Kis-My-Ft2, One Year Two Weeks

Title: One Year Two Weeks [Miyata/Tamamori]
Rating/Warnings: R because this is finally the tambourine closet fic.
Summary: Miyata’s feeling nostalgic this week, and also gives Tamamori a scarf.
AN: This fic took the most drastic rewrite I’ve had to do to a fic in forever. The first draft was cute and sexy and totally, totally wrong, and it probably had to triple in length to get to where it is now. Thanks to snowqueenofhoth for helping me nail down the problems and for thinking about it all day at work, and to diamondsjack for betaing at 3 am. Also, I’ve listened to RESCUE on loop 49 times so far.

This probably works best if you understand that it exists in the same continuum as A Faulty String of Christmas Lights and Dating Is Not A Spectator’s Sport, etc.

One Year Two Weeks

*Now*

“It’s cause you aren’t dressed properly,” Miyata said, sneaking up behind Tamamori on the couch and making him jump.

“What?” Tamamori started to turn, but Miyata put hands on his shoulders to hold him where he was.

“That’s why you don’t like winter,” Miyata continued. He pulled his hands away, and a second later, draped something soft and warm around Tamamori’s neck.

Tamamori glanced down to find the ends of a scarf dangling over his chest. He reached up to brush fingers over the soft tassels, ignoring for the moment that it was made of neon green, pink, and yellow stripes. “Miyacchi?”

“My sister knits,” Miyata explained, grimacing a little as he came around the side of the couch to tug on one of the ends. “Not that well. But it’s warm, and too ugly to lose someplace probably.”

“At least the other juniors won’t try to steal it,” Tamamori offered, dropping his hand along the edge of the scarf until it was brushing Miyata’s. “And who said I don’t like winter?”

“You did.” Miyata grinned as he flopped down on the couch beside Tamamori. He poked Tamamori’s forehead. “You don’t remember?”

*Before*

Miyata spent a lot of time trying to figure out what Tamamori was thinking, and just because they were going out now, sort of, he hadn’t gained any sudden insight. On the other hand, what Miyata did have was a good excuse to watch Tamamori while he tried to figure it out. Like now, in Kis-My-Ft2’s dressing room, when everybody else was occupied changing or picking on each other, but Tamamori was alone by the window, looking like he was in a sort of a sulk, for no reason that Miyata could ascertain.

Looked like he’d have to make another foray into enemy territory for a fact-finding mission.

“Cover me, I’m going in,” he murmured to himself, making Senga look up with an “Eh?”

“Snowing again,” Tamamori sighed when he noticed Miyata approaching. He only spared Miyata half a glance before he went back to looking out the window, kicking at the legs of the makeup chair.

“Really?” Miyata leaned in next to Tamamori to press his nose against the cold glass. He grinned at the fat flakes drifting down, starting to stick to the road. “Cool.”

“Ugh, winter,” Tamamori disagreed, hugging himself in his thick, fuzzy sweater. Miyata turned his face to look, but they were close enough that his nose brushed against Tamamori’s cheek. The accidental touch sent a little thrill through Miyata, and both of them pulled back quickly. After a second, Tamamori offered Miyata an uncertain smile, sweet and shy under his blush, and Miyata felt his own cheeks heating as he remembered it was okay if he touched Tamamori now, a little.

Not now, not when other people could see them, Tamamori had made it pretty clear, but still. The idea was new enough to make Miyata’s heart skip a bit just thinking about it.

The familiar rustle of the others behind them snapped Miyata out of it, and he cleared his throat to break the awkward silence. “You don’t like winter, right?”

“Too dark.” Tamamori nodded, turning back to the window. “Too cold!” Tamamori nestled a little deeper into his sweater, wrists delicate where he’d had to fold the sleeves back. It was cute enough that Miyata leaned over to chance a kiss against Tamamori’s cheek, making him squawk.

“We’re in public!” Tamamori hissed, glancing quickly over his shoulder, but no one was paying them any mind, and Miyata shrugged.

“They don’t care,” he said, making Tamamori’s mouth bunch up in a frown. “Anyway, I like winter. Ne, ask me why.” He nudged Tamamori’s shoulder with his own.

“Why do you like winter?” Tamamori said, giving Miyata a little roll of his eyes.

“Because you’re all bundled up so nobody else can see what you’ve got under there,” Miyata answered, and before Tamamori could do anything other than turn furious scarlet, Miyata slid a hand up under Tamamori’s sweater to brush his side.

