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Waltz of Filth	By : IcarusDarkquill Category: J-Rock/J-Pop & K-Pop > the GazettE Views: 2287 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of the GazettE. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Waltz of Filth
- 1
Waltz of Filth
An adult-oriented fanfiction by Icarus Darkquill

Introduction by the author:

The Japanese rock band The GazettE has remained my favorite group of musicians in the genre since early 2000. Although some critics maintain that PC Company, the label to which GazettE is signed, has a nasty habit of manufacturing music, that is, controlling the bands they sign in such a way that the music is tailored to appeal to the widest possible audience, The GazettE has always been in control of their own musical destiny. What is perhaps most admirable is that in a fast-paced and fickle society like Japan, a nation where fashion trends have been observed to change almost weekly, the group enjoys the same success now as they did when they first hit it big. This is a testament to the true musicianship of the band’s members. That being said, you’re reading an adult-oriented gay/yaoi fanfiction. And you’re probably reading it by choice (unless you’re the unwilling straight boyfriend of a yaoi fangirl). But I’d like to be clear that I realize that none of the members of GazettE express any real homosexual tendencies other than the fan service they employ as a dedication to their fans. That being said, I’m writing this for two reasons. The first is that I enjoy yaoi. The second is that, as a writer, I see nearly unlimited potential for steamy yaoi fan fiction with The GazettE. However, I like to keep these things as part of the dark side of my imagination, and I would not realistically desire any of the content within my story to actually transpire. Thank you for reading.

Part I

Aoi was working on a new song. However, as is customary with the music writing process, he was stuck, and it pissed him off. He’d been stuck for a week and a half, and there were only five more days before the band was scheduled to meet with the PC Company executives to present five new songs to be planned for the next EP. Because of time constraints and a hectic touring roster, the band had agreed to assign each member a song which they would write individually. Later, the whole band would tackle the songs collaboratively and flesh them out. Uruha had written his song in under 48 hours, and Reita was nearing the completion of his latest masterpiece. Even Kai seemed laid back about things, and he’d gone out to karaoke with Uruha, presumably to get wasted and sing (or slur) his favorite Puffy AmiYumi songs until the early hours of the morning. This left Aoi between a rock and a hard place, alone in the dim atmosphere of his apartment in Shibuya, plucking strings and chords which, try as he might, sounded dreadfully bland and uninspired. His delicate fingers, adorned with a smattering of intricate rings, danced across the fretboard for a moment before he slumped back on the sofa.

“Fuck…”

He brushed his long bangs out of his eyes and glanced at his mobile phone, half-hoping one of the band members had left him a message. He just wanted to talk to somebody. He didn’t care who or what about, but the solitude was eating away at him from the inside out.

The ache of longing…

The idea came to him suddenly in a “Eureka!” sort of moment, during which his heart skipped a beat. His beautiful hands went back to the guitar. A song about longing, he decided. A song about being alone and wishing you had someone to talk to who was willing to listen while you poured your guts out. He fingered a D minor arpeggio, and things became instantly atmospheric. Words came to him.

When you look at me, you look as though through a frosted window
Everything lies in shadow, distorted by my desperation
I am a corrupted maggot, writhing to escape this solitude
Can I free myself by finding you?

“Fucking brilliant,” he smirked. Then there was a knock at the door. Slightly annoyed that his musical train of melodies had been so untimely derailed, Aoi willed himself off the sofa and opened the door. Reita stood there, holding an 18 pack of Asahi beer. He grinned.

“How’s the song coming?” the bassist asked.

“Good. Great. Lots of ideas,” Aoi lied.

“Glad to hear it. I thought some beer might help the creative process.”

“How’s your song coming?” Aoi asked, changing the subject.

“Just finished it tonight.” Reita fumbled through his backpack. “Wanna hear it? I recorded a little sample.”

“Uh, sure, I guess,” the guitarist replied, darkly.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure, sure, please, come in.”

Reita dropped his backpack by the door and walked into the kitchen. He opened the box of beer, removed four, and put the box in the fridge. He walked out to the living room and let the strap of his bass guitar case slide down his arm. He leaned the instrument against the couch.

Reita wasn’t wearing his nose mask, much to the shock of Aoi who knew it meant he’d written something good. He wore a sleeveless, multi-layered black tank top which, from the score of safety pins and machine rips, was probably h.Naoto and very expensive. His jeans were tight-fitting, distressed denim the color of early morning. He looked thinner than usual, as if he hadn’t eaten in a day or two.

