Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for the inevitable consequences of Kisumai in eyeliner.
Summary: It's just that they don't get anything done, is the problem. Except each other.
AN: I should tell you exactly what snowqueenofhoth did to me to get me to write this, but a lady doesn't videochat and tell.
Six Reasons Yokoo Hates Eyeliner Shoots
Yokoo groans internally when he gets the details of the shoot for Bidan.
“What?” Kitayama yawns lazily from beside him. He eyes Fujigaya, who is already babbling about what accessories he’s going to bring, as if just watching Fujigaya makes him tired. “What’s the problem? It’s the first time Bidan’s wanted us, after all, you should be excited. What’s a little eyeliner? We all look hot in it.”
Looking hot isn’t so much the problem, Yokoo thinks to himself, pursing his lips. It’s more that, when eyeliner is involved, Kis-My-Ft2 has some trouble getting anything accomplished.
“Eyeliner!” Senga exclaims, with more delight than any seventeen-year-old male should shout that. He’s shouting it at Nikaido, who is the last to arrive at the shoot and is barely halfway through the door of the dressing room. Nikaido gives a wolfish grin in reply and starts immediately towards Senga, then scowls when Fujigaya intercepts him with practiced ease.
“No way,” Fujigaya says, taking Nikaido by the shoulders and spinning him around before pushing him towards Kitayama. “You both need to get dressed first,” Fujigaya gives a sharp look over his shoulder, and half-dressed Senga heaves a sigh, “before anybody gets any makeup, and you certainly aren’t allowed to do each other’s again.”
“Tackey liked it!” Senga whines, and Fujigaya digs his fingers into Nikaido’s shoulders a little deeper.
“Ow, quit it!” Nikaido slaps Fujigaya’s hands away. “Don’t pinch me! He told me to do it! He’s the one who kept saying he wanted it thicker.” Nikaido’s mouth curls into a smirk. “You know, that he wanted more and…”
“Sit!” Fujigaya shoves Nikaido into a chair beside Kitayama before turning on his heel in a swirl of stripey scarf to march back over to Senga and straighten him out. “Kitamitsu, take care of him, can’t you?”
Nikaido’s smirk only grows, and he lounges seedily in his chair for effect. “Yeah, Kitamitsu, take care of…”
Nikaido seems to lose his train of thought when Kitayama turns to look at him and already has his eyeliner on perfectly, the dark lines of it making it hard to look away from his sleepy, brown eyes.
“…uh,” Nikaido finishes lamely.
“Tcht,” Kitayama says to Nikaido, “brat. Sit up straight, you.”
Nikaido obeys without thinking about it, and he means to put up a fight or tease Kitayama some more, but he just doesn’t get around to it as Kitayama leans in, gaze focused on Nikaido, and starts lining Nikaido’s eyes with efficient practiced strokes of the pencil.
“Quit squirming,” Kitayama orders, but Nikaido can’t help it when something’s that close to his eye. Kitayama finally reaches up and stills Nikaido’s chin with his thumb and forefinger, leans even closer, and Nikaido forgets entirely what he was doing for the two or three minutes it takes Kitayama to finish with him.
When Kitayama leans back and surveys Nikaido with languid satisfaction, it takes Nikaido a second to shake of his daze.
“Dammit, Mitsu!” Fujigaya shouts at them, making Nikaido startle an inch in his chair and then scowl. “I told him to get dressed before you did that! Nika, you better not get any of that on your clothes, do you know what your jacket cost?!”
Nikaido turns in his chair to yell back, but Fujigaya leans to the side at that moment to ask Yokoo for the sharpener, and Nikaido gets an unobstructed view of a half-dressed Senga blinking back at him with huge, kohl-rimmed eyes.
“Ne,” Senga breathes, eyes getting even wider, “Nika…”
“No way,” Fujigaya admonishes, sitting back up and flicking Senga’s forehead. “You aren’t done yet!”
“Goddamn,” says a voice across the room, but Nikaido doesn’t even look, because he was just thinking that himself.
“Goddamn,” one of them curses, and Miyata isn’t sure whether it was him or Tamamori, but he’s definitely feeling the truth in the word as he and Tamamori stare at each other.
“Hey,” Miyata tries to start when they’ve been staring long enough that it’s a little awkward, but he can’t look away. “You, um, that’s. Man,” Miyata apparently can’t talk either, or concentrate on anything besides big and dark Tamamori’s eyes look, how the feather of his hair is brushing his cheeks, and how there’s just a faint glimmer of his piercings showing. “Man, you…”
“Toshiya” Tamamori’s voice rushes out in a growl, and Miyata has a split-second to blink at the use of his given name before Tamamori grabs two handfuls of Miyata’s shirt and yanks him forward for a rough kiss.
