Archive of Our Own ^beta

In another universe, Yotasuke is still enjoying his never-ending summer vacation, away from the campus. Drawing or not, gaming or not, he would be alone in his new apartment, relishing in the peace and quiet only disturbed by the soft hum of the subpar air conditioning.

However, in the universe he currently occupies, he is walking down the hallway to reach his first class of the day, of the semester, trying to swerve past the oncoming students that all possess the same rejuvenated glow that comes with two months of no assignments or responsibilities, save maybe for a summer job.

Yotasuke does a good job of not bumping into anyone; he even manages to look a few people in the eye and acknowledge their existence with a nod after they’ve greeted him. He hasn’t seen these people in two months. The reunion is as familiar as it is anxiety-inducing, but Yotasuke thinks he might just survive the couple more meters it takes to get to the classroom.

“Yotasuke!”

Suddenly, unexplainably, Yotasuke seems to have changed his mind. He would bolt for the door if it weren’t for the hand already gripping his wrist from behind. He can’t run nor can he hide, so all that is left is to turn around and face the music.

“...Yatora,” he mumbles as a greeting, first taking in the white sneakers, then the baggy jeans, followed by the casual saffron-coloured hoodie. It takes a moment before Yotasuke is willing to meet the man’s eyes, so he spends that time looking at the package held under Yatora’s arm. It’s wrapped in paper that looks just like porcelain on the first glance, but as Yotasuke keeps staring, he makes out the blue designs on the white background to be different animals. Bunnies, cats, even deer. There’s even a blue satin ribbon tied around the small box.

“How was your summer?” Yatora asks, though by the time Yotasuke actually registers the question, he assumes the silence has already grown awkward. He looks up and sees the familiar golden eyes along with that stupid grin and his wild, bleached hair. The appealing composition of his features is overshadowed by Yotasuke’s annoyance, however.

“We literally hung out two weeks ago.”

They hadn’t seen much that summer due to Yatora being busy at the various jobs he worked for those two months, but they found a couple free moments to catch up. Nothing special, but still, Yotasuke assumed Yatora would remember those days and nights, especially since Yotasuke, of all people, did remember.

“I know, I know, but y’know, a lot of things can change in just two weeks,” Yatora says with that same grin still present on his face, his subtle canines making their appearance. “For starters, you’re now a year older.”

Yotasuke blinks in surprise as Yatora brings forward the wrapped package. A gift? For him? They’ve never really gotten each other anything no matter how long they’ve now known each other. Besides…

“How’d you know my birthday had passed?” he asks, glaring at Yatora with suspicion.

“Huh? What do you mean? You’ve told me before. September 19, yeah?” the other man says, proving that maybe Yotasuke is the one with the worse memory after all. However, Yatora isn’t done yet. “But… I might have confirmed the date with Hashida after you and I hung out.”

Yotasuke continues to stare, however, this time his victim is the wrapped gift in Yatora’s outstretched hands.

“I didn’t really know what to get you, I mean, I’m not exactly made of money, but after the discussion we had, I decided, why the hell not, you know?” Yatora explains, and Yotasuke looks at him in confusion. What discussion? Does he mean their meeting two weeks prior? What did they even talk about back then?

“...You didn’t have to get me anything,” Yotasuke grumbles, because Yatora’s birthday was all the way back in early July, and obviously Yotasuke hadn’t bothered to buy him anything. It would’ve felt weird, and then the man would’ve felt obliged to get Yotasuke something back. It would’ve just been awkward for both of them.

Yet here they are.

“But I wanted to, so come on and take it already!” Yatora insists with a dramatic groan. Yotasuke doesn’t move, so he basically inches closer until the gift is nearly brushing the shorter man’s plaid-covered chest, and then he lets go.

With his eyes flying wide, Yotasuke basically grabs the package out of instinct. It’s not very heavy, and he has no idea what it could hold inside, but now it’s in his hands. Forced to receive the gift, Yotasuke glares at Yatora for a moment, but after seeing the man’s jovial smile, something shifts.

Well, if Yatora went out of his way to buy a gift for him, maybe Yotasuke should be grateful. Money is something the man lacks, so whatever he decided to buy, he must’ve been sure Yotasuke would like it.

Better to see it for what it is before thanking him, though.

Yotasuke reaches for the blue ribbon, tied in a neat bow, but quickly finds Yatora’s hand grabbing his own in order to stop him. He looks up to see a rather flushed Yatora, looking away and scrambling to find words.

“Um, maybe you should wait until you’re alone before opening it. Yeah, yeah, that would work best,” he says with a nervous laugh. What suddenly happened to his composed exterior? Sure, Yatora sometimes starts bawling at the most curious of things, but this hardly seems comparable to a situation where he sees beautiful artwork or receives one of Yotasuke’s begrudging compliments. “You must’ve settled into your new apartment by now, right? Yeah, should be easy to open this there. Somewhere more… private.”

What the hell did this man wrap inside these prints of animals?

Yotasuke looks at Yatora. “This isn’t anything weird, is it?” he asks, but in reality, he doesn’t really know what “weird” would mean in this situation.

“Nah, just, y’know… We had that conversation and it sparked this idea and… Yeah. Oh, look, class is about to start!”

Yotasuke glances at the gift only for a second, but when he looks back up, Yatora is already gone. The clock on the wall shows that he wasn’t lying. Yotasuke hoists the package under his arm as it’s a bit too bulky to fit into his bag despite its relatively small size, and he walks into the classroom after Yatora and the other students.

