Kis-My-Ft2, Small Talk

Title: Small Talk [Kitayama/Senga]
Authors rikikomori and mousapelli
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Summary: Senga wants something from Kitayama, and he doesn’t mind talking him into it.
AN: I just really liked the idea of Senga calling Kitayama from progressively more and more ridiculous places, including from another room in his own apartment, so then all of this happened XD

Small Talk

Senga might not be the most self-confident member of his unit, but he knows how to get what he wants. When he wants attention, he knows which look to use on Nikaido and which to use on Yokoo. When he wants to get treated by a senpai, it’s not too hard to work Fujigaya up to it. And if he’s just looking to be entertained without too many strings attached, there’s always Miyata and Tamamori. Lately Miyata is even an easier touch, since Tamamori is busy so often with filming, leaving Miyata to his own devices and empty bed.

On the other hand, it’s not like Senga always gets what he wants. Because the one thing he wants most of all, and can’t figure out any way to get, is Kitayama.

It isn’t like he hasn’t tried. Senga has always been a person who thrives on touch, so there’s nothing strange at all about him leaning into Kitayama’s side, invading his personal space in an obviously ploy for hugging or hair-stroking. Kitayama isn’t ever surprised when he wakes up from a nap in the dressing room to find Senga curled up on his chest or against his side, and he doesn’t ever shake Senga off. And if Kitayama thinks it’s weird that neither one of them ever bothers with the extra futon when the other sleeps over, he’s never brought it up.

Senga’s had a crush on Kitayama as long as he can remember, so long now that if he talked about it with anybody they would probably question him calling it a crush. Crushes are supposed to be fleeting, lasting the length of a filming or a show, or maybe not even as long a shared hotel room in Fujigaya’s case. Kitayama’s presence in Senga’s life is anything but fleeting; he’s a constant, steady and reliable, the person Senga trusts more than anyone else in the world.

Unfortunately, he’s also really smart.

“I know what you’re doing,” Kitayama says, eyes serious, when Senga’s been a little too blatant about touching Kitayama, about wanting to be closer, wanting more. His hands feel heavy on Senga’s shoulders as he pushes him back, just a couple more centimeters, but it’s far enough. He’s quiet about it and they’re off to the side, so the others aren’t paying them any attention at all.

“So why not?” Senga doesn’t offer Kitayama any pouting or fake innocence, like he would with Fujigaya or Yokoo or even Takizawa. Innocent is exactly what he’s trying to prove to Kitayama that he isn’t.

“I’m not a good choice,” Kitayama answers. “Play with Nika-chan, or Miyacchi. Haven’t you been doing that a lot lately anyway?”

Senga swallows a wince, not wanting Kitayama to see him as that exactly either. “It’s not like that. It doesn’t…” It doesn’t mean anything, is what he wants to say, but he doesn’t have the courage. They aren’t you.

“I’m too old for you, Ken-chan,” Kitayama says. He laughs a little, makes it a joke and ruffles Senga’s hair when Senga whines that he isn’t, who even cares about that. What Senga hears Kitayama saying is that Senga is too young for him, the age gap too wide even now, after all this time.

It’s the most frustrating answer possibly, because it’s the only thing Senga can’t change about himself. He could be anything Kitayama wanted him to be, except older. He doesn’t see why age is such a big deal anyway; maybe a couple years ago it was, but he’s twenty-one now. Almost twenty-two. And it can’t have anything to do with wisdom or life experience, because Senga may be more of an adult than Kitayama himself in that retrospect.

Sighing, Senga backs off for a while and watches Kitayama from afar. Perhaps putting distance between them will make Kitayama miss him, though all it does is show Senga that he’s dispensable. If it’s not Senga whom Kitayama is lying on, it’s any number of the others. Either he’s been in the Jimusho too long to have any concept of personal space, or he just enjoys affection no matter the source.

Naturally this just makes Senga more determined to win Kitayama over, because he wants to be Kitayama’s most important person. The competition is fierce, but Senga thinks he can overcome it. Kitayama already knows that Senga wants him, so the hard part is out of the way. Now Senga just has to make it clear that he wants him.

“Nika, if you had to pick my best feature, what would it be?” Senga asks one day after practice, interrupting Nikaido mid-rant.

Nikaido abruptly stops walking and grabs Senga’s arm, turning Senga to face him and giving him a leering once-over. Senga thinks that he should have waited until he wasn’t all sweaty and gross from dancing to ask this question, but Nikaido probably wouldn’t notice the difference.

“Your voice,” Nikaido answers as he drops Senga’s arm and returns to their previous pace.

Blinking, Senga rushes to catch up with him. “My voice?”

“Yeah.” Nikaido looks thoughtful, like he’s actually considering all of Senga’s features to pick the best one. “It’s nice and deep, and the way you speak is just really appealing. Confident and strong.”

“Huh,” Senga replies, paying attention to the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Still trying to bed Kitamitsu?” Nikaido asks, snickering a little, and Senga elbows him in the ribs. “Oh, come on, you know you’re being as obvious as Gaya with a senpai.”

“He says I’m too young,” Senga mumbles. He’s trying not to whine, but he’s pretty sure he fails.

Nikaido pats him comfortingly on the shoulder, though it’s more of a hard slap that has Senga leaning forward from the force. “Maybe you can talk him into it.”

“How would I do—” Senga starts, then he gets it. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Nikaido flashes a wicked grin that fades when he sees the look on Senga’s face. “Does this mean we can’t play together anymore?”

Frowning, Senga remembers Kitayama’s pointed comment about Senga messing around with the other members. “Probably I should just focus on him.”

“You like him that much?” Nikaido asks, looking a little disappointed, and Senga realizes the answer when he doesn’t feel guilty at all.

“Yeah, I do.”

Later, after a relaxing bath, he lays in bed and thinks about what Nikaido had said. Or, rather, what Nikaido had implied he should do. Before he fully thinks it through, he already has his cell phone in his hand and dialing Kitayama.

Some grumbling answers on the other end, followed by a mangled version of “hello.”

“Mitsu,” Senga says, very aware of how deep his voice sounds. “Are you sleeping?”

“Ken-chan?” Kitayama replies, and Senga imagines him scrunching up his face in confusion as he wakes up and takes in his surroundings. He does it all the time at work; it’s cute. “Not anymore.”

Senga squirms as Kitayama’s groggy voice does things to him. “Sorry, I didn’t think it was that late.”

“What’s going on?” Kitayama asks, now sounding a little alarmed.

Frowning at the assumption that Senga would only call Kitayama at night for something urgent, his words come out stronger than usual. “‘I’m just lying in bed, thinking of you.”

Kitayama doesn’t say anything right away, though Senga can hear him inhaling sharply. “Ken-chan—”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Mitsu,” Senga says clearly. “Let me prove it to you.”


“You have such a nice mouth,” Senga goes on, a rush of adrenaline surging through his veins. “I wonder what it would feel like to kiss you, or feel it elsewhere on my skin.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Kitayama tells him, though his voice sounds different. “Good night, Ken-chan.”