He yelped when the static buildup from the sweater shocked him, hard enough that Tamamori jumped and Miyata yanked his hand back, shaking the sting out of it.

“Serves you right!” Tamamori chided, tugging his sweater a little tighter around himself. “I wish you wouldn’t say weird stuff.”

Miyata blinked as he tucked his hands into his pockets to keep from getting himself in more trouble. “I only meant, I’ve seen you change about a billion times. I’ve probably seen just about everything you’ve got, don’t you think?”

“Oh. Sorry, yeah. You probably have.” Tamamori gave Miyata another small smile, apologetic this time, and Miyata shrugged, the tension in his chest easing. Before they could say any more, Fujigaya yelled at them to quit dicking around and get changed already on the off-chance that they might actually make it to practice today.

*Now*

“I forgot all about that,” Tamamori confessed, still tugging on his scarf as he thought. He shot Miyata a sly glance. “Or maybe I’ve just blocked out all the embarrassing parts.”

“We were a little awkward,” Miyata admitted with a chuckle. He leaned over to kiss Tamamori’s cheek, and Tamamori only made a soft “Tcht” noise. “Not like now.”

“You still say weird stuff,” Tamamori said, shouldering Miyata back a half-inch. “But I do remember what happened after that.”

*Before*

“Hey,” Miyata said, catching at Tamamori’s wrist as they were all leaving, tugging him back until they were the last two left just inside the doorway. Darting a glance at the backs of the others, Miyata licked his lips nervously, then tugged Tamamori the half-step close to press their mouths together.

Miyata’s breath hitched as he got shocked again, damn static, but then he forgot all about it at the hesitant touch of Tamamori’s fingers against his shoulder, and the warmth of Tamamori under his costume as Miyata put his hands on Tamamori’s waist. It wasn’t their first kiss, but Miyata hadn’t lost count of how many there’d been yet (four, five including this one). Miyata couldn’t tell whether they were taking it slow or just hadn’t had the opportunity to speed up yet, as busy as they were. Either way, kissing was still new enough to make Miyata’s pulse quicken, especially when he felt a shiver ripple through Tamamori under his hand.

Pushing Miyata back, Tamamori’s voice was shaky and low when he asked, “Can’t you have some self-control?”

“Not when it comes to you,” Miyata answered, forgetting to censor his thoughts before they came out of his mouth. Tamamori squirmed, then punched Miyata in the arm and tugged out of his grip. Miyata tightened his hands so that his fingers grazed over Tamamori’s back and stomach as he pulled away, making both of them shiver.

Tamamori had to jog to catch up with the others, but Miyata lagged behind, watching Tamamori’s back. Nikaido and Senga exchanged a glance and snickered, and Fujigaya opened his mouth but then shut it again when Yokoo commented that it was nice to see the kouhai staying behind to pick up instead of him for once.

He didn’t know what they were doing at all, Miyata admitted to himself with a sigh. He wasn’t even sure whether he wanted to rush or just to enjoy things the way they were yet. If he couldn’t figure out even what he wanted, how was he supposed to know what was going on inside Tamamori’s head?

He kept thinking about it, getting nowhere, until Tamamori snuck a quick glance back over his shoulder, leaving Miyata’s concentration in shambles.

*Now*

Their reminiscing was interrupted by a few others suddenly noticing what was going on.

“Fuck, what IS that?” Nikaido demanded from across the room.

“It’s like a clown tried to kill himself with a highlighter,” Kawai said in awe.

“Hey!” Tamamori snapped as Miyata coughed a little. “You leave my present alone!”

“Keep an eye on that or Senga’ll probably wear it on stage,” Fujigaya put in, and Tamamori scrambled off the couch to go strangle one or more members with his new scarf.

Miyata chuckled and dropped down onto the couch himself. Against the other arm, Kitayama made a conversational noise, and when Miyata looked over, Kitayama had one eyebrow arched.

“Your sister does not knit,” he said.

“Shut up~,” Miyata hummed, failing to force down all of his grin as Tamamori cheerfully suffocated Nikaido with his scarf.

“Maybe you can knit him another one for Christmas and then tie him to the bed with them,” Kitayama suggested, and when Miyata turned to glare at him, Kitayama’s eyes were closed and he gave the fakest snore ever.

Bizarrely, it seemed that Tamamori and Kitayama were operating on the same wavelength. After the choreographer called a fifteen minute break, Miyata was just stretching out the kinks in his back when he felt something soft wrap around his arm. He looked down to find his wrist imprisoned in a violently-colored knot.