Reita passed two of the beers to Aoi, placed one down on the table in front of him, then popped the bottle cap of his beer with his belt buckle and wet his lips with the brew. He sighed.

“You should get some light in here, man,” he said after a moment. “It’s pretty depressing, Aoi-kun.”

Aoi waved his hand dismissively. “I like it this way.”

“You scare me sometimes, Aoi,” the bassist replied. “You scare me when you act like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know… like Gackt.”

The beer in his mouth suddenly tasted rancid. He swallowed hard. “That’s below the belt, Rei-kun. Even for you.”

It is not a well-kept secret that Japanese men, presumably because of their waifish builds and generally smaller stature, become inebriated quickly and without much effort. The bassist and guitarist of GazettE were no exception. At around three beers in, both were rocking a nice buzz and the chatter had escalated from quiet and awkward to moderately boisterous and emotional. Aoi was complaining about various things from songwriting to management of the band, and Reita was all ears.

“Man, sometimes,” Aoi was rambling, “there’s so much pressure on us to produce something…it’s not natural to force things.”

Reita nodded, chugging his beer. His cheeks were flush with the rosy glow of drunkenness. “I totally agree. You know, sometimes I miss the way things used to be.”

Aoi brushed his hair out of his face, suddenly serious. “Whaddya mean?”

Reita reclined back onto the sofa, folding his arms behind his head. “I don’t know. I just think, you know, sometimes when we’re on tour and stuff… far away from everybody we know… it’s like… all we’ve got is each other, but we don’t even have time for that anymore. It’s just write, write, write. More music. No time.”

“I think I know exactly what you mean,” Aoi nodded sagely. “But I mean, at the same time, we have a lot of opportunities a lot of people never have.”

Reita started rubbing the tip of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. “Yeah, that’s true I guess. But when we started, we said music was everything, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“But it’s not really the music, is it?”

Aoi took a swig of his beer. “Huh?”

“Well, I mean, it’s you and me. The guys. The band. All of us, together.”

“Ah, I see…”

“Really?”

“Maybe.”

“Mmm…”

There was a silence during which Reita and Aoi reflected on their own thoughts. Finally, Aoi leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “I think I get it,” he said. “Like, this thing that we did. All writing songs by ourselves. What makes us great is the whole band. Writing songs individually… it takes something away from it.”

“Makes you feel…”

“… lonely.”

Reita looked into Aoi’s eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking exactly.”

Aoi picked up his guitar. “Let me show you what I’ve been working on. It’s about that very feeling.”

He strummed the D minor chord, then began to pluck the strings slowly and gently. He sang the words.

When you look at me, you look as though through a frosted window
Everything lies in shadow, distorted by my desperation
I am a corrupted maggot, writhing to escape this solitude
Can I free myself by finding you?

Then he improvised a second verse:

My heart is sheathed in ice
I feel betrayed by fond memories which linger no longer
For I am alone, here and now; the ugliness of solitude
Is more than I can bear

He stopped playing. Reita was staring at him, misty-eyed, expectantly.

“That’s all I’ve got,” Aoi admitted.

“Actually,” Reita said quietly, “that’s really good. Mind if I add a line or two?”

“Not at all.”

The bassist hummed an idea for a chorus.

I’m down in a hole, and I’ve reached the bottom
Tethered here by the barbed wire of fate
If you would only drink my blood
Together we could share in the rapture of liberation

Aoi’s jaw dropped. The wondrous exhilaration surged through him, that blissful state that occurs when a musician realizes that some musical progression or combination of words has been notated and it is divinely perfect. The excitement glowed in his dark chocolate eyes.

“Sing it again,” he said. “I’ll play something to it.”

Reita put down his beer and nodded. He burped, giggled, then nodded indicating he was ready. He began to sing.

I’m down in a hole, and I’ve reached the bottom
Tethered here by the barbed wire of fate
If you would only drink my…

But just then, the high E string on Aoi’s guitar snapped, whipped back, and cut his finger.

“Ouch! Fuck!” Aoi yelped, dropping his guitar.

“Shit, you ok, Aoi-kun?”

There was a slight gash in Aoi’s finger where the steel string had cloven through his soft flesh. A rivulet of blood ran down his quivering digit.