“Nn!” Miyata tries to protest, because they’re in the dressing room in front of everybody, but Tamamori’s plaid shirt is just as soft as his hair looks, warm as his eyes, and Miyata doesn’t get very far with the protest.
“Would you two quit that!” Fujigaya demands, snapping both of them out of it, and they hop apart, both of their faces turning pink. “There are innocent minors in here, you know!”
“I wouldn’t be if you’d let go!” Senga puts his two cents in, and Yokoo whacks him over the back of the head.
Unfortunately for Miyata’s powers of thought, the blush on Tamamori’s cheeks is just as attractive as everything else, and he doesn’t even try to put up a fight when Tamamori’s grip shifts to his wrist and tugs him out of the room.
“Honestly,” Fujigaya grumbles as he turns back to Senga for inspection. “I’m surrounded. Stop trying to make obscene faces to rile up Nika.”
Senga lapses into thoughtful silence as Fujigaya puts a few finishes touches on his makeup, but then his mouth curls in a smirk that he definitely learned from Nikaido. “Ne, Taipi. Kitamitsu looks really hot with the eyeliner, doesn’t he?”
“I suppose,” Fujigaya keeps his voice even, trying to focus and not think about how he’d like to shove Kitayama’s slight, strong body down on the couch and then climb on top.
“When he wears makeup like that,” Senga continues, voice lowering a little in conspiracy, “I kind of want to mess it up, you know?”
“Too bad Kitamitsu doesn’t play like that,” Fujigaya answers lightly, lowering his hands. “You’re finished.”
Senga winks at Fujigaya. “You don’t think he does? If you’d have gotten here a little earlier, like me, you’d have seen something really good this morning~.”
He gives a little laugh, a knowing one that makes the hairs on the back of Fujigaya’s neck stand up. Senga hops out of his seat and trots over to shove at Nikaido and get shoved in return, while Kitayama just eyes them tolerantly, gaze low-lidded.
“Wataru?” Fujigaya asks after a moment. “Who was here first this morning?”
“Hm?” Yokoo barely looks up from the magazine he’s leafing through. “Me and Kitamitsu were a bit early, and then Ken-chan showed up. Ah, dammit, what are they doing to Shige’s hair now?”
“Nngh,” Fujigaya says faintly, brain taunting him with images of Kitayama and Yokoo half-dressed and messing up each other’s makeup.
Which is exactly what Tamamori and Miyata are involved in at that particular moment.
“This is a terrible idea,” Miyata mumbles in between nips to Tamamori’s throat. “We’re going to get caught. We’re going to get fired.”
They’re important points, because they’ve only really made it around the corner and into another room which, so far as Miyata could tell in the second he looked around before Tamamori threw him up against the wall, holds racks of extra clothing.
Hopefully, nobody will need another hoodie or a different pairs of boots any time soon.
“Who cares?!” Tamamori demands, shoving Miyata’s sweater coat further down off his shoulders and hooking a leg around Miyata’s knee to press closer. “Do you have any idea how hot you look right now?”
Despite everything, Miyata laughs against Tamamori’s skin. “Hot? You really are in love with me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Tamamori answers without hesitation, and a shiver rocks Miyata’s hips tight against Tamamori’s. But Tamamori doesn’t stop there. “But I’m serious.”
“Oh?” Miyata asks, and probably there were more words he intended to say after that, but just then Tamamori braces himself against the wall with his arms around Miyata’s neck, and hops so that he can wrap his legs around Miyata’s waist.
“Miyacchi,” Tamamori continues, “you’re cute. You’re not terribly much like an idol, but you’re funny and you’re weird and you’re cute and it works for you, but today,” Tamamori puts hands on either side of Miyata’s face to tilt it up, “today, you’re hot.”
“Okay,” Miyata agrees, heat rushing through his veins and captivated by the sight of Tamamori leaning so close over him, and Tamamori leans down the half inch to crush their mouths together, stealing the rest of Miyata’s breath.
“Fuck me,” Tamamori says, low and breathless, and Miyata’s fingers tighten on Tamamori’s hips until Tamamori moans softly. “There’s stuff in my pocket.”
“How can there be stuff in your pocket?” Miyata demands. “Those pockets don’t even belong to you!”
