KAT-TUN, Better Than

Title: Better Than [Kame/Ueda]
Rating/Warnings: R for bandmate sleepovers.
Summary: Kame is caught off-guard by Ueda. Ueda doesn’t mind being caught.
AN: Written for swtjemz‘s 1-hour porn challenge, based on the new KAT-TUN pv, Lips.

Everyone else’s fics: anamuan | goldengutgirl | imwahyou | iverin | jackoweskla | swtjemz | shatteredinu | soucieux | spurious | tokyostory | wintersjuly | yamapea

Better Than

Kame isn’t sure exactly when Ueda became prettier than Angelina Jolie on her best airbrushed day, but it hits him over the head all at once after the filming of the PV.

Everyone else has already gone, Nakamaru taking Junno out for dinner, Koki heading out to the clubs with his little pet junior, and Jin running off to do things to his roommate in his costume that Kame would rather not know about.

But Ueda is still hanging around, working on something with his guitar. He’s still in his costume as well, which looks comfortable enough. Actually it looks like better than comfortable, since the material is hanging loose off Ueda’s frame and slipping down one shoulder, wide V of the collar baring an increasingly large, smooth, pale expanse of skin.

Something about it, maybe it’s the framing of the shirt, maybe it’s the surprise of stumbling over the sight as Kame comes around the corner, hits Kame over the head like a two-by-four.

“Kazuya?” Ueda asks, looking up, and Kame coughs, caught. He must have made a noise, and given the way the corner of Ueda’s mouth is twitching, it must have been embarrassing.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Kame catches himself stumbling like a trainee, and scowls. “You look really good. It caught me by surprise.”

“Ah.” Ueda’s mouth curls a little more like a smile, and he rubs his fingers over the strings of the guitar so that they give metallic whispers. “A compliment, Kazu-chan? You haven’t said something like that to me since you were trying to edge me out as Leader.”

“You didn’t even want to be Leader.” Kame comes to sit beside Ueda on the amp he’s sitting on, and it strikes him suddenly, as everything apparently is doing today, that it’s progress worth noting that he can tell when Ueda is teasing. “I didn’t compliment you, I told you that you looked better without the costume.”

“That’s not a compliment?” Ueda strums a chord, modulates it like a question mark.

“It was Shounen Club.” Kame rolls his eyes, but he’s starting to smile too, just a little. He must be tired. “Everybody looked better without the costume.”

They sit for a bit, Ueda going back to his guitar. Kame is content to listen. He should go home, get a good night’s sleep. He won’t be thanking himself after a few more days of his shooting schedule.

Instead he leans over and kisses Ueda’s cheek, startling him into fumbling a chord. He had planned on laughing at Ueda’s face when Ueda turns wide eyes on him, but instead the dark of his eyes makes Kame’s breath catch, the puzzled bow of his mouth making Kame lean back in for another quick kiss, one that isn’t so coy.

“You look really good,” he says again, voice low, bringing up his hands to graze his palms over Ueda’s cheekbones, holding him still for another, better-angled kiss. This one is slower, Kame taking his time since Ueda isn’t objecting.

When he pulls back, Ueda looks amused, and Ueda looks Kame over from head to foot.

Mostly, Ueda looks really, really good.

“Your place?” he asks, standing up and pushing the guitar around to rest against his back. He holds out a hand. “Or mine?”

“Mine,” Kame says, selfish, but he has filming in the morning, and Ueda doesn’t seem to mind. Ueda is looking at Kame’s hand as Kame takes Ueda’s offer to help him to his feet, and the little smile has crept to the other side of his mouth.

He doesn’t ask what Ueda’s looking at; Ueda will tell him in his own time if he’s patient, if Ueda’s in the mood to. He could pry, but he’d rather take Ueda home.

It’s late; they call a cab, and Kame rolls his eyes again when Ueda doesn’t make a move to pay, but he doesn’t mind. Just like he doesn’t mind having to wait to get in the door to touch Ueda again. Ueda isn’t like Jin or Koki, he doesn’t just fall into your arms, clothes already half-off, any time or place the mood strikes.

But Kame likes that about Ueda, likes the way Ueda only kisses in places where there’s no rush, touches Kame like it’s something worth waiting for. Kame likes the way Ueda calls him ‘Kazuya,’ no nicknames or cutesy honorifics, once they get to Kame’s bed.

Kame likes the way Tatsuya feels rolling over his tongue as they curl up in Kame’s sheets, all slick syllables and sibilance, better than anything except how Ueda’s collarbone feels rolling over Kame’s tongue when the shirt slips off Ueda’s shoulder entirely.

“You’re Leader, aren’t you?” Ueda shrugs with the bare shoulder when Kame asks with a brush of his hand over Ueda’s bare hip which way he wants to do this.

That’s not really an answer. But the way Ueda rolls Kame over to straddle his waist is one. Kame doesn’t object, because Ueda’s still got the shirt on, and it’s still slipping off his shoulders, and he’s still prettier than Angelina Jolie in the most airbrushed centerfold in Jin’s collection.

And it only gets better as Ueda tips his head back, baring his throat, hair spreading over Kame’s pillows. Ueda skims graceful fingers over Kame’s chest as Kame rocks into him, fingertips rough from the metal strings of his guitar, voice sweet from vocal lessons, legs curling back easily from dance practice when Kame pushes.

Ueda isn’t much for cuddling afterwards, but that’s fine by Kame. He cleans both of them up with the towel he leaves by his bed for sleepovers, then stretches out beside Ueda on his stomach. Ueda’s watching him with low-lidded eyes, reclined against Kame’s pillows.

To Kame’s surprise, when Kame is still, Ueda reaches over and takes Kame’s hand, pulls it over to rest on his chest. Kame rolls onto his side, both to watch and to give Ueda as much access as he wants, shivering a little as Ueda strokes the back of his hand lightly, the touch almost ticklish.

“The nail polish,” Ueda explains, working a hand under Kame’s to make his fingers splay for Ueda’s perusal, and Kame connects the dots from this conversation to the one in the studio. “It looks good.”

“Should let Nakamaru do them more often,” Kame says, curling his other arm under his head and flexing his fingers against Ueda’s just to feel the graze of skin.

“I should let Jin pick my shirts more often,” Ueda replies, and for some reason that makes Kame chuckle as he drifts off, relaxing into the soft scuff of Ueda’s fingertips over the inside of his palm.