43!
Things they are a-changin' but if there's one thing that's certain, it's that our beloved denim-clad Korean-speaking novice guitarist is turning 43! Happy Birthday, Tsuyopon! You get sexier with every year, somehow, and yet still charm me with that adorable sweetness that drew me to you in the first place<3 Keep playing that guitar and rocking that denim, and here's hoping to see you in another drama or play soon!
In the mean time, I will celebrate in the best way I know possible: porn!
Title: A Taste of Heaven
Pairing: Kimura/Tsuyoshi
Rating: NC-17 for this is indeed nothing but porn
Notes: 4,725 words of smut inspired by Tsuyoshi filming Kimura's solo rehearsal in 2010.
"Mind if I borrow your shower?"
This is the odd, flimsy excuse Kimura shows up at Tsuyoshi's hotel room door with at 11 'o clock at night. Tsuyoshi blinks at his bandmate and blushes a little and opens his mouth to protest, but Kimura just pushes past him like it's his own room and shuts himself in the bathroom, and a moment later Tsuyoshi hears the sound of water running.
He sits on the bed. What is this about? Is Kimura going to lecture him or something? He didn't mean to get in the way during Kimura's rehearsal, he'd been distracted figuring out how to aim the double-sided camera and the way Kimura had been moving had made it hard to concentrate, and the next thing he knew Kimura was towering over him between his spread legs and pressing his knees down against him and--
He shifts uncomfortably. At least Kimura won't be yelling at him for getting drunk this time around. Although if he was going to yell at him, wouldn't it have been better to do it after the rehearsal? Instead, Kimura had been strangely subdued, avoiding Tsuyoshi's eyes and silently answering his tentative questions with shrugs and vague hand motions like he couldn't quite find the right words to say, or was embarrassed, or...
Tsuyoshi flops back against the pillows with a sigh. Or maybe he'd just been mad at him, and hadn't wanted to make a scene. That was more like it. He closes his eyes, remembering how carefree Kimura had looked, singing the lyrics he wanted to sing, dancing the way he wanted to dance, all rhythm and swinging hips and eroticism in motion. He hadn't expected that lithe, swaying figure on the camera screen to suddenly be there, real and physical; in the dizzying heat of the spotlights everything had flown out of his head except a faint prayer that he wouldn't fall off the stage and the hazy thought that, even with Shingo and the dancers and all the staff there around them, he would be perfectly happy to lie back and let Kimura do whatever he pleased.
Distantly, he hears sounds of splashing over the running water. Kimura is taking a shower in his bathroom. Kimura is in his shower. Naked. Water pouring over his body, tracing rivulets down his skin, dripping from his hair, while Tsuyoshi is lying on the bed like a lover waiting for seduction. He's fantasized for years-- even his sixteen-year-old self had recognized perfection when he'd seen it-- and it's not far from one of his more well-worn paths. Kimura in his hotel room late at night, pushing him down onto the bed or maybe against the wall, kissing him roughly, hungrily, passionately--
Tsuyoshi shakes himself out of his reverie with a start. He's getting hard.
The sound of the shower fills his ears. He sits up, panicking. Why in the world is Kimura taking a shower here, anyway? He looks around desperately and grabs a pillow, covering his lap in what he hopes is a nonchalant manner.
Naturally, at that moment, the shower stops, and Kimura emerges from the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
Tsuyoshi stares, pinning the pillow under his arms. This is not helping.
Kimura pauses by the mirror, toweling off his hair. He looks at Tsuyoshi's reflection. "What's up?"
"What? Oh. Nothing," Tsuyoshi says quickly, focusing on Kimura's reflected face and not on the firm, muscular lines of his back. "Just, uh, wondering why you're here."
Kimura tosses the extra towel aside and turns. "Sit," he says, pointing at the edge of the bed.
Tsuyoshi hesitates-- this has got to be the worst possible situation for a lecture, maybe he's died and gone to hell, it'd be like the opposite of his solo except without the drinking-- and then scoots down to the end of the bed, clutching the pillow tightly. He is not going to look at the way the towel is slung low on Kimura's waist so that just a hint of hipbone rises up from the line of terrycloth. Definitely not. He drags his eyes away and looks up at his freshly-showered bandmate. "Uh. Yes?"
Kimura looks him over, taking in his flushed cheeks, panicked expression, and the way he's holding onto the pillow for dear life. He is so screwed.
