Title: Compromising Concupiscence

Rating: PG-13 (is subject to change but not for the cleaner)

Genre: Humor

Status: 1?

Pairing: OT5 (AtoFujiRyoSanaTezu)

Summary: The boys deal with clashing opinions regarding their more exploitive physical activities. And Ryoma thinks he’s the ultimate seme. Uh-oh. Various first person POV.

Warnings: Weird inner monologues, bit of OOC, language, mention of real-life historical figures, obscene amounts of pervines (hello, just look at the title)

A/N: My end of the deal between me and kasugai gummie, who birthed this wonderful crack and got me hooked in it. The arrangement of the pairing is not according to seme status (good lord NO) but it is significant. Read and find out.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Compromising Concupiscence

By Lady Androgene

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Chapter 1: Angsting Over Uke

Ryoma

Life is fucking unfair.

I’m tired of being continuously denied to take the reins just ONCE, as if making me seme was synonymous to having my boyfriends impregnated.

I’m tired of being treated as if I have a perpetual sign on my forehead that says "I Am The Most Fuckable Creature On Earth, Come Abuse Me."

I’m so fucking tired, of being the adorable, indisputable, ULTIMATE uke.

As a strapping young man in the pink of health, YES, most of my frustrations stem from primal, visceral needs and the lack of satisfaction for such primal, visceral needs.

But bear with me.

Relationships are supposed to be give and take (take, being in the more wholesome context) but being always on the receiving end is NOT fun. And it’s not FUNNY either. There are FOUR of them, for the love of god. I can kick and scream and lash out as many death threats to kill my boyfriends ten times and over but that’s not gonna get me very far.

And what is the justification of my loving boyfriends for this act of blatant prejudice? Oh, just one fact of monumental importance: I’m the youngest, the smallest and the "cutest" member of this convoluted five-way relationship of ours. As if that explained anything. Talk about a non-sequitur.

Well you know what? They’re wrong. I have every right to be seme. So I’m going to set the record straight. But first, a little background.

The five of us, Monkey King, Buchou, Genchirou, Syuusuke and I have been together since high school, which should tell you that while the concept of five boys shacking up in a serious relationship is utterly ridiculous, it happened. And I’ll admit that it was raging teenage hormones that brought us together. Yeah, SEX.

In high school, we had enough sex to earn us prime spots in the executive board of Hedonists Anonymous or some similar organization. Not to sound nostalgic or anything but those were the days, where academic concepts such as homework, disciplinary sanctions, and physical education took on a whole new meaning. It was fun for the most part. I mean, if it weren’t for us, who would have known that artic bricks like Buchou and Genchirou are capable of getting a hard-on?

Then college came and we had been demoted to the metaphorical medium stockholders. We tried to make our schedules fit but there were extracurriculars that got in the way. Buchou’s and my tennis, Syuusuke’s photography, Monkey King’s frequent trips abroad and even more frequent parlor appointments (he owns the word “metrosexual”), Genchirou’s kendo… all of them took their toll in the relationship. There wasn’t time to complain but Keigo had been especially irked by the fact that his efforts to beautify himself had lost several battles against homework.

And, now that the four of them are working and I’m stuck in college, we’ve been reduced to the metaphorical janitor status. It’s that bad.

Well, bad in terms of five-way sex. Standard one-to-one is plentiful. At least for me.

My ah, lovers (I still cannot say that word without having the urge to cough because really, if they truly loved me, I wouldn’t be complaining about uke-status right?) had been a little concerned about how I would fare in college without them to drive away the hordes of female fans that had followed me since junior high—and had since deigned to rip my clothes off on more than one occasion. My boyfriends still had their own fans—legions of them, but they can handle screaming confessions of love and marriage proposals way better than I can.

I’m the type of person who deals with bad things and good things the same way: I don’t. I think the meanest thing I did to my fans was to let Keigo and Syuusuke deal with them. I didn’t initially know HOW they did it, and to be frank, I really didn’t care. At first.

Then Buchou mentioned something about severe emotional trauma and the perils of technology and I became suspicious. Incidentally, Syuusuke was suddenly brave about teasing me about how I would make a sell-out porn star with my feisty nature and ah, wonderful vocalizations in bed.

Then Genchirou finally let the whole thing slip, one fateful afternoon, while I was cramming for a term paper, of all possible timings. To say that Satan himself would kneel before my furious countenance would be severely understating things.

Remind me to smash Keigo’s cellphone/MP3 player/camera/voice recorder to sorry little pieces when I get the chance.

That aside, however, there’s still the problem of my "vulnerability," despite the diminished threat of my fanbase. There was still the rest of the gay community to watch out for. Not to mention invites from other established threesomes and foursomes. I can handle them though. Hell, I could pretty much handle anything after putting up with four overbearing semes but said semes will have none of it. Even Buchou and Genchirou. Did I mention that I hate it when they treat me like I’m as breakable as wet Kleenex? They call it affectionate protection, I call it insecurity.

