Kis-My-Ft2, Dial Up


Title: Dial Up [Tamamori/Miyata]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Summary: Apparently Tamamori has been making some questionable phone calls to Miyata while drunk.
AN: written for 2013 JE FQF exchange, for arashijun.

Dial Up

As much as the doujinshi Kitayama torments Fujigaya with depicts them having drunken home parties five out of seven days a week, the truth is that Kis-My-Ft2 as a whole is such a bunch of lightweights that it’s kind of embarrassing. By the end of their Busaiku filming in the bar, the only ones steady enough to thank the staff for their work and not make fools of themselves are Kitayama and surprisingly Miyata, who is glassy-eyed but all the more earnest. Fujigaya doesn’t seem too much the worse for wear, but he’s distracted by Yokoo the hug monster, who is currently fascinated with how Fujigaya’s hair feels between his fingers.

Meanwhile, in the corner, Nikaido and Senga are coming up with drink names like “It’s a penis” and making each other snort with laughter. Tamamori can only giggle helplessly at them, stomach sore from laughing and how he definitely did not have enough food in his stomach before they started filming this. When Miyata looms over him, Tamamori blinks up at him fuzzily.

“Exactly how drunk are you?” Miyata asks, his words slurred cutely.

“I’m not drunk, you’re drunk,” Tamamori retorts, making Senga and Nikaido crack up all over again. He joins them after a second, then cuts off with a whine when Miyata reaches down to tug him to his feet. “Quit it, ugh.” Tamamori sways for a second before he works his balance out, and narrows his eyes at Miyata. “You, be more drunk.”

“Please don’t!” Fujigaya snaps from the side, trying to shoulder Yokoo off long enough for them to at least put their coats on. “Geez, Watta, I just want to get out of here.”

“Hey, look, Watta!” Senga calls helpfully, knocking Nikaido’s paper cup of water out of his hand. “Over here! Nika’s making a mess again!” He whistles as if trying to call over a dog. Tamamori catches a glance of Kitayama and Fujigaya both facepalming and their manager snapping pictures with her phone before Miyata drags Tamamori away.

“That was definitely going to turn ugly,” he chuckles. Tamamori hums vaguely, frowning at how the wind won’t stop blowing at him. Miyata hooks his arm through Tamamori’s. “Come on, station’s this way.”

Tamamori stumbles along at Miyata’s side, grumbling at how his legs won’t do what he says and how his stomach doesn’t feel very pleasant and the stupid wind will not stop it.

“STOP BLOWING ME!” he finally hollers, making everybody else on the train platform turn to stare. Miyata starts laughing and can’t stop, and the bystanders turn away, tsking at the two idiots who can’t hold their liquor at all.

The train trip home seems to take ages, even though Tamamori spends half of it with his cheek against Miyata’s shoulder, dozing. Tamamori has never been so happy to see a bed as he is when he can flop down onto Miyata’s. Usually Miyata would coax him into at least taking off his jeans and drinking some water, but today’s Miyata is still drunk enough to chirp “Banzai!” and dive right on top of Tamamori.

“Fuck!” Tamamori groans, stomach heaving a serious protest at Miyata’s weight bouncing him around. He slaps at Miyata’s shoulders and whines, but Miyata only laughs and squirms, useless. “Get off before I puke on you, ugh!”

“Okay, okay,” Miyata rolls off, onto his side, still chuckling. Tamamori glares at him balefully and rubs at his stomach. Miyata reaches over to poke Tamamori’s cheek. “Tama-chan is so pretty.”

“Gross,” Tamamori answers out of habit.

The poke lingers longer than usual, and then turns into a brush of Miyata’s thumb over his cheekbone. He waits for Miyata to say something else ridiculous, but Miyata only keeps looking at him, thumb brushing back and forth. It feels nice, really nice and Tamamori isn’t drunk enough not to see that that’s weird. Just like he isn’t drunk enough not to notice how good Miyata looks with his pink cheeks and his dark, glassy eyes.

“Gross,” Tamamori repeats, voice unsure, not knowing what else to do. Miyata pulls his hand back at last.

“You know me.” Miyata’s smile is different than usual for a second, before it turns into his usual wide grin. He puts his hand on Tamamori’s stomach instead, rubbing wide, warm circles with his palm. “Feel better?”

