Kis-My-Ft2, Rate Equals Distance Over Time

Title: Rate Equals Distance Over Time [Fujigaya/Yokoo]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, no particular warnings
Summary: After Yokoo asks Fujigaya to be his roommate, Fujigaya keeping his crush under wraps becomes more of a challenge. Good thing he has an excellent game face.
AN: Written for 2011 JE FQF exchange. I bet this isn’t the pairing that snowqueenofhoth thought she was getting, but hopefully she’ll enjoy it anyway. Some of the idea came from the fact that Fujigaya just mentioned in an interview the story about Senga’s grandmother being worried about him walking home, implying that he now lives pretty close to Senga so somebody definitely moved, and Yokoo seemed to know how far that was, so…anyway she wanted eyeliner and people taking their time and being entirely comfortable with each other, so I got all of that in as best I could.

Rate Equals Distance Over Time

“Sooo,” Senga says when they’re settled on his bed, his feet crossed in front of him so that he can gossip like a complete girl, “how was your date with Leader?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Fujigaya rolls his eyes, reaching over to steal one of Senga’s pillows and tucking it between his back and the wall. “And he isn’t leader.”

“All the time you’re spending together must be paying off, because you sound just like him.” Senga laughs when Fujigaya takes a swat at him. “Aw, don’t be a grump, Taipi. It’s good you two are hanging out finally.”

“We don’t have to be joined at the hip,” Fujigaya gives Senga’s leg a last pinch before settling back against his pillow. “Like you and Nika-chan~.” Senga just grins. “And it isn’t like we hated each other before, so I don’t see what everyone’s getting so worked up about.”

“‘Cause it’s hot,” Senga says bluntly, laughing at the way Fujigaya’s face scrunches up in immediate distaste. “Also your faces are the best. And I don’t see what you’re so worked up about cause now you have Tama to squish in between you. I wouldn’t care who’s on the other side if I get to rub up against that.”

Senga hums an “Mmm” to himself, eyes falling half-shut, and Fujigaya yanks his pillow back out to give Senga a couple solid whacks. Not that it makes Senga do anything besides collapse face-first into the mattress, giggling.

“Oh, shut it,” Fujigaya grumbles. “Just because you’ll rub up against anybody.” But he doesn’t protest when Senga rolls over so that his head is pillowed on Fujigaya’s thigh and makes himself comfortable.

“Want to talk about something else?” Senga asks, expression innocent.

“Please.”

“So how’s living with Watta going?” Senga says. “Did you give up and confess yet?”

“No no no,” Fujigaya backpedals right away, “we’re not talking about that either. It isn’t like that and you know it.”

“Only ‘cause you’re being stupid,” Senga informs him. Fujigaya scowls and kicks Senga’s head off of his thigh. Senga just rolls over to sit on his knees and eyes Fujigaya, expression critical. “Come on, he asked you to move in, didn’t he? That totally means something.”

“It means living by yourself is expensive,” Fujigaya counters. “Watta’s got way more sense than to ask somebody to move in together when it all might end up in a big messy breakup.” Fujigaya ruthlessly squashes back down the flicker of hope that Senga’s encouragement kindles in his chest. But Senga knows about people, a corner of his brain reminds him, and Fujigaya squashes that too.

Senga clicks his tongue, like he knows exactly what Fujigaya’s thinking. “He likes you too, I know it! You two would be so good together,” he adds, voice wistful, like they’re a television drama couple that’s paining him. “Plus, I bet he’s totally cute in his apron, right?”

“We’re good together just the way we are,” Fujigaya says. He reaches over to flick Senga’s forehead, making him pout. “Subject change, please.”

Later, though, after they’ve talked themselves out and Fujigaya has persuaded Senga’s well-meaning grandmother that really he will be perfectly safe, even if it’s dark, there’s nothing to keep his thoughts from cycling back to their conversation about Yokoo as he walks home. It’s only been a couple weeks since he moved in to the apartment Yokoo had been renting alone, but he’s already thinking of it as home, he realizes.

The thing about Senga is that, as usual, while he can’t get the right pair of pants without being corrected by at least three of them, he can see right through people. Fujigaya had barely figured himself that it wasn’t just a fleeting crush before Senga was sidling up and asking stupid questions about confessions and sleepovers.

Just because it was so easy for him. Just because Nikaido would follow Senga’s stupid permed head to hell and back after no more than a “Let’s go~.”

It’s not a fleeting crush, Fujigaya knows. He wishes it were, he’s tried ignoring it, letting it be, even indulging it a little, but nothing helps. Instead of fading, the squeezing in his chest, the speeding of his heart gets a little more serious every time he catches eyes accidentally with Yokoo, every time his phone lists Yokoo’s name on a mail.

If he were smart, he thinks as he finally arrives at their apartment building, he would have never agreed to it. But Yokoo needed the help, and it was close to Senga’s place, and maybe his mother had started to hint about whether he truly intended to freeload until she actually needed the live-in care…in the end it was too much temptation, and Yokoo had been obviously relieved, maybe about the company as well as the cost. While Fujigaya is unlocking their door, he remembers Yokoo pressing the key into his hand, his fingers warm and excitement crinkling up his eyes.

“I’m home!” he calls, sure that Yokoo will have waited up despite how late it is, and Fujigaya thinks guiltily that he should have mailed earlier.

“Welcome back,” Yokoo’s voice answers, and when Fujigaya finishes tucking his shoes away and clears the genkan, Yokoo is on the couch, guitar in his lap. He’s not playing it so much as strumming idly, softly enough that it won’t bother any neighbors at this hour. “Glad you made it home safely.” His smile has a trace of relief, as if he’d been thinking about that, and Fujigaya’s heart thuds against his ribs.

