Mousapelli’s Fanfiction » Kis-My-Ft2, Shotgun

Kis-My-Ft2, Shotgun

Title: Shotgun [Miyata/Tamamori/Kitayama]
Authors: diamondsjack and mousapelli
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for inter-unit bathroom sharing.
Summary: Kitayama borrows Tamamori’s bath, and Miyata lets him borrow quite a bit more than that, so long as he can play too.
AN: the insolent kouhai had a lot of demands along the lines of Tamamori/Miyata/Kitayama, and DJ and I switched off writing when we got sick of it XD Also I hope DJ is okay with this title I just picked without consulting her.

Shotgun

The bath is drawn and waiting, but Miyata doesn’t feel like moving. Tamamori’s bed is a nice place after all, and Tamamori in his thin yukata is just as warm as Miyata knows the bathwater would be, and gentler. Tamamori’s hand rests lightly at Miyata’s nape, his long fingers curling every now and again just enough to make Miyata hum in contentment. Having already had a shower at the concert venue, Miyata figures he doesn’t really need a bath as well, not really…

His lazy battle with his own will to move is put on hold when someone knocks twice on their door, coming through uninvited. Miyata cracks an eye open to see Kitayama poke his head into their steam-filled bathroom for a second, then back around at the pair of them sprawled on Tamamori’s bed in disparate states of dress. Miyata still has his street clothes on.

“If you didn’t jack off in the water, Tama-chan,” Kitayama says, “I’m borrowing your bath. Taipi called shotgun on ours and he takes hours.”

Tamamori makes a vague noise of assent, and Miyata closes his eyes again as Kitayama disappears, the bathroom door clicking shut. They’re Kisumai. These things happen.

It takes a few minutes of listening to the water slurping down the drain through the wall though, before Miyata’s brain ticks over. “Did you get off in there?” he asks Tamamori, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. “Is that why you’re so relaxed now?”

Tamamori’s derisive noise tells Miyata he’s being ridiculous. “Why would I do that when I could just have you get me off instead?”

“Point, I guess,” Miyata chuckles, “though this bath isn’t as big as back home.”

“Still…” Tamamori tightens his fingers lazily in Miyata’s hair, and Miyata crawls up for a kiss in the same languid manner. Soft and familiar, Tamamori’s lips taste the same as always, but his skin smells like hotel soap and Miyata indulges in the scent. A little lavender-mint, a little different.

Tamamori’s kiss is a little different as well and Miyata wonders about that, pulling away after a minute despite Tamamori’s quiet whine. “Tell me what you’re thinking?” he says, and can’t help grinning when Tamamori flushes slightly.

It’s not true embarrassment though, judging by the half-hidden smile that’s all in his eyes. “Dark hair really suits him.”

“…your leader kink,” Miyata starts, but says nothing more when Tamamori just kisses him harder instead of apologising.

But then Tamamori slides away from him again some minutes later, humming, “Well~, he’s hot, right?”

It takes Miyata a moment to register the subject of that phrase.

“Kitamitsu…?” he squints a bit. “Well… obviously.”

Tamamori’s smile is sly, and Miyata is smacked in the head with a realisation. “Oh.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Tamamori says, barely a breath against Miyata’s cheek, and Miyata thinks helplessly that (fact aside that he has never been able to refuse Tamamori anything) it should not be legal for questions to be asked in such a manner.

“Well,” he admits slowly, “he is hot…”

Then Tamamori grins, and Miyata’s complaints melt away.

It’s twenty minutes later when the bathroom door clicks open and Miyata starts in surprise, having almost forgotten about Kitayama entirely. He’s reminded solidly enough though when Tamamori pauses, eyes flickering from Kitayama’s dark, tousled hair down to his toned arms, and Kitayama looks right back at Tamamori with perhaps a little more than casual curiosity.

Tamamori turns back to Miyata, stretched out underneath him, and tilts his head to ask if Miyata’s going to change his mind. He strokes his fingers against Miyata’s side a little, and even through the fabric of his T-shirt, Miyata can feel heat and want in Tamamori’s touch, making him shiver.

He gives Tamamori a little nod and nudges him with a shoulder, then leans up to go back to nibbling on the sharp curve of Tamamori’s collarbone, just where Tamamori’s yukata is baring his skin.

“Ne, Kitamitsu,” Tamamori says, and without opening his eyes Miyata can feel Tamamori stretch to look over his shoulder again, can taste the way Tamamori’s breath hitches. “If you stay, you might see something interesting.”

