Chapter Text
"The course of true love...." "...gathers no moss."
--"The Philadelphia Story"
Haruka shut the back hatch of his car, lugging two bags and a paper-wrapped package of fish towards the house. The clothesline was empty and the hamper inside was full; his complete immersion in confessing to Makoto sort of derailed his normal routines. He yanked open the back door, toeing off his shoes, and padded down the hall to the kitchen to put the groceries away. The dessert plates were still in the sink, Haruka realized with a fond smile; time to spend a little time neatening up his space. He was having company for dinner.
He hung the last of the laundry on the line about an hour later, fondly stroking one hand over the damp fish-print boxers. They had been a gag gift from Rin on his twentieth birthday, the package arriving covered in all kinds of Australian stamps. You may be officially a man now, Haruka, but you'll always be a fish to me, the card had said.
Rin...really had saved him with Makoto. Without Rin, Haruka wouldn't have had the first clue how to apologize, how to say everything inside him in words Makoto could understand. Rin's patience and help finally melted the last of Haruka's resentment over Rin (and Yamazaki) leaving and leaving him behind.
He should call him, especially after rejecting his call before, but not on the phone. Too impersonal, too much room for misinterpreted silence; Rin did better seeing him. Face Time it is, then; Haruka picked up the empty laundry basket and went inside to get his iPad. He had at least an hour before he needed to start dinner.
For Makoto. Giddy warmth bubbled up in Haruka's chest and he wanted to just luxuriate in the feeling. Love was...turning out to be weird and not at all how he expected, but he liked it.
The iPad was on the shelf closest to the altar and Haruka set it up on the kotatsu, flicking the stand out so he didn't have to hold it. He turned his phone back on to send a quick 'Face Timing you' text before initiating the connection.
Rin's toothy face filled the iPad's screen. "About fucking time, Haruka!" His merciless grin got even sharper with challenge. "Were you getting some, future fish?"
He shook his head before remembering it was best not to dignify those questions with a response. "It worked, just like you said it would. Somehow, I managed to say everything." Haruka swallowed, looking off to one side, throat choked with what he needed to say, what he'd needed to say for years. "Thanks, Rin." Pause. "You're officially forgiven for going to Australia."
"Ehhhhh?" the redhead sputtered, flailing away from the camera. "W-Who said I did any of this for your stupid forgiveness?" He rubbed the back of his neck, flushing slightly, huffing his bangs off his forehead. "You just never ask me for anything, especially not help. I...if I could have been there, I would have. You know that, right?" He leaned closer, crimson eyes honest and serious.
"I do now...Jaws." The smallest of smiles quirked Haruka's mouth and Rin erupted in an answering grin. For the first time in a long time, Haruka really believed everything was all right between them. "There's not a...." He cut off abruptly, eyes narrowing in distaste. "Rin, someone's flopping dick just walked behind you."
"Hello to you, too, Nanase." Sousuke - moist from the shower, buck naked and utterly unashamed - continued his path towards the kitchen he and Rin shared.
"Yamazaki." Haruka's reply was flat. "I didn't need to know you still shave everywhere."
"Can't be world class without complete manscaping." He came back into the frame, orange juice carton in his hand. He drank straight from it without care, taking a seat on the sofa next to Rin (with his junk thankfully out of Haruka's view). "You should try it sometime."
"Too much effort." They all knew Haruka meant more than just shaving.
"Whatever." Sousuke knocked back another slug of orange juice. "Did everything go okay?" When Haruka nodded, his arrogant face relaxed into a true smile. "Glad it worked out for you."
Haruka shrugged but didn't look away, silent acceptance of Yamazaki's congratulations. The two of them never talked much on their own, Rin being the glue that forced them to interact, but if push came to shove they had each other's backs. Reluctantly, sometimes resentfully, but nevertheless. "So, I went to the firehouse and...."
By the time Haruka finished, Rin wept messy tears against Sousuke's shoulder, Sousuke had crumpled the top of the orange juice carton with his grip, and it was like they'd never left, like different goals and competitive swimming and a huge ocean had never come between them. Yamazaki was always Rin's first and foremost, but in the water the three of them had been unbeatable and indivisible. Somewhere along the way, Haruka knew he'd forgotten just how good it had been and closed himself off so it wouldn't hurt as much to be without them.
Makoto opens my heart. Maybe Makoto had opened it to more than just himself.
It was one of the longest days Makoto had ever experienced in his life. Not just at work but ever. He remembered the day he'd waited to get his results from his career exam. That had been a very long, anxiety-filled day. And when the twins were born certainly qualified as painfully long, pacing in the waiting room with his father until the doctor announced everyone was healthy. The summer before he began work had been full of long days spent awaiting a new chapter in his life, the moment he felt he would embark on something truly great. But the last few hours of his shift after leaving Haruka was longer than any of those days combined.
Makoto wasn't the type of guy who looked at his phone or checked the time when he was with others, but today, it couldn't be avoided. He just... He was still floored from Haruka's confession, and…
No. No, it was Haru now. Haru. The name that was just for him.
"Looking at the time only makes it go by that much slower," Rei said, smiling fondly from his place on the chair across from Makoto.
"It can't be helped," Makoto murmured, without thinking. "I miss him."
Rei's smile brightened, even though he pushed his glasses up at the same time, seemingly embarrassed for Makoto's honesty. Makoto would have apologized, if he could have taken his eyes off his phone, that was.
Despite how long the day felt, Makoto's shift finally did come to an end. He was the first one out of the station once he'd changed (and since he was usually the first to arrive and last to leave and they’d all witnessed Haru’s confession to him earlier, no one complained). He walked much, much faster than he normally would have. It was cool outside, though the wind was calm. The scent of the ocean just reminded Makoto of everything he now had to lose, but in a new, wonderful way. He was full to the brim with happiness for what he had, what Haru had given him today. Something he'd never had before: a person just for him.
It was closer to half past eight when Makoto knocked at Haru's door. Even though he'd been granted permission to enter without worry, he still waited for Haru to answer. When he did, Makoto's heart nearly jumped from his chest.
Before him stood the same man he'd fallen in love with, the same man who'd confessed to him only several hours earlier, the same man who'd made him a Christmas cake and kissed him, who held his hand and swam more beautifully than Makoto imagined mermaids could. That man, that same beautiful man, was currently in a blue apron with a fish pattern, his face warmed most likely from the heat of the stove, and his blue eyes glittering like the sea.
Makoto's smile blossomed, slowly at first and then breaking over his face in a wave.
"Hello, Haru. May I come in?"
Makoto spoke his name, his private name, and Haruka felt himself light up and turn weightless, corners of his mouth making a subtle rise. "Please, it's cold." Haruka waved Makoto inside, sliding the door closed behind him. Makoto had changed clothes after work, a brown double-breasted coat over his dark green sweater, dark pants and a striped scarf. Haruka was glad he'd changed as well, loose grey sweater and tan pants replacing his kitchen attire.
He helped Makoto out of his coat and hung it up, hands lingering just a moment on the expanse of revealed shoulders. "Dinner's not very fancy, but you said you liked my saba." He stood on tiptoe, kissing the back of Makoto's neck twice and greedily inhaling his clean scent. Before the things racing through his mind could turn to action, Haruka patted his hands against Makoto's back, reluctantly stepping around him out of the entry. "Come get warm," he encouraged, taking down the slippers he'd begun designating as Makoto's in his mind.
Dinner had already been set on the kotatsu, two plates of saba shioyaki with both grilled and pickled vegetables. Rice bowls were full, chopsticks sat on the rests, a full pot of tea produced a curl of steam from its spout. Two sliced apples, each in a small dish, also joined the tableau. Haruka's iPad sat in the speaker dock, cello music filling the room. "I wasn't sure what kind of music you liked, you can change it if you want." He couldn't quite still the nervous excitement frothing under his skin, the thrill of seeing Makoto again with the realization of just what happened today, and he defaulted back to a lot of doing rather than talking. He felt a little like he'd used up a week's worth of words in just one day.
