Title: Burns and Ice (woohoo for double.. triple.. possibly even quadruple meanings =D)
Author: ethanarchy
Chars: MUCC
Pairing: TatsurouxYukke.. or TaxYu.. or TaxYuxTa… whatever.
Warnings: Yaoi. Smut. Lots of swearing.

------------

“Just one more, come on.”
“No.. no, I’m done, I’m done.”
“CHICKEN!!”
“COW!”
“No no, Miya.. he’s calling you a chicken because it implies you’re a coward.”
“Yeah what the fuck does ‘cow’ imply?”
Miya smiled then broke into drunken giggles. “No fucking clue!”

Across the table Yukke grinned at the guitarist, who was lying back in his chair staring around the room with intense interest, as if he didn’t spend every Friday night there, drinking with the other members of his band. Satochi was on the ground as always.. all the men knew he was no good at holding alcohol, but invited him anyway, as sometimes the drunkest man was the most amusing. In this case however he’d had too much too fast and simply passed out near one of the table legs. They’d ignored him and kept drinking.

Tatsurou laughed, still close to sober despite all he’d consumed, and slammed his fist down on the table spilling little red disks onto its surface.

“Alright. I’m putting in.. 12 chips. That’s all I have. Which of you fuckers is going to equal it?”
Yukke looked thoughtful, reached forward and dropped more on top of Tatsurou’s pile. “Me. You’re on.”
Miya screwed up his face. “Twelve? That’s.. a lot…” The guitarist’s inability to hold alcohol was not one his bassist or vocalist shared, and the other two laughed together at how long it appeared to be taking Miya to decide. Eventually he sighed and shoved six of his chips towards the pile.
“I’ll put in six.. six is enough, right?”
“No dammit, it has to be equal. Put another six on.”
“But I just put six there!”
Yukke started laughing again, which set off Tatsurou. The vocalist reached forward and pried six more chips from Miya’s hands, and pulled them back over to the rest. Miya looked shocked for a moment then slumped back in his chair, defeated.
“Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.”

“Good. It’s your turn to get up.”
“Hrmph.. hrmmg.. wonf..” Miya made strange laboured sounds as he tried to get out of his chair, but his hands slipped and he fell back into it, giggling. Yukke grinned.
“I’ll get them. But you have to promise me you’ll buy me a car for it. Right Miya? A car? You’ll buy me a car?”
Miya nodded enthusiastically, grabbing onto Yukke’s sleeve. “You’re such a good friend. I’ll get you TWO cars.”
Tatsurou started laughing again and put his head down on the table. Yukke giggled, pulling Miya’s hands off his arm as he stood. “Okay. Two cars. I’ll get them.”

The bassist stood and walked over to the fridge behind Miya, which stood towering over the man now slumped so far down in his chair. He opened the door of the fridge and reached inside, retrieving three cans of beer.
“Hey, Yukke!”
Yukke turned around, answering the vocalist’s call.
“Get another one for me, would you?”
Yukke grinned, “Smartass,” and nudged the fridge’s door closed with his foot. The noise as it closed against the frame made Miya jump; he’d been starting to fall asleep in such a relaxed position. Tatsurou slammed his hands down on the table.

“Alright, fuckers! Let’s play!”
Yukke put a beer in front of Miya, who grunted in what must have been appreciation, and one in front of Tatsurou, who tipped his hat in a psuedo-gentlemanly manner. The other he placed in front of himself as he sat down.
“Are we gonna have a time limit or what?”
Miya leant forward onto the table. “Nooooo, no time limits, time limits make it hard..”
“That’s the point, Miya. Christ you are drunk.”
“Am not! Come on, let’s play.. fuckers!”

Yukke grinned cheekily. “Don’t try and be Tatsurou. No-one can be Tatsurou but Tatsurou. “Fuckers” sounds so wrong coming from you. Fucker.”
“It sounds wrong coming from you too.” Tatsurou sneered and leant backwards, putting one leg up on the table.
“Perhaps. But worse from him.”
“LET’S JUST PLAAAAAAY.” Miya shook his head, trying to clear it, and gripped tightly onto his can.
“Alright alright, we’ll play. Ready.. set.. go!”

All at once the three men pulled the tabs back on their cans, raised them quickly to their mouths and began to swallow. Tatsurou’s gulps were coming a lot faster and louder than anyone else, whereas Yukke seemed to be trying to get himself into a rhythm, slowly raising the can higher by a few degrees as he drank to continually speed up the consumption. Miya on the other hand had swallowed about a third of it when he began coughing, spraying foam everywhere. It took him a few seconds to recover, and by the time he’d raised it back to his mouth again, Tatsurou had crumpled his can and sat back with a satisfied look on his face. A few seconds later, Yukke took his last gulp and threw the can sideways, empty.

The pair sat watching Miya as the man tried to finish off the can but struggled. Getting an idea, which was unusual in his state, he put the can down as if he were finished and smiled. “Done!” Mimicking Yukke, he threw his can aside and hoped no-one would realise it was still about a quarter full. Unfortunately for the guitarist, who was smiling as innocently as he could think to, the can landed only a few feet away and its contents proceeded to bubble and trickle out of its opening. Tatsurou shook his head and tutted like a disappointed teacher, and Yukke petted the guitarist’s hand in mock comfort.

