Kis-My-Ft2, World Big Whore

Title:World Big Whore [Fujigaya/Kis-My-Ft2]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, orgy, bound hands, double penetration
Summary: On tour with KAT-TUN, winner fucks loser, and Fujigaya is not an athlete.
AN: Written for Goldfreckled for 2010 JE FQF. Thanks to Tabs and Rachel. Also I’m really, really sorry about this title.

World Big Whore

Fujigaya Taisuke is not an athlete. A dancer, sure, and a performer, and fit as the rest of his unit must necessarily be to do two shows a day for endless stretches, but then again, sports don’t fill him with the same satisfaction that thousands of shrieking fangirls provide.

“I just don’t see the point,” he tells Yokoo during Sports Day, while both of them watch Kitayama run down the soccer field with rapture painted on his face. Fujigaya wrinkles his nose and inches back from the sideline in case anybody gets crazy ideas about calling him in. “Chasing a ball around like a dog.”

Now the skates, Fujigaya sees right away the glory of those. On skates he can zip around their winding stages as much as he wants and still not get winded, let the whoosh of the passing air cool the sweat off his face and the faces of the audience merge into a blur. On the skates he can outstrip Tamamori and Yokoo easily despite their long legs, Senga despite his bottomless well of energy, even Kitayama if he puts the effort in, Mr. Soccer King himself.

Which means he’s less than enthused when KAT-TUN’s plans for world domination include virtually no skating at all. There’s plenty of other things to be excited about, shows abroad and their name in the title and backing for favorite senpai who know exactly how to use them, but all the same Fujigaya isn’t looking forward to having to run the length of arenas and domes under his own power, without the benefit of the wheel.

“Even cavemen had the wheel,” he complains during Dome practice, downing water like a jellyfish and cursing the humidity.

“So lazy,” Kitayama drawls, making Fujigaya squeak in outrage at the comment from him of all people, and then he laughs good and hard when Yokoo grabs the back of Fujigaya’s T-shirt so that all he can do is flail ineffectually at Kitayama, just out of reach.

Across the way, Senga is pelting down the curve of the opposite catwalk with Nikaido hot on his heels, Senga hollering gleefully that Nikaido’s too slow, too slow! Fujigaya eyes the pair of them with distaste for their pointless expense of energy and feels that his annoyance is well-deserved, especially when they’re still going at it when they reach Kis-My-Ft’s side, and the older three have to leap out of the way or risk being run over.

And unenthused does not even begin to cover Fujigaya’s feelings when Kamenashi announces that they’ve got a special game to play during their MC.

“Because there’s just too many of you, you see,” Kame announces, giving Kis-My-Ft2 a sharp smile. “Kisumai definitely isn’t allowed to outnumber KAT-TUN in our own MC.”

“What?!” Nikaido demands, while the rest of KAT-TUN and the audience all laugh at their expense.

“So we’re going to have a little race,” Kame explains, and this time the “What?!” is all Fujigaya. “Once around the arena catwalk, and then slowest two will have to entertain themselves backstage, so line up please~!”

“Can you even believe this?” Fujigaya grumbles as he shuffles into place beside Kitayama. He spares a glance at Senga and Nikaido who are shouldering each other for the same spot and Yokoo who’s stretching casually. The only person who looks near as put-out as Fujigaya feels is Tamamori, but his expression is more the sour resignation of somebody who’s being forced to compete at something he can’t possibly win anyway.

“Winner fucks loser,” is Kitayama’s response. He’s already in a stance like an actual athlete, leaning forward, eyes directly ahead.

“Winner fu—whoa,” Fujigaya tries to protest, “there’s seven of—”

“Go!” Kame shouts, and Fujigaya curses as he trips over his own feet trying just to get across the starting line.

At first it isn’t so bad once he gets going; Fujigaya’s as in-shape as the rest of them and probably more competitive. He outstrips Tamamori and Miyata right away, and even Yokoo’s easy lope. He’s got no chance of catching Kitayama, damn that soccer-playing jackass, or probably Senga either, but Fujigaya doesn’t have to be first, he just has to not be last. He holds onto that thought and focuses on Nikaido’s back in front of him, gritting his teeth as his thighs start to burn and holding tight to the inside on the first turn.

But just past the halfway point, Fujigaya’s lack of pacing catches up with him, and Nikaido starts to pull ahead. A couple dozen meters more, and Yokoo passes Fujigaya easily, his long legs eating up the ground with the same steady pace he started with. Up ahead, Senga’s having the same problem as Fujigaya and falls behind Kitayama, but he’s too far ahead for it to help Fujigaya.

