NaNo 2012, Lunatic Sunshine, Chapter 6

[mousapelli]

This chapter is not-so worksafe, just to warn you ( ^_^)b

Back to Chapter 5


6) She is mine

True to her word, Kitayama quietly ended things with Totsuka after the incident at the pairing photoshoot. Fujigaya neither knew nor cared to know what she had told Totsuka, and the only thing he heard about it afterwards was a mail from Kawai saying that Fujigaya never could share his toys and that he was no fun at all.

All that concerned Fujigaya was that Kitayama stopped going out with other people and staying out all night, and he was satisfied with just that.

“Just that?” Tamamori asked, skeptical. “Come on, be serious. Even Miyacchi makes it to second base once in a while.”

“You think second base is doing it,” Fujigaya said without looking up from the schedule.

“I have fewer bases than girls!” Tamamori replied defensively, then complained to mug-san that everybody picked on him.

It wasn’t as if Fujigaya wasn’t interested in getting to whatever bases Kitayama had, it was just that for the moment things seemed stable, and Fujigaya was not very anxious to disturb that stability. Having to avert his eyes sometimes when Kitayama danced in front of the mirrors and waking up rock-hard from the occasional questionable dream (sometimes also involving the mirrors) was a small price to pay for not worrying whether they were all going to be fired on a daily basis.

He had enough to keep him busy anyway, wrapping up the last few songs for the new album and starting to record, plus then there was the other project Domoto had called him in for suddenly.

“Alone?” Fujigaya asked when Yokoo told him where and when he had to show up for the meeting. “What’s that about? Should I be worried?”

“I have no details.” Yokoo shrugged. “It seems like just a small side project, though, something the president doesn’t think will take up much of your time.”

“Like Kitayama’s solo?” Fujigaya asked, voice crisp. Yokoo only remarked that he hoped Fujigaya wasn’t planning on taking that attitude in with him when he talked to Domoto.

As it turned out, Fujigaya was not alone at the meeting after all; when he pushed the door open, he found an older woman sitting in the chair in front of Domoto’s desk. She was well-dressed in a beige blazer and skirt, her legs crossed demurely, and she looked vaguely familiar when she turned to see Fujigaya entering.

“Ah, here he is,” President Domoto said, motioning Fujigaya forward. “May I introduce Fujigaya Taisuke, one of our most talented and promising talents here in my agency. Fujigaya-kun, this is Kamenashi Kazue.”

“Ah, I thought you looked familiar,” Fujigaya said, offering a polite enough bow. Kamenashi Kazue had been a popular singer some years ago, and his mother had liked her enough to make him and his brothers watch if she was on television. Fujigaya remembered her as being very glamorous, and she still was quite pretty, but he could see the years she had spent in the industry in the lines gathered around the corners of her eyes and mouth. “My mother is a fan of yours. We used to watch you on the New Years’ song battles.”

“How nice!” Kamenashi smiled, looking pleased. “I was quite popular in my youth, and not just with the women.” She winked, and Fujigaya had to struggle to keep his polite smile in place.

“Now now, Kamenashi-san,” the president cut in smoothly. “You still have many loyal fans today, I’m sure. And idol would be proud to have the career that you do.”

“Please, call me Kazue,” Kamenashi said, turning her smile towards the president.

“Kazue-chan, then,” president Domoto agreed, smiling warmly back.

“Was there something you wanted, President?” Fujigaya asked, hoping to get out of here without enduring very much more middle-aged flirting.

“Kame--Kazue-chan,” the president corrected himself, “will be re-releasing an anniversary single in a few months, and she has asked for you personally to adjust the arrangement.”

“I feel a bit out of touch with younger fans these days,” Kamenashi explained, her eyes widening a little, as if she were a bit helpless. Fujigaya felt like she was trying to play on his chivalry, but honestly it was just making him uncomfortable. “All of your songs seem so popular, I hear them on the radio quite a bit. I was hoping you could help give this single a bit of an update.”

“Um.” Fujigaya glanced at President Domoto, trying to judge whether he was entirely behind this or simply humoring an acquaintance in the business. “Er, I am quite busy writing our third album at the moment, so Sunshine is my top priority.”

“I understand it’s going quite well,” the president said briskly. “You’ve begun to record, haven’t you? I think the timeline has enough flexibility to allow a small project like this. And it will be good publicity with Kazue-chan’s fans, who aren’t exactly your target demographic. Networking is an important part of the business too, Fujigaya-kun. I’m surprised you haven’t learned that lesson already.”

“Well, I have you to take care of that, president,” Fujigaya said, his laugh not quite as honest as Domoto and Kamenashi’s.

“I’ll have my agent send you the song as it is now immediately. I’m staying in town for promotional activities for the next few weeks,” Kamenashi said, pulling out a business card. “This is the hotel I will be staying at. My cell phone number is also written on it. Please feel free to contact me at any time about your progress.”

Fujigaya took the card with both hands and gave another little bow. “Thank you. I’ll do my best to update your song in a way that preserves its original spirit.”

“You are a polite one,” Kamenashi said, eyeing him casually in a way that Fujigaya didn’t care for so much, her smirk saying she found him adorable. “Please feel free to stop by in person as well, any time you like.”

“I will,” Fujigaya agreed, thinking no way in hell. He bowed again and pled a full schedule, and President Domoto waved him out of the office. Fujigaya didn’t hang around and ask twice.

When he met up with the others for recording that afternoon, they were curious about his meeting, and even more curious when he revealed that it had to do with Kamenashi Kazue. Fujigaya explained as tersely as possible, not really wanting to think about the whole thing until the song materials arrived and he had to.

