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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


I’d crept back to my own room after Kei had finally fallen asleep in my arms, but there would be no rest for the wicked.  My ears strained at every creak of the old house settling, or the whoosh of the wind through the trees outside my window.  I saw shadows where there shouldn’t be.  This was one time having an active imagination was not a good thing. 

***

            The next morning as we sat at the breakfast nook, there was no mention of the ghost or whatever nightmare that caused Kei to cry out in the middle of the night.  As usual, breakfast was hearty, fattening and oh-so-delicious.  If he weren’t an axe-slinging guitar god, Kei could make a damn good living as a chef. 

            “The band’s coming over today so you’ll finally get to meet them and show them what you’ve got.”

            A forkful of fluffy Belgian waffle melted in my mouth, sending my tongue into food nirvana.  I nodded, swallowed reluctantly as if it would be the last Belgian waffle I’d ever have.

            “Cool.  The sooner I get started, the sooner you’ll have something for the tour if everyone’s on board.”

            “Tsuchiya said that we’ve got a photo shoot scheduled, and I’d like to unveil the new look then.  Think you can do it?”

            It was my turn at cockiness. “Of course.”

***

            I stood next to Kei on the front steps as four cars of various models, including a black Maserati Granturismo with the vanity plate PROGRKR pulled up to the driveway.

            “Holy shit, did all you guys sell your souls or what?” 

            The four members of Dominion’s End were absolutely, positively, Grade-A gorgeous.  Most rockers who managed to survive the decadent 1980’s looked tired and worn, mainly from all the drugs and debauchery, but not these guys.  There might have been some strands of gray in the dark hair, more experience within their eyes and a few more tattoos, but that seemed to be the only indicator that they were no longer lean and hungry twenty-somethings.   I willed myself not to turn into psycho fangirl, but it was going to be very hard.

            If Kei was smoking hot, Miki Hirata was his smoking hot twin.  I guess it was a rule of rock n’roll that lead singers and guitarists had to be certified lust objects.  Plant and Page, Jagger and Richards, Tyler and Perry, Matsuya and Hirata—they were like a serious package deal of sexiness. 

            Over the years Miki Hirata had been a blonde, a redhead and for one album, mohawked.  Now his hair was back to its natural raven black, though it was a lot shorter than it had been years past, sweeping a little past shoulder-length.  His eyes were a startling shade of violet, courtesy of the colored contacts he’d affected after their last Japanese tour and having been impressed by the look of Visual Kei. He had the trademark swagger all lead singers possessed, but also the chops to back it up.

            Dressed in skin tight black leather pants, polished engineer boots and wallet on a chain that hung out of his right back pocket, if he were gay, he’d be someone’s hot Asian daddy.  

            “Yo G.B.,” he greeted Kei raucously as they traded fist-bumps.  “Still living in this fucked-up museum with all these snobs around?”

            “You wanna talk about snobs, dude?  What about that asshole software guy you live next to who called the cops on you for the last party you had?  My biggest problem is the folks who park on the street on their way to Land’s End, but they’re usually gone before the sun goes down.”

            Miki’s eyes met mine and he lowered his shades flirtatiously.  “You must be Eva Vincent.  Kei’s been going on about you for weeks, but unlike his taste in music, I think he scored big with you.  How the hell did he con you into staying with The Munsters?”

            His hand was warm, the grip powerful but not aggressive.  “It’s not so bad really even if the suits of armor are a little much.”

            Miki said nothing as he chuckled, but from the look in his eyes, he knew about Kei’s ghost and was silently asking if I did too.

            Another hand engulfed mine. “Hey, I’m Tommy.”  A pair of thick framed glasses perched precariously upon a snub of nose.  His hair was pulled into a long ponytail, exposing his multi-pierced ears.  “Nice to meet you, Eva.  So, what am I wearing this year?”

            “You’re wearing clothes,” I quipped.  “Just not a lot of them if I have my way.”

            His eyes widened then he burst out laughing.  “Bring it on!  I could stand to get a little more attention on stage.  As it is, I have to compete with Ego Number One and Ego Number Two.”

