Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Asked by Anonymous:
soumako 4. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

The situation is a little uneasy. That’s true. And Makoto’s never really been alone with Sousuke before. That’s also true. And what’s most true, he realizes as he taps his fingers on his thighs while they awkwardly sit there, is that Sousuke is just as unfairly attractive alone as he was before everyone else had left – somehow even more-so now.

He’s got that broad, masculine, super model body thing going for him and Makoto’s pretty sure his own hands wouldn’t be sweating like this is they hadn’t been abandoned – if Rin and Haru had just stayed here instead of bailing out of the blue and leaving him and Sousuke. Alone. Together.

It’s uneasy, is what it is. And Makoto’s almost positive that his heart hasn’t beaten as hard as this before.

“So what’s the plan…?” Sousuke’s the first to speak, the calmness of his voice still somehow finding a way to shatter through Makoto’s nerves.

“Oh, um…I’m not really sure…” His own voice, on the other hand, is a mess. “They might be coming back…? Or…not…?”

The stillness of Rin’s living room is thick with discomfort, and it’s obvious he isn’t the only one who feels it.

As if to solidify that observation, Sousuke lets out a sigh and a mumbled: “Stupid Rin…” and is halfway through leaning back onto his hands when a sharp intake of breath cuts through the air.

Makoto glances over, concern momentarily ruling over his discomfort. “What was that?” he asks, and he immediately feels stupid for it when he sees the hand rubbing over Sousuke’s shoulder. His bad shoulder. Of course.

“It’s fine,” Sousuke mumbles, gaze somewhere on the ground and hand still placed over where it must hurt beneath his sleeve.

But Makoto knows enough about his history to know that’s not true. “Are you sure? Do you need, like…ice or something?”

That earns a shake of the head. “Too much ice just fucks it up even more.”

“Oh. Well we don’t want that.” Makoto’s not sure where the sheepish chuckle is coming from, but it sounds stupid and he stops himself before it gets too out of control. But Sousuke’s still kneading at his shoulder. And Makoto still feels like he should be able to do something – helpsomehow. And it just kind of comes out before he realizes what he’s offering. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

His offer lingers – confused, broken up words stuttering between them – and then Sousuke looks over. And Makoto realizes this is the first time they made eye contact since being alone. And wow, that shouldn’t make his heart pound so ridiculously like that. This isn’t even anything. They’re just looking at each other. What’d be worse is if Sousuke actually–

“Really? You’d do that?”

Ah. Oh no. Oh boy, Makoto really shouldn’t have opened his mouth. “I–…” the awkward chuckle is back. “I mean…would it help? I don’t want you to hurt.”

He could’ve probably said that a better way too. He can tell by the way something in Sousuke’s expression softens, his eyes glancing away. “It’d probably help, yeah.”

“Well then…” There’s no room to back out now, is there? Makoto just dug his own grave and now he has to deal with it. “Okay. I’ll just…” He shifts over to where Sousuke’s sitting, his body temperature rising already just from the sudden closeness as he settles at his side and reaches out before his nerves have a chance to get the best of him.

Sousuke’s shoulders are the broadest Makoto’s ever seen, and now they’re the broadest he’s evertouched, his fingers kneading cautiously at the area giving him trouble. It’s when Sousuke’s breath hitches through a pained exhale that Makoto starts panicking a little.

“Sorry!” He says as he pulls his hand away, but Sousuke’s shaking his head.

“It’s fine, I–…was actually gonna say it usually feels better without my shirt on.”

Makoto’s brain takes a second to process that. Sousuke…wants to take his shirt off. Sousuke wants to take his shirt off while Makoto sits close and gives him a massage.

Ah.

The possibility that whatever comes out of Makoto’s mouth next will be stupid is overwhelming.Overwhelming. So he just blinks. Wets his lips. Nods shortly as he swallows down the words that are trying to escape.

Whether Sousuke sees the struggle or not is unclear because he moves forward anyway, his arms crossing over his chest to grab onto the front hem of his shirt and pull it over his head. It all happens in one fluid motion, the smell of his cologne drifting over to where Makoto’s purposely fixated his attention toward the ground. And yes…of course Sousuke would have a nice earthy cologne that goes straight to Makoto’s head. Of course he would.

“Makoto.”

Makoto’s attention returns, his head snapping back to where Sousuke’s now waiting, his shirt on the ground and his chest bare and toned and muscular and–

“…Makoto.”

“Yes–” God, he’s stupid. He’s staring and obvious and so stupid– “Wh–…sorry, my head was somewhere else.”

“Is this… …you don’t have to do this if you don’t wa–”

“No, it’s fine!” Why is he shouting? “It’s fine. I just remembered something…I had to do…” his voice peters out slowly. “…later…”

Sousuke watches him. Then he nods. And Makoto presses forward before he can make any more of a fool out of himself.

