The Big O: Part 4/5
Title: The Big O
Pairing: Nishikido Ryo/Ueda Tatsuya
Genre: Crackfic
Disclaimer: Not mine. Boo.
Author’s Notes: HAY GAIZ, THIS IS NOW COMPLETELY AU BECAUSE OF THE WHOLE JIN-BACK THING.
Beta'd by the illustrious conser and krissonia; this would've been up a whole lot sooner but conser was off having wild monkey sex in RL. :|
Summary: "Plastered is not a mind-set." The mighty jimusho has a problem, management has a solution, and Ueda has no idea why even the gods are taking it out on him.
Part One|Part Two|Part Three
"Where are we going?"
Ryo snorted. "Disneyland, Princess. Where do you think?"
Ueda hadn't the foggiest, but he sincerely hoped it was somewhere with a wall to beat his head against.
Four.
Fifteen minutes later Ryo made an abrupt left through a tiny alleyway, ducking under clotheslines and skating around the odd puddle. In the twilight, Ueda soon lost track of the maze -- he'd never been particularly geographically-minded -- but he did know that he was twenty-four turns from nowhere when Ryo darted through a gate, leading Ueda into a dark stairwell.
Ueda hefted their purchases up six flights of concrete stairs, puffing and cursing at the teasing shadows dancing along the walls. Ryo, who carried the keys, walked just ahead and paused every thirty seconds or so to shoot amused little half-smiles Ueda's way; he snickered outright every time the bottle of scotch won a tussle with one of Ueda's kneecaps.
"You could at least offer to help," Ueda called out.
"I could," Ryo replied, "but then you might take me up on the offer."
At the top of the stairs, when Ueda's legs were bruised and his arms felt like ropes of bad liquorice, Ryo relieved Ueda of the bags and carried them a steel door at the end of the hall. Ueda put his hands on his knees and fought to catch his breath.
"Oi, Princess," Ryo called. "If you're waiting for me to carry you across the threshold you're out of luck." When Ueda didn't respond he propped the door open with the bags and took a few steps toward Ueda. "You okay?"
"I'm having a massive coronary," he groaned, "but don't worry about me, I'm just peachy."
Ryo nodded. "Hurry up then, I can't claim 'heating the neighbourhood because Princess is a wimp' as a business expense."
Ueda shrugged his shoes at the door. Ryo, still laden with the shopping bags, gestured at a sleek grey couch before disappearing down a hallway.
"Does this a lot, does he?" Ueda muttered. "Ah, sorry, I'm forgetting my manners. I'm Ueda Tatsuya." He ducked his head in a quick bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Couch-san."
The couch remained stoic.
"No, don't get up," Ueda said hastily. "I'm fine."
"Sit down, Ueda, and stop trying to subvert my furniture."
"As you wish, Nero-sama."
Ueda made a face, but perched on the very edge of the couch, leafing through a vaguely pornographic coffee table book and listening to the distant clatter of cupboards and drawers - he needed to be prepared to escape if Ryo came back with a knife. A few minutes later Ryo padded into the living room with an acoustic guitar in addition to the drinks and cigarillos.
Ryo dropped the guitar in Ueda's lap with a quiet, "Subaru left it last time he was here," then turned to pull a worn notebook from the bookshelf behind him. He tossed it at Ueda's head, caught the guitar before it hit the ground when Ueda's flailing dislodged it, and sat at the opposite end of the couch with a beer in his hand and a cigarillo between his lips.
Ueda blinked and prodded the guitar in his lap, surprised to find it in tune. "Um. What are we doing?"
"We are writing a song."
"You don't write songs."
Ryo took a long drag, blew the smoke at Ueda. "We, in this instance, meaning you."
"And what is the exalted Nero-sama doing?" Ueda asked, fighting to stifle a cough. The fragrant smoke made his vision hazy and his throat tight. A familiar pulse slipped through his veins.
Ryo raked a hand through his hair and grinned. "Well," he took a large swig from his can, "I'm here to inspire you. Be muse-like." He blew another plume of smoke towards the ceiling.
Ueda swallowed heavily and reached for a beer.
: :
Five-quarters of an hour and a six-pack of beer later, Ueda's notepad was still blank.
"I thought muses were supposed to come up with ideas."
"Technically," Ryo said, "I wait - a while - for your dubiously brilliant acts and then proclaim some other guy a hero."
Ueda gaped at Ryo. "You're an asshole."
"No, I'm fickle." Ryo smiled. "That's what a real musician would say. Now, less talking, more composing, Princess."
: :
"Maybe we could-"
"Stupid idea. Take a shot."
At Ueda's incredulous look, Ryo gestured at the tiny glasses in front of them.
"You're not serious."
Ryo crossed his arms. "And why not?"
For the first time in his life, Ueda could honestly say he was flabbergasted. "Musicians don't play drinking games while they're writing songs," he spluttered.
"I know." Ryo nodded sagely. "Usually they do it in the recording studio, but you know what a tight-ass Koda is."
"But you didn't even hear my idea in the first place!"
"Okay, Princess, now it's three shots for talking back to your muse." He thwapped Ueda upside the head for good measure.
