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In Every Life I've Lived: (3) Drop It On A Dime
Title: (3) Drop It On A Dime
Fandom: JE
Pairing: Yamapi/Jin, Yamapi/Jin/Ryo
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimers: Taking a break from the ANGSTORAMA, this one's full of gratuitous wish fulfillment and sex. ;D It's becoming obvious that all these parts are linked together, though, and the same still goes for this one. Previous disclaimers apply: this is truly the craziest thing I've ever written, but I'm enjoying it so much.
Warnings: Scenes of sex, mentions drug-use.
In Every Life I've Lived
(3) Drop It On A Dime
The thing is, Jin doesn't lose. Sure, Yamapi probably doesn't, either. Yamapi doesn't plan to lose, but he will. Jin doesn't lose anything. And this, this is no different. It's why he's already started his campaign.
Tego, his assistant's assistant, fusses around him in the dressing room. “You look fine. Great,” he's saying. He's nervous, not long on the job. He'll learn.
Jin eyes him in the mirror. “I know,” he says, grinning. Tego grins back, after a moment of thought.
When he walks out into the shoot, the crew turn to stare. It's the attitude. The sex appeal. Or the fact that he just looks, that he knows he looks, searingly hot. There's a couple of girls in the room, manning cameras, running errands for the photographer. He winks at them, even though, well, not his thing. It works. There's blushing, giggling. One even stops, unable to remember what she was doing.
He was instructed to wear the coat, the scarf, the jeans, and a vest top. White, with an eagle on it. Like the belt he's thrown around his hips. Only Jin doesn't like being told what to do, so he's conveniently lost the vest. He stands in the coat, collar upturned, the thick, black scarf. The leather glove, the tight trousers, the prominent gold belt buckle, 'get down on your knees for a closer look,' it says. 'Get up close and personal. Now.'
“Nice,” the photographer says. He fires off a few test shots. Sadly, he doesn't mean nice nice, more 'the teenage girls will love this' nice, which is a shame, as he's not unattractive. Jin tilts his head back, sneers at the camera. Somebody drops a lens cap. Silence descends. Jin isn't surprised: apparently, they were shooting some young boyband this morning. Amateurs. Wouldn't know sex if it landed, tits-up, in their bed at night.
Jin knows sex. He is sex. Lives it, breathes it. A girl scoots over, adjusts his belt buckle so that it can be seen over the scarf. She's on her knees. He looks down, raises one eyebrow. She's a funny shade of purple. The photographer fires: it's a good shot. When she gets to her feet, her eyes move across the line of fine, black hair on his stomach. Her face could accurately be described as ravenous. She tilts his collar up a bit, and he licks the corner of his mouth.
“I hate working with rockstars,” she says. “Ego the size of Mars.”
“I am Mars,” Jin says, nonchalantly. “Wait. Was he the god of war, or sex? Or both?”
She deadpans him. “War. I'm more of a make love sort of girl.”
“Oh,” Jin says, pretending to be flattened. “You've never had both at once, then?”
“Um,” she says. “I need to. I just-”
Jin just grins.
The gangster look, that's more fun. Jin wants to keep the black fedora. Wants to keep the whole thing, actually: loose trousers, black velvet jacket, black shirt, black tie. It's ironic, not trying too hard. Striking. He tilts the hat down, lifts his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He eyes the girl at the back, who is staring intently at her notes. He's horny, now, impatient. It's been a few days. The last time he had some, he had to go to a shoot with marks all over him, and it wasn't much fun for the make-up crew. Still. It was worth it. People say that he's inconsiderate, but he doesn't think he's that bad.
The glasses look goes down well. He looks like a slutty salaryman. He's seen porno like that before. Glasses make him look like he's trying to play dumb, but honest to God, there's not much playing involved.
The girl comes over, removes his glasses for him. “Best look so far,” she says. “You looked adorably dumb.”
He shrugs, good-naturedly. “I am,” he says. “As well as being Mars. I'm adorably dumb. Is the soft kitten thing doing it for you?”
“No,” she lies. “It's not.”
“Shame.”
“I'm not sure why you're bothering, honestly,” she replies, leaning in to brush out the flicks in his hair. With his ear in range, she whispers. “I know you're not interested.”
“Sure I am,” he says. “Haven't you heard the rumours?”
“That you sleep with everything with a pulse? Sure. Only I've also heard they have to have dicks, too.”
Jin grins, leans in to her ear. “Wouldn't you like to see that.”
“Yeah,” she giggles. “That'd probably do it for me.”
He notes that down. Future reference. Fantastic.
In the end, he keeps the scarf and the leather jacket. It'll do well for the first progress meeting. Yamapi may be able to argue, as if he were born to do it, but he can't argue with that jacket. Molded to the body, black and pure, liquid sex, Yamapi can't argue with the jacket.
24 hours earlier:
“I'm not joking,” Johnny Kitagawa had said. He'd brought Yamapi and Jin into his office, which looks a little like the top of Tokyo Tower for all the view it has. Glass-surrounded, plush. Vertigo-inducing. “Why the hell would I be joking?”
They're speechless, his two leading acts. Naturally.
“Let me get this straight,” Yamapi had said. “You promised me everything at the start of the year. Said I had potential-”
“Sucks to be you,” Jin intrudes. Yamapi glares at him.
“And I was going all the way to the top. And then you hired this...pretentious asshole, and now you're going to choose between us?”
Johnny Kitagawa shrugs. “Monetarily, it's the best idea I've had in years. It's costing too much to keep you both on. Not to mention the energy that goes into managing the two biggest acts in the business, who hate each other. Do you know how many staff I've had to let go because of you two idiots? No. It's what I'm resigned to doing.”
“Why can't you just get rid of him?” Yamapi says. “He's the problem. Everything was fine until he turned up.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jin says. “Nobody was making any money until I turned up. I mean, it's fine to run a business on how nice and reasonably attractive your acts are, but I think Johnny Kitagawa would prefer profit, don't you?”
“I'm profitable, thank you very much,” Yamapi spits. “You're just a big slut.”
“This is exactly the problem I'm talking about,” Johnny yells over them, raising his hands to the heavens. “I'm not dealing with this. No. After Christmas, one of you is gone. Which is up to you.”
“How are you going to decide?” Jin asks. He crosses one leg over the other. His shirt is riding up, there's a split in it where he's forgotten a button. Yamapi looks over, catches a glimpse of navel hair. Fucking hell.
“I'm glad that somebody asked,” Johnny says. “You're going to manage your own campaigns. From now until Christmas. Not entirely on your own: I have some PR interns who'll help you, and you'll have your assistants and your fair share of management. But I want to see what you can do without me holding your hand. I want to see you organise your shoots, your image, your songs. I want to see you writing songs, singing live, deciding how you want to represent yourselves-”
“Wow,” Jin is saying. This is excellent.
“I want to see you act like proper artists, not kids in a playground. Is that understood? Whoever makes the most gross profit in the next two months, they stay on the label. Whoever comes second has to find a new agent.”
Yamapi is scowling. “Are there any ground rules?”
“No,” Johnny says. “But bear in mind that if you do anything underhand, anything that might damage my reputation – the competition may end early. I don't look kindly on it. Behave responsibly. Make me money. We'll see where we are in January.”
They rise to leave. “I won't need until January,” Jin says, grinning. Yamapi opens his mouth to retort, but closes it. Then, nice as pie, he says:
“You know, Jin, in the spirit of fair competition? Good luck.”
Jin is temporarily flummoxed and Yamapi walks past him, smiling at Johnny Kitagawa. The first point is his, and it's Jin's turn to scowl.
“This is why,” Johnny Kitagawa is saying to himself. “This is why.”
On his way to the progress meeting, some days later, Yamapi has his assistant, Kumiko, go and buy him a few things. Mints, an apple, water. She returns with a bundle of items, gets into the car and spills them all over the seat. He filters through and picks up the magazine.
“What've you bought this for?” he asks.
“Page 70,” she says. “We need to keep an eye on what Jin's doing, you said.”
“Oh, nice,” he says, flicking to the right page.
Fucking hell.
“I told you he was a slut,” he says, absently.
“Yeah,” she says. “Good pics, though. Do you think you'd be up for this sort of thing?”
“Sure,” Yamapi says, even more absently. Can't stop staring at Jin's navel hair. Bad. Really bad.
“I mean,” he goes on. “It's the image. I'll do this, and I'll do it better.”
Kumiko smiles at him. “You'll do fine,” she says. She likes Yamapi. He's a good guy, really. Just focused. He dislikes distraction. And Akanishi Jin, he's a distraction. Came from nowhere in a blaze of glory. Johnny Kitagawa salivated over him, paid out to remove him from his record label. And it worked, moreorless. Both he and Yamapi bring in huge revenues. Only their hatred of each is well-documented, and it doesn't do business much good. Johnny Kitagawa tried to appease them earlier in the year, by placing them in a show together. Joint practice, a joint aim, he thought it would do them good.
It didn't, of course. They spent a great deal of the show snarking at one another. It amused and appealed to the fans, but not to Johnny Kitagawa. He foresaw his money trickling down the drain. It wouldn't do well, to have his biggest acts keen to sabotage each other. She's confident nonetheless, that Yamapi will prevail. He's been around longer. He knows the game. Jin just likes to play. Yamapi is right: he's a slut.
A really good-looking one, but a slut nonetheless.
They drive into the car park and Yamapi gets out of the car, tilting his sunglasses. It's a warm day, even for November, and he doesn't look worried about the future. He looks good, well-slept. Chances are, Jin will look hungover. He usually does.
Only when they walk into the building, press the button for the lift, his car arrives. She closes her eyes, silently praying. They get into the lift and the door's almost closed when an all-too familiar hand pokes through the doors.
“Sorry,” Jin says. “Know what this thing's like. I'll be waiting for years. Morning, Yamapi.”
Yamapi looks at him. It doesn't do, ever, to be in a compact space with Akanishi Jin. It doesn't do, especially, when Akanishi Jin is wearing skin-tight leather. Yamapi recognises the jacket. Show-off, he thinks. Doing it deliberately, as usual. Still. He looks good.
Fucking fucking hell.
“I saw your article,” Yamapi says, nonchalantly. Kumiko sighs audibly and rolls her eyes.
“Oh yeah?” Jin says, cocksure. “What did you think?”
“I was surprised,” Yamapi says, tone cool. “You were pretty clothed. I thought you'd go all out.”
Jin narrows his eyes, suspicious. “Like you could do better.”
“We'll see,” Yamapi says.
The doors open. “After you,” Jin says. Kumiko steps out, grateful to be away from the pair of them. Yamapi makes to move after her, but Jin's arm stops him in his tracks. He slides his eyes across at Jin's face. Jin looks serious, pissed.
“When you do better, send me a copy of the magazine,” he says.
“Get it yourself,” Yamapi retorts. “Plenty of shops sell magazines, you know. You know what a shop is, right?”
“I know what a shop is,” Jin spits. “You think I have time to keep up with your stupid photoshoots? I'm a busy man. Send me a copy of the magazine.”
“If they're stupid,” Yamapi says. “Why care so much?”
He pushes Jin's arm out of the way, stalks out. Jin sneers at his back, follows on. The thing about Yamapi is that he doesn't go out without a fight. Jin respects that. He likes a fight as much as the next man. The only time he has a problem is when he doesn't win. Yamapi knows that, Johnny Kitagawa knows that. The whole fucking world knows that.
He e-mails his assistant. She's currently clearing his house of party rubble, hiding all the evidence. She's well-paid and well looked-after, so she rarely complains.
Moeko. Every shoot Yamapi does, get me a copy. I want to see what he's up to.
-Jin
Johnny has Jin's magazine on his desk. He's chuckling when the two of them walk in, which makes Jin smile from ear to ear.
“Well, well,” he says. “Nice start, Jin. Nice.”
“Thank you,” Jin says, pleased. “I think they turned out pretty well.”
“Yamapi, where are you?” Johnny asks, turning his attention.
“We're in the process of organizing a gig,” his assistant says, pushing forward a few papers. “Obviously, we have a photoshoot of our own booked, that goes without saying. But we wanted something special. A small-scale concert is what we're currently focusing on.”
“Interesting,” Johnny says. He takes the papers, calls through to his secretary for some coffee and a biscuit. “Interesting. You think this is within your capacity? This is ambitious stuff.”
Yamapi tries to look nonchalant. “It'll take something special, won't it? You won't win this contest on photoshoots alone,” he casts Jin a look. “And performing is my thing. My place.”
An intern scoots in with Johnny's coffee, a trolley full of teacups and biscuits. Jin casts him a look. Young. Nice-looking. Nervous. Big brown eyes. They catch eyes across the table and the intern looks rapidly away. Fuck. Came on too strong.