"Your solo today," Kimura says suddenly. "Good job."
"Huh?" His solo? "Oh. Uh, thanks," Tsuyoshi says feebly. Kimura's hair is damp and messy and is sticking to his skin in an obscenely appealing way. "I liked yours," he adds without thinking.
Kimura smirks. "I noticed." He takes a step closer. "Were you thinking about it?"
Tsuyoshi meets Kimura's eyes, swallowing nervously. "About what?"
"My rehearsal today." Kimura reaches for the pillow, pulling it out of Tsuyoshi's unresisting hands. He smiles, cat-like. "Because I was thinking about it, too."
Tsuyoshi feels his face flush hotly; he doesn't have to look down to know that he's obviously, unmistakeably hard. He should probably flee to the bathroom, or turn away to hide it, or at least hang his head in shame, but he can't look away from his bandmate's gaze.
Kimura glances down, and the tip of his tongue slips out to wet his bottom lip unconsciously. He's still smiling dangerously, and Tsuyoshi has the dizzying sensation that he's dangling precariously on the edge of the stage again, recklessly hopingwantingneeding for his bandmate to come closer...
"Tsuyoshi," Kimura says, stepping forward so that his legs press against Tsuyoshi's knees and the younger man has to lean back to look up at him. "Do you want to?"
Tsuyoshi swallows, his eyes flicking from Kimura's face to the bare skin of his stomach and back up. Kimura doesn't wait for a response; he reaches out to brush his thumb across Tsuyoshi's lips and leans down to kiss him, slow and lingering. Tsuyoshi's mouth parts readily, and he can hear the arousal in his own breath, practically taste it on the tip of his tongue-- Kimura pulls away, resting their foreheads together.
"Well?" he asks again, in a murmur this time. "Do you?"
Tsuyoshi's voice is barely more than a whisper. "Yes."
Kimura pushes him backwards onto the bed and straddles him in one motion, kissing him again, picking up from where he'd left off to meet Tsuyoshi's tongue roughly. Tsuyoshi can think of a lot of times when he's imagined this but none of them had had the heat of Kimura's breath and the faint stubble brushing his chin and the weight-- real, physical-- of Kimura on top of him.
Kimura breaks away, moving down to Tsuyoshi's neck, nipping at the skin under his ear. Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of Tsuyoshi's hand, still braced uncertainly on the bedspread; he grabs Tsuyoshi's wrist and directs it to his shoulder. Tsuyoshi follows with his other hand, fingers splaying on the bare skin of his bandmate's back.
Kimura kisses him again, pressing a thigh between his legs. Tsuyoshi sucks in a harsh breath around the kiss and pushes up against him involuntarily, his fingers curling into the older man's back. Maybe he's gone to heaven after all. He hopes to whatever gods there are that he won't be thrown back out.
Kimura leans on one arm and pushes Tsuyoshi's shirt up, ducking his head to press his lips to one peaked nipple. Tsuyoshi lets out an inarticulate noise, drawing his knees up around Kimura, rubbing against him through the towel. Kimura flicks his tongue across the tip, seeming to enjoy the way Tsuyoshi's breath catches raggedly with every teasing movement. He slides his hand up Tsuyoshi's stomach to brush his thumb across his other nipple.
"Wait-- I'm-- damn--" Tsuyoshi gasps out, clutching at Kimura's back. He arches up, shuddering.
"Eh?!" Kimura lifts his head in surprise. He hasn't even gotten Tsuyoshi's shirt all the way off. Tsuyoshi catches his breath a moment later and flushes red, not quite meeting Kimura's eyes. "I was already-- you know..."
Kimura looks down, and then back up at his furiously blushing bandmate. "Seriously?"
"Sorry," Tsuyoshi mumbles. Kimura sits up, leaning on one of Tsuyoshi's knees. "What're you apologizing for?" He gives Tsuyoshi's thigh a slap. "Go get cleaned up."
Tsuyoshi rolls off the bed and stumbles into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He unzips his jeans and slides them off, carefully folding them into thirds and setting them aside neatly, and then tosses his underwear onto the floor and cleans himself off with shaking fingers. He can feel his face burning; Kimura might be in the other room, but his clothes are still there on the bathroom counter, piled haphazardly in a rush. He washes his hands and then leans on his elbows over the sink, burying his fingers in his hair.
