He paced though the room, making everyone nervous.
"Dammit Tsuki! Sit down!" Hiro growled, sitting on a plastic-chair and feeling slowly hypnotized by the steady circling of their singer.

Helpless the singer looked at his band-mate.
"How many times do I have to tell you: Don't call me Tsuki! And...if I sit down I'll go crazy!"
"If you don't, you'll make me crazy", Hiro mumbled, shaking his head. Tsukimori used his rare chance to steal a good look at this handsome guitarist, sighing because the pleasure was disturbed by the steady need for nicotine.
He tried to suppress it with all his might, squeezing his eyes shut.
This also robbed him of the sight of Hiro.
[Can't win them all...]he thought frustrated.

"Oi, Tsukimori, are you alright?", he heard Kenji's voice from behind. He turned around to greet the drummer with a fake smile of reassurance.
"Sure, everything is ju~uust fine", he lied. Kenji rolled his eyes and closed up to the singer.
"You look like shit!"
"Thank you so much", Tsukimori mumbled below his breath, mouth forming a grim line.
A pink-haired flash closed up to him as well. "It's not our fault that you want to stop smoking." Mori grinned like Joker from Batman. Tsukimori was scared.
He had a bet with Mori.
If he smoked again, he had to clean Mori's apartment for two weeks straight. Knowing Mori's habit of letting things drop and littering everywhere he would be in for two weeks of hell.
Especially when it meant being around the quite attractive guitarist with the blinding hair-color.
Torture all the way.
"Wanna have a cigarette, Tsukimori-kun?" Mori offered in his sweetest voice. Tsukimori flashed him a sarcastic smile and sighed.
"Too kind, Mori-kun."
Mori laughed dryly and patted the blond-haired on the back. "I'm gonna see you scrubbing my kitchen, believe me."
Kenji lent the singer a look of deep-felt pity, while Tsukimori sighed deeply.
Everyone could see his craving for a cigarette. Mori smiled sweetly, while Hiro seemed all annoyed, Takuma was sitting on a small chair in close to the window and ignored his band-mates.

[So, what else is new? We are all our very 'nice ' selves. It's just easier to bear us with a certain nicotine level in our blood. Wonder how Takuma manages.]

He felt a warm hand on his arm.
"What is it, Kenji?" the singer was really trying to be polite, but it sounded just...annoyed.

"Maybe you should get a coffee, ne?" Kenji offered with hope glinting in his eyes. "Maybe we could go and have one together?"
Tsukimori sighed again, from the corner of his eyes he caught the still grinning Mori and the bored Hiro.
Hiro was smoking away without thinking much about it, while Mori lit a cigarette in the most seductive way possible.
With a sensuous look at the singer underneath half-closed lids he embraced the cigarette with his lips, letting Tsukimori suffer with every passing moment. The latter licked his dry lips, longing for both, the smoke as well as the man. Mori closed his eyes and lit the cigarette in slow motion, letting the smoke out between his lips, the intense stare of the singer making it all the more enjoyable.
Tsukimori gulped and hid his eyes behind his hands.
What was he doing to himself?

"Are we gonna do anything today except watching Tsukimori suffer?" Takuma asked from his corner, his voice even, unaccusing and low. He seemed seriously fed up.
Everyone turned around to look at the normally bubbly youngest of their band.
"Being a non-smoker you cannot understand how it feels." Tsukimori complained.
"But I do~" Mori purred into the ears of the stressed out singer, who closed his eyes in desperation.
/Don't do this to me, man./
He shoved away the pink-haired guitarist, who frowned a little but hen reverted to a sunny smile. His tactics were working on the singer. He would have Tsukimori at his mercy...
At his very mercy. He thought of the things Tsukimori and he could do...
Him sitting on the couch, watching the singer cleaning his mess, nice body covered in sweat. A devilish smile graced the enticing lips, noticed only by Kenji, who suddenly feared for his object of desire.
Takuma sighed, gathered together the sheets of music he had scribbled on and shook his head. Sometimes they were wholly unbearable.
Hiro stretched and yawned. "I'm outta here too. Maybe we should postpone recording until Tsukimori is through with his non-smoking attitude."
The face of the singer darkened at once: "It's not an attitude! Smoking is bad for your health and your voice." he growled at the guitarist, who returned the hot glare icily.
"Yeah, right."
Tsukimori felt like beating someone up. A guitarist preferably.
Either of them.
Both of them

Or screw them senseless.

Or find himself a nice secret place to have a smoke.
It was hell.
His cells calling out for a nice dose of the creeping poison, or a wild orgasm to wipe out this call.

Takuma had packed his stuff meanwhile so had Hiro and they were about to leave, Takuma giving him a look of sympathy.
"Keep at it." he said with a soft nod and left. Tsukimori stared after him with a tiny sigh.
He wasn't too sure what exactly Takuma meant. The men of his desire or the absence from tobacco.
"Easy for you to say..." he whispered, referring to both options.
Takuma never heard it.
He was out of the door and seemed not too concerned.
Hiro shook his head, guitar-case safely on his back. He put a hand on Tsukimori's shoulder, then looked at the singer seriously. "I don't believe you can really pull this through. Got get a cigarette and calm down. Would be better for all of us."
The skin under the hand grew hotter and hotter with each passing moment, while the singer tried to keep a steady gaze at the other man. "Hiro..." he growled.
"I guess you'll have to clean Mori's place." Hiro shrugged.
Mori nodded enthusiastically and snickered. "You'll be mine."
Then he liked his lips provocatively.
He's just asking for it.../ Tsukimori was aware of his racing heart, his need for his poison, the warm hand still resting on his shoulder and the erotic teasing of the pink-haired man.
/Wonder if his pink lips taste like some sweet candy.../
When he looked at the devilish spark in those eyes he shivered. /Make that bittersweet./
Hiro saw the wistful look on Tsukimori's face turn ashen and empty. He grinned a little and nodded.
"End this. You're better off being Mori's slave for two weeks. Kenji's right - you look like you need a coffee." Hiro opened his pocket and got out a whole package, a little mashed up. He opened Tsukimori's hand and put it on the palm in a grim gesture. "And a smoke." he added and vanished without any kind of goodbye.
The package in his had felt so right and good.
The smile on Mori's face was totally seductive.
And Kenji still studied him like a love-sick teenager.
Tsukimori felt on the verge of smashing something, trashing the whole place and then just fall into a black whole.

His hands cramped around the cigarettes with all his might.

He turned to Mori and gave him a smug smile.
"I'm gonna make it, Mori-kun. I will stop smoking. Just wait and watch closely." he chuckled a little
"And then you're mine."

Having Mori...
His mouth went dry in a heartbeat.

"Hey, I never agreed to a bet like that." The guitarist protested loudly. "You are supposed to become mine. Not the other way round!"

"Quid pro quo." Tukimori beamed at the pink-haired man before him in triumph.

"He's right." Kenji rooted for the singer. "It's just fair."
Mori's triumph was slowly fading into thoughtfulness.

"Hmph, never gonna be his slave. Believe me he's going to smoke!"
Triumph returning he giggled a little and nodded. "I will watch you very closely, Tsukimori-kun. And I will watch you suffer."

Then he left, waving back at the two men.

Victory was his. Time would tell.

Chapter 2:
Coffee was good.
Having someone pining at you was kind of nice too.
Kenji was really kind and caring. But he just wasn't sexy like Mori or cool Hiro, he was a friend.

"Stop staring at me, Kenji-kun." Tsukimori sighed, before biting into a cinnamon-muffin.
Kenji blushed and shied away.
"Sorry..." he mumbled, totally embarrassed.
Poor Kenji...Tsukimori thought.
Maybe we should leave for some sex?
Better not. I'm really not myself and would regret it later.
He offered a friendly smile to the drummer and shook his head.
"I'm sorry. This is just a little too much for me."

The word 'sex' rolled through his head, still searching for delicious connections to confuse the singer even more. His stare became vacant.
Suddenly it connected to the thought of smoking.
Nice long slow sex and a good smoke.
Don't go there.
Suddenly he realized that Kenji was telling him something and he hadn't paid any attention yet. Internally he whacked himself for being such a loser.

Wasn't there anything in his head beside sex and cigarettes?

Music.
He was a musician, so there had to be some ideas about music in his head, right?
Singing. Lyrics.

What was Kenji talking about?

"...just like Mori did. Are you listening to me?"

"I'm sorry. There's just so much going on in my head..."
One big ugly lie.
There's was nothing going on in his head. Not much at least.

Apologetically he laughed and smiled just for the drummer.
Suddenly he had a picture in his head.
Him and the drummer, entwined, gasping, scrreaming for more.
Sweat scenting the air.
Tsukimori gulped.

"I'm just lousy company. I should go home and lock myself up until this is over. Really."
He stood up straight, shrugged and hurried out, leaving a rahter puzzled Kenji.

Out of the door, he leaned against a wall, gasping for air.
/Don't tempt a friend because you are in need for distraction./

The stop smoking ambition was his problem. It had been his idea after all.
His objective.
His vanity because he wanted his voice to stay good and pleasant.

/I'm selfish./

But alcohol was still acceptable, wasn't it?
Getting drunk was not getting weak.

Entering a random bar he shook his head. How could anyone be this pathetic?

Sitting in a dark corner, sipping on his sake silently, he remembered making the bet with Mori.
Hell, had the guitarist been drunk.

"You n-e-v-e-r ever gonna stop smoking, Tsuki." Mori had said with slurred words.

"I will!"

"Won't!"

"Will!"

"Won't!"

"Will!"

"Wanna bet?"

"What's at stake?"

The drunk man had blinked while thinking about it. Tsukimori had seriously considered Mori asleep with open eyes, since he hadn't said anything for a few minutes.

"If I win you'll have to do all the chores in my apartment for...two weeks." the guitarist had finally uttered with a longing sigh.

Tsukimori had spit out his beer. "What?!"
"Awwww, Ssuki..." Mori had squirmed closer to the - then blue-haired - singer.
Had Tsukimori heard right? Had Mori said "suki"?
"Ssuki-kun, you yourself..." Mori'd looked at him blissfully and with an evil sparkle in his eyes. "You don't even believe you can win, do you?" he had giggled playfully much to Tsukimori's dismay.
Tsukimori's lips had grown small.
"I do! We got a bet!" he had decided heroically cause he had been also rather wasted.
They had toasted to that. Then Mori had rested his head on Tsukimori's shoulder, slowly drifting into slumberland.
"He, wait a minute. What's in for me if I win?" he'd suddenly remembered.
Mori had looked up sleepily.
"Hn? Whassup?"

"What will I win if I win?"

"..you...win...never. But... Whatever you want..." the voice had been a low mumble.

"You have to do whatever I want you to do for....one week. Bet accepted?"

"Su~uuureeeee."

Chapter 3:
So here he was.
In for one week with a Mori under his command.
If he could pull this through, win his bet, stop smoking, have wild sex...
/That was pointless./

/Just get drunk Tsukimori. Don't think. Your brain is craving nicotine. That is all. Just the usual torture, you know so well./

/If only I could taste those bittersweet lips./

He drifted away into the pacifying buzz of the alcohol.

A hard knock on the door woke Takuma from his peaceful slumber. The bassist blinked and decided that he had been dreaming, since the knocking didn't repeat.
He turned, sighed and drifted away again.

Another hard knock made him sit up on his futon disorientated. With heavy feet he went the few steps to his door.
The shadow appearing in front of his eyes and door had a strong smell of alcohol around him.
He was small and couldn't stand straight.
"Tsukimori?"

"Takuma-kun?" came the slurry question. Takuma nodded and shook his head right afterwards.

"You're drunk."

"Un. Must be drunk. Everything is just like a blurry old movie..."

"What is it you want?"

"Can I stay here for tonight? I don't wanna be alone and tempted by the damn calling of those cigarettes. You know? 'Come get us. You know you want us...' And you don't smoke so..."
Takuma smiled at the drunk singer.
"Sure. Come in." Wondering if Tsukimori was really directing at cigarettes or a certain pink-haired band-member. Or even another one with orange hair and an attitude.

Tsukimori's face showed signs of a wobbly smile the he stumbled in the tiniest of apartments.
"Thanks Takuma-kun."
He wobbled right into the man's arms, hiding his face in Takuma's sleeping shirt.
"Hey, Tsukimori!" the bassist protested to no avail. With a happy smile the singer kept his embrace tight and Takuma sighed deeply.
He dragged the singer to his own futon and dropped him there without much care, then rid the smaller man of his shoes.
Annoyed because his precious sleep had been interrupted, he hauled his spare futon out of the wall-cabinet and flopped down on it, closing his eyes.
He could hear the light snore of his guest.
"You should have gone to Mori, most of this is his fault anyway." he mumbled.
He turned to the sleeper beside him, whose face looked innocent and relaxed.

It wasn't hard to see.
Tsukimori staring at Mori with dreamy eyes. He stared at Hiro too, but that was more vacant and mythical. Mori used every chance to tease his younger admirer, just because he was Mori and liked to have fun.
The guitarist simply loved to see the singer suffer.
And was a little bit on the ignorant side when it came down to human complexities and the point when the fun was over and real life began. Mori was often overdoing things. But then again he was a very caring person.
Takuma frowned.
Did Tsukimori desire the guitarists only or did he have any real feelings for any of them?

Maybe all of this would be over a soon as the need for nicotine was out of his system.
Takuma sighed again and drifted back to a nice slumber.

/I need a cigarette!/
That was the first thing in Tsukimori's head. Then there was another thought.
/The one from Mori's lips would be best./
Then he opened his eyes.
/Dammit./

There was neither Mori nor a white substitute to light and enjoy.
Beside him was an innocent face, young soft and gentle.
Takuma.
Sweet he looked. So sweet. A little like candy too. No bitterness hidden there. And not pink-colored.
But eatable all the way through.
He crawled to the younger man, sleeping peacefully, lips slightly open and inviting.
Hovering over the sleeping face he studied the soft lips.
/He would be totally shocked if I'd kiss him out of his sleep. That would be so cute to see./
Tsukimori snickered quietly and only then registered a slight headache. Frowning a little he also noticed a tiny apartment like this was boring without an awake Takuma in it. The ideal excuse to kiss him, wasn't it?