They’re already adults, yet for the first class of the semester, they’re treated as elementary schoolers in a homeroom, the basics getting read out to them from a piece of paper. The general gist of the major assignments as well as the big events taking place at Geidai that semester.

Yotasuke tries to pay attention, but the pretty gift resting between his feet takes up most of his time. What is in there? Why can’t he open it here? Is it something embarrassing?

He turns his head to the side, where Yatora is sitting just a few seats away, just in time to see his head whip back to face the front of the room.

Seriously, what is this guy’s deal? He’s being so weird, which is surprising, given the fact that if all of the oil painting majors were to be asked who is weirder, Yatora or Yotasuke, an undeniable majority would point at the shorter man. In fact, even Yotasuke would point a finger at his own chest. So what about this gift has Yatora so worked up?

-

Yotasuke takes the bus home — the perks of living alone include having a shorter distance to campus, among other things — with the gift still held under his arm. October has begun, yet Yotasuke has been uncomfortably hot all afternoon, even if by the end of the day he actually managed to focus on his studies instead of stealing glances at the package.

He slips off the bus, just a couple streets from his apartment complex. The strangest thought crosses his mind — even if he’s coming home to a lonely studio, he technically has a piece of Yatora with him — and he shakes it out of his head as he walks down the street, feeling sweat form at his nape in the afternoon sun.

Classes just started, so he doesn’t really have anything he needs to do right at the moment, meaning that his night will mostly consist of opening the gift, cooking up the most basic of meals, and playing some Pokémon until he starts feeling sleepy. What the gift is, and what Yotasuke will do with it, however, are a different question altogether.

Throughout the day, he tried to think of what conversation Yatora was referring to when he said that it inspired the gift. The previous time they met, Yatora had a day off and they decided to get something to eat — accompanied by a couple glasses of sake, even if the taste made Yotasuke want to hurl — and then head out to an arcade. There was some new game there that Yatora wanted to try out, which made Yotasuke wonder just how often Yatora stopped by the place to be in the know of all its games, but in the end, neither of them could beat the final boss.

There wasn’t much talking done there. Yotasuke might have mentioned the current game he was then playing on his Switch, but he doesn’t think Yatora could pick out a new game for Yotasuke to try that he would actually enjoy. Their tastes in video games differ greatly, not to mention how much a game Yotasuke has yet to play would cost — it’d have to be a pretty new instalment, after all.

Yotasuke enters his apartment building and makes his way to the elevator. He’s not one to believe in anything, really, let alone superstitions, but sometimes it does unnerve him to press the button to the fourth floor. His mom was horrified when he decided on this specific apartment residing on the floor number four, pronounced the same way as the word “death,” but Yotasuke didn’t want to risk missing out on a place so close to the only place he ever really goes to: Geidai.

He had barely moved in when Yatora called him, asking if they could meet up, effectively proving Yotasuke wrong, as he quickly had to hop on a train from Ueno to Shibuya. And for what? Some food and arcade games?

Well, that wasn’t all, he supposes. Yatora seemed to have a bit of a buzz going on once they finished up at the arcade, so he practically clung onto Yotasuke’s sleeve, asking him not to leave his side yet with his tail wagging like an excited puppy’s, and that’s how they ended up finding a konbini, grabbing some drinks and finding their sanctuary at a kids’ playground.

Yotasuke didn’t want another all-nighter, so he made sure that he would be sober enough to get onto the last train home. He asked Yatora for some suggestions as he was clearly more experienced in all things alcohol, and Yotasuke left the convenience store with two cans of chuhai, one flavoured strawberry cream and the other peach. Yatora found a bottle of soju and got quite excited, blabbering on about how he can usually never find it outside of bars, which made sense to Yotasuke, since the product appeared foreign. It was also substantially higher in alcohol percentage compared to what Yotasuke himself got.

He steps in through the front door, greeted by his dark apartment. He forgot to open the blinds in the morning, leaving him in an empty and quiet void of solitude. Yotasuke is still not used to Fumi not purring at his feet the second he gets home, but it was a better decision — from a financial perspective — to leave the cat behind and let his mother care for her.

With a sigh, he turns on the lights, takes off his shoes, sets his bag down and the gift on the counter in his kitchenette, opens his blinds to let in the sunlight, and turns the lights back off. He quickly uses his small bathroom, and while washing his hands, Yotasuke reminisces.

All of the children had wrapped up their long day working at the playground, as it was deserted when the two arrived and sat down on the swings. Yotasuke remembers looking at the high buildings behind the trees in the growing darkness of the night and wondering if it would be fun to draw that exact scenery. It felt like something would’ve been missing, though. He would’ve had to draw himself and Yatora on the swings, too.

Yotasuke grimaces as he recalls the taste of soju on his tongue, having taken a sip after Yatora insisted. Well, it was more like a few sips. Okay, on second thought, maybe it was more like they shared the bottle even if Yatora had paid for it. He didn’t like the taste, though. From all the alcohol he has ever tasted, nothing has actually been good. The cans of chuhai were bearable. And yeah, okay, the warmth inside him once he grew a bit intoxicated was bearable too.

So, what had they exactly talked about while swaying on the swings and chugging back alcohol?

Yotasuke takes the gift to his bed and sits down next to it.

