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writetomyheart2013-01-30 03:39 pm
omoikkiri.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2013-01-30 03:39 pm
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[Team 2] untitled
As usual, this is part of something bigger I have in mind, so I'm sorry if the ~feelings~ seem out of place. Oh yes and the setting is based on Ai no Beat rock ver, but is actually not. Future fic or something maybe, idk ;;
~
Half hidden in a dark corner of the set, Fujigaya mentally rails against the universe, which clearly hates him. He hates these rock version whatever crap that they do of their songs. It means make-san has a ball with the eyeliner pencils, and then Fujigaya has to go around all day with a hard on, trying to avoid Kitayama's smoky dark eyes.
He slumps down behind a discarded prop table turned on its side, for once choosing to be by himself, drawing up his knees and burying his face in his arms. It's achingly uncomfortable this way, his cock trapped sideways inside his pants, but maybe that'll help it go down. He tries not to listen, tries to block out the mental image of Kitayama jumping around like he thinks he's a real rock star, as they play Kitayama's part of the verse over again on set.
It doesnt work, of course, and five minutes later he lets out a despairing groan and adjusts himself through his pants. He's so fucking hard the head of his cock sticks out above the elastic waistband of his underwear, and when he sits all scrunched up like this he can see the tip in the little space between the waist of his low-rise jeans and his stomach. He lifts his head, finally, to see where they're at with PV filming and figure out if maybe there's time for him to run to the bathroom and jack off quickly (classing up this joint, he thinks wryly), and is met with exactly the pair of eyes he's trying to avoid.
"You okay?" asks Kitayama, with a concerned look that Fujigaya remembers well from younger days.
"Of course, why wouldn't I be okay?"
"Well..." Kitayama tilts his head, considering. "You're not in the center of attention like you usually are, for one thing."
"What's that supposed to mean!" Fujigaya is immediately prickly, and Kitayama puts up a hand quickly in defense.
"Nothing, nothing! Down boy!"
"Well, I'm fine," snaps Fujigaya hostilely, hoping to drive Kitayama away.
He does leave, but he's back again before Fujigaya can make his escape, with the script for an upcoming variety in one hand, and two cans of Red Bull in the other.
"Here."
Fujigaya yelps as Kitayama puts the cold metal against the side of his neck. He grabs the can away from Kitayama with an irritated tsk, but then just rolls it back and forth between his palms rather than popping it open.
Already, Kitayama has turned his attention to his script, slumped in a loose bundle in front of Fujigaya and blocking his way out. He studies Kitayama without realizing it. Fujigaya has always been intrigued by how quiet Kitayama gets when he's off camera, either relaxed in sleep or else intensely focused, like now, with a seriousness that's in stark contrast with his on-camera character. Stray bits of hair, a little longer for this concept than he's used to, keep falling in Kitayama's eyes and he keeps swiping his hair back with growing impatience. It makes Fujigaya smile.
"Here," he says in turn, taking a hair tie off his wrist and holding it out to Kitayama. "Tie it up?"
"Hm? Tie what up?" Kitayama's unconsciousness is cute too, damn it.
"...Your hair."
"Oh. Thanks." Kitayama accepts the rubber band, but then just looks at it blankly in his palm.
"Give it here, I'll do it!" With more exasperation than he really feels, Fujigaya snatches the hair tie back again, and leans over to tie Kitayama's bangs up in a little onion sprout on the top of his head.
"Thanks," Kitayama says again, with more meaning this time. He leans across to pick something off Fujigaya's shoulder, an exchange of small favors, and Fujigaya gets a whiff of cologne and sweat that's uniquely Kitayama. It goes straight to his cock.
"Oh fuck you," he mutters under his breath, to have Kitayama glance at him with a look brimming full of amusement.
"That's a nice way to reply when someone thanks you."
Fujigaya is about to reply, something do-S like "shut the fuck up," only Kitayama catches him off guard by kissing him all of a sudden, so instead he goes a little limp and has to clutch at Kitayama's jacket lapel instead.
