Authors: mousapelli and rikikomori
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, teasing
Summary: Honestly if Kitayama really did write fanfiction about them on the internet, it wouldn’t be nearly as frustrating as Fujigaya’s real life.
AN: After watching the Yoshio movie, there was pretty much no way we weren't going to write something about that. It wouldn't shock me at all if Kitayama really did read and/or write Fujikita fanfiction on the internet.
Back at One
Even though they all agree to play up their movie a little camp, when they actually start practicing with the scripts, Fujigaya gets a bit uncomfortable with it.
“Is this really okay?” he asks, looking from Senga dancing in the corner to Tamamori staring at nothing to Yokoo pushing around the swiffer. “You don’t think it seems...”
“What?” Senga asks, coming to a stop after a bodyroll and blinking at him. Beside him, Nikaido shakes himself a little as if out of a daydream.
“Ridiculously stereotypical versions of our personalities?” Fujigaya asks. He shifts on the couch, glancing at Kitayama stuffing his face beside him. “I mean, camp is one thing but this reads like a bad fanfiction.” He shoves at Kitayama’s shoulder. “Did you and Manager print this off this internet or something?”
Kitayama only grins slyly. “Maybe I wrote it.”
“I know what you’re mad about,” Tamamori says, sidling closer and grinning himself. He catches eyes with Miyata, who grins too.
“If it’s Kisumai’s fanfiction...” Miyata starts, but Fujigaya cuts him off by reaching across the table to thwap him over the head with his script.
“Shut up and worry about your own fanservice,” Fujigaya grumbles. Miyata makes a hopeful kissy face at Tamamori, then just laughs when Tamamori glares back, unimpressed. Fujigaya sneaks another glance at Kitayama, who doesn’t seem concerned at all about their upcoming filming and quite how blatantly it’s meant to encourage their fans’ rabu-rabu insanities.
Whatever, Fujigaya decides, he’s a professional. He’s been rubbing up against Kitayama on command for half his life, there’s hardly anything different about doing it these cameras versus Duet’s or Dome’s. He puts it out of his mind as he best he can and does his job, only rolling his eyes when Manager-san, usually backed up by Senga and Nikaido, orders him to get closer, closer.
They’ve been doing stageplays for long enough that a little bit of ad-libbing is good, expected in the script even, but Fujigaya still isn’t prepared for Kitayama to suddenly turn around on the third take of the first scene and pop one of his stupid red beans right in Fujigaya’s mouth. Fujigaya nearly spits it back out at him, eyes wide, and Kitayama ruins the take by bursting into laughter.
“Your face,” Kitayama gasps, a few seconds before he can collect himself.
“Your face,” Fujigaya snaps back, blushing and flustered and knowing he’s going to have to swallow it because the director is already yelling over that they are so keeping that in the scene. “Ugh, fuck you so much.”
“Easy,” Kitayama teases, giving Fujigaya one more look over his shoulder. “It’s not that kind of fanfiction.”
And fuck him so much harder, because after he says that, it’s difficult for Fujigaya not to think about it constantly, about exactly what their shoving and name-calling and red-bean-feeding looks like it’s a very thin cover for.
“I mean, for fuck’s sake,” Fujigaya whines to Yokoo over lunch. “Why’s he got to encourage like that? The fans don’t need any help.”
“It’s because you get so bent out of shape about it,” Yokoo says, not needing any help figuring out who they’re talking about when Fujigaya hisses “he” like that. “If you didn’t make it so much fun to tease you—”
“It’s not like I can help it!” Fujigaya huffs. He shoves away his bento so he can flop his head down onto the table, cheek squished against his arm. “I don’t even care when it’s you or Miyacchi or whatever, it’s just that he’s such a dick about getting into it. Sometimes I wonder if he really is reading fanfiction about us on the internet!”
“I don’t wonder about that at all,” Yokoo says with a little laugh, making Fujigaya frown even harder. Yokoo rests his chin on his hand, looking Fujigaya over more seriously. “Taisuke, have you ever thought about the reason it bothers you so much? Because it doesn’t seem to me like it’s the teasing that’s bothering you at all.”
“Idiot, what else would it be?” Fujigaya asks, eyebrow raised.
“Maybe,” Yokoo says gently, like he’s a doctor breaking the news of a terminal disease to a patient, “it’s that you care because you think he’s just teasing</i>.”
“What?!” Fujigaya snaps, sitting bolt upright and shoving at Yokoo’s shoulder. “Ugh, you! Get the fuck out and go clean something!”
So of course after that is where it all starts to go terribly wrong. Once the idea is implanted in his mind, there's nothing he can do to get it out. It's there, marinating in the back of Fujigaya's head no matter what he does, and it only gets worse when Kitayama is around. And since they're running headlong into a triple release, Kitayama is around all the time.
But lying on his back with Kitayama sprawled out on top of him after they both crash to the floor, on camera, Fujigaya firmly believes that this is his punishment for every single thing he's ever done wrong in his entire life. Every time he's argued with his mother, every time he's slept with a girl and never called her again, even back when Kisumai was first formed and he was kind of a dick to Tamamori and the younger ones. Justice is divine, and ironic, and Fujigaya's only saving grace is that his slate will be clean after this is over.
Except that it's not really over when it's over, even if they thankfully complete the scene in one take. The only thing worse than having Kitayama on top of him is having Kitayama on top of him multiple times, panting for air and pretending to be grateful that Kitayama is alive. It's not that difficult to act out, since contrary to popular belief Fujigaya does give a crap about everyone in his group and would be severely affected if something serious happened to any of them, and that includes Kitayama.
However, that does not mean he wants them on top of him. He doesn't want anyone on top of him, really, unless they're riding his dick. Making that comparison takes Fujigaya's thoughts into a completely unwanted direction, though he's thankfully upright when it happens.
"Your heartbeat was super fast," Kitayama says, his voice just as deep as when it had been vibrating Fujigaya's chest. "Are you feeling okay?"
Fujigaya blinks, but he's not the only one; both Senga and Miyata stop what they're doing to stare at Kitayama like he'd just announced that he's from a planet of alien midgets and has spent this entire time surveilling them for intelligence. Tamamori trips over his bag, but that can't wholly be attributed to Kitayama's statement.
"What?" Kitayama replies, looking around. "This country thrives on dramas about people with heart conditions, so it's only natural I'm concerned. You need to take better care of yourself, Fujigaya."