“A little,” Tamamori admits. He lets his eyes flutter shut, ready to give in to how sleepy he is. Miyata keeps rubbing his stomach, and Tamamori drifts off right away.

He wakes up hours later, head pounding and clothes stuck to his skin with sweat. He stumbles out of bed to peel everything off, and then to the bathroom to gulp several handfuls of water from the sink. When he drops back into bed, he lands half on Miyata before rolling over and passing out again.

In the morning, it’s too bright and too loud, and Tamamori whines piteously when some idiot won’t stop shaking his shoulder.

“Tama-chan?” It’s Miyata, of course, but the note of distress in his voice gets Tamamori to peel an eye open. “Are you awake?”

Tamamori opens his mouth to snap a reply, and then his body and brain connect enough to inform Tamamori that he’s naked, curled up tight against Miyata’s side, and more than a little bit hard.

“Oh my god,” he groans, rolling over and curling up into a ball, then groans again when the room lurches. Miyata touches his shoulder, and Tamamori curls up even tighter. “Just let me die, oh my god.”

He mutters “Oh my god” a few more times, but Miyata’s hand doesn’t move.

“It’s okay, it happens,” Miyata assures, and he sounds more relaxed now, which makes a little of Tamamori’s panic ebb too. “I just…didn’t know if you were awake…or…”

“Do you think I’d rub off on you if I were?” Tamamori demands, flopping onto his back so that he can glare at Miyata, conveniently ignoring that fact that his body seemed to be doing quite well on its own sixty seconds ago.

“You are naked,” Miyata points out. “You weren’t naked when we fell asleep.”

“I got hot.” Tamamori mutters. “I got up to get a drink.”

Miyata’s mouth twitches. “You took off your clothes to walk through my house?”

“I was drunk!” Tamamori shoves at Miyata when Miyata can’t hold back his laughter. “Shut the fuck up, geez. I must have gotten cold, and you’re warm! It totally makes sense! Stop making it weird, I don’t like it!”

That brings Miyata up short. He looks sheepish, but a little reproachful too. “I’m the one who woke up with his best friend naked and rubbing against me. You don’t think I feel weird? If I didn’t know you so well, of course I’d think…well.”

“Sorry,” Tamamori apologizes. His stomach rolls again and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Ugh, I feel awful. Can’t you…” He stops just short of asking Miyata to rub his stomach again, remembering he’s naked. “Never mind.”

“Go get a hot shower, you’ll feel better.” Tamamori feels the bed shift as Miyata gets up, and dares opening one eye. “I’ll go see if my mom’s made any coffee yet.”

By work that afternoon, thankfully just meetings, Miyata seems back to normal. Tamamori, on the other hand, can’t shake the weirdness from that morning. Not that it’s unusual for Tamamori to embarrass himself, but something about this feels different. Every time he looks at Miyata, every time he hears Miyata laugh across the room, it’s like he can feel Miyata against his skin all over again.

“You okay?” Kitayama asks, and Tamamori startles out of his thoughts. He follows Kitayama’s line of sight down to where Tamamori is rubbing anxiously at his arm through his shirtsleeve.

“Last night.” Tamamori stops, frowning.

“Lightweight,” Kitayama teases.

“No! Well, yeah.” Tamamori rolls his eyes a little, but forces his hand back down to his side. “I woke up naked with Miyacchi, kind of…on him. But we aren’t like that!” Tamamori rushes to add. “And I was the only one naked!” He frowns harder when he realizes that doesn’t exactly make the situation sound any better. “Now I feel really weird.”

“You aren’t fighting, are you?” Kitayama wants to know. “Miyata didn’t overreact or anything, right?”

“No, he’s okay, he said it was fine.” Tamamori drops his eyes to his shoes and sighs at them.

“But you’re not,” Kitayama says, and it’s not a question. “You know, maybe it’s your subconscious trying to tell you something.”

“Like what?” Tamamori asks. He really doesn’t want to know what walking around Miyata’s house naked says about his inner self.

“Just because you aren’t like that,” Kitayama grins knowingly, “doesn’t mean you couldn’t be.”

“Gross!” Tamamori punches Kitayama in the shoulder.

“Okay, forget it.” Kitayama holds up his hands in surrender. “But I share rooms with you guys all the time and I sure never wake up naked in a pile with you. More’s the pity,” Kitayama adds with a leer, thumbing over his shoulder at Miyata. “In case you didn’t notice, that guy got pretty hot after all.”

