
Kitayama might be taking a picture of this

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Fic, Kis-My-Ft2, Taking the Lead

Title: Taking the Lead [Tamamori/Miyata]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, minor breathplay and some stuff with ties.
Summary: Tamamori is exhausted of being lead for Dream Boys, so getting Miyata to take charge is the best idea he's ever had.
AN: They ganged up on me on twitter and made me write this ;___; i tried to fight, because breathplay whaaaat, but then there were ties and tie yanking and I don't even know. *hides*

Taking the Lead

Tamamori is really sick of being a lead of this show.

It’s great and all, that Kamenashi and the staff trust him with so much, that he’s so popular and getting so much exposure and attention, that some days he feels like an honest-to-god idol on the inside instead of just trying to look it and faking his way through. But it’s so much work, so exhausting and nerve-wracking even though they’ve run it through over and over at this point, and that’s not even the worst problem.

This stupid theater doesn’t have a single place to hide and make out that at least thirteen other juniors don’t know about. And whenever Tamamori has to kick some kouhai half his height out of whatever spot, sending them scuttling off to a new corner with boyfriend in tow, after that the spot loses a good amount of its appeal.

Kamenashi isn’t sympathetic.

“You know how many of your little bandmates I’ve had to throw out of corners during KAT-TUN concerts?” he laughs, eyes saying Tamamori is getting exactly what he deserves. “Nika-chan still holds the record for highest number of incidents at Tokyo Dome, although Taisuke has it for number of partners.”

“EWW,” Tamamori announces, then stomps off to find his bandmates so he can inflict that mental image on them as well.

Even afterwards, in his dressing room as he’s lying around instead of getting himself ready to go, he still feels a bit cranky. He doesn’t bother trying to hide it in front of Miyata, who always sees right through him anyway, so it doesn’t take long before Miyata is looming over him, reaching for his forehead.

“You feeling all right?” he asks, his palm far too warm to take anybody’s temperature successfully. “You don’t look yourself.”

“Tired of this whole thing,” Tamamori sighs, glad to wallow now that somebody’s finally noticing his discontent. “I can’t even get a minute to myself!”

“Oh!” Miyata’s hand disappears, and Tamamori opens his eyes with a frown. “Sorry! I can go back to the other dressing room, leave you alone a bit--”

Tamamori’s fingers are wrapped tight around Miyata’s wrist, halting his turn, before Tamamori recalls telling his hand to even do that. “No, idiot. I mean, I want to be by myself with you.”

“Yeah?” Miyata’s grin makes Tamamori click his tongue in annoyance and drop his hand, but he doesn’t take the words back. “Guess it has been a while, huh.” He leans down to brush a kiss across Tamamori’s cheekbone. “Come home with me tomorrow night?”

“Why tomorrow?” Tamamori demands, sick of being patient, of being good.

Miyata’s smile is small and heated, the one that makes Tamamori’s patience crumble every time. “Because tomorrow night I’m the only one home.” He thumbs at the ridge of Tamamori’s ear, making Tamamori shiver and glare at him all the more. “You want it to be worth the wait, right? So don’t strain your voice tomorrow, Tama-chan. You’ll need it.”

“Ugh, YOU,” Tamamori snarls, giving Miyata a shove, but all Miyata does is swoop in for one hot, brief kiss, before dancing out of reach and telling Tamamori to hurry up already, before they get locked in.

Waiting for the next night makes the day seem four times longer than its already interminable schedule. Worse yet, they have a late photoshoot last thing, and the photographer keeps telling them to get closer, press more tightly together. Tamamori can feel Miyata warm all along his side, keeps catching whiffs of Miyata’s shampoo, and his brain won’t stop tormenting him with memories of Miyata’s skin against his own, and the scent when Tamamori buries his nose in the curve of Miyata’s shoulder, the salt of Miyata’s skin when Tamamori licks at it.

The harder he tries to stop thinking about it, the more he makes himself crazy, but Tamamori grits his teeth and puts on his idol smile, and wills this to please fucking please let this just be over already.

He’s concentrating so hard on keeping himself under control that he isn’t paying any attention at all to what’s going on with Miyata beside him. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the photographer calls the okay and Miyata’s fingers lock around his wrist suddenly.

“Dressing room,” Miyata hisses, voice low and rough, and oh, Tamamori knows what that means. “Now.”

His feet can’t carry him fast enough down the hall, practically tripping over themselves trying to keep up with Miyata’s pace, despite his longer stride. Tamamori isn’t sure which one of them slammed the door shut or grabbed the other first, but Tamamori ends up with his back pressed against the door, Miyata’s hands already working under his shirt and his own hand fisted around Miyata’s tie, yanking him close enough to finally kiss.

It’s messy and frantic, but the sharp edges of Miyata’s teeth against his lips send thrills of anticipation down Tamamori’s arms, making him clutch all the more desperately at Miyata. Miyata’s hands are dragging up and down over Tamamori’s back and sides, and when he slides them around to thumb at Tamamori’s nipples, Tamamori arches hard enough to break the kiss, banging the back of his head against the door.

“So much for making it home,” Miyata laughs. “So easy for it, Tama-chan.” He drops to his knees, but then gives an undignified “Urk!” and Tamamori realizes when he looks down that he’s still clenching Miyata’s tie in his fist.

Tamamori is about to apologize and let go, but something makes him narrow his eyes instead. “You got a problem with how easy I am?” he asks. He tugs just a tiny bit, and Miyata’s eyes widen.

He doesn’t pull away, though, doesn’t argue. A different sort of thrill teases at the edge of Tamamori’s nerves. They’ve never talked about playing that way before, and Tamamori has no idea what’s gotten into him. He twists the tie one more time around his wrist, much more deliberately, tight enough it must be uncomfortable.

Miyata still doesn’t pull away or protest. He only stares up at Tamamori with dark eyes, calm and full of trust; Tamamori’s heart stutters as he realizes that Miyata would let Tamamori do anything to him, wouldn’t even complain. When Tamamori loosens his grip and lets the tie slide from his fingers, Miyata’s cheeks are pink and his eyes bright, and Tamamori has to draw a shuddering breath, glad the door is at his back to support his shaky knees.

“Would you really let me?” he asks, not sure whether he wants Miyata to say yes or no. Miyata says neither, just leans in to rub his cheek against Tamamori’s thigh, eyes falling nearly shut. He’s close to where Tamamori wants him but not quite there, and Tamamori shifts his hips up into the contact.

When Miyata finally does open his eyes enough to meet Tamamori’s gaze, Tamamori sees the answer plain as day; if Tamamori wants it, Miyata won’t tell him no. Tamamori thinks about the other way, about the strength of Miyata’s hands.

“Would you do it to me?” Tamamori asks, voice soft and unsure. Miyata’s eyes go even darker immediately, and Tamamori drags him up off the floor with shaking hands, demands that Miyata take him home right now, dammit.

They make it to Miyata’s house without any embarrassing train incidents, for once, and even get up to Miyata’s room with nothing but a silent, knowing look from Miyata’s brother. Tamamori flips the lock on Miyata’s door and starts stripping off his shirt immediately; Miyata makes a beeline for his closet.

“What are you--” Tamamori starts, then cuts off abruptly when Miyata brandishes two ties proudly. Heat spreads over Tamamori’s skin, and he’s not positive he isn’t wearing the same stupid grin as Miyata. “Do it to me first,” Tamamori bosses as he finishes kicking off his pants and crawls onto Miyata’s bed.

“I’m not doing anything serious before I read up on it,” Miyata warns, coming over and sitting on the edge of the bed. He reaches up with his free hand to curl it around Tamamori’s neck, thumb stroking at the hollow of Tamamori’s throat. Tamamori’s eyes flutter just from that. “I’d never risk your voice like that without being sure I knew what I was doing.”

Tamamori whines a bit for show, but really he’s grateful Miyata is man enough to be responsible for the both of them. Goodness knows Tamamori doesn’t have that sort of restraint.