When Miyata passes Fujigaya even, huffing and puffing but chugging along with his usual determination, Fujigaya starts to get mad. His annoyance gives him enough speed to keep pace with Miyata for another dozen meters or so, but as close as the finish line is, it’s not close enough.

At least I won’t lose to Tamamori, Fujigaya grumbles internally. Up ahead he sees Kitayama and Yokoo cross the finish line, Senga still losing speed and dropping behind Nikaido to come in fourth. He can hear Tamamori wheezing behind him, too close for comfort, steeling himself to finish and ignoring the burn of his muscles and lungs. Almost there, he scolds himself, almost, almost…

And then, at the last possible second, Fujigaya hears an “Eek!” of surprise, and then is horrified, or would be if he had the breath to do so, to see Tamamori out of the corner of his eye, going down in a tangle of his own limbs and skidding across the finish line just in front of him.

Gasping from outrage and lack of oxygen, Fujigaya can only manage a strangled, “You!” Tamamori gives a sort of wheezing moan and doesn’t move until Miyata kneels down to help him sit up.

“Sorry!” Tamamori gasps, but he doesn’t look sorry, making Fujigaya’s useless fury redouble. “My shoelace…came untied! I’m…sorry!”

“Ah, shoelace-san,” Miyata puts in, “always causing trouble.”

“YOU!” Fujigaya exclaims again, but that’s all he gets out before Kame declares him and Tamamori the official losers and informs them they have ten seconds to clear the stage.

“You can’t do that!” Fujigaya protests, but Kame really really can, and does, and then Miyata is dumping Tamamori onto Fujigaya’s shoulders and telling him to make sure Tamamori’s not injured anyplace during their break.

“And don’t forget your punishment for losing the bet, either,” Kitayama advises as he strolls past, already with his breath back.

So it’s a really good thing Fujigaya isn’t micced for the next half dozen things he says.

*****

Fujigaya’s sprawled across one of the beds in their room already, Yokoo draped over the other, when Kitayama comes out of the shower. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes when he asks, “Claiming your reward? Hurry up about it, I’m tired.”

“Tsk, sore loser,” Kitayama scolds mildly. “Besides, we’re waiting for…” There’s a knock at the door just then, and Fujigaya cracks an eye to glare, but Kitayama’s already turning to answer it.

Fujigaya turns to glare at Yokoo instead, but Yokoo just shrugs.

“Sorry we’re late,” Miyata’s voice makes Fujigaya’s other eye pop open. “Tama forgot the special item~.”

Fujigaya sits up and finds all of Ft2 crowded in the doorway, Tamamori holding up one of the atrocious scarves that go with their red suits. Fujigaya’s mouth works soundlessly for a second, no idea where to even begin.

“Now just hold on,” he starts. Everyone ignores him.

“Take off your shirt and hold out your hands,” Kitayama orders briskly. “Miyata, you’re the expert, in front or behind?”

“Hey!” Fujigaya splutters.

“Front,” Miyata says. “You’ll want him to be able to hold himself up, I’d imagine.”

“Or hold on,” Nikaido leers.

“Wait one minute,” Fujigaya exclaims, but everything else he exclaims gets muffled in his T-shirt as Kitayama grabs it by the hem and yanks it over his head. He’s barely free of it when somebody strong grabs his arms and then something cool and sort of slick is wrapping around his wrists, and when he shakes his hair out of his eyes, it turns out to be Senga doing the holding and Tamamori working on the bondage.

“Sorry, Taipi,” Senga says, entirely unapologetic. “But I get to go fourth!”

“I’m going to get you for this,” Taipi promises, voice lowering to a growl when Tamamori gives the scarf a yank to tighten the knots. “And you! I’m going to do something to you so awful that I can’t even think of anything awful enough right now!”

“Maybe,” Tamamori says, eyeing the knots and then giving a satisfied nod. Then he looks up to meet Fujigaya’s eyes and smirks. “But then again you might forget about it by the time my turn’s over. Since I’m last and all. He’s good to go,” Tamamori says to Kitayama, over his shoulder.

“Good,” Kitayama says, and Senga and Tamamori get out of the way as if on cue. Kitayama’s hair is still wet from his shower, the towel around his waist leaving very little to the imagination. A droplet of water slides from Kitayama’s hair, curving over his collarbone and down his chest, and Fujigaya swallows hard and tries to remember how annoyed he is.

But it’s hard to hang on to when Kitayama tosses the towel aside without preamble and comes close enough to lean down to press his mouth to Fujigaya’s. The kiss is casually possessive, Kitayama dominating Fujigaya and taking what he wants. Fujigaya tries to fight back, but it’s tough when the only thing he can do is flex his fingers uselessly since Kitayama doesn’t even have a shirt to grab.

