Not worksafe again. a lot. stupid Hiromi. She looks exactly like this and I need Kitayama to please stop being her in magazines this week because it's freaking me the fuck out.
Back to Chapter 6
7) Shocking truth - goodbye cruel fate
“So we definitely shouldn’t have done that,” Fujigaya said eventually, limbs aching dully, but at least the heat radiating off of Kitayama’s skin felt good where it was trapped under his blankets.
“Nope,” Kitayama sighed. Fujigaya couldn’t see her face with the lights out, but she sounded like she was nearly asleep already. Again. “Not even a little bit.”
“I don’t understand why being around you makes me do ridiculous things,” Fujigaya complained. “I’ve tried to convince fans adding a girl to rub against is no big deal, fought Tama for the number one pairings slot, actually took romantic advice from Kento, been tabloided while wearing a dress...”
“Don’t forget you were nearly man-handled by a cougar,” Kitayama said, chuckling at Fujigaya’s expense.
“Yeah and gee, no figuring at all where you’d get the idea that an aggressive older woman would want to systematically strip away whatever innocence I hadn’t already sacrificed to the music industry during my formative years.”
“Lack of practice and innocence aren’t the same thing,” Kitayama informed him, making Fujigaya scowl at the ceiling. “Neither is giving in to what you want once in a while and the whole world coming to an end. Shit just happens sometimes. Shut up and go to sleep.”
Kitayama took her own advice almost immediately, leaving Fujigaya to stew in his own thoughts.
Once in a while he could probably handle, but Fujigaya for all his shortcomings knew himself well, and what he wanted from Kitayama was not anything close to once in a while. And it wasn’t like she was just some girl where he could quit answering his phone or bury himself in work for a few days if he started feeling overwhelmed.
“Ever since you got here,” he growled, knowing Kitayama couldn’t hear him, “I’ve felt nothing but overwhelmed. And now that I know exactly what I was trying to ignore...” He trailed off when Kitayama rolled closer, pressing close along his side and sighing in contentment despite being sound asleep. She didn’t stir when Fujigaya tried to kick her back over. “God, you’re like a fucking bear bedding down for hibernation,” he said, but then stopped himself because that mental image was honestly kind of adorable.
Eventually he fell asleep, but woke up only a few hours later. It was already getting light, though, so he sat up with a sigh, scrubbing at his face and hair. Beside him, Kitayama didn’t seem to have moved at all, still unconscious. On impulse, Fujigaya leaned down to kiss her firmly, and didn’t let up until he felt her lips start to move back against his.
“At least I didn’t get punched again,” Fujigaya said, sitting back up.
“The fuck is happening?” Kitayama groaned, glancing past Fujigaya to the window, and then the clock. “Does that start with a five? Ugh, fuck everything, this is why I start with punching.”
“I’m getting up,” Fujigaya said, standing up and stretching. “Go sleep in your own bed, unless you’re looking forward to getting caught in here.”
“Again,” Kitayama said with a lazy smirk.
“Don’t remind me,” Fujigaya grumbled as Kitayama sat up, dragging fingers through her sleep-wild hair. But just as Fujigaya was about to turn and head for the showers, Kitayama lunged forward and caught Fujigaya around the waist, just barely in reach. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
Kitayama dragged Fujigaya back, hands firm on his hips, until he was standing right next to his bed. She gave him a low-lidded grin, then dropped one hand to wrap tight around his cock. Fujigaya was already half-hard from the normal morning business, and he twitched in her hand when she leaned in to lick the tip teasingly. “Pretty sure you’ll get the idea in a second.”
Too fuzzy from exhaustion and sleep to even try fighting her off, not that he would have probably done that anyway, Fujigaya let her have her way. He let his head tip back as Kitayama slid her mouth down his length and started sucking him off in earnest, one hand drifting down to roll his balls and the other arm sliding back around his waist to tug him even closer.
She knew was she was doing, Fujigaya thought with a burst of jealousy, but it wasn’t long before that was washed away by arousal, by the heat of her mouth and the squeeze of her fingers digging into his ass. Fujigaya didn’t make her wait, pulling at her hair in warning, but it only made her look up at him with dark eyes. She scraped teeth just a little against the underside of his shaft, just enough, and Fujigaya came hard enough that her arm was what kept him from tipping backwards and crashing into his desk.
