w-inds., It’s a Date!

Title: It’s a Date! [Keita/Ryohei/Ryuichi]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for bribing Ryohei with froo froo girly drinks.
Summary: Ryohei is pissed, but Ryuichi has a kiwifruit, and he’s not afraid to use it. Keita needs a drink.
AN: There’s a special circle of hell just for me, isn’t there? I think it’s called ‘Class 11’. They will call me Mouse-hakase there.

It’s a Date!

“That,” says Ryuichi, “is the biggest fucking kiwifruit that I have ever seen!”

“Furriest too,” Keita says smugly, rolling the fruit over his fingers a little. Then he frowns at Ryuichi. “And nobody’s fooled when you curse in English, you know.”

“Where did you even get that?” Ryuichi ignores Keita’s comment.

“I have connections,” Keita leers, but it crumples into a pout when a nearby cameraman leans off his rig to shout, “He made me go to the corner fruit vendor and BUY IT.”

“So, you’re going to give it to Ryohei to cheer him up, right?” Ryuichi asks, reaching towards the fruit.

“No, you are going to give it to Ryohei,” Keita says pointedly, and Ryuichi snatches his hand back like it’s been burned. “And you are going to apologize so he starts speaking to you again!”

“I am not!” Ryuichi folds his arms and glares right back. “He should be the one apologizing, he broke my water gun! It was totally uncalled for!”

Keita reaches around to his back pocket and pulls out the magazine he’s got folded in half in there, then snaps it open so the front cover is visible. A soaking wet Ryohei glowers from the glossy page, T-shirt molded to every curve of muscle, curls of damp hair sticking to his cheeks, goosebumps pricking his forearms.

Ryuichi winces, but recovers quickly. “The photographer loved it! Besides, Ryohei always says that he doesn’t know what to do at photo shoots. Thanks to me, he just had to stand there for this one!” He jabs a finger at the page triumphantly.

“Wow.” Keita drops the kiwi in Ryuichi’s extended hand before he can protest. “Besides, I don’t think that’s what he was really upset about.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Ryuichi grumbles, tossing the kiwi back and forth between his hands a little. “Because I could have sworn it was my water gun that he snapped in half. And then stomped on.”

“He just did that because he couldn’t get ahold of your head,” Keita murmurs as he flips through a few pages of the magazine. “Here, this is what set him off.”

Win a Date With w-inds.!~♥, the page reads in a sort of sparkly pink that makes Ryuichi squint a little, and there he and Keita are, in pinks shirts that, horrifically, match the font.

“What’s he mad about that for?” Ryuichi reaches for the magazine and Keita pulls it over his head, out of Ryuichi’s reach, because Ryohei destroyed his other copy of this issue and if he has to ask that they find him yet another one he won’t be able to face their makeup crew ever again. “He doesn’t even have to go! He told them no!”

“You don’t want to go,” Keita holds the magazine up a little higher and puts a hand on Ryuichi’s shoulder to keep him from jumping. “Why didn’t you say no?”

“Because we’re a boyband, Keita.” Ryuichi feints left and hops right and finally snatches the magazine out of Keita’s hands, then shoves him back with his shoulder when Keita hovers, warning that Ryuichi better not crumple it. “Cool out, you girl.” Ryuichi covers Keita’s magazine smile with a thumb and uses his forefinger to trace over his own hair. “And the entire mission statement of all boybands is to fuel the hopeless fantasies of schoolgirls everywhere. It’s just like a shoot, it’s no big deal. I mean, at least we get dinner out of the deal.”

“Dinner with girls,” Keita reminds. “Girls who aren’t Ryohei.”

“What?” Ryuichi snorts, and Keita winces at what he just said. “You mean Ryohei’s jealous? Of contest girls?”

“I am not!” Ryohei shouts, and Ryuichi and Keita both swivel their heads guiltily to find Ryohei standing not five feet from them. Keita shoves Ryuichi forward, nearly making him trip flat on his face, but Ryuichi hops to right himself, then grabs Ryohei’s hand and pulls it out to drop the kiwi in it.

“M’sorry about the shoot,” he sighs, and it’s maybe just a touch true, even if the other two will never ever figure out where he’s hiding his copy of that particular magazine.

