Kis-My-Ft2, But What Comes In Between Might Be

Title: But What Comes In Between Might Be [Tamamori/Senga, Tamamori/Miyata, Senga/Nikaido]
Rating/Warnings: R for voyeuristic kouhai.
Summary: Unfortunately for Tamamori, for once Senga knows more than somebody about something.
AN: How did this turn into a series? I’m confused. This happens in between Dating Is Not A Spectator’s Sport and Neither Is What Comes After, but at some point after Something to Think About, and also has a little to do with snowqueenofhoth‘s Senga drabble here.

But What Comes In Between Might Be

Senga, Tamamori thinks, kind of freaks him out sometimes.

“You haven’t yet, right?” Senga tilts his head, but seems to take Tamamori’s shocked silence as agreement. “But you’re staying over with Miyata after Countdown, so it’ll definitely be then!”

Senga nods firmly, and Tamamori tries to squash his rising hope that Senga is right by reminding himself that Senga is a moron.

He glances around for somebody to save him, but everyone else is going about their business in the dressing room, ignoring the way that Senga is dishing out a sex quiz worthy of Seventeen.

“Ne, ne, but,” Senga continues, sidling closer, and Tamamori gets the same sinking feeling he got yesterday when Kitayama cornered him during the photoshoot and lazily gave him the Talk, while on his other side, Yokoo fretted about condom safety. “You know, the first time’s not a lot of fun, if you’re like us, so you should practice!”

Tamamori has no idea which part of that to even start questioning, from ‘fun’ to ‘like us’ to the way Nikaido is glaring at him from across the dressing room, and in the end just weakly repeats, “Practice?”

“Un!” Senga grins, obviously proud of how he is helping Tamamori out. “You know.”

Senga makes a little scissoring motion with his fingers, and Tamamori thinks about killing himself with his spray deodorant.

“Just get something from the drugstore,” Senga goes on, and Tamamori watches in helpless, morbid fascination as Senga reels off the pros and cons of several major lubricant brands, and just when he thinks it can’t get any worse, Senga adds, “Oh! And it’s a bit messy, so you want a towel. But don’t worry, they’re all washable!”

“Please go away,” Tamamori pleads, entirely ready to quit Kis-My-Ft2 and also high school if it means he will never have to look Senga in the face ever again.

At that moment, Tamamori is finally saved when Senga looks down and realizes that he’s wearing the white costume, while Tamamori is wearing the blue one.

“OH NO!” Senga exclaims, scampering off to beg for last-second help from Fujigaya. Tamamori spends the rest of the day unable to look anyone in the eye, especially Miyata, and flushing furious pink every time Senga gives him a cheerful wave.

*****

Tamamori stands next to his bed with a tube of cheap lubricant in one hand and a towel in the other, wondering wretchedly if sex is something the senpai invented just to torment them.

After a second, he shakes himself and thinks that if it’s for Miyata, he can definitely do it. He drops the towel and the lube on his bed to undress himself, then crawls on and arranges himself, trying not to think about how completely unsexy it is. After propping himself up against his headboard and getting the towel underneath him, Tamamori fiddles around with the lube a bit, getting used to the feel of it. Also the smell, because he’d been too flustered to look properly at the labels, and somehow ended up with a flavor called ‘Pineapple Surprise!’

After an experimental lick of his finger, Tamamori wrinkles his nose and wonders why anybody thinks that surprise is a desirable quality in a lubricant.

Finally Tamamori gets up the nerve to just get on with it, and takes a deep breath before bending his knees and pushing cautiously around his entrance with a slick finger. There’s a moment of initial resistance, but Tamamori’s fingers are long and thin like the rest of him, and it’s no terrible ordeal to slide it most of the way inside himself, although his wrist is twisted at an odd angle.

He pauses there to take stock of the situation, but mostly he still feels unsexy, and weird, and the heavy scent of pineapples isn’t heightening the mystique. Squaring his shoulders, Tamamori decides to move on and find out whether the appeal of it perhaps involves two or more fingers.