“Hm,” Kitayama said, letting him slip out of her mouth and looking reasonably self-satisfied. “Just in case you freak out. I definitely wanted to do that at least once.”
“I’m not freaking out,” Fujigaya tried to snap, only in his hazy state it didn’t come out sounding very convincing. He gave her what he hoped was a withering glare. “Don’t you dare follow me into the shower.”
“Damn, you’re so cute all ruffled up,” Kitayama sighed, flopping back down to the side. “It just makes me want to do the opposite of everything you say.” Fujigaya opened his mouth, but she waved him off, barely lifting her hand off the bed to do it. “Don’t worry, my bed sounds a lot more inviting than your cold shower. But I won’t forget you owe me one.”
That mental image stuck with Fujigaya all through his shower, which he hardly needed to be cold after Kitayama had just sucked the living daylights out of him, all through breakfast, and still had a pretty good grip by the time they were being positioned by a staff photographer for their album’s cover shoot.
It didn’t pose a problem for solo shots, at least.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but keeping thinking about it, Fujigaya-kun,” the photographer said. “You look so intense!”
“Hm?” Fujigaya blinked, startled out of his thoughts about Kitayama sprawled on her back against his sheets.
“He does look different today, doesn’t he?” Kitayama agreed, having appeared behind the photographer to watch while Fujigaya’s mind had been on other things. She winked when she caught Fujigaya looking. “He seems almost like he’s glowing, don’t you think?”
Fujigaya gave her a withering look, but it only earned him more praise from the photographer and Kitayama laughing at him behind her hand. He tried to get even with her by hanging around during her solo shots, but Kitayama only met his gaze directly and smiled like she had the best secret, eyes knowing and hooded from eyeliner, hands resting against her chest or hips like she was suggesting places to touch.
When he couldn’t take it any more, Fujigaya slunk off, back to the dressing room. It would still be a wait until the group shots anyway, since Senga and Tamamori had their solo shots to get through yet, plus proof checking. Tamamori was just coming out of the room looking scandalized when Fujigaya arrived, though.
“The usual?” Fujigaya asked.
“Nika-chan daiyo~,” Tamamori said sourly, scrubbing at his pink cheeks with the backs of his hands, and Fujigaya decided to go outside and get some air instead.
The sun was already mostly set and it was a little too cold to stand around without his coat, but Fujigaya leaned against the metal railing of the landing and let the wind ruffle his hair up with cool fingers. He’d been feeling too warm anyway, as if Kitayama’s usual warmth was contagious and he’d caught it from overexposure. He didn’t go back inside until he was shivering, feeling at least a little more himself.
It only lasted until he strolled past the dressing room door, and a hand shot out to grab his arm and yank him in the room. Fujigaya stifled a yelp of surprise, then glared when he found himself with his back pressed up against the door and Kitayama standing too close, grinning at him with that same knowing, secretive smile.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!” Fujigaya demanded. “What are you doing?”
“You owe me one.” Kitayama took a hold of Fujigaya’s wrists and placed his hands on a few of the places her photoshoot poses had been suggesting before. “Come on, hurry up and this’ll totally be quick.”
“Hey, whoa!” Fujigaya protested, even if he didn’t exactly move his hands. “Not at work! We totally are not doing this at work!”
“While I agree with that on principal,” Kitayama slid hands up under Fujigaya’s glittery fashion rock T-shirt and dragged her nails lightly down his sides, making him arch into the touch, “I have an eyeliner clause.”
It wasn’t quite as fast as advertised, but at least Fujigaya had relocated from leaning against the door to hefting Kitayama up onto the edge of the makeup counter, or they would have both gone crashing to the ground when Nikaido threw open the door to retrieve some extra costume pieces and gave a squawk that probably half the building heard.
“What the hell?!” Nikaido demanded, Senga and Tamamori peering shamelessly over her shoulders.
Kitayama shrugged, tugging her shirt back down into place. “He owed me one.”
“One what?” Tamamori asked. Fujigaya buried his face in his hands.
“Tama!” Senga covered his mouth with a hand to muffle laughter as Tamamori’s face scrunched up in realization.
“Grooooss,” he complained. He punched Senga in the arm. “And quit laughing! Between all of you freaks, there isn’t a single flat surface in here that hasn’t been defiled!”
“Horizontal or vertical,” Kitayama said smugly.
