Title: Under the Weather [Miyata/Tamamori]
Rating/Warnings: R for the inevitable kiss and make up.
Summary: Tamamori and Miyata have a series of misunderstandings. Or at least Tamamori does.
AN: This is not at all what I sat down to write and I don’t particularly enjoy it, but snowqueenofhoth said I should just post it and move on.
Under the Weather
They’re a week into the Playzone performances, still in the stage where they’re having a bunch of rehearsals as well as performances, and Tamamori wishes that he could kill Yara with his mind, if only so that they could rest for the five minutes it would take the smaller juniors to drag Yara’s body from the stage.
The only major compensation is that Tamamori gets to spend practices watching Miyata grow increasingly sweaty and disheveled. Usually it’d be the other way around, but with all the added responsibility going around, Miyata’s having something of a rough time of it, and to add insult to injury, Yara keeps tweaking the dances in minor ways, small enough to be highly forgettable, visible enough to make Miyata look like a moron more often than not.
It’s nice to see somebody else failing worse than him for once, but Tamamori does feel a pang of sympathy when Yamamoto of all people can’t hold back snickers at Miyata’s expense.
“Hey.” Tamamori sits down next to the limp heap of Miyata on the floor at the end of the day. The others are drifting out to change, to go eat or go home. “Long day, huh?”
Miyata grunts, draining his water bottle in gulps.
“Here,” Tamamori hands Miyata his water bottle as well, “but don’t gulp it like that, you’ll get sick. But I was thinking, want to come over tonight? Have some decent food, take a long, hot bath? My mom’ll probably even tell you what a better person you are than me.”
Miyata wipes his hand over the back of his mouth, still not quite looking at Tamamori directly. “Sorry, I really can’t, Tama-chan. Let’s go get changed.” Miyata brushes a vague kiss across Tamamori’s cheek, then stands. “Thanks for the water, though.”
“Sure,” Tamamori sighs, disappointed, but he gets up to follow Miyata.
After they get changed, they walk out together, silence a bit awkward until they have to go different ways at the station.
“So…” Miyata starts, making Tamamori raise an eyebrow. It’s hot and sticky and uncomfortable, and they both look stupid in their masks.
“Yeah?” Tamamori prompts.
“Nothing,” Miyata sighs, and Tamamori wishes he could see the rest of Miyata’s face. “See you tomorrow.” He brushes the back of his hand against Tamamori’s, then turns and disappears into the crowd.
Tamamori spends the rest of the night disgruntled and cranky for no particular reason, and after he gets told off for snapping at his mother’s routine questions about his day, Tamamori goes off to sulk in his room in front of his rotating fan. He keeps his phone nearby in case of mails, but the only one he gets is Senga asking what time he’s supposed to show up tomorrow again.
*****
At first Tamamori chalks the whole thing up to start-of-show nerves and a bad day, but after another few days it doesn’t take a member of NEWS to figure out that something is up with Miyata.
“We’re busy,” Miyata says, voice gruff, when Tamamori confronts him about it after another sleepover rejection. “I’m just tired.”
It only makes Tamamori frown harder. “This schedule isn’t that bad. It doesn’t usually stop you from dragging me around corners and spending the night.”
“Then you should be glad for the break.” Miyata shrugs. “And let’s face it, we don’t do a lot of sleeping, do we? Somebody likes to wake me up a lot.”
“You never minded before,” Tamamori says stiffly, cheeks turning pink.
“Aw, Tama-chan,” Miyata sighs. “Look, it’s hot, we’re starting a show, maybe I’m coming down with something, I don’t know. Maybe…”
“Maybe what?” Tamamori demands in alarm when Miyata hesitates, but he doesn’t find out what because Fujigaya shows up just then to put them both in a headlock and snap at them for slacking off.
Tamamori’s useless the rest of the practice and ends up having to stay later, until Yara is satisfied. By the time Tamamori drags himself out to change, Miyata’s already gone, leaving behind an apologetic mail that makes Tamamori scowl even harder.