“If I stay?” Kitayama’s voice is low and amused. “Is that an invitation? What about…”

“You said Taipi would be a while, right?” Tamamori coaxes.

“That’s not what I was going to ask about.”

Miyata nips at Tamamori’s skin more sharply, drawing a soft Oh from Tamamori, because Tamamori obviously knows what Kitayama is going to ask, and Miyata doesn’t care much for Tamamori’s evasion. Sharing is one thing, being ignored quite another.

“Miyacchi doesn’t mind,” Tamamori answers, brushing a hand through Miyata’s hair in apology. “We agreed the dark hair is hot on you.”

“You two aren’t normal,” Kitayama says, but it’s with the air of a bandmate for whom that isn’t exactly news. Laughter makes Tamamori’s skin hum under Miyata’s mouth, and Miyata hums back in return.

Everything apparently settled, Tamamori turns back to kissing Miyata more seriously, using his hand in Miyata’s hair to force him away from Tamamori’s collarbone and back up to his mouth.

“Dark hair is hot on you too,” Tamamori murmurs against Miyata’s mouth, low enough that probably only he can hear it. He slides his hands under Miyata’s T-shirt, rucking it up so that his palms are bare and hot against Miyata’s skin. Tamamori’s yukata is tangled between them, so Miyata can only get to Tamamori’s skin in teasing patches. He grazes fingers over the ones he can reach, the soft skin on the back of his neck and the narrow patch over his sternum.

When he can’t take the tease of it anymore, Miyata rolls them over so Tamamori falls flat on his back, the suddenness of it making Tamamori grunt in surprise. Miyata covers Tamamori’s mouth with his own again immediately, hands fumbling blindly at the knot tying his yukata together so that he can get to more of Tamamori’s skin.

“A little help?” Miyata growls when he hears a chuckle over his shoulder, but Kitayama just laughs harder. Finally the knot comes undone, and Miyata drags his palm over Tamamori’s chest, from throat to naval. Tamamori gasps into his mouth, fingers digging into the skin of Miyata’s sides.

He can hear Kitayama shifting behind him, and Miyata runs his hand down Tamamori again, slower, fingers searching out all of the places he knows will make Tamamori squirm and press against him. He breaks the kiss so that he can hear Tamamori making the small, soft noises that raise the hair on the back of Miyata’s neck.

And even though he’s told Tamamori that he doesn’t mind about Kitayama, and he doesn’t, not really, it still eases the knot in his chest that he knows Tamamori best of all, from head to chest to hip to toe. Miyata splays his fingers low and light across Tamamori’s stomach, thumbing the spot just under his navel, and smiles as Tamamori arches under his hand. He likes knowing (and showing) that Tamamori is all his…

And it must be written clear on face too, because Kitayama laughs.

“That isn’t how you make someone jealous, Miyacchi,” he chides from the end of their bed, smiling, and extends a hand. “Tamamori. Come here.”

Tamamori goes without hesitation, kissing Miyata’s shoulder as he scrambles by to kneel beside Kitayama. Miyata can’t help a small frown. “I wasn’t- I mean, I didn’t mean…”

What he probably means to say is that he hadn’t been trying to make Kitayama jealous, since it’s not as if he wants to compete for Tamamori’s attention, but he forgets all about that when Kitayama brushes Tamamori’s bangs aside and sucks Tamamori’s lower lip into his mouth so gently that Tamamori melts against him. Miyata can’t help but stare.

Tamamori’s cheeks are flushed as he straddles Kitayama’s lap, hands sliding up Kitayama’s chest, and Miyata could watch a million times the graceful way Tamamori’s head tips back as Kitayama slowly works his way down Tamamori’s neck.

And maybe it’s jealousy after all, but the way Kitayama makes Tamamori whimper when he finds the good spot in the hollow of Tamamori’s throat spikes something hot and dark through Miyata’s chest. It’s a different kind of burn than watching Nikaido and Tamamori was, or Tamamori with his legs over Junta’s shoulders and Junta’s tongue inside him, but still there.

Despite usually having Tamamori all to himself, Miyata decides there are some things a guy could be forgiven for never wanting to share. He sits up, getting comfortable against the pillows since he’s apparently going to be a spectator, but Kitayama opens his eyes enough to look Miyata’s way. He pulls his mouth away from Tamamori’s skin, a slick, pink spot left behind, and Tamamori whines.