Now Fujigaya narrows his eyes. "I take care of myself just fine. You're just hearing things."
"I felt it," Kitayama insists, and Nikaido fails to hide a snicker behind Senga's shoulder. "It's not healthy to be that fast. Calm down already. It's just a goddamn movie."
He walks away before Fujigaya processes his words, his affronted glare coming too late. He directs it at Nikaido instead, who squeaks and pulls Senga out of the room before Fujigaya can find his voice.
"It has nothing to do with that!" he exclaims to everyone, though the only response he gets is from Miyata who nods so fast that he looks like a bobblehead.
A firm hand pats Fujigaya's shoulder, and the only reason he doesn't throw a punch behind him is because it's Yokoo. "Sure it's not."
"Shut up," Fujigaya hisses, well aware that it sounds like he's finally giving in.
Because he just did. But he decides to do the responsible, adult thing at least and just bottle up all his feelings on the inside. He can feel weird shit all day long about his bandmate and rival so long as nobody else finds out about it.
“So what if he keeps wearing those white pants on live television as if it’s just to torment me?” Fujigaya scoffs. “I can handle it! I’m a grown-up, I don’t have to throw every hot idol I see up against the wall to rub off on. I have self-control.”
“Not so much subtlety, though,” Yokoo comments, making Fujigaya look over the back of Yokoo’s couch to where he’s making tea in the kitchen. “Is there any chance at all that you will stop talking to me about this in the near future? Or ideally right now?”
“Of course not, how am I supposed to keep my feelings all buried deep inside myself if I don’t have somebody to talk about them with?” Fujigaya says, pouting at him.
“I wonder,” Yokoo replies dryly. “Also I would hardly call the desire to rub yourself off on somebody’s pants a deep feeling.” Fujigaya opens his mouth and Yokoo cuts him off with a sharp look. “If the next sentence out of your mouth is going to be about getting deeper in any way, I am throwing you out of this apartment.”
“Watta, you’re so mean,” Fujigaya sighs, slumping on the couch and letting his head drop to rest on the back. He stares at Yokoo’s ceiling, wondering if Yokoo cleans that too. Probably. “Honestly, it’s not like I’m having a good time with it. The more I try to ignore it, the worse it feels. Unresolved sexual tension is one thing, but this is just…unresolved. What am I even going to do?”
“You’re going to tell him,” Yokoo says, making Fujigaya jerk his head up. Yokoo is standing in front of him, holding out a mug of tea.
“No no no no,” Fujigaya backpedals, taking the mug out of Yokoo’s hand and cradling it between his own. “I definitely can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Yokoo asks, sitting down next to Fujigaya and blowing on his own tea. “You’re kind of useless like this, and it’s going to come tumbling out at the worst possible time. If you just told him, he might say no, but then it’d be over. You think he’ll say no anyway, right?”
“He’ll laugh at me,” Fujigaya murmurs, cheeks getting pink. He rolls his eyes at himself, feeling stupid and uncomfortable in his own skin. “I can’t do it, this isn’t a romantic drama, it’s not even a Busaiku sketch. How am I supposed to look him in the eye and tell him anything like that?”
“So call him on the phone, hell, send him a mail,” Yokoo says, voice laced with a little exasperation. “You’re glued to that thing anyway, he wouldn’t expect any better. Given your idea of a romantic drama,” Yokoo looks Fujigaya over critically, “I can’t say I think regular confession is a good idea at all. You have the whole internet at your disposal, write down whatever you want to say and just send it. Man up, would you?”
He’s right, Fujigaya realizes, much as he doesn’t want to admit. He simply can’t go on like this, and the longer that he does, the more likely it is that his feelings will come tumbling out at the worst possible time. Probably on Music Station during the interview section, or during their live, he’ll probably trip and crash into Kitayama and send them sprawling to the ground, sweaty from skating and the lights and breathing hard and Kitayama’s weight pressing him into the…Fujigaya gives himself a hard shake and puts a stop to that thought right there, because he’s on the fucking train, goddammit. He whines quietly and rests his burning cheek against the cool metal of the standing pole. Things definitely can’t go on like this.
That’s how Fujigaya finds himself sitting in front of his laptop in the middle of the night, staring forlornly at the blinking cursor on his email. What would he even say? If the situation were reversed and he was the one getting a strange mail at half past midnight, he would automatically assume that Kitayama was fucking with him or exceptionally drunk. He could start off refuting both of those, he supposes, but that's not really a good lead-up. Though the more he thinks about it, the more drinking seems like a good idea, at least to keep his hands from shaking and the multiple voices in his head from telling him this is the worst life choice he could ever make.
You wanted to know why my heart was beating so fast, he starts. It's because of you.
There, he wrote something. While it's kind of misleading, Fujigaya likes the way it sounds. It's the truth, anyway, even if he's not sure what that means. Does he like Kitayama? He frowns as he imagines taking Kitayama on a date like he does with girls. Kitayama would probably eat it up, that little brat. But he can't deny that his fingers tingle when he thinks about them holding hands, or the warmth that floods him at the thought of Kitayama smiling because of something he did, and dammit this is not what he signed up for at all.
Stupid feelings. He finds himself praying that Kitayama says no, that he makes fun of him a little and tells him he's out of his mind, and maybe they go back to being something like friends. Because the absolute worst thing would be if Kitayama accepted it and Fujigaya actually had to put his money where his mouth is—or, more accurately, his mouth where his words are.
He catches sight of his face in one of the many mirrors adorning his bedroom and is amazed at how red it is. He must want Kitayama bad. Compared to those ridiculous feelings, he would be totally okay with a purely physical thing, because that's all he's thought about for the past couple weeks. He's gotten used to the fantasies of Kitayama on top of him for a different reason, facing him this time, straddling his lap and rubbing against him, maybe kissing him and moaning into his mouth—
"Focus, Taisuke," he thinks out loud, tapping his fingers impatiently on the keypad of his laptop like it's their fault the words won't come. "Just send the fucking mail. He doesn't need a long, drawn-out essay of feelings—he's not a girl."
Basically I want you and I don't know what to do about it. So tell me it's stupid or impossible or whatever so I can go back to living my life without thinking of you every goddamn second. Because it's seriously annoying.
Satisfied, Fujigaya nods to himself before hovering over the send button. Somehow he can't bring himself to do it, even after he rereads his email and finds nothing wrong with it. He would never send anything like this to a girl, so it's perfect for Kitayama. He'll get a good laugh out of it, at any rate. There's also the possibility that it could make things weird between them, but Kitayama's not really like that. Besides, things can't get any weirder than they already are, with Fujigaya liable to make an ass out of himself on national television if this goes on any longer.
