Rating/Warnings: R but not for age because Fuma is 18 today! woohoo!
Summary: Nakaken will have to make it up to Fuma later.
AN: Happy birthday, Fuma! I'm really looking forward to having you and Nakaken together for Countdown this year, even though it's totally too early to worry about that. Hope Takki or somebody equally questionable treated you to all the food and whatever else makes you happy.
“Shouldn’t I be giving you the present if it’s your birthday?” Kento asks, but Fuma silences him with a long kiss. By the time he lifts his head up, Kento blinks at him with glazed eyes, no further stupid questions on his puffy lips.
“Don’t argue,” Fuma says. “I’ve been waiting for ages to do this legally.”
Settling more firmly down into Kento’s lap, Fuma leans back a little, hands on Kento’s shoulders for balance, and rolls his hips slowly. There’s no one else in the dressing room, and if they value their lives nobody will be interrupting them either for the first half of lunch break. Fuma had pulled age and birthday rank on Shintarou to coax him into being an enforcer, plus a promise to take him out for dinner soon like a proper senpai.
“Nope,” Fuma scolds when Kento’s hands try to slip under the hem of his shirt. “You know how a lapdance works, hands off.”
“Seriously?” Kento whines, but Fuma gives him a steely look until Kento drops his hands to his sides.
“Keep them there, or I’ll make you sit on them,” Fuma orders. He starts the roll of his hips back up again, lifting his own hands over his head like he’s doing an accent dance. “You like that?”
“You know I do,” Kento answers, voice strained. “Come on, they won’t leave us alone forever, let me...”
“Nope.” Fuma slides off Kento’s lap, grinning at Kento’s whine as he turns around. Leaning forward to balance with his hands on his knees, Fuma goes in for the kill with the true lapdance, his ass barely skimming the tops of Kento’s thighs, humming a trashy song to himself quietly.
“Please don’t tell me where you learned this,” Kento says, voice low enough to make Fuma shiver a little. “Because if I find out who you practiced on, I’ll have to kill them with my bare hands.”
Fuma likes the sound of that. He twists to look over his shoulder, smirking coyly. “You gonna fight for my honor, Kento?”
Kento growls and grabs at Fuma’s hips, stilling them. His fingers dig in hard enough for Fuma to feel it, his eyes sharp, and Fuma doesn’t tell him no this time. “No one gets to put their hands on you but me.”
“Same goes for me,” Fuma says, twisting around in Kento’s grip to press his mouth firmly over Kento’s. He breaks the kiss to grin, trailing a hand over the bulge in Kento’s sweatpants. “So I guess I better hurry up and get my hands on you, huh? Shh,” he says when Kento opens his mouth to protest. “You’re gonna make it up to me later, don’t you worry. You better come up with somewhere we have longer than twenty minutes and I can be as loud as I want, got it?”
Kento nods as fast as he can, and Fuma rewards him with one more quick kiss before sliding down to his knees.
Kento’s already hard when Fuma tugs his sweatpants down to free him, but Fuma strokes him base to tip a few times anyway, just to make him squirm. He loves the way he can make Kento all a mess with only his hands, much less when he leans in to start using his mouth. He licks and sucks at Kento’s tip, messy and kind of useless as anything but a tease, but he knows how good it looks, loves how Kento looks down at him with wide eyes and chest heaving.
“Don’t tease,” Kento begs, threading fingers through Fuma’s hair to push it out of his face. “Please, Fuma, come on.”
Mouth full, Fuma can only hum an okay, but knows Kento understands. He sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks, and takes in more of Kento until his lips meet his fist. He drops his other hand to rub at Kento’s balls, drawn up tight enough that Fuma knows Kento’s close.
Come on, he hums low in his throat, not really making any sound. Come for me.
“Gonna,” Kento warns, tugging at his hair, but Fuma stays right where he is. He squeezes his hand just that much tighter and draws his tongue along the bottom of Kento’s shaft, and Kento comes with a muffled groan, spilling hot over Fuma’s tongue.
“Hmm,” Fuma says in approval. He finishes licking Kento clean and pulls his mouth off with a soft, wet pop, then grins up at Kento, entirely self-satisfied.
“You are too much,” Kento sighs, slumped boneless in the chair, and Fuma chuckles as he climbs back up into Kento’s lap, ignoring the pins and needles in his feet from sitting on them.
“Not too much for you, I hope,” Fuma purrs, wrapping his arms tight around Kento’s neck. “Since nobody else is allowed to touch me, apparently.”
“Damn straight,” Kento says firmly, fire in his eyes, and Fuma bends his head to seal that promise with a kiss.
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