It doesn’t, instead of appeal there’s just a dull pain and a sense of being stretched too far, and Tamamori decides that there’s definitely no point to this and that only idiots listen to Senga. He tosses the lube in a drawer, the towel in his hamper, and goes to jerk off in the shower like a normal person.

At dinner, Tamamori’s mother sniffs his hair and asks if he’s using a new pineapple shampoo, and Tamamori tries to drown himself in his curry.

*****

By the next day, Tamamori has convinced himself that he’s rushing things anyway, that there’s lots of things he wants to try with Miyata that don’t involve pineapple lubricant, and that just because he’s spending the night after Countdown, it doesn’t mean that they’ll definitely go all the way yet. Maybe he’s not ready yet, Tamamori tells himself, or maybe Miyata isn’t. He can wait.

His maturity lasts until Miyata wanders into the dressing room while Tamamori is half into practice clothes, the two of them the only ones there yet, and Tamamori ends up pressed tight against the wall, barely sneaking air in between returning Miyata’s hot, rushed kisses.

Miyata’s hands slide down to cup Tamamori’s ass, the heat of them soaking through Tamamori’s thin sweatpants, making Tamamori’s cock jump. He moans into Miyata’s mouth and tightens his grip on Miyata’s waist, because the truth is that he can’t wait at all.

Which means there’s only one option.

“I don’t think I’m doing it right,” he mutters in an embarrassed whisper to Senga during a water break, and Senga gives a humiliatingly loud “Doing what right?” before adding an even louder, “Ohhhh.”

Tamamori wishes that Nikaido would just kill him instead of only looking like he’s going to.

“I could show you?” Senga offers, like he’s going to let Tamamori borrow his PSP or something. “Come over afterwards!”

Tamamori thinks about the seven hundred and five reasons this is a terrible idea, but there’s nobody else to ask who won’t humiliate Tamamori about it afterwards at every opportunity until he dies, and Senga for all his idiocy does seem to genuinely want to help.

“Fine,” he says, groaning when Senga cheers, and thinks that Miyata really has no idea how much Tamamori loves him.

*****

Senga’s bedroom wall is dominated by a poster of Tackey-senpai, and Tamamori almost calls the whole thing off right then and there. But then he thinks about Miyata’s eyes, low-lidded and dark with want, and steels himself to work hard.

“You should stay the night!” Senga announces as he closes his bedroom door. “Since it’s already gotten late. We can go to school together in the morning!”

It sounds so reasonable when Senga says it like that, that Tamamori has his phone in his hand before he really thinks about what he’s doing, and is halfway through informing his mother that yes, he’s already eaten and no, he isn’t troubling Senga-san, when he turns around and finds Senga casually naked on his bed.

He chokes on his own spit, which he feels is entirely reasonable given the circumstances, and his mother asks if really, is he feeling poorly or what.

“I have to go,” he informs his mother, covering his eyes with his free hand so that he has half a chance of not crying before he ends this phone call. “We’re going to study together.” That seems to satisfy Tamamori’s mother enough to get her off the phone at least, and Tamamori drops the phone in his bag and braces himself to face Senga again.

Who is curled up in an adorable, naked ball, giggling himself silly.

“We’re going to study together!” he gasps, laughing even harder when he gets a look at Tamamori’s expression. “You’re going to learn something, all right!”

“It’s not funny,” Tamamori says sourly, thinking very hard about whether he wants to subject himself to this sort of abuse without any pants. But Senga’s not being cruel, just simple, so when he finishes giggling and sits up to tilt his head expectantly, Tamamori can’t really find it in his heart to thwart Senga’s desire to, for once, know more than somebody about something.

And that’s how he finds himself sitting naked next to Senga, a KAT-TUN tour bath towel protecting Senga’s bed. He even shows Senga the lubricant, which he was too scared to leave in his room. It’s a tiny bit funny, now that he’s not alone, enough that he doesn’t mind Senga’s renewed giggling.

“What’s the surprise?” Senga wants to know after reading the flavor, and Tamamori tells him to taste it and find out, then cracks up himself over the way Senga’s nose wrinkles. He screws the cap back on and hands it back to Tamamori, then admits that the first time he was so flustered he ended up with ‘Blueberry Explosion,’ which sounds more interesting than it was in practice.

