w-inds., That’s a Killer Costume

Title: That’s a Killer Costume [Ryohei/Keita/Ryuichi]
Rating/Warnings: R for back of the limo ripped jeans.
Summary: Ryohei thinks that he is being typecast.
AN: For shinigamitabris who is awesome and sweet and wanted w-inds. cosplaying Death Note. Thanks again, sweetie!

That’s a Killer Costume

“I don’t see why I have to be the psychopath,” Ryohei grumbled mutinously.

“Because you scowl the best,” Ryuichi informed him, leaning up into Ryohei’s face to finger comb his bangs more to the left. Ryohei’s mouth was open to retort, but he got distracted by the thick ring of eyeliner painted underneath both of Ryuichi’s eyes. Ryuichi grinned at him and shoved the black notebook into his hands. “Don’t forget your notebook.”

There was a loud crunch behind them, and they both turned to find Keita munching his apple happily.

“I like MY costume,” he announced, grinning, using his free hand to ruffle the feathers around his shoulders.

“You just like the buckles and straps,” Ryohei sighed, looking more like a psychopath by the second as he got a great big square smile in return.

“Don’t mess your hair up in the next two minutes before we go,” Ryuichi admonished Ryohei with a flick to the forehead, then sauntered off to retrieve his basket of strawberries from the fridge.

Ryohei took a very long look at the loose, long-sleeved T-shirt draped over Ryuichi’s shoulders, and the way the soft denim of the faded jeans clung to him from knee to ass. He reached up to run his hand through his hair, and suddenly Keita was draped over his shoulder, batting his hand back down.

“Those’re my jeans, you know,” he said casually, crunching some more apple right in Ryohei’s ear. The feathers were tickling his nose too, making him want to sneeze. “They’ll be hell to peel off.”

“I just bet,” Ryohei mumbled as they both watched Ryuichi bend over to rifle around in the bottom drawer of the fridge.


“No, really,” Ryohei wanted to know during hour three of their Supa Cosu Playa shoot, “where are you hiding those apples?”

“Se~cret!” Keita winked, feathers ruffling mischievously. He crunched off another bite and grinned at Ryohei while he chewed, and Ryohei scowled, reminding himself that it wasn’t dignified for a panty-melting J-idol to be jealous of a piece of fruit.

“Ooh!” The photographer said. “Raito is looking very fierce! Let’s get some shots with him now.”

“I hate you,” Ryohei informed Keita, snatching the black notebook that Keita held up out of his hands.

He noticed suddenly, as he was stomping over to the overstuffed chair that Ryuichi was draped all over in his damned soft jeans, that the front of the notebook said “Deja Note.”

“That’s not funny,” Ryohei informed Ryuichi, who took advantage of Ryohei’s open mouth to pop one of the chocolates he been eating into Ryohei’s mouth. “And don’t think you can just buy me off with…”

Ryuichi, who had sort of unfolded himself out of the chair to stand in front of Ryohei with his hands in his pockets, smiled knowingly.

“Oh,” Ryohei chewed the chocolate he had bit down on a little more thoroughly, “oh. Is there kiwi in this?”

“Mmhmm.” Ryuichi put his hands on Ryohei’s shoulder and shoved him down in a sprawl across the chair.

“Well, debauched is all right too, I suppose,” the photographer said, clicking off a few shots while Ryohei was still struggling to overcome the effects of the chocolate.

He went right back to fierce, however, when he caught sight of Keita draped over Ryuichi’s shoulders, Ryuichi feeding him squares of chocolate over his shoulder.

Ryohei narrowed his eyes and flipped open his notebook. “Does anybody have a pen?”


“You’re taking this too seriously,” Keita admonished on the ride home, still resplendent in his leather and feathers. Ryohei’s jacket was tossed to the side and he was loosening his tie; Ryuichi was lounging across the seat between them looking as comfortable as ever, damn him.

“All I’m saying is,” Ryohei tugged on his tie a little more, “every time we cosplay something in public, it ends badly. What about when we did One Piece?”

“I was the captain!” Keita slouched down against the seat with a nostalgic look. “Because I was the bendiest.”

“And then NewS stole the whole idea,” Ryohei reminded, making Keita frown.

“Aw, Keita,” Ryuichi tilted his head back a little more where it was resting on Keita’s thigh, to smile reassuringly, “you could take Yamashita any day. And you had a better hat.”

“And what about when we did Prince of Tennis?” Ryohei asked, crossing his arms. Ryuichi pushed himself up to face Ryohei and batted his hands away from the abused tie.

“There were only three of us!” Ryuichi pointed out, sliding the knot in the tie down smoothly, loosening it. “Of course it was a little mada mada, except for my own very adorable Ryoma.”

“Hey!” Keita protested, thwapping Ryuichi in the back of the head. “I was a terrific Tezuka! It’s not my fault I couldn’t hold the same expression for five hours straight.”