Of all the possible outcomes of Kimura waltzing into his room to take a shower, this is the worst, most embarrassing one he can think of. Kimura had approached him, willing, ready to grant all his unspoken fantasies, and he'd come before they'd even gotten anywhere. Probably as a result of all those unspoken fantasies. What must his bandmate think of him now, coming at the slightest touch like a horny teenager...
The worst part, of course, is that Kimura is still out there, and still wearing nothing but a towel.
Tsuyoshi slinks out of the bathroom a few minutes later, with only a shirt on, and hurriedly carries his jeans over to his suitcase. He digs through it, searching.
"What're you doing?" Kimura is lying on his side on the bed, propping his head up on one elbow.
"Underwear," Tsuyoshi mumbles, pulling out a pair.
"Don't be stupid." He looks up. Kimura is smirking at him. "We're not done."
Tsuyoshi stares at him, feeling his face flush again. Kimura lets him sit there dumbly for a moment before giving the bed a thump. "So get over here."
Tsuyoshi does. Kimura watches him all the way across the room, until he's standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at him. Tsuyoshi can almost feel it physically when the older man's eyes slide down to his exposed lower half, and his own gaze wanders over the towel still precariously slung around his bandmate's hips. He fingers the hem of his shirt for a moment, then decisively pulls it off over his head and tosses it aside.
Kimura smirks approvingly. "That's more like it," he says, reaching up to catch Tsuyoshi's wrist, and pulls him down onto the bed. Tsuyoshi lands halfway on top of him, and Kimura rolls onto his back, pulling him with-- and then they're skin to skin with nothing but a thin towel between them.
Tsuyoshi thinks fuzzily that he's probably going to be hard again a lot faster than usual, and then Kimura's teeth close on his ear and it's not just probably, it's definitely.
"Quit thinking," Kimura's voice hisses in his ear, "and start touching me already."
Tsuyoshi glances down as best as he can with his bandmate's mouth occupied on his neck. Kimura's chest is the first thing that greets his vision, so he slides a clammy, inadequate hand over it, gently brushing one nipple. Now what? He's imagined Kimura touching him in a thousand ways, but he's never thought of reaching out to touch Kimura.
Kimura makes an approving noise into Tsuyoshi's neck as his thumb brushes the older man's nipple again, so he stays there for a moment until Kimura's fingers tighten on his back and the older man bites a little harder than necessary, and then slides his hand down until he can feel the hard plane of Kimura's stomach. Tsuyoshi trails his fingers across it wonderingly; it feels good under his fingertips, firm and unyielding under a soft exterior. On a sudden whim, he breaks away from Kimura's ministrations to press his mouth to that firmness, breathing in the smell of Kimura's skin.
He's never in his life been this close to Kimura-- like the lithe, swaying figure in his camera lens during rehearsal, always untouchably, intangibly distant no matter how much Tsuyoshi longed for it. But here Kimura is, this is what Kimura feels like, this is what Kimura smells like. He kisses Kimura's stomach, flicking his tongue tentatively across his bandmate's skin. This is what Kimura tastes like.
He glances up; Kimura is leaning on one elbow, watching him with a mixture of amusement and arousal.
"If you're that curious," Kimura says, the corner of his mouth twitching mischievously, "there's other things your tongue could be doing."
Tsuyoshi looks down. The towel is, amazingly enough, still there. He slides his hand over that tantalizing line of hipbone and tugs the terrycloth away, until there's nothing separating them and he's kneeling over Kimura's cock. He looks at it with some hesitation-- he's seen this in plenty of videos but he's never done it himself, and if this was anyone but Kimura he would probably back out altogether--
Kimura seems to sense his apprehension. "If you don't want to--"
Tsuyoshi takes the plunge. He bends down and licks the head, quickly at first, then again, again, lingering until growing curiosity convinces him to wrap his lips around it and take Kimura into his mouth. It's wider than he expects, stretching his lips and rubbing tight against delicate skin, but something about that friction sets off a chain reaction down to his groin, as though he could come from sucking Kimura's cock alone-- or from letting Kimura thrust into his mouth, using him rough and hard and deep--
"Fuck," Kimura gasps, and Tsuyoshi realizes he's started enacting his fantasy right there, dragging his lips up and down Kimura's saliva-slicked length, trying to go faster, to take in more with every lower of his head. He pulls back to catch his breath and notices that the tip of Kimura's cock is wet, pre-come beading on the slit and threatening to spill over; he catches it with his tongue, sucking at the tip to make sure he doesn't miss any. Weird, despite his initial apprehension he's almost tempted to get Kimura off like this now, to see what it feels like when the older man comes, to see what he tastes like pooled on Tsuyoshi's tongue.