He disappeared into the small kitchen after Makoto got settled, returning a moment later with a hot, damp towel. While it was more of a restaurant or airplane custom, this way Makoto didn't have to get up to wash and could still warm up at the kotatsu after his walk from work. Haruka took the used towel back into the kitchen, washed, folded his apron, and came back with salt and seasonings. He tucked himself under the kotatsu futon to Makoto's right, sighing as the warmth hit his legs and lap.
"How was work?" At least that's what Haruka meant to say, but what actually came out of his mouth was "I missed you." Saucer-sized eyes blinked at Makoto and he abruptly turned the other way, embarrassed and annoyed.
It was very unusual, to go somewhere after work that wasn't straight home to dinner with his family, but somehow it didn't feel unusual at all. It felt like they'd done this before. Like it would be the most natural thing to come home to Haru instead, a thought Makoto buried deep for the time being, to keep to himself for reflection later. Haru had confessed his feelings not even half a day ago; there was no need to rush anything or scare Haru away.
Still, the kisses to the back of his neck raised the fine hairs there in a prickle, and Haru's voice sang straight through to his soul.
"Thank you," he murmured, rubbing his hands for a moment to give himself something to do with them other than grab Haru's waist and keep him back in the entry. Instead, he worked off his sneakers and toed into the slippers Haru set out for him, smiling as he took a seat around the kotatsu, cleaned his hands with the provided towel and laughed warmly when Haru finally sat down beside him.
"You don't consider these fancy?" he asked, gesturing to the small apple slices in the bowl, each of which had some of the skin raised and split so the food resembled bunnies huddled together. But before he could ask anything else, Haru said the very thing he'd been thinking all day. Makoto watched him turn away in embarrassment, and he wondered if Haru had ever said those words or said anything so honest before to someone else. He seemed like the type of man who was very private with his emotions, and for that, Makoto considered himself especially lucky to have not only the large confession earlier but this little one too.
Reaching for Haru's hand, he found it and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "I missed you too, you know. Very, very much." His smile softened, and he gently let go of Haru's fingers.
"Itadakimasu," he hummed, before reaching for the tea to serve each of them. "This all looks fantastic." He couldn't resist once he was done with the tea to pick up his chopsticks and admire the handiwork in the bunny apples. "Ah, cute! Please teach me how to make these sometime. They're so delicate." And once he had rice and saba on his plate, along with vegetables, Makoto tore into it pretty quickly. Not simply because he was hungry but because Haru had made it for him. And one of his favorites, too. "Delicious!"
This. This was exactly why Haruka WROTE THINGS DOWN. The wrong words just loved to come out in the most awkward of ways at the most inconvenient of times. And everything was going so well.
So well that Makoto's hand wrapped around his, reaching down into his fortress of sulkitude and startling him straight out of humiliation. "I....yeah," he managed, turning back to Makoto and flexing his now-empty hand into and out of a fist. Makoto was so beautiful, the way his voice dipped almost to a whisper with reassurance, the way the heat of his hand seemed to linger on Haruka's fingertips. "Sorry, I'm still getting used to the whole talking thing again. What I meant to say was how was work? They didn't give you a hard time because of me?"
He quietly spoke the ritual blessing, glad to have something to do with his hands again. Haruka started in on the saba, separating pieces to eat with his chopsticks. "They aren't that hard, just requires a bit of dexterity with a knife. I'll show you and you can make them for your family." And maybe tuck them into bento at some point for Makoto.
It still warmed him through and through that Makoto liked his food, that he had liked it before they'd even met. "My mother was right, this is what I make most of the time. In high school, I cooked it every day for breakfast. My parents weren't home a lot, so I've had plenty of practice." That coaxed the wry smile out of hiding, content to linger as Haruka kept eating.
"Well, they gave me a hard time, but it wasn't all that bad," Makoto said, almost too quietly. He took a bite of the vegetable with some saba, smiling around the burst of flavor that accompanied it. Haru really was very talented, and Makoto would never tire of letting him know it. "And they were all very appreciative of the food, so they were probably gentle, now that I think about it." Imagine what it would have been if they hadn't been fed, more like.
"You made saba every day...for breakfast?" It wasn't all that unusual to have it for breakfast, but every day? He would have thought anyone else was exaggerating, but this was Haruka, and so Makoto believed him outright. The man who was always in his bath and wore his jammers under his clothes most certainly ate saba every morning for breakfast.
The apple slices were eaten with reverence - it was almost horrifying to bite into them, but the taste was fresh and crisp and worth the gore - and the tea enjoyed in silence.
Makoto knew things would be different now, after the confession, but he found himself oddly at ease in the moment. This was dinner, with a good friend and now that good friend meant even more to him. And though he could feel Haru's awkwardness, that only made him want to be stronger. He would make sure this went well, and from here, they could both be at ease in the future.
"I talked to the owner of the Swim Club," Makoto said, after he'd eaten a good portion of his dinner. "They'll be holding a small event for the town at the end of next month and asked me to participate if I can. I thought maybe you might want to join me? It's all children, most of them under ten, so there won't be any pressure. And if you don't want to, I hope you'll at least stop by and support the Club." And see me was a silent addition.
He hadn't picked the best place, Haruka knew that. Confessing in public at Makoto's workplace had been a bold move - a Rin move. But he hadn't wanted to wait once he had everything ready, hadn't wanted to keep Makoto waiting. "I'll send more food; that was sort of an overdue 'thanks for helping me not die' anyways." Haruka poured more tea before adding honey to his; he didn't like the sweet flavor, but the doctor recommended it to help soothe his throat now that he was talking.
He nodded, picking up his rice bowl. "I didn't deal well with change then - still don't, but I'm more aware of it now - so doing the same thing was important." He flicked several bites of rice into his mouth with the chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully. "Rin started calling me 'fish'," Haruka enunciated the word in English, "and the more he teased the more I dug in my heels about it." Maybe it was finally letting go about Rin leaving, but his attitude then seemed silly now. Maybe it was the sense of contentment Makoto brought him. And maybe...it was not being alone.
Haruka crunched his way through his bunny apples, merciless and uncaring about biting their heads off. Makoto really seemed to like them, and the warmth of that knowledge soothed away any leftover embarrassment. He'd have to try it when Asian pears came in season; their skin had a bit of a different texture but with practice Haruka knew he could make it work.
"Okay, I'd like that." Part of Haruka wanted to go back to the club so the freshest memory for them would no longer be him running scared. "I haven't been around kids much, but if you're there I'll be fine." He also needed to thank the owner for letting them use the pool - and hopefully use it again in the future. "It's for the town, and Iwatobi is my home now." He blinked, a bit surprised at the words but unwilling to take them back. He'd come to deal with the legalities of his grandmother's estate and the house, not really planning to stay, but so many things here suited Haruka much better than Osaka had...not the least of which was Makoto.
Yo-Yo Ma's rendition of Vivaldi's Concerto in B-flat Major flowed through the room, the Largo second movement hypnotic. "Are you ready for cake?" Haruka asked, taking another page from Rin's book and skimming his foot against Makoto's beneath the kotatsu.
Iwatobi is my home now. That's what Haru said. Makoto's smile brightened as he realized that maybe he had a small hand in Haruka's newfound admiration for the small fishing town. He at least liked to think now that Haru had ties to it, he might not be in any hurry to leave. Even though he'd never mentioned it, Makoto had never been sure if Haru would stay there or simply come to town every now and then to check on his grandmother's house. It was comforting to know he was trying to make it into a true home.
"Cake would be wonderful, thank you," Makoto said cheerfully. He'd eaten rather quickly, not for any rush to be done with dinner but because it was so good. As it was, the only thing that remained was one of the bunny apples. He gingerly cradled it between his chopsticks, smiling at the perfectly curled ears, and then carefully bit into it to enjoy the sweet flavor and the little kick of tart when he swallowed.