Jin's 'phone goes off.
You are such a fag, Akanishi. I'll get you everything he does. Or you could just ask him for a fuck? Also, for the record, I don't know what that was behind the sofa, but I had to call out help to remove it. You're disgusting.
-Moeko
He chuckles, looks up. Yamapi isn't looking at him. Yamapi is looking at the intern. He's flashing him one of those smiles, one of those awful ones that makes him look nice and respectable. It's the smile equivalent of 'I'll call you'. Yamapi won't call him. Yamapi never calls anybody. The smile, though, the smile works. Jin scowls.
“Well,” Johnny says. “I must say, when you both came in, I was expecting to leave the plaudits at Jin's door. But this, this concert is very interesting. Keep me updated on it.”
“Will do,” Yamapi says. He's grinning at two people, now. Jin hates him. Jin really hates him. And his stupid assistant. She's grinning, too. Stupid grinning people.
“And Jin,” Johnny adds. “Benchmark's gone up. Act accordingly. Dismissed.”
They leave, and Jin says nothing. He works his face into impassivity but he thumbs the elevator button with a little too much force. Yamapi exchanges notes with his assistant, who wants a private word with Johnny. He and Jin get into the lift, ride down the ten floors with absolutely no conversation. It suits Jin. Jin is sullen. Yamapi is triumphant.
“Matsumoto Jun is holding a party,” Yamapi says, eventually.
“I know,” Jin says. “The whole town knows.”
“Are you going?”
“Why? So you know not to bother if I am?”
“No,” Yamapi says, calculated. “I was just wondering.”
“Don't worry, I'm not.”
“You're not?”
“Are you kidding? You know Jun hates my guts.”
“I hate you. I'd still invite you to one of my...parties.”
“Heh,” Jin says. “That's because you know that if I turn up, so does half the town.”
“I think he advertised your name on the invitations,” Yamapi sniggers. “He's got balls the size of watermelons.”
“People will be disappointed,” Jin says. “A sad, sad day for the entertainment industry.”
“You should go,” Yamapi says.
“I'm not going,” Jin says, stubbornly. “You taking your little teaboy?”
“You're just pissed because he smiled at me and ignored you.”
Jin thinks for a moment. “Yeah,” he says. “I am.”
“You're a twat,” Yamapi says. But he's laughing, all the same.
“It's part of my charm,” Jin says.
“I don't think I can take the teaboy,” Yamapi says. “If you come, I'll bring him. He's all yours.”
Jin narrows his eyes. “Why do you care if I'm there or not?”
Yamapi just smiles as the lift grounds, walks out towards his car. His assistant runs out some moments later, having run down the stairs. She's breathing heavily, grabs his arm. Jin watches, walks out towards his own car.
And then, then it hits him. Fuck.
Matsumoto Jun's house is spectacular. Yamapi turns several degrees around the floor, admiring the grand staircase, the upper balcony, the red curtains hanging down. Velvet, sumptuous, expensive. Waiters walk around with trays, bottles and glasses of champagne. It isn't tacky: everyone wears formal dress. The light from the chandeliers gives everything a silver sparkle, and in their black clothes, it's more like a fashion week than a party. The host himself is decked out in a tailored suit. He's surveying the guests from the top of the balcony, a smug, arrogant look on his face.
If Jin were here, he'd be humming the theme from Phantom of The Opera. Yamapi isn't sure whether to be glad he's not there, or sorry that he isn't. It's one of the difficult emotions that comes into play when you deal with Jin. The only reason he wants him there, to be really honest, is because Matsumoto Jun's parties usually only go one way. People take their clothes off and really let loose. And Jin is a master at it. Jin is gorgeous when he's turned on, when he's all about the horniness and the hedonism. Sometimes, Yamapi just watches him and forgets that he hates him. Or perhaps the fact that he hates him enhances the experience. It's difficult to tell.
He remembers, once, watching Matsumoto Jun fuck Jin. It's only happened once. After that, Jun thought Jin was something of a threat, too sexual, too damn good-looking, and Jin became unofficially unwelcome. It certainly put attendance into something of a downward spiral: Yamapi hadn't been the only person watching. The thing about Jin that sets him apart from the likes of Jun is that he hasn't any complexes. He doesn't see being fucked as a weakness. In contrast, it seems to turn him on. Jin spread himself across the rugs, across the cushions, with no abandon whatsoever. His beautiful skin, his hips and his back, welcoming and confident. His face slack with pleasure, Jun's fingers in his wet-lipped mouth. His eyes dark, his hands crunching velvet between fingers. The noise. Fuck, the noise. It stopped most of the people in the room. Others continued, their eyes on the pair of them. There was something about seeing Jin that intimate, as if there was nobody else there but them.
And Jun, well. Jun went hell for leather on him. Jun is like that: a bit of a sexual predator. He's fast, rough, angry. He looks uptight, but he isn't. And Jin was his favourite plaything, that night. His favourite piece of meat. Jin was the only one to appreciate right back. The only one to enjoy being laid out, fucked like a toy. The only one to enjoy being spread out, fucked hard, fucked rough. The only one to cry out like that, to ask for more. To push Jun's boundaries. And Jun realised, eventually, that more people were staring at Jin than were staring at him. After that, Jin uninvited himself. 'Damn shame', a lot of people said. Despite himself, Yamapi is inclined to agree.
The really difficult emotion is that, when he was watching it, Yamapi couldn't help but do a little mental substitution. Himself in Jun's place. It doesn't bear thinking about. Not now.
“So,” Shige says. It's a bit different for him. No tea, for one thing. Very classy, very intimidating. He's nervous. A constant feature in his life at the moment. “Can I drink? Do you think that'd be okay?”
“With who?” Yamapi asks, confused. “Have a drink. It's what they're there for.”
“Do you have to pay?”
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Yamapi says, laughing, not unkindly. “Just take a drink. It's covered.”
“Oh,” Shige says, taking a glass. “He must be really rich, this Matsumoto Jun. Is he a prince or something?”
“No,” Yamapi says, distractedly. He's surveying the crowd, just in case. “He's in the business. Johnny Kitagawa wouldn't touch him. He thought about it, before he took Jin on. Decided against it.”
“Oh right,” Shige says. This life is incomprehensible, most of the time. “Why not? Can he not sing?”
He's sweet, this boy, Yamapi thinks. Kind of like an antidote. “No, he can sing,” he says. “He's just full of vices.”
“All rockstars are full of vices,” Shige says. “I thought that was part of the image.”
“To an extent.” Yamapi says. “Some of them. But you try and keep most of it private. A little danger is good, a lot is just...dangerous. If you get what I mean. And Matsumoto Jun isn't private.”
“What sort of stuff does he do?”
“Anything and everything,” Yamapi shrugs. “Sex, drugs, rock and roll. You know? These parties aren't parties. They're just excuses for sex. Leave before 10pm if you're not into that, or you'll end up roped in. As for the drugs-”
“Sex parties?” Shige's face is a picture. “I think I'll leave now.”
Yamapi grins. “Yeah,” he says. “We're a sordid bunch. Hot little thing like you? Very popular.”
“No, thanks, I'm good. Chinese takeaway on the way home, that'll do me. Did you say drugs?”
“Yep,” Yamapi's tone is flippant. “All sorts. Not a person here who hasn't.”
“Have you-”
“Yes. But it didn't suit me. You keep it under wraps, anyway. Not good for business.”
“Does Jin-”
“Jin does...anything and everything. A bit like Jun. Only he hides it better. Jin's...hedonistic. He likes experiences. He'll do most anything. A lot of guys are like that.”
“I bet a lot of guys like it, too,” Shige says.
“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “He's popular. But not with you, it seems.”
“Nope,” Shige says, smiling. “He makes me feel like prey. It's too much. I like you. You're-”
“Don't say 'safe'.”
“I wasn't going to. I was going to say...'gorgeous'.”
“Better,” Yamapi grins. “Sure you won't stay?”
“Hah, yeah, I'm sure. I think I want you to myself.”
Yamapi's about to respond when there's a noise at the door. The men with the guest lists are appealing to Matsumoto Jun. He glides down the stairs, somewhat indignant, and comes face to face with the problem.
“You're not coming in,” he says.
Jin looks at him in disbelief, hands over an invitation. “My name's on here,” he says. “You shouldn't advertise, then disappoint people. It makes you a cocktease, cocktease.”
Jun looks back at him, furious. “You don't touch me, you don't touch my people. Stick to your own sandpit. Alright?”
Jin nods, walks through the door, brushes himself off. “There are sandpits?” he says, nonchalantly. “Excellent.”
Yamapi loses track of what he was going to say, so Shige moves on. Yamapi and Jin don't talk at parties like this. There's no point. They never have anything much to say to each other and the promise of sex doesn't change that. Jin doesn't make a move on Shige, either, much to Yamapi's surprise. He's in the middle of chatting up a dark-haired man Yamapi doesn't recognise, but his eyes are over the man's shoulder. He's looking at Jun. And despite himself, Yamapi feels a pang of jealousy. As much as he's fed up of Jin, he likes the attention of being somebody's main rival. Jin's hatred, like his everything, weighs on you so much that you feel empty without it.
Yamapi has a bit too much to drink. Shige has bumped into somebody, somebody chatty and sweet and a bit of an idiot. Somebody he feels comfortable with. They leave together around 9pm. Yamapi has to find a back-up plan. He's got an odd feeling that tonight won't be his night. Everybody there seems to be circulating around Jun or Jin, each hopeful, each certain to be dismissed. If Jin and Jun don't end up together tonight, after all of the glaring across the room, Yamapi thinks he'll eat somebody's hat. Anybody's.
The party spills out into the large downstairs rooms, where velvet rugs are spread across the floor and there's cushions everywhere. Gauzy drapes hang from the ceiling, white, rotund, floaty, but they don't offer much privacy. Matsumoto Jun is both voyeur and exhibitionist. In the background, music is playing. There are large vases of condoms and lube in the corners of the room. It's hardly subtle. Yamapi takes his champagne in. He's not intending to have sex – it works best when you've been chasing someone all night, someone who hasn't already gone home – but he won't say no to a bit of sly observation.
Jin is in the middle of the room. He's lost his shirt. He's kneeling. A dark-haired man is kissing the back of his neck. Another dark-haired man is kissing his collarbone. He looks smug, pleased. Anybody would, Yamapi supposes. Jin is popular at places like this. Matsumoto Jun lies at the back of the room, calmly surveying. His eyes are on Jin. Jin is breaking his rules and playing in Jun's sandpit. Jun's not about to make a fuss at his own party but it's obvious that revenge is on his mind.
He waves Yamapi over. One of the dark-haired men is loosening Jin's jeans. The other dark-haired man wraps his arms around his waist, moves his hands into his underwear. Jin weakens, then, leans back against him. The one in front moves his underwear down, shifts onto his stomach, takes his cock in his mouth. The two of them are good at sharing: one sucks both cock and fingers, the other keeps kissing Jin's shoulders, neckline. Jin is gasping with hard, audible pleasure.
Yamapi treads through the bodies, his eyes on Jin, until he reaches Jun.
“Wait until he's right there,” Jun says. “You understand what I mean by 'right there'?”
“Of course,” Yamapi scoffs. “I'm not eleven.”
“And stop what they're doing to him.” Jun says. “He's playing in my sandpit.”
“He's liable to hit me,” Yamapi says. “Do it yourself.”
“I thought you hated Jin.”
“I do.”
“So?”
“I don't want to go to tomorrow's photoshoot with a black eye, thanks. Find someone else.”
Jun looks at him. “You don't hate him.”
Yamapi looks back. Fuck. He knows. “I do hate him.”
“Why can't you stop looking at him, then?”
“He looks gorgeous. Doesn't mean that I don't hate him.”
“I can make it worth your while,” Jun muses. “I'll get you a shoot with my photographer.”
Matsumoto Jun's photographer is the best in the business. He works exclusively with Jun, because Jun is the only one of them rich enough to afford it. And possibly because, so the rumours go, that he's giving a few extra favours on the side. The guy takes great shots. He took the one that put Matsumoto Jun at the top of every teenage girl's Christmas list a year ago. Yamapi would be stupid to refuse him.
He looks at Jin, who rocks backwards, then forwards, eyes shut. He has a hand in the dark hair of each man. Bliss is etched into his face.
“Okay,” Yamapi says.
“Better hurry up,” Jun says, maliciously. “He won't last. He never does.”
