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Makoto slides the gear into park and twists his key back and out, the loud rumble of the old truck finally coming to a puttering rest. He closes his eyes and leans back against the worn head rest, breathing deeply. Twelve hour shifts were tough on most people, but when they involved fighting fires like Makoto's day had they could be downright exhausting. He had just left one, actually, and the smell of ash and heat lingers on his jacket. He could probably fall asleep right here in the truck, but the warm light filtering through the curtains of his kitchen give him the strength to push the door open and stomp his way inside.
“I'm home,” he calls, voice still a little hoarse from smoke. He sits heavily and works on his boots.
“Dadda!” Mariko squeals and Makoto smiles at the pounding staccato of her running up behind him before she jumps on his back. An oof leaves his mouth as a laugh, and he twists to drag her around for a proper hug. She's gotten so big, Makoto wonders how Haru keeps up with her all day. She starts chattering and Makoto can barely make out 'kitty' between sound effects and the babble, but he nods along as he finishes with his boots anyway. He doesn't put her down when he stands back up and walks into the kitchen.
Haru doesn't turn from his pan when Makoto walks in, but Makoto rests his head on his shoulder and feels Haru's hand come up and tangle in his hair.
“Long day?” Haru asks. Makoto nods into him. Mariko leans on Haru's other shoulder and tries to reach for what he's cooking, and Haru deftly pushes her hand out of the way. Makoto takes a deep breath, savoring the smell of Haru's cooking and his little family. I'm home, he thinks happily, eyes closing. He could stand like this all night.
“We already took a bath,” Haru says quietly.
“Mm,” Makoto hums. Haru tilts his hear toward him and Makoto blinks his eyes back open.
“Oh,” he says with a little smile. So the shower is all yours, Haru's eyes say. He leans in and kisses Haru's cheek, and Haru turns back to the stove. Makoto bites his lip at the little bit of coal he left on the side of Haru's face, but decides not to tell him quite yet. He settles Mariko back in her high chair and he fluffs her hair.
“Go ahead and start dinner without me,” he says. Haru hums and Makoto takes it for agreement so he drags himself up the stairs and into his room. He tosses his helmet on the bed and his gear soon follows, leaving a crumpled trail to the bathroom. He catches sight of himself in the mirror before he steps into the shower and laughs a little at the helmet hair and the black smeared on his face. A hot shower might be the best thing that could happen to him tonight.
Mariko is already mercilessly chowing into her food by the time Haru hears the water run upstairs. He shakes his head and dishes out himself a plate, and packs the rest away. From how exhausted Makoto looked, he would probably be in the shower for a long time anyway. At least he only looked tired, Haru thinks. Sometimes he comes back tired and fragile, and Haru's learned to tread carefully those nights. Even with how they are now, there's not much he can do to help when they lose someone in a fire.
He sits next to Mariko and wipes his face pointedly. She watches with big eyes and mimics him, entirely missing the food on her face. He smiles and wipes it for her, and lets her go back to eating. Someday, he'll get her to slow down and eat more like a person, less like her favorite monsters.
She starts to nod off sometime between finishing her food and Haru finishing the dishes. Haru asks if she's ready for bed and she doesn't answer, so he takes that as a yes. He heaves her up into his arms and carries her up and into her room. She doesn't wake up even when he covers her with a blanket, and Haru brushes her hair aside and watches her sleep for a second before leaning down and kissing the top of her head.
“Goodnight Mariko,” he says softly. She doesn't stir, so Haru flicks the light off and pads around the corner into their room. Makoto's firefighter gear litters the floor, and Haru shakes his head a little before something like inspiration hits him. He toes at Makoto's jacket on the floor, and looks at the closed bathroom door. The water is still running, and it gives Haru the moment he needs to make his decision. He picks it up and inhales, smelling fire and dust, and just a bit of sweat under it. It shouldn't smell as good as it does. The water shuts off and Haru smiles, hands already down to the hem of his shirt to pull it off.
Makoto climbs out of the shower reborn. He had let the hot water run over his worn out limbs and tired back until the life had returned to them. The air in the bathroom is thick with steam, and even that feels amazing to him as he finds a towel and rubs it over his head. The stiffness had left him, and now he's warm and relaxed, feeling better than he has all day. He idly towels off his chest and hopes Haru and Mariko aren't waiting up for him. While it surely wasn't as long as Haru can stay in the bath, he really had taken too long in the shower. He's thinking of how he can make it up to them and trying to wrap the towel around his hips when he opens the door, steam escaping and cool air hitting his flushed skin.