Makoto's face blossomed with a little color when Haruka's foot brushed his own, but the smile never wavered. Quietly, he shifted, sliding his own foot against Haru's in turn. He couldn't help leaning in towards him a bit as he set his chopsticks on the holder, and then he just leaned in further, placing a warm hand on Haru's knee for balance so he could steal a lingering kiss. His lips were a little chapped from the wind, but Haru didn't seem to mind.
Makoto hit a ticklish spot in the arch of his foot and Haruka managed not to flinch away, curling his foot to make a new stroke against Makoto's. That wasn't a card he wanted to show yet, how being touched in the right places made him squirm and laugh helplessly. It was such an out-of-control feeling, not something Haruka wanted to court after the dizzying experiences of the past few days.
Sly and clever and growing in confidence, Makoto kidnapped his breath with a surge of soft lips, exploring breeze-gentle across the curve of Haruka's mouth. He returned the kiss, the bare tip of his tongue flicking between his lips and a small, deep noise of approval in his throat. "Makoto..." Haruka's voice was almost a purr, his hand covering Makoto's on his knee and flexing in cat-content repetition. Saying Makoto's name fascinated him from the moment he learned it, the three syllables a mantra binding them together.
Haruka angled his head back to get more leverage from underneath and drew Makoto into a deeper kiss, his free hand sinking possessively into the wealth of Makoto's hair. Cake could wait just a moment while they finished this dessert course, sweeter than even the chocolate creation in the fridge. Haruka's lips parted fully, inviting Makoto inside with a swirl of tongue. Come taste, the kiss whispered. Come devour.
It was easy enough to feel brave with Haru going so out of his way to make Makoto comfortable. Cooking him lunch, dinner, dessert, shaping the apple skins to make the food cuter because he somehow knew Makoto would like it. All for Makoto. And didn't that confession earlier need to be rewarded? Makoto had thought about it the entire time he'd worked his shift at the station, how perfectly Haruka's lips fit against his own and how he almost wished he hadn't chosen lunch so they could have explored one another for the entire hour.
Still, there was something about absence making the heart grow fonder, about easing into this new aspect of their relationship, and that really rang true for the two of them. It seemed like the last few hours of work were weeks, and the three days before then months. Now that he had Haru alone, all to himself, there was no reason to be meek, he supposed.
With Haru's mouth open in invitation, Makoto sank his tongue into it with a warm sound, twisting his body a little to get the best angle possible. His free hand lifted to rake over the bare skin at Haru's throat, to cup him close. Haru was softer than he'd anticipated, or maybe his imagination simply didn't do the other man justice. He smelled good too, up close, and the taste of him wasn't tempered by the saba or seasonings.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I couldn't wait until after dessert to kiss you again." His lips curved against Haruka's into a smile as he mouthed his way along Haru's jaw with reverence.
Haruka's narrow fingers clenched tighter in Makoto's hair, his mouth eagerly welcoming him, his pulse a frantic beat in his throat. Kissing Makoto caught him up in wanting so, so many things. Sweet things. Dirty things. Sweet and dirty things that could occupy them for days on end without interruption. The loose sweater he wore slid just enough to expose a pale shoulder and a deep-hollowed collarbone, while his hand gripped the one on his knee.
"Who," the roughened timbre of Haruka's voice was positively abrasive, a cat's-tongue licking Makoto's senses, "asked you to wait?"
There was a slight hesitation in Makoto's fluid movements when Haru asked that. Did...Haru want... more? And if so, how much more? Was it okay to touch him? To kiss every inch of skin that was already exposed? To perhaps slide his hand under Haruka's sweater to feel the warmth of his muscles, the breath fill his lungs?
It was a little terrifying suddenly, because Makoto realized, he didn't actually want to wait for permission. Or stop.
"You don't mind?" he murmured, pulling back to look in Haru's eyes. The roughened pads on his fingers rubbed along Haruka's throat in a soothing line up and down along his jugular. He could feel the blood coursing through, the throb of Haru's pulse quick and unsteady, like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. It was heady, knowing he was the cause of that. "Because now that we've got all evening, I want to kiss you as much as I can." Leaning in, he sought Haru's mouth again, tongue eagerly sinking into it, sliding against Haru’s, along his teeth, exploring every crevice and angle he could.
Haruka's eyelids dropped to half-mast and he gave a small negating shake of his head. He didn't mind at all, especially since Makoto continued to read his silent communication. While Haruka was blunt enough to speak directly, putting things like 'I want you to kiss my neck, it makes me shiver every time you touch it and the heat of your mouth would turn me on so much' into spoken words seemed impossible with Makoto's fingers running up and down the column of his throat, stroking his pulse. Makoto's green eyes, gemstone-pure, held a soft uncertainty belied by his restless hand and a building frenzy underneath. The frenzy called to him, spoke Haruka's shortened name, and it was that which Haruka wished to see, to seduce, to claim as his. Then do just that. I want you to kiss me everywhere...Makoto.
He sighed with delight, abandoning Makoto's hand on his knee to anchor himself, hand curving under Makoto's arm to grip his shoulder while his mouth welcomed him anew. Makoto was delicious, tongue feeding him fire as it searched the inside of Haruka's mouth. His fingertips dug deeper into Makoto's sweater and Haruka curled his tongue around Makoto's with a playfulness that surprised even him. He'd kissed other people, primarily girls, and while those had been enjoyable, even arousing, they'd never been...fun. Makoto made him want to play, to flirt, to do all those things Rin had trumpeted as romantic (and Haruka had dismissed as useless and irritating). He wanted to touch Makoto, to slide his hand against the front of his dark pants and feel hard heat rise to meet him. To curl his hand lower and stroke round heaviness that would fill his entire palm. To kiss until he was out of breath and gasping and had to lie in a heaving heap with Makoto's heartbeat a metronome under his cheek until his healing lungs could fill again.
"Out...from under," Haruka thrummed against Makoto's lips. He didn't want them to knock the kotatsu over in trying to reach closer to one another. The sliding storage nearest the kotatsu was where he kept the extra futon bedding; it would be much nicer to kiss while sprawled on one.
It was true; Makoto's knee was already bumped under the kotatsu, and if he shifted any further, he might wind up toppling it and the plates and bowls and tea set in his clumsy haste to get the best angle of Haru's mouth. So he nodded, pulling back as he slid his legs out from under the kotatsu and knelt beside it. He wasn't overly familiar with Haruka's home and where he kept his futons, but his mind wasn't even there yet. All he could think was that he didn’t want to stop kissing Haru, and with the kotatsu out of the equation, there was plenty of space to get to him more easily.
As soon as they were clear of the kotatsu, Makoto's impatience won out and he hauled Haru closer again. They were still on their knees as Makoto took the cinch of Haru's waist and cradled his skull, lips moving swiftly to kiss the breath from him.
Makoto in a hurried frenzy sent need spiderwebbing through Haruka's nerve endings, all of them shrieking in chorus to touch and feel and consume. His hand stretched towards the closet to procure a futon, flailing back to clutch Makoto's shoulder for balance when he grabbed Haruka, claiming his mouth in a hungry kiss. Greedy, impatient Makoto... floated like soap bubbles through Haruka's brain, lasting no longer than it took for them to pop as Makoto's hand curved against the back of his head, his rough palm nuzzling the fine hairs below Haruka's hairline and startling all other thoughts from his mind but More.
Haruka edged forward, slipping one hand down to Makoto's knees. "Down," his voice was a heady drawl as he parted the kiss with a tiny nip. "Fold." He nudged until Makoto crossed his legs and sat on the tatami, then Haruka slid a leg on either side of him, backside wiggling to rest in Makoto's newly created lap. Heat pooled in his groin, everything turning hot and firm below his waist as he nestled in, calves tight against Makoto's hips. "More," he demanded, tongue licking a catlike path up the faint stubble on Makoto's chin to his mouth.
