Kis-My-Ft2, Pay the Toll

Title: Pay the Toll [Kitayama/Senga]
Rating/Warnings: R
Summary: Every time Senga wakes up Kitayama, the price of the toll increases.
AN: Written for no particular reason, other than I gotta keep my Libra entertained ( ^_^)b

Pay the Toll

The first time it happens is a complete accident. Senga is on his knees, rooting through his bag with his headphones still on from his commute, no one else in the room yet except for Kitayama napping on the couch. Senga jumps a mile when suddenly somebody yanks one of his earbuds out.

“Mitsu!” he gasps when he whirls and tips over onto his butt. “You scared me!”

“You were singing loud enough to wake the dead,” Kitayama complains, eyes narrow and dark-ringed.

“Was I?” Senga asks, but instead of answering, Kitayama leans forward and presses their mouths together. It only lasts a second, just long enough for Kitayama’s mouth to muffle Senga’s squeak of surprise. “What was that?” he demands.

“You wake me up, you pay the toll,” Kitayama grunts, then rolls back over on the couch and promptly falls back asleep. At practice later, he acts like nothing ever happened, and Senga would wonder if he imagined the whole thing except his lips still tingle every time Kitayama’s gaze catches with his.

The second time isn’t really on purpose either, although Senga is much more to blame. But then again, who could really blame Senga for wanting to get Nikaido back for changing all of the names in his phone’s contact list while he slept over last night?

So when he sticks his head into the dressing room and Nikaido is just sitting there doing up his skate laces with his back turned, Senga does not hesitate for a second about tiptoeing across the room on his socked feet, leaning in, and making the scariest ghost woooooo noise he can come up with right in Nikaido’s ear.

Nikaido screams at a pitch that makes Senga’s hair stand on end and stands bolt upright, knocking Senga backwards in a flailing heap. The door is still swinging shut behind Nikaido’s retreating ass when Senga looks down and realizes he’s landed right on top of an awake and very cranky-looking Kitayama.

“Oops,” Senga offers.

“Toll,” Kitayama growls, fisting a hand in Senga’s T-shirt and yanking him down until they’re nose-to-nose. The kiss lasts a lot longer than a second this time, Kitayama’s mouth firm and demanding against Senga’s, and there’s a brush of Kitayama’s tongue along Senga’s lower lip before he finally lets him go.

“That was a lot longer than the last toll,” Senga says, hoping his voice sounds a lot steadier than he feels.

“The price goes up each time,” Kitayama informs him, smile sharp, and then he shoves Senga off the couch to land in a painful heap on the skate Nikaido left lying there.

The third time, Yokoo makes him do it, even though Senga whines this is totally not his job at all.

“Well, Miyata’s out sick.” Yokoo only points to the corner Kitayama is napping on the mats, Yokoo’s expression firm. “So get a move on!”

Senga whines more but gets moving as ordered, because Yokoo’s face says he means business, and manager’s face says she’s going to make Senga eat her clipboard if one more member tells her something she doesn’t want to hear today. He’s a little worried given what happened the last two times he woke Kitayama up, because he knows better than to give the other members that kind of ammunition. Fortunately when he glances back over his shoulder, nobody is paying any attention to him, busy getting yelled at by the choreographer.

Kitayama looks so peaceful curled up on the mats, Senga hates to disturb him. He tries to do it gently, just shaking Kitayama’s shoulder at first, but as expected it takes a lot more than that. Leaning over until he’s in Kitayama’s face, Senga has to practically shout Kitayama’s name before Kitayama’s eyes blink open and regard him blearily.

Wanting to get it over with quickly before anybody notices, Senga leans in to kiss Kitayama this time, making Kitayama’s eyes flutter back shut. Kitayama’s lips feel so warm and good against his, though, that after a few seconds he forgets that he was trying to rush, forgets everything except the feel and smell of Kitayama against him. When Kitayama licks at his lips this time, Senga opens his mouth to let him in without hesitation, Kitayama swallowing all of Senga’s soft noises as his tongue teases over Senga’s.

