Fic: Once More, With Feeling (Part II)

[redpocket]

+

It was official, Tezuka thought. Everything in the music business moved fast.

He pressed his lips together as he stared at the CD case in his hand. This was the culmination of what felt like his entire life, the album he'd never thought he would get to see, and if he was the sort to get overemotional, he might well be crying right about now. As it was, though, what he felt was more akin to a stunned sort of disbelief as to how they'd even managed it.

That first week had been simultaneously the longest week of his life and the most fun he had ever had. After two and a half days of trying to teach them what it meant to be a cohesive group, and putting up with Atobe's half-serious hostility and sarcastic remarks, they'd finally been at a place where he'd felt satisfied that they weren't about to dissolve into five individuals again. It helped that they had apparently known each other for several years, so they could read each other very well as soon as they were aware that was what they were supposed to be doing. Tezuka had not yet been able to integrate himself in the same way, but he was the drummer anyway so it wasn't as important for him to gel with them. The biggest culprit was Atobe, who had a tendency to get carried away and start thinking he was the only person on the planet, but after Tezuka had gotten frustrated with him a few times and really let him have it, he'd become much more interactive, his ego taking a different direction altogether and elevating them all instead of just himself. With one ego for five people, the level of superiority wasn't nearly as much as it had been before, and Tezuka had been amazed when he'd showed up on day four and Atobe had actually given him a genuine smile. It was a big step, and it showed very clearly in their rehearsal that day - the songs sounded much earthier, much more real, and it was the first time that Tezuka had actually felt like they were a real band with something honest to say.

He was surprised as well about how interested everyone seemed in his input. Even Atobe, sure of himself as he was, sometimes looked to Tezuka for confirmation, and Tezuka couldn't really understand it until Ootori had pulled him aside and explained to him that in their eyes, Tezuka had already made it. He'd been a real rocker who'd started with nothing and acquired everything along the way, and, of the four of them, only Shishido had any inkling of what that was like. Tezuka had the realism that lent their band credibility, and while they might all have been very talented musicians, something like what Tezuka brought couldn't be taught - it could only come with experience. Ootori's words followed Tezuka through the rest of the weekend, and, come Sunday, he played the best he'd ever played in his entire career - just in time for the recording session.

With their part done, Sakaki sent them to do some bonding in preparation for their publicity events, and it was with little surprise that Tezuka found himself shepherded onto Atobe's private jet and flown halfway around the world to spend the week in Paris. It was half tourist excursion, half romantic getaway (as weird as that was), and being dragged three directions at once - Atobe heading for the boutiques, Oshitari for the Left Bank, Ootori for Notre Dame - somehow managed to create a bond between himself and Shishido as they rolled their eyes at each other in mutually exasperated amusement.

And the connections just kept coming from there. Ootori was a deeply spiritual person, and something about the look on his face as he stood beneath the Arc de Triomphe, reading the names carved into the walls, made Tezuka reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, which had earned him a misty-eyed, grateful smile. Oshitari, while very obviously a romantic in the modern sense, was also a Romantic, and the raw passion in his eyes as he stared out over the Paris nightscape grabbed at something deep in Tezuka's chest. And Atobe, for all that he seemed outwardly shallow and fixated on symbols of status, showed so much emotion standing in front of the Madonna and Child in the Louvre that Tezuka changed his mind about him on the spot. And the music....the Paris Opera, the Symphony, the outdoor jazz on the Left Bank, and even the sold-out Depeche Mode concert that had Atobe in fits (and Shishido as well when he found out how much Atobe'd had to pay for tickets)....the music was glorious, and Tezuka had never imagined how different it could be to experience it live with people whose company he had come to really enjoy.

The week ended far too quickly, and then it was back to Tokyo, where Sakaki presented them with the masters of their recordings, mixed and edited and cleaned until they sounded, well, really good, and asked them for input. Then it was on to promotional outings, visits to radio stations, interviews, photo shoots...it made Tezuka's head spin to realise how much business was really involved in the music business, and he gained a whole new level of respect for Sakaki, who could somehow manage all this without even batting an eye. There were others as well, of course - business manager, lawyer, publicist, personal assistants for all of them...the one person Tezuka found missing was a stylist, but Oshitari explained to him in an amused murmur that Atobe refused to let anyone dictate his style, and that the rest of them all had their own style that Atobe had tweaked but then let be. It was part of what made them so appealing to such a wide audience, Tezuka knew, because they had it all - the glamourous, the grungy, the clean-cut, and the cool...and now they had him, the perpetually nerdy, as Shishido liked to call him. Atobe certainly had a lot to say about Tezuka's sense of style, or lack thereof, and he insisted on dedicating one publicity day to shopping, dragging Tezuka around the boutiques until Tezuka had a whole new wardrobe that somehow managed to be him while still being stylish, something he hadn't thought possible. It was a humiliating experience though, especially with the cameras there, clicking away, and the others weren't much help, between Shishido's snickers and Ootori's sympathetic smiles and Oshitari's perpetual smirking leers. But come the photo shoot for the album cover, Tezuka was comfortable enough in his new clothes to look like he actually belonged there, and with Oshitari's arm slung comfortably around his shoulder and Ootori grinning up at him from the ground, he felt like it too. It almost felt like being back with Samurai E again, that same easy camaraderie and snarky banter and pretense of scorn underlaid with a deep-seated affection and sense of sameness, and it was almost enough to overwhelm.

And now here he was, standing in his band's mixing studio, staring at the advance release copy of Tannhäuser's first studio album. It felt too good to be true, like he would wake up any minute and realise it had all been some horribly unfair dream.

'I bet I know what you're thinking,' said a voice into his ear, and he started as he felt a familiar arm drape over his shoulder.

'I bet you don't,' Tezuka retorted, not even looking back.

Oshitari chuckled, breath warm against Tezuka's skin. 'You're thinking that this is far better than the release of your first book, because this is something that you actually care about.'