I knew they’d find a way to deal with this problem but of all the tricks they pulled, this had to be the worst. Well, the fangirl incident was probably worse than this, but this definitely ranks a perfect ten in the shit-o-meter.

The trick was Syuusuke in a really preppy polo, slacks, suede loafers and a lesson plan. Syuusuke posing as a part-time teacher of Psychology. And Psychology is, incidentally, a core subject that I had to take.

So he’s my teacher. I should be really happy right? Like who wouldn’t want to have his boyfriend as a professor?

That would be me. No, I am not happy. I am miserable. I feel like a victimized character in some B-rated hentai series.

Why am I reacting so violently to this? For the benefit of those who don’t know Syuusuke, I could only summarize my fair-haired boyfriend’s twisted psyche with this: Syuusuke was born with metaphorical horns on his head. Horns that progressively grow pointier and longer as he got older (Yuuta has prima facie evidence for this). When he met us, he slowly began to show signs of reform. And as we got to know each other better, the changes came in slow but sure dosages. And when we finally became a fivesome, his whole image totally changed.

He grew a fucking tail.

Now come tell me that I’m crazy not to want him as my teacher.

Syuusuke is so enjoying playing the role of my unneeded guardian / professor. Like hell my grades depend on whether or not I study, or how frequently I sleep in class. Not that I could, with Syuusuke staring at me and calling on me to make a recap of the lesson half the time. He justifies it by saying that I have the advantage of reviewing the lesson with him during class nights. As if I could remember concepts like id, ego and libido superego, when Syuusuke’s running a paper fan up my thigh and telling me to bend over and grasp the teacher’s desk like a good, obedient student or he’ll give me an F on my next paper.

And to think I’m paying ridiculous amounts of tuition fees for this.

But enough of my miserable college existence. The point is, Syuusuke’s a sadistic creep and it sucks that there’s nothing I can do about it. I swear, once this semester is over, someone’s cacti collection will be losing some ten thousand thorns.

Right. Moving on, we have Monkey King, the other sex fiend. Unlike Syuusuke, who usually gets what he wants via underhanded set-ups, Keigo just says what he wants and gets it, regardless of whether we like it or not. And they call me a brat.

Genchirou’s tango lessons with him can attest to that. So are his and Buchou’s trips abroad, since part of Buchou’s budding career as a diplomat takes him to places, and Keigo arranges business affairs so that it would coincide with Buchou’s trips.

And as for me? I’ve been coerced to reside in the Atobe mansion. So that makes me unlucky as well.

On a lighter note, when I’m with Buchou or Genchirou, things are pretty calm and definitely more wholesome, which is a relief. There are the occasional under-the-table escapades but other than that, I actually feel like a decent human being when I’m with those two.

So, when all's said and done, it makes for a very colorful sex life-- what with me living in Monkey King’s house, Syuusuke making sure my nerves are sufficiently fried before tackling our lessons, and the five of us cooping up together during weekends.

Of course, we also have other concerns. Really, we’re not a bunch of bunnies in perpetual mating season, even with the strength of evidence to the contrary. We’ve often discussed whether or not to go public with our relationship. Buchou and I are against it, Syuusuke is for it, and Keigo and Genchirou keep silent.

Buchou was very firm with the matter. "World opinion won’t tolerate us."

"Yeah?" Syuusuke raised one fine eyebrow in silent challenge. "Look at Hitler, world opinion tolerated him for a long time."

"Hitler is a one-ball wonder," I snapped and Genchirou choked on his tea. "We’re a five-man orgy in a serious relationship."

Syuusuke just smirked. "So I guess, owing to our lack of frustration for having complete equipment, that makes us bigger psychos?"

I glared at him before turning back to my homework. "Speak for yourself, Syuusuke."

It’s not that I’m ashamed of being a player in this anomalous type of relationship. My adamant refusal actually stems not from fear of public opinion, but fear of parental units. Oyaji doesn’t care if I do guys or goats but if he gets word that his son is playing bottom boy for not one, not two, not three, but four boys, then blazing fumes of hellfire would arrive at each of my boyfriend’s doorsteps, neatly wrapped in a hand basket. You know, it just might be worth telling him about us just to see him attempt to bring down the apocalypse --especially when he deals with Keigo and Syuusuke. Now that would be a historical moment.

But then I remembered how much worse it’s gonna get for me. Oyaji’d probably send me off on a permanent vacation in a remote Playboy Igloo in Alaska or something. So yeah, I’m against going public.

Buchou’s parents are also kept in the dark. Sure they’re generally accepting, polite and mild-mannered people but I think that once they discover their respectable son’s unusual... mating habits, they’ll start making another baby.

Keigo, Syuusuke and Genchirou’s parents have nothing particularly panic-worthy to say. Monkey King’s parents simply think we’re his future business partners. As to what type of business he is referring to, I don’t know. Meat-packing maybe? But from what I’ve gathered from Keigo’s description of his parents, I doubt they’d care much about Keigo’s choice of sexual practices as long as he’s making the family business flourish.