“It’s okay Miya. It’s only twelve chips.”
“TWELVE! I only wanted to put six in! You stole my chips, you bastard!”
“I didn’t steal anything! I put in twelve, Yukke put in twelve, you put in twelve. You lose so the winning pile gets split between me and Yukke.”
“You bastard, trying to steal my chips.”
“Miya calm down, we’re not stealing anything. It’s just a game.”
Both men knew better than to aggravate a male when they were this drunk, so silently pushed the pile back towards him apologetically.
“But if you really want it back, you can have them, ne? Maybe there was a mistake.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”
“DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT?”
Miya stood up, wavering slightly.
“You steal my chips and tell me not to worry about it?!”

Tatsurou, a lot less tolerant than Yukke, took off his hat and looked up at the man.
“Look. Neither of us took anything. You LOST, and now you’re so drunk you can’t even comprehend that. Either sit the fuck down and keep playing, or leave.”
Yukke shook his head. “Don’t listen to him Miya, it’s fine, you can keep playing, we’re not mad at you.”
Miya glared at Tatsurou, ignoring Yukke as if he had never spoken at all.
“You bastard. You’re always doing stuff like this. Cheating.. stealing.. bastard.”
“Miya, shuttup before you say anything stupid. You’ll regret it in the morning.” Tatsurou started piling his chips together into towers, trying to act nonchalant and make the man sit back down again.
“At least I’m not gay.”
“What?”
Miya grinned, knowing he’d gotten under Tatsurou’s skin now.
“I said, at least I’m not gay.”

Yukke stood, open-mouthed, and laughed softly.
“Hahahaha… very funny Miya… you’re a comedian, ne.”
Again, Miya ignored him.
“As if the whole fucking band doesn’t know what you and Yukke do.”
“That’s different.”
“How? How is it different?”
Tatsurou stood up, knocking over the table. It narrowly missed Satochi and the drummer kept sleeping. Miya stepped backwards to avoid being taken over with it, and Yukke looked worried behind them all, outside the conversation looking in.
“I’m not going to explain it to someone too drunk to understand.”
Tatsurou began to walk off but Miya pursued, having to jump over the fallen table to follow him down into the corridor.

“Go on, explain it to me. Explain how fucking men doesn’t make you gay.”
“I’m not going to justify myself to you.”
“Because you can’t?”
“Because I don’t fucking have to!”
“What, you’re trying to tell me it’s just for the sex?”
“I’m not trying to tell you anything.”
“You honestly expect me to believe you’re just fucking him “for the sake of fucking”? Even like THIS I can tell that’s bullshit, Tatsurou, we all can. You’re a fucking..”
Yukke stepped in between the two men, trying to smile in a light-hearted way.
“No-one is fucking *anyone*, okay? Everything’s fine. Maybe we should just go home.”

Over Yukke’s shoulder, Tatsurou reached up and pinned Miya’s shoulder against the wall.
“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Oh yeah?”
Miya snickered and slung one of his hands up onto Yukke’s shoulder, wrapping it around his neck and pulling the man forward with his neck in the crook of Miya’s elbow, kissing the bassist against his will. Yukke shoved Miya’s chest hard enough to pull away and snuck out from between them, standing against the wall a few metres away, wiping his lips.
“Miya, stop it! You don’t know what you’re doing!”
Tatsurou grabbed onto Miya’s shirt collar, holding him up a little on the wall, but Miya just kept smiling.
“Feels shit to have someone else touch your man, huh?”
Lost for words, Tatsurou grunted then pulled the man back a little and slammed him hard into the wall, letting him go and watching the guitarist fall to the ground.

“Shit!”
Yukke stepped forward and leant down, checking the man’s pulse. It was fine. He bent down to listen to Miya’s breathing, but everything was okay; he just appeared to have been pushed into sleep, which was coming on anyway from all the drinking. The bassist sighed, and stood up.

“Tatsurou, what the fuck are you doing?! He could have been hurt!”

The door slammed and Tatsurou was gone.

------------

Tatsurou drove for hours. He wasn’t sure exactly how long because he hadn’t thought to check the time when he first got into the car, but by 1am he was lying on the roof of his car, staring up at the sky from some empty parking lot he’d found. He suspected the parking lot would have reserved for patrons or employees of some shop nearby and a fine would be issued almost instantly if he was found there, but he didn’t care. It was peaceful there. The only thing he’d brought with him was his jacket, which it was too cold to be without at this time of night.

He tried to think but nothing was coming. It seemed like now was the time he should be trying to realise things, or wonder about things, or sort stuff out, but all he felt was the desire to go home and sleep. If he didn’t already feel kind of nauseous from all the drinking he might consider stopping somewhere on the way to his house. It probably wasn’t safe for him to drive either, but he felt in control, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d driven under the influence.

He sighed. It did feel kind of lonely out there, though. Perhaps he should call someone. Satochi? He wondered if someone had woken the drummer up before the others left his house; one of them usually did, towards the end. He slipped the mobile phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, waiting for the lights to come on. When they did he quickly entered the menu and found he had voicemail. Opening it, he pressed the phone to his ear and waited.

“Hey, Tatsurou.” Yukke’s voice was recognisably soft, as if he was upset.
“You left pretty fast after what happened. Miya’s fine… I got him into a cab and he doesn’t even feel bruised, so he probably won’t go to the hospital or anything. He couldn’t remember almost anything after Satochi fell asleep, so I didn’t remind him. I hope I did the right thing. If you think you should tell him what happened, then I’ll leave it up to you. I’m in the car right now, on my way home… I woke up Satochi but I think he’s gone straight to bed. If you get this tonight, please call me. I’d really like to speak to you right now. Bye.”