And no, I'm not drunk, he adds hastily. Though I wish I was, because then it would be easier to forget how it felt to have you on top of me like that.
He clicks send, then spends the next few excruciating seconds sitting on his hands not to undo it. The reality of the situation weighs in all at once and Fujigaya shoves back his chair, disappearing into the bathroom to shake his head at his reflection and resist the urge to yell "WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?!" at the top of his lungs—or, failing that, calling Yokoo and blaming it all on him.
What's done is done, though, and he has to admit that he feels a lot better now that it's off his chest. He's breathing easier, and his heartbeat has lowered a bit, even if it's still awfully fast. He remembers Kitayama's concern about his health and pushes back a warm, squishy feeling that wants to appear, because it's not like that, dammit. It's not like that at all. Fujigaya just wants Kitayama's body, okay. That's the whole reason why his heart was beating like that.
Though it's nothing compared to when he returns to his bedroom and sees a reply message blinking in his inbox. For a split-second, he considers just shutting his laptop and pretending this never happened, but then he heaves a sigh and sits down in his chair. It isn’t like he’ll be able to sleep not knowing what it says.
Glad you finally found your balls, the reply starts, making Fujigaya frown. I’m game if you are.
“What?” Fujigaya asks, feeling numb. He reads the first line again, looking for the “not” but it still reads the same way.
Answer your phone, says the second line.
“What?” Fujigaya demands again, frowning harder, and just then his phone goes off and startles him so badly that he falls out of his chair. The only thing hurt is his pride, fortunately, although he nearly misses the call in the time it takes him to sit up and fumble his phone out. “Hello?”
“Swear you aren’t fucking around with me,” Kitayama says. Fujigaya has enough adrenaline in his system by this point that even the sound of Kitayama’s low, smooth voice makes his skin tense up in anticipation.
He has to swallow hard before he can answer. “I meant what I wrote. Did you?”
“Yeah, of course.” Kitayama gives a little chuckle. “Seriously, an email? How red is your face right now, be honest.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Fujigaya growls, leaning back against his bed and staring at his ceiling. “Let’s just get this over with, I can be at your place in twenty minutes if I—”
“Oh no,” Kitayama interrupts. “No way.”
“What?” Fujigaya says in exasperation. “You just said you wanted to! Or you typed it. Whichever.”
“I know better than to play it like that with you, Fujigaya Quick Fuck Taisuke,” Kitayama says, and Fujigaya squirms, not entirely pleased by how well Kitayama knows him. “What you wrote, did you mean it? Really mean it?”
Fujigaya squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think, but he can’t. His skin is hot and his fingers are cold and his heart is pounding so hard he can hear it; hell, Kitayama can probably hear it through the phone.
“I just...I want you,” he manages to say finally.
“Good,” Kitayama says bluntly. “Because I want you too. More than just tonight. So I’m going to save you from yourself.”
“What does that mean?” Fujigaya asks, wary. This is sounding a lot like the time they held Senga down while Fujigaya and Tamamori went through his practice bag and threw out his most objectionable fashion choices.
“It means we aren’t going to fuck yet,” Kitayama says. A whine escapes Fujigaya’s throat almost before Kitayama gets all the words out. “We’re going to wait.”
“Until what?” Fujigaya knows he sounds childish, but he could give a fuck. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting already?!”
“I don’t know until what,” Kitayama answers. He sounds a little apologetic, but firm. “Until you know exactly what you do want, maybe, or until I’m sure I won’t just be just the next co-star you’ve fucked because of filming feelings. Because I see the way you look at yourself when you drag yourself into work after those. This isn’t going to be like that.”
Something about the way he says it makes Fujigaya’s chest tight, and he swallows the protests that are right on the tip of his tongue. Instead he asks, “What’s it going to be like?”
“It could be so good,” Kitayama promises, and Fujigaya’s never heard his voice like that before, low and hopeful and longing. “Taisuke, we could be so good together.”
Even after he hangs up the phone and crawls into bed, all Fujigaya can think about is Kitayama’s voice in his ear, the way he said Fujigaya’s name. He kicks aside his blankets, feeling feverish and over-sensitive, unable to find a position comfortable enough to relax. He wants Kitayama’s skin against his own, wants Kitayama to say his name right into his ear, wants it so much harder now that he thinks he might actually get it.
In the morning, he is such a mess that even his brothers raise their eyebrows at him, but Kitayama’s right, at least he doesn’t hate himself, doesn’t have to spend a half-hour trying to shower off a lot of ugly feelings. Fujigaya opens his laptop just to check his emails and make sure the whole thing wasn’t some kind of ridiculous fever dream but nope, both emails are still there.
When he gets to work, some interview this morning, Kitayama is already there, leaning casually against the wall just outside the dressing room door. He’s pretending to check messages on his phone, but Fujigaya knows Kitayama is waiting for him. Kitayama looks up before Fujigaya says anything, and a shiver works its way down Fujigaya’s spine just from their eyes meeting.
“Damn, your face is still pink,” Kitayama says, looking like he likes that more than a little. “You really must want me.”
“Said I did,” Fujigaya grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets and dropping his eyes. “So...what now?”
"Come over tonight," Kitayama says, more of a general statement than a demand, though he seems to expect Fujigaya's surprised reaction.
"I thought you said—"
"I said we weren't gonna fuck," Kitayama clarifies, "not that we couldn't hang out. Think of it as a home date."
Fujigaya makes a face at going on any kind of date with Kitayama, but Kitayama just laughs.
"See you tonight," he goes on, tone dripping with promise. "And wear that cologne you had on the other day—I really like it."
That night, Fujigaya shows up at Kitayama's door in street clothes, looking like he'd just thrown something on instead of standing in his closet for forty-five minutes deciding what to wear. His entire family didn't believe him when he said he was just going to Kitayama's, and why the hell would he lie about that anyway, but what they don't know won't hurt them.
He's barely in the door before Kitayama presses right against him, entirely too close yet not close enough as he presses his nose into Fujigaya's throat and breathes in. "Mm, you follow directions well."
"Listening to you is in my best interests right now," Fujigaya says as quietly as he can manage, knowing that his voice is vibrating Kitayama's face. "Don't get all up on me if you're not gonna let me do anything."
