Kis-My-Ft2, Won’t Stop Until I’m Dizzy

Title: Won’t Stop Until I’m Dizzy [Kitayama/Miyata]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for Miyata being very cooperative.
Summary: Miyata’s always had kind of a crush on Kitayama, but who doesn’t?
AN: For snowqueenofhoth because I promised I’d do all the Miyata rarepairs. Thanks to shimizumiki and peroxidepest17 for looking it over. Title from ABC’s song “Crush.”

Won’t Stop Until I’m Dizzy

“I just think we need to take this more seriously,” Kitayama says, and he is serious, no trace of his usual cutesy stage grin.

Fujigaya bristles like a pinecone, because who are you to even say that, but Ft2 exchanges a series of looks, realization and a touch of guilt showing. Maybe they’ve had a sense of having plenty of time, and why not, with Senga barely sixteen and Miyata hardly within spitting distance of twenty.

But maybe, Miyata thinks, looking from Fujigaya to Yokoo to Kitayama, maybe that’s a bit selfish. Maybe there isn’t that much time at all.

“I’m not saying it’s anybody’s fault,” Kitayama continues (everybody looks at Tamamori anyway), “but I’m here to debut. Anybody who isn’t, I think we ought to know right now.”

“Of course we’re—” Fujigaya cuts off, shocked, when Yokoo interrupts to say maybe they should all think about that on their own overnight. “Watta!”

“Pressure won’t help,” Yokoo points out, and Kitayama agrees. Each person has to be honest with himself, for the sake of the group, and with that he sends them on their way, with plans to meet before practice the next morning to discuss it properly.

Miyata does think about it, hard, but maybe not for the same reasons as the others. He really does want to debut, and he’d like to do it with Kis-My-Ft2 as it is, but truthfully it’s hard not to wonder if he’s really holding them back. His skating’s all right, his dancing and singing are at a point where he can’t tell if even serious work will make them good enough, and barring all of that, there’s the problem of his face.

He wants to ask for advice from someone, but most people have the opposite problem in Johnny’s, and he can’t think of anybody whose number he has that could be helpful. He doesn’t even have the number of most of the other members, and maybe that’s a worry too, with them.

The next day, he shows up even earlier than they agreed, still not sure what he’ll say. Kitayama’s already there, flipping through a magazine instead of napping, and Miyata wonders if he’s nervous too. He’d be crazy not to be, probably, given the state of them.

“Kitayama-kun?” Miyata asks, setting his bag down on the floor. “Can…can I ask you something?”

Kitayama raises an eyebrow, but says sure, and shrugs a shoulder towards the empty space beside him on the couch. Miyata perches on the edge of it awkwardly, fiddling with the frayed edges of a hole in his jeans.

Several moments pass while Miyata tries to get the words together to say what he wants to say. Finally Kitayama asks, “Is it that you want out?”

“No,” Miyata says immediately, and a flicker of something passes through Kitayama’s eyes, but Miyata can’t read it. “It’s…do you think it would be better if I did? For the group, I mean.”

Kitayama doesn’t deny it out of hand, and Miyata appreciates the honesty of that. Instead Kitayama looks him over thoughtfully, and when he does answer, Miyata knows he’s thought about it properly.

“You’re just good enough, is the problem,” is what he says. “I don’t know if you can be good enough in the end, but I don’t know that you can’t either. I do know that you’ll work hard, harder than most of us would, and I think right now that’s more important.”

“What about the…” Miyata trails off and makes a vague hand motion that encompasses all of him, from boots to nose. “I didn’t change that much during any of my other growth spurts, so I think I might be stuck like this.”

“What I think is…” Kitayama leans back and looks at the ceiling. “I think there are different kinds of idols, right? And you’ve been trying to be the same kind as Takizawa or Yamashita or Fujigaya, like everybody does. But you aren’t ever going to be, so you should stop it.”

“Oh,” Miyata says. He knew that, kind of, but it’s not pleasant to hear it so bluntly.

“You’re not really like anybody,” Kitayama continues, “so you’ll have to figure it out yourself, I guess. But I think it’ll be interesting, the kind of idol you turn out to be.”

“Interesting,” Miyata echoes. Like how people tell him he’s ‘got a nice personality.’ Then he just asks, “Do you think I should stay?”

“This isn’t about what I—” Kitayama starts, but Miyata interrupts.

“I just want your opinion,” he says.

“Well,” Kitayama says after a beat, “you aren’t the first person I’d get rid of.”