It wasn't, but now that Oshitari had said it, it sort of was. And it was true, too. This felt good in a way none of his book releases had. With his books, he'd sort of shoved his advance copies on a shelf and forgotten about them. This, he wanted to frame.

'Leave him alone, Yuushi,' said Atobe from the door. He sipped at his juice, smirking. 'He's in shock that he's finally been able to put out something good.'

'Shut up, Atobe.' Shishido shoved past him and sauntered in, throwing himself into a chair and fiddling with the sliders. 'Or I'll tell him about how you almost pissed yourself before our first live.'

'Ore-sama did nothing of the sort,' Atobe retorted, drawing himself up with great dignity and making Yuushi snicker. Shishido snorted, giving Atobe a Look that said oh yes you did, and Tezuka rolled his eyes, shaking his head in weary fondness.

'That reminds me,' said Ootori, walking in as well and standing against the back wall. 'We'll be doing more lives soon, won't we? I mean, after the album's out and everything.'

'Naturally,' Atobe replied, glaring at Shishido for a moment more before looking away. 'Though first there will be all the publicity. TV performances, signings, meet-and-greets, and so forth. We have to make sure everyone really wants to see us before we let them.'

'Just like Atobe,' Shishido muttered, slumping back in his chair and letting it spin. 'Knows how to sell anything.'

'That's right,' Atobe replied, voice sharp. Then, all of a sudden, he smiled. In fact, his entire persona changed - his spine relaxed, his eyelids dipped, his face softened, and his gaze darkened until he looked predatory, like a giant cat slinking toward Shishido, who froze, eyes wide and fixed on Atobe in a mixture of horror and fascination. Atobe didn't falter though, prowling up to Shishido and coming to a stop just inside his personal space; he set down his glass of juice with a smooth, graceful movement, then lifted that hand to Shishido's face, slipping the hat off his head and letting it drop before winding his fingers into Shishido's hair, tilting his head back. Still smiling, he moistened his lips, and leaned down, holding Shishido's gaze unyieldingly until their faces were bare inches apart; only then did he let his eyes drop to Shishido's mouth, which was parted, his breaths coming fast and raspy and very audible in the sudden silence of the room.

'This,' Atobe breathed, voice low and intimate, 'is how you sell a band.' He stilled, tilting his chin until his exhale brushed just against the trembling curve of Shishido's mouth...and then let go and stepped back, scooping up his glass without looking and taking another sip, careless of the dazed look on Shishido's face or the shocked stares from the rest of them.

Tezuka finally found his voice. 'That's...what was that?' he asked a bit hoarsely.

Atobe shrugged. 'Fanservice,' he murmured, unconcerned.

'....are we supposed to do that?' Ootori asked, voice small and very uncertain.

Atobe chuckled. 'No,' he replied. 'Somehow, Ootori, I doubt you could pull it off, and especially not as well as ore-sama. None of you could. ...well, perhaps Yuushi might make a decent attempt.'

'Thank you, Keigo,' Oshitari purred from behind Tezuka, and Tezuka twisted his head around to see Oshitari smirking as he winked at Atobe, lashes lowered and gaze sultry. Atobe smirked back, blowing Oshitari a kiss.

Tezuka cleared his throat. 'Am I interrupting something?' he asked, trying to shrug off Oshitari's arm.

Oshitari laughed, pulling Tezuka closer. 'Don't be silly,' he murmured, voice mostly back to normal (which wasn't to say it was any less rife with sex, but at least he wasn't trying anymore). 'We're just practicing. Right, Kei-sama?'

'That's Kei-dono to you,' Atobe replied, fixing Oshitari with a mock-glare that still burned with want.

Shishido finally snapped out of his stupour. 'Oh, lame,' he muttered, folding his arms.

Tezuka sighed.

+

Though it had taken quite a lot of getting used to, Tezuka had to admit that Atobe knew what he was talking about.

On the day of the album's release, Sakaki threw an exclusive party for four hundred of his closest friends - corporate execs, socialites, affluent businessmen, even the "occasional" reporter - with Tannhäuser as the main event. (They weren't slated to perform, but Sakaki did pipe their music through the speakers, at just a high enough volume so the lyrics were comprehensible.) Tezuka was stopped on average every three minutes by a different person who wanted to speak to him about his past, how he'd come to join the band, what he thought about the new album, how he felt, and so on and so forth; he answered the questions as best as he could, though he really wasn't much of a public figure. Sakaki had assured him beforehand that it was okay, though - his taciturnity was all part of his character, and the press would eat that up, calling him "mysterious" and "secretive" and all manner of similar things. Tezuka didn't care what they called it as long as he didn't have to make himself talk.

He finished answering questions from a tall, leggy woman with stern brown eyes and sterner glasses (but who looked anything but stern as she listened to him speak), and then turned to look for one of his bandmates, hoping to escape the insanity for at least thirty seconds.

And stopped dead.

Atobe and Oshitari were...well, the polite way to say it would be that they were fraternising with each other. In truth, it wasn't anything like fraternisation. Atobe had one finger hooked through a belt loop on Oshitari's oh-so-slender trousers, and then other up the front of his half-buttoned shirt, and was holding him there as he spoke to a small crowd of people with flashing cameras and delighted smiles. And Oshitari didn't seem to mind at all, one of his hands slipping round Atobe's body to curve against his ass, the other holding a tumbler of whisky that he sipped at appropriate intervals. He wasn't saying much, but he watched Atobe with clear attentiveness, and simply smiled his slow, lazy smile whenever someone directed a question at him, letting Atobe answer for him. They looked less like bandmates and more like bedmates, and it almost made Tezuka blush on their behalf at how inappropriate the whole thing was. True, the press seemed to be drinking it in - they were probably sure they had their headlines already - but it was...not about the music at all. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to the music - they were all paying attention to the show.

'Disgusting, isn't it?'

Tezuka looked down to see Shishido standing next to him, one hand shoved into his back pocket and the other holding a beer. He gave Tezuka a wry smile, rolling his eyes. 'It's such a fucking joke, all of that - it's so over-the-top that people can't possibly believe it. But Atobe's right - it doesn't matter what they think, so long as they're thinking about it. And y'know, girls love this shit.' He gestured with his bottle. 'Guys all over each other, I mean. Especially when they look like Atobe and Oshitari.'

