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

Fic, Kis-My-Ft2, Spend the Night

Reveals for JE Hols are up! I received the quite lovely and hot Seeing Stars [ABC/Z, NC-17] from orangegreenlove. Thanks again!

Here's the fic I wrote:

Title: Spend the Night [Kitayama/Senga]
Rating/Warnings: R
Notes: Written for ryogrande for the 2012 JE Holiday exchange. Happy holidays! I’m glad I waited until the last second to write this because a lot of it has to do with Senga’s 1000 character interview, and I think you’re going to like it a lot more because of that. So enjoy!
Summary: After he moves to Tokyo, things are tougher than Senga expected them to be. But when Kitayama is there too, it doesn’t seem so bad.


Spend the Night

Tokyo is lot harder to get used to than Senga had expected. Aside from a new school and trying to make new friends, being a more full-time junior shows him a side of the Tokyo juniors that he hadn’t seen at all before. Before, they had mostly ignored him, gone about their business as if he wasn’t even there.

Now, they know him more than well enough to pick on him. Nikaido’s the worst, the most likely to push Senga around physically, but others move his things around or hide one of his sneakers, switch pieces of his costume and tease him about his Nagoya accent. He knows it’s the same thing all juniors go through when they’re new, but it doesn’t make it feel any better.

It’s a little better now that he has Kis-My-Ft2 and the older boys in his unit, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like much.

“This is yours, isn’t it?” Kitayama asks, holding out one of Senga’s sneakers. Senga nods dolefully and reaches to take it back, suppressing a sigh at the impossible knot the laces are tangled in.

“Thanks, senpai,” he says. He turns to go, but Kitayama touches his shoulder to stop him, making Senga look up warily.

“You’re living in Tokyo now, right?” Kitayama asks. Senga nods, feeling nervous. “The thing is...I live really far, so I was wondering if, when we have work in the morning, it would be okay if I spent the night at your place?” Senga blinks at him, eyes wide. “That was a bit sudden, huh? Sorry.”

“N-no, it’s okay,” Senga bluffs. He hates looking young and confused in front of Kitayama, who always looks like he can manage anything. Senga doesn’t understand why Kitayama is still stuck in with their ragtag bunch of weirdoes, why the instructors and staff never seem to notice that he can sing and dance, not just skate.

“Most of the others are just as far or worse,” Kitayama explains, running a hand through his hair to scratch at his scalp. “Fujigaya’s close but...let’s just say we have incompatible morning personalities.”

“Just in the morning?” Senga asks before his brain catches up with his mouth. Kitayama and Fujigaya put on a united face when they’re in front of the whole group, but Senga can see behind that, see the effort going into it. Senga flushes a little when Kitayama chuckles ruefully.

“I’m a bit tough to wake up,” Kitayama admits. “So...”

“I’ll ask my mom,” Senga agrees. “I’ll let you know?”

Kitayama asks to exchange mails with Senga, and even though it’s for entirely mercenary purposes on Kitayama’s end, Senga still feels pleased about it, like he’s managed to start his own senpai collection like some of the other boys are always on about.

The next week they have a morning practice, and Kitayama goes home from work with Senga the night before, duffle bag on his lap and watching the route as if he’s memorizing it. When they arrive at the apartment, Senga brings Kitayama into the kitchen to meet his mother, and Senga-san’s eyebrows raise.

“Nice to meet you, Kitayama-kun,” she says, politely enough. “I didn’t expect you to be so...”

“Short?” Kitayama asks.

“University age.” Senga-san gives her son a pointed look, and Senga shifts from foot to foot. “Kento has mentioned you, of course, but he left out that little detail.”

“I joined late,” Kitayama says as an excuse, “so at work there doesn’t feel like there’s so much of a gap.” He nudges Senga with his elbow. “They steal my sneakers sometimes still, too. Anyway, sorry for intruding.”

“Well, at least you’re more polite than Nikaido-kun,” Senga’s mother gives in with a sigh, and Senga cringes at the memory of that disastrous sleepover. Kitayama wins her over the rest of the way by making such a fuss over her food that Senga feels a little embarrassed in the other direction.