“OH COME ON,” Tamamori wailed, while Nikaido raised an eyebrow and Senga laughed so hard he had to lean against his girlfriend to stay upright. Fujigaya contemplated strangling himself with his silly, thin scarf.
“Shush, like you’ve never defiled a soundboard with Miyacchi,” Kitayama said to Tamamori, hopping down off the counter and smoothing down her skirt, the gesture ironically demure.
“Not at work!” Tamamori sniffed. “I have standards.” Fujigaya gave Kitayama a pointed look, but Kitayama just grinned back. “Plus, soundboard-san isn’t exactly comfortable. who wants a knob jammed in their back?”
“Don’t even,” Nikaido warned. Senga shut his mouth but grinned as hard as if he’d made the obvious joke anyway.
“I CAN’T HEAR ANY OF THIS,” Yokoo’s voice boomed from the hallway, making all of them jump. “If you aren’t out here for group shots in THIRTY SECONDS FLAT I am sending in the photographer in there to shoot whatever he finds!”
“Can we think about it?” Senga turned around to ask, leaning back out in the hallway. “Because you can’t see these two, it might make us super popular.”
“And then super dead,” Tamamori said, pursing his lips.
“DIDN’T HEAR ANY OF THAT,” Yokoo hollered.
Group shots were much more of a problem, because word had spread about the popularity of the Kitayama-Fujigaya pair, and so the center of every shot seemed to involve the photographer ordering them to touch as much as possible. Fujigaya felt itchy and uncomfortable wedged so close to Kitayama when he couldn’t get the image of her against the dressing room mirror out of his head, head thrown back against the glass to bare her throat, skirt hiked up around her thighs.
As usual, Fujigaya couldn’t keep his discomfort out of his expression, slowing everything down exponentially.
“I should have known that was too good to last,” the photographer sighed. “Fujigaya-kun, unless you want to look like you’d rather die than be on the cover of your album...”
“Can’t we just try switching around?” Fujigaya begged, trying to look like he was pitching a professional suggestion instead of whining about who got the front seat. If he could just get Senga or Tamamori in the as a buffer, he thought he could pull himself together for the duration of this.
“No, because you’re trying to show your fans that Hiromi is vocal co-lead and an integral part of your group,” Yokoo said firmly. “And also, you sound like you’re whining about who gets the front seat.”
“I do not,” Fujigaya said under his breath.
“Come on, Taipi,” Senga said, cheek pillowed against Fujigaya’s shoulder and not too far from a whine himself. His eyes were drooping with exhaustion. “I’m so tired, I just wanna go home.”
“Yeah, what’s your deal anyway?” Kitayama asked, yawning hugely since they were on a moment’s break. “Now that you know and I know, and even they know, why are you still all worked up? Shouldn’t it be a lot easier?”
“It’s just not,” Fujigaya said shortly. He didn’t get it himself, honestly, why after all these years in front of a camera having Kitayama be the one pressed against him made him feel like he was learning fan-service all over again, but that was just the way things were. Out of other options, he tried simply to pretend that it was Tamamori pressed against his other side like a thousand photoshoots before. It only worked in fleeting moments though; as soon as Kitayama shifted or Fujigaya caught a whiff of her strawberry shampoo, he’d tense up all over again.
“Some of those will have to do,” the photographer finally gave in, motioning at them to get up. All four of them groaned as they tried and mostly failed, knees cracking and feet asleep, whining as they tried to shake out pins and needles.
Fortunately, when they checked the monitors along with Yokoo and the photographer, a few group shots had turned out well enough to use for covers, and a lot more would be fine as smaller filler shots in the album booklet. Fujigaya still felt annoyed, more with himself than anything else, for holding everything up and for just being entirely unable to wear a professional face.
“But that’s why fans like you, though,” Senga tried to make Fujigaya feel better as they were packing up. “It’s why we like you. It’s easy to see what you’re really thinking. That’s just you, don’t try and change it.”
“How can you say that after this whole fiasco?” Fujigaya asked.
“That’s the downside, I guess.” Senga shouldered his bag. “Instead of hiding your problems like we all do, you actually have to solve yours.”
“It’s not a thing I can solve,” Fujigaya said, eyes straying to where Kitayama was stretching with her arms over her head, hoodie and T-shirt riding up, bouncing on the balls of her feet a little in time to whatever was playing through her earbuds. “She’s not a thing I can solve.”