“Tell me what he likes,” Kitayama says, and when Tamamori opens his mouth, Kitayama immediately shushes him. “I’m not asking you, I’m asking him.”

“He…” Miyata blinks as Tamamori shuts his mouth with a snap, then looks at Kitayama’s hands instead. “Put your hands on his waist. He’s sensitive around the bottom of his ribs and on his sides where his waistband sits. You can get both of them at once that way.”

“Hmm…” Kitayama hums as he slides his hands where Miyata tells him, searching out the spots himself. Tamamori’s breath hitches at first, then comes out in a shaky moan when Kitayama digs his fingers in deeper. “Like that?”

“Uh-huh.” Tamamori sinks a little deeper into Kitayama’s lap and wraps arms around his neck to keep his balance. “Ah, Mitsu…”

“Tell me something else,” Kitayama orders casually. “Something only you know. I told you to hush,” he scolds Tamamori, who is wriggling in his lap with impatience. Tamamori lets out another little whine, and Kitayama eyes him. “Spoiled much? No wonder you can’t last five minutes. Sit still until I tell you to move.”

Tamamori goes immediately still, his head ducked a little, and Miyata marvels at how Tamamori does what Kitayama says. It’s no secret that Miyata loves Tamamori telling him what to do, but as it turns out maybe Tamamori doesn’t mind a little submission either. Perhaps leader kink just works that way, Miyata thinks, and then again maybe Tamamori does get his way a little too often.

“Well?” Kitayama prompts.

“His piercings,” Miyata decides, after a moment’s deliberation about which secret he’s willing to give away. “Not all of them,” Miyata clarifies when Kitayama starts to roll his eyes. “The middle one, that’s the one that’s really sensitive, if you get just that one.”

It takes some negotiating, as Miyata knows and Kitayama finds out, to get just the one piercing when Tamamori’s are so close together. He knows that Kitayama’s figured it out when Tamamori’s fingers scrabble suddenly at Kitayama’s shoulders, his knees digging deeper into the bed.

Miyata has to swallow his laughter as Tamamori struggles to hold himself still like Kitayama ordered him, and his breaths turn shallow and quick after only a few moments. But the amusement fades quickly under a rush of heat as Miyata rememebers what it’s like to taste the metal of Tamamori’s piercings against his skin, to have Tamomori squirming in his lap just like that.

Eventually satisfied, Kitayama pulls away and looks up. His hands trail absently down Tamamori’s thighs as he surveys his handiwork. Tamamori’s eyes are dark and heavy, full of want, and the way he’s determinedly trying not to grind a little (or a lot) makes Kitayama smile. “And here I thought I wasn’t up to your standards.”

Tamamori doesn’t look too embarrassed, though his ears do go a little more pink as he glances at Miyata. “Have you been saying things again?”

Miyata takes a moment to respond, but when he does it’s with a lop-sided grin. “Well, Tama-chan likes me best…”

“Doesn’t he just,” Kitayama says. He gives Tamamori a little push, then smirks harder when Tamamori doesn’t go anywhere. “Now you can move. Go on.”

Tamamori slides off Kitayama’s lap to reach for Miyata instead, crawling up into his lap like he belongs there, and Miyata kisses him fiercely. He wraps one arm tight around Tamamori’s waist and lifts his other hand to stroke the sensitive spot between Tamamori’s shoulder blades. Tamamori gets his hands in Miyata’s hair in return, tugging on the strands and rubbing his scalp until Miyata’s dizzy with the pleasure of it.

“Miyata.”

The way Miyata starts a little seems to amuse Kitayama. “Hm?”

“Do you two ever actually make it out of your clothes?”

Miyata looks down at himself and Tamamori and realizes that he’s still wearing all of his clothes, and that Tamamori’s still mostly wrapped in his yukata, although it is untied and hanging off his shoulders. Tamamori sure looks more worth taking advantage of, with his pink cheeks and swollen lips, Miyata thinks, and a glance to the side shows that Kitayama plainly agrees. “Well-”

“Once in a while,” Tamamori answers Kitayama’s question with a chuckle, and he winks when Miyata scowls at him. He scowls harder when Tamamori slides off his lap so that Miyata can rectify the situation.

“Don’t worry.” Kitayama gives Miyata a sharp smile as he wraps an arm around Tamamori’s neck to pull him back against his own chest. “I can keep him busy for a couple minutes while you take care of that.”