“You’re the worst help ever!” Tamamori snaps, and he throws in some more punching for good measure. “And you better not tell that guy any of this stuff, either!”

Kitayama promises, Tamamori bullies Miyata extra hard the rest of the day, and things go back to normal more quickly than he expected. He was drunk, he tells himself, and stuff happens and Miyata’s his best friend and that’s that.

So he really doesn’t see what’s so funny when he calls Miyata weeks later after filming.

“Tama-chan?” Miyata asks, interrupting Tamamori’s story about how it took two million takes for the flambé scene. “Are you drunk dialing me?”

“No!” Tamamori retorts. “No. Nooooo.”

“Oh my god, you got drunk off of flambé fumes,” Miyata chuckles. “That’s adorable.”

“I am just calling my supposed best friend to talk to him and tell him important life stories about my day at work!” Tamamori bellows into the phone, affronted. “I haven’t seen you in like three days!”

“I miss you too,” Miyata soothes, clearly delighted and getting Tamamori even more riled up. “Are you gonna tell me you love me again?”

That brings Tamamori up short. “What?”

“You probably can’t get drunk enough for that on just fumes though,” Miyata says wistfully.

“What do you mean ‘again’?!” Tamamori bleats.

“Sometimes when you’re drunk, you confess,” Miyata says, as if this is entirely reasonable. “But then you forget the next day, so it’s easier not to say anything about it.”

“Oh god,” Tamamori says. “Oh god oh god oh god. Is that why I’m sore in weird places sometimes? Have you been taking advantage of me?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Miyata says immediately, voice suddenly cold. “And you’re sore because you fall down more often drunk than you do on roller skates, if that’s even possible.”

“I’m sorry.” Tamamori cringes, knowing he’s way over the line. Miyata would never do something like that, to him, or anybody. “I don’t know why I said that. But why didn’t you ever tell me? Why do you let me keep doing it?”

“I guess I keep hoping that one day you’ll do it sober. That you’ll remember yourself, if it’s worth remembering.” Miyata sighs through his nose. “Look, can we talk about this tomorrow? Face to face.”

“Okay,” Tamamori agrees, voice small. “Are you mad?”

“No,” Miyata assures. “Just remember this tomorrow, okay?”

Tamamori isn’t that drunk, although after a couple sleepless hours in bed, he wishes that he were. It’s a relief when Miyata shows up early enough that he must have taken first train, knowing Tamamori’s drama filming schedule better than Tamamori does half the time. Tamamori lets him inside the apartment and flops down on one end of his tiny secondhand couch, knees pulled up to rest his chin on top. Miyata sits down on the other end of the couch, putting a whole six centimeters between them, and waits patiently for Tamamori to say something.

“I’ve really been confessing to you?” Tamamori asks. Miyata nods. “You should have said something. I mean, that’s no good for you, right?”

“I like being confessed to as much as anybody.” Miyata shrugs, his usual cheerful smile not quite reaching his eyes. Tamamori opens his mouth, but Miyata cuts him off. “You were happy this way. There’s nobody closer to you than me, what more could I ask for? I knew if you were ready for it, to even hear yourself say it, you wouldn’t do it drunk and then forget the next day. I wouldn’t even tell you now, except…”

“Except?” Tamamori prompts.

Miyata chews his lip a little before answering. “Except that morning. After the Busaiku filming. It seemed like maybe you wanted more after all.”

“Oh.” Tamamori feels his cheeks heat up at the memory. “Do you? Want more?”

“Not if I have to risk what I have,” Miyata says, reaching out to touch Tamamori’s knee. Tamamori can feel how warm it is through his sweatpants, Miyata’s touch gentle as always. “I’ve been happy too. I’ll be happy this way.”

Maybe nobody else would see through it, but it goes both ways and nobody knows Miyata better than Tamamori. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not…” Miyata protests.

“You are, you’re lying,” Tamamori insists. Miyata tries to pull his hand back but Tamamori grabs his wrist, feels the way Miyata’s pulse speeds up under his fingers. “Can’t you just say you want? If you ever said, maybe you’d get it.” Miyata tugs, but Tamamori only tightens his grip. “Just say.”

“I want you,” Miyata admits.

Tamamori takes a deep breath, and twists his hand so that he’s holding Miyata’s hand instead of his wrist. “I think I want to try.”