He watches curiously as Miyata knots the end of one of the ties together, making a big loop. “What’s with that?”

“Hold out your hands,” Miyata orders, and Tamamori obeys. Miyata loops one end around Tamamori’s right wrist, twists it a few times in the middle, and then drops the other loop around his other wrist. Tamamori frowns, because if this is Miyata’s idea of bondage, he really does need to do some research.

“It’s not very...” he starts, moving his wrists to demonstrate, but Miyata just smiles patiently and pushes Tamamori back until he’s propped up against Miyata’s pillows. Then Miyata takes ahold of both of Tamamori’s forearms and pushes them up over Tamamori’s head until he can hook the middle of the tie loop around his bedpost.

When Tamamori tries to pull his arms down, the bedpost is far enough around and back that it makes the tie tight enough to hold Tamamori’s wrists where they are, but has enough give that his hands won’t fall asleep right away, unless he pulls really hard for a while.

“Ohhh,” Tamamori says in understanding, giving a test yank. “That’s pretty...hey, where are you going?”

Miyata just laughs as he stands up, looking Tamamori over from head to toe deliberately. They’ve been sleeping together long enough that Tamamori is used to Miyata staring usually, but now with his hands bound, totally exposed while Miyata is still fully clothed, it makes him squirm like he used to their first handful of times, a blush creeping down his chest.

It doesn’t slip past Miyata’s notice.

“I haven’t seen you do that in ages,” he says, voice low, almost a purr. “It’s so cute when you blush for me, Tama-chan.” He tugs off his T-shirt, slow, making it an obvious show, and Tamamori can’t help but track every movement, fingers flexing with the desire to run over the skin Miyata is baring one bit at a time. Miyata puts a hand to the button of his jeans but then pauses there, looking some more. “I wonder if I can make you blush the whole way down without even touching you.”

“Miyacchiiii,” Tamamori whines, not really sure whether he’s trying to get Miyata to quit it or keep doing it. Miyata’s voice is one of the things he loves best about him, strong and dependable just like Miyata himself is, smooth and warm and dammit he’s not even making it a challenge for Miyata to make his blush spread.

“I picked up two ties for a reason, you know,” Miyata says, casual, like he’s discussing the weather. “Should I tell you what I have planned for the other one? Or should I just show you?”

“Please, hurry up, please,” Tamamori answers, maybe a bit desperate already as he rolls back and forth a little, wriggling in his bonds. Miyata is just so far away, and even if he can’t touch him properly with his hands, he wants Miyata’s heat near his skin, wants him to kick those jeans off and get on with it already.

Miyata pushes his jeans down over his hips slow enough to make Tamamori grind his teeth, slow enough that Tamamori can’t help but remember what it feels like to run his own hands over the warm skin of Miyata’s thighs, how strong the muscles feel underneath his skin from the endless hours of practice he puts in.

He sits back down on the bed and picks up the other tie, brushing the end of it against his own chin for a few seconds as he considers Tamamori all spread out in front of him.

“Close your eyes,” Miyata says, and when Tamamori opens his mouth to balk, adds, “unless you want me to get a third tie for that.”

Tamamori shuts his mouth with a snap and, after another look at Miyata, closes his eyes as instructed.

“Good,” Miyata praises, leaning forward to murmur close to his ear. Tamamori bites his lip when Miyata skims the end of the tie over the outside of his arm, the silky material leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Does that feel good, Tama-chan?”

Tamamori sighs a little but doesn’t answer out loud, tries to muffle the embarrassing noises that want to spill out of his mouth as Miyata goes on teasing at his skin with the tie. With his eyes closed, Tamamori has no idea where Miyata will touch next, making everything seem more intense.

“Answer me, Tama-chan,” Miyata says, voice hardening a little. Tamamori shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip, feeling shy and not trusting mouth to keep from letting any number of embarrassing things tumble out.

His eyes snap open when there’s a sudden crack as if Miyata snapped him with a towel, and a little burst of heat and pain stings the center of his chest. Miyata is holding the tie, doubled over, up in his hand, poised to repeat the action.

