Kis-My-Ft2, Love is You

Title: Love is You [Fujigaya/Miyata]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for Taipi being such an S.
Summary: Fujigaya has no idea what’s wrong with him, or why it doesn’t seem to bother Miyata at all.
AN: Still trying to fill out the unusual Kisumai pairings chart, but I only have one more to go after this! So it’s totally yeska_noka‘s turn. Actually, like Fujigaya, I spent most of the fic wondering why this even seems half so hot as it does.

Love is You

Fujigaya doesn’t have any idea what the hell is wrong with him, but something plainly is. Beside him, Miyata stirs in his sleep, stretched out on his stomach and looking perfectly satisfied with the workout he’s been given. Fujigaya gives him a dirty look, like it’s his fault.

It sort of is.

Things had been much more normal weeks ago when Fujigaya had received a mail that made him curse at his phone.

“What’s up?” Yokoo asks, voice muffled by the sweater he was trying to yank over his head.

“Get your rejection letter from the Cutest Nipples of 2011 Calendar?” Kitayama inquires as he wanders by, making Nikaido and Senga snicker.

“No, but they did send me some nice shots of your mother,” Fujigaya shoots back, getting an “Ooooh!” from the idiot combi. “I made reservations at that new Italian place Gocchi and Fumi have been raving about, and Yusuke just mailed to cancel on me, that dick!” He looks up at Yokoo, then reaches over to yank down on his sweater, making Yokoo’s head pop free, his hair mis-kinked in all directions. “Your lucky day, Watta, hey?”

“Sorry, I’m going out with my brothers.” Yokoo shakes his head.

Fujigaya sighs, wishing his own brother could be so loyal, then turns to the others. “Tama-chan?” he asks, and when Tamamori calls out an apology as well, looks at Nikaido and Senga, who are already packing up their bags. “Guess there’s no point in asking you two.”

“Nope,” Senga answers, grinning. “Best friend night.”

“Isn’t that every night?” Fujigaya snaps, more irritated with the situation than with them, but they can take it. And either way, all Nikaido does is grin sharply and wrap an arm around Senga’s shoulders, tugging him close.

“Yes, yes it is,” he says, giving Fujigaya a meaningful look; Fujigaya makes a disgusted face. “Come on, Kenpi~.”

“I’m free tonight.”

Fujigaya looks down at Miyata, sitting on the couch in the middle of tying his sneakers. He gives Fujigaya a guileless smile. Fujigaya hesitates, but heaves a little sigh after not that long. Miyata isn’t an ideal date, but it isn’t like his brother would have been that much better and he’s really going for the food anyway.

“All right,” Fujigaya eyes him in a no-nonsense manner, “but weirdness to a minimum, please, if I’m to be seen with you in public.”

“Sure, Taipi,” Miyata agrees readily, and he even trades Tamamori for a slightly nicer shirt so that he looks reasonably respectable for the restaurant, which Fujigaya doesn’t comment on out loud, but appreciates.

Miyata turns out to be not a bad dinner date, to Fujigaya’s mild surprise. He charms the hostess into giving them a nice, private booth, chats up the waiter to find out which specials are worth having, and even proves himself a decent wine picker.

“I have to say, I’m surprised,” Fujigaya grudgingly admits as their salad plates are being cleared away.

“My mother likes Italian,” Miyata explains, pouring out another little puddle of olive oil for them to dip their bread in. Fujigaya is still eyeing him, slightly skeptical, but Miyata just chuckles, unoffended. “I do know about some other stuff besides anime.”

Conversation is easy with Miyata, even though, when Fujigaya thinks about it, he isn’t sure the pair of them have ever been out alone together before. Miyata is a good listener and doesn’t seem to mind that Fujigaya’s favorite topic of conversation is himself. He prattles on about drama filming and senpai and his dog’s cute new tricks, Miyata nodding and making “go on” noises the entire time.

By the time they’re through with dessert, Fujigaya has drunk a few more glasses of wine than he intended to thanks to all the talking, and isn’t terribly steady when he stands. Before he can think to protest, Miyata has helped him the whole way home.

