A.B.C., Hair of the Dog

Title: Hair of the Dog [Kawai/Tsukada]
Rating/Warnings: R for blowjobs and ruined hair.
Summary: Tsukada’s new hair is driving Kawai crazy.
AN: For Jemz’s one-hour porn challenge.
alissa | elyndys | iverin | jackoweskla | jadedfrenzy | ky_rin | mousapelli | pearljemz | peroxidepest17 | thawrecka | tinyangl | tokyostory

Hair of the Dog

Tsukada’s hair is driving Kawai Fumito crazy.

“You like it?” Tsuka says when he comes back from the stylist. He seems a little embarrassed, keeping his eyes on his feet, but he keeps reaching up to touch the ends of his hair.

“It’s really cool!” Totsuka chirps immediately, bouncing up from the couch to touch it, and soon Goseki is in on it too, both of them giggling at the feel of the stiff spikes poking their palms, Tsuka trying to push them away.

“Uwa!” Goseki exclaims, making Tottsu giggle harder. “So pointy!”

“Okay, okay!” Tsuka finally shoves them away, laughing himself. “Get off, we’re going to be late to practice!”

As the others are heading out, Tsuka turns to Kawai, eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for Kawai’s response.

Kawai clears his throat. “It’s…”

It’s short, bleached way too blond, whorled into ridiculous spikes, and it’s driving Kawai crazy.

Because he keeps looking, Tsuka temporarily the easiest person in the Jimusho to spot, and every time he looks, Kawai notices other things about Tsuka, things he hasn’t noticed before.

Like the way Tsuka’s been favoring the long-sleeved shirts lately, the ones that hug his body, warm and soft, the waffle-knit just begging to be touched while it emphasizes Tsuka’s muscles. Has Tsuka always had biceps like that, Kawai wonders in a daze, and he’s still thinking about it when he crashes into Goseki and they end up on a heap in the floor.

Or the way the extra dance practices with Butoukan have made Tsuka’s steps more fluid, the roll of his body easy and natural. The black jeans he happens to have on today aren’t helping either, riding low on Tsuka’s slim hips, and Kawai sits down on the mats that are piled up by the wall and pretends to tie his shoelace so that he doesn’t cause another collision. Tsuka’s practicing with Senga-kun, having some kind of bodyroll competition, and when Tottsu puts his hand on Kawai’s shoulder to suggest gently that maybe his shoelaces can’t be any more knotted than a dodecatuple knot, Kawai jumps a foot in the air and causes another collision anyway.

It’s the hair, Kawai tells himself on the subway ride home, in the shower, in his bed with the clock blinking “1:28” at him. Everything was fine before the hair.

Two sleepless nights later, everything is soft-edged and vaguely surreal from lack of sleep, and the others start to make suggestions in soothing voices about Kawai and the couch and some other stuff that he’s not really listening to. He’s busy, staring at Tsuka’s hair.

“Fumi-kun?” Tsuka says during the lunch break. They’re alone in the dressing room, the others having gone over to bother Kis-My-Ft2, but Tsuka has stayed behind, and is trying to gently urge Kawai down onto the couch by his shoulders. “Don’t you think you might want to lie down, just for a second, hmm?”

Suddenly Kawai can’t take it any more, and he brings both hands up to bury them in Tsuka’s hair, getting his fingers into every bleach-rough whorl of it and mussing it roughly. Tsuka is saying something, but Kawai can really only focus on the way it feels against his fingers, the warmth of Tsuka’s scalp.

When he comes to his senses, he’s lying on the couch and Tsuka is sprawled across his chest, boneless and making soft noises, kneading his fingers against Kawai’s chest, and his hair is sticking up in about three hundred and four directions, style completely destroyed.

“Sorry…” Kawai mumbles, social shame finally taking over, but Tsuka only picks up his head enough to kiss Kawai, rough and thorough, just like Kawai’s fingers were in his hair. Kawai’s jaw drops, but Tsuka just uses that as an excuse to slide his tongue in against Kawai’s, and finally Kawai catches up and kisses back, making a few noises of his own.

Tsuka’s shirt is as soft as it looks, and his muscles feel as good as they look, and Kawai gets his hands all over them as well since he has the chance, before moving on to the black jeans and the roll of Tsuka’s hips against his own.

When Tsuka lifts his head, lips slick and pink, Kawai stares up at him stupidly. He’s still staring when Tsuka undoes Kawai’s jeans and then slides down to nose the front of his boxers, making Kawai gasp and scrabble at the couch. Then Tsuka gets Kawai’s jeans a little farther out of the way and replaces his nose with his tongue, Kawai reaches for Tsuka’s hair again and holds on tight as Tsuka sucks him off, hot and wet and messy.

Kawai wonders distantly what on earth has gotten into Tsuka-chan, just before the push of Tsuka’s tongue into the notch on the underside of his cock sends him over the edge, whining in the back of his throat and arching against Tsuka’s mouth.

Unbelievably, Tsuka looks shy when he crawls back up next to Kawai, like he did when he first showed up with his new haircut, and it’s so cute that Kawai pulls Tsuka down by the hair and kisses him deeply, forgetting to mind that Tsuka tastes of Kawai’s come. He fumbles at Tsuka’s jeans without looking, and laughs against Tsuka’s mouth when he finds that Tsuka already has them undone and his hand wrapped around himself.

He doesn’t seem opposed to Kawai’s awkward, one-handed help, their fingers tangled together, and in return, Kawai doesn’t mind when Tsuka utterly ruins his shirt.

Afterwards, they are still in a curl when their breathing slows, and Kawai lets out a huge yawn. Tsuka suggests, again, that maybe a nap would be best for certain people whose names start with ‘Ka’ and end in ‘wai Fumito’ as he helps Kawai strip off his ruined shirt.

“Ne, Tsuka-chan,” Kawai asks as he’s drifting off, nose buried in Tsuka’s ridiculous, destroyed, completely at fault hair. “What was that all about?”

Tsuka fiddles with Kawai’s necklace, the metal clinking softly. “It was your hair.”

“Eh?” Kawai blinks, and reaches up to touch his own lazy curls; he’s been too busy to get it cut recently. “My hair?”

“Yeah.” Tsuka lifts his head up to give Kawai a hooded look and runs one hand through it, so that Kawai feels the scratch of Tsuka’s nails across his scalp and leans into the touch. “It’s been driving me crazy…”

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike