Kis-My-Ft2, Dating Is Not a Spectator’s Sport

Title: Dating Is Not a Spectator’s Sport [Miyata/Tamamori]
Rating/Warnings: R for post-Countdown activities that are even better than interband kissing battles.
Summary: Ever since they got back together, Miyata’s spent a lot of time watching Tamamori, and he’s ready to do more than just watch.
AN: for snowqueenofhoth, who wanted tama/miyata first time fic, and definitely promised me fic about their OTHER first time in return. NO PRESSURE 🙂

Dating Is Not a Spectator’s Sport

The mystery box in their dressing room turns out to be full of new swooshy bits for their costumes, all red and green and white and gold, festive for the holiday season. It’s a pretty good present, so far as Kis-My-Ft2 is concerned, and the members tear into it with glee.

Yokoo helps Senga tie the new bits on; Nikaido and Fujigaya squabble over the best bits until Kitayama lazily breaks up the fight by claiming the best ones to be his as Leader.

Miyata ignores all of them, twisting a candy-cane-striped scarf around his hands and watching Tamamori twirling a little to test out the swish of his own new swooshy bits.

He’s been watching Tamamori more lately, ever since their temporary break-up and the consequent reconciliation a few days before Christmas. It seems like now that he has the right to watch again, he doesn’t want to stop. He watches Tamamori sing at voice lessons, watches him daydream during dance practice, watches him eat and change costumes and hunt for his roller-skates. Miyata never gets tired of it.

And Tamamori doesn’t seem to mind. At that moment, Tamamori looks up and blushes a little when he catches Miyata staring again, but he gives Miyata a shy smile and little wave. And then, after glancing around to make sure that nobody is paying any attention to him, he gives a little bodyroll all for Miyata.

Miyata tears his gaze away, cheeks heating, and tries to look invested in attaching the scarf to his costume instead, but he’s interrupted by Fujigaya’s tongue-click.

“What on earth are you doing?” Fujigaya demands, and when Miyata looks up, Fujigaya’s wry expression says that Miyata isn’t fooling anybody. “That looks ridiculous. Are you Kisumai or aren’t you?”

“Senga’s looks exactly the same!” Miyata protests after a glance at their resident costuming failure.

“That just proves my point,” Fujigaya grumbles, but he turns away to adjust Senga, and Miyata heaves a little sigh of relief.

“Ne,” Tamamori says, suddenly close enough to Miyata to murmur in his ear, and Miyata swallows hard. “That doesn’t suit Miyata at all. Trade me.”

Miyata lets Tamamori take the scarf out of his hands and put some other things in them, and tries hard not to look like he’s imagining Tamamori in nothing but swooshy bits, possibly with a few of them tying his wrists to Miyata’s headboard.

“There,” Tamamori says, after he’s taken pity on Miyata and rearranged a few of the bits to his liking. “That’s much better.” He gives Miyata a smile that makes Miyata’s insides liquefy, then sneaks a kiss while Miyata is defenseless.

And then they have to run to dance practice, which sucks, because all Miyata really wants to do is grab Tamamori by the swooshy bits and throw him up against the wall, kiss him until they’re both dizzy with it. He wants to tug Tamamori’s costume out of the way and get his hands on Tamamori’s skin, and he doesn’t want to stop.

Some of what he wants must show in his gaze, because Tamamori wriggles a little when he catches Miyata staring again, only this time he gives Miyata a little “Mou, enough already,” under his breath. Miyata shakes himself and tries to calm down, but it’s hard when Tamamori’s hips roll lazily and his bare arms start to slick with sweat.

It isn’t like they haven’t fooled around at all, Miyata sighs to himself during a self-imposed water break. But they don’t have the time or the place for much more than quick makeout sessions behind the costume rack or in corners of the backstage at Shokura. Once Tamamori had yanked Miyata into a prop closet and they’d ended up with their hands in each other’s sparkly pants, but they hadn’t even had time to get their shirts off, and then they’d broken up and it hasn’t happened again since.

The quick kisses and the handful of over-the-costume gropes they’ve managed all make Miyata want Tamamori more, but he doesn’t want just another fumbling handjob with his back pressed against a shelf of tambourines. Miyata wants to take his time, to get Tamamori undressed and to see all of him. Maybe he wants Tamamori’s mouth and maybe he wants to be inside Tamamori, and maybe he even wants to tie Tamamori up, a little, but mostly, he just doesn’t want to be rushed.

“Miyataaa,” Tamamori whines, because Miyata is still staring.

“Sorry,” Miyata sighs. He has to pull himself together, at least while they’re at practice. He shoves aside thoughts of Tamamori and knotted silk, and instead concentrates on his own feet and the fact that Nikaido and Senga are obviously snickering about him.

Jerks, Miyata grouses to himself. As if they aren’t just as bad. But he trips Nikaido during a crossover, making him fall flat on his face, and then apologizes sweetly when Nikaido tries to tell on him to Kitayama and only gets told off for cursing.

Finally practice is over, and after they are changed, Miyata and Tamamori walk to the subway station together. It’s freezing outside, but neither one of them wears their mittens so that their fingers can occasionally brush as they walk.