"I told you already," Kitayama whispers, sending a shiver up Fujigaya's spine that he has to feel. "I'm just not letting you fuck me. We have to work up to it. This is step one."
Fujigaya blinks as he's dragged further inside Kitayama's weird triangle apartment. "Step one is getting me into bed?"
"You wish," Kitayama says, and Fujigaya doesn't feel the need to point out that yes, yes he does. "Step one is cuddling."
He says it with such a straight face that Fujigaya just follows him over to the tiny bed, where Kitayama instantly lies down and stretches out on his side. "Seriously?"
"Come on, you know you want to," Kitayama says, barely looking up at him from under heavy eyes. "Put whatever you want on the TV—I'll probably fall asleep, anyway."
"This is the worst date ever," Fujigaya grumbles, but he climbs in behind Kitayama and slings an arm around him. Kitayama leans back against him and it's almost good enough, feeling the weight of Kitayama's body on his again, with the added benefit of pressing his face into the back of Kitayama's neck. His hair smells girly like sweet flowers and it's kind of intoxicating, leading Fujigaya to tighten his hold as his lips make contact with skin.
Then he gets an elbow to the stomach and groans. "No touching. That's step three."
"Are you sure about that?" Fujigaya asks, feeling Kitayama squirm against him as he leans over to Kitayama's ear and speaks directly into it. "Don't you want it too? You said so yourself, we'd be so good together. We're already in your bed, Mitsu. Let me touch you."
"You don't want to force me, do you?" Kitayama asks, his voice even, and Fujigaya flops back onto his side in defeat.
"You sure know how to kill the mood," Fujigaya mutters, and Kitayama pats the top of Fujigaya's hand with his own before lacing their fingers together.
"Compromise," Kitayama says, and Fujigaya can't bring himself to complain when Kitayama squeezes his hand and pulls his arm further around him. Kitayama clicks around on his remote until he finds a music ranking show. “Okay?” he asks, and when Fujigaya grunts his agreement, Kitayama drops the remote into the blankets with a yawn.
Fujigaya can’t help but be tense at first, the nearness of another body, especially Kitayama’s body, sending his own into imminent sex mode. His skin feels over-sensitive and his heart is speeding, his fingers twitching a little with the want to get on Kitayama’s skin. He takes deep breaths, not that it helps since it only makes him breathe in more of Kitayama’s smell, and tries to lean into Kitayama without obviously rubbing off against him.
“Your heart is doing that thing again,” Kitayama mumbles, voice half-muffled by how his cheek is squished into his arm. “Haven’t you ever done this before?”
“Not just for the purpose of doing it,” Fujigaya says, grudging but honest. In his world cuddling is the unavoidable consequence of fucking somebody who doesn’t know him that well yet. He wouldn’t say that he minds it exactly, but usually his thoughts have nothing to do with the girl clinging to him and everything to do with wanting to check the mails on his phone or trying to figure out how long he has to lie there before he can get up and have a cigarette without looking like a complete douchebag.
“Somebody sure taught you all wrong,” Kitayama clicks his tongue at Fujigaya. “Just relax. Anticipation and desperation aren’t the same thing.”
“Who on earth would be desperate for your ass?” Fujigaya retorts, then has to clench his jaw when Kitayama wriggles that ass right against Fujigaya’s crotch purposely. “Hey, quit breaking your own rules!”
“I made ‘em, I’ll break ‘em if I want to,” Kitayama reminds, but he does fall still.
It takes a good twenty minutes before Fujigaya really starts to relax. It does feel good, Kitayama’s warmth under his arm and against his chest, the soft noise of Kitayama breathing, the way he can feel Kitayama’s pulse thrumming gently through their tangled fingers. His own eyes start to feel heavy, his limbs relaxing against Kitayama’s, and maybe Fujigaya can see the appeal of this for its own sake after all.
He’s mildly surprised when Kitayama rolls over so that he can look up at Fujigaya from his back, still tucked close against Fujigaya’s side, but Fujigaya’s only surprised because he thought that Kitayama was asleep for sure. Fujigaya himself doesn’t feel far from it.
“Hm?” he asks when Kitayama lets go of Fujigaya’s hand to press his palm against Fujigaya’s chest, right over top of where Fujigaya’s heartbeat is thumping at a much more normal rate than earlier.
“Finally,” Kitayama says in approval. “I think you might even be ready for step two.”
Fujigaya opens his mouth to ask if that’s staring soulfully into each other’s eyes or some shit, but before he gets a word out, Kitayama reaches up to thread fingers through Fujigaya’s hair and pulls him down close enough to press their mouths together. Fujigaya’s eyes flutter shut right away because he knows exactly what to do for this part, and he drops his weight to his elbows so that he can lean into the kiss more deeply, teasing along Kitayama’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue.
“Uh-uh,” Kitayama scolds, pushing him back gently by the shoulders just enough to break the kiss. “Slow. Take your time. Can’t you enjoy anything for its own sake?”
Fujigaya whines, because he wants Kitayama already and all this waiting just cannot serve any purpose. He tries to hold back when Kitayama kiss him again, but it just feels unnatural, and Fujigaya ends up stiff and unresponsive until Kitayama breaks the kiss again. He’s blushing, he’s supposed to be so good at this dammit, but Kitayama only chuckles.
“Switch places with me,” he says, and Fujigaya blinks before moving to obey. The narrowness of the bed takes some negotiating so that one or both of them don’t go tumbling off the edge, but Kitayama’s arm is firm around Fujigaya’s waist until Fujigaya is safely on his back and Kitayama is leaning over him.
It’s an unusual position for Fujigaya; most of the people he takes home expect him to be the aggressor. It feels nice to relax and just wait for Kitayama to do all the work, for once, and Fujigaya stretches a little before looking up at Kitayama expectantly.
“Mm, that’s nice,” Kitayama says, the view apparently meeting his approval. He leans in to pick up where they left off, but pauses just before their lips touch. “Don’t move.”
“Freak,” Fujigaya accuses, but a little shiver runs down his spine when Kitayama’s lips brush over his as lightly as possible. He does it again, and again, kisses so light that Fujigaya can barely feel them before they’re over, and the shivers spread further over his skin each time Kitayama does it. Kitayama turns his head to kiss Fujigaya’s jaw with the same light touch, then up to his cheekbone, and Fujigaya can’t stop the soft noise of longing from escaping his lips.