*****
“Are we what?” Miyata narrows his eyes at Tamamori. “No! We aren’t fighting! That’s stupid.”
“Doesn’t seem so stupid to me!” Tamamori replies, struggling to keep the whine out of his voice, but then again, he hadn’t slept well. “You’re acting weird!”
“I’m acting weird?” Miyata demands. “You told your lunch it looked so good you wanted to take it on a date!”
“We haven’t talked in ages,” Tamamori ignores Miyata other than a frosty glance, “not really, you haven’t been watching me like usual, and we haven’t,” Tamamori gives a quick glance around and lowers his voice, “done anything more serious than kiss good morning in a week and a half!”
“We’re busy!” Miyata snaps in exasperation. “What, do you have a quota or something? If we don’t do it at least every other day, we’re automatically in a fight? Not to mention, you know I’ve…”
“We aren’t busy right now!” Tamamori reaches out to tug on Miyata’s elbow. “We’ve got a half-hour left of lunch, let’s go find someplace, huh?”
Miyata doesn’t budge. “Tama, I’m just tired, all right? I don’t want to go anyplace or find anything, I just want to sit here in peace!”
“Fine.” Tamamori lets his arm drop, forcing his voice even. “You go on and sit there then.”
Miyata calls Tamamori’s name as Tamamori walks away, but Tamamori doesn’t turn. He’s not sure what he’ll say if he does.
*****
The next day, Tamamori wishes that he hadn’t said anything at all, because now he isn’t even getting kissed good morning, and he feels more wretched than he has in a long while, possibly even more wretched than during their infamous Christmas breakup.
At least then he’d known exactly what was going on.
It isn’t like they aren’t speaking. Miyata is still talking to and mailing Tamamori like normal, although Miyata’s conversation is sort of vague and stiff. It just makes Tamamori feel more frustrated and confused, and he’s too afraid of what the mails might say, so he stops reading them.
He hangs around with Fujigaya and Kitayama, on the excuse that they’re still doing publicity. It takes about ten seconds for Fujigaya to notice there’s a problem and about five more to start giving Tamamori slightly ridiculous advice on how to fix it, despite the fact that all their promotions means that he’s seen even less of Miyata recently than Tamamori has.
“Maybe you should get pierced again,” Fujigaya muses, holding Tamamori’s chin up for inspection. “You know, something a little more exotic to spice things up, hm?”
When Senga gets in on it too, his advice more than slightly ridiculous, Tamamori wonders if soon he’ll have to avoid all of his band and start hanging around with They Budou instead.
“All right,” Kitayama breaks up the party when it starts disturbing his napping time, “enough’s enough. Tama-chan, whatever’s going on, fix it! We’ve got shit to get done here.”
“I would if I could!” Tamamori snaps, too cranky from Senga’s diatribe on various condom innovations to appreciate that Kitayama is at least concerned for him.
*****
It all finally comes to a head at the end of a practice for the September Shounen Club, when Tamamori asks Miyata if he can stay for five minutes extra to help him get their costumes in order.
“I’m a little…” Miyata starts, but that’s as far as he gets because it’s then that Tamamori snaps.
“Busy, I get it!” Tamamori shouts at the top of his lungs. The few people hanging around them take one look at Tamamori’s face and make for the nearest exit. “Look, are you sick of me or what?! Just tell me already!”
“I’m not…” Miyata’s eyes widen in alarm, but that’s as far as he gets.
“You don’t want to come over, you don’t want to hang out, you don’t seem to care that I’ve been seeing four times as much of Fujigaya and Kitayama as you!”
“You’re doing promotions!” Miyata protests.
“I don’t even know what we’re fighting about!” Tamamori bellows in Miyata’s face. “But I guess it doesn’t matter, as you’ve made it perfectly clear exactly how much of me you want to see! So I’ll be going then, and feel free to mail me if you change your mind about it!”
Tamamori whirls on his heel to stomp away, but gets about a step and a half before Miyata’s hand closes on his wrist and yanks him back. Miyata grabs a fistful of Tamamori’s shirt and Tamamori opens his mouth to yell some more, but Miyata crushes their mouths together and muffles Tamamori’s shout into a sort of undignified mumble.