Yamapi waits for an extra two minutes before making his move. Jin looks completely wrung out. He's no longer making any coherent sound, just moaning. The guys with him look spectacularly pleased. Yamapi undoes his jeans and saunters over. He approaches Jin from the front. The guy sucking Jin's cock notices him, and immediately understands the hierarchy. He's not happy about it, but Yamapi has higher standing here and he moves aside accordingly.
Jin opens his eyes, cries out in a way that immediately makes all the men in the room wince. Then, he notices Yamapi, kneeling in front of him. They're face to face, and Jin is starting to sneer at him.
“You better have one hell of a good reason for that,” he spits.
Yamapi nods. He's having trouble not smirking. “I do.”
The man behind Jin has stopped. He's unsure of what to do, looking like he wants to remove his hands. “Don't you dare,” Jin is swearing. “Don't you fucking dare.”
Yamapi looks over his shoulder at the man. They're having some sort of silent conversation, and it's pissing Jin off. Yamapi realises that he'll never get another chance like this. And Matsumoto Jun's photographer, well, there'll be other chances. Maybe. He's thinking with his dick, he knows that, but he's not about to care.
“Don't you dare,” he echoes.
“Thank you,” Jin growls. “You can go, now. Tell him I'll stick to one guy, then. I'm never coming to his fucking parties ever again. Uptight twat.”
“Have you got condoms?” Yamapi says, to the other guy.
“Excuse me?” Jin says, indignant.
“Yes,” the guy says. “And my name is Ryo. By the way. Just in case.”
“Cool,” Yamapi says. He's starting to lie down, on his back, in front of Jin. Both of the others look confused, Jin moreso than Ryo. That is, until Yamapi grabs hold of Jin's hip and pulls down on top of him.
“What the fuck-”
“Jin,” Yamapi says. “I've had a lot of champagne. I've thought about this for a long time. It doesn't include you talking. So shut the hell up.”
Jin quirks an eyebrow. Yamapi nods over his shoulder, and Ryo leans down, grabs the lube in his hand. Jin gets comfortable, lying between Yamapi's legs.
“I didn't know you cared,” he says smugly.
“I don't,” Yamapi says. “Until you take your clothes off. Are you going to shut up?”
“Yep,” Jin says. “Eventually.”
When Ryo preps him, Jin lowers his head onto Yamapi's collarbone. He looks about a millisecond from begging and Ryo has to be careful. He's biting his lip.
“What's the problem?” Yamapi asks.
“He's really sensitiv-”
“Of course I'm fucking sensitive,” Jin spits. “He interrupted me six seconds before-”
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Yamapi says. He wraps his arm around Jin's back, strokes Ryo's fingers for lube. Then, he moves his hand down their bodies and grabs Jin's cock in his hand. Ten strokes is all it takes, and that's only because Jin spends the first two being perplexed. He starts grunting against Yamapi's chest on the fourth, bucking his hips on the sixth, and on the eighth he's biting Yamapi's shoulder. He comes, hard, so suddenly that he's totally out of breath.
“Nice,” Ryo says, impressed. “What's the deal with you two?”
“This and that,” Yamapi says, distractedly. “Give him five minutes, then fuck him.”
Yamapi starts to like Ryo. Ryo, when his confidence grows, is something of a force to be reckoned with. Jin, when he gets his breath back, gets back onto hands and knees. Ryo pushes him down, to lie fully against Yamapi.
“That cool?” he says, over Jin's shoulder.
“Fine,” Yamapi replies, coolly.
“Oh, this is great,” Jin says. “I'm just the meat in the sandwich.”
Ryo responds to that by prepping him, again. Jin enjoys it more the second time around, thrusts back into it. He doesn't take it gently, ever. Gets off on it. This seems to please Ryo, who is looking at Yamapi with an expression of pleasurable hunger. When Jin gets too cocky, he pulls his fingers out, kneels up behind him. The whole room is watching. Nothing new there, then. Matsumoto Jun is staring, face inexpressive. He's not angry, but he's not pleased. There's a trace of arousal there. Interesting.
When Ryo enters him, Jin tilts his chin up, moans aloud. Yamapi runs a finger along his side, wraps his hips up in his hands. Jin catches his eyes, then, smirks.
“Fuck, that's good,” he says.
Yamapi is smiling, despite himself. “It's good?”
“It's good,” Jin grins. Ryo is still, waiting. Jin nods at Yamapi, who nods at Ryo. Ryo grins at them both, starts to move.
The good thing about Jin is that he's uninhibited. Once he's gone, he's gone. He doesn't think about rivalry, petty arguments, anything that's happened in the last month. He thinks with his dick. He thinks about the pleasure, and the warmth, and the eye contact – and that's enough. Jin looks Yamapi right in the eye as he's fucked, as his body moves against Yamapi's, as Yamapi can feel each individual thrust because his hard-on is pressing into his stomach, oh. Fuck.
Yamapi slides his hand down their bodies again, makes a tunnel with his fist. Jin is greedy about accepting it, tilts his hips and fucks Yamapi's hand with abandon. The angle works for him, he cries out as he moves forward and back, and Ryo and Yamapi look at each other with furious black eyes. Moans pour out of Jin's parted mouth as Ryo fucks him, faster and faster, and Yamapi thinks that he's going to come in his trousers, watching this, until Jin sort of half-topples onto him.
“Ow,” Yamapi says, rolling his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Jin stutters out, and when Yamapi realises he's digging a hand into Yamapi's trousers, he forgives him. As soon as Jin touches Yamapi's cock, his hips rise up and his chin goes back and he cries out, loud and hard, 'yes'.
Jin grins, smug and endlessly irritating, but it's so hard and so sudden and so good that Yamapi doesn't care. Ryo watches them, two bodies wriggling together for friction, for their warm, hot, hard hands, and every sensation that goes through him goes into a thrust. He leans over Jin's back, moving faster and faster and faster, biting Jin's shoulder. The three of them are a blur, a wriggling blur, chasing pleasure and abandon and whatever is at the light at the end of the tunnel.
Jin comes first. It's his prerogative. His whole body goes tight between the two bodies, his head throws back, nearly clips Ryo's chin. He makes a noise that isn't really human, that's born in the pleasure centre of his head, or something like that, Yamapi thinks. And the way his hand squeezes Yamapi's cock, that makes Yamapi next. Fingers go into his mouth and he bites on them to quell the sound before he realises that they're Jin's, and that makes him come harder, and harder, and harder. And Ryo, Ryo is pleased that he's lasted this long, he comes with the kind of abandon that's smug and hard-won. He comes looking at the two people in front of him, the two people who supposedly hate each other but look hotter in bed than anything he's ever seen.
Matsumoto Jun, of course, uninvites the three of them.
They meet up in the car park, two days later, when the hangover's worn off. Jin gets into Yamapi's car. Yamapi notes that he's a little sore. Somehow, it pleases him.
“Hey,” he says, passing Yamapi a bottle of water, an apple. He has some sandwiches. He knows Yamapi well.
“Hey,” Yamapi returns, surprised. He'd expected more snark than this. More sarcasm. Not food. “Thanks.”
“S'okay,” Jin says. They eat, quietly. “I've got brownies, too.”
“You trying to suck up to me?”
Jin laughs. “I think I tried that, didn't I?”
“Hmm,” Yamapi grins. “Some night.”
“Some night,” Jin agrees. “Sorry, are you missing my quick wit, my acidic tongue? I can't be bothered today. You were good in bed. Really fucking good. I can't mock that.”
“I thought you hated me so much you could always find a reason to mock me.”
“Nah,” Jin says. “I didn't really hate you. I just wanted to smack you, sometimes. I hate competition. I like to be on top.”
“Except in certain-”
“Except in certain circumstances, yeah. I just wanted what you had, that's all. I'm not good at making a good impression.”
“Are you really as cocky as you seem?”
Jin thinks about this, laughs. “Yeah. That's not an act. I'm really as cocky as this.”
“You're such a twat,” Yamapi says. “I can't believe I like you.”
“If God gave you a dick like mine, you'd be cocky, too.”
“Har,” Yamapi says, rolling his eyes. “Harhar. Listen, I brought you here on business.”
“You'll have to pay me, first.”
“Jin.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay, look. My assistant overheard Johnny say something on the 'phone, when she went back to his office last week. I thought you should know.”
“Conspiring with the enemy, huh. Interesting.”
“You're not the enemy,” Yamapi says.
“The competition, then.”
“You're not that, either,” Yamapi says, shaking his head.
“Excuse me?”
“Matsumoto Jun is the competition,” Yamapi says, dully. “They're hiring him in the new year.”
Jin sits, dumbfounded. “They can't be. Johnny said that he wouldn't, with me being here. I can't stand Jun. He can't stand me. Why would he put us together, if Johnny can't stand the two of us being on the same label?”
“I don't know,” Yamapi says. “All I know is that Jun's manager is coming in today to sign papers. They're buying him off his label.”
Jin sits, silently. “Do you think Johnny wants me out?”
Yamapi looks at him. His voice is unusually quiet. He doesn't want to say it, but he thinks that Jin would prefer honesty. He's that sort of person. “Maybe,” he says. “I don't know. It doesn't look good.”
“Excellent,” Jin says. His tone is hard. “He could have just told me.”
“You don't know that that's what's going on,” Yamapi tries to reason. “You could talk to him.”
“I guess I should congratulate you,” Jin laughs. “I didn't expect things to go like this.”
“No,” Yamapi says. “I brought you here because I want to team up.”
Jin looks at Yamapi in utter disbelief. “What? I'm not c-”
“I know you're not charity. I want to team up because...fuck.”
“You're just that good a guy.”
“No, bec-”
“Because I wouldn't have done this for you.”
“I know you wouldn't.”
“Then why-”
“If you'll let me get a word in edgeways, I'll tell you!” Yamapi is laughing, despite himself. He takes a bite of apple, swallows thoughtfully. “Because when we were together, and when you had your hand in my pants, that felt right to me. A lot of stuff in this industry is shit. And I know you don't like me much and I know that you're not a lot what you seem, but when you had your fucking hand on my dick, it felt right. And not a lot in this industry feels right.”
“You think we can work together because we were good together in bed?” Jin is looking at Yamapi with a perplexed expression. “I think we were good together in bed because we can't work together.”
“Give it a try,” Yamapi says, drained. “Why not give it a fucking try? Maybe we'd be good. You never know.”
Jin thinks. “It's worth a try,” he says. “Two minds are better than one. Or something.”
“Good,” Yamapi says, reaching for a brownie.
“It's not that I don't like you much,” Jin says. Yamapi chews, looking at him.
“You don't have to-”
“No,” Jin says. “No, shut up, I need to say this. It's not that I don't like you. It's that I can't get you out of my head and it pisses me off. I'm not used to sharing my head with somebody else. You're in my fucking head all the time.”
“Okay,” Yamapi says, not sure what to say.
“It's that I want to do it again. Only, I want you to be fucking me, not wanking me off.”
Yamapi stops. Chocolate is melting in his mouth. He's smirking, despite himself.
“Shut up,” Jin says. “Shut up.”
The first thing they do is call in Yamapi's favour from Matsumoto Jun. Jun isn't happy about lending them his photographer, given that Yamapi still let Ryo fuck Jin. Ryo is Jun's sandpit, apparently. But Yamapi did what he could, he concedes that, and besides, he has a hair appointment so he can't be wasting time negotiating with idiots. His photographer arrives at Jun's studio within two hours, time enough for Yamapi and Jin's assistants to bring make-up artists and wardrobe assistants to the scene. Yamapi and Jin turn up, having had breakfast and feeling good, and their assistants eye them with all the suspicion they can muster.
“What's the angle,” the photographer is saying. “Jun always has an angle. He has a whole book of 'I need to sell fuckloads of singles' poses'.”
Jin thinks. “We're in the market for a new label,” he says.
“What?” Moeko says. Screeches. “What?”
“Are we being fired?” Kumiko asks Yamapi. “Why weren't we informed?”
“Nobody is being fired,” Yamapi says. “We're just...doubling up. We're trying something out. We still need individual representation. Kumiko, you'd go insane trying to manage this guy. And Moeko, you're too hardcore for me. Nobody is being fired.”
“Jin,” Moeko says. “If you ever do this to me again-”
“I know,” Jin says. But he's grinning. She thumps him one on the arm, and grins back, muttering some sort of obscenity under her breath.
“Okay,” the photographer is saying. “Who are you trying to sell this to? Double acts are pretty uncommon. You need to have an angle.”
“I have an idea,” Yamapi says. Jin turns to him, face curious. And from the look on Yamapi's face, the photographer gets it.
“Ohh,” he says. “Yes. Very good. I like it.”
“What angle?” Jin is saying. “I don't like this. What angle?”
He likes the angle when it becomes clear to him, but then he would. For the first shot, they stand together. Their hipbones press into each other. They have no shirts on and there's a silent competition going on, which of them has the best arms. The best chest. Jin is sneering, again. You can't take the competition out of Jin, it's just not possible. Yamapi pushes his groin into Jin's, a bit of a tease, a bit of a joke, and Jin laughs wide. The shots roll off the film and the photographer smiles at some of them, the informal ones, the laughing ones. The ones that nobody will ever see. The ones that are more truth than image.
They keep the one where they both look fierce, where there's a silent battle going on for supremacy. One that's harmonious but only to a certain point. Their hips are close together and each of their faces are firm. Jin has his thumbs in his belt loops. There's navel hair, a little too much, probably, to get away with. His fingers point in Yamapi's direction. Yamapi likes that one. There's an edge of submission in it. Not that Jin would ever admit it.
“You look like you'll tear the clothes off one another the moment I stop shooting,” the photographer says, approvingly.
The second shot is by far Yamapi's favourite, though it took some doing to capture it. Yamapi lies on his back, on a loose, white linen sheet covering the floor. White cushions are spread about. There's a gauzy curtain hanging down from the ceiling. Jin lies over him, covered in a sheet. And then Yamapi tilts his head back, eyes locked on the camera. There's no subtlety in it, and it serves only to remind them both of the week before. As Yamapi feels Jin's weight on him, he can't help thinking about his cock in Jin's hand, Jin's breath on his shoulders, Jin crying out above him. He tries not to, because the last thing he needs is a hard-on, but it's difficult.
Jin spreads himself out, chin dropped, totally, utterly domineering. Yamapi takes some issue with this, and when the photographer is changing film, he digs his hand underneath the sheet and puts it down Jin's jeans. Down his underwear, too, so that Jin makes a strangled noise and topples over. The photographer looks over with an expression that takes no prisoners.
“Sorry,” Yamapi says.
“Get a room,” he replies, all droll, little force.
“This is a room,” whispers Jin, in Yamapi's ear. “You're a whore.”
“So are you,” Yamapi fires back. “And stop rubbing on me. I've got a semi.”
“I know,” Jin says, all wickedness. He climbs back on, spreads Yamapi's arms out wide, holds him down by the wrists. “I can feel it. You dirty boy.”
They're looking at each other, all oneupmanship, all politics, all bravado. It's not the shot that's used, but it's the one the photographer liked best. Jin holding Yamapi down, Yamapi rebelling against it. The one they use is the one where Yamapi tilts his head back, looks at the camera with righteous indignation. And Jin, with the smuggest look on his face it's possible to have. Both of them half-naked, both of them beautiful.
“Fucking perfect,” the photographer says.
“Too right,” Jin agrees.
Yamapi wants to write them a song. Both of them had one in preparation, but Yamapi thinks that it should be special. The concert is going ahead, only Johnny doesn't realise they'll use it to announce their intentions. Their assistants are scouting for new management. Their photographs are all over the media circuit. And Yamapi wants to write them a song.
Jin is all for it, but he doesn't know Yamapi's songwriting ability. They're aware of each other's images, their limitations, their habits, their vices. Yamapi knows that Jin's experimented with all the drugs going, even though Jin thinks it's a secret. Yamapi knows that Jin's been there, done that. Yamapi knows that Jin uses coke in sex, but sex alone. Yamapi knows that Jin's lost friends to it, but that it hasn't stopped him. Jin knows that Yamapi's tried some things, never found an antidote. He knows that Yamapi doesn't drink much, even though Yamapi pretends to be something of a rebel. Yamapi knows that Jin sleeps around. He knows that he prefers domineering men, because he likes submission. Because he likes not to be in control. Because he's afraid, maybe. And Jin knows that Yamapi doesn't sleep around, but forms excessive attachments to unobtainable people. Jin knows that Yamapi is demanding, usually unreasonably so. He gets left a lot, whereas Jin does the leaving.
They know all the secrets it's possible to know. But they don't know about songwriting. They don't know each other's techniques, each other's inspiration. Jin writes songs when he's busy doing other things. Life mingles, mixes in. He wrote some of his favourite songs in the car, in the shower, sometimes he gets ideas on stage. Sometimes he gets ideas in bed. Yamapi locks himself away, needing quiet to form the words. Molding words out of emotions, it demands silence. Life intrudes on him, offers nothing to the process. They differ, in this respect.
But Jin forces himself to trust Yamapi, because Yamapi is trusting him with the publicity. With the help of his PR, their pictures are on the front covers of most of the entertainment magazines, with features inside. They do interviews. They do radio, television. Johnny is furious, but they ignore him, because there are other offers on the table. Yamapi trusts Jin with those. A song, it's a small price to pay. Jin lets Yamapi get on with it, because he's trying to trust. Yamapi lets Jin organise things around him, because he's trying to relinquish control. It doesn't always work, but the results are worth the struggle.
The sex comes later. They sign a new record deal, the day Matsumoto Jun is signed to Johnny's management. Their announcement upstages his, and as far as Jin and Yamapi are concerned, it's the icing on the cake.
They've abstained, because of all the organizing. Because they've been fighting, because they've been busy. Because they wanted it to be right. Jin wanted it to feel right. He's fought the industry for a long time, and this, finally, feels real.
“I have an idea for a song,” Yamapi says as he comes through the door. He's carrying food, they always get their own food. Not one of those acts that ask for M&Ms with all the yellow ones removed, they like to get their own food. Jin has a look through the bags as Yamapi's carrying them. They're living in Jin's apartment for the time being, getting to know each other better.
“Oh yeah,” Jin says. He steals some peanut butter cups, runs off with them.
“Hey, I-”
“Song?”
Yamapi puts the shopping away, leans against the wall. “I didn't want to write another run-of-the-mill song. You know, about love being endless and exciting and joyful, or about it being agonizing and pain and suffering. Or about drugs, or about sex, or about...the usual. I wanted to write something different.”
“Okay,” Jin says. He's looking at Yamapi's hands. His fingers are in his belt loops. It's making Jin hungry for more than peanut butter.
“So I talked to Ryo. You know, he reads some weird shit. Asked him for an idea we could use.”
Jin sniggers. “I'll bet he came up with something weird.”
“He came up with something useful.”
“Really?” Jin is surprised, but not really paying attention. He can't stop thinking about Yamapi's hands, taking down his jeans. He could suck him off right there, against the wall-
“Jin,” Yamapi says.
Jin looks up, his eyes coming back into focus. Yamapi looks startled. They're silent for a moment, and then Jin takes the room in strides, gathers Yamapi's face in his hands, kisses the life out of him.
“I'm trying to-” Yamapi stutters, between kisses.
“It's your turn to shut the hell up,” Jin retorts.
So Yamapi does. Gives in, kisses him back. They turn, making for the bedroom. Yamapi backs up through the rooms, letting Jin push him into his bedroom. They topple down on Jin's bed, kissing and pulling off clothes, until Yamapi pushes his hips against Jin's and the friction is so good they stop with the everything and just rock together, Jin's hands over Yamapi's wrists, Jin astride Yamapi.
When he can't take anymore of it, Yamapi rolls them both over so that he's on top. Jin leans forward and undoes his jeans, throws them across the room. Yamapi loosens Jin's, pulls them down over his hips, smacking Jin's arse for a bit of lift. Jin makes an indulgent sound when Yamapi lies back down, both of them naked, both of them warm and hard. They move together, groaning. Jin sneaks a hand down, and Yamapi smacks it.
“Bedside table drawer, I'm assuming,” he says.
“Yes,” Jin says. When Yamapi turns to get supplies, he strokes himself once or twice, the noise from his lips an unfurling hiss.
“Let it go,” Yamapi says, turning back around. “If you fucking can.”
“I can,” Jin says, with gritted teeth. “I don't like it when you stop suddenly.”
“Who does?” Yamapi quips. Then, “sorry. How's this?”
He remembers well, that Jin likes being prepped. He likes the feel of it, the attention, the way it makes his cheeks all red and his breath hot. He likes the different angles, the press and shift, the moment when Yamapi hits just where it's right and all breath is robbed from him. Jin moves his hips into it, hungry and demanding. And that hits Yamapi, right in the groin.
Yamapi considers for a second, moves Jin onto his hands and knees. He pulls out and Jin growls at him, moves down the bed. Yamapi watches as he kneels up, spreads himself out across the headboard. It's half the length of the wall, plush, black leather.
“Angle's better,” he says, by way of explanation, turning his head over his shoulder.
Yamapi nods, coming up behind him. “View's good, too,” he says. He grabs Jin's hips between his hands, moves him back. Resting his chin on Jin's shoulder, he slowly, slowly moves inside him. As everything gets hotter, tighter, Yamapi presses his teeth into Jin's shoulder, trying to think about anything but how good the entire world feels. Jin's breath is hissed, rapid. He's trying to grab onto something, so Yamapi offers a free hand.
They stay like that for a few moments, struggling to breath, until Jin pushes back and Yamapi cries out, moving forward. It's slow, at first, Yamapi's not used to the angle. Jin helps, slowly rotating back, a 'yes' on each turn. And then he lets Yamapi take over, splaying him forwards across black leather, arms spread wide, chin raised, breath staining the fabric.
Yamapi fucks him the way he's wanted to fuck him, the way he's thought about it, time and time again. Rougher and rougher with each thrust, deeper and harder and tighter, and Jin's voice gets slacker and louder with each one.
“Touch me,” he cries, when they're pressed together, two wet, slick bodies.
Yamapi slides a hand around Jin's hip, wanks him off, doesn't even start off easy. Jin throws his head back, his hands go into his hair, his voice goes higher, higher still. Yamapi gives up trying to hold back, leans fully against him, the full weight of his body behind every thrust. He's biting hard on the back of Jin's neck, relishing every cry, every single sound. He's going so fast that he can barely hear, barely see, barely feel anything but this.
“What's,” Jin says, and Yamapi struggles to hear him. “What's the song about?”
Yamapi almost feels that he should praise him. He doesn't think he can think, let alone speak. The words are stuttered and hard and unco-ordinated, but Yamapi understands them. He's just not entirely sure he can answer.
“Ghost story,” he stutters back, in Jin's ear. “Ghost story.”
“Yeah,” Jin pushes back, hard, covering Yamapi's hand on his cock with his own. Moves it faster. He's close. He gets a bit domineering when he's close. “But what about?”
“Someone who loses something,” Yamapi stutters back. “Jin, I can't-”
“First line,” Jin says, starting to laugh. “I want the first line, or you can't come.”
“How are you still-”
“I'm,” Jin wrings out the word. “Talented.”
Yamapi has had enough. He pushes Jin up against the headboard, hard, ignoring his own pleasure to punish Jin. He flexes his hips harder, he moves his hand faster. He gives Jin no room for manoeuvre. And he fucks him, and fucks him, and fucks him, until Jin cries out with the noise Yamapi knows is the last one, because it's practically a scream.
And just before he hears the noise, when it's just a big breath, when he's just, achingly, right there-
“Have no care in what you take, treasure will not a heart remake.”
And as white heat descends, Jin's eyes fly open, and there's a moment when-
There's a moment-
Of something.
Fandom: JE
Pairing: Yamapi/Jin, Yamapi/Jin/Ryo
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimers: Taking a break from the ANGSTORAMA, this one's full of gratuitous wish fulfillment and sex. ;D It's becoming obvious that all these parts are linked together, though, and the same still goes for this one. Previous disclaimers apply: this is truly the craziest thing I've ever written, but I'm enjoying it so much.
Warnings: Scenes of sex, mentions drug-use.
In Every Life I've Lived
(3) Drop It On A Dime
The thing is, Jin doesn't lose. Sure, Yamapi probably doesn't, either. Yamapi doesn't plan to lose, but he will. Jin doesn't lose anything. And this, this is no different. It's why he's already started his campaign.
Tego, his assistant's assistant, fusses around him in the dressing room. “You look fine. Great,” he's saying. He's nervous, not long on the job. He'll learn.
Jin eyes him in the mirror. “I know,” he says, grinning. Tego grins back, after a moment of thought.
When he walks out into the shoot, the crew turn to stare. It's the attitude. The sex appeal. Or the fact that he just looks, that he knows he looks, searingly hot. There's a couple of girls in the room, manning cameras, running errands for the photographer. He winks at them, even though, well, not his thing. It works. There's blushing, giggling. One even stops, unable to remember what she was doing.
He was instructed to wear the coat, the scarf, the jeans, and a vest top. White, with an eagle on it. Like the belt he's thrown around his hips. Only Jin doesn't like being told what to do, so he's conveniently lost the vest. He stands in the coat, collar upturned, the thick, black scarf. The leather glove, the tight trousers, the prominent gold belt buckle, 'get down on your knees for a closer look,' it says. 'Get up close and personal. Now.'