Tezuka raised a brow, surprised, and Shishido smirked at him. 'What?' he asked. 'Even I can see that they're sexy. I mean, they know how to play their audience and make it look real, which is what sex appeal is all about.'

'You don't think it's...creating the wrong image for the band?' Tezuka felt like something of a prude even asking it, but he had to know, and Shishido was definitely the most down-to-earth of the lot of them.

Shishido shrugged. 'Doesn't really matter,' he said. 'This is the music business, Tezuka. I know for you it's all about the music, and what we have to say, and that it should speak for itself, and that's fine. It does. It will. But it doesn't matter what the fuck we're saying if nobody's listening. And that's what all this is about. We have to get people to pay attention before we can start telling them shit.'

Tezuka pressed his lips together, considering. As unpleasant as the concept was, he had to admit that Shishido had a point. Samurai E had been lucky in that people had paid attention largely because they'd been kids, and that was a novelty. A gimmick, so to speak. But once they got past that, they had also recognised that Samurai E was very talented. With Tannhäuser, they didn't have that automatic selling point of being completely out of the norm for rock musicians, so they needed something else. And he supposed that this was as good as anything. He certainly didn't feel like slathering his face with makeup and spiking his hair; Visual Kei was a whole other spectrum of weird that he'd long since sworn not to touch.

Shishido drained his beer and elbowed Tezuka gently in the side. 'Lighten up,' he said. 'It's not like we have to do it. In fact, I already heard some reporter making a note to herself about how you and I have the...what did she say? "The endearing dynamic of two brothers thrown into a world of glitz and glamour, who have nothing but each other to help them remember their roots as they make their way through the confusing and often-terrifying world of entertainment."' He snorted in amusement. 'So I guess the fact that we're normal makes us cool, or something. I dunno.'

Tezuka snorted as well, but he couldn't help but crack a faint smile. He liked Shishido. His attitude might have been a bit over-caustic for Tezuka's liking, but his head was on straight and he worked hard no matter what, and Tezuka could certainly relate to that.

'Shishido-san!'

Tezuka looked up as Ootori came over, shy smile in place. 'I brought you another beer, Shishido-san.'

Shishido shot Ootori a grin, reaching up to chuck him in the jaw. 'Thanks, kid,' he said. Ootori beamed, and Shishido looked over his shoulder at Tezuka, throwing him a wink.

'"The sempai-and-kouhai relationship between the band's guitarists is reminiscent of school days in its innocent realism, but with a level of complexity not achievable between children,"' he murmured, and then grinned, quirking a meaningful brow before following Ootori away.

Tezuka chuckled, watching them go. If Shishido's quotes were accurate, then he was really starting to look forward to this article.

To all the articles, in fact. And he certainly got his wish over the next few days as the band was deluged with newspapers and magazines and web articles to read in preparation for their tour. What worked, what didn't, what the press wanted to see more of, what they should tone down.... After speaking to Shishido, Tezuka wasn't at all surprised to find that most of the pictures in the first articles were of Atobe and Oshitari looking like quite the cozy couple. More than that, even: if he was being honest, they looked rather like they wanted to fuck each other in the middle of the foyer. It made his stomach twist a little bit to see. But it was just show business, as he'd heard on several occasions now, and so he told himself that he was just going to have to get used to it.

Especially since he wasn't exempt from it either. While neither Atobe nor Oshitari were nearly as forward with anyone else as they were with each other, they didn't hold back on the obvious flirting. Oshitari had always been a bit touchy-feely, so that didn't disturb Tezuka so much, but on the occasions when he looked up to see Atobe watching him, eyes dark and intense and very serious, it was all Tezuka could do not to shudder. It wasn't disgust, but rather discomfort, and he always looked away quickly, even though it made Atobe laugh and occasionally say something to Oshitari about how adorable it was that Tezuka was shy. Tezuka resented being called adorable, so sometimes he would glare, but that only made Atobe laugh harder, and, in the end, there wasn't much to do but accept it. And while he didn't think he would ever not notice, considering the hitch in his chest it gave him every time, it became easier to overlook, a weary oh, they're at it again taking the place of a shocked stare and a stifled blush. In fact, by the time the tour started, Tezuka had gotten very good at ignoring it altogether when Atobe draped himself over Oshitari and sang into his mic, or Oshitari prowled up behind Atobe and leaned against him as he played.

The fans loved it, of course, screaming so loud it nearly deafened Tezuka, which was amazing considering the volume of their concerts (and the earplugs he always made sure to wear). And the more they screamed, the more Atobe and Oshitari played it up. And they weren't the only ones. Ootori became more and more bold, sometimes coming right up to Tezuka and putting a foot up on the platform while he played, hips jutting forward in a manner that might've been natural on Oshitari but looked obscene on him, and even Shishido accepted Atobe's attention when he sauntered over and dropped to his knees to watch Shishido solo, though he himself never made it a point of seeking it out. Tezuka didn't participate the same way as the rest of them - couldn't, even if he wanted to - but whenever Ootori linked his arm through Tezuka's or Oshitari draped himself across Tezuka's shoulders or Atobe gave Tezuka one of his Looks in public, Tezuka played along, as much as the token stoic could. After all, it was all part of the performance.

Two weeks into the tour found them in Osaka, where Tezuka was amazed to learn that those concerts, and all the concerts afterward, were already completely sold out. He was even more amazed when they were greeted at the venue by legions of screaming girls, not all of whom were Japanese. He had never expected things to become so big, never mind so quickly, and once again he had to admire Sakaki for his ability to sell something so effectively. And his bandmates as well: the girls had apparently fallen in love with their personas, and so every time Ootori rumpled his hair, or Shishido tugged at his cap, or Oshitari adjusted his glasses, or Atobe snapped his fingers, they shrieked I love yous like they couldn't get enough of it.