/You've been there with Kenji too, Tsukimori. Don't tempt a friend./

He sighed.
But he didn't tempt a friend.The friend tempted him.

/Lips like these should be forbidden All lips should be forbidden. Temptation is really the fiend of friendship./
He sighed.
But a little kiss could do no harm, could it?
Wasn't like he was about to strip the younger man naked and devour his sweetness in the blazing fire of lust.
Lips locked , bodies close, names and bonds forgotten.
Lust could easily do that to him.

/I need a cigarette. My thoughts are running wild./

There was no cigarette. Only a man under him.
Lips calling out to him 'Taste us!'
Surrogate satisfaction....

He leaned down, slowly, enjoying the thrill of waiting to get closer to his aim.
It was so delicious.
The rush of blood against his headache.
Even that was gratifying in a strange way.
Takuma's lips were softer than his imagination of them. Fully relaxed and warm. Like the perfect illusion.
He didn't even dare to deepen the kiss beyond this, being swept away by a certain feeling of delicacy.
The thoughts of having a cigarette drifted away...
Takuma's eyes popped open in shock and his hands shoved away the singer with one powerful push.

"Tsukimori!!" he screamed in alarm, wiping his lips eagerly with the back of his hand. "What the hell are you trying here?!"

/Have been right. He's cute when being woken from slumber with a kiss./ Tsukimori smiled, the taste of the innocent bassist still present in his mouth, licking his lips sensually to enjoy the aroma fully. Takuma glared at him with all his might.

"I thought it you were after Mori and Hiro!" Takuma stood up and frowned at the man still sitting on the futons.

Tsukimori blinked at the tall figure before him. "Takuma..."

Tsukimori was in no way better than Mori sometimes.

"Sorry...you looked just too cute." Tsukimori apologized with a smirk.

"You cannot keep coming on to people because you think they're cute." Takuma lectured the older man.
"Why not?" Tsukimori grinned at the flustered bassist. "You could have liked it."

"Aw! I didn't, understood?" Takuma tried to calm down his messed up blonde mob of hair. "Kiss Mori or Hiro or Kenji, I don't care, but don't mess around with my feelings, okay?"

"Feelings? Man, Takuma-chan. It was only a little kiss." Tsukimori shook his head.
The need for cigarettes returned with a new-found impact.
Kissing Takuma had been a nice efficient distraction.
Now this alternative was out of the question. Such a pity.

Takuma snorted and turned away never asking his guest to use the bathroom first.

Chapter 4:
Dragging the singer to their studio, after a decent breakfast and some cups of coffee, he didn't talk much to Tsukimori, ignoring him mostly, showing him that he really disliked the way the singer had acted.
Tsukimori shrugged this behavior off.
/What' wrong with him? Can't take a little fun?/

Arriving at the studio, the Drummer shot Takuma jealous glances, while a pink-haired seduction on two legs closed up to the singer:
"How is it, Tsukimori-kun? Given in to temptation?" His whisper was like warm spoken caresses, sending shivers along the spine of the singer.
"No he hasn't." Takuma cooled the seductive voice of the guitarist. "He has spent the night at my apartment. There are no cigarettes there." Tsukimori didn't know how much he had liked the allure of the guitarist until it was over. He snorted.
"So, you two are an item?" Hiro joked.
Mori giggled: "So you really gave in to temptation?"
He batted his lashes at the singer and smiled sweetly. "Too bad, ne?"
Takuma shook his head sighing. "Yeah really too bad... ne Mori?"
"Thank you so much Takuma-chan." The singer growled, when the guitarist shrugged and went to his position.
Now he had to fight with the urge to have a cigarette, his impulse to strangle Takuma and a hard-on. Things were going great...
Taking a break and have a cigarette.
But then he couldn't.
He hated this day.
Suddenly he felt puppy-eyes directed at him. Seeking the source, he found the love-stricken Drummer gazing at him.
"So, you and Takuma had... sex?" the question was so hesitantly, as if the man was about to cry or go berserk.
"Hell, no. With that boring guy? Never." Tsukimori answered extra-loud, making sure the bassist heard every word. Takuma seemed not offended in any way.
"Exactly my thoughts, Tsukimori-kun." the youngest member of the band said, much to Hiro's and Mori's amusement. Tsukimori stuck out his tongue at Takuma, thinking of the lovely way the lips had felt against his, hearing Takuma's voice calling out his name in sexual desperation.
/I need sex.
Much more even I need nicotine.
Somebody give any of it to me or I won't survive the next hour./

"So, let's start from the top, right?" Hiro asked, letting his cigarette-butt on the stone floor, followed by the longing gaze of the singer, who gulped and nodded dry-mouthed.

He survived the next hour without a cigarette or any sex.
And the next too.

When they had a break he kept far from Kenji, Mori and Hiro, who were smoking away, talking about problems with certain parts of the songs, they had just performed.
He would have liked to talk to them, but the smell of the smoke and the sight of the lips clamped around the cigarettes made him sick.
Left only Takuma.
What was he to do?
Apologise?

The youngest sat around, gingerly plucking notes on his bass, staring into the farest distance of the universe.
Such a sweet face. All innocent and soft, with wide dreamy eyes.
Testing his sexual experience might have proven a disspointment. Or a surprise.

Suddenly he really liked to have sex with Takuma. Soft love-making, enduring sex... fitting to his appearance.
But then, threre were still Hiro and Mori. Hiro, long and grumpy, promising a rough ride and utter exhaustion. Mori guaranteeing play and exotic pleasure. He liked to taste that. Hiro and Mori combined maybe, Takuma on top just like a sweet cherry?
He wanted them.
All.

/Shut up! Get a grip on yourself! You don't want them, what you really want is a smoke. A good leisure smoke. They're just the objects you're projecting your needs on./

"Hey Tsuki, still drooling after Takuma?" he heard Hiro's voice laughing at him. Mori seemed at ease with Hiro and hugged the other guitarist close.
"He's so mean. You are much nicer and so yummy. Maybe we could spend the night together in my...uhm....your apartment?"

Tsukimori lamented his situation. Wishing he was in Hiro's place. Or between the two of them.
/Don't go there again. Really! You should stop that./
Takuma stood up and smiled excusingly at the singer. "Be back in a minute." he said and then "Don't eat them with your hungry stares in the meanwhile."
Tsukimori looked after the tall figure wonderingly. His only hold in the world full of smokers was gone
He sighed and watched the evil three in the corner of the room, smoking beside a window.
How much he would like to join them...
Crack jokes with them.
Having a cigarette. Having a body close to him.
Having nothing.
Being there without any of it.

/I still have my voice./ He bowed his head.

And wasn't he doing this for the sake of his voice?

/And I get to have Mori./
His mouth became a firm line. /I'm going to have him. And then I will make him suffer. I will make him repay his teasing ten times./

Kenji came up to him, his eyes full of intentions and offerings.
The singer smiled at the drummer in a friendly, platonic way. He hoped it was platonic. But with his hormones on the rampage...who knew?
"Kenji-kun?"

"If you want a place to stay for the night and Takuma is not available..." Kenji offered, grinning dangerously cute.

/Don't let yourself be tempted./ Tsukimori ordered himself, while his brain gave him a accurate picture of him, joined with drummer under him, bodies moving in unison.
He sighed in desperation. Then he looked over to Mori and Hiro, who were discussing about Hiro's guitar.
Kenji looked at him with want in his eyes.

/I gotta get out of here. Or I will devour him. Right in front of them, I don't care. I feel it./

He held his head in his hands and was about to scream out of frustration and the need for his cigarette, when a hero in shining armor appeared.
With helpless eyes he looked at his savior.
"I said I would be right back."

He flipped Tsukimori a pack of gums.
Nicotine-chewing-gums.

Tsukimori jumped up suddenly and hugged the bassist close, covering his face with small kisses.
Mumbling: "Thank you Taku-chan..." over and over. He brushed their lips together, never noticing the jealous glares from all of the other three band-members.
Then Takuma shoved him away with some giggles.
"Stop that. You could have bought them too."

Right. He just never thought of that.
Not only horny but also stupid.
A giant horny stupid baka, being the singer of an indie band.
Who the hell had given him this job?
He must have been as stupid as he was.

Hadn't that been done by Takuma and Hiro?

They were idiots. Sometimes, when they were drunk.

Must have been drunk then.
Or horny too.

A pink-flash was beside him in the blink of an eye.

"Not fair! Not fair! Nicotine?!" he shouted into Tsukimori's ear. Then he shook the already shaken up singer.
"That's against the rules. No one ever said anything about nicotine-chewing-gums!" he protested, pouting at the singer and the bassist.
Tsukimori straightened his ruffled clothes and was confronted with an enraged Mori.
"Give me that gum." the pretty guitarist demanded.
When Tsukimori just rose an eyebrow, he reverted to other tactics.
He drew the smaller man in his arms an whispered to him.
"Maybe you're just not strong enough to stop smoking without help, hmmm?"
The "hmmm" vibrated through the tortured body of the singer, flashing into his groin. He almost moaned.
"The bet was about Tsukimori stop smoking, right?" Takuma asked, taking the side of the singer, who was getting weaker, already melting into Mori's seduction. "Not how he was supposed to do it."
"Not as far as I can recall..." Tsukimori purred, snuggling into the warmth, reaching out to touch this sweet allure, ready to give up his becoming a non-smoker plans.
But his hands embraced cold nothingness.
Mori was gone.
"Fine. Be it that way. I'm not a kind of weakling, giving in to unfair means only because I'm not man enough to lose a bet. We'll see about the outcome, Tsukimori-san. When you'll be mine you'll wish you'd played fair."
The enticing guitarist left without another word, leaving four astonished men behind.
Tsukimori sighed.

The more unreachable they became, the more he desired them.

All of them.
And this creature was on top of the list of 'the endangered-by-Tsukimori' species.

Chapter 5:
Tsukimori lay back on the futon in Takuma's apartment.
The bassist had brought him here, saying he was better off staying as far from cigarettes and Mori as possible. Takuma was in the kitchen, making some Raamen and tea for both of them.
The bassist sure was a good friend and a forgiving one too.
Tsukimori was glad having a friend like him and almost regretted kissing him for fun in the morning.
Thoughtfully he chewed his nicotine-gum, a bitter taste spreading through his senses.
Nothing compared to the feel, taste and kick of the real thing.
But it helped. At least he believed it would help. Placate him until he was cured. Or whatever one might call the point when he would become a non-smoker.
And Takuma's apartment was drawing him into a state of warm laziness. The aroma of Raamen spreading through the small rooms, reminding him of many happy days and fun with friends. He decided to connect those happy thoughts to this state of non cigarette consumption.
It could be nice not having something between your lips, enjoying the fragrance of the food in all of it's shining glory, surrounded by the familiar impressions that were Takuma's belongings.
Peace spread through his body and he didn't want to move a single muscle.
Takuma flopped down on the floor next to him and smiled at the peaceful form.
"Hey, Tsuki."

"Don't call me Tsuki..." Tsukimori mumbled lazily.

"What else? Darling?" The bassist joked.

Tsukimori opened one eye and studied the bassist. "Hn... so I can move in?"
A soft slap from the blonde man made him chuckle a little.

"Not yet, Darling. Raamen's ready. Come, let's eat." Takuma stood up and went to the kitchen, an invitation to Tsukimori to follow him.
Tsukimori followed the taller blonde and entered the kitchen. He got rid of the chewing-gum, throwing it away and sat down at the tiny table.
Why was everything in this apartment so tiny, while Takuma himself was quite tall?
Strange.
A bowl was placed in front of him, steaming hot Raamen with finely chopped green onions on top of it. Inhaling the aroma his mouth watered, his stomach grumbled and a satisfied silly smile spread on the face of the singer.
"Takuma?"

"Hn?"

"You're simply the best wife in the world."
That earned him another soft whack and he began to chuckle.
"Eat, then your mouth is busy with something other than confusing people." The bassist mock-scolded him.
In silence they slurped their noodles, surrounded by a warm and relaxed feeling.
Friend.
He's a real friend.
That fact was suddenly very clear to Tsukimori.
But at the same time everyone drifted out of that definition.
What was Hiro then? Or Kenji?
Or... Mori?

He shook off such deep thoughts. Concentrated on the taste and structure of the noodles.

I could really use a cigarette now.

Smoke away these ideas about his friends, let the white cylinder burn away these thoughts by a steady gleam of projection into unconsciousness.
Make himself a happy guy. Relaxed.
Think about something else. Now.
Deep in his attempt to distract himself he tipped the chopsticks against his nose, making the bassist laugh. "What's wrong? No coordination without nicotine?"
"Takuma?"

"What is it Darling?"

"Do you have more of that gum?"
The grinning bassist flicked him another piece of chewing-gum.
"Don't overdo them... keep to the instructions," he warned the singer with a serious face. "Nicotine is a sort of poison after all."
Tsukimori rolled his eyes "Yes, Mama," he squeaked miserably. He launched at the artificial taste of fruits, trying to cover the bitter taste underneath to no avail.
I am such a loser.
He returned his focus to the bowl and let time slip by.

Later in the night he lay beside the bassist, sleep just ahead of him. Takuma's soft breath was like a clock, signaling the passing of time.
He felt very small and miserable.

The craving was stronger when it was silent around him and he could perceive his self again. He hungered for a cigarette and the pleasure of feeling someone making him writhe in endless pleasure, making him forget everything that mattered. Emptying his brain, letting out himself and renewing him. Or maybe only for the sake of a real good orgasm.
Pathetic loser.
Are you nothing more than horny?
There must be more to you.
Well there is. I am a singer. I can entertain people, make them happy and forget themselves. Isn't it fair that I ask for someone or something to make me forget myself?
Take away the one thing and what is left?
Sex. What a drag.
And why the heck am I arguing with myself about sex late at night?
Just to prove that I really am wretched, that is all.
A wretched strange young guy with blonde hair and an attitude. And an excuse for being like that.
I am Tsukimori.
He sighed and turned around with much force.
His body was trembling a litte. The hands in the dark twilight before his eyes were shaking. He felt nauseous.
I don't want to be like this tonight.
He etched closer to the bassist resting next to him, leaving his warm surroundings.
"Hey, Taku-chan?"
No reaction.
"I take that as a yes."
He crawled under the warm futon next to the slender body of his band-mate, cuddling closer to the warmth and comfort his friend was offering. Takuma had a nice long body, he fit beside it just nicely.
He hid his face in the sleeping shirt of the other man and the trembling subsided.
Inhaling the scent of the bassist deeply he slipped into the desired state of sleep.

