Regrets? I've had them
by Aimless
The room spun and tilted. This was so not conducive to a good night’s sleep. Neither was the scratchy Persian rug he seemed to be lying on. What the hell? The last thing Tohma Seguchi President of NG records remembered was picking Ryuichi Sakuma up at the airport for an extended visit.
The genki singer insisted on re-visiting some of his much loved night spots. There was no way in hell the blond CEO was going to let Ryuichi loose on an unsuspecting Tokyo. Reluctantly he tagged along and prayed no one recognized him. An impossibility but maybe they would manage to stay out of the tabloids this time.
Tohma rolled onto his back to stare up at the brightly colored mural on the ceiling. This confirmed he was lying on the floor of Ryu’s penthouse. The bi-polar singer had the ceilings in each room painted to look like various seasonal skies. He said it kept him from feeling cooped up.
The movement from side to back though was a grievous error on his part. Tohma’s stomach roiled uncomfortably and acid flooded his mouth. Oh Shit! He had seconds to get to the bathroom before he decorated the floor with the evidence of his partying last night.
An undignified half crawl with a stagger thrown in for good measure got him to the palatial commode with little time to spare. A very green former member of Nittle Graspar heaved into the bowl as tears ran down his cheeks. God…he’s not felt this bad since…well since the last time Ryu cajoled him into making the rounds.
Heaving and shaking the blond lost even the ghost of any food in his stomach before he sat back on the cool green tiles with a loud groan. One glance at his hideously expensive wrist watch made him groan again. Mika was going to kill him. Tohma should have been home last night and with a bag of Godiva chocolate caramels for his very pregnant and sweets craving wife.
Tohma just could not force himself to move and the tiles felt wonderfully chilly under his flushed forehead. As he lay there bits of the night surfaced with wince worthy clarity. Dance clubs where the two of them had created some scenes on the dance floor had the blond wincing. Not helped by the fact that a very convincing Ryu lit a joint to share in the limo. He’d managed to get a hold of at their first stop and god knows what else was present in that fragrant stick because it did not take long to get them higher than kites.
What was it about the former singer of Nittle Graspar that made Tohma act like a teenager? He supposed it was what attracted fans to the charismatic singer in droves. The blond shuddered as another memory surfaced from the black tar pit that sucked his evening away.
More hung over than he’d been in years Tohma whimpered and levered himself to his feet. He glared blearily at his reflection in the mirror. A midnight blue silk shirt hung unbuttoned from his shoulders and his laced black leather pants hugged his slim body like a second skin. What? Oh…Ryu convinced a now stoned Tohma that his suit and tie were so not hip to party in. He did not even want to think about the charges his credit card held. Furthermore he knew he’d never grace the doors of the shop where their gear had been purchased. Ryu and Tohma made giggling fools of themselves as they’d tried on a half dozen outfits.
His eyes were bloodshot and his golden hair stood out from his head in a mass of wild tangles. Could this morning possibly get any worse? Tohma really needed to be out of these sweaty, alcohol and pot reeking clothes now. Trying not to move too swiftly he carefully peeled out of the club wear and left them lying on the bathroom floor. The maid would see to them later.
Tohma turned on the multi jets in the huge shower and moving so as to not jar his pounding head he stepped into the hot spray. He stood there letting the water sluice over his abused body and slowly he catalogued the myriad aches and pains. He was surely getting too old for this kind of lifestyle.
Throbbing head…check.
Aching neck and back…check.
Sore feet…check.
Stinging ass…check.
Wait a minute! Stinging ass? What the hell? Please, please don’t let me have done that with Ryu again. Tohma repeated over and over as he bolted from the shower in a panic. Shaking hands roamed over his throbbing behind and he stopped perplexed at a square bandage. He stepped up to a floor length mirror and tried to get a look at the cause of his discomfort.
Ok so maybe he fell and hurt himself or something. At least this he could deal with. As Tohma looked over his shoulder he carefully peeled the sodden adhesive away. His blue eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.
There waving jauntily from his left butt cheek was a perfect copy of Ryu’s stuffed bunny Kumagoro. The skin around it was red and irritated but the bright pink shone through like a beacon. No…no…no…no…no! Fuck NO! Oh shit…vaguely he remembered being dragged into a tattoo parlor and baring his ass to a burly guy named Moe. Tohma only prayed he’d not been recognized and no photos had been taken.
Fucking Hell! It was a good thing Ryu seemed to be absent but then the singer probably went out for doughnuts. The asshole never got hangovers.
Tohma stood there in shock desperately trying to find some shreds of his dignity. It along with his wits seemed to have abandoned him.
The slamming of a door jolted the blond out of his paralysis.
“Tohma Seguchi you’d better fucking be here somewhere!” Mika’s shrill voice caused Tohma to actually squeak.
He was SO dead. Beyond dead…buried, dug up and killed again dead. Briefly he considered running around in small circles panicking.
Hesitation proved to be his downfall. One irately beautiful woman stood glowering in the bathroom doorway staring at her naked husband.
“M…Mika…I can explain.”