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in
meganebucks
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Title: Candypants and the Sexual Deviants.
Words: 1,111
Tag: Candy
Summary: Crack, total and utter crack.
Tokyo- 1987.
“…and this is the green room, Atobe-san. There is a selection of refreshments in the mini bar, but if you require anything else, please don’t hesitate to press this button here for service. The warm-up band should be out of makeup shortly, so hopefully you’ll get a chance to get to know each other before the tour starts.” The PA smiled at him, “We’ll give you a call when it’s time to go on stage, but it shouldn’t be too long.”
Atobe gave her a polite nod and as she left, settled himself on the sofa. He was uncommonly nervous. The first gig of his first tour and he hoped to god everything went smoothly. Oh, the singing was easy enough; he had bags of charisma and appealed to a wide range of people and so far that had been enough to rocket him from the small-time to this, but he was now in open water and it was getting harder to predict what would get thrown at him next.
Certainly, he couldn’t have guessed what was about to walk into his life.
“…yes, well, it’s all very well for you to talk about pressure, you’re just the bloody drummer! I have to play a sixteen bar solo!” a voice said, somewhere beyond one of the doors. This announcement was followed swiftly by an irate snarl and an unidentifiable jangle.
“JUST a drummer?!! Say that again you little bitch! I’ll CRUSH you!”
Atobe stared in complete alarm as the door flung back and in fell a group of the most outrageous looking people he’d ever seen.
“Oh drop dead Kirihara,” snarled a redhead wearing something that looked worryingly like a collar and lead, “If I wasn’t holding several thousand dollars worth of Fender, I’d break your fucking nose.”
“YOU CAN TRY!” screamed the man who was presumably the drummer, who looked part animal or failing that, some sort of crazed wild man with a naked torso and a whild mop of black curls. Atobe shrunk back in his seat. The guy’s eyes had gone red.
“Akaya, boys, easyyyyy…. We have company,” said a smooth voice, and an arm wound in between them, separating the two with no apparent trouble at all. The owner of the arm coiled a hand into the red-head’s collar and the other arm around the drummer’s waist as he gave Atobe an appraising look over the top of his glasses.
“Atobe Keigo, I presume?”
Atobe stared, thin lipped. He was going to have to call his agent- there had to be some sort of terrible mistake. Asides from the collar and chains on the red-head, the monstrous black Fender guitar and the half-naked glittery psychopath, his warm-up band consisted of a fop wearing an exceedingly tight waistcoat and trousers in matching candyfloss pink.
With diamante and ribbons.
“Who are you?” Atobe said, unable to disguise his horror.
The red-head smirked and leaned into the Candypant’s touch. “The Sexual Deviants,” he said, looking even more pleased as Atobe’s eye twitched. “I’m Gakuto; guitarist and tonight’s Slave.”
“I should be Slave,” grouched the drummer, still apparently sore over a range of issues. “You could chain me to the amps instead of just leaving me stuck at the back.”
“Don’t tempt me darling. Anyway, you’ve got the torso for glitter; Gakuto doesn’t look right in it.”
“That’s ‘cause he’s a girl.”
Atobe interrupted before the cat-fight started all over again. “Slave? SLAVE? You do realise that ore-sama’s audience is predominantly 18 or under don’t you?!”
Gakuto looked puzzled for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “Holy shit. Don’t tell me we’re opening for the Virgin Wonder. Hell’s bells.”
Candypants pursed his lips, “That might be a problem...” he said, otherwise seemingly completely unconcerned.
“A problem?!” howled Atobe, rankled by the virgin comment, “You’ll make ore-sama a complete laughing stock!”
“Nah mate, your pussy love-songs do that for you already,” retorted Gakuto, “Suck it up, we’re going to rock the pants off of your little girls, ‘cause I’m dammed if we’re going home after coming this far.” A warning hand tugged on the collar.
“Settle down…go and check on the stage arrangements,” said Candypants, shoving them both off. “And find our errant bassist.”
The pair set off grumbling back the way they’d come, Akaya giving Gakuto a shove on the way out.
“And try not to resort to killing each other!” he added, before closing the door.
