
To part 2
Enjoy!
Group: Nightmare / Sendai Kamotsu
Pairings: Ruka x Yomi, Ruka x Ni~ya, Hitsugi/Sakito (platonic?), + Sendai
Genre: Sex comedy
Ratings: PG-13 - NC-17
Summary: One man's mission to hang onto his sanity while documenting the complex web of Nightmare's sexual kookiness...
Another two-part chapter, thanks to bloody Ruka and his smut.
Chapter Five: Mirrors and Monogamy
Main pairing: Ruka x Yomi
Scene narrator: Gigaflare
Rating: NC-17
Giga relates the tale of a heatwave, recording, and Ruka's morally questionable attempt to stop Yomi seeing other people. Yes, more multiple personality disorder here...
Caution: This would be my obligatory S&M type chapter, so mild violence, restraints etc. If this is not your cup of tea, please give this one a miss!
Chapter Six: Mirrors and Monogamy
November 19th, 2009
I'm noodling around with one of Hitsugi's new ESPs, trying to get a feel for it (Keisuke says there's something odd about the bridge), when I get a call from Ryuu-chan, a photographer at Arena 37c, whom I bonded with several years ago over a mutual love of The Sopranos and who I meet sporadically so we can go drinking and recite lines from yakuza movies.
“You still doing your documentary?” he asks over the phone.
“Yup.” Ryuu-chan had declined to be filmed himself, saying that he'd rather not think about any aspect of Naito's sex lives, but I think he finds the concept amusing.
“Want some more outsider comments?” He sounds like he's grinning.
“Will they be informative?” I ask suspiciously; I'm not picky, but I do like my interviewees to have some opinion.
“No idea.” Ryuu-chan says something to someone in the background. “You'll want to meet them, though. Just get over here.”
What the hell. It's basically lunch time (also, I can hear a worrying noise from the storage closet behind me, just recognisable as Ni~ya's high-pitched giggle, and I want to get as far away from whatever's going on in there as possible). No-one will notice if I leave...
I eventually arrive at the studio where the interview/photography session is supposed to be taking place.
“There you are,” says Ryuu-chan. “They're on lunch, you timed it well.” And then, preceding me through the door, “you so owe me!”
I follow him into the room, give it a quick scan and see a man in designer stubble fiddling with a guitar, primped for a photo-shoot and playing a riff I feel I ought to recognise; behind him another man, handsome, with luxurious dark hair, is stuffing his face with consommé chips and looking far too scruffy to be allowed anywhere near a camera. Then I turn my eyes back to the guitarist in a comedic double-take.
Oh my god. Is that really who I think it is?? Ken! That's Ken!! Who's Ken, you say? Only the primo guitarist in the biggest band in the country, that's who!
I am genuinely starstruck this time: this is one of the guitar gods of my teenage years (back in the '90s when L'arc~en~ciel were sporting huge hair and some of the gayest shirts you ever did see), and here he is, sitting right in front of me!
“Yo,” says Ken casually, silencing his guitar and blowing a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. I stand there gaping like an idiot.
“This is Fujiki Ryota. He's doing a bare-all documentary about Naito,” puts in Ryuu-chan, who has apparently worked with Ken and his currently dormant side band S.O.A.P before, and has had any idol-worshipping tendencies bashed out of him by their consummately immature sense of humour. He grabs the camera from my limp hand and waves it in the legend's direction. “You have heard of them, right?”
Ken shifts the eternal cigarette to the other side of his mouth, setting his guitar down (I eye it covetously, but I'm pretty sure someone would notice if I nicked it).
“Naito schmaito,” he says dismissively. Ryuu-chan raises his eyebrows, but the guitarist hasn't finished. “Sendai Kamotsu!” he exclaims gleefully, looking more enthusiastic by the second. “That's what I'm talking about!” I hear the other man snort behind him from his pile of junk food wrappers (That's...Sakura! Sakura! Oh my god, I feel like I'm fifteen...I wonder if I can hold off asking for their autographs...).
“You know who they are, then,” says Ryuu-chan drily (Ryuu-chan is quite happy with Naito, but has been slightly off Sendai ever since Chiba tried to hump his leg at a photo-shoot back in 2003). Ken nods eagerly, dropping ash all over the floor.
