Kis-My-Ft2, A Sky of Countless Stars

Title: A Sky of Countless Stars [Miyata/Tamamori, Nikaido/Senga, Kitayama/Fujigaya/Yokoo]
Rating/Warnings: R overall, NC-17 for NikaSen (it’s always them).
Summary: Nothing in particular special happens on Miyata, Nikaido, and Yokoo’s anniversary, but that’s kind of what makes it great.
AN: Title and the quote below from the Kinki Kids’ song, “Anniversary.” I just want to write simple anniversary fic for these three, and somehow it took all week and ended up at 5k. SO ENJOY. And to Miyacchi, Watta, and Nika, 記念日おめでとう! I hope you get another 9 years and much, much more. Ganbatte on each and every one of your steps up to your goal ♥

Out of as many people as there are stars, I met you by chance…
I chose you without any doubts or hesitation. –Kinki Kids, “Anniversary”

A Sky of Countless Stars

“So,” Tamamori asks idly, apropos of nothing, “what should I get you for your anniversary?”

“Hm?” Miyata replies, voice vague and eyes closed. He’s stretched out across the couch, head in Tamamori’s lap, Tamamori’s fingers gentle and steady in his hair.

“Nine years, right? Impressive.” Tamamori grins when Miyata cracks an eye open and raises an eyebrow. “I mean, given what you looked like when you joined…”

“Hey,” Miyata protests.

“Or even last year…”

“HEY,” Miyata reaches up to dig fingers into Tamamori’s armpit, making him twitch and choke back laughter as he slaps away Miyata’s hand. Miyata lets his hand fall back onto his chest. “You seemed pretty satisfied with me last year, as I remember.”

“Mm, I discovered your alternate benefits,” Tamamori assures, eyeing Miyata smugly as he puts a hand on Miyata’s chest to trail fingers down his sternum. “So I guess I was satisfied often enough.”

“Brat,” Miyata snorts, stretching a little before slumping even more bonelessly than before. “Satisfying you is exhausting work, too. I totally deserve a present.”

“So tell me what you want then,” Tamamori says.

Miyata tilts his head back to look at Tamamori’s face for a long moment, like he’s thinking, and when he does answer, his gaze is steady and affectionate.

“Nothing,” he says. “I’m good.”

“Toshiya,” Tamamori tries to scold, but it comes out soft and his cheeks are pink with pleasure. “Idiot.”

“It’s true, though,” Miyata assures, taking Tamamori’s hand and moving it up until his palm is resting over Miyata’s heartbeat. “Nika tricked Watta into buying us both lunch, so you can’t even treat me. So just keep doing what you’re doing and we’ll call it even.”

“Idiot~,” Tamamori repeats. “Wanna do your nine years again, at least?”

“Well, the first couple weren’t all that great, actually,” Miyata chuckles. “But this last one…” Miyata grins, and Tamamori can’t help but smile back. “Yeah, I’d do this one over and over.”

Miyata knows that Tamamori understands he isn’t just talking about them, but everything else too, the shows and the play, the concerts especially, the way Tamamori’s confidence makes him glow on-stage and Miyata’s surprise mini-growth spurt that makes the stylist obaasans whisper and giggle about him. It’s been a good, good year, and Miyata thinks that if he could pick one to do over and over, it’d be this one for sure.

“Liar,” Tamamori interrupts his train of thought. “You’d rather do this year than the last one, right? What happened to all your big talk about cd debuts, huh?”

“Maa, well,” Miyata shifts and at least has the decency to look sheepish, “now that I’ve said it…I guess we’d better do it, right?”

Tamamori laughs and pushes Miyata’s shoulders so that he can stand up. Miyata starts whining a protest, but he doesn’t get far before Tamamori is crawling over top of him and sealing their mouths together to shut him up. It makes Miyata’s heart speed as he wraps arms around Tamamori’s neck, makes his blood rush in his hears so that he can barely hear what Tamamori is saying as he pulls away just far enough to talk.

“I can think of a present Nika can’t give you,” Tamamori murmurs, eyes low-lidded and full of heat, mouth curling into a smirk. “Or at least one he’d better not be giving you.”