“Think about it,” Senga gets in before the line goes dead.

Senga sure thinks about it as he slips his hand into his underwear and wraps it around himself. Not that that’s anything new, but this time he has Kitayama’s sleep-rough voice fresh in his mind. It’s so easy to imagine him saying Senga’s name, saying plenty of other stuff, and it’s not much harder to come up with scenarios where Senga can wake him up. Senga strokes himself off as he thinks about it, waking up Kitayama with his hands or his mouth, backstage before one of their shows, in a corner of the photoshoot Kitayama is hiding in between shots, even in Kitayama’s bed where Kitayama is right now, maybe doing exactly the same thing Senga is…

He comes with a gasp, belatedly remembering he’s at home and should be quiet, then relaxes into his mattress. Senga yawns, sleepy himself now that the adrenaline is working itself out of his system, and he drops his phone on his side table before grabbing for a tissue. He cleans himself up haphazardly and then clicks his lamp off before curling up on his side. It’s a start, Senga hopes, not exactly what he wants from Kitayama, nothing at all like what he actually wants, but he can be patient if that’s what it takes to win Kitayama over.

The next day at work, Kitayama doesn’t say anything about the phone call, or even act like anything is strange. Senga had been nervous on the way to work, worried Kitayama would avoid his eye or things would be strained between them, but he should have known that Kitayama is better than that. He would never let something like a silly sex phone call from their youngest member mess up their group dynamic.

Senga is thankful for that in the same measure as it drives him nuts. Isn’t Kitayama at all affected? How can Senga possibly move him, make it so that even Kitayama can’t pretend nothing is going on? How can Senga drive Kitayama as crazy as Kitayama drives him?

He decides the only thing he can do is to keep trying.

“H’lo?” Kitayama slurs into the phone, the deep pitch of his voice already making Senga squirm with pleasure.

It’s their off day, and Senga had waited until his mother left to go shopping because after last time, he’d realized he hadn’t thought through the plan at all if Kitayama hadn’t hung up. What if he’d been halfway through chatting Kitayama up when his mother burst in and wanted to know what on earth he was doing in the dead of night?

It’s broad daylight right now, closer to afternoon than morning, but apparently Kitayama had meant to sleep away as much of the day as possible. Senga has no problem at all with that, with the exception that he wishes he could spend the day curled up in Kitayama’s bed instead of his own.

“Morning,” Senga says. “Still in bed?”

“Course?” Kitayama yawns and there’s the sound of sheets rustling as he shifts.

“Good,” Senga says bluntly. “That’s exactly where I want you.”

Kitayama groans, annoyed. “You woke me up for this?”

“If you’d let me in bed with you, I wouldn’t have to wake you up at all.” Senga stretches out, hand on his stomach, his bare skin warm where his T-shirt has ridden up. He isn’t sure if he dares touch himself while he’s actually on the phone with Kitayama yet, but it’s not out of the question. “Hm, or maybe I would. But you’d like it a lot more, I promise.”

“Ken-chan,” Kitayama growls a warning, but all it does is make Senga shiver. He pushes his boxers out of the way, but doesn’t do anything more than wrap a hand around himself for the moment.

“I’ve been thinking about how I’d wake you up,” he continues, the words coming faster because he’s afraid Kitayama will hang up any second. “I want to use my mouth, but then I can’t watch properly. You’re so cute when you wake up all confused, you know? Your eyes are all dark and your voice gets so deep.”

“Please stop,” Kitayama orders, sounding like he did last time, just before he cut Senga off.

“Just like that.” A soft groan comes from Senga and he freezes, realizing that he’s been fisting himself slowly without meaning to. He holds his breath, heart pounding, but even though Kitayama is silent, he hasn’t ended the call. “Mitsu?”

“Why are you doing this?” Kitayama asks quietly.

“Because you won’t let me touch you,” Senga answers before he can stop himself. “I don’t know what else to do. Isn’t this okay, though? If it’s just our voices, what’s wrong with that? Just this is enough.”

It’s not enough, but it’s better than nothing, and Senga lets a tiny flicker of hope spring up in his chest when Kitayama stays on the line.

“Should I keep going?” Senga asks, licking his dry lips. “I’ll even do all the talking if you want, but…I like your voice too, so if you want…” Senga gets no response other than Kitayama’s steady breathing, so he nods to himself and carries on. “I’m already touching myself, are you? You should. I want you to touch yourself for me, like I’m touching myself. I want you to get hard for me.”

Kitayama’s breath hitches a little, and Senga hopes that’s a good sign as he gets more comfortable himself and goes back to jerking himself off purposefully.

“I’ve seen you, obviously, when we change and stuff,” Senga goes on when he’s ready, closing his eyes. “It’s easy to imagine what you’d look like getting yourself off, but I still want to see it for myself. Do you like it fast? Or slow? I go fast on my own, but I could slow down if you told me how to do it.” Senga hums in time with his own hand so Kitayama can hear his rhythm. “Mm. Mm. Mm.”

“Slower,” Kitayama says, the sound of his voice after his long silence making Senga’s nerves sing. Senga obeys, still humming his pace until Kitayama finally says, “Like that.”

Everything is a thousand times more arousing now that Kitayama’s into it, directing him over the phone like it’s just another dance move. His breath is heavy and Senga strains to hear it all, struggling to keep his pace slow per Kitayama’s request. Right now he would do anything Kitayama said.

“You’re not holding back, are you?” he asks after a few more breaths. “I want to hear you.”

“I’m not that loud,” Kitayama replies, sounding apologetic about it, then heaves a large sigh that only comes out a little exasperated. “Fine. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it. Tell me how you would wake me up if you were here.”

After a victorious fist pump, Senga balances the phone between his ear and shoulder while he reaches down to touch himself with both hands, one slowly jerking himself and the other gently rubbing his balls. It feels amazing, heightened by Kitayama’s voice even if his agreement is reluctant, and he can’t stop the soft moan that escapes from his lips as he arches a little, rocking into his own touch.

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and Senga smirks. “Did you like that?”

Kitayama makes a noncommittal noise, which is good enough for Senga. He thumbs the head of his cock and moans again, this time a little louder, breaking when he smears around the tiny bead of precome. Kitayama’s breathing gets heavier, much faster than he’d instructed them to go.

“Hey, don’t get ahead of me,” Senga says, and Kitayama’s breathing slows down. “You want to know how I’d wake you up? First I’d press up behind you, wrapping my arms around your waist and pressing kisses to the back of your neck, letting you know I’m there. I bet you would squirm, not even a little bit awake, and I’d pull us closer, until my entire front side is flush against your back and you can feel how much I want you.”

Kitayama makes a choked noise, which fuels Senga’s courage to keep going. He imagines the scenario—Kitayama’s warm body in his arms, the scent of Kitayama’s shampoo mixed with body soap from last night’s bath, the texture of Kitayama’s skin on his lips. He’s not that much bigger than Kitayama, so they should fit together nicely.