A small click and the message was over. Tatsurou’s first instinct was to call the bassist back, but only let it ring once before he hung up. Yukke’s phone will still have rung though, and he realised the bassist might try and call him back, so he decided to try Satochi to tie up the line. He punched in the drummer’s number and listened as it rung a few times, Satochi picking up eventually and yawning into the phone.

“Hey?”
“Hey Satochi. It’s Tatsurou.”
“Oh. Hey.” Satochi’s voice got more serious now, and Tatsurou raised an eyebrow on the other end of the phone even though Satochi couldn’t see him.
“Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Just a little tired. Listen, uhhh… Yukke told me what happened. I won’t tell Miya or anything you know, but if you want to talk about it…”
“I have to go.”
“Oh. Alright. Well…”
Tatsurou hung up before the drummer could finish his sentence, slid off the roof of his car and got back inside. He needed to drive. When he got home, the house was silent, and he fell asleep on the couch, turning his phone off during the night when he heard it ring and saw Yukke’s number flash up on the screen.


In the morning, Tatsurou lay there for almost an hour before he climbed off the couch and found his way to the kitchen. There wasn’t much in the cupboard, but he found some bread and made toast. There was enough to put something on it but instead he just ate it dry, sitting on the kitchen bench with his legs swinging. Looking at the clock he realised he’d slept far too long, and it was almost 4 in the afternoon. Soon something good would be on TV, so he walked back into the living room, sat down and flicked on the television.

There was only daytime TV at this point, and as he flicked through the many channels he decided his best bet would be a movie, and so (after consulting the TV guide for all the channel numbers) started flicking upwards towards the movie channel. Halfway through though, he flicked to another channel that didn’t entirely disagree with him, and smirked at the images playing across the screen. Although the setting was mediocre, the acting poor and the orgasms entirely and obviously fake, he still felt something inside him twinge and his fingers begin to itch. He quickly reached down to the ground beside the couch and picked up his phone, punching in Yukke’s number from memory. The man picked up almost instantly.

“Tatsurou? Oh good, you called me.”
“Come over.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Well.. okay. I can be there in about 10 minutes.”
“Good.”

Tatsurou hung up, and went into the bathroom to wash his hands. On the other end of the line Yukke slowly flipped his phone closed, and picked up his jacket. He didn’t know what to make of it.


Yukke knocked politely on the doorframe, stuffing his hand in the pockets of his brown jacket.

“It’s open.” Tatsurou’s voice rang down from the other end of the house and Yukke stepped forward, opening the wire door then quietly closing it behind him as he came inside. The main entrance was empty and the bassist came further into the house, looking around and lifting one hand to the strap of his backpack as he glanced around the corners. He heard noises in the kitchen and walked over to where it joined on the dining room, waiting until Tatsurou turned around from washing his plate. In a few moments Tatsurou had pulled his hands out of the stream of water, dried the plate and put it on the bench, turning to Yukke.

“Hey.”
“Hey.”

Tatsurou scratched his nose, resting against the table. There was a moment of silence, and Yukke nodded, taking his backpack off his shoulders and going to place it underneith the dining table where he’d put it before. Just as he leant down, he felt Tatsurou’s hands on his back, sliding down onto his ass. Yukke stood still and let the vocalist feel his thighs, slowly standing up a little, only to have Tatsurou step forward against the man and push him against the table. The bassist stood up straight, Tatsurou’s hands reaching around him to begin unbuttoning his jacket. Once it was unbuttoned the vocalist removed it, tossing it aside and pressing his groin hard against the back of Yukke’s ass. The bassist let out a tiny moan and leant forward onto his palms, but Tatsurou put an arm underneith Yukke’s torso and spun him around to face him.

There was a pause, before Tatsurou put his hands on the bassist’s shoulders and pushed him backwards onto the table until he lay almost flat. Yukke lifted himself up onto his elbows and then up onto his palms as Tatsurou leant in, undoing the man’s fly. Yukke watched Tatsurou’s hands slide his jeans off, leaving his naked pale legs exposed. Not wasting a moment Tatsurou slid the man’s underwear down and threw them away, dropping down to his knees and licking up the insides of Yukke’s thighs.

Yukke fought back a moan and closed his eyes, feeling Tatsurou’s tongue snake its way higher until the vocalist’s lips took Yukke inside of them and pulled a moan from the man, now having trouble supporting himself with shaking arms. Slowly Tatsurou swirled his tongue around Yukke’s arousal, widening his throat and forming a tight seal with his lips, sucking gently as he began to stroke back and forth. Yukke’s arms gave and he fell back onto the table, covering his mouth with the back of one hand. He gently wrapped his legs around Tatsurou’s neck, resting them on the man’s back as he sucked, feeling a pressure begin to build within himself.

Heavy breathing filled the air, and the legs around the back of Tatsurou’s neck pulled a little tighter, a sign the vocalist recognised. He began to massage the inside of the man’s thighs with his right hand, bringing it up just below his own mouth and collecting enough saliva to make his index finger slippery, gently rubbing it against Yukke’s entrance. The bassist let out a surprised moan, which gradually turned into one of relaxed enjoyment, squeezing his knees a little closer as Tatsurou slipped inside. Yukke’s breathing became heavier, and Tatsurou lost himself inside the erotic sound of the man’s voice, longing to hear that final, definitive sound he made as his pressure was released.