The commands were like something you'd tell a dog, but just like a well-behaved pet, Makoto did as he was told. In truth, he was more than happy to comply with whatever Haru needed if that meant they didn't have to stop kissing. Makoto would have contorted his body in any way necessary. Luckily, it didn't require more than folding his legs into a comfortable position, and when Haru climbed into his lap like that, Makoto knew they weren't going to make it to dessert.
Not the cake, anyway.
Flushed, he sucked Haruka's tongue in when it invaded his lips, tasting the full thickness of it in his mouth and swallowing around the flavor that was Haru and nothing else. Barely able to breathe, Makoto found the smallest part of Haru's waist with the hand that wasn't cradled at the base of his skull, desperately trying to keep his hands from wandering...but it was useless. It was only a matter of minutes before his broad palm was under Haru's loose sweater, raking along bare skin and greedily touching whatever he could reach, realizing how much he'd wanted to touch Haru like this since the evening at the Swim Club.
Impatient and sort of clumsy in his haste, Makoto grazed higher than he'd meant to go, thumb accidentally (maybe) brushing over one of Haru's nipples.
Green eyes peeked open, glittering as he watched Haru return his kiss.
Beautiful.
So, so good. He was in Makoto's lap and they were kissing, desperate and wet, every sense filled to the brim with Makoto. Haruka moaned, high in his throat, seeking more of Makoto's hand against his skin, Makoto's hand where it belonged: on him. Makoto really wasn't that much taller than Haruka, ten centimeters at the most, but curled here, his bottom in the cradle of Makoto's lap, Makoto's hand spanning his back beneath his sweater, he genuinely felt small with his slighter - albeit muscular - build. Makoto was powerful, his thighs and calves a heavy weight as they supported Haruka, his arms filled with corded strength, and his mouth - his mouth a veritable oasis, feeding him life and breath and delicious, moist heat. Haruka's hands clutched the front of Makoto's sweater, remembering just how broad he was underneath it, how tanned despite the winter weather.
Makoto's hand slid around Haruka's waist, climbing up his ribs. Haruka muffled the sound that threatened to break the kiss into an awkward burble, not willing to let himself laugh even if tickled in passing; he relaxed just a bit when Makoto's hand skimmed over his abs, they weren't nearly as ticklish as the ribs, and these touches, the way Makoto's fingers explored the shape and curve of his muscles, tickled in a much more intimate way. The more Makoto touched, the more frenzied their kissing became, pushing and pushing back with teeth and tongue, making desperate imitation of their fumbling hands. Haruka's left hand held fast to the sweater, but the right traveled down in a coy slide from chest to waist and just below.
Callused thumb met sensitive skin and Haruka gasped out a throaty sound of surprise. His nipple perked to attention from the contact, a round little bud that nudged against Makoto's blunt thumb for another touch. He nipped at Makoto's lower lip a second time, a silent entreaty to touch again, and he trailed his tongue where his teeth had just marked, the swell of that lip a sensuous treat.
Somehow aware he was being watched, Haruka edged back a whisper from the kiss, heavy-lidded eyes almost drunk with Makoto, thin slivers of blue all that was visible when he met his gaze. Wet lips rolled in over his teeth, parting again in a contented, needy sound. "Like what you see?" he asked, a pink flush climbing its way out of the sweater's wide vee neck to dot his chest and neck and exposed shoulder. His hand crept further south, daring to stroke feather-light fingers down the front of Makoto's pants. "What you feel?"
Every touch was electric, the current sizzling under Makoto's clothes, willing his skin to warm and turn pink and red in blotches of both embarrassment and arousal. And maybe embarrassment at being so aroused so quickly, but he couldn't exactly help himself. Not with the noises Haru made and the roll of his hips against his lap and that dangerously exploring hand, which wound up over the front of his fly, where the fabric was taut against his growing erection.
The frenzy reached its peak, and Makoto groaned. "Yes," he said, breathless and hoarse and overwhelmed as he flicked his thumb right back over the perk of Haru's nipple. It was undeniably satisfying, feeling Haru respond so eagerly to him, and after three days without any contact at all, Makoto felt desperate, like a wild animal loosed from its cage. If he could just hold onto Haru for a little while longer, Makoto would never let him go again. He would touch every inch of Haruka's body to memorize it, would kiss his lips to bruising to have the feel ingrained on his own lips forever, would leave imprints of his hands so he could fit them right back into the grooves over and over and over again.
"Yes," he repeated, almost dumbly, suddenly the one of them without the ability to speak. His hips shifted beneath Haru's hand, and his eyelids lowered a bit in drowsy ecstasy. Though Makoto had kissed a few people before, one of them a guy, this was so different. It was explosive. Like if they stopped, Makoto's heart might stop too. So he darted in for another kiss and mouthed his way over Haruka's jaw again, down to his neck. He'd never forget the noises Haru made when his tongue and teeth found that sensitive splash of skin, so he dragged his lips along the spot, down to where Haru's sweater sagged so he could reach his collarbone.
Haruka clenched his teeth against a throaty whimper, Makoto's thumb kissing his nipple again. His legs gripped tighter against Makoto's hips, bottom grinding against Makoto's calves. So much to touch and feel and be felt, all building in a crackling storm. His hand grazed Makoto's fly, whispering against the hardness just inside the cotton placket, a gift that he wanted to tear open and hold in his hands. His thumb poked at the button, clumsily manipulating it through the hole until the top parted. The length of his fingers petted once more before attempting to guide the zipper down one-handed. He knew his own body well enough to recognize the beginning speck of damp greeting his finger through the soft knit boxer briefs. He teased there, letting his thumb drop to make lazy up and down strokes, enjoying the sleepy burn in Makoto's eyes as he touched him, soft and possessive. Some primal instinct wanted to mark Makoto from head to toe in the scent of his own skin.
Makoto's lips - wet as his own, hungry - slid a path from his mouth to his jaw to his neck, marking each bit with breadcrumbs made of kisses until he hit the goal. "Ma-ah-koto!" Haruka's hand thumped against Makoto's chest, a full-body shiver punctuating his name. "Nnngh...don't stop, please." The hand rubbing against Makoto's dick trembled as it started tugging down the boxer briefs for a taste of skin-to-skin contact.
At some point, Makoto realized how quick this had escalated. At some point, he knew they should slow down, because they hadn't actually known one another for very long in the grand scheme of things, and today was a blur of emotional highs and they were bound to want to do everything all at once after not seeing one another for three days. Besides all that, Makoto had never had sex, and while he wanted to right now more than anything else in the world, some part of him protested, warning him not to ruin things in clumsy haste.
And then of course, Haruka's hand slid into his pants, and Makoto's thoughts fizzled. Foggy waves of heat replaced any rational thoughts running through his head, mantras of more more and please circling wildly. Haru's hand on him was like nothing he'd ever felt, and it was probably very clear that Makoto's sexual interest was piqued: he was fully hard almost instantly, the blood swelling in him so fast it made Makoto a little dizzy.
Biting down onto Haru's collarbone, Makoto attacked it with fervor, enough to leave a mark that wouldn't fade overnight. If Haru went so far as to beg, Makoto would certainly comply. His thumb flicked once more over the bud of Haru's nipple before his hand clenched around Haruka's ribcage and he panted out a heavy breath, holding him tight.
"H-Haru..." The sound of it was barely a whisper, shaken off his tongue. His cock swelled under Haru's exploring fingers, chest heaving with every hard-fought breath. Like being swallowed by fire.
Haruka's breath heaved, coming in frantic pants the longer Makoto sucked at his neck, teeth fierce and tongue sloppy. Makoto muddled everything, the very air around them, until all Haruka knew was the hard warmth in his hand and the tender ferocity savaging his collarbone. Carefully - as carefully as his heightened hormones allowed - he peeled Makoto's underwear farther down until he could free his cock. Hot, thick, and heavy, its weight settled into his hand, straining against his palm, and kindled an answering fire in Haruka's own body. "You're so beautiful," Haruka rasped, curling his fingers around Makoto. His hands were softer than Makoto's own, their calluses in different places from holding cooking chopsticks and utensils, and far gentler than his throaty voice suggested as his hand slid down the shaft and back up, achingly slow, savoring the slip of skin against skin.
