Kis-My-Ft2, Tango Foxtrot Kilo India

Title: Tango Foxtrot Kilo India [Tamamori/Fujigaya, Kitayama]
Rating/Warnings: R, public sex, voyeurism
Summary: Tamamori wraps up his recording early, so Fujigaya rewards him.
AN: Written for FQF Get Off Season Challenge. Title from the radio alphabet call signs, and I might never stop laughing at how the signs for “Ki” are “kilo” and “India.”

Prompt: #43. Established couple get it on after a new album recording session and doesn’t realize someone left the mic on.

Tango Foxtrot Kilo India

“That’s fine, Tamamori-kun,” the sound tech tells him through the glass of the recording booth, and Tamamori heaves a sigh of relief. Recording is fun and all, but it’s been a long day and they aren’t even half done with the songs. He’s spent hours in this tiny room, fretting over lines and words and intervals that they probably aren’t even going to use half of, and he knows he shouldn’t be a crank about that because at least he’ll still have some lines, but ugh.

“Ugh,” he says out loud into the microphone, making the tech raise an eyebrow. Tamamori drops his eyes quickly and pretends to shuffle his lyric sheets.

The tech picks up his phone off the counter suddenly, and Tamamori can’t hear what he says through the glass, but his face goes from neutral to irritated pretty quick, so something must be wrong. Tamamori isn’t that surprised when he presses the button back down to say there’s a problem in one of the other booths.

“You’re good to go, though,” he continues as he stands up. “Thanks for your hard work.”

“You too,” Tamamori echoes, and then the tech rushes out. Tamamori hopes vaguely that Nikaido didn’t set the soundboard on fire or something.

He takes his time since there’s nobody waiting for him, repacking his things in his bag and putting his papers back in order before tucking them into his Yamapi clearfile and gathering up his empty water bottles. He’s so absorbed in his tasks that he doesn’t hear anybody else come in or the door to the booth open, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand claps down on his shoulder.

Tamamori gets whirled around and has a split-second to register Fujigaya’s grin before Fujigaya is kissing him firmly, his body pressing Tamamori into the glass of the recording booth’s window. Dropping the water bottles with a plasticky clatter, Tamamori winds arms around Fujigaya’s neck and kisses back willingly enough, enjoying Fujigaya’s gloss-smooth lips against his own chapped ones, the way Fujigaya teases at his lower lip with brushes of his tongue.

“Mmm,” Tamamori hums in approval as Fujigaya’s hands brush up and down his sides, warm through the cotton of Tamamori’s T-shirt. When Fujigaya’s hands slip under the hem and he presses palms against Tamamori’s bare skin, Tamamori groans softly into the kiss. Fujigaya’s tongue is in his mouth as soon as his lips part, teasing at Tamamori’s tongue and licking at every place that he can reach.

When Fujigaya’s hands slide higher, up Tamamori’s chest to thumb at his nipples, Tamamori wraps his fingers in Fujigaya’s hair to pull his head back, breaking the kiss.

“What’s up with you?” Tamamori asks, breathing just as quickly as Fujigaya is. “Anybody could come in here.”

“They’re busy next door, it’ll take ages to sort out Watta’s lines and Ken-chan’s sore throat,” Fujigaya says breezily, nudging a knee between Tamamori’s thighs. “We’ve got plenty of time.” He chuckles. “Especially for you.”

“Hey!” Tamamori snaps, but Fujigaya silences him with another quick kiss, and then drops to his knees before Tamamori can properly process what’s happening. “Whoa, whoa! Here?”

Fujigaya rubs his cheek against the bulge in Tamamori’s jeans, looking up at him through his bangs. “You don’t want me to? Don’t lie, Tama-chan.” He presses an open mouth kiss right over Tamamori’s cock, breathing hard enough for Tamamori to feel the heat of it through the fabric. Fujigaya mouths at him more deliberately, making Tamamori’s cock swell.

“Of course I want you to,” Tamamori growls. He tries to keep his face stern, but he’s sure he’s failing at it. “Do you know what my manager is going to do to me if he comes in here and sees you doing that?”

“Join in, if he’s smart,” Fujigaya murmurs, fingers running up and down the backs of Tamamori’s thighs, and then up a little farther to trace the bottom curve of Tamamori’s ass. Tamamori’s face of disgust at the thought of managerial sexy times melts away as Fujigaya kneads his ass firmly. “If you want this to go more quickly, you might want to unzip yourself.”