Art and their aspirations regarding it, of course, but Yatora can barely afford his own art materials. He would be out of his mind to even consider getting something for Yotasuke. He did recommend some good alcohols, too, but the gift is too light to store any liquids inside it. Art, alcohol, games, Yotasuke’s new apartment… After that, he’s pretty sure the conversation moved to the topic of relationships.

Yotasuke freezes. Flushes. Feels nauseous. Curses to himself.

Of course his mind would choose to shut that part out, with how humiliating it had been.

“So, are there any girls in our department who you think are cute, Yotasuke?” Yatora asked that night, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe to him, it was.

“Why would you ask that?” Yotasuke replied, mortified. “I’ve barely even talked to any of them.”

Yatora swang over on the swing to bump against Yotasuke. The chains jingled from the collision. “You don’t have to know someone to think they’re cute, y’know.”

Yotasuke huffed, sipping on his second can of chuhai. “Well, I think I do. Have to know them, I mean.”

“Okay, well… Are there any people you know who you think are cute?”

Yotasuke glared at the other man even harder than he had before. “No.”

“Aw, not even me? Really?”

He was rattled. Bunnies were cute. Cats were cute. Cartoon creatures could be cute. People, not to mention Yatora of all people, were not particularly cute in Yotasuke’s eyes. He explained as much, which earned a whiny pout from the not-particularly-cute Yatora himself.

“Another term, then? Who’s a person you know who is sexy?”

Yotasuke must’ve let out a more-than-annoyed groan, because Yatora handed him the bottle of soju and told him to drink up. Yotasuke suspected the man was trying to get him drunk to get him to spill his secrets. Well, it was too bad for Yatora, because Yotasuke had none of those.

“I don’t think of people like that,” he said, going in for a good chug of the bottle, the contents of which had started to taste a bit more tolerable after the first few sips.

“Really? Not even while you’re jerking off?”

Soju went down the wrong pipe and Yotasuke started coughing. Yatora reached over to pat his back, but Yotasuke was red and radiating heat and all he could do was bend over to get the man’s hand off his back.

“Hey, hey, what is it?” Yatora asked like he didn’t know exactly what it was. After receiving another glare from Yotasuke, one full of murderous intent, he chuckled and asked, “What? Aren’t we close enough to talk about this sorta thing?”

“When do two people get close enough to talk about that!?” Yotasuke fumed, wiping his lips and sitting back up. Yatora just couldn’t stop laughing, but the other man didn’t see how it was funny.

“I mean, we’ve known each other for how many years now? Oh, right, your birthday is right ‘round the corner, too. Anyway, yeah, I’d say we’re close enough,” Yatora said with a nonchalant shrug.

Even if Yatora was one of the few contacts in Yotasuke’s phone, it didn’t mean he was somehow especially close to him. Right? Sure, they hung out here and there, and sure, he knew more about Yotasuke than probably anyone else, but… They weren’t that close. Right?

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t do that,” Yotasuke mumbled, going for another swig of soju before handing it back to Yatora. He felt a bit light-headed.

“Do what? Closeness? That’s a pretty damn edgy thing to say, Yotasuke.”

“No, but,” Yotasuke felt his cheeks heat up even further, to the point he must’ve looked like a tomato, “you know.”

Yatora stayed quiet for a second before his jaw visibly dropped. “You don’t jerk off!?”

“Stop being so loud!” Yotasuke yelled right back. “And no, I don’t, but I don’t know why that even matters.”

Yatora’s eyes were wide, his expression less mocking and more stunned. “Woah. I didn’t know there were people like you. I mean, it’s not like I can exactly picture you doing it, but still… Did you stop for like… health reasons or something, or have you ever even tried it?”

Did he try to picture Yotasuke doing it…?

No, that didn’t matter. What mattered was putting an end to this humiliating conversation.

“I reckon there are plenty of people who don’t do it,” Yotasuke sighed, rubbing the crease between his brows. “I don’t remember ever having tried it, not that I’ve ever had the urge. Are you satisfied now?”

Yatora gawked at him. “You’re missing out, Yotasuke! I mean, y’know, if I had a partner or something, maybe it’d be different. Because sex is totally different from masturbation. I think. But my point is, you should try it sometime. Really helps to take the edge off.”

Then he grinned while Yotasuke grimaced. Way to casually tell another man that he regularly masturbated. And that he was a virgin, not that Yotasuke couldn’t guess. They were in the same boat there, but clearly one of them was more eager than the other to get rid of that status.

Yotasuke glanced at Yatora. He wasn’t bad-looking, even if he wasn’t too cute. Many women were probably turned off by his bleached hair and piercings, but there must have been some sort of merit in those golden eyes and that enticing grin. It shouldn’t have been hard for him to find a partner, even if just for one night, if he only put himself out there.

Something tugged at Yotasuke’s chest. He probably drank too much, and the conversation they just shared definitely didn’t help.

Yatora gulped down the rest of the soju, wiped his mouth, and then turned to Yotasuke with a soft smile. Soon it turned out that that smile harboured nothing but mischief.

“I can link you some good stuff, to get you started.”

Yotasuke blinked.

“Huh!?”

“I can help you out, I mean! As in— As in, you’re a total beginner, so I can send some of my favourite videos and stuff!”

“Do not do that!” Yotasuke insisted, making a big X with his arms.

“Can I trust you to find the best stuff on your own, though?”

“Are you drunk? I’m not going to try to find any stuff!”

“Hardly! And that’s fine, not everyone needs porn! Just tell me that you’ll try it!”