They go to bed reasonably early, since the whole point is to get a good night’s sleep, but Senga doesn’t fall asleep so easily. He feels awkward about having the bed while Kitayama has the floor, tossing and turning a bit.

“Can’t sleep?” Kitayama asks eventually, surprising Senga. Kitayama is a little famous for falling asleep anywhere and everywhere at work.

“Yeah,” Senga admits. He scootches to the edge of his bed so that he can see Kitayama in his futon in the dim light filtering in Senga’s window. Kitayama is stretched out on his back, hands behind his head. “Is it uncomfortable down there? Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just thinking,” Kitayama says. “So you must be pretty serious, huh? If you moved to Tokyo.”

“I guess so.” Senga feels embarrassed about it, really, thinking it could be so easy. Then he realizes he must sound like he doesn’t know what he’s doing at all. “I mean, I am serious. I want to debut! It’s just...hard. If I focus just on dance I get ignored, but when I try and improve other things, I get told I’m not practicing dance enough...”

“I had to quit soccer,” Kitayama says, and Senga had heard that, has seen pictures of Kitayama in those first few months, but it’s different to hear him say it, his voice wistful. “I just couldn’t stand how kids so much younger than me were so much better, so I signed up for lessons. But it interfered with all my practices, and my coach said there wasn’t any room there for guys with two goals.”

“Do you miss it?” Senga asks quietly. Like he misses Nagoya, he means, misses his room and his brother and his friends and his other life.

“I do,” Kitayama says, and Senga feels like Kitayama maybe understands. “But that just means that I can’t look back, because I don’t want giving that up to mean nothing.”

It takes Senga a few seconds to swallow the lump in his throat that Kitayama’s answer sticks there. “Ne, do you think...there’s a chance for us?”

Kitayama is silent for a long while, so long that Senga assumes that either the answer is no and Kitayama doesn’t want to say, or else he’s just fallen asleep.

“I think,” he finally says, making Senga startle a little because it’s been so long, “that there must be a way, if we all want it badly enough.”

“What if not all of us do want it that badly?” Senga thinks about Nikaido’s laziness and Miyata’s bruises and Tamamori’s whining, about how Fujigaya looks at them sometimes like he just can’t understand how this is his life.

“You can’t make people all go the same way if they don’t want to,” Kitayama admits. “But there’s you, and there’s me. That’s a start.”

Something about the way Kitayama says things always makes Senga feel better. They aren’t friends exactly, at first, the gap too wide between a fourteen-year-old and a twenty-year-old even if they’re in the same group. But Kitayama spends the night more and more often, and Senga finds himself telling Kitayama things he hasn’t had the courage to say to anyone else. Even if during the day Senga gets scolded by Fujigaya and the choreographer and the costuming staff and even Takizawa-senpai, when Kitayama says words like ‘debut’ in the dark of Senga’s room, Senga can almost believe in it.

He gets so frustrated with the others sometimes, frustrated when they whine or are late or drag their feet, and Senga doesn’t understand how they can’t see that Kitayama should be the one who gets to complain because he’s stuck with a unit of leftovers like them, only Kitayama never does complain, not ever, never says no or that he can’t.

“We totally can’t do this,” Nikaido grumbles under his breath as Kitayama coaxes and pressures them into the new batch of skating tricks, acts like he can’t hear their complaints, and manages to find at least one thing positive about even Tamamori’s half-hearted attempt.

“You aren’t even trying,” Senga points out, giving him the side-eye. Nikaido doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. It’s the same with him. Nikaido and Senga get along these days, mostly, but sometimes he still rubs Senga the wrong way hard enough that Senga has to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.

“Because it’s stupid,” Nikaido retorts, which is what he calls everything that he can’t do on the first try, anything that might make him look uncool for half a second. He’s said it seventeen times today and will say it at least seventeen more, but suddenly Senga snaps.

He turns on Nikaido suddenly, grabbing two fistfuls of Nikaido’s shirt and shakes him hard enough that they both nearly fall to the ground because of their skates.

“Can’t you ever just do it instead of trying to look so cool all the time?!” he hollers, and the others are all looking at them, but Senga hardly cares. Nikaido’s eyes are wide with surprise. “Just shut up already!”