“Glad you’re finding lots of uses for your present,” Miyata laughed, giving his wrist a test yank.

Tamamori yanked back, and when Miyata looked up, he was wearing a little smile that made Miyata’s blood rush. “Come here.”

Miyata let Tamamori tug him out of the room and down the hallway a little, just far enough that nobody would probably come out the same way unless they were trying for a quick vending machine run, which fifteen minute breaks weren’t really worth.

“I didn’t say thank you properly yet,” Tamamori said, winding the scarf around his wrist until Miyata’s hand was close enough to grab. He laced their fingers together as he nudged Miyata back against the wall. Miyata brought his free arm up to wrap around Tamamori’s waist and tuck him even closer.

“And to think I used to have to drag you out here during breaks,” Miyata said, enjoying the suspense of Tamamori’s mouth hovering so near his without quite kissing him yet.

“What’s with all the nostalgia today, hm?” Tamamori wanted to know, bringing a hand up to brush through Miyata’s hair.

Miyata shrugged, rubbing his head against Tamamori’s fingertips. “Nothing really.” Tamamori made a disbelieving noise as he kissed the corner of Miyata’s mouth. “Well…it was just about this time last year.”

“It?” Tamamori tilted his head. “Our anniversary was weeks ago, Miyacchi. There was pizza and candles and handcuffs, remember?”

“Not that,” Miyata gave Tamamori a little scowl, which Tamamori seemed to think it was his job to kiss away. “I mean, I know you don’t like to think about it as our first time, but…”

“Is this about the tambourines?” Tamamori asked, shaking his head. Miyata tried to splutter a response, but Tamamori cut him off with a, “God, you and the tambourines,” and then cut off further conversation with more serious kissing.

They spent the whole break like that, pressed tight together, Tamamori’s body a warm line along Miyata’s, his heartbeat thumping against Miyata’s chest. By the time they managed to pull apart and stumble late back into practice, Miyata had been well distracted from his original thoughts of anniversaries and tambourines.

So he was a little surprised when Tamamori beckoned him aside during their lunch break, not that he resisted as Tamamori led him out of the dressing room and down into a familiar room. One with a lot of familiar tambourines.

“You don’t have to humor me, you know,” Miyata chuckled as Tamamori pulled the door shut behind them. “I was just thinking about it, is all.”

“Thinking about us?” Tamamori asked, and Miyata nodded. Tamamori reached out to tug Miyata closer by the T-shirt, close enough to loop his arms around Miyata’s shoulders. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

*Before*

In the absence of forward progress with Tamamori, Miyata had been thinking quite a bit. The situation had gotten away from him a little, if the dreams he’d been having were any indication. He’d tried to broach the subject with Tamamori, to find out if he was the only one or not, but when Tamamori finally understood what Miyata was getting at, he’d blushed scarlet and changed the subject as quickly as possible. It didn’t really matter since by that point Miyata was too flustered to talk about it anyway.

Besides, Miyata sighed to himself, it wasn’t like there was much about him that would inspire Tamamori to have a dirty dream anyway. On the other hand, there was plenty about Tamamori that inspired Miyata, and even though Tamamori had made it clear what he thought about Miyata saying or doing ‘weird things’ in public, Miyata could feel his restraint cracking every time Tamamori changed next to him. Or was in the same room as him.

Or in the same country as him.

In the end it wasn’t changing at all that crumbled Miyata’s control, but Tamamori trading a few of the strips of fabric that hung from his coat with Senga and Fujigaya. It was something the three of them did routinely, but today, Miyata happened to be watching as Tamamori shrugged his costume jacket back on and smoothed the lay of the fabric over his long limbs. And today, even though it was no different than the other two thousand and one times Miyata had watched Tamamori do the exact same thing, today it was the last straw.

“Hey,” Miyata murmured, sidling up to Tamamori.

“Mm?” Tamamori asked, glancing at Miyata over his shoulder.

“Do you wanna, um,” Miyata stumbled over the words as Tamamori tilted his head in confusion, and he reached over to tug one of Tamamori’s belt loops.

“What?”

“Come with me?” Miyata asked, and Tamamori frowned a little, glancing around, but he let Miyata pull him away from the others.

They snuck out of the dressing room and down the hall a ways, and the first door Miyata happened to come to was the prop closet. He pushed the door open with the hand that wasn’t holding Tamamori’s and tugged him inside.

“Miyata…” Tamamori started, catching on when Miyata shut the door.