Syuusuke’s family (save Yuuta, who had heard many a traumatizing tale of our exploits and had hightailed it out of Japan ASAP) thinks we’re select models, which isn’t far from the truth-- we really are common subjects in front of Syuusuke’s camera, just not in the... conventional way. And even if they did know about their eldest son’s little secret, I don’t think they’d care that much. The Fuji family is one of the most liberated bunch of people I know. Hey, if they (with the exception of Syuusuke) allowed Yuuta to romp with Mizuki abroad, then Syuusuke’s affair with four, talented, good-looking men shouldn’t be much of a problem.

Genchirou’s parents think we’re another boyband. Yeah, his stint at the Junior Senbatsu camp must’ve made its way to his household. That is probably the tamest of all assumptions but it sucks whenever we’re asked to sing every time we’re in Genchirou’s house. Syuusuke thinks it’s funny. Keigo is only too glad to exhibit his entire diva finery to the Sanada household. Buchou just shrugs and gets with the program. I scowl and try to hide behind my more vertically-gifted boyfriends and end up being asked to sing solo English songs. Again, like Keigo, Genchirou’s family doesn’t have a particular stand, but to be on the safe side, we just keep it secret.

Unless of course, polite society will be revamped overnight and orgy-type relationships become as common as coconuts in Hawaii. But until that day comes, we’re lying low.

Anyway, that’s our story. And now, I go back to my rights.

I like to keep things simple. So in this relationship, no matter how convoluted its mechanics are, I’ve narrowed it down to a simple set-up based on, well... our respective sexual appetites. What, did you honestly think I’m banking on a psychological, structural-functional construct or something? Sorry, but that’s Syuusuke’s department.

Anyway, after much thought-processes and experimental positioning on specific wild nights, I have come up with three divisions in our relationship. The first division has Monkey King and Syuusuke, the opportunistic satyriasis-stricken forerunners of the physical side of the relationship. I believe that speaks for itself and as such needs no explanation.

The second division has Buchou and Genchirou, who, being more frigid than the iceberg that made Titanic famous, work as a countermeasure to the first division. In simple terms, they’re the party for damage control. This is not to say that they don’t like sex, they do, but it will take some strategic button-pushing for them to give in, especially if there are other pressing matters such as deadlines and early morning training as competition.

However, while we are aware of which buttons to push, the question lies on whether we collectively decide to push said buttons... meaning if the rest of us, Keigo, Syuusuke and I pressure them into submitting. For some reason, Buchou and Genchirou always give in, when the three of us want to. But in most cases, it comes to a point of needing a tie breaker. And guess who usually ends up deciding our bedroom fates?

Uh-huh. Yours truly. The third division. The one who tips the scales. The wild card.

Sometimes, when I’ve imbibed my fair share of Grape ponta, I’m more than a little eager for a five-way bedroom pow-wow, yes, even though I know I’ll be waking up with the inability to park my butt comfortably on any surface the following morning. I know I complain about being uke, but you forget, I’m a guy, and fifteen minutes under the expert hands and lips of my boyfriends are enough to fry my brain into conveniently forgetting about that minor detail.

However, there are also times when I shirk away from the mere mention of the S-word, especially when it involves the use of objects that I don’t even want to know about. I mean, who the hell has heard of wasabi-flavored lubricant anyway? Oh right, Syuusuke did. And I guess that means, by association, the rest of us did too. Perhaps the more appropriate wording would be, who’s the sicko who invented the damn thing anyway? If he’s dead, good. If he’s alive, better because Monkey King and I can have the pleasure of hunting him down and giving him a second circumcision.

Anyway, the point is, I swing both ways. What I say goes. So given that obvious power at my disposal, why am I still not satisfied?

It’s because even if I decide what to do, I don’t decide who to be. And that sucks like hell. I don’t think they realize that our rapidly diminishing sex-life depends on ME for salvation. Not that it would do me a damn bit of good if they did, but I can dream.

But still... where’s the justice in that? I hold the balls in this relationship. Well, the sex part... but we all know how important that is.

So, all things considered, I should be seme, or at least get the chance to be one. I should get a chance to go medieval on some ass every once in a while.

I should, you know. But ‘should’ never gets anybody anywhere. So I guess it all boils down to the brilliant conclusion that...

Life is fucking unfair.

tbc

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A/N:: is tired : There is nothing more aggravating than writing one fic while your muses decide to swoop down on another plotbunny. GRRR. Next chapter will have less monologues, more dialogues, and spotlights on the rest of the OT5. I actually had half the second chapter written before realizing that I haven’t written this first chapter yet. Haha.

IN case anyone doesn’t know, Adolf Hitler is mon-orchid (spelling?) meaning he has only ONE testicle. 0.o The things I learn in history class.

Thanks goes to arcticdragon for betaing.