“Isn’t it me who ought to worry about you and Nika?” Miyata asks as Tamamori starts inching his way down, brushing kisses along Miyata’s neck. “You two are ranked the number seven couple, as I recall. Me and Nika didn’t even make the board.”

“Well, we’re number five,” Tamamori reminds, pressing his lips to Miyata’s T-shirt, over his heart. “So don’t worry about that kind of stuff.”

“Not worried,” Miyata says, shivering when Tamamori’s fingers slip under the hem of his shirt. “Besides, you and Nika are hot, so as long as you let me watch…” Miyata cuts off with a squeak as Tamamori nips at the skin of his stomach. “Never mind, I think I might like this present better.”

Nipping Miyata’s skin again for good measure, Tamamori gives a fake snort of annoyance. “You always have before. Just shut up and enjoy, please~.”

“Yes, yes,” Miyata agrees, pushing himself back closer to the arm of the couch, both so that he’ll have a better view and that Tamamori’s mouth is more in the right location. Putting one hand behind his head to support his neck, Miyata works the other into Tamamori’s hair, rubbing his fingertips along Tamamori’s scalp.

Tamamori pauses in unzipping Miyata to look up and gives him a long, appreciative blink. Then he reminds Miyata that it isn’t like they have a million years of privacy, and maybe he shouldn’t be so distracting.

“Like I’m the distraction…” Miyata trails off with a soft groan when Tamamori wraps a hand around him and gives him a slow, smooth stroke. “Tama…”

“Hm,” Tamamori hums, as if pleased by the response, then bends his head to lick at Miyata’s tip. When Miyata gives another muffled noise and tightens his fingers in Tamamori’s hair, Tamamori swallows more of Miyata, until his lips meet the top of his fist.

“Damn,” Miyata breathes, voice tight, “I never get tired of watching you do that.” He whines when Tamamori tightens his grip and sucks just a little harder. It makes Miyata laugh with what little air he has. “And you never get tired of me telling you how good it looks, right?”

Mouth occupied, Tamamori gives Miyata a “mmhmm” low in his throat and another slow once-over with heat-dark eyes.

“Because it looks so, so good,” Miyata tells him, rocking his hips up into Tamamori’s fist as much as he can with Tamamori weighing down his legs. “You look amazing, Yuta, just like that…”

Miyata trails off into inherency as Tamamori starts to suck him off in earnest, Tamamori’s mouth slick and hot, eyes still on Miyata’s face. Tamamori works Miyata expertly, more than familiar with all of his sensitive spots, with the speed and pressure Miyata prefers, and it’s the familiarity of it as much as the sight of it that has Miyata clutching Tamamori’s hair tightly and gasping his name.

Tamamori pulls back to lap at Miyata’s head, eyes fluttering shut, and Miyata gives in to the pull of his release dragging him under, his own eyes squeezing shut even as he struggles to keep them open so he can still watch.

He drifts pleasantly for a few moments, vaguely aware that Tamamori is licking him clean and tucking him back in. When he feels Tamamori crawling up his body, he reaches for him by touch and pulls him close. He’s still shivering with aftershocks, and Tamamori’s warmth is soothing as it sinks though his clothes and into his skin.

“What about you?” he asks as Tamamori is nestling more comfortably against his side, his cheek against Miyata’s shoulder.

“I can wait until later,” Tamamori shrugs, sounding more than a little self-satisfied. “I’d rather you did it properly,” Tamamori pauses when Miyata snorts, “and anyway, if you got me off it’d be totally obvious when everybody else came back.”

“Because this is amazingly subtle,” Miyata says, then yawns against Tamamori’s hair.

Whatever, he figures. It’s his anniversary after all, and it isn’t his fault he gets better presents than anybody else.

“Speaking of that,” he murmurs, already half-asleep, “where is everybody?”

*~A little while earlier…~*

Come find me~♥ the mail says, and Nikaido frowns as he looks up from his phone because they just finished getting Tackey’s list of fixes for the day and Senga is right…

…not there. Nikaido frowns harder, then glares back down at his phone like it’ll cough up more answers.