Haru's in the room already, his back turned to him, and Makoto nearly drops his towel at the sight. He's well aware of a height and even mass difference between him and his boyfriend, but he didn't think his fire jacket would look so.. Wait, did Haru even have anything on under that?
“Haru?” he gets out weakly. Haru turns and wow, he was absolutely not wearing anything else. Haru's eyes are wide and innocent, and he stares straight at Makoto as he slowly puts Makoto's helmet on his head, tilting it back so it doesn't cover his eyes. Makoto swallows.
“What are...” Makoto starts, but he's distracted halfway through by the way he can only barely see Haru's fingers peeking through his sleeves.
“Mariko is asleep,” Haru says. Makoto snaps his eyes back up from where they had been trailing down Haru's bare chest.
“Oh,” he says. Haru tilts his head and smiles.
“Oh,” Makoto swallows roughly, and closes the distance between them. A shower was definitely not the best thing that could happen to him tonight.
Haru can feel his smile turn predatory as Makoto steps into his space, and when he tilts his head expectantly Makoto wastes no time leaning down to kiss him. He's still damp from the shower and Haru can feel the still warm water drip from Makoto's hair and onto his face, down his neck. Makoto's hand cups his face and he leans into it, deepening their kiss and drawing Makoto closer by the towel on his hips.
He flicks his fingers and the towel falls away, Makoto hums in surprise and Haru swallows the sound. Makoto's free hand skims over his chest, dipping down along his hip bones. Haru doesn't need much more invitation to lay his own hands over Makoto's hips, and when he pulls him in and their skin meets, Makoto's sharp hiss sounds like victory.
“Haru,” Makoto's voice is husky and Haru starts to lose his patience. He lets Makoto take the helmet off him and toss it aside. When Makoto leans back in for another kiss, Haru pushes him back towards the bed.
Makoto falls on his back easily and Haru follows him down before he can sit up. The carpet is soft against the skin on his knees as he gets comfortable and presses a hand against Makoto's thigh, easing them open. He leans in against the skin where Makoto's leg joins his body and lets himself inhale the musk. Makoto is soft and solid beneath him, and Haru's feeling generous. It takes nothing to move against him, slip his tongue out and taste him. Makoto lets out a shudder of a breath and Haru gets bolder, using his hand and his tongue to call Makoto to attention.
“Haru, wait-” Makoto's words cut off in an aborted moan when Haru wraps his lips around him. He runs his tongue down the underside and lets him out of his mouth with a wet pop, and smiles at the growth. He sucks it back into his mouth and gives Makoto only a few quick licks before he slides himself forward, taking it all the way to the back of his throat. Haru flexes his throat muscles by swallowing and Makoto whimpers weakly from somewhere above him. He plants his hands on Makoto's hips, a silent command to remain still, and slowly drags himself up.
This was one of his favorite things to do to Makoto. He loves drawing all of his attention and watching his composure slowly fall apart like this. Already, Makoto's breathing is irregular and his face flushed. Haru smiles around him as he swallows him back down. Too easy, he thinks. Haru moves up and down, almost lazily, watching Makoto's hands curl in the blankets as he forces himself to hold still and let Haru set the pace. He knows Makoto would never hurt him, just as he knows intrinsically that he's close to his limit by the frustrated moan when Haru slows down.
He takes one hand off his hips to seek out one of Makoto's, and laces them together. Makoto squeezes his back and leans up on an elbow to look at him. Haru holds eye contact as he preses his face back down, all the way until his nose squishes up against Makoto's groin. He pulls back just enough to breath out of his nose and squeezes Makoto's hip, encouraging.
“Fuck,” Makoto moans out, letting his head fall back. Haru's pulse gives a little jump whenever he gets a curse out of Makoto, and he swallows around him appreciatively. Makoto moves his hips ever so slightly, testing, and Haru squeezes his hand to let him know it's okay. Makoto moves sporadically at first, testing to see how far Haru will let him go. Haru lets him find his pace, and isn't surprised that its nearly as slow as his had been. Makoto's stamina was nothing to laugh at, and he liked dragging things out just as much as Haru did.