Chapter 6:
A fuzzy warm feeling enveloped him, when he finally opened his eyes again.
Sickness was dwindling and a strange sensation was running though him.
And the left side of his body was a little colder than the right one, cuddled against Takuma.
Takuma...
He turned to the sleeping form.
But actually Takuma was not really sleeping anymore; he met open clear eyes.
"So, what happened tonight? Did your futon suddenly burn or something?" Takuma asked, Tsukimori couldn't fathom the dark eyes.
"I..." Tsukimori began insecurely. Having Takuma at his side was a wonderful and protected way of waking. "I felt sick," the singer admitted in a small voice.
Takuma sighed deeply. "You can never ever make it up to me for being this nice and understanding..." he joked dramatically. Tsukimori closed his eyes and nodded without a word.

Takuma is right. He is so nice to me. And I do nothing but being a burden for him.

He savored the rare warmth of his soft and wonderful friend. Hearing Takuma breathe.

Why aren't we getting up?
Why isn't he pushing me away, impatiently?
Is he thinking of something?

Why am I not thinking of smoking?

At last he heard the voice of the man beside him.
"We have a concert today. Tsukimori... Are you up to it?"

The singer looked up into the dark eyes again. "Sure. I'm feeling much better."

It's true. I'm much better than last night. Strange. I'm feeling...lighter.
But a good smoke surely would be nice now.

He felt Takuma struggling from under the futon, leaving him alone in the pleasant warmth.
"I'm relying on you, Tsukimori," he heard the soft voice of the bassist.
Tsukimori looked up to the tall man, hovering over him. "Hn. Don't worry, Mama."
He heard Takuma entering the bathroom and snuggled into a tight ball.
But then he got a grip on himself and got into the kitchen, setting up a kettle to heat some water for coffee. He opened the fridge, pulled out some toast and blueberry jam.
Takuma joined him, dressed and spreading a wonderful fresh scent.
Tsukimori went to make himself presentable.

A concert.
I have to prove that I can stand the excitement without a smoke. The ultimate challenge.

He could almost feel Mori swaying close to him on stage, provocative look sparkling in his eyes, hips moving invitingly. Maybe even licking his perfectly seductive lips with the tip of his pink tongue. Rubbing himself alongside of Tsukimori's body. The excitement and flying hormones making him suffer and his body screaming out for more.
More of Mori. More of this touch.

I'll make you mine, Mori!
Mine.

Maybe this is also about sweet revenge? I want to have him suffer.
Tasting his own medicine, perhaps.
He closed his eyes and splashed cold water against his face.
And Mori promised to be the fuck of his lifetime. If he was up to expectations.

He felt his hands trembling again, his body shivering in something else than anticipation.
A rough cough escaped his lungs.
Painful.

Here we go again.
Just think of having Mori afterwards. Just a little longer.

He coughed and coughed, his knees weakening. His body was shaken and he felt tears rimming his eyes.
"Tsuki..!" he heard Takuma's voice behind him. "Are you alright?"
"Hn, sure," the singer pressed out. "Don't worry."
"You sound terrible." Deep felt concern tinted Takuma's voice.

He felt weak once the coughing subsided. He was still clawing the sink, not wanting to slump onto his knees.
"Tsukimori..." Takuma was staring at the singer helplessly, when Tsukimori whirled around and clung to the surprised bassist desperately, burying his head in Takuma's chest.
"It hurts..." he urged out.
Takuma cradled him carefully.
"Are you sure you're up to the concert?"
Tsukimori could clearly see Mori launching at the opportunity to tease him. And to win the bet.
"I'm up to it. Just some coffee and one of those gums," he mumbled into the soft fabric. Takuma dragged him in the kitchen and offered both to the pale singer.
"Here you go."
"Thanks Takuma." he got a hold of the mug with the steaming hot coffee.
His body calmed down and he could breathe easier.
"I guess it's the nicotine that's taking it's toll on you." Takuma explained.
Tsukimori nodded miserably.
Then he chewed the gum and slowly felt better, his fingers following his orders without trembling too much. The weakness gradually vanished.

"I'm up to the concert, Taku-chan. Believe me," he firmly stated and his lips formed a determined line. "But I wouldn't mind a little kiss to get me better."
Takuma rolled his eyes and whacked the singer softly. "You're better already, no doubt about that."
"But won't you kiss your husband, darling?" Tsukimori pleaded, making the other man shake his head in disbelief.
Takuma got hold of some tea and they finished their breakfast.

After breakfast Takuma began to pack his bass and everything he needed for the evening. Being busy, while Tsukimori watched him, holding on to the gum as something very essential.
"Ready to go, Tsukimori?" Takuma finally asked.
"Hn," the singer smiled at his tall friend, wishing to be close to him again. Takuma was stronger than him, more reasonable. Hard to believe he was the youngest among them.

They got into Takuma's little ugly green car.
Another small thing surrounding Takuma... Tsukimori thought. Takuma smiled at him with bright contact-lens blue eyes. "We'll support you, Tsuki."

"Don't call me Tsuki, darling," the singer answered automatically. "And when I think of Mori I guess not all of you support me."

"Mori is just fighting for his honor. He doesn't like losing, you know. He's supporting you in his own way." Takuma laughed again cutely. "Why am I telling you this? You've known him longer than I do."

Tsukimori sighed.
Of course I've known him longer. But he never grew any less mysterious to me.
And my desire for him grew.
Not to mention that vain guy got sexier all the time. Changing his hair-colors, the tight-fitting trousers and shirts. The way he became so self conscious, using his sex-appeal to tease the people who would fall for him. Including his band-mate Tsukimori.
Not very fair - but very Mori-like.

Tsukimori sighed and leaned back in the passenger's seat. But at least he knew Kenji and Takuma really supported him.
Hiro...
Hiro was the grumpy mysterious guy he was. After games and a good drink, Tsukimori doubted his interest in the attempt of becoming a non-smoker. But he was certainly thrilled by the bet between singer and pink-haired guitarist. All play made Hiro's day, as far as Tsukimori knew.
He stared out of the window into a gray day, while Takuma turned on the radio.

He started to feel sleepy, lacking sleep and still suffering withdrawal.

Or maybe I just don't want to meet Mori...

But Takuma was taking him there anyway, no way to avoid the sexy guitarist.
And his teasing.
He would feel miserable and his crave for the slender white cylinder and the slender pink-haired would override his common sense again. If he had some left.

Again I am just pathetic.

He faded into a timeless state of unawareness. It enveloped him nicely, killing his thoughts.
Suddenly he felt the car coming to a halt.
"Here we are, darling," he heard from the man beside him.
Dizzily leaving the ugly car, he suddenly had a few bags in his arms, wondering where they came from, when Takuma took the rest and they entered the through the backdoor of the small live-house.

"We are late, the others are probably waiting." Takuma mused.
Tsukimori sighed deeply.
Waiting of course.

Prepared to torture him. Ready to tease him. Waiting to see him lose big time.
Especially that pink-haired devilish sexy guitarist, his greatest enemy, going by the name of Mori.

Takuma opened the door, making out a 'wyse' sign in the twilight and was greeted by a multi-voiced "Hello!"
Tsukimori braced himself and followed the bassist.
"Tsukimori?" he heard Kenji's voice, the drummer coming up and smiling at him with his fatally cute smile. "How are you, Tsukimori-kun?"

What the hell do you see in me?
I am just a man suffering withdrawal and actually I'm too weak to stop smoking.

"Not too good." The singer admitted, very quietly. Kenji's eyes grew soft with pity for Tsukimori, while Mori rolled his eyes. But then he grinned diabolically.
"But that also means..." he stood up and snuggled up to his poor victim. "I am going to have our little singer all to myself soon."
Tsukimori stiffened a little when the warm man was so close to him. Hands creeping around his shoulders. A delicate hand teasing his neck with infinitesimal touches.

My heart is beating loud enough to be heard on top of Tokyo Tower... shot through the singer's confused head.
He was about to moan in frustration and excitement, barely able to control himself. But as suddenly as the seductive flash of a man had appeared and aroused him, he was gone.

"I'll be waiting, Tsuki-cha~aan."

Kenji was still beside him, hurt shining in his eyes. Tsukimori looked at Hiro and nodded weakly.
Mori would be his definite ruin.

"Leave him alone, will you?" Takuma ordered, but no one even noticed him.
Tsukimori shot a thankful glance at the young bassist, the grumpy Hiro rose and stretched lazily.
"We should get down to sound-check", the tall guitarist said matter-of-factly.
All of them nodded, more or less enthusiastically.
Afterwards they went on the stage and plucked their instruments, each one seriously busy with preparations, when a voice suddenly made them look up.
"Hi wyse no minna-san."
Takuma smiled at the visitor. "Hello, Masa-san. What are you doing here? Where is the rest of 'Dear Loving'?"
"Just wanted to listen to you guys. I'm a bit early." The dark-haired singer giggled softly. "The others probably still have one hell of a hang-over."
Then the young man sat down, pulled out a cigarette and gave them all a friendly nod. "Don't mind me. Just go on."
Takuma nodded and gave his band a sign to start.
Kenji began with a fast beat, Takuma and both of the guitarists waiting for their cue.
Music echoed through the almost empty live-house, where only a few techies, busy with the sound-check and some of them smoking, and a bartender busy with the glasses could hear.

Tsukimori grasped the mic full of well-trained determination. He closed his eyes in a moment of total concentration. Letting the momentum of song enter his soul to give it back to the world again.
He opened his lips to let a soft note escape him.
But it had deserted him.
His precious voice.
What came out was a distorted howl of desperation.

Chapter 7:
Tsukimori cleared his throat, while his band-mates repeated the same routine to give him another try.
The small singer tried again, giving a shadow of his usual vocal power. He screeched along the higher notes, never reaching the lowest. But he managed through the whole sound-check.
His throat burned and his knees were made of jelly. He was a complete mess.
He couldn't even see if the eyes of the pink-haired fiend were dancing with amused satisfaction, though they probably were.
He sank to his knees, not able to stand any longer.
"Tsukimori!" he heard many voices around him, calling his name. And there was a well known scent also: Takuma.
"Taku-chan?," the singer whispered, then he was feeling arms supporting him. They led him off the stage and back to the room, with the small 'wyse" sign on the door. There he slumped onto a chair.
"Tsukimori?" the voice of the drummer hit his ears.
"I'm alright; just a little worn out. I had a hard time sleeping." Tsukimori was hushing the drummer away. Kenji scrutinized him closely.
"You look feverish."
"Nya, just a little too much on a withdrawal day," a soft voice denied and then Mori gave him a glass of water. There was no teasing in his eyes now.

But he sees me as a complete loser. Not able to become a non-smoker. Unable to sing either.
What am I now?
Less than nothing.
I cannot even lose with style.
Maybe I should admit it.

"Just relax a bit, Tsukimori-kun." Takuma suggested. "And I think you need to eat something. You had only coffee and gum this morning."
Hiro and Mori nodded in unison, the singer noticed at once how much in harmony the two always were. But he was too low on blood-sugar to care much.
Mori should be mine...the thought sounded a bit like a well-known prayer to himself right then and there.
"Wait here, Tsuki," Hiro said in his grumpy yet pleasing voice. "We'll get you something to eat."
"Guys?" Kenji interjected. "I'd like to stay here and look out for him."
The other three exchanged a look and nodded. "Good idea. Kenji-kun," Mori agreed.
"We'll be right back," Takuma assured the singer, who tilted his head to watch the three of them leave. Three slender men; one of them looked back at him for a short moment, worried.
Takuma really supports me after all I've done to him...shot through Tsukimori's sugar-deprived brain. He leaned back boneless and sighed deeply.
His singing had been a catastrophe altogether. That had been the first time he had no control over the flow of his voice whatsoever.

My voice.
Come back properly, you're all I've got left.
Am I not doing all of this just for you?

He let his head relax over his back and looked at the upside down world with a self-mocking smile.

Some kind of rock-star I am. Wonder if people like Yoshiki were ever as pathetic as I am now?
Had they ever been in need of something as insignificant as a smoke as badly as I am?
Had they ever been so desperate for sex? Didn't they just have them all? Their band-mates, their fans...One look and the world groveled at their feet.
I'm not like that at all.

This is sort of nice. The world is world is all upside down. And I'm getting dizzy.

A face came into view. Large concerned eyes, a young face, surrounded by short blonde hair.
"Kenji?"

"What are you doing?" The drummer asked, voice tinged with both concern and amusement. The eyes were not only large, but a massive amount of feelings hovered in them.
Love perhaps? Desire, probably. Warm, rekindling.
The singer tried an awkwardly smart smile.
"Getting a better impression of the world?" Tsukimori tried to joke. The face above him frowned.
"And is it working yet?"
"Nope, I'm getting dizzy."
"Then better stop it, Tsukimori-kun."
"Okay," the singer stood up, his knees still a little wobbly, not cooperating with his unstable head.
He sank to the side not knowing which was up and which down. Strong arms caught him in mid fall.
"Hey, watch out!" he heard a frightened call from Kenji. He laughed bitterly.
"I'm sorry, Kenji-kun," he mumbled and his stand steadied a little. "I'm no use at all. My singing sucked. My idea to give up smoking sucks. I suck."
The arms around his waist tightened, Tsukimori looked down at them, winding around his middle. And they didn't disappear as it would have been appropriate after the one Kenji had helped to stand efficiently didn't need an embrace to steady him anymore.

The drummer's body was so close to his own, Tsukimori realized.

And warm... oh, so warm...

A mild attempt to wriggle free only managed to heighten his sensual impressions of the man so near to him. Friction sparkled along his nerves and into his neglected libido.

