Kis-My-Ft2, Sore Loser

Title: Sore Loser [Fujigaya/Senga]
Rating/Warnings: R for Fujigaya getting Senga on his knees.
Summary: Fujigaya is pretty pissed off about this ‘Dance Like Yamapi’ thing.
AN: Written for Jemz’s one-hour porn challenge, links to follow. Also, it’s totally true that Fujigaya was annoyed over Senga’s 2008.06.08 game win, it just got edited out.

coiled_iris | goldengutgirl |ky_rin | liangzhu | longleggedgit | mousapelli | nicocoer | nihongofrancais | pearljemz | shichihenge | tinyangl

Picture written about: Senga’s Heinous Dance Game Fail

Sore Loser

Senga was cute, Fujigaya always said, but wasn’t the brightest light stick at the concert. Which explained why it took better than ten minutes in the dressing room after the Shokura filming for him to catch onto the fact that Fujigaya was glaring at him.

“Taipi?” Senga cocked his head, shirt half-off and arms tangled in it still. “Is there something in your eye?”

“No,” Fujigaya answered, voice low, and Miyata, the only person left in the changing room, glanced between them for a second before scuttling out as quickly as he could despite the fact that he didn’t have his shoes on yet.

Senga looked even more confused, but after another second of scrutinizing Fujigaya’s narrowed eyes, he finally seemed to at least clue in to the fact that Fujigaya was annoyed with him.

“You aren’t still mad about the Yamapi thing, are you?” Senga finished pulling his shirt off. “It’s just a game, Taipi.”

“And you just cheat at it,” Fujigaya retorted.

“How can you cheat at dancing?” Senga wanted to know, but Fujigaya was crossing the room in a few angry steps, and then he shoved Senga back, so that Senga’s shoulders hit the wall, and he hissed at the chill of the painted cinderblock against his bare skin.

“That isn’t how you cheat,” Fujigaya explained, putting his hands flat on the wall on either side of Senga’s head and leaning in to growl at him. “You cheat by being cute. You cheat by flirting with the audience so they always cheer for you no matter how much you suck at the game, and you especially cheat by flirting with the guest!”

“That’s not flirting,” Senga shifted a little, but there was really nowhere for him to go. “That’s being an objectionable kouhai.”

“Obedient!” Fujigaya corrected automatically, then he glared at Senga harder. “And it’s flirting! I saw you, you know, practicing for your little backdance. Did Nikaido put you up to that?”

“Up to what?” Senga blinked. “It was just practice, Taipi.”

Fujigaya’s expression shifted, gave Senga a cute smile and wide eyes, and even Senga couldn’t fail to figure out that it was a dead-on impersonation of him. “Ne, senpai,” Fujigaya ran a finger up Senga’s collarbone, as if brushing along a jacket color. “That’s a cool jacket. I really like the colors, yo. And it’s so soft…”

“Taipi…” Senga started, swallowing, but he didn’t struggle as Fujigaya’s hand continued up its path and tangled in the back of Senga’s hair, Fujigaya’s cute expression melting away to the one of irritation he’d been wearing before.

“And also,” he snarled, “your hair is ridiculous,” and then he leaned in to crush his mouth over Senga’s.

Fujigaya’s free hand skimmed Senga’s chest, tweaking a nipple roughly and making Senga jerk against him, but he didn’t let Senga free even for a second of air. Instead he worked his knee in between Senga’s thighs, pushing him tighter up against the wall, twisting his grip in Senga’s hair until Senga was whimpering into his mouth and scrabbling at his shoulders.

When Fujigaya did pull back, it was only to examine Senga’s bruised lips and rapid breathing with a critical eye.

Behind them, there was the sound of the dressing room door opening, but it shut again just as quickly. Noting the flicker of Senga’s eyes towards the sound, Fujigaya commented idly, “I hope you weren’t thinking about planning an escape. Because I’m not planning on letting go of you until I’ve proven my point.”