“Nice,” the photographer says. He fires off a few test shots. Sadly, he doesn't mean nice nice, more 'the teenage girls will love this' nice, which is a shame, as he's not unattractive. Jin tilts his head back, sneers at the camera. Somebody drops a lens cap. Silence descends. Jin isn't surprised: apparently, they were shooting some young boyband this morning. Amateurs. Wouldn't know sex if it landed, tits-up, in their bed at night.
Jin knows sex. He is sex. Lives it, breathes it. A girl scoots over, adjusts his belt buckle so that it can be seen over the scarf. She's on her knees. He looks down, raises one eyebrow. She's a funny shade of purple. The photographer fires: it's a good shot. When she gets to her feet, her eyes move across the line of fine, black hair on his stomach. Her face could accurately be described as ravenous. She tilts his collar up a bit, and he licks the corner of his mouth.
“I hate working with rockstars,” she says. “Ego the size of Mars.”
“I am Mars,” Jin says, nonchalantly. “Wait. Was he the god of war, or sex? Or both?”
She deadpans him. “War. I'm more of a make love sort of girl.”
“Oh,” Jin says, pretending to be flattened. “You've never had both at once, then?”
“Um,” she says. “I need to. I just-”
Jin just grins.
The gangster look, that's more fun. Jin wants to keep the black fedora. Wants to keep the whole thing, actually: loose trousers, black velvet jacket, black shirt, black tie. It's ironic, not trying too hard. Striking. He tilts the hat down, lifts his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He eyes the girl at the back, who is staring intently at her notes. He's horny, now, impatient. It's been a few days. The last time he had some, he had to go to a shoot with marks all over him, and it wasn't much fun for the make-up crew. Still. It was worth it. People say that he's inconsiderate, but he doesn't think he's that bad.
The glasses look goes down well. He looks like a slutty salaryman. He's seen porno like that before. Glasses make him look like he's trying to play dumb, but honest to God, there's not much playing involved.
The girl comes over, removes his glasses for him. “Best look so far,” she says. “You looked adorably dumb.”
He shrugs, good-naturedly. “I am,” he says. “As well as being Mars. I'm adorably dumb. Is the soft kitten thing doing it for you?”
“No,” she lies. “It's not.”
“Shame.”
“I'm not sure why you're bothering, honestly,” she replies, leaning in to brush out the flicks in his hair. With his ear in range, she whispers. “I know you're not interested.”
“Sure I am,” he says. “Haven't you heard the rumours?”
“That you sleep with everything with a pulse? Sure. Only I've also heard they have to have dicks, too.”
Jin grins, leans in to her ear. “Wouldn't you like to see that.”
“Yeah,” she giggles. “That'd probably do it for me.”
He notes that down. Future reference. Fantastic.
In the end, he keeps the scarf and the leather jacket. It'll do well for the first progress meeting. Yamapi may be able to argue, as if he were born to do it, but he can't argue with that jacket. Molded to the body, black and pure, liquid sex, Yamapi can't argue with the jacket.
24 hours earlier:
“I'm not joking,” Johnny Kitagawa had said. He'd brought Yamapi and Jin into his office, which looks a little like the top of Tokyo Tower for all the view it has. Glass-surrounded, plush. Vertigo-inducing. “Why the hell would I be joking?”
They're speechless, his two leading acts. Naturally.
“Let me get this straight,” Yamapi had said. “You promised me everything at the start of the year. Said I had potential-”
“Sucks to be you,” Jin intrudes. Yamapi glares at him.
“And I was going all the way to the top. And then you hired this...pretentious asshole, and now you're going to choose between us?”
Johnny Kitagawa shrugs. “Monetarily, it's the best idea I've had in years. It's costing too much to keep you both on. Not to mention the energy that goes into managing the two biggest acts in the business, who hate each other. Do you know how many staff I've had to let go because of you two idiots? No. It's what I'm resigned to doing.”
“Why can't you just get rid of him?” Yamapi says. “He's the problem. Everything was fine until he turned up.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jin says. “Nobody was making any money until I turned up. I mean, it's fine to run a business on how nice and reasonably attractive your acts are, but I think Johnny Kitagawa would prefer profit, don't you?”
“I'm profitable, thank you very much,” Yamapi spits. “You're just a big slut.”
“This is exactly the problem I'm talking about,” Johnny yells over them, raising his hands to the heavens. “I'm not dealing with this. No. After Christmas, one of you is gone. Which is up to you.”
“How are you going to decide?” Jin asks. He crosses one leg over the other. His shirt is riding up, there's a split in it where he's forgotten a button. Yamapi looks over, catches a glimpse of navel hair. Fucking hell.
“I'm glad that somebody asked,” Johnny says. “You're going to manage your own campaigns. From now until Christmas. Not entirely on your own: I have some PR interns who'll help you, and you'll have your assistants and your fair share of management. But I want to see what you can do without me holding your hand. I want to see you organise your shoots, your image, your songs. I want to see you writing songs, singing live, deciding how you want to represent yourselves-”
“Wow,” Jin is saying. This is excellent.
“I want to see you act like proper artists, not kids in a playground. Is that understood? Whoever makes the most gross profit in the next two months, they stay on the label. Whoever comes second has to find a new agent.”
Yamapi is scowling. “Are there any ground rules?”
“No,” Johnny says. “But bear in mind that if you do anything underhand, anything that might damage my reputation – the competition may end early. I don't look kindly on it. Behave responsibly. Make me money. We'll see where we are in January.”
They rise to leave. “I won't need until January,” Jin says, grinning. Yamapi opens his mouth to retort, but closes it. Then, nice as pie, he says:
“You know, Jin, in the spirit of fair competition? Good luck.”
Jin is temporarily flummoxed and Yamapi walks past him, smiling at Johnny Kitagawa. The first point is his, and it's Jin's turn to scowl.
“This is why,” Johnny Kitagawa is saying to himself. “This is why.”
On his way to the progress meeting, some days later, Yamapi has his assistant, Kumiko, go and buy him a few things. Mints, an apple, water. She returns with a bundle of items, gets into the car and spills them all over the seat. He filters through and picks up the magazine.
“What've you bought this for?” he asks.
“Page 70,” she says. “We need to keep an eye on what Jin's doing, you said.”
“Oh, nice,” he says, flicking to the right page.
Fucking hell.
“I told you he was a slut,” he says, absently.
“Yeah,” she says. “Good pics, though. Do you think you'd be up for this sort of thing?”
“Sure,” Yamapi says, even more absently. Can't stop staring at Jin's navel hair. Bad. Really bad.
“I mean,” he goes on. “It's the image. I'll do this, and I'll do it better.”
Kumiko smiles at him. “You'll do fine,” she says. She likes Yamapi. He's a good guy, really. Just focused. He dislikes distraction. And Akanishi Jin, he's a distraction. Came from nowhere in a blaze of glory. Johnny Kitagawa salivated over him, paid out to remove him from his record label. And it worked, moreorless. Both he and Yamapi bring in huge revenues. Only their hatred of each is well-documented, and it doesn't do business much good. Johnny Kitagawa tried to appease them earlier in the year, by placing them in a show together. Joint practice, a joint aim, he thought it would do them good.
It didn't, of course. They spent a great deal of the show snarking at one another. It amused and appealed to the fans, but not to Johnny Kitagawa. He foresaw his money trickling down the drain. It wouldn't do well, to have his biggest acts keen to sabotage each other. She's confident nonetheless, that Yamapi will prevail. He's been around longer. He knows the game. Jin just likes to play. Yamapi is right: he's a slut.
A really good-looking one, but a slut nonetheless.
They drive into the car park and Yamapi gets out of the car, tilting his sunglasses. It's a warm day, even for November, and he doesn't look worried about the future. He looks good, well-slept. Chances are, Jin will look hungover. He usually does.
Only when they walk into the building, press the button for the lift, his car arrives. She closes her eyes, silently praying. They get into the lift and the door's almost closed when an all-too familiar hand pokes through the doors.
“Sorry,” Jin says. “Know what this thing's like. I'll be waiting for years. Morning, Yamapi.”
Yamapi looks at him. It doesn't do, ever, to be in a compact space with Akanishi Jin. It doesn't do, especially, when Akanishi Jin is wearing skin-tight leather. Yamapi recognises the jacket. Show-off, he thinks. Doing it deliberately, as usual. Still. He looks good.
Fucking fucking hell.
“I saw your article,” Yamapi says, nonchalantly. Kumiko sighs audibly and rolls her eyes.
“Oh yeah?” Jin says, cocksure. “What did you think?”
“I was surprised,” Yamapi says, tone cool. “You were pretty clothed. I thought you'd go all out.”
Jin narrows his eyes, suspicious. “Like you could do better.”
“We'll see,” Yamapi says.
The doors open. “After you,” Jin says. Kumiko steps out, grateful to be away from the pair of them. Yamapi makes to move after her, but Jin's arm stops him in his tracks. He slides his eyes across at Jin's face. Jin looks serious, pissed.
“When you do better, send me a copy of the magazine,” he says.
“Get it yourself,” Yamapi retorts. “Plenty of shops sell magazines, you know. You know what a shop is, right?”
“I know what a shop is,” Jin spits. “You think I have time to keep up with your stupid photoshoots? I'm a busy man. Send me a copy of the magazine.”
“If they're stupid,” Yamapi says. “Why care so much?”
He pushes Jin's arm out of the way, stalks out. Jin sneers at his back, follows on. The thing about Yamapi is that he doesn't go out without a fight. Jin respects that. He likes a fight as much as the next man. The only time he has a problem is when he doesn't win. Yamapi knows that, Johnny Kitagawa knows that. The whole fucking world knows that.
He e-mails his assistant. She's currently clearing his house of party rubble, hiding all the evidence. She's well-paid and well looked-after, so she rarely complains.
Moeko. Every shoot Yamapi does, get me a copy. I want to see what he's up to.
-Jin
Johnny has Jin's magazine on his desk. He's chuckling when the two of them walk in, which makes Jin smile from ear to ear.
“Well, well,” he says. “Nice start, Jin. Nice.”
“Thank you,” Jin says, pleased. “I think they turned out pretty well.”
“Yamapi, where are you?” Johnny asks, turning his attention.
“We're in the process of organizing a gig,” his assistant says, pushing forward a few papers. “Obviously, we have a photoshoot of our own booked, that goes without saying. But we wanted something special. A small-scale concert is what we're currently focusing on.”
“Interesting,” Johnny says. He takes the papers, calls through to his secretary for some coffee and a biscuit. “Interesting. You think this is within your capacity? This is ambitious stuff.”
Yamapi tries to look nonchalant. “It'll take something special, won't it? You won't win this contest on photoshoots alone,” he casts Jin a look. “And performing is my thing. My place.”
An intern scoots in with Johnny's coffee, a trolley full of teacups and biscuits. Jin casts him a look. Young. Nice-looking. Nervous. Big brown eyes. They catch eyes across the table and the intern looks rapidly away. Fuck. Came on too strong.
Jin's 'phone goes off.
You are such a fag, Akanishi. I'll get you everything he does. Or you could just ask him for a fuck? Also, for the record, I don't know what that was behind the sofa, but I had to call out help to remove it. You're disgusting.
-Moeko
He chuckles, looks up. Yamapi isn't looking at him. Yamapi is looking at the intern. He's flashing him one of those smiles, one of those awful ones that makes him look nice and respectable. It's the smile equivalent of 'I'll call you'. Yamapi won't call him. Yamapi never calls anybody. The smile, though, the smile works. Jin scowls.
“Well,” Johnny says. “I must say, when you both came in, I was expecting to leave the plaudits at Jin's door. But this, this concert is very interesting. Keep me updated on it.”
“Will do,” Yamapi says. He's grinning at two people, now. Jin hates him. Jin really hates him. And his stupid assistant. She's grinning, too. Stupid grinning people.
“And Jin,” Johnny adds. “Benchmark's gone up. Act accordingly. Dismissed.”
They leave, and Jin says nothing. He works his face into impassivity but he thumbs the elevator button with a little too much force. Yamapi exchanges notes with his assistant, who wants a private word with Johnny. He and Jin get into the lift, ride down the ten floors with absolutely no conversation. It suits Jin. Jin is sullen. Yamapi is triumphant.
“Matsumoto Jun is holding a party,” Yamapi says, eventually.
“I know,” Jin says. “The whole town knows.”
“Are you going?”
“Why? So you know not to bother if I am?”