Sousuke’s skin is warm to the touch – warm and smooth and nice as Makoto tries to focus on his breathing instead of the remarkably attractive person in front of him. Because he’s supposed to be doing a good thing here. And how can he be doing a good thing when he’s thinking very verybad things in his head? Like how nice it would be to get closer – feel a little more – have his skin on Makoto’s skin – maybe lean in a bit and let himself taste–

“Makoto…” Sousuke’s voice is so deep. And smooth. Like honey or molasses or something else that’s easy to get stuck in. “My other shoulder…hurts a little too.”

And there’s no question that Makoto is definitely stuck. 

“O–…okay…” 

He tentatively reaches his free hand over to Sousuke’s other shoulder so he can massage it as well, his balance thrown and his hip coming to rest snugly up against the side of Sousuke’s thigh. He can’t even tell if Sousuke minds, because now things are drastically closer. Now they’re nearly face to face and Makoto’s got his hands on both sides of him, fingers kneading tight muscles beneath warm, tan skin. 

And he can’t bring himself to look up – to look anywhere besides the hollow of Sousuke’s collar bone – because he’s almost certain that if he did, he’d see how Sousuke’s got his gaze fixed on him. And that’s the last thing he needs – to look deep into Sousuke’s eyes from inches away – to notice how they trail down Makoto’s face and come to rest at his lips. Because Makoto can tell, with his pulse taking off into the atmosphere, that it’s already happening. He can already feel Sousuke’s eyes on him. He can already feel their breath dancing together in the small space between them. He can already feel the ripple in the tension as Sousuke’s lips part, “Makoto…” and everything gets extremely real extremely fast. Because Makoto has to then – has to lift his gaze up from Sousuke’s collar bone to his face – to his lips – to where he’s watching him just like Makoto knew he was.

And it’s all extremely real extremely fast because he wants to say something, but his hands have frozen on those tense shoulders and his mouth has frozen into something just ready to speak and Sousuke–…Sousuke’s looking at him. Actually…really…looking at him.

The pull that happens next is undeniable. Sousuke’s hand settles on top of where Makoto’s is still frozen on his shoulder, and he slowly guides Makoto’s hand up the curve of his neck, his skin warm and smooth beneath Makoto’s hesitant touch. And as Makoto’s hand climbs, Sousuke’s eyes flicker down to his where his lips have parted, Makoto’s heart spiking in his chest as Sousuke’s tongue darts out to subconsciously wet his own. And then he’s leaning forward, ever so slowly, and Makoto’s pulse is shooting up his chest because Sousuke stalls at the very last second, just out of reach, and then presses his lips to Makoto’s.

The fire that results is outrageous. And suddenly all thought in Makoto’s brain has shut down and pooled into something warm and sticky like Sousuke’s voice because they’re–…they’rekissing. They’re kissing and Sousuke’s lips are soft but a bit unsure and it’s enough for Makoto’s body to work on autopilot, his hands pulling off of Sousuke and coming to rest between them like he doesn’t know what to with them because they both might be physically tough-looking and sure of themselves but this is new. And this is different. And there’s definitely some hesitancy in Sousuke’s movements as they break for a breath and then he gently pulls Makoto back in for another.

It’s all so much and Makoto’s hands are shaking and he’s sure he’s going to fuck this up soon if they keep at it but–

But then there’s a far-off sound that barely registers until it’s–

“We’re back.”

Both Makoto and Sousuke push away from each other with a start, Makoto’s pulse spiking but for a whole other reason now as the footsteps trail into the living room and then Rin’s appearing, takeout bags in tow and Haru following behind.

“Got some w–wwwhat’s up with you two?”

Rin’s look of suspicion settles over the two of them like a wet blanket, Makoto trying his damnedest to calm his breathing and get his face to be the right color, all without making eye contact.

Sousuke is the first to talk, and is very good at sounding uninterested. “What.”

The bags are set down on the nearby table, Rin raising an eyebrow as he glances back and forth at them and then settles on Sousuke. “Why the hell’s your shirt off?”

Haru sets his bag down too, as genuinely uninterested as Sousuke is pretending to be.

“My shoulder was acting up,” Sousuke says, giving it a roll for good measure, then, “Why? Think you were missing out on something good?”

Rin goes red at that, a scandalized frown plastering itself across his face. “Idiot. I don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Sousuke shrugs, “You’re the one suggesting weird things,” and Makoto’s never seen anyone flip a suspicion around onto someone else like that before. He’s almost impressed.

“Anyway,” Rin’s flustered now, Haru rolling his eyes behind him, “we got food, you ungrateful bastard. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Sousuke deadpans, and then helps pull the containers out of the bags and onto the table in front of them.

Makoto finds a spot between Rin and Haru, confident now that he can at least handle what had just happened on the outside, even if he’s a mess of giddy hormones on the inside.