“I know what I look like in eyeliner,” Tamamori says coyly, letting go of Miyata’s waist so that he can put his feet back down on the ground. “I came prepared. Lie down, I want to be on top, I want to see you.”
“We’re going to get fired,” Miyata moans again, but he’s already sitting down on the floor and tugging Tamamori down into his lap. He wonders briefly whether the floor is clean enough to lie on in his clothes for the shoot, but then Tamamori kisses him again and presses a little packet into his hand, and Miyata decides that he doesn’t care.
The only thing he cares about is Tamamori pushing down against his hand, tight and slick around his fingers. He only cares about how graceful the arch of Tamamori’s back is as he sinks down on Miyata’s cock, and how dark and full of heat Tamamori’s eyes are as he looks down, gaze locked with Miyata’s.
“Thought I was the one who liked to stare?” Miyata teases, holding on to Tamamori’s hips to help rock him up and down.
“And I thought I was the one worth staring at.” Tamamori slides a hand over one of Miyata’s to move it over to wrap around his cock instead. “Thought we’d switch today, mm, for fun.”
Miyata plants his feet on the floor to push up into Tamamori, fisting his cock in rhythm with his thrusts, until Tamamori’s fingers are tight on Miyata’s shoulders and he’s biting down on his lip to keep from crying out.
“I’m gonna come,” he finally tells Miyata in a rough whisper, “but don’t come, okay?”
“What?” Miyata asks indignantly, because how in the hell is he supposed to do that? But before he can voice his concerns, Tamamori is squeezing tight around him and shaking in his arms. Miyata holds on tight and focuses on how good Tamamori looks when he comes, and somehow manages to cling to his control by his fingernails.
It’s kind of worth it, even before whatever Tamamori has in mind, when Tamamori looks up with eyes still hazy from orgasm and says in wonder, “You did it.”
“Well, you asked me to,” Miyata points out, but he smiles back and doesn’t turn down the deep, affectionate kiss Tamamori offers him.
And it’s really worth it when Tamamori pushes himself up to crawl down Miyata’s body and pull the condom off him. He’s eyeing Miyata’s cock as he ties the condom off.
“You aren’t gonna…” Miyata starts, but Tamamori just grins at him and slides down until he is, in fact, doing it. Miyata stifles a groan, and struggles to hold his head up to watch. “Doesn’t that taste bad?”
“Like latex,” Tamamori pulls his mouth off Miyata’s cock to answer, “but only for a couple seconds. Just watch.”
Miyata hitches himself up on his elbows and does watch, watches as Tamamori stares up at him as he works Miyata deep into his mouth. Miyata watches the whole thing, even when his arms start to shake and he can’t get a hand into Tamamori’s hair like he likes to. He watches because it’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen and he wants to remember every single second of Tamamori’s mouth on his skin with his dark-ringed eyes wide open and focused only on Miyata.
He watches because it’s hot, but also because it’s sweet and it’s amazing, that somebody who looks as good in eyeliner as Tamamori would want to put his mouth on somebody like Miyata’s skin, and that he would say a lot of hot, sweet, amazing things besides.
Miyata lets go with Tamamori’s mouth and eyes hot on him, holding his own eyes open as long as he possibly can before his arms give out and he collapses onto the cold concrete. He’s still shivering when Tamamori finishes licking him clean and tucks him back into his pants before crawling up into Miyata’s arms.
“Watch out,” Miyata tries to warn about the drying streaks on his stomach, “your clothes.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about the clothes, Toshiya,” Tamamori replies, nosing at Miyata’s jaw, and if Tamamori doesn’t care about the latex either, Miyata figures it’s the least he can do to kiss Tamamori back and not mind at all that he tastes thoroughly of Miyata.
“Oi!” Fujigaya reprimands, jarred out of his thoughts when Nikaido and Senga’s play-wrestling comes close enough to nearly upset Fujigaya’s open water bottle. It’s only a lucky grab from Yokoo that saves it from drenching both of their clothes.
“Let’s head out to the shoot, hm?” Yokoo says, handing Fujigaya back his water bottle and standing up. He shoos Senga and Nikaido towards the door. “Why don’t you go find Miyata and Tamamori, if you two need an errand to tire you out.”
The door shuts behind them, leaving Fujigaya and Kitayama alone.
“So,” Fujigaya starts after a whole second and a half of silence, “you were here early this morning?”
Kitayama, who had unsurprisingly sprawled himself over the couch after finishing with Nikaido’s makeup, cracks an eye. “That so hard to believe?”
“Ken-chan said,” Fujigaya licks his lips and takes another long look at Kitayama all made up, barely holding in a whimper, “that he saw something interesting when he came in this morning.”
