Prompt: “The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.”
Warnings: Innuendo, language, and mild sexual content
Characters/Pairings: Reita/Uruha (the GazettE)
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.
Summary: It’s a bad idea—there are boundaries, after all. But Reita’s always had some difficulty resisting temptation.
Comments: Also RP-based. Takes place before any of the events in the Own the Sun ‘verse. They are like rabid animals who will not leave me alone. Prompt is a quote made by Oscar Wilde.
Reita was halfway through his first bottle of Smirnoff when Uruha practically sashayed over to him and plopped himself down onto his lap. Such actions were not uncommon between them—they were comfortable enough with one another and with their friendship to do things like this and to tease one another without actually taking it too far.
They were best friends. They drank together; they played music together; they even painted together when Reita could coerce Uruha into doing it. They cuddled together on the couch, and on the nights when one or both of them was feeling particularly lonely or upset, they’d cuddle in bed. They kissed: on the forehead, on the cheek, at the corner of the mouth. But never on the lips, because that would be crossing the invisible line they’d drawn together in the sand. They loved one another, but it was purely platonic. Nothing had ever come of it, and nothing ever would.
“I’ve been thinking,” Uruha began, grinning lopsidedly at Reita, “and I need your help with something.”
Reita quirked an eyebrow. “Help with what? And before you ask, no, I will not go streaking.”
Uruha rolled his eyes. “Goofball. I wasn’t going to say anything about streaking.” He had once, though, when both of them had been drunk. Ah, good old college. Good thing neither one of them had gotten caught.
Reita allowed himself to relax just a little and he set his bottle on the counter so that he could slide both arms around Uruha’s middle. “What is it, then?”
“You’re more of an artist than me, so how do you think I’d look in nothing but silver?”
The question was so random that Reita didn’t know how to even begin forming a reply. There were too many possibilities—the question was simply too vague. “You’re going to have to do better than that, ‘Ruha, cos I’m imagining you in a silver Speedo right now and it is not flattering.”
“Moonlight,” Uruha whispered against Reita’s ear. “Moonlight and chains, Rei. Chains keeping me tied to the bedposts and moonlight dancing on my skin. How do you think that would look?” His breath was laced with nicotine and alcohol but his words were steady. He was not drunk.
Reita swallowed hard, trying not to think about his best friend in the situation he had just described, though it was impossible since the image was already there, teasing and taunting him. He also tried not to think of the fact that their bedrooms were just down the hall – so very convenient – and he could imagine that scenario taking place in one or both of their beds.
“… Do you want me to paint you like that, ‘Ruha?” he asked, in order to avoid saying something completely stupid. Something like, ‘Well, I don’t know, but I’d love to find out.’ This was his best friend, for god’s sake. There were boundaries that they were not supposed to cross, and they were dancing dangerously close to those boundaries.
But they always did that, didn’t they?
“No,” Uruha answered, drawing the word out, his lips ghosting over Reita’s jaw. “I want you to fuck me like that, Rei.”
Lust went slip-sliding down Reita’s spine before he could stop it, but still, he said, “It’s not a good idea, ‘Ruha. You’re my best friend.”
Uruha deliberately wriggled in his lap, and Reita barely bit back a groan at his action. “Oh come on,” Uruha encouraged, his lips mere inches from Reita’s. “We share everything already. We’re close. Nothing that says you can’t have what I’m offering. I know you’ve thought about it. You know I have. We can do this without any strings aside from those that already come with the friendship.”
Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea, Reita’s mind screamed, but the look in Uruha’s eyes and the warmth of his body and the proximity of his lips were all very difficult to resist in spite of his best efforts (he didn’t know why he had to crack and give in now, of all times, but so be it), and when Reita opened his mouth to reply, he changed his mind and closed it, leaning in and closing the distance between their lips.
This was the first time their lips had touched, but Reita somehow knew that it would not be the last.
The line they’d drawn together had been crossed. If it had been this easy to cross it the first time, the next time, it would be easier. The third time, it would be even easier. By the fifth time, the line would blur, and by the seventh time, it would be all but invisible.
And later, when they were coming down from the high of orgasm and the chains were beginning to chafe Uruha’s wrists, Reita took a moment to admire him as he was, in silver (moonlight and chains and nothing else), and thought that he would dearly love to paint Uruha like this, but he would save it for another time. Perhaps next time, he’d add more silver: chains around Uruha’s ankles, to keep his legs spread.
When he shared this thought with Uruha, his best friend (and lover?) smirked up at him, and told him that he liked the way Reita thought.
It was then that Reita realized he’d been wrong.
The line was already beginning to blur.
And what was perhaps even worse was the fact that Reita didn’t really care.