“Solve doesn’t mean get rid of, you know,” Senga pointed out, and Fujigaya’s mouth bunched up in a frown. “I mean you need to sort it out inside yourself.”
“That’s hard, though,” Fujigaya grumbled, only half joking. Senga nodded.
“Of course it is. But you can do it.” He offered Fujigaya a confident smile. “You’ll do whatever’s best for us. That’s why you’re Leader.”
He strolled off as if the matter was entirely settled now that he’d left it in Fujigaya’s hands. Fujigaya made ugly faces at his back.
“Ken-chan-sensei strikes again, I see,” Yokoo commented from the side, jingling his keys in an attempt to get Tamamori moving slightly faster than the pace of a glacier.
“Eat it, you,” Fujigaya said, shoving his hands in his pockets and heading out to fight with Senga properly for the front seat.
He did think about it, though, rolled it over and over in his mind even though it was unpleasant to dig around in his own feelings, to try and sort through the rush of heat and sex and affection Kitayama could send sweeping over him by just blinking sleepily at him from the backseat. If he had some time, Fujigaya thought, maybe the feelings wouldn’t be so intense as their newness faded, or maybe he’d just get used to them.
But time wasn’t a luxury they had much of ever, most of all when they needed it. Fujigaya might as well wish for sick days or a PV shooting schedule that didn’t last until three in the morning.
When Fujigaya slipped into Kitayama’s room without knocking, Kitayama lifted her head from where she was sprawled on her back on her bed. She was still fully dressed except for her sneakers, apparently having made no further progress after flopping down on her bed.
She raised an eyebrow when she saw it was Fujigaya. “Really? Because I have to say, even I’m pretty worn out. Thanks for working hard.”
“No. I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Oh god.” Kitayama let her head fall back down, sighing. “All right, go ahead.”
“It’s different, doing that stuff with you and doing with Tama or Kento.” Fujigaya leaned against the door, hands behind his back like that would keep them from getting into trouble. “It’s not like I don’t feel anything for them, but getting close with them, acting like we’re into each other, there isn’t anything underneath it. It doesn’t matter. You’re different than that.”
“Yeah?” Kitayama asked, sounding casual, but Fujigaya could read into it without much effort at this point.
“It’s real, I actually want you. So being told to do it on command,” Fujigaya made a low, angry noise, “I hate it. It’s not for them to see, what’s between us. I don’t want them knowing anything about it! But it’s not something I can hide either, when they make me get so close to you.”
Kitayama pushed herself up so that she was sitting up, facing Fujigaya properly. Her face was serious, and Fujigaya thought it looked strange without any tease or smirk or bravado. “Yeah? So, what, then?”
Fujigaya took a deep breath, not liking what he was about to say at all. “It wasn’t so bad, before. I was annoyed, but...that actually seemed to be working in our favor. I think we have to go back to that. Trying to do both, being with you and being Sunshine...I don’t think I can do it.”
“Will it really be any different?” Kitayama wanted to know. “Just saying you want to go back, we’ll both still know what already happened. You’ll still feel the same about it.” Kitayama huffed a sigh, puffing her cheeks. “I’ll still feel the same. You can’t change your feelings just by saying stop.”
“Maybe not,” Fujigaya said, “but giving in to them like this...it’s interfering with everything. It’s not responsible, and even when it means I don’t get what I want all the time, I am responsible for all four of us.”
“Taisuke,” Kitayama said, shaking her head at him, “do you ever get what you want?”
“Yes,” Fujigaya said simply. “I want Sunshine. I want to keep us safe, want it enough that that’s even how you got here in the first place. So I feel what I feel and you feel what you feel, and that’s fine. But for me, it’s got to stop there. Okay?”
“Don’t ask me if it’s okay when you’ve already decided,” Kitayama snorted, looking off to the side so she wasn’t meeting Fujigaya’s eyes any more. “It’s not a missal launch, we don’t have to turn our keys at the same time. Shoo, if that’s all you have to say. I’m going to bed.”
“All right. Goodnight.” Fujigaya turned and put his hand on the door handle, but then just stood there, fingers resting on the cold metal. He struggled with the urge to look back over his shoulder, to say something else.
“Go if you’re going, Taisuke.”
Fujigaya had to close his eyes briefly against the way that Kitayama said his name, and then he pulled the door open and went, shutting it quietly behind him.