“Tama-chan, really,” Miyata tries again to pull his hand back. “I appreciate it, I do, but I don’t think I know what you’re asking for.”

“You could show me?” Tamamori asks, putting his legs down so he can slide closer. Miyata switches from pulling to pushing, trying to keep Tamamori at arms’ length.

“It’s not a thing you can play with,” Miyata says, staring into Tamamori’s eyes, trying to make him look away. It’s not the sort of challenge that Tamamori generally loses, though.

“I said I think, not that I’m sure,” Tamamori says stubbornly, and it’s Miyata who looks away. “But I also said I want to. The morning after filming, I’ve been thinking about it too. Maybe the two of us together would be good. We’re good together now, so why not?”

“It’s not the same thing,” Miyata says, dragging his eyes back up to glare at Tamamori with some reproach.

“Then I want to see the difference,” Tamamori announces, done with talking. He leans in to press their mouths together, swallowing whatever other protests Miyata feels like trying to make.

The kiss is awkward for a second, before Miyata stops struggling. Tamamori shuts his eyes and just enjoys it, the warm press of Miyata’s lips against his, dry and a little rough. It’s not earth-shattering, but it’s comfortable and even familiar, like being with Miyata always feels. Tamamori presses closer for more, melting into it when Miyata’s free hand comes up to brush across his cheek.

“Hey,” Miyata says softly, and Tamamori realizes he’s leaning into Miyata hard enough to have him bent awkwardly against the arm of the couch.

“Sorry,” he says, and then yawns in Miyata’s face. “Tiiiired. Can we go back to bed, please?”

“You know you’ve only got about thirty-seven minutes before you have to be up anyway,” Miyata comments. “Also, can we talk about what just happened?”

“Sure,” Tamamori says, dragging Miyata after him by their still-joined hands, off the couch and towards his bed. “I kissed you, and liked it, and I think I might do it some more, after another thirty-two minutes of sleep.”

“Tama…” Miyata says.

“Oh, what the heck, you’re cute, I can make it on twenty-seven minutes, give you an extra five.” He crawls into his mussed blankets, yanking Miyata down after him. They’re cold, but Miyata is warm, and this time there’s absolutely no reason that Tamamori can’t curl up as close to him as he wants. Wriggling into the most comfortable position, on his side with Miyata tugged close along his back, arm around Tamamori’s waist, Tamamori groans in pleasure.

Miyata starts laughing, his breath ruffling the hair on Tamamori’s neck. “All this time I’ve been imagining you moaning and all I had to do was warm up your bed, huh?”

“I mean really, Miyacchi, how long have you known me?” Tamamori mumbles, already slipping into sleep. It feels like only a minute later that Miyata is shaking him and Tamamori whines.

“Come on, I gave you the whole thirty-seven minutes,” Miyata tells him, squeezing him a little.

“Just trying to get out of kissing me,” Tamamori grumbles. He rolls over clumsily, until they’re face to face. “But you won’t get out of it.”

He wraps arms around Miyata’s neck and pulls him down for a second kiss. This one is slower, lazier, and Tamamori hums into it happily. Miyata starts rubbing his back, up and down Tamamori’s spine, and Tamamori doesn’t understand why they haven’t been doing this for a thousand years, and whose genius idea was it to start right before he has to run to fucking filming all day?

“Okay.” Miyata pushes Tamamori back. “Later, I promise. After you don’t get fired from your drama, okay?” He sneaks another quick kiss, then another one. “Go, shit, go. Quit it!”

“You quit it,” Tamamori retorts against Miyata’s mouth. Somehow they get him stumbling out the door just as his van driver honks for the second time, which is more punctual than usual for Tamamori. His van driver even offers Miyata a ride to the station, which Miyata sheepishly accepts.

“See you tonight?” Miyata asks as he unbuckles his seatbelt. He’s trying for casual, but Tamamori can read uncertainty in the way he’s looking down.

“I don’t know how late I’ll be,” Tamamori says. He takes his keys out of his bag and pushes them into Miyata’s hand, hoping he’s being subtle enough that the staff won’t be gossiping about him all day. “I’ll mail you.”

Miyata offers him a smile, the only thing he can really do in staff presence. Tamamori grins back and tells him to get the fuck out already, geez.

