Kis-My-Ft2, Well Begun Is Half Done

Title: Well Begun Is Half Done [Tamamori/Miyata]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Summary: Tamamori and Miyata coming home together after Countdown is one of their favorite holiday traditions.
AN: On twitter after Countdown we were talking about how we all feel like TamaMiya’s first time being right after Countdown is so canon, so then I wrote them feeling the same way lol. It’s still romantic even when they don’t have any firsts left.

Original fic is here: Dating is Not a Spectator’s Sport, and is from back in 2008 if you can even believe that.

Well Begun Is Half Done

It’s not the first year they’ve spent Countdown together, not the first year they’ve shared a New Year’s kiss. It’s not the first year they’ve gotten to sing their debut single along with their senpai or dance with their friends, not the first year they’ve been invited to sing on other New Year’s shows and had to stay out practically all night. It’s not even the first year they’ve come back to Tamamori’s apartment afterwards and flopped down in Tamamori’s bed together with the sun already coming up.

Absolutely nothing is a first this year, but Miyata finds charm in that too. There’s kind of a dent in the mattress because Tamamori doesn’t rotate it properly that they roll right into, Tamamori yanking Miyata close like he’s a favorite toy that’s been hugged into the perfect shape.

“Happy anniversary,” Miyata murmurs into Tamamori’s hair.

Tamamori doesn’t argue with him this year, which surprises Miyata, inasmuch as he can feel any emotion through his exhaustion. Usually Tamamori insists that their first time was in the closet with the tambourines and it’s stupid to celebrate the first time they happened to do it in a bed and they might as well celebrate the first time Tamamori’s mother walked in on them.

This year, all Tamamori says is, “How fast do you think we can have anniversary sex?”

“You aren’t gonna argue?” Miyata asks, smoothing Tamamori’s hair back from his forehead. Tamamori murmurs for him to keep doing that. “Usually you argue.”

“Doesn’t ever help,” Tamamori murmurs, rubbing his cheek lazily against Miyata’s shoulder. “We waste ten minutes on that, then we still do it, then when we get out of bed we eat the whole cake that’s in the fridge. Well, when you get out of bed and bring it here.”

“That’s my favorite part of the tradition,” Miyata says fondly. Tamamori gives him a beady-eyed stare. “You know, besides…it.”

“Idiot,” Tamamori says with no heat whatsoever. “So if I don’t argue with you we can be done doing it and sleep ten minutes earlier.”

“You could just sleep,” Miyata points out. “It can wait, I’m not going anywhere. It’s not like a contractual obligation that you have to fulfill your sex quota before your work day ends.”

“God, do you ever shut up?” Tamamori asks, pulling Miyata down by the hair to take care of the problem himself. Despite his gruff words, his lips are gentle against Miyata’s, the kiss lazy, sweet. Miyata hugs him tightly as he kisses back, the chill from outside finally fading from his skin, replaced with the warmth of the two of them cuddled together.

The kiss breaks eventually, Tamamori tipping his head back with a sigh as Miyata kisses along the edge of his jaw. Miyata slides hands up under Tamamori’s T-shirt, making Tamamori hiss at his cold fingers, but he doesn’t push Miyata away. They both know in five minutes Miyata will be too warm and start sweating, and after their cold trip home, Tamamori is more than ready for his human heater to get going already.

They strip off shirts and pants and boxers until there’s nothing left separating their skin, and Miyata tugs the blankets back so they can crawl underneath and nestle in the warm spot they’ve been making.

“How do you want it?” Miyata asks, dragging fingers up and down Tamamori’s side, lingering at the bottom edge of Tamamori’s ribs where it always makes Tamamori sigh. “Wanna switch?”

“No way.” Tamamori gives Miyata a shove. “I want my totally traditional Countdown sex, so get with it.”

Miyata just laughs because as much as he complains, Tamamori is easily twice the sap Miyata is for that sort of thing. But if Tamamori wants to be underneath him while Miyata is inside, Miyata doesn’t have any objections to that. It’s not like he never thinks about that first time after Countdown, it feels like forever ago now, but as he gets the lube out of Tamamori’s drawer and watches Tamamori stretch out easily just for him, in his mind’s eye he sees a much younger Tamamori with bleached hair hanging in his shy eyes, so much younger and skinnier and more nervous.

“What are you thinking about?” Tamamori asks when Miyata’s eyes linger for long enough.

“You,” Miyata says. He had thought Tamamori was beautiful back then, and it’s nothing compared to how beautiful he thinks Tamamori is now. Tamamori still looks up at him the same way, though, just waiting for Miyata to take care of him, and that’s what important, he supposes.

“Stop thinking and start doing,” Tamamori orders. He’s smiling, though. Miyata wonders what Tamamori is thinking about, if he’s thinking about that same time, or any of the hundreds of times after.

Tamamori is pretty relaxed and Miyata knows him better than anybody, so it wouldn’t take long to get him ready if they were in a rush. They aren’t, though, or at least Miyata isn’t, so he lingers there much longer than he needs to, watching his fingers slide into Tamamori, Tamamori groaning softly at the deep touches, the way Miyata’s other hand flutters over his balls and along his cock.