“It’s no trouble,” Miyata assures Fujigaya’s mother as she watches Fujigaya fail to kick off his boots with mild exasperation. “It’s so close by, not like my place.”

“Quit flirting with m’mother,” Fujigaya slurs, narrowing his eyes at Miyata. Miyata only smiles back, and his mother reminds him rather crisply that he’s the one so toasted that he needs friends to bring him home and apparently also help him with the intricacies of shoes.

Miyata helps Fujigaya to his room so that he doesn’t kill himself on the stairs, and somehow ends up spending the night. To be accurate, somehow he ends up spending the night in Fujigaya’s bed.

“Is this okay?” Miyata asks, not that he puts up any resistance as Fujigaya pushes him down and climbs on top, stripping off his shirt on the way. Shirts are a lot less complicated than boots, Fujigaya thinks with satisfaction.

He shrugs in response to Miyata’s question; they’ve never fooled around before, but Miyata seems like he’ll be cooperative enough in bed and not be a total ass about it afterwards. If he doesn’t have any serious objections, Fujigaya surely isn’t sober enough to come up with any.

“I’m game if you are,” he says, and then leans down to crush their mouths together.

In the morning, the details are fuzzy, but Fujigaya remembers bits and pieces of a better-than-average blowjob and of being forced to down a glass of water, which explains the mildness of his hangover. Beside him, Miyata is keeping the blankets plenty warm and doesn’t snore, so Fujigaya doesn’t see any harm in edging a bit closer and drifting back off into a doze until his phone alarm goes off.

And then it happens again the next week.

To be fair, this time Tamamori and Yokoo had come out with them to the izakaya after work, but they had both begged off early, pleading exhaustion, leaving Miyata and Fujigaya on yet another accidental date.

“If I didn’t know better…” Miyata starts, eyes twinkling with amusement, before Fujigaya tells him to shut his face.

Both of them have one or two too many this time, and they end up at Fujigaya’s house again, although mercifully this time Fujigaya’s mother is asleep. They are both giggling and shushing each other as they make their way up to Fujigaya’s room, and this time it’s Miyata who leans in for a kiss first, as soon as the door is shut.

“Are you gonna take advantage of me, Gaya-senpai?” Miyata says cutely when the kiss breaks, and Fujigaya finds that yeah, he definitely wants to.

“Lemme have you,” he asks, a little less of a command than it would be with most people, just because he isn’t sure Miyata goes that way. But after a second of thought, Miyata nods, and then Fujigaya can’t get him out of his clothes and into bed fast enough.

Miyata isn’t shy at all, pushing down against Fujigaya’s fingers as Fujigaya works him open, and Fujigaya finds that charming. His eyes are dark and a little glassy from the alcohol still as he watches Fujigaya openly, mouth open as he pants softly. He feels hot and slick and so good around Fujigaya’s fingers, even better when he crawls over top of Miyata and pushes inside. Miyata’s arms are strong when they wrap around Fujigaya’s neck and he holds on tightly as Fujigaya fucks him, murmuring things in Fujigaya’s ear that make him spiral higher and higher until his orgasm pulses over him in dizzying waves. Miyata’s grip is just as strong and tight when Fujigaya drifts off to sleep not much later, Miyata’s skin like a soothing heating pad against Fujigaya’s.

The third and fourth time, Fujigaya has to admit to himself, are on purpose.

He doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing really, or why he keeps doing it. Miyata looks good lately, sure, and dresses himself decently and all that, but he’s a self-proclaimed weirdo after all, kouhai rather than senpai, nothing at all like the type Fujigaya usually bothers himself about, when he has the time to bother himself about it at all. Any number of people he could name would probably even let Fujigaya top, if he were being serious about it, and yet it’s still Miyata who ends up underneath him over and over. He looks surprisingly good there, even sober, his eyes dark and his hands twisted in Fujigaya’s sheets, his strength all the more pleasing for how easily he surrenders it to Fujigaya’s rough treatment.