“Then what?” Kitayama asks, and now his voice is so laden with air that there’s almost no voice left; Senga mind quickly switches to the here and now, where Kitayama’s lying on his bed with his hand in his shorts pulling himself off solely to Senga’s words.

“Then I’d bring my hands down around your hips, rubbing the front of your shorts until you harden for me.” Senga has to pause for a second to keep from doing exactly what he’d told Kitayama not to. “Or maybe you’d already be hard? Either way I’d touch you through your clothes, making you arch back against me and maybe start to turn around, so my mouth would move to your throat and jaw, maybe your lips.”

The vision is clear in his mind, Kitayama slowly waking up as Senga accosts him in his own bed, and Kitayama’s next breath fits right in with the fantasy.

“You could turn all the way toward me,” Senga goes on, his hips rocking even more into the funnel of his hand. “Then I could kiss you properly and touch both of us together, mm, would you like that?”

Kitayama makes that sound again, this time affirmative, and Senga moans again as his dream self rolls over on top of Kitayama and takes them both in one hand. With Kitayama breathing in his ear like this, it almost feels real, like he’s there with him, and everything within him is screaming to finish.

“Or I could slide down your body and take you into my mouth.” Senga bites his lip to keep from giving into his urge to speed up. “I’m really good at that, you know. I could take you all the way in, until you feel the back of my throat, then swallow around you—”

“I’m close,” Kitayama warns, nearly making Senga’s phone vibrate from the force of his hard breathing, and Senga lets out a sigh of relief.

“Oh good,” he says, squeezing himself more firmly. “I want to taste you so badly, would you let me? Come for me, Mitsu, let me hear you finish.”

It’s not loud at all, just a rush of air and a sharp gasp, but it’s more than enough to push Senga over the edge with his own moan that is loud enough to make up for both of them.

“Mm, good morning,” Senga says when he can function again, smiling as he stretches out in his bed. “Or should I say afternoon.”

“I—I have to go,” Kitayama says abruptly, then ends the call.

Senga frowns as he looks at the display of his phone, but he can’t even be mad after that amazing orgasm Kitayama had given him. Maybe next time he’d be more participative, because damn does Senga love hearing that voice in the midst of passion.

He could press his advantage while he has one, but something makes Senga pull back a little. As good as listening to Kitayama makes him feel, as hot as it is to think about it, it nags at Senga a little that he has to force Kitayama into it. He doesn’t want to trick Kitayama, he wants Kitayama to want him back, to not need to be tricked. Some nights he even gets his phone out and scrolls to Kitayama’s number, but he stops there each time. Senga still thinks about it when he gets himself off, though, Kitayama making those soft, desperate noises just for him, Kitayama touching himself just for him.

And so ‘next time’ doesn’t happen until they tour, during which Senga makes great use of his and Nikaido’s hotel room when Nikaido runs off somewhere with Yokoo. He knows Kitayama is rooming with Tamamori and Miyata, like usual, but somehow that makes it more fun.

“Ken-chan, no—” Kitayama answers the phone, and Senga smirks a little at the older man knowing exactly what he wanted simply by calling.

“I know you’re not alone,” Senga says. “I also know they’re paying more attention to each other than you. Doesn’t that make you lonely? I can make it better. Or you could come to me, you know I’m just down the hall.”

“Ken-chan,” Kitayama says again, and this time it’s out of defeat. When he speaks again, he’s whispering. “They’ll hear everything I say.”

“Don’t say anything then,” Senga tells him. “Just listen. Or say yes or no, you can do that for me, right?”

“Yes,” Kitayama says, still sounding reluctant.

“Good. Are you in bed? Under the covers?”


“Mm, good, me too.” Senga closes his eyes and pictures it, Kitayama’s tanned skin against the white sheets, only in his mind there’s no blankets in the way, just Kitayama spread out underneath him, waiting for Senga’s directions. “What are Tama and Miyacchi doing? Are they in bed too? Sharing?”

“Yes,” Kitayama answers. There’s nothing unusual about that, really; it’s clearly the reason Kitayama rooms with them. He’s even mentioned that he feels bad making the staff set up the cot every time, when they only muss it up in the morning to make it look like somebody’s slept there. But then again, it isn’t like they have any choice, being who they are.

“Are they watching television?” Senga continues. He lowers his voice a little. “Or are they just pretending to? Be honest, you can’t really tell what they’re doing under the blankets, can you? Either way, they’re probably not paying any attention to you at all, are they?”

“No,” Kitayama agrees, not sounding thrilled. Senga feels a little bad for him, because who wants to be a third wheel to the only people in their company more married than Tackey and Tsubasa? But Senga reminds himself that all Kitayama has to do if he wants more attention is come down to Senga’s room. In fact, he thinks it’s an excellent idea to remind Kitayama about that.

“Their loss,” Senga says, reaching down to palm his cock. He’s naked underneath his blankets, having planned ahead for this. “I’d pay attention to you. To your mouth, to your skin, to your dick…” Senga grins when he hears Kitayama’s soft hiss. “Are you touching yourself yet?”

“Yes,” Kitayama says, voice getting lower.

“Me too. I’d focus all my attention on you, because I want to know exactly what you like, where you like to be touched. I’d run my hands over every inch of you before I ever put my mouth on you, find all the really good spots, and then I’d just keep on touching you until it made you absolutely crazy. Would you like that?”

“Yeah.” Kitayama’s words are almost inaudible, but Senga strains for every one as he starts tugging at his own cock firmly. “Tease.”

Just the one word breaking their current set of rules makes Senga groan into his phone, and he gets a muffled noise from Kitayama in response. “I’m the tease? Mitsu, I’m being so patient for you. I would do anything you wanted me to do to you. I’d let you do anything you wanted to me. Is there anything you want to do to me?”

There’s a pause long enough that Senga worries he’s gone too far, before Kitayama admits, “…Yes,” and Senga lets go of the breath he’s been holding in a long sigh, flush with relief. He wants to ask what, dying to know, but it’s not like Kitayama can answer like this, so he’ll just have to be curious a while longer.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says instead, letting some of the warmth and relief creep into his voice. Take that, he thinks. “I’m so glad, I’m going to reward you. I won’t make you wait anymore, would you like that?”

“Yes,” Kitayama gasps.

“Stroke yourself off as fast as you can without them noticing,” Senga orders, and he knows Kitayama is obeying when Kitayama’s breaths turn short and quick. “I’m going so fast I’m not going to last at all. I think about your hands when I do it, you know, I’m thinking about them now. Your hands are so strong, so warm, I want to feel them on my dick so badly. And you’ve got those guitar calluses, when you touch my hair sometimes they feel so good against my scalp, I want you to touch me with those, to work the notch under my head, to rub them against my slit—”

“Fuck,” Kitayama hisses, and Senga can tell he’s coming by the way he stops breathing all together, and then drags in long, ragged breaths to make up for it. Senga stills his hand though; he’s so close, but he wants to make Kitayama listen to him, wants to know that Kitayama hears him.

“I didn’t come yet,” Senga says when he thinks Kitayama might be able to listen. His own voice is strained, shaking. “Tell me to come. Should I come for you?”