“Hmm,” Kitayama hums when he finally pulls back. Senga just blinks at him stupidly, feeling dazed. He gives Senga a suggestive leer. “I’d take you over Miyacchi any day.”

For days after that, Kitayama is all Senga can think about. Senga tries to sleep but ends up just staring at his ceiling, thinking about how Kitayama felt against him, about that last little grin and the appreciation in Kitayama’s eyes when he’d looked Senga over. He thinks about how far Kitayama might go the next time Senga wakes him up, and ends up getting himself off to that idea, wishing desperately for it to be Kitayama’s hand instead of his own, Kitayama’s mouth, Kitayama’s anything.

It’s a solid two weeks before Senga can act on his plan, their schedules and bandmates thwarting him at every turn from getting to wake up Kitayama again. But finally all the stars align and Kitayama invites Miyata and Tamamori to come over to his apartment for dinner instead of going out, claiming an early morning and exhaustion.

“Can I come too?” Senga pipes up before he can talk himself out of it. The other two blink at him in surprise, but after a moment, Kitayama only shrugs.

“Sure, Ken-chan,” he says, waving for Senga to grab his bag and hurry up.

They pick up takeout and beers on the way home, and despite their big talk, it isn’t long before all of them are yawning from their full stomachs and long day. Kitayama heads to bed first, unsurprisingly, leaving the other three to work out their sleeping arrangements themselves if they’re determined to stay. Tamamori and Miyata curl up on the couch to go on watching the variety show still on the television, and Senga insists the floor is just fine and curls up with one of the couch pillows and a throw blanket to wait.

He gives it two commercial breaks before he checks, and sure enough, Tamamori and Miyata are both dozing. Senga covers them with his blanket since Tamamori is hogging all of the one they have and lowers the volume of the television a little. Not at all worried about Tamamori and Miyata interrupting even if they do wake back up, Senga sneaks over to Kitayama’s bedroom door and lets himself in.

Senga shuffles over to Kitayama’s bed and clicks on the bedside lamp, then spends a few seconds just looking Kitayama over. Senga’s heart skips from how attractive Kitayama looks asleep, face relaxed and lips parted, hair mussed from the pillow, and he’s reaching down to comb fingers through the mess of it before he can stop himself. He could just crawl in and sleep, Kitayama wouldn’t care, but as soon as Senga lifts the blanket and slides in, as soon as he feels the heat of Kitayama’s skin warming his own, Senga knows that’s not at all what he’s going to do.

He slides in until he’s as close as he dares, his knees bumping against Kitayama’s and their faces only a few inches apart, before he whispers Kitayama’s name.

Kitayama hasn’t been asleep long, so his eyelids flutter even though Senga’s voice is soft. When Senga brushes fingers over Kitayama’s cheek, Kitayama’s eyes open enough to see him.

“Kento?” Kitayama asks, voice sleep-rough. “What the fuck.”

“You said the price keeps going up the more times I wake you up,” Senga says, feeling bolder the longer he’s in Kitayama’s bed without being kicked out. He edges just a bit more forward until instead of their knees bumping, his legs are actually tangled through Kitayama’s. “I want you, so have I woken you up enough times yet? If not, I can keep doing it.”

“Don’t you threaten me,” Kitayama growls, making the hair on Senga’s arms rise. He runs just the tips of his fingers down Senga’s chest, down his sternum and belly, making Senga shiver, until he’s brushing the front of Senga’s boxers. “That what you want?”

“Please,” Senga answers, pushing up against Kitayama’s fleeting touch. “Please, Mitsu.”

Rather than answer in words, Kitayama leans in to kiss Senga, slow like he’s got all the time in the world, and Senga melts into it. The heat of both of them trapped under the blankets and the anticipation of Kitayama’s hands on him has Senga sweating a little already, but he feels too good to be embarrassed about it. Kitayama doesn’t seem to mind anyway, if the way he traces a drop of sweat down Senga’s neck with a fingertip is any indication.

Senga runs his hand down Kitayama’s chest, taking a moment to appreciate the feel of Kitayama’s abdominal muscles under his palm, before pressing his palm against the front of Kitayama’s boxers. He explores the shape of Kitayama through the cotton, squeezing and touching until Kitayama starts to harden for him, trying to hold back his own impatience until Kitayama catches up.