And he’s almost got it too, that is, until Sousuke’s voice is ringing out again, “Makoto,” a takeout container reached out toward him as he glances across the table.

Because Sousuke’s looking at him again, and it’s different now, and as Makoto takes the food from him – “…thanks…” – the corner of Sousuke’s mouth quirks up into a grace of a smile, barely there but still detonating something warm and gooey in Makoto’s chest.

Yep. He’s definitely in trouble.

Chapter Text

It had started with a tie – a neck and neck finish that no one could call but both fucking knew they won and now it’s just– now it’s just this. Now it’s a shouting match across the pool deck and it’s both of their voices echoing off the high ceiling and it’s everyone, both Iwatobi and Samezuka, stopped to watch them because this isn’t even about the race anymore. This isn’t even about swimming or who won or who didn’t or anything. Now it’s fighting just to fight and the tension is at an all time high as they scream at each other, fists balled and voices strained because Rin just said it. Rin just hauled off and told Haru exactly how much better he is at everything and how he’ll always be better and Haru is done.

“Shut up!”

But Rin’s still fighting. “Make me!”

And it’s enough to set Haru on the move – to hone in. To advance quickly onto where Rin is standing near the back wall of lockers because– “Shut up!”

“Make me!”

He passes Makoto and Sousuke and Momo and he’s zeroing in, voice reaching its peak because he’s seeing red and Rin’s starting to move in on him too and– “SHUT THE FUCK UP, RIN!”

“GET OVER HERE AND MAKE ME.”

They collide with an explosion of slick skin and fuming intentions and Haru gets his hands on Rin’s shoulder and the base of his throat and he staggers him backward – fast fast fast until Rin’s hitting flush against the lockers with a hollow echo and Haru crashes their lips together – swallows Rin’s words right out of his fucking mouth and he makes him shut up.

Rin freezes against him, hands stock-still. And the only thing Haru can hear is the pounding of his pulse in his ears. Not the murmured reactions of the others. Not the rough way Rin swallows. Just his pulse – his blood pumping angrily through his veins as he keeps his grip tight. And he’s sure – he’s almost positive that he can feel the subtle press back of Rin’s lips against his own – hesitant and unsure – but then Rin’s hands are slamming onto Haru’s bare chest and he’s shoving him like he’s never shoved before and: “The fuck are you doing?”

Haru stumbles back, breath heavy, and he doesn’t even give a shit about all the judging mumbling that’s starting to filter back into his brain now, because Rin’s staring at him – angry and heated but also maybe a little–…maybe a little bit scared. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, brow furrowed deeply, but Haru can’t give him an answer. Haru can’t tell him what he’s doing because he didn’t even realize he was going to do it until it was already happening. And maybe…maybe this was something he needed to do during all those other fights instead of punching.

Rin huffs, an irritated noise from the back of his throat as he tears away from the wall and moves purposefully toward the locker room, his feet smacking against the wet ground and echoing off the walls with every step.

When he’s finally disappeared behind the door, the world sort of creaks back into motion. And it’s suddenly very uncomfortable to have everyone’s eyes on him.

Makoto tries… “Haru–” but Haru’s already moving – already moving toward the bench and picking up his bag and not even bothering to throw it over his shoulder before he walks out of practice and out of the school.

He gets the message at 9:30 that night, and his veins ignite again.

‘we need to talk’

They meet on the pier, now empty and dark, and the wind picks up just in time for Rin to turn and see him. They stand silently with a rift between them, and Haru’s not even really sure what particular rift it is in this moment in time.

“So. I guess I’ll say it again.” Rin’s much calmer now that he’s bathed by the moon. Almost worryingly calm. “What the fuck were you doing?”

It’s a simple enough question, but Haru isn’t any closer to answering it now than he was after it had happened. So he lets his gaze drift over to the water, and then quietly says: “I don’t know.”

It’s not the answer Rin wants. They both know it. “You don’t know?” The anger should be coming back, but it’s not. Maybe because it’d clash against the calm night. Maybe because he’s all screamed-out from this afternoon. “You kissed me. We were fighting and you kissed me.”

“I know.”

“In front of everybody.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

Haru frowns. “I don’t know.”

Rin turns toward the railing, clearly fed up. But he must be used to it – to Haru fumbling around through his life without understanding how he’s feeling – must be used to how his misunderstanding creates Rin’s own misunderstandings, which creates these rifts and then they’re fighting again – fighting and punching and…

“You pushed me off…”

Rin glances up at that, his head turned to look at where Haru is standing. He watches for a moment before letting out a quiet tisk and looking up at where the moon hangs in the darkened sky. “What the hell would you have done? We were in front of everyone.”