“Hey,” Miyata says, breath puffing white in the air, “did you ask about New Year’s Eve?”

“Yeah,” Tamamori answers, and there’s a beat where he doesn’t say anything more, and Miyata’s heart plummets to his toes. But then Tamamori looks up with a shy grin, and says, “I can spend the night.”

“Really?!” Miyata exclaims, breath hitching, and he throws his arms around Tamamori to hug him tight, paparazzi or no paparazzi. Tamamori just laughs and squeezes him back for a moment before shoving him away, and repeats that yes, he can spend the night after Countdown.

Miyata’s family will be away, visiting relatives for New Year’s, but Miyata has to stay and work, Countdown. It means they’ll have the house to themselves, and Miyata will have all the time in the world.

The next few days are a haze of anticipation for Miyata, and also of questionable sex advice once the word gets out that Tamamori will be going home with Miyata after Countdown.

“Go slow, since it’s your first time,” Yokoo advises.

“Tell him how good he looks and how much you like him, it’ll make Tama-chan relax,” Fujigaya counsels.

“Don’t forget condoms,” Kitayama yawns, ever practical.

“We could always give you a practical demonstration,” Nikaido offers, and Senga kicks him in the shin.

It gets to the point where Miyata would start hiding in A.B.C.’s dressing room, if he weren’t sure that he’d end up learning more than he ever wanted to know about Goseki’s girl impression and Kawai’s relationship with Jun-senpai.

Tamamori’s cheeks are constantly pink, so Miyata knows he must be getting the same treatment, but the way he smiles at Miyata doesn’t change, sometimes shy and sometimes hopeful, but something new and knowing in Tamamori’s gaze makes Miyata’s heart trip over itself when he pulls Miyata into a corner to practice their New Year’s kiss.

Finally Countdown arrives, and then it’s all over just as quickly in a rush of senpai and lights and medleys. Miyata doesn’t feel bad, though, because it’s always like that, and even if he and Tamamori duck out of the afterparty before Nagase, Koichi, Jin, and Yamapi get into their semi-annual interband kissing battle, there’s always next year.

“Hell,” he says to Tamamori as they hail a cab, the last train long gone, “there’s always next week,” and he feels warm despite the wind when it makes Tamamori laugh, throat hoarse.

Miyata lets them into his house and calls out an automatic “I’m home,” even though everything is dark. They kick off their shoes and shed layers of coats and scarves, and suddenly Miyata feels awkward and tongue-tied, but manages to ask if Tamamori wants anything to eat or drink.

“I’m starving,” Tamamori says, since the last time they ate was that afternoon and now it’s two in the morning. Miyata gladly leads the way into the kitchen, even though he knows he’s stalling like a coward.

In the kitchen there is a note from his mother, congratulating them on the new year and informing them that there is mochi for them to fry in the fridge (“for good luck~” the note says, and Tamamori snickers and says that her handwriting is just like Miyata’s), and a cake on the counter for afterwards.

Miyata and Tamamori exchange one look before simultaneously going for the cake, forgoing plates for the sake of attacking the confection directly with forks. By the time Tamamori offers Miyata the last strawberry, Miyata is full and a touch sick from the richness of the icing, but it doesn’t stop him from bypassing the fork Tamamori is holding out to taste the sweetness on his lips instead.

Tamamori lets the fork drop with a clatter and tugs Miyata closer, and Miyata leans in obligingly, humming against Tamamori’s mouth as Tamamori twists his fingers his fingers in Miyata’s hair.

His heart is already pounding when Tamamori releases him a moment later, but that doesn’t stop it from doubling its rate when Tamamori gives him his familiar shy smile and asks if they can maybe go to Miyata’s room now.

They hold hands on the way up the stairs, and Miyata feels like a sap, but it feels good too, Tamamori’s fingers wrapped tight around his, and it keeps his hands from shaking as he pushes his door open and ushers Tamamori inside. Even though there’s nobody else home, he shuts the door after them; it seems more intimate that way.

Tamamori sits on Miyata’s bed and bounces a little, making the springs creak, and Miyata is suddenly seized with a panic that he has no idea what he’s doing and should just call the whole thing off. It lasts until he notices that Tamamori is staring at the ground and blushing violently, fiddling with the sleeves of his pullover, and Miyata realizes that he’s not the only one who’s nervous.

“You know,” he starts, and voice cracks, but he clears his throat and tries again. “You know, if you’re really tired, or whatever, we don’t have to…”

Tamamori grabs the bottom of his pullover and tugs it off all in one motion, taking his T-shirt along with it and leaving him only in his thin tank top, shivering a little. He glares at Miyata, defiant despite his furious blush. “I definitely want to.”

“Okay.” Miyata grins crazily, reaching for the hem of his own long-sleeved shirt as he crosses the room. “Okay!” He tugs his shirt off and tosses it aside, then finds himself standing right in front of Tamamori.

As if mesmerized, Tamamori reaches up and runs his fingertips over the bottom of Miyata’s ribs. His hand is gentle and hot, and Miyata holds his breath at the fascination on Tamamori’s face. “I haven’t,” Tamamori says, voice hushed, “seen much of you before.”