Fujigaya’s internal confusion manifests itself, unsurprisingly in their group, as physical harassment.

Fujigaya has always been the group’s S and Miyata is Kisumai’s M after all, so for a while nobody really pays much heed to Fujigaya’s name-calling and casual shoving of Miyata. Honestly nobody even thinks to comment when Fujigaya starts trying to openly trip Miyata during skating tricks, even during actual concerts (although he does get a lecture from staff about that sort of thing during filming days).

But it’s a vicious cycle: the more Miyata lets Fujigaya push him around, the more Fujigaya likes it and consequently worries at it mentally, and it makes him want to push even harder. He starts getting a little out of hand during magazines shoots, maybe because there aren’t any fans watching, plus Duet always sets him on edge.

He waits until Miyata’s hair and makeup have been done, and then drags him into a half-hidden corner and doesn’t set him free until his lip gloss has been all rubbed off, his clothing is rumpled, and his hairstyle has been utterly destroyed. Then he sits back and cackles while Miyata meekly accepts a tongue-lashing from the stylists about being careless and fucking around during a shoot, ruining the staff’s hard work.

“What are you doing?” Yokoo asks, and when Fujigaya turns, he’s standing at Fujigaya’s shoulder with his arms folded. Fujigaya thinks about playing innocent, but the thin line of Yokoo’s mouth says he won’t be having any of that.

“I don’t know,” Fujigaya says, voice sharp with how long he’s been holding that in. Yokoo raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and Fujigaya sighs and tugs on his own hair a little. “Sorry, Watta. I’m not irritated with you.”

“Just Miyacchi?” Yokoo pries further when Fujigaya shuts his mouth for once and drops his gaze. “What’s he done to you that you can’t leave him alone for three seconds?”

“He…nothing.” Fujigaya scowls harder at the floor. He can hear Miyata apologizing to the staff, so sincere, and it makes him want to squirm, want to keep pushing until he finally hits the point where Miyata pushes back. “He hasn’t done anything.”

“Then save it for your bedroom, you,” Yokoo orders. Fujigaya yanks his gaze back up, mouth hanging open, and Yokoo rolls his eyes. “Poor thing, you think you’re being subtle, don’t you? More’s the pity, bless you.”

“Fuck you,” Fujigaya grumbles, cheeks hot, and then after that he’s so unbalanced that he can’t even argue properly when they try to smoosh him right up against Kitayama for their pages.

“So cooperative today,” Kitayama coos while the staff is hunting up another box for him to stand on, his smirk fraying one of Fujigaya’s last nerves. “Thinking of the fans?” He lowers his voice and leans in close so that he’s practically whispering in Fujigaya’s ear; the photographer looks like she’s about to swoon. “Or of taking Miyacchi home tonight?”

“Don’t bother!” Fujigaya snaps shrilly at the staff. “Even a thousand boxes won’t help!”

Afterwards, when they’re supposed to be changing and getting the hell out of the next group’s way, Fujigaya backs Miyata up against the wall, ignoring everyone else (since apparently they all know his business anyway, he growls to himself).

“Why are you letting me do all this stuff to you?” he demands.

“I don’t mind, though?” Miyata gives Fujigaya his usual, easy-going smile, and Fujigaya feels Miyata’s hands slide into the back pockets of his borrowed photoshoot jeans, tugging his hips flush against Miyata’s. “Plus you seem to like it.”

Fujigaya snorts. “That’s because I’m an S, idiot.”

“Ah, and I’m the M!” Miyata says, as if he’s just realized. “Convenient~. Funny how things work out in the end, isn’t it?”

Fujigaya calls him an idiot again and gives him another shove before letting go and stomping off to change. But Miyata’s right, it is funny, because you’d think Fujigaya would own Miyata’s ass from here to Osaka by the time he does actually get him home, but instead he’s so wrung out from all of it that when he flops on his bed, his limbs feel too heavy to move.