It was exhausting, yes, between the tour and the publicity and the constant media and fan attention, but it was also so much better than he ever could have hoped for. They'd written a few new songs since the release of their album, and they started to slip those into the concerts as well, and for Tezuka, there was nothing more perfect than the silence of thousands as they played one of his songs, subdued and introspective and meaningful. While he couldn't say he was a fan of all the madness, in those moments when everyone was listening to what he had to say, he knew he wouldn't trade it for anything. And on the rare occasion when someone who came up to him was coherent enough to speak in complete sentences, they almost always spoke about how much they enjoyed the music, the lyrics, the camaraderie between the band members - all the things that Tezuka himself found important.

Today was one of those occasions. Tezuka was out for a walk, needing to clear his head before that night's concert, and despite being very careful about where he went, not wanting to be recognised, he was stopped by a pair of students, early 20s, who shyly asked for his autograph, and then told Tezuka how much his newest song had touched them. They understood what it felt like to have a million things to say but no one who wanted to listen. They got the concept of being someone who didn't command the sort of attention needed in this world to make a real difference. But they assured him that he did, and that he was, and they wanted to thank him for saying what so many people thought but never could get out in a way that would let their voices be heard. It was validating, and Tezuka found himself at a loss for words as the girls bowed, thanking him again, before walking off toward the university.

He didn't think it would ever get old. All it took was a few simple words or an understanding smile to make him feel like everything he'd experienced had been worth it. When he'd been in Samurai E, he hadn't known what he wanted, except to get his message out to people; he hadn't understood that the reason he craved the blistering energy of a wild audience was because he needed to know he was being heard. Just saying it wasn't enough, like his song said - he needed someone to listen for it to be worthwhile. And...as infuriating as Atobe could be, Tezuka had to admit that he might never have found what he had been searching for all these years without him. Samurai E had given him a chance to say something meaningful, even if they weren't his words; writing romance novels had given him his own voice.

Tannhäuser gave him both.

It occurred to Tezuka then that he didn't think he'd ever thanked Atobe for being so damn insistent. He didn't want to give the man a bigger ego than he already had, and so he'd spent the majority of the last couple months countering everything Atobe said, just on sheer principle. Since joining Tannhäuser, he'd seen such an enormous difference in Atobe, and he chalked that up largely to the fact that he wasn't afraid to speak his mind when it came to things that mattered, and music mattered more than anything. And Atobe felt that way too, for all that he acted superior about it, and so he listened, and learned, and had become such a better musician for it. He'd always been a spectacular performer, but now he had the musical chops to go along with it, and Tezuka wouldn't be surprised if Atobe'd already earned himself a place in rock history. But even if he had helped Atobe reach those new heights, that still wasn't enough, not when Tezuka finally found himself happy with his life after having given up on the possibility of ever finding that.

He frowned. Apparently his run-in with the students had left him feeling more emotional than he'd expected. He didn't get emotional often, but when he did, it tended to interfere with his concentration. It was probably best that he speak to Atobe right away so that by concert time, he'd be back to his usual self.

He turned and headed straight back toward the hotel.

When he got there, Shishido and Ootori were hanging out in the game room just off the lobby. Shishido looked like he was teaching Ootori how to play pool, and Ootori seemed to be really bad at it, since Shishido kept adjusting his grip and reframing his body before letting him take a shot. Tezuka paused at the door, poking his head in to say a quick hello, and Ootori beamed at him, that brilliant smile with a hint of a blush that fit his character so well and yet was completely genuine at the same time.

'Nice walk?' he asked, shifting his arm obediently.

'Mm,' Tezuka replied. 'Osaka is beautiful.'

Shishido grunted. 'Go tell Oshitari that,' he said. 'I'm sure he could talk to you about the wonders of Osaka for hours.'

'I was headed that way,' Tezuka replied. 'Do you happen to know if Atobe is in as well?'

Shishido and Ootori exchanged a look.

'I think Atobe-san is fixing his hair,' Ootori said after a brief pause, smiling again. 'He was when we left, anyway.'

'Which means yes,' Shishido snorted. 'We've only been down here an hour, after all, and we all know it takes him at least three before he's satisfied.'

Tezuka snorted as well. 'Thanks,' he said, and pushed himself off the wall, the sound of stick hitting ball echoing behind him. If Atobe was in the middle of fixing his hair, then that meant he would at least stand (mostly) still for long enough for Tezuka to speak to him.

When he arrived at their suite, though, there was no Atobe in the main bathroom, primping in front of the huge mirror, nor was there an Oshitari, sprawled out on the couch just outside and watching him amusedly through the door as he pretended to read. But Ootori had said they were there.... Maybe Oshitari was helping Atobe pick which pair of black trousers to wear again, Tezuka thought, and headed for Atobe's bedroom, knocking twice before opening the door and glancing in.

And freezing, face going white and hand tightening on the doorknob until it creaked beneath his fingers.

What he saw did in fact involve Atobe's trousers, but it wasn't clothing selection. In fact, it looked a lot more like clothing unselection, with Oshitari on his knees, tugging at them like they had personally offended him. Tezuka had never seen Oshitari awake and without his glasses, but he was now, eyes enormous and dark in the dimly lit room as he looked up at Atobe, his usual wickedness concentrated until it was thick enough to be tangible. And Atobe was looking right back at him, an odd smile on his face, fingers tangled in Oshitari's hair and hips canted forward toward Oshitari's face as he....

Tezuka bit down on his tongue as he realised what exactly he was seeing. He'd written about it so many times before that he thought by this point he would be immune to it, but the difference between a blowjob on paper and one played out in real-time right in front of him was so immense that it made his knees turn to water and his face heat until his ears rang. No amount of "trade research" (reference books and novels and manga and the very occasional movie) could have prepared him for the sight of Atobe's prick sliding past Oshitari's lips, and that he was watching two men together, and two of his friends besides, made it that much more foreign, that much more unprecedented....and that much more fascinating.