“Yes,” Kitayama sighs into the phone, “yes, yes, yes.”

It doesn’t even take three strokes when Senga squeezes himself, coming over his hand and stomach in dizzying pulses, moaning Kitayama’s name into the phone. Senga is sure the call will be ended by the time he collects himself, but to his surprise he can still hear Kitayama’s shallow breathing on the other end.

“You didn’t hang up.” Senga grins, but it fades a little when he thinks about how much of a cuddler Kitayama is during the day, with all of them. Senga longs to be able to curl up with Kitayama after they do this, and it probably sucks for Kitayama too. His fault, he tries to think sternly to himself, not mine. “Do you think they noticed?”

There’s a pause and the sound of Kitayama shifting. “I doubt it.”

“Is it hot to watch them?” Senga asks, just to have something to talk about. Even the tenuous connection of their voices, he doesn’t want that to end. “I play with them sometimes, but I never just watch.”

“Yes,” Kitayama answers, although he doesn’t sound like it’s the thing he likes best in the world.

“I haven’t played with them in weeks, though,” Senga rushes to add, remembering Kitayama’s brush-off before any of this started. “Or Nika either. I haven’t done this with anybody but you. This is the longest I’ve gone in ages without being touched by somebody else.”

Kitayama draws in a sharp breath.

“Would you like it if I watched you?” Senga asks. It’s a hot thought, him sitting on the end of Kitayama’s bed, watching Kitayama get himself off, although Senga knows he’d never be able to control himself if Kitayama were actually in touching distance. “Would you want to watch me?”

It’s too far, and he isn’t surprised at all when Kitayama says he’s going to sleep now. “You go to sleep too, we have shows tomorrow.”

“I will,” Senga promises, the only thing he’s maybe more serious about than he is about Kitayama. “Hey,” he adds on impulse. “If Tama and Miyacchi ask you to join in…will you?”

“No,” Kitayama says, voice soft. “Goodnight.”

The phone connection breaks with a click, and Senga has to squeeze his eyes shut against the throbbing of his heart. How is he supposed to sleep after that?

He’s still awake much later when Nikaido sneaks in, trying to not to wake Senga who he obviously assumes is asleep since the lights are out. Nikaido nearly jumps out of his skin when Senga whispers his name. Senga reaches over to click the lamp back on, making both of them squint at each other.

“Sorry,” Senga says, voice a more normal volume. “Nika, would you…will you sleep over here?”

“Why?” Nikaido trots a little closer, peering down at Senga as best he can without his contacts in. “I thought you didn’t want…”

“I just want to be close to somebody,” Senga says, and he must look pathetic because Nikaido nods, kicks off his jeans, and crawls into Senga’s bed without asking any more questions.

He lets Senga curl up against his chest and strokes Senga’s hair until Senga relaxes a little. “Everything okay? Is it Kitamitsu?”

“No,” Senga murmurs, voice muffled by Nikaido’s T-shirt. “Yes. But it’s my fault, he isn’t doing anything wrong. I’ll be okay after a while, promise. Nika?”

“Hm?” Nikaido rubs slow, wide circles on Senga’s back, and finally Senga starts to feel sleepy after all.

“You’re really good to me.” He wants to say he’s sorry too, that he knows Nikaido misses him, but it doesn’t seem like the right time. Senga feels like he’s making a mess of everything, lately. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Shh,” Nikaido shushes him, arms tightening for second into a hug before going back to what he was doing. “Don’t say stuff like that, of course you do. Go to sleep.”

“I’m sorry, Nika.” It comes out anyway, because Senga feels that awful, but Nikaido just squeezes him harder.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Nikaido assures him. “I’ve been kinda leaning towards Watta lately anyway.”

That has Senga smiling. “That makes me feel better. We’ll always be friends, right?”


Senga sleeps better than he has in weeks, though when he wakes up it’s to Nikaido snoring in his ear followed by grumbling about how much Senga sweats in his sleep. Senga just rolls his eyes as he stretches, welcoming the new day, and focuses all of his attention on the upcoming shows.

There’s a bit of a break between cities and they can actually go home for a couple days, but they get in so late that nobody wants to wake up their parents and thus Kitayama and Yokoo split up the remaining members. It feels like they’re being picked for a team in gym class with the way they go back and forth, but the two oldest members aren’t heartless and keep Tamamori and Miyata together, though the odd one out ends up being Nikaido when Kitayama surprises Senga by picking him.

“Guess I’m taking three then,” Yokoo says, like there was never a doubt in his mind that Nikaido was spending the night with anyone but him, and Senga smiles at the way Nikaido’s face lights up.

Which leaves Senga and Fujigaya trudging up to Kitayama’s apartment, where Fujigaya barely washes his face before crashing on the futon Senga had just laid out. Senga takes pity on him and tucks him in, arranging his limbs in some semblance of a comfortable position so he’s not aching tomorrow. When he glances up, he notices Kitayama watching him, though it’s more fondly than anything else.

“Do you need anything else?” Kitayama asks, slumping against the wall like he’s ten seconds away from passing out himself. “My couch doesn’t pull out like Watta’s, but it’s comfortable enough.”

Senga suspects that Kitayama falls asleep on his couch more often than his bed, so he figures Kitayama knows what he’s talking about. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Goodnight then,” Kitayama says, and Senga stares after him as he walks away. He realizes all too late that he should have answered you when Kitayama had asked if he needed anything else, but the moment has passed.

He could always just help himself to the other side of Kitayama’s bed, but somehow that feels like crossing a line. It’s one thing to talk him into it over the phone, but ambushing him in person just doesn’t seem right. The absolute last thing he wants is for Kitayama to be creeped out by him. And besides, he’d looked so tired that Senga expects that he’d fallen asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

Though it really would be nice to just sleep with him. Senga wonders if Kitayama is as cuddly with people as he is with coats and whatever happens to be within reach when he catches naps backstage. Kitayama doesn’t snore, either; one can barely hear him breathing when he’s asleep. And Senga bets he wouldn’t complain about Senga’s night sweats.

His phone going off shocks him so much that he almost jumps right off the couch, having already gotten settled underneath a blanket that smells like Kitayama. It’s on silent so it only flashes, but the apartment is otherwise pitch black and Senga has to stare at the display for a few seconds before he can process the caller.

“Hello?” he answers, his voice less than a whisper. Fujigaya isn’t the heaviest sleeper in the world, though he’s probably exhausted enough that it would take more than some quiet talking to wake him up.

“Mm, hey,” comes the familiar deep voice, the one he’s heard so many times but still yearns for. “Taisuke asleep?”

“Yeah,” Senga answers, pulling the blanket over his face to muffle his voice even more. “I thought you were out, too.”

“I was thinking that I owed you some payback,” Kitayama says, and it takes a second for Senga to realize what he’s talking about. “You up to it?”

There has never been a more literal question in this world as Senga’s body starts to react before his mind has even caught up with him. “Now I am,” he answers, trying to sound as cool as he can without using his actual voice.