“Oi, leggo,” Nikaido growls, shoving Senga off. “What are you, Kitayama’s little pet?” He skate-stumbles over to whine with Tamamori instead, and Senga struggles to focus the rest of the day, ending up causing just as many problems himself as he was yelling at Nikaido for causing.

Kitayama doesn’t say anything about the incident on the way home or at dinner, carrying on a conversation with Senga’s mother while Senga picks at his food moodily.

“What’s up?” Kitayama asks when he’s back from his bath, looking down at Senga curiously as he towels water from his hair. Senga is sprawled across his bed on his back, too exhausted and wrung out from being yelled at all day to even begin to put it into words. Instead he just looks up at Kitayama sadly. Kitayama reaches down to push at Senga’s shoulder. “Move over.”

Senga obeys, vague puzzlement under his unhappiness, and is even more surprised when Kitayama climbs into bed beside him and then pulls him into a tight hug without warning. For a second, Senga doesn’t move, and then he’s clinging to Kitayama tightly, both hands fisted in the back of Kitayama’s T-shirt, burying his face against Kitayama’s chest as hot tears well up in his eyes. He’s mortified, but he can’t stop them now that they’ve started, all his frustration and anxiety pouring out like a dam breaking. Kitayama rubs his back in slow circles and lets him wear himself out.

When Senga quiets to sniffles, Kitayama pushes him back. He pulls off his now-messy shirt and drops it over the edge of the bed.

“Is this weird?” Kitayama asks, hesitating before settling back down, glancing down at his bare chest. “Should I move to the futon?”

“Stay?” Senga says, throat hoarse. It is weird, but Kitayama’s presence is soothing, and Senga wants reassurance. Kitayama doesn’t voice any objections as Senga curls up as close to him as he dares, and Senga wonders if Kitayama is ever lonely too, in their group. “Sorry.”

“Shush. Go to sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I don’t want to feel better,” Senga says, and he knows it sounds childish. “I want us to be better.”

Kitayama hugs him again, but Senga gets the idea that the hug isn’t so much for him this time. “I want that too,” Kitayama says softly, the words barely ruffling Senga’s hair.

It seems like it takes so long, but it does get better. One by one they all decide to be serious, to be Kis-My-Ft2, and Kitayama was right, it’s the sort of thing each person has to decide for himself. Before Senga knows it they have their own costumes and songs, more than he can count on both hands, and he can’t imagine his life without them.

“Another unit?” Senga asks when Yara and Takizawa invite him into their special project, seemingly out of the blue. “Me?”

“Senga-kun,” Yara says, amused, “we’ve been auditioning you guys for weeks, remember? You knew it was a dance unit, you can’t be that surprised.”

“But...” Senga fidgets, confronted with two senpai he’d rather die than disappoint, except they’re asking him to do the last thing he ever wants to. “I already have a unit.”

“This could be a really good chance for you,” Takizawa says. “You should think about it.”

“Thank you,” Senga says, and means it. “But Kis-My-Ft2 is my unit.”

Yara sighs and pats his shoulder and says if Senga’s sure, and Senga slips away while Yara and Takizawa start discussing what to do next. Nikaido looks up curiously when Senga comes back to their practice, but Senga just shakes his head. He doesn’t feel like explaining. It’s sort of embarrassing even, that he was so stubborn in front of senpai like Takizawa and Yara, all for the sake of his unit of leftovers, but Senga watches Kitayama and Yokoo modifying choreography for Tamamori’s lengthening limbs (again), and knows he listened to his heart.

The next time Takizawa approaches Senga, he won’t take no for an answer.

“All right,” Senga finally gives in, flustered by the attention. “But please don’t take me out of Kisumai? Please.”

“Kento,” Takizawa warns, looking sympathetic but firm, “I know how you feel, but this isn’t the place for guys with two goals.”

Senga startles, the words so close to what Kitayama had told him about quitting soccer. He chooses his words carefully. “I appreciate that this is a good chance for me to learn and grow, and I’ll work really hard, Tackey-senpai. But I’ve always been Kisumai’s S, and I don’t want to be anything else.”

“Let’s just see how it goes,” Takizawa says, voice cautious.

