'In Teeth' - [Open pairings] 1/??

[colberry]

Title:  In Teeth
Chapter:  1/??
Description:  Reita might be slightly desperate.  And obsessed.  But with Uruha prancing around in nude tulle, Kai being absolutely useless, Aoi rocking out when he isn't being an idolized enigma on campus and some guy with multicolored dreadlocks showing up wherever he goes, well... he has his hands full.  If there's one thing he'll learn this semester, no one is who they seem.
Pairings:  Reita/Ruki, Reita/Uruha, Aoi/Uruha, Aoi/Tora, etc
Genre:  Romance, Drama, Crack, Supernatural(ish)
Warnings:  Randomness, cross-dressing, mentions of drug use

In this chapter:   “Oh!  So you’re taking my advice and jumping him?  I personally think sneak-attacks are romantic – especially after weeks of stalking.”

Notes:  Welp, this is my 2010 NaNoWriMo.  It'll serve as my "in-between-updates" story :P  Beware the randomness.  And Uruha's awesomeness.



He was everything and nothing.  The starlight at the tip of your tongue and the black hole at your chest.  He made a fire burn at your ribs, gulping up cinders because you felt like the air around was nothing but spark – reaction, re-reaction – until you begin to cough and sputter.  He’s too much – lighter fluid on your cerebellum.  But dammit, you love to feel the burn sear across your flesh.

Dreadlocks in pastel reds, yellows, browns – cuff links wrapping around thin wrists and a gilded cigarette dangling from pouty lips – he was the antithesis to Reita’s humdrum monotony.  He didn’t know his name, merely knew that the scent of starlit confessions would puff from those lips and eerie amber contacts would stare down those who told him to preserve those lungs so you can breathe.

He carried around music sheets.  Scribbled notes on the backs of his hands.  Painted his nails black and blue.  Wore vests inside out and inked a layer of graffiti over his shoes.  Reita couldn’t help but notice – couldn’t help but look on in awe whenever he would spot the boy smoking an aureate cigarette behind the Anthropology building, or sprawled across the grass near the Quad, or burying his nose in pages upon pages of sheet music. 

Reita – dull, one-friend-man, bleached-his-hair-because-he-was-sick-of-normal, always carried mace and a million and a half supply of rubber bands – was inherently fascinated by him.  His first days of campus life were a blur.  Roommate from high school, plastic container food, droning professors.  Nothing was as clear, focused and bright as when he spotted the not-so-ordinary boy settled against a random wall that was tangled in ivy.  He had been smoking; his hands had been gripping the cigarette as if Apocalypse was breaking apart the sky.  And something snapped into place within Reita’s chest.

It wasn’t stalking, necessarily.  Just prolonged observing.  A little peek here and there.  Harmless scoping and following. 

“You’re pretty much obsessed then.”  Uruha didn’t seem to agree with him.

Reita scoffed, clicking away on the internet in search of how to read music notes, “No I’m not.  He’s just interesting.  That’s all.”

Uruha let out a breathy laugh, rolling onto his back on his bed, observing Reita’s attempts of navigating Wikipedia from an upside-down world, “You’ve been following this guy’s ass since the second week of school.  I don’t which is more pathetic.  You for panting after him or the guy for not noticing yet and getting a restraining order.”

Reita rolled his eyes, “How am I obsessing?  It’s not like I have his whole day mapped out and I tag behind him at every turn.”

“No,” Uruha let an arm drift to his hair, tangling his fingers in the auburn locks, “But you’re looking up how to write sheet music, where to buy fucking 'Black Devil' cigarettes and researching where to get X JAPAN tickets -- Mr. Heaven-Forbid-I-Go-Out-On-A-Sunday -- for god-knows-what reason.”

The elder frowned, almost a pout but Reita didn’t pout so it was definitely a frown, “So?”

“So.  You’re either obsessing on a creepy-level.  Or you’re crushing on a creepy-level.”

“So, either way you’re going to give me shit?”

“Sounds about right to me.”

“Fucker.”

Uruha smiled lazily, twisting around to flop on his stomach yet again, hair sufficiently mussed, “Love you too.”