“Let’s get rid of these, hm?” Kitayama purrs against Fujigaya’s mouth. His fingers brush the warm skin of Fujigaya’s belly, teasing just under the waistband of his pants, and Fujigaya fights to swallow the whimper.

“Can’t exactly help you, can I?” Fujigaya manages, nipping at Kitayama’s lip, since that’s about all he can do, but Kitayama just laughs, low and rich, making the hair on the back of Fujigaya’s neck rise.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to help myself.”

Before Fujigaya can even try to stop him, Kitayama plants hands in the center of his chest and forces him down onto his back. With his hands bound, he can’t even push up onto his elbows, or do anything but struggle uselessly while Kitayama undoes his zipper and yanks his pants off like it’s a magic trick. Underwear doesn’t pose Kitayama any more of a problem, unsurprisingly, but it does catch Fujigaya off guard when Kitayama reaches down to grab Fujigaya by the scarf joining his hands and yanks him to his feet.

“Ready?” Kitayama asks, and Fujigaya gives him a glare that says I’m man enough if you are. “Good.” And then he leans in to kiss Fujigaya again, but this time it isn’t rough. It’s a little sweet, actually, or at least leisurely, enough that Fujigaya can’t stop himself from melting into a little despite the circumstances.

“What was that for?” he asks when Kitayama pulls back.

“Luck,” Kitayama answers, then turns Fujigaya by the shoulders so that he’s pressed along Fujigaya’s back. “Ready to go, Watta?”

“Let ‘er rip,” is Yokoo’s response. He’s switched beds and lost all his clothes besides, so that now he’s leaning back against Fujigaya’s headboard, legs splayed in obvious invitation. He’s stroking himself hard, slow and easy, and Fujigaya bites back a groan when Kitayama’s hand circles Fujigaya’s cock to stroke at the same pace.

“Watta’s on deck,” Kitayama says, ignoring Fujigaya’s mutinous snort, “so his job is to keep you busy while I’m loosening you up on my end. The better a show you give me to watch, the more I might take my time, hmm?”

“You son of a bitch,” Fujigaya says, then cuts off with an “oof” when Kitayama shoves him square between the shoulders, tipping him facedown into the bed.

“Aw, c’mon, Taipi,” Yokoo encourages, reaching down to help Fujigaya settle more comfortably on his elbows. Kitayama’s doing the same thing, more brusquely, to get Fujigaya onto his knees, and Fujigaya turns to shoot a dirty glare over his shoulder. When he turns back, Yokoo’s giving him a winning smile. “You wouldn’t leave a guy high and dry, would you?”

“Just stop talking, okay?” Fujigaya asks, heaving a sigh. “You totally suck at it.”

“Feel free to suck better,” Yokoo says, and Fujigaya should bite him, really, but he’s learned that Kitayama isn’t joking about the keeping him entertained thing, so instead he nuzzles at Yokoo’s hand where it’s wrapped around his cock, licks at the skin just above it.

“Don’t forget I can’t use my hands,” is his last warning before Yokoo angles his cock down far enough for Fujigaya to let the first couple inches slide past his lips.

He tries to concentrate on the hot, taut skin on his tongue and on the pleased noises Yokoo murmurs, instead of Kitayama’s fingers rubbing about his other end. It’s not hard, Fujigaya’s been known to suck a cock now and then, and there’s worse to have than Yokoo’s. He’s almost got a tolerable rhythm going when Nikaido pipes up from the side.

“Damn, suck him harder, Taipi.”

Fujigaya cracks an eye open to glare and finds Nikaido, sitting on the edge of the opposite bed, watching openly as he lets Senga undress him. Behind them, Tamamori and Miyata are curled up to watch, already naked and disgustingly domestic, Tamamori’s back tucked along Miyata’s chest with Miyata’s hand curled around him.

“Don’t help, please,” Yokoo admonishes, drawing Fujigaya’s gaze back to him with fingers on Fujigaya’s chin. “We’re getting along just fine on our own.”

Fujigaya rolls his eyes but goes back to what he was doing anyway. It’s not optimal without his hands, but he laps at Yokoo’s tip and tongues the ridge underneath the head, and Yokoo seems to think that’s more than good enough, if the way he starts to stroke a hand through Fujigaya’s hair is any indication.

Kitayama’s getting serious by now, distracting Fujigaya as one finger turns into two and the steady push in-out turns into some exploring. Kitayama’s fingers curl close to where Fujigaya wants them, but not quite there, and Kitayama laughs as Fujigaya grunts in displeasure and tries to squeeze him into the right place.

“Don’t worry,” Kitayama slides his fingers back out, not at all what Fujigaya wants and he knows it, “you’ll have it where you want it soon enough. Lift him up, Watta, or you’ll get bitten.”