A few seconds later, when nothing else happens besides Yokoo inquiring mildly whether the phone has personally affronted Nikaido somehow, Nikaido sticks the phone in his pocket and goes to apparently find his boyfriend.

He tries the dressing room first, but finds only Kitayama snoring and Fujigaya unpinning his hair. Senga’s stuff is there, but no Senga, and then Nikaido’s phone buzzes in his pocket again.

Cold! the mail says, and Nikaido scowls and hits the reply button.

How do you know??? he demands.

Cause I can’t see you, obvs, is the reply a second later. So you must be cold!

Rolling his eyes, Nikaido leaves the dressing room, phone still in his hand for convenience. He tries another couple dressing rooms and the stylists’ station next, but the only thing he gets for his troubles is another mail with a line of snowmen emoji.

Watanabe thinks that’s hilarious, but Nikaido doesn’t share his opinion.

When he wanders out on stage, the only ones there a handful of techs coiling wires and re-taping marks, he finally gets a warmer!. But when he sticks his head back into the wings on either side, it goes back to cold! again, and Nikaido growls in frustration because he can practically hear Senga laughing at him.

You can see me? Nikaido asks when he comes back out on stage. He takes a few steps farther out towards the edge of it when Senga’s reply is Yup! Warmer, Nika!, then looks around, still frowning. The house lights are low, and the only thing there besides the rows of empty seats on the floor are…

The rows of empty seats in the balcony, and now that Nikaido is looking properly, there is definitely some motion in one of the dark corners, way up in the last row. Smirking, Nika hops off the edge of the stage and heads for the doors to the lobby, where the stairs are to the upper sections.

Sure enough, when he reaches the back of the balcony, there is Senga tucked into one of the theater seats, feet up on the seat in front of him and phone in his hands. Senga grins at him, and then Nikaido’s phone goes off again.

Hot! the mail says, and Nikaido calls Senga a moron and flops down in the seat beside him. Senga flips his phone shut and reaches for Nikaido’s hand on the arm rest, and they sit there in silence for a few moments, watching the techs move about, fingers curled together.

“It’s almost over, huh?” Senga says, and he sounds a bit sad already. Senga doesn’t like the end of things, Nikaido knows; he prefers the excitement of new things, new practices and dances and new combinations of coworkers.

“How do you expect to start new stuff if you don’t finish the old ones?” Nikaido chides gently, but he tightens his fingers against Senga’s. “You want to start practices for our concerts, right?”

“Of course I do!” Senga protests, and Nikaido feels Senga shiver through their joined hands when Nikaido says ‘our concerts.’ “That’s not what I mean. Anyway, speaking of old stuff…”

“What?” Nikaido asks when Senga trails off meaningfully.

“Happy anniversary, Nika,” Senga finishes, then laughs at Nikaido’s affronted noise.

“I’m not old!” he protests.

“Nine years? So old!” Senga chirps, laughing even harder as Nikaido growls. Even when he stops giggling, his eyes are still bright with laughter. “Oh well, at least you’re cute now, right? So congratulations~.”

“Jackass,” Nikaido says, but he leans over to kiss Senga’s cheek for the congratulations. He squeaks in surprise when Senga turns his head to capture Nikaido’s mouth properly, his tongue teasing along Nikaido’s lips and turning the kiss serious almost immediately. “Oi, oi,” Nikaido pushes back just far enough to remind, “we aren’t alone!”

Senga barely spares a glance down at the scatter of techs. “They won’t look up here, no one ever does. At least they won’t if you keep quiet.”

“If I keep…” Nikaido is interrupted by Senga standing up and resettling in a firm straddle over Nikaido’s lap. “Hey!”

“Don’t you want your present?” Senga purrs, getting fingers in Nikaido’s hair and tilting his head up for another kiss.

Nikaido tries to mumble another protest, but Senga swallows it as he settles more firmly down against Nikaido’s lap. Eyes falling shut, Nikaido just gives in and lets Senga have his way. It’s hard to object with Senga’s mouth hot against his own, Senga’s hands tight in his hair, Senga’s weight pleasantly heavy in his lap. Nikaido’s hands start out fisted in the back of Senga’s shirt, but drift down to rest on Senga’s waist, where he can tease at the stripe of bare skin between Senga’s T-shirt and sweats.