No good.
No no no no...
But also so very, very, very good.

"Maybe you should sit down again?" The voice of the drummer was suddenly very deep and hoarse.
"Un..", Tsukimori urged out but made no intention to move a muscle, while the strong arms never let him go either.
His eyes found himself mirrored in the drummer's large orbs.
There it was, even more intense than before. Desire and adoration. The love-sick puppy look, like he usually joked.
But he didn't joke, not now.

All he wanted now was the lips of the other man on his own. Crush this body against the wall, rip off the tiny shirt, undo the tight jeans and have the warm skin under the tips of his fingers.

His train of thoughts was deliciously stopped by a hard and merciless kiss from the man holding him.
Lips were over his, fingers digging into his waist to pull him even closer, tongue impatiently asking for entrance, no time to waste.
Almost laughing at the outrageous feeling of it all, Tsukimori opened his lips a little, teasing the other into a challenge.

Conquer me if you can.

And the conqueror tried his best, taking the new territory with care and some amount of force. Not that the singer minded, he struggled to bite down a satisfied chuckle.
Then he concentrated to the sensations, making his blood course through his veins with tension and carrying the excitement into every cell of his body.
"Hnnnnn....", he groaned into the mouth of the drummer. Fervor took a firm hold of him, his fingers digging deeper and deeper into the back of his partner, when he had put them there, he couldn't remember.
With more strength than one might have expected, he crushed the poor drummer against the door behind them, through which Hiro, Mori and Takuma had just vanished.
The loud thud shook both of them, but didn't stop their kissing.
Tsukimori began to pull at the shirt of the drummer, revealing the flesh to make further use of it. Busy hands were crawling under his shirt, roaming his chest already, sometimes scratching the sensible skin with the fingernails, bringing a pleasurable contrast.
The hands of the singer were working their way down to the deep blue pants, fingers slipping under the rim to tease the flesh underneath.
The drummer moaned and arched his back, desperately clutching at the waist of Tsukimori. The singer smiled in the crook of his victim's neck, enjoying the body contact and a Kenji at his mercy.
Finally the sex he had thought about for so long, hopefully washing away everything else.
Annihilate him in ecstasy.
"Tsuki...", the drummer moaned, the rest of the word missing due to the numerous sensual assaults.

You feel so good. So incredibly good.
How I will make you beg for me...

"Oh Tsukimori..." The voice was like honey dripping from a spoon. "I love you...", came the drawn out confession.

It was then, that Tsukimori stopped his advances.

Chapter 8:
Kenji blinked surprised from the sudden absence of warmth and affection.
"Tsukimori...? He asked cautiously, fear extinguishing the flame of lust. "What's wrong?"
The singer was staring at the floor, breathing heavily and shaking his head.
"I'm so sorry, Kenji-kun."
It was a whisper, filled with deeply felt guilt.
Kenji focused his still lust-hazy gaze on the man before him. There was a desperate glint in the vocalist's eyes.

Don't say that.
You love me? No way! No no!
I just wanted sex, not love.
Sex, no attachments. Just two bodies, two orgasms.
Don't say you love me. It hurts me.
You cannot mean that seriously.
Puppy-eyed Kenji, adoring gentle Kenji...
"Never tempt a friend!" A wise voice in his head mocked him.

I am the lowest.
But I didn't want to hurt him, I really didn't.

"Just forgive me, Kenji-kun," the singer stuttered and shoved the other man away from the door, fleeing in terror.

The left behind drummer let the happenings sink into him.
The kisses, the passion...
Then the sudden rejection.

Kenji bit his lower lip really hard, to make sure, this was the reality, not just a crazy nightmare.
It hurt him.
This was the reality.

That damn Tsukimori only wants Mori.
Fucking arrogant pink-haired pest.
But the drummer actually liked Mori, the smart, funny dare-devil.
That man was pretty. Had the lips and the eyes to make ice melt. Had the moves to seduce even a nun.

I am just normal. Plain.
Not sexy or exotic enough...

At this thought he lost all of his strength, knees giving in, he slumped to the ground, immediately curling into a tight ball.
He hid his face behind his hands and started to sob heart-brokenly.

The door opened a nice voice called out into the room: "Are you feeling better, Tsukimori-san?"
A dark-haired figure entered the room, halting in mid-step when he saw a curled up drummer lying on the floor, sobbing loudly, mumbling something that sounded like:
"...just stupid... plain and stupid... so endlessly stupid..." between chokes.

"Kenji...san?" The singer of Dear Loving gasped at the sight before him. "Kenji-san? what's wrong?"
He kneeled beside the drummer, eyes worried.
The sobbing faded into a soft whimper.
The face reappeared from behind the hands, peeking up to the man sitting beside him gingerly.
"Masa-san?" The voice was cracked. "What are you doing here?"
"Actually I wanted to see how Tsuki was doing..." The drummer snapped at the mentioning of that name.
"What's wrong?" the visitor was concerned again. The drummer didn't answer.
He could only stare in the soft and caring face of the singer, holding back the tears, threatening at the corner of his eyes.

The door opened again and the three missing wyse members returned.
"We're ba~...." Was all Takuma could manage, seeing the red puffy eyes of their drummer, as soon as he entered.
"Kenji?" Mori gasped, hurrying to the man, still sitting on the floor, seemingly embarrassed at the sight of his band-mates.

They shouldn't see me cry about this insensitive jerk...
He makes me feel so small and used.
I should hate him. But I can't.

Mori exchanged a worried look with the other two and finally with Masa, who shrugged.
"He was already crying when I found him," the singer defended himself, feeling Mori's accusing eyes on him.
"Kenji-kun, what's wrong?" The pink-haired guitarist pulled the drummer into a lose hug. Kenji stared into nothingness, limp like a doll in the arms of the guitarist.
Takuma flopped on the chair, which had been Tsukimori had occupied earlier. His eyes rested on his two band-mates and the singer of Dear Loving close to them.
He had just left the plastic-bag with the take-out where it had escaped his sure grip.
The young face suddenly looked tired, worn out.

No one dared to say a word, feeling like it could only hurt the others.

"Where is Tsukimori?" Hiro asked into the silence that had established itself between the players of this little scene.
Masa shrugged and Kenji closed his eyes tiredly.
"I don't know..." he whispered silently.

Maybe he doesn't want to know either... Hiro mused, looking at the blank expression. Wasn't Kenji supposed to look out for the egoistic singer?
Then he took a long glance at the face of the bassist, seeing fear there. Not too obvious though.

You know, Hiro, you like to say that you hate them all, he told himself. And know you know why. Don't get too involved. You can see it in those contact-blue eyes.

Hurt.

"I'm going to look for him," Hiro stated coolly.
He stepped up to Kenji and Mori, gave them both a encouraging smile, despite his real emotions.
Then he looked down into the face of Takuma, the youngest, his long-time friend. He could see the anxious expression, knowing that this time Takuma's whole life was at stake with this band.
What would become of this young man if he gave up music for good.
Takuma gave everything he had into this band.
If he failed, what would be left for him?
The bassist forced out a small smile, just for Hiro, saying, "Okay. Good luck."

Hiro had a good idea about where to look. In the restrooms, he would have gone there as well.

In the named place a very disturbed Tsukimori leaned his forehead against the wall, where many others had written down phone-numbers and lies about their sexual abilities.

Do you know? Somehow... you're very much like them. Like some overexcited hormone-driven guys, telling nothing but lies.

The door opened and someone came in.
The singer looked up and was face to face with an orange haired guitarist, who didn't look too friendly.

"Hiro...?" he whispered, somehow bewildered beyond reason.

"Knew you would be here, Tsuki."

"Don't call me Tsuki," the singer argued lamely.

"Hmph. What happened to Kenji?"
Hiro's eyes could be very distant and cool at times. But this wasn't one of them.
Tsukimori was at a loss for words.
I'm the one singing and now I can't even utter out a little: "Nothing; we tried to fuck. But I decided to run for it." How ironic is that?
The singer winced.
"Why was he crying?" The guitarist insisted.
Tsukimori twitched under the intense stare.
I didn't want him to cry, believe me Hiro.
I wanted to slip inside his body and feel myself soar again, that was all. Just like I want to do with all of you.
But I am unable to do that.
"I... he..." Tsukimori started, eyes growing wide, and a gasp escaping him, when Hiro's hands rammed into the wall beside his head. One on left and one right side. He could also feel a gust of wind due to the force of the blows.
"Hi...Hiro...?" The blond man sounded alarmed.
"You hurt Takuma and I'll hurt you."
It was a simple statement, tasting of truth. The impact of the words equaled the force of Hiro's fists against the wall.

Takuma? shot through the brain of the singer.
But he had tried to have sex, he had hurt Kenji by doing so. Where did Takuma fit?

"Do you understand me, Tsuki_mori_?"
The singer nodded in puzzlement. What did that mean now? Was Hiro into Takuma somehow?
"I know Takuma. When this band doesn't work out, he will never ever touch another instrument again. He won't. I know. If that ever happens I'm going to make you regret that you ever came to know me in the first place."
The singer was paralyzed by the hoarsely hissed words, like they were spells.
"Hiro...?"
"I don't care if you fuck Mori. I don't even care when you start smoking again. But don't you dare play with Takuma. He's still a boy to some degree. Don't dare harm him in any way."
Hiro seemed more desperate and yet resolute with every breath. Tsukimori could only stare at him and long for the man that was trying to scare him.

If only someone would feel this way for me. Such passion.
Has Takuma done something with Hiro?

"Am I making myself clear, Tsukimori-san?"
Tsukimori nodded numbly.
"Good. This is not just about you, remember that." Hiro smiled at him in a cold way, but endearingly sexy. The singer's breathing was labored, pupils tiny from the flow of hormones. The lips were dry, his tongue darting out to moisten them.
Tension was still palpable.
Tsukimori took in the chin and lips of the guitarist, still hovering above him.
The lips held a certain sensual promise to him.
And he could feel everything.
The cool wall on his back, his clothes clinging to his frame and his feet standing on the disgustingly dirty floor.
And he felt Hiro's breath hitting his skin; fire spread where it did.

A passionate lover.
Rough, tearing, blinding.
Caring.
Grabbing him close, shredding his clothes, making him scream and come with a vengeance.
So tempting
An invitation for a roller-coaster ride. A hilarious trip. Fun.
Distraction.
And then ... then.

"Kenji...", whispered the taller guitarist. "He was crying."
Tsukimori blinked.
Kenji...
"I guessed so...", he admitted.
"Don't toy with other people's feelings, asshole," Hiro snorted, making the singer blink and ache to touch the orange mane, pull it down and silence the guitarist with a hungry kiss.
His hands acted on their own impulse, entangling in the orange hair.
"I won't let you joke around with me," the low voice growled.
Determined, with force and bruising power the guitarist kissed the man under him. Making Tsukimori moan and surrender to the onslaught.
A wild hunting kiss ensued, each man trying to dominate the other. The singer bucked his hip against the frame of his partner.
But then Hiro withdrew, left the singer breathless and aroused.

"This is all you will ever get from me," Hiro laughed, passionless. "Keep that in mind."

Dazed the singer didn't feel him leave, until the door fell shut. He licked his lips, still feeling the other man on them, but then it hit him.

I've been rejected.

Chapter 9:
In a dazed state Tsukimori returned to the room where the others were waiting for him.

He actually didn't want to face them, neither the cold and angry Hiro nor the seductive Mori.
And not Kenji, who he had hurt so deeply without wanting to.

He opened the door, peeking into the room timidly.
First of all he could see Hiro talking to Kenji. The drummer smiled a little, looking like he had cried, just like the grumpy guitarist had reported.
Mori was talking to Masa, who shot worried glances to the drummer.
Only Takuma sat all alone; on the table before him stood some untouched take out.
Pasta.
Tsukimori's favorite.
Before he even blinked, Takuma had noticed him.
"Tsukimori-kun...!" the band-leader called out, and was dragging him in, pulling his shirt, while babbling away, "I was worried, you know? How are you? Here's pasta just for you. Please, eat. We wouldn't want you to faint or something like that."
Takuma made him sit on the chair and face the still warm noodles.
"Taku-chan..." Tsukimori protested mildly. The bassist shook his head.
"First you eat something. Then we'll talk about everything."
Tsukimori sighed, feeling a strict look from the orange-haired guitarist watching his every move.
With shaking hands he grabbed the plastic fork and dug into the meal.
As the first waves of taste spread on his tongue he felt suddenly very very hungry, his empty stomach finally screaming for food.
Swalloing the noodles without any grace the singer was unaware of the looks the other men exchanged.
Takuma looked worried, but also a little angry, while the drummer only could send hateful looks around, saying 'I'm fucking hurt, don't come to close to me', but still Masa would sit beside him, giving him encouraging looks every now and then.
Mori inspected the floor for a long time.
Hiro was grumpy and finally sat down with his guitar, filling the room with strange disharmonic chords.
When Tsukimori had finished his food, Takuma looked at him, expression changing back and forth between annoyed and hopful.
"Better now, Tsukimori-kun?"
The singer nodded a little. Then his eyes met Kenji's and he jerked. A cold and unforgiving expression made the normally open face of the drummer look almost unreal.
"Kenji-kun..."Tsukimori stood up and walked to the drummer, who ignored the singer. Mori looked up and his eyes widened in surprise, Hiro snorted. Masa smiled at Tsukimori, trying to ease the tension.
"I'm sorry. You are my friend, Kenji-kun," Tsukimori started with a uncertain voice. "I hope, we can still be friends."
Tsukimori remembered the look of hurt and hostility in the soft eyes of their drummer.

I am such an idiot. But it felt so good. Just like what I wanted.
My need of warmth, desire and distraction so easily fulfilled.
Tsukimori, you are such a bastard.
I'm becoming like Mori. Seducing for fun.
And it was trifling, exciting...a rush.
Don't love me Kenji, don't.
My love's not worth your time.