He squeezes his eyes closed — he's not sure why, only he's afraid to see Kitayama's expression, maybe — and kisses back without hesitation. He's been waiting for this so long that he'd thought he'd given up on already. But he realizes now that he hasn't given up, not really, not secretly in his heart. He has just enough composure left to not whine or chase after when Kitayama pulls away, but he does keep his eyes closed for a moment longer, trying to draw out the feeling a little more.
But then Kitayama squeezes him through his pants and Fujigaya's eyes fly open.
Immediately he arches, pushing into Kitayama's hand. He's been hard for so long he's surprised he's not falling apart already. Kitayama grins at him, sexy black-lined eyes contrasting with the cute little sprout of hair on the top of his head; Fujigaya, strangely, finds it a little hard to get enough air. The stupid tip of his cock is sticking out of the stupid waistband of his pants again, and Kitayama's fingers brush tantalizingly over it. He wipes away the precome and then licks it from his fingers, and Fujigaya has to squeeze his eyes closed again briefly because he's about three seconds from coming all over himself.
"Kitayama," he hisses, fumbling to undo his pants, "Tell me you've got a tissue somewhere on you."
"You're that close?" Kitayama sounds surprised, and a little... polite. Like he thinks Fujigaya's a premature ejaculator and is trying to not laugh about it. Fucker.
Speaking very deliberately, Fujigaya sets him straight. "Only because I've been hard all fucking day."
"No tissues," Kitayama replies. "But I have a better way to not make a mess."
And then he leans down and takes half of Fujigaya's length into his mouth. Fujigaya has just enough time to gasp out a warning before he comes, clutching convulsively at Kitayama's jacket.
In a hazy moment of happiness afterwards, he half wonders what sort of alternate reality he's fallen into.
"Ne, Mitsu," he starts to say, before he notices that Kitayama is already folding up his script and straightening his jacket, apparently getting ready to leave. 'Don't you want me to return the favor?' he wants to ask, but Kitayama is laughing at something going on across the room already, and Fujigaya bites down on his lip instead.
"Fujigaya-san!" one of the staff with a megaphone calls for him with perfect timing. He zips himself up and pushes past Kitayama roughly. He's here to do a job, he reminds himself, unsure if he's more angry at Kitayama or at himself. He's here to do a job, and it's best if he sticks to it instead of getting distracted by stupid things like bandmates who look good in eyeliner.
~
Half hidden in a dark corner of the set, Fujigaya mentally rails against the universe, which clearly hates him. He hates these rock version whatever crap that they do of their songs. It means make-san has a ball with the eyeliner pencils, and then Fujigaya has to go around all day with a hard on, trying to avoid Kitayama's smoky dark eyes.
He slumps down behind a discarded prop table turned on its side, for once choosing to be by himself, drawing up his knees and burying his face in his arms. It's achingly uncomfortable this way, his cock trapped sideways inside his pants, but maybe that'll help it go down. He tries not to listen, tries to block out the mental image of Kitayama jumping around like he thinks he's a real rock star, as they play Kitayama's part of the verse over again on set.
It doesnt work, of course, and five minutes later he lets out a despairing groan and adjusts himself through his pants. He's so fucking hard the head of his cock sticks out above the elastic waistband of his underwear, and when he sits all scrunched up like this he can see the tip in the little space between the waist of his low-rise jeans and his stomach. He lifts his head, finally, to see where they're at with PV filming and figure out if maybe there's time for him to run to the bathroom and jack off quickly (classing up this joint, he thinks wryly), and is met with exactly the pair of eyes he's trying to avoid.
"You okay?" asks Kitayama, with a concerned look that Fujigaya remembers well from younger days.
"Of course, why wouldn't I be okay?"
"Well..." Kitayama tilts his head, considering. "You're not in the center of attention like you usually are, for one thing."
"What's that supposed to mean!" Fujigaya is immediately prickly, and Kitayama puts up a hand quickly in defense.
"Nothing, nothing! Down boy!"
"Well, I'm fine," snaps Fujigaya hostilely, hoping to drive Kitayama away.
He does leave, but he's back again before Fujigaya can make his escape, with the script for an upcoming variety in one hand, and two cans of Red Bull in the other.
"Here."
Fujigaya yelps as Kitayama puts the cold metal against the side of his neck. He grabs the can away from Kitayama with an irritated tsk, but then just rolls it back and forth between his palms rather than popping it open.
