Kis-My-Ft2, Akashi

Title: Akashi [Kitayama/Fujigaya]
Rating/Warnings: G
Summary: Fujigaya doesn’t give Kitayama his birthday present until afterwards, when no one is watching.
AN: Written for Shiritori. I’m so mad I already used the title Best Jeanist for these two! ah well. So I have new jeans that are embroidered down the leg and there’s a matching patch on the one butt pocket and I was thinking, in buttmark AU guys probably go to some trendy place and have their buttmarks done up on their jeans pocket right? Cause there’s no other way to show off yours/that you’ve got one, clearly.

so yeah, more JE buttmark fic, and somehow it’s all about how Mitsu and Gaya were a little bit weird about those jeans that Gaya gave him for his birthday, and then Mitsu mentioned them again on his jweb later, like it was some kind of thing. Hm!


After all the fuss had died down, the others having already given Kitayama their presents and now occupied by cake, only then does Fujigaya saunter over with his own package. It’s squashy but a little heavy, and Kitayama raises an eyebrow as he takes it from Fujigaya’s hands.

He doesn’t call Fujigaya out outright for the weirdness of it, which Fujigaya appreciates. It’s awkward enough already, handing over a birthday gift for the first time in all the years they’ve known each other, but after the guitars…well, the weight of that had been sitting on Fujigaya’s shoulders until he figured out how to make them even again.

Fujigaya thought he had figured it out, though. He thought that Kitayama would understand what he was trying to say, but he wasn’t entirely sure, so he spent the few seconds it took Kitayama to tear off the wrapping paper squeezing and relaxing his fist in mild anxiety.

It took Kitayama a second, the denim spilling soft and indigo over his hands, but Fujigaya saw the second that it clicked. Kitayama turned the jeans over and found the kiss mark stitched into the back pocket. He ran his thumb over the embroidery, the slick newness of the red thread and the uneven glitter of the silver studs outlining it. The second pair had a skate, white and more silver, sleek and streamlined.

It was unusual to split the design like that; most people got a replica of their buttmarks done up as perfectly as possible. It was the only way to show it off, after all, unless you were one of the few guys who got asked to do the sex shoot for an-an. A shop in Shibuya was the trendy place to have them done, expensive but worth it, in Fujigaya’s opinion, for the quality of the design and of the jeans themselves, plus the fact that they agreed not to duplicate the design for anyone else as part of their standard package. Lots of guys in the company had them at this point, the trend having spread from senpai down through the juniors, Fujigaya and Tamamori included, but somehow Kitayama had never had it done for himself.

Until now.

“Is the design okay?” Fujigaya asked, trying to sound neutral when he felt anxious. Kitayama probably saw right through it. “Is it all right that I split it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s nice.” Kitayama folded the jeans back up neatly, the skate showing on top. When he looked up, Fujigaya finally relaxed because he was sure that Kitayama got it. “Thank you. How did you show the artist? There’s no way you drew it,” he teased.

Fujigaya snorted a laugh. “Tottsu drew it. It was the same artist that did Hashimoto’s, since his turned out so well. That’s when I thought about it.”

“You didn’t have to do this. I mean, thank you, really, but,” Kitayama tilted his head, watching Fujigaya’s expression. “You felt like you had to make us even, right? You didn’t have to.”

“It’s just a birthday present,” Fujigaya said dismissively even though they both know it wasn’t. “You have to try them on, if they don’t fit…”

“Trying to get my pants off?” Kitayama’s eyes sparkled with how he was being a jerk. He flicked a glance to where Nikaido and Tamamori were squabbling over cake strawberries. “Not in front of the children.”

Fujigaya rolls his eyes. “If they don’t fit we can take them back. We can…” Fujigaya paused. “I split the mark since we all have the kiss mark, so I thought you might want to…we’d have to both go, since I bought the first one but it’s your mark, but they’d make more. If you wanted to share.”

Kitayama eyed Fujigaya evenly for several seconds, smiling almost imperceptibly.

“You already have a kiss mark pair,” he finally said, not even a question. Fujigaya’s cheeks went mildly pink as he looked away, scowling. “So matchy-matchy, pfft.”

“Shut up, asshole, you bought us guitars just so they could film you doing it, you creep.” Fujigaya’s gaze stayed stubbornly somewhere else as Kitayama stood up and hugged him. It was brief, Fujigaya’s stance rigid, but Kitayama was warm and he meant it, and things were always like that between the two of them.

“I think I’d really like it, if the others wanted to match,” Kitayama said, near to Fujigaya’s ear. “But even if it’s just you, that’s fine, too.” He slapped Fujigaya on the back once, hard, and then pulled away, calling for Senga to come see his present, not to be jealous that Gaya bought him the best stuff.

Fujigaya went his own way, ignoring Miyata’s knowing grin and Yokoo’s raised eyebrow as they handed him his own piece of cake. The icing was too sweet, but the strawberries were good, and Fujigaya sucked one flat against his tongue and thought about whether or not he wanted Kitayama to accept, about the seven of them in tour T-shirts, lined up so the lights caught on their matching marks.

“Wah, they’re boot cut!” Senga exclaimed, shaking out one of the pairs, alight with as much delight as if they were a present for him. Over Senga’s shoulder, Tamamori looked entirely too amused when he caught Fujigaya’s glance. “You can wear your skates!”

“How about that,” Kitayama said casually, like he hadn’t thought about it even a little. “Nika-chan, you ever get a pair from this place?”

“No, not yet,” and then the rest of their conversation was drowned by Tamamori hollering for Miyata to hurry up and bring him some water already, move it, and Yokoo asking if Fujigaya was going to eat his food or just play with it, and Senga’s phone ringing with that gratingly catchy Kpop song Senga had been obsessed with all week.

Fujigaya snorted, licking icing off the corner of his mouth. Maybe they already matched too well.

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