It isn’t long before he’s hard and dizzy on the feel of Senga rocking against him, on the fact that Senga’s just as hard and making soft, encouraging noises into his mouth. Nikaido would like nothing better than to have Senga exactly like this, willing and desperate, the thrill of getting caught by any stagehand who happens to look up fizzing in his veins.

As if reading Nikaido’s mind, Senga reaches between then to fumble at the hem of Nikaido’s sweats. He gets as far as palming Nikaido’s cock before Nikaido manages to tear his mouth away.

“Wait,” Nikaido gasps, then cuts off with a groan as Senga gets his own cock free and wraps a hand around both of them at once, squeezing them together. “Oi, stop!”

“You definitely don’t mean that,” Senga says with supreme confidence, voice husky, and Nikaido has to swallow another moan.

“We definitely shouldn’t,” Nikaido hisses, sinking fingers into Senga’s waist harder, as tightly as he’s holding onto his control. “Not up here!”

“Fine, fine,” Senga says. He hops off Nikaido’s lap, leaving Nikaido confused and chilly, but then grabs one of Nikaido’s hands to drag him up as well. “Come on!”

Nikaido tucks himself back in quickly as he gets dragged along behind Senga. “Where are you going? Mitsu and Taipi are in the dressing room, so unless you want an audience…”

“Here we are!” Senga calls cheerfully, and Nikaido has just enough time to blink at the “LADIES” sign on the wall before Senga shoves him through the doorway.

“This is the girls’ bathroom,” Nikaido hisses at him, like all the girls will show up suddenly if he’s too loud.

“Funny, right?” Senga snickers as he digs a couple condom packets out of his pocket and drops them into Nikaido’s hand. “There’ll be a million of them in here later, and they won’t have any idea. Bet they’d be sooo jealous…”

“Stop talking about girls,” Nikaido snaps, tearing open one of the condom packets to discover that they’re pre-lubricated and that Senga is apparently a genius.

He changes his mind back to normal when Senga nearly brains himself on the sink trying to kick his sweatpants off over his sneakers.

“This is a terrible idea,” Nikaido insists, only it’s not very convincing because he’s kissing Senga as he says it, Senga’s back against the wall, working Senga open with two fingers sheathed in the first condom.

“Hurry up,” is all Senga says in reply, then whines high and pleading when Nikaido adds a third. “It’s fine, come on, come on,” he urges, and it’s so tempting, only Nikaido knows from experience that rushing the prep on their lead dancer an hour before show time is just about the only thing that can make this idea worse.

They have an argument about which way Senga ought to face while Nikaido tries to open the second condom packet with half of his fingers covered in lube from the last one. Senga insists he wants to do it face-to-face.

“It’s not like I don’t want to!” Nikaido snarls at the stubborn foil. “But you know I can’t hold you up that long! Do you want another concussion?”

“I won’t take long,” Senga assures, taking the packet out of Nikaido’s fingers and tearing it immediately. He holds up the roll of latex between two fingers, then flicks it back out of reach when Nikaido goes for it. “Please, Nika? I’ll hold on tight, I promise. I want to watch you, you know?”

Nikaido gives in with a grumbled “Fine,” cheeks heating as Senga reaches down to roll the condom onto him. He glances around the bathroom and notices that the counter for girls to fix their makeup at is at least low enough to be serviceable. “Come over here and let’s use the counter at least.”

“Ooh, and mirrors!” Senga exclaims with entirely too much delight, making Nikaido’s cheeks color even darker. “Kinky, Nika.”

Nikaido just grumbles at him to shut up as Senga hops up onto the edge of the counter. It makes the angle a little awkward, but it does take Senga’s weight off Nikaido, and Senga doesn’t seem to care as Nikaido holds him in place and pushes inside.

“Okay?” Nikaido asks, trying to hold back until he’s sure Senga’s not going to be limping through their shows all afternoon. Senga isn’t helping by rocking against Nikaido as much as he can, hands on Nikaido’s shoulder to try and tug him closer.