Ueda grumbled, but figured that, in the end, it was undeniably easier to give in; he leaned forward and downed his glass, then Ryo's, then refilled his own and drank again, all in the space of fifteen seconds.
He grimaced at the burn, but managed to quell the spinal shiver. He opened his eyes once he'd managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and turned to Ryo.
"Well?"
Ryo shook his head. "You," he snickered, "you are my hero."
Ueda cursed himself for smiling.
: :
"These lyrics are ridiculous."
"Shot," Ryo called out.
"What?" Ueda cried. "No way. I've had seven and you've had one."
"I'm trying to get you in the right mind-set."
"Plastered is not a mind-set."
"TegoMass' debut was written by a pair of Swedes." Ryo said slowly, patting Ueda on the head. "It was about soup. We're not out for Murakami Haruki, here."
: :
Ryo stopped twirling an empty beer can on his finger to check Ueda's notes. He did so, to Ueda's dismay, by leaning across Ueda reading over his shoulder. "It needs more fusion," he said finally, breath warm against Ueda's neck.
Ueda fought back a blush. "That's three languages, what more do you want?"
Ryo glanced sidelong at Ueda. "How's your Korean?"
: :
"Oi, Princess, is there a French word that rhymes with attention?"
"Are you serious?" Ueda mumbled into Ryo's shoulder. Sitting upright was an effort, especially after he'd made the mistake of asking if Ryo owned a thesaurus.
"What?"
"Take a shot," Ueda said, happy that Ryo was finally catching up to him.
: :
"What time is it?"
"Two fifteen."
"It's two in the morning and we only have a refrain and two verses. We are so fucked." Ueda sank into the couch, scrubbing at his face in frustration.
Ryo shrugged. "You're the one who wants to make an idol song poignant."
"I know," Ueda groaned. "And I don't even care anymore."
"Right," Ryo said. He lifted his arms over his head and stretched at length. "New rule: winner gets the lyric but takes a shot - it'll go faster that way."
Ueda tore his gaze away from the freckles lining Ryo's bottom lip and leaned forward to snatch up the bottle of scotch. "Sounds good," he croaked.
: :
"Did your voice just crack?"
"What? No."
"It did!"
"Must've been the fairies, Princess."
"Your voice cracked." Ueda grinned. "Do it again."
Ryo hiccuped and groaned from behind his hands. "Shut up."
"No really - it fits in with the whole rockabilly thing. Can you do it while you're going down an octave?"
: :
"Okay," Ryo said. "Once more, from the hook. Count me in."
"Uh, right." Ueda set down his beer and fumbled the guitar in his lap. "Two, three, and."
"Give the rope a little tension; 'cause I ain't got enough attention."
Ryo leaned his head on Ueda's shoulder and sang through a yawn. "And baby, can't you see?"
"We were you hangin' over me." Ryo thumped Ueda on the shoulder when his timing faltered; Ueda cursed and gave up on proper playing altogether.
"And I needed love with more than one dimension."
The last chord faded out, leaving the living room was quiet but for a distant car horn and, closer, the ticking of a clock. Ryo was still resting against Ueda's side, and had been tapping time against Ueda's knee but hadn't moved since; Ueda began to wonder if Ryo had passed out on his shoulder.
He didn't allow himself to wonder why he didn't think that would be so bad.
"You fumbled the mushroom picks four bars in," Ryo mumbled finally. "Take your shot."
Ueda covered his surprise with a pout. "Doesn't count. You leaned on me and my finger caught in the strings." He held out his hand. "See? You made me bleed."
"Glad to know I have that much power over you." Ryo pointed at the glass. "Now take the shot, Princess."
"Fucker."
: :
"You should play that chord at the end of the chorus, let it fade out and lead into the verses."
"Which chord?"
"You know the one I mean."
"Bwuh?" Ueda, three sheets to the wind, had forgotten he was supposed to be curt. Or eloquent.
"That chord." Ryo snapped his fingers, looking thoughtful. "D-something. D'mini-shoe."
Ueda pursed his lips. "There's no mini-shoe chord, put down your drink and be serious."
"I know guitar better than Princess," Ryo crowed. He leaned forward on wobbly arms. "Look. Put this finger on this fret and this finger on - oof."
Ueda frowned at Ryo, who had toppled into a pleasant sprawl across Ueda's lap. "It's called the diminished fifth, and I am not playing the devil's chord in a Johnny's song." He sniffed. "Moron."
"Princess, I gave you your poignant lyrics. Give me my chord." Ryo showed no inclination to get off of Ueda's legs. Instead, he wriggled closer and stuck out his lip in a pout. "Ueda, they're talking about making me wear powder blue wingtips."
Ueda shifted slightly, intensely regretting his choice to join Ryo's impromptu drinking game. "All the more reason not to contaminate the diminished fifth with bubblegum pop."
"Right, that's it." Ryo paused and attempted to sit up. "Off the couch, Princess." Unfortunately, Ryo chose that moment to underestimate both his drunken state and the distance to Ueda's chin; they collided with a thunk.
Ryo was kneeling on the floor, clutching his head and cursing. It was all, Ueda realised, rather amusing. They were going to be fired in the morning and Ryo had just chipped three of Ueda's teeth, yet the only thing Ueda could think about was-
"What are you giggling at, Princess? You cracked my skull."