When Kitayama returns to his mouth and presses their lips together firmly, Fujigaya’s mouth is so over-sensitized from all the little touches that his arms fly up to wrap around Kitayama’s neck before he remembers he’s breaking the rules again. This time Kitayama doesn’t seem to mind; he hums softly against Fujigaya’s mouth as Fujigaya twists fingers in Kitayama’s hair, urging him to keep going, don’t stop.
Kitayama lifts his head finally, and Fujigaya feels dazed, no idea how long they’ve been kissing. It’s a long moment before he realizes that for all of that, for how little shivers are still running over his skin from head to toe, Kitayama hadn’t ever so much as brushed their tongues together.
“See?” Kitayama says, smiling like he can read Fujigaya’s thoughts right off his face. “It feels so much better when you take your time. Now get out, I want to sleep.”
“Whaaaat?” Fujigaya groans, but it isn’t like he expected any better from this jerk. He pouts for show though as he sits up and straightens his shirt, running a hand through his hair and complaining that he’ll be doing the walk of shame home on the late train with all the other rejected girlfriends.
“It’s good for you to experience new things,” Kitayama soothes with fake sympathy. He at least has the decency to walk Fujigaya to the door, even if his sleepy eyes and wild hair are making it look a lot more tempting to crawl back into bed rather than go out into the cold. As Fujigaya is stepping down into the genkan, Kitayama grins suddenly.
“What?” Fujigaya asks suspiciously as he tries to toe on his boots without bending down.
“You’ve never cuddled with somebody you haven’t fucked already?” Kitayama asks. Fujigaya shakes his head. “Hm, seems like I got one of your firsts after all. Thanks for saving one for me~.”
Fujigaya squawks in protest, but Kitayama is already leaning in for a last, firm kiss, the height difference between the floor and the genkan making it easy for once.
“See if you can’t think and dig up a couple more,” Kitayama whispers when the kiss breaks. “I bet I’ve got at least one. If you can find it, it’s yours.” He gives Fujigaya’s waist a little pinch and then shoves him out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
Fujigaya can’t stop hearing the low promise in Kitayama’s voice the whole way home, cheeks once again flushed bright pink the entire trip. It surely doesn’t help his case when he tries to sneak into his house and his mother and Yuusuke are sitting right there on the couch waiting for him, demanding to know what date could be so hot that Fujigaya can only come up with an excuse as shitty as “I was at Kitayama’s.”
"Call him and ask," he tells them, though both of their grins just get wider. "I was there."
Serves him right if they do call, honestly, Fujigaya thinks as he slumps to his room and flops onto his bed. This whole time he'd thought he could just come home and rub one out, fantasize about what should have happened in Kitayama's bed, but it just doesn't feel right anymore. All of that nonsexual cuddling and kissing without tongue has messed with his head.
And if he clings to a pillow all night, recalling how it had felt to hold Kitayama close to him, well that's his secret.
What he doesn't expect is for his heart to race the next time he lays eyes on Kitayama. It's just before rehearsal, like any other day in the past decade, but the sight hasn't quite affected him like this before. It's like Kitayama's mere appearance conjures up memories and sensations from last night, so strong that it's almost embarrassing how he loses his breath over it.
Naturally that bastard notices, a grin spreading across his face as he walks up to Fujigaya. "Good morning," he says, and even his voice seems to tug at something deep in Fujigaya's chest.
"What did you do to me?" Fujigaya hisses. "I feel weird."
Kitayama laughs, which just makes Fujigaya narrow his eyes. "You're cute when you're frustrated."
"I am not…that is…" Fujigaya frowns as he tries to make his words come out right. "You did something to me, admit it. I couldn't even jerk off without feeling guilty."
Kitayama's eyes darken as Fujigaya realizes two seconds too late what he'd just admitted to. "Oh really?"
"I mean," Fujigaya backpedals, then gives up. "Fine, whatever, when's step three? I was good and played your little game. I'm ready for step three."
"Step three isn't what you think it is," Kitayama says slowly.
"You said it was touching," Fujigaya tells him. "I remember that clearly."
"Not the kind of touching you want," Kitayama clarifies. "It's the kind that makes you want more, because there are limits that likely include everywhere you want to touch and be touched, but it feels so good."
"Do you get off on denial or something?" Fujigaya asks bluntly.
Kitayama just lifts his eyebrows. "That's up to you to find out."
"Unfair." Fujigaya actually pouts, feeling like a child despite the very adult topic, but backing down isn't an option.
"Are you in?" Kitayama asks casually, like he's just offering to meet for lunch or something. "I have filming for the rest of the week, so my next free night isn't until Saturday."
"That's so far away," Fujigaya grumbles. "Can't I stay over before then? We don't have to do anything, just sleep."
"Aw, that's sweet," Kitayama says, and it only sounds a little patronizing. "I actually believe you don't have any ulterior motives there."
"I don't!" Fujigaya exclaims, then lowers his voice when he sees Nikaido looking over in interest. "I just liked how it felt, okay? Isn't that what you wanted? For me to appreciate just being close to you or whatever weird feeling this is?"
Now Kitayama smiles, a genuine one that has Fujigaya's spirits lifting considerably. "Something like that."
"So let me stay over," Fujigaya presses. "I won't touch you, I promise."
"I believe that, too," Kitayama tells him. "But no."
"Why?" Fujigaya whines.
"Because it's better if you have to wait for it," Kitayama says. "Come over on Saturday. It's only four days away."
Those four days feel like four weeks, testing the strength of Fujigaya's pillow that in no way takes the place of a human being. He feels like the lamest guy to ever grace the planet, because who actually gets addicted to cuddling someone after just one night? But it feels like more than that, a deeper kind of yearning just to be close to Kitayama, to hold the smaller man in his arms and feel him breathe. He wouldn't mind more of that kissing, either, just to feel even more. Step three could only be better, even if it's not going to get him off.
Somehow getting off isn't the goal anymore, though Fujigaya's not sure what is. Even when Saturday comes and he spends another hour picking out his outfit, he's still confused. If he's not being led by his dick, he has no idea what's going on.
"Hey," Kitayama answer the door, looking rather nicely disheveled like he'd just fallen asleep watching TV, and Fujigaya feels that need soar within him. "You're early."
"You don't look that busy," Fujigaya replies, and Kitayama scoffs as he just lets Fujigaya in and leans against the wall. "Were you going to doll yourself up for me or something?"