When Kitayama slips his hand into Senga’s underwear to wrap around his cock without anything in the way, Senga cries out and arches, breaking the kiss.

“Oh, please,” he begs, wincing at how desperate he sounds, but he’s wanted this ages already and his skin feels stretched tight with waiting. “I’ll do anything you want, just please…”

“Damn, I like the sound of that,” Kitayama purrs in Senga’s ear as he starts to stroke Senga seriously. “So hard already. Have you been thinking about me? Been just waiting for a chance to sneak in here and get me to take advantage of you?”

“Yeah,” Senga admits, too far gone to lie. He tries to keep his hand moving on Kitayama, since it’s only fair, but it’s impossible to focus on when Kitayama’s squeezing him so perfectly. All too soon he reaches his limit and comes with low groan, spurting over Kitayama’s hand and then all his limbs relaxing for what feels like the first time in days.

“Good?” Kitayama asks, and Senga nods, still panting. “Mm, good, because somebody just promised to do anything I wanted.”

“What do you want?” Senga manages. A little shiver of uncertainty runs down his spine, even though he trusts Kitayama won’t make him do anything awful.

“I want all sorts of stuff,” Kitayama says, looking Senga over slowly. “Did you think you were the only one with fantasies? But just now, I think what I really want is your mouth. I’ve been imagining it wrapped around my dick every time we have vocal practice for weeks, mmm.”

“Okay,” Senga agrees, pushing himself up on shaky arms to shove the blanket down. He hooks fingers in Kitayama’s waistband and tugs his boxers off, leaning down to lick up a few streaks of his release that are still decorating Kitayama’s stomach while he’s there. Kitayama spreads his legs obligingly, and Senga settles between them.

Kitayama’s hard and thick when Senga wraps a hand around him to hold him steady, and when he licks the tip, it’s already salty with precome.

“Guess you really have been thinking about this,” Senga chuckles, giving Kitayama a slow stroke while he looks up at him through his lashes.

“Less talking, more sucking,” Kitayama orders, wedging a pillow more comfortably behind his head so that he can sprawl lazily and still watch Senga.

Senga doesn’t waste any more time, sucking the first few inches of Kitayama’s cock into his mouth and using his tongue to tease at the underside of his head. Kitayama isn’t shy about his noises, letting Senga knows exactly what he likes, and Senga focuses on working more of Kitayama into his mouth. Kitayama is a lot bigger than he can do without practice, but Senga does the best he can, wanting to please, and uses his hand to work Kitayama’s shaft for what’s left over. He watches Kitayama’s face through his lashes, pleased to find Kitayama’s eyes focused solely on him.

“Yeah, just like that,” Kitayama encourages. “I’m close, Ken-chan…” Another minute and Kitayama is tugging on Senga’s hair, pulling his mouth off of his cock, and Senga strokes him to completion a second later, watching with interest as Kitayama streaks his own stomach with white.

“Nice,” Senga says, swallowing to ease the burn of his throat. He lets go of Kitayama’s cock to drag fingers through the mess on his stomach, then his breath hitches when Kitayama grabs his wrist tightly.

All he does, though, is tug Senga’s hand up towards his mouth and lick Senga’s fingertips clean. Senga shudders at the rough, wet touch of Kitayama’s tongue, and can’t help but imagine that touch everywhere else on his body.

“Get up here,” Kitayama orders, clearly relaxed and already falling back asleep. Senga crawls up obediently and finds himself being used as Kitayama’s personal body pillow, Kitayama curled up against his side with one heavy arm thrown across Senga’s chest to hold him in place. Senga feels heavy with sleep and satisfaction himself, and doesn’t mind even a little bit.

“Hey,” he thinks to say before he falls asleep. “I can keep waking you up, right?”

“I told you,” Kitayama’s voice rumbles against Senga’s shoulder, tickling and making him squirm a little. “The price goes up each time. Wake me up in the morning and find out what happens.”

Senga laughs until Kitayama tells him to hold still, and falls asleep fully intending to find out in the morning how high he can make the cost of waking up Kitayama go.