Actually, it wasn't that funny.
Ueda put his hands on Ryo's shoulders, pulling him in for a retaliatory smack, but thought better of it when he realised that it would not be wise to give himself a concussion the same day he had to record the bass and drum tracks for an entire single.
It was then, when Ueda had his forehead pressed to Ryo's, when he was just close and drunk enough to freely study the freckles beneath Ryo's eyes and felt Ryo's breath against his lips, that Ueda's brain decided to bugger off to Bangkok and leave the libido in charge.
Count to five before you do anything rash, Ueda told himself. Count to - fuck it, I'm drunk anyway.
"What are you -" Ryo started, and drew back just as Ueda's lips were about to meet Ryo's. To his horror, Ueda kissed Ryo's right cheekbone.
It was official, Ueda sighed, the gods of every denomination on the planet were out to get him.
"What was that?" Ryo snickered, but his voice was lower than normal and he hadn't pulled back to point and laugh outright. That, and being pumped with twice the legal limit of alcohol, buoyed Ueda's optimism.
"You know." Ueda pouted. "Hold still, damnit."
Ryo shifted closer, resting his left hand at the back of Ueda's neck, and muttered a soft, "You hold still," before pressing a kiss to the corner of Ueda's mouth.
"Asshole."
"I knew you couldn't resist me." Ryo's muscles were tense under Ueda's hands, his hands slightly damp on Ueda's cheek. Ueda smiled.
"Liar."
Ryo nodded. "Maybe," he said, and brought their lips together.
Momentary surprise, and a small firecracker inside his head, slowed Ueda's reaction but soon enough Ryo grunted and pushed his palm between Ueda's shoulder blades, prompting a response; Ueda pulled Ryo closer by his collar, opened his mouth to trace Ryo's teeth with his tongue.
Ryo stilled at the intrusion, tensed momentarily before he pounced into action. Ueda squeaked when Ryo pushed him into the cushions with the force of a lion, then clambered into his lap with the grace of a blind kitten. He kissed Ueda hurriedly, in a way that spoke more of theoretical knowledge than practical application; Ueda inwardly preened and smiled against Ryo's lips.
"Slow down," Ueda said quietly. "Like thiah-" He broke off, gasping for air and purpling in embarrassment, when Ryo's fingertips teased a chilly trail across his collar.
"What was that?" And, goddamnit, men who kissed like overeager pups weren't allowed to smirk like that.
"Nothing," Ueda squeaked.
Ryo's right hand slipped under Ueda's shirt and skirted the lines of his ribs. He smiled when Ueda arched into the touch. "No, I'm pretty sure you were about to say something."
"Do that again."
"Hmm." Ryo smirked - again, much to Ueda's annoyance. "No," he said. "I'd much rather -" Ueda winced "- do this." He tugged Ueda's shirt over his head, grunting what might have been an apology when the hem caught on Ueda's earring, and immediately brought his mouth to Ueda's collarbone, tracing the lines with his tongue.
Ueda stopped wincing.
A stray stack of empties clattered to the floor as Ryo nudged Ueda to lie on his side with a leg curled over Ryo's for stability. Chapped lips never leaving Ueda's, Ryo squished in against the couch cushions with one hand cradling Ueda's cheek, the other tracing the elastic of Ueda's boxers with eager, drunken fingers.
"Wait," Ueda gasped a few moments later, drunken giggles bubbling from his lips. "I'm falling. No, seriously, I'm gonna fall off the couch."
Ryo groaned and leaned back, manhandling Ueda to a safer position; he took the opportunity to divest Ueda of his trousers and snickered at the lumpy black socks bunched around Ueda's ankles before pouncing again. Ueda groaned, taken aback by the strength of Ryo's grip on his hipbone, the hand in his hair and stubbled jaw nuzzling his cheek.
Then again, Ueda thought, Ryo had never done anything by halves. Better to just go with it.
"Tell me," Ryo breathed against Ueda's jaw, "how much you want this - want me touching you, making you moan."
"Hn?"
"Tell me how much you want me." Even as Ryo spoke he was pulling Ueda closer, his breathing ragged.
Ueda blushed, dragged his hands through Ryo's hair. "Why?"
"Because," Ryo whispered. "Aw, is little Tacchan scared?"
"Shut up, I'm not scared. Or little."
"Then say it."
"No." Ueda paused to pull Ryo's shirt over his head shoulders, leaving it to hang from Ryo's neck. "This isn't a porno."
"Don't be stupid," Ryo snapped, the press of his lips growing harsh.
"I'm not stupid." Ueda shoved a hand down the front of Ryo's pants and drew a nipple between his teeth.
"You are."
"Am not," he insisted. "M'just drunk."
"Are - oh god." Ryo hissed and shuddered atop Ueda.
"I know you are but what am I?" Ueda smirked. His face fell. "Shit, I mean."
"I know what you meant." Ryo snickered and bit back another moan. "Just keep doing that."