“Why would I promise that when I don’t want to try it!?”

“Because I want you to feel good, Yotasuke!”

Yotasuke did not know when the two of them had started yelling, but he quickly snapped his mouth shut upon the realization. They were both red, maybe from shouting, maybe from something else. Yatora seemed especially sweaty.

Well, they had drunk their drinks and the last train was leaving soon, and that meant that Yotasuke was, too.

Yes, he took the late night train home and went to sleep immediately upon reaching his bed. By morning, he had apparently forgotten everything, or pushed them out of his mind at the very least.

However, that bastard Yatora had brought that conversation back into existence with something as simple as a birthday present.

Yotasuke carefully undoes the bow on top of the gift. It's a nice ribbon, so it could probably be used for a future art project or something. Same goes for the cute wrapping paper.

If that specific conversation is the one Yatora had meant before, there is no doubt that the gift will be something completely unusable.

A stack of adult videos, maybe? Not that Yotasuke would even bother to check any of them out, but he doesn't even have a DVD player or anything of the sort to watch them on. He would have to buy an external optical drive for his laptop, which would mostly defeat the purpose of a free birthday gift. Besides, how could Yatora possibly have any idea of what Yotasuke would like to watch?

There is probably something off-putting inside the paper. Yotasuke doesn't even know of all the possibilities present in the porn industry, but he has, on occasions, heard weird things that could be portrayed in such media.

In high school, he heard some boys talking about a video they saw that involved a tongue and an open eye brought together. Just the thought had made Yotasuke shiver and he had resorted to plugging his ears so as to block out the voices of the group behind him.

Yatora isn't that far gone, is he? With his awkward side, he could easily be quite tame. However, he can also be pretty bold — a certain grin involving canines comes to mind — so there's no definitive answer as to what he would be into, at least not without asking him, and Yotasuke is not going to do that.

At least if it's something involving eyeball-licking, Yotasuke can throw it in the trash without a second thought. Actually, can he throw something like that in the apartment complex’s garbage? What if someone goes through it and somehow traces it back to him? He'd have to find a public trash can and manage to discreetly discard it.

Well, all Yotasuke can hope for is that he's extremely wrong and the gift is actually something very normal. Maybe a few new clothing items — Yatora has asked about Yotasuke's limited wardrobe a few times, but he hasn't really been against it, nor would he know Yotasuke's specific size, nor is the box soft at all, but a man can dream, right?

Yotasuke puts in extra effort to peel the tape off without ripping the wrapping paper. If nothing else, he wants to keep the paper. It's very pleasing to the eye. He should ask Yatora where he bought it.

With one side of the paper opened without any damage dealt to it, Yotasuke turns the box over so the contents slide out onto his bed.

It's a single black box for a single product, and Yotasuke doesn't dare to have a single thought before he turns it over to see the front of the packaging, which is decorated by something apparently transparent with a white glow behind it, perhaps just as a design choice. He's confused, but not for long, because he thankfully spots the rather subtle title of the product above the picture. It reads “pocket pussy” in bold, pink letters, and some of the other descriptors on the front read “jelly” and “ribbed inside” and “orgasm guarantee.”

He's going to kill Yatora.

-

Yotasuke's rushing through the hallway before the first class of the day to find the bastard. In his hands rests a box wrapped in porcelain-like paper along with a blue satin ribbon, though maybe the term “rest” is wrong for what the box is going through, or maybe for what Yotasuke is going through, because he has to do everything in his power not to crush the product in his hands.

He didn't touch it. He didn't open it, and he certainly did not use it. He wrapped it back up with the help of adhesive tape and did his damn best to imitate the bow Yatora had tied with the ribbon. It's as good as new and Yatora is as good as dead.

Speaking of.

Yotasuke makes sure the stomping of his feet can be heard all the way in Shibuya, at that playground some innocent children are playing at before being dragged off to kindergarten or elementary school by their parents. They'll wonder why someone out there is so upset, and Yotasuke will direct all of the blame towards him.

“Yatora,” Yotasuke says as calmly as he possibly can, but his voice is stern. Cold.

He's wearing a different hoodie, one with the design of some band on the back, and Yotasuke can see — hell, he could sense it — the excited grin on the man's face as he turns around.

Yatora doesn't get the chance to greet him or to even take his presence in, because by the time he has faced Yotasuke, a wrapped gift has been shoved into his stomach.

“Ugh!” Yatora yelps in pain, and yes, some other students might be staring, but Yotasuke does not care.

“Here. Happy birthday.”

Yatora opens his eyes, taking in the scene. Yotasuke's hands, outstretched, with the wrapped-up box between them, currently digging its way into Yatora's hoodie, and after that, his insides.

“Ah, Yotasuke… My birthday was in July.”

Shut up already! Just take the thing off his hands!

“And my birthday was in September but that didn't seem to stop you,” Yotasuke forces out. He doesn't know if he can ever see Yatora the same way again. Not that he saw him that favourably before, but this is just something else.

“You're giving it back?” Yatora asks like that wasn't already obvious. “Didn't you like it?”

Yotasuke furrows his brows, forcing himself to look up at the taller man. He's tilting his head like a dog, looking genuinely confused.

“No. I didn't.”

“But you tested it, right?”

Yotasuke grinds his teeth together. He could never beat Yatora in a fight, but at the moment, he would be willing to get beaten to a pulp if it meant never having to see that stupid face again.

