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dictionarysaysNakai/Kimura | PG-13 | Part 1
Another one-shot that has to be split into parts. LJ? I don't like you sometimes. This came out of nowhere a week ago and I was planning on just making it a drabble (the idea kept bugging me), but then it took matters into its own hands and evolved into this. I love 2TOP—SMAP in general.
Kimura has no idea what’s on Nakai’s mind when he bursts into his dressing room, still in his on-camera clothes as Kimura finishes pulling on his tee shirt from home (it’s fitting and there’s now a silver guitar all over his chest). He doesn’t turn around but he catches the range of emotions that flit across Nakai’s face as he looks everywhere but at him through the big mirror; he smiles a little, he knows Nakai will talk when he’s ready to.
It’s later than the staff had predicted before they’d finally been able to finish tonight’s recording. By the time Goro-chan and him had won during Bistro, Kimura was all but ready to jump out of his costume and go home where he’d probably lounge in the bath until his skin turned into a prune. Everybody was tired, even Shingo-kun had been yawning between breaks and Tsuyopon had been the one talking animatedly beside him, working hard to keep the youngest member awake. Kimura hadn’t said a word of complaint though, working passionately on his dishes alongside Goro as Nakai-kun’s raspy voice floated down, clearly keeping the guest amused if the tinkles of laughter meant anything (Kimura had never been surprised even in the beginning, years ago, when Nakai would stay bent over the script late into the night, mumbling under his breath and practicing his soul out).
“I need you to do me a favour.” Nakai’s voice is low and almost rushed, Kimura nearly misses it but he quirks an eyebrow, turning partially to stare at the older if not shorter man—Nakai realizes how strange the sentence is and shrugs half heartedly, it’s really just a messy shake of his shoulders.
“What’s up?” He goes to move forward, close some of the distance between them because this is the last thing he’d expect from him, but it’s as if Nakai knows and he plops himself down on the arm of the couch, staring down at his knees. Kimura simply crosses his arms then, worried.
“You have to promise you won’t ask me why—so, just say yes.” Nakai’s looking up and Kimura can’t explain it, but he feels twenty again and the way Nakai shuffles his way off the arm and down into the couch; he can’t help but follow and sit down on the cushion beside him.
It gets quiet and it might have something to do with the fact Nakai had shut the door after coming in unannounced, but Kimura thinks there’s more to it than that. He brings his legs up comfortably, manoeuvring them underneath him and resisting the urge to pull Nakai’s hideous beanie off his head and smack his face with it because he shouldn’t have such a scared look on his face and since when have they not been able to talk to each other?
Kimura knows he’s not able to say anything but so he says, “Yes,” and a little of the tension around Nakai’s eyes is gone. It’ll have to do for now.
“Kiss me.” Nakai’s voice is the clearest it’s been this whole time and Kimura’s eyes widen, he even manages a thin laugh.
“What?” Kimura replies, dazed.
“Seriously? You’re deaf? Kiss me, Kimura.” Nakai says, exasperated and rolling his eyes. A lot more of the Nakai Kimura’s used to shows through and he’s surprised—he thought if anything, he’d be less him right about now. But he guesses not and settles with staring Nakai down.
He’s unflinching and his mouth is really taut, Nakai’s not as exasperated as he wants to be and he’s probably the more uncomfortable of the two. Kimura can’t decide if Nakai’s crazy or stupid, but he does know he only has one life to live and if Nakai can go so far as asking him for a favour, well, then he can probably kiss him too.
Kimura twists himself closer, their knees bump and he doesn’t miss the cringe Nakai gives up and now he’s thoroughly confused. He wants to know but Nakai’s as stubborn as a bull and this could go on forever but if a kiss is all he wants, who’s Kimura to say no? He’s a lot, he knows this, always has, they’ve been through thick and thin to get where they are and there’s still so much more they want to do if the determination thrumming through their aching thighs when they perform live has anything to say about it—but at the end of the day, this is probably something only Nakai would ask of him and it takes a strange amount of guts to go about this, so Kimura’s here for him, like he’s always been.
“Just, come ‘ere.” Kimura manually pulls Nakai a little bit closer, grabbing at the sides of his jeans, while he hops to get his knees in between Nakai’s now and everything about the way Nakai’s sitting—he wants to bolt. “You’re terrified,” he says this needlessly and Nakai’s suddenly smacking the side of Kimura’s head and blowing a loud puff of air.
“Uh, no shit.” He grabs for his knees, pulling at the material, one hand going up to tug at his beanie. “Do it and get it over and done with.”
“Mm.” Kimura can’t stand it anymore and he pulls Nakai’s beanie completely off, stuffing it under the cushion; all Nakai can do is shout and frown simultaneously, trying to stifle a pout. Kimura grins, “I don’t kiss people who look like they have a mole rat on their head.”
“Do it now,” Nakai murmurs, shaking his knees and staring up at the ceiling. “Before I regret this.”
“You should close your eyes,” Kimura suggests.
Nakai clamps his eyes shut and tightens his grip on his knees.
Kimura looks him over. “Stay like that.”
