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, Tokidoki

Title: Tokidoki (Sometimes) [Miyata/Tamamori]
Rating/Warnings: R. Tamamori's mother knows why.
Summary: Sometimes Miyata and Tamamori are both a little bit weird.
AN: Rachel had random Sanada/Nozawa fic for me when i got home, so I wanted to toss something up for her to wake up to before I headed off to my meeting.


Tokidoki (Sometimes)

"Sometimes," Miyata commented idly, "I think you like your bangs more than me."

Tamamori turned away from the mirror just long enough to give Miyata a withering look.

“I mean, really,” Miyata continued after Tamamori had turned back to his reflection. “You spend at least twice the time on them after the show as you did before it. It’s very silly.”

“So I was thinking,” Tamamori started without preamble, “that when I get home, what I really want is a long, hot bath. Just to take off all my clothes, slide into the hot water, let the heat loosen aaaall my muscles…”

Miyata swallowed hard. “Okay, you win, there’s nothing at all wrong with how you organize your hair time.”

Tamamori wasn’t satisfied with that, apparently, given the dark, low-lidded glance he shot over his shoulder at Miyata. “Maybe I’ll read book…or maybe I…” he smirked, “…won’t.”

“Okay, stop!” Miyata groaned at the unfairness. “Before I…”

“Too late,” Tamamori sing-songed, turned to run his gaze down Miyata’s torso.

Miyata scowled and crossed his legs. “You’re a jerk.”

“Yup,” Tamamori agreed, dropping his brush into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder before strolling out the door.

A second later, he was back, his head stuck through the doorway with an even darker smirk.

“Of course,” he said, “you could always come with me.”

Miyata was out the door practically before Tamamori had finished speaking.

*****

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Miyata grumbled as they were both stripping off their clothes in Tamamori’s bathroom. “If it’s that your mother knows and is telling us to hurry up and not have sex in your bathroom, or if your mother knows and might be telling us to go ahead because she knows it won’t take that long.”

“All she said,” Tamamori rolled his eyes as he yanked off his shirt, “was that dinner was in a half hour and we could go ahead and have a bath if we didn’t screw around.”

“But it’s how she said it!” Miyata protested, not so invested in his argument that he wasn’t tracking the long line of Tamamori’s legs as Tamamori peeled off his jeans and tossed them aside.

“How did she say it?” Tamamori asked, gamely. Both of them were finally naked, shivering a little in the cold of the bathroom.

Miyata pushed Tamamori against the wall and leaned into him, their bodies touching in a heated line from knee to chest. “Like you say it.”

“We shouldn’t screw around?” Tamamori asked, voice breathy and low and exactly what Miyata had been talking about, even before the smirk. “I doubt I’ve ever said that.”

Miyata seized Tamamori’s mouth with his own before he could say anything else clever, pressing Tamamori even harder into the wall and arms going around Tamamori’s chest to stroke at the warm skin of his back. Tamamori’s hands found their way quickly into Miyata’s hair, tugging just hard enough to make Miyata whine and flex his hips.

After a moment, Tamamori dropped his hands to Miyata’s shoulders and pushed him back just far enough to chuckle, “But I might tell you to hurry up.”

“I doubt,” Miyata dropped a hand between them and gave Tamamori a firm stroke, finding him already hard, “that’ll be a problem with you.”

Tamamori leaned his head back, but it was to laugh rather than out of embarrassment, and heat sped through Miyata’s veins at how unashamed Tamamori was these days, the pink across his cheeks as he rolled his hips into Miyata’s hand having nothing at all to do with embarrassment.

“Quit watching me,” Tamamori ordered, leaning closer to kiss Miyata quickly, before pushing down on his shoulders more seriously. “Or at least do it from lower down.”

“Fuck, who taught you to talk like that?” Miyata demanded, rolling his own hips against Tamamori’s thigh for a second before dropping to his knees willingly.

“I wonder,” Tamamori murmured, sliding his hands back into Miyata’s hair as Miyata kissed the sharp jut of his hip. His grip was gentler this time, stroking at Miyata’s scalp as Miyata licked at the tip of Tamamori’s cock, then sucked him farther into his mouth.

Miyata did go on watching Tamamori, looking up as he worked Tamamori deeper, and when his hair started to fall in his eyes, Tamamori combed it back with his fingers, out of his way. Miyata thanked him by humming low in his throat, making Tamamori whimper and shiver against him.

“Hey,” Tamamori warned a few minutes later, more out of habit than anything else, since they both knew Miyata wasn’t going to pull away. All the same, Miyata appreciated the warning so that he didn’t choke himself, and so that he knew to make sure he was watching. Tamamori was definitely something to watch when he came, face flushed hot and hair curling damply against his cheeks and neck, teeth sunk into his lower lip so he wouldn’t cry out too loudly.

Sliding down the wall, Tamamori collapsed against Miyata, getting arms around his neck for balance and searching out his mouth for an uncoordinated kiss, still making soft noises of pleasure and shaking against Miyata. Miyata tightened his grip around Tamamori’s back and kissed him back fiercely, trying to regain enough control that he wouldn’t come just like that, his own cock hard and pressed against the soft, hot skin of Tamamori’s stomach.

Tamamori pushed Miyata down on his back after a minute to collect himself, and settled in between Miyata’s legs with another smirk. He didn’t tease, though, leaning right in to wrap his own lips around Miyata, sinking his fingers tight into Miyata’s hips to keep them still, low enough that nobody would probably see them under Miyata’s stage costume and he could grip as tightly as he liked.

“Tighter,” Miyata begged, curling his own hands over Tamamori’s fingers, and giving a whine of pleasure as Tamamori indulged him, digging his fingers in tightly enough that it would definitely leave some sort of mark.

Tamamori scraped Miyata’s cock with just the edge of his teeth, lightly, but enough to send Miyata over the edge, back curling as arched up into Tamamori’s mouth and hands.

“Why do you like that?” Tamamori, curled up against Miyata’s side, wanted to know when they were in the bath for a few minutes, figuring that Tamamori’s mother might be a little suspicious if they weren’t even wet when they came down to dinner.

He traced a finger over Miyata’s hip in case Miyata didn’t know what he meant, over the fading red of the lines his fingers had left, making Miyata shiver against him.

“I like it when you hold on tight,” Miyata said with a shrug, shifting closer to press a kiss to the curve of Tamamori’s neck. “Like you can’t get close enough. Like you won’t let go no matter what.”

“Sometimes you’re an insufferable sap,” Tamamori grumbled, but his voice caught a little, and Miyata couldn’t say he was exactly surprised when Tamamori shifted suddenly enough that the water sloshed, turning to kiss Miyata roughly, hands coming up to wrap tight in Miyata’s hair.

“Sometimes,” Miyata agreed readily, tugging Tamamori fully into his lap so he could get arms around his back just as tightly.
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