He struggles for a few seconds, but Miyata only kisses him harder, until Tamamori gives in and wraps his arms tight around Miyata’s neck, kissing back with a sort of furious desperation.
They only break for air when Shintarou’s voice rings out behind them.
“WHOA. What are you two doing?!”
“LOVE DRAMA,” both of them snap at him without looking away from each other. There’s the sound of sneakers squeaking across the floor and then the slam of a door.
“Come home with me?” Miyata offers, sheepish, and because they really aren’t in some idiot love drama, Tamamori kisses him again so he doesn’t do something as shoujo as cry.
*****
“I still don’t understand,” Miyata says when they are in his room, toweling their hair dry. Or at least Miyata is. Tamamori is sprawled out lazily on Miyata’s bed, soaking in the air conditioning. “Exactly how did this all start?”
“I don’t even know,” Tamamori says dismissively, because he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. Miyata, on the other hand, doesn’t drop it.
“Well, figure it out,” he says, “because I’m not in any hurry to do it again! And dry off, you’ll get that stupid summer cold I just had.”
Tamamori frowns and sits up. “You had a…”
“Yes,” Miyata interrupts. “I told you I thought I did! I went home from practice early that one day, and was slinking off into corners to sleep any chance I could between practices, and coming home and collapsing! And then you went crazy!”
“I thought you were avoiding me,” Tamamori admits, feeling very stupid. “You were weird when we talked!”
“I was doped up on like five herbal remedies! And I didn’t want you to get it, if you’re next complaint is going to be the lack of making out. I completely explained all of this in one of my many unanswered mails, I don’t mind pointing out.”
Tamamori picks at lint on Miyata’s bedspread. “I didn’t read most of them because I was afraid you’d be breaking up with me.”
“Who on earth,” Miyata demands, “breaks up with somebody they’ve been going out with for a year and a half in a mail?!”
Tamamori doesn’t have an answer. He just makes big, sad eyes at Miyata until Miyata sighs and drops his towel on Tamamori’s head to rub at his hair.
“You moron.” Miyata clicks his tongue. “A mail? Really?”
Tamamori mumbles something vague under the towel. Miyata pulls the towel away and drops it on the floor, then puts his hands on either side of Tamamori’s face to force them eye-to-eye.
“Tamamori Yuta,” Miyata says, very seriously, “I swear that I will not ever break up with you in a mail. I’m not planning on doing it ever, honestly, but definitely not in a mail.”
“Don’t tease,” Tamamori says dully. “I’m sorry I’m so…that I…I don’t even know what I did,” Tamamori screws up his face in frustration, “but I’m sorry.”
“Stop it, you’ll get lines.” Miyata kisses Tamamori’s forehead, then lets go of his face to crawl into bed beside him. He nudges Tamamori’s shoulder with his own. “It’s a good thing I love you, because you’re a lot of trouble, ne. So what about this quota?”
“What did I just say about teasing?” Tamamori tries to pout, but Miyata kisses it off.
Tamamori lets Miyata push him down onto his back and lean over him for another kiss, and Miyata’s warmth sinks into Tamamori’s skin, easing the kink that feels like it’s been in his shoulders for days. Miyata’s kisses are gentle and unhurried, and eventually his mouth drifts away from Tamamori’s, to Tamamori’s cheek, his jaw, on Miyata’s lazy whim.
“Hey,” Tamamori protests weakly when Miyata moves even further south, his intent obvious, “shouldn’t I be the one…”
“Shush, let me do what I want,” Miyata orders, then nips at the skin of Tamamori’s stomach, cutting off further argument.
Miyata takes his time about it, though, so that Tamamori is almost achingly hard by the time his mouth actually reaches his goal. Tamamori doesn’t hurry him or even beg; he just strokes his fingers through Miyata’s hair and lets him do as he wills. When Miyata finally does slide his lips over the tip of Tamamori’s cock, Tamamori has to bite down hard on a moan as he arches up against Miyata.