“Finally wore yourself out, hm?” Miyata asks, sitting on the bed beside Fujigaya. He runs a warm hand down Fujigaya’s side, and even through his shirts, it makes Fujigaya shiver. “So I’ll be taking over then.”

It isn’t a question, and Fujigaya doesn’t even try to protest as he lets Miyata strip off his clothes and push him up against the pillows. He doesn’t mind Miyata leaning over him and pressing him down into the mattress with his weight, doesn’t mind Miyata taking control, but he can’t figure out why he doesn’t mind.

Miyata pulls back and looks Fujigaya over, his gaze making Fujigaya shiver as surely as if it were Miyata’s hands running down his skin instead of his eyes. He grabs Fujigaya’s wrists and pins them down when Fujigaya tries to cover his chest with them.

“Quit worrying about it,” Miyata advises. Fujigaya huffs at how easily he can be read, and turns his gaze to the side. Miyata just leans in closer to whisper, lips brushing Fujigaya’s ear. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not…” Fujigaya starts, but then Miyata starts worrying a small bruise just under his ear, and he gasps instead. Another couple seconds and he forgets what he wanted to say entirely, forgets everything except Miyata’s weight on top of him, Miyata’s fingers tight around his wrists.

Fujigaya doesn’t struggle, doesn’t do anything besides moan softly as Miyata works his way down Fujigaya’s throat with his mouth, littering Fujigaya’s skin with tiny marks that fade after a few minutes. He lingers around Fujigaya’s nipples, tugging at them with his lips and teeth and glancing up at Fujigaya’s face every second or two, not moving on until he seems satisfied with the depth of Fujigaya’s blush.

Eventually Miyata slides down far enough that holding Fujigaya’s wrists becomes a hindrance, but even when he lets go, Fujigaya keeps his hands where they are. His whole body is thrumming under Miyata’s hands and mouth, his skin burning, making Fujigaya want more, and if he can’t quite admit to wanting to be on the bottom, he can admit to being lazy easily enough.

If Miyata wants to do all the work, that isn’t a hardship for Fujigaya, especially not when Miyata takes such care. Miyata stretches out on his stomach to lick at Fujigaya’s cock as a distraction while he rubs fingers across Fujigaya’s hole. His fingers are strong and warm as the rest of him, patient with the resistance of Fujigaya’s body. Fujigaya is trembling all over, making low, rough noises that he’s not entirely in control of by the time Miyata coaxes his body to let the third finger in.

“Hurry up,” Fujigaya demands hoarsely. He does move his hands finally, but it’s only to get them into Miyata’s hair, to try and tug him up. Miyata eyes him and sucks a little more firmly, does something amazing with his fingers, and Fujigaya nearly goes right over the edge. He gets it, that he’s not in charge and demands won’t get him anywhere. “Please?” he tries again, licking his dry lips, unable to control the way his body is arching and pushing into Miyata’s touch. “Please, I want…I need…”

He can’t quite bring himself to say exactly what, but it’s apparently enough for Miyata, who gives his cock a last lick before lifting his head. Fujigaya whines as Miyata pulls his hand free and shifts impatiently as Miyata fumbles the condom wrapper open with lube-slick fingers. Still Miyata doesn’t rush, looking Fujigaya over deliberately as he gets onto his knees, his heated grin saying he likes what he sees.

Fujigaya is too far gone to care about it, which is really saying something, only cares about getting his hands on Miyata’s skin, getting Miyata inside of him. He tugs Miyata closer with his fingers digging tightly into his biceps and Miyata’s hands have barely touched his hips before Fujigaya is canting them into place, begging with his body as surely as with his voice.

He isn’t disappointed. Miyata thrusts home with a soft groan of Fujigaya’s name that makes the hairs on Fujigaya’s arms rise. They kiss messily before both of them lose the breath to do so, before the force of Miyata’s thrusts make it a bit dangerous as their foreheads knock together.