“Honestly, between you and Senga’s grandmother,” Fujigaya chides gently, coming over to flop on the couch next to Yokoo. He sits just a little too close, not so close as to cause suspicion but enough to feel Yokoo’s warmth against his side. “She wanted to call me a taxi.”

Yokoo snorts, amused. “Don’t tell Nika-chan that. She thinks he can fend for himself, I guess.”

“I can fend for myself just fine,” Fujigaya informs him. “It’s not that far.”

“Mm, plus you could do with the exercise,” Yokoo says, then laughs outright when Fujigaya turns a glare on him. “Mm, well. Maybe next time I’ll just come along, as your bodyguard. Now that you’re a famous drama actor.” Yokoo picks out some notes of “Firebeat” softly, the acoustic guitar making it strange and pleasant.

“Hm.” Fujigaya lets his head tilt onto Yokoo’s shoulder and his eyes fall shut. He shouldn’t, but Yokoo doesn’t object, and when Fujigaya takes a breath he can smell Yokoo’s shower stuff on his skin, something with oranges in. “Acoustic remix? Maybe we can get you on the OST.”

“Speaking of your drama,” Yokoo switches to the opening notes of “Best Friend,” “how was your date with Kitamitsu?”

“Every single one of you,” Fujigaya grumbles, pushing Yokoo away and standing up to go shower himself.

And if he steals a little of Yokoo’s shower stuff, it’s only because oranges are good for your skin.

---

“Up and at ‘em, tiger,” Yokoo calls in Fujigaya’s room, making him groan. “You’ll be late again. I’m making breakfast, too, and you’re going to enjoy it or else.”

There’s a pause where Fujigaya thinks, despite the way his head is pounding from the late night, that Yokoo is pretty cute in the apron, honestly.

And then a damp towel lands on his head.

“And I told you about leaving your towels on the bathroom floor. Keep your mold to yourself, thanks.”

Fujigaya’s in a marginally better state of mind, thanks to Yokoo’s force-feeding and a can of coffee, by the time he’s at filming that morning, even if it’s rather intensely Kitayama-filled. Fujigaya’s getting used to it, though, sort of. Sometimes he wonders if that was Johnny’s plan all along.

“Rough night, Taisuke?” Kitayama inquires as he plonks himself in the next make-up chair over and roundly ignores whatever the girl starts doing to his hair. “Anything I should’ve been invited to?”

“Was over at Ken-chan’s,” Fujigaya grunts, taking another swallow of coffee.

“Talk about me?” Kitayama wants to know, and Fujigaya rolls his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes. I hope you told him our date night was a success and we’re closer than edamame in a pod now.”

“Why on earth,” Fujigaya scrunches his nose, “would I tell him that?”

“So he’d stop pestering me about bonding with you?” Kitayama suggests. He waves it off right away, though. “Ah, nevermind, it isn’t like you can lie worth a damn. Speaking of that, how are things with Watta?”

There’s a lilt in Kitayama’s voice that Fujigaya chooses to ignore for the sake of peace. Who says they aren’t learning to get along better? “Fine. He made breakfast and then forced me to eat it.”

“That scoundrel,” Kitayama laughs. “How charmingly domestic. Did he wear the apron?”

Too much was too much, though, and Fujigaya shot Kitayama a sideways glare. “Don’t start.” He flicks a glance up to the makeup girl and then back down. “I already warned Ken-chan to drop it.”

“Relax, relax, like I care what you two get up to,” Kitayama says with an ostentatious yawn. His eyes slip shut and Fujigaya gives a little sigh of relief that he can finish getting made up in peace. Then one of Kitayama’s eyes pops back open. “Although if you were busy with your own dates…”

“You going to Johnny-san’s office to tell him that?” Fujigaya inquires, raising an eyebrow. “What was it he said again? ‘YOU should play together more often.’”

“Ah, shachou,” Kitayama sighs like it can’t be helped, and it can’t be, and they lapse into companionable silence.

It’s easier when there’s a group of them on set, always someone to talk to, and the other cast members seems just as puzzled as the two of them about the campaign to make them be long-lost childhood matchy-matchy friends. The work is interesting and busy, and besides, generally Yokoo mails Fujigaya throughout the day.

Fujigaya suspects it’s just to make sure they’re getting on and not murdering each other over blocking (in Fujigaya’s defense, that only happened once, and nobody actually died). His suspicions are confirmed when Yokoo’s mail asks how it’s going and whether or not they’re doing any blocking.

“Mail Watta and tell him how well we’re getting along,” Fujigaya says when Kitayama sidles up. He eyes Kitayama’s water bottle. “Can I have some of that?”

[See, he even just brought me a water.] Fujigaya’s next mail says. He sends it with a satisfied push of his thumb and takes a long pull of water.

[He says you’re indirect kissing] is Yokoo’s response, making Fujigaya nearly spray water all over his phone. When he looks up, Kitayama is hunched over his own phone, snickering to himself, and it’s only because they’ve become such good friends lately that Fujigaya doesn’t dump the rest of the water right over his head.

“He’s been mailing you a lot today,” Kitayama comments much later on, when they’re all starting to get worn out but the end isn’t quite in sight yet.

“Listen,” Fujigaya starts, because he really doesn’t want to get into it, but Kitayama interrupts.

“He misses you, seems like.”

Fujigaya scrutinizes Kitayama’s face for smirk, but finds none. It throws him off-balance. “He’s mailing you too, you said. He’s just bored.”