            “That’s why you should play guitar, dumbass,” Kei shot back, lightly smacking his bandmate upside the head.  “Don’t you know guitarists always get the chicks?”

            “And drummers always end up with sloppy seconds,” mock-whined Chris Akino, decked in black gothic buckle pants and a tight-fitting Affliction t-shirt.  His arms were massive from all the furious drumming he did.  “No one sees us or pays any attention to us, but if we fuck up, everyone bitches and moans about how much we suck.”

            We laughed.  It was the standard drummer’s lament and it was true, though there were skins-men like Lars Ulrich and Nico McBain who made damn sure they weren’t ignored.

            “And no one pays attention to us poor keyboardists,” added Devynn Yan, whose hand was a damn sight stronger than the delicate fingers let on.  “Can you believe I’m still kicking people’s asses over the bullshit that real metal doesn’t have keyboards?”

            Keyboards and heavy metal had a rather uneasy alliance, though it all depended on the genre.  Power, progressive and gothic metal pretty much relied on keyboards for sweeping epic soundscapes, as well as adding textures to a song.  Then, there were keyboardists like Devynn who made keys front and center and who played as hard and fast as Kei and Tommy.  Not only could Devynn do the epic stuff, but he could and often did, function as a second guitar.  For the longest time I’d thought Miki had been playing guitar on one of my all-time favorite Dominion’s End tunes—Iskandar—until I saw them play it live and realized the “guitar” was actually Devynn mirroring the twin axe attack made popular by bands like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden.

            “Tell that to Jens Johanssen or Jordan Rudess,” I told him as we walked into Kei’s house.  His eyes lit up.  “I’m sure they’d be happy to shove their Korgs up someone’s ass.”

            “Moore or Rudess,” Devynn asked out of the blue.

            I gave him a ‘what-are-you-kidding’ look.  “Duh, Moore.  Who else?”

            “Images and Words or Octavarium?”

             “Again, duh.  Images and Words, dude.  It wasn’t self-indulgent wanking and ‘Learning to Live’ is an amazing song.”

            Devynn chortled and placed a companionable arm around my shoulder.  “Man, if I wasn’t happily married, you’d be so assed out.”

            Kei forcibly removed that arm from around me, replacing it with his own.  “Well you are, and I’m not.”

***

            “So, Miss Vincent, this asshole here says that you’ve come up with something that might get us thrown out of at least a dozen countries for indecent exposure.”  Kei playfully flipped him off.  I placed my sketchbook on the breakfast nook, since we were gathered in the kitchen.   I opened it to the preliminary drawings I’d done. 

            “Since the album is called Ceremony for Black Roses, I thought of deconstructed tuxedos with lots of rips, tears, lace and leather in some strategic places. Kind of like the apocalypse at a bondage club.”

            “And how would you know about bondage clubs,” asked Tommy who was busy finishing off the rest of the waffles from earlier.

            “Her friend Kat is a Dominatrix,” Kei answered before I could.  Four sets of eyebrows went up.

            “What?”  I should have been used to that reaction, especially from guys, but it still annoyed me a little, the assumption that I had to be in the scene because she was.  “It’s not my thing, but yes, I’ve visited a couple with her.”

            Miki laid a hand over mine and I swore Kei was growling at him from behind me.  “That’s cool.  I’ve always been curious about it, but not enough to actually go.  Maybe I should call your friend and have her escort me.”

            “You might want to ask Dragon about that first.”

            “Who the hell is Dragon?”

            “Her husband.”

            Miki raised his hands in surrender.  “All righty-then.  You really do have some crazy friends.  You’ll fit in perfectly with this crew.”

            All eyes were on the various sketches while I revealed each one. Devynn whistled appreciatively.

            “Hmm, pretty cool,” he said as I elaborated on the finer details.  “I like how it kind of looks like we put it into a wood chopper or something.”

            “I really like the sleeveless jacket thing,” said Tommy.  “The last time I wore anything with sleeves they ended up ripped to shreds and our wardrobe person was pissed.”

