journeys, dreams
*BACKDATES*
for anon here at the juniors meme. ♥
Who I want: Hirosuke
What I want: Lazy, post-concert cuddles in the back of a tour bus. People walking in on them and both Taipi and Kitamitsu failing at propriety. [second part did not happen. 8D;]
Extra: Any rating you like, though I picture it staying pretty low *boys are too tired to do much*
journeys, dreams; G, 320w.
"Move over," Kitayama tells Fujigaya in the big back seat of the bus. "I want the window." He believes in hedging bets; moreso when bone weary.
There's nothing to see with as dark and late as it is outside and the rattle of one's skull against thrumming glass gets old fast, but Kitayama just doesn't want to be the one to suffer in case Yokoo comes down the back to sit with them tonight instead of up the front like he does usually.
Yokoo is angular and bony and not at all good to lean on. Fujigaya's arms are far more squishy.
Dropping his bag down, Kitayama kicks it under the seat in front of him (having long ago given up on reaching for the luggage racks after double-con days). He sits heavily and latches onto Fujigaya's arm, resting his head on Fujigaya's shoulder. When he's comfortable, he pulls his hat down over his eyes and goes limp all at once with a sigh.
"You're fat," Fujigaya murmurs by token, too tired for his usual teasing sting. He leans his head atop Kitayama's without actual protest.
"You like it," Kitayama murmurs back. He knows Fujigaya does. Round cheeks mean nothing jostles too much when the bus rolls over bumps and pits in the road.
"You're still fat," Fujigaya says, and Kitayama doesn't bother deigning him with a response.
At length Fujigaya's slouch goes a little more boneless, his head lolling gently back and breath deepening under the rumble of the bus's idling engines. Kitayama slips his arms around Fujigaya's waist and links his fingers in their most comfortable arrangement.
Fujigaya doesn't stir. His warm, steady weight slows Kitayama's heartbeat with its familiarity and steadfastness; settles his buzzing, exhausted nerves.
He's out like a light by the time the bus pulls out of the venue's back parking bay and begins its long ferry to Kis-My-Ft2's next glittering destination.
for anon here at the juniors meme. ♥
Who I want: Hirosuke
What I want: Lazy, post-concert cuddles in the back of a tour bus. People walking in on them and both Taipi and Kitamitsu failing at propriety. [second part did not happen. 8D;]
Extra: Any rating you like, though I picture it staying pretty low *boys are too tired to do much*
journeys, dreams; G, 320w.
"Move over," Kitayama tells Fujigaya in the big back seat of the bus. "I want the window." He believes in hedging bets; moreso when bone weary.
There's nothing to see with as dark and late as it is outside and the rattle of one's skull against thrumming glass gets old fast, but Kitayama just doesn't want to be the one to suffer in case Yokoo comes down the back to sit with them tonight instead of up the front like he does usually.
Yokoo is angular and bony and not at all good to lean on. Fujigaya's arms are far more squishy.
Dropping his bag down, Kitayama kicks it under the seat in front of him (having long ago given up on reaching for the luggage racks after double-con days). He sits heavily and latches onto Fujigaya's arm, resting his head on Fujigaya's shoulder. When he's comfortable, he pulls his hat down over his eyes and goes limp all at once with a sigh.
"You're fat," Fujigaya murmurs by token, too tired for his usual teasing sting. He leans his head atop Kitayama's without actual protest.
"You like it," Kitayama murmurs back. He knows Fujigaya does. Round cheeks mean nothing jostles too much when the bus rolls over bumps and pits in the road.
"You're still fat," Fujigaya says, and Kitayama doesn't bother deigning him with a response.
At length Fujigaya's slouch goes a little more boneless, his head lolling gently back and breath deepening under the rumble of the bus's idling engines. Kitayama slips his arms around Fujigaya's waist and links his fingers in their most comfortable arrangement.
Fujigaya doesn't stir. His warm, steady weight slows Kitayama's heartbeat with its familiarity and steadfastness; settles his buzzing, exhausted nerves.
He's out like a light by the time the bus pulls out of the venue's back parking bay and begins its long ferry to Kis-My-Ft2's next glittering destination.