“This time I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen,” Kitayama says; if Senga tries hard enough, he can almost hear the depth of those words through the wall. “Just like before, you are to only say yes or no. Understood?”

“Yes,” Senga answers. If that was adrenaline before when he had done all the talking, now it feels like an electric current surging through him at the reverse.

“You’re persistent, do you know that?” Kitayama asks. “I can’t stop thinking about the filthy things you say to me every time I look at you. Do you even realize how hard it is to be around you so much?”

“Yes,” Senga answers, and Kitayama’s deep laugh makes him shiver.

“I guess you would. But what I’m thinking about isn’t as innocent. All I can think about is you on top of me, riding me like in your accent dances, and how you would feel inside. How your body would look arched and shiny with sweat, how dark your eyes would be when you look down at me. Isn’t that too much?”

“No,” Senga says as firmly as he can manage in a whisper. His hand is already moving in his sweatpants. “No.”

“No?” Kitayama sounds frustrated, like he’d expected Senga to call this off. “But I’d be thrusting up into you, too, hitting you deeper and harder until you fall apart. I can go for a while, you know. If I want to. Could you even handle that?”

Senga squeezes himself particularly tightly and muffles a moan. “Yes.”

“How do you know?” Kitayama demands. “I want all kinds of things from you, the things I’ve been thinking about, I can’t even tell you some of them. I want to find out all the things you’ve never done with anybody else and then make you do them, every single one.”

“Yes, yes,” Senga agrees immediately, thinking that if anybody would know things he’s never tried, it would definitely be Kitayama. Maybe there’s even some stuff that Kitayama’s never tried with anybody else, just fantasized about, and the thought of that has Senga gasping another string of yes’s. He has to let go of himself and pinch his thigh hard so that he doesn’t come way too early.

“Would you really agree to anything I told you to do?” Kitayama asks, voice different than the harsh tone he’s been using. Senga hears fear in it, worry, and he wonders if maybe this is the root of the problem.

He knows it’s the wrong answer, but he says, “Yes,” anyway, because it’s the truth.

Kitayama heaves a sigh that sounds like it hurts. “Take the blanket off your head.”

Puzzled, Senga does, then he jumps when he sees Kitayama leaning against the side of the doorway, watching him. Kitayama still has the phone pressed to his ear, and still talks quietly into it, whether to keep from waking up Fujigaya or because it’s just easier to talk this way, Senga doesn’t know.

“Tell me why,” Kitayama says, eyes fixed firmly on Senga. “Answer properly, don’t say yes or no.”

“Because,” Senga has to lick his lips, mouth suddenly dry, “you wouldn’t ask me to do anything that would hurt me, not really hurt me. You wouldn’t make me do anything I didn’t want. You know a lot of stuff I don’t and you’re stronger and you’re older, but that’s okay. I stopped caring about that so long ago. I wish I could make you stop caring too.”

Kitayama closes his eyes, brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t trust me so much.”

“Mitsu, look at me.” Senga waits until Kitayama does, and he looks right back, trying to make it so that Kitayama can read whatever he needs to in Senga’s eyes. “There isn’t anybody I trust more.”

“Honestly.” Kitayama huffs a noise that’s half snort and half laugh. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Please let me sleep with you,” Senga asks before he can stop himself, pulse speeding. He’s terrified Kitayama will say no, because he doesn’t think he can go back to just listening to Kitayama’s voice on the phone anymore. “We can just sleep, if that’s what you want, but I want to be close to you. Please?”

Kitayama shuts his phone, ending the call, and Senga’s heart drops into the depths of his stomach. It’s a terrible second before Kitayama beckons at Senga to come over, and then Senga all but falls off the couch as he scrambles to his feet. He barely has the presence of mind to step over Fujigaya as he hurries after Kitayama, into his bedroom.

He’s only a second behind Kitayama, but Kitayama has already collapsed back onto his bed, groaning in muffled pleasure as his face hits the pillow. Senga scrambles in next to him, not caring at all how desperate he looks, so long as he can feel Kitayama’s body pressed close to his.

“Easy, easy,” Kitayama says, rolling onto his side. Senga is in his arms immediately, sighing in relief as he wraps arms around Kitayama’s chest. Kitayama curls an arm around him too, and something inside Senga, something that’s been wound tight for weeks, finally relaxes.

“I hated not being able to touch you,” Senga admits. It’s kind of embarrassing, but that’s nothing compared to the relief of being surrounded by Kitayama’s warmth and smell. “Afterwards, it was the worst. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was being patient for you.”

“How about when you said it had been weeks since anybody had touched you?” Kitayama asks. “Were you kidding about that?”

“No,” Senga says. Kitayama shifts, pushing Senga back until they can see each other clearly. Kitayama’s hands come up to cup Senga’s face between them, thumbing gently at his cheekbones. “I wanted you to see that I was serious.”

“I got it,” Kitayama says. He pulls Senga forward enough that they can kiss, and Senga’s eyes flutter shut at the first brush of Kitayama’s mouth over his.

A fraction of a second in and Senga already knows that this is going to be different than anything he’s known before. The kiss itself just seems to take him over, as light as it is, though it lasts for quite a while considering neither one of them actively moves. Senga remains still for fear of moving too fast, inadvertently pushing Kitayama away, and Kitayama just doesn’t move. Senga considers the possibility that Kitayama had actually fallen asleep like this until he makes a soft noise and pulls back, licking his lips.

Senga chances a lift of his hand, pushing Kitayama’s bangs out of his eyes, and Kitayama watches him as his fingers linger, playing with Kitayama’s hairline and outlining his ear. A small shiver from him reignites the want low in Senga’s belly, and he knows that Kitayama notices the abrupt change by the way the corner of his mouth lifts up in a half smirk.

“Don’t you want to finish?” Kitayama asks him, and suddenly all of Senga’s nerves are on fire.

“I’m okay,” Senga says, only lying a little bit. He’s not a teenager anymore, after all. He can control himself. He doesn’t want this to be just about him anymore. He wants Kitayama to want him, too.

“You sure?” Kitayama stretches out next to him, close enough that Senga feels the heat of Kitayama’s body all along his left side. “If you wanted to, I wouldn’t mind.”

Senga’s eyebrows rise quite high at that. “Here?”

“Mm,” Kitayama replies, that damn noncommittal noise that has Senga wanting to throw him down and make him say yes. “You asked me once if I’d want to watch that, do you remember?”

Of course Senga remembers, but all he can do is inhale sharply and nod. Part of him wants to take advantage of this opportunity, while the other part wants to hold out and make Kitayama do it himself. Maybe there’s some way he can do both…

“You were all set to do it with Taisuke sleeping three feet away, you freak,” Kitayama goes on, followed by a short chuckle. “He would kill you if he knew.”

Senga chokes out a laugh. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“When did you grow up?” Kitayama asks, then seems to think better of his question. “I mean, when did you stop being so innocent?”

“When you weren’t looking,” Senga answers, half kidding and half serious as he rolls onto his back, arching like he’s preparing to do what Kitayama’s basically daring him to, but Kitayama’s eyes darken with more than just lust.

