Kis-My-Ft2, Post-Graduate Studies

Title: Post-Graduate Studies [Senga/Kitayama]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Summary: Kitayama likes feeling like a good senpai some of the time, especially when it’s Senga asking.
AN: My girl finished one of her classes’ finals this morning, so this was my surprise reward.

Post-Graduate Studies

“Hey,” Senga says, looking a little sheepish as he taps Kitayama’s shoulder. “Can I talk to you about something a second?”

“Hm? Sure,” Kitayama answers. He raises an eyebrow when Senga glances around a little, like he’s nervous someone will overhear. “What did you and Nika do now?”

“It’s not that.” Senga huffs a little sigh. “I’ve been thinking about going back to school. To university.”

“Oh!” Kitayama says, caught off guard. Senga glares at him as if daring him to laugh, and Kitayama suppresses how that’s just a bit adorable. “I didn’t know that. I think that’s great.”

“You do?” Senga deflates, fierce look melting away. “You don’t think it’s dumb? Nika thinks it’s dumb.”

“That’s because Nika had to be socially advanced through middle school,” Kitayama soothes, patting Senga’s shoulder. “Tell him to fuck off if he gives you shit, going to university isn’t anything to be ashamed of. It’s not like we’re going to be hot, young idols forever, right? It’s smart to have a back-up plan. But what brought this on?”

“Oh, you know,” Senga hedges, scuffing the floor with his sneaker. “All of Snowman got in to their schools, on the first try even, and I just thought…why can’t I? But I guess I should have tried right after high school if I wanted to. Do you think I can even get in anywhere?”

“Of course you can,” Kitayama assures. “They let Tegoshi-kun in someplace, right? Where were you thinking of trying for?”

“Do you think I could get into your school?” Senga asks, smiling hopefully. “Will you help me?”

“Put that away, geez,” Kitayama shoves at Senga’s shoulder, making him laugh. “Of course I will. All you had to do was ask.”

Senga grabs Kitayama in a sudden hug, squeezing him tight. “Thanks. Kitayama-senpai.”

“We have to get you in first, before you can start that,” Kitayama reminds, but he lets Senga hug him as long as he likes. It’s nice to feel like a good senpai for a change, instead of his unit’s drill sergeant or pep talker.

Kitayama isn’t positive that Senga won’t drop it after realizing how much work it’s going to take, or once they have a busy streak, but Senga proves surprisingly serious after all.

“Be honest.” Senga points a chopstick at Kitayama’s face. “You said yes thinking I’d give up right away, didn’t you?”

“No,” Kitayama argues, nudging Senga’s shoulder with his own. They’re sitting in front of his couch, his low table strewn with takeout containers. “I said I’d help and I meant it. So long as you keep bringing me food, that is.”

Senga eyes the table and wonders out loud if maybe a preparatory course would be cheaper after all. Kitayama just snorts and steals a bite of food out of the container in Senga’s hand. When all the food is gone, Senga spreads his books out over the table, and Kitayama quizzes him and corrects answers until both of their eyes are heavy.

When their next single is announced, the theme for Kitayama’s new drama, Senga tries to tell him he can manage on his own, but Kitayama refuses to hear it.

“But filming–” Senga starts.

“Your entrance exam isn’t forever away.” Kitayama waves him off. “A promise is a promise. We’ll make it work.”

“Mitsu,” Senga says, touched and face full of gratitude, and for Kitayama that’s worth giving up a couple hours of sleep, at least for a little while. Instead of late nights at Kitayama’s apartment, they start taking advantage of breaks and wait time during their practices, the promotions for their single the only time they can count on their schedules matching up. Senga makes it up to Kitayama in conbini snacks and vending machine runs, and Kitayama makes him swear to a hundred dinners out that he has no intention of collecting.

It’s after midnight one night when Kitayama stumbles in from a long day of filming, and the last thing he expects is Senga in his kitchen, wearing Kitayama’s silly yellow apron and making his whole apartment smell like curry.