For Miyata, it’s enough.

Not long after, the others show up, and Kitayama calls the unofficial meeting to order. Fujigaya seems to have set aside his irritation and Yokoo looks more decided, Nikaido speaks for both himself and Senga, and even Tamamori looks energetic about it, for the moment. A little thrill runs through Miyata when he realizes they’ve all agreed, whatever it takes.

“We’ve had different goals up until now,” Kitayama summarizes while they look from one to another, each to each. “But from now on, we’ve only got one goal, so we can focus our whole vision on it. Let’s keep our eye on it and start running right now.”

“Geez, a sports metaphor,” Fujigaya grumbles; Kitayama says with a bit of steel that Fujigaya’s welcome to start calling him captain.

It’s tough, once they get serious, because there’s no way of telling how long the road is, but easier to keep going too, now that they’re all looking in the same direction, now that they’re running side by side. No one wants to be left behind, after all, and it’s that thought that keeps Miyata working, hardest of all when he isn’t sure he’s going to come through in the end.

He does, usually. The choreographers and vocal coaches take notice of it first, others more slowly, but Miyata isn’t thinking of them so much. It’s Kitayama’s words he thinks on most often.

He wants to be able to show Kitayama what kind of idol he is, when he figures it out.


The magazines always want to know who in the group is closest, which Miyata is always amused by since they aren’t terribly close, as a group. He has all their numbers now, but some of them are still only in case of scheduling emergency.

“You make it sound like we hate each other,” Yokoo scolds Fujigaya after he’s had to step in to fix Fujigaya and Nikaido’s blunt words in yet another interview. “And you,” he rounds on Nikaido, “can’t you try to remember you’re speaking for the group when you open your mouth?”

“Geez,” Nikaido sulks. “I just said Senga was the only one of you weirdoes I’d let in my bedroom.”

“I’ve been in your bedroom, Nika-chan,” Miyata puts in, just to nettle, and Nikaido grumbles that this is exactly what he was talking about. Tamamori raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and Senga looks like he’s trying to swallow a pout.

“Why do they have to make it like we all rub up against each other?” Fujigaya complains, making Senga comment that maybe it’s because they do. “Why isn’t it fine that it’s just work? Isn’t it better that we have good working relationships?”

“Because that’s definitely what girls like to read about in idol magazines,” Kitayama would undoubtedly be rolling his eyes if they weren’t closed, “how I respect you as a co-worker in an entirely platonic and professional way.”

“I’m about to kick your ass in an entirely platonic and professional way,” Fujigaya growls, but when he takes a step forward to make good on his threat, Yokoo grabs a handful of his T-shirt to push him back.

“Just cool it, hey?” Yokoo says, meeting Fujigaya’s glare until Fujigaya looks away with a huffed sigh. “You went shopping with Senga last week, you couldn’t have said that? Or that you call me to double-check schedules all the time? Miyata’s carrying all the weight for you idiots with his love confessions for Tama.”

“Yeah, about that,” Tamamori tries to speak up, but nobody pays any attention to him. He turns to Miyata instead. “Can’t you stop that?”

“Nope.” Miyata gives Tamamori a showy grin. “Want to go on a ramen date after this?” Tamamori holds out against the temptation of ramen for about three seconds before he says fine and goes to fix his hair again. Miyata sits where he is, content to wait and watch the rest of the argument wind down.

His eyes fall on Kitayama, arms crossed over his chest and looking as if he’s tuning them all out, but he isn’t. Miyata knows that Kitayama is listening, the corner of his mouth giving an occasional twitch, following the exchange. They don’t often need him to step in, but he’s done it before, and Miyata thinks that kind of leadership is best for Kisumai, the kind where they sort most things out themselves.

“Okay, fine, maybe I ought to know better,” Fujigaya admits when he runs out of steam, “but I’m telling you, Duet is always out to get me.”

“Fine, fine,” Yokoo seems content with that much, already busy tidying up. He offers Miyata a smile of thanks when Miyata goes over to help him pick up after their less mature members.

Tamamori is still fussing with his reflection when they’re finished, so Miyata pushes Kitayama’s feet up to settle on the end of the couch, and doesn’t mind so much when they fall back in his lap.

“And how about you?” Kitayama asks, voice low with half-sleep. “Do you respect me in an entirely platonic and professional way?”

“Not so much,” Miyata says, then laughs when one of Kitayama’s eyes pops open, and asks if Kitayama wants to come on their ramen date too.


