A True Story (Tamamori/Miyata, PG)
Title: A True Story
Pairing: Tamamori/Miyata
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: The fans are slow. Miyata is slower.
AN: Set after an evening show of Takizawa Kakumei.
A True Story
Tamamori thinks that if he walks any slower, he might fall over. He's hunched over as much as possible, head down, impossibly trying to remain unnoticed by the hordes of fans still hanging around after the show, but when he peeks through his bangs, he doesn't see Miyata waiting for him at their appointed spot. He slows down to a shuffle so that his forward motion is more like an afterthought than any real progess.
He can feel the eyes on him, dozens of fans in little clusters all over the subway station, but luckily, no one has approached him and they don't seem like they're going to. He can see them whispering to each other out of the corner of his eye. Despite his slower-than-a-crawl pace, he still reaches their meeting point further down the corridor without any sign of Miyata. He curses under his breath and pulls out his cell phone.
「Where are you?」 he types, hitting send and snapping the phone shut in a flash of white plastic. He slides it into his pocket and covers it with his hand so that he'll feel if it buzzes. He looks up again, but Miyata hasn't shown up in the last twenty seconds. The fans, however, have increased their whispering to the point where he can hear it. Some of them are pointing, he realizes with embarrassment, and before he can think too much about it, he ducks behind a pole. He feels a bit silly, since it only blocks some of the groups; other girls are still peering at him suspiciously.
Tamamori sighs. When they had showed up the other morning, stepping through the ticket gates together, there hadn't been many fans around. They immediately separated to take different exits to the theatre, because there were always fans outside, and they really didn't need to know that Tamamori had stayed at Miyata's house. But there were still enough fans along his path for Tamamori to know their plan was a bit flawed.
Fans are tricky. They know which train he takes, they know where to wait to wave at him as he heads into the theatre. Normally, he doesn't mind. They're usually polite and don't bother him, just smiling and nodding, saying soft good luck's and waving when he smiles back. But that's also the problem. They know which train he takes, and that morning, he hadn't. Even if he didn't walk in with Miyata, his arrival from the direction of Miyata's line clearly hadn't gone unnoticed. The whispers were more frantic than usual when he passed, and Tamamori isn't stupid. He sighs again and then starts when his phone buzzes under his hand.
「Almost there.」 it reads. He tucks it back into his jacket and glances down the corridor. He can't see much from his position though, the other poles blocking his view, and so, with a last resigned sigh, he steps out from his hiding place.
Miyata is about twenty paces away, and Tamamori knows the exact moment the fans figure it out. Forget whispers. There's an explosion of giggles that swirls through the gathered girls. Miyata gives a vague wave and Tamamori can tell he's grinning, even though his fedora and surgical mask cover up most of his face. Tamamori takes a few steps forward to meet him and smacks him on the arm.
"You totally suck," he hisses, grabbing Miyata's sleeve and leaning in so that no one can hear him. "Everyone's been staring at me."
"Well," Miyata whispers back, his head pressed against Tamamori's, "shouldn't they? I always stare at you. You're worth staring at."
Tamamori is torn between wanting to kiss Miyata and wanting to hit him. The first one isn't really a viable option at the moment, and then he thinks about it for a moment too long for the second one to work, either. He gives up and tugs on Miyata's coat, pulling him back in the right direction. "Just... let's go."
Miyata chuckles under his breath, but he sounds apologetic. "I'm sorry, I ran into more fans on my way here."
"It's okay," Tamamori concedes, and it is. He knows how it goes. He leans against Miyata as they walk, shoulders pressed tight together and heads touching, and ignores the whispers and giggles that fly through the station and surround them. It's times like these that he wishes they could leave a bit later, but fans tend to be slow to leave the venue and it's already late enough as it is. They can't really afford to wait. However...
"Maybe we should meet a few stations away next time," he suggests.
"Why?"
"Well, it would be slightly less obvious that you're coming home with me that way," Tamamori points out.
Miyata hums. "But we could just be taking the same line. I mean, Nikaido and Senga take the same line."
Tamamori turns his head enough to catch Miyata's eye and give him a disapproving glare from a few centimeters apart. "That's because Nikaido and Senga actually live on the same line, or close enough. We're being a bit obvious, Miyacchi."
They separate to pass through the ticket gates in single file, swiping their passes over the sensors. Tamamori latches onto Miyata's sleeve again once he's through, even if Miyata doesn't need him to lead. Miyata knows exactly where to stand on the platform for the car that will let them off closest to the exit at Tamamori's station. Miyata never responds, the conversation dropped for the moment, and Tamamori supposes it doesn't matter. Better to focus on the positive.
He leans closer to Miyata.
"Ne, Miyacchi," he says, voice pitched low and suggestive. "When we get home, I want to take a loooong bath..." Tamamori smirks beneath his mask when he feels Miyata shiver slightly against him.
"Tama, don't start that again," Miyata groans, but makes no attempt to pull away.
"A long, hot bath," Tamamori says.
"Nngh."
Tamamori grins. It works every time.