“Lies,” he says. “I was always looking.”

Senga can’t stop himself—he grabs Kitayama by the collar and pulls him closer, pressing their mouths together and kissing him properly. Kitayama takes him by surprise by being the one to deepen the kiss, Senga happily welcoming his tongue and wrapping both arms around Kitayama as Kitayama twists around, lying halfway on top of Senga with his knees off to the side. If their last kiss had taken Senga over, this one practically knocks him out with the force and heat that are off the charts despite being so slow.

He’s so far gone that he doesn’t notice Kitayama peeling one of Senga’s hands off of his back and slowly pushing it down Senga’s chest. Senga realizes too late when his fingers bump his incredibly hard cock and he gasps into their kiss, deepening it even more as his fingers automatically wrap around himself and pick up from where they’d left off in the living room.

“That’s it,” Kitayama whispers against his lips, his own fingers loose around Senga’s wrist to guide him. “Show me how you thought about me before, what you did to yourself all those times we were on the phone. Let me see you lose it for me.”

“Mitsu,” Senga breathes, and Kitayama’s fervent licking inside his mouth takes away any apprehensions Senga may have had about doing this in front of him. He jerks himself slowly, trying not to finish embarrassingly fast, though his body is actually shaking from the force with which he’s holding back.

“Come on, let me see it,” Kitayama hisses, falling from Senga’s mouth and pressing wet kisses along his jaw toward his ear. “Come for me.”

“Want your hand,” Senga sputters out, letting go of himself to grab Kitayama’s wrist before he can pull it away. “Mitsu, please, touch me.”

Kitayama doesn’t say anything, and for a terrifying half a second Senga thinks he’s about to get kicked out of bed, but then strong fingers wrap around his cock and his body arches from the contact. “Like this?” Kitayama asks, squeezing him firmly and swiping the head with his thumb on each stroke.

“Yeah, like that,” Senga replies, his breaths quickening as his arm falls to the side, fisting the sheets. “Just like that, Mitsu, I’m so close.”

“I wanna hear you,” Kitayama says, speaking right into Senga’s ear as he speeds up his efforts. “Push up your shirt before you come all over it.”

Senga rushes to follow directions, and just in time; his air gets caught in his throat as Kitayama brings him off, stroking him until there’s nothing left, and Senga feels completely boneless by the time he pulls away. His eyelids are heavy, but he forces them open when he catches a glimpse of Kitayama bringing his hand to his mouth, licking the mess on his fingers.

“Do you want me to—” Senga starts to ask, then cuts himself off when Kitayama rolls onto his side and closes his eyes. “I guess not.”

“Date first,” Kitayama says as firmly as he can while half-asleep. “Before you touch me.”

“Fair enough,” Senga replies, and by the time he cleans himself up, Kitayama is down for the count. It’s easy for Senga to follow, with absolutely no qualms about wrapping an arm around Kitayama and pulling him close, and even Fujigaya’s bitching about dubious noises and complete lack of respect for guests in the morning isn’t enough to tear Senga away from the soft, warm puffs of air on his neck or the slow, even heartbeat thumping alongside his.

It’s nearly two weeks before they have the same night off. The time isn’t misspent; Senga is happy enough to steal hugs and touches from Kitayama whenever he can at work, to see how far Kitayama will let him push it before he pushes back. But now that he knows how Kitayama really feels, it doesn’t hurt when Senga gets pushed away. It only makes him look forward more to later, when it’s just the two of them. He wakes Kitayama up with a kiss more than once, Kitayama’s mouth starting to move sleepily against his each time before he wakes up enough to remember where they are and growls at Senga. The frustration in Kitayama’s eyes as he shoves Senga back makes Senga grin like an idiot, because now he’s not the only one who wants to touch but can’t.

When Kitayama opens the door to find Senga holding up a bag of takeout in one hand a case of beer in the other, he rolls his eyes.

“This is not an acceptable date,” he informs Senga, crossing his arms.

“No, it’s an amazing date,” Senga replies. “It’s not like I can hold your hand or kiss you at a restaurant.” Kitayama’s expression doesn’t waver. “No? Hm, I guess I could take this home and eat it all myself…” He clutches the bag to his chest so that he can tug the top open, the smell of katsu and onion wafting out into the hallway. Kitayama’s nose twitches, like a rabbit, and Senga struggles to contain laughter at how cute that is.

“Oh, get in here,” Kitayama gives in, stepping out of the doorway, enough that Senga can come in and kick his shoes off in the entryway.

They settle on the floor in front of Kitayama’s low table, their backs against the couch and some of their senpai on whatever variety show Kitayama has on the television. Senga isn’t watching a bit of it, occupied watching Kitayama instead and eating his own food before it gets sucked into the black hole that is Kitayama’s food zone. Kitayama’s eating faces really are the best, Senga thinks with affection, then flushes warm as he realizes that soon he’ll know for sure whether his sex faces are the same, like the members always joke they are.

“What?” Kitayama asks, noticing Senga’s eyes on him at last.

“Just wondering if you could ever love anybody as much as you love food,” Senga teases, giving him most of the truth. Maybe he’ll tell Kitayama about the sex faces bet with Nikaido afterwards.

“That’s ridiculous,” Kitayama scoffs. “I love my mom most, obviously.”

Senga bursts into giggles because of course, but they cut off in surprise when Kitayama leans over to kiss his cheek soundly.

“Top three is totally an obtainable goal,” he tells Senga, who laughs and turns his head to kiss Kitayama properly. Kitayama tastes like katsudon so Senga must taste the same, but Kitayama apparently likes it since he growls a little and licks at Senga’s lips. Senga wonders why he’s never thought to try that before, making himself as much like food as possible, before Kitayama licks his way into Senga’s mouth and Senga forgets how to think at all.

When he pulls away, both of them are breathing quickly, and Senga’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Kitayama gives him a satisfied once over before returning to his food. Senga acts like he’s doing the same but only picks at the remains of his dinner, fingers tingling so that he can barely hold his chopsticks.

Eventually even Kitayama is satisfied, pushing the empty takeout container back and slumping against the couch with a contented sigh. He yawns and rubs at his stomach, then turns to Senga. “Now what? It’s your date.”

“Movie?” Senga suggests, shrugging a shoulder towards the television. Kitayama raises an eyebrow, but Senga’s in no hurry really. The hum of anticipation between them feels good, but the warmth and the closeness of spending a night in with Kitayama feels even better, and Senga’s sees no reason to rush right into the next thing without enjoying this first. “What? That’s a totally normal date, dinner and a movie.”

“If you like,” Kitayama agrees, easy-going as always. They find something on cable that neither one of them has seen and is just starting, and then tuck themselves snugly together on Kitayama’s couch. It feels so good to lie there next to Kitayama, scrunched down low enough that Kitayama can see over his head, Kitayama’s arm tight around his waist, the blanket that smells gloriously like Kitayama thrown over both of them.