“I thought Nika hated bluebe…” Tamamori trails off, chuckling, when Senga nods ruefully. Then he clears his throat. “So. About that.”

“Right!” Senga sits up and reaches over Tamamori to dig around in his bedside table, then drops a bottle onto Tamamori’s chest with a far less exciting label. Tamamori hisses from the cold plastic, and picks up the bottle to examine it. “That’s normal. It’s weird if it doesn’t taste or smell like anything, but this one’s not so…terrifying.”

Tamamori pops the cap and takes a cautious sniff. It’s strawberry, but much fainter, and he gives Senga a relieved smile. “It’s not so bad.”

“Yup!” Senga takes the tube from him and smiles back broadly. “Everybody loves strawberries! At least that’s what Yuto-kun says.” Senga moves on before Tamamori can question that. “Anyway, you said you were doing it wrong?”

“Well…” Tamamori doesn’t see how exactly one could do it wrong, but he’s here now, so he might as well get Senga’s advice. “It didn’t feel that great. And you seem to, um.” Tamamori pauses, doubting that calling Senga a gigantic, girly bottom is going to help anything. “Encourage Nika’s advances.”

“It feels a lot better when it’s someone you like doing it,” Senga admits, a streak of red appearing over his nose. “But it’s okay by yourself too, once you get used to it. Do you think about Miyata?”

“When I…?” Tamamori starts blushing as well and stares down at his hands, startled by Senga’s abrupt change of topic. “Sure, I guess.”

“And that didn’t help?” Senga asks. Tamamori blinks, then realizes that Senga hadn’t been changing topics.

“Oh! During…I didn’t really think about anything when I tried…” Tamamori’s face burns even hotter, and he forces himself to finish his explanation. “I just sort of did it. It didn’t feel like anything at first, so I did more, and then it hurt, so I stopped. I felt stupid, and totally unsexy!” He finishes in a rush, then realizes that he feels better for having told somebody. Senga is watching him patiently, chin resting on his knees and gaze not holding any trace of judgment. Without meaning to, Tamamori finds himself explaining to Senga that what he’s really worried about is that maybe he won’t like it ever. “And then we won’t ever be able to! Because I’m pretty sure Miyata…”

“Don’t be stupid,” Senga cuts Tamamori off carelessly, making his mouth snap shut in surprise. “Miyata’s totally crazy for you, he’d wear a neon pink bunny costume if you asked him, he’d certainly switch if you couldn’t.”

“What do you know anyway,” Tamamori mumbles, tugging his own knees to his chest to hide the way the pleased blush is spreading down over his shoulders. Senga ignores him.

“But anyway, I don’t think it’s that you can’t at all,” Senga says, and Tamamori looks up to find Senga examining him speculatively. “It’s not the sort of thing you just do, you have to be kind of worked up first, you know? Like, if somebody just bites you, it hurts, but if you’re fooling around and they use their teeth, it feels good.”

“O-oh,” Tamamori replies, because of course he should have thought about that.

“So let’s try again, ne?” Senga beams at Tamamori, and Tamamori squawks when Senga shoves him back onto his back, not ready at all to expose himself under the scrutiny of his bandmate. Senga flops down beside him and holds up the tube. “I’ll show you if you want to watch, or you can try doing it to me, so long as you don’t tell Nika, because I think he might kill you.”

“I’ve been thinking that too,” Tamamori sighs, wondering how anybody can make an intelligent decision when Senga is all muscled, smooth skin up against their side, expression inviting, brown eyes willing and trusting. Tamamori’s never thought of Senga that way, but it seems easy like this, and he decides it’ll only make things more complicated to actually put his hands on what Senga offers so easily. “I think I should just watch.”

“Okay,” Senga shrugs, then settles back against his pillows and wraps a hand around his cock as if Tamamori isn’t even there. He strokes himself hard, lips parting in a soft sigh, and Tamamori feels too warm and more than a little turned-on himself.