“Clearly I didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't be giving it back,” he grits out.

“Ah, that’s true.” Yatora then frowns like he has the right to be upset in this situation. “Why not, though? Those things aren't exactly cheap, y'know.”

“...It's unopened. If you have the receipt, you can probably get your money back from whatever shady store you bought it from.”

“But then I'd have to think of another gift for you. Come on, can't you take it for a test drive? For me?”

“No,” Yotasuke spits, glaring. “And you know that. I know you know that.”

Yatora leans down a bit, smiling obnoxiously. “But if I asked nicely?”

“Your niceness is nothing short of infuriating,” Yotasuke claims as Yatora comes rather close; close enough for the former to smell his shampoo. He hates how he has grown used to the scent from his usual proximity to the blond man.

Before Yotasuke can properly recognize the scent, though — even if during the previous semester, he got a whiff of it daily — Yatora stands up straight and sighs. “Ouch. Alright. That thing wasn't to your preferences, clearly.”

While Yotasuke is surprised that Yatora gave up so easily, he nods with a previously unseen serenity. “You're right.”

“Which is why I'll take you with me after classes to pick up something more your style.”

Yotasuke nods again before the words process in his head. Then he basically hisses like a cat.

“What?”

“I mean, I've gotta get you oriented somehow. So, it'd probably be easier for you to see the selection. It's pretty good, trust me,” Yatora says.

Oriented to what, exactly? Does Yatora want Yotasuke to become a sex addict or something? Is that what he himself is? He's clearly way too invested in this whole ordeal, making Yotasuke's life miserable in the name of “making him feel good.”

It's rather unconventional for Yatora to say such things while intoxicated and then act so casual and friendly about buying another man sex toys. If he's so hell-bent on turning Yotasuke into a degenerate, he should at least do the work himself instead of making Yotasuke learn from scratch. He wants Yotasuke to feel good, but he'd have no proof of that actually happening without being at the scene of the crime when it happens.

Unless that's his goal, of course. Luring Yotasuke in with fancy toys only to take the reins when plastic alone can't satisfy the shorter man anymore. What would he do then? How would it work? Would he touch him, grab him, perhaps kiss him? Kneel between his legs, maybe?

Yotasuke's eyes fly wide and the sudden realization that he was in an entirely different universe for a minute dawns on him.

…What was that?

Yatora stands in front of him with that same soft smile that Yotasuke now knows to mean trouble. Yatora's also wearing clothes, which Yotasuke could swear wasn't the case just seconds ago.

He's losing it, isn't he?

“So… is that a plan?” Yatora asks. Yotasuke is having a hard time hearing anything over the sound of his own heartbeat.

“Y— Yeah,” he whispers, to which Yatora pats his shoulder.

“I'll meet you at the gate later!”

Then Yatora is gone, and Yotasuke is standing alone in the hallway, even if people are walking past him from every direction.

Well, not alone. He still has the gift in his hands, apparently because he's a clueless idiot.

-

After thinking over his options, Yotasuke came up with a few possibilities during the time that was supposed to be spent preparing for an art project: a) do not meet Yatora at the gate, go home and throw out the gift, b) do not meet Yatora at the gate, go home and put the gift to use, and c) meet Yatora at the gate and see what happens.

Honestly, he could've spent all that time looking for opportunities to slip the package among Yatora's belongings. He didn't, though. It felt like he would explode if he were to even approach the man.

Anyway, option b) was not one that was going to happen. Option a) provided its own problems as well, because that would mean Yatora spent his money on the toy, ribbon and nice wrapping paper for nothing — the last two Yotasuke could salvage, but the first one was arguably the priciest one out of the bunch.

So, in the end, Yotasuke finds himself at the gate to the campus, the wrapped gift still on his person. Yatora will show up any second, and Yotasuke will follow him to the shop, wherever it may be. He will ensure that Yatora returns the product and gets his money back, and then they will part ways for the day.

Maybe everything will go back to normal once that happens. Before that moment when Yatora decided to open his drunken mouth at the playground.

“You showed up,” Yatora says from behind Yotasuke, startling him.

He peers over his shoulder and scowls, but starts walking in sync with Yatora, towards the world beyond the campus gate.

“I said I would, didn't I?”

“You didn't exactly sound enthusiastic this morning.”

“I felt cornered,” Yotasuke grumbles, but he's already walking along the street, side by side with Yatora. It's not like he was kidnapped by the man or anything. He could just turn around and catch the first bus home if he only wanted to.

Does he not want to, then? That makes no sense, though. Why would he want to go to a sex store with his friend, who was not only a man, but more importantly, Yatora?

He's on the verge of insanity, he's sure of it, no matter how much he tries to convince himself that this is all for the sake of getting Yatora's money back.

Yotasuke keeps having strange and weird thoughts, and he isn't sure when they exactly started, but they feel way too familiar. Like deja vu. Like something he's seen in a dream before.

“...Where are we going, anyway?” he asks quietly.

Yatora looks down at him and grins. “To the station. Shibuya awaits us, Yotasuke.”

That makes sense. Their current location doesn't really seem like the place to have weird shops like that. As for Shibuya, it felt like another world altogether. Maybe it's because usually when Yotasuke visits, he's in the company of Yatora.