The movie is interesting, but Senga is so relaxed that he drifts off without realizing it. When he wakes up, the movie is winding down, and behind him Kitayama’s breathing is slow and regular. Senga basks in their shared warmth for a bit longer, then rolls over carefully to avoid sliding off the edge of the couch and sending them both crashing to the floor.

Kitayama’s face is relaxed with sleep, peaceful, and Senga presses lips to his forehead.

“Mitsu?” he asks, but gets no other response besides a soft exhale. He kisses Kitayama’s nose. “Mitsu.” Then his cheek. “Mitsu.” He repeats Kitayama’s name between each kiss, until he finally covers Kitayama’s mouth with his own.

Stirring at last, Kitayama makes a faint noise and kisses back lazily, tightening his arm around Senga’s back. Senga can feel exactly the moment Kitayama actually wakes up and goes from being a passive participant to actively kissing back. It makes a little shiver run down Senga’s spine, makes him smile into the kiss.

The kiss breaks naturally, Senga laying his head down on the arm of the couch so that he and Kitayama are looking right in each other’s eyes without feeling cross-eyed. “Take me to bed?”

“Hm.” Kitayama seems to think about it. “It’s not the fanciest date I’ve ever been on…” He lets it dangle until Senga pouts at him. “But the food was good, and it’s the company that counts anyway.”

Senga kisses him sweetly to share his happiness, and then kicks off the blanket to stand up. He tugs Kitayama up, Kitayama grumbling like an old man, and doesn’t let go of his hands until they are in Kitayama’s bedroom and he needs his own hands to unbutton his shirt.

“Let me,” Kitayama says, and Senga drops his hands to his sides immediately. Kitayama’s fingers are slow but sure as they undo the rest of Senga’s buttons and push the shirt off his shoulders. Senga shivers as Kitayama’s touch brushes over his shoulders and down his arms, then back to his chest. When Kitayama brushes Senga’s nipples, Senga gives a breathy moan. “So responsive. Does it feel that good?”

“Doesn’t it?” Senga slides his hands under Kitayama’s T-shirt, up his chest until he can roll Kitayama’s nipples between his fingers. Kitayama tips his head back in obvious pleasure, but only sighs a little. “You said you were quiet,” Senga remembers, and Kitayama nods, eyes dark and glittering. “That’s okay. I can make enough noise for both of us.”

“Kento,” Kitayama groans softly. Senga slides his hands back down and reaches for Kitayama’s belt, but Kitayama puts his own hands on top of Senga’s, stopping them. “You remember what else I said? About what I want to do to you?”

Senga nods, heartbeat suddenly seeming like it’s pounding right in his ears. He thinks about riding Kitayama, Kitayama so deep and hard inside of him, making him bounce. “I want it too, if you still do.”

Kitayama crushes their mouths together rather than answer in words, and Senga lets him strip off the rest of their clothes without any argument, skin prickling with want and anticipation everywhere Kitayama touches him. It’s Kitayama who maneuvers them towards his bed, the pair of them tumbling unceremoniously down onto it because they both refuse to break the kiss to actually look where they’re going.

Senga ends up on his back with Kitayama covering his entire body, warm and heavy just like the blanket, though much more active. It feels like Kitayama suddenly grew eight arms with the way he touches Senga everywhere—across his chest, down his sides, around to his back and up toward his shoulders. When Kitayama drops his hands to the backs of Senga’s thighs, they spread slightly and Kitayama presses even closer, rocking a little as their cocks rub together.

“Mitsu,” Senga says, making Kitayama pause and pull back to look at him, and seeing him like this with his dark, dark eyes and wet lips almost has Senga forgetting what he was going to say. “I can’t ride you like this.”

Kitayama inhales sharply, the next thrust of his hips a bit harder. “I have a big bed. Roll us over.”

It’s not as easy as it sounds, but Senga makes it happen and looking down at that face is even better than looking up at it. Senga straddles Kitayama’s lap and leans back, teasing the head of Kitayama’s cock with the part of him that’s not nearly ready for it yet, and Kitayama growls low in his throat as his hands tighten on Senga’s thighs.

“Too far,” Kitayama says, and Senga is confused until Kitayama grabs him by the arm and pulls him down, their mouths nearly crashing together. Senga feels the same way, much warmer now that they’re skin to skin again, and wonders if Kitayama will accept this position as a compromise.

Judging by the fingers that creep between his legs, Senga doesn’t even have to ask. Kitayama kisses him harder like he’s trying to distract Senga from what he’s about to do, but Senga is rather responsive like this and ends up moaning into their kiss more than focusing on it. Kitayama figures this out real quick and falls from Senga’s mouth, kissing his way down Senga’s jaw and behind his ear, sucking lightly along his neck as his fingers stretch Senga open one by one.

“You weren’t kidding about being loud,” Kitayama says, pressing the words into Senga’s skin, but he sounds more amused than annoyed. “Does this feel good?”

“Yes,” Senga answers, nodding for effect. “You can go harder, if you want.”

“Yeah?” Kitayama doesn’t want for a response, just uses more force in his fingering and Senga’s body starts pushing back on its own, seeking out more. “Mm, do you want me now?”

“I wanted you before,” Senga gets out. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Touch me,” Kitayama says, and Senga rushes to obey. “Before we do this, I want to feel your hands on me.”

Kitayama’s skin is warm to the touch, a bit difficult to navigate with Kitayama being as quiet as he is, but Senga quickly learns to listen to his breathing. As sharp inhale means it’s good, a gasp even better. Kitayama’s cock is hot and hard in Senga’s hand, his body rocking into the touch with each stroke. Their mouths find each other again and everything feels so much more intense, their kiss coupled with the fingers inside him and the hard flesh in his hand.

“Do you want me to put it in my mouth?” Senga asks between kisses, and Kitayama groans so deeply that it vibrates them both. “I’d love to taste you.”

“You can’t have both,” Kitayama tells him, sounding sad about it, and the way he speeds up his efforts makes it obvious which one he’s leaning toward. “Next time, okay?”

Senga lights up at that, because there will be a next time, and kisses him even harder in hopes that it conveys his feelings on the matter. Kitayama knows what he’s doing and moves his fingers just right, barely touching that spot every so often to make Senga crave it. He has to know when he hits it, because Senga’s body jerks uncontrollably and tightens around him, a shrill moan sounding from his lungs.

“Come on,” Senga whines, fighting fire with fire and thumbing Mitsu’s tip to have him squirming as well.

“Getting me off right now is not conducive to either of our goals here,” Kitayama points out, but he also curls his fingers and rubs Senga right where he wants it, sending him into a tiny fit of convulsions as he clings onto Kitayama’s shoulders with both arms. “Tell me you want me.”

“Mitsu, I want you,” Senga says, clear as day, his moans breaking long enough to speak the words. “Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

“Okay, okay,” Kitayama says, sounding exasperated like Senga’s just bugging him to buy dinner again, and Senga would laugh if he wasn’t so overcome with the need to have Kitayama inside him right now. “You wanna put it on?”