“You’re gonna do what I say, right, Tama-chan?” Miyata says, not really asking at all. He raises an eyebrow. “Unless it’s that you actually want me to punish you.” He glances down at where Tamamori’s cock is already rising, twitching under Miyata’s gaze. “Yuu-chan doesn’t seem opposed.”

“Don’t call it by my first name,” Tamamori complains, squirming even more, but it only serves to make Miyata more delighted.

“Shush, unless you’re going to answer my question.” Miyata drags a slow line down Tamamori’s chest with the edges of the tie. “Does that feel good?” He pauses when he gets no response, until Tamamori mumbles a “yes.” “Good. So how about this?”

Miyata drags the tie down even further, until he wraps the tie and his hand around Tamamori’s cock, the slick material of the tie covering Tamamori’s flushed skin. Tamamori arches into the touch helplessly as Miyata strokes him. His wrists are starting to burn a little, despite the slickness of the tie binding them, because he keeps pulling down so hard.

“Easy,” Miyata scolds, pushing Tamamori back down so that his wrists aren’t pulling so much. Tamamori’s fingertips tingle, not quite asleep. Miyata warns, “If you give yourself marks, we can’t do this. You’ll be good, right?”

Tamamori nods. Miyata raises an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Tamamori says out loud, and Miyata thumbs the tip of his cock in approval.

“Spread your legs for me,” Miyata orders, setting aside the tie as he turns to dig the lube out of the bedside table. Tamamori wants to argue about the loss of the tie, but figures that Miyata doesn’t want to try and explain lube stains on his tie to his mother, and so bites his tongue.

His legs spread even wider on their own as soon as Miyata’s warm hands start rubbing soothing circles on the insides of his thighs, and he lets his eyes flutter shut as Miyata keeps up a constant monologue about how good Tamamori is, how good he feels inside, how Miyata is going to get so deep inside of him.

“Please,” Tamamori finds himself begging after not long at all, rocking up against Miyata’s fingers, trying to get them deeper inside, trying to get more.

“Tell me what you want,” Miyata says, and when Tamamori forces his eyes open, Miyata is looking down at him with dark, glittering eyes, like he’s the only thing in the whole world.

“Want you,” Tamamori manages around the way Miyata steals his breath, “I want you inside of me, I want--” his words cut off in a low whine as Miyata gets up onto his knees and gives him exactly what he wants, pushing inside and Tamamori feeling every inch of the stretch despite Miyata’s fingers. “Hey, you didn’t--”

“I want to feel just you,” Miyata says, getting a good grip on Tamamori’s hips to hitch him up a little. Tamamori opens his mouth to protest, because without a condom there’s the mess and Tamamori hates that, but he takes a look up at Miyata’s expression and shuts his mouth. “Good boy,” Miyata praises, noticing everything as it crosses Tamamori’s face like always. He slides his hands up over Tamamori’s waist, up his sides, nudging his way deeper inside until he bumps the backs of Tamamori’s thighs, and Tamamori lets out a shaky breath. Miyata starts to rock just a little, just enough to make Tamamori want way more. “Mm, you feel so good inside. And you can’t rush me this way, either.”

“Toshiyaaa,” Tamamori groans, letting his head fall back against the pillows, letting Miyata move him however he likes, not that he has a lot of choice. But he trusts Miyata to make him feel good, so it’s actually freeing to give up all of the control over the whole thing, to just lie back and let Miyata make him shiver and cry out.

“Say my name again,” Miyata says, leaning down close enough that Tamamori can feel the heat of his skin against his chest. Miyata’s breath is warm over his cheek as he brushes soft kisses over it, then over his ear.

“Toshiya,” Tamamori complies, moaning when he gets rewarded by Miyata swirling the tip of his tongue around Tamamori’s cartilage piercing. “Toshiya, more, oh...”