If watching Senga is this hot, touching him would have definitely been the wrong choice. Senga thumbs his tip with a little groan, and Tamamori shoves aside thoughts of asking Miyata what he thinks about involving other people once in a while.

“Sorry,” Senga says, opening his eyes at Tamamori’s sharp intake of breath, and Senga’s laugh is a touch breathless. “I get a little carried away sometimes.”

Senga hitches himself up to open the lube and slick his fingers, then spreads his legs. He pauses like that, and asks if Tamamori maybe wants to move down a little if he actually wants to see what’s going on. Tamamori somehow blushes even more, almost having forgotten what he’s even doing there, and shifts down to the end of Senga’s bed.

He hopes Senga’s eyes are closed again, because his expression is surely mortifying, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him. Senga’s first finger slides easily, slickly in, Senga’s limbs spread out and his hips rocking, and Tamamori can’t catch his breath. He’s trying to ignore the way he’s getting hard himself, but it’s impossible when Senga adds the second finger and makes a low noise, plants his heels on the mattress and pushes into his own touch.

Tamamori doesn’t know if it feels good, but it sure looks amazing when Senga does it, and there’s no way he’ll look like that doing it. He doesn’t realize he said anything out loud until Senga opens his eyes and murmurs, “Yeah, you will. Mmm,” he adds, putting his free hand back on his cock and tugging quickly, and it’s only when his back tightens and his eyes squeeze shut that Tamamori realizes that Senga’s been watching him, that Senga likes him watching. There’s a twist of heat in Tamamori’s belly, and then another when Senga gives another low, hot groan and comes over his hand and stomach.

Tamamori’s so hard that it’s starting to ache, but he doesn’t move as Senga’s breathing slows, until Senga himself stirs and breaks the spell.

“Mmm,” Senga sighs happily, although his nose wrinkles when he tugs his fingers free of himself and he wipes them off on the towel. “See? That didn’t look like it hurt, did it?”

“No,” Tamamori’s mouth feels dry and he swallows. “But I don’t think I can do it like that.”

“It’s not hard,” Senga shrugs a careless shoulder as he rolls onto his side. He pats the space beside him, giving Tamamori an obvious looking-over and a mischievous grin. “But you are. C’mon, give it a try.”

He feels silly, Tamamori thinks as he crawls into the space Senga’s patting, trying to press his erection in between his legs to cover it, but Senga pulls his hand away and drops the lube in, laughing. There’s interest in his eyes, a sort of shadow lurking under Senga’s usual cheerful cluelessness, and Tamamori squirms under the tickle of it. “Ne, don’t watch so close.”

“Why not?” Senga tilts his head at Tamamori’s shyness. “It isn’t like I’ll probably get to see again, I’m taking it all in now.”

Senga’s comment just makes Tamamori squirm harder. “Why would you want to see it again? Or at all? I’m not any good, I’ve told you. I won’t look like…like that. Like you.”

Senga preens at the compliment for a second, but isn’t distracted. “Why? That’s a silly question, Tama-chan.”

“It is?” Tamamori’s breath catches as Senga gets tired of waiting and picks up one of Tamamori’s hands to wrap it around his cock, then pours some lube on Tamamori’s other hand and nudges it in the right direction.

“Mm,” Senga nods, eyeing his handiwork with satisfaction as Tamamori gives himself a slow stroke. “Don’t you know? Tama-chan is so pretty.”

Tamamori stops stroking himself and blinks at Senga. “What?”

“Don’t stop,” Senga scolds, but he scootches an inch closer. “You think too much and make everything harder. Just do it already.”

So Tamamori takes a deep breath and pushes the first finger in, trying to ignore the way that Senga shifts up onto one elbow to see, and how Senga’s interest makes his skin prickle. It still feels weird and unsexy, and Tamamori says so.

“That’s cause you stopped touching yourself,” Senga reports, but his grin is back. “But it doesn’t hurt, right?” Tamamori shakes his head, and Senga grins even harder. “You’re totally a natural. Do a second one.”