“Not public,” Miyata interrupted, making a show of looking left and right. “There’s no one here to see, right? So isn’t it okay?”

“It’s…” Tamamori trailed off with a sigh, staring at the floor with his bangs in his eyes. When he didn’t say anything else for an awkward couple of seconds, Miyata stepped closer, watching Tamamori’s face for any signs that this was either okay or not okay. He still got no reaction and finally, fed up with both waiting and guessing, Miyata just leaned in to kiss Tamamori, figuring that if Tamamori wasn’t okay with it, the he could damn well push Miyata away.

Tamamori didn’t, but he didn’t do much else either, except for putting his hands on Miyata’s shoulders. His fingers flexed, and Miyata paused a moment, but couldn’t tell whether Tamamori was getting ready to pull him closer or push him back.

It was frustrating as hell, his inability to figure out what Tamamori wanted or liked or hated, and Miyata growled low in his throat without meaning to. Tamamori tensed against him, but still made no direct move, and Miyata decided in annoyance that he was just going to keep pressing forward until Tamamori said no.

He shoved Tamamori back, against a shelf, hard enough to jostle the tambourines it contained. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied, Miyata would have laughed at their cheerful jingling, which seemed to sum up the sheer idiocy of the situation. Instead, he just went on kissing Tamamori, pressing against him tight enough that his lips were starting to tingle with it, as if now that he had an outlet for his frustrations, he couldn’t quite make himself stop.

Tamamori shifted underneath Miyata’s hands, and dimly he thought, This is it, he’s probably going to punch me right in the face, but all that happened was that Tamamori curled his arms around Miyata’s shoulders more fully. One of his hands came to rest on Miyata’s neck, so that his fingers were tickling against the ends of Miyata’s hair. Miyata gasped softly and pulled their bodies tighter together, his own hands migrating from Tamamori’s waist to the small of his back underneath his jacket. He could feel the heat of Tamamori’s skin through the thin cotton of his tank top, feel everyplace that Tamamori’s body was touching his.

They both froze when Tamamori shifted suddenly, his thigh accidentally brushing against Miyata’s erection.

“Sorry,” Miyata apologized quickly, making a move to step back, “sorry, I…”

But, unbelievably, Tamamori tightened his grip around Miyata’s shoulders so that he couldn’t go anywhere and, after a second, flexed his hips a little against Miyata’s. Miyata’s breath caught when he realized that Tamamori was hard too, and before he had thought it through, he let go of Tamamori’s waist to reach between them and trace the outline of Tamamori’s cock with two fingers.

“Toshiya!” Tamamori gasped, head falling back to thunk against the shelf, making the tambourines all jingle again. Electricity sang in Miyata’s veins at the way Tamamori said his name, pleading, although Miyata wasn’t sure for what. Nobody else had ever said it like that before, and it just made Miyata harder, more reckless.

“Say my name again?” he asked, curling his whole hand around Tamamori’s length.

“No!” Tamamori’s voice was thick with embarrassment. Rather than argue about it, Miyata kissed him again, the kiss getting rougher as the flex of their hips against each other became a roll. Miyata whined in the back of his throat at the teasing pressure, not near enough and too much all at once, and he had to pull his mouth away to gasp for air when Tamamori rocked up against Miyata’s hand with a needy noise.

“Tell me to stop,” Miyata mumbled against Tamamori’s shoulder, not sure whether he even could stop at this point.

“I don’t,” Tamamori’s breath hitched, and suddenly Tamamori’s hand was brushing against the back of Miyata’s, fingers hesitant but tracing the edge of Miyata’s cock through his pants, “I don’t want to stop.”

That was more than good enough for Miyata, who was already tugging at the zipper of Tamamori’s sparkly pants and working his hand inside as soon as there was enough room for him to do so. His already racing heart doubled its rate again when he realized that Tamamori was doing the same thing, and when Tamamori wrapped his hand around Miyata’s cock, Miyata made the most undignified noise in the history of prop closet handjobs.

Miyata could barely think, much less care how undignified he was, with the heat of Tamamori’s hand surrounding him, but he did his best to return the favor. Tamamori’s cock was hard against his palm, long and slender like all of Tamamori, but Miyata didn’t have the presence of mind to explore properly, or to do anything besides push into Tamamori’s hand and squeeze him in return.

He wasn’t sure whether he or Tamamori came first, all of it a haze of muffled groans and slick fingers, but later he would remember clearly that Tamamori had whimpered his name at least a couple more times, and that Tamamori’s fingers had been shaking, but still felt better on him than his ever had.

