Work Text:
Yata woke to the sound of rapping on his door, bleary to the point of drunkenness. He tried to keep his eyes open long enough to determine if it was a dream or not, but quickly gave up, and dozed again. A sudden bang a mere three seconds later startled him into full consciousness, with the panicked thought that the building was falling down.
He jolted upright, flinging his futon covers into the air, heart thudding. Looking around, alert, ready to fight, he realised he was in fact still in his tiny apartment, by himself. Yata fumbled for his watch on the floor next to him, thinking he must be late for something.
11:48AM. It was a day off. He'd been working till three or four in the morning; he didn't really remember after what felt like the longest shift of his life.
Knock knock knock knock—
"Fucking—" Yata rasped, scrambling up in his t-shirt and boxers and wobbling with the head rush when he got upright. "I'm coming, wait, just wait will you!"
Watch still grasped in his hand, Yata wended his way to the door, rubbing at his eyes with his wrist, trying to bring the rest of him into the waking world. Sure, it was late, but some people worked night shifts, and he wasn't expecting anyone today and it had better not be that asshole of a neighbour on the left complaining about him getting back at hell o clock in the morning.
Without checking, Yata unlocked the door, and yanked it open right into himself -- he recoiled sharply, simultaneously squinting against the harsh sunlight suddenly streaming into his unadjusted eyes and cursing blue murder at the pain in his chin.
"Shit," Yata hissed, cupping his jaw along with his watch. "Shit, shit, shit the fucking—"
"It's nice to know you're as inept no matter the time of day," said a voice, "Misaki."
Yata inhaled so hard he choked, blinking rapidly to see the swimming figure in front of him. It slowly came into focus, but he knew who it was without the picture being clear.
"What the—" Yata yelped, instantly on the defensive. "What do you, no, what, why are you here?!"
Fushimi looked at him with a kind of disgusted boredom.
"Your neighbour came out earlier and started asking the same," he said in a sigh, "but then he seemed to recognise the uniform and ran off."
"That doesn't answer the question, Sa— wait," Yata cut himself off, the rising anger in him suddenly levelling like it had hit an iceberg. "What do you mean 'earlier'? How long have you..."
Part of him didn't want to know. He didn't want to know how long Fushimi had been here knocking, or even just waiting like some kind of stalker. A dreadful feeling was trickling through him, a feeling that was very similar to 'mortified'.
Fushimi tutted and looked away, petulant.
"Just earlier."
Yata felt his eye twitch as he tried desperately to organise his thoughts. He was awake now at least, but he sure as hell wished he wasn't. He took a deep breath and spoke through gritted teeth – he couldn't afford to start a fight here. Not at the risk of getting thrown out and having to sleep at the bar and find a new place to live.
"What do you want, Saru."
Fushimi let out an exasperated breath, like it should be obvious.
"We got wind of a raid happening today," he said, turning his sardonic gaze down to stare Yata directly in the eye. "Instruction was given to keep your little vigilante group under control."
"And you took that to mean come to my house?!"
Truthfully, there had been whispers about a certain drug ring that had been selling and distributing close to HOMRA turf, rumour extending to it being some kind of drug for enhancing strain ability, but unless people had been making plans without including Yata, he wasn't aware they were supposed to be knuckling down on the bastards today. Probably. It could have been a last minute thing. Yata didn't need much persuading, ever, he would have gone then and there if someone had told him so.
"Misaki." Fushimi interrupted his thoughts.
"What!"
"It's the same thing."
"Oh, shut up, you stupid asshole," Yata groaned.
He leaned against the wall, the adrenaline of the whole encounter draining out of him and drowsiness returning. Fushimi looked aside again, frowning to himself. Yeah, sure, great, you jackass, it's my fault you had to come all the way out here, Yata thought to himself in exasperation. He didn't have the energy to be angry yet.
"Well look," he said, gesturing with the hand still clasping the watch, "I'm here. You can piss off now."
Fushimi took a step back, but otherwise seemed reluctant, despite his words.
"Yes, I can see you, Misaki," he muttered, "you can go back to your meaningless little existence now."
"You—!" Yata clamped his jaw shut. Don't fight here, don't fight here, don't fight here, he told himself, though his fist was already raised through the door.
He swallowed, hard, glowering at the other man, who didn't seem to be moving. He continued glowering for a good few, long seconds, expecting him any time to move away. But he didn't. He just carried on standing there like a particularly gangly houseplant that only got watered enough so that it didn't die.
It dawned on Yata slowly. A slow burner.
"You're going to lurk around all day, aren't you," he ground out, gripping the door so hard his knuckles went white.
Fushimi looked down his nose at the other. After a second more of his usual expression, he broke into that shit-eating smirk of his, and Yata nearly launched out of his door then and there to push the bastard over the balcony.
Instead he bit back a scream and shut the door as loudly as he could without making any neighbours still home angry.
The thought of neighbours made him stop as he turned to march back inside, frozen mid-step. If Fushimi wasn't bold enough to sit around on the walkway all day, he'd be lurking around on the street like a creep and scaring the crap out of everyone. If it got linked back to him, which it definitely would if anyone even spoke to Fushimi – who would undoubtedly be quite happy to pin it on Yata – it would almost be as bad as if they just duked it out then and there.
Yata crouched down and put his hands over his face, watch strap jabbing him in the eye. He let out a muffled, pained noise into his palms before getting back up, and yanked the door open again.
Fushimi hadn't moved, but he did blink in a tiny, tiny giveaway of surprise.
"Take your shoes off and put the latch on behind you!"
--
After Yata had hurriedly stuffed away his futon and put some clothes on, Fushimi was sat against the wall, hunched up like a stray cat that had been dragged in. He had his phone out, tapping away at something or another, seemingly trying to pretend he was elsewhere. While Yata was busily putting the room back to rights, shifting the low table to where his futon had been, the silence grew stranger by the minute.
"Why did you even bother coming if you don't want to be here?" he snapped, throwing down a seat cushion in Fushimi's direction. "I've not locked you in, you can fuck off back to your precious blues any time you like, y'know!"
Fushimi clicked his tongue and deigned to look up from his pda.
"What would you like me to do, Misaki, tell you about my week?"
"Oh, fuck off," Yata scoffed.
"I'm merely following orders."
"Your orders were—"
"Ohh, I didn't know you were there at the briefing, Misakiii—"
"Fine! It sounded like your orders were to stop us busting some asses today," Yata breathed, expecting another interruption, but not getting one. "But instead you're here being a pain in my ass!"
Fushimi let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, and Yata could only stare daggers at the stupid look the other man was giving him. They locked eyes and continued the showdown for a good while before Yata gave up, the breath he'd been holding escaping him in an explosive sigh.
"I'm making breakfast," Yata said as he finally turned away.
"It's gone noon."
"I'm making food!" Yata said, raising his voice over Fushimi's. "Which I bet you haven't had today yourself either!"
He waited for the smartass retort. It didn't come. Turning his head over his shoulder, Yata looked back at Fushimi, who'd gone back to his phone, but when he felt Yata's gaze, he shrugged his shoulders.
"Didn't feel like it."
Memories flooded Yata in a rush; all the mornings he'd forced toast onto Fushimi when he'd said 'don't feel like it'; every time he'd sat with him and waited for him to finish a plate of something, glaring at him until he did; begging him to eat something that wasn't rice or meat.
Yata turned his back again, feeling colour creep onto his face. He just never grew up, did he? He wanted to be a stupid little brat the rest of his life. Well fine, he can die young for all I care, Yata thought, one less worry for me.
Not that he's a worry for me anyway, Yata reprimanded his own thoughts.
"I'm making breakfast."
--
"Sit."
Fushimi glanced up again, irritated.
"I'm already sitting, Misaki, or are you getting denser?"
"At the table, you stupid shitty monkey," Yata snapped.
Without any further ado he unceremoniously dropped down two plates of omelette and rice, and equally abruptly threw down spoons, scrambling when one nearly flew off the table in his frustration. He caught it with a grunt and sat down heavily in his own place. Without waiting for Fushimi he recited a 'thanks for the food' and started shovelling it into his mouth – he hadn't quite realised until he'd started cooking just how starving he was.