Butoukan, when they’re eventually named that, is perfect for Senga. The dance focus makes Senga shine on stage, and the makeup of the group means he’s one of the stronger singers as well. It’s tough at first, not to hide behind the voices of Kitayama or Fujigaya, but once Senga is forced to go out on his own he can feel himself improving day by day. Yara is a demanding teacher without being condescending, knowing when Senga could do more without pushing him past his limits so that he hurts himself, and Senga soaks up his attention like a plant in the sun.

“You look so happy,” Kitayama says with approval the next time he stays over. He makes an exaggerated face of distress as he pokes at Senga’s cheeks, barely any baby fat left. “So grown up! Aw, Ken-chan, can’t you stay cute and innocent forever?”

“Quit it!” Senga laughs, shoving at Kitayama. “I’m not that different!”

“I guess it’s easier to see you changing when I don’t see you every day,” Kitayama admits, the tease dropping away. He seems serious underneath as he looks Senga over more closely. Senga realizes that they haven’t seen each other in days before today. They aren’t even going into work together tomorrow, Senga going in early for Butoukan’s new song, and Kitayama to a planning meeting with the rest of Kis-My-Ft2.

Suddenly he feels them slipping away, out of his reach, and it makes the bottom drop out of Senga’s stomach. All the pleasure of being in the spotlight, of being special, it’s not worth losing them.

“What’s that?” Kitayama asks, reaching over to smooth a thumb over Senga’s cheekbone. “Your expression just got so sad.”

Senga can’t answer in words, but Kitayama lets him press as closely as he can for a hug, rubs slow circles on his back without asking for any more explanation. Senga drinks in Kitayama’s warmth and strength greedily, knowing he’ll need it.

The next day, Senga asks to talk to Yara a minute before practice starts.

“It’s just...” Senga takes a deep breath and reminds himself he isn’t fourteen anymore, that he has to stand up for himself sometimes. “This is getting serious, right? Butoukan is. But I told you at the beginning, Kis-My-Ft2 is my unit. I haven’t changed my mind.”

Something flashes in Yara’s eyes, gone before Senga can read it, and Yara regards Senga silently for a long minute before saying anything in response.

“You won’t get another chance like this,” is what he says in the end. “Isn’t there any way that I can win you over?”

“Yara-san is really amazing,” Senga says, shaking his head. “But there’s only one person who I’ll ever call Leader.”

It’s terrifying having to go into Johnny’s office and tell him the same thing, and it’s even worse when Johnny-san himself tells Senga, “YOU are making a huge mistake.”

“What happened?” Nikaido demands in alarm when Senga shows up at their practice afterwards, unannounced, his face still pale from the meeting and nervous sweat not totally dry.

“I’m back,” Senga says simply, then grunts as Nikaido hugs him fiercely enough to squeeze the air out of his lungs. Senga can see the relief on the other’s faces, mixed with some disbelief, when he looks over Nikaido’s shoulder, and he feels half terrible for making them worry and half pleased that they missed him too.

It isn’t until later, when they’re alone, that Kitayama gets the whole story out of Senga. His expression is grave when Senga admits exactly what he’s done.

“I’m happy you’re still ours,” Kitayama says. “But you shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t give up such good chances. You should think of yourself first.”

“Shut up!” Senga snaps, because of all people, Kitayama should understand, and if he doesn’t then Senga just doesn’t know what he’ll do about anything. “Maybe debuting with just anybody is okay with you, but it’s not for me! ‘With Kisumai’ is the part that’s already set in stone!”

“It’s not okay. Just anybody isn’t okay,” Kitayama answers quietly, and Senga feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his heart. Senga hugs Kitayama, hiding his face against Kitayama’s shoulder.

“Leader,” he says, voice muffled, and Kitayama shushes him and says not to call him that, geez.

It’s hard not to feel like he’s being punished when suddenly Tamamori is promoted to frontman and Senga is left in the same state as Miyata or Yokoo or Nikaido. It’s even harder to admit that for all his weirdness, Tamamori is honestly better suited for it. It’s not about his voice or his dance, things that can be taught; Senga had always felt awkward in that position no matter how close he was with Fujigaya and Kitayama, but Tamamori is turning out to be prince-type after all.

