Kis-My-Ft2, Hatachi

Title: Hatachi [Tamamori/Miyata]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for drunk birthday sex fail.
Summary: Drunk is a good look on Tamamori.
AN: A day late for Tama’s birthday. Hatachi! It’s so hard to believe he’s an adult! Waah they grow up so fast. I hope Ebikisu took him out and got him smashed, cause I have no doubt that Tamamori drunk is A+. Hope Miyata had to stumble home with him and they both got roundly mocked by Tamamori’s mother.

Hatachi

Tamamori is flat on his back, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy and dark. Alcohol, as it turns out, makes him too warm, makes him pliant and easily distracted, makes him over-interested in the softness of Miyata’s shirt and confused about the buttons. It’s a good look on Tamamori, Miyata thinks, it’s endearing, cute and sexy by turns, and it looks better than he’d imagined.

Miyata’s had a long time to imagine it after all. Not that he minded the wait, so much.

“Oi,” Tamamori reaches up to cup Miyata’s face between his palms, as if to hold it still, and frowns with exaggerated concentration, “why’re you hot? I’m s’posed to be the pretty one.”

“So you are,” Miyata answers, rubbing his cheek against Tamamori’s palm.

“So stop it,” Tamamori demands, petulant, and Miyata chuckles and leans down to kiss his pout. Tamamori wraps arms around Miyata’s neck and tugs him closer immediately, making Miyata lose his balance and collapse onto Tamamori’s chest.

Tamamori’s mouth still tastes of the sake, slick and hot and burning Miyata’s tongue a little when Tamamori opens his mouth willingly.

They only manage to kiss for a few seconds, though, before Tamamori pulls away and buries his face against Miyata’s shoulder.

“Dizzyyy,” he complains, holding onto Miyata tighter. Miyata isn’t surprised, given how much Tamamori had to drink; besides his own, he’d been talked into trying some of everybody else’s drinks too, no small amount now that Ebikisu only has three underage members between them.

One of who will be legal in no time at all, with another not terribly far behind. It makes Miyata dizzy as well, when he thinks about it, how quickly time passes, how it seems like only a couple shows ago they were all still tripping over their own feet and whining about sore shins from growth spurts.

“Ah well,” Miyata says only realizing that he’s talking out loud when Tamamori drops his head back against the pillow to squint at him. “There’s always Hasshi-kun to depend on, I suppose.”

“What?” Tamamori squints harder. “You’re drunk.”

“Not as drunk as you,” Miyata retorts. Tamamori makes a noise like he can’t decide whether to be indignant or proud, and Miyata brushes his lips over Tamamori’s cheekbone, making Tamamori’s eyes flutter. “So much for my plan to have my way with you all night.”

“We hafta do it at least once,” Tamamori announces, making Miyata choke on a sudden giggle. “Mom bet me double my allowance I couldn’t manage it drunk ’cause she has the tolerance of a hamster.”

Tamamori looks so serious that Miyata struggles to swallow his giggling and match his expression. “Your mother has the tolerance of a hamster?”

“Y’know,” Tamamori explains further, “the eeeensy gray ones. Like Taipi’s!”

At that point Miyata gives up and has to press his face tight to Tamamori’s shoulder to muffle his laughter, and he only curls up and laughs harder when Tamamori demands petulantly that Miyata take him seriously.

“It is your birthday,” Miyata manages eventually after he’s made himself more than a little dizzy as well. He tries to focus only on Tamamori’s glare and not so much on the way the room is spinning. Besides, Tamamori’s glare is hot. “I think I could manage a seduction or two, just for you. So how do you want me?”

“Mmm.” Tamamori’s eyes flutter almost closed at Miyata’s words, narrowing to slits that glitter with interest. “Less buttons. Me too.”

Tamamori is essentially no help as Miyata tries to free them from the bane of buttons.

“Next time we go drinking you’re only allowed to wear clothes with zippers,” Miyata informs Tamamori as he gives up and just tries to tug the shirt over Tamamori’s head. Tamamori pouts at him as his head pops free finally.