A half moment later, Fushimi crept further into his peripheral vision, like he was approaching a bomb rather than a plate of eggs.
"You made omurice," he said disdainfully.
"Last I checked it doesn't have any vegetables in it," Yata retorted through a mouthful. He'd long since passed feeling embarrassment at knowing Fushimi's habits as well as any mother would.
Well, any normal mother. Not like Fushimi's actual mother.
It took another long moment, but after a mumbled 'thanks', Fushimi actually put his phone down and started eating. It sent relief streaming through Yata, as well as a misplaced sense of pride, which he was startled by, and tried to quickly disguise by shoving an extra large spoonful into his mouth.
They ate in silence, and Yata waited the extra ten minutes it took for Fushimi to be done before clearing the plates. He washed them then and there, leaving them by the sink to drip dry, before heading into his pocket sized bathroom and cleaning himself up. When he reappeared, Fushimi had sprawled his elbows onto the table, flicking at his phone screen absently.
"You know, if you just came to hang out," Yata began in an attempt to jab at the other.
"I'm working." Fushimi cut in without looking up.
"Working, yeah, of course, you guys never stop working." Yata rolled his eyes. "Well, it's my day off, so I'll be here not working."
"Isn't that every day for you, Misaki?"
"Ugh!" Yata picked up the other floor cushion he'd been sitting on previously and swung it at Fushimi, who raised his arm to block it, letting out a little grunty whine of annoyance. "Just shut up and leave me alone then!"
"Tch."
Yata restrained himself and ignored the noise, throwing the cushion back down and checking his watch for any messages. He looked to see if he'd missed any texts about whatever bust Fushimi had been talking about, but he didn't see anything. Maybe Scepter 4 were planning ahead, prevention rather than ... whatever else that saying included?
When he was satisfied that he wasn't being left out of any action, Yata reached over to the dresser against the wall and pulled his handheld console off. He flopped onto his back, head on the cushion, and started up his game. Yep, today was going to be a nice, relaxing day of doing nothing – for a few hours at least. Or at least, it would have been, if Fushimi, the portable mood ruiner, wasn't sat next to him.
Yata managed to forget about Fushimi for what felt like a long time, quickly getting back into the swing of stabbing buttons and killing monsters. He spoke aloud to the game without thinking, cursing when he screwed up, cheering himself when he won. It really did seem like a long time before Fushimi said anything.
"That music is incredibly annoying."
"Bite me."
"Well, if you—"
"Don't do it."
Silence for another few moments, now with Yata frowning and unable to concentrate. Fushimi was such an asshole. He just had to ruin everything he laid eyes on. It was like an inbuilt function, like other people needed to eat and sleep. Fushimi had unlearnt the 'Eat' skill and replaced it with 'Fuck Everyone's Day Up' like a particularly unlikable Pokemon.
"I suppose it must be nice, being so idle as to play video games whenever you feel like it," Fushimi drawled, rapping his long fingers on the table top.
"You're the one that chose to glue yourself to a desk," Yata bit back. "Ugh, my combo!"
"You're the one that chooses to run around like a hooligan," Fushimi muttered under his breath, but loud enough that Yata could still hear.
"It's the new Dragon Hunter." Yata said very loudly and pointedly to redirect the argument. He was pretty proud that he hadn't punched Fushimi yet – he just tried to keep the thought of his neighbours and his landlord in the front of his mind.
"Oh."
"I know the last one was a bit shitty, but this one is awesome," Yata continued, words becoming more genuine and even enthusiastic as he carried on. "It's like playing the first one all over again, except the story's different obviously, and the characters are new. Although, when you get to a certain point you actually meet some of them, y'know the ones from the first game, they're all old and on the council now, it's really cool."
"I see."
"And the gameplay really got a reboot, it makes so much more sense now, like, you can assign attacks and make decks which you can switch through, it's really great, look—"
Yata pushed himself up, twisting towards the other to thrust the screen in front of Fushimi's face, only to have Fushimi's face focused only on him. Blinking, Yata's words came to a fumbling halt. They held each other's gaze over a weirdly loaded silence, until Yata's eyes flickered away in a storm of embarrassment.
"See!" His voice came out much higher than he'd meant it, but his heart suddenly thudding was preoccupying him a little more. "I'll even, ha— haha, I'll even let you try it if you can remember how! Bet all you can do these days is type reports, right! Dumbass blue!"
"Stop prattling," Fushimi snapped, "you're making yourself sound even more stupid."
Long pale fingers automatically went to the starched white collar, shoving it aside and starting to scratch harshly at the broken skin below. A sweet pain seared through him, and he breathed a little easier as it brought Fushimi back to his senses but also took him away from them for a brief, blissful moment. Though that godawful mark had gone now, the habit of keeping the wound raw was so ingrained he still scratched at it.
A loud clatter of the console falling to the table and a sudden slap of skin, a yank that tore his hand out of his collar, and Fushimi was left slightly wide-eyed, staring again at the other. Yata held onto Fushimi's bony wrist tightly, somewhere between furious and horrified.
"Don't," he began, voice hard and angry, before swallowing and changing his mind. "What are you doing? Don't... Don't do that here. You stupid monkey. Don't do that."
"What," Fushimi said, a gross smile creeping onto his face, "does it hurt, Misaki? Bring back some memories?"
Another yank on his wrist, and Fushimi went quiet, though the awful smile remained.
"You're sick," Yata said, struggling to keep his voice level, "you're messed up. Just ... not here. Do whatever you fucking like at your stupid shitty government building, I don't care. Not here."
Neither spoke. They just breathed, staring each other down, one livid, the other unreadable. Eventually, Yata let go of Fushimi's wrist, when he was sure it wasn't going to go diving back under his shirt, but both hands remained hovering, waiting. Unwilling to pull too far away, lest it break the connection, no matter how small it had been made.
Yata knew where this was going. It was going the same way it always went in situations like these, where the air felt thick and heavy, and silence was familiar yet awkward. It had been a long time, a month or more even, since the last time, but it happened, now and then, when they couldn't stop it. They were both messed up, it seemed.
Yes, Yata knew exactly where it was going as inch by painful inch, they moved their heads closer, stutteringly slow, not wanting to be the one caught out if the other suddenly changed their mind and cried 'joking!'. Yes, this thing that happened 'now and then', where neither had ever cried 'joking!' yet both still expected the other to do so. This thing where both pretended it never happened, never mentioned it when it happened, even as it was happening.
Close enough to share breath, then closer, close enough to seal it off, their lips came together mutually. Agonisingly slow. Yata always expected Fushimi's lips to be cold, but they weren't. They never were. They were always warm, just like now, wet against his own. Just like the first time when they were teenagers, fooling around, and every time after, Yata's chest did a strange kind of black hole feeling, like your stomach bottoming out on a rollercoaster, except through the entire cavity of his being.
They kissed, held it for a long time, breathing roughly through their noses. It broke off only to renew itself, harder, and again, and again, when Yata felt the delicate touch of Fushimi's tongue, and he opened his mouth without a second thought.
Always so warm. Warm and wet, the soft sound of their tongues together, the pop of their lips breaking and meeting again, as loud as a jet engine to Yata, making his face heat up to burning. It was slow, patient in a way it rarely was – the fire was burning low, deeper.
Yata could feel his own pulse – or maybe it was Saruhiko's – through his whole body. He was getting lost, utterly lost, head starting to reel with want. It was when he felt Fushimi's teeth sink into his lower lip that he pulled in a breath and the tinny sound of music coming from his abandoned game came back into focus. He jerked back, flung a hand up and slapped it over Fushimi's mouth, who blinked rapidly, eyes hazed over with a desire that Yata had no doubt was reflected in his own.
He'd nearly got swept away in the moment. Just let Saru carry him away like he always did— who was he kidding, they were both guilty. Every muscle he was aware he had clenched with embarrassment, and his eyes flickered around, anywhere but meeting the other man's.