“He said that, did he?” Kitayama snorts and lets his eye fall shut again. “He did a hell of a lot more than see it. Thank goodness that brat’ll be legal this year.”
This time Fujigaya can’t stifle all of his little groan at the thought, and his cheeks heat as it seems to echo in the nearly-empty dressing room.
Another second goes by as Fujigaya struggles to get a grip on himself. Then Kitayama asks, “Are you coming over here or what?” and Fujigaya is out of his chair like a shot.
Kitayama grunts as Fujigaya falls heavily on top of him, but opens his mouth willingly under Fujigaya’s, getting a hand up into Fujigaya’s hair and working his fingers into the strands until Fujigaya is wriggling and whining in protest.
“Don’t!” he pulls his mouth away to scowl, but Kitayama just smirks, the eyeliner making it even sleepier and more devious than usual, before yanking his head back down.
Senga trots along happily after Nikaido as they hunt around for Tamamori and Miyata. They still push at each other every few steps, but without anybody watching they don’t bother pretending that it’s anything besides an excuse to touch each other. Once in a while Senga will step on Nikaido’s heels for a few strides until Nikaido whirls and shoves him into the wall with a low growl, hands catching at Senga’s waist or wrists. But Senga slips away after a few seconds, because Yokoo asked them nicely to find Miyata and Tamamori.
He frowns just thinking about that look Yokoo gives him sometimes, a look that says Yokoo was expecting more but that it can’t be helped since it’s Ken-chan. Senga hates that look. He walks just fast enough to be out of Nikaido’s immediate reach and glances around, wondering where the other two could have gone.
“Aha!” Nikaido says, interrupting Senga’s thoughts, and Senga turns to find Nikaido standing in front of a door that Senga had gone right past. Senga tilts his head to listen, and after a moment, he hears it as well, the low murmur of voices. Something about the pitch and the tone of the voices (Content, he thinks, they sound content) makes Senga almost stop Nikaido’s hand as he reaches for the doorknob.
It’s not that he doesn't like playing with Tamamori and Miyata, especially not with Nikaido there, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like playing with those two. Sometimes when he comes across them on accident, or sometimes not on accident, Senga feels like he’s interrupting something private, something that isn’t any of his business. It makes Senga feel awkward, and a little jealous, but either way he doesn’t stop Nikaido from pushing open the door.
“There you are!” Nikaido announces triumphantly, and Senga leans around Nikaido to peek, curious.
Miyata and Tamamori are both dressed, but it isn’t hard to tell what’s already happened, given the mess of Miyata’s hair and Tamamori’s sleepy eyes, with the way Tamamori is leaning close to fiddle around with Miyata’s necklace.
“Yokoo sent us to find you,” Senga adds. “We need to be on-set soon.”
“Okay.” Tamamori stands up, legs unfolding like magic, and helps tug Miyata up less gracefully.
“Thanks, Ken-chan,” Miyata says as they slide past in the doorway, patting Senga’s shoulder, but Senga just hums a vague reply, watching Miyata’s other hand and how it’s tangled with Tamamori’s as they leave.
He’s too deep in thought to notice what Nikaido’s up to until the click of the door shutting startles him out of his thoughts. He looks up to find Nikaido leaning against the shut door, smirking and eyeing Senga openly, up and down.
“What?” Senga squirms a little, some from heat and some from embarrassment. “Open the door, we’re gonna be late too.”
“Make me,” Nikaido challenges, and Senga goes in for the kill immediately, hands poised to dig into Nikaido’s sides, his tickle weak point. Nikaido’s ready for him, though; as soon as Senga gets close enough, Nikaido grabs his wrists and yanks him close for a fierce kiss. The tightness of his grip makes Senga squeak and push his body against Nikaido’s.
Nikaido leans back for air after a minute and growls, “You taste like Kitamitsu.”
“If you don’t like it,” Senga murmurs back, making a soft noise when Nikaido’s fingers tighten even more around his wrist, “why don’t you do something about it?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Nikaido answers, and he lets go of Senga’s wrists to grab his shoulders instead. He pushes down until Senga collapses to his knees, wincing a little at the hardness of the floor. It’s forgotten a second later, however, as Nikaido undoes his fly and tugs out his cock. He’s already mostly hard, and he gets the rest of the way there fast with a few strokes of his hand and Senga’s stare of interest.