Ueda did, if only in the hopes that he'd be able feel Ryo's moan against his throat again. He was mildly disappointed when it didn't happen, but then Ryo's hands were smoothing up his thighs and Ryo really did hiss in the most appealing way -- breath hot and needy against Ueda's lips -- when Ueda scratched his nails in teasing little tracks up Ryo's spine. In fact, Ueda thought, it was so appealing that he might be in danger of embarrassing himself if Ryo kept rolling his hips against Ueda's in those long, smooth grinds; Ueda would've paid much more attention in dance class if the teacher had told him of the extracirricular benefits. Another, shallower roll, then, and Ryo pulled Ueda up to meet the thrust while licking the shell of Ueda's ear in a way that had Ueda fearing for his virtue -- and, really, if the bed was too far Ryo could just bend him over the cushions if he really wanted him to --
"Just do it, Ueda," Ryo whispered.
Ueda's moan took on a questioning lilt; his eyes stayed closed.
"Say my name," Ryo pressed, mouth hot against Ueda's ear. "Say it's me."
Ueda froze. "I can't."
"Why?"
Ueda stayed silent -- he'd only make things worse if he opened his mouth.
After a moment, Ryo narrowed his eyes. "Okay," he said, voice like ice. "You know what? No." He pulled back, leaving a rush of cold air in his wake, and Ueda began to panic as he realised just how little cloth there was between them.
"Just." Ryo was pulling his shirt back into place. "Just -- no."
Ueda sat up too, alarmed, and tugged at Ryo's lip with his teeth. "I'm sorry, okay?" he murmured. "Just relax."
"Fuck off."
"What? No, hey, wait." Ueda stood, perhaps a little too quickly because he pitched forward, his hands falling to Ryo's hips, pulling Ryo closer in an effort to stand. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not," Ryo gestured at the couch, "not if you're - ugh." He scrubbed at his face and growled in frustration.
"I'm just quiet like that." Ueda giggled, drunk, horny and more than a little nervous. "Don't be such a girl."
Ryo's hands found Ueda's shoulders, shoved him backwards hard. Ueda stumbled back against the couch. Ryo straightened, shaking his head.
"I'm not the girl, Princess," he said, not meeting Ueda's eyes. "That's you." He grabbed what was left of the bottle of scotch from the coffee table and stomped down the hall.
Ueda stood, stunned, until a door slammed at the other end of the hall and he realized that Ryo had, indeed, left.
"Nice job, Tatsuya," he muttered. After shrugging back into what clothes he could find, Ueda took care to stack the empties and fold the remaining clothes atop the newly-straightened couch cushions.
Then Ueda realized was that Ryo probably wasn't coming back.
At just after four, Ueda let himself out of Ryo's apartment and hailed a cab home.
: :
With a half litre of coffee and six pain killers coursing through his veins, Ueda wondered idly if Alcoholics Anonymous offered membership discounts to Jimusho alumni.
His disheveled appearance had raised a few brows when he'd stumbled through the door at five after nine that morning. The hallways were quieter than usual, especially in light of his lateness - both Koda-san and Ryo were notably absent; Ueda was free to shlump around the empty recording studio at his own pace.
He spent most of the morning bundled up in Ryo's sweater; he'd snatched it off the couch the night before after being unable to find his own and had been too harried to hunt around for a fresh one after sleeping in that morning. A pair of Jin's aviators shielded his eyes from the fluorescent lighting overhead, but he had to squint and prod at his contacts in order to focus on the notebook he'd balanced across his knees.
Ninety-eight minutes of tense silence were dedicated to huddling over a notebook in hopes of hammering out a bass line for Tumultuous. When that proved fruitless, he threw his pencil at the wall and crossed the room to begin recording the guitar track. That, too, however, didn't go as well as he'd hoped and after two dozen takes Ueda found himself contemplating a quiet lunch (with copious amounts of wine) at the café down the block when a secretary interrupted his thoughts.
"Mary would like to speak with you," she said somberly.
Ueda thought the thump he heard was the pounding of his heart. Later, he'd swear it was the other shoe dropping.
"I received a message from Nishikido-kun early this morning," Mary began. "He was particularly irate. In fact, he says he isn't sure he wants to continue working with you. You wouldn't happen to know why that is, would you?"
Ueda winced.
"I hope you at least enjoyed yourself. Yesterday's antics are costing me quite a bit."
"It was a misunderstanding," he said. Ueda raised his hands in a placating gesture. "It was my fault and I can assure you it won't happen again."
"I don't think you understand what's at stake." Mary's eyes were kind, but her voice was like steel.
"I can assure you-"
Mary sighed and assumed The Lecture Position of Doom. "I like you, Ueda-kun, so let me be perfectly honest with you. It is increasingly unlikely that KAT-TUN will ever regain the popularity you all had last spring. Koki-kun and Junno-kun have many acting projects lined up for them. Nakamaru-kun is busy hosting programs; Kamenashi-kun has a stage play set to start rehearsals once he has recovered.
"You, however, do not act. Aside from your radio program with Nakamaru, you do not host. You show no real passion for dancing and are too shy for extended solo performances or modeling. I thought you could write songs and compose in a duo, but after this latest debacle it would seem as though even that is beyond you."
Ueda opened his mouth to speak, but Mary held up a hand. "Ueda-kun, to put it bluntly, if you cannot make your unit with Nishikido-kun work, I'm afraid that there is very little in the way of a future for you here at Johnny's."