Haru hums around him when he quickens, and Makoto's hips stutter for a second before coming back even faster. He's dimly aware that he's drooling. The added moisture helps more than anything, and it reminds him of what he'd snuck into his pocket before Makoto had finished his shower. Makoto's steadily pumping in and out of his mouth now, and he doesn't even hear the click of the cap popping open.
Haru coats his fingers in probably more than he needs, but he'd rather be careful than chance hurting Makoto. It'd been a while since they'd done it this way, anyway. Makoto is tight as Haru pushes against him and in, and Makoto moans low in his throat at the intrusion. He pushes his finger in to the knuckle and drags it out as slow as he can manage, reveling in the sounds it pulls from Makoto's lips.
Haru continues like that, adding fingers when he can tell Makoto's ready for them, amused at the way Makoto can't seem to pick between thrusting himself into Haru's mouth or impaling himself down on his hand. He's worked enough that if Haru wanted, he could crook his fingers just so and make Makoto flinch and moan when he hits that spot. Haru knows where it is, so he deliberately strokes away from it until Makoto's moan melts into a needy whimper. Haru leans back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling.
“Haru, stop teasing me,” Makoto whines, still moving himself on Haru's hand. He barely has to move his arm at all. He leans in and kisses Makoto's thigh, slowly moving back down.
“I like to,” he says. He nips at the tender flesh when Makoto whines.
“Haru, please,” Makoto says, breathless. That's really all Haru needs to find mercy. He's been ready and leaking for minutes now. He pulls his hand out and Makoto whines at the loss.
“You're so honest like this,” Haru murmurs as he tears the foil off his condom. Makoto huffs and scoots himself further up on the bed, making room for Haru to join him.
“I'm,” he pants, “Always honest with you.”
Haru crawls onto the bed after him, resting his entire weight on Makoto's chest to kiss his mouth. Makoto doesn't hesitate to add his tongue, and Haru sucks his lip into his mouth before releasing him to trail his mouth down Makoto's neck. Makoto's hands are in his hair, and they tug for a second when his mouth passes over his nipples on the way down. He isn't going to last long like this, so he taps one of Makoto's thighs. Makoto obliges and opens himself up, one hand leaving Haru's hair to hold his leg.
Haru is hyper aware of the thick black ink etched into Makoto's side when he's this close, and even as he lines himself up he traces the curves with his tongue. Heavy strokes that look like they came from a brush instead of a needle fill out waves that cascade around the orca, powerful even in its descent. Haru's come to love that whale, nearly as much as he loves being the only one to touch it as intimately as he is now.
Makoto's head is tossed to the side, breathing hard even though Haru hasn't pushed in yet. He takes a moment to enjoy the view, committing it to memory as best as he can. There isn't much for light, but the sight of Makoto flushed and hard waiting beneath him is something he could never tire of. It's perfect, except-
“Makoto,” he says. His voice sounds husky even to him. Makoto turns to face him, and the picture completes itself. His hair is still damp and terribly askew, but his heavy lidded eyes burn like liquid emeralds, and it puts the heat deep in Haru's gut. He wants to dive, so he does.
Makoto's eyes squeeze shut when he pushes himself into him, but Haru knows it isn't pain he's feeling. Haru goes until he can't, and holds himself impossibly still while Makoto adjusts to it under him. His hands idly stroke the indentations between Makoto's abdominal muscles, taking advantage of his chance to touch as greedily as he wants. It's only two ragged breaths later before Makoto is blinking up at him, reaching out with both hands. Haru leans in and kisses him, swallowing his moan when Haru rolls his hips shallowly.
Makoto wraps his legs around Haru's waist, pulling him in. Haru answers by thrusting more forcefully, their pace jumping and increasing until they meet in a rush. Haru holds onto Makoto's hips to keep his balance, his slim fingers digging into the toned flesh. Makoto hooks his heels together behind Haru's back and throws his head back when the angle changes just enough to put Haru on target.
“Haruka,” he breathes out, and Haru thinks it isn't fair for Makoto to play dirty like that. He shifts his grip to Makoto's shoulders and slams himself in even harder. Fortunately, he knows how to play dirty too. He uses one hand to wrap tight around Makoto's leaking cock, and when Makoto nearly yells Haru slips his fingers in Makoto's mouth.