“I am gonna fall asleep on you,” Tamamori warns, and Miyata says okay okay. He still doesn’t rush though, rubbing some of the lube onto his own cock and the rest of it onto the sheets. Tamamori can yell at him about it later, after Miyata runs hands up his thighs to his waist, over all of Tamamori’s skin that he can reach from his spot between Tamamori’s thighs.

Miyata leaves one hand on Tamamori’s hip to ground himself as he starts pushing inside, his other hand holding his cock steady. Tamamori is already making soft, encouraging noises and reaching for Miyata, grabbing at Miyata’s biceps. When Miyata is far enough inside that he can stop holding onto his cock, he sinks down onto his elbows instead, wanting to be closer. Tamamori sighs happily, apparently sharing Miyata’s opinion. His hands move up to Miyata’s face, stroking along his cheeks and back through his hair. Tamamori stretches up for a kiss when Miyata is as deep inside of him as he can get. They can’t hold it for long, Tamamori having to bend his neck awkwardly, but that’s fine; Miyata presses kisses to Tamamori’s chest instead, flickers of tongue making Tamamori sigh his name.

“You feel so good,” Miyata says, hardly in control of what’s spilling out of his mouth as he fucks Tamamori slow and deep, like they have all the time in the world. “So good. Mm, I love you.”

“Idiot,” Tamamori replies breathlessly, tugging on Miyata’s hair. “More, please, more.”

Miyata gives it to him, speeding up until neither of them have the air to say anything. Tamamori is moaning wordlessly, legs squeezing around Miyata’s waist, and Miyata wishes a little under the fierce pleasure of it that they could go back to the days where Tamamori could be trusted to come first every time.

“I don’t wanna move,” Miyata says, words muffled against Tamamori’s chest, and Tamamori understands what he’s really saying because he starts working a hand between them to touch himself. “Yesss,” Miyata hisses as Tamamori clenches even tighter around him. “Yuta, I’m gonna come.”

“Don’t,” Tamamori moans, and when Miyata lifts his head to see, Tamamori’s eyes are squeezed shut in concentration. “Close, don’t.”

“Come on,” Miyata begs, because he loves Tamamori enough to do all his impossible commands, but this one is not at all doable. “Come on come on come on—”

Oh!” Tamamori arches up against Miyata, fingers digging into his shoulders tight enough to hurt, but Miyata’s so close it all feels good. He wants to watch Tamamori come down, but sweat is running in his eyes and he has to close them, and anyway he’s coming too, the hot rush of it pouring through his veins until his energy runs out.

Tamamori is still shuddering around him when Miyata can notice anything again, Miyata’s skin feeling fuzzy all over, little bursts of pleasure where Tamamori’s fingers are touching it. Miyata slides his arms underneath Tamamori’s waist to squeeze him as tightly as he can, overemotional from orgasm and exhaustion.

“Don’t cry on me, I’m already sticky,” Tamamori murmurs, one of his hands coming up to brush through Miyata’s hair.

“It’s sweat,” Miyata lies. He takes in slow, deep breaths, trying to rebalance himself, but since he gets a noseful of the smell of Tamamori’s skin every time, it’s not helping much.

“Just come up here, it’s cold.”

Miyata shifts up with a grunt of effort, slipping out of Tamamori and making both of them whine. Tamamori doesn’t turn over though, like usual; instead he lets Miyata cuddle against his chest, his face pressed against Tamamori’s neck. With the disheveled blanket tucked back over their shoulders, it’s so warm and comfortable that Miyata can’t help but relax into it, emotions ebbing back down to something more like normal.

Tamamori’s stomach growls just then, loud enough to make Miyata laugh and Tamamori groan in frustration.

“I just want to sleeeeep, shut up,” he scolds his stomach, and Miyata laughs harder. “It’s sleep and then cake! Sleep first!”

“That’s not how we did it the first time,” Miyata reminds, already untangling himself from Tamamori and the blankets to go and get the cake. He brings it back with two forks and no plates, because that’s how they always end up doing it, eating it right out of the box and squabbling over the strawberries, wearing blankets over their shoulders and complaining about how they should have turned the heat on first.

This is where he wants to be every year, Miyata thinks as looks over at Tamamori’s bedhead and the smear of icing on his cheek. This is where he wants to be always.

“What?” Tamamori asks, mouth full, and Miyata reaches over to wipe away the icing with his thumb as if that had been what he was looking at. “Whatever.” But he offers Miyata the last strawberry, and as usual, Miyata ignores it and steals a kiss instead.

Empty cake box set aside on the floor, they curl up together under the blankets, both of them full and sleepy, Tamamori tugging Miyata close against his back and sighing happily as the heat of Miyata’s skin sinks into his own.

“I want to do Countdowns with you forever,” Tamamori says out of the blue, and those are the perfect words for some reason, to Miyata, better than any “I love you” that he’s ever said. “I don’t even know how many we’ve done together by now, but I want all the rest of them.”

“Me too,” Miyata manages past the lump in his throat. It’s probably too late to make his wish on the first sunrise of the year, but he wishes it anyway, closes his eyes tight and wishes it as hard as he can. “Let’s start every year together.”

“Okay, okay,” Tamamori grumbles, half-asleep, as if Miyata’s the one forcing him. Miyata presses a kiss to Tamamori’s shoulder, charmed as ever by his push and pull.

Every year should definitely start just like this, he thinks as he follows Tamamori into sleep.

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