“No,” Yamapi says, calculated. “I was just wondering.”
“Don't worry, I'm not.”
“You're not?”
“Are you kidding? You know Jun hates my guts.”
“I hate you. I'd still invite you to one of my...parties.”
“Heh,” Jin says. “That's because you know that if I turn up, so does half the town.”
“I think he advertised your name on the invitations,” Yamapi sniggers. “He's got balls the size of watermelons.”
“People will be disappointed,” Jin says. “A sad, sad day for the entertainment industry.”
“You should go,” Yamapi says.
“I'm not going,” Jin says, stubbornly. “You taking your little teaboy?”
“You're just pissed because he smiled at me and ignored you.”
Jin thinks for a moment. “Yeah,” he says. “I am.”
“You're a twat,” Yamapi says. But he's laughing, all the same.
“It's part of my charm,” Jin says.
“I don't think I can take the teaboy,” Yamapi says. “If you come, I'll bring him. He's all yours.”
Jin narrows his eyes. “Why do you care if I'm there or not?”
Yamapi just smiles as the lift grounds, walks out towards his car. His assistant runs out some moments later, having run down the stairs. She's breathing heavily, grabs his arm. Jin watches, walks out towards his own car.
And then, then it hits him. Fuck.
Matsumoto Jun's house is spectacular. Yamapi turns several degrees around the floor, admiring the grand staircase, the upper balcony, the red curtains hanging down. Velvet, sumptuous, expensive. Waiters walk around with trays, bottles and glasses of champagne. It isn't tacky: everyone wears formal dress. The light from the chandeliers gives everything a silver sparkle, and in their black clothes, it's more like a fashion week than a party. The host himself is decked out in a tailored suit. He's surveying the guests from the top of the balcony, a smug, arrogant look on his face.
If Jin were here, he'd be humming the theme from Phantom of The Opera. Yamapi isn't sure whether to be glad he's not there, or sorry that he isn't. It's one of the difficult emotions that comes into play when you deal with Jin. The only reason he wants him there, to be really honest, is because Matsumoto Jun's parties usually only go one way. People take their clothes off and really let loose. And Jin is a master at it. Jin is gorgeous when he's turned on, when he's all about the horniness and the hedonism. Sometimes, Yamapi just watches him and forgets that he hates him. Or perhaps the fact that he hates him enhances the experience. It's difficult to tell.
He remembers, once, watching Matsumoto Jun fuck Jin. It's only happened once. After that, Jun thought Jin was something of a threat, too sexual, too damn good-looking, and Jin became unofficially unwelcome. It certainly put attendance into something of a downward spiral: Yamapi hadn't been the only person watching. The thing about Jin that sets him apart from the likes of Jun is that he hasn't any complexes. He doesn't see being fucked as a weakness. In contrast, it seems to turn him on. Jin spread himself across the rugs, across the cushions, with no abandon whatsoever. His beautiful skin, his hips and his back, welcoming and confident. His face slack with pleasure, Jun's fingers in his wet-lipped mouth. His eyes dark, his hands crunching velvet between fingers. The noise. Fuck, the noise. It stopped most of the people in the room. Others continued, their eyes on the pair of them. There was something about seeing Jin that intimate, as if there was nobody else there but them.
And Jun, well. Jun went hell for leather on him. Jun is like that: a bit of a sexual predator. He's fast, rough, angry. He looks uptight, but he isn't. And Jin was his favourite plaything, that night. His favourite piece of meat. Jin was the only one to appreciate right back. The only one to enjoy being laid out, fucked like a toy. The only one to enjoy being spread out, fucked hard, fucked rough. The only one to cry out like that, to ask for more. To push Jun's boundaries. And Jun realised, eventually, that more people were staring at Jin than were staring at him. After that, Jin uninvited himself. 'Damn shame', a lot of people said. Despite himself, Yamapi is inclined to agree.
The really difficult emotion is that, when he was watching it, Yamapi couldn't help but do a little mental substitution. Himself in Jun's place. It doesn't bear thinking about. Not now.
“So,” Shige says. It's a bit different for him. No tea, for one thing. Very classy, very intimidating. He's nervous. A constant feature in his life at the moment. “Can I drink? Do you think that'd be okay?”
“With who?” Yamapi asks, confused. “Have a drink. It's what they're there for.”
“Do you have to pay?”
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Yamapi says, laughing, not unkindly. “Just take a drink. It's covered.”
“Oh,” Shige says, taking a glass. “He must be really rich, this Matsumoto Jun. Is he a prince or something?”
“No,” Yamapi says, distractedly. He's surveying the crowd, just in case. “He's in the business. Johnny Kitagawa wouldn't touch him. He thought about it, before he took Jin on. Decided against it.”
“Oh right,” Shige says. This life is incomprehensible, most of the time. “Why not? Can he not sing?”
He's sweet, this boy, Yamapi thinks. Kind of like an antidote. “No, he can sing,” he says. “He's just full of vices.”
“All rockstars are full of vices,” Shige says. “I thought that was part of the image.”
“To an extent.” Yamapi says. “Some of them. But you try and keep most of it private. A little danger is good, a lot is just...dangerous. If you get what I mean. And Matsumoto Jun isn't private.”
“What sort of stuff does he do?”
“Anything and everything,” Yamapi shrugs. “Sex, drugs, rock and roll. You know? These parties aren't parties. They're just excuses for sex. Leave before 10pm if you're not into that, or you'll end up roped in. As for the drugs-”
“Sex parties?” Shige's face is a picture. “I think I'll leave now.”
Yamapi grins. “Yeah,” he says. “We're a sordid bunch. Hot little thing like you? Very popular.”
“No, thanks, I'm good. Chinese takeaway on the way home, that'll do me. Did you say drugs?”
“Yep,” Yamapi's tone is flippant. “All sorts. Not a person here who hasn't.”
“Have you-”
“Yes. But it didn't suit me. You keep it under wraps, anyway. Not good for business.”
“Does Jin-”
“Jin does...anything and everything. A bit like Jun. Only he hides it better. Jin's...hedonistic. He likes experiences. He'll do most anything. A lot of guys are like that.”
“I bet a lot of guys like it, too,” Shige says.
“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “He's popular. But not with you, it seems.”
“Nope,” Shige says, smiling. “He makes me feel like prey. It's too much. I like you. You're-”
“Don't say 'safe'.”
“I wasn't going to. I was going to say...'gorgeous'.”
“Better,” Yamapi grins. “Sure you won't stay?”
“Hah, yeah, I'm sure. I think I want you to myself.”
Yamapi's about to respond when there's a noise at the door. The men with the guest lists are appealing to Matsumoto Jun. He glides down the stairs, somewhat indignant, and comes face to face with the problem.
“You're not coming in,” he says.
Jin looks at him in disbelief, hands over an invitation. “My name's on here,” he says. “You shouldn't advertise, then disappoint people. It makes you a cocktease, cocktease.”
Jun looks back at him, furious. “You don't touch me, you don't touch my people. Stick to your own sandpit. Alright?”
Jin nods, walks through the door, brushes himself off. “There are sandpits?” he says, nonchalantly. “Excellent.”
Yamapi loses track of what he was going to say, so Shige moves on. Yamapi and Jin don't talk at parties like this. There's no point. They never have anything much to say to each other and the promise of sex doesn't change that. Jin doesn't make a move on Shige, either, much to Yamapi's surprise. He's in the middle of chatting up a dark-haired man Yamapi doesn't recognise, but his eyes are over the man's shoulder. He's looking at Jun. And despite himself, Yamapi feels a pang of jealousy. As much as he's fed up of Jin, he likes the attention of being somebody's main rival. Jin's hatred, like his everything, weighs on you so much that you feel empty without it.
Yamapi has a bit too much to drink. Shige has bumped into somebody, somebody chatty and sweet and a bit of an idiot. Somebody he feels comfortable with. They leave together around 9pm. Yamapi has to find a back-up plan. He's got an odd feeling that tonight won't be his night. Everybody there seems to be circulating around Jun or Jin, each hopeful, each certain to be dismissed. If Jin and Jun don't end up together tonight, after all of the glaring across the room, Yamapi thinks he'll eat somebody's hat. Anybody's.
The party spills out into the large downstairs rooms, where velvet rugs are spread across the floor and there's cushions everywhere. Gauzy drapes hang from the ceiling, white, rotund, floaty, but they don't offer much privacy. Matsumoto Jun is both voyeur and exhibitionist. In the background, music is playing. There are large vases of condoms and lube in the corners of the room. It's hardly subtle. Yamapi takes his champagne in. He's not intending to have sex – it works best when you've been chasing someone all night, someone who hasn't already gone home – but he won't say no to a bit of sly observation.
Jin is in the middle of the room. He's lost his shirt. He's kneeling. A dark-haired man is kissing the back of his neck. Another dark-haired man is kissing his collarbone. He looks smug, pleased. Anybody would, Yamapi supposes. Jin is popular at places like this. Matsumoto Jun lies at the back of the room, calmly surveying. His eyes are on Jin. Jin is breaking his rules and playing in Jun's sandpit. Jun's not about to make a fuss at his own party but it's obvious that revenge is on his mind.
He waves Yamapi over. One of the dark-haired men is loosening Jin's jeans. The other dark-haired man wraps his arms around his waist, moves his hands into his underwear. Jin weakens, then, leans back against him. The one in front moves his underwear down, shifts onto his stomach, takes his cock in his mouth. The two of them are good at sharing: one sucks both cock and fingers, the other keeps kissing Jin's shoulders, neckline. Jin is gasping with hard, audible pleasure.
Yamapi treads through the bodies, his eyes on Jin, until he reaches Jun.
“Wait until he's right there,” Jun says. “You understand what I mean by 'right there'?”
“Of course,” Yamapi scoffs. “I'm not eleven.”
“And stop what they're doing to him.” Jun says. “He's playing in my sandpit.”
“He's liable to hit me,” Yamapi says. “Do it yourself.”
“I thought you hated Jin.”
“I do.”
“So?”
“I don't want to go to tomorrow's photoshoot with a black eye, thanks. Find someone else.”
Jun looks at him. “You don't hate him.”
Yamapi looks back. Fuck. He knows. “I do hate him.”
“Why can't you stop looking at him, then?”
“He looks gorgeous. Doesn't mean that I don't hate him.”
“I can make it worth your while,” Jun muses. “I'll get you a shoot with my photographer.”
Matsumoto Jun's photographer is the best in the business. He works exclusively with Jun, because Jun is the only one of them rich enough to afford it. And possibly because, so the rumours go, that he's giving a few extra favours on the side. The guy takes great shots. He took the one that put Matsumoto Jun at the top of every teenage girl's Christmas list a year ago. Yamapi would be stupid to refuse him.
He looks at Jin, who rocks backwards, then forwards, eyes shut. He has a hand in the dark hair of each man. Bliss is etched into his face.
“Okay,” Yamapi says.
“Better hurry up,” Jun says, maliciously. “He won't last. He never does.”
Yamapi waits for an extra two minutes before making his move. Jin looks completely wrung out. He's no longer making any coherent sound, just moaning. The guys with him look spectacularly pleased. Yamapi undoes his jeans and saunters over. He approaches Jin from the front. The guy sucking Jin's cock notices him, and immediately understands the hierarchy. He's not happy about it, but Yamapi has higher standing here and he moves aside accordingly.
Jin opens his eyes, cries out in a way that immediately makes all the men in the room wince. Then, he notices Yamapi, kneeling in front of him. They're face to face, and Jin is starting to sneer at him.
“You better have one hell of a good reason for that,” he spits.
Yamapi nods. He's having trouble not smirking. “I do.”
The man behind Jin has stopped. He's unsure of what to do, looking like he wants to remove his hands. “Don't you dare,” Jin is swearing. “Don't you fucking dare.”
Yamapi looks over his shoulder at the man. They're having some sort of silent conversation, and it's pissing Jin off. Yamapi realises that he'll never get another chance like this. And Matsumoto Jun's photographer, well, there'll be other chances. Maybe. He's thinking with his dick, he knows that, but he's not about to care.
“Don't you dare,” he echoes.
“Thank you,” Jin growls. “You can go, now. Tell him I'll stick to one guy, then. I'm never coming to his fucking parties ever again. Uptight twat.”
“Have you got condoms?” Yamapi says, to the other guy.
“Excuse me?” Jin says, indignant.
“Yes,” the guy says. “And my name is Ryo. By the way. Just in case.”
“Cool,” Yamapi says. He's starting to lie down, on his back, in front of Jin. Both of the others look confused, Jin moreso than Ryo. That is, until Yamapi grabs hold of Jin's hip and pulls down on top of him.