“Ah, it’s my mom’s fault,” Miyata says at random, making Senga and Nikaido blink at him. “She’s given up on making me a prince-type like Tackey, so she’s focusing her attention on Tama-chan instead. She and Tamamori-san discuss us on the phone.”

“That’s terrifying,” Nikaido says, as if his own mother doesn’t call Fujigaya to check up on her son’s behavior at least twice a week. Senga fidgets, wondering if his own mother has given up him being prince-type as well, and sad that he might be a disappointment after everything she’s done for him. Ever since the change, he can’t stop worrying about his position in the group, worrying about disappointing them as well.

“What are you so worried for?” Kitayama asks, reading Senga easily as always. “There’s a place in Kisumai where only you belong, so quit it already.”

“But I don’t know what that place is,” Senga says, the same frustration that he’s always had as a junior welling up inside him. “I don’t know what to focus on, how to make everyone happy, why I can’t ever seem to improve the right thing at the right time. Everyone else is...and I’m just...I’m not just dance, you know!”

“I do know,” Kitayama assures him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Kitayama just being present makes Senga feel better, less panicky. “I see it. Sooner or later everyone else will too, so don’t be so anxious. We won’t leave you behind, I promise.”

“Why do you always say such cool shit,” Senga grouses, but he leans his cheek against Kitayama’s shoulder and takes the comfort Kitayama is offering.

“I have to enjoy it now,” Kitayama says, even though Senga wasn’t really expecting an answer. “Before you grow up the rest of the way and don’t need me so much anymore. Even now, when I watch you I think the gap between us is nearly closed.”

As if I’d ever not need you, Senga thinks, but it seems embarrassing to say out loud, so he only digs his chin into Kitayama’s shoulder a little.

In the months after Playzone, time seems to speed up, or more that they’re so busy that Senga doesn’t notice its passing so much. He still feels anxious and like he’ll never learn to please everyone, but most days he feels like he can be satisfied even if it’s only his own group that’s pleased with him. Senga knows they trust him to choreograph to make them look good while thinking about their limitations, to teach them properly and to stay as long as the most struggling member needs him to.

He thinks about Yara a lot as they start touring on their own and Senga is often responsible for exactly those things, how Yara could always find the words to encourage the best out of them as dancers, how he always struggled to have the dance reflect the dancer instead of himself as the choreographer. The more he thinks about Yara, though, the more it seems like Kisumai might get their chance after all, the more Senga realizes that he’s done something reasonably unforgivable and never even apologized.

Senga slips over to visit one of Yara’s practices with THEY Budou when his schedule lines up to make it work. He comes in quietly and hangs around in the back, just watching, the five men in front of him so intent on their work that they don’t even notice him. It makes Senga’s chest ache a little, wondering what he’d be like if he’d spent all this time with Yara teaching him, but it’s not a choice he regrets.

“Senga-kun?” Yamamoto asks, the first to notice when they stop for water, and Senga waves shyly. “It’s good to see you! It’s been a while! Did you come to play with us?”

“Idiot, we’re working, not playing.” Yara cuffs Yamamoto good-naturedly, and Yamamoto grins as happily as if Yara had patted his head. “Something you want, Kento?”

“Just to talk,” Senga says, feeling nervous now that he’s here, interrupting practice even. “If that’s okay...?”

“It’s fine. Take a break,” Yara calls to THEY, waving them off. “But don’t let your muscles cool off! We aren’t done here!”

“I just...” Senga doesn’t know where exactly to begin, now that he has Yara’s full attention. “I’ve been thinking a lot, since we’ve started touring, since I’ve been choreographing more and I’m responsible for teaching the other members. About...you know.”

“Butoukan,” Yara supplies, and Senga nods. Yara leers a little. “About me? This isn’t a confession, is it? Ken-chan is awfully cute...”

“Yara-san!” Senga says reproachfully.

“Okay, okay.” Yara holds up his hand in surrender. “No teasing. Go ahead.”

“Anyway, I realized...it wasn’t just my chance I messed up. I really screwed up things for you, didn’t I?” Senga’s throat tries to close up a little, but he forces words out. “I know you want to debut, the same as me. That must have really hurt, and I never even said I was sorry.”