Yukke, almost dizzy from hypoventilation by now, didn’t notice as Tatsurou went rigid as he was confronted with his thoughts. Tatsurou pulled himself from Yukke and stepped backwards, the bassist blinking and looking up, almost bewildered at how quickly Tatsurou had stopped.

“Are you.. okay?”
“Yeah I’m fine.”
“Do you want to talk about it…?”
“…No. I don’t want to talk.”

Tatsurou stepped forward again and, with a hand on both of Yukke’s knees, forcefully pulled his legs apart. He quickly undid his belt, hoping the bassist couldn’t see his hands shaking on that angle, unbuttoned his fly and let his jeans fall around his ankles. He pulled down his underwear with one hand and put the other around Yukke’s back, yanking him closer with one sharp movement. He lowered himself down a little, putting himself in place with his left hand, then slid both his hands under Yukke’s thighs to hold them up and expose his ass as he slid up inside of him. Yukke cried out but Tatsurou pretended not to care as he pulled back and thrust in harder, leaning forward and placing his palms on the table outside of the bassist’s legs, pinning Yukke down…

------------

“Tatsurou, are you crazy? Rehearsal started ten minutes ago.”
“I’m not feeling very well. I think I’ll skip it today.”

There was muttering in the background of the call, and Miya spoke up again.

“Yukke says he thinks it’d be good to get you down here.”
“Tell Yukke it’s none of his damn business, I’m sick.”

More muttering, and there was the noise of the phone shifting.

“Tatsurou? You really need to come down here.”
“Give the phone back to Miya.”
“No, please. Ta-chan please, the band needs to rehearse, don’t be childish.”
“Childish?”
“Tatsurou, please..”

The vocalist pressed the little red button firmly, ending the call. He left the cell phone open on the couch, and heard it ringing as he walked off towards the shower. Whoever it was that was calling was persistent; the rings continued as he stripped off his clothes, tested and water and stepped under the warm stream that gently massaged his aching shoulders. As the water rushed over his face and ears, it blocked out the ringing noise along with all others, and Tatsurou lost himself inside the absolute silence.

When he was relaxed enough to pull his head out of the direct flow of water, he quickly shampooed and conditioned his hair, rubbed the slippery yellow soap over his chest and arms, washed the residue off under the water and turned the taps to ‘off’. A towel wrapped around his hips casually, water still dripping from his hair and shoulders, the vocalist walked back down into the living room and picked up his phone. He had to brush a dark strand of wet, matted hair out of his eyes to read the screen properly. He’d missed two calls, both from Yukke’s cell number, and flicked past them. Dialling Miya’s number, he pressed the phone up against his ear and tightened the towel with his spare hand.

“Hello? Kinda rehearsing at the moment.”
“Miya, it’s me.”
“Oh, hi. I thought you were sick.”
“I *am* sick. Just listen.. cough.”
“I’m convinced.”
“Thought you might be. Look, I don’t feel well enough to make it down there, but if you wanted to come over when you’re done I could go over some of the new songs with you.”
“Let me see.”

There was mumbling on the other side of the phone, and mixed voices, before Miya returned.

“Yeah, we could make it for a little while.”
“Who’s we?”
“I just asked the other two.”
“I don’t feel well enough for a huge group thing. Think just you could pop along?”
“I guess, if you’re really not well.”
“Great. I’ll see you when you’re done.”
“Hang on a minute..” More scuffling. “Yukke’s saying how he has a new idea for a song and asking if he could come as well.”
“Tell him no. I’m not in the mood for a group rehearsal.”
“Alright. Want me to put him on?”
“No. Just tell him. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye.”

------------

“Too much. Try it slower.”

Tatsurou rolled his eyes. As much as he knew Miya was a good man to consult when it came to perfecting a song, his slavedriver personality was hard to tolerate in large doses. Clearing his throat, Tatsurou repeated the line, concentrating on keeping the words clear and smooth. Miya nodded; a gesture too often seen during rehearsals, and taken as anything ranging from “That was perfect” to “You’re never going to get this, I’ll change it”. Tatsurou slumped back in his seat as the guitarist gently played with the strings of his acoustic, trying out a new sound.

A distant doorbell ringing made Tatsurou sigh with relief; finally an excuse to lift himself out of the assprint he’d been making in his sofa for the past hour and a half. Miya scarcely looked up from his work as Tatsurou rose and made his way down the corridor towards the front door. He opened the door about halfway until he could see who it was, but the blonde cut hair made it obvious and the vocalist grunted, swinging the door wide open. Yukke stood there in a long brown coat, buttoned all the way up to his chin. It was night by now, and Tatsurou couldn’t see a car behind the man; he’d probably walked, or taken public transport, either way would merit the use of such a warm jacket.

“Hi. May I come in?”
“I’m kind of busy right now.”
“I won’t stay for long if you don’t want me to. It’s very cold out, though, maybe if I could just have something warm to drink and talk with you for a while?” “Come in if you want to. You know where the coffee and tea and shit are. But I have things to do.”
“Tatsurou, I—” Yukke’s hand lightly clasped the shoulder of Tatsurou’s t-shirt, and the vocalist spun around, viciously brushing the man’s fingers off him.
“What.”