“What the fuck-”
“Jin,” Yamapi says. “I've had a lot of champagne. I've thought about this for a long time. It doesn't include you talking. So shut the hell up.”
Jin quirks an eyebrow. Yamapi nods over his shoulder, and Ryo leans down, grabs the lube in his hand. Jin gets comfortable, lying between Yamapi's legs.
“I didn't know you cared,” he says smugly.
“I don't,” Yamapi says. “Until you take your clothes off. Are you going to shut up?”
“Yep,” Jin says. “Eventually.”
When Ryo preps him, Jin lowers his head onto Yamapi's collarbone. He looks about a millisecond from begging and Ryo has to be careful. He's biting his lip.
“What's the problem?” Yamapi asks.
“He's really sensitiv-”
“Of course I'm fucking sensitive,” Jin spits. “He interrupted me six seconds before-”
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Yamapi says. He wraps his arm around Jin's back, strokes Ryo's fingers for lube. Then, he moves his hand down their bodies and grabs Jin's cock in his hand. Ten strokes is all it takes, and that's only because Jin spends the first two being perplexed. He starts grunting against Yamapi's chest on the fourth, bucking his hips on the sixth, and on the eighth he's biting Yamapi's shoulder. He comes, hard, so suddenly that he's totally out of breath.
“Nice,” Ryo says, impressed. “What's the deal with you two?”
“This and that,” Yamapi says, distractedly. “Give him five minutes, then fuck him.”
Yamapi starts to like Ryo. Ryo, when his confidence grows, is something of a force to be reckoned with. Jin, when he gets his breath back, gets back onto hands and knees. Ryo pushes him down, to lie fully against Yamapi.
“That cool?” he says, over Jin's shoulder.
“Fine,” Yamapi replies, coolly.
“Oh, this is great,” Jin says. “I'm just the meat in the sandwich.”
Ryo responds to that by prepping him, again. Jin enjoys it more the second time around, thrusts back into it. He doesn't take it gently, ever. Gets off on it. This seems to please Ryo, who is looking at Yamapi with an expression of pleasurable hunger. When Jin gets too cocky, he pulls his fingers out, kneels up behind him. The whole room is watching. Nothing new there, then. Matsumoto Jun is staring, face inexpressive. He's not angry, but he's not pleased. There's a trace of arousal there. Interesting.
When Ryo enters him, Jin tilts his chin up, moans aloud. Yamapi runs a finger along his side, wraps his hips up in his hands. Jin catches his eyes, then, smirks.
“Fuck, that's good,” he says.
Yamapi is smiling, despite himself. “It's good?”
“It's good,” Jin grins. Ryo is still, waiting. Jin nods at Yamapi, who nods at Ryo. Ryo grins at them both, starts to move.
The good thing about Jin is that he's uninhibited. Once he's gone, he's gone. He doesn't think about rivalry, petty arguments, anything that's happened in the last month. He thinks with his dick. He thinks about the pleasure, and the warmth, and the eye contact – and that's enough. Jin looks Yamapi right in the eye as he's fucked, as his body moves against Yamapi's, as Yamapi can feel each individual thrust because his hard-on is pressing into his stomach, oh. Fuck.
Yamapi slides his hand down their bodies again, makes a tunnel with his fist. Jin is greedy about accepting it, tilts his hips and fucks Yamapi's hand with abandon. The angle works for him, he cries out as he moves forward and back, and Ryo and Yamapi look at each other with furious black eyes. Moans pour out of Jin's parted mouth as Ryo fucks him, faster and faster, and Yamapi thinks that he's going to come in his trousers, watching this, until Jin sort of half-topples onto him.
“Ow,” Yamapi says, rolling his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Jin stutters out, and when Yamapi realises he's digging a hand into Yamapi's trousers, he forgives him. As soon as Jin touches Yamapi's cock, his hips rise up and his chin goes back and he cries out, loud and hard, 'yes'.
Jin grins, smug and endlessly irritating, but it's so hard and so sudden and so good that Yamapi doesn't care. Ryo watches them, two bodies wriggling together for friction, for their warm, hot, hard hands, and every sensation that goes through him goes into a thrust. He leans over Jin's back, moving faster and faster and faster, biting Jin's shoulder. The three of them are a blur, a wriggling blur, chasing pleasure and abandon and whatever is at the light at the end of the tunnel.
Jin comes first. It's his prerogative. His whole body goes tight between the two bodies, his head throws back, nearly clips Ryo's chin. He makes a noise that isn't really human, that's born in the pleasure centre of his head, or something like that, Yamapi thinks. And the way his hand squeezes Yamapi's cock, that makes Yamapi next. Fingers go into his mouth and he bites on them to quell the sound before he realises that they're Jin's, and that makes him come harder, and harder, and harder. And Ryo, Ryo is pleased that he's lasted this long, he comes with the kind of abandon that's smug and hard-won. He comes looking at the two people in front of him, the two people who supposedly hate each other but look hotter in bed than anything he's ever seen.
Matsumoto Jun, of course, uninvites the three of them.
They meet up in the car park, two days later, when the hangover's worn off. Jin gets into Yamapi's car. Yamapi notes that he's a little sore. Somehow, it pleases him.
“Hey,” he says, passing Yamapi a bottle of water, an apple. He has some sandwiches. He knows Yamapi well.
“Hey,” Yamapi returns, surprised. He'd expected more snark than this. More sarcasm. Not food. “Thanks.”
“S'okay,” Jin says. They eat, quietly. “I've got brownies, too.”
“You trying to suck up to me?”
Jin laughs. “I think I tried that, didn't I?”
“Hmm,” Yamapi grins. “Some night.”
“Some night,” Jin agrees. “Sorry, are you missing my quick wit, my acidic tongue? I can't be bothered today. You were good in bed. Really fucking good. I can't mock that.”
“I thought you hated me so much you could always find a reason to mock me.”
“Nah,” Jin says. “I didn't really hate you. I just wanted to smack you, sometimes. I hate competition. I like to be on top.”
“Except in certain-”
“Except in certain circumstances, yeah. I just wanted what you had, that's all. I'm not good at making a good impression.”
“Are you really as cocky as you seem?”
Jin thinks about this, laughs. “Yeah. That's not an act. I'm really as cocky as this.”
“You're such a twat,” Yamapi says. “I can't believe I like you.”
“If God gave you a dick like mine, you'd be cocky, too.”
“Har,” Yamapi says, rolling his eyes. “Harhar. Listen, I brought you here on business.”
“You'll have to pay me, first.”
“Jin.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay, look. My assistant overheard Johnny say something on the 'phone, when she went back to his office last week. I thought you should know.”
“Conspiring with the enemy, huh. Interesting.”
“You're not the enemy,” Yamapi says.
“The competition, then.”
“You're not that, either,” Yamapi says, shaking his head.
“Excuse me?”
“Matsumoto Jun is the competition,” Yamapi says, dully. “They're hiring him in the new year.”
Jin sits, dumbfounded. “They can't be. Johnny said that he wouldn't, with me being here. I can't stand Jun. He can't stand me. Why would he put us together, if Johnny can't stand the two of us being on the same label?”
“I don't know,” Yamapi says. “All I know is that Jun's manager is coming in today to sign papers. They're buying him off his label.”
Jin sits, silently. “Do you think Johnny wants me out?”
Yamapi looks at him. His voice is unusually quiet. He doesn't want to say it, but he thinks that Jin would prefer honesty. He's that sort of person. “Maybe,” he says. “I don't know. It doesn't look good.”
“Excellent,” Jin says. His tone is hard. “He could have just told me.”
“You don't know that that's what's going on,” Yamapi tries to reason. “You could talk to him.”
“I guess I should congratulate you,” Jin laughs. “I didn't expect things to go like this.”
“No,” Yamapi says. “I brought you here because I want to team up.”
Jin looks at Yamapi in utter disbelief. “What? I'm not c-”
“I know you're not charity. I want to team up because...fuck.”
“You're just that good a guy.”
“No, bec-”
“Because I wouldn't have done this for you.”
“I know you wouldn't.”
“Then why-”
“If you'll let me get a word in edgeways, I'll tell you!” Yamapi is laughing, despite himself. He takes a bite of apple, swallows thoughtfully. “Because when we were together, and when you had your hand in my pants, that felt right to me. A lot of stuff in this industry is shit. And I know you don't like me much and I know that you're not a lot what you seem, but when you had your fucking hand on my dick, it felt right. And not a lot in this industry feels right.”
“You think we can work together because we were good together in bed?” Jin is looking at Yamapi with a perplexed expression. “I think we were good together in bed because we can't work together.”
“Give it a try,” Yamapi says, drained. “Why not give it a fucking try? Maybe we'd be good. You never know.”
Jin thinks. “It's worth a try,” he says. “Two minds are better than one. Or something.”
“Good,” Yamapi says, reaching for a brownie.
“It's not that I don't like you much,” Jin says. Yamapi chews, looking at him.
“You don't have to-”
“No,” Jin says. “No, shut up, I need to say this. It's not that I don't like you. It's that I can't get you out of my head and it pisses me off. I'm not used to sharing my head with somebody else. You're in my fucking head all the time.”
“Okay,” Yamapi says, not sure what to say.
“It's that I want to do it again. Only, I want you to be fucking me, not wanking me off.”
Yamapi stops. Chocolate is melting in his mouth. He's smirking, despite himself.
“Shut up,” Jin says. “Shut up.”
The first thing they do is call in Yamapi's favour from Matsumoto Jun. Jun isn't happy about lending them his photographer, given that Yamapi still let Ryo fuck Jin. Ryo is Jun's sandpit, apparently. But Yamapi did what he could, he concedes that, and besides, he has a hair appointment so he can't be wasting time negotiating with idiots. His photographer arrives at Jun's studio within two hours, time enough for Yamapi and Jin's assistants to bring make-up artists and wardrobe assistants to the scene. Yamapi and Jin turn up, having had breakfast and feeling good, and their assistants eye them with all the suspicion they can muster.
“What's the angle,” the photographer is saying. “Jun always has an angle. He has a whole book of 'I need to sell fuckloads of singles' poses'.”
Jin thinks. “We're in the market for a new label,” he says.
“What?” Moeko says. Screeches. “What?”
“Are we being fired?” Kumiko asks Yamapi. “Why weren't we informed?”
“Nobody is being fired,” Yamapi says. “We're just...doubling up. We're trying something out. We still need individual representation. Kumiko, you'd go insane trying to manage this guy. And Moeko, you're too hardcore for me. Nobody is being fired.”
“Jin,” Moeko says. “If you ever do this to me again-”
“I know,” Jin says. But he's grinning. She thumps him one on the arm, and grins back, muttering some sort of obscenity under her breath.
“Okay,” the photographer is saying. “Who are you trying to sell this to? Double acts are pretty uncommon. You need to have an angle.”
“I have an idea,” Yamapi says. Jin turns to him, face curious. And from the look on Yamapi's face, the photographer gets it.
“Ohh,” he says. “Yes. Very good. I like it.”
“What angle?” Jin is saying. “I don't like this. What angle?”
He likes the angle when it becomes clear to him, but then he would. For the first shot, they stand together. Their hipbones press into each other. They have no shirts on and there's a silent competition going on, which of them has the best arms. The best chest. Jin is sneering, again. You can't take the competition out of Jin, it's just not possible. Yamapi pushes his groin into Jin's, a bit of a tease, a bit of a joke, and Jin laughs wide. The shots roll off the film and the photographer smiles at some of them, the informal ones, the laughing ones. The ones that nobody will ever see. The ones that are more truth than image.
They keep the one where they both look fierce, where there's a silent battle going on for supremacy. One that's harmonious but only to a certain point. Their hips are close together and each of their faces are firm. Jin has his thumbs in his belt loops. There's navel hair, a little too much, probably, to get away with. His fingers point in Yamapi's direction. Yamapi likes that one. There's an edge of submission in it. Not that Jin would ever admit it.
“You look like you'll tear the clothes off one another the moment I stop shooting,” the photographer says, approvingly.
The second shot is by far Yamapi's favourite, though it took some doing to capture it. Yamapi lies on his back, on a loose, white linen sheet covering the floor. White cushions are spread about. There's a gauzy curtain hanging down from the ceiling. Jin lies over him, covered in a sheet. And then Yamapi tilts his head back, eyes locked on the camera. There's no subtlety in it, and it serves only to remind them both of the week before. As Yamapi feels Jin's weight on him, he can't help thinking about his cock in Jin's hand, Jin's breath on his shoulders, Jin crying out above him. He tries not to, because the last thing he needs is a hard-on, but it's difficult.