His head spun, hearing his name in Makoto's wavery voice, so much emotion under the tremor. Haruka's gentle stroking made a slow increase in pace, his other hand grabbing the back of Makoto's head and pressing their foreheads together. Makoto fit so well in his hand and felt so good; they hadn't spoken of it, but something in Haruka knew this was untrod territory, that no one else had ever gripped Makoto this way he was, touched him this intimately. It was heady and addictive, the chance to learn Makoto's body and forever mark him as his, for there was only one first to leave that invisible brand. Tell me how it feels, the silence sang.
It wasn't that Makoto had been 'saving himself' really, or at least, he had never thought of it that way. It was simply that the people he had dated previously had never lit this kind of fire. The women he'd been with were nice and lovely, and he'd done his fair share of kissing with them. The one man he'd been with hadn't gone beyond heavy petting on the couch, because they both instantly realized the sexual attraction just wasn't there and the friendship was what would stick. Maybe there had been a few times where Makoto had wanted to take his relationship to the next level, but somehow, it never worked out that way. The level of passion necessary had never been there.
Now, with Haru, Makoto was overflowing with passion. Like all he'd kept in reserve over the years flooded out the second Haru kissed him. Even though he'd never had another person's hand on him in the way Haru was gripping him, he knew it was because it was Haru that it felt so spectacular. He felt it from the chills that stood the hair on the back of his neck up down to his curling toes.
The world shrank around them, in slow increments and then suddenly all at once, until there was nothing but Haru's voice, Haru's breath, Haru's hands, Haru's skin, Haru's scent.
So when Haru guided their foreheads together, so gentle despite the urgency below, Makoto allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and just feel. Haru said he was beautiful, but no, it was the other way around. It was Haru who took his breath away, Haru whose eyes glittered like depthless oceans, Haru whose voice made Makoto's heart pound.
Softly whining against Haru, Makoto's eyes peeled open again, despite his embarrassment to see what Haruka was doing down there. It was just...too tempting to look away, to not memorize the sight of Haru's nimble fingers wrapped around the girth of him, sliding the foreskin up and down, working his erection until his balls began to tighten.
"You feel....so good," he breathed, barely able to get the words out. His left hand continued to seize possessively at Haru's ribs, keeping him close, while his right carded on an endless loop through Haru's hair. So soft. So soft. After a quick glance to Haru's face to see his expression (embarrassing but beautiful as it contorted in pleasure), Makoto slid his right hand down, rubbing the length of Haruka's thigh. "Should I... do you want me to...?"
Makoto's breathing bordered on frantic as Haruka's fingers tightened in their glide, thumb making dedicated strokes up and down the frenelum. Having Makoto - gorgeous, magnetic, amazing Makoto - at his mercy turned Haruka's excitement up to maximum. Knowing Makoto was watching him as he pleasured him, knowing that the strangled, high whines in Makoto's throat were for Haru alone...nearly shoved him face-first off the orgasm cliff without so much as a touch, only the dizzy spiral of dilating green eyes bringing him back under control.
He let out a wordless grunt as Makoto slid a broad hand on his leg, down and then up, his thumb just grazing Haruka's cock with the faintest of touches. Haruka's left hand clenched in Makoto's hair, right hand pausing in his latest downstroke to cup the heavy weight of Makoto's balls in his hand and tantalize the sensitive skin just behind them. He looked to Makoto, meeting his eyes, his own blown to wide black holes rimmed in blue. "Do what you want," he breathed huskily, the words an invitation instead of their normal deflection. "Makoto..." Come for me...
Do what you want was such a mysterious way to give Makoto permission to take what he pleased, but there was no dissecting words with Haru. From the moment they'd started learning one another at the hospital, Haruka had been blunt and only said what he meant, exactly how he meant it. Even with all the words he'd put on the cards, nothing had been out of place in his confession, nothing superfluous in his speech. Haru was simple in that regard; it was just that Makoto truly understood how to read him.
It was in the blown pupils of his eyes, lined in ocean blue. And the way his fingers stroked along his frenulum with promise and then cupped his sac, teased his perineum.
Do what you want, Makoto may as well have been a siren song for how it lured Makoto towards his climax. Haru was everywhere on him, around him, and they'd barely been touching or kissing for more than a few minutes, but Makoto was too full to the brim with desire to hold himself back properly.
Hastily, Makoto's right hand worked at the fly of Haruka's pants, but he didn't make it very far. He'd just gotten the zip down by the time a familiar, heady, hot sensation built up from the pit of his stomach and made his cock spasm a bit of precome into Haruka's hand.
"Can't--Ha---ru--" he panted, trembling. He wanted to touch Haru, but he was blinded with the impending orgasm, everything else shrinking in importance. It was especially the touch to his perineum, shortlived as it might have been, that took Makoto from the edge and over. Unable to help himself, he shouted, belatedly pushing his mouth against Haru's shoulder and all that bare skin to muffle the obscene noise. His body tensed, bucked, and he came, the thickness of it coating Haruka's fingers as they stroked him to completion and beyond.
"It's okay." Haruka's voice was thick, heavy with passion, his left hand making reassuring strokes against Makoto's neck as his body's tension built to a climax. The gasps got stronger and fiercer the more his hand rubbed Makoto's dick, so different from stimulating his own body. "Let go," Haruka encouraged, low voice dipping at least an octave, and Makoto cried out, the artless sound echoing through the room. Honest, holding nothing back, so sincere Haruka ached everywhere. Delicately, mindless of his sticky fingers and sweater, Haruka massaged Makoto into aftermath, Makoto's mouth moist and heaving against his shoulder. Haruka was still hard, his cock tenting the dotted boxers through his open fly, but he felt close to satisfied as Makoto began turning soft against his hand. Touching someone who fired him heart and soul was radically different from drunken sex and mechanical copulation.
I really need to figure out how we can do everything, Haruka thought to himself, regretting it when any mental image sent more heat to his groin.
He closed his eyes, concentrating on breathing and the scent of sex on Makoto and...and how desperately glad he was that he closed the altar earlier. That did it; Haruka sighed with reluctant relief, feeling the blood start to flow away from his crotch. He turned his head, pressing tiny kisses to Makoto's cheek, his ear, unwilling to move or disturb him.
It took a while for Makoto to come down from the full high of the moment. His body was loose and limber, like all the bones had seeped straight out of him. The warmth of being held, inhaling Haru's scent with every breath, eased him down in increments, and the small kisses gave him reason to smile quietly to himself. Haru's lips really were soft.
After a time, he opened his eyes, felt the world come back to him...and promptly panicked as reality collided with his brain.
"H-Haru..!" Leaning back to get a good look at him, Makoto's cheeks burned, his ears burned, everything burned. He'd come in Haruka's hand, on his sweater, a little excess on his own pants. And without tissues nearby, he felt like the absolute most inconsiderate boyfriend, the worst guest to Haru’s home at the very least. The thought occurred to use his napkin to wipe Haru clean, at least until they could get to the bathroom, but that seemed really vulgar somehow too. Haru had gone through the trouble to make dinner, and there Makoto was coming undone in his hand.
"I...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... you're... Haru, your sweater..."
Makoto was quiet for so long, his nose nestled in against Haruka's shoulder, that Haruka thought he might have fallen asleep. There was a lassitude to him, a sense of relaxation and contentment Haruka had never seen from him before, and after the past few days an orgasm and a nap were probably just what Makoto needed. Guilt tried to well up, creeping fingers ascending his spine, but Haruka crushed it down, unwilling to let it spoil this time with Makoto. He ran his fingers through Makoto's hair with faint rhythm, seeking only the warm, silent accord between them.