Kenji simply glared at him, but then he saw the pleading eyes of the blonde man and he felt his rage and disappointment melt away.
He realized, that he just couldn't stay angry at the singer.
The smallest of smiles graced the drummers lips, giving Tsukimori hope, and he returned a grateful grin.
Then the singer looked very sincerely at every man in the room, including Masa.
He seemed very determined, gulping once before he began: "Are we going to perform tonight? I'll try my best and I will not disappoint you."
Mori was the first who gave him a free laughter.
"You sound so pathetic, Tsuki. When I win my bet I'd like to hear this submisssive tone more often."
"Be quiet, Mori-kun," Takuma interferred the onslaught, "Are you really up to a concert, Tsukimori-kun?"
The earnest eyes of the bassist gave the singer a deeper feeling of guilt.

Takuma...so strong but dependent.
You really count on me, care for me...

Mori on the other hand still thinks I'm a worthless piece of shit, good enough to tease.
I'll show you Mori!
Hiro also. You'll see.
My inner self can be strong.
I didn't give into temptation, I didn't have sex with Kenji.
I'll be singing.
And no more smoking!
You'll see Mori. I'll have your sweet lips under mine and then I'll be the one teasing you.
And you will call my name in need, just wait and see.
Arrogant, enticing, seductive Mori.
And I really want to prove myself to Hiro.

He straightened his back and nodded decidedly.
"I am up to it, don't worry, Takuma," he stressed his decision.
Masa stood up and smiled, "I'm glad. You seemed really out of it..."
Tsukimori smiled. "I'll be alright."

The band-leader let out a long-hold sigh of relief.
Takuma felt a pat on his shoulder turned around. He saw the orange hair of the rhythm guitarist and then a rare smile softly beaming at him.
"It's going to be okay, Takuma-kun."
The youngest smiled back at his older friend: " I really hope you're right, Hiro-kun."
Tsukimori watched the little scene, comparing the smiling man to the Hiro he had he had known in the bathroom.

I wonder what it is about Takuma that makes all of us soft...
He's young, that's it.
Nice too. Well, sometimes.
Makes great Raamen and smells good. His lips are soft, pliant.
Does that make me want him like I want the too-sexy-for-his-own-good Mori?
Nope.
He's just...Takuma.
He makes us a band.
Period.

Without warning, Tsukimori felt lips moving against his ear: "Jealous?"
Turning around he expected to see the pink-haired object of his desire, but he was greeted by the smiling face of the singer of Dear Loving.
"Masa!?" Tsukimori protested softly.

"Aaaaaand~? Are you?"

"Aw, shut up, idiot." Tsukimori shook his head.

The door opened once again. "Who may it be this time?" Hiro joked dryly.

"Masa, here you are. We've been looking for you..." Kuro and the other two missing members of Dear Loving, Yuki and Takuya, entered the little room.
They looked fairly hung-over, still a little beside themselves.
Takuma and Hiro greeted the other band, Mori waved a little, but Dear Loving had other problems.
"It's our turn, Masa." Takuya informed the singer accusingly. The latter shrugged.
"So what? I have been here for quite a while, you guys overslept."
Yuki rolled his eyes. "Blah blah... come on, Masa! Let's get going."
Masa shrugged: "If you say so."
The singer stood up and followed his band-mates.
But then he suddenly turned around and smiled at the drummer of wyse.
He hurried back Kenji, catching the sad gaze of the drummer.
In a surprising gesture of tenderness he rubbed his thumb over the lips of the drummer: "Don't be down, Kenji-kun," he whispered, but still loud enough for everyone to hear. "See you after the show,"
he assured the stunned Kenji and ran out, before drummer could think of something to say.

At first all of wyse said nothing.
But then Mori grinned broadly, "Whooooo, Kenji. I didn't know you had it in you! I guess he reeeeeaaaally likes you," he cheered, causing a deep blush to crawl on the face of the drummer.
"It's not like that."
"That's what they all say..." Mori rubbed it in deeper. He poked the reddened cheeks playfully and licked his perfect lips. Helpless, the drummer tried to get away.
"Masa was just joking!" Kenji tired to safe himself from Mori's teasing.

Maybe he wasn't, Tsukimori thought. Maybe Masa wasn't joking. Maybe he likes Kenji. He looked serious enough when he touched Kenji's lips. Hell, I know these lips are worth it. I don't know what to think.
He watched as Mori continued to torment the poor blushing man, mischief sparkling in his slanted eyes.
Maybe that has been the last time Kenji looked at me with his lost puppy-look.

Suddenly he realized that he had liked being admired and having his ego fed.
But he didn't want Kenji's love.
But still...
Letting go was harder than he had anticipated. He slumped down on one of the chairs again, sighing deeply.
In the background he could also hear Hiro getting into tease-mode and Kenji's muffled protests.
Takuma stopped the fooling around of the guitarists at last: "Mori-kun, Hiro-kun....enough of that. We have to get ready for the concert. Get dressed and all of that. We should be ready, when Hideaki comes."
Of course Takuma was right, like he was almost always.
Tsukimori was grateful for the distraction provided by dressing and getting his make-up fixed.

He stood up and walked to the clothes, feeling the presence of another man beside him.
"Taku-chan..." he mumbled.
"Quite a day, ne? Some day you'll have to tell me, what exactly you have done to Kenji. Trying to kiss him?" Takuma mused, whispering.
Tsukimori shook his head, giving a bitter smile. "I've rejected him, Takuma. That is all."
The bassist sighed, "Are you sure it wasn't the other way round?"
Tsukimori laughed sadly, sounding strange to his own ears.
"I wish it had been the other way round..." he murmured, then he took hold of a few clothes and looked for a place to get dressed.
"Hey, Tsukimori!" the bassist called out.

"Hn?"

"And what about cigarettes?"

"Haven't thought of them for a long time," the singer admitted, amazed about himself. "Maybe that is a good sign.."

"Keep at it." Takuma supported him.

"Yes, Sir." the blonde singer agreed with a half-smile, then he concentrated on finding a little space to get dressed.

The young band-leader's look lingered on his vanishing figure, noticed by a orange-haired guitarist, whose eyes grew alert.
From behind two arms crawled around his waist and a head rested against his shoulder. But he ignored the advances, his eyes glued on the seemingly fragile and lone figure of the band-leader.
"Takuma..." he whispered.

Chapter 10:
All dressed up, Tsukimori looked around the dressing room, seeing only Takuma and Kenji.
They were busy with Hideaki and their make-up.
Where were Mori and Hiro?
Probably just getting dressed somewhere else.
He shrugged and stretched a little to get ready for the concert, glancing at his band-mates every now and then.
"Where are Hiro and Mori?" he suddenly heard the voice of the bassist. Looking up he blinked.

"Getting dressed?"

"They should..." Takuma mumbled, then wrinkling his nose because of inhaling some powder. "I haven't seen them in a while. Probably out smoking. Could you get them, Tsukimori-kun? We really should get ready now."

"Yes Sir." Tsukimori sighed and was on his way out.
Smoking?
Great, just what he needed.
He hadn't thought of getting some nicotine in quite a while now, but seeing a white cylinder caressed between the full lips of Mori would change that in a second, most certainly.

And I thought I was gradually getting over it. Not thinking of smoking as much.
But, Tsuki, face it. You thought about sex as a distraction all the more often, didn't you?
Pathetic liar.
You see Mori and you get weak with longing.
You see a cigarette and you crave for it.
Idiot.

All the while he was strolling through the corridor to find his missing band-mates. He saw a little sign saying, "Dear Loving", slowing down a little, smiling.
Masa really was coming on strongly to Kenji, wasn't he?
That was so cute, somehow, suddenly he felt strangely elated by the thought that maybe Kenji had a chance for a happy-end.
And he could hear them playing in the background, Masa's high boyish voice hitting his ears.
But there was also another sound.
The singer of wyse frowned and listened more closely.
A word moaned out in sexual ecstasy. At least someone was having fun, getting some.
He was about to go by, when he realized something.

Dear Loving were on stage, weren't they?
Who was using their dressing-room then?

The moans were becoming screams, louder, out of control.

"Hiro! Hiro!"

Hiro?
And was that Mori's voice?

He pushed the door open, and froze.

Before his eyes leaned to a wall were the two guitarists of his band, too engorged in their sex-play to hear him entering.
Mori's legs were hooked around Hiro's waist, their position unmistakably a libidinous one. They were both still mostly clothed, only the pants down.
Mori faced the ceiling, his head lolling back, his face distorted in lust, while Hiro seemed grumpy, angrily thrusting into the pink-haired man.
Another wail of the lust-filled voice of Mori, then his head fell on the shoulder of his partner and he kissed the patch of skin he could access above the shirt.
"Hiro..." he sighed, his voice slurred like he was drunk.
Then he spotted the singer, staring at them with an astonished and shocked expression. A cat-like grin spread on the luscious lips, the eyes telling him, 'don't you dare disturb us!' .
Tsukimori felt behind him and opened the door, leaving the room as fast as possible, slamming the door behind him.
He leaned against it, eyes closing and a pained expression settling between his eyebrows.
His breath came in rags.
Hiro was fucking Mori. And Mori appeared to enjoy it beyond reason, while the orange-haired guitarist had been obviously furious.

Mori...
Hiro and Mori.
I can't believe it. I just can't.
They're having sex.
Hiro is fucking my Mori...
Unbelievable.

In a state of denial, he wobbled back into the wyse-dressing-room.
The other two members looked at him wonderingly and Kenji asked: "What's wrong, Tsukimori-kun?" obviously having forgotten his anger at the singer,

"Wrong?"

"Yeah, you look really disturbed..." Kenji shook his head in an amused way.

"Have you found them?" Takuma asked, eyes directed at the ones of the singer.

"Un..." he laughed a little, but stopped at once, as if he had scared himself. "Sort of."

"Aaaaaaand?" Takuma was getting impatient.
The singer fidgeted around, giving confused smiles as an excuse. Finally he settled for a, "I don't think they will be around anytime soon."
Takuma's expression changed from annoyed to worried and back to annoyed.

"I wish they would hurry up whatever the are doing." he growled. "Smoking, weren't they?"
The singer shook his head almost automatically.

Ack, what else should they be donig, huh Tsukimori? What are you going to tell Takuma now?

"They weren't?" Kenji seemed surprised, too. Takuma snorted, "What the hell are they doing then? They should be here by now!"
Before he could act out his anger, Mori entered, smiling like he was on drugs. But somehow his eyes were sad and the singer could not detect a glint of post-orgasmic euphoria.
"The guilty ones show their faces..." Takuma commented the appearance of the guitarist, who indifferently shrugged and went for dressing and make-up without uttering a single word.
When Hiro arrived Takuma sighed, "And where have you been?"
"Out for a smoke," the grumpy guitarist answered, very unfriendly.
"Smoke?" Kenji and Takuma wondered in unison, looking at Tsukimori questioningly, who hastily busied himself with checking his clothes and discussing his make-up with Hideaki.

" Hiro-kun, please smoke one cigarette less next time, okay?" Takuma scolded the orange-haired man, who nodded suddenly very humbly.
No anger left.
His face clean of all the rage and passion he had shown while he had sex with Mori, Tsukimori thought with some amazement. Turned into a good boy, a loyal friend towards his hero, Takuma.
Almost ridiculous.
Takuma smiled at Hiro sweetly, like a friend would do. Hiro smiled back; no one ever could earn such a smile from Hiro except Takuma.
The orange-haired guitarist gave the bassist a last long look, before he got ready for the concert.
"And hurry up you two. We'll be on next!" Takuma reminded them once again.
Tsukimori looked at himself in the mirror, wondering who the stranger with the dark circles under his eyes was. Still the image of the two guitarists having sex lingered in his mind, the passion and the anger, colliding in this hard intercourse.
What was the meaning of that?

Mori using Hiro, playing his tempting tricks on Hiro?
Hiro manipulating Mori?
Were they in ... love?
Most certainly not.
If that was love, is this what hate is?
The struggle for something that wasn't there, just disgust and loneliness...

He had to get rid of that picture.
If Hiro could get Mori, it shouldn't be too difficult to have him, should it?
Seductive sweet thing...
A prize won with outmost struggle.
That will be your reward, Tsukimori, bur for now concentrate on the concert.
You still have to sing, remember?

He turned around and scanned the room again. Mori was talking to Kenji about clothes, and Kenji was
blushing again.
"...and Masa-san will probably think you look ravishing," Mori concluded, the drummer rolled his
eyes, cheeks colored in pleasant pink. Obviously the guitarist was back to his teasing self again.
"Hey guys, we're on next. Get a grip and let's entertain the audience out there, " Takuma said.
The other four nodded enthusiastically.
They gathered, putting their hands together, demonstrating unity to the outside world.

"Leeeeeeet's go!" Takuma called out.
"Yeah!" came the echo, and it was a true feeling of excitement, that surged through all of them.
Performing. They all loved it.
Elated and full of energy they ran to the stage, meeting the members of Dear Loving, having big silly
smiles plastered on their faces, filled with euphoria and a sense of power over the hearts and minds
of the audience.
"Good luck!" Takuya grinned at them. Masa was feeling a little fearless, he hugged Kenji out of the
blue and gave him a peck on the cheek, before he was gone.
Tsukimori felt grateful that Kenji was no longer sad because of him.
When he made his way to the microphone his heart started to beat mightily.

I have to be sure of myself, sure that I can do it.
I promised Takuma.
Just do it, Tsukimori, that is why you are here.
Not to fuck a pretty faced man or to pity yourself.
People paid money to hear you, see you...

He exchanged looks with Hiro, who seemed cool as ever, not showing any signs of anxiety,
holding on to his guitar with the most casual grip.
Mori on the other hand, had white knuckles because he was tense.
Takuma seemed tense as well, but in the usual way, just anticipation mixed with worry.
Kenji, seated behind his drums, his eyes dreamy, thinking of another singer than the one at the mic
momentarily.

The glances exchanged tried to reassure the others.

Then Kenji came back to the real world and beamed at his band-members; holding up his drum-sticks
he gave an entry.
The music started flawlessly and rushed from the ears of the singer right into his system, filling him
with the need to express what he felt inside.
With closed eyes, hands folded around the mic, he took a deep breath and opened his lips.
Then he began to sing.

Chapter 11:
The next morning a big lump under a warm futon began to move, groaning.
A blonde head appeared, wriggling up from the depths of the darkness of sleep.