“Twice.” Kitayama holds up his phone to display just two messages. He reaches over to twist Fujigaya’s wrist up, revealing a list of mails that trail off the bottom of his screen and beyond.

“Well.” Fujigaya tugs his wrist free. “That’s just mails though.” But when he looks up, Kitayama is tapping his phone against his chin thoughtfully.

“Ken-chan’s right about the two of you,” he says.

“Stop it,” Fujigaya says, starting another mail just to keep his hands busy. “I don’t know how to deal with you when you want to be serious.”

“Would it be so bad to try?” Kitayama asks, and when Fujigaya starts to splutter a response, Kitayama shakes his head. “Just think about it, ne.”

Fujigaya does. He can’t stop thinking about it, in fact, thinking about Yokoo mailing him and cleaning up after him and forcing him to eat breakfast. Why does Yokoo put up with him, he wonders to himself, and vows to be a better roommate. He gets himself up and picks up his own towels and even tries to get himself out of bed and be sort of pleasant in the morning.

It lasts for almost a week before Fujigaya falls asleep in the middle of trying to sort his own laundry. His eyelids are heavier than lead, but he doesn’t have any underwear to wear to filming tomorrow, so he keeps going, forcing his eyes back open every time they fall shut. He doesn’t even realize that he’s fallen asleep until Yokoo wakes him up by pulling the laundry basket out of his hands.

“You don’t have to try so hard,” Yokoo tells him when Fujigaya blinks up at him, dazed. Yokoo’s smile is nice, Fujigaya thinks fuzzily, even if it is at his expense.

“Doin’ th’ laundry,” he manages, making a half-hearted grab for the basket, but Yokoo tugs it out of his reach. Fujigaya whines, frustrated and ineloquent from exhaustion. “You do everything, I should do stuff too.”

“It’s fine,” Yokoo assures. He sets down the basket and pulls Fujigaya to his feet, gives him a gentle shove towards his room. Even that makes Fujigaya sway unsteadily. “It isn’t like I didn’t know you when I asked you to move in, huh? Taisuke is fine the way he is normally.”

“Oh,” Fujigaya says, heart skipping, and he almost blurts out something stupid just then before he gets a hold on himself. He puts himself to bed, telling himself that it’s no wonder he’s having heart palpitations when all he ate all day was energy jelly.

After that, Fujigaya’s thoughts turn to confession scenarios. Just thinking about it can’t hurt, right? Some of them are elaborate and full of minute details, involving complicated dates or TakiCHANnel dokkiris. Some of them are sudden and unplanned, Fujigaya imagining Yokoo’s eyes round with surprise when Fujigaya blurts it out in the middle of breakfast or the dressing room or the MC.

In the end, that’s not what happens at all.

“I like you,” Yokoo says. Fujigaya’s got hairpins in his mouth and is holding the flatiron up because he’s only halfway done with his hair, and when he whirls around, Yokoo is leaning in the bathroom doorway, watching him.

“Eh?!” Fujigaya manages around the pins, and then yelps because he’s burnt himself on the flatiron.

“Sorry,” Yokoo says after setting the iron and the pins aside and holding Fujigaya’s fingers under running water in the sink. “I meant to keep it to myself, but then you were gone so much for the drama.”

“You missed me?” Fujigaya asks, face getting warm. Yokoo nods, keeping his eyes down on Fujigaya’s injured fingers.

“Even when I was sure it wouldn’t just fade,” Yokoo continues, voice softer, less sure, “I thought I shouldn’t, because of the group and living together and…”

Fujigaya tugs his hands free and presses them to either side of Yokoo’s face, heedless of the fact that they’re dripping water and his fingers are still throbbing. He tilts Yokoo’s face up until they’re looking at each other properly. “You like me?”

Yokoo nods, once. “I like you.”

“Thank goodness,” Fujigaya throws arms around Yokoo’s chest and squeezes him tightly, burned fingers forgotten. He feels light, like a huge weight he’s been carrying around finally has finally been lifted. “It’s been ages.”

“Taisuke,” Yokoo says, laughing a little, and Fujigaya feels it buzz against his chest. “I knew, you know.”

“Shut up, shut up,” Fujigaya grumbles. They’ll go on talking if he lets go, about all the other stuff, so he goes on clinging tightly for a few more seconds, Yokoo warm and solid against him. “I have to go, so we can’t talk about it now, okay?”

“Okay,” Yokoo agrees. He gives Fujigaya’s waist a squeeze and then lets go.

“Okay.” Fujigaya takes a deep breath and starts to leave the bathroom, still repeating “okay,” mostly to himself. He needs his script and his sunglasses, and he wants to switch to his smaller bag, and—

“Taisuke.” Yokoo’s hand closes on Fujigaya’s wrist to tug him back, and before Fujigaya really thinks about what he’s doing, he’s got his arms wrapped around Yokoo’s neck and their mouths pressed tight together.

And then he isn’t really thinking about anything except how soft and warm Yokoo’s lips are, how he tastes like mint and smells like oranges, how one of his hands is stroking down Fujigaya’s spine and the other is in Fujigaya’s hair, pulling through the strands until Fujigaya is melting against him. Both of them are breathless by the time Fujigaya slides down to put his feet back flat on the floor, Fujigaya sure his cheeks are just as pink as Yokoo’s, although he doubts it’s nearly as pretty.

Yokoo clears his throat. “I just meant, you only did half your hair.”

Fujigaya flushes the whole way down, mortified, but Yokoo just laughs and tells him that’s adorable too before leaning in to steal another kiss, and maybe a third for good measure, and both of them end up being entirely late for work.