“And you were a very menacing Fuji-senpai,” Ryuichi assured Ryohei. At this point he had the tie loose enough that he could push it up over Ryohei’s face and pulled it tight again as a silky headband. “Fight-o! And you know you liked the wristbands. So just tell Ryu-kun and Kei-chan what’s really wrong, hmm?”

“Kei-kun and Ryu-chan, I think you mean,” Keita muttered behind him, and Ryuichi merely replied “Bendiest?” without taking his eyes off Ryohei.

Ryohei squirmed just a little, making the leather of the seats creak. “Why do I always have to be the serial killer?”

Ryuichi and Keita burst into laughter, making Ryohei glare at them from under his bangs, and Keita reached around Ryuichi to tug the tie off Ryohei’s head in a slow, slick pull.

“Because it’s sexy, obviously,” Keita said, ignoring Ryuichi’s little “Hey!” as Keita grabbed both of his wrists. “Besides, tell me you aren’t interested.”

“Interested?” Ryohei blinked, not quite able to see what Keita was doing behind Ryuichi’s back.

“HEY,” said Ryuichi again, eyes going wide, and then there was a the soft swuush of silk being tied in a knot. Keita put hands on Ryuichi’s shoulders and pushed him backwards forcing him to fall across the seat in a sprawl with his back slightly arched and his head back in Keita’s lap. He was staring up at Ryohei, the white of his surprised eyes made even more pronounced by the dark makeup still ringing them.

“Interested.” Ryohei leaned forward just a little, corners of his mouth curling.

“I thought you might be, Leader-san.” Keita’s grin was much bigger and more shameless, and he let his hand drift down until his fingertips were just barely sliding under the loose collar of Ryuichi’s shirt.

Ryuichi pushed against their hold, but Ryohei casually shoved him back down with a hand splayed flat over his sternum. His other hand was busy palming the curve of Ryuichi’s hip, smooth and uninterrupted by anything as plebian as an underwear line.

“Keita’s jeans are the only thing you have on, aren’t they?” Ryohei clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tugged on a belt loop. “You pervert.”

“I’m not a pervert!” Ryuichi protested. “I’m in character. And you told?” Ryuichi tilted his head back to give Keita an accusing pout, but it cut off when Ryohei got both hands on Ryuichi’s belt loops and gave a serious yank.

“They’re like six inches too long for you,” Ryohei pointed out, his voice low and purring. “Not to mention…” Ryohei let one hand drift down to thumb a frayed slit in the denim on the inside of Ryuichi’s thigh. Ryuichi sucked in a breath. “…I made this rip myself.”

Ryuichi’s whimpered, “Oh god,” was drowned out by Keita’s soft laughter as Ryohei worried at the rip a little more, the heat of Ryuichi’s skin burning through the worn strings of denim.

“Hey, hey,” Keita interrupted a second later, when Ryohei got a little more serious about making Ryuichi whimper. “Quit it, I like those jeans!”

“Mm, me too.” Ryohei finally lifted his hand, sharing a heated grin with Keita, then let it fall right back down on Ryuichi’s zipper. “We’d better get them out of harm’s way, then.”

“We’re still in the limo!” Ryuichi protested, giving another token set of struggles. “We’re only five minutes away from—unh!” Ryuichi cut off as Ryohei gave him a firm squeeze.

“Like you ever last that long,” Keita bent to murmur in Ryuichi’s ear, working his hand further into Ryuichi’s shirt until Ryuichi cursed and tried to twist away from the teasing touch.

Meanwhile, Ryohei had already undone Ryuichi’s jeans and was taking the root of the problem well in hand, his breakdancing flexibility allowing him to curl his spine to breathe over Ryuichi despite the limited space of the seat.

It wasn’t even close to five minutes, it probably wasn’t even three, with Keita brushing guitar calluses over Ryuichi’s nipple and Ryohei watching Ryuichi’s face through his bangs as he worked Ryuichi over with his mouth. Keita used his free hand to sweep Ryuichi’s hair away from his ear and murmured something low and dirty, and Ryuichi came with one hand scrabbling at the leather of the seat and the other twisted tight in Keita’s feathers.


“Hey,” Ryuichi said a long while later, quietly because Keita was out cold between him and Ryohei, the glow of Ryuichi’s laptop lighting up each smooth bump of Keita’s spine. “Guess what’s in my email?”

“English spam?” Ryohei asked mildly, picking at the knot in the tie still tight around his left wrist. “I told you not to screw around on those porn sites.”

“An invitation to cosplay Hikaru no Go!” Ryuichi’s grin was slightly maniacal in the dim light. “They want you to be Sai. You’d get an even bigger hat than Keita!”

After sparing a glance at the straw hat still perched on Keita’s snoring head, although rather lopsidedly, Ryohei reached over and very pointedly closed Ryuichi’s laptop.

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