“What now?” Tamamori asked afterwards, their hands still around each other, at least containing the mess. Miyata hummed noncommittally, cheek still resting against Tamamori’s shoulder. “You don’t have your handkerchief in your pocket or anything useful do you?”

“Maybe?” Miyata answered, feeling fuzzy and pleasant and not terribly intelligent. “Mm, stop moving, feels good like this.”

“It won’t feel so great in a minute,” Tamamori pointed out, trying to dig with his wrong hand through Miyata’s pockets despite Miyata’s non-compliance. The movement made the tambourines jingle and Miyata started snickering helplessly until Tamamori snapped at him to stop it and help.

In the end they had to sacrifice one of Tamamori’s swooshy bits to clean their hands off, and Tamamori was even less pleased when he realized that he was going to have to stick it back into his pocket. After they were as put back together as they were going to get, Miyata reached for the door, only to have his wrist grabbed by Tamamori.

“We can’t go back out together,” Tamamori said, tight grip betraying his tension.

“I guess you’re right,” Miyata answered, thinking that it was probably too much to ask for the awkwardness between them to be lessened just because they’d gotten off together in a prop closet. “You go first.”

“Wait a couple minutes before you go,” Tamamori admonished, pushing open the door a crack and sticking his head out to look down the hallway. Miyata grabbed at his elbow at the last second, and when Tamamori turned his head, eyebrows raised, Miyata gave him a quick kiss. Tamamori let him, and then as soon as Miyata had stepped back, slipped out into the hallway and pushed the door shut behind him.

Miyata tried to count seconds to keep track of the time, but lost count somewhere around one hundred thirty, still hearing Tamamori saying his name and feeling Tamamori’s fingers around his wrist. Grumpily, Miyata slapped his palm against the box of tambourines, glaring at them when they jingled happily.

*Now*

“And then Koyama made us use the tambourines at afternoon practice and I had to keep hiding behind other people so nobody would notice I kept getting hard. But geez, I never knew what you were thinking,” Miyata sighed, tucked comfortably against Tamamori, arms tight around his waist, “back then. It drove me crazy.”

“I knew.” Tamamori squeezed Miyata a little. “I didn’t know how to tell you, or what to tell you, even when you were trying to ask me. I was too scared to try.”

“Scared I liked you too much?” Miyata asked. “Or that I didn’t like you as much?”

“Both,” Tamamori answered, shrugging. “And of being caught, and of getting fired, and that maybe you’d think I was too weird and never want to do it again.”

“I was the one saying all the weird stuff, remember?” Miyata reminded, making Tamamori laugh. “And I wanted to do it again ten seconds after we did it the first time. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we managed somehow.”

“It went a lot better after somebody stopped trying to break up with me,” Tamamori teased, cutting off Miyata’s spluttered response with a slow kiss. “But hey,” he murmured after they broke for air, “want me to make it up to you? So that you have a better memory in here to remember next year.”

“Nah,” Miyata chuckled at Tamamori’s surprised expression, “I don’t have to trap you in the prop closet these days, and it’s a lot more comfortable in a bed. Besides, I know how you feel about doing it in public…”

“Not public.” Tamamori made a show of glancing left and right. “There’s no one here to see, right? So isn’t it okay?”

“You’re insatiable.” Miyata rolled his eyes in a display of exasperation even faker than Kitayama’s snore. “I should’ve kept the handcuffs.”

“You could always knit me some,” Tamamori suggested, snickering when it took Miyata a second for it to sink in that Tamamori maybe knew a little too much about him these days. Narrowing his eyes, Miyata shoved Tamamori hard into the shelf behind him, but they both cracked up when the impact made one of the boxes on the shelf give a familiar cacophony of jingling.

And because they had made it, miraculously, somehow, Miyata knew exactly what Tamamori was thinking when he casually suggested to Koyama that they hadn’t used the tambourines for a while and maybe it would be nice for a change. Miyata caught Tamamori’s eye to glare when he turned around, and Tamamori’s wink said that he knew exactly what Miyata was thinking too.

• 

  By ri, 2012.09.21 @ 6:05 am

  tambourines. yes. i lost my shit when kitayama pretended to fall asleep. also i love how this is mostly flashbacks. so cute to see snippets of their early relationship and then them talking about it later. ♥
• 

  By Mousapelli, 2012.12.14 @ 9:30 pm

  TAMBOURINES

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