30 Color Somethings: Gravitation

Tohma Seguchi stared over his desk at his brother-in-law, Eiri Yuki, and said what was technically true, “This is the only copy of your tyrst in the bathroom with Shuichi, Eiri.” It was the only copy, in fact, although the original was locked in a safe box that only he had the key to, a box that was in his personal safe in his home office.

The two men eyed each other across Tohma’s desk for quite a while before Yuki slowly nodded, indicating he believed Tohma.

“I’ll give it to you, Eiri, if you can prove to me you can restrain your, ah, needs. Go two weeks, fourteen days and nights, plus a bit more until our building opens in the morning, without any sex or sexual touching with Shuichi, starting tomorrow, and I’ll give it to you. If you can do that, I’ll be sure I can trust you not to be having sex with one of my most important singers when he should be doing a major television appearance or working in my studio.”

Yuki glared at Tohma like he wanted to kill him, but Tohma--having seen Yuki after he had really killed someone--knew that it was nothing more than a glare.

“How will you know I’m keeping my end of the deal?” asked Yuki, his tone acid.

“Oh, I’ll know,” said the blonde president of NG Studios, confidently. “Do you think we can’t tell the difference between mornings when Shuichi gets some and when he doesn’t?”

The glare from Eiri Yuki would have made many a man piss himself, but Tohma only smiled. “Go home, Eiri, and get your fill tonight,” he said.

That was almost too much—Yuki was around the desk and had dragged Tohma up out of his chair in seconds. The blonde’s smile faltered, but he hung on to it like only a professional performer can. For a few minutes, the two men were frozen like that, and then Yuki released Tohma’s collar saying, “Keep your end of the bargain, Tohma, or I might forget that we’re related and friends.” That last word came out with an ironic inflection, and Tohma felt a little bit of inner doubt. If in fact his secret tape was stolen, Yuki would put him in the hospital at the very least--of that he had no doubt. But he hadn’t gotten to where he was in the music world without taking risks, so he merely nodded.

The next day, he was vastly amused to see Shuichi barely able to walk or stay awake, lost in that strange state of bliss that indicated to everyone that knew him well that Eiri Yuki had done something romantic recently. Shuichi’s state of bliss lasted almost two days, but on day three of the bet, he was back to normal. By day five, he was looking stressed. On day six, he looked like someone whose only dog had just died.

“Hiro, have I gotten ugly?” asked Shuichi on a break that afternoon.

“Of course not, Shu,” said the red-haired guitarist.

“Do I smell bad?” asked the pink-haired singer looking woeful.

“Shu, nothing has changed about you,” said Hiro reassuringly. “Is it Yuki?”

And the lead singer of Bad Luck began sobbing brokenly. It wasn’t until K had fired off his gun that they got Shuichi to stop crying.

“He—he hasn’t, hasn’t, well, you know, for six days!” wailed Shuichi.

“I’ve been married,” snapped K, “that’s normal.”

“But we always do it once a day, or if we miss, we make it up later! But you can’t make up six days!”

“Oh, really, Shu?” teased Hiro. “Didn’t something like that happen SEVEN days ago? Maybe you’re in for another night like that.”

“He could be saving it up,” said Suguru kindly.

“Really? Really? You think so?” asked Shu eagerly.

“If he’s not,” said Hiro, “I promise you we’ll figure something out tomorrow to help you, Shu, ok?”

“Oh, Hiro!” cried Shu, “Thank you!” And with a cry, Shuichi threw himself into his oldest and best friend’s arms.

“Now, shall we try our best with this song, Shu?” asked Hiro when he’d managed to extract himself. Full of hope, Shuichi threw himself into things, and the band got a lot done the rest of the day. The new cd was going to be called, “The Red Ties of Love,” based on the song Shuichi had written with that title. “Bind me to you with the red ties of love,” sang Shuichi enthusiastically as the band worked out the final touches of the keyboard arrangement.

At the end of the day, things were looking good for the cd to be produced on time. However, the next morning, it was clear that no, in fact, Eiri Yuki, had not been “saving it up,” for Shuichi. Only an hour into the day, Shuichi was in tears again, saying, “A whole week, a whole week! Sure, we’ve gone longer when apart, but never when we’re both home!”