“Mm, maybe Kame can put that in his solo,” Yokoo chuckles as he lifts Fujigaya up, off his cock. Fujigaya licks at his puffy lower lip and gives Yokoo a look through his eyelashes to let him know he’s not funny. Behind him, he hears the tear of foil and the low “Hmm” Kitayama gives as he rolls the condom on.

But then he gets distracted by Kitayama pushing inside, steady and blunt and forcing Fujigaya’s body to let him in. For a long second, Fujigaya trembles against the intrusion, hands tightening into fists, but then he exhales and Kitayama slips the rest of the way in. He’s not quite prepared enough, and the burn of it sings along his nerves as Kitayama hitches his hips up a little higher and gives a long, slow test thrust.

Fujigaya digs his elbows into the mattress and squeezes himself tight around Kitayama, because he’s on the first of six, so there’s no point in dragging it out. “Bring it,” he orders, and Kitayama doesn’t seem to have a single problem with that.

Kitayama’s fingers dig into Fujigaya’s hips as he sets up a deep, fast rhythm, obviously not meaning to last. He wasn’t lying about giving it to Fujigaya where he wants it, though, and soon the burn is gone, replaced with want as Fujigaya pushes back against Kitayama, his own cock getting heavier against his thigh without being touched.

“Come on, come on,” Fujigaya chants, “gonna take all night, Mitsu?”

“Mm, you can talk all you like,” is Kitayama’s response, “but it’s just gonna make me want to take my sweet time about it.”

“Oi, I don’t think so,” Nikaido says. “Besides, even if the rest of us were good and patient,” Fujigaya and Kitayama snort in tandem, “there’s no way Tama can last that long.”

“He wasn’t exactly a winner either,” Kitayama answers, voice starting to catch just a little. “So a little punishment isn’t out of the question for him, is it?”

“Besides,” Yokoo cuts in smoothly over Tamamori’s “Hey,” “who can blame you for taking your time, with Taipi all spread out underneath you. I think I might have him face up myself, of course, just so I can see exactly how much he wants it, make him beg me for it, beg me to touch him while I’m deep and big and hard inside him…”

There’s a soft moan that sounds like Senga off to the side, but Fujigaya only half-hears it through the drawl of Yokoo’s voice.

“Fuck,” Kitayama curses, half-laughing as his rhythm starts to stutter, “fuck you, Watta,” and then Fujigaya feels Kitayama pulse even though the condom, his fingers digging even deeper into Fujigaya’s hips before they go slack. “You cheater. I should get a do-over.”

But he doesn’t seem terribly put out about it as he pulls out of Fujigaya and tugs off the condom to drop it in the tiny hotel wastebasket. Fujigaya hears him stretch with a little sigh that says he momentarily satiated, then Kitayama saunters over to the other bed. He tells somebody to move it, but Fujigaya isn’t sure exactly who because it’s just then that Yokoo sits up to take Kitayama’s place.

“Roll over,” he orders Fujigaya, his grin sharper than usual. “You didn’t think I was kidding, did you?”

He didn’t, exactly, but Fujigaya swallows his complaint at being ordered about because this is better with his hands tied anyway, his shoulders already starting to get sore from holding him up on his elbows. This way he can relax, and he can see, and when Yokoo crawls onto the end of the bed, still grinning down at him, it’s almost like something Fujigaya might go for even without being punished.

“Lift up,” Yokoo says, tapping at Fujigaya’s knee, and Fujigaya spreads his legs far enough for Yokoo to settle in between them, but then blinks when Yokoo taps his wrist as well. “Up.”

When he obeys, lifting both hands up, Yokoo leans in to duck his head through the loop of Fujigaya’s arms, letting Fujigaya’s hands settle at the back of his neck, and yeah, this is something that might have been okay anyway.

“Don’t look so happy,” Yokoo says, brushing his mouth against Fujigaya’s for a kiss, “I’m still gonna make you beg.” Fujigaya hums something indistinct and curls his fingers in Yokoo’s hair for a better grip.

There’s no burn this time as Yokoo presses in, Fujigaya more than warmed up from Kitayama’s turn. His own cock is still heavy against his belly, but it brushes Yokoo’s stomach as Yokoo finds his balance and starts thrusting. It’s slow and steady and deep, hitting entirely different places than Kitayama does and making Fujigaya groan Yokoo’s name.

