Kitayama might be taking a picture of this (mousapelli) wrote,
Kitayama might be taking a picture of this
mousapelli

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Fic, Kis-My-Ft2, Curiosity

Title: Curiosity [Kitayama/Tamamori]
Rating/Warnings: R for kouhai who have no respect for naptime.
Summary: Tamamori's curious about Kitayama, and Kitayama's nap is thus interrupted.
AN: snowqueenofhoth likes to say these totally random things like "i think tamakita would be really hot don't you~" and then go to sleep, leaving me thinking about it until I have no choice but to give in to her sneaky kouhai ways. damn you, kouhai! *shakes fist*


Curiosity

Kitayama is half-asleep when the door of the dressing room opens and someone comes in, but he doesn’t stir. He’s used to others coming in and out to get things out of their bags during the lunch break, and generally they leave him alone to sleep, most of them having suffered the consequences of disturbing Leader at some point or other.

But today he grunts in surprise when a weight settles on his stomach, and when he opens his eyes to blink blearily at the idiot kouhai, he finds Tamamori looming over him, bizarrely wearing his red costume coat with no shirt underneath.

“Ne, Kitamitsu,” Tamamori says while Kitayama is still processing this, voice sweet and coaxing.

“What?” Kitayama asks, throat rough with sleep, but he doesn’t get an answer, because Tamamori is leaning down to press their mouths together. His mouth is coaxing like his voice, teasing his tongue along the edge of Kitayama’s lower lip. Kitayama is responding before he can stop himself, bring a hand up to fist in Tamamori’s hair and another to steady him at his waist.

When his palm slides over the bare skin of Tamamori’s side, Tamamori’s breath hitches, and Kitayama comes back to himself suddenly. He pushes Tamamori back, despite the way Tamamori tries to use his weight and gravity to stay right where he is.

“What’s that about?” Kitayama demands, but the low pitch of his voice isn’t from sleep any longer.

“I was curious,” Tamamori runs the tip of his tongue along his upper lip. “What Kitamitsu would be like.”

He tries to lean back down, but Kitayama shoves him back, examining his face and ignoring the pout Tamamori fixes on him. “What about Miyata?” he asks.

“He won’t mind,” Tamamori laughs, and the timbre of it makes goosebumps rise on Kitayama’s arms. “He didn’t mind about Senga.”

The soft groan at the thought of that escapes Kitayama before he can stop it, and Tamamori dodges Kitayama’s hands to settle against his chest again. This time he doesn’t go for Kitayama’s mouth, but his ear instead.

“Ne,” Tamamori hums, trailing fingers up Kitayama’s side, and the thin cotton of the tank top Kitayama’s wearing might as well not even exist. “You’ve been noticing lately, haven’t you? That I’ve grown up.”

Kitayama gives a noncommittal “Nngh,” but his body betrays him with a shiver, and goes on betraying him when Tamamori chuckles in his ear, breath warm against his skin. He tries to remind himself that he knew Tamamori when Tamamori was sixteen, when he only had one piercing and couldn’t skate and looked like a confused adolescent parrot in their costumes.

But he gives it up when Tamamori’s hand slips under his tank top and splays on stomach, touch hot and confident.

He turns his head to crush their mouths back together, then hooks a leg over Tamamori’s and shifts to the side, letting Tamamori slip between him and the couch. With a little more negotiating, he’s got Tamamori underneath him, looking surprised but definitely not unwilling.

Maybe he has been noticing Tamamori lately, and maybe he hasn’t been as subtle as he thought, but now that he’s got the chance, Kitayama does a thorough job of looking Tamamori over, from his new piercings to the graceful arch of his neck, to the muscles that are starting to fill out along his shoulders and chest. The change in position has tugged Tamamori’s already low-rise pants down even lower, and there’s a soft trail of hair leading down from Tamamori’s navel that Kitayama’s never taken notice of before.

He follows his eyes with his hand, the other hand bracing him above Tamamori, and when his fingers brush through the soft hairs, Tamamori nearly comes up off the couch with a moan.

“Sensitive, hm?” Kitayama gives Tamamori a smirk, and it gets sharper when Tamamori’s breath catches. He strokes his fingers over Tamamori’s belly again, then again, until Tamamori’s cheeks are pink and his fingers are digging into the couch cushions.

“Kitamitsu,” Tamamori begs, pushing up against his hand, and the hardness brushing Kitayama’s wrist hasn’t escaped his notice.

Kitayama clicks his tongue. “No wonder you and Miyata are always back after fifteen minutes.”

Tamamori’s cheeks darken to scarlet, but he doesn’t stop pushing up against Kitayama. Instead he lets go of the couch to reach for Kitayama’s zipper, and Kitayama doesn’t stop him. He’s mostly hard himself by now, and he wants to see what Tamamori will do.

He’s not terribly surprised when Tamamori shoves Kitayama’s pants and underwear just far enough out of the way with practiced ease, and doesn’t hesitate about giving Kitayama a test stroke, fingers slender but firm around Kitayama’s cock. Kitayama flexes into the touch, but doesn’t make any move to return the favor, or to do anything but watch.

Tamamori doesn’t seem to mind doing all the work, freeing himself from his own pants and then tugging Kitayama’s hips closer so that he can stroke them together, humming at the feel of it. Kitayama gets both of his hands under himself for better balance and starts to thrust into the touch in earnest, shutting his eyes to concentrate on the feeling and not bothering to swallow the rough noises coming from his throat.

After a particularly sweet groan from underneath him, though, Kitayama opens his eyes again to watch Tamamori. Tamamori has his head thrown back against the couch arm, eyes squeezed shut and teeth sunk into his bottom lip, coat slipping off one of his shoulders. Kitayama leans down, careful not to disrupt Tamamori’s rhythm, and gets his mouth on the pale line of Tamamori’s shoulder. Tamamori gasps and twitches as Kitayama starts working his skin in sharp nips, only hard enough to leave a red mark for a few seconds, but enough to wring a strangled noise from Tamamori.

He works his way across as much of Tamamori’s skin as he can reach, and when he sucks a tiny bruise into the hollow of Tamamori’s throat, Tamamori shudders and spills against him.

He doesn’t let go of Kitayama’s cock though, which surprised Kitayama, and after a few seconds of Tamamori shuddering against him, he gets control of his hands again and closes them tight around Kitayama. Slick with Tamamori’s own release, the feeling is twice as good as it was before, and Kitayama doesn’t fight the pull of his own orgasm a few minutes later.

“Satisfied?” Kitayama asks with a yawn, tucked back into his pants and settled half on top of Tamamori and half wedged between him and the back of the couch.

“Sure.” Kitayama cracks an eye and holds back a shudder at the sight of Tamamori casually licking one of his fingers clean. Tamamori gives him a sweet smile. “For now.”

Kitayama closes his eyes again and settles in to nap for whatever’s left of the break. Just before he loses consciousness, he thinks that he’s glad that at least Butoukan is keeping Senga busy, or he’d never get any sleep around here.
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