Kimura has other ideas, though, gripping his hair and tugging him away. "Found your calling, I see." He's flushed, which is satisfying to see in itself, and when he pulls Tsuyoshi up to lie alongside him there's a curious softness in the way a smile quirks his lips. Maybe it's something like fondness, Tsuyoshi supposes, and manages a little smile of his own in return.
Kimura kisses him, hot and demanding, one hand still in Tsuyoshi's hair. Tsuyoshi clutches at Kimura's shoulders and finds himself on his back again, every inch of Kimura's skin pressed to his in gloriously distracting sensation. He's definitely hard now.
A guitar-callused hand travels down his side, exploring the crease of his thigh and then slipping between his legs. Tsuyoshi lifts a knee as Kimura's cock grinds against his, fingers finding their way lower to brush his anus. They tease at the opening, surprisingly sensitive-- not that Tsuyoshi hasn't experimented on his own, but the fact that it's Kimura doing it is enough to make him moan into the older man's mouth. How many fantasies has he had of this, of Kimura opening him up and pushing into him and riding him slick and hard and rough?
The tip of Kimura's finger slips into him, and Kimura breaks away to look down at him breathlessly. "Can I?"
Tsuyoshi draws his other knee up, an involuntary noise escaping his lips as the fingertip circles inside him. "Yes," he gasps, fingers curling on Kimura's shoulders, wanting to pull him down again. "Please, yes."
Kimura indulges him with another kiss, capturing every sound Tsuyoshi makes as he plays at the opening. Then he sits back, hand pulling away to dig through the folds of the abandoned towel and produce a condom and tiny bottle of lube. Somehow, Kimura managed to hide these things in a single towel wrapped around his waist. Tsuyoshi can only marvel, and then forget about it completely as Kimura uncaps the lube. "How much?"
"Um--" Tsuyoshi eyes the tiny bottle, not thinking too hard about the implications of that question, "Just use all of it."
Kimura proceeds to do so, fingers dripping with the slick liquid as he works them into Tsuyoshi. He watches his own fingers at first, biting the tip of his tongue, then looks up as they push deeper, meeting Tsuyoshi's eyes. Tsuyoshi inhales sharply, his breaths growing faster, hitching with every movement. Experimentation or not, it's never been like this. Kimura could start lecturing him now, and he'd probably still come from nothing but his bandmate's fingers working in and out of him.
Kimura looks a bit like he could, too, but before Tsuyoshi can think any further about that idea, his bandmate pulls his fingers out, reaching for the condom. The wrapper slips between his slick fingertips, refusing to open; with a noise of frustration, Kimura rips it open with his teeth, rolling it onto himself and kneeling between Tsuyoshi's legs. "Ready?"
For a second, Tsuyoshi is back in the concert hall, lying precariously on the edge of the stage with the lights hot on his skin and Kimura so very real and physical above him. It's dreamlike, a fantasy sprung to life, and yet every sensation is sharp and clear, more vivid than anything Tsuyoshi's imagination could ever produce. He nods, the tip of Kimura's cock brushing tantalyzingly at his opening, and wraps his hands around his bandmate's hips to urge him on.
Kimura pushes into him, too wide and tight and both of them pant, breaths mingling, Kimura's hands spreading Tsuyoshi's legs further apart. Tsuyoshi digs his fingers into Kimura's skin, inarticulate noises accompanying each gasp as his bandmate presses deeper, resistance slowly giving way to slickness. Thighs meet the back of his own and Kimura leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Tsuyoshi and sinking completely into him with a sharp exhale. "Fuck."
If moments ago Tsuyoshi had been the closest to Kimura he'd ever been in his life, well, now Kimura is balls-deep inside him and about to, as he so eloquently put it, fuck him. This, he corrects himself, is what Kimura feels like. Tsuyoshi wants to feel every last bit of it.
Kimura catches his gaze and gives him a grin, like he's back on familiar ground and ready to blow Tsuyoshi's mind. "No touching yourself, got it?"