“Kento?” Kitayama has to lean against the counter to keep from swaying, trying to figure out how to take back his promise to help Senga whenever he wanted.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t come here to make you study with me,” Senga says, and Kitayama’s shoulders relax. He turns to smile back over his shoulder. “I just thought you might be tired of takeout. I meant to be done and just leave it in your refrigerator, but it took a lot longer to make it from scratch than I thought. Want to try?”

Senga holds up the spoon he’s been stirring the curry with, and Kitayama opens his mouth automatically. It’s good, hearty and the spices stinging his tongue just enough, and Kitayama makes a low noise at how much he’d missed real food.

“It’s really good,” he says, and then his stomach growls loudly in agreement, making Senga laugh.

“I’m glad.” Senga’s grin reaches the whole way into his eyes, making their brown every bit as warm and inviting as his curry. “Do you want some now? The rice isn’t done yet, but I could–”

“Just curry would be great,” Kitayama shakes his head. “I’ll never stay awake long enough to wait.”

Senga hands Kitayama a bowl and then fills one up halfway for himself. They sit on the couch because Kitayama is already struggling to stand, and if Senga is sweating by the time he finishes without the rice to even out the spiciness, Kitayama sort of likes the way his whole mouth is tingling.

“It’s nothing,” Senga insists when Kitayama thanks him again. He takes the bowl out of Kitayama’s hands and sets it on the low table along with his own. “It’ll be even better tomorrow, so take some for lunch. Take care of yourself, okay? Not like Gaya or Tama-chan who stop eating and sleeping and live on nothing but hairsp–”

Senga cuts off when Kitayama leans over and presses their mouths together. It’s perfectly pleasant even if Senga doesn’t respond, Kitayama’s mouth still tingling from the curry. When Kitayama pulls back, Senga is staring at him, wide-eyed.

“What?” he asks.

“For good luck,” Kitayama explains, liking the way Senga’s cheeks are turning pink. “You can give it back when you pass your exam.”

“I…yeah, okay,” Senga agrees shyly, and then he sends Kitayama to bed while he cleans up the kitchen and lets himself out.

Senga is a nervous wreck the week of his exam, and even though Kitayama feels like a rubber band that’s stretched too tight, he grits his teeth and gives up all his catnaps to run flashcards with Senga or review concepts or even just to try and pep talk him down from hyperventilating.

“Okay,” Yokoo finally says, looming over both of them where they’re slouched together on the dressing room couch, Kitayama’s head being held up by Senga’s shoulder. “I’m putting a stop to this right now.”

“What? Get out, we’re busy,” Kitayama says, but it would have more force if his fingers had the strength to even grip the book as Yokoo plucks it out of his hand.

“There’s five other people who can help him, you know,” Yokoo scolds. “Kento, let’s go. You, go to sleep! You’re going to pass out in the middle of being interviewed about your own drama. Honestly I doubt even this twenty-two minutes is going to change that, but that can’t be helped. ”

Kitayama growls as Senga gets up, making Senga look back over his shoulder. “Mitsu?”

He blinks at himself, not sure where that came from. “Nothing, never mind.” Then he closes his eyes, reminding himself that it doesn’t matter at all who helps Senga, only that he gets into the school he wants. Why should he care if the others help too? He hears the sound of the door clicking shut and shoves it out of his mind as best he can, falling asleep only a minute later.

The others take turns helping Senga for the final few days, trading him off and making it a point to show Kitayama how they have a handle on it and he should take care of himself first. Even Nikaido helps, sort of, because if Senga can explain things to him so that he gets it, then he must really understand it himself. Kitayama knows his jealousy is irrational but can’t stop feeling it anyway. He blames the moodiness on sleep deprivation.

“So hey,” he says when they are packing up from a meeting, the day before Senga’s test. “I just want you to know that whatever happens, you’ve worked really hard. I know tomorrow you’ll show everyone your strong side and when it’s over you’ll have something to be proud of. If you do your best, it’ll definitely, definitely work out. And that’s why I’m proud of you too.”

Senga, who is if possible just as sleep deprived as Kitayama, actually tears up a little. “Mitsu? Wow, that’s the most you’ve ever praised me to my face.”

