Summary: Think the title says it all on this one. Tamamori is not amused (but his mom is).
AN: Happy super late birthday, Kira? No really, I swear I will write something that you actually requested really soon.
Miyata Stayed Up All Night
When Miyata slinks in to work with red eyes and a bleary expression, Tamamori doesn’t even have to ask what happened.
“Really?” he demands, crossing his arms and blocking Miyata’s path to the couch. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Um,” Miyata hedges, leaning left and right, peering longingly at an entirely horizontal and snuggleable Leader, but Tamamori leans with him, looming threateningly. “Not...so much.”
“Miyacchi,” Tamamori says in exasperation, and Miyata ducks his head a little, shoulders coming up so that he looks just like the Miyata family turtle.
“I was almost caught up with One Piece!” Miyata protests, eyes big and sad (and bloodshot). “It was the end of the arc!”
“Ugh, you,” Tamamori accuses. They have a full day today, practice after meeting after practice, barely any time to eat much less catch a nap, but that’s not even the real reason Tamamori is annoyed. “You’re supposed to sleep over tonight! You’ll be totally useless!” Miyata does look genuinely sorry at that, and Tamamori relents a little. He’s still mad, though. “We haven’t been together in ages.”
“I know.” Miyata’s eyes drop to the floor. It’s only been two weeks or so, Tamamori busy with drama promotions and Miyata and Senga exchanging extra dance and vocal practice with each other, but by their usual standards, two weeks is quite a drought. “I’m sorry. I miss you too.”
Miyata leans forward enough to wrap arms around Tamamori’s waist, and as soon as his cheek hits Tamamori’s shoulder, Tamamori can feel how Miyata’s weight leans so heavily against him. Tamamori finds himself rubbing Miyata’s back between his shoulder blades without really meaning to, like he’s trying to soothe him to sleep standing up.
“Damn idiot,” he grumbles for show, and Miyata murmurs something sleepy that sounds like agreement. Tamamori pushes him back and gives him a shove towards Kitayama and the couch. “Go be gross with Kitamitsu until we have to start. All ten minutes of it.”
Miyata gives a little whine at the separation, but once he stumbles the three steps over and flops gracelessly on top of Kitayama, his eyes are closed before Kitayama even finishes cursing him out.
Yokoo digs eyedrops out of bag and Senga shares some of his coffee, and Miyata does his best to not cause problems for the group during practice. He manages it a lot better than Tamamori would, certainly, dependable as always, but after a while he’s pouring sweat and pale enough that even Fujigaya asks if he’s feeling all right.
“Sure,” Miyata lies, and then apologizes for being a worry. “I guess I’ve lost my summer glow already, huh? Next time I should go tanning with Gaya~.”
“I’d rather take that guy,” Fujigaya answers flatly, jerking a thumb towards Kitayama, who only grins around his own water bottle and then calls back that it’s a date. Fujigaya’s eyebrow twitches as Nikaido and Senga break into snickers, elbowing each other.
Tamamori doesn’t try to stop Miyata being an idiot and pushing himself way past his limit. Maybe that makes him a terrible boyfriend, but he just knows that it’s a useless fight, that you can’t stop Miyata being Miyata. He settles for forcing Miyata to drink as much water as Tamamori can shove into his hands and learning their new routine himself so they can get out of there as quickly as possible.
By the time they’re showered and changed, Tamamori has to drag Miyata hand in hand, fangirls and cell phones bedamned, to make sure he’s coming in the right direction. Miyata passes out against Tamamori’s shoulder as soon as they’re sitting on the train, and it takes so long to wake him back up that the doors almost close before they get off at Tamamori’s stop.
“Sorry,” Miyata says, scrubbing at his eyes. Tamamori just shushes him and locks their hands even more firmly together as they walk the rest of the way. If he loses one of their members in traffic, even this member, the others will definitely kill him.
Miyata can’t even stay awake to gossip with Tamamori’s mother, a definite sign of the apocalypse, and Tamamori-san takes one look at his face before she and her son put on identical firm expressions and point up the stairs to Tamamori’s bed.
“Shut up,” Tamamori says when Miyata tries to apologize again, Tamamori having to help yank off Miyata’s jeans at least. He tugs one of the blankets over Miyata and just leaves him to it for a bit; he’s hungry and at least one of them has to gossip with his mother.
“They shouldn’t run you boys down like that,” Tamamori-san says, lips pressed in a thin line.
“He stayed up all night watching anime,” Tamamori says with a roll of his eyes. “Like that idiot would ever have enough Johnny’s stuff to do to get that exhausted.”
“Yuuta,” his mother scolds, her face saying she can remember a Tamamori a lot more useless than the current Miyata. “Toshiya-kun is an idol too.”
“Don’t call him that, it weirds me out.” Tamamori makes a face, both about calling him an idol and calling him by his given name. It sounds too close to the way Tamamori says Miyata’s name. His mother sticks her tongue back at him and tells him to try and stop her. “Whatever. He’s sure not prince-type.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t such a princess,” Tamamori-san retorts, and then before Tamamori can splutter out a response switches the topic to Tamamori’s drama promotions.
When she’s pumped him for as much information as he has and fed him as much as he’ll eat, Tamamori-san sends Tamamori off to bed, saying he looks like he could use a few more than his usual four or five hours himself, and Tamamori doesn’t argue that hard. Disappointment aside, Miyata will certainly have his bed nice and warm by now.