Nikaido buries both hands in Senga’s hair and tugs him forward, getting a good grip with his fingers in Senga’s loose curls as Senga draws Nikaido’s tip into his mouth and sucks him in further, testing. Senga lets Nikaido push and pull him as he likes, because Senga likes this game too, likes relaxing his jaw and his throat and letting Nikaido use him.
He likes it even better when Nikaido starts to fuck his throat in earnest. Senga doesn’t have to sing today, so he digs his fingers into Nikaido’s hips, urging him on and letting his throat vibrate on a moan. His own cock is starting to ache, but it’s a sweet ache and Senga doesn’t want to let go of Nikaido to fumble with the unfamiliar clothing and risk upsetting the hard, fast rhythm Nikaido is working him over with.
Nikaido doesn’t warn Senga when he comes, although Senga can feel when it’s about to happen from the tremble of Nikaido’s muscles under his hands. Senga fights the urge to cough at the trickle of Nikaido’s release in the back of his throat, holds on until he can pull away and swallow properly before he splutters and messes up both of their clothes.
He is yanked to his feet so fast his head spins and whirled around. Nikaido curls tight against his back and whispers dirty things in Senga’s ear as he fumbles with Senga’s zipper, hands still shaky from orgasm. Senga braces himself with hands against the wall and cries out when Nikaido gets a hand around his cock.
Senga bites his lip to keep from being too loud as Nikaido fists him just as forcefully as he was taking Senga’s mouth a minute ago, growling about how hot Senga looks like that and how he’s such a slut for it that he’s hard and leaking before Nikaido ever touched him.
“Could you get off on it?” Nikaido wonders, breath hot against Senga’s ear. “On nothing but the taste of my cock? Next time I’ll fuck you properly, and you’ll definitely get off on that, on my cock hard and deep inside you, you always do…”
Fisting his hands against the wall, Senga gives a broken wail as he comes into Nikaido’s fist, shuddering himself out at the pleased growl Nikaido gives at the feel of it. Holding Senga steady with his other arm around his waist, Nikaido brings his hand up to Senga’s mouth and Senga licks at Nikaido’s fingers without having to be asked. The taste is sharp, but Senga sucks on Nikaido’s fingers until he can taste the salt of Nikaido’s skin underneath his own, Nikaido groaning softly and rocking his groin against Senga’s ass even though they’ve both just come.
Nikaido pulls his hand away from Senga’s mouth and Senga finds himself being turned around again. He slumps against the wall as soon as his back hits it, looking Nikaido over from underneath heavy eyelids.
“Fucking eyeliner,” Nikaido grumbles, just before he leans in to take Senga’s mouth again.
“Gonna be late,” Senga murmurs against his mouth, and then he slides his hands into Nikaido’s back pockets to tug him closer.
“Oi,” Fujigaya interrupts, voice rough. “Aren’t we supposed to be someplace?”
Kitayama pushes up on his elbows and turns his head enough to glare at Fujigaya over his shoulder, making Fujigaya whimper at the slide of their naked torsos against each other. After a second of eyeing Fujigaya, Kitayama shifts his hips back so that Fujigaya’s mouth is too full to ask any more stupid questions.
When Fujigaya seems to have remembered the idea, Kitayama leans his own head down to slide enough of Fujigaya’s cock into his own mouth so that he’ll forget it all over again.
“Well, here you two are at least,” Yokoo says in exasperation, wincing as he looks Senga and Nikaido over. He’s giving Senga the look, and Senga has to look away, past Yokoo to where Tamamori and Miyata are doing their solo shots.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Nikaido says, apparently having even less shame than Senga. “Where’s Taipi and Kitamitsu?”
“Never mind about them,” Yokoo scowls. He takes the hat off his head and drops it onto Nikaido’s, forcing it down tight over Nikaido’s trainwreck of a hairstyle. “Here, wear this.” He winces again at Senga’s even worse mess. “And you, put your hood up! Doesn’t anybody here know any better?”
“You’re one to talk,” Nikaido says under his breath as he reaches up to adjust the angle of the hat, and Yokoo narrows his eyes. He’s opening his mouth to retort when the director’s shout interrupts.
“Next two!” he calls. “Also, I haven’t seen any of A.B.C.-Z yet, can somebody go and look for them?”
Yokoo grabs Senga’s hand, which is already in the air, and yanks it back down to his side. He pinches the bridge of his nose and ignores Senga’s pout, blocking out Tamamori’s indignant screech that follows the slap of Miyata’s hand against his ass.
Yokoo really hates the eyeliner shoots, sometimes.
At least until he’s the one that has to go get Fujigaya and Kitayama.