“It’s fine, move!” Senga demands, and then he arches his back enough for them to manage a kiss for a few hot, awkward seconds. “You know,” he says as he slumps back against the mirror, “if anybody comes down that hallway, they’re definitely going to see us.”

“So hurry up,” Nikaido growls, shivering at the thought of being caught or, if it happens to be somebody from their unit, maybe just being watched. It makes his neck prickle like somebody really is there, makes him shove more roughly into Senga. “Fucking exhibitionist.”

“Takes one to know one,” Senga purrs, and then throws his head back with a thunk against the mirror as Nikaido hits him just right.

There isn’t any more talking after that, just rough breathing and the occasional badly-muffled moan. Senga gets a hand around himself and, as promised, once he starts to stroke himself off it doesn’t take long at all for him to squeeze tight around Nikaido and streak his own stomach white.

“Mm, come on,” Senga murmurs hazily as he’s coming down, eyes heavy-lidded but focused only on Nikaido. “Aren’t you gonna give me something to watch?”

Nikaido sure isn’t going to argue with that. Yanking Senga up so that Senga curls his legs around Nikaido’s waist in surprise, Nikaido buries his face against Senga’s shoulder and drives in as deeply as he can before spending himself.

When he can sort out reality again, Senga’s stroking his hair, arms and legs still curled tight around Nikaido, holding him close.

“Kenpi,” Nikaido breathes against Senga’s neck, making him squirm and laugh, and in a second they’ll have to pull apart and clean up and sneak back down to the dressing room without anybody seeing. But for a few moments, Nikaido lets Senga hold him and murmur stupid things into his hair, happy to be exactly where and who he is.

It’s a really good anniversary. The rest of it can wait a little longer.

“Ow,” Senga winces as he unsticks his bare thighs from the counter. “Shoulda gone back to the dressing room, ne.”

“Mitsu wasn’t giving up the couch,” Nikaido snorts as he helps Senga hop down.

“It was Watta and Taipi earlier,” Senga laughs, wrapping arms around Nikaido’s neck as Nikaido rubs at the backs of his thighs where they’re stiff. “What do you think they were all so tired for?”

*~Much, much earlier…~*

“Psst! PSST! Wake up!”

Curled up in a warm futon, Yokoo doesn’t feel much like moving, but he does open his eyes just a little when the whisper, which is louder than most people talking normally, continues.

“Oh!” Fujigaya, who is kneeling on the futon beside Yokoo’s, reaches down to pat his shoulder. “Not you, Watta, go back to sleep.” He then returns to the ‘whisper.’ “Mitsu! Wake up, you bastard!”

There’s something reasonably hilarious about Fujigaya trying to wake up anybody early, much less Kitayama, and Yokoo is sure he will know what that something is when he wakes up for real. For now, he snickers tiredly at the state of Fujigaya’s hair, and then lets his eyes fall shut again.

“WHAT,” Yokoo hears Kitayama finally grunt. “Early, lee’me ‘lone.”

“Get up! You promised you’d help me with Watta’s surprise!”

Yokoo opens one eye again. This sounds interesting.

“Only told you that so you’d blow me. Leggo.”

They bicker for a few more sentences before Fujigaya stands up and stomps off to the bathroom, informing Kitayama that he’d better be out of bed to help by the time Fujigaya’s back. Yokoo can’t see the top of Kitayama’s bed from the floor, but he can see the hand that Kitayama lets flop over the edge, middle finger extended.

If he were a sentimental sort of person, Yokoo would be tempted to say that it was affection for his longtime unitmates and their familiar exchange making his fingertips tingle. But mostly Yokoo thinks it’s the fact that the heater has been off all night.

Sitting up, Yokoo winces as the winter air rushes in under his blankets. It’s only for a second, though, because the second after that, Yokoo is climbing into Kitayama’s bed. Shouldering a grumbling Kitayama over for the space, Yokoo scrunches under the Mitsu-warmed blankets and sighs in happiness as he lets his eyes fall shut again.

“You suck,” Fujigaya’s voice brings Yokoo out of his doze a couple minutes later. “You’re cockblocking your own anniversary present, you know.”

“Aw, Taipi,” Yokoo drawls cutely, opening his eyes just enough to blink at him. “Gonna make me breakfast in bed, sweetheart?”