Haruka felt it before Makoto moved, the transition from blissful lethargy into tautness. The fireman lurched back, nearly spilling Haruka from his lap in his embarrassed haste as Haruka blinked wide-eyed at him. "Makoto..." he began, his voice back at its normal low pitch as he searched Makoto's flaming face, something deep and incredibly fond in his eyes. "Clothes wash. So do I." He puffed a soft sigh, leaning close to kiss one hot cheek. "Don't apologize for something I enjoyed so much."
The mess on his hand was starting to get a little tacky to the touch, though, and he reluctantly scooted out of Makoto's lap to go wash, fasten his pants, and bring back a fresh, warm-wet towel. Haruka crouched down next to Makoto, gently cleaning him up before guiding him back into his boxer briefs. "Better?" he asked, not only meaning about being clean.
Once again, Makoto was left speechless. Sure, Haru had been the one to take this from kissing to something more, but that didn't mean he had to be so level-headed about the outcome. Makoto had been so sure he'd ruined the evening, but there was Haru, a pillar, looking at him without any level of disgust or embarrassment.
There was something unbelievably sexy in that tentative moment, before Haru leaned in to tenderly break it with a kiss.
When he left to get a towel, Makoto remained where he was, blindsided by the throb of desperation that pulsed through his body. Legs still crossed, slippers half off, pants undone, lips kiss-swollen, face red, he was the picture of debauched but still aching for something more.
The guilt began to wear off when Haru returned, so Makoto took the towel from him to finish cleaning himself off. Haru shouldn't have to do it for him, even if Makoto's chest swelled with affection to know he would. That Haru would take care of him.
Better? Haru asked, and Makoto shook his head. No, he wasn't better.
One hand firmly caught Haruka's wrist, pulling him right back into his lap whether Haru came willingly or not. Their clothes were already ruined, and Makoto wanted to see Haru, like Haru had seen him. The thought would have been filthy if it wasn't also filled with such trepidation and love. It wasn't anything perverse - Makoto just wanted to see what expression Haruka wore when he let himself go completely.
"I want," he breathed, mouthing at Haruka's lips as his free hand made its way back down to Haru's fly, so he could work the button free, "to touch you as well. To make Haru feel good, too."
Makoto yanked him off-balance, Haruka's bottom thudding into Makoto's lap as his free hand grabbed the front of Makoto's dark green sweater. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Makoto cut any words off with his lips, nibbling with little kisses; tiny, seductive bites at his resistance that had no real desire to resist anything.
"I already said to do what you want." Haruka was back to feeling small and slightly pouty, dwarfed by Makoto's size and presence, tangled in a sort of thunderstruck amazement at how quickly he could shift from awkward to assertive. How much Haruka liked that about him. "I didn't take it back just because you went first." Makoto's hand sprawled over Haruka's crotch, stirring it back to wakefulness as he nudged the button through the hole.
Makoto laughed, a little dizzy with the level of want still coursing through him. He was soft, sure, but at the same time, he felt as if all his senses were heightened, like Haru was still touching him even though he was now tucked back in and cleaned up. All Makoto wanted now was to make Haru feel as good as he had made Makoto feel, though suddenly he was a little worried about how to do that.
Even though he'd never done this with someone else, it wasn't like he'd never touched himself. It was the same principle, wasn't it? And with Haru saying do what you want like that, Makoto just hoped he couldn't mess it up. Then again, when he thought about it, there was no way Haru could have messed up with him, so it should work the same in reverse.
"Tell me...if I do anything you don't like," he hummed, leaning in to pepper warm kisses along Haru's mouth. He let go of Haruka's wrist finally, both hands descending to make quick work of his pants. Heart hammering, fingers shaky, he still somehow managed to go on, to unzip and pull fabric aside, until his rough, calloused fingers brushed smooth, hardening flesh. "So...hot," he murmured, breaking the kiss gently to look down, to see Haru's shape as he held it in his hand.
So hot, indeed.
Makoto moved his fingers slowly, exploring Haruka's cock and running his thumb along the frenulum in a gentle mimic of Haruka's earlier actions on him.
Makoto's hands trembled just a bit as they tugged on Haruka's pants, and that little shred of uncertainty made his hormones hiccup. Wiggling, Haruka lifted his hips so the pants could slip totally off; he wanted to be free, free for Makoto to touch and savor him. Free to buck up against his hand, seeking more grip and friction as they kissed. The dotty boxers went with them, leaving Haruka naked from the waist down, lanky legs in a lazy sprawl and too-big sweater's stained hem flirting with Makoto's wrist as he touched Haruka.
Touched Haru.
Haru's warmth reacted to Makoto, swelling in eager invitation and firming in his grip. He hissed, the sound coming out through clenched teeth, when Makoto's thumb caressed his frenulum. Urgency flooded him as Makoto tightened, a needy keen escaping his mouth at how different Makoto's hand felt on him. The mechanics were similar, but Makoto's hand was so deliciously rough, big enough to make shorter strokes than when Haru touched himself. He panted, mouth open, as if there wasn't enough oxygen in the room, hips restless as they sought moremoreMORE from Makoto. "Little...faster," he encouraged, eyelids dipping low, lips pulling just together for a moistening swipe by his tongue before parting again. Blotchy pink color crawled ivy-like up his neck, the mouth-shaped bruise on his collarbone standing out even more than against the winter pale of his skin.
It was unlike anything Makoto had ever seen before. It wasn't as if he'd never indulged in a porn or two (he was a normal, hot-blooded guy who'd gone through puberty just like everyone else), but even the sexiest videos he'd ever seen had nothing on this moment, when Haru shimmied out of his clothes with liquid fluidity and grace. It was perverse in the most beautiful way, the oversized sweater dipping off one of Haru's shoulders to give away the damage Makoto had caused. And instead of feeling embarrassed about it, the sight floored him. He did that. Makoto did that to Haru.
It was like a mark that signified just how much Haru was his, and he suddenly felt desperate for Haru to leave a matching mark somewhere on him like a promise for the future.
Little...faster.
Makoto groaned, kissed Haru's open mouth, and sank his free hand to Haru's hip, tentatively feeling his smooth, bare skin. Did he shave all over? Was it from swimming? Makoto's mouth watered as he picked up the pace, jerking Haru faster and finally looking down to watch, to see the flushed head and the way the skin moved in his grip. It got Makoto wound up to see the effect he was having. That he could do such a thing to Haru, make him feel so good. Makoto's gaze lifted, focusing then entirely on Haru's face, his expression, the beautiful glitter in his eyes when they opened.
Just as he knew Makoto had never let anyone touch him that way before, the rational (and quickly diminishing) part of Haru's mind knew that Makoto had never touched another guy before Haru. Never slipped his fingers up and down anyone's dick but his own. Never watched someone as those fingers lit him on fire, sculpting pleasure out of something as pedestrian as a simple touch. Makoto's hand curled tighter, thumb skating with exquisite care over the swollen, sensitive crest of his cock and Haru twitched, the muscles in his naked bottom tightening as he wiggled against Makoto's lap, seeking more. "Yes..." he gasped out, feeling his consciousness starting to stretch and burst, anything and everything that comprised him turning to only Makoto.
You have no idea just what you do to me.....!!!!
One hand fumbled against Makoto's chest, grasping helplessly at his sweater as Haru came and came unglued, not even able to move or stifle the wordless sound of satisfaction that punctuated his release. He twitched in Makoto's hand, turning toes-curled boneless in Makoto's lap. His blue eyes were barely open, cloudy with bliss, his breathing heaving as if he'd just run all the way up the shrine stairs. Makoto may have drawn greatest fortune there, but it was Haru who felt he was now the lucky one.
Surreal was the only way Makoto could have described the sight before him. Haru, wriggling and clenching and bucking, riding into his lap and then folding over with a soft noise of completion, grabbing his sweater, expression completely loose and unbound. Makoto's chest ached with how hard his heart thrummed, pulse point racing.