: :
Five
Pairing: Nishikido Ryo/Ueda Tatsuya
Genre: Crackfic
Disclaimer: Not mine. Boo.
Author’s Notes: HAY GAIZ, THIS IS NOW COMPLETELY AU BECAUSE OF THE WHOLE JIN-BACK THING.
Beta'd by the illustrious conser and krissonia; this would've been up a whole lot sooner but conser was off having wild monkey sex in RL. :|
Summary: "Plastered is not a mind-set." The mighty jimusho has a problem, management has a solution, and Ueda has no idea why even the gods are taking it out on him.
Part One|Part Two|Part Three
"Where are we going?"
Ryo snorted. "Disneyland, Princess. Where do you think?"
Ueda hadn't the foggiest, but he sincerely hoped it was somewhere with a wall to beat his head against.
Four.
Fifteen minutes later Ryo made an abrupt left through a tiny alleyway, ducking under clotheslines and skating around the odd puddle. In the twilight, Ueda soon lost track of the maze -- he'd never been particularly geographically-minded -- but he did know that he was twenty-four turns from nowhere when Ryo darted through a gate, leading Ueda into a dark stairwell.
Ueda hefted their purchases up six flights of concrete stairs, puffing and cursing at the teasing shadows dancing along the walls. Ryo, who carried the keys, walked just ahead and paused every thirty seconds or so to shoot amused little half-smiles Ueda's way; he snickered outright every time the bottle of scotch won a tussle with one of Ueda's kneecaps.
"You could at least offer to help," Ueda called out.
"I could," Ryo replied, "but then you might take me up on the offer."
At the top of the stairs, when Ueda's legs were bruised and his arms felt like ropes of bad liquorice, Ryo relieved Ueda of the bags and carried them a steel door at the end of the hall. Ueda put his hands on his knees and fought to catch his breath.
"Oi, Princess," Ryo called. "If you're waiting for me to carry you across the threshold you're out of luck." When Ueda didn't respond he propped the door open with the bags and took a few steps toward Ueda. "You okay?"
"I'm having a massive coronary," he groaned, "but don't worry about me, I'm just peachy."
Ryo nodded. "Hurry up then, I can't claim 'heating the neighbourhood because Princess is a wimp' as a business expense."
Ueda shrugged his shoes at the door. Ryo, still laden with the shopping bags, gestured at a sleek grey couch before disappearing down a hallway.
"Does this a lot, does he?" Ueda muttered. "Ah, sorry, I'm forgetting my manners. I'm Ueda Tatsuya." He ducked his head in a quick bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Couch-san."
The couch remained stoic.
"No, don't get up," Ueda said hastily. "I'm fine."
"Sit down, Ueda, and stop trying to subvert my furniture."
"As you wish, Nero-sama."
Ueda made a face, but perched on the very edge of the couch, leafing through a vaguely pornographic coffee table book and listening to the distant clatter of cupboards and drawers - he needed to be prepared to escape if Ryo came back with a knife. A few minutes later Ryo padded into the living room with an acoustic guitar in addition to the drinks and cigarillos.
Ryo dropped the guitar in Ueda's lap with a quiet, "Subaru left it last time he was here," then turned to pull a worn notebook from the bookshelf behind him. He tossed it at Ueda's head, caught the guitar before it hit the ground when Ueda's flailing dislodged it, and sat at the opposite end of the couch with a beer in his hand and a cigarillo between his lips.
Ueda blinked and prodded the guitar in his lap, surprised to find it in tune. "Um. What are we doing?"
"We are writing a song."
"You don't write songs."
Ryo took a long drag, blew the smoke at Ueda. "We, in this instance, meaning you."
"And what is the exalted Nero-sama doing?" Ueda asked, fighting to stifle a cough. The fragrant smoke made his vision hazy and his throat tight. A familiar pulse slipped through his veins.
Ryo raked a hand through his hair and grinned. "Well," he took a large swig from his can, "I'm here to inspire you. Be muse-like." He blew another plume of smoke towards the ceiling.
Ueda swallowed heavily and reached for a beer.
: :
Five-quarters of an hour and a six-pack of beer later, Ueda's notepad was still blank.
"I thought muses were supposed to come up with ideas."
"Technically," Ryo said, "I wait - a while - for your dubiously brilliant acts and then proclaim some other guy a hero."
Ueda gaped at Ryo. "You're an asshole."
"No, I'm fickle." Ryo smiled. "That's what a real musician would say. Now, less talking, more composing, Princess."
: :
"Maybe we could-"
"Stupid idea. Take a shot."
At Ueda's incredulous look, Ryo gestured at the tiny glasses in front of them.
"You're not serious."
Ryo crossed his arms. "And why not?"
For the first time in his life, Ueda could honestly say he was flabbergasted. "Musicians don't play drinking games while they're writing songs," he spluttered.
"I know." Ryo nodded sagely. "Usually they do it in the recording studio, but you know what a tight-ass Koda is."
"But you didn't even hear my idea in the first place!"
"Okay, Princess, now it's three shots for talking back to your muse." He thwapped Ueda upside the head for good measure.