“They are fucking brilliant!” Another one, I think to myself. He looks wistful. “Wish I could've gone to one of their lives.”
“What's the attraction?” I enquire, forcing myself out of my shy fanboy silence. Ken waves his arms around, trying to convey...well, I'm not exactly sure what he's trying to convey. He gives up and beams at the camera.
“What's not?” he states, grinning in a way very reminiscent of Hitsugi Senior (they're obviously the same breed). “I just hope we can be that fucking funny if we start touring again!”
“You mean filthy,” puts in Sakura, throwing a cup noodle pot good-humouredly at Ken's head. Ken just grins wider. Now I understand. Though for someone with a band called Sons Of All Pussys, who have been known to go onstage sporting giant penises as hats, he seems easily impressed. “If only I had the confidence,” begins Ken soulfully, and at which Sakura and Ryuu-chan let out identical cackles of amusement, “to run around stage in a thong!” He sighs. “How happy I'd be...”
“Is that a tuner in your pocket?” breaks in Sakura rudely, pointing to his sometime bandmate's tight jeans, “or do you like them that much?”
“It's a tuner,” says Ken, pulling it out.
“Oh.”
“Anyway,” states the guitarist, defensively, “they're really catchy!” Sakura shrugs neutrally.
“I'd rather their other band,” he muses. Ken looks amazed, as if he can't conceive of anyone preferring beautiful men in gorgeous outfits to a midget dressed as Tutankhamen.
“Why?”
I stand there, googly-eyed, and happily watch my idols bicker: I don't care if they have no relevant information or anecdotes whatsoever. Sakura pushes a hand through his thick hair.
“They're cute like that,” he explains. “And just the right level of funny. And I approve of their drummer.”
“Because he's a good drummer?” asks Ryuu-chan. Sakura huffs out a breath impatiently.
“Er, no. 'Cos he's like me.” He smirks. “I've seen their video clips.” Ken rolls his eyes and manages to look nostalgic at the same time, and it occurs to me that Sakura is probably no stranger to groping tiny singers, if L'arc's early years of fanservice are anything to go by.
“Horny bastard,” scolds the guitarist, cheerfully.
“Get it while you're young.” Sakura begins tapping his legs in a complicated rhythm - the invariable drummer's fidget - and looks admiring. Ken lights up another cigarette.
“Oh, he does,” I mutter, and Sakura grins. Sakura grinned at me! I retreat behind Ryuu-chan before I go all giggly and ridiculous; but what a coup for my movie (not that anyone's going to see it): two rock gods talking about my little band(s)! Keisuke is gonna be fucking green.
But they have, once again, managed to turn the subject back to Ruka, whose reputation has obviously spread wider than even I had dreamed. That man is a phenomenon all by himself. And, like almost every other person I talk to, I seem to be morbidly fascinated by it.
I have a bad feeling about this...
**************
November 22nd, 2009
It's barely a week since Ni~ya took up so much of my poor innocent camera's memory with another of his erotic visual novels. And yet here I am, talking to him again. How did this happen? I blame my recent encounter with my musical idols: it's made me feel brave enough, confident enough, to enter the Dweeb Den while Ni~ya and his main tech, Masa, are trying out some new Killer basses.
“Yo, Ryo-kun,” says Ni~ya. He holds up a jewel blue Fervency model. “Whaddya think?”
“It's hot,” I tell him. Ni~ya nods, glancing down at himself and back at the bass.
“I'll keep it then.” He jerks his head at the stool next to him. “Sit down.” I obey, with some trepidation. “Got the camera?” he demands.
“I'll go get some tea!” squeaks Masa, the coward, beating a hasty retreat; my colleagues have long since learned what to expect when band members and my video camera collide. I plonk it on the table.
“This isn't going to be another of your stories, is it?” I ask. Best to get that out of the way before he even gets started.
“Nope,” says Ni~ya, raising a shapely eyebrow. “Just wanted to add a footnote to last week's film.”
“Is it important?” I switch the camera on and aim it in his general direction.
“I think I might as well say it. For posterity. In case anyone was wondering.”
“Right...”
“I'm speaking for Chen-chen here too, you understand.”
“Go on then!” Ni~ya gives the camera a level stare.