"Why would I do that?" Kitayama asks. "I'm not going to be dressed for very long anyway."
Fujigaya nearly trips over his shoes. "Say what now?"
"Even you ought to know that touching over clothes is no fun," Kitayama says, loosely encircling his fingers around Fujigaya's waist and guiding him toward the bed. "On your back."
It's possibly the easiest order he's ever followed, stretching out underneath Kitayama's heavy but attentive eyes and waiting for whatever comes next. What comes next is Kitayama scooting in next to him, curling right up against his side, and Fujigaya closes his eyes as the thirst that he's had for four days is finally quenched with Kitayama's body against his again.
Then there's a light pressure to his throat, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. "What the—"
"I've always wanted to touch you here," Kitayama says quietly, like there's someone to overhear. "Stay still, okay? You don't have to do anything but lie there."
That sounds easy enough, but all Fujigaya wants to do is squirm as Kitayama's fingers trace the hollow of his throat and around his jaw. It's too light to be a tickle, but there's just enough pressure to ignite Fujigaya's nerves and drive him crazy. Fujigaya finds himself catching his breath, amazed at how much of a reaction he has over something so small, and he makes it until Kitayama dips toward his collarbone before his body gives an involuntary shiver that he feels in his toes.
"How do you feel?" Kitayama asks, his voice sounding so far away despite Fujigaya feeling the depth of it through his touch.
Fujigaya tries to speak, but what comes out is garbled Japanese and Kitayama's chuckle is even deeper. He expects Kitayama to make fun of him, maybe even just explain what the hell is going on here, but all that happens is Kitayama popping the buttons of Fujigaya's shirt, excruciatingly slowly as he follows his fingers with warm, dry lips.
“I don’t know why you won’t let Duet see this,” Kitayama murmurs as he finishes with Fujigaya’s buttons and pushes the shirt off to either side. His palms graze Fujigaya’s chest lightly, and Fujigaya’s heart skips a beat; it skips several more when Kitayama notices and does it again more deliberately.
“It’s not for them to see,” Fujigaya says without thinking, then groans when Kitayama looks up from kissing his sternum to grin, eyes dark.
“But I can look all I want?” Kitayama asks silkily, trailing fingers up Fujigaya’s ribs, so slowly that he almost seems like he’s counting them. Fujigaya’s face flushes even warmer than it already was, but he nods. If that’s what it takes to keep Kitayama’s hands and mouth on his skin, Fujigaya would agree to just about anything at the moment.
Kitayama seems intent on mapping every inch of Fujigaya’s exposed skin, mouthing at Fujigaya’s collarbones and shoulders, all the places that his fingers skimmed earlier. Fujigaya can’t help but squirm under the attention, and Kitayama has to put hands on his waist to hold him at least partially steady. It feels so good, though, a slow burn that spreads over all of Fujigaya’s skin and leaves him dizzy in a way that the hottest club girl hasn’t ever done.
It’s only when Kitayama licks deliberately at one of Fujigaya’s nipples that Fujigaya has to stop him, suddenly arousal rolling through him and stopping right at his cock.
“Don’t,” he gasps, and Kitayama lifts his head with a vague hum. “Unless you’re planning on doing a lot more...” Fujigaya rolls his hips so Kitayama has to feel it against his stomach, if he somehow hasn’t already.
“Weren’t you trying to talk me into more?” Kitayama asks, teasing a little, but mostly he seems surprised by Fujigaya putting the brakes on for once.
Fujigaya fidgets, eyes coming to rest somewhere around Kitayama’s shoulder because it’s hard to keep looking him in the eyes. “No. I...” It’s surprisingly hard to say the words, which is a bit ridiculous given how filthy the things he says in bed usually are, but Fujigaya forces himself to say what he’s feeling. “I like this. I don’t want you to stop.”
“That’s nice to hear,” Kitayama says, sounding genuinely pleased. “Because I’ve been dying to do this to you for ages.”
That makes Fujigaya look back up. “Really?”
“All those times you made such a fuss about wanting to stay covered up,” Kitayama explains, eyes falling half-shut as if he’s picturing it right now. “I guess it’s really true what they say, that less is more. The more you tried to keep your body a secret, the more I wanted to learn all your secrets myself.” Kitayama’s hand strays lower, until he’s rubbing his thumb over the little scar where Fujigaya’s navel piercing used to be. “Why’d you take this out? I definitely had some fantasies about what I’d do to this if I ever got you on your back.”
“Wasn’t practical for costume changes,” Fujigaya shrugs, letting his head tip back into the pillow and his eyes close as Kitayama picks up where he left off, mouth and hands gentle just below where Fujigaya’s ribs stop. “Plus, nobody was ever as interested in it as I was.”
“Seriously, who have you been fucking around with?” Kitayama asks, tsking like Fujigaya is some trainee who keeps putting on his costume backwards. “Thank goodness you finally came to me so I can show you how it’s done properly.”
“Mm, please take care of me,” Fujigaya sighs. With his eyes closed, Kitayama’s soft touches feel even better, less predictable and more intense now that he can’t see where Kitayama will move to next. He is turned on, but he’s also relaxed, just enjoying the moment for once without being so worried about where it’s going next. He supposes Kitayama must be an okay teacher after all, not that he’s planning to tell him that.
It’s almost a surprise when suddenly Kitayama’s mouth is on his, the kiss just as soft and coaxing as his slow touches. Fujigaya hadn’t felt him move at all, but when he opens his eyes, Kitayama is leaning over him, looking down with dark, interested eyes like he’s just drinking in the sight of Fujigaya, wild-haired and all a mess.
“Can I do that to you?” Fujigaya blurts, and he isn’t sure which one of them is more surprised. It’s true, though, that he does really want to. After a second, Kitayama’s surprise blooms into a small, pleased smile.
“Of course,” Kitayama agrees. He sits back on his knees so that Fujigaya can sit up, and he doesn’t waste any time stripping off his own shirt and tossing it aside carelessly before he lies down in Fujigaya’s spot. “Ohh, you’ve got it all nice and warm for me right here.”
“Figures that’s what you care about,” Fujigaya snorts softly. He runs his eyes over Kitayama’s tanned, smooth skin, no idea where he should even start and fingers twitching with the want to get started. It gets worse when he notices Kitayama watching him, his eyes barely open but enough for Fujigaya to feel the heat of his stare, waiting.
"It's okay," Kitayama says gently, like Fujigaya needs the assurance. "You can touch me anywhere."