“You can’t buy me off with furry fruit,” Ryohei scowls, but his fingers tighten around the kiwi anyway. Keita’s smug smirk is back.

“See, this is why we should do things my way,” Ryuichi says, dropping an arm around Ryohei’s shoulders and pressing fingers into that little hollow of Ryohei’s collarbone that makes him stiffen, and then go totally slack against Ryuichi’s side.


He might be talking to both of them, but Ryohei sure isn’t happy when Keita and Ryuichi present themselves for final inspection.

“They told us to wear it,” Keita reminds as Ryohei is opening his mouth.

“You look like a candygram gone wrong,” Ryohei says anyway, reaching out to straighten the collar of the hot pink shirt with little twitches of his fingers. The silver pin stripes and heart-shaped buttons make all of them want to cry a little, but what can you do? “And that trench coat isn’t doing Ryuichi any favors,” Ryohei adds.

“Never does.” Ryuichi grins and tugs Ryohei away before he actually rips Keita’s shirt in half, superman-style. “You gonna straighten me out next?”

“Nothing can straighten you out,” Ryohei snaps. He twists his wrist a little and a hair elastic appears in his hand from thin air. “At least tie your hair back.”

Ryuichi exchanges a bemused glance with Keita over Ryohei’s shoulder as Ryohei reaches around Ryuichi’s neck to twist his hair into a ponytail. His hair’s only been long enough to do this for a few weeks, and a few pieces still stick out rather than falling down, but Ryuichi kind of likes the way it tickles his palm when he smoothes his hand over the flyaways.

Keita reaches over to smooth the irritation at the corner of Ryohei’s mouth out with his thumb and claps a hand over Ryuichi’s shoulder. “Come on, we have to go.”

Even as they are climbing into the producer’s van, Keita is still tossing glances over his shoulder back at the windows.

“Nn, he’s still mad.” Keita chews his lip and presses fingertips to the fogging glass as Ryuichi flops into his seat.

“Stop worrying about it,” Ryuichi orders, tugging Keita back so he doesn’t get his pretty face slammed in the door. “I took care of it.”

Ryuichi just grins innocently when Keita’ expression of concern deepens, and calls cheerfully to the driver that they’re ready to roll.


“I am absolutely not coming with you.” Ryohei crosses his arms and stares down the driver who is standing in the alcove, clutching his hat for dear life.

“Please, Chiba-sama,” the driver looks absolutely wretched, Ryuichi always did have a talent for selecting pathos, “do you know what he said he’d do to me if I didn’t get you in the limousine?”

“Yes,” Ryohei answers tersely, and all their usual drivers do too, which means that this poor idiot must be very new. Then the man’s words all sink in. “Limousine?”

“Yes!” Hope sneaks back into the driver’s expression as he presses his advantage. “Top of the line, sir, all the amenities, including…” here he actually begins to look a little embarrassed, “…a large bowl of kiwifruit.”

Ryohei lets loose a stream of curses that could perm hair, as both Keita and Ryuichi can attest.

“I must insist! Just get in the limousine peacefully please!” The driver bows deeply, making Ryohei heave a sigh.


“Ah! Here he is!”

Ryohei can’t actually see Ryuichi in the storm of camera flashes and girl screams that enveloped him when he set foot in the door, but Ryohei locates him at the table by the sheer force of his hatred.

“What. The hell.” He says through gritted teeth, still blinking the dazzle out of his eyes, so all he catches is the suspicious curl of Ryuichi’s smile before he is being manhandled into a seat.

When his vision clears, he is sitting in the center of a corner booth, Keita and Ryuichi pressed in on either side of him, and a waiter is putting the biggest, pinkest drink he has ever seen in front of him.

“Are you trying to buy me off with froo froo girly drinks?” Ryohei hisses, getting a slow blink from Ryuichi before he turns to say something to the stiffly terrified girl on his other side.

“Yes,” Keita murmurs in Ryohei’s ear, reaching over to tweak the purple swirly straw just a bit. “Tell us when it starts working.”

“Now,” Ryohei grumbles and swallows about a third of the drink at once. He holds some of the slush, which looks strawberry but tastes like something much darker and exotic, under his tongue until he is on the verge of becoming pleasant. “So where’s my date?”

Ryuichi laughs, low and rich, making both his date and Keita’s flush the color of Ryohei’s drink, and turns to blink at Ryohei again.