Jin spreads himself out, chin dropped, totally, utterly domineering. Yamapi takes some issue with this, and when the photographer is changing film, he digs his hand underneath the sheet and puts it down Jin's jeans. Down his underwear, too, so that Jin makes a strangled noise and topples over. The photographer looks over with an expression that takes no prisoners.
“Sorry,” Yamapi says.
“Get a room,” he replies, all droll, little force.
“This is a room,” whispers Jin, in Yamapi's ear. “You're a whore.”
“So are you,” Yamapi fires back. “And stop rubbing on me. I've got a semi.”
“I know,” Jin says, all wickedness. He climbs back on, spreads Yamapi's arms out wide, holds him down by the wrists. “I can feel it. You dirty boy.”
They're looking at each other, all oneupmanship, all politics, all bravado. It's not the shot that's used, but it's the one the photographer liked best. Jin holding Yamapi down, Yamapi rebelling against it. The one they use is the one where Yamapi tilts his head back, looks at the camera with righteous indignation. And Jin, with the smuggest look on his face it's possible to have. Both of them half-naked, both of them beautiful.
“Fucking perfect,” the photographer says.
“Too right,” Jin agrees.
Yamapi wants to write them a song. Both of them had one in preparation, but Yamapi thinks that it should be special. The concert is going ahead, only Johnny doesn't realise they'll use it to announce their intentions. Their assistants are scouting for new management. Their photographs are all over the media circuit. And Yamapi wants to write them a song.
Jin is all for it, but he doesn't know Yamapi's songwriting ability. They're aware of each other's images, their limitations, their habits, their vices. Yamapi knows that Jin's experimented with all the drugs going, even though Jin thinks it's a secret. Yamapi knows that Jin's been there, done that. Yamapi knows that Jin uses coke in sex, but sex alone. Yamapi knows that Jin's lost friends to it, but that it hasn't stopped him. Jin knows that Yamapi's tried some things, never found an antidote. He knows that Yamapi doesn't drink much, even though Yamapi pretends to be something of a rebel. Yamapi knows that Jin sleeps around. He knows that he prefers domineering men, because he likes submission. Because he likes not to be in control. Because he's afraid, maybe. And Jin knows that Yamapi doesn't sleep around, but forms excessive attachments to unobtainable people. Jin knows that Yamapi is demanding, usually unreasonably so. He gets left a lot, whereas Jin does the leaving.
They know all the secrets it's possible to know. But they don't know about songwriting. They don't know each other's techniques, each other's inspiration. Jin writes songs when he's busy doing other things. Life mingles, mixes in. He wrote some of his favourite songs in the car, in the shower, sometimes he gets ideas on stage. Sometimes he gets ideas in bed. Yamapi locks himself away, needing quiet to form the words. Molding words out of emotions, it demands silence. Life intrudes on him, offers nothing to the process. They differ, in this respect.
But Jin forces himself to trust Yamapi, because Yamapi is trusting him with the publicity. With the help of his PR, their pictures are on the front covers of most of the entertainment magazines, with features inside. They do interviews. They do radio, television. Johnny is furious, but they ignore him, because there are other offers on the table. Yamapi trusts Jin with those. A song, it's a small price to pay. Jin lets Yamapi get on with it, because he's trying to trust. Yamapi lets Jin organise things around him, because he's trying to relinquish control. It doesn't always work, but the results are worth the struggle.
The sex comes later. They sign a new record deal, the day Matsumoto Jun is signed to Johnny's management. Their announcement upstages his, and as far as Jin and Yamapi are concerned, it's the icing on the cake.
They've abstained, because of all the organizing. Because they've been fighting, because they've been busy. Because they wanted it to be right. Jin wanted it to feel right. He's fought the industry for a long time, and this, finally, feels real.
“I have an idea for a song,” Yamapi says as he comes through the door. He's carrying food, they always get their own food. Not one of those acts that ask for M&Ms with all the yellow ones removed, they like to get their own food. Jin has a look through the bags as Yamapi's carrying them. They're living in Jin's apartment for the time being, getting to know each other better.
“Oh yeah,” Jin says. He steals some peanut butter cups, runs off with them.
“Hey, I-”
“Song?”
Yamapi puts the shopping away, leans against the wall. “I didn't want to write another run-of-the-mill song. You know, about love being endless and exciting and joyful, or about it being agonizing and pain and suffering. Or about drugs, or about sex, or about...the usual. I wanted to write something different.”
“Okay,” Jin says. He's looking at Yamapi's hands. His fingers are in his belt loops. It's making Jin hungry for more than peanut butter.
“So I talked to Ryo. You know, he reads some weird shit. Asked him for an idea we could use.”
Jin sniggers. “I'll bet he came up with something weird.”
“He came up with something useful.”
“Really?” Jin is surprised, but not really paying attention. He can't stop thinking about Yamapi's hands, taking down his jeans. He could suck him off right there, against the wall-
“Jin,” Yamapi says.
Jin looks up, his eyes coming back into focus. Yamapi looks startled. They're silent for a moment, and then Jin takes the room in strides, gathers Yamapi's face in his hands, kisses the life out of him.
“I'm trying to-” Yamapi stutters, between kisses.
“It's your turn to shut the hell up,” Jin retorts.
So Yamapi does. Gives in, kisses him back. They turn, making for the bedroom. Yamapi backs up through the rooms, letting Jin push him into his bedroom. They topple down on Jin's bed, kissing and pulling off clothes, until Yamapi pushes his hips against Jin's and the friction is so good they stop with the everything and just rock together, Jin's hands over Yamapi's wrists, Jin astride Yamapi.
When he can't take anymore of it, Yamapi rolls them both over so that he's on top. Jin leans forward and undoes his jeans, throws them across the room. Yamapi loosens Jin's, pulls them down over his hips, smacking Jin's arse for a bit of lift. Jin makes an indulgent sound when Yamapi lies back down, both of them naked, both of them warm and hard. They move together, groaning. Jin sneaks a hand down, and Yamapi smacks it.
“Bedside table drawer, I'm assuming,” he says.
“Yes,” Jin says. When Yamapi turns to get supplies, he strokes himself once or twice, the noise from his lips an unfurling hiss.
“Let it go,” Yamapi says, turning back around. “If you fucking can.”
“I can,” Jin says, with gritted teeth. “I don't like it when you stop suddenly.”
“Who does?” Yamapi quips. Then, “sorry. How's this?”
He remembers well, that Jin likes being prepped. He likes the feel of it, the attention, the way it makes his cheeks all red and his breath hot. He likes the different angles, the press and shift, the moment when Yamapi hits just where it's right and all breath is robbed from him. Jin moves his hips into it, hungry and demanding. And that hits Yamapi, right in the groin.
Yamapi considers for a second, moves Jin onto his hands and knees. He pulls out and Jin growls at him, moves down the bed. Yamapi watches as he kneels up, spreads himself out across the headboard. It's half the length of the wall, plush, black leather.
“Angle's better,” he says, by way of explanation, turning his head over his shoulder.
Yamapi nods, coming up behind him. “View's good, too,” he says. He grabs Jin's hips between his hands, moves him back. Resting his chin on Jin's shoulder, he slowly, slowly moves inside him. As everything gets hotter, tighter, Yamapi presses his teeth into Jin's shoulder, trying to think about anything but how good the entire world feels. Jin's breath is hissed, rapid. He's trying to grab onto something, so Yamapi offers a free hand.
They stay like that for a few moments, struggling to breath, until Jin pushes back and Yamapi cries out, moving forward. It's slow, at first, Yamapi's not used to the angle. Jin helps, slowly rotating back, a 'yes' on each turn. And then he lets Yamapi take over, splaying him forwards across black leather, arms spread wide, chin raised, breath staining the fabric.
Yamapi fucks him the way he's wanted to fuck him, the way he's thought about it, time and time again. Rougher and rougher with each thrust, deeper and harder and tighter, and Jin's voice gets slacker and louder with each one.
“Touch me,” he cries, when they're pressed together, two wet, slick bodies.
Yamapi slides a hand around Jin's hip, wanks him off, doesn't even start off easy. Jin throws his head back, his hands go into his hair, his voice goes higher, higher still. Yamapi gives up trying to hold back, leans fully against him, the full weight of his body behind every thrust. He's biting hard on the back of Jin's neck, relishing every cry, every single sound. He's going so fast that he can barely hear, barely see, barely feel anything but this.
“What's,” Jin says, and Yamapi struggles to hear him. “What's the song about?”
Yamapi almost feels that he should praise him. He doesn't think he can think, let alone speak. The words are stuttered and hard and unco-ordinated, but Yamapi understands them. He's just not entirely sure he can answer.
“Ghost story,” he stutters back, in Jin's ear. “Ghost story.”
“Yeah,” Jin pushes back, hard, covering Yamapi's hand on his cock with his own. Moves it faster. He's close. He gets a bit domineering when he's close. “But what about?”
“Someone who loses something,” Yamapi stutters back. “Jin, I can't-”
“First line,” Jin says, starting to laugh. “I want the first line, or you can't come.”
“How are you still-”
“I'm,” Jin wrings out the word. “Talented.”
Yamapi has had enough. He pushes Jin up against the headboard, hard, ignoring his own pleasure to punish Jin. He flexes his hips harder, he moves his hand faster. He gives Jin no room for manoeuvre. And he fucks him, and fucks him, and fucks him, until Jin cries out with the noise Yamapi knows is the last one, because it's practically a scream.
And just before he hears the noise, when it's just a big breath, when he's just, achingly, right there-
“Have no care in what you take, treasure will not a heart remake.”
And as white heat descends, Jin's eyes fly open, and there's a moment when-
There's a moment-
Of something.
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SHRIEKING SHRIEKING I - I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU GAVE JUN A GREAT SINGING VOICE - I HAD TO STOP AND DIE LAUGHING FOR ABOUT FIVE MINUTES BEFORE I COULD READ ON. best thing, ever
AND AND YOU MENTIONED THE JUN AND RYO THING AND SHIGE ls;sdfkl;ds!!!
and the hot, hot pin sex.
the photoshoot :AJ;jgd jesus
*whimpers*
seriously i don't even know what to say (i've never known what to say! XD) but god, don't stop *___*
(...none of this makes any sense at all XDDDDD)
and most of all, i love the end where i remember, it's one of five, that's its ongoing and there's more than just sex, because it's pin
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and not only because of the hot sex but because of how these tie in together and god, this is pin how i see it. asfsfdas you.
can't wait for the last two.
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This series is so unbelievably awesome!!
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apparently, they were shooting some young boyband this morning. Amateurs. Wouldn't know sex if it landed, tits-up, in their bed at night.
gbegbierbagi LOOOOOL, ah Jin, this is why Jin is love. <3333
And describing the recent photoshoot in this = win. XDD
Glasses make him look like he's trying to play dumb, but honest to God, there's not much playing involved.
LOOOL, sorry, but so much of this is win.
Can't stop staring at Jin's navel hair. Bad. Really bad.
Heh, I wonder why. ^_~
“Jin,” Yamapi says. “I've had a lot of champagne. I've thought about this for a long time. It doesn't include you talking. So shut the hell up.”
Ahahahaha, love that line. arugruwgnruoebgvo
And OMFG do I wanna see the Pin photoshoot!! gjkarngornabebg <333
guieragbegbevbvbsub The last few lines get me. Just when I'm thinking this was a just -for-fun-no-linking-plot fic, you add it right there!! Just... egfbisraegbrgbaeubvabv you are a god of an author. Please, please, please write more.
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WOW
The sex and the voyeurism and the pin photoshoot and the bit of the song at the end--
I don't really know what to say but WOW.
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Is resorting to keysmash still a legitimate option? Because holy hell. O________O
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kdjflsjfdsdlkfjkldsjkl!!!
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I love THAT MOMENT. That. SOMETHING. That tenuous sort of grasp, that TRYING to catch the slipping clarity that seems so close laskdfjskd FLAIL.
GOD. SO SO SO GOOD.
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Now if only that second shoot would come true...
;D
UGHH PINPINPIN SEXSEXSEXSEX. WOW.
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Uh, yeah. *randomly rereading again, decided to comment*
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Then I get here.
Fucking hell, why oh why can't we get THIS in a shoot? Just - god fucking damn, this was hot. I'm in love,
i'm horny as hell, Matsujun has a good singing voice omg, Jun/Jin! RyoPin! Just... wow. So, so awesome.And I'm reading going, 'omg if a ghost shows up in the end of this i'm gonna fucking bawl and curl up under my covers for the rest of the night i swear', and I'm staring at the sidebar watching it go down, and we're almost home free but I know something's coming because they're connected and -
Wow. Talk about emotional roller coaster. Beautiful i tell you.