“It’s from one of the scenes I have to film tomorrow,” Kitayama admits sheepishly, barely functional enough to memorize inspirational speeches, much less come up with them on his own. Senga barks a laugh as he scrubs away the wetness from his eyes. “But I am, you know. Proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Senga says. He leans over to kiss Kitayama’s cheek quickly. Kitayama raises an eyebrow. “You said I couldn’t give your kiss back until I passed, so have that instead for the meanwhile. Work hard at filming, okay?”

“It’s a deal,” Kitayama agrees, and lets Senga steal a quick hug before Fujigaya hollers at them if they don’t get moving they’re going to get locked in the building and Nikaido will cry when they turn the lights out.

The final few weeks of filming are absolutely brutal, and Kitayama barely sees or speaks to the other members aside from being photographed or interviewed with them. It all turns into a haze of lights and makeup and inspirational monologues, and whenever Kitayama has the two seconds to spare wondering what happened with Senga’s test, he shrugs it off just as quickly. Senga will tell him when there’s some news to tell, Kitayama is sure.

When it’s all over, Kitayama stumbles home, drops his cast-given bouquet on the table, and collapses into his bed, intending to sleep at least until their next contract. He left a message with their manager on the way home that whatever is going on tomorrow, he just can’t do it, and if she doesn’t like it, she’ll have to come and drag Kitayama out of bed herself. As Miyata will attest, it’s not an easy task even at the best of times.

Kitayama gradually drifts back to consciousness in stages, no idea how long he’s been asleep or what time it is. He feels warm, and assumes that means the sun is coming in his window, until he peels his eyes open and finds it an ugly gray outside, rain pattering against the glass.

“Morning,” Senga says, and Kitayama rolls onto his back to squint at him in confusion. Senga is under his blankets and his hair is wild, like he’s been napping himself. “You didn’t lock your door last night, you know. Fangirls could have come in here and done things to you.”

“Woulda slept through it,” Kitayama grunts. After a second, his brain rolls over enough to ask, “How were you gonna get in if it was locked?”

“I got your spare key from Watta,” Senga explains. “So you want to hear my news or what?”

“News?” Kitayama asks, waking up a little more. “Did you hear about your exam?”

Instead of answering, Senga leans over and presses his mouth firmly against Kitayama’s. It’s a lot different with Senga participating this time, and warmth spreads over Kitayama’s skin as Senga gets a hand into his hair and tugs a little. All too soon for Kitayama’s tastes, Senga pulls back to grin at him.

“Thanks for your hard work, senpai,” he says, and Kitayama grins back. “I can have you, right? You aren’t gonna make me wait until I graduate?”

“Please,” Kitayama agrees immediately. It’s been ages since he’s had the energy to even jerk himself off, but Senga’s nearness and the happiness radiating off of him have already gone a long way to getting Kitayama interested. Besides, morning sex is one of Kitayama’s favorites, especially when they don’t have to rush anywhere. “Wait, do we have work?” Leaving a voicemail full of your demands for your manager and actually getting them are not the same thing.

“Not until afternoon,” Senga assures, coming in for another kiss. It’s slow and lazy and perfect, the warmth between them changing gradually to heat as Senga shifts closer under the blankets, tangling their legs together. Kitayama breaks the kiss to drag lips over Senga’s jaw and throat, and Senga hums, fingers flexing against Kitayama’s shoulders. “Thought I’d have to do everything. I guess you really like it when I call you senpai.”

Kitayama nips at Senga’s throat, not saying yes but not exactly saying no either. Another minute and Senga is pushing him back to strip their shirts off, groaning softly when he can crawl back into Kitayama’s arms, skin to skin. Their kisses turn messy as Kitayama runs hands over Senga’s back and sides, exploring the toned muscle shifting underneath Senga’s hot skin. Senga’s hands aren’t any less busy, and Kitayama groans soft encouragement as Senga touches all the skin that he can reach.

“Can I taste you?” Senga asks, breath warm against Kitayama’s ear, and Kitayama shivers. Senga’s hand is between his legs before he can answer, tracing the outline of Kitayama’s cock and making him hiss.

“I won’t last, if there’s something else you want,” Kitayama warns. He’s already rocking up against Senga’s hand, not in full control of what his body is doing and not trying to be either.