“Can we stop talking about it?” he finally asked directly when Senga kept pestering him with questions about Kamenashi. “She gave me the creeps.”

“You really do have some kind of lady complex, don’t you,” Kitayama commented from the side, where she’d been listening quietly to the story. Senga and Tamamori nodded, then looked innocent when Fujigaya gave them the eye.

“None of these women are normal!” Fujigaya protested. “She looked at me like I was a tasty snack on the dessert tray, ugh.”

“Well, I feel a little bad for her,” Kitayama said, making everyone else look at her in surprise. “She hasn’t been popular in ten years, and she’s obviously struggling to accept that. Having some hot young thing show her some attention is probably the most excitement she’s had in years, and she had to go to Domoto to even get that. In another fifteen or twenty years, we’ll all be the same. Imagine us depending on Fujigaya for our sense of self-worth.”

Senga’s expression immediately turned sympathetic as he looked Fujigaya over; Tamamori mainly looked puzzled as he scrunched his brow and tried to think about anything that far ahead.

Fujigaya just rolled his eyes. “You didn’t see it. She was creepy, I’m telling you.” Kitayama just shook her head sadly and said that someday they’d teach him human feelings.

“Maa, whatever.” Tamamori shook his head as if that would get rid of all the pesky future thoughts. “Miyacchi’ll still love me even if I’m old.”

“Awww, Tama-chan,” Senga said, “that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard you say about him.”

“What? No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Tamamori backpedaled, his brain catching up with his mouth. “I meant because he’s always dumb about me! And my fans hate me anyway! Oi, don’t mail him that, Ken-chan!”

Senga dodged Tamamori’s grab and hid behind Kitayama, phone already in his hand and giggling as he typed quickly. They played chase, using Kitayama and Fujigaya as terrain until Yokoo stuck his head out and said could they knock it off and get to work already, please?

Still, he could only set Kamenashi’s project aside for so long with the schedule that they had, so when they had an off day later that week, he decided just to give up the time to get it over with.

“Aww, you said you’d go shopping with me!” Senga pouted, leaning in Fujigaya’s doorway.

“Work first,” Fujigaya said, looking up only long enough to offer him an apologetic smile. “Somebody has to keep us in the president’s good graces. Next time, okay? You just want me to hold all the bags anyway.”

“It’s more that if you don’t come I have to ask Tama to drive,” Senga sighed.

“Did you say shopping?” Kitayama’s head popped up behind Senga’s shoulder. “I’ll go shopping with you, Ken-chan. I don’t mind driving.”

“You will?” Senga tilted his head back to grin. “Yay! Hey, but I thought you were busy today.”

“I had to cancel some plans.” Kitayama’s voice was neutral, but when Fujigaya was looking up, she was looking at him. She held his gaze a long second, and then turned to go. “Come on, get a hat or something. Or else put on a cooler shirt, if I’m going to be paparazzi’ed with you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my shirt!” Senga protested, but he trailed Kitayama obediently. Fujigaya’s door swung shut, and Fujigaya heaved a sigh of relief at finally being left alone. After a bit he heard Senga calling that he and Kitayama were going out, and Tamamori calling back, the slam of the front door, and the muffled roar of Kitayama’s car starting.

He worked through the next couple hours before he was satisfied with what he had. The song had been a good one, Fujigaya remembered it once he’d heard it, so it hadn’t taken too much work to give it more of an updated feel. It still played as a bit of a classic, but with a fanbase as old as Kamenashi’s, it didn’t pay to get too trendy. If it were a song Sunshine had to perform in front of their fans, Fujigaya wouldn’t be embarrassed to play it.

Standing up and stretching, Fujigaya decided to call Kamenashi and ask if he could drop off the song this afternoon, just to be done with it. The business card that Kamenashi had given him was buried under a scatter of half-written songs and folded-back notebooks, but eventually Fujigaya turned it up, wedged halfway under his laptop. He pulled his phone out and flipped it open, dialing quickly with his thumb. While it rang, he looked around and tried to remember where he’d last seen his keys.

“When was the last time I even drove...” he muttered to himself, then there was the click of the phone connection.

“Hello, this is Kamenashi,” Kamenashi’s voice came through, sounding a bit bored.

“Kamenashi-san, this is Fujigaya Taisuke,” Fujigaya said.

“Oh, Fujigaya-kun!” Kamenashi perked right up at the mention of his name, and Fujigaya cringed a little. “How is your work coming? Have you had the time to look at my song yet?”

“I’ve actually been working on it today, and I’ve made the changes you’ve asked for,” Fujigaya answered, trying to root around in his bag with one hand without dropping the phone. “I’m quite particular myself, so I think you’ll be satisfied with the results.”

“That’s wonderful! My, you are a diligent young man,” Kamenashi praised.

“It’s nothing, I just don’t like to put things off.” Fujigaya yanked his keys out from where they were wedged in the corner of his bag, grinning in triumph. “I’m on my way out just now, I could drop the materials off at your hotel if you’d like.”

“Why don’t you bring them up personally?” Kamenashi said. “I’ll order us up some coffee, it’s the least I can offer you for your trouble.”

Fujigaya hesitated, but it still just seemed easier to get it over with. And if he treated Kamenashi impolitely, President Domoto would take it right out of his hide, with pleasure. “All right, I can spare a little time.”

“It’s room 802,” Kamenashi told him. “I’ll be waiting, Fujigaya-kun.”

Snapping his phone shut, Fujigaya suppressed a shiver. He gathered up his packet of song materials to return, tucked the hotel’s business card into his pocket so that he would have the address to put in his car’s navigation system. On last thought, he grabbed the biggest hat he could find, because if he got photographed going into Kamenashi Kazue’s hotel, he was going to kill himself.