---

Things don’t change so much between them, which is both a relief and a frustration to Fujigaya. That’s just Yokoo’s way though, one of the things that Fujigaya loves about him, that he takes his time until he’s satisfied a thing’s been done properly. Fujigaya appreciates it as a balance to his own impatience, so he tries to enjoy the process for what it is while everything feels new and cute.

“Here,” Yokoo materializes with a bottle of tea when Fujigaya is bullying Tamamori into practicing their vocals while they wait for their turn at interviews. That’s been his way lately, to show up with little favors or presents that are small enough they wouldn’t even count for presents if Fujigaya didn’t already know what he was doing. “Don’t let your throat dry out, the heat’s on.”

“Thanks,” Fujigaya tells him, and he’s thinking about kissing Yokoo’s cheek since the rest of their unit has probably figured them out already, before Miyata interrupts by popping up with cups and cheerfully offering to pour for everyone.

“So is it nice?” Nikaido wants to know when he notices what’s going on. “Being kept women. I thought Watta was the girl, with the apron and all, but guess not.”

Tamamori and Fujigaya both give Nikaido unimpressed stares, and Fujigaya suggests that maybe Nikaido’s just mad that he has to pour his own damn tea and doesn’t look half so cute in the apron. Miyata nearly fumbles the tea bottle into Tamamori’s lap as he and Yokoo both crack up laughing at Nikaido’s heated retort that he looks sexier than anybody in an apron, thank you very much.

But it is kind of nice, Fujigaya thinks to himself, sneaking glances over his shoulder as Yokoo tricks Senga and Nikaido into helping him pick up. The attention and the thought behind the gestures, Fujigaya appreciates those sorts of things even as he can’t help but will the situation to hurry up already.

Yokoo likes to take proper care, is the thing, in everything, but especially in the things he thinks are important. Not that Fujigaya doesn’t enjoy being one of Yokoo’s important things, but that also means that it takes longer than he’d like for developments between them. Even then, it probably wouldn’t be that much of a situation if they weren’t so busy wrapping up the drama and doing concerts as well. In the ten minutes a night they’re home before they both collapse, they don’t manage a lot of progress past just the kissing.

“What are you in such a rush for?” Yokoo asks when Fujigaya wants to know if they can’t maybe move things along later at home, that night. “Here, sit down, I’ll do your eyeliner.”

They’re getting ready for the last day of shows this tour, the others pushing each other around and name-calling as usual, Tamamori talking to his reflection and Nikaido asking Senga cutely to poof him, Miyata trying to wake Kitayama up without getting strangled. There’s a kind of crackle in the air that only last shows have, and none of them are paying the slightest bit of attention to either Fujigaya or Yokoo.

“It’s not a rush,” Fujigaya says, trying to come off as reasonable instead of pouty, because Yokoo just thinks that’s adorable and it doesn’t get Fujigaya anywhere in terms of seduction. “It’s an entirely normal rate of speed.”

“We’ll get there when we get there,” Yokoo assures, lifting the pencil to Fujigaya’s eye. “Close, please.”

“You want to get there, right?” Fujigaya asks quietly. “Watta, I want you.” It’s easier to ask with his eyes closed, for some reason, and Fujigaya holds his breath waiting for Yokoo’s answer. Yokoo doesn’t answer right away, the eyeliner pencil gentle and steady against Fujigaya’s eyelids.

“Open,” Yokoo says, and when Fujigaya does, the way Yokoo looks at him is more than answer enough. Yokoo’s eyes are one of the things Fujigaya loves best, dark and deep and full of whatever Yokoo is feeling. Or at least Fujigaya can read them easily enough, and right now they are full of how much Yokoo wants Fujigaya too. It makes Fujigaya’s breath catch at the beauty of it.

Not that a little eyeliner wouldn’t hurt.

“Let me do you,” Fujigaya says, already reaching for the pencil, but he gives Yokoo a smirk and a one-shouldered shrug when Yokoo asks if he’s talking about the eyeliner or what. “Guess you’ll find out tonight~.”

“Tease,” Yokoo accuses, and when he opens his eyes after being done up, Fujigaya’s breath catches for an entirely different reason.

“More like promotional advertising?” Fujigaya offers after a second to pull himself together, and Yokoo laughs, eyes scrunching up cutely. “To celebrate the end of the concerts, hm?”

“We’ll be exhausted, idiot,” Yokoo reminds, but his eyes haven’t left Fujigaya’s face since he got the eyeliner on, and Fujigaya senses imminent victory. “And A.B.C.-Z’s coming second show, you know they’ll have us out until all hours of the night after.”

“We’ll sneak off, just us.” Fujigaya leans in just a little closer, making his eyes wide, trusting the eyeliner to help show just how much he wants Yokoo all to himself. “You can keep me up until all hours of the night without any help from them, I bet.”

“I bet,” Yokoo repeats, and just when Fujigaya thinks Yokoo’s going to back off after all, like usual, he smiles a sharp, heated smile that Fujigaya’s only seen glimpses of before. It’s a promise, and it sends electricity zipping down Fujigaya’s spine and puts a ridiculous grin on his face for the whole first half of the first show that day. He throws himself into the songs with an energy that makes even Senga blink in surprise; he feels like he could run the whole length of the arena a hundred times without even trying.