“I want to see you too,” Miyata exclaims as he lets out his breath in a rush, and he reaches down to tug Tamamori’s tank top free and to bare more of Tamamori’s skin.

He kisses Tamamori like that, leaning over him, even though the angle is awkward and his neck starts to pull when the kiss lasts longer than a few seconds. Tamamori’s hands graze over his back, exploring with cautious touches, making Miyata shiver. When Miyata pulls away, Tamamori stares up at him with curious, dark eyes, and Miyata wants him, all of him, so much that it crushes the air out of his chest.

“I’m taking off your pants,” Miyata announces, even though it’s plain without the announcement that that’s what he’s doing, and he meant to add something like “so we won’t get tangled” or anything else intelligent, but he gets distracted by how fast Tamamori moves to help, and then by the fact that Tamamori’s legs just go on and on, and all he ends up saying is “Wow.”

“I don’t think it’s that impressive,” Tamamori mumbles, eyes on the ground, but Miyata does. He steps back ostensibly to kick off his own jeans, but really just wants a better view as Tamamori scrambles farther back on the bed, trying and failing to cover up the parts that Miyata is most interested in.

It’s chilly in his room, and Miyata knows they should probably crawl under his blankets, but then he won’t be able to see anything, and he definitely wants to see the way Tamamori’s blush is creeping down his chest, and the way the muscles Tamamori has built up from dancing shift under his skin as he fidgets.

“Are you still just going to stare?” Tamamori finally demands, giving a laugh that’s shaky and forced. Miyata blushes a little himself, because he kind of wants to, but instead he takes pity on Tamamori and climbs onto the bed next to him. They have to scrunch close because it’s only a twin, but Miyata definitely doesn’t mind as Tamamori rolls onto his side to wrap his arms around Miyata and kiss him again.

He still tastes a little like the cake, and Miyata takes his time exploring Tamamori’s mouth for the last traces of it. He lets his hands roam over Tamamori’s skin the same way, marveling at how warm and smooth it is, how Tamamori gasps into his mouth when he fingers the bumps of Tamamori’s spine, or palms the curve of his ass.

Their hips rock together, Tamamori’s cock brushing Miyata’s stomach and Miyata’s rubbing against Tamamori’s thigh. Then one of them shifts and suddenly their cocks slide along each other, making Miyata clutch at Tamamori tighter as his hips snap, out of his control.

Tamamori breaks the kiss and presses his face against Miyata’s shoulder, his grip tightening. He whimpers Miyata’s name and something that is probably a warning, although Miyata can’t make the words out.

“It’s okay,” he says back, because he feels close too, and he doesn’t care that it’s much quicker than he’d been planning on, can’t care about anything but how Tamamori feels shuddering against him, how heat is flaring over his skin everywhere they’re touching. Miyata groans when he feels the hot spill of Tamamori against his stomach, and it only takes a few thrusts into the slickness of it for Miyata to follow.

Tamamori is still clinging to him when Miyata’s heart slows enough to think again, and Miyata noses at his temple and makes a questioning noise when Tamamori sighs softly.

“Sorry,” Tamamori says, sounding uncertain. “I’m kind of…fast.”

“Easy, too,” Miyata teases, and he lets Tamamori shove him back just enough so that he can kiss the angry pout back off Tamamori’s mouth. “It’s fine,” he says after a minute. “Way better than the prop closet.”

“And I know how much you like tambourines,” Tamamori says with a little smile, but he lets Miyata kiss him again.

It isn’t long before they start to shiver, and Miyata works the blankets out from under them so they can cuddle underneath. The sheets are warm from their body heat, and Tamamori curls back up with Miyata with a blissful sigh as his head hits the pillow.

“Tired?” Miyata asks, working his fingers into Tamamori’s hair to scratch his scalp lightly, and Tamamori hums agreement. “Let’s sleep then.” He laughs when Tamamori makes a sudden, disgruntled noise and starts to shift, but he shuts him up with another kiss. “Relax, we’ve got all day tomorrow until my family comes home.”

Tamamori gives in with a yawn which is cuter than tiny, stripy kittens, and Miyata files that away to tease him about later before dropping off to sleep himself.

A few hours later, Miyata wakes up with muscles sore from too much dancing and his cock surrounded by wet heat, and he gropes around in a flail until his hand hits Tamamori’s hair under the blankets, and then he finally understands what’s happening.

It’s the idea of it, in his sleep-deprived state, more than the fumbling rhythm Tamamori is managing for his first blowjob, that sends Miyata over the edge in an embarrassingly short amount of time. Tamamori doesn’t seem to mind as he crawls up into Miyata’s arms, and Miyata pulls him close to kiss him hungrily and doesn’t think until afterwards about the weirdness of his own taste on Tamamori’s tongue.

“I couldn’t wait until morning,” Tamamori explains when he sneaks enough breath to do so, arms tight around Miyata’s neck and his cock hard against Miyata’s thigh.

Miyata shoves him over onto his back and crawls over top of him, pressing his teeth to Tamamori’s bared throat, because as it turns out he definitely can’t wait either.

continued by snowqueenofhoth here