It’s sort of a blunt reasoning, but Haru supposes he can’t deny he might’ve done the same thing. He had really picked a shitty time to go for…whatever that was – really fucked up a lot of things and put Rin in an impossible situation. And yeah…he guesses he would’ve probably reacted the same way. Maybe not if they were alone. But with all those people…

“Haru…” Rin’s voice is suddenly very small. “Y’know…everybody’s gone now…”

His reserved tone has Haru looking back up, confused.

And Rin must be waiting for something, because when he doesn’t get it, he looks up too. “You know?” he repeats, more confident this time. “There’s… I mean, it’s just us.”

Haru blinks, his brow beginning to furrow because–

“Oh my god.” The anger’s coming out now. “I’m telling you that you can do it again.”

“Do it?”

And Rin looks like he’s had just about enough. “Kiss me, you fucking idiot.”

Haru blinks. Oh.

Oh.

He looks over Rin’s body language, pretty sure that clenched fists are usually sorted under the ‘closed off’ category, but Rin’s saying it’s okay – is telling him to do it again. So…

Haru takes a step forward, Rin’s face becoming clearer and the blush settled over his cheeks pale and pretty in the moonlight. His eyes dart away at the last second, but he unclenches his fists and lets his hands hang at his sides and Haru’s heart is suddenly beating very hard, but not like it was this afternoon. Not anything at all like it was this afternoon.

Haru can see Rin’s throat work as he swallows, and when Haru leans in, Rin closes his eyes, and then their lips slot together gently.

It’s different from before. But still good. Still enough to make Haru’s pulse quicken. And when he leans back, Rin’s eyes are half-lidded and the blush has spread.

Haru waits a beat. Then: “…well?”

The way Rin clears his throat is nothing short of dramatic. “It was fine.” He crosses his arms over his chest, making a scene, and Haru is happy because Rin only makes a scene over the things that are most important. “Hell of a lot better without half the goddamn school watching me.”

It’s pretty over-the-top, and it brings a small smile to Haru’s face as he leans in a readies his pulse for another take-off into the atmosphere.

Chapter Text

“YOU DID WHAT?”

Nagisa’s hands immediately fly up in an attempt to calm the boy in front of him, his laugh sheepish as he speaks. “Now now, Rei-chan. It’s not that bad–”

“Not that bad?!” Rei’s now officially entering freak-out mode. “You got a butterfly tattoo on your–your–”

“It’s covered! Even when we’re swimming!” Nagisa takes the opportunity to motion toward the seat of his pants. “Besides, I thought you’d be happy that I love you so much that I got a tattoo of your animal.”

Aaaaand now the guilt train is rolling in. “Nagisa-kun…” Rei takes a second to breathe, adjusting his glasses as he closes his eyes. “That’s besides the point. What will people say if they see it? Everyone already associates my presence with a butterfly, and the reasons why you would have one tattooed onto your–…well your backside, are overwhelmingly slim.”

Nagisa lets him finish – waits patiently for him to voice his concerns like he knew he was going to – and then he just offers his best reassuring smile. “I’ll make sure to keep myself covered in the locker room.” And then, he tilts his head. “It’s for me and you anyway, Rei-chan. No one needs to know.”

It’s an assurance that takes a bit to settle, probably because it isn’t exactly rare that Nagisa decides to move about stark-naked, regardless of whoever happens to be around. But, it’s also true that he only does his best when it comes to his and Rei’s relationship – has been like that ever since the very first day. So…regrettably, Rei sighs and then accepts it. “Alright then.”

Now that the initial shock of it has worn off, Nagisa slips flawlessly into one of his trademark pouts. “Oi, Rei-chan…you haven’t even asked to see it yet.”

It’s another sigh from the boy in front of him. “Very well, let me see.”

Nagisa’s pout immediately disappears, having done it’s job, and an eager smile takes its place as he hops over and then turns to drop his pants in front of his boyfriend.

“Ah…” Rei’s eyes dance over the crisp, curling purple lines that dance across Nagisa’s creamy skin. And…alright. He has to admit, “Well…that is rather nice.”

His approval stokes Nagisa’s mischief. “Y’know…” he continues, his voice slipping into something lower and much quieter. “It still hurts. I think it needs a kiss to heal faster.”

Rei’s eye twitches, still not used to the sudden switch his other half frequently likes to throw at him. “Nagisa-kun…”

But he does it. He sighs again, but he definitely does it.

They go two long careful months without anyone knowing. Nagisa is careful and Rei keeps his mouth shut and it all goes surprisingly well.

Until it doesn’t.

“Is that a butterfly?”

Nagisa and Rei both freeze in their various states of undress, Makoto’s question bouncing off the locker room walls but not getting an immediate answer.

Nagisa’s pretty sure the damage is already done, and that any sort of denial would look even more obvious, so he expressly avoids eye contact with Rei and continues to slip his underwear up and over the curve of his ass with a vague: “Yeah.”