“Not anymore,” Fujigaya growls, reaching for the corner of the blankets. “Fuck you, move over.”

“Fuck you,” Kitayama groans when he’s jostled awake once again.

They shouldn’t be able to manage it in Kitayama’s bed, but they do since Kitayama himself is bite-sized and Yokoo is skinny as hell. With Fujigaya curled up tight against one side and Kitayama flopped mostly over his other, it takes a little effort to breathe, but at least Yokoo is finally warm enough.

“Mm,” he murmurs appreciatively. “Now let’s talk about that present of yours.”

“Now he wants presents,” Fujigaya snorts into Yokoo’s shoulder. “There is no way I’m getting out of this bed again.”

“Nobody’s suggesting that you should,” Yokoo replies. “In fact, I forbid you to do any such thing.”

Fujigaya frowns. “Then what…”

“He wants sex, idiot,” Kitayama interrupts. “You have to just tell him, Watta, I told you. He doesn’t understand subtlety.”

“You don’t understand my fist up your…”

“Ladies, ladies!” Yokoo interrupts, shouldering at both of them. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”

In an impressive show of cooperation, Kitayama suddenly becoming immovable like a sleeping cat, pinning Yokoo in place for Fujigaya’s tickling fingers, until they decide that Yokoo has been properly punished.

“Moron,” Fujigaya accuses, flopping back down, all of them out of breath and over-warm. “Could have just asked.”

“Go for the blowjob,” Kitayama recommends with a yawn.

“Should he really?” Fujigaya asks acidly. “Because they aren’t worth getting up for, apparently.”

“No,” Kitayama cracks an eye open to smirk. “But they’re worth lying about getting up for.”

“For Mitsu, that’s saying something,” Yokoo says, distracting Fujigaya from going after Kitayama. “I think I’ll have what he’s having.”

Fujigaya rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to balk, but Yokoo tilts his head and reminds Fujigaya that it is his anniversary. Fujigaya folds like a cheap card table. He leans in to kiss Yokoo’s cheek, and Yokoo momentarily regrets that all of them haven’t brushed their teeth yet, so he can’t force Fujigaya to do it properly.

It’s forgotten when Fujigaya is under the blankets halfway down Kitayama’s bed, tugging Yokoo’s pajama pants out of the way. Kitayama’s been repositioned so that Fujigaya has room to work, but is still curled in a bare-chested, sleep-warm heap against Yokoo’s shoulder. He’s watching Yokoo, eyes low-lidded and interested, and it makes Yokoo reach under the blankets for Fujigaya’s hair to force him into the right spot quicker.

His eyes flutter when Fujigaya’s mouth slides over him, sudden heat spreading through his veins and spiking in his stomach when Fujigaya starts to suck him off in earnest.

“Should get rid of the blankets,” Kitayama advises, as though he mistakenly believes this is Yokoo’s first time on the receiving end of Fujigaya’s attentions. “It’s way better to watch him.”

“Not on your life, it’s cold. I’d like to keep all the extremities not in Taisuke’s mouth from freezing off.” Yokoo raises and eyebrow when Kitayama shifts his hips against the outside of Yokoo’s thigh. “I could keep you entertained some other way? Although it’s your mom washing the sheets.”

“It might not be my ninth anniversary,” Kitayama chuckles, “but if she hasn’t learned not to look by now…gimme your hand.”

Yokoo lets Kitayama find his hand under the blankets and tugs it over to his bare stomach, leaving Yokoo to find the rest of the way himself. Kitayama is hot and solid in Yokoo’s hand, already mostly hard, and he twitches against Yokoo’s palm when Yokoo thumbs his tip.

It’s good, easy and comfortable, one hand stroking Kitayama and the other buried in Fujigaya’s hair, sleepy and warm and no rush to crawl out from under the covers any time soon. The tension builds slowly, pleasantly along Yokoo’s spine, and when Yokoo reaches his limit it’s almost a surprise, a wave of heat rushing under his skin down to the very tips of his fingers and toes.

Giving a long sigh of pleasure, Yokoo is basking in afterglow when Fujigaya comes up for air, hair an even bigger mess than before and cheeks pink.