Kitayama didn’t make a big deal about it, but that hardly made the next few days suck any less. Fujigaya threw himself into his work to compensate, finishing up the last batch of songs for the album and finalizing the arrangements. He called Miyata during breaks to harrass him about track splitting and stayed late with Yara and Senga to work out the kinks of the new things for the upcoming tour. He caught Senga and Yara exchanging sympathetic glances in the mirrors from time to time, but Fujigaya shrugged it off.
“Take care of yourself,” was all that Senga said directly, and Fujigaya nodded and then went on doing exactly what he was doing. It was just easier if he could go home and collapse right away, spending his few hours of rest in heavy, dreamless sleep.
He filled up his days that way, so that they bled one into the other, for the two weeks until they had a weekend of promotional lives in Sapporo. The venue had been hard to book and conflicted with their actual tour dates after the release of the album, so Yokoo had decided to book it early and use it as a live trial-run.
“Better to embarrass ourselves working out the kinks there than in Tokyo,” Yokoo had said, shrugging off the inconvenience. “At least in Sapporo I won’t have to look my mother in the eye.”
“Such a vote of confidence from our fearless manager,” Fujigaya said with a roll of his eyes. Yokoo answered crisply that maybe they wouldn’t need trial runs in far-flung locations if their band didn’t have quite so many kinks in it.
“He’s talking about you,” Tamamori hissed to Senga.
“He’s talking about ALL OF YOU,” Nikaido hollered from behind the costume rack.
Even the hotel was full of drama, literally. The cast and crew of a of the winter dramas had the hotel booked up to film on location, and somehow Yokoo’s reservation had ended up with three rooms instead of the four that having a girl in the band necessitated. The manager was entirely apologetic, but there was nothing to do about it.
“Take my room,” Yokoo said to Kitayama, holding out the keycard. “I can share with Taisuke for a few nights.”
“No way!” Senga protested, making Yokoo raise his eyebrows at Senga’s unusual lack of cooperation. It all made sense though when he threw arms around Fujigaya’s waist and informed them, “I already scheduled my Leader time this weekend, and none of you guys are messing up my timeslot!”
“Keep it,” Kitayama pushed Yokoo’s hand back. “Tama and I can share.” Yokoo tried to argue, but Kitayama put her hands behind her back so that there was no way for Yokoo to shove the card into her hands. “Miyacchi won’t be jealous, right?”
“Tcht, that weirdo’s probably reading fanfiction about it right now,” Tamamori said, but then glared when Fujigaya said read it nothing, he was probably writing it.
Forced to give in, Yokoo handed over the rest of the cards and room numbers, along with the instructions not to keep the entire floor up half the night with their idiocy.
“If I get one phone call from the manager,” Yokoo warned, eyeing them sharply, “you’ll be taking the bus back!”
Fujigaya wasn’t up for antics anyway, wrung out from the last few weeks and the plane ride. He dropped his luggage on his bed and went straight for the shower, turning it up as hot as it would go, and it still took until the entire bathroom was filled with steam for his muscles to loosen a little. With the tension gone, Fujigaya felt his exhaustion all the more keenly. He shuffled out of the bathroom, barely bothering to tug on sweatpants before he flopped onto his bed and crawled under the blankets.
After a minute of silence, Fujigaya cracked an eye to see what was keeping Senga so quiet. Senga had changed into an old tour T-shirt and pajama pants himself, contacts out and glasses on, but when Fujigaya squinted, he didn’t get the feeling that Senga was exactly getting ready for bed. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, in fact, watching Fujigaya openly.
“What?” Fujigaya asked. “You’re staring.”
Senga grinned. “Waiting for you to get comfortable.” Without any more explanation, Senga flashed him a grin and then got up.
“What are you doing?” Fujigaya asked when Senga trotted over to the door connecting their room to Tamamori and Kitayama’s room next door. Senga’s only answer was a wide grin as he flipped the lock and pulled the door open.
On the other side was Tamamori with a struggling Kitayama held in front of him, and Senga stepped out of the way so Tamamori could shove her through the doorway with enough force to send her stumbling into the room a few steps.
“What happens in tour hotels stays in tour hotels,” Senga advised with a wink, then went through the doorway and pulled the doorway soundly shut behind him.