Atobe and Candypants regarded one another, each from his own end of the sofa. A crash and a yell reverberated through the closed door and Candypants sighed, giving Atobe a look of ‘kids, eh’. He brushed his fringe back from his eyes, taking care not to smudge his makeup and then said, “I suppose…this must be a first for you. Glam Rock, I mean. Try not to judge us too…harshly.”
“I don’t want you sharing ore-sama’s stage.” Atobe said, bluntly, sinking into a sulk. This was abominable, he couldn’t believe he had to share his career space with this… this… circus!
The man looked like a liquorice allsorts for crying out loud! He was calling him ‘Candypants’ in his head!
More worryingly, he might accidentally do so aloud.
“Well, apparently your agent does. He went to a lot of trouble to head-hunt us you know…he thinks we’re the next big thing.” The other man shifted on the sofa, “actually… I heard him talking. I think he wants to combine our acts.”
Atobe stared at him. “No. Absolutely not!”
“Well, there would be changes of course,” Candypants agreed, giving him a lazy smile. “You’d be lead singer, naturally; I’d change to backup vocals and second guitar. Oh, and you’d have the pants, of course.”
Atobe let his gaze drift to the region of Candypant’s hips. “The pants?”
Candypants reached over and patted his hand, “But I’ll understand if you don’t like the idea. I must admit, I do prefer…being in charge of my own pants, if you catch my meaning.”
The bell went off, making Atobe jump.
“Aaaah, and there’s my cue to leave,” said Candypants, stretching as he stood. “Will you watch us?“
“Ore-sama will consider it.” Atobe said, stiffly. Candypants smirked. “Suuuure~ well. See you soon,”
And then he left. Atobe watched the pants all the way out the door. The swirling lines were faintly….hypnotic.
Actually now that he looked at them, the pants weren’t quite as bad as Atobe had first thought- the material’s background was a rich cream colour, and the decoration only made up the pink candy-stripe pattern in thin lines across it. They were sort of fun. Sexy, even.
They’d need monogramming though; in cherry red.
Title: Said the Captive to the Captain
Prompt: Swords
Summary: Crack, more crack and teeeeerrrrible innuendo. Also please to be imagining a dodgy french accent in your head as i cannot be typing it.
The prisoner leaned back on the rough wooden wall and sighed. What a to-do. The blindfold at least, was silk; although that was to be expected from pirates of such a reputation. From somewhere came the sound of boots advancing at a smart pace, and then the door was flung open. There was a hesitant pause and then a faintly incredulous pause.
“Is this he?” it demanded.
Ah, the Captain, he presumed.
“Yes sir. He mayn’t look as much, but he took out four of our best bringing him down.”
The boots advanced a pace and then the voice addressed him.
“Prisoner, do you know where you are?”
The man pursed his lips and pretended to think for a moment. “Lets see…” he said, tapping his foot against the opposite wall. “Tight birth, smooth motion, whispers of my name…why….am I up your arse?”
There was a hiss of steel and a cold blade pressed against his throat. An equally cold and sharp voice commanded,
“Think. Again.”
“Sir! He’s worth more alive!”
The steel withdrew a fraction. Oshitari smirked. “I know my own ship; this is The Chion.”
The sword withdrew from sheer surprise. “Your ship? YOUR SHIP? The Chion belongs to Ore-sama alone, and has done for a good two years now. Explain yourself! Who the devil are you?”
The blindfold at last was ripped away and Oshitari found himself blinking in the sudden light from the flickering lamp. Once his vision adjusted he looked around and then raised an appraising eyebrow/ “Naa… I like what you’ve done with the place. It’s much better without all the chunks of whale.”
The captain, much younger than he’d expected, only about his own age, looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. The tall and nervous ship-hand caught his elbow and whispered urgently in his ear.
“Sir, it did use to be a whaler, he’s got a point!”
“Oh get out, Choutarou,” huffed the captain, taking the lamp off of him and looking irritable. His hat drooped a little, like it was a size too big for him.
The taller man scuttled out, leaving the prisoner and the Captain alone.
“….you’re new to this… aren’t you?” said Oshitari, after a moment. The captain gave him a sharp look. “And you’re a south island mongrel, but that doesn’t make much difference to the situation either,” he retorted, setting the lamp down on the table and seating himself behind it.