Nakai’s biting his lip and looking so nervous, Kimura’s never seen him like this and it claws at his gut. He’s never been so careful before and that’s what Kimura convinces himself is his motivation when he sits up on his knees and leans forward, towards him, letting his forehead touch Nakai’s—something familiar, because they’ve done this before—and Nakai still jumps at the contact. Kimura takes it slow, there’s no way he’s going to kiss him right away, not until Nakai can calm down. The forced breathes slipping between Nakai’s lips as Kimura traces his hairline with his forehead and gradually ends at the curve of his jaw are telling. He presses his lips to the warm skin right beside his chin, already expecting Nakai’s jump, he lets his arms hang around his thin shoulders, supporting him more than he’s keeping him still. Nakai’s slumped over just a bit.
“You.” Nakai breathes. “Stop stalling.”
Kimura doesn’t reply; he lets go of a breath as he kisses Nakai’s jaw line up to his ear and down around his neck, blowing at the little tufts of hair in his way. Nakai inhales sharply, clutching at his knees again, physically shaking. He swears under his breath. “Do it, Takuya.”
He holds Nakai firmly by the shoulders, letting his fingers slip into the space between his arms and back. Kimura tilts his head to kiss along Nakai’s throat and up towards his chin, where Nakai meets him halfway and gasps when their lips touch. Kimura stays completely still, he doesn’t dare move; it’s up to Nakai to do what he wants with this. Kimura, on the other hand, is trying to wrap his head around not only the smooth stretch of Nakai’s skin but how much of a girl Nakai really is (he’s suddenly reminded of Mako-chan, he hasn’t thought about the skit in years).
After a moment, Nakai’s lips suddenly pull back from Kimura’s. Then they return. Over and over again. Nakai grabs at the front of Kimura’s shirt, feebly, the whole thing is rushed—it takes him two whole tries until he gets his fingers twined into the material and lets his tongue brush Kimura’s lower lip. Kimura’s caught off guard, more by the flip of want churning in his chest than the way Nakai takes control and sticks his tongue in his mouth.
“What’s a guy gotta’ do to get a little tongue around here?” Nakai smirks more than he says this, somehow murmuring into Kimura’s mouth, through their tongues and teeth.
Kimura shivers and Nakai deepens the kiss with far too much ease; he jerks Kimura close with one tug, his hands still wrapped in his shirt—Kimura can’t stifle a low groan and he cups his leader’s face, pinkies circling the patch of skin right below Nakai’s ears. He still has no clue what all of this is about and what he’s trying to prove but with the way Nakai’s little moan sounds in the back of his throat, as rough as Kimura figured it would be (Kimura doesn’t dwell on the fact he has wondered about what it would sound like—that’s something for another day); the noise manages to lodge itself in his veins and race through him pleasantly.
A few more minutes pass just like this, where eventually Nakai’s halfway up in Kimura’s lap and Kimura’s trying to steady the both of them, still up on his knees—he lets his hands run through Nakai’s hair like that’s where he’s going to find his balance (they’ve only pulled apart twice, once to breathe, which Nakai thought was overrated; and another time to laugh out loud because Nakai had mewled when Kimura danced his fingers across his waist).
“Hey... “ Kimura mumbles, easing his face away from the other man’s, who doesn’t seem to approve if the frown crested between his brows says anything—but he likes to think the uncharacteristic flush of Nakai’s cheeks says more, so all he does his grin. “What was that about? And don’t say nothing or no.” Kimura quickly cuts Nakai off, pinching his nose, trying to both comfort and threaten the older man at the same time.
Nakai’s quiet though, he looks down, trying to reach under Kimura’s cushion, looking for his beanie. Kimura lets him, watching him pull the beanie back over his mussed hair and licking his lips silently—he can’t quite get a handle on all of this. For one, Kimura liked it, he’s not about to deny that and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. The make-out session just now can’t be overlooked, but on the other hand, why in the first place? What was Nakai looking for? Did he find it?
Kimura bites at the inside of his cheek.
“I liked it, you know. I liked that—what we just did.” Nakai’s eyes are a little wide at Kimura’s admission, but he has nothing to hide and there’s no doubt in his mind that Nakai feels the same.
“Oh.” Kimura stares, waiting for more. Nakai stuffs his hands between his legs, cracking his knuckles. Kimura has nothing else to say, he’s not only done but said his part too—the ball’s in Nakai’s court. “It was weird, but I mean, not bad weird. Just—different. You eat rice?”
“Had onigiri during our break, yeah.”
“I thought I tasted it.” If Kimura weren’t staring, he would’ve missed the sheepish flush of pink that worms its way up Nakai’s neck when he says that. It makes him laugh a little under his breath before he grabs for Nakai’s wrist, holding it still. Nakai looks up, confused, but the browns of his eyes flash in weary understanding and he knows Kimura’s not playing around.
“We’ve never kissed, you and I. At least, at least not seriously.” Nakai’s voice is quick and low, but Kimura lets his hand trace down from his wrist to his fingers and squeezes his index reassuringly. “Sure, there’s been bistro and some lives, but—you’ve kissed Shingo before. Tsuyopon too. I don’t even wanna’ know what you and Goro’ve done.” He’s not finished, Kimura can tell, but the past whirs behind his eyes and quick little instants of kisses on the cheek, forced pecks on one another’s mouths and that one time Kimura had licked Nakai’s neck when they were over at his without any warning is all he sees. Nakai pulls a small breath, his free hand fiddling with the bump of his beanie before he continues. “So, it’s like, why? I mean, you know, we’re close—all right, I admit, maybe not as close as when we were young, but the history counts for something. You’ve been to my house, I've been to yours; we even went on double dates in high school. So why?”
Part 2