“I can dress myself FINE,” he insists, then pouts harder when Miyata reminds him that it’s the opposite that he’s having the problem with at the moment. “I’ve got a zipper for you, if you like them so much.”

“On it~,” Miyata reports cheerfully, then undoes Tamamori’s jeans with a flourish and a proud, “Tada!”

All the trouble’s worth it, though, to be skin-to-skin with Tamamori, snuggled under the blankets, limbs tangled and Tamamori pressed warm against the length of his body.

Miyata’s pretty sure that Tamamori actually is too drunk for sex, but Miyata doesn’t mind so much. It’s more than good enough to be distracted by the way Tamamori squirms against him until Miyata starts stroking a hand down his back. He noses at Miyata’s cheek, and Miyata obliges him with a long kiss. It’s uncoordinated and sweet, and when Tamamori flops his head back against the pillow with another mumbled complaint of dizziness, Miyata’s breath catches at the dark glitter of his eyes.

“You’re gorgeous drunk,” Miyata informs Tamamori, squeezing him a little tighter. “I’d keep you this way all the time if it wouldn’t mean I’d have to give up both skating and sex with you. I could just sit around and look at you, though, it’s hot enough it might be worth it.”

“Quit iiiit,” Tamamori whines, shoving at Miyata in a thoroughly fake attempt to get loose. “And don’t tell me what I can’t do drunk! Find the lube, we’re so doing it, I already said.”

Like always, Miyata does what Tamamori orders, even apologizing with a chuckle when Tamamori complains about being left alone in the bed.

“So unreasonable,” he teases when he crawls back under the covers, lube in hand. He kisses the corner of Tamamori’s mouth, then gets a little distracted himself when Tamamori grabs the back of his head and forces Miyata to kiss him properly, or as properly as the two of them can manage at any rate.

Tamamori whines a little more when Miyata throws back the blankets so that he can maybe see what he’s doing. He’s easily placated, though, by the stroke of Miyata’s hand down his side and the trail of open-mouthed kisses Miyata leaves on his way down to Tamamori’s stomach. He pauses when he’s even with Tamamori’s navel and drags his fingers lightly through the little trail of hair, heat rushing under his skin at the way Tamamori groans and arches into his touch.

“I’m barely even touching you yet,” Miyata points out, drawing his hand lower until his palm is brushing the head of Tamamori’s cock. Tamamori makes another soft noise, eyes already falling shut to slits. “You’re so going to pass out in the middle of this.”

“Only ’cause you take forever,” Tamamori retorts, but his eyes slip shut entirely when Miyata palms him more purposefully. “Hurry up so I can kiss you some more.”

As willing as Tamamori says he is, it does take some effort to get Tamamori’s cock as interested. Small wonder, given his state, and anyway Miyata doesn’t mind if it means he gets to take his time with both his hands and his mouth. Dirty talk can go an awful long way, after all.

“Whyyyy?” Tamamori demands when Miyata has two fingers inside him and refuses to do anything besides lick at Tamamori’s tip amidst his soliloquy about how good Tamamori looks, spread out and helpless and frustrated.

“You taste good.” Miyata gives Tamamori another lick and grins up at him. “And you love it anyway. Mmm,” he hums when Tamamori hitches himself on his elbows to give him an upgraded glare. “Damn, I really want you.”

“Then fucking have me!” Tamamori snaps, elbows giving out and dumping him back against the bed. “Miyachiiii,” he says piteously. “Please?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Miyata announces, pulling his fingers free and giving Tamamori’s cock a quick kiss. He gets up on his knees and tugs Tamamori closer by the hips, and cuts off Tamamori’s complaint about how he’s told Miyata about a hundred times when he pushes in, smooth and steady.

It takes a couple seconds for Tamamori’s body to relax around him, but Miyata reaches down to stroke a hand through Tamamori’s hair, and eventually Tamamori shivers and goes slack, letting Miyata the rest of the way in with a sigh.