He looked down at his prisoner haughtily for a moment, toying idly with the indulgence of ruffles at his wrist. Oshitari gave another lazy smirk. “I’m half French, actually,” he said, stretching out and acting as though the shackles were nothing at all. But only because it seemed to bother the captain.
“Hence the accent,
“I was a cabin boy, right here, once upon a time. The carving of the whore on the galley wall? My work. That is a very nice shirt, incidentally.”
“So you’re responsible for that obscene piece of…wait. What?” Atobe broke off looking both surprised and faintly pleased.
“I said, I like your shirt. It’s very elegant, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Oshitari repeated, giving the other man a sly look from under his eyelashes. Atobe went pink.
“Oh…No… its Damascus lace you know, the very best sort,” he said, warming to the flattery. Clearly frills weren’t especially revered by many aboard The Chion.
“I have something like it myself,”
The Captain seemed to get back on track. “That’s irrelevant! Why were you sneaking around in Ore-sama’s territory?” he demanded, glaring coldly at Oshitari over the table. Oshitari shivered. Give it a few years and that look could really be something to worry about. As it was…
He shrugged, “Just for fun,” he said, nonchalantly, “I heard you were…impenetrable ,so,”
Atobe went pink again.
“So, I though I would see if I could. Penetrate you,” Oshitari couldn’t help a grin. Oh God, this was too easy for words. The other was at a complete loss for words.
“It’s ok,” he went on, reassuringly. “I’ve penetrated a lot of people’s territory, so there’s no shame in it. Your security was refreshingly tight; in fact, I had a hard time of it.” He gave the other a sympathetic look, “This is the first time anyone’s gotten in this deep, isn’t it? If I hurt you, I am sorry…”
Atobe stared. Then he stood up, shakily, completely thrown by the other man, and picked up the lamp. “Yes, well,” he said, his voice coming across a little squeaky, “You can jolly well just sit there and think about what you’ve done. In the dark,” he added, feeling somehow he wasn’t being strict enough. “Without supper.”
And then he left.
In the gloom, Oshitari chuckled. Oh dear… this was going to be really too much fun…
Words: 1,111
Tag: Candy
Summary: Crack, total and utter crack.
Tokyo- 1987.
“…and this is the green room, Atobe-san. There is a selection of refreshments in the mini bar, but if you require anything else, please don’t hesitate to press this button here for service. The warm-up band should be out of makeup shortly, so hopefully you’ll get a chance to get to know each other before the tour starts.” The PA smiled at him, “We’ll give you a call when it’s time to go on stage, but it shouldn’t be too long.”
Atobe gave her a polite nod and as she left, settled himself on the sofa. He was uncommonly nervous. The first gig of his first tour and he hoped to god everything went smoothly. Oh, the singing was easy enough; he had bags of charisma and appealed to a wide range of people and so far that had been enough to rocket him from the small-time to this, but he was now in open water and it was getting harder to predict what would get thrown at him next.
Certainly, he couldn’t have guessed what was about to walk into his life.
“…yes, well, it’s all very well for you to talk about pressure, you’re just the bloody drummer! I have to play a sixteen bar solo!” a voice said, somewhere beyond one of the doors. This announcement was followed swiftly by an irate snarl and an unidentifiable jangle.
“JUST a drummer?!! Say that again you little bitch! I’ll CRUSH you!”
Atobe stared in complete alarm as the door flung back and in fell a group of the most outrageous looking people he’d ever seen.
“Oh drop dead Kirihara,” snarled a redhead wearing something that looked worryingly like a collar and lead, “If I wasn’t holding several thousand dollars worth of Fender, I’d break your fucking nose.”
“YOU CAN TRY!” screamed the man who was presumably the drummer, who looked part animal or failing that, some sort of crazed wild man with a naked torso and a whild mop of black curls. Atobe shrunk back in his seat. The guy’s eyes had gone red.
“Akaya, boys, easyyyyy…. We have company,” said a smooth voice, and an arm wound in between them, separating the two with no apparent trouble at all. The owner of the arm coiled a hand into the red-head’s collar and the other arm around the drummer’s waist as he gave Atobe an appraising look over the top of his glasses.