"Haru," he whispered, milking Haru through the end of his orgasm until he knew he had to pull his fingers away. The skin there would be too sensitive to keep touching, even if it was all Makoto wanted to never lift his hand from Haru again. The image fluttered before his eyes of bringing Haru off like this and not stopping, to see just how far the pleasure could go before Haru couldn't stand it anymore.
Flushed with his own filthy thoughts, Makoto kissed Haru's jaw, neck, ear, cheek as he let him come down. His fingers were webbed with come, but he didn't care. At the moment, all that mattered was keeping Haru here, in his lap, so the hand at his hip wound to the small of his back, fingers stretching along his slim waist to haul him closer.
And when he felt that Haru's breath wasn't quite as labored anymore, he ducked his head to steal a warm, heavy kiss.
Haru distantly knew he should move, should get up and extricate himself from the cradle of Makoto's lap, but...he had no idea where his knees were. And moving his legs was somewhat predicated on having knees. Makoto kissing him everywhere further stole his desire to do anything but simply exist, to be perfectly free in the shelter of Makoto's hold, to drink in the heady flush of Makoto's face and the secrets in his wide green eyes. Oxygen deficit shrank with each slowing breath, pulling the light-headed veil back from his consciousness, Makoto's hand against his back a warm, reassuring weight that said clearer than any words, I am here.
I am here and here is where I crave to be.
Haru opened his mouth, welcoming Makoto to him with a silent Okaeri. He was pure, effortlessly sweet, delicious in a way Haru avoided with food but sought with greed now. The kiss stayed slow, languorous, each of them savoring the taste of the other while the late January wind flirted with the sliding doors to the porch.
In the bathroom, the two of them washed up side-by-side, Makoto unable to help smiling at Haru every few seconds, like a grade-schooler who'd just been told a silly joke. He still felt lightheaded and sapped of energy, but that was strangely good. It should have worried him, a feeling he'd never felt before, but instead it calmed him, because Haru was right there with him.
Amazingly enough, Makoto's pants would live to see another day. Maybe his sweater too. Haru offered to throw them in the wash with his own, so Makoto wound up eating his cake at the kotatsu wearing a spare set of sweat pants and a sweater he knew Haru had never been able to fit into. He either had a thing for sweaters that were too big for him by three sizes or he just hadn't bothered to notice the size discrepancy. Luckily for Makoto, it worked out for something to lounge in while the clothes were cleaned.
After dessert, Makoto helped Haru clean the dishes, not about to take no for an answer this time, and when that was done, he found a blanket from the storage area and brought it in to keep them warm while they sat down to watch a movie.
The evening was already getting late when the movie began, but Makoto was used to late nights. Haru, on the other hand, looked exhausted and though Makoto offered to let him rest, Haru seemed adamant that they finish the night properly. So Makoto put in his choice for the movie, a subtitled version of The Avengers, which had been out for so long but he'd never had a chance to see it with his schedule as it had been. He settled down beside Haru on the couch, smiled, and opened his arm to allow Haru in if he wanted.
The easy domesticity between them felt natural, each one instinctively moving in synch with the other. Haruka washed a dish, rinsing it clean, and Makoto's hand took it to dry with no wasted movement. Haruka found Makoto with his giddy faces far more soothing than any of the normal stilted small talk intended to cover over the awkwardness of 'I just had my hands down your pants'. Or, in his case, pants completely off. Haru didn't put pants back on after giving Makoto clothes, only clean boxers and a purple hoodie that said 'Kandai' on it. Barefoot, not bothering with slippers, he tucked in next to Makoto on the tatami floor sofa. An oversized, overstuffed futon with bolsters on the back, it made for a comfortable place to snuggle and sprawl while watching television. He had seen the movie before, but with Age of Ultron due out later that year a refresher wouldn't hurt. Makoto's arm was warm around him, heavy but not burdensome, his big hand fitting easily against Haruka's narrow hip. Makoto's shoulder, for all its bulk, enveloped him like the blanket on their laps; Makoto's chest made a remarkable pillow. Haruka turned his face into his Makoto-pillow and yawned, determined to stay awake. He didn't think he could forgive himself if he fell asleep.
About the time Tony and Pepper were having 12% of a moment, Haruka was having 100% of a nap, body limp and relaxed against Makoto and breathing steady. He had slept little since the night he ran out of the swim club and was far more of a morning person than a night one. He stirred whenever things blew up on screen, eyes never quite coming open before settling back into sleepy rhythm. Sometime before drifting off he'd tucked his hand under Makoto's where it rested on his hip, curling his fingers around Makoto's thumb, almost a reverse of the first time they'd held hands in the hospital.
Kisumi had insisted that Avengers wasn't a scary movie. He'd tried to convince Makoto twice to see it in theaters, but despite not having time, there was also the issue of it being the kind of movie he'd like. After all, The Dark Knight movie, which Makoto had been looking forward to years ago, had effectively scared him off of all superhero films for a while. This, though; it was okay. There was a lot of humor in between the grit of action, and nothing was too frightening that Makoto couldn't keep his eyes open for it.
When he felt Haru's weight turn heavy against him, he settled in and quietly turned the volume down so the rougher scenes wouldn't wake Haru up. The truth was, Makoto liked the movie just fine, but spending time like this with Haru tucked in against him was precious. There was no way he'd want to disturb the moment.
After a time, Makoto kissed the top of Haru's head. The end credits were rolling, and while Makoto had heard there were some cute extras at the end, it was already late, and obviously he had taken advantage of Haru's hospitality. Even if he didn't want to pull away, he knew he couldn't stay the night. Not tonight. Soon, maybe, because it was certainly on Makoto's mind that he'd like to wake up with Haru curled against him, but this wasn't the right time.
The screen went dark, bathing the room further in shadow. "Haru," Makoto whispered, gently attempting to rouse him. "I should leave. We both need our rest, ne?" He smiled down at Haru. It was good to know 'leaving' meant just crossing the stairs that led to the shrine.
Haruka floated somewhere far beneath the water, drifting and weightless. Alone. Sinking slowly. His wide-spread arms did nothing to break his descent, offered no resistance to the water's embrace as it swallowed him. Consumed him. The deeper it drew him, the calmer and more serene the water became, the light from the sun fading into gradual darkness. He could stay here forever. He should stay here forever. The water was safe. The water was home.
The water...was lonely. Blue eyes drifted wearily shut, welcoming the dark.
Tiny, excited ripples plunged down into the depths with him, seeking him, calling his name - his private name. Haruka opened his eyes, the waver of water-vision shimmering before them. Light. Heat. A hand - powerful and masculine - reaching to grab his. He couldn't see more than that, but he didn't need to. The edges of his mouth relaxed into a gentle smile, welcoming the hand around his, welcoming the tug that pulled him up-up-up through the water and back to....
"Makoto." The name sighed from Haruka's lips, his eyes scrunching before slanting open, hazy blue attempting to focus on Makoto. Oh. He'd fallen asleep on Makoto. On Makoto. Haruka ducked his head, kitten-nuzzling down against Makoto's chest. How embarrassing. How annoying. "Sorry," he grumbled without looking up. "I really do like that movie." Pause. "And you." At least this was better than his stupid unstoppable wordiness when he was overtired.
Still looking down, Haruka breathed out a heavy sigh, breath warm and moist through Makoto's borrowed sweater. He didn't want Makoto to go, but he knew Makoto lived with his family. That meant ties and obligations and a mother who probably still would wait up for him even though her first precious child was a grown man. He made a sound of reluctant agreement and sat up without leaving the shelter of Makoto's arm, curling his back and shoulders underneath it like a stretching cat, breathing deep and bracketed with a faint wheeze. "I'm glad you don't live far from me." He rubbed at his eyes, finally blinking up at Makoto, gaze fond and soft. "I'm just...glad."