"No I can't," Fujigaya replies pointedly, pouting a little as he lifts his hand to Kitayama's shoulder, but his mouth falls open when he trails a finger along the bone and Kitayama shivers.
"I trust your judgment," Kitayama tells him, and Fujigaya already knows he couldn't cross that line Kitayama has set for them even with free reign. "Don't stop, that feels good."
"Yeah?" Fujigaya asks, though he doesn't really require verbal confirmation with the way Kitayama inhales sharply as Fujigaya starts to move his fingers. It's a lazy drag of his entire hand, like he can't be bothered to make the effort to hold it up as he drifts down Kitayama's arms and back across his collarbone.
Kitayama's reactions are so enticing that Fujigaya could do this all day. He traces the outlines of Kitayama's arm muscles, moving down his chest and back up to his throat, which Kitayama helpfully stretches out. Fujigaya uses his knuckles there, continuing up and around Kitayama's jaw that's just starting to bristle from the late hour, then back down the center of Kitayama's chest. He feels Kitayama's stomach quiver, slowly tracing the lines of his abdomen before using both hands to trail up his sides.
Predictably Kitayama squirms, and Fujigaya smiles. "I see the appeal."
"Whatever makes you keep doing it," Kitayama says, his voice barely a whisper. "Your hands feel nice."
"Can I go lower?" Fujigaya asks, the words coming out before he can think about them properly, and instantly his face heats up. "I mean…"
"It's fine," Kitayama says, and Fujigaya's eyes dart up to find his very, very dark. "I told you, I trust your judgment."
"But you didn't—"
"I would have," Kitayama goes on, "but you stopped me."
Fujigaya sucks in his air as he drops his hands to Kitayama's waistband. Suddenly he feels sixteen again, the first time he'd ever opened someone else's pants, all of the unfamiliar feelings of anxiety and anticipation flooding him all over again. He hooks his fingers under the elastic and urges them down, trying not to pay too much attention to the bulge in Kitayama's underwear that's demanding his attention even if it's not allowed.
Kitayama lifts his hips to help, and Fujigaya slides his hands down Kitayama's legs as he shoves off the sweatpants. The muscles flex under his touch and Fujigaya can't get enough, squeezing the backs of Kitayama's thighs that spread invitingly as Fujigaya hovers over him.
"Kiss me," Kitayama breathes, and the next second has Fujigaya's lips on his, pressing together over and over, but not trying for more, just like he's been conditioned to do thus far. Kitayama's lips are soft, his skin hot as Fujigaya's hands try to feel everything at once, splaying all over his chest and legs as they kiss.
It's Fujigaya who stops, placing his hands firmly on either side of Kitayama's body as he hangs his head low enough for his forehead to brush Kitayama's collarbone. "That's enough."
"Good boy," Kitayama whispers, and Fujigaya lifts his head to narrow his eyes through his bangs. "Maybe next time we can reach step four."
"What's that?" Fujigaya asks, his own voice unnaturally low as his blood races.
Kitayama leans up to loop his arms around Fujigaya's neck. "I'll give you a hint."
Then Kitayama's kissing him again, only this time something warm and wet flicks at Fujigaya's lips. It surprises Fujigaya so much that he gasps, pulling back like it's his first time and staring incredulously down at Kitayama's grinning face.
"You get it now, right?" Kitayama asks, one of his hands dropping to cup Fujigaya's jaw.
Fujigaya just nods and leans in, but Kitayama shakes his head.
Fujigaya flops down against Kitayama’s chest with a soft groan. “Is this the part where you send me home to do the walk of shame in front of my family?”
“You know, if you would just move out like a real adult...” Kitayama’s chuckle stirs the hair near Fujigaya’s ear, making him shiver. “No one’s making you go anywhere. Didn’t you say you wanted to just sleep with me?”
Fujigaya lifts his head to look at Kitayama’s expression, but he doesn’t find any teasing, just Kitayama watching him evenly with a small smile. He looks relaxed, and he feels so good against Fujigaya, and Fujigaya has no desire to go outside in the cold even if it means he spends the whole night hard and doesn’t sleep a wink.
“Yeah,” he says. “I want to stay.”
They end up in the same position as the night they watched television together, Kitayama’s back tucked against Fujigaya’s chest, Fujigaya’s arm snug around Kitayama’s waist. The blankets are already warm from them lying on top of them, and Fujigaya gives a little groan of pleasure when they settle in, limbs relaxing against Kitayama’s like they belong there. Kitayama is out like a light almost as soon as he stops moving, and Fujigaya feels a sleepy twinge of regret for keeping him up during his filming schedule. Nobody knows better than Fujigaya how precious a few extra hours of sleep are during a drama, and it makes him feel equal parts treasured and guilty that Kitayama of all people is giving up those hours to be with him.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers into Kitayama’s hair. Fujigaya drops off quickly after that, much quicker than he would have guessed, lulled easily into sleep by Kitayama’s deep, steady breathing.
In the morning, Kitayama’s phone alarm goes off at a positively indecent hour, and Fujigaya is halfway through a really good whine when he remembers that he’s not the one who has to get up for filming.
“Thank god, I can stay in bed,” he groans, grunting when Kitayama pinches his bare side. He opens one eye to find Kitayama eyeing him with ringed eyes and adds sheepishly, “Er, if that’s okay? If you’d rather I didn’t...I won’t jerk off in your bed or anything, I swear.”
“I never said you couldn’t,” Kitayama says, and then leans in to press a noisy kiss to Fujigaya’s cheek. Before Fujigaya can do more than blink, Kitayama is sliding out of bed and trudging to the shower, hair wild and scratching at his stomach.
It’s unexpectedly cute, Fujigaya thinks as he tugs the blankets back up to his chin. Then he wrinkles his nose at himself for being so easy over dumb stuff. “Ugh, Taisuke, get a hold of yourself,” he grumbles, squeezing his eyes shut tight and trying to at least do something as in-character as picturing Kitayama naked and wet in the shower.
For a few days, other than some teasing mails, Fujigaya has to entertain himself as Kitayama’s schedule is too busy for them to meet even at work. They even have to do their magazine shots separately, and the only reason Fujigaya gets to see Kitayama at all is that he hangs around long after the others have gone, ignoring the knowing looks of his bandmates and flipping idly through a magazine until Kitayama pokes his head in the dressing room.
“Still here?” Kitayama’s surprise turns into a smirk after only a second. “Were you waiting for me, Taisuke? That’s so sweet.”