His heart thumped and his breath shook. Attempting to swallow twice before it actually worked, Yata cleared his throat and spoke in a low, creaking voice.
"I have to, um, no, I'm gonna take a walk, and I need to go to the store, if you—"
Fushimi licked Yata's palm, and Yata screamed and slapped the wet, offending article on Fushimi's face to wipe it off.
Neither had ever been good at ending a moment.
--
Thank god, or whoever, that the sounds of the town and people and traffic covered up the painfully awkward silence between them. Yata rolled slowly along on his skateboard, giving himself a half-assed kick on when he came to a near stop, and Fushimi trailed after him, glaring around at anyone who passed too close to him.
The air had cleared Yata's head, and he was even more crystal clear aware of the fact they'd been kissing, again, and also the fact that it would have no doubt led to more if he hadn't shut it down, again. It had to stop. They weren't even friends. Mostly. Well, sort of. He didn't really know what they were anymore. They'd gone so long without any kind of 'we' or 'us', that now it was hard to define. Especially when at some point it hadn't so much gone past the point of no return as it had bulldozed through, poured kerosene over the ruins and thrown a match on it.
It was some time after Mikoto had died, and Yata was so lost he couldn't even remember to be antagonistic towards Fushimi for a short time. Some time around then, on a grassy verge by the river at dusk, Yata had sat by himself, vacant, sick of thinking, when a patrol went by behind him. Not that he really cared or even really noticed until a lanky shadow had appeared next to him. Fushimi had sent the others on. At first he seemingly just wanted to rile the other, use his authority to tell him to stop loitering, but he gave up quickly, like his heart hadn't been in it anyway. He sat with Yata and they just sat together in companionable misery for a while. Yata's board slid down the grassy verge when Fushimi disturbed it, and they both just watched it go, coming to a stuttering stop on the flat grass below them.
They eventually exchanged a word or two, exasperated then angry, and Yata had thrown a half-assed punch which Fushimi didn't even bother to stop, and then he'd kissed Fushimi, who consequently had an expression on his face even Yata had never seen, and it made his eyes blur over with tears for everything he'd lost. He started laughing stupidly as the sadness started to bubble out of him, but the sound was cut off just as suddenly when Fushimi kissed him back. It was clumsy and so hungry that when they stopped they both gasped for breath, but it broke a floodgate that could never be repaired.
Yata didn't know what had possessed him. Since that semi-dared kiss as teenagers, that he'd laughed loudly at after, pretending it was nothing and saying now he was ready for the girls to flock his way, he'd never thought of Fushimi that way. At least ... he hadn't let himself think of Fushimi that way. Not consciously. It confused him. They weren't even friends anymore. Fushimi had torn their friendship in two and then ground it under his heel. Yata felt burning anger and what he could only call 'hate' for lack of a better description when Fushimi was around.
Yet, after the new Red King was born, and Yata's life started to make a new kind of sense, it wasn't long before he and Fushimi were undressing each other and learning the taste of sweat and the feel of a heat like no other. Since then, it happened once, twice, three times, four, till Yata started losing count. Sometimes it was regular, sometimes they went a month without speaking.
After long days, when either had been caught in a hectic fight, when one was caught in the rain or memories and emotions had used them like a punching bag, when HOMRA and Scepter 4 had had a clash... It usually happened at night, and stopped before morning. Then they went back to being red and blue, with all the history that kept both full of anger and misery.
It just happened, and they never once spoke about it.
Now, Yata couldn't even glance back at the other without his face setting afire, let alone say a word, so they'd spent the last half hour in complete silence. He couldn't believe it, just in the middle of the day, no other cause than that they'd been there, together. No excuses, just a simple want to kiss, and...
Yata felt his ears start to burn. At least, Yata thought, if anyone sees us, it looks like the weirdo's just following me rather than us hanging out.
When Yata turned around to start heading back, he chose a route that went through a small park – it came out closer to the stores nearest to his apartment building. Sneaking a look over his shoulder, he noted Fushimi was still in tow, scowling more than ever as they headed through the near empty park. Yata didn't fully understand why he was still following him around if he was so unhappy about it, and it irked him.
He opened his mouth to speak, finally, when the sound of Fushimi's phone stopped him.
"This is Fushimi."
Work? Yata looked back properly, bringing his board to a stop as Fushimi himself stopped.
"Ah. I see. Yes. No, I've seen nothing suspicious. No. No. No..."
Yata could see Fushimi's expression start to grow even more irritable. Your fault, Yata thought, for taking a government job when you hate taking orders. Stupid four-eyed monkey.
"Yes. Thank you."
He cut the call and let out a sigh.
"Scepter 4 have taken care of that group. Your little gang hasn't been sighted, so it seems you're off the hook, Misaki. For now, at least."
"I told you," Yata said sharply. "Don't act like it's my fault you've been following me around, 'cause I told you we didn't have anything to do with it!"
They paused, both frowning.
"Well, whatever, you can go back to your shitty office now, monkey, bye," Yata said with as much finality as he could muster, though his feet didn't move. Traitors.
"I don't need to," Fushimi replied.
"Ha? What, good job Saru, you saved the day, take the rest off?"
"You're so simple."
"You're the simple one, Saruhiko!"
"You just proved my point."
"Augh!"
Back to square one.
"Go home, then," Yata tried, "I don't know. You're so fucking awkward, Saru."
"I don't feel like it."
"Are you twelve?!" Yata said, voice rising and startling a mother and her small child who were passing nearby. They hurried away and Yata instantly turned pink, whipping his attention back to Fushimi. "So what, you want to follow me around for the rest of the day for no reason other than that you're fucking crazy? Is that it?"
"How arrogant, Misaki," Fushimi said as his smile grew, "there are other things to do besides ... that."
"What?"
"What."
"Why'd you pause, what were you gonna say?"
"You." Fushimi said without a hint of embarrassment.
Yata felt the pink on his face turn to what must be a violent red. He breathed in sharply, ready to snap something back, but he stopped himself. Fushimi thought he was simple, and he was, but he was finally catching on with Fushimi. Yata was often called a bad liar, because he wore his heart on his sleeve, and he was naive and kind of gullible, which was true, but he'd started to learn that Fushimi was equally bad a liar, he just covered it a bit better than Yata.
For some reason, the anger rising in him started to dissipate, and all that was left behind was a hollowness. Maybe his volatility was waning because he was tired. Maybe it was because he was tired in a different way – of this.
He bolstered himself, took a deep breath and puffed out his chest, trying to look down his nose at Fushimi in the same way Fushimi did to him.
"Ohhh, so you do want to hang out, huh? You know, Saruhiko, it's pretty cute how shy you are, haha!"
His laugh sounded forced even to him, but he'd got it out all the same and that was a small victory. With a grin on his face, he looked at the other, and the screwed up expression on his face almost made the grin real.
"It's cute how imaginative you are, Misaki," he said dourly in return.
"Oh, shut up." Yata was holding onto his tiny win as well as his smile. He pushed his foot on the fine gravel, and headed onward on his board. "If you have to you can pretend you're still working! Pretend you're still chained to your desk, that should help."
"At least I have a job." Yata heard Fushimi's steps behind him, and it made him smile a bit harder because he'd been right.
"I have a job, shithead."
"What, serving drinks and waiting tables? That's what college students do in their spare time, Misaki."
"There's plenty of not students who work there, Saru, shut your face already!"
"Why would I when I'm right?"
"You're not."
"Am so."
"Are n— shut up!" Somehow the usual irritation wasn't in it – that's not to say there was no irritation in it. Just less than usual. "Well, whatever! If you're staying for dinner, prepare yourself, I'm making stir fry!"
"Ugh."
"Then go home!"
"No. Just make something different."
"My house, my rules!"
"I'll eat it if you have milk with it."
Yata almost retched at the mere thought of it. He led down a path that was covered a bit more with trees – the sunlight broke through the gaps and dappled the ground, and Yata made a game of trying to skate through the shadowed parts, swerving this way and that.
"That isn't fair, you know I'm probably like allergic to that shit or something! What's it called, intolerant to lactas or something—"
"Lactose intolerant."
"Yeah, that."