All joking aside, there did seem to be photographers hanging around outside the Kamenashi’s hotel. Fujigaya recognized a few regulars as he drove by, and decided parking in a garage a block away was a better choice. He tugged his hat down and strolled as casually as possible once he was back on the street, eyes peeled, and he managed to slip into the hotel beside a group of foreign tourists while the photographers were busy stubbing out their cigarettes.

When Fujigaya knocked on Kamenashi’s door, it opened almost right away, as if Kamenashi had been waiting right there for him.

“Nice to see you again, Kamenashi-san,” Fujigaya said, as politely as he could manage. He held out the large envelope with all the song materials inside. “Here’s your song. I hope you approve of the changes.”

“I trust your judgement,” Kamenashi said breezily, setting the envelope down on the nearby side table next to a vase of flowers nearly as big as Fujigaya. She steered Fujigaya towards the couch with a hand on his back, so that there was no way for Fujigaya to politely avoid doing what she wanted. Her hand drifted a bit lower, and Fujigaya picked up the pace, hoping that Kamenashi would think he was just really excited about the coffee.

Fujigaya sat himself as close to the left arm of the couch as he could, tensing, but Kamenashi sat on the other end without comment. She leaned forward to pour them both coffee.

“Do you take cream or sugar?” she asked.

“Quite a bit of sugar, actually,” Fujgaya said, then took the delicate coffee cup from her, feeling young and awkward as he tried to cradle it without burning his hands. He sipped at it and thought about adding more sugar himself, then just decided to take it. “This is very good.”

“Yes, they do know how to treat a lady here,” Kamenashi said, reclining back against her side of the couch, looking Fujigaya over without trying to hide it. “So, Fujigaya-kun, tell me about yourself.”

“Mm,” Fujigaya hedged, taking another sip of coffee. “It seems like you’ve found out about me yourself already.”

“Only what everyone knows.” Kamenashi smiled, tilting her head so that it was resting against the fingertips of the arm lying across the back of the couch. “I like to get to know the people I work with a little more...deeply.”

“Er,” Fujigaya said, wondering if any coffee in the world was worth this.

“Any special women in your life, Fujigaya-kun?” Kamenashi went on, and even the way she said Fujigaya’s name kind of gave him the creepy crawlies. “Girlfriend?”

“N-no, I’m afraid not,” Fujigaya stuttered, resting his cup against his knee so that he wouldn’t slosh coffee all over himself like a complete blueass. “My career takes up all of my spare time, and President Domoto doesn’t approve of that sort of thing.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Kamenashi agreed, finding that amusing apparently. Her eyes turned knowing, encouraging him to share. “Boyfriend, then?”

“Nothing like that.” Fujigaya decided putting the coffee entirely on the coffee table was definitely a better idea.

“Ah, but such a shame,” Kamenashi sighed, like she was watching a daytime drama. “You’re such a handsome young thing, in your prime, you should definitely take a lover to enjoy yourself with.”

“I enjoy myself just fine,” Fujigaya said without thinking, then flushed red when Kamenashi lifted a hand to cover a laugh. “What I mean is, I’m satisfied with the way things are.”

“Are you?” Kamenashi asked, and Fujigaya got the feeling his correction hadn’t been any less embarrassing than his original statement. She sat up and slid a bit closer, leaning in to speak intimately. “Satisfied, I mean. Is there any way I could change your mind? I know I’m older than you, but women reach their sexual prime much later than men, you know. And I always do enjoy teaching young men the ways of the world...”

“Kamenashi-san,” Fujigaya said firmly, politeness and Domoto be damned, this was way too much. “I’m flattered, but as I said, I’m not interested. I’m very focused on my career at the moment.”

“That really is a shame,” Kamenashi said, reclining back against her arm of the couch with a sigh. She reached for her own coffee cup on the table and took a sip, watching Fujigaya over the rim of her cup. “You should really reconsider, though. You might as well get something out of this.”

“This?” Fujigaya asked, not liking at all the way Kamenashi was looking at him. Some of the false innocence had dropped away, leaving behind a more keen, calculating look. Fujigaya got the feeling this was much closer to the real Kamenashi.

“You are alone with a woman in her hotel room,” Kamenashi pointed out. “When I said I came to Tokyo to do some promotions work...”

“Are you kidding me?” Fujigaya demanded, thinking of the reporters in front of the hotel. He curled his hands into fists to keep from slapping his own forehead. Stupid, so stupid, he chastised himself. “Did you call them? Did you tell them I’d be here?”

“Idols your age aren’t the only ones who can benefit from the tabloids.” Kamenashi gave a little shrug, avoiding all the direct questions. “A little scandal does wonders for a single’s sales, don’t you find?” She laughed when Fujigaya struggled to come up with a retort for that. “Goodness, are you really blushing? Darling, trust me, a lover wouldn’t go too far amiss, I think.”

Fujigaya stood up, shaking a little from fury at being used so transparently, but he managed to keep his voice even. “Thank you for the coffee, and I hope your single works out. I’m sorry I’ll be unavailable to help you in the future. I’ll show myself out.”

“Give my best to Moriguchi-san from Friday if you see him down there,” Kamenashi called after him, apparently finding Fujigaya’s dramatic exit amusing. “He always treats me very kindly.”

Fujigaya just barely kept from slamming the door, but he was fuming the entire way down in the elevator, his face scary enough that when the doors opened on the fourth floor, the girls waiting to go down decided that they’d wait until the next one. He got as far as the lobby before his good sense kicked in and he realized the reporters would still be outside. Kamenashi might have even warned them by now, so the front door was definitely out.

Looking around, he spotted a hallway leading off to the side, and turned mid-step to follow that instead, intending to hunt up a back exit. He heaved a little sigh of relief when he spotted an exit sign at the end of the hallway, a hotel employee just coming back in through it.

“I wouldn’t,” the hotel employee said as Fujigaya passed him.

“What?” Fujigaya stopped, turning to glare, but the employee only shrugged. He smelled of cigarette smoke, making Fujigaya want to sneeze. He glanced down at the employee’s nametag, which read “Eda.”

“You’re that guy from that band, aren’t you?” he asked. He thought a second, then snapped his fingers. “Sunshine.”

“What about it?” Fujigaya asked, impatient and in no mood for fans of any gender. “Look, I’m in kind of a--”

“Well, go for it if you want,” the employee said. “But there’s a bunch of reporters hanging around out there. They yelled at me for blocking their shots when I was smoking in front of the doorway.”

“Dammit.” Fujigaya slumped against the wall, exasperated. This was supposed to be his day off! “Thanks. There another exit out of here?”

“Sure, but not one they don’t know about, if they bothered to come the whole way back here to this one.” The hotel employee looked genuinely sympathetic. “Sorry, man. For future reference, whoever you’re meeting here, I’d quit it. We get Friday-ed like three times a week.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Fujigaya grumbled, turning to go back the other way.

“I mean, dude, try a love hotel. There’s a million of them, plus they have these awesome little one-use--”

“THANK you,” Fujigaya interrupted, at his limit for shady love life advice today.

He ducked into the bathroom attached to the lobby and leaned against the wall to think a minute. He didn’t see any way out of this on his own, so he’d have to call someone. Yokoo would only yell at him, and Tamamori would probably bring Miyata along and get them doubly tabloided (“Sunshine’s lead singer has foursome with bandmate, middle-aged woman, and another man!”).

That only left one possible choice.

“You’re where?” Senga was already laughing before Fujigaya had even finished his story.

“It’s not funny!” Fujigaya hissed. “I’m trapped in the bathroom! That crazy woman called reporters and they’re staking out the hotel!”

“Stop, stop,” Senga wheezed. “I can’t take it! Oh man, that’s gold. But what do you want me to do about it?”

“Just come and pick me up!” Fujigaya demanded. “We’ll probably still get caught, but at least it’ll look like I wasn’t alone.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to be in your tabloid threesome, Taipi,” Senga protested.

“Kento!”

“Okay, okay,” Senga relented, Fujigaya’s hysteria apparently making an impression at last. “We’ll come as quick as we can, hold tight, okay? Tell me again exactly where you are.”

It took what felt like ages for Senga to get there, Fujigaya tensing every time the bathroom door swung open, afraid it might just as easily be reporters descending on him as Senga coming to rescue him. Eventually it was too much for his nerves to take and despite his unhappiness about the hygiene of the situation, Fujigaya went into one of the stalls for what little protection it offered. He put down about five layers of toilet paper on the seat for protection, and then sat down and drew his knees up so nobody could even recognize his boots.

Finally, the door swung open again, but instead of more rowdy half-drunk business from the bar, a voice whispered, “Taisuke?”

“Thank god,” Fujigaya said, hopping up and throwing open the stall door, “dammit, Ken-chan, could you have taken any long--”

It wasn’t Senga at all, actually, it was Kitayama standing in the men’s room, holding a large shopping bag with a department store logo on it. While Fujigaya tried to absorb that, she reached behind her shoulder to flip the lock on the bathroom door shut.

“What is this?” Fujigaya demanded. He pointed at Kitayama accusingly. “How are you not going to make this nine thousand times worse?!”

“Shut up, I had a way better idea than your half-baked plan,” Kitayama shushed him. “Take off your clothes.”

“No!” Fujigaya hollered. “Here?!”

“Will you shush, before you bring half the building running?” Kitayama hissed. She shoved the shopping into Fujigaya’s hands. “And where else? Put that on, and hurry up.”

Fujigaya reached in the back and pulled out a cute, pink-striped one piece dress. “No way. Seriously, what the fuck?! How is dressing me like a girl not going to be amazing blackmail material?”

“Because they aren’t looking for a girl,” Kitayama said smugly, folding her arms. “They won’t even notice some girl and her boyfriend coming out with their shopping.”

“With her boyfriend...” Fujigaya trailed off as he figured out who the boyfriend was supposed to be. “There is no way in hell this is happening.”

“Go ahead and think of another plan to get out of here,” Kitayama said, as if making a generous offer. “I’ll wait, no pressure. Go on.” She tapped her fingers against her arm while Fujigaya’s whole face scrunched up with the effort of coming up with any other plan. “No? Yeah, that’s because there isn’t one. You can thank me for being a genius later, but for right now put that dress on and be quick about it. Sooner or later somebody’ll realize this door is locked and then those reporters will really have a story.”

“God, fuck my life,” Fujigaya whined, setting the bag on the counter and reaching for his belt. “Turn around, you. You’re not allowed to enjoy this.”

“You getting naked is the part of this I’m enjoying the least, trust me,” Kitayama said, but she did as requested. Fujigaya stuck his tongue out at her back, then stripped off his shirt.

The dress was a bit loose, which helped it hide Fujigaya’s lack of bosom, and fell to just above Fujigaya’s knees. Also in the bag was a pair of boots which came up high enough to make up the difference and hopefully hide the fact that Fujigaya’s legs were definitely not clean-shaven.

“These boots are not my size,” Fujigaya complained as he wedged his foot into the second one, wincing at the pinch of it. Kitayama turned to eye the results.