Insensible of anything besides the slap of the their skin coming together and peeling apart, Fujigaya doesn’t understand what’s going on at all when he’s rolled over suddenly. He finds himself straddling Miyata’s hips, blinking down at him, Miyata’s skin flushed and sweat-sheened, his hair stuck to his face in sweaty curls.

“Like your solo,” Miyata says, a glimmer of amusement underneath the heat and want, and Fujigaya gets it right away. Digging his knees into the mattress, Fujigaya rolls his hips and cries out as it makes Miyata press even more deeply inside him. It’s so good, especially when Miyata thrusts up into him in time with Fujigaya’s rhythm, good enough that he nearly forgets himself entirely. When Miyata wraps a hand around Fujigaya’s cock, he would lose his balance entirely if it weren’t for Miyata’s other hand on his hip, holding him steady.

“Come for me,” Miyata orders, and Fujigaya does, comes with an intensity that makes his fingers tingle and his thighs shake where they’re still trying to balance him on top of Miyata. He can’t hold himself up, but Miyata catches him easily, rolls him onto his side. He hitches Fujigaya’s leg over his thigh more closely and slides back inside, and Fujigaya doesn’t protest. Dizzy from release, Fujigaya can only cling with shaking arms as Miyata drives deep inside of him and spends himself, their chests sticking together with Fujigaya’s drying come.

Eventually, after he can collect his wits enough to speak, Fujigaya tells Miyata that he shouldn’t get used to this kind of thing.

“Once in a while is fine,” Miyata murmurs, face half-buried in the pillow. Then he yawns hugely, gives Fujigaya a squeeze with the arm that’s thrown over his waist, and promptly falls asleep.

Well, Fujigaya thinks, letting his own heavy eyelids close. Whatever.

Weeks later, things continue apace. Miyata takes Fujigaya’s rough treatment without complaint, and sometimes when Fujigaya is feeling lazy, gives a little of it back. It’s not a fairy tale, and it’s not whatever gross thing Nikaido and Senga have going on, but Fujigaya is satisfied with it.

“Hi?” Miyata says when Fujigaya pops up in front of him, grinning sharply. “Uh…”

Fujigaya shoves him down onto his back on the stage, in front of their band and thousands of fangirls and the cameras and everybody. He throws a leg over Miyata’s waist and rolls their hips together a few times, laughing in delight at the ripple of screams that means he’s gotten a lot of girls’ attention, at the flash of Miyata’s eyes that promise things for later. He bounces back up to his feet, heart light, and goes off on his way to make the rest of the audience scream for him too.

“What the hell was that?” Yokoo asks when they happen to pass on the other side of the catwalk, smile warm like he’s joking with Fujigaya and mic nowhere near his mouth. “Display of ownership? Trying to get it on a DVD so the whole world knows?”

“Hmm,” Fujigaya says, flashing Yokoo a peace sign and sauntering on his way without really answering. He doesn’t have the answer, actually, and he never seems to when it comes to Miyata, but that hasn’t been bothering him as much lately. Across the catwalk that cuts down center stage, Miyata is waving his head off at the fans, shirt soaked to his back with sweat, grinning like a moron and doing whatever fool thing their uchiwa ask of him.

Fujigaya picks up the pace as he trots in Miyata’s direction, finding himself grinning too as he plans to sneak up from behind and shove Miyata, maybe send him stumbling down the ramp. Miyata’s still on alert from last time, though, and twists away with a laugh at the first grab of Fujigaya’s hand on his arm. Fujigaya pretends he was going for a headlock, and Miyata turns it into something that’s almost a hug with his arm around Fujigaya’s back, brings up his mic for them to share.

Maa, whatever, Fujigaya thinks, content so long as fangirls are screaming for them. Maybe they’ll make it on the DVD either way.

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  By ri, 2012.08.25 @ 10:22 pm

  dying, i see what you mean about this being hot. i love how taipi was so fucked up about miyata that he didn’t care about being smooshed against mitsu. xD the fujikita bickering was gold, i was dying. but the porn, jesus christ. *_______________* i may ship this now. though i would ship taipi with a tree. anyway. yes.

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