"You're not lactose intolerant."
"You don't know that, Saru!"
They broke out of the trees and back into the sun. It was a warm day, and it bathed Yata's face so nicely he actually noticed it. Rather, he was in the mood to notice it. Behind him, Fushimi's phone beeped again, a text, and Yata glanced back when he heard it. Fushimi was ignoring it, it seemed, but Yata did catch the faintest of smiles on his face, there and then gone again when he was caught.
It was like seeing a ghost.
--
In the grocery store, Yata lost Fushimi. It was honestly like being in possession of a small child. He went about his business regardless, and Fushimi showed up just when he'd finished paying.
"Where the hell did you go?" Yata kicked his board down from where he'd rested it against the store doors and hopped on, plastic bags in either hand.
"Miss me?" Fushimi grinned.
"Yeah, right!" It was the best Yata could manage. He wasn't good at being witty like Fushimi was.
Yata considered shoving a bag at Fushimi to carry, but decided against it. He could manage, and at least this way he was balanced. He set off with a push, Fushimi actually walking alongside him now.
"I was just around," Fushimi said lightly. "It smells funny in there."
"What are you talking about? It does not." Yata hopped his board over a dip, careful to balance himself and his bags. He was pretty used to this trip by now.
Fushimi sighed. "I went to the chemist."
"Why?"
"Why do you need to know?"
"I was just asking!"
"Eye drops."
Yata looked at him, not seeing a bag or prescription or anything of the like on Fushimi's person. Fushimi registered the judging look and threw one back from the corner of his eyes.
"What."
"I don't see any." Yata didn't know why Fushimi was being so secretive about some damn eye drops, but then again, he didn't know why he cared so much either. He had visions of Fushimi hanging around creeping people out and then being associated with said creep, so he deemed the truth something worthy of looking into.
"Did you know, Misaki," Fushimi began, a stupid smile starting on his face, "about pockets? They're very useful."
"You're so annoying! Augh, you're so... So..."
"Pedantic."
"Pedantic!" Yata skated on, taking a wide arc around an old lady walking towards them. When he rejoined Fushimi he realised what he'd said. "Wait, you even admit it!"
"No, I was just helping a struggling idiot."
"You're getting extra bell peppers."
Yata laughed, really laughed, when Fushimi could only answer with a disgusted grunt.
It was almost like things were normal. Whatever 'normal' meant.
--
By the time they got back, Yata was starting to feel the toll of the night shift. The stairs to his floor seemed longer than ever, but he soldiered on pretending that he was fine. When they reached his door, he paused to adjust bags so he could get his key out of his pocket, but he was forced to choke back a yelp as Fushimi's hand delved in instead.
Yata scuttled away, mouth gaping open, as Fushimi held the key and unlocked the door himself.
"Don't be so childish, Misaki," Fushimi pushed the door open, waiting for Yata to go in first, giving the shorter man a pointed look.
Yata scoffed an indignant noise and marched in, kicking his shoes off in the footwell and dumping the bags on the kitchen counter. He heard Fushimi shut and latch the door behind him, and start unbuckling his boots, so Yata hastily began sorting, throwing things into the refrigerator next to him and shutting the door loudly. Just to make a point.
"The key goes—"
"On the hook, I know."
Yata screwed up a plastic bag in his hands, the soft pad of socked feet coming close to him. He slowed, but then shook himself and threw the bag down, continuing with the next, full one. Fushimi's presence loomed just by his shoulder, but he ignored the other, giving him a little shove with his elbow as he moved to the fridge and back.
"What do you want? Don't stand so close, you creep." Yata said heatedly as Fushimi stayed where he was.
A hand on his head, and Yata let out another squawk of protest. Fushimi pulled off Yata's hat, and the shorter tilted his head back as if it would stop the inevitable. It didn't. Instead, he ended up looking up at the other, who was staring down with a blank expression.
"Your hat hair always did look funny," Fushimi said as another smirk broke out on his face.
"Ugh, piss o—"
Fushimi kissed him, the rest of the word disappearing between them. It was forceful, demanding, but as quickly as it had arrived, it stopped, and Yata was left dumbstruck, blinking at the other as he wandered into the main room.
"What's with you today?!" he blurted after Fushimi.
"Nothing."
"Liar!"
"Why do you think there's something different?"
"Because, you—"
Yata stopped himself. He couldn't bring himself to say it. That they were acting like they were something. Not like they used to be, they'd never get that back now, but... Like being together was easy again. More than that, like kisses were easy, like it was normal, and not just something reserved for when they needed the intimacy that only each other could offer.
The antagonistic, even violent relationship they had, that had somehow morphed into needing skinship in a different way, was now changing again.
Yata's head was going round in circles. He couldn't understand his thoughts, let alone his feelings. In fact, his head was starting to hurt. Now that he noticed, it was throbbing.
"I need to take a nap," he said aloud, propping himself up with a hand on the counter. "Yeah, that's right. That's what I'm gonna do."
He threw what was left into the fridge still in the bag before heading in and pulling his futon off its shelf. Dropping it in a heap on the floor, he roughly spread it out next to the wall, as Fushimi was sat at the table again, watching him.
"I'm taking a nap," Yata announced again, flustered and frustrated. "You can entertain yourself for an hour."
"You seem full of energy to me."
"I'm good at faking it! I didn't get home till like 5am, so give me a break."
"Fine."
Yata was relieved that, for once, it was that easy. He dropped onto his pillow face first, still dressed, and breathed out heavily. He pulled the cover up half over him and let himself relax, tried to force any thought of any kind from his mind. After a while it worked enough that he could feel sleep coming on, and as he began to doze, he swore he heard the tinny sound of battle music start to play.
--
When consciousness began to seep through, Yata was aware of breath and warmth. He burrowed closer and breathed deeply. His mind swam further to the surface, and eventually his eyes flickered open, ready to be awake this time, as opposed to that morning.
In front of him was Fushimi's face. Yata inhaled, surprised. Fushimi was asleep, head rested on the seat cushion and not even lying on the futon, but rather the floor. He'd taken his glasses off, hair falling over his face which held a neutral, totally innocent expression, and he looked so much like the friend Yata knew growing up that something inside him started to hurt.
Yata took his time sitting up, looking down at the other quietly. What a big kid he was. What a big, fucked up kid that never grew up.
He reached a hand over, hesitating. This was somehow territory undiscovered. This wasn't like their friendship, and it wasn't like now, whatever now was. Something was missing from the now, and the realisation was somewhere in Yata's mind, creeping forward slowly, blooming like a winter flower.
He lightly touched Fushimi's hair with just his fingertips. It was silky, like it had always been – wildly different from his own. He slipped his fingers into the strands, pushing them away from Fushimi's forehead. Fushimi shifted in his sleep as Yata tucked the hair behind his ear.
He pulled his hand away. God it hurt. It hurt so much he couldn't take it. He knew the problem now. He knew why it was so strange.
Twisting his hand, Yata looked at his watch. 6.30, more or less. He could make dinner now. Leave Fushimi for a while longer. He got up feeling stiff and numb in more than just his body. Pulling the futon cover over Fushimi, he left the other man where he was and without a word went to the kitchen.
So that's it, he thought.
--
Yata tried to be as quiet as he could, but it was inevitable either the sounds or smells would wake Fushimi up. It was when he was getting ready to plate up that Yata caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and glanced over to see Fushimi sitting up looking like the dead had risen. He squinted without his glasses, looking around, not even alive enough to be confused. His hair stuck up stupidly and Yata looked away lest Fushimi notice the smile it put on his face.
"'bout time you woke up," he said as haughtily as he could manage. "I'm dishing out, so wake up."
"Hn."
For the second time that day, Yata brought plates of food to the table for two to eat, and it filled him with the same satisfaction as it had when they were living together. Fushimi sat at the table looking dazed, turning his gaze down to the plate dropped in front of him before glancing back up at Yata with loathing building in his eyes.
Yata went back to the kitchen and returned with forks in one hand and a little bottle in another. He thrust a fork at Fushimi, and as he dropped onto his ass on the floor, he slammed the bottle onto the table.