And then in the middle of the show, everything changes. All of it is a bright-edged blur, Yasui and the envelope, the silence before Nikaido shouts and the crack in Kitayama’s voice, Tamamori’s eyes huge and glassy, the way Miyata’s hand is tight enough to leave marks on his arm and how Senga hugs Fujigaya backstage until they both cry. It’s too much to take in even, too much; later on Fujigaya will watch the news clips replay over and over and wonder how he could have been right there and still have missed so much of it.

“So much for our plans,” Yokoo murmurs to him when they’re toweling off their hair just after the show ends, and Fujigaya stares at him so blankly that Yokoo bursts into laughter. It comes back to Fujigaya a second later, Yokoo’s promise about tonight, and he’d blush furiously if he weren’t already bright pink from exertion.

“Shit, Watta, sorry,” Fujigaya apologizes, but Yokoo’s feelings don’t seem hurt. He wraps Fujigaya up in a tight hug, heat from the stage still pouring off of both of them, and kisses Fujigaya’s cheek without either of them giving a damn whether anybody notices. There’s plenty of other hugging and kissing going on around them anyway.

“You’ve been waiting for this a lot longer than you’ve been waiting for me, after all,” Yokoo says.

“Not so much longer,” Fujigaya admits, squeezing Yokoo back tightly and taking a deep breath of the way Yokoo’s smells, still trying to memorize everything for later.

It’s the longest day Fujigaya has ever lived through, intense and not entirely joyful (Goseki’s face when they caught eyes on stage, without having a chance to talk, is one of the other things Fujigaya will remember with too-sharp clarity), and by the time Yokoo finally does manage to get him home long after three in the morning, Fujigaya feels like he’s been run through a blender.

“Bed,” Yokoo orders, giving Fujigaya a gentle push, but Fujigaya reaches up to grab his arm and won’t let go.

“Your place or mine?” he asks, trying for alluring, but probably the way he’s shaking with the effort of staying upright isn’t entirely sexy.

“You’re going to pass out the moment you’re on your back,” Yokoo tries to point out, but Fujigaya refuses to be dislodged by his gentle tugging.

“It’s not my favorite position anyway,” Fujigaya says. Yokoo starts laughing, then just gives up and lets Fujigaya lead them to Yokoo’s bed.

They both strip off their clothes with concert efficiency, neither of them having the energy to make it into much of a show. Yokoo stops Fujigaya with a hand on his hip, though, when Fujigaya goes for the bed, turns Fujigaya back towards him so that he can have a good look.

“You know, there’s probably no part of each other that we’ve never seen,” he says quietly, not that it stops him looking. Fujigaya feels warm from the attention, knows what Yokoo means.

“But it’s different this way, right?” he asks, and Yokoo nods. Fujigaya lets his eyes wander as well, Yokoo’s long limbs, the strength of his thigh muscles from skating, the sharp edges of his collarbones no matter how much he eats. “Ne, your eyeliner’s still on.”

They showered at the venue, but didn’t make a particular effort about the makeup, and eyeliner is usually the most stubborn. Fujigaya likes it, though, how the dark is smudged so it’s a little softer, but still brings out the way Yokoo’s pupils are wide in the low light.

“Yours too,” Yokoo says, lifting a hand to thumb gently at the corner of Fujigaya’s eye. “It still looks good. You looked really good today.”

“Mm, still do, right?” Fujigaya asks, even though he’s already pleased from the compliment, warmth washing over his skin. Yokoo murmurs a yes, still just looking him over. “Ne, Watta, take me to bed?”

Yokoo was right about the exhaustion hitting as soon as they crawl in bed, but Fujigaya grits his teeth and refuses to give in to it. He sits up and gets a leg over Yokoo’s, pushing himself up until he’s straddling Yokoo’s thighs and can look him over.

“Speaking of looking good,” he says, making Yokoo chuckle as his hands find a hold on Fujigaya’s waist. It’s true though, Yokoo’s dark hair a tangle over his pillow, the way he’s looking up at Fujigaya like he’d be perfectly satisfied even with just this. He wants Yokoo, wants him exactly like this, the sudden spike of it in his chest driving the air out of his lungs, chased by frustration that neither one of them will last nearly long enough to do it properly.

“We’ll get there,” Yokoo assures, like he’s reading Fujigaya’s mind exactly from his expression. He probably is, Fujigaya thinks ruefully, but before he can argue, one of Yokoo’s hands is sliding down to wrap around Fujigaya’s cock. Fujigaya’s retort cuts off in a soft “oh,” Yokoo’s fingers long and warm and steady on him.

He closes his eyes and leans into it, tired enough that it takes a little while for Yokoo to work him hard even though he wants it. He should be doing something too, Fujigaya realizes. He forces one of his hands to uncurl from Yokoo’s side and feels his way down by touch until he brushes against Yokoo’s cock. Yokoo’s only half hard himself, having the same problem, but he hums a low note at the touch of Fujigaya’s fingers.

“We’re a mess,” Fujigaya can’t help but chuckle, opening his eyes just enough to see what he’s doing, even though they’re so heavy it’s a lot of effort.

“Am I worth it?” Yokoo asks. His face is innocent when Fujigaya glances up, but it’s rare enough for Yokoo to ask things like that that Fujigaya knows a real question when he’s being asked one.

“Yeah,” he says, serious and watching Yokoo’s face to make sure he gets it. For a moment, Fujigaya isn’t sure that Yokoo does, before his eyes light up softly. “Ne, Watta.”

“Hm?” Yokoo squeezes Fujigaya’s cock a little more tightly, making Fujigaya rock into his fist with a sigh, but he doesn’t let himself get distracted.

“We’re gonna be stuck together forever now, you know?”

