Summary: Miyata's birthday Jweb is designed to make Tamamori beat him up.
AN: On his birthday, Miyata complained on Jweb that everybody sent him happy birthday messages except Tamamori, but then said, and I quote, "oh well, we share the same dressing room every day. Wait! We also live under the same roof" and pretty much my whole tlist was like WHAT AHAHAHAHA. So apparently, true facts, they are at least living in the same apartment building, but in my opinion that's questionable too, pfft. Anyway somehow this took me a month because I kept falling asleep on my face while writing it.
Birthdays and Other Important Updates
Tamamori knows that he's in trouble when the mail he gets from Kitayama is a long string of Ws with no explanation, and then one from his mother saying that it's nice he's decided to own up to his life choices but it's mean to force Toshi-kun to do it for him.
[woman what on earth are u talking about] he sends back when he's taking a break in between photoshoot sets. She doesn't answer right away, and Tamamori gets praised during the second batch of poses for the believability of his pensive frown.
[don't call me woman, I'm your mother. Check Jweb.]
"Ugh," Tamamori says out loud because that means it's definitely a thing, and he hasn't posted anything scandalous, so…
…yup, there it is, right in the middle of complaining that Tamamori isn't wishing him a happy birthday properly, Miyata writing in black and white that they're living together. Tamamori eyes the ceiling for a moment because he just doesn't know where to even start with this guy sometimes.
He types [u r gonna GET IT] but then erases it before hitting send because he doesn't want Miyata to have any idea what's happening before Tamamori gets home and gives it to him good.
The bad way. Not the good way. Tamamori glares at his phone because even in his head that had sounded questionable, and it's all Miyata's fault. It's also Miyata's fault that the stupid magazine only asked for him and not Miyata and Senga too, so Miyata gets to take kouhai out to dinner and then go home while Tamamori spends at least another hour trying to make his face do "sweet sexy frontman" instead of "I'm plotting how to kill my husband without going to jail."
Fujigaya's right, he does need to work on his game face.
Tamamori has himself pretty worked up by the he does get home, cursing under his breath at the blurriness of his dried out contacts as he fails to get his key in the lock until the third try. Inside, Miyata's boots are lined up neatly against the edge of the genkan; Tamamori kicks them over out of spite. Then he stomps into the living room, wishing not for the first time that Japanese people weren't so weird about shoes because stomping in socked feet is hardly threatening.
"Hey!" Miyata greets happily when he finally looks up from the TV. "I didn't hear you come in. Welcome home~."
"Don't 'welcome home' me!" Tamamori narrows his eyes. "I see right through you, buddy."
"Uh-oh," Miyata says. "But maybe you better take out your contacts first, because I'm more over here." He waves his hand helpfully. Tamamori squints at the blur.
"Ugh, fine," Tamamori grumbles, sock-stomping off. Ten minutes later, Tamamori is back in glasses, sweatpants, and a worn tour T-shirt. He collapses on the couch next to Miyata and gives him the beady eye. "Just who do you think you are, posting that kind of junk, huh? My mother texted me!"
"Oops," Miyata says, muting the TV and turning to face Tamamori properly. He keeps his eyes low, though. "Are you really mad?"
"YES," Tamamori bellows. "And you knew I would be! And you posted it anyway!"
Miyata shifts. "Yeah. I guess I felt selfish. But they'll probably make me take it down so—"
"You've got some nerve!" Tamamori steamrolls over whatever Miyata is trying to say. "Telling people I didn't send you a birthday mail! I told you happy birthday before any of those people like six times, and then I woke you up at five in the morning to wish you it again!"
"Wait, what?" Miyata asks, blinking.
"Now I'm probably going to get a hundred letters telling me I was mean to you on your birthday!" Tamamori glares. "They'll call me a jerk!"
"Is that what you're mad about?" Miyata looks completely perplexed. "Really?"
"Obviously, tcht." Tamamori raises an eyebrow. "What did you think?"
"I said…we were living together…" Miyata says cautiously, like he's afraid Tamamori didn't read the whole thing or something.
"Yeah, so what?" Miyata opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. "Seriously, Toshiya, we got married on stage eleven times last year. It's not really a scandal when married people live together."
"Yuta!" Miyata laughs, then bites his lip. "You really don't care I said that?"