Ever since the tender age of ten, Reita and Uruha had been invading each others' lives.  It started with a soccer ball, a case of mistaken identity and a black eye.  But somehow, a bond was formed over ice-packs and wounded pride, and they had been inseparable ever since.  Uruha was the one Reita had confided to when his dad left.  Reita was the one Uruha chose to come out to first.  It was a whisper on a rainy afternoon when they had put the video games on pause to munch on some popcorn and talk about nothing in particular.  It was soft and so quickly spoken that Reita hadn’t heard the confession the first time around.

It was only after Uruha met his questioning gaze with wet eyes and a fearful visage, whispering those two words again with trepidation, did he truly understand.  So he had embraced him, hugged his friend so tight that he could feel those sharp shoulder blades dig into his palms.  And he had whispered right back that he didn’t care, he loved him anyway, he would never leave.   

And after that, well…  It was back to soccer balls, black eyes and a lot more mistaken identity.  Because after the initial confession to the person he had cared about most, Uruha had no qualms about wearing eyeliner, dabbling in eyeshadow and wearing skirts with tights that would put any two-cent runway fashionista to shame.  Donning a particularly convincing outfit one night to meet his bleach-haired friend at a live house,  The Night That Shall Not Be Mentioned was born.  And won’t be Mentioned.  Except for the fact that it involved groping and the words:  “Handle with care, Rei-chan.”

So now, arching his back at a hunchback-angle, looking up inane things that may or may not have to do with a certain enigma with dreads, and Uruha rolling around on the bed making snarky comments – it was a normal Wednesday afternoon. 

“And by the way, could you not wear that when you-know-who stops by later?”

Uruha pouted and looked down at himself.  Nothing seemed to be too out of the ordinary.  Black wife-beater, velvet blazer, lace skirt, black tights – oh.  “I thought it didn’t bother you?”

Reita kept on clicking sporadically around the site he’d found, slowly growing frustrated that he wasn’t absorbing anything about notes, measures and other weird squiggly stuff, “It doesn’t.  But you-know-who might be a little less accepting.”

“You might know-who, but I have no fucking clue who you-know-who-but-I-don’t-know-who is.”

What the hell?  Those were guitar notes?  They were letters!  “We’ve been over this.  Daily.  Shiroyama’s coming over.”

Uruha sat up, a look of mock-shock pasted on his face, “You’re cheating on gold-cigarette-man?  Already?”

Reita whipped his head around, glaring hard, “Excuse me but not every male-fascination has to be driven by pervertedness.  And you know I’m straight.  Another thing we’ve gone over.  Daily.”

The taller of the two hummed noncommittally, mind already passed the matter of Reita’s flimsy sexuality and barging forward to new, more pressing issues, “Why are you calling him you-know-who?  Is this some top-secret liaison you guys are doing?”

Tapping his foot impatiently as a website declaring all the wondrous worlds of frets was loading at the pace of a broken-footed snail, the elder spared his roommate a quick glance, “He’s you-know-who because you should know who I’m talking about since I’ve planned for him to stop by for like four days now.  And I told you he’s coming to help me with that stupid Sociology proposal.”

“Oh.  Then it has nothing to do with the fact that Shiroyama knows how to play guitar and therefore knows how to read sheet music and could totally help you out in wooing goldy-dreadlock-man?”

Reita paused, swirling around in his desk chair, page still irritatingly lagging, and gave Uruha a bemused look, “Absolutely.  Nothing.  To do with that.  Now change.”

Uruha only grinned wider – a true Cheshire with its cream – and swung his black-tight-clad legs over the side of his bed with amusement, “I don’t know, Reita.  I’m sure Aoi would appreciate a show.”

“I'm not letting you scare him off.  And don’t call him Aoi.  That’s his stage name and I don’t want you coming off as some desperate groupie.  This whole thing is embarrassing enough as it is.” 

Rising from the bed with a stretch, Uruha traipsed over to the minuscule closet that housed basically the whole life of the standard college student and began to rummage through it.  Running his hands over the many fabrics, Uruha sighed, “Sorry for being an embarrassment.”