He goes out with Tamamori most often, so Miyata can see how the fans get the ideas they have (which it amuses him to encourage). Miyata doesn’t like to eat alone and Tamamori is easy to bend to his will, which is mostly how they got to be friends in the first place.

Recently Kitayama’s been out with them regularly as well, one of the benefits of his free time now that he’s managed to finish university at last. Miyata’s always pleased to have him along, among other things because Kitayama can manage to have a conversation with more than just his noodles.

“I can’t help it,” Tamamori grumbles when they tease him, cheeks pinks and already annoyed by the latest batch of magazines include more than one comment on the subject. “Blame my mother, she’s been doing it since before I was born!”

“I do understand that,” Kitayama admits. “Since there’s just my mother, it’s even worse. We’re exactly alike.”

“Kitamama must be really cool then,” Miyata says, and Tamamori’s eyebrow says he’s hardly subtle.

“She is, she is,” Kitayama laughs. “But you have a mother complex too, right? So Miyamama must be cool too.”

“Well…” Miyata trails off and they all laugh, but the curl of warmth in his stomach at Kitayama’s compliment doesn’t fade for the rest of the meal.

Kitayama gets a call near the end of dinner to go out with some college friends, so he leaves them after taking care of the check like a good senpai, despite Miyata’s protests that he’s totally not the senpai in the group. Tamamori tells him not to argue so much.

“And besides,” Tamamori adds as they’re sauntering back to the station, enjoying the warmth of late spring, “when are you gonna stop inviting me along on your dates?”

“What?” Miyata blinks, thinking oh shit. “I’m actually inviting him along on our dates, Tama-chan.”

“Gross,” Tamamori says, voice flat. “You know you aren’t subtle, right? You want him, seriously.”

Miyata looks away. “It’s not like that. It’s just a crush.”

Because who doesn’t have a crush on Kitayama? Showing up all grown-up at the last second when the rest of them have seen all each other’s secrets for years, eyes dark and body strong from sports, voice smoother without a single vocal lesson than most juniors can manage after years of lessons. And once the tan faded and his soccer haircut grew out long enough to fall in his eyes, it really was hardly a wonder that fangirls switched over to screaming for him fast enough to make your head spin.

They’d have it even worse for him if they could see the intelligence and hard work underneath, like Miyata does, how serious he is about Kisumai and how he manages all these things at once without it seeming like he’s doing anything at all.

“No,” Tamamori says, drawing Miyata’s attention back to him, “a crush is like ‘I thought he was hot during Summary‘ or ‘we fooled around since we had the same Dream Boys hotel room.’ Crushes are short, Miyacchi. You’ve been on about Kitamitsu for, like, ever.”

“I didn’t realize there was an expiry date on that sort of thing,” Miyata tries to turn it into a joke, but it falls flat, and Tamamori for once is undistracted.

“Just go for it already,” Tamamori orders. “It’s annoying to watch.”

“Why?” Miyata asks, more snap in his voice than usual. “Because it’s so gross?”

“Because you could be happier,” Tamamori says, unexpected enough that Miyata stops walking, and then has to jog a couple steps to keep up with Tamamori’s longer legs. His heart squeezes a little, because sometimes he forgets that their friendship isn’t entirely something he forced on Tamamori.

“I am happy, though,” he protests. “Things are good this way.” It comes out quiet and wistful, though, and Tamamori smiles, a small, real smile that says he can see right through Miyata.

“That’s why I said, happier,” Tamamori repeats. “Miyacchi’s too nice to everyone, so he should get what he wants too, sometimes.” For a moment, they’re both silent, until Tamamori adds, “Geez, stop looking at me like that, the papa photos will look like we’re on a hot date.”

“Thanks, Tama-chan,” Miyata says, ignoring that last part because he doesn’t care so much if that happens. “You’re a really good friend, sometimes.”

“Hmph.” Tamamori strolls ahead, satisfied. “All the time. So you better do what I say.”

“Got it.”


The thing Miyata likes most about Kitayama, truth be told, is that sometimes they talk seriously about Kis-My-Ft2. It seems like the sort of thing that Kitayama should actually do with Fujigaya, or Yokoo, and maybe they do for all Miyata knows. Sometimes Kitayama gets frustrated, like they all do, but he’s better at keeping it under his game face, rather than sending it out across all the airwaves in Japan so that even aliens can probably read it, like Fujigaya does.