“Okay. Now look. I'm basically straight, you know. We are. I expect I'll get married one day,” he says easily. “That's all.” He shrugs. “Well, I don't suppose it'll be for a while, but...”
I can feel my eyebrows travelling up my forehead. Is another sexuality crisis about to raise its head? Is he in denial? Is Chen-chen? At least the others seem to know what they want.
“How does that fit in with Ruka?” I ask. Ni~ya shakes his head, grinning fondly.
“I love Ruka,” he assures me. “'Course I do. And what he can do with his tongue should be illegal. But I adore women, I love everything about 'em. I'm not like Yomi, I'm not gonna let Ruka sulk his way to making me go exclusive with him.” He snorts. “Besides, I reckon if he and I actually tried to live together we would literally kill each other in a fortnight.” He casts about for a suitable analogy. “If me and Ruka were male and female, right, we'd be the kind of couple who get married while they're shag-drunk, then fight and go at it like rabbits for eighteen months, have an acrimonious divorce, still end up meeting every few weeks by 'accident' and fucking each other's brains out even though they know how totally screwed up it is, and eventually spiral into a sea of alcoholic depression and anger management issues.” I blink. “And that's why we can't ever go monogamous,” he concludes.
I think back to some of the truly tempestuous arguments the two of them have had in studios, buses, hotels, bars, and I can't help but agree with him: why imagine it would be any different if they shared a home?
“It's a moot point, anyway,” Ni~ya informs me calmly, taking a drag on his cigarette as if his little tirade had never happened. “Ruka loves Yomi. I mean, he loves me too. But he's in love with him.”
“And you know this how?”
“Oh,” says Ni~ya, “it's obvious. If you know what Ruka's like.” He gives a low whistle, and smirks - he has a mouth pretty much designed for it, and he knows it looks good. “You should ask him about the time he found out Yomi was still sleeping with women. I don't often say this, but - poor little guy!” He must notice my look of horror, because he waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, don't worry, he loved it. Just ask Ruka.”
“Do I want to?”
“Probably not,” admits Ni~ya. “But you should. In the interests of research.”
Goddammit.
**************
November 23rd, 2009
I know as soon as I get hold of Ruka that this is going to be a non-starter.
“Yeah,” says Ruka laconically, leaning back in his chair with one of Ni~ya's basses resting nostalgically in his lap. He gives me the patented glower. “I told him. I showed him: I don't like seeing him with anyone else.”
“Showed?”
“I don't want to talk about it,” he says stubbornly. “So long as everyone knows that Yomi doesn't go with anyone but me.”
“And who else are you going with?” I ask, genuinely interested; he seems to be able to juggle Yomi and Ni~ya pretty easily, after all, I wouldn't be surprised if he could manage a few more. Ruka closes his mouth and stares at me incredulously.
“Who else?” he exclaims, clearly aghast at the very idea. “Don't you think I've got enough on my plate keeping those two satisfied?!”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, man, you got no idea how exhausting they are.” He huffs sulkily. “I'm good, but I'm not the fucking Duracell bunny!”
And flatly refuses to talk about himself any more. Well, I might have expected it. But my professional pride (hah) won't let me give up that easily.
**************
November 27th, 2009
Luckily for me there is someone else who can speak with authority about Ruka and his goings-on, is much easier to find in a good mood, and is quite thrilled to be asked.
I'm talking about Ruka's biggest fan: Gigaflare.
It takes a few days of covert watching before Giga emerges (Ruka is clearly the dominant personality, and since Sendai have been on hiatus it's been harder to catch their drummer), but when he does I'm ready with my camera.
“Ruka's so awesome, isn't he,” Giga sighs enviously, clasping his hands together in an enthusiastic, teenage way that's amusingly at odds with his deep voice. He lolls back on the sofa (yes, the sofa, though I doubt Giga has had half as much fun on it as his alter ego), shaking his head in wonder. “When he says do something...his singer does it. Can you imagine...!” A panicked, if fond, look flits across his face at the thought of Chiba before he returns to his gushing. “He's just so manly and cool.”
I stifle a snigger, imagining how this would appear to anyone who didn't know the ins and outs of the Naito/Sendai arrangement; it would just look like Ruka sitting here praising himself to the skies like a starry-eyed fangirl. The image tickles me, but I try to stay on point and get to the story; Giga must know about it; I just have to get him to tell me.