He holds up a condom packet between his fingers and Senga snatches it, tearing the foil open with his teeth and carefully rolling it down onto Kitayama’s length, watching him arch at the touch. Senga keeps his hand around it and leans up, Kitayama’s fingers falling from him like planned choreography, and then Kitayama is filling him, inch by glorious inch as Senga slowly lowers himself down.

“Oh fuck,” Kitayama says, his voice barely a whisper, and Senga’s eyes lock on his face. “You’re so tight.”

“Believe I haven’t let anyone else touch me now?” Senga asks, his own voice coming out strained. He’s still adjusting to having all of Kitayama inside him, testing the waters by rocking back a little, which has Kitayama arching and Senga moaning.

“I believed you before, but this is adequate proof.” Kitayama’s hands come to rest on Senga’s hips, neither moving him nor holding him still, and Senga can feel him shaking from how hard he’s trying to hold back.

“Give me a bit,” Senga tells him, sitting up to get a better angle, and a rush of air leaves Kitayama as he very slowly starts to move. He rocks back and forth, getting used to the movement inside him, all the while watching Kitayama’s face. He almost looks pained, though that’s likely from not pounding up into Senga like he probably wants to, and Senga feels a little like justice is being served. Now Kitayama is the one who has to wait.

He’s ready within a couple gyrations, but he does a few more just to be a brat. Kitayama’s completely flushed red now, his mouth parted for quick breaths, his eyes completely dark and glazed over. The hands on his hips tighten, though they still don’t direct him and Senga is pretty sure they’re shaking.

“Okay,” Senga finally says, because now he wants it. “Make me bounce.”

Kitayama thrusts up before Senga’s barely done saying the words, digging his heels in for leverage and using his grip on Senga’s hips to pull him down at the same time. Senga flails for balance for a second, before he figures out how to arch his back and lean into it, to trust that Kitayama’s hands on his hips are strong enough to hold him.

“Just like that,” he moans when Kitayama keeps going, his cock touching places inside Senga that he had no idea he even wanted touched until now. “You feel so good, you’re so deep inside me, Mitsu.”

He stretches his arms up, behind his head, so that it really is like his accent dance, only riding Kitayama is a thousand times better than riding the stage, a million. He keeps his eyes glued on Kitayama’s face, struggling to keep them open when they’re trying to squeeze shut with pleasure, but he wouldn’t miss the way Kitayama looks under him for anything. It turns out his sex faces are so much better than his food faces, and even if Senga only feels that way because they’re all because of him, he’s still going to take Nikaido’s money and laugh while he does it.

Kitayama’s eyes are burning, focused only on Senga, his hands tight enough on Senga’s skin that they might leave marks, his hips slamming up into Senga’s, filling him over and over. Senga’s cock is hard and leaking, slapping Kitayama’s stomach every time he comes down, but Senga doesn’t do anything about it because if he touches himself, he knows it’ll all be over, and he doesn’t want this to ever end.

“You weren’t kidding you could go a while,” Senga praises, or maybe it’s just that the rest of their bandmates have set him up with low expectations, aside from maybe Miyata. It feels so good this way, but Senga’s thighs are starting to tire out, the longest accent dance he’s ever done, and anyway, Kitayama feels too far away.

Senga leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Kitayama’s head, letting his arms take some of his weight. The change in angle has him groaning Kitayama’s name and Kitayama gasping underneath him. This way Senga can push back much more strongly against Kitayama’s thrusts, using the strength of his arms and shoulders rather than just gravity. Their skin slaps cleanly together, and Senga squeezes tight around Kitayama each time he gets him in as deep as he can, trying to keep him in place.

“Kento,” Kitayama growls. He slides his hands around from Senga’s waist to his ass now that they aren’t doing the work of holding him in place. He spreads Senga open even wider with his hands, pounds into him just that much deeper, making Senga wail his name back. “Want to come?”

“No,” Senga pants, even as his body twitches in an obvious yes. “Don’t stop, Mitsu, don’t stop…”

“Stubborn,” Kitayama says, like it’s a compliment, punctuating his words with thrusts. “Tease. Brat. Mine.”

“Yours,” Senga agrees, arms in danger of giving out and cock aching for release, and he doesn’t say anything else besides repeating, “yours, yours” but Kitayama somehow understands he’s at his limit. He lets go of Senga’s ass with one hand to work between them, Senga’s cock jumping as soon as Kitayama touches it.

“Come,” Kitayama pants in his ear, “come for me,” and Senga does, back drawing taut like a bow as he starts pulsing over Kitayama’s hand and feels like he’ll never stop, fingers twisted tight in the sheets and a ragged cry tearing from his throat. He can feel Kitayama come along with him, deep inside him in counterpoint to his own throbbing, before his orgasm carries him totally away, past any sort of sense.

“This is why you shouldn’t trust me,” Kitayama’s voice is saying when Senga comes back to himself. Senga thinks about trying to move, but knows he isn’t able to yet before he even tries. His thighs ache dully, his ass in not much better shape, and he’s pretty sure his chest is actually glued to Kitayama’s.

He feels amazing; he’s never felt happier.

“Don’t start that again,” he croaks, voice hoarse. He swallows a couple times, and it helps a little. “Mitsu…” He wants to say too much all at once, feels too much to put it into words. He ends up just pressing his whole body down against Kitayama’s, as much as he can.

“Shh,” Kitayama says, dragging his hand through Senga’s sweat-soaked curls. “You talk too much.”

Senga chuckles, content to lie there and let Kitayama pet him, to put off moving and cleaning up and everything else as long as he can.

He dozes a bit, but eventually Kitayama forces them up and to the bathroom. He has to all but drag Senga out of bed, an irony that doesn’t escape either one of them, informing Senga sternly that he’ll be a lot less happy in the morning if he doesn’t clean up and soak in some hot water. Senga makes a lot of pathetic faces, but Kitayama is right, and even just having hot water sprayed over him from the shower head feels good against Senga’s still-sensitive skin.

“Mitsu?” Senga asks while Kitayama is washing his back in lazy circles. Kitayama hums in reply, and Senga leans his head back to see Kitayama’s face. “It’s really okay, right? For you?”

Kitayama pauses, then his arms slide around Senga’s waist, their skin slick from the soap and water. He pulls Senga tight against his chest and rests his chin on Senga’s shoulder. He doesn’t answer right away, and Senga waits patiently. He’s gotten good at that.

“If you can trust me so much,” Kitayama finally says, “then I guess it’s only fair that I should trust you too.”

Warmth washing over Senga from head to toe, he turns his head to kiss Kitayama sweetly, and keeps kissing him until Kitayama pulls back to wash the soap off of both of them, tsking when Senga clings tightly enough to make it difficult. They relax in the bath until the water cools, Kitayama’s chest warm against Senga’s back, and then curl up in Kitayama’s bed together. It’s quiet, peaceful, the two of them trading lazy kisses and touches rather than words.

That’s just fine with Senga, he thinks as he starts to fall asleep, Kitayama’s heartbeat steady in his ear. He’s done more than enough talking lately anyway.

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