Ueda grumbled, but figured that, in the end, it was undeniably easier to give in; he leaned forward and downed his glass, then Ryo's, then refilled his own and drank again, all in the space of fifteen seconds.
He grimaced at the burn, but managed to quell the spinal shiver. He opened his eyes once he'd managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and turned to Ryo.
"Well?"
Ryo shook his head. "You," he snickered, "you are my hero."
Ueda cursed himself for smiling.
: :
"These lyrics are ridiculous."
"Shot," Ryo called out.
"What?" Ueda cried. "No way. I've had seven and you've had one."
"I'm trying to get you in the right mind-set."
"Plastered is not a mind-set."
"TegoMass' debut was written by a pair of Swedes." Ryo said slowly, patting Ueda on the head. "It was about soup. We're not out for Murakami Haruki, here."
: :
Ryo stopped twirling an empty beer can on his finger to check Ueda's notes. He did so, to Ueda's dismay, by leaning across Ueda reading over his shoulder. "It needs more fusion," he said finally, breath warm against Ueda's neck.
Ueda fought back a blush. "That's three languages, what more do you want?"
Ryo glanced sidelong at Ueda. "How's your Korean?"
: :
"Oi, Princess, is there a French word that rhymes with attention?"
"Are you serious?" Ueda mumbled into Ryo's shoulder. Sitting upright was an effort, especially after he'd made the mistake of asking if Ryo owned a thesaurus.
"What?"
"Take a shot," Ueda said, happy that Ryo was finally catching up to him.
: :
"What time is it?"
"Two fifteen."
"It's two in the morning and we only have a refrain and two verses. We are so fucked." Ueda sank into the couch, scrubbing at his face in frustration.
Ryo shrugged. "You're the one who wants to make an idol song poignant."
"I know," Ueda groaned. "And I don't even care anymore."
"Right," Ryo said. He lifted his arms over his head and stretched at length. "New rule: winner gets the lyric but takes a shot - it'll go faster that way."
Ueda tore his gaze away from the freckles lining Ryo's bottom lip and leaned forward to snatch up the bottle of scotch. "Sounds good," he croaked.
: :
"Did your voice just crack?"
"What? No."
"It did!"
"Must've been the fairies, Princess."
"Your voice cracked." Ueda grinned. "Do it again."
Ryo hiccuped and groaned from behind his hands. "Shut up."
"No really - it fits in with the whole rockabilly thing. Can you do it while you're going down an octave?"
: :
"Okay," Ryo said. "Once more, from the hook. Count me in."
"Uh, right." Ueda set down his beer and fumbled the guitar in his lap. "Two, three, and."
"Give the rope a little tension; 'cause I ain't got enough attention."
Ryo leaned his head on Ueda's shoulder and sang through a yawn. "And baby, can't you see?"
"We were you hangin' over me." Ryo thumped Ueda on the shoulder when his timing faltered; Ueda cursed and gave up on proper playing altogether.
"And I needed love with more than one dimension."
The last chord faded out, leaving the living room was quiet but for a distant car horn and, closer, the ticking of a clock. Ryo was still resting against Ueda's side, and had been tapping time against Ueda's knee but hadn't moved since; Ueda began to wonder if Ryo had passed out on his shoulder.
He didn't allow himself to wonder why he didn't think that would be so bad.
"You fumbled the mushroom picks four bars in," Ryo mumbled finally. "Take your shot."
Ueda covered his surprise with a pout. "Doesn't count. You leaned on me and my finger caught in the strings." He held out his hand. "See? You made me bleed."
"Glad to know I have that much power over you." Ryo pointed at the glass. "Now take the shot, Princess."
"Fucker."
: :
"You should play that chord at the end of the chorus, let it fade out and lead into the verses."
"Which chord?"
"You know the one I mean."
"Bwuh?" Ueda, three sheets to the wind, had forgotten he was supposed to be curt. Or eloquent.
"That chord." Ryo snapped his fingers, looking thoughtful. "D-something. D'mini-shoe."
Ueda pursed his lips. "There's no mini-shoe chord, put down your drink and be serious."
"I know guitar better than Princess," Ryo crowed. He leaned forward on wobbly arms. "Look. Put this finger on this fret and this finger on - oof."
Ueda frowned at Ryo, who had toppled into a pleasant sprawl across Ueda's lap. "It's called the diminished fifth, and I am not playing the devil's chord in a Johnny's song." He sniffed. "Moron."
"Princess, I gave you your poignant lyrics. Give me my chord." Ryo showed no inclination to get off of Ueda's legs. Instead, he wriggled closer and stuck out his lip in a pout. "Ueda, they're talking about making me wear powder blue wingtips."
Ueda shifted slightly, intensely regretting his choice to join Ryo's impromptu drinking game. "All the more reason not to contaminate the diminished fifth with bubblegum pop."
"Right, that's it." Ryo paused and attempted to sit up. "Off the couch, Princess." Unfortunately, Ryo chose that moment to underestimate both his drunken state and the distance to Ueda's chin; they collided with a thunk.
Ryo was kneeling on the floor, clutching his head and cursing. It was all, Ueda realised, rather amusing. They were going to be fired in the morning and Ryo had just chipped three of Ueda's teeth, yet the only thing Ueda could think about was-
"What are you giggling at, Princess? You cracked my skull."