“Ready to beg for it already?” Yokoo teases, and Fujigaya curses at him, but it doesn’t really help his case any. “So easy, Taipi, so desperate for it. When Miyata said maybe you lost the race on purpose, I defended your honor, but the way it looks now…”

“Shut up and fuck me harder,” Fujigaya growls, turning his head to press his cheek against Yokoo’s shoulder and glaring at Miyata. Miyata’s occupied holding Tamamori’s wrists so he can’t touch himself while Senga and Kitayama brush fingers over his skin, but Miyata does glance up long enough to give Fujigaya an eye-scrunching grin. “You better do it with me face down, jackass, or I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

Just then Yokoo hitches Fujigaya’s hips up, and the change in angle makes Fujigaya cut off with a desperate whine, scrabbling at Yokoo’s neck and shoulders as best he can.

“Like that, huh?” Yokoo asks, and he doesn’t bother to hold back his groan. “Mm, damn you feel good when Mitsu doesn’t open you up the whole way.”

“Please,” Fujigaya says, maybe ready to beg just a little, “Watta, touch me, please?” He wraps his legs around Yokoo’s waist tighter so he can rub himself against Yokoo’s stomach, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough.

“Still four to go,” Yokoo reminds, making no move to help, and Fujigaya’s in the middle of another string of pleas when Yokoo gives a deep groan and shudders himself out, arms shaking to keep from collapsing on Fujigaya.

“Dammit, you fucking jerk,” Fujigaya whines, shivering at the twitch of Yokoo inside him, but definitely nowhere near to getting off this way. Yokoo just laughs as he sneaks another kiss before Fujigaya can bite him, then rolls off, sitting up and telling Nikaido it’s his turn.

“Our turn,” Nikaido corrects, tugging Senga away from Kitayama and Tamamori. Kitayama doesn’t let go at first, pulling Senga back by the wrist for a kiss that trails over Senga’s jaw and throat, making Senga’s eyes flutter. Nikaido growls, impatient, and Kitayama laughs as he lets go, giving Nikaido a look that says he’s only doing it because he wants to.

“Gonna make me beg too?” Fujigaya demands when Nikaido gets close enough, still on his back and not making any attempt to move. It’s stupid to give Nikaido ideas, but Fujigaya’s cranky enough from denied orgasm that he hardly cares.

“Hoping you’ll shut up, actually,” Nikaido retorts. He drags fingers along Fujigaya’s thigh, down between his legs and slides two fingers in with no resistance at all. “Not like your mouth is the only thing begging for it. You’re loose enough that this’ll barely be any fun.”

“Sounds like a problem with your equipment rather than mine,” Fujigaya snarls, although he can’t stop himself from rocking against Nikaido’s fingers, squeezing around them.

“Quit arguing,” Senga dismisses both their insults, “or you’ll take forever. Roll my way, Taipi.” He settles on the bed facing Fujigaya and puts a hand on Fujigaya’s hip to roll him the way he wants. When Fujigaya’s on his side, Senga cuddles close so they’re pressed together chest-to-chest and helps Fujigaya ease his bound hands over Senga’s head before letting his own arms settle around Fujigaya’s waist. “Mm,” he says, rolling his hips so that their cocks slide against each other, “feels good.”

He kisses Fujigaya, soft and sweet, and Fujigaya only has the presence of mind to hum agreement as he presses closer for more. He barely pays any mind to the bed dipping behind him as Nikaido slides in against his other side, although he does moan softly into Senga’s mouth at the heat of Nikaido’s skin against his own.

“Ne, Kenpi,” Nikaido murmurs as he flexes his hips to rub along Fujigaya’s ass, “want to do him together? After Kitamitsu and Watta, he could probably take it.”

Fujigaya’s eyes snap open at the suggestion, in time to see Senga’s eyes darken in arousal. But a split-second later Senga smoothes his expression out. “Nika,” he chides, “don’t tease about stuff like that, Taipi has to dance like the rest of us.”

Nikaido scoffs something predictable about how Fujigaya’s a sissy, but Fujigaya’s far more occupied with how good Senga feels against him and how gorgeous he looked for that split-second after Nikaido suggested it. And also with how much he really wants to fucking come already.

“You’ll get me off, right?” Fujigaya asks, and Senga’s eyes widen, but he nods as fast as he can make his head go up and down. Satisfied, Fujigaya looks over his shoulder to narrow his eyes at Nikaido. “You haven’t got anything I can’t handle, brat. Bring it.”

“Whoa now,” Yokoo tries to interrupt, but Fujigaya tells him to shut his face, he already had his turn. “Fine then, fuck you very much, but when Kame-chan wants to know why his sluttiest backer suddenly sucks and I give him all the details, he’ll definitely want to try it out with Koki-kun.”

“Thanks for that mental image,” Kitayama says, at the same time as Tamamori tells Miyata he can let go, he’s not that close to coming after all.