“Oh, that,” says Giga, once he's finished wittering and I can get a word in edgeways. “God, that was amazing...” Uh-oh, he's off again.
“Well how did it happen?” I break in. “What happened? I need details, please!” What am I saying? Giga gives the camera a solemn look.
“It was all Yomi's fault.” He rests his chin on his hands. “And I must say, Ruka handled it perfectly.”
“I'm thinking more along the lines of when, what, where, how, Giga.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah.” The drummer, who is evidently never given this much opportunity to talk without an interruption from one bandmate or other, makes a visible effort to pull himself together. “Sorry. Just better at writing stuff than telling stories.”
“It's okay,” I tell him soothingly, “take your time, there's no-one around. So. Ruka. Yomi. Monogamy.”
“...All right,” says Giga, tucking his long limbs up to sit cross-legged on the sofa. “It happened like this...”
He gives me a moment to steel myself, and begins.
“It was a perfectly ordinary day,” Giga says thoughtfully. “Insofar as recording is ever ordinary. I don't think you were there that day, Ryo-kun, it was mainly vocals.” He blinks. “Oh, sorry. I should say that this was July 2008, and Naito were in the middle of recording 'Majestical Parade'. It was also unbelievably bloody hot, and the five band members were spending their days trying to get from their apartments to the studio without having to endure more than twenty seconds of the furnace outside. Once in the air-conditioned rooms they would lounge around languidly and watch whichever poor bugger was in the sound-proof (and air-conditioning-less) recording booth at the time, lying prostrate on the sofas and storing up their energy for when they would have to suffer the sweat-box.
At the moment it was Hitsugi, who was doing some backing vocals while Yomi took a break. He was barefoot, in shorts and tshirt, with a towel tied across his forehead to keep his long hair out of his eyes, and looked thoroughly exhausted. Sakito, cool as a cucumber with a paper fan and the flimsiest white cotton clothing imaginable and the air-con blowing across his neck (thoughtfully directed right at him by a smitten studio tech), stood leaning against the booth window making encouraging little signs at his partner.
I don't know where Ni~ya was that day - it must have been something important because the vocals, more than anything else, need a lot of consideration, and all of them liked to be around if they could, to give Yomi some moral support if nothing else. Not that he seemed to need it much: he had just done some excellent takes for 'Lost In Blue', and was now texting busily from the small area of sofa not taken up by Ruka. The drummer, who enjoys crowding people but likes a lot of space for himself (and why not, he's band leader after all, and all that responsibility has got to have its perks!), had one leg slung heavily over Yomi's lap, and was lying with his head back, observing Hitsu upside-down over the sofa arm.
Yomi made a little noise of annoyance, and Ruka lifted his head the bare minimum required to see his singer frowning at his phone, his tongue stuck out in concentration. He leaned up on his elbow and propped his head in his hand, poking Yomi in the stomach with one foot and granting him a fond, patronising smile.
“What's up?”
“Kanji,” said Yomi absently, scrolling bemusedly down his keitai screen. Really, that weird little face could look just plain adorable, thought Ruka, feeling proprietary; he debated moving closer to give Yomi the old stretch-and-grope move, but decided it was too much effort.
“What kanji?” he demanded, holding out his hand. “Give it here, I'll show you the right one.”
“No, it's fine!” Yomi told him, clutching his phone to his chest indignantly. “I can do it on my own!” He blew a lock of chestnut-coloured hair out of his face and resumed typing. Ruka eyed him gleefully: the inability to read unusual characters was just another of his vocalist's charming points - not that he would ever say so - and made Ruka feel even more intelligent than he obviously already was (just as Yomi's height could make him feel even taller; was there nothing about him that didn't serve to put Ruka in a good mood whenever he thought about it?).
“Who're you messaging?” asked Ruka lazily.
“No-one!” Hmm. A certain tendency toward secretiveness, maybe; but Ruka was dealing with that habit by the simple expedient of either taking Yomi's phone to get a look at his schedule or sitting on him until he spilled whatever information Ruka thought he was hiding. Right now, though, he just could not be arsed. He looked around for something else to entertain him; but Hitsu was competent and reliable when it came to vocals, and rarely needed his input.