Though perhaps fascinating might not have been the right word. While some part of Tezuka was no doubt remarking on how this went far beyond even Atobe's notion of fanservice, especially since there weren't any fans around, the rest of him was unable to manage a single coherent thought. His less coherent thoughts came in snatches of wrong and leave now and how does he and how long have they, but all of them were drowned out by the inescapable chorus of yes. Tezuka wasn't a pervert - erred more on the side of prude, in fact - but he couldn't deny that what he was watching was unbelievably hot. Atobe and Oshitari had always looked good together - even Shishido had pointed that out - but like this, when they thought no one was watching, open and honest and vulnerable with each other, they were beyond stunning, and Tezuka couldn't look away.

Atobe's face was flushed, his hair a wispy mess as it tumbled down across his forehead; his lips were parted, swollen, wet, and trembling as he panted, fingers tightening in Oshitari's hair and hips moving in slow, shallow thrusts toward Oshitari's face. Oshitari tipped his head forward, away from Atobe's hands, and Atobe's knuckles whitened as Oshitari's hair pulled taut, prompting an audible, if understandably muffled, groan. Atobe groaned in response, muscles of his thighs jerking, and Oshitari laughed, low and ragged and deep in his throat, making Atobe moan again and pull sharply at Oshitari's hair. It looked like a fugue, each action prompting a contrapuntal response, but this was a form of music that even music couldn't touch.

Tezuka's breath sped with Atobe's movements, as he tipped his head back and gasped, as his hands tightened against Oshitari's scalp, as his back bowed and his hips pressed forward further, and Oshitari's hands relaxed against Atobe's hips, one sliding down the back of his thigh and then around to the front and up, tracing the musculature of Atobe's abdominals, the other shifting across, behind, curving over the taut-flexed muscles of his ass, and then Atobe hissed, his entire body jerking, and Tezuka jerked too in shock and sympathetic sensation as he realised what Oshitari must have been doing. This went far beyond the expertise of a mainstream romance novelist, but that only made it more real to him, more immediate, because it transcended the boundaries of what he could put down on paper. He shivered as he watched Atobe's spine arch harder, eyes squeezing shut and mouth dropping open, and then Atobe groaned, raw and animalistic and desperate and there and Tezuka stifled a whimper as he watched Atobe's orgasm rip through him, his body trembling and his tendons standing out in sharp relief against the bared line of his throat. He looked so beautiful that it was almost obscene, and it was all Tezuka could do not to walk right through the door and lick away that droplet of sweat gleaming between Atobe's collarbones. He might have done it too, especially once Atobe's eyes opened and he tilted his head forward again, gaze burning with raw emotion, but Oshitari preempted him, standing, simultaneously possessive and gentle as he wound fingers into Atobe's hair. Tezuka swallowed hard as Oshitari kissed Atobe roughly, crushing their mouths together, and then again when he saw a glistening trickle of liquid slide past the corner of Atobe's mouth. There was only one thing that could be, and seeing it made his skin burn and his clothing feel too tight, and he quickly stepped back out of the doorway, closing the door carefully behind him.

Only then did he run for it.

+

A normal person might have been horrified at the knowledge that his friends were fucking each other stupid in secret, especially since they all shared living spaces, the tour bus, and every waking (and, oftentimes, sleeping) hour of their lives. A normal person might have been even more horrified at his own reaction to catching said friends fucking each other stupid in secret, especially since that reaction, rather than being one of horror, was one of pure, deep-seated appreciation. A normal person might have run to the bar for a stiff drink or three and a very long stint alone in which he could attempt to scrub the mental images from his brain.

Needless to say, Tezuka was not normal.

But the truth was, he didn't find anything abnormal about it. About any of it. He might not have suspected that Atobe and Oshitari's seemingly-casual flirtations went so far into the realm of not-at-all casual, but once he saw them together, it all fit. He couldn't imagine anything that made more sense: Atobe's fire, gleaming gold and bright and dazzling, with Oshitari's deep-seated passion, dark and rich and earthy and grounded in prana. And having seen them together, the artistry of their music, the light-and-shadow of them that permeated their repertoire, seeing them together felt simply like an extension of the inevitable. The energy between them had always been there; sex was just a different, more physical manifestation. And Tezuka had always been electrified by their music - why would this be any different?

No, now that he had seen it, the only thing that had changed was his recognition of what they really were to each other. A kiss as intimate as the one he'd seen was not shared between casual bedmates, which meant that whatever their relationship was exactly went far deeper than that.

However, there were two problems with his newfound awareness. The first problem was that now that he knew, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about it. Whereas before, he had learned to ignore it whenever they started hanging on each other, now, he was far too cognisant of what it meant. Every time Atobe curled around Oshitari on stage, lips practically brushing Oshitari's as he sang into his mic, Tezuka couldn't help but wonder what they were thinking when they did that, what it must have felt like to be so close on stage and not be able to do anything about it. It wasn't just putting on a show anymore - now it was real, and visceral, and, coupled with the hunger threaded through the music and the raw emotion poured into the lyrics, it was far too powerful for Tezuka to try to pass off as just another part of the performance. He couldn't really explain why just knowing of their relationship made that entire aspect of the band's persona so much more prevalent to him, but it made sense anyway. Music, for him, was a vehicle with which to communicate emotion, and so he hated the commercial nature of performances, the inherent falsity buried in every planned look and practised expression and schooled answer. But now that he knew that Atobe and Oshitari weren't just performing, he was maybe starting to feel what the fans felt - the energy, the excitement, the power of watching two men so comfortable with themselves and with each other that they could express a thousand separate thoughts just through one look, one touch, one smile. It had gained depth, for him. They weren't just looking at each other because it made the girls scream; they were looking at each other because they meant it.

The difference there was that Tezuka didn't have the luxury of just enjoying, because he had to work with them, to see them all the time, day in and day out, and he couldn't just stop playing whenever Oshitari sidled up to Atobe and shot him a Look. But no matter how much Tezuka tried not to think about it, the thoughts pervaded his consciousness anyway, until he was finally forced to acknowledge that his reaction to Atobe and Oshitari together was much more than just aesthetic appreciation.