“Taipi,” Senga did look genuinely sorry by then, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, but it was just a game. Don’t be angry at me.”

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” Fujigaya sighed patronizingly, letting go of Senga’s hair to grab his chin instead and force him to look up and meet Fujigaya’s eyes. “What I’m annoyed about is that you make it common practice to sell your body for five seconds of audience approval and a senpai who doesn’t even know your first name, probably.”

Senga chewed on that for a second. “But…we all…”

“Not like you,” Fujigaya cut Senga off, pushing his leg up so that Senga was straddling it properly. Senga was already mostly hard, and rubbed against Fujigaya shamelessly, rocking into his touch. “Fuck, you’re totally easy.”

“You’re the one who trained me,” Senga managed around a gasp, and Fujigaya decided that he’d heard more than enough of Senga talking and stepped back.

Caught off-guard and off-balance, Senga stumbled and fell to the ground, landing on his knees hard with an unhappy noise. Fujigaya ignored it and stepped closer again, getting his hands back in Senga’s hair to tug his face back up, just far enough.

Senga’s eyes widened when he caught on, his nose practically being held to Fujigaya’s crotch, but then his tongue flickered out to lick his bottom lip, and Fujigaya chuckled darkly.

“I thought so,” he said, and the flash of indignence in Senga’s eyes just made Fujigaya hotter, given Senga’s helpless position. “Go on, then. I’m sure Nikaido’s taught you what to do, if Tackey or Yara or Yasuda-senpai hasn’t.”

Somebody sure had taught Senga something, since he had Fujigaya’s zipper undone and his cock out in about five seconds, and then Senga’s mouth was slicking along its length, hot and sure. Fujigaya kept his hands tight in Senga’s hair, adjusting his angle, and for once didn’t try to control the roll of his hips. After a few seconds of resistance, Senga gave up and let Fujigaya do as he willed, letting Fujigaya fuck his mouth. His throat relaxed, and Fujigaya groaned as his cock bumped the back of Senga’s throat.

He’d hear about it tomorrow if Senga’s voice showed the abuse, but Fujigaya failed to care in any meaningful way as he tugged Senga’s hair again, adjusting the angle, and suddenly everything was perfect, and he let his hips take over until he felt the telltale clenching of his muscles.

He shoved Senga back just enough that some of his come still fell in his mouth, but more of it dripped down his chin or streaked his cheek. Fujigaya took it all in as his breathing slowed, Senga’s look of outraged shock, and the slide of the fluid over his skin, and Fujigaya had to admit that he’d never understood the appeal of this sort of thing in the DVDs that Kitayama had under his bed, until it was cute, naïve, cocktease Senga glaring up at him as he swiped a hand over his cheek.

He’d have to definitely tell Kitayama about that later.

For now, he merely zipped himself back up, then squatted down to Senga’s level and smirked at Senga’s glare. He leaned over to murmur in Senga’s ear, “I hope you’ll keep this in mind for the next game,” and then licked a smear of come off Senga’s cheek as he pulled away and stood up.

Senga made a strangled, incoherent noise, and then the door opened again, and Fujigaya turned to find Nikaido standing in the doorway. His eyes widened as Fujigaya stepped out of his line of sight, then narrowed. “What…”

“Good timing, Nika,” Fujigaya sauntered out, slapping Nikaido on the shoulder on the way by. “I think Senga has something you can help him out with over there.”

Both of them gave identical splutters, and Fujigaya just laughed he pulled the door shut behind him. As soon as it was shut, there was a scuffling sound, and then a strangled moan of Nikaido’s name, and Fujigaya rolled his eyes because Nikaido was probably in there giving Senga a swelled head all over again and undoing all the work Fujigaya had just done.

After a second, Fujigaya shrugged and headed down the hallway to find Kitayama and discuss certain DVDs. He could always just start over next filming, after all.