“You know like ninety-five percent of Japanese women all have the same shoe size, right?” Kitayama nodded in approval, looking Fujigaya up and down. “Not bad. I think you make a better girl than me.”

“Who doesn’t?” Fujigaya growled, but Kitayama only said not to be jealous. She reached over and tugged the hair tie out that had been holding back Fujigaya’s sides, then used her fingers to comb Fujigaya’s hair down and forward, more in her face. Fujigaya tried to ignore the warmth of Kitayama’s fingers against his scalp and tugging through his hair, reminding himself severely that he was very angry and not enjoying this even a little.

“There.” Kitayama stepped back to examine the whole picture. “I think this is going to work. Put your sunglasses on.” Kitayama reached up to tuck more of her own hair up into her hat, which looked familiar to Fujigaya.

In fact, her entire outfit looked kind of familiar. “Hey, what are you wearing?”

“I switched some stuff with Ken-chan, that’s what took so long,” Kitayama said, preoccupied checking her reflection in the mirror and adjusting the lie of her jacket. “That plus buying your dress. The one day I go out actually sort of looking like a girl, you know? You have terrible timing, Tai-chan.”

“Don’t call me that,” Fujigaya said sourly, dropping his normal clothes into the shopping bag.

“What else would I call my cute girlfriend?” Kitayama asked. She unlocked the door and stuck her head outside to check in both directions while Fujigaya was still spluttering. “The coast is clear, hurry up.”

Fujigaya’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to the sunglasses yet, and she ended up bumping right into the doorframe. Chuckling, Kitayama tugged her out into the hallway and reached down to grab her hand firmly. “Quit laughing. And hold my hand the other way, you’re supposed to be the guy.”

“Try to look like you’re on a fun date,” Kitayama coached. Fujigaya only glared. “Ah, maybe I like the tsundere type anyway. Hand me that bag though, if I make you carry your own shit I really will look like a terrible boyfriend.”

Once they were all adjusted, Fujigaya took a deep breath, steeling himself. The couple dozen yards across the lobby and out the front door looked like kilometers, and he wasn’t one hundred percent positive that he wouldn’t go face first into one of the flower arrangements when he tried to go more than a couple meters in these boots.

“Here we go,” Kitayama said. “Just act natural.”

They strolled through the lobby, Kitayama making ridiculous small talk as if she were leading him on a little tourist date in Tokyo. When nobody pointed or stared immediately, Fujigaya relaxed a little and dared hope that they might pull this off. Kitayama held open the door properly when they reached it and Fujigaya slipped through it, holding tight to her arm as he stepped off the little step from the hotel doorframe to the sidewalk and nearly tipped over.

“Careful, sweetie,” Kitayama said, chuckling, tugging him upright and along as quickly as she dared. “Don’t look but I think it might be working.”

“Yeah?” Fujigaya started to turn his head, then squeaked when Kitayama pinched his arm.

“I said don’t look! Only one guy is looking at us anyway, maybe he thinks you’re hot.” Kitayama paused as if checking the traffic before crossing the street. “Where’s your car at?”

Fujigaya had never been more relieved in his entire life when they reached his car and he could slump into the driver’s seat, off of his abused feet. Kitayama shook her head, smiling with amusement as she offered Fujigaya back the bag with his clothes in it, and all Fujigaya did was reach for his boots.

“Scoot over,” Kitayama ordered, and Fujigaya paused in the middle of tugging a boot off.

“What?”

“Over, move over, into the passenger’s seat.” Kitayama pointed. “Or get out and walk around, but you already have your shoes off.”

“Why?” Fujigaya demanded. “You aren’t driving my car!”

“What kind of jackass makes his girlfriend drive him around?” Kitayama explained patiently. “And unless you want to see if this garage has a bathroom or change out here in the open, until we get home, you’re still the girl and I’m still the boyfriend.”

“Go drive your own car!” Fujigaya blustered. He kicked at Kitayama with a bare foot.

“Because I don’t think it’s smart for a girl to be seen driving your ridiculously conspicuous sports car, okay? Will you quit kicking up such a fuss over nothing?” Kitayama demanded. “Why’s it so hard for you to just let somebody take charge once in a while?”

“Jackass,” Fujigaya accused, hiking up his skirt enough to crawl over the gearshift and flopping into the passenger seat in a sulk. Kitayama lobbed his boots in after him carelessly. “Ow! That hurt!”

“And you could say thank you,” Kitayama said, voice cold, as she got into the driver’s seat and buckled herself in. The fun had faded out of her expression, as if she was just as sick of Fujigaya in a dress as he was. “We could have let you work it out yourself. Going to some woman’s hotel room by yourself, what were you even thinking? You’re always on about Sunshine’s image, but isn’t the person causing most of the problems lately you?”

Fujigaya stared at his lap silently, cheeks heating.

The first ten minutes of the drive were tense and silent, Kitayama staring straight out the windshield at the road.

“Thank you,” Fujigaya finally said. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re welcome,” Kitayama answered. She didn’t look away from the road, but her shoulders loosened a little.

Sunshine’s Senga Kento caught at hotel with mystery woman read the tabloid headline the next morning, when Yokoo held it up to demand what the hell he thought he was doing.

“That’s not me!” Senga gasped, eyes wide. “It’s not!”

“Really?” Yokoo raised an eyebrow. “Because I sure recognize that hat, and not even a desperate homeless person would steal that thing.”

“I wasn’t even there! I was shopping all afternoon with Hiro!” Senga protested. “She--” He stopped short, glancing guiltily to the side at Kitayama and Fujigaya. “Well...”

“It’s me,” Fujigaya admitted.

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s way too short to be you,” Yokoo dismissed him. “And you’d never wear that hat out in public.”