“Let me see it,” Reita said.

“I’m fine.”

“Come on, man. Let me see it. This shit happens to me all the time, only it’s worse ‘cause my bass strings are heavier.”

Aoi reluctantly extended his hand. Reita took it in his, and eyeballed the damage.

“Damn, it’s deep.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it…”

Another not so well-known secret about the Japanese world is that, even since the times of the feudal shoguns, the bond between sworn brothers is a bond of many layers, so deep in fact that over time, loyalty and friendship often evolves into something more, a wonderful, compassionate kinship wherein that affection often extends into realms many would hastily label “homoerotic”. This would be a grave misconception, however, for there is no stronger bond than love, a beautiful thing which transcends both the flesh and the mind, and makes its home only in the heart. Perhaps, it was that very compassion that resulted in the series of unlikely circumstances that transpired next.
Without thinking, Reita took Aoi’s finger and drew it to his lips, kissing it. Aoi’s field of vision had grown slightly blurred, half of it the alcohol, the other half the musical fervor of the moment, so he hadn’t time to react when the bassist of GazettE drew his finger into his mouth and gently suckled the blood from the wound. A few moments past before Aoi came to his senses and jerked his arm away.

“What the fuck, man?!”

“What?” Reita said, puzzled.

“What the hell’d you do that for?” Aoi demanded.

“That’s what I always do when I cut my finger. Suck on it.”

“Yeah, and?! That’s my finger, not yours!”

Reita’s cheeks burned. “Relax, Aoi, I didn’t mean—”

“Christ, Reita… I mean, what the fuck?! That’s going too far! You’re not a faggot, are you?”

Reita shook his head. “No, of course not! Why would I be?”

“Well you just fucking kissed my finger so I think I have the right to ask!”

Reita sat quietly for a moment, then looked up at Aoi, his eyes tearing. Aoi shrank back.

“R-R-Reita?!”

“I should probably go,” he said, dejectedly.

Aoi tried to shake the drunken stupor off for a moment, but it only made things worse. He stumbled to his feet, and fought for his balance, but the room was spinning and he staggered a bit. “Ok, Reita, what’s going on? Talk to me?”

“I can’t,” the bassist said.

“Why not?”

“You’ll hate me…”

“I won’t hate you. Just… just come on, talk. I’m drunk off my ass, but I can still listen to what you have to say. Forget the finger thing, it doesn’t matter. What’s got you so upset?”

For a second, Reita looked as though he was about to spill his guts, but his lips started quivering and he shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can. How many years have we been friends? You can tell me anything. Come on back here and sit down.”

Reita led Aoi back to the couch. They sat across from each other. Aoi waited. Reita tried to find the words.

“The last few shows we’ve been playing,” he started. “You know the groupies and stuff the company’s been getting for us?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah well… I… I haven’t been able to… um…” He twiddled his thumbs for a moment. Aoi tried to focus as hard as he could, but hell he was drunk and Reita was making little sense if any at all.

“Haven’t been able to what?”

“I… I haven’t been able to… you know....”

Aoi looked at Reita blankly. The bassist could tell it required further explanation. “I can’t perform man. I can’t get it up anymore.”

Aoi blinked for a moment, then started to laugh. Reita looked horrified. “What’s so damn funny?”

“That’s it? You can’t get hard?” Aoi chuckled. “That’s what’s got you all emotional?’

Reita nodded. “Dude, I’m being serious here! It’s embarrassing!”

“Dude,” Aoi said, sliding over and wrapping one arm around Reita’s shoulders. “It happens, man. The pressure of shows… have to live up to all the hype. I mean look at our band, Rei-kun. We’re sex symbols. It’s not surprising that—”

Reita shook his head. “No, man, you don’t get it.”

“No, I think I do.”

“You don’t, Aoi. I… lately I’ve… I’m not finding any of these girls attractive anymore.”

“It’s cool, man,” the guitarist interjected. “Roadie sluts aren’t your thing. Just tell the company. Maybe you’re into the modest, shy kind of girls. You know, the challenging ones.”

Reita sighed. “I need another beer.”

“You’ve had enough.”

“No I haven’t,” Reita grimaced. “Because I still can’t say what I’m trying to say.”

Aoi started tickling Reita. The other boy squirmed and writhed. “Hey stop it!”