“Shut it,” Fujigaya orders, flipping over a page in his magazine as if he couldn’t care less. He can only sustain his nonchalant image for a minute, though, before he can’t resist sneaking a glance. Kitayama is stripping his shirt off, and Fujigaya gets caught staring.
“Enjoying the view?” Kitayama asks. He stretches slowly, showing off his lean lines. “Better not let the staff see you looking at me like that, they’ll start drafting our BL manga.”
Fujigaya stands up in one smooth motion and catches Kitayama around the waist before Kitayama can move to escape. He pulls Kitayama close enough to press their mouths together, Kitayama’s soft sigh muffled against his lips. He drags fingers down Kitayama’s bare spine and has to suppress a grin when Kitayama stretches obviously into the touch.
After only a few of the light, slow kisses they’ve been exchanging, Fujigaya dares a swipe of his tongue across Kitayama’s lower lip. Kitayama hums a little but doesn’t pull away, so Fujigaya presses his height advantage and traces the line of Kitayama’s lip more deliberately, asking for permission instead of demanding it for once. When Kitayama finally does open up for him, heat floods over Fujigaya’s skin at the first brush of their tongues. Fujigaya has had dozens of kisses dirtier than this, but none of them have made his blood rush so loud in his ears, made his fingertips tingle with want. Kitayama’s tongue curls around his, and Fujigaya kisses back like he can’t remember how to do anything else.
They’re both panting for air by the time Kitayama pulls back, his lips puffing up and his eyes dark. “What was that about?”
“Step four, obviously,” Fujigaya says. He can’t bring himself to stop kissing Kitayama entirely, brushing lips across Kitayama’s cheekbone and ear while he talks. “You didn’t say they had to all happen in your bed.”
“Didn’t I? Damn, I’m sure I meant to make than an official rule.” Fujigaya bites down lightly on Kitayama’s earlobe, making him gasp. “Oh. Stop, seriously. We’ll be on the cover exactly like this if any staff comes in here to find me.”
“Maybe I don’t care,” Fujigaya murmurs, too occupied with how smooth and hot the skin of Kitayama’s back is under his palms, how grazing the shell of Kitayama’s ear with his teeth makes Kitayama shudder against him.
“That’s a really sweet thing to say, coming from you,” Kitayama says. He reaches up to press palms to Fujigaya’s cheeks and tugs his face back to center for one last kiss, slow and thorough, before pushing him backwards firmly. “Wait just a bit longer, all right?”
“All I do is wait,” Fujigaya pouts as his hands slide reluctantly from Kitayama’s waist, but he flops back down to the couch obediently.
“I have a feeling this one will be quick,” Kitayama tells him, winking. “It’s gonna be so worth your while, trust me.”
He saunters out the door, picking up his photoshoot shirt on the way by, and Fujigaya hisses a quiet, “Fuuuuuck,” to the empty room. He fakes indifference well enough when Kitayama returns, but the smaller man is hiding a smirk and Fujigaya knows he's not fooling that one.
They're silent on the way back to Kitayama's place, though Fujigaya's nerves are sparking with anxiety at what will happen once they get there. He'd only had a small taste of Kitayama's mouth earlier, and all it did was make him want more. The yearning he feels for that deep kiss is comparable to how he's felt toward sex before, even the prospect of sex with Kitayama. Somehow that feels like forever ago, when he'd had Kitayama's weight on top of him for the Yoshio filming and just wanted to be inside him.
Now Fujigaya still wants to be inside him, but that's not all. He wants the cuddling, and the kissing, and the touching, and all of the steps leading up to that final one. And even after that final step is complete, he wants to go back and start all over again, over and over, until…
"What's wrong?" Kitayama's voice pierces through his racing mind, turning to stare at him as he lingers in Kitayama's genkan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
Fujigaya almost laughs. It's just as unbelievable, anyway. "Nothing."
He knows Kitayama doesn't buy that one bit, but all he does is nod. "Ah, okay, well whenever you're done, I'll—"
The rest of his words are cut off by Fujigaya's mouth, which descends upon his after his feet carry him across the room to take Kitayama into his arms. It all happens so fast that he already feels the warm slide of Kitayama's tongue against his by the time his mind catches up; Kitayama just lets it happen, even when Fujigaya manages to move them enough for the backs of Kitayama's knees to hit the side of his bed, sending them tumbling down onto his mattress.
Kitayama stretches out underneath him, fitting neatly against Fujigaya's body that presses down against his. It feels so good to be surrounded by him like this, Kitayama's arms lifting to wrap around Fujigaya's neck to pull him closer. His legs stay straight, but they tangle with Fujigaya's own, his thigh hard against Fujigaya crotch that grows interested even more quickly from the friction.
Everything gets so hot so fast and everything within Fujigaya wants more, kissing Kitayama deeply enough to make his head spin. His hands move on their own and the next thing he knows, he's feeling Kitayama's skin warm under his fingers, igniting the tiny tremors that continue through Fujigaya's own nerves and further fuel his arousal. Kitayama makes no move to stop him, even when their shirts and pants are on the floor and all that separates them from the inevitable next step is their underwear.
Apparently he's allowed to combine the steps, because he cannot keep his hands off of Kitayama's body, everywhere that has him shuddering and making those faint noises that die on Fujigaya's tongue. Kitayama's touching him, too, fingertips splaying all over his back and sides, leaving hot trails in their wakes. Fujigaya could do this all night, pressing closer and closer until their skin rubs together, and all he can think of is how good it feels, how much he wants to stay like this.
All at once it's gone, the warmth and contact and mindlessness, and it's entirely from his own doing.
"What?" Kitayama asks, looking confused as he squints open his eyes. His face is flushed and his lips are plump and shiny, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, and it's all for Fujigaya. But that's all that's for him.
"We should stop," he says, nearly tripping over his own limbs as he tries to stand and get dressed with some amount of dignity. "I should go."
"You don't have to," Kitayama says, eyeing him curiously while making no other movements.
Fujigaya looks back at him, and immediately he wishes he hadn't. Kitayama's sprawled out on his bed, obvious bulge in his pants and skin just begging for Fujigaya's hands all over it, never stopping. Not in the morning, not after the novelty wears off, never.
"Yes I do," he says, tearing his eyes away before Kitayama catches him staring, and somehow he makes it out of the apartment fully dressed with his shoes on the right feet.
Go to Part 2