Tamamori gives a nervous glance over his shoulder through the glass, but the booth is still empty, door shut, so he just gives in. He undoes his belt and unzips his jeans to pull his cock out, swallowing a groan when Fujigaya licks his lips. Fujigaya brushes Tamamori’s hand out of the way to get a good grip himself, squeezing Tamamori a little and watching for Tamamori’s reaction with a smirk.

“Tease,” Tamamori accuses. He scrabbles at the glass uselessly behind him for a second. Instead he gets his hands in Fujigaya’s hair, which is a perfectly good handhold. He tugs Fujigaya forward, rolling his eyes when Fujigaya doesn’t budge, smirking harder until Tamamori relaxes his grip. “Fine, fine. Whenever you’re ready, princess.”

“We both know who wears the hotpants in this relationship,” Fujigaya retorts. Now that he’s not being forced, he leans forward to lick a slow stripe up the underside of Tamamori’s cock. “Mmm.”

Knowing that he won’t get anywhere by trying to speed Fujigaya up, Tamamori just slumps against the glass and bites his lip to keep quiet. Fujigaya gives him a few more slow licks, but when Tamamori doesn’t rise to his bait, wraps his lips around Tamamori’s tip and flicks his tongue against the tip directly. When he hums right around Tamamori’s cock, Tamamori cracks.

“Please,” he hisses, fingers tightening in Fujigaya’s hair because he can’t help it. “Taisuke, please.”

That seems to satisfy Fujigaya. He swallows a few more centimeters of Tamamori’s cock, still slow but at least it’s movement, and Tamamori can forgive him when Fujigaya starts to actually suck him off instead of just teasing him. Tamamori’s eyes flutter but he knows better than to let them close; the reason Fujigaya likes doing this so much is because he can have a captive audience all for himself.

“Hmm,” Fujigaya hums his approval, the vibrations feeling amazing against Tamamori’s cock. He doesn’t bother trying to stop his hips from flexing into Fujigaya’s grip; Fujigaya can take it. Fujigaya is already letting Tamamori in a little deeper than he should, but they’re done singing for the day, and Tamamori isn’t known for responsible decision-making while he’s getting his dick sucked.

“Shit,” he hisses when he hits the back of Fujigaya’s throat, and Fujigaya gives a muffled moan in response. He strokes fingers through Fujigaya’s hair, tugging at it. “Don’t stop, s’good.”

Tamamori’s close, so close everything feels good, even the way Fujigaya’s fingers are digging into his thighs too tightly, the way Fujigaya is starting to get a little careless of his teeth. Keeping quiet turns into an impossibility since Tamamori moans every time he opens his mouth to breathe. The knot of tension in his belly coils tighter and tighter, every lick of Fujigaya’s tongue taking him higher.

“Coming,” he gasps when the tension finally snaps, yanking on Fujigaya’s hair to get his attention. Tamamori’s head tips back to thunk against the glass as he shudders himself out, Fujigaya’s mouth still hot and wet around him, prolonging his aftershocks. When it gets to be too much, Tamamori tries to push him off, whining low in his throat when Fujigaya refuses to move at first.

Fujigaya lets Tamamori fall from his mouth to stand, then presses Tamamori against the glass as he leans in for a deep kiss. Tamamori’s knees are still shaking; honestly he’s so glad for the support that he doesn’t even care how he can taste himself on Fujigaya’s tongue. Fujigaya is hard as a rock as he rubs against Tamamori’s thigh in a desperate little circle.

Tamamori is surprised into opening his eyes when Fujigaya laughs suddenly. “Eh?”

“Looks like we have a little voyeur,” Fujigaya murmurs in Tamamori’s ear, and Tamamori whips his head around to see Kitayama slouched in the sound tech’s chair, grinning. “Emphasis on little.”

Kitayama reaches down to poke the button on the sound board with one finger that lets them hear him. “Looks like somebody left their sound on.” And to Tamamori’s horror, he imitates a high-pitched, “Oh, Taisuke, please! Don’t stop!”

Fujigaya snickers, and Tamamori tries to shove him off, growling. Fujigaya’s weight holds him exactly where he is, gravity and Tamamori’s orgasm-clumsy limbs both to Fujigaya’s advantage.

“Ignore that weirdo,” Fujigaya advises, rubbing even more pointedly against Tamamori’s thigh. “Or better yet, let him watch if he wants a show.”