“Rei-kun,” Aoi grinned. “You’ve never been closed off like this before. It’s not at all like the cool sexy Rei-kun I know.”

“Stop it!” Reita growled, drawing away from Aoi and scuffling to the far side of the couch. “You don’t have a clue!”

“A clue about what?”

“Dammit, Aoi! I’m not attracted to girls anymore! Lately I’ve been attracted to boys!”

If there had been any crickets for miles, the noise would have been deafening.

“What?” Aoi said in disbelief.

“Yeah man! I’m fucked! I think I’m turning gay or something!”

Aoi began shaking his head. “No, no, no… That’s not possible, Reita… I know you better than that. You’re not gay. You like girls. I’ve seen you. You used to talk about that one chic all the damn time. You can’t be a homo. No way. Just no fucking way, man. You can’t—”

Without warning, Reita leaned over to Aoi and pushed his nubile frame against the sofa. Their faces were inches from each other. Aoi could feel Reita’s hot, alcohol-saturated breath on his skin. He started to blush, and goose eggs rose on his arms. “H-hey man, what are you—”

“You’re beautiful, Aoi… I can’t even describe it in words… you’re like a sublime melody that I keep hearing in my mind… every day… every night… even while I’m sleeping.” He looked so desperate it was revolting. “Please… just… just let me kiss you…”

“No way!” Aoi said, trying to force Reita off him. But Reita was more muscular, and it was no use.

“Please,” Reita insisted. “I… I just need to know… I need to know if I’m really what you say I am… a no good faggot.”

“Reita…” Aoi whispered.

“Please…”

Aoi’s expression softened. He thought to himself. A quick peck. What could it hurt? More than likely, Reita would find it repugnant and come back to his senses. Even if he didn’t, it would just be like doing fan service for a concert or a music video. It would be over in a second.

“Fine,” Aoi conceded.

GazettE’s bassist smiled so broadly it seemed his face was just one giant smile and nothing else. For some reason, Aoi felt giddy and awkward. “Just make it quick,” he added.

Reita leaned in, slowly, unsure of himself, his lips slightly parted. He barely moved a centimeter as if he was frozen solid. After waiting what seemed like an hour, Aoi sighed sharply. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he scowled, cradling Reita’s cheek with the velvety palm of his left hand, leaned in, and locking lips with his friend.

It began with a tender brush of their lips like a soft spring rain upon flower petals. After a moment, the heat and the moisture blossomed into an unusual yearning of their tongues, which penetrated each other’s mouths and engaged in a sensual dance of saliva and muffled moans. With his off hand, Aoi ran his fingers through Reita’s hair. It was soft and satiny to the touch, not unlike a young girl’s hair. His skin too was flawless, unblemished and rosy. When Reita’s tongue found Aoi’s lip ring and pulled gingerly upon it, Aoi grabbed Reita by the scuff of his shirt and pulled him more forcefully to him. The bassist grunted his surprise, but continued to explore the sultry cavern of his friend’s mouth.

The kiss was magnificently Shakespearean, sublimely poetic and intense. It was as though the contours of their mouths, lips and tongues had been made for each other. There was a heat like the warmth of a thousand candles which sent bolts of electricity firing through their bodies. All the darkness dissipated in the radiance of the moment; they lost themselves in reckless abandon, their tongues circling in a passionate waltz of love and ardor. Reita’s hand grasped Aoi’s neck firmly while the guitarist tugged at Reita’s ear lobe, making his entire body spasm with bliss. When they finally broke the kiss, a glistening tendril of spit still connected their mouths together mirroring the lingering passion their panting bodies were feeling. Reita stumbled backwards and fell to the carpet, supporting himself upon the coffee table. Aoi sat still, his chest heaving, his breathing ragged.

“What the fuck just happened?” Aoi whispered after a moment.

“I have no idea,” Reita admitted.

“Shit,” said the guitarist, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. “That didn’t just happen.”

Reita ran his tongue slowly along his lips. It tasted uniquely Aoi. “Aoi, I think it did.”

“I’m not a fag,” Aoi stated.

“I know you're not,” Reita replied.

“I just wanted to show you you’re not homo.”

“Right.”

Aoi had never felt so uncomfortable in his entire life. And he was drunk, dizzy, and disoriented. After a moment, he rose quickly and walked past his friend. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the bassist.