Comments are very welcome. :)
Pairing: Tamamori/Miyata
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: The fans are slow. Miyata is slower.
AN: Set after an evening show of Takizawa Kakumei.
A True Story
Tamamori thinks that if he walks any slower, he might fall over. He's hunched over as much as possible, head down, impossibly trying to remain unnoticed by the hordes of fans still hanging around after the show, but when he peeks through his bangs, he doesn't see Miyata waiting for him at their appointed spot. He slows down to a shuffle so that his forward motion is more like an afterthought than any real progess.
He can feel the eyes on him, dozens of fans in little clusters all over the subway station, but luckily, no one has approached him and they don't seem like they're going to. He can see them whispering to each other out of the corner of his eye. Despite his slower-than-a-crawl pace, he still reaches their meeting point further down the corridor without any sign of Miyata. He curses under his breath and pulls out his cell phone.
「Where are you?」 he types, hitting send and snapping the phone shut in a flash of white plastic. He slides it into his pocket and covers it with his hand so that he'll feel if it buzzes. He looks up again, but Miyata hasn't shown up in the last twenty seconds. The fans, however, have increased their whispering to the point where he can hear it. Some of them are pointing, he realizes with embarrassment, and before he can think too much about it, he ducks behind a pole. He feels a bit silly, since it only blocks some of the groups; other girls are still peering at him suspiciously.
Tamamori sighs. When they had showed up the other morning, stepping through the ticket gates together, there hadn't been many fans around. They immediately separated to take different exits to the theatre, because there were always fans outside, and they really didn't need to know that Tamamori had stayed at Miyata's house. But there were still enough fans along his path for Tamamori to know their plan was a bit flawed.
Fans are tricky. They know which train he takes, they know where to wait to wave at him as he heads into the theatre. Normally, he doesn't mind. They're usually polite and don't bother him, just smiling and nodding, saying soft good luck's and waving when he smiles back. But that's also the problem. They know which train he takes, and that morning, he hadn't. Even if he didn't walk in with Miyata, his arrival from the direction of Miyata's line clearly hadn't gone unnoticed. The whispers were more frantic than usual when he passed, and Tamamori isn't stupid. He sighs again and then starts when his phone buzzes under his hand.
「Almost there.」 it reads. He tucks it back into his jacket and glances down the corridor. He can't see much from his position though, the other poles blocking his view, and so, with a last resigned sigh, he steps out from his hiding place.
Miyata is about twenty paces away, and Tamamori knows the exact moment the fans figure it out. Forget whispers. There's an explosion of giggles that swirls through the gathered girls. Miyata gives a vague wave and Tamamori can tell he's grinning, even though his fedora and surgical mask cover up most of his face. Tamamori takes a few steps forward to meet him and smacks him on the arm.
"You totally suck," he hisses, grabbing Miyata's sleeve and leaning in so that no one can hear him. "Everyone's been staring at me."
"Well," Miyata whispers back, his head pressed against Tamamori's, "shouldn't they? I always stare at you. You're worth staring at."
Tamamori is torn between wanting to kiss Miyata and wanting to hit him. The first one isn't really a viable option at the moment, and then he thinks about it for a moment too long for the second one to work, either. He gives up and tugs on Miyata's coat, pulling him back in the right direction. "Just... let's go."
Miyata chuckles under his breath, but he sounds apologetic. "I'm sorry, I ran into more fans on my way here."
"It's okay," Tamamori concedes, and it is. He knows how it goes. He leans against Miyata as they walk, shoulders pressed tight together and heads touching, and ignores the whispers and giggles that fly through the station and surround them. It's times like these that he wishes they could leave a bit later, but fans tend to be slow to leave the venue and it's already late enough as it is. They can't really afford to wait. However...
"Maybe we should meet a few stations away next time," he suggests.
"Why?"
"Well, it would be slightly less obvious that you're coming home with me that way," Tamamori points out.
Miyata hums. "But we could just be taking the same line. I mean, Nikaido and Senga take the same line."
Tamamori turns his head enough to catch Miyata's eye and give him a disapproving glare from a few centimeters apart. "That's because Nikaido and Senga actually live on the same line, or close enough. We're being a bit obvious, Miyacchi."
They separate to pass through the ticket gates in single file, swiping their passes over the sensors. Tamamori latches onto Miyata's sleeve again once he's through, even if Miyata doesn't need him to lead. Miyata knows exactly where to stand on the platform for the car that will let them off closest to the exit at Tamamori's station. Miyata never responds, the conversation dropped for the moment, and Tamamori supposes it doesn't matter. Better to focus on the positive.
He leans closer to Miyata.
"Ne, Miyacchi," he says, voice pitched low and suggestive. "When we get home, I want to take a loooong bath..." Tamamori smirks beneath his mask when he feels Miyata shiver slightly against him.
"Tama, don't start that again," Miyata groans, but makes no attempt to pull away.
"A long, hot bath," Tamamori says.
"Nngh."
Tamamori grins. It works every time.
Comments are very welcome. :)