“What?!” Tamamori demands in alarm, but Fujigaya is already grabbing him by the shirt and turning him around. Before Tamamori can put up any real resistance, Fujigaya is facing the glass window of the booth, tugging Tamamori close up against his back with his arms around Fujigaya’s waist. Fujigaya wraps fingers around one of Tamamori’s wrists and drags it over so that his hand is over Fujigaya’s cock.

“We’ll give that little twerp something to get chubby over,” Fujigaya says smugly, rubbing at himself with Tamamori’s hand.

I can still hear you, Kitayama mouths.

“Good,” Fujigaya says. “Then I won’t hold back.” He lets go of Tamamori’s wrist to unzip his pants, and his cock all but falls into Tamamori’s hand. The loud moan Fujigaya gives is all for show, but it startles Tamamori into squeezing Fujigaya’s cock, and the way Fujigaya shivers has nothing to do with whether or not Kitayama is watching them. “Mm, Tama-chan, hurry up.”

Tamamori hurries it up, stroking Fujigaya from base to tip, using his other hand to shove Fujigaya’s pants down a little farther. If their managers walk in on this, they’ll really get it, so he focuses on jerking off Fujigaya exactly right, thumbing his tip and trying to find the rhythm that Fujigaya likes best. Fujigaya groans and starts snapping his hips into it, so Tamamori figures he must have it mostly right.

Kitayama’s eyes are glued to them, his hand in his lap, pressing the heel of his palm down against the bulge in his own jeans. As much as Tamamori isn’t exactly into sharing Fujigaya, he has to admit that having Kitayama’s full attention like that, the intent way that Kitayama is staring at them, is pretty hot. When Fujigaya moans again, Kitayama’s eyes narrow, his cheeks starting to get pink.

“You’re so into this,” Tamamori murmurs to Fujigaya, lips lingering along the curve of his ear. “You wanna go out there and help him out or something?”

“Fat chance,” Fujigaya laughs breathlessly. “But he can look all he likes. It’s like window shopping.” He laughs again at his own joke, the laugh turning into a groan when Tamamori drops his free hand to roll Fujigaya’s balls between his fingers.

He can feel the tension thrumming all through Fujigaya’s body, and knows Fujigaya is getting close. Tamamori keeps talking, hopefully too low for the microphone to carry it, telling Fujigaya how good they must look, how he won’t share even with Kitayama, how big and hot and good he feels in Tamamori’s hand, how he can’t wait to get Fujigaya home alone, with nobody watching, to feel how much better Fujigaya feels inside.

“Fuck, fuck,” Fujigaya moans helplessly, and then he’s coming, twitching in Tamamori’s hand and splattering the glass with his release. “Mmmmm.” Fujigaya leans his head back against Tamamori’s shoulder for a messy kiss, still breathing too hard to make it work for longer than a second or two at a time.

“You two are like shady ikemen porn,” Kitayama’s voice comes over the speaker. “But it’s free and I don’t have to wait for you to buffer, so I can’t complain. I hope one of you has a tissue for that glass or that tech is going to kill you.”

“Fuck you,” Fujigaya says lazily between kisses. Tamamori growls that nobody in this booth better be fucking Kitayama, and Fujigaya laughs as he clings to Tamamori all the tighter, still coming down.

They’re barely tucked back in when Nikaido and Senga stumble into the room, Tamamori wiping the last of the mess off the glass with a tissue he found in the bottom of his bag. Fujigaya is stretching with a yawn, not even having bothered to try and smooth down his hair yet.

“What’s up with that?” Senga asks, looking curiously over at Tamamori inspecting his cleaning job, swiping at a streak with the tissue.

“Sneezed on the glass,” Fujigaya calls out casually.

“Yeah, with your dick,” Tamamori grumbles to himself.

Kitayama only grins, then flips a switch on the soundboard. Suddenly Fujigaya’s loud moans are coming over the speakers, Tamamori’s cheeks feeling like they’re on fire as Senga and Nikaido exchange a glance and then crack up laughing.

“I don’t know,” Kitayama says, tilting his head as if considering Fujigaya’s pitch. “I think this might make a nice extra track for the album.” Senga and Nikaido have to lean against each other to keep from falling over, hooting with laughter.

“Whatever,” Fujigaya says, sliding arms around Tamamori’s waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He murmurs in Tamamori’s ear, “They’re just jealous that they won’t hear the remix when you take me home, like your neighbors will.”