“Easy there,” Miyata murmurs as he pushes Tamamori’s hips back down, and Tamamori mumbles a vague apology. But Miyata doesn’t really seem to mind, given the way he’s grinning up at Tamamori, and he hums a low moan of his own as he wraps his lips back around Tamamori.
It doesn’t take long at all, short enough that even Tamamori considers being embarrassed about it for a second, before he lets the thought go and just drifts pleasantly. Relaxed for the first time in days, his eyes closed, Tamamori doesn’t realize that he’s slipping into a doze until he’s woken by Miyata demanding to know if Tamamori just fell asleep on him.
“Hm?” Tamamori cracks an eye, and can’t help grinning a little at Miyata’s indignation. “Well, I guess I am a little tired…you know, we’re so busy and all…”
“You brat,” Miyata rolls his eyes as he crawls back up to drape himself over Tamamori’s chest, “I ought to fuck you into next week for that.”
“Wait until Osaka,” Tamamori advises, stretching a little and humming at the way his skin slides along Miyata’s. “Then you can make all the noise you want.”
“About Osaka,” Miyata starts, then stops.
“Hm?” Tamamori asks.
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Miyata shakes his head, and Tamamori remembers that Miyata had almost asked him something in the train station, before Tamamori caused a week and a half’s worth of ridiculous problems.
“What about Osaka?” Tamamori prompts, raising a hand to stroke lazily along Miyata’s side. “You wanted to ask me something before, right? Like a favor?”
“Sort of,” Miyata says awkwardly.
“Ask me; I’ll say yes.” Miyata frowns, but Tamamori smiles back. He’d do anything Miyata asked even if he didn’t owe Miyata a million favors like he does right now. “Go on, ask.”
“Don’t sleep with anybody besides me in Osaka,” Miyata says, then opens his mouth again, obviously about to take it back.
“Okay,” Tamamori says before Miyata can.
Miyata blinks. “Okay? Really?” Tamamori nods. “But what about…I mean after all this time, it’s a stupid thing to ask, right?”
“I told you that if Miyacchi asked me, it would be different,” Tamamori says firmly. “If you’re sure that you don’t want to play with anybody else…” Tamamori raises an eyebrow; Miyata looks sheepish but shakes his head. “Then only Miyacchi is fine with me.”
A wide grin breaks over Miyata’s face, and Tamamori returns it just before Miyata kisses him fiercely, their bodies pressed close enough together that Tamamori can feel Miyata hard against his hip, and that Tamamori is starting to get hard again himself.
“Ne, but,” Tamamori asks breathlessly when they break for air, “what brought that on, hm? After all this time.”
“Oh. Well.” Miyata fidgets with a little piece of Tamamori’s hair. “You had to do all those things with Fujigaya and Kitayama, and some of those shoots…those two just look a little…possessive.”
“Somebody has to protect me from the grabby photographers,” Tamamori says innocently; Miyata gives him a dark look.
“And you know they haven’t been airbrushing out your beauty mark?” Miyata brushes his thumb over the mark in question. “I liked it better when everybody didn’t know about that. It’s not that I’m not happy you’re getting all the attention, but I wish that not everybody got to see you like I do.”
“I don’t think they’ll be photographing me like this any time soon,” Tamamori assures, wiggling a little to demonstrate. “And nobody’ll be seeing it in Osaka either.”
“Tama-chan,” Miyata murmurs, fingers tight on Tamamori’s skin and eyes full of affection, and Tamamori’s heart squeezes.
“So are you going to fuck me or what, here?” Tamamori interrupts before Miyata says something really embarrassing. “Because we’ve got a quota here, and at the rate we’re going, I’ll have to wake you up every fifteen minutes to fill it.”
“At the rate you go,” Miyata retorts, “even if you do, at least I’ll get to sleep for fourteen minutes between each round.”
Tamamori exacts his revenge with tickling fingers, until Miyata is gasping indignantly about who is supposed to be making up what to who here, and Miyata’s brother pounds on the wall and yells at them to quit doing freaky shit against the adjoining wall.