The look in Tatsurou’s eyes was dangerous, almost daring Yukke to say something more. The bassist knew, more than any other would, how Tatsurou literally never lost a verbal argument and that all it took was one little provocative statement to get everything in motion. So Yukke stayed quiet and retracted his hand, looking down at the floor. The threatening look in Tatsurou’s eyes didn’t make him fearful, just... sad. He had his own opinions about the man’s behaviour, and to him it hurt more than anything to know that the feelings he had for Tatsurou, the ones that seemed to make every day brighter, only seemed to make Tatsurou angry at himself. But what could he do?

“Nothing.”
“Good.”

Tatsurou turned on his heels and walked back into the living room, sitting down in his original seat as if it were a privilege he’d never thought himself allowed. Yukke walked into the kitchen through the back way, avoiding the living room, and began making himself hot chocolate. He’d just allowed himself to drift off into thought when Miya abruptly entered the kitchen, shocked to see Yukke there.

“…..Oh. Hi. Tatsurou didn’t tell me it was you. I thought it was just a charity or something when I didn’t see someone come in behind him.”
“Well I just came for a drink, really, and he’s busy…”
Miya snorted. “Yeah, he’s real busy. All that not paying attention and singing without any effort must take the shit out of him.”
“He might just have things on his mind.”
“Maybe. I don’t even know why he invited me over here if he didn’t plan to get any work done. I might go home, actually. At least I can get something done then.”
“But if he hasn’t been working well, and seeming distracted, haven’t you considered that maybe he asked you over to keep him company?”
“Hmmm… maybe. But who can tell with him. And anyway, you’re here now, you should be company enough.”

Miya nudged the man with his elbow and walked back out into the living room, presumably to tell Tatsurou of his plans and get his stuff. Yukke turned back to his hot chocolate, which was still warming up in the microwave. It hummed softly and the white plate glistened behind the glass door, rotating unevenly with the odd-shaped disc that Yukke was sure wasn’t meant to be inside a microwave that size. From the living room came raised voices, or at least one, and the bassist lowered his head instinctively and tried not to pay attention.

Just as the microwave beeped and Yukke had reached inside and retrieved his warm mug of hot chocolate, the kitchen door burst open, revealing a very dangerously calm Tatsurou with both fists clenched at his sides. Yukke’s heart sped up, backing up a little and running into the kitchen bench.

“Is everything okay?”
“Okay? OKAY? What are you trying to DO to me, HUH?”

Tatsurou swung his arm past the bench, catching two plates and a cup, making them drop to the tiled floor below and shatter noisily. Yukke jumped at the sound, stumbling backwards into the counter and dropping the mug, which crashed to the ground and broke apart in a shower of hot chocolate. Yukke’s pant leg was drenched in the brown liquid, and he cried out as it spilled onto him and easily soaked through the material, burning him to the point of tears. He leant forward and cradled the burn through his pants, but Tatsurou kept advancing.

“You come in here, at all hours of the night, when I’m rehearsing with Miya! I didn’t WANT you over here, didn’t you HEAR me when I told you that?”
“I just thought maybe you needed someone to talk to…”
“To talk to? Someone to TALK to?”

Tatsurou stepped closer again, and Yukke found he couldn’t back up any further, instead just dropping to the ground on his ass and hugging his leg, wishing away the pain.

“Why would I need to TALK to anyone? I am not the one who’s got a fucking problem here, my life is perfect, YOU are the one who keeps coming in here trying to dump shit on me I don’t need. Or want. Why do you keep coming back here uninvited?”

Yukke didn’t dare speak, and Tatsurou nudged him with his foot.

“Huh? Come on, answer me. Answer me! Answer me, fucker!”

Finally Yukke’s silence broke and the bassist began to cry, covering his eyes and face with the inside of one arm while he used the other to support himself on the kitchen floor. He didn’t try to speak – he had no clue how any of his words would even make sense to Tatsurou – but found it impossible to hold the sobs in any longer. Tatsurou turned away, ready to walk into the bathroom and wait until the man had composed himself and left, but his feet wouldn’t move. The silences between Yukke’s gasps made his head swim with anxiety, and when another tortured rasp cut the air the anxiety turned to guilt. The vocalist stood there, speechless, immovable.

He knew he couldn’t walk away.

Sighing, Tatsurou returned to the kitchen and squatted down in front of Yukke, waiting until the man realised he was there. Slowly the bassist’s sobs came to a halt and he stared up, red-eyed, at Tatsurou. He sniffed.

“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t talk. Okay? I really don’t want to.”
“Alright.”

Tatsurou nodded and brought both hands down to the bottom of Yukke’s jeans, gripping the blue material tightly as if he was about to rip it. Instinctively, Yukke sniffed and put his hand over Tatsurou’s, stopping him. Tatsurou nudged the man’s hands off of his own, but Yukke noticed that this time it was gentler, although the difference may have escaped Tatsurou.

“I’ve torn your jeans before. Now isn’t the time to protect your clothes.”

Yukke smiled, still sniffling a little, and Tatsurou opened one of the kitchen drawers above the man’s head, pulling out a pair of scissors and snipping about an inch up the man’s pant leg. He put his hands back in position and tore, ripping the denim all the way up to Yukke’s knee. When he saw the red marks went even higher, he snipped again, and yanked the sides apart until the rip grew all the way up to the man’s thigh. He crawled the few feet over to the freezer and pulled out a tray of ice cubes, dumping them onto the floor.