His grin lasts until Tamamori looks up and sees the driver grinning back at him through the rearview mirror. It doesn’t get any better when Shida Mirai takes one look at him before make-up and announces loudly that they can’t do any more flambé scenes because Tamamori-kun can’t handle the heavy drinking.

It’s a long day, but Tamamori has something good to look forward to. It’s pretty nice to have someone to come home to, after all.

“I’m home,” he says when Miyata opens the door.

“Welcome back,” Miyata answers, and they grin stupidly at each other before Tamamori claims his welcome home kiss.

“You have exactly thirty minutes to get done with me whatever it is guys do to each other before I pass out,” Tamamori informs Miyata, stripping off his jacket and dropping it on the ground. “And to be honest, I think that’s highballing it.”

“I’ll work hard,” Miyata promises, he’s already tugging off his shirt, and Tamamori thinks this might really work.

He’s certainly not complaining when they’re both naked and horizontal in Tamamori’s bed, Tamamori light-headed from lack of air and Miyata rubbing his back again. Despite his claims of efficiency, Miyata is clearly taking his time. It feels good, and Tamamori will definitely be into it in the distant future where he doesn’t have to memorize six pages of script a day, but right now there’s no choice but to take matters into his own hands.

If by “matters” he means “Miyata’s dick.”

“Oh,” Miyata says like he’s surprised when Tamamori wraps a hand around him properly, and that makes Tamamori chuckle. Miyata goes from kind of hard to all the way there after only a few strokes, and Tamamori likes the power of that more than enough, definitely.

“Feels good,” Tamamori comments, sort of surprised by that too. It’s just Miyata, he guesses, since every place they touch feels just as good. Apparently his body likes Miyata’s body just as much as they like each other. “Hey, touch me too.”

“Better idea,” Miyata says, and before Tamamori can ask what, he’s sliding down and pushing Tamamori flat on his back. He holds Tamamori’s cock steady and looks up just to make sure. “Okay?”

“Of course?” Tamamori answers; blowjobs aren’t exactly breaking new ground. Miyata’s mouth closes over him and Tamamori’s next clever comment turns into a low moan. “Yeah, definitely okay.”

Miyata knows what he’s doing, the confidence almost as hot as the action itself as Miyata takes him in deeper. Tamamori is glad for his long arms so that he can reach down to get his hands in Miyata’s hair, stroking his fingers along Miyata’s scalp until he moans softly around Tamamori.

“You said you thought about me moaning?” Tamamori asks. Miyata makes a vague noise. “Was this what you thought about doing?”

Miyata picks his head up, Tamamori’s cock slipping out of his mouth. “Sometimes.” He gives Tamamori’s tip a little lick. “Sometimes other stuff.”

“Yeah? Who’s on top?” Tamamori grins when Miyata blinks at him. “In the other stuff, me or you?”

“Usually me,” Miyata admits, cheeks turning a bit pink. He squeezes Tamamori’s cock with the hand still wrapped around it, like squeezing a little stress toy nervously. “Sometimes I’m on top but you’re…you know, on top.”

“Miyacchi, you dog,” Tamamori teases, heat fizzing in his veins at the idea of any of those scenarios. Miyata gives him a dirty look, embarrassed about what he let slip. “Toshiya,” Tamamori tries again, trying to swallow at least a little of his amusement. “Relax, it’s just me. Maybe I’m not ready for on top on top, but I’m not getting up, so. Maybe let’s try you on top?”

“Are you sure?” Miyata sits up. “Are you sure you’re okay with all of this? Yesterday I had to tell you you were telling me you loved me.”

Tamamori winces a little, because he deserves that. And just because Tamamori doesn’t see any problem grabbing what he wants at the moment he wants it, Miyata is definitely more the slow and steady type.

“I swear I didn’t flambé a single thing today,” Tamamori says. “And I’ll remember all of this tomorrow. I am 100% sober right now, and I want you. Is that good enough for now?”

“Yeah,” Miyata agrees, giving Tamamori a shy, hopeful smile. “It’s a good start.”

“Terrific, now get on with it,” Tamamori bosses, letting his head flop back against the pillow. “Because I wasn’t kidding about passing out on you.”

Miyata brought supplies along with him, making Tamamori tease him about exactly what his plan was if Tamamori changed his mind, but the teasing stops as soon as Miyata starts working fingers inside of him.