Then things start to roll back into play, and everyone starts moving again, and Rei’s almost 100% sure no one’s going to comment any more on it until…well until:

“It’s because Nagisa and Rei are sleeping together.”

Everyone’s heads violently whip to where Haru is nonchalantly pulling his own pants up, completely lost to the fact that Rei’s face is ten shades redder until he glances up.

Then: “…what.”

And Nagisa races over to where Rei is about ready to explode into a mess of embarrassment because:

“Ah-hahaha there there, Rei-chan. We got away with it for a long ti–”

“NAGISA-KUUUUN!”

Chapter Text

They’ve been here for ten minutes – ten minutes – and the bartender is already hitting on Makoto.

It’s not anything new. Sousuke’s taken the metaphorical backseat to Makoto’s good looks in public so many times he can’t even keep count. But those times were different, because at those times he wasn’t dating Makoto yet – hadn’t given in and sucked up the courage to just fucking tell Makoto that he was attracted to him, just like all the other people who hit on him when they go out. But that was before. And this is now. And Sousuke’s seeing red as he downs another beer so he doesn’t have to focus on what’s going on in front of him.

Ten minutes turn into an hour – one beer turns into many – and still, the bartender hovers near them, resting her elbows on the bar-top and leaning in so she can say whatever the hell it is she’s saying.

And what’s worse is Makoto doesn’t get it. Sousuke had realized that immediately the first time it happened. The other person could damn near straddle him before he had any sort of clue that he was being hit on (which was part of the reason why it took him and Sousuke so goddamn long to get together in the first place). And that means Makoto smiles back – mistakes flirting for genuine kindness – says things that he doesn’t understand comes across as flirting back – and it just creates this fucking pit in Sousuke’s gut and it makes him want to do things he’s not proud of.

So he sits. And stews. And throws terrible glares at anyone else who tries to get too close to Makoto as they walk by. Because Makoto and the bartender are laughing and Sousuke is this fucking close to saying something but he doesn’t want to embarrass Makoto and god fucking damn it why does Makoto have to be so ridiculously attractive and kind and–

There’s a shift in the air. The bartender reaches across the bar-top and Sousuke’s got a ton of awful outcomes playing in his head because he can’t stand to see anyone else put their hands on Makoto and he just snaps – just moves forward and clamps onto Makoto’s shoulder as gently as possible and pushes him in the other direction – away from the bar and away from the other people and they’re in the darkest corner of the room when they finally stop moving, Makoto’s back pressed against the wall and Sousuke’s body towering over him impressively, given the fact that Makoto is built just as well.

It’s the look that Makoto gives him as he stares up at him that does it – surprised and confused and so doe-eyed that it makes Sousuke’s chest tighten. “What’s wrong? Did something ha–”

“We need’ta leave.” And whoa, he didn’t realize just how buzzed he was until he started moving and trying to speak. Maybe he should’ve cooled it with those beers.

Makoto’s worry only deepens, his brows furrowing endearingly, and Sousuke can smell his cologne now that they’re closer than they probably should be. “Leave? Why?”

The lights from the dance floor wash over his face – honest and pure.

It makes Sousuke want to do bad things again.

“Bartender’s too friendly.” That comes out much more put-together. Much more legit. 

Makoto must hear it. “Too–…Sousuke wha–”

“She’s too friendly with you, Makoto.” He says it probably a bit too loudly. And when exactly did he put his hands around Makoto’s wrists? “She’s…she wants–”

“Wait a minute.” There’s another shift in the air again, but this time it’s from Makoto, his confusion slowly filtering into something different and possibly even mischievous as he must work it out in his head. “Are…you jealous?”

Sousuke frowns. Jealous? Fuck that. The two of them haven’t even properly fooled around yet. What’s there to be jealous of?

“You’re drunk at least,” Makoto says before Sousuke can form a response, and there’s definitely a glint of something different flashing in his eyes.

Sousuke scoffs. “I’m not drunk.”

“But you are jealous.” 

It’s knowing enough that it’s almost a little irritating, Sousuke’s lips forming into a hard line as he tries to get things back in his court again. Because Makoto’s smiling now – no…smirking now. And Sousuke’s never seen that before – never seen this heated look that makes those usually bright eyes go impossibly dark.

It’s… It’s…really hot…actually.

“Sousuke–”

He’s cut off as Sousuke swoops forward, closing the space between them as he slots their lips together purposefully. It only takes a second before Makoto gets with the program and presses back, his hands coming up to rest on either side of Sousuke’s neck as he’s crowded against the wall by his body.

It’s sloppy. Sousuke drags his tongue along Makoto’s and tastes the drink that he didn’t have to pay for because the bartender had said it was on the house. It’s enough to stoke the sour warmth sitting low in his stomach – to make him grab at Makoto’s waist with both hands – to both push Makoto back and pull his body into him because all the pent up adrenaline is working its way through his veins and yes, maybe he is a little drunk, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t wanted to do this for way too fucking long already.