So they get on a train that arrives almost perfectly in accordance with their entry onto the platform. It's pretty crowded in their car, and because of the gift Yotasuke is tasked with holding, along with having to hold the handle above him to stay upright, Yotasuke can't even stand next to Yatora because he'd effectively be stabbing him with his elbow. Even if Yatora would deserve it, Yotasuke takes one for the team, so to say, and stands facing Yatora, who is holding on to a pole at the end of a row of seats.

Yotasuke does not meet his eyes. He can smell that stupid shampoo again. The scent is almost nutty, kind of sweet. He might as well bury his face into Yatora's chest and nothing would change; that's how close together they're forced to stand.

He hates crowds. Nothing fun about them. If he had to find one good thing about his current situation — he doesn't have to, but his mind is working overtime for some reason — it would be that if the train were to get even fuller and someone knocked him over, he'd fall into Yatora and not some stranger.

Yotasuke raises his eyes from their feet just a bit. He wonders what band Yatora’s hoodie is displaying designs of. The characters are in English, and Yotasuke is not very good at the language.

He could ask.

Yotasuke finally looks up at Yatora's face, only to see the man awkwardly looking away. There's some sort of a flush to his face, similar to that night when they were drinking. It’s still pretty warm outside, not to mention the entrapment of body heat in the train car, so it’s understandable enough.

Yotasuke hopes his own face isn’t red, though.

The train slows down at a station and Yotasuke grips on to dear life in order not to fall over. Yatora looks down at him, seemingly sensing Yotasuke's frustration, as there's some sort of hint of worry in his expression.

The afternoon sun that comes in from outside the train windows makes Yatora's eyes glow like jewels.

The doors open while Yotasuke is still busy separating the different hues of gold in Yatora's eyes into their respective categories.

“Yotasuke?”

He blinks. “What?”

“It's our stop, come on, get a move on,” Yatora says, and although he's not exactly rude about it, his order makes Yotasuke remember their destination as well as the package under his arm, and he glares at the other man.

He turns around and pushes through the crowd to hop onto the platform and start swiftly walking away.

“Yotasuke, wait!” Yatora calls out, running after him. He catches up easily, possessing longer legs and all. “We're going in the wrong direction, y'know.”

Yotasuke scoffs. He turns around and starts walking towards the other exit. Yatora strolls along.

They get to the street with the direct, warm sunlight, and even though Yotasuke tries to walk a step behind in order not to be confused about directions anymore, Yatora won’t let him. Each time Yotasuke slows down, so does the other man, until they’re not really even moving along but just lingering there in the midst of the crowded street.

“Something the matter?” Yatora asks.

Yotasuke’s a bit tired of cursing the man out in his head, so he just sighs. “I just don’t get why this is such a big deal to you. I probably won’t even end up ‘testing’ whatever it is that you’d pick out for me.”

Yatora shrugs. “Well, you see, what I said that night was true.” Yotasuke just stares, because the man said many things that night, but it’s possible that both of them have the same words in mind. “It’s no biggie if you don’t wanna date or anything, and it’s not like I’m one to lecture about being sexually active, but for some reason I’m just so damn hung up on this idea. I wish you’d treat yourself to some pleasure, Yotasuke.”

Yotasuke tries to exhale as calmly as he is able to. His shirt is pretty light but he can feel himself sweating. “...You’re so weird sometimes. You could just buy me a cake or something.”

“You can do that yourself!”

“And I can’t buy a sex toy by myself?” Yotasuke scoffs, but quickly quiets down upon the realization that the street they’re standing on is quite busy.

“Would you?” Yatora asks pointedly.

At least Yatora knows him well enough to know that. However, clearly not well enough to realize when to stop pushing Yotasuke’s boundaries.

“...Where’s the store? I don’t want to go to some back alley.”

The corners of Yatora’s mouth jump to his ears. “Follow me! It’s not far, but it is in a kinda secluded spot. The employee was super nice when I first visited it, though. A very reputable place,” he explains as he leads Yotasuke along, making sure they hold the same pace.

“A pervert recognizes a fellow pervert, I guess,” the shorter man grumbles.

“Yeah,” Yatora chuckles. “Come on, Yotasuke. All artists are perverts. If you think you’re an exception, you just haven’t unlocked that part of yourself yet.”

Yotasuke huffs. He’s about to rebut Yatora’s claim until he takes a moment to think of the other artists he knows. Hashida and Murai come to mind first, and, admittedly, there isn’t much he can say to defend them.

He’d like to defend himself, however. He’s… normal. By all means, there isn’t a single deviant thing about him, save for the fact that he’s found himself in something akin to a friendship with Yatora, who is no doubt something of a pervert, masochist and general freak himself.

So if some of his weirdness has rubbed off on Yotasuke throughout the years, Yotasuke cannot be held accountable for it. One could blame him for his questionable taste in acquaintances, but it just seems like all the odd people like to flock to his side for one reason or another.

“Maybe I’d like to keep it hidden,” Yotasuke mumbles. “If that part of me even exists.”

“Just imagine how much it could influence your art,” Yatora says with a smile. “Like how could you ever even portray, say, the pleasure of an orgasm in a painting, if you’ve never even experienced it?”

“You’re talking about this so casually… Besides, some people just aren’t interested in that sort of thing. It’s not a requirement in order to be a good artist.”

“Well, that’s true… But Yotasuke,” Yatora tilts his head, “you are interested in it, right?”

Yotasuke doesn’t even notice that he has stopped walking until he realizes people have started going around him and Yatora is looking back at him, standing still.