Miyata slides off the bed to yank off his T-shirt and jeans as quickly as possible, trying to do it without taking his eyes off of Tamamori and Kitayama. Kitayama is stroking fingers over Tamamori’s throat as Tamamori leans his head back to kiss Kitayama again, making needy noises. Kitayama doesn’t seem to mind Tamamori making noise this time.

Miyata just stares as he climbs back onto the bed, the flickers of tongue and Tamamori’s sounds making the heat rise in his chest. A spectator again, he wonders vaguely just who’s sharing with whom, but then Kitayama pulls back for a second to give Miyata a knowing smirk. Tamamori leans back all wanton, clearly chasing the feel of Kitayama’s lips, and Miyata decides he’s had enough. With a growl, he tugs Kitayama’s arm away enough to go for Tamamori’s throat, shivering when Tamamori grabs at him to yank him even closer. Paying particular attention to Tamamori’s sensitive spot, Miyata brings Tamamori’s little noises to a steady whine repeating Miyata’s name.

“Hm?” Miyata asks, teasing now that he’s satisfied Tamamori isn’t thinking about Kitayama anymore. Because it’s definitely satisfying, and so is the way Tamamori switches from ‘Miyacchi’ to ‘Toshiya‘ like he knows it’ll get him more of what he wants.

“Mm~ Ken-chan did always say that you two were hot,” Kitayama says, amused with the observation. “And to think Taipi and I laughed at him.”

Miyata pulls his mouth away from Tamamori’s skin to ask, “You were talking about us?”

“Hmm, well,” Kitayama leans in a little closer to flick his tongue against Tamamori’s middle piercing, and Tamamori’s fingers dig deeper into Miyata’s skin, “Taipi and Ken-chan do like to talk.”

Tamamori’s grin and his low-lidded gaze send heat racing through Miyata’s veins. “Miyacchi likes to watch.”

“I wouldn’t mind watching a little myself,” Kitayama says, withdrawing his arm from around Tamamori and sitting back. “So get going already, if you’ve got something worth seeing.”

Tamamori doesn’t hesitate. He pulls away from both Kitayama and Miyata’s grip, although he has to shake off Miyata a little, and leans over the edge of the bed to dig around in his bag. When he’s got what he needs, he sits back against the pillows and gets comfortable.

“Fuck, hot,” Miyata murmurs as Tamamori spreads his knees, his yukata spread out underneath him and hiding exactly nothing. Tamamori just smiles at them as he pops the cap of of the lube and rolls some of it between his fingers to warm it up.

Tamamori’s eyes flutter as he slides one, then two fingers into himself, and it’s definitely as good as Miyata remembers from when he was drunk, if not better. Miyata tries to hold himself back so he can go on watching, but his resolve starts to crumble as soon as Tamamori starts rocking his hips up against his hand.

He goes to crawl over, unable to keep his hands to himself a second longer, but Kitayama stops him with a whisper in his ear and a hand on his cock.

“Imagine yourself inside him,” he says, tightening his grip around Miyata, and Miyata can’t stop a groan. Tamamori’s laughter is low and breathless, and Miyata pushes up into Kitayama’s grip at the sound of it.

“I’m ready,” Tamamori announces, pulling his fingers out of himself. It’s too soon for it to really be true, Miyata is sure, but Tamamori doesn’t seem to be any better at not being touched than Miyata is at not touching him.

But again, Kitayama’s hand stays them both. “So which of us do you want?” he asks, glancing down at himself and then over at Miyata, and the torn look on Tamamori’s face makes him chuckle. “Unfortunately you’re not actually a girl, so you can’t have both at the same time.”

“You don’t think so?” Tamamori asks, uncertainty replaced with a knowing smirk as he sits up to crawl closer to them. “And here I thought you knew everything, Kitamitsu. If you need lessons, I could always ask B.A.D. next time they’re in town.”

Kitayama’s eyes narrow at the mention of B.A.D.

“Not everyone spends their time in inter-unit orgies, Yuuta,” Miyata scolds, reaching over to flick Tamamori’s forehead, but his eyes are dark and his fingers linger against Tamamori’s skin.

Tamamori shrugs. “It’s their loss.”

“But you haven’t done that, have you?” Kitayama asks. His tone is suddenly sharper, and Miyata wonders if Kitayama cares what Tamamori’s been up to, or whether it’s more the idea of Tamamori doing it outside their unit that’s gotten under his skin. Sure enough, when Tamamori shakes his head, Kitayama’s lazy drawl returns. “I think that might be a little much, then. Got another suggestion?”