Yokoo falls still at Fujigaya’s words, and Fujigaya isn’t sure at all what made him say them, what made him think of that suddenly. It’s true though, no matter what happens between them, the permanence of debut goes both way. Maybe Johnny’s can’t get married so much, but on the other hand normal people can get divorced.

“Good,” Yokoo says simply, smiling an exhausted, true smile, and relief washes hot through Fujigaya’s body, stings his eyes with tears, and when Yokoo tightens his grip again it pushes Fujigaya over the edge.

“You can’t tell anybody I cried our first time,” Fujigaya says when he’s collapsed on Yokoo’s chest, still sniffling a little.

“Get me off and you’ve got a deal,” Yokoo tells him, making Fujigaya laugh through the last of his tears. Fujigaya gets his hand back on Yokoo, struggling to make his limbs cooperate, sighing relief when Yokoo wraps a hand around his and shows him the way he likes it.

It doesn’t take long, but Fujigaya’s eyes are already threatening to stay shut on each blink by the time Yokoo tenses and comes over their hands. He’s quiet, which is interesting, and Fujigaya vows to himself that next time he’ll make Yokoo make way more noise, that next time he’ll watch the whole thing properly.

The last thing he remembers thinking before he passes out is that Yokoo must be just as exhausted for him to wipe his hands clean on his sheets.

---

Fujigaya slinks into the apartment with a hat jammed down tight over his hair, not even bothering to try and hide his expression of displeasure.

“What’s that about?” Yokoo asks as soon as Fujigaya is in sight. Fujigaya just shakes his head, pressing his lips tight together. “Drama haircut day, right? Let’s see, let’s see.”

Fujigaya just keeps shaking his head, reaching up to pull his hat down tighter. He doesn’t want anyone to see ever, and he’s thinking about not leaving the apartment for the next six months, until he’s presentable again.

“Come on,” Yokoo coaxes, standing up from the couch. “Tama-chan already sent me a picture of his and Hikaru’s, how shocking can it be?”

“Wattaaa,” Fujigaya whines softly when Yokoo covers Fujigaya’s hands with his own, peeling them away from the hat. Fujigaya lets his hands drop to his sides, arms limp. “It’s horrible.”

“Probably, since you’ve got it all tucked up under this…” Yokoo pulls the hat free and blinks a few times. “Ah. Not tucked up at all.”

“I look like a Fresh Jr.!” Fujigaya wails, reaching up to finger the dark, short strands, too short to puff up hardly at all. “I can’t be on television like this!” Fujigaya widens his eyes as he has a sudden realization. “And the debut, I’m going to look like this for our entire debut! And on the album and all the promotions and…”

“All right, calm down,” Yokoo interrupts, dropping the hat on the coffee table. “Don’t hyperventilate. It’s just hair, you’ll debut all the same with it or without it.”

“Nobody warned me that without it was an option!” Fujigaya snaps, but he lapses into a sad pout when Yokoo reaches up to cover his hands and stop him yanking at it. “What am I even supposed to do with this? How am I supposed to be in a hot sexy band in a drama when I look like this! To say nothing of the hot sexy band I’m supposed to be in in real life!”

“You get so bent out of shape,” Yokoo tsks, but his voice stays low and soothing. “You’re totally excited for this drama, right? You haven’t shut up about it for days, I can’t believe you’d let a little thing like your silly drama haircut spoil it.”

“A little thing,” Fujigaya snorts softly. “Be honest, it’s awful, right?”

“It’s in shock, like you,” Yokoo assures, burying fingers in Fujigaya’s hair and scrunching it, making Fujigaya’s eyes flutter half-shut. “It’ll relax. I think it’s hot. I like it.”

“You do not,” Fujigaya accuses, but it cuts off when Yokoo trails fingers down to Fujigaya’s suddenly bare neck.

“Mm, I can get at all kinds of good stuff now.” Yokoo leans in to brush lips over the shell of Fujigaya’s ear, breath warm and making him shiver. “Think they’ll care if we throw in a couple piercings?”

“Quit trying to distract me, I’m upset,” Fujigaya protests, but he’s already lost. Yokoo’s fingers are still working in his hair, the touch entirely different now that the strands aren’t long enough to tangle around them, even the feel of the air on his scalp strange. “That feels seriously weird.”

“Yeah,” Yokoo agrees, and Fujigaya realizes it must feel different to him too, not just shorter but smoother, undamaged by styling that close to his head. “I like it,” he repeats, and because Fujigaya’s eyes are nearly shut from the attention, he doesn’t realize how close Yokoo is leaning in until his mouth closes over Fujigaya’s. “Mm, I can’t wait until they get the eyeliner on you.”

Fujigaya lets Yokoo distract him without any further struggle, melting against him as Yokoo urges his mouth open with brushes of his tongue across Fujigaya’s lips, using the grip he has on Fujigaya’s new hair to tug him into a better angle. Yokoo feels more intent than usual, more possessive and with more urgency as licks his way into Fujigaya’s mouth, and distantly Fujigaya thinks that Yokoo really must like it after all.

“Bed,” Yokoo orders when he pulls away enough to speak, and Fujigaya laughs through his daze because it’s usually him making those sorts of demands.

“It’s the middle of the day,” he points out, not that he’s not putting up any sort of resistance as Yokoo pushes him down the hallway with purpose.

“Good, then I’ll get to see you properly,” is Yokoo’s retort. It flashes heat lightening through Fujigaya’s body, and he can’t get out of his shirt fast enough.

“Slow down, slow down!” Yokoo orders, covering Fujigaya’s hands to still them when Fujigaya reaches to yank open the catch of his jeans. “You rush through everything good, idiot.”