“Hurry up already,” Fujigaya says, ignoring all of them as he wriggles back and forth between Senga and Nikaido. Nikaido lifts Fujigaya’s leg enough to push inside, and Fujigaya groans encouragement. “Please, Ken-chan, you promised.”

“Waah,” Senga says as he works a hand in between them to palm Fuijgaya’s aching cock, “you’re really wet already, Taipi.” He thumbs Fujigaya’s tip, smearing precome over Fujigaya’s head and laughing when Fujigaya twitches in his hand.

“‘Already’ he says,” Fujigaya manages to roll his eyes despite everything. “When you’re getting fucked for the third time and nobody’s gotten you off…”

“He’s one to talk, usually I’m barely inside him before he’s dripping all over the place,” Nikaido comments. Fujigaya can feel him working the tip of a finger in alongside his cock and hisses at the burn of it. Then just as quickly as he started it, Nikaido pulls out entirely. “This angle sucks. Kenpi, roll on your back.”

They adjust positions, Senga grabbing Fujigaya with strong hands when he nearly over-balances and holding him up on his knees while Nikaido gets a condom on Senga. Both of them moan when Fujigaya sinks down onto Senga’s cock, Senga’s hands gripping Fujigaya’s thighs tightly.

He switches to stroking Fujigaya as Nikaido goes back to working in fingers alongside Senga’s cock, and Fujigaya takes deep breaths and focuses on thrusting into Senga’s grip, on Senga’s dark eyes drinking him in and his hair strewn over the pillow in messy curls. He tries to think about the idea of it, his body squeezing around Nikaido and Senga at the same time like he does with his hand sometimes, working them over together, and somehow he manages to breathe into it enough that Nikaido is satisfied.

“I’m gonna try,” Nikaido warns, and Fujigaya reaches up to grab the top of the headboard to have something to squeeze.

No matter how much lube Nikaido’s rubbed on all of them, for the first few seconds, Fujigaya can’t even draw a breath through the sting of it, squeezing his eyes shut against how they start watering and softening a little in Senga’s hand despite how close he was before. Senga goes on stroking him though, murmuring encouragements even though all his sentences end on a whine. Even Nikaido’s hold on his sides is gentle rather than rough, soothing at Fujigaya’s skin with his thumbs as he works his way in, so slow, way too slow.

He almost says he can’t, tells Nikaido to stop, but he’s too stubborn to do it, so he clenches his jaw and breathes as deeply through his nose as he can. And then there, finally, a spark of pleasure reignites from Senga’s hand on his cock, and Fujigaya leans into it, thinks only about Senga’s hand on him and coming all over it, maybe all over Senga’s face too.

Nikaido’s got them both in enough to give a tortuously slow thrust, and Fujigaya feels like if any of them so much as breathe too deeply, he’s going to pass out. Senga’s breath is a continuous moan now that Nikaido’s moving against him. They’re barely fucking him at all and it’s already too much, too much for Nikaido too from the sounds of it.

“Kento,” Nikaido gasps, curling arms around Fujigaya’s waist suddenly, like he’s hanging on, “can’t hold it…” Fujigaya can feel the tremor of Nikaido’s orgasm in Nikaido’s arms as well as on the inside, and both of them moan brokenly.

“Just stay there, stay still,” Senga orders, thrusting up harder into Fujigaya and making him wail. “Can you come, Taipi?”

“Dunno,” Fujigaya gasps. He closes his eyes and focuses on it, on Senga’s touch and noises and Nikaido still shivering against his back. Come, idiot, come, he tells himself, and then miraculously he does in a half-painful, half-glorious rush that drops him in a useless, sweating heap on Senga’s chest.

It takes him more than a few seconds to come back to himself, and when he does, there’s a few more seconds where it’s not exactly pleasant, what with Senga still easing out of him and Nikaido’s weight on top of both of them.

But he does look up when he hears Miyata say, “Oops.”

Miyata’s sitting up from where he’s obviously been sucking Tamamori off, wiping a hand across his cheek and looking sheepishly at the white streaking Tamamori’s stomach. At the head of the bed, Tamamori’s flushed and grinning, hair sticking to his cheeks in damp ringlets, and his hand is curled loosely around Kitayama’s cock, still shiny with his spit but definitely not being sucked at the moment.

“You two suck at foreplay,” Kitayama informs them. From his vantage point leaning against the desk, Yokoo just shakes his head sadly.

“Taipi needs a minute anyway,” Senga says, flopping his hand over the edge of the bed to wave vaguely. Tamamori turns his head to beam at Senga, and Fujigaya would have something to choice to say about how their unit got all the loser kouhai, if he could just catch his fucking breath.