Actually, it wasn't that funny.
Ueda put his hands on Ryo's shoulders, pulling him in for a retaliatory smack, but thought better of it when he realised that it would not be wise to give himself a concussion the same day he had to record the bass and drum tracks for an entire single.
It was then, when Ueda had his forehead pressed to Ryo's, when he was just close and drunk enough to freely study the freckles beneath Ryo's eyes and felt Ryo's breath against his lips, that Ueda's brain decided to bugger off to Bangkok and leave the libido in charge.
Count to five before you do anything rash, Ueda told himself. Count to - fuck it, I'm drunk anyway.
"What are you -" Ryo started, and drew back just as Ueda's lips were about to meet Ryo's. To his horror, Ueda kissed Ryo's right cheekbone.
It was official, Ueda sighed, the gods of every denomination on the planet were out to get him.
"What was that?" Ryo snickered, but his voice was lower than normal and he hadn't pulled back to point and laugh outright. That, and being pumped with twice the legal limit of alcohol, buoyed Ueda's optimism.
"You know." Ueda pouted. "Hold still, damnit."
Ryo shifted closer, resting his left hand at the back of Ueda's neck, and muttered a soft, "You hold still," before pressing a kiss to the corner of Ueda's mouth.
"Asshole."
"I knew you couldn't resist me." Ryo's muscles were tense under Ueda's hands, his hands slightly damp on Ueda's cheek. Ueda smiled.
"Liar."
Ryo nodded. "Maybe," he said, and brought their lips together.
Momentary surprise, and a small firecracker inside his head, slowed Ueda's reaction but soon enough Ryo grunted and pushed his palm between Ueda's shoulder blades, prompting a response; Ueda pulled Ryo closer by his collar, opened his mouth to trace Ryo's teeth with his tongue.
Ryo stilled at the intrusion, tensed momentarily before he pounced into action. Ueda squeaked when Ryo pushed him into the cushions with the force of a lion, then clambered into his lap with the grace of a blind kitten. He kissed Ueda hurriedly, in a way that spoke more of theoretical knowledge than practical application; Ueda inwardly preened and smiled against Ryo's lips.
"Slow down," Ueda said quietly. "Like thiah-" He broke off, gasping for air and purpling in embarrassment, when Ryo's fingertips teased a chilly trail across his collar.
"What was that?" And, goddamnit, men who kissed like overeager pups weren't allowed to smirk like that.
"Nothing," Ueda squeaked.
Ryo's right hand slipped under Ueda's shirt and skirted the lines of his ribs. He smiled when Ueda arched into the touch. "No, I'm pretty sure you were about to say something."
"Do that again."
"Hmm." Ryo smirked - again, much to Ueda's annoyance. "No," he said. "I'd much rather -" Ueda winced "- do this." He tugged Ueda's shirt over his head, grunting what might have been an apology when the hem caught on Ueda's earring, and immediately brought his mouth to Ueda's collarbone, tracing the lines with his tongue.
Ueda stopped wincing.
A stray stack of empties clattered to the floor as Ryo nudged Ueda to lie on his side with a leg curled over Ryo's for stability. Chapped lips never leaving Ueda's, Ryo squished in against the couch cushions with one hand cradling Ueda's cheek, the other tracing the elastic of Ueda's boxers with eager, drunken fingers.
"Wait," Ueda gasped a few moments later, drunken giggles bubbling from his lips. "I'm falling. No, seriously, I'm gonna fall off the couch."
Ryo groaned and leaned back, manhandling Ueda to a safer position; he took the opportunity to divest Ueda of his trousers and snickered at the lumpy black socks bunched around Ueda's ankles before pouncing again. Ueda groaned, taken aback by the strength of Ryo's grip on his hipbone, the hand in his hair and stubbled jaw nuzzling his cheek.
Then again, Ueda thought, Ryo had never done anything by halves. Better to just go with it.
"Tell me," Ryo breathed against Ueda's jaw, "how much you want this - want me touching you, making you moan."
"Hn?"
"Tell me how much you want me." Even as Ryo spoke he was pulling Ueda closer, his breathing ragged.
Ueda blushed, dragged his hands through Ryo's hair. "Why?"
"Because," Ryo whispered. "Aw, is little Tacchan scared?"
"Shut up, I'm not scared. Or little."
"Then say it."
"No." Ueda paused to pull Ryo's shirt over his head shoulders, leaving it to hang from Ryo's neck. "This isn't a porno."
"Don't be stupid," Ryo snapped, the press of his lips growing harsh.
"I'm not stupid." Ueda shoved a hand down the front of Ryo's pants and drew a nipple between his teeth.
"You are."
"Am not," he insisted. "M'just drunk."
"Are - oh god." Ryo hissed and shuddered atop Ueda.
"I know you are but what am I?" Ueda smirked. His face fell. "Shit, I mean."
"I know what you meant." Ryo snickered and bit back another moan. "Just keep doing that."