“Atobe Keigo, I presume?”
Atobe stared, thin lipped. He was going to have to call his agent- there had to be some sort of terrible mistake. Asides from the collar and chains on the red-head, the monstrous black Fender guitar and the half-naked glittery psychopath, his warm-up band consisted of a fop wearing an exceedingly tight waistcoat and trousers in matching candyfloss pink.
With diamante and ribbons.
“Who are you?” Atobe said, unable to disguise his horror.
The red-head smirked and leaned into the Candypant’s touch. “The Sexual Deviants,” he said, looking even more pleased as Atobe’s eye twitched. “I’m Gakuto; guitarist and tonight’s Slave.”
“I should be Slave,” grouched the drummer, still apparently sore over a range of issues. “You could chain me to the amps instead of just leaving me stuck at the back.”
“Don’t tempt me darling. Anyway, you’ve got the torso for glitter; Gakuto doesn’t look right in it.”
“That’s ‘cause he’s a girl.”
Atobe interrupted before the cat-fight started all over again. “Slave? SLAVE? You do realise that ore-sama’s audience is predominantly 18 or under don’t you?!”
Gakuto looked puzzled for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “Holy shit. Don’t tell me we’re opening for the Virgin Wonder. Hell’s bells.”
Candypants pursed his lips, “That might be a problem...” he said, otherwise seemingly completely unconcerned.
“A problem?!” howled Atobe, rankled by the virgin comment, “You’ll make ore-sama a complete laughing stock!”
“Nah mate, your pussy love-songs do that for you already,” retorted Gakuto, “Suck it up, we’re going to rock the pants off of your little girls, ‘cause I’m dammed if we’re going home after coming this far.” A warning hand tugged on the collar.
“Settle down…go and check on the stage arrangements,” said Candypants, shoving them both off. “And find our errant bassist.”
The pair set off grumbling back the way they’d come, Akaya giving Gakuto a shove on the way out.
“And try not to resort to killing each other!” he added, before closing the door.
Atobe and Candypants regarded one another, each from his own end of the sofa. A crash and a yell reverberated through the closed door and Candypants sighed, giving Atobe a look of ‘kids, eh’. He brushed his fringe back from his eyes, taking care not to smudge his makeup and then said, “I suppose…this must be a first for you. Glam Rock, I mean. Try not to judge us too…harshly.”
“I don’t want you sharing ore-sama’s stage.” Atobe said, bluntly, sinking into a sulk. This was abominable, he couldn’t believe he had to share his career space with this… this… circus!
The man looked like a liquorice allsorts for crying out loud! He was calling him ‘Candypants’ in his head!
More worryingly, he might accidentally do so aloud.
“Well, apparently your agent does. He went to a lot of trouble to head-hunt us you know…he thinks we’re the next big thing.” The other man shifted on the sofa, “actually… I heard him talking. I think he wants to combine our acts.”
Atobe stared at him. “No. Absolutely not!”
“Well, there would be changes of course,” Candypants agreed, giving him a lazy smile. “You’d be lead singer, naturally; I’d change to backup vocals and second guitar. Oh, and you’d have the pants, of course.”
Atobe let his gaze drift to the region of Candypant’s hips. “The pants?”
Candypants reached over and patted his hand, “But I’ll understand if you don’t like the idea. I must admit, I do prefer…being in charge of my own pants, if you catch my meaning.”
The bell went off, making Atobe jump.
“Aaaah, and there’s my cue to leave,” said Candypants, stretching as he stood. “Will you watch us?“
“Ore-sama will consider it.” Atobe said, stiffly. Candypants smirked. “Suuuure~ well. See you soon,”
And then he left. Atobe watched the pants all the way out the door. The swirling lines were faintly….hypnotic.
Actually now that he looked at them, the pants weren’t quite as bad as Atobe had first thought- the material’s background was a rich cream colour, and the decoration only made up the pink candy-stripe pattern in thin lines across it. They were sort of fun. Sexy, even.
They’d need monogramming though; in cherry red.
Title: Said the Captive to the Captain
Prompt: Swords
Summary: Crack, more crack and teeeeerrrrible innuendo. Also please to be imagining a dodgy french accent in your head as i cannot be typing it.