“But I…” Tamamori starts, then sighs when Senga stares him down, and works a second finger in, gritting his teeth. “Now it hurts.”

“You’re being a jerk about it!” Senga whacks Tamamori in the shoulder, making him yelp in surprise. “Look, just relax. Close your eyes and take a deep breath.”

Tamamori complies; he feels a little better, but it definitely doesn’t feel like Senga had looked doing it yet.

“Think about whatever you think about when you jerk off normally,” Senga advises, voice soothing, and Tamamori spares a second to hope that all his fantasies from now on won’t have Senga narrating them. “You think about Miyata, right? Pretend it’s him touching you, or that he’s watching you touch yourself, or…”

“Please stop talking,” Tamamori begs, eyes squeezed shut and trying to force his brain away from images of Senga dirty-talking and into coming up with something about Miyata instead. He comes up with that afternoon in the changing room, Miyata’s hands on his ass and Miyata’s mouth on his throat, Miyata’s weight pressing him into the wall and the roll of their hips together.

“There you go,” Senga says, voice hushed with approval, and Tamamori realizes that he’s jerking himself off like normal, raising his hips into it, only his fingers are inside himself, and it is starting to feel good, a little. “Now see if you can find the little spot.”

“Eh?” Tamamori asks, only half-listening to Senga, and he jumps in surprise when a warm hand closes around his wrist and twists his fingers about a bit. “What are you…”

Just then Tamamori feels his fingertip brush over something that makes his muscles tighten, and he gives a little noise that he’s never heard come out of his mouth before.

“That’s it,” Senga says smugly, and he lets go of Tamamori’s hand and snuggles down comfortably against his pillows to go back to watching. “You’re lucky you can reach it, my fingers are too short to do it right on my own. Keep touching it, but not too hard.”

Tamamori isn’t listening to a word that Senga says, and he doesn’t care anymore that Senga’s watching. Instead he concentrates on feeling around for that spot again, and when he gets it, he closes his eyes and thinks about Miyata’s fingers inside him instead, Miyata’s fingers brushing that spot, Miyata warm against his side and watching, and Tamamori comes fast and sweet, gasping at the squeeze of his body around his fingers.

“Mmm,” Senga hums his approval, and when Tamamori peels his eyes open, Senga is on his stomach, kicking his feet in the air as he watches Tamamori. “Told you you’d look good.”

“Hmph.” Tamamori turns away to use the corner of the towel to wipe himself off, but when he rolls back, his face is thoughtful. “You like it? Being watched?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Senga shrugs. “It looks good, doesn’t it?” Tamamori grunts, and Senga pokes his cheek with a grin. “Tama-chan should like it too.”

“What?” Tamamori splutters, pushing Senga’s hand away. Then he remembers something else. “You said I was pretty.”

“Don’t act so surprised.” Senga runs a finger from Tamamori’s shoulder down his arm. It tickles when he reaches Tamamori’s elbow, and Tamamori twitches away. “Tama-chan’s limbs are so graceful. Even your fingers are long and thin. Pretty, ne? So, since we talked about it, I’ve been wondering a little what Tama-chan would look like.”

“You’ve been wondering…” Tamamori’s voice squeaks, and he clears his throat. Then his eyes narrow. “Is that why you asked me over like this?”

“I wanted to help!” Senga protests, but he looks sheepish. “But yeah, I wanted to see too. Don’t be mad, Tama-chan, please? I wonder about everyone a little. Don’t you?” Tamamori blinks at Senga some more, and Senga continues on. “Taipi’s so intense when he dances, he’d definitely be good, and Wataru’s so caring, don’t you think? I bet he’s really gentle. And Miyacchi’s nose is big, so…”

“Stop, please, stop!” Tamamori begs, cheeks heating at the flutter of arousal in his belly. He colors even more at the thought of having to go into work and look the others in the eye tomorrow.

“I’m right about Miyacchi, aren’t I?” Senga leans closer, grinning. “I won’t tell, Tama-chan, you can tell me.”

“I’m not telling you anything!” Tamamori exclaims, shoving Senga away. “Get up and find us some pajamas, you idiot kouhai, we have school tomorrow!”