Where the red marks were less obvious, Tatsurou put some of the ice cubes in the center of a handtowel, wrapped it around until they were secure and then tied it around the man’s thigh. Once he repositioned the ice cubes inside the towel so they were pressed against the burn, he got a glass of water and poured it onto the cloth until it was wet enough to conduct the cold of the ice better. Then, sitting down in a more comfortable position, he grabbed two of the ice cubes in his hand and began to rub them over the burns just above and below the man’s knee, where a handtowel couldn’t be secured.

“…Thanks.”
“It’s fine.”

Tatsurou didn’t look up, but kept gently rubbing the sore spots on the man’s leg. The ice began to melt in his hand and trickle cold water down onto the ground.

“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, really.. I—”
“It’s fine. I said I didn’t want to talk right now.”
“But we *have* to.”
“We don’t.”
“Don’t you have anything you want to say to me?”
“Not really.”
“I know *I* have some things I’d like to talk about…”

Tatsurou dropped the tiny ice cubes onto the ground and picked up two new ones, continuing his work.

“Probably. But I’m not you. I’m different. And I don’t have anything I want to talk about.”
“Doesn’t it matter to you that *I* want to talk about something?”
Tatsurou paused. “…Let’s not go into this, okay?”
“Go into *what*? Why do you keep talking in riddles?”
“ME talking in riddles? This coming from Mr. Let’s-Just-Drop-Over-Uninvited-And-See-If-It-Fixes-Everything.”

A short silence, then Yukke nodded. “Alright, I admit, that was stupid. But I knew if I asked to come, you’d just say no.”
“You didn’t even try.”
“There was no point!”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you! You would have kept acting distant and—”
“You don’t know me.”
“…Excuse me?”
“I said, you don’t know me. Don’t think you can assume that you know what I’m thinking.”
“Alright. I’m sorry. Maybe.. maybe I *was* wrong.”

As the second lot of ice cubes melted in Tatsurou’s hands, he picked up some of the extras and pushed them into the front of the handtowels strapped to the man’s leg, then used another two to keep rubbing them over the uncovered burns.

“Can I ask you something?”

Tatsurou sighed, his hands pausing in place. “I’m going to regret saying this. But yes.”
“Do you love me?”
Tatsurou laughed. “Yeah, good one.”
“I’m serious.”
“Oh…”

The vocalist began rubbing the man’s knee again, and Yukke pulled his leg back, making the ice cubes fall through the air. Tatsurou looked up into the man’s eyes questioningly.

“Don’t avoid it.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer.”
“Truthfully. Just.. tell the truth.”
“Way to underestimate there, Yu-chan.”
“All I’m saying is, just.. listen to your heart. What does your *heart* say.”

Tatsurou sat back, resting against the kitchen cupboards beside Yukke.

“My heart is saying that you are so fucking lucky to just be as naturally open as you are.”
“This coming from the man who announces everything his body does like it’s a national bulletin to anyone in the same room as him.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“That’s easy. That’s.. something happens, you talk about it. It’s not like this.”
“But loving someone, that’s something happening. Feelings are things that happen, you can feel them if they’re there.”

“But how am I supposed to distinguish shit like that. There’s no fucking chart that tells you what is love and what isn’t. Who the fuck knows.”

“*You* know. Down there, somewhere.” Yukke pressed his index finger to the middle of Tatsurou’s chest. Gently, he let his finger drift down the center of the man’s torso, over his abs, then lifted it from Tatsurou’s shirt and curled it back up inside his fist. When Tatsurou didn’t move, Yukke leant forward slowly and pressed his lips against the place where his finger had first been, kissing Tatsurou’s chest gently. Tatsurou closed his eyes, sighing. His head was screaming a million things at him at once, but as Yukke lay his head against Tatsurou’s chest, the man found himself hooking his arm around the bassist’s shoulder. They sat there for minutes in silence, Yukke with a hand up by his mouth, listening to the steady rhythm of Tatsurou’s heartbeat, and the vocalist with his head rested against the cupboards, arm around Yukke, trying to make sense of all that the voices had to say.

It was Yukke who broke the silence.

“If you don’t… I don’t mind. It was naïve of me to assume it in the first place.”
“I’m not saying I don’t. But I’m not saying I do.”
“So what *are* you saying?”
Tatsurou exhaled. “Fucked if I know.”

“Do you think about me?”
“That’s a stupid question.”
“No it’s not.”
“In the morning, I get up. I’m hungry. I go to the cupboards and see all the different kinds of cereal I have. I can spend a full minute thinking about which cereal tastes best. That doesn’t mean I’m in love with cereal.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you want to eat me?”
Both men laughed, and Tatsurou noogied Yukke gently, mussing up his hair.

“Maybe. But you know what I mean.”
“I guess. But like, that’s when you *have* to. You have to have a cereal, right? Because you have to eat. So you think about it, out of necessity. Which is what makes it normal. If you stayed up at night thinking about what kind of cereal to eat, that’s where it would become abnormal.”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Alright, the cereal metaphor is running short here.”
“So what point were you trying to make.”
“I was trying to make you consider whether you think about me in a *normal* way.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“I mean, like.. if there’s a rehearsal, and you need to know my number, of course you’ll think about me to try and remember it. That’s a given.”
“I guess.”
“But if it’s late, and you’re watching a movie, and you think about me even though I’m not supposed to be coming over, or I’m not scheduled to see you tomorrow or whatever.. then you’re thinking about me without having to.”