Reita bit back a groan, taking his eyes off the computer screen to gaze at his friend.  The skirt actually fit quite nice, draping along Uruha’s thighs and blending almost seamlessly with the black tights.  Like hell he would admit that to the other though.  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Grabbing the lonely pair of jeans sitting on his top shelf, Uruha waved an unoccupied hand at the growing frustration of his friend, “Whatever.  I’ll make nice.”

He proceeded to shuck off his skirt.

With a strangled sound, Reita whipped back to face his screen, cheeks aglow with crimson.  “Fuck!  Way to be modest…”

Uruha hummed again, not granting the flailing man a response and only smirked. 

It was two o’clock in the afternoon – and it felt like icicles were burrowing into both their bones as winter seemed to come drastically early.  Illegal space-heater aside, warmth was nowhere to be found on campus unless it was with a companion.  With this in mind, Reita wondered how Uruha could even stand to wear anything less than an Eskimo suit.  As for himself, he was garbed in an array of layered wife-beaters and long-sleeve sweaters of interesting color choices.  Red and purple matched, right? 

“Okay, you girl.  You can look now.” 

Reita snorted, sifting through haphazard papers with his chicken scratch marring every inch of surface, “That’s ironic coming from you…”

A sharp knock sounded on their door, causing Reita to immediately jump and start to exit out all the windows having to do with becoming a musical mastermind and purchasing legit gold cigarettes.  Uruha, dressed considerably more conservative in dark wash jeans and a oddly striped shirt, only smirked wider at his friend’s obvious peril.  The bleach-blond ran a hand through his hair in trepidation, taking a breath to calm his nerves and shot Uruha a glance as he walked towards the door.

All traces of femininity – except for the perfectly blown-out hair and slight sweeps of eyeliner outlining his caramel irises – were swept away as Uruha stood there with his arms crossed, broad shoulders and tall stature radiating man despite his penchant for things of a more frilly nature.  Reita sighed in relief, uttering one last murmur to his friend, “Try not to scare him away, okay?”

Uruha rolled his eyes and retreated to his bed once more.  It was useless to try and reason with Reita when he got so insecure of his surroundings like this.  Grabbing a geography textbook filled with cobwebs and something about continents, the blond cracked it open to a random page and muttered, “Playing  nice, remember?”

Reita ran a hand down his face before opening the door with a too-wide smile plastered against his cheeks, “Shiroyama-san!  Thanks so much for this, really.”

The man in the doorway smiled softly, “Ah, it’s no problem.”

Stepping inside and proceeding to remove his Chuck Taylors, Uruha immediately took the opportunity to transfix on the little-known Shiroyama-san.  Long black locks, full mouth, glinting lip ring, soft eyes.  He was slim, but not in the way Uruha was, bordering malnourishment.  And his hands.  Slightly gnarled, strong, callused – undoubtedly a guitar player.  The tall blond peered out of the highlighted pages of his textbook, eyes instinctively hooding and lips pursed. 

Reita took that lull in time as Yuu got out of his coat to look over at his roommate.  Noting the hooded gaze that was slowly gaining a come-hither glint, he cleared his throat loudly.  Uruha immediately straightened up with wide eyes, Who me?

Reita glared.  Yes, you.

“So, what exactly did you need help with Reita-kun?”

Reita snapped back to Yuu, plastic smile back on his face, “Ah, well just help getting started on that proposal, you know?”

Yuu nodded, tucking a stray bang behind his ear, peering around the room curiously – eyes inevitably landing on Uruha occupying the bed.  “Oh, hi.  Didn’t see you there.”

Before Uruha could utter a word, Reita nervously laughed, grabbed Yuu’s elbow and directed him towards his desk, “Oh, don’t mind him.  He’s just studying.  Lots of studying to do for that huge test, right Uru?  Lots studying.  Loads of it.”

With a roll of eyes and a huff, Uruha buried his face into his book and internally groaned.  Reita was crap at subtlety.  To Yuu’s credit, he only nodded in sympathy and started to walk towards the other’s desk that was serving as Star Commander for this meeting.  Satisfied that he diverted a potential disaster from happening, Reita turned his back to both and started to rifle through his papers. 