"You don't think everybody already knew you were at least living in the building?" Tamamori asks. "Even that's kind of suspicious on its own. We should have put you in a skirt and made out at the front entrance so you could have made it into Friday finally." Miyata throws himself into Tamamori's arms suddenly, making him grunt. "Oof. What?"
"I just really love you," Miyata says, voice muffled in Tamamori's shirt. Tamamori heaves a soft sigh as Miyata slides arms around his back, getting his own arms around Miyata's shoulders to hug back. He lets Miyata cling, slouching down against the back of the couch so it's more comfortable and digging his chin into the curve of Miyata's neck a little.
He understands why Miyata thought he'd be mad, but truthfully Tamamori doesn't see the point in getting worked up over things like his image. Maybe he should, and once in a while his manager tries to have a talk with him about it, but Tamamori thinks it's pointless. Everybody in Japan must have them figured out by now, right? Being able to say 'it's just service' is a convenient excuse, sure, but Tamamori sees himself on television enough to know what it looks like when the camera catches him watching Miyata.
It's not exactly a look that one platonic dude gives to another, as his mother is so fond of reminding him.
He could make a big fuss about the two of them, go public for real, and truthfully if Miyata ever asked for that, Tamamori would do it. But Tamamori thinks it's better this way anyway, if Miyata can put junk like that on his Jweb casually and not be told to take it down. It's already way more than he'd ever thought that they'd have when a 20-year-old Miyata got drunk enough to say that he loved Tamamori so much they were both going to get fired, and Tamamori was thankfully sober enough to answer that he didn't give even one-tenth of a fuck about that.
"Moron," Tamamori mutters just thinking about it, and he kisses Miyata's cheek just because it's near. Miyata heaves a sigh, the warmth of it reaching Tamamori's skin through his T-shirt. "Let's just go to bed already."
"Go to bed? Or go," Miyata deepens his voice comically, "to bed?"
"Both, stupid. Hurry up and get off me."
Tamamori's already exhausted from the long day, from the show and cute backers and photoshoots and texts from his mother, the ache of it reaching from his shoulders to his butt when he collapses flat on his back on the bed. He ignores all of it to pull Miyata over top of him, the weight and warmth of him pressing Tamamori into the mattress worth every second of lost sleep. Miyata still looks apologetic, and Tamamori curls arms around his neck so he can pull him down and kiss that look off his stupid face.
They should hurry up and do it so they can both get some sleep, but they're slow and lazy because actually both of them are morons. Tamamori certainly isn't in a hurry to rush through the kissing, the brush of Miyata's nose against his cheek, his hands cupping Tamamori's face or sliding back into his hair. The muscles of Miyata's back are strong under Tamamori's own hands, and when he traces the bumps of Miyata's spine, Miyata makes soft, cute noises into his mouth.
Eventually they roll onto their sides, still making out, Miyata's hands trailing heat down Tamamori's back until they slide into Tamamori's sweatpants. They're both mostly hard, Miyata's knee between Tamamori's legs so they have something to rub against as their hips roll together. It's like the first bunch of times they got off together, when the slowness was more due to confusion and nerves, but Tamamori liked it then and still likes it now. He likes the heat and the closeness of it, the way his lips are stinging and the tight grip of Miyata's hands digging in to his ass to drag him as close as possible.
"So much for sleeping at a reasonable hour," Miyata chuckles, then hisses when Tammaori nips his jaw.
"Don't talk to me about sleeping," Tamamori tells him. He hooks a finger in Miiyata's pajama pants to snap the waistband. "Get rid of these already."
Miyata pushes both of their pants down to their thighs, just far enough that he can wrap a hand around both of them together. Tamamori hums in pleasure at the first slow stroke, Miyata's hand warm and strong. He pushes his hips into the second stroke and that feels even better. Everything feels good with Miyata, Tamamori thinks lazily, his mouth and his hands and his thigh between Tamamori's legs, the warm puffs of air against his cheek. His orgasm builds slowly at the base of his spine, winding tighter and tighter until finally it spills over, Tamamori shuddering himself out with a low hum.
When he opens his eyes, Miyata's eyes are on him, lit up with adoration, and Tamamori smiles back, too flush with endorphins to pretend he isn't exactly as stupid for Miyata as Miyata is for him.
"I was gonna marry you even if they fired me," Tamamori says, apropos of nothing. Miyata blinks, then starts laughing, remembering belatedly that they have neighbors and covering his mouth. It isn't his clean hand, making Tamamori roll his eyes, but he wraps fingers around Miyata's wrist and tugs his hand over to lick a few of Miyata's fingers clean.