He has never really thought of those things before. He’s always just been so busy with everything else. Privacy didn’t exist much in his childhood home, so he never really even had the opportunity to test things out.

Maybe he denied himself for so long that now he’s incapable of even gaining pleasure from such acts.

It wouldn’t necessarily be awful — in his head, at least — with the way other people praise the acts and the pleasure they provide. There must be a reason why everyone treats sex like the most important goal to reach in life.

Yotasuke just doesn’t know if he could ever feel comfortable enough around someone to undress, let alone touch them, not to mention the rest. Does he even have anyone like that in his life? He has no close female acquaintances. If he had to name his best friend, he’d have no choice but to choose Yatora for the role.

They’re both men. Yotasuke isn’t even sure how that would work.

A hand softly shakes Yotasuke by the shoulder, making him raise his eyes to meet Yatora’s, who evidently walked over to him to get him walking again.

Those stupid bright golden eyes. Yotasuke can’t stop looking at them, even at the cost of his own eyes starting to water. He blinks rapidly to get it to stop.

“...I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Yatora says, his gaze falling to their feet. He chuckles, voice shaky. “It’s just— I kinda made this plan after that night at the park and I was acting all confident, but when I was actually facing you with the gift, I felt so scared.”

Yotasuke’s trembling hand tightens around the present he’s holding. “...You didn’t need to do all that.”

“Yeah, but if I don’t, who will?” Yatora smiles a bit, but his mouth twitches sadly. “You know I love challenging you, Yotasuke. Who would I be to you if I didn’t keep that up?”

The shorter man furrows his brows. “You can still be my friend without— Without this.”

Both of them look down at the gift before Yatora groans. He turns away from Yotasuke in order to rub his face. “I should’ve known it was too far. I just wanted to… I wanted…”

Yotasuke waits for him to continue in quiet anticipation. He can see a bead of sweat at Yatora’s nape, disappearing under his hood. There’s some sort of tremor inside Yotasuke’s chest, heavy as if in his pericardium there were rocks instead of his heart.

He should’ve at least kicked and clawed at Yatora like a cat after discovering the contents of the gift. Bitten those fingers that dared to pick it out. Why didn’t he? Isn’t something like this way too far, or is he just used to Yatora’s antics by now?

It’s like a stupid game, and Yotasuke isn’t even sure what they’re playing for, but he doubts this entire thing is about this gift in particular.

“Your only worth to me isn’t how much you can annoy me, Yatora,” Yotasuke claims after at least a minute of silence, eyes looking away even if Yatora isn’t even facing him. “So… I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“...Sorry,” Yatora mumbles. “Sometimes I forget.”

“Forget what?”

“That you don’t hate me,” he chuckles weakly, finally turning around properly. Well, at least he didn’t start crying this time around, even if his cheeks are rather red. “That you actually like me.”

Yotasuke blinks. Why’s he turning red too? His hands are sweating and it’s unbearably hot on the street as he mutters, “Those two feelings can coexist.”

“Yeah. I’m more than aware.” Yatora reaches for the gift in Yotasuke’s hands. “I’ll go return it and then get you something else with the money. Sorry for dragging you all the way.”

“...You don’t want me to come with you anymore?”

“You’re not interested in that stuff and I don’t really wanna push your boundaries anymore,” Yatora says, hands closing in on the package Yotasuke is holding, only for the shorter man to snatch it away at the last second. Yatora’s hands grasp the empty air.

“You should really start letting me choose for myself,” Yotasuke says, tucking the gift back under his arm. Yatora looks at him with nearly visible question marks above his head. “How far is the store?”

Yatora blinks and Yotasuke feels himself flushing even further. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. He probably won’t use whatever they pick out at the store. He has no need to follow Yatora there. The blond man is offering Yotasuke an out. Logically, he should take it. He should go home.

…Those stupid golden eyes.

“Like… maybe a five-minute walk,” Yatora says quietly, his confused expression not shifting.

Yotasuke nods and starts walking. “This way?”

“Uh, yeah,” Yatora says, quickly catching up to the other man, walking at his side. Yotasuke quickly glances at him and does not miss the blush on his cheeks.

Yatora wants to visit the store. Yotasuke wants to prove Yatora wrong. It makes sense for them to end up there, at that smaller side road away from the main streets, populated by all kinds of curious signs for different establishments. It’s pretty early so it makes sense for most of them not to be lit yet, especially once Yotasuke realizes that they’re the signs of different host clubs and the like.

“It’s over here,” says Yatora, nudging towards the wall of buildings on their right side. He leads Yotasuke to a door with a simple pink sign above it that just says “ADULT SHOP.” It’s not very creative, but the designs on the covered windows make up for it, he guesses. They’re simplified, neon-coloured illustrations of different sex positions. Yotasuke can’t take many of them in before Yatora is already pulling him indoors, but the ones he saw didn’t seem physically possible.

Inside, they’re immediately greeted by a staircase to the basement. There’s no other way to go, so they descend down below. The stone walls around the narrow stairs hold a plethora of different posters, and Yotasuke gets overwhelmed pretty quickly by both the topics — naked parties, sex clubs, couples looking for a third — and the feel of Yatora’s warm hand around his wrist.

The stairs end soon enough, though, and Yotasuke observes the store they enter. The lighting is rather dim. Kind of intimate. Kind of uncomfortable. There are multiple shelves around, but the room itself isn’t that big. He spots a wall full of different adult magazines and videos, as well as another one with some props, like whips and fuzzy handcuffs and blindfolds, and suddenly he feels like a little kid who just stumbled upon something he was not yet allowed to see.