Makoto pulls away with an endearing gasp for air and an almost broken: “S–… We should go back.”

He’s not the only one struggling for air. “Go back?” 

“To your place.”

It’s all so very obvious that Sousuke can already feel himself getting hard, visions of what’s to come playing out for him in his head. And…yeah. “We should go back to my place.”

“You have to close your tab.”

The thought of interacting with the bartender should throw a wrench in Sousuke’s high, but it does just the opposite, a heated grin making its way across his face as he leads them back to the bar and tells her they’re leaving. And when he’s got his card back, he slips it into his wallet and then hangs his arm around Makoto’s shoulder, all while keeping that eye-contact and saying pointedly: “Have a good night.”

Because he definitely will. He’s the one leaving with Makoto. He’s the one taking him home. And that’s enough to blow that remaining jealousy clear out of the fucking water.

Chapter Text

Makoto’s family is all gone – off to see the sights on a vacation that makoto’s practice schedule has made impossible to join. But it’s not all bad. He gets the house to himself. Plus he doesn’t have to deal with Ren and Ran (as much as he loves them). And, probably best of all, Haru gets to stay over as much as he wants. 

“As much as he wants” actually turns out to be “every day of the week so far”, but Makoto’s not complaining. Why would he when it means he gets to spend more time with his best friend?

His–…yes. …his best friend. That’s what they are alright – Best Friends even though it’s pretty clear to every one that they’d be solid More That Best Friends if they could get it together and do something about it. But it’s difficult. And Makoto’s not exactly the boldest of people. And it’s not like Haru’s making a move either, so they just–…they just stay Best Friends and are glad with it. Even if they’re not completely satisfied.

“Haru…” Makoto’s just gotten back from errands, his houseguest having opted to stay home and not make an effort.

It’s fine though, he decides as he slips his shoes off and sets the grocery bags on the kitchen counter, as long as Haru at least makes the effort to help put things away.

Speaking of which, what happened to the can opener? They had used it last night for dinner but he’s almost positive Haru was the one who ended up putting it away. But it’s not here – not in the drawer or the sink or anything – and Makoto needs to get this corn out of the can so he can drain it before dinner.

“Haru.” He sets off to find his elusive houseguest, checking in the front room and the bathroom before finally settling on the bedroom, the door creaking open on its hinges as he nudges it open and looks in. “Hey, have you seen the…” he freezes. “Oh.”

Because there’s Haru, no longer missing and in fact quite present, his bare shoulders poking out from under the bedsheets and his hair fanned out across the pillow.

It’s a sight that has Makoto’s heart sinking. A sight that, he’s not too proud to admit, has visited him in his daydreams more than a few times. 

But still… “Haru…” He glances at the pile of clothes folded neatly at the foot of the nightstand, and then back up at where those blue eyes are watching him. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Haru blinks – lazy – and then nods.

The wait for more stretches out into something too awkward to continue, so Makoto puts a cautious end to it. “And that is…?”

Haru shifts in the bed, the white sheets falling and pooling at his lower back as he props himself up on his elbows. “I need help.”

And oh god…that’s definitely a look Makoto’s brain is no stranger to either. “Help…with what?”

His answer comes in the form of Haru pointing towards the nightstand, the small bottle that Makoto hadn’t noticed just now registering as out of place.

“What is that?” he asks carefully, because if this is anything like one of his daydreams, the contents of that bottle could definitely be categorized under More Than Best Friends.

But Haru simply addresses it with nonchalance, something Makoto is having a hard time reaching on his own. “Kou gave it to me. It’s for muscle tightness.”

Makoto walks over to the nightstand to get a better look, picking up the dark blue bottle and squinting as he reads the label and fine print beneath it. 

Lavender Essential Oil

Interesting.

“I can’t reach some places.” Haru’s moving again, this time the bed sheet settling over his lap as he sits up all the way. “I tried.”

Seconds tick by before Makoto catches himself staring, but can it really be helped? What’re you supposed to do when your Best Friend is naked in your bed and asking to have oil rubbed all over them?

“Um…” Makoto tears his gaze back toward the bottle, desperate for a distraction. “…Haru–”

“Makoto…” Electricity shoots through Makoto’s veins as Haru’s fingers wrap around his wrist, delicate but familiar. And he can’t help but look back down at where Haru is now peering up at him, blue eyes swimming with something unplaceable as he says it. “You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

Makoto swallows. That’s not fair. That’s so not fair. How is he supposed to refuse to help when Haru goes and does something like that – tells him that Makoto’s the only one he wants touching his body? It’s not faiiir.

“Al–…alright, I’ll do the best I can,” he ends up saying anyway, the confidence that he hoped would be there gone missing as well. 

But Haru must not care, because he lets go of Makoto’s wrist, seemingly satisfied, and then lays back down on his stomach. 