“This isn’t funny!” Fujigaya hollered, but it didn’t get him any answer besides a muffled giggle. Kitayama, having regained her balance, reached back to try the knob, but as expected, it had already been locked.
“Geez, whatever,” Kitayama yawned, her T-shirt ridiculously over-sized and her sweatpants trailing on the floor a few inches as she shuffled over to Senga’s deserted bed and flopped into it.
Sighing, Fujigaya flipped out the light and tried to get comfortable. For several minutes, the only sounds were Kitayama’s steady breathing and the rustle of sheets as she changed positions. Fujigaya tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t keep from imagining her sprawled across the sheets, hair spread over the pillow, features relaxed, mouth parted...
“I can’t sleep,” Kitayama announced, interrupting Fujigaya’s thoughts. He flushed furiously, as if she had caught him, despite being entirely hidden by the dark. There was the noise of Kitayama rolling over. “You can’t either, right?”
Fujigaya thought about pretending he was asleep already, but it seemed a stupid thing to lie about, really. “No.”
There was another rustle as Kitayama sat up and got out of bed, and then the click of the light being turned back on. Fujigaya squinted against the glare for a second, before Kitayama standing beside his bed blocks the worst of it.
“What are you doing?” Fujigaya asked nervously.
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Kitayama rolled her eyes at him. “Move over.”
“Hey, no, no way,” Fujigaya protested. “I already said--”
“Yeah yeah.” Kitayama reached down to shove Fujigaya over herself before crawling under the blankets. She wriggled in obvious pleasure at the warmness of the blankets. “Calm down, I know the rules, no touching. You need sex about as much as you either eat or sleep, I got it. You know that idols are actual people too, right? Most people need at least a minimal amount of all three.”
Fujigaya snorted as he backed up to the edge of the bed, creating a tolerable amount of space between them. “As an idol I’m supposed to do at least two of those things barely at all.” Kitayama laughed quietly. “So if you aren’t trying to seduce me, what are you doing over here?”
“I said I wasn’t going to touch you, not that I’m not trying to seduce you,” Kitayama clarified. Her eyes were low-lidded as she got comfortable against the pillow, rolled onto her side facing Fujigaya. “I’m gonna touch myself, and you’re gonna touch yourself.”
“What?” Fujigaya spluttered.
“You heard me.” Kitayama’s arm was easy to see as it moved under the blanket, making Fujigaya swallow hard. “I’m getting myself off so that I can sleep. It would go a lot faster if you did too, because I’m pretty interested in seeing that.”
“We could have done this just as easily in our own beds,” Fujigaya pointed out. His hand was twitching with the desire to adjust himself as Kitayama’s movements got more deliberate, but he made a fist, not ready to give in so easily.
“As much as Kento deserves it, I’m not getting myself off in his bed,” Kitayama answered. “That’s not cool.”
“Getting yourself off in my bed is?” Fujigaya said.
“You sure didn’t object before.” Kitayama smirked at him, eyes low-lidded, and then she gave a breathy sigh that stood all of Fujigaya’s arm hair on end. Fuck it, he decided, if this was the sort of junior high, sports camp action that got Kitayama off, then the faster the better. Maybe it would actually knock him out, who knew.
Fujigaya slid a hand into his sweatpants and wrapped a hand around himself, already starting to get interested. He didn’t even flinch when Kitayama yanked the blankets down so that nothing was blocking her view.
“I said I was interested in seeing it,” Kitayama pointed out when Fujigaya rolled his eyes. She settled back, watching Fujigaya stroke himself unashamedly. “If I wanted to just imagine it, I didn’t have to come the whole way over here.”
No point in holding back, Fujigaya didn’t try to keep from watching himself as Kitayama rolled her hips into her own touch. Her sweatpants hid some of the action, but it was good anyway, the thin fabric not hiding much of the motion of her wrist and fingers or the flush that was spreading from Kitayama’s throat down.
“Mmm,” Kitayama purred in approval, apparently feeling the same way about Fujigaya’s sweatpants blocking some of the action, although now that he was fully hard, the tip of his cock poked out over his waistband when he was at the end of each stroke. “It’s almost hotter that I can’t see all of you, leaves something to the imagination.”
“You hardly have to imagine it,” Fujigaya said, voice starting to catch as he got more worked up. “You’ve seen enough of it to know what it looks like.” He swiped his thumb over the head of his cock, and Kitayama made a low noise.