“Oh -!  Sorry, I stepped on your…  Skirt?”

Motherfuck.  Fucking motherfucking Uruha, I swear to sweet Jesus --  “Oh, um – don’t worry about it.  It’s just my girlfriend’s.”

Reita didn’t want to turn around fully to see the equally murderous and horror-stricken look looming on Uruha’s face – the fact that his skirt was being demoted to imaginary-girlfriend status and the fact that it was being trampled on.  “She really shouldn’t be leaving her stuff around like that.  I’m going to have to talk to her about that.”

Subtlety, subtlety.

Yuu chuckled, handing the skirt to Reita, “Ha, I know how it is.” 

It was coming at him.  That frilly specimen that had been hugging Uruha’s ass mere seconds ago was heading right for him and Reita had to handle it lest he look weird and awkward.  More so than he already was, of course.  Just pretend it’s really your girlfriend’s.  What girlfriend?  Your really hot one, dumbass, now take the damn skirt!

He touched it.  He burrowed his fingers deep into the fabric and could feel the blush warming his cheeks to his toes.  Reita pretended not to hear Uruha’s strange, strangled sound of laughter-gasp-of-horror escape his throat as his fingers connected.  He would smother him with it later.

Quickly opening a random drawer and stuffing it inside among the plethora of pencils, scraps of paper and tape, Reita attempted to put his brain back together, “So!  That proposal.  What a doozy’.”

Yuu settled in the proffered chair and gingerly touched the papers Reita presented to him, “Yeah, that professor’s definitely a stickler for contemporary theory.  Have you thought about what you want to do at all?”

Uruha yawned, not really knowing why he was still in the room and had to change for that matter if all he was doing was just sitting there pretending not to eavesdrop.  But there wasn’t even anything worth eavesdropping on…

“Well, I was thinking about counterculture.”

“Ah, well you should really get Ruki to help you with this.  He’s like – the utter definition of counterculture,” Yuu broke off in a goodhearted laugh.   

Uruha closed his eyes, letting the man’s high timbre wash over him.  Fuck, it was too long since his last semi-sorta-not-really-more-like-a-three-nightstand relationship.  He shifted his legs.  Besides knowing Yuu – Aoi – played in a band, there really wasn’t much else he could gather from the guy.  Sort of an enigma, an untouched deity, on campus.  Pretty quiet, but definitely a presence.

“Ruki?”

Yuu nodded, “You would know who I’m talking about.  Avant-garde.  Thick frames.  Dreadlocks.  Smokes like a chimney?”

Uruha perked up just as Reita started to choke on air.  Oh, well this was interesting.

“R-Ruki?  That’s his name?”  Reita tried to tone down the fan-boy lilt to his voice that was steadily becoming just as high as Yuu’s normal tone.  Again, to Yuu’s credit, who probably had seen and heard weirder, just tilted his lips into a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, more or less.  Not surprised you don’t know it.  He tries to keep a low profile.”

“He’s doing a great job of that with his Midas-touch cigarettes and mound of mountain-hair.”

Reita gritted his teeth and glared at Uruha who had his eyes on Yuu.  The elder man chuckled good-naturedly, not noticing the auburn-haired sweeping his gaze to his lips and chest, “That’s what I keep telling him, but I don’t blame the cigarette choice.  Tastes like chocolate.”

Ah.  So Yuu shared cigarettes – lip-to-lip contact cigarettes – with another man.  There could be hope in his quest to ravish this delectable specimen of the male physique. 

Reita seemed to think that as well, quickly trying to capture Yuu’s attention once more, “Wait, so you think he’d help me?”

Yuu tore his eyes from Uruha, giving Reita a less-than-hopeful expression, “Can’t guarantee anything.  But at least you have a topic.  I wish I could stay a bit longer, but I’m already late for my date tonight.  Almost clawed my eyes out the last time so…”

Reita nodded, watching Yuu write a quick outline of questions for him to delve into with his topic and sneaking a peek at Uruha who seemed a little deflated at the news of a nameless girl stealing away his knight. 