"See this?" Yata slid the bottle forward. Fushimi squinted at it. Yata sighed. "Put your glasses on, you moron."
Fushimi looked around him and found his glasses, pushing them onto his face and blinking at the adjustment. He returned his focus to the bottle.
"Milkshake." He said flatly.
"Veggies." Yata pointed at Fushimi's plate. "A promise is a promise. Dig in."
Inside, he was dreading it, but as long as he could keep just a little bit down, he could force Fushimi to eat too.
"You're not going to grow any taller now, Misaki," Fushimi said through a yawn, his searing wit returning to him as he woke up fully.
Yata gritted his teeth. "That's not the point! Anyway, you're not a doctor, you don't know that for sure."
Yata did know for sure, and at any rate, if the choice was between getting taller and drinking milk on a regular basis, he'd much rather stay short. That said, he ripped off the lid, holding his breath against the vile smell assaulting him. It made him want to vomit then and there. Part of him couldn't believe he was willing to go through this, but a stubborn man is a stubborn man. Especially one that had recently discovered something important.
Continuing to hold his breath, Yata lifted the bottle in the air.
"Bottoms up!" He brought it to his mouth and took a long gulp, then another, and that was as much as he could take; he retched, slapped his hand over his mouth and pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, willing the liquid to stay down. The thick, disgusting liquid that was sliding down his throat in the most unnatural way he could imagine. He'd picked up a vanilla flavour hoping that it would be kind of bland and inoffensive, but he was wrong and it was as wildly disgusting as any other kind of milk.
He put the bottle down hard enough to disturb his plate. His mouth felt thick and clumsy, but it was down.
"Your turn." Yata slurred, picking up his fork and practically throwing food into his mouth to rid him of the taste. He chewed and could have cried in joy at the relief of proper food rescuing his taste buds. "Unless," he continued, through a mouthful, "you're not as tough as me. Y'know. No big deal."
Fushimi watched him impassively, but he obediently picked up his fork and collected some food with it. He raised it like it was toxic, but he put it in his mouth and chewed, staring hard at the table. It was a victory only when he swallowed, which he did, and Yata nearly laughed out loud.
It carried on for a while, each man taking turns to down their most hated food. Fushimi made a point of stopping eating when he thought Yata had been too long without drinking.
"This is disgusting," Fushimi complained after a while, looking probably slightly less queasy than Yata felt.
"No it's not," Yata replied, dropping his fork onto his empty plate. "You're just a fussy eater."
"Tch, says the child who can't even drink their milk."
"Oi, you're clearly the kid here, don't try and make me look bad for not liking one thing!"
Fushimi had pushed most of the vegetables around the plate so he could eat the noodles without them, but he had actually eaten most of it. Though Yata had deliberately put less on his plate, knowing at least some of it would only go to waste.
"I'm done." Fushimi said after a moment, setting his fork down. "...thanks."
"Yep, thanks."
Yata collected everything on the table in a pile, about to get up but stopping himself. Fushimi was watching him again.
"Don't you people have a curfew or something?"
"No," Fushimi said. "Wouldn't matter if I did."
"So..." Yata trailed off, not knowing how to carry on. It was like he'd forgotten how to speak altogether. How did you string together words to make sense exactly? Especially words that were difficult to say.
Fushimi didn't cut in and save him. He just sat there watching, probably enjoying Yata struggling.
"So," Yata tried again, "are you gonna... Well, y'know, are you... D'ya want to ... stay?"
The words came out thick with embarrassment, and he felt it showing on his face as well.
"Yes."
"Right." Yata said breezily, shifting like he was making to get up, but again, he stayed where he was. The atmosphere was getting heavy again. It started to drape over him, and it was getting harder to breathe.
The silence began once more. Yata shuffled, prickling with uncomfortableness. That thought was spreading into his mind like a thick fog, covering every other idea with its one, insistent singularity. His throat started to constrict, his heart not beating faster, but harder, as if it wanted to beat a rhythm right out of his ribcage and onto the floor. Maybe that would have been easier than trying to confront this mess.
"Are we in love?"
The words had fallen out of him in a rush before he could even register them, and the second that they sounded, he inhaled sharply, hoping it would suck them all back in and make them unheard. He could feel the blood draining from his face, utter horror replacing it.
What had he done? What had he done? He grabbed the pile of plates and shot to his feet, stumbling in his haste to turn away into the kitchen. Turning his back on Fushimi was all he could think to do – he couldn't look at him, he couldn't even bear the thought of it. What kind of look Fushimi had on his face right now was over his head. Panic had set in.
Yata busied himself as best he could, scraping off the remains before dropping the plates in the sink and turning on the tap and rinsing the bottle so it could go in the recyclables, all the while Fushimi said nothing. Why didn't he say anything? Yata was about ready to vomit up every last drop of that godforsaken milk. His hands shook as he watched the water run, gripping to the edge of the sink.
"Speak for yourself, Misaki."
Yata whipped his head around to look at the other, who had his head turned away. He was doing that thing again. He was doing that thing he always did and it lit a rage in Yata so strong he could have screamed and punched a hole through the wall. Instead he yanked the tap into 'off' with brute force, and rounded on the other, planting his feet where he was, one hand still gripping the edge of the sink.
"Don't!" He tried to keep his voice below a yell, hard as it was, furious in a way he didn't even know he was capable of. "Could you just once in your life not be a huge asshole?! Is that possible for
you, Saruhiko?"
Fushimi still refused to look over, acting high and mighty.
"Tell the truth for once, too!" Yata's voice was rising quicker than he could stop it, or even slow it down. "You can't avoid everything forever, you know, so how about now you try and be honest. If you think I'm so dumb, how do you expect me to understand anything when you make it even harder for me to understand? Huh?!"
He breathed in a shudder, having let it all out. Fushimi turned his head, and boldly met Yata's eyes; he'd clearly bolstered himself to tell more lies, but Yata wasn't gonna take it.
"Fushimi Saruhiko!" Yata proclaimed, voice getting steadier, more confident. He could do this. He could take on Fushimi, and this stupid, stupid situation they were in. He'd survived worse than a conversation about feelings. "Do you— d-do you like me!"
"No."
"Why do you hang around me when you don't need to then!"
"It passes the time."
"Why do you keep having—" Yata cleared his throat, blush starting to rise, "doing it with me if you don't like me!"
"Do you mean having sex?"
"Yes!" Yata's voice came out in a squeak, but he couldn't stop now.
"Because it's better than doing it by myself."
"Are you lying to me because you're an idiot who doesn't understand? Or because you're scared of admitting it?"
"Neither," Fushimi scoffed. "Are you done yet?"
"Are you?!" Yata retorted without missing a beat. "Give it up, Saru, I'm onto you."
"Onto what exactly, Misaki?" Fushimi grinned, but there was nothing behind it.
"Are we in love?" Yata said again, forcefully, powering over the other man's voice.
Silence.
A longer silence.
Fushimi seemed to sink into himself, shoulders hunching in the way they did when he was a middle schooler, when he felt like he wanted to disappear. Yata felt a rush of guilt for kicking and screaming at his glass wall, but he couldn't wait any longer. This was it; now or never.
A mumble.
"What?"
"I don't know." Fushimi repeated, louder. "...I wouldn't know."
"Well," Yata's voice was finally dropping into a lower key, embarrassment steadily replacing the anger, "well, I do. I think. Ha! I know something you don't, Saru! Who's stupid now?"
"Still you."
Yata breathed out. The storm seemed to have passed; he was defending against a bit of rain now, which he thought he could handle. Fushimi had been his best friend for a long time. Even if he had changed, he was still Fushimi under it all. He was just a Fushimi that he loved in a different way.
He still wasn't going to say it out loud though.
"At least I can admit when I... y'know, when I like someone." Yata finally left the sink to move back to the main room, light-headed. He felt like he was walking on thin air, or that he was made from thin air. Both, maybe.
"So it's 'like' now." Fushimi was getting petulant, and trying to hide it under nonchalance. It wasn't working. To Yata he might as well be 15 again, sat at the kotatsu they shared in that funny little apartment they made a home of.