“But you aren’t sorry,” Yara says, and Senga winces because no, he isn’t. “But I’m glad. You knew your own heart, knew that you only had room for one group in it. So don’t apologize, because I don’t want to think you have any regrets about it. There’s still only one guy you’ll call Leader, right?”

“Definitely.” Senga smiles at Yara, watery but real. Yara really is an amazing guy, he can’t help but think.

“Oi, quit that, they’ll think I’m bullying you over here,” Yara scolds, and Senga laughs and swipes at his eyes. Yara’s expression softens as he lets Senga have a quick hug, Senga not caring at all that Yara is sweat-soaked from practice. “It wasn’t just your fault. Things don’t work out sometimes, and I still have a lot to learn and improve. I’m grateful for all the shows I’ve done since then and all the people I’ve worked with. So let me come and work with you guys sometime, okay?”

“Any time you want,” Senga promises, grinning as he thinks about the pain on his groupmates’ faces when they learned that he just gave Yara a free pass to come and torment them any time.

It’s weeks later that Kitayama says he has a surprise and that just this once, Senga should come home with him instead of the other way around.

“Sure?” Senga agrees, wondering what could be good enough to make Kitayama drag him so much farther than Senga’s apartment. Senga figures it out halfway there, when the train they take is on a totally different line than the other times he’s been to Kitayama’s house.

Kitayama leads him to a quiet apartment complex, not so close as Senga’s to work, but not much farther, up a couple floors in the elevator, and then proudly unlocks his own front door with his own key as he ushers Senga inside.

“I’m home,” he calls softly, flipping the light switch on.

“Wow!” Senga says, excited for Kitayama’s sake. There’s hardly any furniture and a few boxes sitting around on the floor in the living room, Kitayama obviously barely moved in.

“It’s nothing much yet,” Kitayama says. “All I’ve had delivered so far is the bed.”

Senga bursts into laughter because, of course. “Show me,” he asks, and Kitayama does, pushing open his bedroom door to show that indeed, the only thing in the room is a bed, the blankets still rumpled up from that morning. “I like it,” Senga announces.

“You haven’t even tried it out yet,” Kitayama points out. Senga looks over his shoulder to tease, but something about Kitayama’s eyes says that he’s testing the waters a little. Warmth works its way over Senga’s skin, even though he’s not one hundred percent sure if Kitayama is asking what Senga thinks he might be.

“Did you bring me over here to break in your bed, senpai?” Senga asks. He can always play the innocent kouhai card if he’s got it all wrong.

Kitayama steps forward, into Senga’s space, and Senga’s pretty sure he’s got the right idea. “Well, if you’re interested...” He cups Senga face in his hands, giving him plenty of time to back out, before leaning in and pressing their mouths together.

Senga presses closer, wrapping arms around Kitayama’s waist and sighing into the kiss. It’s gentle and lingering, and when Kitayama pulls back, Senga feels like he can’t quite catch his breath the whole way.

“I’m interested,” Senga says, in case it isn’t obvious. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you to do that?”

“About that,” Kitayama chuckles ruefully. “Let’s not talk about how long ago I started wanting to do that to you. And no calling me ‘senpai’ in bed.”

“Leader?” Senga tries instead, eyes innocent.

No.”

“Hiromitsu,” Senga says at last, savoring the way it feels on his tongue. It’s such a great bedroom name, and he wants to say it over and over.

“That’s the one,” Kitayama praises, feeling the same way apparently. “Kento. Come to bed with me.”

Senga shivers when Kitayama says his first name like that, different than anybody else. Kitayama kisses him again, more possession in it, and Senga melts against him, mouth opening under his at the first touch of Kitayama’s tongue. They barely stop kissing long enough to strip their shirts and pants off, and then Kitayama tumbles them into his bed.

“So warm,” Kitayama sighs happily as he works himself under Senga. Senga is trailing kisses down his neck and across his shoulders, feeling like he can never get enough of the feel of Kitayama’s skin under his mouth. He rocks up against Senga, and Senga’s nerves thrill at how Kitayama is already getting hard for him, just from this.

“Can I touch you?” Senga asks.