Hiro, who had come up with an idea yesterday, was ready, however, with a plan. “When you get home, tonight, Shu, take a shower right away and just don’t get dressed. Spend the whole rest of the day and night naked. Wait until the last possible moment to get dressed in the morning. Don’t talk about it to Yuki. He might have just had a touch of stomach flu or a bad migraine. Just walk around naked and see what happens.” Everyone agreed it was a great plan, and by lunch, Shuichi was convinced that tonight everything would be ok.

But the next morning, he arrived with bags under his eyes, red eyes, and was already crying when the limo driver dropped him off at the studio. This time it was Suguru that came up with a suggestion. “Wear that pink outfit, the one you put on by mistake at that tv show taping, and, ah, well—“ Suguru didn’t have to say more—they all remembered how Yuki had dragged Shuichi off stage and fucked him in his dressing room, causing quite a scandal. It seemed such an obvious answer to the problem, both Hiro and Shuichi felt silly at not having thought of it. But that was Suguru for you, bringing something new and clever to Bad Luck.

The tenth day of the bet, however, revealed that the pink outfit had failed, mystifying them all. “Try only those pink panties,” suggested Hiro, and Shuichi, sniveling, agreed to try that. For the eleventh night, wearing only the red tie, the very tie that had been used during the infamous bathroom-fuck session at NG Studios was suggested. When even that didn’t get results, K started to worry. What if Yuki was tired of Shuichi? If Yuki dumped Shuichi, that would be a disaster for Bad Luck that the band just might not survive. And certainly, the new cd would not be finished on time! So K himself went and bought six red silk ties using the company credit card. They could always be used for publicity later if it didn’t work out.

“But K, what is the sixth tie for? I put one around my neck, and one on my wrists and ankles, but what about the sixth?”

Only Shu could ask that with a straight face, thought the others, frustrated and embarrassed. None of them wanted to say anything, but finally Hiro dragged Shu off the bathroom to explain about cock rings and just how Shuichi should tie the red silk necktie without damaging himself. They all were convinced this would work—how could Yuki resist a Shu in bondage, singing his love ballad written just about his lover and their “romantic” encounter? K, in fact, was trying to think how he could convince Yuki to come to the studio when they made the video for the ballad. They’d have to give Shu some shorts of course and maybe using soft red bondage rope would be better than the neckties. Yes, he would get in a shibari expert for the video shoot. Ah, and when Shuichi came in tomorrow, they could finally make more progress on some of the other songs on the cd.

But K and the others were all stunned when it was revealed that no, the red silk ties, had not done a damn thing. They were all sitting around upset when suddenly Ryuichi showed up in a sexy pink bunny outfit, so he would match his beloved stuffed rabbit, Kumagoro. Shuichi and Ryuichi were just about the same size, and Ryuichi was annoyed when everyone wanted him to give Shu his new bunny outfit. It wasn’t until they’d given Kumagoro a special mini-concert and presented Ryuichi with one of Shuichi’s new pink leather stage costumes (the same color as Kumagoro), that he agreed to turn over the bunny costume.

The last day of the bet dawned, and all of them were now depressed—K, Hiro, Suguru, and Shuichi. Shuichi had gone completely silent and was once more only communicating with signs, like he had done when Yuki was avoiding him because Tohma had asked him to write lyrics for Nittle Grasper, not Bad Luck. The others consulted, piled in a studio limo, and headed out to a specialty shop. A silent Shuichi was fitted with a leather g-string, leather chaps, leather boots, a leather vest, a leather collar, leather gauntlets, and a leather biker’s cap. The huge expense was justified, K said, because they needed Shu productive, and besides they could use it for a costume with jeans under the chaps, especially if the singer could write another song like “The Red Ties of Love.” Something about black leather, suggested K.

A silent, depressed Shuichi wrote, “I’ll try” on a note pad.