Makoto's laugh was quiet, not at all wanting to disturb the beauty that was Haru opening his ocean blue eyes. He had such a softness about him like this that Makoto was leery of leaving at all. He'd have liked to hold Haru a while longer, stroke fingers through his hair, kiss him lazily. But Haru was already stretching to sit up, and Makoto had already announced that he should leave.
"Me too," he said, leaning in to place a soft kiss to Haru's forehead. "I'll come back tomorrow to pick up my clothes." Makoto still had the decency to blush thinking about what they'd done. "If that's okay."
Well, Makoto wanted to come back either way, but he doubted his clothes had finished drying on the line at this hour. Anyway, he had been seen wearing weirder things when coming off a long shift, and no one but his mother would be up to notice.
Pushing himself off the couch, he offered his hand to Haru. He wouldn't let him fall asleep there in front of the TV. And that gave him another minute to touch Haru's skin and be near him. Finally, he stepped back, the heat of their connection still tingling in his fingertips. "I can show myself out. Sleep well, Haru."
Haruka's eyelashes made lace fans against his cheeks, his eyes closing when Makoto kissed his forehead. "Makoto," he said, sleep making his voice huskier than normal. "Bring some clothes tomorrow to keep here." Eyelashes parted, feathering up and showing his eyes again, luminescent and blue in the anemic light. "Do you work tomorrow?"
Just as in the dream, as in the waking dreams he kept having, Haruka placed his hand in Makoto's without hesitation, savoring the touch and the security he associated with Makoto as the fireman hauled him to his feet. He wobbled a bit, still sleepy and off-balance, but Makoto's hold steadied him, large hands cupped around his hoodied elbows until he was sure Haruka wouldn't fall. "Okay," he agreed, leaning in for a brief, fragile kiss. "I want to kiss you more, but I can't keep my eyes open." He bent forward, forehead planting softly against Makoto's chest. "Thanks...for not giving up on me while I got my head together." Haruka yawned, swaying with the effort of it, and reluctantly watched Makoto go, pulling on his coat and trading slippers for shoes. "Good night, Makoto," he said, fingers twitching in a wave as the metal front door slid closed.
Turning, Haruka ignored the stairs, returning to the living room and a full-body flop onto the floor couch. He squirmed under the blanket, not caring about details like pillows or sleeping position. Before Makoto completed his walk down the stairs and through the garden to his family home, Haruka sank back into blissful unconsciousness underneath a blanket that filled his dreams with Makoto's scent.
As Makoto made his way down the stairs and through the garden, he felt Haru's words wash over him once more: Bring some clothes tomorrow to keep here. Did that mean...? Makoto had just finally been able to settle his heart down after Haru's confession and their kisses, their flight of intimacy near the kotatsu, and now it was flaring right back up like someone had just pulled a fire alarm.
Makoto had never had a relationship grow so quickly, and yet he didn't think it was presumptuous at all: he wanted to leave clothes at Haru's, wanted to spend the night there, wanted to wake up with Haru in his arms. It didn't feel strange or fast at all; if anything, it felt natural, like something he didn't even know was missing had finally been found.
In the entry of his home, Makoto was as quiet as he could be. The lights were dim, which meant hopefully everyone was asleep. He sat down silently, taking off his shoes as a soundless yawn stretched his mouth. With Haru, he hadn't realized just how tired he was, but now that he was alone again, all he could think about was curling up under the blankets in his room, falling asleep. Just then he caught a whiff of the shirt he wore, the specific detergent Haru must use, and smiled dreamily to himself. Maybe he would keep Haru's shirt with him upstairs tonight. Maybe he could even--
"You're home late."
Makoto yelped, jumping back from the genkan and flinging a slipper he'd had in hand. The terrified expression on his face melted as soon as he saw his mother standing there, laughing, having caught the slipper he'd thrown.
"I didn't mean to frighten you, Makoto." She drew closer, reaching out to tenderly pet his head. "I was only waiting up to make sure you were safe."
"I was only across the way," Makoto said, his ears a bright shade of red. He really wished he had a little more of his mother's courage and a little less of his father's tendency to jump to all the wrong conclusions first. He sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."
"That's my job," she answered. "Did you eat with Haruka?"
Makoto nodded, although he couldn't bring himself to tell her how much effort Haru had gone to. The cake. Every little detail, just for him. His face continued to warm with remembrance.
"Did you have a good time?"
The whole evening felt like a dream. A dream that Makoto never wanted to end. Was it a good time? How could he even begin to describe? With Haru...he felt complete. With his gaze downcast, he accepted the other slipper, slid his feet into both, and leaned in to give his mother a kiss on her cheek.
"It was very good, yes, thank you, I'm really tired though, so good night!"
As he rushed upstairs, Makoto felt like he was nine again and trying to sneak a lizard in from the garden as a pet. His mother had known then, and he wondered if she knew now.
In his bedroom with the door closed, Makoto laid down fully clothed and curled into himself in bed. The scent of Haru (of water and passion, saba and chocolate) surrounded him. He didn't have work in the morning, which meant he had two choices: lay in bed in Haru's clothes, thinking of Haru, or go see Haru and spend the day with him. He pulled out his phone to text Haru, hoping it wouldn't wake him:
If you're not busy, I'm free all day.
The buzzing of Haruka's phone (seated deep in the pocket of his hoodie and wedged right near his hip and his genitals) startled him from his face-down position of unconciousness. Bleary-eyed and heavy-headed, he blinked in the dark, something glowing down near his groin. Oh. Phone. He levered himself up on his elbows, rolling with a groan to his side and hauling the smartphone out. It could only be Makoto; Rin usually called rather than messaging, because he stood a better chance of Haruka answering that way.
If you're not busy, I'm free all day.
Haru found himself touching the screen, tracing the letters with tired fondness (and hastily having to use the back button, the touch screen still was new to him). This time yesterday he'd been unable to sleep for more than fifteen minutes at a time, anxiously going over each of his poster boards again and again, baking and frosting Makoto's cake, staggering up the starlit stairs to the shrine with a handful of coins and a desperate, lonely wish on his lips.
I think I got my wish, but it's so much better than I thought.
Haruka closed his eyes, clutching the phone against his chest. There were feelings inside him he didn't think he could ever separate and give distinct names. ones he didn't think he could ever speak aloud, even after a thousand years of waking up beside Makoto.
He yawned, trying not to fall back asleep before answering Makoto. Haruka started swipe-typing but thought better of it, toggling to a different screen and recording a message instead. Across the street, Makoto's phone buzzed with a new MMS, an embedded voice recording in it.
Typing tonight is too much effort. Let's go to Tottori City tomorrow, I hear there are nice museums there. Goodnight, Makoto.
Hearing Haru's voice, even through his phone, meant the world to Makoto. He listened to Haru's message three times before he closed out the app and opened the web browser. Still in Haru's borrowed clothes, still curled on his bed with a goofy, dream-like smile on his face, Makoto did a little looking for what time the museums opened, places he might be able to show Haru. Having lived in Iwatobi all his life, Makoto knew the surrounding areas well, too, especially Tottori City, but it had been a while since he'd had time to explore. The last time might have been when he took the twins to visit the sand dunes a few years ago.
Glancing out his window, he sighed. It was too cold for that sort of thing. It was also too cold to see Amedaki Fall, and it would be a lot of walking for Haru if they visited the castle ruins or Mitaki Canyon.
Stifling a yawn, Makoto pulled the blankets over his body, blinking his eyes closed slowly every few minutes as he researched. It meant a lot, to show Haru these things, to experience them with him. But despite how much he tried to plan in advance to ensure they had a good time, to make it a perfect date, Makoto wound up falling asleep before he could finish. Makoto's last 48-hour shift had really done a number on him, not because of any real emergencies that were unusually stressful but because he'd spent the majority of the time staring at his phone, hoping Haru was okay, missing him, feeling things he'd never felt before and trying not to add guilt on top of them.
In the end, fatigue won out and Makoto's lips parted, mouth slack as he dreamed, his phone still tucked between curled fingers protectively.