Ueda did, if only in the hopes that he'd be able feel Ryo's moan against his throat again. He was mildly disappointed when it didn't happen, but then Ryo's hands were smoothing up his thighs and Ryo really did hiss in the most appealing way -- breath hot and needy against Ueda's lips -- when Ueda scratched his nails in teasing little tracks up Ryo's spine. In fact, Ueda thought, it was so appealing that he might be in danger of embarrassing himself if Ryo kept rolling his hips against Ueda's in those long, smooth grinds; Ueda would've paid much more attention in dance class if the teacher had told him of the extracirricular benefits. Another, shallower roll, then, and Ryo pulled Ueda up to meet the thrust while licking the shell of Ueda's ear in a way that had Ueda fearing for his virtue -- and, really, if the bed was too far Ryo could just bend him over the cushions if he really wanted him to --
"Just do it, Ueda," Ryo whispered.
Ueda's moan took on a questioning lilt; his eyes stayed closed.
"Say my name," Ryo pressed, mouth hot against Ueda's ear. "Say it's me."
Ueda froze. "I can't."
"Why?"
Ueda stayed silent -- he'd only make things worse if he opened his mouth.
After a moment, Ryo narrowed his eyes. "Okay," he said, voice like ice. "You know what? No." He pulled back, leaving a rush of cold air in his wake, and Ueda began to panic as he realised just how little cloth there was between them.
"Just." Ryo was pulling his shirt back into place. "Just -- no."
Ueda sat up too, alarmed, and tugged at Ryo's lip with his teeth. "I'm sorry, okay?" he murmured. "Just relax."
"Fuck off."
"What? No, hey, wait." Ueda stood, perhaps a little too quickly because he pitched forward, his hands falling to Ryo's hips, pulling Ryo closer in an effort to stand. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not," Ryo gestured at the couch, "not if you're - ugh." He scrubbed at his face and growled in frustration.
"I'm just quiet like that." Ueda giggled, drunk, horny and more than a little nervous. "Don't be such a girl."
Ryo's hands found Ueda's shoulders, shoved him backwards hard. Ueda stumbled back against the couch. Ryo straightened, shaking his head.
"I'm not the girl, Princess," he said, not meeting Ueda's eyes. "That's you." He grabbed what was left of the bottle of scotch from the coffee table and stomped down the hall.
Ueda stood, stunned, until a door slammed at the other end of the hall and he realized that Ryo had, indeed, left.
"Nice job, Tatsuya," he muttered. After shrugging back into what clothes he could find, Ueda took care to stack the empties and fold the remaining clothes atop the newly-straightened couch cushions.
Then Ueda realized was that Ryo probably wasn't coming back.
At just after four, Ueda let himself out of Ryo's apartment and hailed a cab home.
: :
With a half litre of coffee and six pain killers coursing through his veins, Ueda wondered idly if Alcoholics Anonymous offered membership discounts to Jimusho alumni.
His disheveled appearance had raised a few brows when he'd stumbled through the door at five after nine that morning. The hallways were quieter than usual, especially in light of his lateness - both Koda-san and Ryo were notably absent; Ueda was free to shlump around the empty recording studio at his own pace.
He spent most of the morning bundled up in Ryo's sweater; he'd snatched it off the couch the night before after being unable to find his own and had been too harried to hunt around for a fresh one after sleeping in that morning. A pair of Jin's aviators shielded his eyes from the fluorescent lighting overhead, but he had to squint and prod at his contacts in order to focus on the notebook he'd balanced across his knees.
Ninety-eight minutes of tense silence were dedicated to huddling over a notebook in hopes of hammering out a bass line for Tumultuous. When that proved fruitless, he threw his pencil at the wall and crossed the room to begin recording the guitar track. That, too, however, didn't go as well as he'd hoped and after two dozen takes Ueda found himself contemplating a quiet lunch (with copious amounts of wine) at the café down the block when a secretary interrupted his thoughts.
"Mary would like to speak with you," she said somberly.
Ueda thought the thump he heard was the pounding of his heart. Later, he'd swear it was the other shoe dropping.
"I received a message from Nishikido-kun early this morning," Mary began. "He was particularly irate. In fact, he says he isn't sure he wants to continue working with you. You wouldn't happen to know why that is, would you?"
Ueda winced.
"I hope you at least enjoyed yourself. Yesterday's antics are costing me quite a bit."
"It was a misunderstanding," he said. Ueda raised his hands in a placating gesture. "It was my fault and I can assure you it won't happen again."
"I don't think you understand what's at stake." Mary's eyes were kind, but her voice was like steel.
"I can assure you-"
Mary sighed and assumed The Lecture Position of Doom. "I like you, Ueda-kun, so let me be perfectly honest with you. It is increasingly unlikely that KAT-TUN will ever regain the popularity you all had last spring. Koki-kun and Junno-kun have many acting projects lined up for them. Nakamaru-kun is busy hosting programs; Kamenashi-kun has a stage play set to start rehearsals once he has recovered.
"You, however, do not act. Aside from your radio program with Nakamaru, you do not host. You show no real passion for dancing and are too shy for extended solo performances or modeling. I thought you could write songs and compose in a duo, but after this latest debacle it would seem as though even that is beyond you."
Ueda opened his mouth to speak, but Mary held up a hand. "Ueda-kun, to put it bluntly, if you cannot make your unit with Nishikido-kun work, I'm afraid that there is very little in the way of a future for you here at Johnny's."
: :
Five