"What--" Tsuyoshi manages, and then breaks off in a moan as Kimura draws his hips back and slowly thrusts into him again. Friction and sliding slickness, competing at first, then blending together as Kimura pushes in again and again, each time faster than the last. Tsuyoshi is too busy clinging to Kimura's thrusting hips to take matters into own hands, anyway, although there is one thing-- "Up," he gasps out, and his bandmate obligingly angles his hips upward.
Kimura's cock hits the sensitive spot inside him, and the moan Tsuyoshi lets out this time could probably be heard throughout an entire concert hall. Again, again, the head rubbing that spot with every push in a slow build of pleasure. Tsuyoshi glances down, past his own erection starting to drip with pre-come, to see his bandmate's hips thrusting in and out of him, and vaguely wishes he still had the double-sided camera. Or maybe that Kimura had it, so he could see Kimura's face and Kimura fucking him at the same time.
Jesus, he's in the middle of have sex with Kimura and he's still coming up with new fantasies about him. He really is hopeless for his bandmate, isn't he.
Kimura slows for a moment, leaning down to catch his lips in a breathless kiss. "Good?"
Tsuyoshi lets go of Kimura's hips, reaching up to twine his fingers into his bandmate's still-damp hair instead. "Yes, god, yes," he pants, meeting Kimura's lips between each word. "Keep going, keep--ah--" Kimura jerks his hips forward, and whatever else Tsuyoshi is going to say is reduced to incoherency as his bandmate speeds up again, harder and faster than before. He kisses Kimura again, hungrily, moans muffled as the older man's tongue twines with his in matching slick heat. Between them, his cock starts to ache, desperately hard and dripping in earnest now, so tempting just to reach down and--
Kimura breaks away, catching his wrist. "Not 'til I say you do." He flashes Tsuyoshi another toothy grin, and then abruptly pulls out. Tsuyoshi makes a noise of protest, feeling as though he's just been dropped out of heaven, but then Kimura's hands are on his hips, rolling him over onto his front, and his bandmate is pulling him up onto his knees and pushing into him again and fucking him on all fours and oh god he wishes he could see it.
He glances down, sideways, to no avail, but Kimura must notice because he laughs, breath hot on Tsuyoshi's back, and tightens his grip. "You wanna watch?" He drags Tsuyoshi down to the end of the bed, angling them on the mattress. Tsuyoshi looks over-- and sees their reflection in the mirror, naked and flushed and in an extremely compromising position. Kimura is looking, too, mouth parting as his eyes run over the image they make; still watching, he lines himself up again, pressing the tip of his cock into Tsuyoshi.
Tsuyoshi spreads his legs wide again, the sight of the shaft sliding into him somehow making the sensation even more intense. Kimura disappears completely inside him, hips flush against his ass; then, meeting Tsuyoshi's eyes in the mirror, he proceeds to fuck him hard and rough, cock driving into him, hands yanking Tsuyoshi's hips back to meet each thrust. "This is what you want, isn't it," he hisses, fingers digging into skin, "You want me to fuck you 'til I'm everything, 'til I'm all you can see and feel and nothing will ever be as perfect as me."
"Yes-- ah-- yes--" Tsuyoshi pants, feeling as though he could repeat that word forever. He's so hard it hurts, pre-come dripping on the bed, the sight and sound and sensation of Kimura doing exactly as he pleases striding the line between unbearable and sublime. He wants Kimura to touch him so badly and yet he almost doesn't, not if it means this coming to an end. No fantasy will ever be as perfect as this. "Kimura-- ah--"
Kimura breaks his rhythm, fingers slipping, a sharp breath escaping his lips. For an instant Tsuyoshi worries he's somehow made his bandmate come by accident, just by saying his name-- but then Kimura wraps his arms around Tsuyoshi's waist and pulls him up onto his knees, chest pressed against his back and breath hot in his ear. "Say that again."