“No, the...the girl.” Fujigaya stared at the carpet, cheeks burning and scowling fiercely. “The girl is me. The guy is Kitayama.”

There was a long second of silence where Yokoo reassessed the photograph in all its blurry glory. He heaved a sigh.

“This is why you can’t have days off,” he said, reaching up to massage his temples. “Tell me what happened. Assuming any part of this narrative is coherent.”

“It was that song I was redoing the arrangement for,” Fujigaya starts haltingly, trying to assess where this all went terribly wrong. “I just wanted it over with, so I finished it yesterday, and then I went to drop it off at Kamenashi’s hotel--”

“You did what?” Yokoo demanded. “Don’t you have any sense at all?! Stop laughing!” He rounded on Kitayama, who was trying to hide it behind a hand, but it wasn’t working very well. Senga looked like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t quite get past his accidental involvement in the cougar sex scandal.

“Sorry, I can’t,” Kitayama said, snickers still leaking out. “You should have seen his face!”

“She put the moves on me!” Fujigaya said, voice scandalized. “That women, ugh! She just wanted to use me for some tawdry sex scandal, and then she had the nerve to say I needed a lover to teach me about the ways of the world! Like I needed somebody...to...” The harder Kitayama laughed, the harder Fujigaya had to work not to join in, mouth twitching as he tried to keep his scowl firmling in place. “...to...make me...a man...”

It really was ridiculous, and finally Fujigaya was laughing too, too hard to continue to the story.

“So he called Ken-chan to c-come and sneak him out,” Kitayama tried to pick up the thread of the story between snickers. “But I thought that would just make things w-worse, so...”

“So you put him in a dress?” Yokoo exclaimed.

“It totally worked, though!” Kitayama protested.

“We nearly made it!” Fujigaya added.

“You really did work those boots,” Kitayama deadpanned, and then they both lost it, Fujigaya laughing so hard that he was nearly doubled over.

“I’m glad somebody’s laughing,” Yokoo grumbled, pulling out his phone but then just staring at it, like he wasn’t sure what step two might possibly be.

“You guys!” Senga wailed. “It’s not funny! Nika is gonna kill me!”

“She did tell you not to get photographed with strange women,” Yokoo reminded, no sympathy whatsoever. Senga whined more piteously until Fujigaya relented and hugged him and said not to worry, he wouldn’t let his tabloid boyfriend be murdered.

“It’d be a shame since we look so cute together, wouldn’t it?” Fujigaya did a cutesy peace sign pose with his arm still wrapped around Senga’s shoulders. “You have to teach me the ways of the world!”

Senga threw an arm around Fujigaya’s waist and growled possessively that no woman of his ought to be photographed coming out of hotels. “Got it, Tai-chan?”

“Darling~,” Fujigaya tittered, then snorted into Senga’s hair.

When Fujigaya looked up, Yokoo was not laughing at all. Kitayama wasn’t either, which seemed a bit odd, but Fujigaya shrugged it off. Patting Senga on the head, he said he was going to go get dressed for work.

They were recording several more songs for the album that day, so Fujigaya didn’t see very much of the others for the rest of the day, aside from Tamamori who liked to side beside Miyata and watch him fiddle with the soundboard during his own breaks. They all recorded during each other’s breaks, even through dinner. During the few breaks they were both off, Kitayama was quiet, almost sullen, but Fujigaya brushed it off as nerves about recording or tiredness, preoccupied himself with humming over his next section.

Fujigaya had more lines than anybody as usual, excepting Kitayama, so he left the studio last of all that night, yawning and heartily sick of the bottled tea Miyata kept reminding him to sip between takes to protect his throat.

He was just stripping off his jacket in his room when the heard the door close behind him. Fujigaya turned to find Kitayama leaning against his bedroom door, scowling at the carpet.

“What?” Fujigaya asked, swallowing another yawn. “If you’re having another musical breakthrough, could it please wait until morning? I’m exha--”

“So it turns out,” Kitayama interrupted, striding forward until she was basically right in Fujigaya’s personal space, “that I don’t like the idea of you with anybody else either.”

She fisted a hand in Fujigaya’s T-shirt and yanked him down before Fujigaya could answer, her kiss possessive and demanding. Fujigaya pulled away for air, head spinning, eyes caught by the way Kitayama licked at her lower lip.

“And I’m pretty sick of waiting for you to do something about it,” she finished.

Brain static-filled, Fujigaya didn’t try very hard to come up with a reason to argue. Instead he threaded fingers through Kitayama’s hair on either side of her face and tilted her head back for another kiss. It was messier this time, both of them fighting for dominance of it, and Fujigaya didn’t even realize they were moving backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of his bed and he tumbled backwards, dragging Kitayama down with him.

“Oof!” he grunted as Kitayama’s weight landed squarely on his stomach. “Watch it! You weigh a fucking ton!”

“Oi, don’t you know better than to mention a lady’s weight?” Kitayama demanded, hitching herself up a little higher onto her elbows. All it really did was get her into a proper straddle over Fujigaya’s lap, though. He reached for her hips, intending to shift her to a less dangerous spot.

“I’ve got delicate stuff down there,” Fujigaya said, eyes narrowing as Kitayama grabbed his wrists and pinned them flat to the bed on either side of his head.

“Yeah, you’re a delicate flower, all right,” she retorted, and then ground down in a deliberate circle with her hips, making Fujigaya bite down on a groan. “At least that’s what Kamenashi-chan seems to think.”

“Fuck, don’t bring her up,” Fujigaya protested, but truthfully the possessive gleam in Kitayama’s eyes was making his blood run hotter, his skin already burning where Kitayama’s fingers were wrapped tight around his wrists. “I just want to forget that whole thing.”