“You’re the one who wanted to see,” Fujigaya grumbles, impatient as always, but he lets Yokoo push his hands away and do what he likes.

“The way you do it, I’d need a stop-motion camera to see anything,” Yokoo chides, getting a cute laugh out of Fujigaya. His hands are steady and warm as they undo just the button and slide around just under Fujigaya’s waistband for a few seconds, making Fujigaya shiver. “There now, just as good, right? Better.”

“Better,” Fujigaya agrees, letting his head fall back on a sigh as Yokoo slides his fingers just a little deeper into Fujigaya’s jeans. With the zipper still up it’s a tight fit, but the drag of Yokoo’s fingers, still separated from his skin by his underwear but so warm, makes Fujigaya’s hands clench. It is good, but Fujigaya wants more, so much more. “Please, Watta?”

“All right,” Yokoo surrenders to Fujigaya’s demands as usual. Fujigaya gives a malcontent grumble when Yokoo pulls his hands back to the front to lower his zipper and pushes Fujigaya’s jeans and underwear mostly out of the way. “Spoiled.”

“Because you love me,” Fujigaya is happy to remind, wrapping arms around Yokoo’s neck for balance as he kicks his jeans the rest of the way off. Then he frowns. “Hey, why are you still wearing all this stuff?”

Eventually Yokoo is stripped to Fujigaya’s satisfaction and pushed down onto his bed. They end up in their usual position, Fujigaya straddling Yokoo and rocking down against him, never getting enough of how Yokoo looks spread out underneath him and pushes up against him.

“You know, there are other positions,” Yokoo comments, not that he sounds like he’s intending to start any revolutions down there. “People are going to start wondering about how practiced your accent dance looks.”

“The internet’s already busy talking about Ken-chan’s,” Fujigaya says dismissively, making Yokoo burst into laughter, and that looks pretty good too. “Besides, I don’t see you making any sudden moves down there.”

To Fujigaya’s surprise, Yokoo rises to the challenge this time, sitting up and spreading his legs so that Fujigaya falls onto his butt between them. He gets them rolled over so that it’s Fujigaya who is spread out on his back, Yokoo cradled between his thighs and looking Fujigaya over with satisfaction.

“I’m seeing why you like this so much,” Yokoo says, reaching down to tug on Fujigaya’s new hair. Fujigaya’s mouth pinches—he’d almost forgot about the haircut—but Yokoo goes on stroking his scalp until Fujigaya’s expression relaxes. “I really do like it. It’ll grow on you, you’ll see.”

“I’d like nothing better,” Fujigaya says, purposely contrary. Yokoo rolls his eyes and leans down to silence Fujigaya’s complaints with a kiss.

It’s the first time they’ve done it like this, which is funny since they’ve tried a couple other more ambitious things. Fujigaya sees the appeal in being able to relax against the pillows and letting Yokoo do all the work, only bothering to push down occasionally into a particularly good touch while Yokoo works him open. Yokoo’s face is definitely worth watching, the way heat and want and concern all flicker over his face as he focuses on taking care as usual.

“Because I’m one of Watta’s important things, right?” Fujigaya asks, making Yokoo blink at the interruption to his concentration. Fujigaya laughs at the cuteness of his confusion, already knowing the answer.

“The most important thing,” Yokoo answers when he catches on, and Fujigaya shivers from head to toe because even if he knows, it’s always good to hear it too. “Ready?”

“So ready,” Fujigaya says, sighing at the loss of Yokoo’s fingers but already reaching for him, wanting to feel Yokoo all along his body as well as inside. Yokoo pushes inside, steady and hot, refusing to be rushed however cutely Fujigaya pleads, but he stretches out over Fujigaya’s body as soon as he can, plainly wanting the same thing just as much.

“Oh, I like this one,” Yokoo murmurs when Fujigaya’s arms are tight around his neck, pulling Yokoo into a clinging hug. Fujigaya feels like he’s on fire everyplace their skin touches, from his chest to his belly to his thighs where they’re already curling around Yokoo’s, begging for more. Yokoo turns his head to kiss Fujigaya fiercely, elbows braced on either side of Fujigaya’s chest, muffling all of Fujigaya’s breathless, desperate noises.

Fujigaya has hardly any control in this position, which is probably why it’s taken them so long to get to it, and it’s only because it’s Yokoo that he can accept that and relax into it. Once he does, it’s even better, better yet when Yokoo pulls his hips up to change his angle, making Fujigaya gasp his name. He can trust Yokoo to do what he needs, Fujigaya knows, but the actual act of doing it, of being entirely in Yokoo’s hands, gives everything an extra edge of electricity that Fujigaya hasn’t felt with anyone else, not like this.

He’s getting close already, Fujigaya realizes; he wants to touch himself, but they’re pressed together too tightly to make it easy and he doesn’t want to let go of Yokoo’s shoulders anyway. He wants Yokoo to stay exactly where he is, kissing and nipping at Fujigaya’s throat with his hands buried tight in Fujigaya’s hair, but that means all he can do is rub his cock against Yokoo’s stomach, which isn’t nearly enough. He growls in frustration.

“Hmm,” Yokoo lifts his head as he feels Fujigaya squirm underneath, eyes dark with heat and amusement. “Like this, you have to tell me what you want, huh? Instead of just taking it.”

He’s right, Fujigaya realizes, an even darker flush creeping over his skin at how pleased Yokoo looks about that. And it isn’t like he never talks during sex, but this is different, having to beg Yokoo for what he wants when he’s entirely at Yokoo’s mercy.