Miyata gets frustrated too, with himself more that the group usually, but the feelings are the same, and it makes him feel better to be able to let them out to somebody. Kitayama can’t do anything for him, can’t make him learn the new song any faster or fix his bruises from the fucking ramps, but then again it’s not like Miyata can speed up the gears that turn inside Johnny’s for Kitayama either.

“Do you think I shouldn’t have said that?” Miyata frets after the Yokohama press conference during their first tour. Kitayama doesn’t have to ask what he’s talking about; the media’s been repeating his words about wanting a CD this year, even if the words aren’t properly credited to him.

“They asked you what you wanted, and you answered honestly,” Kitayama says, and Miyata wonders if he’s just reassuring him since he can’t exactly take it back anyway. But then Kitayama smiles a little, wistful, and Miyata understands a little better. “Miyacchi’s honesty is something I like about him.”

“Next time you should say what you want too,” Miyata counsels, and then they both laugh at the terribleness of the advice. It’s better when somebody understands, after all, even if there’s nothing they can do.

The conversations are a little more frequent now that Kitayama can take Miyata out drinking properly. The way Kitayama gets so serious sometimes when he’s drunk is pretty cute anyway, Miyata privately thinks, now that he’s occasionally a witness to it.

“Sometimes I just think,” Kitayama says, tilting his glass to watch the light glint off of it, “how could we possibly have all ended up together? Out of everybody in the world?”

“Like NEWS,” Miyata chuckles, a tiny bit drunk. Enough that he isn’t bothering to hide the way he only has eyes for Kitayama’s pink cheeks and dark eyes.

“But with less idiocy,” Kitayama says, lacking the Yamashita-senpai reverence most of them have because of his late start. “But that each of us could take care of one part of the concerts, to have it fit perfectly…sometimes I think about Iida-kun, you know?”

Miyata nods. He does sometimes, too, mostly when he sees Yokoo stare at nothing in a particular way, or when they do a certain skate trick.

“But then,” Kitayama goes on, “I don’t know what space he would even fit in. Because there aren’t any gaps, with the seven of us. How does that even work out?”

“I don’t know,” Miyata admits, chest warm with sake and agreement, “it’s a mystery.”

“Mmm.” Kitayama throws back the rest of his drink and sets his glass down on the table with a thunk, then leans over to poke Miyata in the cheek. “Like your face~.”

“My face?” Miyata asks, heat spreading across his cheeks, radiating out from the point where Kitayama’s fingertip is pressing into his skin.

“Miyacchi’s miracle shots are Kisumai’s biggest mystery.” Kitayama nods, expression firm, then lets his hand fall away. “So you weren’t stuck that way after all.”

“You remember that?” Miyata’s thought about that conversation a lot in the intervening years, but he hadn’t thought it had held any particular significance for Kitayama. He’s surprised when Kitayama nods, knowing exactly what he’s talking about despite the alcohol.

“Because I’m still waiting,” he clarifies, “to see the kind of idol you turn out to be.”

“Ehh.” Miyata squirms a little under the weight of Kitayama’s low-lidded gaze, but a rush of pleasure is working its way over his skin as well. “So…I’m still not the first one you’d get rid of?”

“Not hardly,” Kitayama snorts, eyes sparking mischief, “since we need the M. The F on the other hand…or the 2, we didn’t need one of those in the tour title or anything, so…”

Miyata laughs and protests that they even need Nikaido, then laughs harder when Kitayama joins in, until his stomach aches with it. They stumble out into the night, still snickering and leaning against each other a little, and Miyata feels warm and buzzed from head to toe, Kitayama’s arm tight around his back for balance as they weave their way to the train station.


“What?” Miyata asks, caught entirely off-guard.

“It’s because you’ve started to act more like yourself on stage,” Kitayama repeats, “that you’ve got more fans. Like I said, why shouldn’t they like you? I do.”

“Like me? You do?” Miyata echoes, and wonders if maybe Tamamori’s flail is contagious.

“Yup,” Kitayama answers, easy as that. “I like you the most, actually.”

Kitayama’s posture says they’re having a casual conversation, but Miyata doesn’t think so, somehow. “Is…is this a confession?”

“Hm, not particularly?” Kitayama says, thoughtful. “Those are my feelings. But you don’t have to answer them. It’s fine for you just to know.”

“What if I want to answer them?” Miyata blurts before he can stop himself. And then his mouth rattles on without his permission, “It’s just that, I’ve always…but, I didn’t think…you like girls.”