“Just like that,” she encouraged, the rocking of her hand matching the rhythm Fujigaya was using on himself. “Show me how you like it when you touch yourself. That slow? You like to take your time?”
“Fuck, shut up,” Fujigaya growled, Kitayama’s low, coaxing voice making his stomach twist, the sound going right to his cock and making it twitch against his fingers. He was too close to stop even when Kitayama reached over with her free hand and grabbed a handful of his sweatpants, yanking them further down his hips. He groaned when his cock hit the air fully, the air feeling cool against his flushed skin.
“So hard,” Kitayama said, “looks so good, Taisuke. Are you close? Lemme help you, please? I wanna touch you so much, don’t make me stay all the way over here.”
“Please,” Fujigaya gave in, completely past sense, all the control he’d been working so hard on totally undone by Kitayama’s dark eyes and sweet voice. “Touch me, please.”
Kitayama drew her hand back out of her sweats and reached over without wasting another breath, wrapping her hand around Fujigaya’s so that they were stroking him together. Her fingers were slick from touching herself, and Fujigaya whined embarrassingly loud as he snapped his hips into the touch.
“Come on, almost there.” Kitayama shifted closer, adjusting her grip and squeezing tightly enough to make Fujigaya’s heart race. “Say my name.”
“Hiromi,” Fujigaya gasped, eyes squeezing shut as the beginnings of his orgasm raced through his veins like fire, “Hiromi, oh, Hiro...”
“Mm, yeah.” Kitayama stroked him through it, grip easing as he shivered himself out but still working him lightly until he drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Easy, easy. Geez, you came a ton, when was the last time you even did that?”
Fujigaya got his eyes open to give her a baleful look, but Kitayama only chuckled. Then she lifted her hand to her mouth to suck one of her fingers clean, watching Fujigaya’s face the whole time.
“You are too fucking much,” Fujigaya complained, moaning weakly when his cock twitched about a million years too soon. He reached over to tug at Kitayama’s sweats with clumsy fingers. “Off. Now.”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Kitayama said, stripping them off along with her underwear in one smooth push and tossing them aside without looking where they landed. Her eyes went wide though when Fujigaya rolled himself over to settle between her legs. “What? Are you really--”
“Just shut up already,” Fujigaya ordered, hooking his arms under Kitayama’s thighs and hitching her up into easier reach. She groaned shamelessly at the first lick to her folds, already wet from touching herself, Kitayama’s taste salty and heavy on his tongue. Fujigaya dipped his tongue into her as deeply as he could, then worked his way up until Kitayama was rocking up against his mouth desperately despite his tight grip.
“Taisuke...” She all but chanted his name as she dragged fingers through his hair over and over. “More, Taisuke, please...”
Fujigaya traced her folds with his tongue, letting go of her thigh with one hand to slide fingers inside of her, groaning softly at how wet and tight she was. Kitayama squeezed around his fingers and tugged on Fujigaya’s hair harder as he explored, ignoring her hint to quit teasing and get serious.
It wasn’t until she yanked his hair hard enough to sting that Kitayama got him to move back up to where she really wanted him. Once he focused on the right spot with the tip of his tongue, Kitayama only needed another minute to come, surprisingly quiet as she bore down on Fujigaya’s fingers. Fujigaya could feel the pulse of her orgasm where his tongue was still pressed against her, dragging a groan out of him as well.
Kitayama went limp under him, sighing as Fujigaya tugged his fingers free. He wiped his hand on the sheet and eased up enough that he could sprawl on top of her, cheek pressed against the warm, soft skin of Kitayama’s belly. Kitayama’s hands were still caught in his hair, and after a minute she went back to running her fingers through it, but gently instead of pulling, working out the tangles she’d scrunched into Fujigaya’s hair.
“This doesn’t change anything,” Fujigaya said once he’d caught his breath. “I still--”
“Could you just shut up?” Kitayama cut him off, voice heavy with sleep. “Please. I can only worry about one thing at a time, and it’s our first batch of full concerts. Or mine, anyway, with you. Just for this weekend, I don’t want to fight. Just leave it be.”
Fujigaya couldn’t work up any energy to keep arguing. He let it drop, let his heavy eyelids close like they wanted to and Kitayama’s warm fingers lull him into sleep.
Go to Chapter 8