The open spot on the edge of the bed calls to Makoto, and he fills it before he can back out, the mattress dipping under his weight. “So how much am I supposed to use?” he asks while reading the back of the bottle. The last thing he needs is to mess up somewhere.

“Not too much,” Haru answers quietly, his face turned away and facing the wall. “Little goes a long way.”

Makoto nods – realizes Haru can’t see him – and then twists open the cap to the bottle. The lavender wafts across his senses instantly, filling them with a sense of calmness that he wishes would work on his nerves as well. Then he tips the bottle until it drips…one…two…three…and a nice little pool has formed in the palm of his hand, ready even with how very unprepared Makoto feels.

“Where should I start?”

“I don’t care.”

That’s–… “Up to you…” –because that’s too much pressure, figuring out where to massage someone first.

Haru huffs, tiny but annoyed. “Back.”

“Okay.” And then Makoto brings his hand down purposefully, square between the arch of Haru’s shoulder blades, and pushes himself to keep moving. 

He spreads the oil over Haru’s skin, his fingers becoming just as slick with it as he rubs it in. And his nerves are definitely still churning, but he thinks maybe he can get through this if it juststays like this – Haru’s face turned away and Makoto’s just as hidden above him.

He slides his hand over the curve of Haru’s right shoulder blade, and then brings it down the soft bend of his spine, lower and lower and lower until Haru’s swallowing and Makoto feels his back arch ever so slightly with his touch. 

It’s–… That was nothing. An accident. Everything’s okay, right?

“Is it supposed to be hot?” Makoto asks as a scapegoat, the oil seeming to heat up the more he rubs it in.

Haru is quiet for a second – thinking maybe? – and then he clears his throat. “Dunno.”

“Well was it before?”

“I don’t…remember–”

“You don’t remem–”

“That’s enough for now.” Suddenly Haru’s moving beneath him, shifting until he’s sitting up but still turned away for the most part. He’s got the end of the bedsheet grasped in his hand and pulled up to his chest, a confusing act of modesty for someone who willingly stripped and made themselves comfortable in someone else’s bed. But he’s frowning. And he won’t look at anything but the lamp on the nightstand. And if Makoto’s eyes aren’t messing with him, he’s almost sure there’s the slightest brush of pink dusting his cheeks.

“Haru, wait,” he tries, because this may be overall uncomfortable, but whatever muscle pain Haru’s feeling must be bad enough for him to go this far. So why should they stop? “I’m sorry. I won’t talk anymore. Let me help you.”

Haru doesn’t move, his glare still directed away. 

Makoto pushes further, “I’ll just do your front…” the bottle slipping in his slick hands as he pours more into his palm. “C’mon…”

What feels like an eternity ticks away, and he’s almost positive Haru’s going to stick to his stubborn guns. But then his gaze drops to the floor…and then Makoto’s knee, and then settles in the spot between them as he slowly lets the blanket drop into his lap. 

Makoto steadies himself, not too proud to deny that such a small reveal still finds a way to stoke the fire burning in his chest. This is Haru, after all. Haru Haru. The Haru who mostly keeps to himself but is now sitting before him with nothing more than a thin blanket to cover up. 

But Makoto can’t think about that too much now. He has a job to do. And he’s not sure how successful he can be if he slips into a daydream right in the middle of it.

“Here,” he says, pulling his leg from the edge and onto the bed so he can mirror Haru and sit cross-legged in front of him. Then he rubs his hands together, getting them sufficiently oiled up, and then runs them over the tops of Haru’s shoulders. 

Haru tenses but immediately relaxes – like he’s hyper-aware of his own body and the tone between them and how thick the air is suddenly getting with the way he won’t look at Makoto like this. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe they don’t need eye-contact as Makoto rubs the oil into his skin, the noise of it almost obscene if you wanted to think of it that way. Makoto can’t helpbut think of it like that…his mind wandering as his hands do the same – over the delicate curve of Haru’s collarbones – down the smooth planes of his chest – a barely-there brush over one of his nipples that has Haru hissing a quick intake of breath.

“Makoto–”

“Sorry.” He’s quick to apologize. “I’m sorry, it was an accident.” Even if that reaction could have his daydream-mind spinning into overdrive right now if he didn’t keep himself in check.

But he has to. He has to keep himself in check. Because Haru is swallowing roughly. And Haru is sitting close. And Haru still hasn’t looked at him but the blush has blossomed high on his cheekbones. 

Makoto doesn’t realize his own hands are shaking until he takes them off of Haru for more oil. The dark blue bottle trembles in his hand as he tips it, more spilling out than he meant to, but it’s hard to concentrate when Haru’s sitting there in front of him, skin glistening and cheeks pink and hands buried in the blanket draped over his lap.

“What…” he hasn’t exactly figured out how to word this yet. “Where…else…?”