The prisoner leaned back on the rough wooden wall and sighed. What a to-do. The blindfold at least, was silk; although that was to be expected from pirates of such a reputation. From somewhere came the sound of boots advancing at a smart pace, and then the door was flung open. There was a hesitant pause and then a faintly incredulous pause.
“Is this he?” it demanded.
Ah, the Captain, he presumed.
“Yes sir. He mayn’t look as much, but he took out four of our best bringing him down.”
The boots advanced a pace and then the voice addressed him.
“Prisoner, do you know where you are?”
The man pursed his lips and pretended to think for a moment. “Lets see…” he said, tapping his foot against the opposite wall. “Tight birth, smooth motion, whispers of my name…why….am I up your arse?”
There was a hiss of steel and a cold blade pressed against his throat. An equally cold and sharp voice commanded,
“Think. Again.”
“Sir! He’s worth more alive!”
The steel withdrew a fraction. Oshitari smirked. “I know my own ship; this is The Chion.”
The sword withdrew from sheer surprise. “Your ship? YOUR SHIP? The Chion belongs to Ore-sama alone, and has done for a good two years now. Explain yourself! Who the devil are you?”
The blindfold at last was ripped away and Oshitari found himself blinking in the sudden light from the flickering lamp. Once his vision adjusted he looked around and then raised an appraising eyebrow/ “Naa… I like what you’ve done with the place. It’s much better without all the chunks of whale.”
The captain, much younger than he’d expected, only about his own age, looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. The tall and nervous ship-hand caught his elbow and whispered urgently in his ear.
“Sir, it did use to be a whaler, he’s got a point!”
“Oh get out, Choutarou,” huffed the captain, taking the lamp off of him and looking irritable. His hat drooped a little, like it was a size too big for him.
The taller man scuttled out, leaving the prisoner and the Captain alone.
“….you’re new to this… aren’t you?” said Oshitari, after a moment. The captain gave him a sharp look. “And you’re a south island mongrel, but that doesn’t make much difference to the situation either,” he retorted, setting the lamp down on the table and seating himself behind it.
He looked down at his prisoner haughtily for a moment, toying idly with the indulgence of ruffles at his wrist. Oshitari gave another lazy smirk. “I’m half French, actually,” he said, stretching out and acting as though the shackles were nothing at all. But only because it seemed to bother the captain.
“Hence the accent,
“I was a cabin boy, right here, once upon a time. The carving of the whore on the galley wall? My work. That is a very nice shirt, incidentally.”
“So you’re responsible for that obscene piece of…wait. What?” Atobe broke off looking both surprised and faintly pleased.
“I said, I like your shirt. It’s very elegant, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Oshitari repeated, giving the other man a sly look from under his eyelashes. Atobe went pink.
“Oh…No… its Damascus lace you know, the very best sort,” he said, warming to the flattery. Clearly frills weren’t especially revered by many aboard The Chion.
“I have something like it myself,”
The Captain seemed to get back on track. “That’s irrelevant! Why were you sneaking around in Ore-sama’s territory?” he demanded, glaring coldly at Oshitari over the table. Oshitari shivered. Give it a few years and that look could really be something to worry about. As it was…
He shrugged, “Just for fun,” he said, nonchalantly, “I heard you were…impenetrable ,so,”
Atobe went pink again.
“So, I though I would see if I could. Penetrate you,” Oshitari couldn’t help a grin. Oh God, this was too easy for words. The other was at a complete loss for words.
“It’s ok,” he went on, reassuringly. “I’ve penetrated a lot of people’s territory, so there’s no shame in it. Your security was refreshingly tight; in fact, I had a hard time of it.” He gave the other a sympathetic look, “This is the first time anyone’s gotten in this deep, isn’t it? If I hurt you, I am sorry…”
Atobe stared. Then he stood up, shakily, completely thrown by the other man, and picked up the lamp. “Yes, well,” he said, his voice coming across a little squeaky, “You can jolly well just sit there and think about what you’ve done. In the dark,” he added, feeling somehow he wasn’t being strict enough. “Without supper.”
And then he left.
In the gloom, Oshitari chuckled. Oh dear… this was going to be really too much fun…