“Well enough.” Kitayama reaches up to scratch the back of his head. “But girls aren’t terribly convenient…”

Miyata has to laugh, because isn’t that just Kitayama all over, and it makes enough of the tension fall away for him to give Kitayama a shy smile. “Then I’ll accept your feelings, if it’s okay this way. If you don’t mind that I’m kind of useless and otaku and all.”

“It’ll be a nice change from all those gravure models,” Kitayama assures, and then surprises Miyata by tugging him in for a first kiss that’s warm and soft and somehow really familiar already.


It takes a little while to actually sink in that Kitayama really does like him, the same way as he’s liked Kitayama for ages and ages. Mostly because Miyata doesn’t really get it.

“It’s just that things don’t seem very different from before,” Miyata says while they’re stretching, and they don’t. It’s been a couple weeks since Kitayama’s surprise confession, and they’ve gone out for food a couple times and drinking once, but aside from the couple of kisses Kitayama’s stolen behind costume racks, things are the same as they’ve ever been.

“Is that a problem?” Kitayama asks. He looks like he’s stretching out his back, face down on the floor, but Miyata would bet a thousand yen he’s got his eyes closed.

“Not exactly.” Miyata likes the way things are between them. And it’s not like he was expecting KAT-TUN-style pyrotechnics or anything. But if it’s all the same, then what’s the point?

“Aha,” Kitayama straightens up, a knowing grin curling the edge of his mouth. “Got it. Want to come home with me, then?”

They pick up takeout on the way home and eat at the Kitayamas’ kotatsu, and when Kitayama’s mother comes home from work even later than them, she joins them.

“Uwa, you really are just alike,” Miyata can’t help but marvel as Kitayama-san proves she can eat just as much as her son, both of them finished with their beers but too lazy to get up for another one. She laughs and tells Miyata that he’s welcome over any time, especially after he makes the dozen-yard trip to the refrigerator for both of them.

She knows, she must know, and finally Miyata breaks down and asks if Kitayama told her or what. His expression is mildly accusatory when Kitayama protests that he did no such thing.

“He can’t really hide anything from me,” Kitayama-san says, smug as she reaches over to ruffle her son’s hair. Kitayama grunts and tries to duck away, but not that hard. “Besides, he doesn’t complain when I bring home boyfriends, so it’s only fair.”

Miyata laughs at Kitayama’s pained expression, then laughs harder when Kitayama and his mother arm-wrestle for the last dumpling.

“It explains why you always win, all the practice,” he says, when Kitayama’s finally dragged him away from charming his mother and pushed him down on his bed. Miyata’s stretched out underneath him, comfortable against the blankets and with Kitayama’s weight pressing him down into them. “Ne, Kitamitsu, I like you.”

“Eh?” Kitayama, obviously about to lay into Miyata a little about downstairs, stops short. “What’s that about?”

Miyata shrugs. Just something about the way Kitayama looks down at him and feels against him, strong and warm and hard in all the right places. Kitayama harrumphs at him, but he looks pleased too, and reaches up to run a hand through Miyata’s hair, tugging just hard enough to make Miyata’s eyes slit.

“Well. Me too, then.” Kitayama hums when Miyata slides one hand under his T-shirt and rubs fingers along the bumps of his spine. “You done this before?”

“With a guy? It’s been a while.” Miyata lets his eyes fall the whole way shut and leans into Kitayama’s touch, strong fingers rubbing circles against his scalp. “You? Although I don’t know where you’d have the time to fit them in amongst those gravure models.”

“I manage well enough.” Kitayama’s hand stills until Miyata opens his eyes to look, and when he does Kitayama’s grin is warm and mischievous, like he’s sharing a secret. “Soccer players have better legs anyway.”

“Aha,” Miyata says, like that explains everything, and then he interrupts their banter by tugging Kitayama’s shirt over his head. It makes Miyata gasp quietly when Kitayama’s skin slides bare against his own, and Miyata strokes hands down his sides and brushes kisses against his shoulder and throat until Kitayama’s gasping too.

“How do you like it best?” Kitayama asks, curiosity under the lowness of his voice, and Miyata is charmed by how even talking about these sorts of things isn’t awkward between them.

“With you,” he answers honestly. This is definitely already better than most of the ones that came before, and so is the way Kitayama’s eyes darken and his fingers grip Miyata just that much tighter at his words.

He crushes their mouths together without waiting for Miyata to explain himself any further, and Miyata is certainly okay with that. He wraps arms around Kitayama’s neck and pulls him down tight against his chest. He’s assuming Kitayama plans to top and he’s okay with that too, since it’s how most of his fantasies go when he’s touching himself.