Then he rolls Miyata onto his back and slides down to suck Miyata off, smugness kindling in his chest at Miyata's choked noises and hitched breath. Even the feel of his lips around Miyata, the weight of him on Tamamori's tongue, is familiar and good, the gentle tug of Miyata's fingers in his hair, the tense muscles of Miyata's thigh corded under Tamamori's hands. It takes almost no time at all for Miyata to arch his back, trembling, and then go slack, groaning quietly. Aftershocks shiver under Tamamori's fingers as he finishes licking Miyata clean, and then goes on doing it just because until Miyata whines breathlessly for him to stop.
"Yuta," Miyata sighs happily as Tamamori crawls up to let Miyata roll into his arms. "Mmm, Yuta Yuta Yuta."
"Quit that," Tamamori tells him, which really means don't quit it at all. No worries because Miyata doesn't quit it, and Tamamori kisses his temple and cheek and jaw as Miyata comes down. "I'm still mad at you."
"S'okay," Miyata yawns, a boneless, warm weight half-sprawled over Tamamori. "You're cute when you're annoyed." His grip on Tamamori tightens suddenly, and when he speaks again his voice is soft and serious. "I shouldn't have done that, though. It's different than fooling around in a making-of where you're right there and you can kick my ass if you don't want to play along. You should choose your image over me at least some of the time."
"Are you extra dumb today or what?" Tamamori demands, pinching the slight pudge of Miyata's waist until he squeaks. "I definitely should not do that ever. Marriage means you're gonna pick the other person first, obviously. And in return that person doesn't say I'm being a jerk when I totally am not."
After a pause, Miyata answers, "I guess there's plenty of times you actually are being a jerk that I could have complained about instead."
"Now you got it." Tamamori gives a yawn of his own and rolls over, trusting Miyata to curl up along his back. Miyata does, his heat feeling like heaven against Tamamori's aching muscles. That alone would be worth Miyata's cheesiness and obvious comments, if Tamamori had to choose. "Good thing I don't have to choose."
"Hm?" Miyata murmured against the back of Tamamori's neck. "Choose what?"
Tamamori drops off without answering, and when his alarm drags them unwillingly back to consciousness a few hours later, he assumes Miyata's forgotten all about it. He barely can string two thoughts together as he stands under the hot water of the shower, trying to will life back into his heavy limbs.
"Give me that," Miyata chuckles, and Tamamori snaps out of his daze to see that Miyata has climbed into the shower with him, and also that he's trying to shampoo his hair with his body scrub. Miyata takes the bottle from him gently and picks up the shampoo bottle instead. His fingers in Tamamori's hair make Tamamori's eyes flutter shut, too tired to hold them open when it feels so good. "Be honest, this is why you asked me to move in, right?"
Tamamori opens his eyes, intending to glare at Miyata and tell him, no, stupid, he asked Miyata to move in because Miyata is hot and sweet and funny and even spending 24 hours a day together is never enough, but then soap suds slide into his eyes and Tamamori has to squeeze them shut again, whining in anguish.
"Sorry, sorry!" Miyata apologizes, rinsing Tamamori's head off quickly and brushing his hair back from his face.
They make it out of the shower eventually with only minor mishaps, and once Tamamori has a towel around his waist and they're safely out of the shower so they won't slip on the tile and die, Tamamori grabs Miyata suddenly enough to make him stumble against Tamamori's bare chest. He's already got his phone in his other hand, picked up from the sink counter, and when he's sure it won't be blurry, he snaps a backwards selfie of them. It's a good one too, both of them bare-chested and flushed from the shower, Miyata's cheek pressed against Tamamori's shoulder and eyes wide with surprise, Tamamori's cheek against Miyata's hair and expression self-satisfied.
"There," he says, releasing Miyata and handing him the phone to look. "Just remember that when I can post that to my Jweb, then we'll be even." Miyata doesn't answer as he hands the phone back, but his face is the same as it was last night, when he'd realized that Tamamori didn't care if he'd told the whole world that they lived together. Tamamori means it about the Jweb, about them, if it means Miyata will keep making that face at him, surprised and shy and loved.
They'll get there, Tamamori promises himself, someday. He'll make it that way himself if he has to.
Meanwhile, he sends the selfie to his mother with a snide comment about the success of his life choices, and then also to Kitayama with nothing but a string of Ws.