[Team 2] untitled
Nothing actually happens in this, but uh hurray for writing non-Kisumai \o/
~
Wine at dinner is a pretty common occurrence in the Kikuchi household, so Fuma is a little bemused at Kento's disapproval when he pours them a glass each to go with their pasta. They're celebrating, after all, and the "kids" aren't here, so what's the problem?
"It's good for you," he tells Kento, nudging Kento's glass a little more towards him. "Good for your heart because it gets your blood flowing and stuff."
"It's good for old people," Kento replies, wrinkling his nose at Fuma.
"Yeah, so like I said, it's good for you."
Kento laughs grudgingly and throws his napkin at Fuma, but still eyes his wine glass askance.
"Oh come on, don't be such a prude! There's no cameras here or anything. I'll even let you stay the night if you don't feel up to going home by yourself later. I think my mom just washed the futon covers too, so you'll be all set."
For a moment longer, Kento hesitates. Then he makes the mistake of looking up just when Fuma takes a sip himself, full lips wrapped around the crystal rim of the wine glass, head tilted back just a little to show off the line of his throat (what kind of show does he think he's putting on in his own dining room anyway?), and caves.
He imitates Fuma as well as he can, gripping the stem of the glass with cramped fingers instead of holding it by the bowl as he wants to do and taking a small, measured sip. And then another, and another. The taste is surprisingly sweet, not sharp and sour like he remembers from when his father used to let him dip a chopstick into his glass for a taste.
"I thought you'd like the sweet wines," Fuma smiles at him, and Kento has such a sudden attack of the dokidokis that he worries he's drunk already.
"Don't do that," he mutters, bending over his pasta and using both hands to twirl noodles onto his fork. Somehow it makes him feel better having both his hands between them, like he's throwing up more defenses against Fuma or something, even if he knows logically that there's no sense to it. He's been trying to build up his defense against Fuma for ages but it still only takes just a smile and a minor thoughtful gesture to disarm him entirely.
Fuma's about to ask "don't do what?" but when he looks up, Kento's already stuffed his cheeks full of pasta, and looking more like a squirrel than ever as he chews rapidly and reads the label of the wine bottle with round, inquisitive eyes, so he just laughs instead and tops off Kento's glass for him.
~
"Wow, my bad, this was the worst idea ever," Fuma groans as he pries a drunken Kento's arm off his shoulders for the umpteenth time.
"I told you wine was ba~d," Kento pouts at Fuma.
Fuma's been trying to get the futon set up for Kento-who's definitely not in a state to go home tonight-but has only succeeded in dragging it into his room. He needs Kento to get out of the way, at least, if not help unfold the futon, except Kento insists on draping himself all over Fuma like the nuisance he is.
This time when Kento attaches himself to Fuma, he trips on nothing and they both end up falling backwards onto Fuma's bed. They land with their legs all tangled together and their faces only a few centimeters apart. It should be awkward, maybe embarrassing, but it's not. They've said and done a ton of suggestive things in front of cameras, after all, and Kento is so completely drunk and silly now that Fuma really just wants to laugh at him despite his exasperation at the older boy's inebriation.
And at any rate, there's not enough time to feel awkward before Kento closes the few centimeters' gap between them and kisses Fuma, pushing his tongue into Fuma's mouth immediately. The lingering flavor of wine on Kento's tongue tastes as sweet as nectar, and the curl of Kento's fingers at the back of Fuma's neck makes his pulse skip faster. Fuma pauses only briefly, out of surprise at Kento's sudden assertiveness, before kissing back.
Kento kisses the way he does everything: overzealously, trying a little too hard. But he learns quickly, reads Fuma easily and figures out quickly what Fuma likes and doesn't like and just where to suck on Fuma's collarbone to make him hum with satisfaction. Kento himself is easy, maybe even more so because of the wine, practically clawing into Fuma's shirt at every nip of Fuma's teeth or flick of his tongue.
It's rare to find someone who fits him as well as Kento does so it's a pity to stop, but after all Fuma is too sober, Kento is too drunk, and he doesn't want to take advantage. Kento makes a little whine of protest in the back of his throat when Fuma pulls away, and then pouts up at him with very exaggerated duck lips and puppy eyes. It's not actually cute at all, so Fuma has no problem laughing and pushing Kento's face away with his palm.
"Fine, I give up on the futon," he says, getting up to root in his closet for an extra set of pajamas to lend Kento. "We can just both squeeze into my bed for tonight. Happy now?"
"Yes," Kento grins at him, wriggling around contentedly in Fuma's blankets. "Yes, I am happy now."