“Well, I hope somebody’s ready to get me off,” he announces, a note of warning in his voice, but the only thing Yokoo’s planning on taking any notice of is how good frustration looks on Fujigaya.

“Talk to him about it,” Yokoo shoulders at Kitayama. His hand is still wrapped around Kitayama, however loosely, and Kitayama grunts when Yokoo gives him a firm squeeze. “Feels like he might have something for you.”

He’s more than content to watch the two of them go at each other, after all, especially when he doesn’t have to do an ounce of the work. And when they throw off the blankets, that just means more for Yokoo.

Eyeing the arch of Fujigaya’s back and the dig of Kitayama’s fingers into Fujigaya’s waist from his nest of blankets, Yokoo would rate this his most successful anniversary yet.

*~And right now…~*

“—on the couch, did you?” Kitayama’s voice is saying, pulling Miyata back to half-consciousness.

“Nn?” Tamamori mutters, sounding just about as conscious as Miyata. “I don’t think so?”

“Great, then off you go!” Kitayama is shaking them now, the bastard. “Because I am claiming this couch in the name of—”

“Oh no you don’t,” Fujigaya interrupts, sailing through the door with bentos in his hand, Nikaido and Yokoo trailing behind him similarly laden. “Food first! Last thing I need is you fainting on stage.”

“At least then I’d get to lie down,” Kitayama grumbles, shooting a longing glance at the pre-warmed cushions as Fujigaya drops his boxes on the low coffee table and then grabs Kitayama’s wrist to plonk him down right beside.

Tamamori and Miyata struggle to sitting positions, yawning and rubbing at their eyes, and then slide off the couch to join the others on the floor. Nikaido drops a box into each of their hands and reminds Miyata to thank Yokoo for treating them (again~!), making Yokoo roll his eyes indulgently. He looks genuinely pleased though when Miyata thanks him properly.

“Slow down, Mitsu!” Fujigaya scolds. “Choking to death won’t get you your couch any faster! Hey, should we have a toast?”

“We should, we should!” Senga agrees right away, any excuse to celebrate. “To Nika and Miyacchi and Watta!”

“To nine more years?” Tamamori asks, sharing a smile with Miyata that is apparently between just the two of them.

“Right, exactly!” Fujigaya picks up his bottle of tea. “Geez, Mitsu, help out and do it properly, can’t you? To—”

“Is that really all right, though?” Yokoo interrupts before Kitayama can even get his mouth open, and everyone turns to look at him. Fujigaya frowns, but Yokoo is looking at Nikaido. “Is that really our goal?”

“No way,” Nikaido snorts, catching on right away, and he gives Senga a wink. “Just nine?”

“Oooh!” Senga catches on next. “Nine isn’t nearly enough, right?”

“We haven’t even got properly started yet,” Miyata agrees. “If we’re going to overtake the senpai…”

“Right right, I got it,” Kitayama drawls. “Let’s toast already, I’m starving.”

The seven of them lift their various assortment of teas and juice and soda, and then they all look expectantly at Kitayama, who rolls his eyes.

“Fine.” Kitayama clears his throat. “For Wataru, Nika-chan, and Miyata, congratulations, and for Kis-My-Ft2, let’s work hard until there aren’t any more steps to go up!”

“Kanpai!” everyone else choruses dutifully, Yokoo looking satisfied, Nikaido so smug that he nearly choked on his lemon water, and Miyata grinning hard enough to make his eyes disappear.

“Good toast,” Senga approves, beaming at Kitayama until Nikaido pops a bite of his lunch into Senga’s mouth to distract him.

“Hmph,” Fujigaya sniffs. “Nine’s not so impressive. This year’ll be twelve for me!”

“Impressive,” Kitayama says, Fujigaya looking mollified until he adds, “given what you looked like when you joined…”

Everybody jumps when Tamamori and Miyata burst into laughter for no apparent reason.

• 

  By ri, 2012.09.01 @ 10:28 pm

  oh yes, yes, yes. i love the separate occasions and watta getting a fujikita sandwich. mitsu is sneaky. and senga is a freak. and tamamiya. and everyone. ♥♥♥

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