And there was the second problem.

Atobe and Oshitari had no idea that he had seen what he'd seen, and he certainly wasn't about to broach it with them, especially since he had long since grown accustomed to keeping his thoughts from everyone around him; he wouldn't have survived Echizen and Fuji and even Oishi for very long otherwise. But that meant that the flirtation didn't stop. In fact, as the tour continued, it only got more overt: Oshitari nibbling his ear whenever he draped himself over Tezuka's shoulders, Atobe coupling the Look with a knowing smirk or a little, secretive wink that sometimes made Tezuka wonder if he actually did know and was just enjoying watching Tezuka squirm. And while before, he'd been able to play it off with an eyeroll or a scowl or a long-suffering sigh that fit his character to a T, now he was finding it increasingly impossible to ignore the reactions of his body to their advances.

It may have been that he just hadn't noticed it before, or that something had changed after he'd seen them together, or some combination of the above, but the more frequently he found himself with a knot in his stomach or an ache in his chest or fingers that itched to touch, the clearer it became to him that this wasn't really a new thing either. He'd always been affected by the flirtation, even though he'd been able to play it off before, and the implication of that was not something he wanted to consider.

He didn't make a habit of futile dreaming.

While he was willing to accept that the sight of them flirting so openly with each other left him with a mix of jealousy and wistfulness, it stopped there. He wasn't willing to entertain any farfetched ideas about how when Atobe Looked at him, it meant the same thing as when he Looked at Oshitari, or when Oshitari slipped an arm around his waist, he was being anything more than just friendly. Whatever they were to each other, the rest of it was still just a performance. Why it mattered, now, after so many years of not caring about such things, Tezuka couldn't say, but the fact remained that it did and he couldn't ignore it. And he couldn't even muster resentment at the fact that they made him feel so conflicted and yet were themselves unaffected, because it was nobody's fault but his own that he'd chosen to stay and watch them.

So he kept on doing what he was there to do. Shows in Kyoto, Fukuoka, Niigata, Hiroshima...the crowds only got bigger, the screams louder, the fans more enthusiastic, and every concert was an opportunity for Tezuka to drown himself in the music, to forget everything except what they were trying to communicate. And by the time they reached Sapporo, their final stop on the tour before returning to Tokyo, he had almost learned to live with the constant low buzz of arousal.

Almost.

+

'Hurry up, Tezuka! We have to get going or we'll miss the shoot!'

Tezuka gritted his teeth, head impacting the wall as he curled in on himself, hand moving furiously over his prick. It was bad enough that he had to do this now, in a rush, instead of the usual slow, leisurely wank in the shower - one of the advantages of consistently being the first one awake. But the fact that he'd already had one wank that day meant the chances of this being as quick as he needed it to be were very slim anyway, never mind with Shishido standing outside the door and yelling at him.

Normally, under these circumstances, Tezuka would have stopped, done some deep breathing, and tried to ignore the uncomfortableness of his trousers. But unfortunately for him, the concept for this photo shoot was not conducive to chasing away a stubborn erection, and would in fact probably exacerbate the problem.

He closed his eyes tightly and stroked faster. The usual process of letting his mind wander so he wasn't thinking about anyone in particular when he came wasn't working, and it had been a long time since imagining a woman with lush lips and soft breasts did anything for him - whether that was one of the perils of being a romance novelist, or his first clue that he much preferred the male form, he had no idea. Though thinking about said male form did seem to be helping, so he went with it, careful to keep it general. Muscular thighs, narrow hips, flat belly, the faint outline of ribs sliding beneath lightly tanned skin....cream-chocolate nipples standing out against lean pectorals....slight dusting of hairs trailing inexorably downward to--

'Tezuka....'

--Oshitari's mouth, swollen and red, stretched wide around his cock, dark eyes looking up at him with mischief and want, hands sliding across the trembling muscles of his legs, his ass, and then inward to--

'...are you coming?'

Tezuka swallowed a groan, fisting one hand in his own hair and pulling his head back as he tightened his grip, hips jerking forward in erratic staccato and tension building from his toes until he--

'Tezuka, ore-sama insists you come at once.'

--came, stomach muscles clenching all at once and spine arching sharply beneath the imagined glide of four hands, head dropping back against an imaginary shoulder and hips jutting forward against an imaginary face as his body wrung itself out in shudders of unbelievable pleasure.

He slumped half-forward, body trembling with exertion, and sucked in a deep, cooling breath as he let the aftershocks wash over him. Part of him was horrified by what he had just done, crossing the boundary between impersonal and personal, between safe and dangerous as hell, but the rest of him was far too pleasantly lethargic to care.

Another knock at the door. 'Tezuka-san? Atobe-san is threatening to leave without you.'

Shit.

Tezuka stirred, pushing himself off the wall and walking to the sink for a quick clean-up. 'Sorry,' he called out, a bit hoarsely. 'I'll be right there.'

He was so, so screwed.

+

There were no two ways about it. The world was definitely out to get him.

Tezuka sighed as he pulled the yukata more tightly around his body and scrubbed at the makeup slathering his face. He had never understood why fashion photo shoots insisted on their subjects being as naked as humanly possible, since it rather seemed to defeat the purpose of a fashion shoot.

Sex sells, Tezuka, he remembered Shishido telling him as he'd stared in horror at the outfit they'd expected him to wear. Shishido hadn't seemed to have a problem with squeezing into the leather jeans they'd foisted off on him, but then again, he'd also been allowed a tank top and even a cap, since it "suited his image" or some such. Ootori'd been slightly less comfortable in low-cut shorts and a tie and nothing else, but Atobe in his stretchy white t-shirt (which hadn't stayed long) and tight jeans, and Oshitari in his wide-legged trousers and skinny tie and fedora, looked as if they had been born looking like rock stars.