There was a lot of things still that Yata didn't understand, maybe never would, but Fushimi's behaviour had started to make sense.
"More than you've said, jerk! You're the one that was k-kissing me like it was totally normal, like we were... like we weren't... anymore..."
Fushimi gave him the same blank look as Yata sat down heavily on the floor, legs crossed, arms folded.
"A couple? Fuck buddies?"
"What?!"
"Just filling in the blanks since you seem to be having processing errors." The blankness on his face broke enough to let a little lopsided smile through. Poking fun at Yata would never get old.
"Well ... that then."
"Is that what you want?"
"Augh, can't you answer that for once? I've already said it, haven't I?" Yata unfolded his arms to start making angry gestures, and Fushimi's wonky smile stayed put.
"I don't know." Fushimi said easily.
"Well what do you want?"
"Misaki."
"Here I am, ya stupid monkey!" Yata flung his arms wide, breathing more deeply as his heart started up that same heavy thrum in his chest. It was so strong he thought his whole body would start twitching along with it.
Fushimi looked at him for what felt like an age, every second ticking past an eternity in its own right, and getting slower with each one. In reality, it couldn't have been more than ten seconds, but it was definitely the longest ten seconds Yata had ever experienced.
The table was gently pushed aside, far enough for Fushimi to make a path straight forward to Yata, who watched with a hint of confusion as Fushimi rearranged his house for him. Yata kept his arms out, a challenge, though he desperately wanted to tuck them back in and stop making a fool of himself.
But then Fushimi crossed the distance with a single movement, and was kneeling in front of him, and without much further ado, he dropped his head into Yata's shoulder and seemed to melt on the spot. He looked ridiculous, this tall, gangly man hunched over with his face shoved into the crook of Yata's neck. It was so stupid, so utterly stupid that Yata wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He didn't.
"You're such a big baby," he said, struggling to keep his voice even as he timidly put his arms around Fushimi, his hold growing more sure as he himself did.
They stayed like that for a while. Yata wasn't sure how to describe what he felt – feeling Fushimi's weight and heat in a way that wasn't like when they were friends, and wasn't like these past few months either. He'd had no idea there were so many kinds of intimacy, so many different versions of this feeling that was slowly radiating through him.
He moved his arms and gently pressed his hands onto Fushimi's shoulders, forcing him to sit up, though he only allowed Yata to push him so far. They stayed close, close enough for Yata to tilt his head up to kiss Fushimi. It only lasted a second or two. Chaste and weirdly familiar, but new as well. It wasn't a kiss that expected something; it was a kiss that said every hello and goodbye, and all the little words that people who know every part of each other don't need to say out loud.
Their foreheads came together with a clumsy bump, and Yata laughed at Fushimi's little grunt. They shared the air in the inch of space between them, Yata feeling the heat build in his face and hoping that Fushimi couldn't feel it as well as see it, but if he did, for once he kept his mouth shut.
Then there were hands on Yata's neck, fingertips pushing into the hair at the nape, as urgent as the kiss Fushimi pressed to his lips. His hair was pulled, not exactly gently, and Yata's head tipped back in answer, mouth opening to Fushimi's demand. There it was, that funny black hole in the middle of his chest, making his insides plummet into nothingness.
Fushimi broke off with a wet sound, their breath shuddering.
"I want everything," he said quietly, but with as much force as if he'd screamed it, "I want Misaki's everything."
"Mn," was all Yata could muster in response, all the blood in his entire body doing weird things, not knowing whether to rush to his face, or elsewhere, or just drain out of him entirely.
A thud snapped him out of it, as Yata found himself plummeting backwards, pushed onto the floor with a thump, Fushimi over him.
"Oi, don't just shove me around as you pl— mnf!" The kiss cut him off with a renewed force, and after a second's startled reluctance, he gave in and returned it, even urging it on deeper.
Fushimi arranged himself over the other, pressing a leg between Yata's and making sure his thigh pushed close into Yata's crotch. A cold hand quickly found the inch of exposed skin of Yata's midriff, and slipped under his shirt and round to his lower back. Eager fingertips found his spine, and began to push a freezing line tracing it upwards, making Yata arch up away from the touch, a gasp lodged in the back of his throat as his hips tilted into Fushimi's leg with the movement. He made a noise into the other's mouth, frustration, embarrassment at how good that tiny bit of contact felt.
"Saru." Yata managed to break off with a rush of breath, but Fushimi was kissing him again without pause to listen. "Saruhimng—" His breath caught in his nose as Fushimi flattened his hand against Yata's lower back, canting his hips to press further into the other. Yata could only groan into Fushimi's mouth at the increasing pressure rubbing between his legs.
"Saru!" A gasp. "Let me— nn... Mn—" A sharp inhale. Yata tilted his head back to escape Fushimi's lips long enough to say something, only for him to latch onto Yata's throat instead. A moan turned into a short cry as teeth grazed his skin before Fushimi sucked harshly. "Y-you piece of crap, don't give mnohhh—"
It was an unspoken rule that they didn't leave hickeys where people could see them. It would cause far too much trouble. Of course, covered skin was fair game, especially when they were mutually angry at each other for no new reason, but never had either left love bites on the other's neck.
So this is what a confession turns into, Yata thought helplessly as his bones started to melt, his fingers loosely grasped in the back of Fushimi's coat – he can't say 'I like you' out loud so he starts marking his territory instead.
Fushimi blew on the wet patch on Yata's neck, and he shivered violently at the freezing cold, jerking his body. He could practically feel the snide grin pressed into his shoulder, and was about to snark about it when Fushimi sat up, sitting on Yata's leg so he couldn't move, other than to try to push himself up on to his elbows.
His shirt was suddenly pushed up, exposing his entire chest, and he flinched again at the air hitting him. Getting the message, Yata gently pushed Fushimi's hands out of the way so he could start pulling it off himself, wiggling awkwardly as he was trapped on the floor. The material was still trapped half over his head when a wet tongue ran across his chest, and Yata's body responded with need, back arching to push up into the kisses. His shirt got caught around his elbows, arms bound above his head, but he didn't particularly care as Fushimi started touching him with slightly less cold hands, fingers pinching his nipples and tugging lightly, teasingly.
Yata twisted his hips, driving his free knee into Fushimi's side to stop him before either of them got too carried away.
"Saru," Yata said, voice weak, "Saru, you too. C'mon. Lemme up."
Fushimi looked up at the other, clearly wishing the interruption hadn't come, but he freed Yata's leg and sat back on his heels, his arms already rising to reach for Yata as he got himself up. Yata hauled himself up onto his feet, practically falling back to his knees and into straddling Fushimi's lap, the cage of his trapped arms dropping about the taller's shoulders as he kissed the other forcefully. In this position, he could be the one to get Fushimi to tip his head back to accept it, and he did. Fushimi's hands were quick to find Yata's ass, and the redhead shamelessly pressed into the touch as he finally shook his shirt off his arms.
Breaking off, he start pushing Fushimi's coat off his shoulders, forcing his hands off him. Fushimi began to help rather than making it awkward, letting his coat fall in a pool around them, and then his waistcoat and his shirt, both pairs of hands fumbling with buttons in haste.
"Your glasses are all smudged," Yata sniggered against Fushimi's lips between kisses, and he got a 'tch' in return, which made him smile all the more about it. "Take them off, they're just, mnn, they're just in the way."
"I need them."
"I'm right in front of you!"
"I want to see everything," Fushimi said, taking his time over the words as his eyes lidded heavily, smirk creeping onto his face, and it worked – Yata blushed even more fiercely.
Yata stood, only for Fushimi to grab his hips and stop him dead in front of him. Really in front of him. Yata wobbled at the sudden action, hands falling onto Fushimi's head to steady himself.
"What?! I want to move the ... futon..."
Yata came to a grinding halt as he looked down at Fushimi, who was gently pulling Yata's hips forward to him, towards his face, tilted up to watch Yata's expression change. Fushimi's fingers dug into him as the taller pressed his mouth against the crotch of Yata's shorts. The heat of his breath flared through the flimsy material right onto Yata's skin, and he let out a clipped groan, fingers pushing into Fushimi's hair.
