Mousapelli’s Fanfiction » 26 JE Birthday Kisses, Could Have Been Anybody Else

26 JE Birthday Kisses, Could Have Been Anybody Else

Title: Could Have Been Anybody Else [Kitayama/Fujigaya]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for how well alcohol suits Kitayama.
Summary: Fujigaya isn’t drunk enough, and also is jealous of club girls.
AN: For 26 Birthday Kisses, Kiss Three: Drunk Kiss

Kiss Three: Could Have Been Anybody Else

Anybody with eyes can see that Kitayama is a breast man. The girls in the clubs aren’t leaving much to the imagination certainly, but with a few drinks in him, Kitayama is more than willing to investigate what little mystery is left. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a popular idol, and that his cheek is exactly the height of most girls’ breasts since platforms are back in.

“You’re going to get photographed again!” Fujigaya snaps, reaching out to snag Kitayama by the elbow and peel him away from the girl in the pink leather corset.

“Mean!” Kitayama complains, but he switches easily from the girl’s ample bosom to Fujigaya’s shoulder. The girl narrows her eyes at Fujigaya, but Fujigaya gives her a glare that sends her clattering off in her heels, all the while holding his own drink out of Kitayama’s clumsy reach.

“You’ve had enough,” Fujigaya informs him, making Kitayama whine and rub his cheek against Fujigaya’s shoulder, but he doesn’t fight really when Kitayama makes a grab for Fujigaya’s half-empty glass and then downs the rest of it in one go.

“Slee~py,” Kitayama announces after finishing, and Fujigaya takes the glass from Kitayama before he can drop it and shatter it all over the floor, thunking it down on the bar.

“Let’s go then,” Fujigaya says, and starts tugging Kitayama towards the exit of the club. Kitayama isn’t resistant so much as he is easily distractible, and more than once Fujigaya has to step between his bandmate and some girl or other, all of them scantily clad and too familiar, and Fujigaya’s words of excuse get rapidly less polite the closer they get to the door.

He doesn’t even bother to find Yokoo on the dance floor to tell them they’re leaving; he’ll just text Yokoo later to tell him they made it home safely. It’s a relief once they break out of the packed club into the night air, still cold with the chill of spring, and Fujigaya stops for a second to take a deep breath and let his ears stop ringing from the thump of the techno before he moves them along.

Fortunately the subway station is close by, because Kitayama is leaning more heavily against Fujigaya with every step, yawning and dragging his feet. Irritation burns off the rest of what little buzz Fujigaya had going, but he thinks of the club girls with their bodies pressed up against Kitayama’s and wraps a tight arm around Kitayama’s waist rather than pushing him away.

The train is pulling in right as they reach the platform. Fujigaya sighs in relief as he shoves Kitayama onto it and into the nearest seats, because he knows from experience that as soon as Kitayama is down, getting him back up again will be next to impossible.

Sure enough, as soon as the train is in motion, Kitayama mumbles, “Taipi is pointy, ne,” against Fujigaya’s collarbone, and then promptly starts snoring.

Fujigaya stews about that in silence the whole way until Kitayama’s stop, and thinks about leaving him on the train and continuing onto his own stop. After a few minutes, though, Fujigaya discards the plan, if only because then Nikaido would no doubt seize the position of Leader and begin his reign of terror and food thievery. Senga would probably cry too, Fujigaya consoles himself, and nobody wants that.

So he shakes Kitayama half-awake when the train slides to a stop, and drags him out into the station. The brief nap along with the sharp wind outside the station seems to have re-energized Kitayama temporarily, and he pulls away from Fujigaya’s arm to walk on his own.

After a second, though, he reaches out to catch Fujigaya’s hand, swinging it between them and singing a slurred version of “Kis-My-Me-Mine.” Fujigaya hopes there aren’t any paparazzi hanging around or that have followed them from the club, and wonders if trying to look more like a girl would make the situation better or worse.

Maybe both, he despairs as Kitayama drags them through a spin that is a hell of a lot more graceful on skates, giggling loudly.

The lights are out in Kitayama’s apartment when they stumble through the door, Kitayama’s mother no doubt already asleep. The door is barely shut before Kitayama slides arms around Fujigaya’s waist and presses close against his back.

“Stay over,” he coaxes in a poor, drunken impression of a whisper, and he’s already dragging Fujigaya along to his room before Fujigaya can really answer. Fujigaya sighs and digs his phone out of his pocket to text his mother in case she’s waiting up for him.

He feels guilty when he gets a mail back immediately from his mother which reads Don’t cause Kitayama-san any trouble! But he forgets all about it when Kitayama takes the phone out of his hand and drops it on his desk before pushing Fujigaya down on his bed.

Alcohol really suits Kitayama, Fujigaya has always thought, and his breath catches as Kitayama stares down at him for a long moment, his cheeks flushed and his eyes liquid-dark. Kitayama smirks like he knows, then drops heavily on top of Fujigaya, warm and loose-limbed.

“You’re heavy,” Fujigaya snaps, still irritated, but Kitayama finds his mouth just then and silences him with a lazy kiss that tastes of triple sec and amaretto. The taste is far headier on Kitayama’s tongue than when it had been in Fujigaya’s glass, and when Fujigaya swallows he feels the burn of it down his throat, heat spreading out from everyplace Kitayama is rubbing against him to his fingers and toes.

It’s only a minute of Kitayama’s lazy, winding kisses before Fujigaya growls and shoves Kitayama onto his back, rolling on top of him and taking control, but Kitayama seems more than happy enough to give it up. He’s pliant and willing as Fujigaya strips off their shirts and undoes their jeans, distracted by Fujigaya’s navel piercing as though it’s the first time he’s ever seen it.

And if Fujigaya is a little rough, thinking of Kitayama pressed tight against club girls, Kitayama doesn’t seem to mind that either, seems to enjoy it in fact, arching into Fujigaya’s touch when he digs his fingers into Kitayama’s flushed, smooth skin, when Fujigaya sucks bruises along Kitayama’s collarbone. Kitayama muffles his noises against Fujigaya’s hair, cheek, neck, making Fujigaya shudder every time Kitayama gasps his name or begs please please please.

When he collapses against Kitayama, shaking and dizzy, Fujigaya knows he should feel better, that he’s thinking too hard on stupid things, but instead his release just makes him feel raw, and the fingers that Kitayama ambles through Fujigaya’s hair just grate his nerves. He rolls over onto his back, off Kitayama, and wonders why he can’t just be a happy drunk too.

It doesn’t help; Kitayama just follows him, rolling over and flopping his head against Fujigaya’s chest, scrunching until his neck is in a comfortable position. “Pointy~” he sighs.

“I know!” Fujigaya snaps, tired and working on a headache and at the end of his patience. “I’m not a girl and I don’t have breasts and I’m pointy, okay?! Get off if you don’t like it!”

Kitayama lifts his head to blink at Fujigaya, squinting in confusion against sleep-heavy eyelids.

“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Of course I like it.”

Fujigaya chews on that for a few seconds. “What?”

“Stupid Taipi,” Kitayama giggles, laying his head back down and getting comfortable again. “It’s because you’re different than all those club girls. Breasts are nice, but they all feel the same. Taipi is different, right? That’s better.”

By the time Fujigaya shakes off his surprise, Kitayama has already fallen back asleep, but he doesn’t give any protest other than a sleepy hum when Fujigaya pulls his head up for another few lazy kisses that taste of triple sec and amaretto.