Miyata is still sound asleep, but his face looks better, not as drawn. Tamamori strips off his clothes and crawls into bed, bumping against Miyata carelessly, not exactly trying to wake him up but not trying very hard not to either. He gets annoyed immediately that Miyata still has his shirt on, wanting the heat of Miyata’s skin against his own, and reaches for the hem to tug it off and toss it aside. Miyata stirs a bit but doesn’t wake up the whole way, murmuring something about the moon princess as he leans towards Tamamori’s warmth even in his sleep.
“You’re even gross asleep,” Tamamori informs him. He traces fingertips over the curve of Miyata’s shoulder, down to his bicep, the muscle firm under his skin, already a touch sweat-damp. He must be muscle-training with Nikaido again, and Tamamori wonders vaguely how much money they could make Johnny-san if they put a video of that on their next single.
He keeps sliding his hand over Miyata’s skin, as far down as he can reach and back up again, tracing Miyata’s collarbones, his throat, down his sternum and over his ribs. It’s unusual for Tamamori to be awake while Miyata is asleep, and it’s nice for a change, Tamamori supposes, although he frowns when he realizes he’s being at least as creepy as Miyata undoubtedly is when Tamamori is asleep.
“You totally do this to me when I can’t fight you off,” Tamamori accuses, pressing a little more firmly into the hollow of Miyata’s throat with two of his fingertips. Miyata sighs but still doesn’t wake up the whole way.
Finally Tamamori’s patience gets the better of him, unused to touching Miyata for any length of time without getting touched in return, or at least getting a lot of verbal approval from him. He could just shake him awake, but Tamamori pushes the blanket off to the side with an entirely different idea in mind.
At least, he loves it when Miyata wakes him up this way.
He can get a lot more of Miyata into his mouth on the first try since Miyata isn’t hard, but that doesn’t last long. Soon he’s having to work as hard for it as usual, pulling back to lick at Miyata’s tip when he needs a second to catch his breath.
Fingers brush through his hair, making Tamamori look up, although he keeps his mouth right where it is. Miyata is watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, glittering and dark, his expression adoring.
“Mmm,” he praises when Tamamori sucks at him firmly enough to hollow his cheeks, now that he knows he has an audience. “No wonder you like me to wake you up like this. Feels good all over my skin, not just where your mouth is.”
Tamamori narrows his eyes, like of course it does, since I’m doing it, which makes Miyata chuckle. His voice is like a low purr and strokes along Tamamori’s skin just like Miyata’s hands are stroking his hair, and Tamamori works Miyata harder so that he can hear more of it.
“Yuuta,” Miyata warns eventually. “Should stop, if you want...” He interrupts himself with a soft moan as Tamamori tongues at the underside of his head. Miyata tugs Tamamori’s hair a little more sharply. “Really close.”
Don’t want to, Tamamori would say if he weren’t busy, so he says it with his mouth instead, fingers digging into Miyata’s hips to hold them down as he swallows Miyata far enough back to bump the back of his throat. Miyata gives a low, beautiful groan of his name and shudders himself out, going totally limp under Tamamori’s hands as Tamamori sucks him clean and finally lets Miyata slip out of his mouth.
“I seriously love you,” Miyata says, sprawled spread-eagle across Tamamori’s bed and looking like he couldn’t move a muscle if his life depended on it. Tamamori’s hard as a rock himself, but he basks for a moment in the satisfaction of having rendered Miyata entirely useless. He’s just that good. “Come here already, so I can kiss you.”
Tamamori crawls up Miyata’s body and settles on top of him, because he wants kisses himself and not at all because Miyata ordered him to. Miyata probably can’t taste much of himself in Tamamori’s mouth since he came basically down Tamamori’s throat, but Miyata hums as if he can, hums even louder when Tamamori starts to rub himself off against Miyata’s stomach in earnest.
“I’d return the favor,” Miyata murmurs against Tamamori’s mouth, “except that I actually can’t move yet.”
“Useless,” Tamamori grunts, but really he isn’t going to need that much help, not with as turned on as he is and the way Miyata stares up at him, like he’s the best thing in the whole world. Like he’s the only thing. “Hope you don’t care I’m about to come all over you.”
Miyata laughs like he’s joking, then manages to lift his arms enough to curl them around Tamamori’s waist, rubbing them as tightly together as they can be. “You definitely should. Come for me, Yuuta.”
Tamamori does, muffling his whine against Miyata’s shoulder as he pulses between them, and then he goes every bit as limp as Miyata, sucking in long breaths of air.
“My butt’s cold,” he complains at length. Miyata laughs against and stirs under him, hunting around with his hand until he manages to grab the edge of the blanket and sort of throw it over them.
“Don’t catch a cold, butt-san,” Miyata encourages. “I have plans for you later.”
“Are you making fun of me? I’ll kill you,” Tamamori says, but really he’s wondering how much sooner he can make later and trying to dismiss the mental image of his butt with a cold. “Quit moving,” he orders when Miyata shifts underneath him.
“Shush, I’m just tucking us in,” Miyata soothes. He manages to roll them onto their sides to they can cuddle properly without either one of them being squished, and Tamamori grunts that he supposes that’s okay.
“I missed you,” Tamamori says for no reason after another minute or two, and Miyata makes a noise of confusion like he was already almost back asleep. “So don’t stay up all night for anything besides me.”
“But it was One Piece,” Miyata whines, but he’s teasing, the way his fingers dig a little more deeply into Tamamori’s skin saying that he promises. “Next time you’ll just have to stay over and watch too.”
Tamamori gives a little hmph as if that’s a chore, but really he’s not so worried. He’s pretty sure he can win Miyata’s attention over pirates, even really stretchy ones, any day.