Tezuka, on the other hand, had felt exposed enough in dress pants that felt like they were about to fall off any minute and a shirt that was so see-through that even the parts it did cover in its unbuttoned state had no cover at all. And then when the photographer had told them to imagine they were each other's clothing, well...that's about when Tezuka had lost it completely. The only thing that had kept him going was the look on Atobe's face, which had been intense and dark enough for Tezuka to pretend that he actually meant something by it. Granted, it hadn't helped his comfort level, since each glance from Atobe had made him feel even more naked than he already was, but at least his trousers had had some give.

He grumbled, rubbing harder at the eyeliner, which was refusing to budge. This was what he had been hoping to avoid by staying away from Visual Kei, but at least he could take comfort in the fact that his makeup wasn't blue.

'Don't scrub at it like that,' drawled a voice from the door, and Tezuka looked up just in time to see the reflection of Oshitari sidling up behind him and stopping his hand. Oshitari had yet to change out of his shoot clothes, but he seemed entirely unconcerned by his bare chest, grinning at Tezuka as he turned him and took the wipe from his hand.

'You have to sweep it outwards like this,' Oshitari murmured, catching Tezuka's chin between his fingers and beginning to wipe gently at his eye. Tezuka pressed his lips together, holding very still; Oshitari was so close that Tezuka could feel the heat radiating from his bared chest, could taste the cinnamon on his breath, and his body was fast remembering what it felt like to be half-naked with Oshitari draped across his lap, cheek pillowed on his thigh and hair tickling the jut of hipbone peeking out above his waistband. Factoring in that morning's...antics, Tezuka could only think that this couldn't end well.

'Thanks,' he said stiffly. 'I can--'

'Nonsense.' Oshitari smiled, sweeping his thumb across the curve of Tezuka's lip, silencing him. 'What are friends for? Look down.'

And Tezuka did, half because of the sudden sensory overload that made him unable to protest, and half because he was he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he'd end up wrapping his lips around Oshitari's thumb, and then it would be game over.

Of course, looking down wasn't much better. He tried to focus on the floor, but his gaze kept being pulled back to the curve of Oshitari's iliac crest, the shadowed definition of his abdominals, the flexed muscles of his thighs, and, inevitably, the outline of his prick pressing against the front of his trousers. He knew it was just healthy curiosity that he couldn't help wondering about its size, its length, how it compared to his own, but "healthy curiosity" didn't cover his wondering about its heft, the pattern of veins, how it would feel in his hand, on his tongue, pressing against his--

'All done.'

Tezuka blinked, pulling his mind away from those thoughts and looking up at Oshitari, who was smiling at him again, calmly, gaze inscrutable behind his glasses. 'You're good as new,' he said. 'Make sure you wash your face before you get dressed though, or else the oil might get on your clothing.'

'Thank you,' Tezuka mumbled, taking a step back, and then another, trying not to seem like he was backing away. Oshitari just kept smiling though, and Tezuka managed a half-smile of his own before turning and darting into the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

Yep. Definitely screwed.

+

Fortunately, their Sapporo concert wasn't scheduled until the next evening, which meant that Tezuka could take the evening off and spend it away from everyone else. There wasn't anything in their contract that said they had to spend all their time together, after all, and even Atobe liked to spend some time on his own once in awhile.

When they got back to the hotel, in fact, they all went their separate directions - Shishido in search of food, with Ootori tagging along, Atobe to do some shopping, and Oshitari to the hotel's swimming pool. Tezuka took a few minutes to himself in the room, just to unwind and try to make his brain stop fixating on dangerous subjects, and then, when that didn't work anyway, decided he needed to go for a walk.

The botanical gardens weren't far, and it was still a beautiful day, despite the fact that he wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere and die, so Tezuka headed that way, dressed in a manner that would hopefully draw as little attention to himself as possible. It helped that, upon reaching the gardens, he found that the majority of the patrons there were at least twice his age - not really the target demographic of Tannhäuser - which meant that it was unlikely he'd be noticed in the first place. A couple of old ladies did eye him and giggle, which could have been because they recognised him from his author photo, or because they were considering him for their granddaughters, but nobody stopped to talk to him, which, though he usually appreciated hearing from his fans, was much appreciated on a day when nothing seemed to be in his favour.

It wasn't even that it was bad that he found himself reacting that way to both Atobe and Oshitari. If he'd been fifteen instead of twenty-five, he might have freaked out at the knowledge that he was sexually attracted to men, but now, all he felt was a vague sense of satisfaction that his mother's attempts to set him up with a pretty girl had failed for a very good reason. That his reticence about the few dates he'd agreed to in high school had been because he honestly wasn't interested. That his squeamishness toward sex (specifically, with a woman) had a grounding in something. The people he'd interacted with at the publishing firm had always given him a hard time about it too, that he never seemed to have a girlfriend, that his sex was written in a flowery manner that women would love but that made it sound to them like he'd never actually experienced it himself. In fact, his band mates were the first people who didn't ask him whether he had a girlfriend and why not and didn't he like girls?, which was a very welcome change, though also an understandable one now, considering....well. Considering.

It wasn't bad. It was just a bit...lonely, he supposed. He hadn't ever really felt he was missing out on dating when everyone had been trying to set him up; he'd been too busy to care, which may or may not have been a function of his as-yet undiscovered sexual orientation. But now, seeing Atobe and Oshitari together every day, that same excuse of being busy wasn't really working. They were busy too, and yet they found time for each other, and in such a way that made it clear to Tezuka that there was no such thing as too busy for them. All of their foreplay happened on stage, in public, in front of thousands of people, and they didn't care who watched them at it, but they also knew how to keep public and private separate, so that no matter what happened out in the open, what they did in private wouldn't mean any less. It made Tezuka's chest ache to see - he must have had a shred of the Romantic in him as well - and he couldn't help wishing that, if nothing else, he could at least feel as deeply about something as they obviously did about each other. It was one thing to have Things To Say, messages to give the world, personal philosophy and belief and understanding, but it was another to realise just how theoretical it all was in comparison to something as visceral as what Atobe and Oshitari shared.