“Date?” he asks, letting his cheek rest on his knuckles as he tilts his head to grin at Ryohei. He’s using the undertone that they’ve all developed during filming where they sort of hum breathily at each other and the camera can’t actually pick up their words. “We aren’t sharing you.”

“No one gets to touch you but us,” Keita says, sliding an arm over the back of the booth to rest against Ryohei’s shoulders, and Ryuichi’s hand slides down his thigh under the tablecloth, and Ryohei clutches his drink harder and thinks about asking them to inject alcohol directly into his veins.


“See? You had fun!” Ryuichi accuses as they wave to the girls a last time out the limo window. The driver twitches at the sound of Ryuichi’s voice and Ryohei reaches over to jab the button that rolls the tinted windows up.

“Sure,” Ryohei answers, because the third froo froo girly drink went down really smooth and he is full of goodwill for the moment.

“We should go out!” Ryuichi exclaims as he sprawls out across the seat between the other two, his feet in Keita’s lap and his head on Ryohei’s thigh. He grins up at Ryohei like a bad puppy. “You want to, right?”

“No!” Ryohei says emphatically, because nobody is full of that much goodwill. Ryuichi has pieces of chunky glitter stuck to his shirt from that girl hugging him, and Ryohei is plucking them off one by one with immense distaste. “Every schoolgirl in Kantou knows where we are right now, and if we go out, there’ll be a huge scene and cameras and did I mention every schoolgirl in Kantou?

“Keh! You’re no fun.” Ryuichi tugs the elastic out of his hair and shakes it out over Ryohei’s lap, then pushes Ryohei’s hand from its glitter-plucking on his shirt until it is sifting over his scalp instead. “We should have, like, a secret club of our own. Where we can throw parties whenever we want! Secret parties!”

“That would make an awesome video,” Keita says thoughtfully. He’s had more than a couple drinks himself, and his head is lolled against the seatback as he watches the neon lights flicker by out the window. Ryuichi nudges him with a heel, perilously close to Keita’s ‘Super Lover.’

“Stop thinking about work,” he orders. Flopping his head over to look at Ryuichi and narrowing his eyes, Keita grabs Ryuichi’s ankles with one hand, and flips off his shoe with the other.

“No! Don’t!” Ryuichi thrashes, but Keita is already tickling, and Ryohei grabs Ryuichi’s shoulders to keep him pinned where he is. When tears are starting to gather on Ryuichi’s cheeks, Ryohei and Keita exchange a glance and let go at the same time; Ryuichi thrashes himself to the floor of the car with a crash.

He gives Keita and Ryohei a vicious glare as he sits up on the floor, but they are laughing too hard to notice, Ryohei having tipped over on the seat so that his head is resting comfortably in a slouchy Keita’s lap. Grumbling at the lack of concern for his pain and the fact that he’s only got one shoe, Ryuichi nudges Ryohei’s legs over so he can climb back up on the seat, grabbing a kiwi from the bowl that’s still in the car on the way by.

He’s no good at peeling them, despite his dexterity with a guitar, and the chunk he offers Ryohei is a little smushed, but Ryohei swipes it off his fingers with a neat curl of his tongue while Keita watches with amused and slightly glassy eyes, and Ryohei figures that’s close enough to forgiveness for him.


“You’ve got kiwi all over you!” Ryohei gives Ryuichi a shove away when they are back inside. Keita is stripping off his trench coat and trying not to imagine what the driver must have thought they were up to when they stumbled from the back of the limo with rumpled clothes and sticky fingers.

“So do you!” Ryuichi leans forward to dart his tongue against the finger Ryohei is pointing at him and Ryohei’s cheeks darken.

“Get a shower, you slob!” Ryohei orders, shoving Ryuichi towards the bathroom, and Ryuichi rolls his eyes before scampering off with a grin, shedding trench coat and heart buttons on his way. Keita scoops the discarded clothing up with a bemused grin as Ryohei disappears into his bedroom to change.

Thirty seconds later, a Ryuichi clad only in purple silk boxers with shimmery hearts darts out of the bathroom with a shiny new water gun and makes straight for Ryohei’s room.

When the screaming starts, Keita lets the clothes drop back to the floor with a sigh and goes to get some pillows for the couch.

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