The singer of wyse tried to remember the night before.

Well....
There had been a concert, hadn't it?
He had been sick before.
But Takuma had seem to that, ne?
He had been kissed, too.
Kenji first. Then Hiro.
A brutal kiss with the force of a explosion.
A kiss as a warning not to come too close to Hiro's hero, Takuma.

Images of Kenji being courted by his own cute friend Masa flashed through his head, making him
smile. Such a cute couple, well not a couple yet, but Masa obviously knew who he wanted and how
to get him. And Kenji didn't seem to mind the advances much.
Tsukimori folded his hands under the back of his head, smiling broadly.
Then another recollection mocked him very suddenly.
Two bodies entangled in hot sex, both desperately hunting release.
And his little world had become slightly upside down.
Fuck that Mori.

How I'd like to.

Just wait, Tsukimori, your time will come soon.

And what do I remember about the concert?
He saw Takuma before him, saying: "That was really okay, Tsukimori-kun. Though you can do better.
But considering the circumstances...it was quite good."

So it hadn't been a total disaster.

He sighed with a little relief and turned around, to face the new day.
Getting into his morning routine he suddenly thought about having a smoke.
He looked into one of his cupboards, normally containing a pack or two as an emergency deal.
Without thinking he opened the new pack and stuck one of the white cylinders between his lips. When he held his lighter to it's end, he suddenly hesitated.

Do I want this?
Do really need this?

He let his tongue flick against the end of the filter to get an impression.
Then he pulled the cigarette from his lips and rolled it between his fingers, crushing it slowly.
Brown fragments covered his kitchen-floor, seeing that, he resolvedly stepped on it.

No, I don't need that.
I don't want to anymore.
I am stronger than this, I can feel it right now.

I'm going to have Mori and make him sorry for teasing me so often.
Driving me crazy is more appropriate.
Damned Mori.
Fucking Hiro, but teasing me.
Why Hiro for crying out loud?

And...he hadn't detected any sign of satisfaction in the pink-haired guitarist.
Mori had been almost fragile, his eyes had shown some degrees of desperation combined with the light of happiness.
Not very Mori-like at all...
But the guitarist knew how to set up his usual image of carelessness again in a blink, almost as if he hadn't been human in the first place.

Tsukimori entered the tiny bathroom, baring his teeth to the mirror and scrutinized his own reflection.
Not too pretty.
Brushing his teeth to get rid of the horrible taste in his mouth, it suddenly hit him.

Mori is mine!

...I've won...

Grinning like a drunken fool, lips smeared with white tooth-paste, he began to giggle.

[Mine, mine, mine!
He's mine.
Finally.]

Full of energy he scrubbed his teeth, then jumped into his clothes, getting a strong coffee and some white bread with strawberry jam, he left the run-down apartment.

Sitting in the subway on the way to the studio he had to admit that he still felt the symptoms of withdrawal, but they were more like the last fragments of a flu, familiar and controllable.
A headache and senseless shivering was nothing compared to the craving for nicotine.
He could deal with them.
Also he was energized by the thought of having Mori instead.

How I'm looking forward for seeing the look on his face when I tell him, he is my slave for a week.
Will his eyes budge out?
No fucking Hiro for a week. Tsukimori steps into the picture.

Confronted with sickness and the whole one-mindedness of it's user, the brain of the singer repeated the moans and sighs of Mori.

I will cause him to scream, moan and get out of control.
My name will melt on his lips like delicious ice cream, making him addicted, wanting more of me...
Washing Hiro off of him like a long hot shower.

Chuckling inwardly, Tsukimori smiled at the people sitting opposite to him, who looked rather disturbed by this sudden exhibition of happiness.

Smiling he left the station and walked with long strides to the small studio, feeling almost as if he should announce his newly-acquired status as a non-smoker to the world.
And let them know, let them see, that he was able to do it.

The singer reached the studio and entered, wondering if anyone would be there yet.
He wanted to brag about with his victory, he felt just too good to be true.
Already assembled in the small studio were Takuma, Hiro and a strangely nervous Kenji.
The singer greeted his band-mates with a loud and cheerful: "Morning everyone!"
"Ah, Tsukimori-kun." Takuma greeted him, gracing the singer with a cute smile and a soft question in his eyes, "How are you?"
Hiro ignored him and the ever sweet Kenji seemed a little uneasy.
"I'm simply wonderful." Tsukimori smiled broadly at the bassist, "Never been better. Okay, I've got a little headache and stuff, but except for that... I'm over it!"
The eyes of the bassist and the drummer widened in surprise, but the orange-haired guitarist snorted.
"Over what? Pacing around like a hamster on speed and drooling over Mori?"
The singer smiled, carefree, and poked Hiro's cheek playfully, provoking the other man immensely.
"No, you sweet little grump. I'm over with the smoking period of my life." Tsukimori triumphed and gave the guitarist his most brilliant smile.
Takuma blinked a few times and then he scrutinized the singer: "You really mean that?"
Tsukimori nodded enthusiastically, feeling all proud of himself.
"You're kiddin' right?" Hiro raised an eyebrow at the smiling man.
Tsukimori laughed: "No I'm not. I'm still a little sick, but... Cigarettes are no longer needed by moi."
Kenji sighed.
Tsukimori's attention focused on the drummer, forgetting all about his triumph, "What's wrong, Kenji-kun?"
Kenji's gaze stayed on the floor, before he looked up with a bright grin plastered on his face.
"Congratulations, Tsukimori-kun."
Tsukimori showed him a V-sign and was almost happy enough to start jumping around in the studio, when he heard a new voice from the direction of the entrance.
"Congratulations? Is it another birthday?"
Tsukimori turned around to face the incoming guitarist, mischievous joy written all over his handsome face.
"Nope. But there's a reason to be rejoicing," the singer said in his sweetest, most innocent voice.
Mori frowned.
Something was foul, the guitarist concluded.
"Why?" He was almost afraid to ask.
The singer wrapped an arm around the surprised Mori, edging his face closer to the pink bittersweet lips of his former tormentor.
"Because you will have the privilege to be mine for a week."

"What?!"

"You've heard right, mine!" Tsukimori's voice was full of triumph, making the other three frown in disgust.

"You're crazy because of the withdrawal, right?" Mori blinked, hoping he was right. The arm around his shoulders tightened and the lips of Tsukimori came in even closer.

"Nope. I'm clean. No more smoking for Tsukimori," the singers voice dropped to a husky seductive level: "And that means your ass is mine, Mori."
As the guitarist inhaled, he could almost to taste the breath of the other man. His breathing became labored.
He desperately thought about what to say, how to shrug off the persistent singer and to escape the uncomfortable situation. His eyes searched for the other guitarist, silently pleading for support, but the gaze of the orange-haired man rested on the band-leader. Tsukimori felt that the man in his arm lose all his strength as Mori bit his lips in desperate loneliness.

"No way..." he tried to put on his usual flamboyancy, without much success.

The man so close to him noticed the silent appeal from his victim, but the chosen savior had other things in mind. This pleased the singer even more: a desperate Mori in his grasp, and an uncaring Hiro, eyes settled on another man.

How ironic.

"Yes way, my dear friend." Tsukimori's smile was almost maniacal, "Prepare yourself for a week of surprises."
"I guess not. First of all prove to me that you really are a non-smoker now!" Mori saw his one chance to get out of this without total embarrassment. The overconfident look on the handsome face of the singer vanished. In utter frustration he groaned:: "Prove it? Like how?"
"You want me to tell you how? I am about to become your slave and you want me to give you the key to my doom? No way!" The seductive, arrogant smile found its way back on the delicious lips of the pink-haired guitarist, while the singer backed off a little.

Damn, why haven't I thought of this?
How am I going to do that?

Mori wetted his lips slowly, taking his time, giving the singer a cold but enticing look from his half-lidded eyes. Tsukimori stared down at his hands and his mouth drew into a thin line.
Mori waved a little 'bai bai idiot' and made his way to the rest of the band, sitting down next to Kenji.
Tsukimori heard a soft: "So, how are you, Kenji-kun?" from the guitarist, before he felt a whack from another man.
Turning around he looked right into the face of their leader.
"Serves you right, Tsukimori-kun."
Another disgusted look.
"That was really wretched. You're in no way better than Mori is."
Tsukimori frowned and pouted, while he mumbled, "I only tried to pay him back for all his teasings."
Takuma only shook his head in a soft scolding way, making Tsukimori feel suddenly very miserable.
Hiro joined them: "Takuma is right. That was disgusting, Tsuki. The way you threw yourself at him was so cheap."
He laughed bitterly at the singer's expense, contempt and a strange acidity mingling in, making Tsukimori cringe.

Why is he so bitter, I wonder...
Because I touched his fuck-buddy?
What does he care...?
Jealous because I get to fuck Mori once in a while?
If I ever do get to fuck him, that is...

"Now everyone, we're not here to watch Tsukimori lay his moves on Mori. Let's practice, ne."
Takuma disrupted the singer's train of thought. Kenji walked over to his drums, throwing thoughtful glances at the singer, while Mori was quiet for once, just setting up his guitar and waiting for the first song to start.
Tsukimori looked over his sheets with notes and lyrics, getting them into his head, concentrating on the sound he wanted to achieve and the way he wanted to sing it.
He tried to make out the emotions he wanted to convey into song and hummed a soft melody. He felt the eyes of the drummer resting on him.
"What's wrong, Kenji-kun?" Tsukimori inquired.
The drummer smiled: "That was very good, Tsukimori-kun."
Tsukimori laughed and felt bashful.
He hadn't expected any approval of the man, he had rejected so cruelly just the day before and he had been somewhat afraid to lose Kenji's friendship. Being praised by Kenji in the traditional way also meant things were back to normal between them, right?
"Thanks a lot, Kenji."
He could also feel the approving nod of his band-leader and finally the high he had felt before returned.
When they had settled and the song began, giving Tsukimori a second to get lost between reality and music, the singer had the chance to catch another unusual expression on Mori's normally even face.
Desperate longing and disappointment.

Hey, is that the Mori I know? Has he been switched with someone else overnight?

Mori hadn't been that open about any feelings as long as he remembered, not to mention he had always been teasing the singer. Even before they had joined wyse.

He didn't even know if he could call Mori a friend.
Neither truly a friend, nor close to an enemy.
He couldn't really put his relationship into terms.
But he felt a little bit of pity when he watched the guitarist now... tired eyes covered by the usual mask soon enough.
Tsukimori almost missed his cue due to his state of deep thought, but when he his voice started out, his discoveries influenced the way he sang.
A sad melody escaped his lips, making the others look at him in surprise.
But most surprised was Tsukimori himself.
They carried on through a few old songs as a warm up and with every song Tsukimori discovered his voice was a little different from what he was used to.
It reacted to every emotion he felt more intensely and smoothly.
A satisfied smile settled on the lips of the singer as they continued to practice, the pink-haired annoying reward almost forgotten.

"Takuma-kun, please...let's have a break." Hiro asked very politely.
Takuma sighed and nodded.
With a look of gratitude the guitarist stood up and went to the smoking area of the studio. Normally the pink-haired man would have joined him at once, but not this time.
Mori sat on his position, eyes hidden behind his long pink bangs, the lips giving away no sign of love or hate.
But Tsukimori felt, that a malicious look was cast at him from the guitarist, calculating and questioning. The singer smiled a little and nodded to himself: "I'm going over to Segafredo. Want something, guys?"
Hiro's surprised look was almost priceless. Normally the singer would have joined him smoking making silly jokes or just burning away time into blue-gray dust. "Oh..." was all he muttered at first. Then he searched his back pocket for some cash, his cigarette casually tucked between his lips, he mumbled his order and handed his cash over to the singer. Takuma was content with green tea from a bottle and Kenji didn't know what to choose: "You know, there's this blue stuff...I love that. And the macchiato? It's great also..."
So Kenji decided to join Tsukimori, still Mori wouldn't say a word, Takuma strolled over to him.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm okay."
"You sure?"
"Man, Takuma-kun..." Mori gave him a shy and yet friendly smile.
"I guess, Mori-kun, you are up to keep the bet, am I right?", Takuma asked very low, his blue contact-lens colored eyes peering into the dark ones of the guitarist.
"What do you mean?"
The younger man patted him carefully on the shoulder : "I mean, Tsukimori has won, as far as I can see."
Mori glared: "Then you are blind, Takuma-kun. He is still addicted! He will soon enough crave a smoke."
"No, he is not. I've spent his withdrawal days quite close to him and I must admit he's over it. He still feels the need, but it's not out of control anymore."
"I see, you're siding with him here", Mori's voice was cynical, but somewhere there was hurt underneath the barbs.
"I'm not siding with anyone here", Takuma slowly ran out of patience, "After all, you idiots made that fucking bet. All I can say is: You are the looser, Mori-kun. Take it or just admit that you're afraid of the consequences. I'm sorry, if this sounds hard, but this bet really brings a lot of pressure into the band."
The pink-haired man suddenly felt like crying and hiding, not very cocky at all.
"Please, Mori-kun, settle this stupid bet", Takuma's hand gave the guitarist a soft squeeze on the shoulder, then he took his bass and gave Hiro a long look, saying: 'And you should look after your unfinished business as well!', before he left the room.
Awkward silence covered the two fuck-buddies like a leaden cloth, Mori stared on the floor, Hiro tried to look anywhere but the solemn figure of the man, whose body he entered every now and then.
Body yes, but the mind behind the curtain of pink hair was impermeable.
Suddenly their eyes met and at once both were taken back with shame, disgust for the other and themselves. And mountains of uncertainty rose between them.
"Hiro...", Mori started softly. But the orange-haired guitarist shook his head:
"It has nothing to do with me. Whatever you do with Tsukimori, I don't care!"
Words like punches, hard and hurtful, with the force of carelessness behind them.
Mori took the blows without even blinking.
Just about that time, Kenji and Tsukimori returned with the delivery, handing over bagels and coffee to Hiro first.
Afterwards Tsukimori stopped before the pink haired and said: "Want your coffee?", but when Mori's eyes met his, he felt a strange tingle.
"I've got to admit, you won. Fair and square. I'm yours for a week."
The next thing Tsukimori heard, was a surprised yelp from Kenji and the noise of a paper-cup of coffee hitting the ground.