“I’m going to bed,” he said. “You can crash here tonight if you want.”
And that was it. Aoi left the room, leaving Reita alone in the darkness. The guitarist disrobed and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pound against his slender, naked body. He leaned against the shower wall, staring at the tile flooring.

“I’m not gay,” he repeated like a mantra, again and again. “Not gay… not gay…”

But even as he lay in bed trying to fall asleep that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d locked lips with Reita that night, and how it had been the best kiss he’d ever experienced.

***

Kai had almost always been gay, and Uruha could not believe the rest of the guys in the band couldn’t see it. Once or twice, he suspected Ruki had wondered about it, but if he had, he’d never raised the question. Uruha took a queer sort of delight in the fact that Kai was a flaming homosexual but tried to mask it beneath several layers of childish innocence and immaturity. Although he wasn’t gay himself, from his perspective, if someone was cute enough, it didn’t matter if they had breasts or a penis. Uruha was a master seducer. In the same way he devoted himself so fiercely and utterly to the domination of his guitar, he pursued all his conquests with endless suave and determination. As Kai was making a fool of himself singing a Puffy AmiYumi song in the karaoke booth, Uruha wondered how difficult it would be to break Kai down and make him serve him on all fours. As his mind conjured several dozen, steamy scenarios, he felt that familiar tingling betwixt his thighs. He smirked devilishly, and knew at once it had to be done.

When Kai finished his song, he stumbled back over to the couch and plopped himself down.

“Yeeeah this is soooo fun!” He chirped. “Right Uru-kun?”

“Hey, Kai-chan,” Uruha nodded, walking over to the drummer of GazettE. He stood before him, hands on hips, looking down sharply at his friend. “Take off your clothes.”

Kai stared at Uruha incredulously. “What?”

“Your clothes. Take ‘em off.”

The drummer’s face turned beet red. “W-why?”

“I want to watch you sing a song naked.”

“But why?” Kai stammered.

“’Cause Kai-chan is cute, and I want to see him sing. Naked.”

“No way!” Kai giggled. “That’s embarrassing!”

Uruha knelt down on the couch and straddled Kai. He leaned in close. “Oh come on, I know you want to do it, Kai. Show me that cute little body of yours.”

The drummer looked mortified. “Uru-kun… wh-what are you—?”

GazettE’s lead guitarist turned on the charm. “Kai-chan… I know what you are, and it’s fine. There’s no point in hiding it from me anymore.”

“W-w-what I am?” the other mumbled. “What do you mean?”

“Kai… you’re gay. Everybody knows. It’s so damn obvious.”

“I’m not… I mean… no, you’ve got the wrong idea… it’s—”

“So you deny it then?” Uruha beamed.

Kai’s comfort level plummeted, and he hunched his shoulders and seemed to shrink into himself. He looked down at his knees. “I like girls…” he murmured.

“Sure ya do,” Uruha joshed. “Then why do you say my name when you sleep?”

Kai’s jaw dropped to the floor and unrolled across the room. “W-w-what?!”

“I heard you in the tour bus,” said Uruha, slipping his fingers through the loops of Kai’s shorts. He leaned in close and whispered in Kai’s ear: “And you’re pretty fond of Miyavi too I’ve noticed.”

Kai uttered a noise that sounded vaguely kitten-like, and Uruha cooed. “Aww, Kai-chan, you’re so cute…” Uruha gave him a peck on the cheek. Then his features hardened. “Get undressed for me. Now.”

The drummer nodded submissively. Uruha rose and stepped aside, allowing Kai the freedom to disrobe. The boy unbuttoned his shorts and pulled them off. The guitarist gleamed. Kai had a set of slender legs that most girls would be jealous of. He’d shaved them, as all the members of the band did, but Kai’s legs lacked any musculature that might be called masculine. As he removed his tank top, Uruha smiled at the lack of definition he’d admired many times before, the softness and paleness of his flesh that his fingers itched to explore, every sultry, sexy inch of his nymph-like abdomen. Kai stood naked except for his boxer briefs. Uruha smiled.

“Kai-chan…”

“This is embarrassing,” said the other.

“You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about,” the guitarist replied, tracing one finger up the boy’s stomach and to his chin, directing Kai’s gaze to his own. “It’s about time you reconciled with it. Let me make you feel good.”