“Sakitooo,” crooned Ruka in the direction of his guitarist, in the soft, deep voice that was usually pretty effective at getting people to do him favours. “Will you go get me a CC Lemon?”
“Ha ha,” intoned Saki from where he was elegantly draped against the window, still watching their youngest member attentively. “Get it yourself; I'm not your maid.”
Ruka spent several seconds indulging himself with the image this conjured up (he had never been dumb enough to put the moves on the beautiful guitarist - he knew what reaction he'd get, and besides, he had his hands full with his two-person harem already - but that didn't mean he couldn't look), then pulled Sulk Face no.3 ('do what I want and I won't make your life a misery for the rest of the day').
“But you're up.”
“Go,” said Saki, throwing his fan in Ruka's general direction and hitting Yomi in the ear. Ruka realised this wasn't going to get him anywhere: he was still bored, Yomi, after one surprised squeak, was still texting and basically ignoring him; he might as well get up.
Having trekked the two whole floors to the vending machine and back, Ruka was feeling grouchy, and returning to the studio and seeing that Saki had claimed his place on the couch did not help. He leaned against the doorframe and silently watched the backs of his bandmates' heads, trying to decide whether it was worth getting in a mood over, since Hitsu was listening back to his latest take through his headphones and there was clearly nothing else to do.
“Let's have a look!” he heard Sakito say, unfolding one graceful hand; Yomi immediately passed his phone across. Hmph. Ruka scowled, wondering what it was about Saki that made everyone do exactly what he wanted. The slender man scrolled through Yomi's messages. “Oho!”
“Right?” exclaimed Yomi, sounding giggly. Saki nudged him.
“You're a little pervert. And you got that kanji wrong.” Yomi shrugged resignedly, and Ruka pursed his lips: Yomi was up to something.
“Look, though,” the vocalist pointed out happily. “She liked it!” Saki's dexterous thumbs flew across the keypad; then he laughed softly.
“Guess she did! So, when are you seeing her?”
“Tonight,” said Yomi. “Eight-thirty, Bistro Ku, then back to my place!” He made a suggestive noise.
“How imaginative.”
“Whatever works,” the shorter man told him, tossing his little head. “At least I have a date.”
“I don't need a date.” Saki glanced up, beaming, as Hitsu emerged from his booth looking faint and flapping desperately at his hot face with both hands. He beckoned his panting friend over and began to ply the fan in his direction, and the conversation drifted onto the subject of vocals.
Ruka had stopped listening anyway, and was leaning against the wall outside, quietly processing what he'd heard. No wonder Yomi hadn't wanted to show him his text messages. Not if he was dating. The drummer was mildly impressed that his singer had managed to keep it from him this long, but that was just a kind of background chorus to the central emotion: he was very angry. It's probably no surprise to you that Ruka has a jealous streak a mile wide, but it had never kicked in with the force it did at that moment. How dare he?!
He folded his arms, a dark, lowering look settling over his features. He wondered, briefly, why he was feeling like this all of a sudden: he'd been able to put up with Ni~ya's girlfriends perfectly well, and how was this any different? He did his best to ignore the rising wave of anger and think.
It was true that Ruka had always felt protective of his tiny singer, and fiercely possessive (albeit in secret), even back when he'd had no legitimate right to be. Perhaps it was because they had known each other since Ruka was a legend on the Sendai indies scene and Yomi was just a country bumpkin: Ruka had met him, had recognised him immediately as someone he'd be able to bully forever more, and had been instantly fascinated; and, on some deep-down level, had considered Yomi his personal property ever since. And now that the two of them were actually fucking...well, the idea of his friend getting some with anyone else would just not stand.
Ruka gave a long, deliberate sigh through his nose; his vocalist was obviously not yet clear on how their relationship worked. He was going to have to do something about this. And before Yomi had the chance to lay a hand (or worse) on another woman.”
( “So this wasn't some revenge thing?” I probe. “You know, for you and Chiba.” For an instant a sly, satisfied grin passes over Giga's lips; then he blushes as he remembers exactly what incident I'm referring to.
“No,” he says, shaking his head, “but he would stand up for me if I wanted it.” He goes all gooey again, presumably over the concept of a knight-in-shining-armour Ruka, and I'm not sure whether to laugh or suggest he seek psychiatric help. “No, this was all about Yomi. And rules. And just plain having fun.”