“Just switch already,” Kitayama grumbles when Tamamori lets go of his cock entirely to tug Miyata down for a messy, uncoordinated kiss.

Fujigaya refuses to move, and so just watches as Tamamori, Senga, and Nikaido all try to sort out wobbly legs. Senga ends up replacing Tamamori, curled up with Kitayama. Nikaido starts to bitch about it, but Yokoo tugs him to the other end of the bed, leaning his back against the wall and Nikaido’s back against his chest, one arm firm around Nikaido’s waist.

“You two can’t go together,” is all Fujigaya has to say as Tamamori and Miyata come to the side of his bed and look him over. Tamamori just laughs as Miyata helps him up into a straddle over Fujigaya’s waist.

“Miyacchi’s fine all by himself, no matter how much Nika and Ken-chan stretched you,” Tamamori comments, tossing a look over his shoulder that makes Miyata turn a little pink, for once. “But hey, use your fingers on me, and if you get interested you can do what you like with me.”

“Fuck, what a mouth,” Kitayama says, voice rough, but it’s unclear whether he means Tamamori or Senga. Either way, Fujigaya takes Tamamori up on the offer, because on the one hand the other option is to just lie there like a bored whore while Miyata has his turn, and on the other hand if somebody doesn’t get Tamamori hard again, they’ll never get this over with.

It’s a little complicated with his hands still tied, but Miyata helpfully drizzles lube over Fujigaya’s fingers (“Hope nobody needs this scarf tomorrow”) and Tamamori does most of the work anyway, holding onto the headboard for balance as he rocks down onto Fujigaya’s fingers. Fujigaya’s surprised when Miyata doesn’t make any move to take him right away, but thankful for the break. He’s even a little jealous of the way Tamamori starts to harden up again so quickly.

“You like it that much?” he can’t quite keep from asking, his usual brain-to-mouth filter gone the way of Kawai’s from the endorphins.

“Uh-huh,” Tamamori answers, his head tipped back, eyes shut. “It’s not as good when I do it myself, it’s way better if somebody helps. You sure you don’t want me, Taipi? Wouldn’t it feel good if it were your dick instead of your fingers? I feel good, right?”

Fujigaya gives a strangled groan, starting to harden in spite of himself as Tamamori just keeps on talking about how he bets Fujigaya would be hot and hard and perfect inside of him. It doesn’t help either that Senga’s making the most obscene slurping noise around Kitayama’s cock, and a glance to the side shows that Yokoo has his hand wrapped around Nikaido’s on his cock, guiding him in a slow stroke.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Fujigaya gives in, long past the need to argue, “but if you even come before you fuck me and we have to start all over again, I’m going to strangle you.”

Tamamori helps Miyata get a condom on Fujigaya and slicks some more lube over him, and at least they have the decency to do all the work. And it really does feel good to let Tamamori sink down onto his cock, just as tight and hot as he promised he would be, enough so that Fujigaya finds it hard to care about Miyata pushing his way inside Fujigaya. He just lies back, tired out and feeling fuzzy around the edges, and lets the two of them do as they will.

Miyata curls arms around Tamamori’s waist and fucks Fujigaya as if he’s fucking Tamamori directly, deep and steady, and Tamamori lets his head fall back against Miyata’s shoulder and moans appreciation. It’s sort of sweet and definitely hot, and Fujigaya hardly minds being the conduit if this is what it feels like between them all the time.

“Try not to come early, just this once, hm?” Miyata murmurs in Tamamori’s ear, but it’s loud enough for Fujigaya to hear, and Miyata gives him a wink when Fujigaya blinks at him.

“Idiot,” Tamamori says, but he’s laughing in between soft moans and tugging Miyata’s arms tighter around his waist to pull him in closer. “Are you close or what?”

“Hm,” Miyata nips at the curve of Tamamori’s shoulder, making him shiver around Fujigaya; Fujigaya swallows a groan, wanting to hear. “What if I am? What’s it to you?”

“Should I make him come for you?” Tamamori tilts his head back just a little farther, far enough to steal a kiss, before he turns back to lean over Fujigaya. “So? Wanna come, Taipi?”

Fujigaya opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a long moan as Tamamori suddenly tightens up muscles that he has no business having full control over, his whole body seeming to hold onto Fujigaya as Tamamori rocks up. Tamamori takes Fujigaya back in as deep as he can at the same time Miyata slams in the whole way, and Fujigaya’s breath catches as a second orgasm rushes over him, leaving his fingers and toes tingling. He drags Miyata over the edge with him, Miyata gasping a curse and Tamamori crying out as Miyata bites down on his shoulder suddenly.