Already, Kitayama has turned his attention to his script, slumped in a loose bundle in front of Fujigaya and blocking his way out. He studies Kitayama without realizing it. Fujigaya has always been intrigued by how quiet Kitayama gets when he's off camera, either relaxed in sleep or else intensely focused, like now, with a seriousness that's in stark contrast with his on-camera character. Stray bits of hair, a little longer for this concept than he's used to, keep falling in Kitayama's eyes and he keeps swiping his hair back with growing impatience. It makes Fujigaya smile.
"Here," he says in turn, taking a hair tie off his wrist and holding it out to Kitayama. "Tie it up?"
"Hm? Tie what up?" Kitayama's unconsciousness is cute too, damn it.
"...Your hair."
"Oh. Thanks." Kitayama accepts the rubber band, but then just looks at it blankly in his palm.
"Give it here, I'll do it!" With more exasperation than he really feels, Fujigaya snatches the hair tie back again, and leans over to tie Kitayama's bangs up in a little onion sprout on the top of his head.
"Thanks," Kitayama says again, with more meaning this time. He leans across to pick something off Fujigaya's shoulder, an exchange of small favors, and Fujigaya gets a whiff of cologne and sweat that's uniquely Kitayama. It goes straight to his cock.
"Oh fuck you," he mutters under his breath, to have Kitayama glance at him with a look brimming full of amusement.
"That's a nice way to reply when someone thanks you."
Fujigaya is about to reply, something do-S like "shut the fuck up," only Kitayama catches him off guard by kissing him all of a sudden, so instead he goes a little limp and has to clutch at Kitayama's jacket lapel instead.
He squeezes his eyes closed — he's not sure why, only he's afraid to see Kitayama's expression, maybe — and kisses back without hesitation. He's been waiting for this so long that he'd thought he'd given up on already. But he realizes now that he hasn't given up, not really, not secretly in his heart. He has just enough composure left to not whine or chase after when Kitayama pulls away, but he does keep his eyes closed for a moment longer, trying to draw out the feeling a little more.
But then Kitayama squeezes him through his pants and Fujigaya's eyes fly open.
Immediately he arches, pushing into Kitayama's hand. He's been hard for so long he's surprised he's not falling apart already. Kitayama grins at him, sexy black-lined eyes contrasting with the cute little sprout of hair on the top of his head; Fujigaya, strangely, finds it a little hard to get enough air. The stupid tip of his cock is sticking out of the stupid waistband of his pants again, and Kitayama's fingers brush tantalizingly over it. He wipes away the precome and then licks it from his fingers, and Fujigaya has to squeeze his eyes closed again briefly because he's about three seconds from coming all over himself.
"Kitayama," he hisses, fumbling to undo his pants, "Tell me you've got a tissue somewhere on you."
"You're that close?" Kitayama sounds surprised, and a little... polite. Like he thinks Fujigaya's a premature ejaculator and is trying to not laugh about it. Fucker.
Speaking very deliberately, Fujigaya sets him straight. "Only because I've been hard all fucking day."
"No tissues," Kitayama replies. "But I have a better way to not make a mess."
And then he leans down and takes half of Fujigaya's length into his mouth. Fujigaya has just enough time to gasp out a warning before he comes, clutching convulsively at Kitayama's jacket.
In a hazy moment of happiness afterwards, he half wonders what sort of alternate reality he's fallen into.
"Ne, Mitsu," he starts to say, before he notices that Kitayama is already folding up his script and straightening his jacket, apparently getting ready to leave. 'Don't you want me to return the favor?' he wants to ask, but Kitayama is laughing at something going on across the room already, and Fujigaya bites down on his lip instead.
"Fujigaya-san!" one of the staff with a megaphone calls for him with perfect timing. He zips himself up and pushes past Kitayama roughly. He's here to do a job, he reminds himself, unsure if he's more angry at Kitayama or at himself. He's here to do a job, and it's best if he sticks to it instead of getting distracted by stupid things like bandmates who look good in eyeliner.
no subject
This ending.
And Gaya.
And ~*~*~feelings~*~*~.
no subject