“Okay?” Miyata asks, just to be sure, and when Tamamori opens his eyes to smile up at him, the adoration plain on Tamamori’s face sends electricity zipping down Miyata’s spine. “Yuta…”

“Shut up, shut up,” Tamamori interrupts, but he’s grinning too as he reaches up to grab for Miyata’s shoulders and tries to yank him down, pull him closer. “Just fuck me already. And come down here so I can hang on, it feels all weird.”

“Weird?” Miyata asks as he shifts forward and onto his elbows, trying to get as close as Tamamori wants and still be able to move. He brushes his knuckles against Tamamori’s flushed cheek. “You sure it’s okay?”

“M’dizzy still,” Tamamori tries to explain as he wraps his arms tighter around Miyata’s neck. He presses his face tight to Miyata’s shoulder, so that Miyata has trouble understanding him. “Skin feels weird too, like fizzy. All over, move?”

“Idiot, you’re drunk,” Miyata says with affection, kissing the part of Tamamori’s hair that’s nearest his mouth.

And then he does move, and it’s a good thing Tamamori’s mouth is pressed against Miyata’s skin because it at least partially muffles the noise he makes. The next one isn’t any quieter, and Miyata isn’t looking forward to facing Tamamori’s mother at breakfast the next morning, but he doesn’t stop either, keeps pressing into Tamamori until Tamamori is keening steadily.

“Can you reach yourself?” Miyata asks, because he can’t without probably falling over.

“No,” Tamamori answers without making any move to try, but then he wraps his legs around Miyata’s waist and hitches himself up a little, changing the angle. “Oh,” he gasps, fingers digging into Miyata’s shoulders. “Harder, wanna come like this.”

“You’re the birthday boy,” Miyata says, more to himself than anything, and then he plants his knees a little more firmly and does his best to follow Tamamori’s orders. He isn’t sure Tamamori can do it, it’s not the simplest thing even sober, but Miyata encourages him with a steady, strong rhythm and with a string of whispered endearments.

He can feel it all along his body when Tamamori shudders and lets go, the splash of heat on his stomach and Tamamori’s arms tight on his shoulders and the wordless cry that echoes in Miyata’s ears. It’s so tempting to let the rush of it sweep him away, but Miyata hangs on, just that little bit longer, long enough to work Tamamori through the end of his orgasm, long enough to feel him go warm and pliant and over-sensitive against Miyata.

“Toshiya,” Tamamori groans softly, rubbing his cheek against Miyata’s skin, and that’s all Miyata can take before he tumbles over the edge himself.

When he can think again, he realizes that he’s collapsed on top of Tamamori, probably half-smothering him, and also that his ass is cold. But when he tries to move, Tamamori’s grip twitches and he grumbles a protest.

“Let me get the blanket at least,” Miyata says, or tries to say, since about only half of the words come out, and he doesn’t do that great a job of moving either, but he does manage to roll onto his side enough so that Tamamori isn’t likely to actually die of suffocation.

“Useless,” Tamamori pronounces, sounding just as coherent as Miyata. It’s easier for him to reach over Miyata and tug the blankets back over them, though, so he actually manages it. But after he does get them re-blanketed, he pauses there for a few moments, propped up on one elbow and looking down at Miyata, blinking slowly.

“Hm?” Miyata prompts eventually. He doesn’t mind Tamamori staring or anything, but usually things are reversed.

Tamamori reaches down to brush a clumsy hand against Miyata’s cheek. “Thought I told you stop being hot.”

“Sorry,” Miyata says, but he’s grinning from the back-handed compliment. “Think I’m stuck this way.”

Then Tamamori smiles back, small and cute and thoroughly content, and maybe it wasn’t back-handed at all. Warmth washes though Miyata, and he reaches up to yank Tamamori down against him, collecting him in a tight cuddle against his chest that Tamamori doesn’t resist at all.

“Hey,” Miyata says a few breaths later, and Tamamori makes a sleepy noise in response. “Happy birthday. Do I have to stop calling you ‘Tama-chan’ now that you’re an adult?”

“Idiot,” Tamamori yawns, squeezing Miyata tight.

His grip barely slackens when his breathing evens out afterwards, and Miyata’s grin is still firmly in place when he follows not long after.

1 person likes this post.

Like

Unlike