“Your hands feel just as good inside as outside, seriously,” Tamamori tells him, and it’s not an exaggeration. How warm and strong Miyata’s hands always are feels twice as good inside him as they ever have rubbing the knots out of Tamamori’s shoulders.

“Could say the same about you,” Miyata says, and Tamamori groans at the bad line before a second finger makes him groan in a totally different way. Tamamori squirms and pushes down, trying to get Miyata deeper. “Quit rushing me, I know you’re not ready. Touch yourself if you want to do something useful.”

“Yeah yeah,” Tamamori grumbles, but he reaches down to get a hand around himself. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm with Miyata, before he realizes that the combination of his own hand on the outside and Miyata’s on the inside is going to bring him right over the edge before the really good stuff happens. Reluctantly, he peels his hand away. “Please? Come on already.”

Miyata takes him at his word, finally. It’s still a little too much when Miyata starts to push inside him, but Tamamori breathes through the sting of it as much as he can, focusing on how Miyata is over top of him, looking down at him like Tamamori is the only thing in the whole world.

“Don’t you dare ask if I’m okay,” Tamamori says, stretching his spine a little and willing it to be true. Miyata has stopped moving, and it takes Tamamori a second to realize that it’s because Miyata is as far in as he can go, thighs pressed against the backs of Tamamori’s.

“I can see you aren’t.” Miyata tsks at him. “Just stay still a second and let yourself adjust.” He rubs his hands soothingly up Tamamori’s sides, until Tamamori feels like he can draw a full breath again.

“Sometimes you’re so patient it drives me insane,” Tamamori informs Miyata, who only grins like that’s a compliment. “Ugh, move already.”

Miyata starts slow, but it turns out to be worth it before Tamamori can even start complaining, heat radiating out from his stomach until it steals his breath. Miyata rests his weight on his elbows, as close as he can be and still move, and Tamamori wraps arms around Miyata’s shoulders and just holds on as tightly as he can. It’s hot and sweet when Miyata presses lips against Tamamori’s sternum, good enough that after a bit Tamamori wonders if he maybe can actually get off just like this, not like he’s waiting around to find out at this particular moment.

Just when getting himself off starts to outweigh the effort of working a hand between them, Miyata pushes himself up on his hands, balancing on one to touch Tamamori with the other. Tamamori’s cock twitches at the first touch, Tamamori already too worked up to do more than moan breathily.

“Close?” Miyata asks, and Tamamori nods. “Let me see you then, come on.”

He thumbs Tamamori’s tip and that’s it. Tamamori arches against Miyata’s weight and streaks his stomach and Miyata’s hand with white. Coming with Miyata inside him is different, and Tamamori’s body squeezes on its own for seconds afterwards, prolonging the feeling. Tamamori peels his eyes back open to see Miyata staring at him like he’s just seen the best trick ever.

“Hurry up,” Tamamori manages, feeling so good and relaxed and just wanting to sleep already. He figures out which muscles to squeeze after a second of effort, guessing he’s got it right when Miyata gasps his name. He does it again, until Miyata shudders himself out, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up.

“Wow,” Miyata says, and Tamamori agrees totally, not caring at all that Miyata is dripping sweat on him. He cares a little bit that his legs are starting to hurt, though. Miyata sits back and pulls out carefully, but it still makes Tamamori hiss. “Sorry.”

“Shut up and just get down here.” Tamamori flails his arms a little, barely lifting them off the sheets. He is not moving even if their mothers come through the door with their phones up for unofficial shop photos, and Miyata doesn’t try to make him. He does the best cleanup job that he can with some tissues before lying down along Tamamori’s side. “Finally.”

“You won’t be happy you didn’t clean up properly in the morning,” Miyata points out. He pulls one of the blankets free enough to tug over them, and then settles his arm across Tamamori’s chest.

“You can say I told you so in a whole two hours when that is,” Tamamori grunts. He lifts one arm to get a hand in Miyata’s sweat-damp hair, scrunching it. “Don’t get me drunk to hear ‘I love you’ anymore.”

“I didn’t get you drunk any of those times,” Miyata snorts. “Hmph. Say it properly, then, and I won’t have to.”

“Don’t be so impatient,” Tamamori says, barely still conscious enough to feel Miyata give him a pinch. He hopes he can, eventually or maybe even soon, but he knows Miyata will wait either way.

In the meantime, not that Miyata needs to know it, but maybe a few of Kitayama’s home parties aren’t out of the question.