Well, a lot of his fantasies.

Maybe 60/40.

“What are you grinning for?” Kitayama growls against his mouth, obviously able to feel the grin in their kiss, which only makes Miyata do it harder. “If you’re gonna be like that…”

And then to Miyata’s surprise, Kitayama rolls them over so that Miyata’s straddling him. His surprise only lasts until Kitayama makes himself good and comfortable against his pillow, though, and then looks up at Miyata expectantly.

“I should have known.” Miyata rolls his eyes, but even as he’s talking he’s rocking their hips together, slow but steady, both of them hard behind their jeans. “Too much to ask for you to do the work even the first time? Because I’ve definitely been thinking about Kitamitsu on top.”

“Mmm,” Kitayama’s eyes flutter lower and he pushes up into Miyata’s hips more seriously. “So it’s like that?”

“It could be like that.” Miyata’s cheeks are a little pink from talking like that, but Kitayama certainly seems to like it, his grip tight on Miyata’s thighs and his gaze sharp, so that’s fine.

“How about a compromise, then?” Kitayama suggests. Miyata tilts his head. “I’ll top, if you stay on top.”

Heat washes fierce through Miyata when he gets it, hot enough that he chokes on his words for a second, but then he can’t agree fast enough, and a second later they’re both shoving at their jeans, impatient for what comes next.

Kitayama doesn’t change their positions at all, to Miyata’s surprise, except to sit up against his headboard so that when Miyata settles back in his lap, he can lean up to kiss Miyata at the same time he’s reaching around to drag slick fingers up the cleft of his ass.

It has been a while, but Miyata says it’s fine every time Kitayama asks, bracing one hand on the wall and dropping the other between them to squeeze their cocks together. Kitayama feels hot and hard and perfect, and it helps keep him interested as well when Kitayama starts working the second finger in, however carefully. He focuses instead on how good it’s going to feel when it’s not Kitayama’s fingers, and Kitayama murmurs the same things in between brushing kisses over his cheek, how he’s going to be deep, so deep, inside Miyata, how Miyata feels perfect even just around his fingers, it’s going to feel just that good, even better.

And it is, when Miyata sinks down on Kitayama, thighs shaking from trying to do it slowly, but Kitayama’s hands are strong under his thighs, not letting him go any faster than he can take.

“I’ve got you,” he assures, and Miyata wraps arms tight around Kitayama’s neck and trusts him at his word, moaning softly from the sting and the heat of it. “Okay?” he asks when Miyata settles the whole way down.

It takes a long second for Miyata to do anything besides just breathe; Kitayama’s not as long as him, but thick, and the stretch is more than any amount of fingers could open him up the whole way for. Still, it’s Kitayama, and Miyata wants him, has wanted him forever, and even this is good, so good. Better than he imagined, with Kitayama stroking thumbs low across his ribcage and asking if he’s fine between kisses to Miyata’s collar bones.

“Uh-huh,” he finally breathes. “Mitsu…”

“Move when you’re ready,” Kitayama says. “Whatever feels good is fine.”

It’s a hell of a lot better than fine when Miyata does move, pushing himself up and letting himself sink back down, his cock trapped between their bellies. He curls down and around Kitayama to press their mouths together over and over, their kisses messy and breathless. They take it slow at first, but it just makes Miyata burn hotter, sweat slicking his skin. He pulls on Kitayama’s hair and squeezes tight around him until Kitayama is fucking up into him as much as he can in his position, earlier claims of doing none of the work forgotten.

“Please,” Miyata begs against Kitayama’s skin, too far gone to even really know what he’s begging for, “please please please…”

“Yeah,” Kitayama agrees, and the next thing Miyata knows, he’s been dumped on his back in a sprawl and Kitayama is climbing over top of him and lining back up to slam home. “Better get yourself,” Kitayama orders, voice rough, eyes glittering black, hot where they rake over Miyata’s skin, “if you want to keep up.”

“Trying,” Miyata grunts, and he is, but it’s hard to get his hand to do what he wants when Kitayama’s slamming into him, sending fire racing through his blood and his other hand scrabbling at the sheets. When he does finally manage it, it takes about three tugs before he’s gasping a warning and coming between them, back arching him up against Kitayama and spasming hard enough to knock their foreheads together.

Not that he feels it until a couple minutes later.