He's nearly there now, his own breathing erratic as his vision starts to spot. From the sounds Makoto makes around him, he's just as close. Haru lets Makoto slide through his fingers in time with his thrusts, his precome making it slick. Haru thinks he can manage it, to actually make Makoto come first for a change. He peeks up and Makoto's face to see those eyes on him. He thinks they're unfocused until Makoto wraps his fingers around the wrist of Haru's hand in his mouth, and sucks.
“Shit,” Haru hisses, hips sporadic as he rides out his orgasm. Makoto's follows only moments later, leaving a trail across his abdomen. Haru removes himself carefully, and only takes a moment to toss his condom in the trash before falling heavily beside Makoto, both of them still trying to catch their breath.
Makoto curls himself towards Haru as soon as he's down, so Haru scoots himself over until he's laying with his head resting on Makoto's shoulder. He rests a hand on Makoto's chest, careful to keep Makoto's heavy sleeve above the mess. He's spent now, but he gets some satisfaction knowing Makoto must be downright exhausted. He feels Makoto's nose brush the top of his head when Makoto plants his face in his hair and Haru shudders out a sigh as Makoto kisses the top of his head.
“I really love you, you know,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper in Haru's hair. Haru smiles and forgets to be annoyed he didn't manage to make Makoto come first.
“I know,” he says back, just as softly. Makoto's free hand traces invisible patterns over the skin of Haru's hip, and Haru settles against him, heartbeat steadily returning to normal. Makoto laughs quietly and Haru realizes he's been drifting off. He rubs his head against him, asking for an explanation.
“I'll need another shower,” Makoto says. Haru frowns. He's comfortable.
“It can wait,” he says. Not pouting. Makoto doesn't say anything for a second, and when Haru looks up at him through his bangs, he's smiling down at him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it can,” he says. Haru raises his head and Makoto leans down to meet him, kissing him softer than they had only minutes ago. Haru hums into it before breaking apart to lay back against him. Makoto's hand moves back over his skin, and the last thing Haru remembers before falling asleep is the way Makoto is the only one who can calm his body and mind quite like this.
When Haru wakes up the next morning, he isn't surprised that Makoto is already halfway through his day. By the time Haru stumbles down stairs, Makoto's already got tea and food waiting for him, and Haru can tell he took Mariko with him on his morning run from the mess of her hair. He'll have to brush it out and braid it for her later, he thinks.
“Good morning, Haru,” Makoto says cheerfully.
“Good Saba!” Mariko adds. Haru huffs and pats her head on the way to the stove, leaning up to kiss Makoto before he takes his seat with breakfast. He eats his food and sips at his tea and occasionally replaces the cheerios Mariko knocks off her tray while Makoto gathers his gear and gets ready to head back to work. It's a comfortable routine by now, and Haru's already mentally going over his day when Makoto comes to a halting stop in the door to the kitchen.
“What's wrong?” Haru asks, looking up from his tea curiously. He can see Makoto's blush on the back of his neck. Makoto turns around, firefighter jacket in his hands.
“Ah,” Haru says before he can stop himself. Makoto gets even redder.
“You... I'm not going to be able to put this on without remembering...” Makoto trails off. Haru brings his cup to his lips and blinks innocently at him.
“Really?” he says. It sounds guiltless to him.
“Haru! You did that on purpose!” Makoto accuses. Haru shrugs.
“Not really,” he tries. Makoto's shoulders slump.
“How am I going to help people when I can only think of you doing... That to me?” he asks.
“That!” Mariko cheers. Makoto pales and Haru has to hide his laugh behind his cup.
“It's not like she knows,” Haru says when Makoto shoots him a look. Makoto sighs and messes up Mariko's hair, distracting her from the conversation.
“You two, I swear..” he says, smile growing despite himself. He must catch sight of the time on his watch because the next thing he does is lean down and kiss her head, a signature goodbye.
“I have to go, be good for Haru okay?” he tells her. Haru scoffs. She was always good.
“Okay Dadda,” she says back, paying more attention to her cereal than Makoto. Makoto doesn't take it to heart. Haru's next, and Makoto obediently steps over to lean down and kiss him too, chastely on the lips this time.
“I'll see you guys tonight, love you,” he says.
“Love you!” Mariko says. Haru mirrors Makoto's smile at her.
“Love you too, Makoto,” he says. Makoto brushes his Haru's hair back and kisses him again.
“I know,” he says.
Haru's little smile stays on his face for the rest of the day.