"You're hard already, Misaki," Fushimi drew out his name in that drawl that he hated, but right then it was of little importance compared to the hum and movement against him.
"So?" Yata mumbled, blood thrumming through his whole body with an intensity that made him feel light-headed. "Shouldn't I be?"
"No," Fushimi mouthed against him. "It's good that you're hard for me."
Yata was willing to bet Fushimi was in exactly the same position, but he didn't say it aloud. He forced himself to pull away from the other, extracting his vaguely trembling fingers from Fushimi's hair so he could move the futon. He dragged it into the middle of the room and knelt to straighten out a folded corner, when, with a bump that knocked him onto his elbows and nearly his face, he found out exactly what state Fushimi was in.
Fushimi knelt behind him, hands grasping Yata's hips again, his own pressed firmly against Yata's ass.
"Fuck," was all Yata could squeeze out as Fushimi ground his hard on against Yata's ass, sending a surge of arousal through both of them.
"Is this how you want to do it, Misaki?" Fushimi asked lightly, a singsong, as he rolled his hips, grip tightening as Yata pushed back to meet him.
Yata pushed himself up onto his hands, pressing back, glad that Fushimi couldn't see his lewd expression as he enjoyed the feel of the other's hard dick flush against him, grinding away like they were clumsy teenagers who didn't know about the real thing. Fushimi's hand appeared on his stomach, and he reacted without thinking, pushing himself upright and leaning his back against Fushimi's chest, head tipping onto his shoulder to meet his kiss, open mouthed and wet.
Fushimi's hands traced his ribs and his abs before Yata found them with his own, and led them downwards, over his hips and between his legs. At first this stuff had been embarrassing, and sometimes it still could be, but Yata had almost got over wanting to bury his face and lay frozen stiff with nerves over time. Now he was more than willing, quite happy to make Fushimi do what he wanted: as long as it didn't involve him saying it out loud.
Helping Fushimi undo his shorts, Yata leaned his head back and let out a low groan as Fushimi's hand ran over his boxers and cupped him, palming his cock with a little squeeze. Yata tilted his hips to encourage the other, but his hand pulled away, thumbs hooking into both layers of material and edging them down bit by bit, exposing the coarse trail of hair and then more skin. Yata bit his bottom lip to stop him blurting something out, but a shuddery noise came out anyway when his cock sprang free from his boxers, and even Fushimi made a little 'hm' of what was probably approval.
"Aren't you just adorable, Misaki?"
"Don't call me that, jerk," Yata hissed as hands brushed over his hips and the tops of his thighs, fingertips always just avoiding touching him where he really, really wanted to be touched.
"It's a rare occurrence, you should take the compliment."
"You're fucking weird."
Yata pulled away from the teasing, turning and sitting so he could pull the rest of his clothing off, kicking it all away, and when he was free, he knelt in front of Fushimi, who got to his feet and looked down with desire drawn plainly across his face. Fushimi's dick was straining against the confines of his tight pants, and Yata sat back on his heels, leaning his face forward just like Fushimi had done a few moments ago.
He reached his hand up and tugged down the zipper a little less elegantly than he'd hoped. Fushimi popped the button himself, and Yata froze a little as the other edged his pants and his underwear down. His hard on slipped free and he pulled down just a little further to expose his balls too – Yata flickered his eyes up and let his mouth open as Fushimi leant forward, sliding the head of his cock onto Yata's tongue.
A shiver ran down the back of his neck, and Yata took the shaft in his hand as he let the weight slip further back on his tongue, closing his lips around the head. Fushimi hissed above him, and it made his veins burn. He took more in a jerky rush, Fushimi's cock bumping into the roof of his mouth, and he sucked, letting the length slowly slip out of his mouth. He repeated himself, feeling Fushimi's abdomen straining against the side of his hand, wanting to press forward, push more into Yata's hot mouth.
He released his cock after a few more slow strokes, spittle trailing from his mouth and dripping onto his chin, going to lick a long line from the base of Fushimi's cock to the tip, placing a wet kiss on the very tip. Rather than taking it back between his lips, he leant in, squeezing with his hand as wet, burning hot skin pressed against his face, and tonguing the join where dick met balls. He pressed sucking little kisses to the tender skin as he laved attention on Fushimi's balls, feeling the taller man tremble as he did, hips straining forward.
"Get down here," Yata said thickly, pulling away.
Fushimi obeyed without hesitation, letting Yata push him down onto his back on the futon, and even not being awkward about Yata pulling off his pants. The redhead pushed apart Fushimi's legs, and immediately dropped his head back between them, palming Fushimi's dick while his mouth went back to his balls. He dropped to his stomach, and Fushimi adjusted his hips, allowing Yata to press his tongue to the sensitive place just behind his balls.
"Uuhh," Fushimi groaned quietly above him, fingers sifting into Yata's hair and tightening, hard, "Misaki..."
It had been a surprise to Yata when he'd discovered Fushimi liked this. He didn't know why, but for some reason it was ... a surprise.
"You really are good at sucking cock," Fushimi said in a tone that made it clear he was grinning to himself. "You have a talent after all."
Yata was about to say something in retort, but Fushimi pulled tightly on his hair, and he shivered down the length of his spine, pressing his mouth around one of Fushimi's balls instead.
Lifting himself, Yata ran the back of his hand over his mouth and crawled up Fushimi's body, making sure to sit his naked ass on Fushimi's dick before he leant over the other and kissed him, hoping he was revolted by the taste of himself. The hand on the back of his neck keeping him close, and the tongue reaching every corner of his mouth seemed to say otherwise though.
In an instant, Yata was flipped onto his back with a choked yelp, Fushimi between his legs. The taller sat up straight, hands going under Yata's thighs and pressing them back into his chest, exposing him. He felt the red on his face deepen, but he kept Fushimi's eyes, willing him to carry on. He did carry on, although not in the way Yata expected.
Fushimi's hands found the crook of hip and thigh, and he pulled Yata further into him, hips resting on Fushimi's thighs. But then, the hands were underneath him on his lower back, and with such force he nearly flipped over, Yata was shoved unceremoniously so that he was on his shoulders, practically upside down. Fushimi caught the backs of his thighs before he could flip over himself, and Yata stared wide-eyed upwards between his own legs.
"What are you doing!" Yata squawked, arms braced against the futon to keep himself steady. He'd thought most of the embarrassment had gone out of sex, but this was a new low – legs spread and ass in the air, right in Fushimi's face—
"Saru, what are you ohh—"
Yata's eyes rolled right back into his head as Fushimi's tongue found his asshole. He couldn't even get any sound out, his throat constricted and tight. Toes curling, he couldn't be sure he didn't black out for a second, as Fushimi drew wide, wet strokes over his hole.
Sparks shot through him, making him tremble all over, fingers twisting into the futon. Every muscle he had clenched, his ass twitching as it was teased.
They'd fucked before. They'd fucked in every immediately obvious position there was, they'd both had each other's cum in their mouths. They'd given handjobs in the dark, in the shower, even in a back alley once in a rush. But never this. Anything simple to get off, quickly and easily, but they'd never done this.
Fushimi's eyes were full of laughter as he looked down at Yata, never taking his gaze off him as he coaxed Yata's hole into relaxing. Yata was somewhere between mortified and never wanting him to stop. It was dirty and humiliating and he shouldn't even be letting Saru do it to him, but he didn't want him to stop either, he wanted to feel this pleasure until he came, with Saru's face between his legs.
"Saru, don't, don't it's d-dirty," he tried, but it sounded pathetic even to him. He didn't mean it. He did, but he didn't want Fushimi to stop.
In response, Fushimi pushed his tongue inside Yata's steadily giving asshole, and Yata rolled his head and groaned so loudly that every neighbour he had, aside and above and below, must have been able to hear him. When Fushimi's hand wrapped around his hanging cock, Yata nearly lost it there and then, and he wasn't ready.
"No, no, don't, I'm gonna come!"