“Good,” Kitayama says, vehement, leaning over him and pressing his wrists down harder. “Because I’m gonna make you forget everything but me.”

She already had Fujigaya more than half of the way there, and Fujigaya didn’t take long at all to go the rest of the distance, attention completely absorbed by the press of Kitayama’s mouth on his, the roll of her body down against his. He slid hands down her side and back up to push her T-shirt out of the way, groaning into Kitayama’s mouth at the heat of the bare skin of her back. Kitayama shivered when he slid his hands up and down again, slowly, and let go of his wrists to work fingers into his hair and pull. All of it was a vicious cycle, making Fujigaya’s nerves crackle and whine like a mic in an amped feedback loop.

Some distant part of Fujigaya’s brain was chanting that this was a terrible, terrible idea, but for once Fujigaya told it just to shut up and leave him alone.

Kitayama hummed encouragingly when Fujigaya’s hands slid down to her sides, his thumbs digging into the dips between her ribs. He dragged his hands up higher, hooking his thumbs under the slick fabric of her bra on the way, pushing it up and out of the way until he could cup her breasts properly. When he thumbed at her nipples, Kitayama broke the kiss to arch into his hands, tipping her head back and gasping loudly.

“Off,” Fujigaya ordered, and Kitayama sat up, apparently in agreement. She stripped off her T-shirt and bra in one smooth pull and tossed it aside. Fujigaya couldn’t take his eyes off of her skin, pale and smooth all the way down in contrast to the darkness of her forearms from being outside, the way her nipples were already dark and hard on her cute, pert breasts.

“Honestly,” Kitayama scolded, reaching down to undo Fujigaya’s buttons. She made it through about half of them before she just yanked the shirt over his head, then dragged fingertips down his bare chest, making Fujigaya groan and squeeze his eyes shut. Her touch lingered around his ribs, and Fujigaya’s breath hitched at the tickle of it. “You’d be so hot if you’d just fucking eat something.”

Fujigaya’s eyes snapped open to glare. “Yeah? Maybe if you ate a little less--” He cut off with a squeak when Kitayama pinched a nipple in warning.

“What did I say about that?” she asked, then paused as she noticed something, shifting down to get a better look. “Is that...it is. Tai-chan,” she purred, fingers drifting down to follow her gaze. “You little tease, you’ve got a naval piercing?”

“It’s from my foolish youth,” Fujigaya said. Kitayama rolled the bar with her fingers and Fujigaya moaned, arching up into her weight. “Shit, don’t do that if you’re gonna want me to stop any time soon.”

Kitayama looked him in the eye and tugged harder. Fujigaya knocked her hand away and sat up, dragging her close to keep her from getting any more bright ideas. He slide a hand up into the back of her hair to pull her down for another fierce kiss, their heights much more even with her sitting on Fujigaya’s lap. She wrapped arms around his neck and rolled her hips against his, making him moan into the kiss. Kitayama was never entirely still, shifting against Fujigaya with just enough friction to drive him half out of his mind, her nipples dragging along Fujigaya’s chest, his skin on fire everywhere hers was pressed against it, her fingers tugging through his hair and trailing down his back and shoulders.

Fujigaya slid his mouth away to try and catch his breath, over her jaw and down her neck. Kitayama tilted her head back, begging for more, and Fujigaya scraped teeth along the spot where her shoulder joined her neck, grinning when Kitayama cried out softly. “Don’t suppose you’ve got anything useful on you?”

“Back pocket,” Kitayama said, mostly into Fujigaya’s hair. He slid hands down into the back pockets of her jeans, squeezing her ass while he was there and finding that it felt just as good as it looked even through the rough denim. His fingers bumped foil, and Fujigaya shook his head as he used two fingers to fish out the condom packet.

“Prepared, aren’t we?” he asked drily. He grunted when Kitayama planted two hands in the middle of his chest and pushed him back down, flat on his back.

“Always. See, now you’re starting to get what kind of girl I am,” she said, winking as she plucked the condom packet out of Fujigaya’s fingers. “Finally. If I get up, can I trust you to get rid of these?” She tugged a little at Fujigaya’s zipper, snorting when Fujigaya’s hips jumped at the near touch. “Or are you going to be entirely useless? I think it’s only fair to warn you that I’m not really into doing all the work.”

Rather than answer, Fujigaya reached for the button of Kitayama’s jeans to show exactly how useful he could be. She rocked up onto her knees a little when Fujigaya started tugging at her zipper, eyes dark with interest as she watched his hands. Her jeans were loose enough once her zipper was down, barely, for Fujigaya to slide his palm down her flat belly and into her underwear.

“Mm, Taisuke,” she praised, rocking down slowly against Fujigaya’s fingers. She was slick before he ever got fingers down far enough to touch her properly, the heat of it going right to Fujigaya’s cock, still trapped in his jeans.

The angle was too awkward, the space too tight for Fujigaya to do anything besides give her something to rub against a little, but Kitayama didn’t apparently have any objection to the tease of it. Fujigaya curled his fingers, getting just barely inside her, and Kitayama moaned and squeezed her thighs around him before sliding back, out of reach.

“Jeans off, I said,” she ordered, chest rising and falling with her quick breathing, a flush starting to work its way down from her pale shoulders. She kicked hers off quick enough that Fujigaya had to rush to catch up, fingers in between her legs and picking up where Fujigaya had left off before Fujigaya had so much as managed to get off the bed.

“Fuck,” Fujigaya cursed, barely able to remember how clothes worked as he fought with his jeans. He could hardly concentrate on anything besides Kitayama’s fingers sliding inside herself, the way her other hand had come up to roll her nipple roughly between her fingers.