~
Wine at dinner is a pretty common occurrence in the Kikuchi household, so Fuma is a little bemused at Kento's disapproval when he pours them a glass each to go with their pasta. They're celebrating, after all, and the "kids" aren't here, so what's the problem?
"It's good for you," he tells Kento, nudging Kento's glass a little more towards him. "Good for your heart because it gets your blood flowing and stuff."
"It's good for old people," Kento replies, wrinkling his nose at Fuma.
"Yeah, so like I said, it's good for you."
Kento laughs grudgingly and throws his napkin at Fuma, but still eyes his wine glass askance.
"Oh come on, don't be such a prude! There's no cameras here or anything. I'll even let you stay the night if you don't feel up to going home by yourself later. I think my mom just washed the futon covers too, so you'll be all set."
For a moment longer, Kento hesitates. Then he makes the mistake of looking up just when Fuma takes a sip himself, full lips wrapped around the crystal rim of the wine glass, head tilted back just a little to show off the line of his throat (what kind of show does he think he's putting on in his own dining room anyway?), and caves.
He imitates Fuma as well as he can, gripping the stem of the glass with cramped fingers instead of holding it by the bowl as he wants to do and taking a small, measured sip. And then another, and another. The taste is surprisingly sweet, not sharp and sour like he remembers from when his father used to let him dip a chopstick into his glass for a taste.
"I thought you'd like the sweet wines," Fuma smiles at him, and Kento has such a sudden attack of the dokidokis that he worries he's drunk already.
"Don't do that," he mutters, bending over his pasta and using both hands to twirl noodles onto his fork. Somehow it makes him feel better having both his hands between them, like he's throwing up more defenses against Fuma or something, even if he knows logically that there's no sense to it. He's been trying to build up his defense against Fuma for ages but it still only takes just a smile and a minor thoughtful gesture to disarm him entirely.
Fuma's about to ask "don't do what?" but when he looks up, Kento's already stuffed his cheeks full of pasta, and looking more like a squirrel than ever as he chews rapidly and reads the label of the wine bottle with round, inquisitive eyes, so he just laughs instead and tops off Kento's glass for him.
~
"Wow, my bad, this was the worst idea ever," Fuma groans as he pries a drunken Kento's arm off his shoulders for the umpteenth time.
"I told you wine was ba~d," Kento pouts at Fuma.
Fuma's been trying to get the futon set up for Kento-who's definitely not in a state to go home tonight-but has only succeeded in dragging it into his room. He needs Kento to get out of the way, at least, if not help unfold the futon, except Kento insists on draping himself all over Fuma like the nuisance he is.
This time when Kento attaches himself to Fuma, he trips on nothing and they both end up falling backwards onto Fuma's bed. They land with their legs all tangled together and their faces only a few centimeters apart. It should be awkward, maybe embarrassing, but it's not. They've said and done a ton of suggestive things in front of cameras, after all, and Kento is so completely drunk and silly now that Fuma really just wants to laugh at him despite his exasperation at the older boy's inebriation.
And at any rate, there's not enough time to feel awkward before Kento closes the few centimeters' gap between them and kisses Fuma, pushing his tongue into Fuma's mouth immediately. The lingering flavor of wine on Kento's tongue tastes as sweet as nectar, and the curl of Kento's fingers at the back of Fuma's neck makes his pulse skip faster. Fuma pauses only briefly, out of surprise at Kento's sudden assertiveness, before kissing back.
Kento kisses the way he does everything: overzealously, trying a little too hard. But he learns quickly, reads Fuma easily and figures out quickly what Fuma likes and doesn't like and just where to suck on Fuma's collarbone to make him hum with satisfaction. Kento himself is easy, maybe even more so because of the wine, practically clawing into Fuma's shirt at every nip of Fuma's teeth or flick of his tongue.
It's rare to find someone who fits him as well as Kento does so it's a pity to stop, but after all Fuma is too sober, Kento is too drunk, and he doesn't want to take advantage. Kento makes a little whine of protest in the back of his throat when Fuma pulls away, and then pouts up at him with very exaggerated duck lips and puppy eyes. It's not actually cute at all, so Fuma has no problem laughing and pushing Kento's face away with his palm.
"Fine, I give up on the futon," he says, getting up to root in his closet for an extra set of pajamas to lend Kento. "We can just both squeeze into my bed for tonight. Happy now?"
"Yes," Kento grins at him, wriggling around contentedly in Fuma's blankets. "Yes, I am happy now."