Chapter 12:
Tsukimori was pacing up and down in the small space that was his apartment.

[After all this time and waiting he will be mine! Mine!
I will have him, him, that bittersweet tease with the long legs and the provocative lips. No more teasing only pleasing.
Sex, just pure pleasure. No room for screams for Hiro or anyone else. Even though I wouldn't mind Hiro joining in to a hot threesome, but at first Mori should be all mine.
Mine.
Trashing, begging, being at the mercy of this little singer for once.]

Suddenly the disgusted voice of Takuma rang in his head:
[You're in no way better than Mori.]

And the look of pity and abhorrence on the nice, gentle face with the sweet tasting lips. The one, who had helped him while he was in withdrawal, who had supported him. His friend Takuma.
He didn't like a look like this on Takuma's face and the loss of trust on Kenji's.
After all they were still his friends and band-mates, always respecting him, even in when he was one-track-mindedly horny and getting on everyone's nerves, trying to seduce the good-natured Kenji and failing when he attempted to sing.

/What a wretched loser I am. I don't really deserve their friendship, but, hey, they're wonderful. Warm, friendly... Sexy!/
He chuckled and shook his head.
One-track mind indeed.

Maybe blowing off some pressure with Mori would change that... at least a little.

Making Mori whimper in the softest way, the most delicate way. Sucking him, marking him and perchance he could make him forget this stupid Hiro. And the wistful way he moaned that name while they fucked.
He would erase Hiro from Mori's skin and memory, he would tear the grim guitarist right out of Mori's treacherous heart and replace him.
Tasty, edible, teasing Mori...
He would...
There it was, his door-bell.
He hurried and opened, broad, naughty smile lingering on his lips.
There he was, the merciless seducer, a sarcastic grin on his invitingly pink lips, self-conscious, arrogant. Totally Mori.

"May I come in?", he asked, slyly.
Tsukimori felt his mouth dry up and nodded only because of a sudden loss for words.
Swaying in, Mori made the impression of an erotic vision in flesh and blood, much to Tsukimori's distress.

[He's mine now. This luscious piece of flesh is for me!]

"Hello Mori-kun" , Tsukimori finally urged out, sounding really aroused.

When they reached the small main-room, they halted, the singer staring at his newly acquired personal toy.
"So, what is it you want from me, huh?", Mori's voice was cool, controlled. Tsukimori was a little annoyed by that, because he wanted the pink-haired under his spell, willingly being at his mercy. He wanted Mori to want him too.
But the guitarist was indifferent, cool even though he was the loser and now the slave. Like Tsukimori could never have him, even by taking him against his will.
"Not so fast, Loser. Let me enjoy this moment a little longer...", Tsukimori grinned evilly.
"Just let's get over with this, Tsukimori."
"If you say so, old friend..." The singer led his newly acquired subdued servant into his tiny kitchen. Dirty dishes piled, encrusted dirt covering the surfaces.
"This is your first task..."
"What?"
"Clean the kitchen, ne."
An amused, arrogant snort was his only answer.
"Is that all? I'd expected more of you, really."
The singer smiled mischievously. "First things first."

Sitting on front of his play-center, Tsukimori found it was extremely delightful listening to someone else roaming about in the kitchen.
[For once I'm in the winning position! For once I'm at the top!
I will have sex, finally.
All of this brooding and running in circles is over.
My desires will be fulfilled, a body under mine, following my wishes. Voices filled with hoarse desire and feral lust. Mine, all mine.
I've won, at long last.]

[... Takuma will despise me... ]

He stopped playing, lowered the game-pad and stared on the tips of his toes, wriggling there under the fabric of his socks.
"Nah! He's been mean to me!", he told himself, even though it sounded not too convinced. "I'll get revenge. And pleasure."

[That is all.]

"What are you mumbling, Tsuki?", Mori asked from the kitchen.
"Don't call me Tsuki!"
"Winner?" Contempt palpable in the cool, still sensual voice.
"How about: 'Master'?
"Never!"
Tsukimori grinned.

[Positively Mori! Even in his most submissive he's never giving in.]

Unbidden images of passion and submission to an orange-haired man, the still mocking glances shot to him. The delectable pink lips curling in a taunting grin, even while he was being fucked.
Sensual to the bone, enticing, provoking.

A growl escaped Tsukimori's throat.
Unbroken desire was raging through him, and he didn't want it to stop. A body was what he craved, no longer a white cylinder.
That had to mark a progress, hadn't it?
No need for cigarettes when there was the sex-substitute available, and even better in the form of a long-legged man fully under his command.
Yay.

Mori broke his train of thought with a soft kick to his knee: "Hey, lazy ass!"
"Is that a way to talk to your master?", Tsukimori teased with an angelic smile.
"You're no one's master, can't even order yourself to do anything!"
[What the...?!]
Tsukimori rose and looked up into his 'slave's' eyes, enraged.: "I can! I have made myself stop smoking!"
"Just because you wanted a piece of my ass." A seductive grin, yet contempt hidden underneath.
"That's not it! I wanted a better voice!"
Cruelly Mori started to laugh, while the singer felt little swirls of anger inside of him, slowly growing larger.
"Shut up, Mori. Just shut up!", he growled, before he caught the chin of the fairly taller man and pulled him down. A short moment he could counter the mocking sparkle in the dark eyes, but then he snorted and ground his lips against the pink ones of his agony. It didn't feel like a kiss. It felt like lip-wrestling, neither sweetness nor bitterness dripped into his waiting mouth. All was dry, warm but without connection. He backed from the unpleasant contact and glared at Mori: "You are mine now. You have to do what I want you to."
"So?" Provocation had a name and it's name was Mori.
"I want you to comply to being kissed."
"Like how?" Mori seemed totally unfazed, cool.
[Am I really the winner?]
That kiss surely didn't feel like anything close to submission, it had felt like war. And disgust.
"Play along! Kiss me back, not such a poor excuse for a kiss. More enthusiasm, like you show for Hiro."
A thick, awkward silence followed, laden with unspoken truths and unwilling admissions, before Mori bent down and kissed the singer with angry sadness. A million sparkling drops exploded inside of Tsukimori's eyes. The force of Mori's fury racing into him, reaching out towards his core to inflame the kindle of passion hidden there. He barely had the power to answer this attack, sensations flooded his system and he slowly became numb from the lack of oxygen. A wonderful, dark, forbidden state of lust. Phenomenally wrong and therefore even more arousing.
Unconsciously panting he stared at Mori through lust-fogged eyes, when they parted.
"Better...", he huffed.
Mori was fire, pink flames burning around an black icy core of ambivalent anger and self-control. He was beautiful, painfully so.
"Undress!", he sighed involuntarily almost, wanting to see more of the skin underneath those carefully chosen, up-to-date clothes. To shed the convenient Mori-ness.
A ridiculed snort, before Mori took a few steps back, easing up his T-shirt with a brusque gesture, just like he was undressing in a hurry to fall into bed. Not much sex-appeal there.
"Do it like you're enjoying it!", Tsukimori warned, his voice husky.
Untamed lust was all over his normally gentle features, giving him an air of false maturity. Or regained childhood.
After a short hesitation, Mori pulled the shirt over his head, slowly, lasively, while he stuck out his hips as a sort of invitation. Liquid grace, combined with the newly barred skin drew Tsukimori closer, his fingertips itching for a sample of the warm flesh. When he touched the glorious skin finally, he was prepared for electricity, lust and being swallowed into lust completely. He awaited the melting, the oblivion that would be his spiral into orgasm.
The first in a row, when he would plunge into Mori's willing, smooth body, satiny skin covered in sweat, salvia and semen. Breathless. Mindless.
Raw, unmasked desire.

He touched the soft skin, awaiting all of that. His lips sought out Mori's for another burning kiss, somewhere close to hate-filled lust. Rubbing, seeking, deeply and forcingly. No grain of compassion, no touch of tenderness.
His hand finding it's path into the darkness under Mori's jeans, while he still used the other's mouth at his own will, urging his tongue in and tasting, feeling, taking whatever treasure he found.

But then... He looked up.

Tsukimori stilled because the desperate sadness he was suddenly confronted with did erase all the option for a playful roll on his bed. The grief flushed the frenzy away like a bucket full of icy water splashed into his face.

"Mori..."
There was no lust in Mori's dark eyes. All he could perceive was fear, a little contempt and infinite loneliness.
"Mori?", Tsukimori asked, he wondered what in the world would do this to the sexy, cocky and arrogant Mori. The man whose lips could make bitterness seem like the most tasty thing. And who could mock him even while he was being fucked by...
[Hiro!]
The brutal, grumpy kisser. The one he could never have, but who had Mori in return. Always so damned aloof, witty and dry.
And Mori's silent plea for support, cruelly ignored. His mask sliding, revealing a true face under a flamboyant facade, coldly rebuffed.
And, without a warning, it made all the sense in the world to Tsukimori.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"What...?" Confusion was evident, but also fear of being exposed.

"Hiro. How could I have been so blind? You're in love with that bastard!" Tsukimori felt a dry chuckle rising in his throat. "Man, it's been so obvious but I just didn't get it, right?"
Mori nodded solemnly, like a puppet. His sexy grace had been taken away, leaving only a half-naked, too young and defenseless man.
"Is this mutual?", Tsukimori continued, receiving no answer, Mori's gaze just the dropped to the floor.
"So it isn't", the singer concluded, an amused grin playing around his lips.
[He is suffering! This is great. After all this time that I have suffered from his advances he finally tastes his own medicine.]
He was about to rub his hands in triumph, when Mori's broken voice reached him.
"He...", the pink-haired man started. "He doesn't even like me."
Endless weariness accompanied his confession, tired of being used, unhappy, frail and lost. Tsukimori's hands fell limply at his sides, also his feelings of triumph felt stale and sour. This was not the moment for triumph.
Tsukimori returned to the man he had touched in passion just moments before, now he just acted out of compassion, drawing the taller Mori into a soft, soothing embrace. Mori let it happen without any sign of acceptance or refusal, he just breathed heavily, soft shudders raging though his otherwise unmoving body.
"He has sex with you... He must at least find you attractive." An awkward try to comfort Mori.
"No, he doesn't. All I am is a distraction, a release for his anger... His frustration." A first choking sob escaped Mori, before his arms sprang free and clung to Tsukimori like he was about to fall otherwise. Every single tear he had gulped down was back with a vengeance, finally running free.
Tsukimori felt his own throat growing tighter, seeing Mori's heart so openly broken and trampled on. At last he understood the scene the had encountered before the concert, the mixture of anger, passion, sex and scorn.
"You have to stop that", he whispered.
"I know, I know, damn it", Mori cried, Tears still falling, even though his eyes were now more angry than lonely, when he faced his band-mate. "I want to... I really do. But I can't."
He shrugged out of Tsukimori's arms and began pacing the small expanse of the apartment, rubbing his arms nervously, evidently craving his object of affection and no mask left to hide behind.
"Mori...", Tsukimori was shocked to see Mori like that, fully raw and nothing left of the teasing, sweet, arrogant creature, he played with grandeur.
[Like I craved these damn cigarettes. Cigarettes, sex, drugs, who cares as long as your addictions are fed.]
"I can't get away from him. He only needs to look at me like I am the lowest thing in the world and I will crawl on all fours to him. And it hurts so much... It hurts so deep... I don't want to be hurt again, you see? I don't like being his... inflatable satisfaction guarantee. "
Slowly Tsukimori nodded, following Mori's footsteps circling over his floor. Then he suddenly felt bad, adding to Mori's already wretched situation.
"I'm truly sorry. Please forgive me, Mori."
Something inside of him unclenched abruptly, spreading a strange feeling of doing the right thing. Mori stopped his pacing and looked at the singer for a long, steady moment.
"We were drunk and that bet was fun. It was also fun seeing you suffer, trying to get away from smoking, fighting against your attraction towards me and the others. I felt..."
A small, bitter smile graced the full lips, a wonderful appetizing reflection of something even more sour.
"Like you were not alone in your agony...", Tsukimori ended the sentence for him, Mori's eyes growing wide before he nodded.
"That's it. When I could tease you at least I had the power over someone... Anyone. So, it should probably be me who's sorry."
"Actually, I think it should be Hire who's the sorry one." Tsukimori nodded grimly, but Mori shook his head in defense of his love.
"He... I always go back to him, he never wanted me to go to him and ask for sex." A snort escaped the singer, he shook his head and stopped the still pacing unfortunate guitarist. He shoved him to the couch and placed him there.
"Hiro could have turned you down if he really had been disgusted or anything. I know that he is quite able to make a point in rejecting someone..."

This is all you will ever get from me!
Hiro had been very frank with his kiss and his rejection. Brusque, open, uncaring.
Very much Hiro personified.

"Maybe he's just not sure about his feelings?" That made Mori laugh bitterly, darkness haunted his face.
"Well he is! They're just not for me, you see?"
Blinking Tsukimori tried to understand, to grasp what Mori left unsaid, the hidden meaning, that was right there, if only he could reach it.
"Takuma?", he asked, when suddenly their sweet-faced leader appeared before his inner eyes, while Mori only gasped. That was affirmation enough.
[Well, who is the one Hiro's tame for? Who is the one he is trying to protect. Only Takuma. Takuma and no one else.]
"Now I see...", he finally uttered.
[He lets it all out with Mori, but still, Takuma won't see him as anything but a friend, band-mate, colleague. And Mori is swallowing Hiro's anger.]
"I'm just tired of it all", Mori's voice was low, he sounded like he was about to loose his voice. And as tired as he had said. "All I want is to sleep soundly one night, without his him haunting me. One night when I don't see his longing glance being directed at this... this... at Takuma."
He looked at Tsukimori, who seemed thoughtful. "Even though Takuma has his heart and I don't, I still can't hate the man for it. I mean he is an agreeable guy and great musician. Why doesn't he notice the hungry stares Hiro gives him?"
Instead of an answer, Tsukimori just shrugged and chuckled at the same time.
"Beats me, too."
Both men sighed in unison and the singer mused: "I could use a cigarette."
Mori's eye-brows flew high. "Really?"
"No, just going through the motion would be helpful somehow. My hands crave for something to hold, I wonder how Takuma manages."
"He always clings to his guitar or bass. Maybe that helps too?"
Tsukimori rose, retrieved Mori's shirt and gave it to his pink-haired guest. "Here, put that back on. You really look tired... Take a nap on the couch, ne?"
"Are you really Tsukimori?"
Grinning he shook his head. "No, but I feel better this way."
"I like you better this way, too. Really, you're nice and I could go for a nice man with a cute grin. What about this bet-thingie?"
Tsukimori waved it off. "Forget it. It was childish and we were drunk. Kind of a miracle that we remembered it at all, wasn't it?"
"Sure was."
They laughed together and that helped, righted things in a warm manner.
Mori stretched on the worn-down couch, with a deep sigh exhaling many worries and the feeling of being all alone.
"It's nice to know that I could talk to you about this... problem", he mumbled, before he felt a blanket being spread over his form. "Thanks."
The warmth made his sleepy, the exhaustion of many sleepless nights settling behind his weary eyes. He snuggled into the comfort, not noticing that Tsukimori left, while he was sleeping.