“Mm, definitely,” Kitayama encourages. He digs fingers into Senga’s back as Senga works a hand down and wraps it around him. Senga gives him a slow stroke, testing, and Kitayama groans his name softly, making the hairs on Senga’s arms rise. “Kento...”

“Is just this okay? For now,” Senga clarifies. He wants to do so much more, but for now he wants to just enjoy the feel of Kitayama in his hand. Kitayama feels so much different than his own does, shorter but thicker, twitching when Senga thumbs his head.

“Anything you want is fine,” Kitayama agrees, voice deeper than usual. He flexes his hips into Senga’s hand, murmuring an occasional instruction, but mostly he lets Senga do what he wants, lets him take his time. Power rushes through Senga at how easily Kitayama gives up control, making him hard himself, and he rubs a little against Kitayama’s thigh.

When he comes, pulsing over Senga’s hand, Senga can’t help but grin at Kitayama’s deep sigh of satisfaction. If Kitayama can be so pleased with just his hand, he can’t wait to try his mouth, and everything else.

“My turn,” Kitayama says, and without any further warning Senga finds himself flipped over onto his back, looking up at Kitayama. Kitayama’s eyes are dark as they drag slowly over Senga’s skin, taking in everything, and Senga shivers as if it’s Kitayama’s fingers instead, all the way down.

“I honestly thought you’d just fall asleep,” Senga laughs breathily as Kitayama leans down to kiss a line across Senga’s collarbone, down his chest.

“I won’t say that’s never going to happen,” Kitayama murmurs with his mouth pressed against Senga’s stomach. He’s going so slowly, like he’s trying to map every centimeter with his mouth, but Senga doesn’t rush him, other than to push up into his touch as it moves down. “But at the moment I don’t feel like I’m through with you at all.”

“Mmm,” Senga agrees, threading his hands into Kitayama’s hair and pushing it back from his face so Senga can see how dark his eyes are. He’s so hard he’s aching by the time Kitayama gets to where he’s going, and when Kitayama licks at his tip, Senga’s moan is embarrassingly loud.

Kitayama only chuckles, his eyes saying he likes that so much. “That’s the other reason we couldn’t ever do this before. I doubt your mom would have appreciated that.”

“She loves you, but not that much,” Senga agrees. His next words cut off with a groan as Kitayama wraps his mouth around him and sucks all the thoughts right out of Senga’s brain. Kitayama’s mouth is hot and perfect, the way the palm of his hand is flat and warm against Senga’s belly, his other hand drifting down to roll Senga’s balls, all of it too much. Senga can barely gasp a warning before he’s coming, fingers twisted tightly in Kitayama’s hair.

“Hey, now,” Kitayama lets Senga slip out of his mouth and nips at the skin of his hip. “Not so rough.”

“Sorry,” Senga murmurs, still shaking, and his arms feel heavy when he tries to curl them around Kitayama as Kitayama crawls up to hold him properly.

“At least not yet,” Kitayama promises, grin sharp, and Senga shivers for a totally different reason as Kitayama leans down to crush their mouths together.

In the morning, their stuff is all in a tangle, at least as much as they are, and they’re already late by the time they’re trying to separate it because Senga decided to wake Kitayama up in the best way he knew how.

“This is yours, isn’t it?” Kitayama asks, holding out one of Senga’s sneakers, and Senga says yes and laughs, because if the Tokyo junior taking his stuff is Kitayama, that’s not so bad. “Hurry up, we’ll have to run as it is.”

Kitayama stops yanking on his laces when Senga leans over to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’m just glad it’s you, that you’re here,” Senga says when Kitayama raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re the reason I stayed, you know. If I can be next to you, things aren’t so hard and they don’t hurt as much. You make me feel like I could be stronger too, like you are.”

“Kento,” Kitayama murmurs, touched. It’s not quite the confession Senga has been daydreaming about making for the last few years, but it seems to mean more to Kitayama this way anyway. “You’re already strong. Quit getting stronger, because I don’t want you to stop needing me.”

“It’ll never happen,” Senga insists. “And even if it does, I’ll just want you instead.”

Kitayama kisses him like it’s a promise, like they’re the only two people in the world and they aren’t already so late for work, and when Senga pulls back to ask if he can sleep over again tonight, Kitayama kisses him for that too.
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