In the mirror, he looks like a vampire, Tsuyoshi caught breathless and willing in his arms. "Kimura," Tsuyoshi repeats, and then moans inarticulately as his bandmate thrusts into him again. The angle is perfect now, more than perfect, Kimura's cock hitting that sensitive spot again and again and again, their hands overlapping as Tsuyoshi melts backwards against the older man. "Kimura-- Kimura-- ah--"
"I'll take you to heaven," Kimura tells him, eyes fixed on his in the mirror. He reaches down, hand wrapping around Tsuyoshi's cock, and-- Tsuyoshi can barely even watch, the grip of Kimura's hand almost painful as it strokes his oversensitized erection, slow at first then speeding up and joining the rhythm of the cock thrusting into him until Tsuyoshi can't separate the two, everything is pleasure building inside him and Kimura's name tumbling from his lips and Kimura's touch everywhere on him bringing him closer and closer to heaven. "Kimura-- please--"
"Tsuyoshi--" Kimura strokes harder, faster, ecstasy rising to an unbearable, unstoppable peak-- and then Tsuyoshi is spilling over in a burst of heat, arching back in Kimura's arms with a shuddering moan. He tightens around Kimura; the older man pants as he jerks his hips again, again, finally driving deep into Tsuyoshi with a breathless, blissful noise. Orgasm crashes over them both, flooding their senses and leaving them in sweet, dizzying aftermath, locked together so tight, so close, they might as well melt into one.
Kimura pulls himself out, and they collapse backwards onto the bed in a sticky, tangled heap. They lie there, breathing heavily, Tsuyoshi half on top of Kimura, the older man's arms still loosely wrapped around him. He can't see their reflection in the mirror anymore, but he can feel Kimura's pulse against his skin, gradually slowing as they catch their breath. In the lingering bliss of afterglow, there's something oddly reassuring about that physical, tangible rhythm.
Kimura sits up, slowly untangling from Tsuyoshi and reaching for the tissues. The look on his face reminds Tsuyoshi of the one he'd had after his rehearsal, that uncertain expression that could be anywhere from anger to embarrassment, as if he's suddenly not sure what happens now after all he's said and done. Tsuyoshi would be uncertain, too, but he's just been fucked really, really thoroughly, and there isn't much room for embarrassment left in his brain. "You should stay," he says, meaning to sit up too but too exhausted to do anything but lazily accept a handful of tissues.
Kimura snorts, one corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. He reaches down, stroking the hair back from Tsuyoshi's forehead. "Were you even listening to my solo? You know I can't stay."
Tsuyoshi wonders if he should be conflicted about that, but he isn't, not really. He's not sixteen anymore, after all. He doesn't need Kimura to stay. But, despite his uncertainty in the beginning-- and really, throughout the entire twenty-some years he's known Kimura-- he somehow has the courage now to say, "You could come back."
Kimura considers this, hand resting on Tsuyoshi's forehead. "Yeah," he says finally. "You want that?"
"Absolutely," Tsuyoshi answers, absolutely meaning it. And, because afterglow has apparently connected his brain straight to his tongue, "I mean, I have a billion fantasies you still haven't fulfilled yet."
"Oh?" Kimura lifts an eyebrow, mouth quirking in a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Guess I've got a lot of work to do, then." He leans down, giving Tsuyoshi a long, lingering kiss, and then climbs over him off the bed. The door to the bathroom shuts, and Tsuyoshi hears the shower run for the second time that night.
He means to stay awake, excitement and curiosity and apprehension at what exactly he might have just started with Kimura drifting through his thoughts, but the sound of the water eventually lulls him into a contented sleep, and when he wakes again it's early morning and he's too sore to think about anything except getting through the next few concerts properly.
(It's a nice kind of sore, though.)
And so the days pass and the night fades until it starts to feel like a particularly vivid fantasy, and Tsuyoshi almost begins to think it was when they reach another city and he can't feel the traces of his bandmate's touch anymore. Either way, he thinks, settling back on his hotel bed and debating what fantasy to go with tonight, he's already gotten a taste of heaven, and he's content with that. He's not going to get his hopes up for anything more--
There's a knock on the door. Tsuyoshi rolls off the bed and rushes to the door with his heart rising-- and there Kimura is, his bandmate smiling a lopsided grin with promise in his eyes. He leans against the door frame, looking Tsuyoshi up and down like he's considering what fantasy to go with tonight, too, and who is he kidding, there's no way Tsuyoshi would have been content with just one taste of heaven. Not when heaven is standing in his door grinning like that.
"Mind if I borrow your shower?" Kimura says, and Tsuyoshi opens the door to let his bandmate-- real, physical, and very much not another fantasy-- in for another night.