“Oh yeah, Ruka's got a charming sense of fun.”
“Right?” says Giga eagerly, completely oblivious to the truckload of sarcasm with which I'd planned to deliver my comment. Enthused, he begins to elaborate. )
“It was eight in the evening before they finally called it a day. By that time Ruka's personal green eyed monster had had plenty of time to wake up and begin plotting; and Yomi wasn't helping himself by covertly checking his phone every few minutes, oblivious to his drummer's brooding stare.
They all parted round the back of the studios: Saki and Hitsu catching a lift with Tamura-san into Shinjuku, where they could have a quiet drink and gaze moonily at each other over their yakitori; Yomi, as we know, was off to the station in order to make his date on time; he left the others at a trot, tipping Sakito a cheerful wink as the two guitarists followed their manager. As soon as they had all dispersed Ruka slipped quickly round to the car-park, paid the absolutely shocking fee, and slid behind the wheel. He had maybe three minutes, he thought.
He caught sight of Yomi again just before the main road, the vocalist's short legs motoring along like a sturdy little pony's. Ruka grinned sourly and slowed to a crawl, heading for the pavement. Yomi started and looked round as he sensed someone tailing him. Happily, Ruka's car was huge, dark, with blacked-out windows and enough menace to be appropriately unnerving and redolent of yakuza kidnappings, etc; and he enjoyed the expression that flashed over the singer's face before he twigged just who it belonged to.
Yomi came to a stop as soon as he figured it out and stood there, narrow chest heaving slightly as Ruka pulled up beside him. The drummer rolled down the window opposite him.
“Are you...gonna give me a lift?” puffed Yomi, sweating in the heat, leaning against the car door and getting smudges all over the paintwork. Ruka, who liked everything to be clean and neat to an almost fanatical extent, glared at him: just one more thing his misbehaving lover would need punishing for.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what d'you want?” demanded Yomi, jiggling up and down impatiently beside the vehicle. “Kind of in a hurry here, Ruka.”
“Get in the car,” ordered Ruka bluntly, leaning across to the passenger side and looking all dangerous and sexy. He was not in the mood to do his explaining out here; no, it demanded somewhere much more private.
“No!”
“Yes.”
“But I-” Yomi began in protest, glancing at his watch. But Ruka was an expert at choosing just the right voice and the right expression to keep his singer in line. He didn't even have to undo his seat-belt: he just stared at the little vocalist, the nails of his left hand grazing across the circle of the steering wheel in an absent way that nevertheless seemed to make Yomi rather nervous.
“I said get in,” Ruka repeated levelly, “or I will put you in.” Yomi rolled his eyes (he's never actually been scared of Ruka, he just knows when to toe the line), threw his bag through the window and tugged the door open, dropping resignedly into the spacious seat beside his drummer.
“This had better be good.” Yomi crossed his arms petulantly. And then, irritated, “I had a date.”
“That's right, just keep on talking,” Ruka told him, injecting a warning note into his low voice for Yomi to pick up on (or not) and trying to decide whether he was feeling more annoyed or anticipatory. He wasn't certain how this was going to go, but his singer needed a lesson and he was sure he was going to enjoy giving it. In a way it was a shame he hadn't put up more of an argument: the back-street was empty and quiet, and the idea of Yomi duct-taped in the boot of his car held a certain appeal.
Even at this time of night it took thirty minutes to get them home - damn Tokyo, why did he even drive here? - and to his amazement Yomi managed to keep up a disgruntled silence the entire way, not even bothering to ask where they were going or why, just staring out of the window with his tiny arms folded (after sending another text, and Ruka didn't need to ask who that was to). Occasionally he would shoot Ruka a speculative look; but the older man didn't much feel like being appraised, and maintained Sulk Face no.2 ('I'm not going to speak one word while the camera's on me today'), thwarting any attempts by Yomi to figure out what the hell was going on.
Ruka parked up beneath his building and slammed the door, herding Yomi ahead of him into the elevator. Being stuck in a confined space with him was getting Ruka rather excited, what with all the thoughts of what he could do to him if the lift happened to break down and trap them in there. But no...no, good things come to those who wait.
To part 2
Enjoy!