“I want everything,” Senga says, looking Kitayama over with dark eyes, and Kitayama has no objections at all to whatever Senga wants, so long as he keeps looking at him like that. “But there’s no rush, right? No reason I have to pick between tasting you and riding you.”

“Damn,” Kitayama groans softly as Senga gives him a first squeeze. “Keep talking like that and you won’t have a chance to do either. Come on, let me have your mouth already.”

Senga shoves the blankets off and slides down without much further ado, only pausing to shove Kitayama’s underwear out of the way and to lick the skin just below Kitayama’s bellybutton until he growls impatiently. He looks up, eyes mischievous, and Kitayama feels like this guy is going to definitely be some trouble.

“Want me to pretend you have to teach me?” Senga asks. He bats his eyes like a butai actress. “I’ve never done this before, senpai.”

“Stop that,” Kitayama tries to scold, but he’s laughing. “Don’t be weird, just be you. I just want regular you.”

A smile spreads across Senga’s face, so that must have been the right answer. “That is definitely the most you’ve ever praised me to my face.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m about to do something to your face all right,” is Kitayama’s response, and Senga doesn’t look opposed to that at all.

He licks at Kitayama’s tip, one hand wrapped around Kitayama’s shaft to keep him from pushing up for more. It’s not that useful, but it looks hot as hell, Senga lapping at the head of his cock just to taste him, eyes flicking up to make sure Kitayama is watching every few seconds. Kitayama couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried.

“I warned you about teasing,” Kitayama says, and Senga appeases him by sucking in more, at least enough to actually qualify this as a blowjob. Kitayama moans soft approval, and Senga seems to like that if the way he sucks harder is any indication, so Kitayama gets a little louder.

He spreads his legs wider, letting his body do what it wants, and Senga takes that as an invitation to let his other hand roam down. He feathers a few touches to Kitayama’s balls, as if testing, and then rolls them more firmly between his fingers, getting a loud groan out of Kitayama. When his fingers drift lower, brushing Kitayama’s hole, Kitayama fists his hands in his sheets, his body’s response to that unmistakable.

“Hey,” Senga lifts his head to ask, mouth slipping off of Kitayama’s cock. Kitayama hisses at the cool air against his wet skin after the heat of Senga’s mouth. “Can I change my mind? About what I want?”

Kitayama has a pretty good idea where this is going, but he plays along. “Tell me what you want and you might get it.”

“Let me have you?” Senga looks like he really isn’t sure Kitayama will, and Kitayama can’t help but grin at that. He bends his knees to spread himself open even more for Senga, letting his body answer for him.

“What do you think?” he chuckles at the way Senga’s eyes are glued to what he’s offering. “Stuff in the drawer.”

“Are you really close though?” Senga asks, even as he reaches over to the bedside table and rifles around in the drawer. “If you’d rather I just finished you…”

“I’m good, so long as you quit touching me.” Kitayama reaches down to bat away the hand Senga still has wrapped around his cock. “But hurry up, I want to go back to sleep after this.”

“Who would expect any different?” Senga snorts, uncapping the lube and warming some up on his fingers. He looks surprised when his first finger slides in almost right away, but Kitayama is so relaxed he feels like it’s a small wonder. It’s always easiest for him in the morning, and he wants Senga anyway, wants more of his touch inside, so it’s easy to let him in.

Senga takes long enough going from two to three fingers that Kitayama gets impatient. “Just come on, already. It’s not like I haven’t seen what you’re packing down there.”

“Only you would choose being miserable at practice later over sleeping five extra minutes now,” Senga tsks at him. He pushes in a bit harder, and Kitayama moans. “You want me, right? Then let me in already.”

“Who put you in charge,” Kitayama grumbles, grumbles harder when Senga reminds that he did. Kitayama focuses on Senga’s fingers, how strong and good they feel inside him, how ready he is to get this show on the road, and that helps enough that Senga seems satisfied after only another minute or two. Maybe Kitayama can get his extra five minutes after all. “I’m ready to go, really. Kento, please.”