Driving his car, he longed for a cigarette again, to fight the nervousness, but Tsukimori had none, so he had to stay abstinent. His mind wandered.
[Kenji's the lucky one! He got out of this merry-go-round soon enough.]

One cigarette.
He declined his chances for sex with poor Mori and felt good about it, but wasn't it time for some sort of reward? He stopped smoking for the sex option. Now the sex option was gone, what was left?

[My voice...]

Somehow that thought wasn't as powerful as he had hoped it would be. He stepped on the gas.

Hiro hadn't expected anyone to stop by on that evening and was really surprised when the door-bell rang.
Opening hazy-minded, he was even more surprised when he felt his collar taken unexpectedly and himself pressed against the wall of his small corridor, just beside the step inside his realm.
After registering his position, he finally came up with the aggressors name: "Tsukimori!"
"Damn right!"
"What...?! Why..?!", the victim pressed out. Then Tsukimori's hands loosened a little, giving Hiro some room to breathe. "What do you want, Tsuki? I thought you were busy fucking Mori."
"And you don't care, do you?"
"No", Hiro shrugged, "Why should I?"
"Do you really don't know?"
"Nope!" As soon as the word left his lips, Tsukimori's fist connected with his chin, making bluish stars dace before his eyes. Afterwards the pain hit him, as he tumbled sideways, the step hindering him, making him falling to the ground. There he just stilled, rubbed his aching chin and looked up into the singer's eyes with distrust and anger.
"That hurt! Whatever did you do that for?"
"For your fucking ignorance, asshole!"
"Me? My ignorance?" A sordid laugh from Hiro. "Aren't you the one who doesn't get anything?"
Tsukimori shrugged. "I used to, I admit that. But that's not why I'm here, jerk."
Hiro sat up, his chin pounding in unison with his head, studying the singer.
"What made you so clairvoyant all of a sudden, huh?"
"Mori did." It was a simple fact, stated in a cool voice, bordering on unfeeling, but the look in Tsukimori's eyes was sad. And that was what made Hiro wonder.
"Mori?"
"You accused me of using people and said you would never allow me to hurt Takuma. But you've been doing the same to Mori all along, you self-righteous bastard."
Hiro didn't answer, his face still like the ocean with unknown troubled depths underneath the presumably calm surface.
"You fuck, him, use him, just to get over the fact that Takuma ignores your overtures. He's just a thing to get your rockers off, never even thinking about him."
The orange head of Hiro moved a little, as if he didn't want to hear the words of Tsukimori, yet couldn't get away.
"So, what is it to you? Are you angry because he rather fucks me than you?" It didn't sound as aggressive as the words were meant to be. It sounded shallow, like a defense that was crumbling already.
"Maybe a little of that, but what pisses me off is that you ignore that he loves you and needs you. Stop your.. sexual activities with him. Every time you enter him, he hopes you notice that he is Mori and not Takuma, but you don't. And since he said he can't break it off himself... Let him go."
Hiro snorted in a hopeless way, before he rose and went away into his small single room, escaping from Tsukimori's words and wrath. Quickly the singer slipped out of his shoes and followed Hiro.
Between the slim fingers of the guitarist rested a cigarette, smoke curled into the warm air of the apartment. The eyes were unfocused and he seemed really unimpressed.
"Hiro," Tsukimori's voice was low, careful. "Will you let him go?"
Hiro only took a drag of his cigarette, never even flicking his eyes to the singer.
Tsukimori felt the need to beat Hiro again, even though he was aware that it would change nothing, but at least he could get rid of the tickle in his finger-tips. And the rekindled need to press a white cylinder to his lips.
"You are really selfish." Tsukimori shook his head and he felt sad for Mori. "At least, release Mori from this mess. You may have to find another fuck-toy, but..." A picture of a half-naked, crying, lost Mori appeared before him. "Mori is our band-mate, for crying out loud! He's supposed to be our friend and we should look out for him. He's not a toy!"
He snatched the cigarette from Hiro's hand and took a deep drag.
"Yuck! Tastes horrible!"
That satisfied him a little. Even though the need was there, he was not back to smoking yet. Hiro growled a little, before he just went back to staring.
"Did you hear what I just said, Hiro?" Tsukimori gave a dry laugh, more like another slap to regain the attention of the guitarist.
"Maybe I did."
Another span of silence, Tsukimori wondered how he would be able to tear down the indifferent mask of Mori's tormentor. He crushed the cigarette in Hiro's ashtray, asking: "Do you really love Takuma?"
Before he could even blink, Hiro was on his feet, angry, out of control.
"How dare you!"
"So, you love him, is that it?"
"Stop talking, Tsuki! Stop!" Hiro's voice slowly rose to screaming.
"Touchy subject, isn't it? Takuma... Though he is a cute and nice guy, even Mori admitted that, he's not particularly fond of intimate contacts with men, I must say."
Hiro's eyes burned, the pupils tiny, his skin flushed with the rush of anger. "What are you saying?"
"Well, I was kissing him the other day and he..."
Hiro grabbed Tsukimori's collar and lifted the smaller man up to him. "You. Kissed. Takuma?"
[I'm in trouble!]
"Sort of..."
Tsukimori was prepared for the beating of a lifetime, for rage, anger and pain, but not for the helpless display of torment he discovered on Hiro's face.
"How... could you?"
"He was sleeping and... Hiro, he really hated it, believe me!" When he felt the floor back under his feet, he felt relieved, taking a deep breath.
"You... spoiled him...", Hiro's voice was sad, hoarse, as if his daylight had been taken away.
"Nonsense! Did he seem spoiled to you? Nope, he was the same. He just doesn't want any of us to be anything else than a friend or a band-mate." Tsukimori sighed and gave a small grin. "But, if you go on using Mori for your own benefit, you'll ruin wyse. Remember what you told me? If this band fails, Takuma will give up on music completely. Mori will not be able to stand your mistreatment forever, it's eating him up."
[Should I tell Hiro? Will he listen? Will he understand? Oh, I wish I could have another cigarette... No, I'm non-smoking now!]
Hiro's hands opened, his fingers curling with the repressed wish to hurt something, but then the went slack. He looked like he had been defeated.
Tsukimori took his stillness to start. "He cried. Can you imagine Mori crying? I have never seen him cry before and frankly it scared me." Pausing to give Hiro a second to ponder that, Tsukimori tried to read the other's face. He didn't succeed.
"He's broken, empty. You managed to ruin our lead-guitarist, how do you like that? How will Takuma like that?"
The only thing moving in Hiro's face his mouth, even that was restrained. "What should I do?"
[I got him! I really got the cool-sexy Hiro!]
Suppressing a triumphant noise, Tsukimori cleared his throat, very softly offering:
"You may not get Takuma, you may not have his heart, but..." He softly placed a hand on Hiro's shoulder.
[I have to be careful. For Mori. For Takuma. For me. Hell, even for Hiro.]
"But, there is one heart that needs you, not only the sex you're readily offer, but you. I don't know why, since you happen to be very stubborn and can make everyone feel miserable. Mori needs you. Needs to know that you are aware that he's there with you, that for once you two will be making love instead of having sex."
Hiro looked up, seeing Tsukimori in a totally new light.
"If you can't become Takuma's lover, maybe you should try and be Mori's."
Tsukimori's heart beat out of time, he felt like this was one of the most fragile moments he had ever encountered. Hiro still did not answer, so he decided to give the orange-maned man another soft push.
In Hiro's sight appeared some keys.
"Here", he heard, friendly spoken. "These are the keys to my apartment. Now, go! Go and see him, Hiro. Go and make the best of what he offers you so freely."
Hiro nodded numbly.
"There has to be something about him that you love, even if it's onl..."
"His laughter. I like him when he laughs. I like it when he says my name in need... At least someone needs me." Hiro spoke in a hushed, dreamy voice.
"See? Now go and tell Mori, not me."

He listened to the noises of Hiro leaving, before he finally let go of his smile and all of the days spend in withdrawal and self-deception fully took a hold of him, choking him.
He looked around, feeling that he couldn't stay in this small apartment. And he couldn't go back to his own.
He turned off all the lights and closed the door behind him.

Mori slept soundly as the keys turned in the lock.
He was still blissfully in dreamland when Hiro bowed over him studying the full lips, the dark circles around the closed eyes.
"Mori....", he mumbled, trying not to shock the man, who blinked a few times, recognizing the voice of his dreams.
"Hi... Hiro!" He sat up, shocked, panting. Then his eyes grew smaller. "What happened to your chin?"
" Hiro smirked. "Tsukimori came to see me."
"He hit you?!"
"Well, he did, but I deserved it." Hiro kneeled down beside the couch, his eyes never leaving Mori's. "I treated you very crudely and I'm sorry. Will you forgive me for that?"
A skeptical look crawled on Mori's face. "Hey, what's going on here?"
"Nothing. I finally can see where I went wrong. You offered me everything you had and I pretended to be blind. But I'm no longer."
"I still don't get it, okay."
"Tsukimori made me realize, that I should at least try to be your lover. If that fails, we should really finally become friends. What do you think?"
Mori laughed bitterly, but a touch of hope was there. "That means, you want us to be lovers? What about Takuma?"
"He's my ideal, my hero, true. But he's not touchable, real and with me, like you are. Maybe we can make this work? Or let it go for real."
Mori nodded slowly, carefully.
"I'd go for the first option though", he mumbled and leaned forward, catching Hiro's lips, turning it into a soft, warm lip-lock. Soft skin sliding over equally soft lips, the friction creating a magic that sparked something between them. Not love, but forgiveness. And it tasted like the warmth of a late-summer day.
"Our first kiss...", Mori whispered afterwards, just a breath away from Hiro's lips. Hiro was amazed how dreamy this experience was. Then he gave a half-grin to Mori, naughty yet happy.
"Do you think Tsuki would mind us using his bed?"
"I think he will... All the more reason to do it!" Mori grinned back and they shared a laugh that made their skins tickle and their bellies jump.
It was the start of something different.

Tsukimori felt cold while he waited for the door to open.
[I've done the right thing! Why doesn't it feel any better?]
When the door finally burst open, another bewildered face stared at him.
"Tsukimori?!" Takuma blinked astonished. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"
"The middle of the night? This late already?" The singer shook his head. "Can I barge in?
Takuma nodded. Tsukimori entered, he felt so lost.
"What is it, Tsukimori?"
Takuma was puzzled when the singer faced him with teas shining in his eyes.
"Hiro...Mori... They..."
Any other word was drawn out when the singer threw his arms around the stunned band-leader and sobbed into the pajama-clothed chest. After a while, when the singer stilled, Takuma gently said: "How about some Raamen, huh?"
He felt a nod at his chest.
"Okay, I'll heat he water, get out of your shoes and join me in the kitchen, okay?"
Another nod.
"You have to let me go to do that, you know?"
The arms loosened and Tsukimori smiled miserably. "It's been hell-week...", he sniffed, rubbing his nose. Takuma nodded slowly before he turned and went to the kitchen.
Slipping out of his shoes and into the warmly lit apartment appeared like coming home.
The Raamen and the finely chopped green-onions smelled like home.
The small kitchen being totally too small to the tall young man looked familiar.
And everything poured out. Every word, emotion and desire, he had experienced. Takuma listened in the way only he could.
"So, you see... My apartment is out of question tonight. I'm not even sure how it happened, but I suddenly there was your door."

Takuma sighed, Tsukimori was not sure if it was relieve or worry.
"How does sleeping sound?", the young leader finally asked.
"Wonderful."

It was almost routine, the arrangement of the two futons.

When Tsukimori had changed into one of Takuma's much too long everywhere pajamas, he stepped out into the small room again, finding Takuma looking at him in a pondering way.
Tsukimori grinned but then he felt grabbed and dragged to the band-leader, who determinedly kissed him.

Sweetness, not trace of smoke or bitterness to be found. Pure, white plum-blossoms blooming over a cool pond.

Out of breath, he realized too late, that Takuma was gone already.
"Takuma...? What was that? I thought you didn't like me to kiss you."
Shrugging the taller men slipped inside his futon and got comfortable.
"All I said was that you shouldn't play with my feelings. And for you to stop kissing people because you find them cute."
"So? What's different now?"
"I wanted to try it while I was awake. Let's sleep now, Tsukimori."
"But you just kissed me!"
"Jeez, I know. Sleep!"

Frowning Tsukimori followed his band-leader's order, getting inside the futon and tried to get comfortable. He decided to sleep on his back, when he felt Takuma's hand slip under his cover, searching for his. A little puzzled, but still grinning, he took the Takuma's hand, who entwined their fingers before he sighed contentedly.
"Takuma?"
"Hnnn...?"
"What does this mean?"
A short, heavy pause, before Takuma grunted: "Tsukimori?"
"Yes?"
"Would you please shut up at last and get some sleep?"
"But..."
"It is whatever it is, okay? And now, sleep!"
Takuma's fingers tightened around his and Tsukimori felt the strange sensation of a warm, lingering giggle, before he drifted of to sleep.

-fin-