“But by that theory, lust and love are the same thing. People can think about fucking people for days at a time. I know because I’ve done it.” Yukke giggled against Tatsurou’s chest, and the man hugged him a little tighter, continuing. “But that doesn’t make it love.”
“So really the question is whether you love me, or just lust me.”
“Can we talk about something else?”

Yukke sat up suddenly, slipping out from under Tatsurou’s arm.

“Why?”
“Because. It’s just making me uncomfortable. All this ‘lust’ and ‘love’ talk.”
“You’ll fuck me over your dining table—”
“Don’t tell Miya that when he comes over for dinner.”
“—But you won’t discuss lust with me?”

“That’s different, okay? That’s doing it. You do it, it’s done, it’s in the past, you don’t have to think about it anymore.”
“Are… are you suggesting you don’t even…”

Tatsurou covered his face with his hands.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Oh no, don’t be sorry, you only hate yourself for fucking me.”

Yukke stood up, wincing with pain as the handtowels around his leg started to slide down over the burns.

“Don’t get up. Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Just, that…” Tatsurou stood up, so he could look at Yukke’s face.
“It’s just… I’m not supposed to like you. Not like that.”

“Since when have you been one to follow rules?”
“Since I was being judged by my conscience, and not other people.”
“Your conscience has a problem with you loving someone?”
“But it’s different!”
“You keep fucking saying that, “It’s different, it’s different”, but you never actually tell me what’s so fucking different! Why? Why is it different now, when it’s convenient?”
“Because it just is, okay?”
“But how is this different from all the other times you’ve written songs about love, or dated, or loved?”
“Because you’re a GUY, okay?”

Yukke looked stunned for a moment, then rested against the counter to steady himself, as his leg was about to give way.

“But you told me you’d slept with men before.”
“Slept with them, yes.”
“Are you saying there’s something more?”

Tatsurou was silent, so Yukke continued.

“That this is… different?”
“I knew you’d find a reason to use that word. You’ve been trying to slot it in since I used it the first time, haven’t you.”
“It just occurred to me.”

Tatsurou smiled, looking away.
“You always did have that bastard sense of humor I love.”
“I learned from the best. So is it?”
“Is it what?”
“Different.”
“It’s… yeah.”
“How?”
“Do we have to fucking talk about this? Now? When it’s late and I’m tired?”
“Yes we have to fucking talk about it, now, when it’s late and you’re tired.”
“But it’s late. And I’m tired.”
“Ha fucking ha.”

“I don’t know how, okay. I just… I don’t know.”
“Why are you so afraid of this?”
“I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t know.”
“You do know. Somewhere. I don’t know why you won’t search for it. Dig deep into yourself and try to pull it out, and decipher it, and tell me.”
“And what if there’s nothing there? Will you lecture me until I manufacture something, so you’re happy?”
“I’m not doing this for me, Tatsurou, I’m doing it for you! I just want you to be HONEST with yourself! You hurt so much, Ta-chan, I know you do. Please.”

Tatsurou stared back at Yukke blankly.
“I don’t know what it is you want me to do. Honestly.”
“Maybe it’s the other way around, huh?”
“….What is?”
“Maybe you’re afraid that you *do* love me.”
“Of course I don’t, you’re a guy.”
“If you know that, when what was all the “I don’t know” about?”
“I don’t.. know.”

Yukke took two tiny steps, hobbling on each one, and went to hug Tatsurou but the man put up a hand to stop him.

“What’s wrong with not wanting to be gay anyway, huh? Maybe I don’t. What’s the big fucking problem. If I just want to be normal.”
“But then… do I mean that little to you? That you would throw this away, to prove you’re not gay to everyone but yourself, who will know it anyway?”
“HEY!” Tatsurou pointed a menacing finger at Yukke. “I’m not gay. Alright?”

Yukke stood, speechless. He backed off, eyes beginning to shimmer with the beginning of tears, but he turned around before Tatsurou could do anything. Slowly he walked towards the door and, not hearing the man coming to follow him, opened it and stepped outside into the night air. He stared up at the sky, sniffed, and let the tears come. Then slowly he pulled out his phone, and called the number of a cab service.

Back inside, Tatsurou had his head in his hands. Fuck, what if Yukke left the band? He *was* probably his best friend… But then how was he supposed to tell best friend from lover? You talk with best friends, you sleep with lovers, did that make Yukke something in the middle? Or something combined, with both their qualities, something that meant much more than either on their own could? His head hurt again. He’d have to call Miya, he knew, to warn him in case Yukke tried to quit. Miya would talk sense into him.

He picked up his cell phone, hands shaking although he wasn’t sure why, and held it up to his ear when Miya’s home phone number was dialled. It rang once, twice, and then someone picked up. A familiar voice answered, but not Miya’s.

“Helllllllllllo? Mrs. Pancake speaking.”
“Pardon?”
“It was a joooooke. You’re wanting Miya, yeah? He’s in the bathroom. If you want, I could take your name and stuff, and he’ll call you back when.. oh wait here he is, good timing guy, you must be a wizard or something. Okay be right back, I’ll go give the phone to him.”