“Not really,” Tamamori says slowly. He nudges at Miyata’s shoulder with his own. “Miyacchi doesn’t like it the other way, and I want to be in the middle!”

“Spoiled,” Kitayama accuses again. He reaches over to flick Tamamori’s forehead too, but it’s a real flick, instead of Miyata’s fake one, and Tamamori winces and pouts. “So you want me, then?”

Tamamori bites his lip and shoots an uncertain glance at Miyata. Although he’s glad Tamamori is still asking for reassurance, Miyata purses his lips and gives an exaggerated shrug, asking this is what you wanted, isn’t it? “Yeah,” Tamamori answers finally. His hand finds Miyata’s on the bed, and he laces their fingers together.

“Then I’ve got an idea. You,” Kitayama points at Miyata, “on your back, and you,” he eyes Tamamori, “on your hands and knees.”

Kitayama maneuvers them so that Tamamori is leaning over Miyata, knees spread on either side of Miyata’s thighs, and Miyata’s legs spread just enough for Kitayama to kneel between them. Pushing Tamamori’s yukata up past his waist, Kitayama slides fingers into Tamamori to check just how much he rushed, and Tamamori squeezes his eyes shut and pushes back against Kitayama’s hand.

“Mmm,” he hums, then opens his eyes just enough to look at Miyata, smiling indulgently when he finds Miyata watching him as usual. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” Miyata echoes. He puts his hands on Tamamori’s hips to help Kitayama hold him still. “Feel good? Strong hands, right?”

“Yeah,” Tamamori agrees, giving a low moan as Kitayama changes angles. Tamamori leans down on his elbows enough to rub his nose against Miyata’s. “You’re the best.”

“We’re Kisumai,” Miyata shrugs, but he brushes his lips against Tamamori’s all the same. “It can’t be helped.”

Tamamori’s breath catches suddenly, and even though Miyata can’t see clearly, he can certainly hear Kitayama tearing open a condom packet and then the wet sounds of Kitayama rolling it on himself and slicking himself up.

He doesn’t ask if Tamamori’s ready, not that he needs to since Tamamori is already pushing back against him as soon as Kitayama grabs Tamamori’s hips. Miyata can’t tear his eyes from Tamamori’s face as Kitayama pushes inside, Tamamori’s mouth a perfect o of breathless pleasure. Kitayama starts to move and Tamamori with him, and underneath Miyata slides his hands up to cup Tamamori’s face.

“Yuuta,” Miyata says, “Yuuta, look at me.”

Slowly, Tamamori does, and his eyes are so dark as he blinks down at Miyata that it steals Miyata’s breath away too, and that’s before the lazy smile curls Tamamori’s mouth.

“Toshiya,” Tamamori murmurs, and that’s all he gets out before Miyata is yanking his head down to kiss him fiercely, swallowing Tamamori’s moans.

Tamamori’s knees are spread wide enough on either side of Miyata that their cocks brush together if Miyata rocks his hips up, and dizzily he realizes that that’s what Kitayama had been planning when he told them where to put themselves. Miyata works a hand in between them to wrap around their cocks, squeezing them together, and it’s almost too good already. Miyata lets Kitayama’s thrusts do the work, fucking Tamamori into the circle of Miyata’s fist and against Miyata’s cock, and the kiss turns rough and messy as both of them gasp for air.

“Toshiyaaa,” Tamamori gasps, low and urgent and beautiful. He won’t last much longer, Miyata knows, and he opens his mouth to warn Kitayama. His warning is cut off by Tamamori crushing their mouths together, and he whimpers and arches against Tamamori harder when Tamamori accidentally bites down on Miyata’s lower lip. “Don’t stop,” Tamamori begs between kisses, then raises his voice to demand, “Harder, Mitsu, ha-aah!”

The pitch of Tamamori’s moans rises as Kitayama obliges him, and Miyata groans along with him when Tamamori spills hot over Miyata’s hand and stomach. His elbows wobble, but Kitayama and Miyata are both holding him up.

Kitayama’s rhythm slows. “Should I…”

“Keep going,” Miyata answers, shivering at the quiet, breathy gasps Tamamori is giving near his ear. When Kitayama resumes his speed, Tamamori’s softening cock slips from Miyata’s grip, but his hand is slick with Tamamori’s release and his cock is caught tight between their stomachs. It’s more than enough to push him towards the edge, and even if it weren’t, the way Tamamori is beaming down at him from underneath heavy eyelids would almost be enough on its own.