“Ow,” he grumbles. Kitayama is sprawled dead weight across his chest, still inside Miyata, and he grunts agreement. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“Taipi warned me about the rough sex.” Kitayama lifts his head enough to rub at the mark, already rising red, and Miyata winces, experience recognizing the beginnings of a cute little bruise. “But I think he meant with club girls, not so much with you.”

“Their heads probably aren’t as hard,” Miyata says, reaching up to rub at the spot gently.

“‘Cause they’re empty,” Kitayama replies with a touch of venom, pushing into Miyata’s touch just a little, and a little aftershock makes Miyata shiver, leaving warmth in its wake. He reaches up to poke Miyata’s bruise as well, making him give a little noise. “Any other injuries?”

“Mm,” Miyata stretches a little, feels the pull in the backs of his thighs and prays for vocal practice tomorrow, “I might have overdone it a little.”

“Idiot,” Kitayama scolds, lifting up to pull out, and Miyata hisses and grabs at him; he’d order Kitayama to stay where he is, but it’s already too late, the worst of it over. Kitayama resettles against Miyata’s side, running a hand down Miyata from waist to hip, noting with sharp eyes the places that make Miyata try to wiggle away. “Should have told me.”

“I wanted it that way,” Miyata insists, grabbing at Kitayama’s hand to tug it up towards his hair, away from everything that hurts. Kitayama gives him a narrow look, but obliges him like earlier, fingers gentle against Miyata’s scalp and making Miyata’s eyes slip half-shut. “I wanted you, just like that. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll want you just like that again.”

“Nnngh,” Kitayama shudders, and Miyata can feel it all along his side. “Shut it, you. You won’t be getting anything more complicated than a blowjob until you can learn to control yourself.”

“Well,” Miyata tugs Kitayama down for a soft kiss, “that might be okay too.”


Kitayama gets his revenge by making Miyata-san adore him when he comes to spend the night at Miyata’s before their next off-day, using all of his cute fluffy-headed wiles and a few of Senga’s besides.

“So really,” Kitayama inquires in all seriousness, “how did you get his face to turn out like that?” And then he smiles in shared amusement when that sets Miyata-san off in gales of laughter.

“You’re a cheater,” Miyata informs him when his mother leaves the room to fetch tea, and Kitayama just smiles some more and says that Miyata’s welcome to do something about it. “At least you’re on my side,” Miyata sighs to his brother, who says they’re both gross, and it doesn’t last anyway because Kitayama allies with him to kick Miyata’s ass at their new fighting sim about twenty-five times in a row.

Kitayama sticks to his threat about blowjobs since they have shows coming up, but Miyata can’t say he minds, with the way it works out. Any way they do it is fine, Miyata’s finding out, and there’s lots of ways to try out before they start picking favorites. He’s just as exhausted by the time they curl up to sleep, with the added bonus of not walking like a cowboy with chaps a size too small on his trip to the bathroom later on.

It’s late by the time Kitayama rolls over and blinks a little the next morning, later than Miyata would usually stay in bed even on a day off, but it’s pleasant to lounge around for once, and it’s his room, so he can entertain himself well enough.

“Morning,” Miyata says, glancing away from his DS to eye Kitayama’s sleep-matted puff of hair with some satisfaction.

Kitayama blinks a little, giving a little ‘nngh’ of displeasure at being awake. “Time’s it?”

“After eleven.”

“Damn.” Kitayama scrunches his eyes in a yawn. Cute. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Miyata assures. He’d gotten up and gone to the bathroom, gone downstairs for some food, and come back to crawl back under the blankets, Kitayama none the wiser. He lifts his DS a little. “I’m shiny hunting a mareep for Nika’s birthday anyway.”

“Weirdoes,” Kitayama pronounces. He rolls over to put an arm over Miyata’s waist and rests his cheek against Miyata’s shoulder. “He does a have a thing for sheep.”

Miyata laughs, because it’s true and because Kitayama even knows what a mareep is, and maybe after he saves his game he might wake Kitayama up a little more with some other stuff he’s been thinking of trying.

They laze around the house for the rest of the day, eating when they’re hungry and watching anime, and that’s how Miyata likes to spend his days off anyway, so he’s happy enough just like this, happy to have Kitayama stretched out beside him, either asleep or awake.

Between the two of them, really anything is good.


“You two,” Tamamori says at random a couple weeks later, while they’re changing, “you’re pretty gross, huh.”