            “Look, you guys are in a band, so I factored that in as well.  If a strip of the leather comes off, it should look like that was the intention.” 

            This was turning out better than I’d hoped and I couldn’t wait to start on the actual costumes.

            “Well Eva, I’m good with it,” said Miki and his hand went back to its original place.  On top of mine, and this time not only did Kei growl, but he forcibly moved it.  Instead of being taken aback, he gave his bandmate an arched look then started laughing.

            “You don’t have to kick my ass, man.  I see you’ve already staked your claim.”

            Trying to ignore the wolf whistles and the waggling eyebrows, I gave them all a withering glare.  “He hasn’t staked anything.”

            I felt his lips hot against my earlobe.  “Certainly not for lack of trying, my dear.”

*

            The doorbell rang and Kai went to answer it, glaring over his shoulder at Miki in a definite hands off glare, which Miki promptly ignored by moving closer to me.  The band noticed his behavior, which of course they couldn’t resist teasing me about.

            “What did you do to him Eva,” joked Tommy.  “He’s never acted like that about a woman, even when he was dating whatshername.”

            Before I could defend myself, Kai returned with a distinguished man with silver hair and deep-set eyes dressed in what I knew to be an exquisitely tailored pinstripe suit.  He was obviously a man who did not shop at The Men’s Warehouse or Three Day Suit Broker.  One couldn’t get the kind of quality and craftsmanship from off a rack.

            “Miss Vincent, I do not believe anyone has discussed the fee for your services.”

            Isamu Tsuchiya, Dominion’s End’s renowned manager, entered the kitchen followed by Kei at a respectful distance. 

            There were few people they respected and the serene presence before me who was not only manager but father-figure was one of them.  He’d taken a huge risk on a bunch of rude, foul-mouthed and driven misfits from Orange County who looked absolutely nothing like the rest of the bands on the Sunset Strip, especially for a man who’d had a stellar career back in Japan with several popular pop bands.

            Chris moved aside, his multicolored dreds swinging with the movement and the older man gazed down at my sketches, saying nothing nor showing any emotion.

            “They’re not naked, Miss Vincent,” he said with a completely straight face, though I could see a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.  “Now, follow me from this den of iniquity and we shall discuss your fee.”

            When Kei made to follow us, Tsuchiya stopped him with a look.  “Miss Vincent will be perfectly safe with me.”  Like an obedient puppy, he stayed.

            I knew very little of music business dealings save the few articles I’d read in passing.  Tsuchiya’s face remained stoic and I had no idea what he thought of me.  The only thing I could tell was that he honestly cared about the members of Dominion’s End, and didn’t just see them as a meal ticket.

            We entered the library, leaving the door open behind us.

            “You may not be aware that I spoke with several well-known costume designers, including a few from my country,” he began as he placed a leather briefcase on the desk.  “They send the band sketches, but Kei had his mind set on one particular designer.  That would be yourself, of course.”

            Opening the briefcase, Tsuchiya handed me a contract with the typical NDA addendum, which was fine since I had no plans to fuel any gossip rags.  I was here to work, not to get the inside scoop.  He also wrote out a figure and I nearly stopped breathing.

            “Is it not enough?  I realize what we’re asking is quite a lot, but Kei thinks highly of you.  To be perfectly honest Miss Vincent, I wasn’t certain you would be up to the task.  To be honest again, I’m still not entirely convinced.  However, I’ve read a lot about you over the past few weeks, and I’ve spoken some of your past clients and they have nothing but the highest praise for your professionalism and your talent.”

            “Thank you, Mr. Tsuchiya.  The offer is very generous,” and damn right it was.  My bank account was about to get extremely happy. “But I need to make sure you understand that when I set my mind to a task, nothing else gets in the way.  Dominion’s End will be ready as promised.”

            He steepled his fingers together, and that hint of a smile opened up full on and brightened the severity of his features.  “I know Miss Vincent.  I believe you.”  He extended an exquisitely manicured hand and I took it.  “If you have any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to call.”

            As we walked back into the kitchen, Tsuchiya dropped another bombshell.  “Shane is quite harmless you know?  I have the feeling he’s trying to tell Kei something, but he’s too blocked by guilt.”