He almost hopes Haru says ‘nowhere.’, ‘nothing.’, ‘we’re done.’, because it’s getting harder and harder to control the thoughts in his head. Harder and harder to keep himself from doing something stupid. Harder and harder to–

Haru shifts. Pulls the bed sheet toward the side. Pulls until his legs are free but his lap is still covered, that thin sheet the only thing keeping him modest.

And alright…Makoto’s hands are definitely shaking now.

But it’s okay, he tells himself, reaching down to hesitantly start at Haru’s calf. It’s okay, he tells himself, massaging the oil into tight skin and tight muscle as he works further and further up Haru’s leg. It’s okay, he tells himself, as Haru’s upper body tenses more and more the further Makoto’s hand gets to the edge of the bedsheet, goosebumps rising on his arms as he clings onto the fabric and swallows.

It’s a test of endurance – of guts – and Makoto’s pretty sure he’s going to fail it when he notices the bulge hiding beneath the stark white sheet and Haru’s hands.

Because Haru’s–…

He’s…

“Makoto…” He’s got his hand spread wide across Haru’s inner thigh. He’s got it dangerously close and suddenly Haru’s not the only one who needs to hide something. Especially when Haru turns his face toward him, eyes still hidden by his bangs and trained on the bed, his voice small but heated. “You stopped…”

Makoto swallows, unsure and unable to move. Yes he stopped. Yes he stopped because if he goes any further he’ll–… Unless Haru wants him to–…

He doesn’t get any more time to debate his next move, because before he knows it, it’s being made for him – Haru’s hand coming to rest palm down against his, guiding him, ever so slowly, further up and up and up, and he’s still not looking but he’s swallowing roughly. And his lips are parting. And Makoto’s heart is taking off into the roof as Haru hesitantly slides both their hands under the bed sheet, Makoto’s palm slipping and then settling over where Haru is devastatingly hard beneath it.

Makoto’s nerves start to fire off one by one, Haru letting out a shaky breath as Makoto apprehensively rubs over him and then takes him fully in his hand. Because this is not what Best Friends do. This is not a Best Friends thing. This is not a–

Suddenly Haru’s hand is disappearing and coming to help the other work open Makoto’s pants, Makoto not even having enough time to freak out before he’s got Haru reaching in and pulling him out and it’s a wonder he hasn’t already came with how ridiculously wound up he is.

Haru’s hand moves quickly, slick with oil from where he had guided Makoto’s before – where Makoto’s now trying to match Haru’s speed, which is really difficult with how pleasure points are detonating all over his body and it’s even better because it’s Haru who’s making it happen. It’s Haru who’s letting out all these breathy sighs, eyebrows drawn together and lips wet and–

“Kiss me.”

Makoto’s speed drops off, his heart plummeting in his chest because–

“Makoto…” and he’s looking at him. He’s finally fucking looking at him – dark blue eyes half-lidded and heated and looking right at him and: “Kiss me.”

Makoto swallows. Can’t decipher if the bubbly heat low in his gut is from Haru’s hand or the thought that kissing is definitely not a Best Friend thing – that kissing Haru is something that’s been dancing across his daydreams since they were little – that this is happening – right now. They’re doing this.

He leans forward without any more hesitation, crashing their lips together, and it might be a little rough but Haru’s kissing him back – pressing back – picking up speed as he jerks Makoto off because maybe this is as important to Haru as it is to Makoto. Their tongues slide together and Makoto pushes, Haru following the flow as he’s pushed down and Makoto comes to rest over him, taking both of their dicks in his hand – his own and Haru’s – and jerking them off together with a desperate, slick heat that has Haru grabbing at Makoto’s shoulders to keep a handle on the noises slipping out of his mouth.

But Makoto loves them – loves the needy whines that he swallows up from him – and he loves them because it’s Haru, and because it’s him who’s making Haru fall apart. And as his hand works quickly between them, Makoto can feel the warmth uncurling deep in his gut. And then Haru’s tensing, and Makoto’s tensing, and they’re both tipping over the edge in their own way and Makoto’s seeing stars in the back of his eyelids as he comes in his hand and on Haru’s stomach.

Haru’s chest is rising and falling like he’s just finished his twentieth lap, his eyes still squeezed shut as the heat finishes rolling through him. It’s possibly the most gorgeous thing Makoto’s had the pleasure of seeing, but then again, Haru’s always been like that…hasn’t he…

“Haru…” 

Dark blue meets his again. Still warm. Still half-lidded. And Makoto can’t help but smile, because Haru might be a mess, but he still takes his hold on Makoto’s shoulders and pulls him down onto him, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face in the crook there.

“You okay?” Makoto softly chuckles, and when he gets a nod, he says: “There’s oil everywhere…” Another nod. And Makoto’s smile just grows. “Might have to do it over again.”

Haru tightens his hold, lets out a breath, and nods once more.