“Yeah, okay,” Senga agrees, pulling his hand free so that he can get the condom unwrapped and rolled on. He doesn’t ask again if Kitayama is ready, taking him at his word, just holds himself steady with one hand as he crawls in close enough between Kitayama’s legs to start pushing inside.

Kitayama hums in approval when Senga can let go of his cock and crawl over top of him properly, braced on his hands and his thighs flush against the backs of Kitayama’s thighs. He looks so good and feels even better, hot and hard inside of Kitayama, the muscles in his arms smooth and strong when Kitayama slides his hands up them.

“Good?” Senga asks, pulling back and pushing forward slowly.

“Oh yeah,” Kitayama says, letting his head tip back against his pillow. He feels Senga’s lips press against his throat and groans. “Can go harder, come on.”

Senga does as he asks, moving with more confidence, until the only noises are the slap of skin on skin and both of their low noises of pleasure. Senga is so hot under Kitayama’s hands, over top of him and inside of him, and Kitayama can’t get enough of it. Even the way Senga is already dripping sweat is appealing, his skin slick everywhere that Kitayama touches him. When Kitayama looks up, Senga is watching him openly, eyes so dark that it makes Kitayama’s stomach twist with lust.

“Not gonna last,” Senga pants, not that Kitayama could tell if from the way he’s pounding into him relentlessly, thighs showing no sign of giving out. Kitayama wonders how long Senga can go without those muscles tiring, moaning low in his throat at the thought. “Can you touch yourself? Don’t wanna move.”

Kitayama doesn’t want Senga to move either, wants him to stay right over top of him, so he does what Senga asks. He’s close as soon as he gets a hand wrapped around himself, jerking himself off at the same pace as Senga is fucking him.

“Don’t stop,” he tells Senga when he’s almost there, “just keep going.” Senga obeys perfectly, keeping his rhythm steady the whole way through Kitayama’s orgasm, dragging it out as Kitayama squeezes tight around him and pulses over his fist. When he peels his eyes open, the way Senga is staring at him makes Kitayama twitch in his hand, like there’s any possibility of going again right now. “Like that?” Kitayama asks, stretching out a little, self-satisfied.

“Looks so good,” Senga agrees. “Okay to stay like that?”

It’s cute the way Senga keeps asking, so Kitayama would lie even he weren’t. But he’s good for at least the moment and says so. Besides, it doesn’t look like Senga is going to take too much longer, the way all of his muscles are drawn tight and trembling. Kitayama lifts his clean hand to push some of Senga’s hair out of his face, stroking along Senga’s scalp and telling him to come already, let him see.

“Oh,” Senga’s noises turn high-pitched suddenly, “oh,” and then he’s coming too, burying himself deeply enough into Kitayama for Kitayama to feel every twitch and pulse of it against his oversensitive skin.

Senga is a useless mess right after orgasm, as it turns out, but that’s kind of cute too, at least for a few minutes. When Kitayama’s legs start to hurt in earnest, he shoves Senga off without warning, wincing as he stretches out.

“Don’t start,” Kitayama says when Senga scrunches up his face in worry and opens his mouth. “I’m fine.” He rolls over onto his side, the change of position feeling good, and push-pulls at Senga until he gets it and rolls over too, so that Kitayama can curl up along his back. “I’d keep you just for how good a heating pad you make, damn.”

“Are you gonna?” Senga asks, voice a little muffled by the pillow. “Keep me?”

“Hmm,” Kitayama says like he’s thinking about it. “At least until graduation.” Senga tenses a little, and Kitayama pinches Senga’s stomach where the skin is nearest his fingers. “Relax. If you’re interested, keeping you sounds fine at the moment.”

“I’m interested,” Senga agrees quickly, and Kitayama feels Senga’s fingers work through his own, squeezing his hand tightly for a moment before relaxing into a comfortable hold.

“Good.” That settled, Kitayama presses his forehead against the back of Senga’s neck and drops off more or less immediately, trusting Senga to deal with alarms and yelling managers and whatever else. After all the help he’s been giving Senga lately, it’ll be nice to be taken care of for a change.

Plus, Senga still owes him about a hundred dinners, give or take. But Kitayama thinks he could be convinced to take it out in trade.

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