“Yeeeees, senpai,” Senga whines as though it’s the biggest chore in the world, but he scrambles over Tamamori more than is strictly necessary, and giggles when Tamamori balls up the KAT-TUN towel and throws it at his head.

The biggest pajama pants he owns come down to about Tamamori’s calves, and Tamamori settles for just wearing his briefs and a T-shirt, and making sure that Senga is properly attired so that he doesn’t have any more brilliant ideas.

“You’re no fun,” Senga says as he leans over Tamamori to flip off the bedside lamp, both of them too lazy to set up a spare futon. Tamamori says he’ll be plenty fun if Senga can promise Nikaido won’t murder one or both of them, and Senga laughs and tells him, “No bet.”

They lie there in the darkness for a few minutes, Senga’s breathing softy and steady, and Tamamori thinks he might already be asleep when he chances a soft, “Senga?”

For a moment, nothing happens, and then Senga whispers back, “Yeah?”

“Why did you want to help me?” he asks. He’s been wondering, and when Senga doesn’t answer right away, because he thinks he might already know the answer, Tamamori asks, “What was your first time like?”

Senga shifts a little, and Tamamori feels guilty for asking, but doesn’t take it back. When Senga finally does say something, his voice is a different kind of soft, and Tamamori suspects that Senga really hasn’t ever talked to anybody about it, maybe not even Nikaido.

“It hurt,” he says, “a lot. I didn’t really know what I was doing. I was scared. I wouldn’t take it back,” he rushes to add, “and I don’t regret it. I wanted to do it! But I wish I’d known more, before.”

Tamamori slides his hand over, under the blankets, until it touches Senga’s arm, and slides it down over the soft fabric until he can squeeze Senga’s hand. Tamamori knows he should say thank you, but he says, “I’m sorry,” instead, and Senga lets go of his hand to roll over, to curl up against Tamamori’s side. It’s different than how it was before, more like when Senga curls up with Kitayama on the couch after double Kisumai-Butoukan practices, or when he sits near enough that Fujigaya shares his bento without asking.

“Thank you,” Senga murmurs, clearing falling asleep, and Tamamori strokes Senga’s back through the warm fleece of his pajamas until Senga is snoring a little, warm and slack with sleep.

Senga’s a cute kouhai, sometimes, Tamamori thinks as he falls asleep himself, and he thinks that maybe sometime he’ll tell Senga that.

The thought is firmly squashed the next morning, when Tamamori wakes up to a bed-headed Senga looming over him and inquiring sweetly whether Tamamori needs any blowjob advice.

OMAKE

“Tell me what you did,” Nikaido growls, hands flat against the wall on either side of Senga’s head, and Senga blinks up at him with innocent eyes.

“Nothing, Nika,” he says, and he suppresses the urge to enjoy it too obviously when Nikaido takes another menacing step forward. “My mother invited Tama-chan to dinner, and then it got late, so he stayed over and we went to school together the next morning.”

“Nothing happened?” Nikaido repeats skeptically.

“Not a thing.” Senga smiles. “I didn’t lay a hand on Tama-chan, I swear.”

“Nothing at all, hmm?” Nikaido asks silkily. “Then tell me, Ken-chan, why isn’t your KAT-TUN towel in your bag today? It’s your favorite towel, isn’t it?”

“It needs washed sometimes,” Senga replies, but he curses internally as his cheeks heat up and Nikaido’s eyes narrow.

“Oi!” Fujigaya snaps behind them. “You aren’t the only ones here! Nika, stop bullying Senga! Senga, quit being so tormentable!”

“Stop making impossible requests of the kouhai,” Kitayama drawls. “They’re enjoying it.”

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Nikaido promises, leaning in until all Senga can see are the dark rings of his eyes, “and you’re going to tell me every. Single. Detail.”

“Sure, Nika,” Senga agrees with a little shiver, but he’s grinning as Nikaido lets his hands slide off the wall and stomps off to change.

Across the room, Tamamori sneezes violently, and Miyata asks fretfully if he’s getting sick just before Countdown.