“Hurry up, or you’ll get left behind,” Kitayama warned, hips rolling down into hand in a deliberate rhythm, one that definitely was not just teasing.

“Of course you’re the fastest girl on the planet,” Fujigaya snapped, kicking off his jeans at last. He reached down to wrap fingers around her wrist and tug her hand away from herself.

“I’m not, really.” Kitayama gave a dark laugh and twisted her wrist to trail fingers down the center of Fujigaya’s chest, slick from touching herself. “I told you, I’ve been waiting for you to do something about it. I’d have think you’d have figured out by now, I’m not a very patient woman.”

“Can see that,” Fujigaya said, then moaned when Kitayama’s hand trailed low enough to wrap around his cock and give him a firm squeeze. “You’ve got such strong opinions on it, tell me where you want me.”

Kitayama raised an eyebrow, surprised at the offer. Fujigaya expected her to tease, but she was apparently past that stage because after a moment of narrow-eyed thought she ordered him back onto his back.

“Just like that,” Kitayama said in approval, picking the condom packet back up off the blankets and tearing it open. She didn’t roll it on right away, though, stroking Fujigaya a few times instead, not light enough to be a tease, not rough enough to really get him anywhere. Fujigaya groaned quietly and pushed up into her fist, her weight on his thighs making him work for it. Just to have something to do, he reached for her again, fingers sliding inside her much more deeply and easily without the barrier of her jeans in the way.

“You aren’t gonna come, are you?” Fujigaya asked when Kitayama began to move against his fingers deliberately, attention obviously distracted from where she’d been stroking him.

“What if I do?” Kitayama asked, closing her eyes and getting more into it. “You know girls can keep going after, right? Please don’t tell me I have to teach you all the sex things.”

“It’s not that I mind doing it, but my fingers aren’t the part I want to feel that around,” Fujigaya said, startling a breathless laugh out of Kitayama. He let her squeeze around him for a few seconds longer, and then pulled his hand away. “Come on, already.”

Kitayama didn’t waste any more time rolling the condom down onto Fujigaya. She held him up with a hand around his base as she slid down onto him slowly, and Fujigaya struggled to watch rather than to let his eyes close against the pleasure of it like he wanted to. Kitayama let out a long sigh as her weight settled fully onto his thighs, and Fujigaya had to draw a deep breath to keep from thrusting up as hard and fast as his body was begging him to.

“Well?” Kitayama asked, her shortness of breath belying her bravado. Fujigaya just made a wide motion with one of his hands.

“You wanted to take control so much,” he pointed out. Kitayama’s eyes narrowed in challenge, and Fujigaya had a split-second to regret his words before Kitayama splayed her hands across Fujigaya’s stomach for balance and started to ride him in earnest. “Fuck,” he groaned, grabbing for Kitayama’s waist, giving in and letting his hips snap like they wanted to.

“Just like that,” Kitayama gasped when Fujigaya caught up with her rhythm. She reached down and pushed one of his hands over, nudged his thumb down until it was rubbing squarely against the little nub just above where he was sliding in and out of her. “Hope that’s the part you wanted because...”

Kitayama’s words cut off as she tightened around Fujigaya, and she shuddered around him and under his hands for long enough that Fujigaya wasn’t sure he was going to last much longer. When she finally did open her eyes, they were low-lidded and so dark that Fujigaya shivered with an aftershock of his own, and it hadn’t even been his orgasm.

“Don’t move,” he said, voice strained, “or I’m going to come.”

“Yeah, about that.” Kitayama stretched lazily, arms reaching up over her head, and then she tipped herself backwards so that she was on her back across the end of Fujigaya’s bed in a lazy sprawl, Fujigaya slipping out of her in the process.

“Oi,” Fujigaya pushed himself onto his hands, scowling as Kitayama grinned up at him, lazy and satiated, “you liar, you just said you could keep going.”

“Yeah?” Kitayama spread her legs a little wider in invitation. “I also said I don’t do all the work, if you remember. But I’m more than willing if you’re up to it.”

She was laughing, that jerk, as Fujigaya huffed an annoyed sigh and got himself turned over to crawl over top of her. He couldn’t stay very annoyed though, because once he pushed back inside of her she was nothing but warm, clinging welcome, body opening up for him smoothly. Kitayama wrapped her legs around his waist and moved him where she wanted him herself, head tipping back on a long moan when he got it exactly right.

Eventually she wrapped arms around Fujigaya’s neck to drag him down close enough to kiss messily, flexible enough to manage it in spite of their height difference, and when Fujigaya hitched up her hips to make it work, she gasped into his mouth suddenly and unhooked one arm from around his neck to work in between them.

Kitayama broke the kiss to breathe into Fujigaya’s ear, “Come for me,” and then bit down on his earlobe, the sting of it kicking Fujigaya over the edge of his own release. Kitayama was still squeezing around him when he came to a minute later, over-sensitized enough that he whined and tried to roll away. “Oi, hold still, almost,” she ordered, tightening the hold of her legs and the one arm still around Fujigaya’s neck. “Or don’t, feels good when you struggle.”

“Sadist,” Fujigaya groaned, helpless. It made Kitayama laugh and then come against him, the second time seeming to last longer than the first one, long enough that Fujigaya wondered if his struggle to get loose really was prolonging it. “Seriously, get off.”

Kitayama went limp against the mattress, arms and legs flopping off of Fujigaya as Fujigaya rolled onto his own back, gasping and shivering. “Give me a minute, geez,” she said, and then laughed when Fujigaya whined in alarm.

Go to Chapter 7