“Geez, Miyacchi,” Tamamori scolds, and Miyata mumbles another, muffled “Oops,” against the back of his neck. “Okay, Taipi?”

“Uh-huh.” Fujigaya lets his eyes fall shut and just breathes. “God, hurry up, I’m going to pass out.”

Miyata pulls out and collapses next to Fujigaya, leaving Tamamori to figure it out for himself. Fujigaya isn’t any help either as Tamamori has to push himself off of Fujigaya with tired thighs and resettles himself between Fujigaya’s still-spread legs.

“You two are useless,” Tamamori says, but sounds as if he really didn’t expect any better of them. “Wait, who’s got another condom? Do we even have another condom?” Fujigaya watches dispassionately as Tamamori pats down the sheets and comes up with a stray square of foil and tears it open. “Ne, you aren’t going to help?”

Fujigaya is about to ask who Tamamori thinks he’s talking to when Miyata whines and exhausted, “Yuutaaaa.”

“Toshiyaaaa,” Tamamori says back, not a whine at all, more like a you definitely want to, and then Miyata heaves a sigh and sits back up again.

“What kind of help do you need, exactly?” Fujigaya asks out of morbid curiosity, pausing on a soft whine himself when Tamamori lines himself up and pushes in. “Haven’t you two been practicing this nonstop for about a million years?”

“Tama-chan’s a bottom, though,” Miyata explains, and Fujigaya can’t see what he’s doing exactly, but he’s got a pretty good guess based on how Tamamori suddenly gets a little more serious about thrusting against Fujigaya. “Like that?”

“Uh-huh,” Tamamori says, but he’s got his eyes closed as if he’s concentrating. Fujigaya wishes he’d thought to ask them to untie his hands, because he wouldn’t mind behind able to touch Tamamori, to reach up and palm his cheek or tug at his hair. Especially when, surprisingly, Tamamori doesn’t give in right away. “Toshiya…”

“Wish I could help more, but…” Miyata looks across the room. “Ne, Watta, you look up for it.”

Fujigaya and Tamamori both give Miyata a dirty look as Miyata chuckles to himself, but Yokoo tips Nikaido into the tangle of Kitayama and Senga’s limbs and stands up to come their way. Miyata looks happy enough to give up his spot, giving Tamamori a kiss on the cheek before flopping back down next to Fujigaya with a relieved sigh.

Yokoo seems just as ready to finish it as the rest of them, and he kneels on the bed behind Tamamori. Fujigaya still can’t see the good parts, but he can see the way Yokoo holds Tamamori’s hips steady with strong hands, and he can feel the jerk of Tamamori inside and against him when Yokoo slides home. When Yokoo asks if they’re ready, Fujigaya reaches behind his head and plants his palms against the headboard as best he can.

“Ready,” he agrees. “So ready, you have no idea.”

Yokoo chuckles, and then all bets are off as he drives hard and fast into Tamamori, and into Fujigaya in turn. Tamamori’s gasps turn into moans after only a few thrusts, and Fujigaya can’t blame him; just watching the expression on Yokoo’s face almost makes him wish he could go a third time.

“Oh,” Tamamori cries, and that’s finally, finally the end, or at least the end for Fujigaya. It takes Yokoo another minute or so, small wonder, but Fujigaya could hardly care less since it’s not his ass on the line for that particular orgasm.

“Okay, punishment over,” Fujigaya mumbles, eyes falling shut again. “Everybody off, everybody out, and for the love of fuck will somebody untie my hands?”

There’s shuffling about and people murmuring, but Fujigaya doesn’t care about any of it. He just lies there, limp and gross, until his wrists are jostled by somebody picking at the knots on the scarf. When he opens his eyes, he’s surprised to find Kitayama, eyes low-lidded and hair rather mussed, but serious enough about the untying.

“You?” Fujigaya asks. “I thought Ken-chan wore you out.”

“I’m not so easy to defeat as some,” Kitayama yawns, and like that’s the secret password, the scarf falls away. “Budge over.”

Fujigaya doesn’t so much budge as kind of roll, a little, but Yokoo’s taken Miyata and Tamamori back to the adjoining room, and it’s enough space for Kitayama to pack himself into, if he doesn’t mind using Fujigaya like a blanket. He’s never minded it before, at any rate.

“Who’s easy to defeat?” Fujigaya demands, belatedly. He thinks about kicking Kitayama, but it’s too much work for his lower half at the moment. Or maybe ever again.

Kitayama just laughs. “You aren’t much of an athlete, Taipi. But I guess it’s too late to trade you in, now that you’re damaged goods. And besides, you sure do put the F in Kis-My-Ft2.”

And suddenly it doesn’t seem like too much work to kick Kitayama out of bed after all.