“Mm,” Tamamori is murmuring, burying his face against Miyata’s neck so that Miyata can feel the words humming against his skin. “S’good, Tosh’ya, so good,” and it’s the way he slurs Miyata’s name that does it. Miyata comes with a loud groan that he doesn’t even try to muffle, clinging tightly to Tamamori with the hand that isn’t wrapped around his cock.

“No point in holding back then, is there?” Miyata dimly hears Kitayama say, and then Tamamori’s chin is digging into Miyata’s shoulder with the force of Kitayama’s thrusts.

Miyata leans around Tamamori’s shoulder to see, and the sight of Kitayama is everything Tamamori promised it would be. Kitayama’s face is flushed, head thrown back, his fingers tight on Tamamori’s hips. He’s quieter when he comes, but the noises he does make are enough to send aftershocks shivering up Miyata’s spine.

They collapse in a heap once Kitayama pulls out, no longer holding Tamamori up. He tosses away the condom before stretching himself out on the bed and casually wiping his hand off on the yukata still bunched up over Tamamori’s waist. Tamamori gives a half-hearted grumble.

Kitayama snorts. “Like you were going anywhere in that.”

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is their breathing as they all come down. Tamamori starts to get heavy, but Miyata likes the familiar weight of it, and only rolls them a bit to the side so that Tamamori is more properly in between Miyata and Kitayama.

“Going to borrow your bath again,” Kitayama murmurs when the motion jostles him a bit. “Later.”

“Don’t tell me Taipi still wouldn’t be done?” Tamamori mutters, just as lazy.

“Tama-chan,” Kitayama tells him, “when you’re involved, things don’t last half as long as when he is. And,” Kitayama adds with a raised eyebrow to make sure that Tamamori gets his drift, “that doesn’t just go for bathwater.”

Tamamori snorts softly. “Guess we’ve got time for round two then,” he says, despite showing no current inclination to move.

Miyata makes a vague noise of protest, Kitayama barely grunting a reply.

They do go again, though, in a bit. This time Tamamori’s on his back, Miyata fucking him slow and deep, while Kitayama sits back against the headboard. He’s got one hand tight in Tamamori’s hair, forcing Tamamori’s head enough to the side to suck Kitayama’s cock past his lips, Kitayama’s hand guiding him up and down in a slow bob. The angle is a touch awkward, but Tamamori sneaks glances at Miyata, moaning around Kitayama when Miyata shifts to change the angle.

“He’s gonna leave marks,” Kitayama comments, nodding towards the tight grip Tamamori has on Miyata’s hips. It takes a second for Miyata to process the words, and when he does he thinks he’s glad that there’s still a few things about them Senga hasn’t told everyone with ears.

But then Tamamori pulls his mouth free to laugh. “Don’t worry, Leader,” he says, nonchalant. “Miyacchi likes that sort of thing.”

And in the face of Kitayama’s laughter, Miyata reminds himself that Kisumai is just one of those units.

“Oi, shouldn’t your mouth be busy up there,” he grumbles, not that he can work up much grumpiness when Tamamori is hot and tight around him, and Tamamori just digs his fingers into Miyata’s hips harder as he lets Kitayama guide his mouth back. Kitayama and Miyata give identical groans.

Tamamori gets the last laugh anyway when he manages to hold out longer than both Miyata and Kitayama this round. Only by a couple seconds, since Miyata reaches for Tamamori’s cock to push him over the edge just as his own orgasm crashes over him. But, Tamamori says as he licks Kitayama’s taste off his lips and wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, winning is winning after all.

“Spoiled,” Kitayama sighs again as Tamamori crawls up to flop on the pillows next to him, dragging Miyata along. Kitayama’s next breath ends in a snore.

A little while later, Miyata is dozing, his breath slow and even against Tamamori’s shoulder. The room is quiet, dark, and Kitayama’s still mostly asleep but Tamamori’s whisper by his cheek filters through his consciousness. “Ne, Kitamitsu…”

“Mn?” He doesn’t bother opening his eyes.

“Next time, bring Taipi.”

Neither of them are inclined to apologize when Kitayama’s bark of laughter jerks Miyata out of his hard-earned forty winks.