Perhaps the difference was that it wasn't about societal pressure anymore. Tezuka wasn't inherently a rebel, but he didn't like being told what he should do, and so the more pressure he felt to conform, to date pretty girls and walk them home and kiss them and sleep with them and marry them and have a house and children and a respectable job and so on and so forth, the less inclined he was to do it. He loathed conformity, and anyone who listened to his songs knew it. Whether his preference for men was a result of his averseness to conformity, or the other way around, he didn't know; it was too deep-seated, too ingrained for him to tell. Regardless, that was where he was, who he was, and he wasn't about to start wondering if that was all right. Conservative as he might have been about his behaviour, he wasn't going to pretend when it came to what he actually felt. And he actually felt something for Atobe, for Oshitari, for them together - outside of societal pressures, should, the need to find someone just because he wanted a relationship....and outside of simple passing interest, curiosity, and/or hormonal insanity. And it was them, not just men in general - he was fairly certain that even if he wasn't far too busy to meet someone, he still wouldn't want anyone the way he did....

Tezuka sighed, and slumped down onto a bench. It figured that joining Tannhäuser had made his life finally make sense for the first time in years, and then had immediately thrown it all out of whack, leaving him even more conflicted than before. He was glad that at least now he knew what he wanted, but it certainly wasn't easier this way.

'You're looking drearier than usual, Tezuka.'

Tezuka's eyes flew open in surprise and dismay at the far-too-familiar voice. Atobe was smirking at him, arms folded across his chest and bag dangling from one hand. When Tezuka said nothing, Atobe arched a brow, and, without waiting for an invitation, sat down next to Tezuka and crossed his legs.

Tezuka pressed his lips together and tried to ignore the brush of Atobe's foot against his calf.

'An evening off and you spend it moping? Really, Tezuka, there is no satisfying you, is there?'

'I'm not moping,' Tezuka retorted, turning his head slightly to glare at Atobe, who shot him a Look that said sure you're not.

'Please. You're sitting in the middle of a beautiful garden on a sublime day, yet you're wearing an expression that suggests that someone killed your puppy. May I remind you that Tannhäuser does not have a component of angst?'

'You maybe shouldn't have named it Tannhäuser then,' Tezuka snapped, and then took a deep breath. It had been a long time since Atobe had been able to ruffle him quite so thoroughly. Back then, he'd found Atobe pompous and unforgivable, and hadn't hesitated to cut him down for it. But now, he knew the reason he was getting ruffled, and it wasn't fair to take his frustration out on Atobe.

'I apologise,' he murmured, managing a slight smile. 'I am simply a bit...tired.'

Atobe fixed him with that sharp, penetrating stare that had always made Tezuka shiver, though now he was aware it was for more than one reason. Tezuka forced himself to look back, to keep that faint smile in place, to seem as outwardly calm as possible, though his insides were roiling with consternation. When Atobe looked at him like that, he was convinced he was being vivisected, all his most secret thoughts laid bare for Atobe to sift through at will, and at the moment, there was more than one secret in there that he wanted to keep that way. Even worse, though, was how intense Atobe looked - blue eyes midnight-dark and razor-keen, mouth compressed, chin tilted just so - and how Tezuka couldn't help but react to it.

Finally, mercifully, Atobe smiled, and patted Tezuka briefly on the shoulder. 'It takes some getting used to,' he said, with a surprising lack of condescension. 'But I understand that it gets easier with time. By our next tour, I'm certain you'll be quite the pro.'

Tezuka blinked, thrown by Atobe's unexpected mention of next tour. He maybe shouldn't have been, but he supposed it was because...he hadn't really thought that far ahead. This tour was still shocking enough, more than he had ever expected to have, and he hadn't even gotten used to it yet; thinking about their next album, their next tour, even the next year, went far beyond his capabilities at the moment. It was more than he could wrap his head around, and he wasn't sure that he'd ever be able to.

'You are planning on staying around for the next tour, aren't you?'

Atobe's tone pulled Tezuka out of his thoughts, and he was even more surprised to find that Atobe looked...uncertain, like he was maybe expecting Tezuka to say no. It was preposterous on some levels, considering how this was everything to Tezuka, but then again, he wasn't exactly verbose about his feelings, and if there was one thing he had learned during the time they'd spent preparing for the album and then the tour, it was that for all Atobe acted like he knew the world revolved around him, he needed reassurance too.

'Of course,' he murmured.

When Atobe didn't seem convinced, Tezuka reached out without thinking, resting his hand atop Atobe's. Atobe started, raising both brows at Tezuka, but Tezuka just smiled back, trying to ignore the warmth radiating outward from his palm and the flex of Atobe's quadricep beneath his little finger. 'I wouldn't give this up for the world, Atobe.'

Atobe stared at him a moment more, and then nodded once, sharply, worried look fading inexorably back into his familiar, cocky smirk. 'Of course you wouldn't,' he said. 'Ore-sama is, after all, the pinnacle of perfection.'

Tezuka snorted. 'Whatever you say,' he replied, though he didn't stop smiling, and, despite his mind's vociferous objections, he didn't move his hand either. And Atobe didn't protest.

They sat there for a long moment in silence, Atobe looking out over the park like a king surveying his dominion, and Tezuka looking at Atobe, carefully, trying not to seem like it. It was rare for him to spend alone time with any of them, especially Atobe, who was constantly seeking the spotlight, and there was something about seeing him by himself, without an audience, that reminded him of that night, of the honesty painting Atobe's features. It was a dangerous path to be walking, willfully reminding himself of that, but he couldn't help it. And in truth, he didn't think he wanted to.

So he let himself look, just this once, without anyone around to interrupt him, or to ask him what the hell he was doing. If Atobe knew he was being stared at, he didn't let on, not once looking back at Tezuka with a quirked brow and a sarcastic drawl, and if he did make any sort of sign of acknowledgment, Tezuka didn't notice.

And if anyone else might have been watching them, concealed just out of sight, well, Tezuka didn't notice that either.

+

Continue to Part III