Miyata grins; across the room, Kitayama’s napping on the couch, but there’s enough space for Miyata to fit next to him as well, if he wants too. “You finally caught on?” Tamamori eyes him, unimpressed, and Miyata relents. “Yeah, we are. I took Tama-chan’s advice after all.”

“Mm.” Tamamori nods, satisfied. “Good.” And then he asks his skate laces why they can’t be nearly as cooperative as Miyacchi, geez.

Fujigaya calls for them to get their asses in gear, especially Kitayama. Kitayama doesn’t stir, making Fujigaya raise his volume until Yokoo asks if Miyata wouldn’t mind, please.

Miyata doesn’t mind, since it’s his usual job and all. He finishes tying his skates and clatters across the room, carefully sidestepping the disaster area of Nikaido emptying Senga’s bag in search of his sweatpants. Leaning over Kitayama, he pokes him in the forehead. “Mitsuuuu.”

“Ngh.” Kitayama grunts, scrunching up his features into the angry face that usually makes the juniors sent to do this particular job scatter. “Fuck’ff.”

“Maybe later~,” Miyata says, pushing harder. “Time for practice, Kitamitsu, rise and shine.”

“If I get up, it’s going to be to own your ass,” Kitayama growls, but the corner of his mouth is twitching, and Miyata knows he knows exactly who it is.

“Good,” Miyata leans a little closer, not that he cares if anybody else is listening really, “because I was getting tired of waiting to do it that way again.”

Lightening fast, Kitayama reaches up and grabs Miyata’s wrist before he can scramble away, and when he opens his eyes, they’re dark with sleep and some other stuff that makes Miyata’s heart stutter.

“You’re such a fucking M,” he mutters. “And you didn’t take Tama-chan’s advice, you liar, I’m the one who confessed. M,” he repeats, squeezing Miyata’s wrist with tight fingers until Miyata gives a low noise.

“Yup. Kisumai’s M,” Miyata says, then adds, “so you can see what kind of idol I turned out like after all? It took me a long time to show you, so I hope it’s okay.”

Kitayama’s quiet for a second, obviously caught off-guard, but his grip on Miyata’s wrist doesn’t loosen. “I’m glad I could see it,” he finally says, and then he pulls Miyata’s hand up to kiss Miyata’s palm, quick, before anybody can see, and lets go.

“Mitsu,” Miyata says, touched.

“Ah, shut up, shut up,” Kitayama waves him off as he sits up. “It’s time for practice, yeah? So let’s go, already, just…”

He cuts off when Miyata leans in to kiss his cheek, not at all quick about it, and probably everybody sees, and then he zips off on his skates before Kitayama can grab him again.

“Hey!” Fujigaya snaps as Miyata whizzes by him, jarring him as he’s trying to pin up his hair, and them Kitayama knocks into him from the other side, hot on Miyata’s heels despite the lack of skates. “Hey!

“Honestly,” Yokoo sighs when they nearly take out Tamamori, Senga giggling at the chaos. “Be careful, you idiots!”

The door bangs open as Miyata dashes out of it, cackling, and nearly mows down Kawai, who hops backwards at the last second, only to knock both himself and Hashimoto to the ground. Kitayama leaps both of them at once, snatching at Miyata and missing his swoosh by a few millimeters, getting only air.

“Wow,” Kawai says in appreciation, “Kisumai’s energetic today! ABC-Z won’t lose to you!” he yells after them, getting a “YAY” out of Hashimoto from where he’s still flat on his back underneath his senpai.

“You did this,” Yokoo scolds Tamamori, but Tamamori just smirks and goes back to fixing his hair, supremely self-satisfied.

Just as self-satisfied as Kitayama when he catches Miyata by the swoosh and rolls him up against the wall behind some scenery backstage, as Miyata is when he lets himself be caught and rolled any which way Kitayama pleases.

That’s just the kind of idol he is, after all.


“Hey,” Nikaido looks up from Senga’s bag, making Senga blink at him, “have you noticed something’s up between Kitamitsu and Miyacchi? You think they like each other or something?”

Senga laughs so hard he falls on his side and curls up in a ball; Nikaido scowls and picks up Senga’s bag to dump all the sweaty socks jammed in the bottom of it over him.

2 people like this post.

1 Comment

  • By ri, 2012.08.29 @ 8:31 pm

    oh man this was lovely and so, so HOT. something about your miyata rarepairs just make them hotter, lmao. i loved tama in this too, all smug and knowing, but kitamitsu was my favorite part. i just loved his attitude and how chill he was, and how miyata wanted to be with him whether he was awake or asleep. xD

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