A raw sound seeped out of him as Fushimi pulled his tongue out of Yata's ass, and took his hand away. Yata tipped and dropped onto his side, twitching and shaking as he retracted from imminent orgasm.
"Fuck," he mumbled, "fuck, Saru,"
"You're the dirty one, Misaki," Fushimi said over him. "Coming over just having your asshole licked."
"I didn't come," Yata corrected him with a voice he could barely hear over the rush in his ears. He rolled on to his back, looking up at the other trying to catch his breath.
Fushimi looked down at him with the kind of expression you'd see on a starving man. It made Yata's stomach do another flip, and it only intensified as Fushimi placed a hand by Yata's head and leant down close to him, words quiet and lilting.
"I want to come inside you," he said, staring right into Yata's eyes from behind his smudgy glasses. "I want to come right in your ass."
Yata started to burn all over. How Fushimi could say such lewd things but be completely incapable of admitting he loved, or even liked Yata was beyond him. Still, it made Yata's cock twitch with a reciprocal desire.
"There's lotion in the—"
"Don't need it."
"I do—"
"I have lube."
Yata blinked at him. His head was already spinning, and now it was doubly so.
"Wait," Yata said slowly, "you actually did go to the chemists, didn't you?"
Fushimi was ignoring him, moving away to fish his coat out from under the table where it had ended up.
"You'd rather have lotion in your asshole?" Fushimi said idly as he rooted through inside pockets, pulling out the familiar little bottle.
"Well, obviously!" Yata pushed himself up onto his elbows. "But how did... Were you thinking about this all day?"
"I knew you didn't have any left," Fushimi turned back to him, shuffling onto the futon. "After last time. And you never buy it."
"It's embarrassing! E-especially if the cashier's a girl," Yata blushed from his ears to his collarbones, thinking about the last time he'd considered it and actually ventured into the store, only to see the cashier and leave as quickly as he could.
"Well I was just replacing it," Fushimi said. "I didn't know we were going to use it."
"Liar."
"I'm not always lying, Misaki."
"So you really did come to just hang out."
Fushimi shrugged, avoiding eye contact and twirling the bottle in his fingers.
"Jeez, Saru," Yata sighed, pushing himself up and crawling to Fushimi. He ducked and tipped his head up so as to kiss Fushimi, who had his face turned down. They held it for a long time, and Yata felt that warmth start to fan through him again. Not arousal, that was already there, but that dial marked 'love' that gave the heat a different kind of edge, simultaneously sharper and softer.
"C'mon," Yata muttered, forcing the words out in a stammer, "didn't you want to, y'know... You were gonna come ... in me..."
They locked eyes, Yata doing his best not to flicker away, and before he knew it he was on his back with his legs against his chest again. He sucked in a breath, flinching when Fushimi dribbled lube directly onto his skin, cold and wet. Fingers rubbed against his asshole, two slick digits pressing in at once, just an inch, before pulling out and circling again. Fushimi repeated this, teasing, until Yata couldn't take it anymore.
"Do it properly, Saruhiko! Stop teasing me, it's pissing me off!"
"Tch, you should learn some patience, Mi-sa-kiii."
He bit back a grunt as Fushimi's fingers thrust inside him, hard, in response, in and out. Yata grit his teeth, and Fushimi scissored his knuckles near the entrance; he gave one last fast finger-fuck before he pulled them free.
A pause. Yata caught his breath, and raised his head to look down at Fushimi wiping lube on his cock. If someone had asked him a year ago if the thought of Fushimi handling his own dick turned him on, Yata probably would have punched them. Now, though, it turned him on more than anything.
"C'mon," Yata whispered, reaching down between his own legs and giving his dick a stroke before reaching further down, spreading his fingers either side of his asshole. He was beyond humiliation now; he just wanted Fushimi. He wanted Fushimi inside him, making good on his desire.
Fushimi's face appeared above his own, a hand setting down by his side. Yata flicked his gaze down between them, watching as Fushimi's cock pressed against him, the pressure against his hole as it pushed against, then into him. He let out a deep, slow moan as he watched Fushimi sink inside him, feeling himself stretch out, legs getting tingly and weak with the sensation.
He withdrew and pushed in deeper, repeating until he was balls deep, and Yata was breathing open mouthed, grabbing at Fushimi's arms at the feeling.
Fushimi started moving, slowly at first, and Yata's head lolled back, wondering if he was going to pass out before he even got to come. It was so much. Every thrust into him was sending a wave of heady heat through him, and he was reeling with it.
"Saru," he kept saying, aimlessly. "Saru. Saruhiko."
Without thinking, Yata reached up, and Fushimi slowed, half-pulled out. Unable to aim properly with weak arms, Yata fumbled, but gently took the arms of Fushimi's glasses, and pulled them off his face. Fushimi scrunched up his eyes, squinting at the one beneath him, watching Yata's hand drop the glasses somewhere over the top of his head.
"You've seen me enough," he said with half a delirious laugh, "my turn now."
He looked so different without his glasses. Younger. Yata reached back up and touched his face, which Fushimi reacted to, leaning into it; he thrust deep into Yata with a sudden force, ripping a gutteral 'oh' from the redhead. He kept his steady speed, but thrust hard, jerking his hips against Yata's ass to reach as deep as he could. At the peak of every thrust, Yata let out a little sound, his body jerked up and down with each shift, and it was driving Fushimi kind of crazy.
Yata wiggled his hand down and took his cock, a sticky strand of precum stuck to his stomach as he lifted it into his grip and held himself tight, letting Fushimi's thrusts guide his hand. It didn't take long before he was shaking, head tipping back and his whole body tightening.
"Saru, I'm—"
"Nn."
And he did, his legs prickling and then trembling as orgasm pulsed through him, spurting out onto his chest and stomach as Fushimi grunted, continuing to sink in and out of his clenching ass. Every last drop he had emptied out of him, and when he was done he flopped, letting Fushimi continue to fuck him limply for a few more strokes until he came too, like he promised, inside Yata.
I'm going to have to wash the futon again, was the first thought Yata had as Fushimi pulled out with a hiss, come dripping from the tip of his cock and no doubt from his ass too.
Yata's arms raised without conscious thought, and Fushimi dropped into them. This was new too. Normally Fushimi flopped at his side and just fell asleep by himself, or Yata rolled away with his back to the other. They shared the afterglow this time, their chests heaving out of sync, sweaty skin sticking to each other. They stayed there for a few minutes without speaking, just breathing, Fushimi's hair tickling Yata's neck.
"I like you," Yata said in a murmur. "All that time, I think. Even then. I hate you, but I like you. It's confusing."
With what seemed like a great effort, Fushimi pushed himself up on an elbow, and squinted down at Yata, not saying anything.
"I thought love and hate were supposed to be opposites," Yata said, feeling like reality was starting to blur around the edges, "but I don't think they can be, because you're both."
"You're not making sense," Fushimi said finally, quietly.
"You never make sense," Yata huffed.
"Hm."
"Right." Yata let his head roll to the side, looking away. Fushimi put his head back into the crook of his neck. His breath tickled.
"I suppose I like you, too, sometimes. I don't know about the rest."
Yata breathed in and it felt like he was inhaling a caustic acid. His throat burned, and he had to swallow and swallow to make it pass, stinging his sinuses and his eyes.
"Mhm."
--
When Yata woke the next morning, it was in a daze. He checked the watch he hadn't remembered to take off. 8:13AM. His bed was empty. Fushimi probably left hours ago to get back to Scepter 4, and despite knowing this, Yata's heart sank at waking to a cold bed after he'd finally managed a breakthrough – in himself, and with Fushimi.
He got up and wobbled, cringing at the stickness all over him, but especially between his legs.
"Shower, shower," he muttered to himself, picking his way lightly across the floor. Everything else could wait.
Something caught his eye on the way past, on the table that was still shoved out of the way in the wrong place. A torn piece of paper was on top, with the lube bottle on top of it. Yata wrinkled his nose as he picked it up delicately and set it aside, lifting the paper beneath it and bringing it to him.
On it, in neat handwriting he recognised immediately:
We probably are.