Miyata is still dragging hands over Tamamori’s chest, sides, shoulders, everywhere he can reach, and Tamamori feels like his skin is on fire, like he’s melting. Then Miyata drags his hands up a little higher, just past Tamamori’s collarbones, and a wave of want sweeps over Tamamori powerful enough to make him squeeze tightly around Miyata.

“Here?” Miyata asks, sliding his hand up like before, wrapped around the side of Tamamori’s neck, thumb pressed against the hollow of Tamamori’s throat. He pushes down the tiniest bit with his thumb. “That’s what you want?”

Tamamori doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods, staring up at Miyata and hoping it shows in his eyes that he trusts Miyata this much and so much more, that Miyata’s hands never make him feel anything but safe and loved.

Miyata takes a deep, shuddering breath, and puts his other hand on the other side of Tamamori’s neck. They’re so strong, so hot, and when Miyata tightens his grip just enough that Tamamori has to work to push his next breath out, he shivers the whole way down, eyes falling shut.

Like he promised, Miyata won’t go much harder than that, but for now, it’s enough; Tamamori surrenders himself totally to how he can feel Miyata’s heartbeat inside when he squeezes around his cock, his own pulse fluttering against Miyata’s fingers around his throat. Everything is a blur of pleasure and lightheadedness, and he doesn’t even realize how close he is to coming until Miyata peels one hand away from his throat to fist his cock. His orgasm takes him entirely by surprise, gasping Miyata’s name or at least a few syllables of it as he streaks their stomachs with his release.

Distantly as he comes down, he feels Miyata let go with a groan and then land heavily on Tamamori’s chest, face buried in the curve of Tamamori’s neck and shivering all over. Tamamori feels like he couldn’t move if both their mothers walked into the room with phones in hand and said that this was going to be in their New Year’s cards for sure.

“I really want you to stroke my hair,” Miyata says plaintively after a minute, and Tamamori petulantly points out that it’s his own fault Tamamori can’t.

Miyata leans up exactly long enough to tug Tamamori’s arms up over the bedpost and rubs at his wrists for a second to make sure they really aren’t marked up, then snuggles back into his previous spot, letting Tamamori’s still-bound hands settle behind his head. He could slip his hands free from the tie easily, but all Tamamori does is run fingers through Miyata’s hair as requested, the gentle motion helping ease the tingles out of his stiff shoulders and elbows. His thighs are going to be killing him later for staying in this position so long, Miyata still inside him, but for now he doesn’t want to move.

Eventually Miyata’s arms curl around Tamamori tightly, working between his back and the mattress. It’s too tight to be casual, and Tamamori tugs at Miyata’s hair a little.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Is it really okay that I like doing that kind of stuff to you?” Miyata’s small, uncertain voice is strange after all the orders he’s been handing out tonight, but Tamamori feels a little thrill, and maybe a touch of relief, that Miyata just admitted that he liked it too. “I shouldn’t want to hurt you...”

“Shut up, you never could,” Tamamori dismisses his worries, pressing down between his shoulder blades in the only kind of hug he can manage without moving or freeing his hands. “You never make me feel anything except good. When I do it to you, you’ll see.”

“Yuta,” Miyata whispers, voice thick, squeezing him even tighter. Tamamori lets him cling a minute longer before shoving at his shoulder.

“Move already, get the gross part over with,” he says, their roles back to usual as Tamamori bosses and Miyata obeys.

He lazes about as Miyata cleans them up as best he can and gets them tucked under the blankets, checking Tamamori for marks and pulling them face to face so that he can rub soothing circles down the backs of Tamamori’s thighs.

“Mmm,” Tamamori praises, arm slung carelessly over Miyata’s waist and leaning in as close as he can, more in love with Miyata’s warm, strong hands than any other part of him.

Except the obvious, Miyata teases when Tamamori maybe mumbles some of that out loud. Not that Tamamori loving his dick is breaking news for anybody, Miyata adds.

Tamamori bites down on Miyata’s shoulder without warning, making him hiss, then grins when Miyata’s cock twitches against his stomach. He’s got the feeling that being the lead when it’s just the two of them is going to turn out very rewarding.
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