“You don’t have to,” Yokoo says after waiting a moment to give Fujigaya a chance. He slows his hips into a steady, deep pulse, so good and not nearly enough, making Fujigaya burn without bringing him anywhere near release. “Because I could definitely do it like this for as long as you wanted. You feel so good inside, Taisuke…”

Fujigaya groans, knowing Yokoo can do it and that he will too, until he gets what he wants. He can feel every inch of Yokoo as he thrusts inside and pulls back out, Fujigaya’s body tightening trying to hold him where he is.

“Please?” Yokoo asks, mouth close enough to Fujigaya’s ear to lick at the shell of it with a flicker of his tongue. “I want to hear your voice.”

“Wataru,” Fujigaya whines, not even sure if he can manage to talk at this point. He can hardly focus on anything except how hard he is, how badly he wants to get off with Yokoo deep and hard inside of him.

“Tell me,” Yokoo orders, scraping the sharp edge of his teeth along Fujigaya’s jaw, licking the sting of it away along with the salt of Fujigaya’s skin. “Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me,” Fujigaya finally gasps, desperation finally winning over embarrassment, both of them flooding his body with heat, and it’s already practically too much before Yokoo obeys, balancing on one elbow to work a hand between them. He just holds Fujigaya though, stroking a little at Fujigaya’s tip with his thumb, waiting.

“Yeah?” he says, obviously meaning for Fujigaya to continue, and Fujigaya gives a wail of frustration.

“Tighter, jack me off,” Fujigaya orders, digging fingers into Yokoo’s strong shoulders as if it’ll help him hold on to his senses the same way. He realizes Yokoo’s hips have nearly stopped moving. “Don’t stop fucking me, come on.”

Yokoo forces him to keep talking, stopping anything that Fujigaya isn’t asking for directly and nearly driving Fujigaya to distraction trying to beg for everything at once.

“Please,” Fujigaya says desperately when he feels like he’s about to go out of his skin with it. Yokoo’s never made him wait nearly so long and he can’t take any more.

“Tell me,” Yokoo says, not so much a command, more like he’s asking for something he really wants himself, but Fujigaya’s long past the point of working out what the hell is going on in Yokoo’s head.

“Make me come, please,” Fujigaya pleads, breath ragged, and then his next breath is a sob as Yokoo strokes him off and thrusts in just the right spot, orgasm rushing over him like lightning and leaving him totally spent.

When he peels his eyes open, Yokoo is staring down at him with wide eyes, like he’s just seen the most amazing thing, and Fujigaya would laugh if he could just get some air into his lungs. Yokoo’s still hard inside him, he realizes when he shifts.

“You come too,” he says, and he’s not sure if they’re still playing the same game, but Yokoo obeys anyway, taking all of three and a half thrusts before he arches his back and comes with a soft groan. Fujigaya feels the shudder of it all along his own body like a sympathetic aftershock.

He hopes he looked even half that good, he thinks when he leans up just enough to press his mouth against Yokoo’s. The glazed look of Yokoo’s eyes when he finally gets them back open says that he doesn’t have any complaints.

When Fujigaya starts to shift uncomfortably, Yokoo pulls out, but they stay in a close tangle for a while longer. Yokoo runs his fingers through Fujigaya’s hair over and over and Fujigaya doesn’t stop him, shivering whenever Yokoo’s fingers drift down to his bare neck. That’ll take the longest to get used to, he thinks.

“You’re totally thinking about washing these sheets, aren’t you?” Fujigaya asks after a little while, and Yokoo laughs and admits that he is, before countering by asking if Fujigaya is lying there thinking about checking mails on his phone.

After they’ve cleaned up a little in the shower, Fujigaya is examining himself in his bedroom mirror when he hears the click of a camera, and whirls to find Yokoo holding his phone up.

“Watta!” he screeches. Yokoo just grins at the screen of his phone with satisfaction. “I don’t have shirt on! Hey, who are you sending that to?!”

“Mm, no one,” Yokoo says, but hardly a second later his phone chirps that he maybe has a mail. “Leader wants to know if you’re free for a date tonight? Seems like he likes your new haircut too~.”

“They aren’t dates! He isn’t leader!” Fujigaya wails, barely keeping from stomping his foot like a child. “Watta!”

Yokoo just laughs and comes over to pull Fujigaya close, hugging him from behind and wrapping arms around Fujigaya’s waist, warm and strong. “I guess I can spare you for an evening. Just don’t get all long-lost childhood matchy-matchy friends with him. You’re mine.”

Fujigaya swallows his complaints and just grunts an “Okay,” mollified by the press of Yokoo’s lips against the back of his neck, by the brush of Yokoo’s breath against his skin.

“Hey,” Yokoo asks, sniffing Fujigaya’s hair more intently, making him squirm, “why do you smell like oranges?”

• 

  By Anonymous, 2012.01.09 @ 11:09 am

  I came as Hirosuke fan, but I really liked Yokoo/Taipi pairing in your fic. A lot.
  Thank you.
• 

  By ri, 2012.08.28 @ 6:41 pm

  oh this is my favorite. i already told you this but whatever, i have actually been wanting a fic where taipi moves in with watta, and HERE IT IS. \:D/ the internet is magic, clearly. but i loved all of the fujikita trollery and fujisenga as girlfriends and nikaido calling them KEPT WOMEN LMFAO, though most of all the progression of their relationship, how watta confesses first and taipi goes to kiss him when watta just wants to tell him his hair is retarded but then they don’t have time and mess around while half asleep and just EVERYTHING OKAY. the porn was so hot and the ending came full circle and yes.

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