“See you later.  And nice meeting you by the way!”

Yuu waved amiably as he stepped out the door.  Uruha returned it with a little less enthusiasm, quickly groaning once the door shut.  He flopped onto his back and dug the heels of his palms into his sockets, “He didn’t even ask for my name!”

“Don’t take it personally,” Reita assured his friend who was currently stewing in a pile of self-pity, “It took two weeks before he finally asked for mine.  I think he’s just absent-minded.”

Uruha stuck out an arm and swiped the unused textbook off the bed, “But I played nice!  I didn’t do anything.”

Reita sighed, putting the proposal away and walking over to sit next to Uruha, who was still on his back with self-loathe.  Right when Uruha felt the tell-tale sinking of his mattress, he quickly angled his body towards the elder, thigh rubbing against him and arms encircling the surprisingly narrow waist.  Uruha buried his head into Reita’s side, exhaling loudly and trying not to feel a pang in his heart when his friend tensed slightly.

He hadn’t meant to of course, but the feel of Uruha’s lips against the fabric of his shirt was unsettling.  They were just like a girl’s – soft, bowed, pursed and gentle.  All those years together, it wasn’t like he could say that he didn’t feel something.  That little flicker of warmth deep in chest; that little jerk of his heart when the taller would don skirts and playfully slide his leg against his.  Because  it made him blush, made him flustered. 

But he wasn’t about to admit any of that and squash the “manly man of man-ness” persona he (wished he) emanated.  Rather, he pushed those awkward, wiggly feelings into the way back of his conscious and merely kept his hands to himself.  No matter how tantalizing it was to just touch, touch.

Uruha leaned in closer, a sigh escaping him and his arms wounded around Reita’s smallish waist a little tighter.  Reita was safe.  “I’m always the odd one out.  Even when I’m “fitting in” and wearing regular stuff, doing regular things like “studying”.  It’s not him.  Anybody.  It’s me.”

“Cut the sap.”  Reita pulled apart the arms around him and held onto his friend’s shoulders, trying to catch his eye, “Stop being sad and be ‘Uruha’ please.  One guy doesn’t ever stop you, so why now?”

Uruha tried to smile – it came off meek and more of a grimace – and shifted his body, bending his knee so it partially rested on Reita’s thigh, “Sometimes I’m just ‘Kouyou’.  Insecure, little Kouyou.”

The blond-haired college freshman watched the emotion curl and coil in Uruha’s caramel eyes.  He almost reached out to touch, but he felt himself smirk instead, “Guess that makes me ‘Akira’ then.  Now get your damn knee off me.”

Uruha’s eyes immediately shone with mischief, “But I’m a damsel in distress.  The manly hero is supposed to comfort his damsel.”

“You’re not mine.  And I know you’re wearing those damn tights under those pants.  Now get your skirt out of my drawer while I do this paper.”

 Uruha rose an eyebrow, leaning back a tad, “Reita?  Doing a paper?  This is news.”

 Reita stood up, letting Uruha’s body slide off his and proudly putting his hands on his hips (not letting Uruha’s snickers of diva deter him), “That’s right.  And ‘Ruki’ better prepare himself.”

 “Oh!  So you’re taking my advice and jumping him?  I personally think sneak-attacks are romantic – especially after weeks of stalking.”

 “No.”

 Reita smiled then.  A devious sort of smile that made Uruha stop giggling and start nibbling on his bottom lip with slight concern.  For Ruki’s well-being or Reita’s sanity?  He wasn’t too positive.  But his oldest friend kept grinning from ear to ear, pressing his palms together and declaring:

 “He’s my thesis.”

 And the mood would have been perfectly set to impending doom just like Reita planned, if not for Uruha’s snide remark, “You must be dying to develop him.”

 “…Fucker.”

-.-.-.-

A/N:  Yup.  When faced with a 50,000 word challenge, I made Uruha cross-dress.  Describing his outfits ate up my word count -- that's the only reason, I swear :3