There was excitable laughter on the other end, and Tatsurou heard Miya’s voice in the background, asking who it was. The familiar voice, obviously Satochi, replied that he didn’t recognise the caller; judging by the slur in his voice, that was probably due to the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. The phone shuffled around a little bit, and Tatsurou could hear the conversation better now… presumably either Satochi or Miya, whoever was holding the phone, had accidently removed their hand from the mouthpiece.

“Make it quick, okay?”
“It’s probably just a telemarketer or a survey or something. I’ll be done in a minute.”

Then, Tatsurou heard the unmistakable noise of the two men kissing, and a gentle slap, as if one had sharply patted the other on the ass. Satochi giggled, and stumbling noises suggested he’d wandered back to wherever he planned to wait for Miya. Moments later, the guitarist’s voice was back.

“Hello?”
“Miya?”
“Oh Tatsurou, it’s you. Sorry, Satochi mustn’t have recognised you, he’s a bit you-know at the moment.”
“Yeah, so I heard.”
“So, what’re you after?”
“Are you gay or something?”
“…..What? Where did this come from?”
“I heard you and Satochi.”
“Oh. Well.. would it be a problem if I was?”

“How can you speak about it so casually like that?”
“Dunno. Never really thought it was a big deal.”
“But.. the other night, you…”
“I what?”
“At the drinking party.”
“Ohhh yeah. I can’t even remember half of that. What’d I do that was so bad?”
“You just.. said some stuff, that’s all.”
“Oh.”

The realising in Miya’s voice made it clear Tatsurou didn’t need to offer any more detail.

“Yeah, I’ve done that before. Not a lot of people know, okay? So when I get drunk, I tend to sort of accuse everyone around me of… stuff. To make it less obvious. About myself. Kinda. Look if you want to tell me exactly what I said, then…”
“No, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got to go, right now.”
“Um.. alright. Call me if you need to.”
“Yeah alright bye.”

Tatsurou quickly hung up and tossed his phone aside as he tore out through the living room, not so much as paying attention as to where the phone fell. He fumbled with the front door lock, and when it didn’t open he kicked it, which (much to his surprise) worked like a charm. He leapt out onto the driveway and looked around in the darkness for Yukke’s figure or shadow, already running out onto the sidewalk and starting to tear down the road towards the man’s house.

“Tatsu, where the fuck are you going?”

Tatsurou spun around and squinted in the dim street-lamp lighting, and saw Yukke on the other side of the road, one foot inside a cab door. Immediately Tatsurou dashed across the street and grabbed Yukke around the shoulders, pulling him away from the cab. Yukke squirmed under Tatsurou’s hands and pulled himself free, flustered and utterly confused.

“What the hell are you doing?”
“I just… I had to tell you, before you left.” Panting and almost out of breath, Tatsurou placed his hands on top of Yukke’s shoulders. “I think about you. A lot. During movies. And at night. And while I’m making my fucking cereal.”
Yukke laughed, and moved forward without the slightest pause, wrapping his arms around Tatsurou’s stomach and burying his head into the man’s chest. Tatsurou’s arms slid down around Yukke’s frame and he hugged him tightly, kissing his hair. Yukke spoke, his mouth against Tatsurou’s shirt, making it vibrate with warmth against the vocalist.
“Tell me what you think about. It isn’t just fucking?”
“Well, sometimes.”

They both laughed again, and Yukke looked up. Tatsurou wiped the tears out of Yukke’s eyes with his thumb, and ruffled his hair as he had back in the kitchen.
“But not always. No.”
“What made all this difference?”
“A very smart guy made me realise that even if I pretended I was straight to the whole world, I still wouldn’t be happy.”
“There must have been something else.”
“There was. Did you know that Miya and Satochi are..?”
“I had an inkling.”

Then, Tatsurou leant down and pressed his lips to Yukke’s, warming the man’s mouth with his own. Eagerly Yukke kissed back, lifting a hand to cradle the back of the vocalist’s neck. When they broke apart, Yukke leant backwards towards the cab and smiled apologetically at the female driver, who was grinning to herself in the front seat.

“I’m sorry for making you come all this way. I won’t need a ride after all. I’ll still pay you if you like?”

The driver shook her head. “Keep your money, love. I had a feeling you’d be staying anyway, since the moment he ran out here like a bat out of hell.”

Tatsurou grinned, not half-minding the lady’s description of him, and Yukke thanked her.

“No problem. You two have a good night.”

The cab drove off down the street, around the corner, and was gone. Tatsurou suddenly let go of the bassist and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“You’re not assuming I’m letting you stay the night, are you?”

Yukke laughed and kissed the man’s cheek.
“I bet I could find some way to repay you.”
“Well… I’ll consider it. But there’d better be a LOT of repayment. And I mean buckets of it.”
Yukke walked around behind Tatsurou and leapt onto the man’s back, wrapping his legs around Tatsu’s waist and hanging onto his neck loosely. He pointed over the man’s shoulder, towards Tatsurou’s house. “Onward!” Slowly, Tatsurou carried Yukke across the street and up his driveway.
“Bathtubs, an *ocean* of repayment… this is assuming the payment is in liquid form, if it’s a solid, tell me, I could draw up some sort of repayment ratio chart by the acre…”

The end.