Uruha wrapped his arms around Kai’s waist and drew his friend to him. He pressed his lips against Kai’s and forcefully penetrated him with his tongue, tracing the insides of his mouth and sucking playfully on the other’s tongue. Kai wrapped his arms around Uruha’s neck, and they pressed their bodies together, both of their bodies feverish with aching for the passionate caress of the other. As Uruha kissed Kai, he explored the taut, apple-shaped mounds of his buttocks, gently squeezing the flesh with his hands, pleased with himself as he felt Kai’s growing arousal bulging against his own thighs. Reluctantly, Uruha broke the kiss and removed his own shirt. He fell to his knees and pulled Kai’s boxers down around his ankles, freeing the boy’s bulging erection from its confines. Kai squirmed and tried to pull away.

“No don’t!” he yelped.

“Shut up,” Uruha said sternly, taking the drummer’s penis in one hand and carefully prodding the head with the other. Kai’s arousal was clearly evident when, in response to his friend’s handiwork, his throbbing cock began to secrete a clear, sticky layer of pre-cum. Uruha grinned and licked the shaft of Kai’s dick with his tongue before taking his member inside his mouth. The guitarist was initially surprised at the girth of his friend’s tool, but he relaxed his esophagus and sucked the penis into the hot depths of his throat. As he did so, Uruha felt his own pikestaff begin to fill with blood and rise beneath the tight-fitting denim of his jeans.

Kai thrust his hips gently, working his manhood in and out of Uruha’s mouth. The guitarist playfully fondled Kai’s testicles and stroked the base of his penis quickly. He could feel Kai’s penis twitching and tensing inside of his oral cavity.

“U…Uru-kun… I… I’m close…”

Uruha kept stroking and sucking, teasing the tip of Kai’s meaty cock with his tongue, applying pressure to his throbbing penis with his throat until suddenly Kai grabbed his head and bucked his hips rapidly.

“Oh shit, Uruha I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m cumming!”

Uruha drank Kai’s cum like it was a fine wine, swallowing diligently gush after gush of his friend’s hot, frothy ejaculate. He gripped Kai’s balls tightly, squeezing every last drop out of them until Kai’s body stop twitching, then slowly released his grip on the boy’s cock and let it slide out of his windpipe. Kai fell back on the couch.

“Oh my God…” Kai whimpered. “Oh God… so good… I c-can’t move… my legs…”

Uruha wiped his lips and smirked then began to unbutton his jeans. When he dropped his pants, Kai’s eyes widened in their sockets, and he grinned triumphantly. “My turn,” he said seductively.

Kai’s eyes were glued to Uruha’s towering erection of glorious eight-and-a-half inch, Japanese man-meat. Uruha swayed his hips, glowing as Kai’s eyes followed the bob and sway of the guitarist’s cock. Uruha straddled Kai once more, his thighs on either side of the other boy’s body, his penis directly level with Kai’s mouth. “Suck it,” he commanded.
The drummer of The GazettE was on Uruha’s twitching cock like white on rice. He eagerly took Uruha’s penis into the warm, sticky depths of his mouth, and began to suck on it like he’d imagined himself doing those lonely nights he’d spent masturbating, praying to the gods of rock and roll that he worshipped that one day this moment would arise. Uruha’s eyes rolled back in his head and he tightened his buttocks, thrusting his hips forward and backwards as his manhood worked in and out of his friend’s mouth. Drunk with pleasure, Uruha grabbed Kai’s hair roughly, grunting as he felt himself drawing nearer and nearer to orgasm. Finally, when he could take it no more, Uruha tightened his grip on Kai’s head and thrust his quivering dick as deep down the drummer’s throat as he could and shot his steamy wad down the other’s windpipe. Kai gagged, trying to swallow gush after sticky, frothy gush of Uruha’s cum. He wrestled free of the guitarist’s grip and pulled back, gagging, spilling some of the ejaculate to the floor. Uruha frowned.

“Lick that up,” he said sternly.

On all fours like a dog, Kai obediently lapped up Uruha’s semen from the carpet before smiling up at his friend.

“Was it alright? Was I any good?”

Uruha beamed and took Kai into a warm embrace.

“Good? You were perfect.”

“Yay!” Kai squealed with delight, wiping traces of cum off his lips.

“But next time,” Uruha smirked, “I’ll need you to bring your drum sticks along.”
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Waltz of Filth