*

            I said nothing about the contract or what Tsuchiya was offering me.  I was still reeling from both the amount and by the man’s revelation that he believed in the ghost of Shane Hanamura too.  It seemed the entire band did.

            I didn’t want to believe it, but Kei’s cries in the night weren’t those of regular nightmares.  I hadn’t seen anything, but if I were honest, there were times where a slight chill would race down my spine for no apparent reason.

            Ghost or not, I was holding the key to AlterEva Designs becoming world-famous in my hot little hands, not to mention enough fund-age to keep me happily stitching for a few years without having to take another commission unless I wanted to.  I hadn’t seen it; therefore it didn’t exist and couldn’t hurt me.

            I put the whirling thoughts from my mind and went upstairs to plan.

***

            I booted up my laptop and immediately began searching for a rental loft that I could use as a temporary studio.  Most were located in SoMa, though a few were also in the historic Mission District, a section of the city I’d always loved for its multiethnic flavor and funky vibe.  I didn’t hear Kei come in, but felt him peeking over my shoulder.  Tendrils of his hair tickled the side of my face.

            “You know I’ve plenty of space here, right?  It makes no sense for you to waste money for such a short amount of time.”

            I craned my head around. “The noise wouldn’t bother you?”

            He looked at me as if I had lost my mind.  “I’m a rocker, not a librarian.  Noise is the last problem I’m going to have.  Besides, it’s not like all these rooms are being used.   There’s the one next to yours with a great view of the backyard and the ocean. And, I like having you here.”

            Shit.  The man didn’t play fair.  If I were honest, I really didn’t want to go through all the hassle.  I was on a schedule and the sooner I started, the sooner I the band would have its new look.  I could keep my hands—and other body parts—to myself.

            “Fine.”  I gave in.  “I’ll stay.  I guess I like having someone cook.”

***

            The rest of the day was spent purchasing most of the equipment that I’d need since driving back down to L.A. wasn’t a great idea.  I found a decent Singer that was close to the model I used at home.  I set up my worktable, grabbed my mp3 player and plugged in some speakers.  I needed music to work.

            The next thing I both dreaded and couldn’t wait for.

            “I might as well start taking your measurements,” I said, trying to stay businesslike and failing miserably to my ears.  The mischief was back in Kei’s face as was something else that I didn’t want to even contemplate.  I prayed for strength.

            He started stripping, literally, right in front of me, almost swaying to some sexy inner beat, like the tease he acted like onstage and I frantically looked for something else for my hands to do other than what I knew they wanted to do.  I grabbed my notebook and a pencil and a tape measure while repeating to myself ‘it’s just a job’.

            His shoulders were a lot broader than I’d first thought.  His back was a perfectly chiseled plane with the sharp, sweeping wings that defined his shoulder blades.  His hair swept down to mid-waist, moving with his every action like a living part of him.  The room was silent save for my breathing, which sounded unnaturally loud to my ears.  I gripped the tape measure, the only thing keeping me in the moment.

            I ran the tape around his upper arms and down.  I wrote down every number.  The silver nipple rings beckoned to me like tempting sirens.  The abs trailed down a hairless and incredibly ripped torso.  Kei Matsuya was no gym rat, but his body was perfectly honed.  No wonder he liked showing it off.

            For his part, he stood completely still, allowing me to work in relative peace.  He knew the effect his near-nudity was having on me, but he said nothing.

            Taking the inseam measurements was a true test of willpower.  The black boxer-briefs he wore framed a nicely-sized cock that my mouth was beginning to salivate over.  It twitched as if knowing what I was thinking.  I swore Kei was chuckling at me.

            It was finally done.

            “You can put your clothes back on now.”  I finished making notations on the pad, my back to him.  I needed to get back into professional mode, and I needed for him to go away.

            The moment he was gone, the huge room felt empty.  Kei had that way of filling a room, of almost taking the warmth with him.

            I walked over to the window, stared out at the expansive vista laid out neatly in front of me and shuddered.












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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.