When Shuichi appeared the next morning, still with his note pad, they were beyond desperate. He wrote on the note that he’d woken up alone, and Yuki’s car was gone. Now K and Hiro were angry. None of them even make a pretense of working on the cd.

“Suguru, take Shuichi out and get him a black corset, garters, stockings, and heels,” ordered K. “Get black satin sheets, red roses, and champagne. Go back the apartment and get it all set up. I don’t give a shit that people don’t drink champagne before noon. Shuichi, don’t despair! Hiro and I will find Yuki and send him home to you. We won’t hurt him, but we’ll make it clear to him he can’t be this cruel to you. Have faith in us, Shuichi.”

Neither K nor Hiro had any intention of not hurting Yuki, but they had to say that to Shu to get him to go along with the plan. Eiri Yuki was going to be in a world of hurt if he didn’t whip out his dick. But where would Yuki go? K and Hiro decided to head up to talk to Tohma.

When they walked into Tohma’s office, they were dumbfounded to find the very man they were going to hunt down not only there, but demanding before they could say a word, “Where’s Shuichi? I need him!”

“Are you going to fuck him?” K asked bluntly.

“Is it ok now, Tohma?” asked Yuki in a nasty voice.

“Certainly,” said Tohma, pulling a small package out of his suit coat and handing it to Yuki. “In fact, Shuichi has the whole day off and tomorrow too, so go to town.”

But by the time Tohma finished that sentence, the blonde novelist was gone. K immediately started a shouting match with Tohma, and Hiro, shaking his head, decided to ramble over to a nearby bar, and, yes, screw it that it was 9 a.m.! After all, he had tomorrow off.

The day after Bad Luck’s holiday, K, Hiro, and Suguru all arrived early to wait for Shuichi. They had the champagne that Suguru had purchased on ice since it hadn’t been needed. Suguru told them once again how Yuki had showed up at the shop when they were still buying the black stocking and the corset with garters. He’d simply taken Shu, tossing the keys of his expensive sports car to Suguru and climbing in the back of the studio’s limo with his deliriously happy lover in his arms. Neither seemed to care that the singer was in nothing but his leather g-string, the male corset with the garters, and a pair of black stockings. It had looked so promising; surely all would be well when the pink-haired singer arrived, they told themselves.

When Shuichi drifted into the studio in that special state of bliss, they popped the champagne and all drank a toast to celebrate. But after an hour, K insisted, drunk or no, that they get working.

“Hey, hey, everybody,” called out Shuichi, “I wrote a marvelous song this morning on the way into work! Guess what it is called?”

“Black Stockings,” said Suguru and Hiro together, making Shuichi’s jaw drop.

“No way! The limo driver called you! How could you know that!”

“I’m a space alien,” said Suguru, making Shuichi gasp and blink his eyes.

“Hiiiirrrroooo,” started Shuichi.

“I recently got psychic powers, Shu,” said Hiro.

The door flew open, and in bounced Ryuichi in a brand new blue pussycat outfit. “What’s up, everyone?” he cried.

“Ryuichi, Suguru is an alien and Hiro is psychic!” shrieked Shuichi jumping up and down.

“Wow! Wow! A real alien! Kumagoro wants to meet an alien!” shrieked Ryuichi, bouncing over to Shuichi and grabbing his hands, twirling the pink singer around.

K put his gun in his mouth, shut his eyes, and thought about pulling the trigger. But Hiro managed to convince him to just drink more champagne instead. Suguru would have helped with the convincing, but he was squirming on the floor giggling while Ryuichi, Kumagoro, and Shuichi tickled him because it was a known fact that aliens would reveal their secrets when tickled.

“Relax, relax,” said Hiro, pouring more champagne. “We are going to have a hit song about ticklish aliens, in addition to one on black stockings. And likely Ryuichi will agree to sing along with it.”

“Ah,” said K, suddenly his old self again. “I’m sure Tohma will be able to guarantee that!”

And this is the true story behind the making of that international smash cd of Bad Luck’s “The Red Ties of Love,” featuring not just the title song, but the huge hits, “Black Stockings,” “Lover’s Blues,” and “Ticklish Alien Love.”