Mousapelli’s Fanfiction » Kis-My-Ft2, Permanent

Kis-My-Ft2, Permanent

Title: Permanent [Miyata/Tamamori]
Rating/Warnings: R
Summary: Tamamori does a poor job of hiding his interest in Miyata’s perm.
AN: Miyata’s perm is totally hot. I wrote this on the plane and it kind of sucks, but here you go anyway.

Permanent

The third time Miyata catches Tamamori staring in as many minutes, he can’t suppress his amusement any longer.

“Something you want, Tama-chan?” he asks, smirk saying he knows exactly what Tamamori wants.

“No!” Tamamori scowls immediately, cheeks going pink. He glares furiously at his lunch, like it’s the only thing he’s interested in. Not that it fools Miyata even a little bit.

Miyata slides a bit closer, and then a bit more. Tamamori grunts when Miyata’s shoulder bumps into his, but still doesn’t look up.

“It’s the perm,” he says, “right?”

“It’s definitely not,” Tamamori grumbles, tossing aside the rest of his lunch. His irritation doubles when Miyata just laughs.

“It totally is,” Miyata teases, giving his head a shake so that the waves tousle themselves a bit. “You want to touch it, right? You can, you know; Tama-chan’s totally allowed.”

“So weird,” Tamamori hisses, but then squeaks in surprise when Miyata turns suddenly, grabs him by the shoulders, and forces him backwards until Tamamori’s back hits the ground. “What the hell?”

“Should I give you an excuse?” Miyata’s grin just gets wider as Tamamori splutters. He slides a hand down low enough to make his offer plain. “I don’t mindâ€¦just ask and I’ll do whatever Tama-chan wants.”

Tamamori glares at him wordlessly, cheeks hot and eyes dark. Miyata waits several slow breaths, then gives a little shrug and lets go of Tamamori’s shoulders, sitting back. Tamamori doesn’t move though; he stays right where he is on his back.

“All right,” Tamamori says, grudging. “Fine.”

“Hmm?” Miyata leans back over Tamamori just enough to meet his eyes. “So you want something after all?”

“I wantâ€¦” Tamamori grinds his teeth, blush getting even deeper, but eventually he manages to get the words out. “Your mouth, I want it.”

It makes a shudder run the length of Miyata’s body. “Whatever Tama-chan wants,” he repeats, voice soft and low, and he sees Tamamori give an answering shiver.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement after that to reach for the waistband of Tamamori’s sweats and tug them out of the way. Tamamori’s not hard yet, just a little interested, but it doesn’t take much more than Miyata wrapping a hand tight around him and stroking him to get him most of the way there.

Getting comfortable down on his stomach between Tamamori’s legs, Miyata licks at just the tip and feels Tamamori jump in his hand. Tamamori makes a low noise, and suddenly there’s a hand in Miyata’s hair after all. The touch is light, though, barely enough for Miyata to feel Tamamori’s fingers against his scalp.

“See?” Miyata looks up to meet Tamamori’s eyes. Tamamori looks torn between want and annoyance, but Miyata solves the conflict when he adds, “I’m gonna make it so you have to hang on way harder, though.”

Tamamori groans as Miyata slides his mouth over him , down slowly over the first inch, two inches, and suddenly there are two hands in his hair after all. Tamamori’s fingers stroke through Miyata’s hair hard enough for him to feel the pull of it, and Miyata hums in pleasure.

“Miyacchi,” Tamamori cries softly when Miyata starts to suck more seriously. Miyata wants to tell him to be louder, that he doesn’t care if the rest of the group does show up to get their lunches. Hell, he doesn’t care if they watch even, doesn’t care about anything except the way Tamamori switches over to his given name once Miyata relaxes his throat enough to take him nearly the whole way in.

Miyata focuses on working Tamamori harder, moaning softly at how Tamamori’s fingers are buried so tightly in his hair now that it’ll certainly be a mess. He feels the tremble in Tamamori’s thighs before he gasps a warning, and then Tamamori is arching against Miyata and coming with a choked wail.

Swallowing around Tamamori, Miyata works him through the aftershocks, licking him clean until Tamamori is whimpering and pushing at him to get off. Miyata sits up, almost dizzy with how hard he is himself, but it seems more important to lean over Tamamori and observe his handiwork.

The blush is still fading from Tamamori’s cheeks and neck, and his eyes are a bit glazed, his mouth red and wet.

“What you wanted?” Miyata asks, the flicker of annoyance in Tamamori’s eyes making Miyata shiver with an echo of sensation from Tamamori yanking at his hair. But Tamamori nods anyway, then reaches over to palm the front of Miyata’s sweats.

Groaning, Miyata leans back on his hands and pushes up into Tamamori’s hand, so hard that even the light touch feels good.

“Please, Tama,” he ways, not caring if he sounds desperate since he most certainly is. Then Tamamori gets his hand inside Miyata’s sweats, long fingers wrapping tight around him, and Miyata forgets about everything else besides the tug and squeeze of Tamamori’s hand.

He tries to warn Tamamori when he gets close, but all that comes out is a soft wail before he spills into Tamamori’s hand. Collapsing onto his back and gasping for air, Miyata doesn’t even blame Tamamori when he wipes his hand off on Miyata’s thigh before pulling his hand free of Miyata’s sweats.

“So you like it,” Miyata says when he gets some of his breath back, just to nettle.

He’s not expecting Tamamori to lean over him like he’d done earlier, to rake a low-lidded gaze over Miyata slowly, or to reach a hand down to stroke through the tangle of Miyata’s loose waves.

“I guess it’ll do,” Tamamori says with a shrug. He yanks at the ends of Miyata’s hair carelessly, making Miyata laugh and then knock the arm that’s supporting Tamamori out from under him, collapsing Tamamori onto his chest in a tangle of limbs.