But Yotasuke is an adult, even if it’s sometimes hard for him to believe that. He has a right to be here and he has no need to turn red at the sight of the condom and lubricant selection. He didn’t know there could even be that many different types and sizes. Yatora continues pulling him along right as Yotasuke gets hung up on one of the products. Strawberry-flavoured lube? Really?

Could it taste good?

“Hey,” Yatora says as he arrives at the checkout counter, where a young woman stands on the opposite side, flipping through some magazine that actually seems to be about fashion rather than naked human bodies.

She looks up, blinking lazily. Maybe it’s just the rebellious nature of piercings — Yatora has at least kept his face untouched, but the employee has rings around her lips, nose and even eyebrows — but somehow Yotasuke gets the impression that she can’t be old enough to work here. Well, it’s not like he’s good at estimating ages, anyway.

“How can I help you?” she asks politely. Her hair is dyed, too. Something tells Yotasuke that Yatora must feel at home at a place like this.

“I bought this from here recently, but now I want to return it. What are my options?” Yatora asks and nods towards the package under Yotasuke’s arm. The shorter man quickly brings it up to rest on the counter, carefully pushing the open magazine away in hopes that the woman would move it before it falls off.

“Well, if you have the receipt, you can either get your money back or you can switch it for something of the same value,” she explains, casually tossing the magazine on some desk behind her, resting against the wall, which has some products hanging from it too. Yotasuke has yet to spot any actual toys, though. “Given that the product is unopened, of course. Can I?”

Yatora nods before the woman places her hands on the porcelain-like wrapping paper. She undoes the ribbon carefully and Yotasuke is certain that the gift is in good hands.

“I will also have to see your IDs,” she says and continues to rip the wrapping paper right off. Yotasuke wants to cry as it tears, decapitating one of the drawn bunnies in the process.

“Right. You got yours on you?” Yatora asks him, and Yotasuke has to tear his eyes away from the demolition of the prettiest wrapping paper he has ever seen. Yatora’s looking way too comfortable while at a store where they sell porn and kill art. “Your ID?”

“Yeah,” Yotasuke nods and slips off his bag to rummage through it. He would be worried about an information leak — some kind of scheme to expose the horny customers that come to the store — but Yatora has been here before and he has yet to be exposed on the internet. He’s giving the employee his ID now, too, along with the receipt, so maybe it’s fine.

By the time Yotasuke hands over his own identification, the toy Yatora got him is already exposed on the counter, resting over the remains of the wrapping paper. Such a beautiful thing had to die for this. It’s a shame.

Yatora briefly glances at Yotasuke, and he wonders for a moment if the blond is hurt that the product actually is untouched, even if that’d make no sense given that they ended up back at the store with it.

The men are handed back their cards, and Yotasuke quickly slips it in his pocket while the clerk asks, “So, which option would you prefer?”

Yatora looks at Yotasuke, who holds back a sigh. This was his plan, wasn’t it? To get Yatora’s money back? However, he acted so adamant about coming here before, so it’d feel weird not to have a look around. Even if he doesn’t need anything from a store like this.

“...What other products do you have?” he asks shyly, because maybe it’s a matter of not having toys like that on display in case some high schoolers were to barge in. Then again, if they’re all under the counter or something, that’d be a pretty small selection.

“You can look around in the back,” she says and points towards a door to her right that Yotasuke had missed before. Well, there’s no actual door, but the entrance is covered by a thick, beaded curtain that pretty much makes it impossible to see the other side. “I’ll hold on to this for now. Take your time.”

Yatora’s already nudging Yotasuke to get going, but the woman moves the box with the masturbator or fleshlight or pocket pussy or whatever it’s called to the side and grabs the torn-up wrapping paper to throw it out, and the man simply can’t let that happen.

“Could I save that?” he asks her, reaching out a hand. She blinks at him. “The wrapping paper and the ribbon, please,” he clarifies. Some of it might still be salvageable for a scrapbook page or something.

“Oh. Sure.” She hands them over and Yotasuke nods gratefully before slipping the pieces carefully into his bag. When he looks over, Yatora looks rather amused, a stupid smirk on his face.

Yotasuke doesn’t know why he turns red, but his chest kind of hurts when Yatora just shakes his head with a smile and ushers the shorter man along. Maybe he’s having a heart attack from the mere humiliation of being here.

The two slip behind the curtain, Yotasuke first, and he’s kind of really taken aback. First of all, the lights are even worse on this side of the store. Dim with a few extra spotlights that have a bright red hue, burning his eyes. The room is much bigger than the one they were just in, and there’s no doubt as to why.

The place must have every sex toy known to man.

“Impressive, yeah?” Yatora grins and takes Yotasuke’s shoulder to lead him farther in.

“Scary,” Yotasuke mutters as they pass a section with weird things that he doesn’t know if they qualify as toys or not. Some kind of clamps connected to each other with a chain. Red rope. Weird black rods of varying lengths with… cuffs at either end? Yotasuke doesn’t want to know what those are for.

“This is where I got your gift.” Yatora stops in front of a shelf titled “men’s pleasure” and Yotasuke is too late to drag his eyes away from the variety of different dog masks on display. He runs right into Yatora’s shoulder and feels his heart stop right then and there.

He does not exactly want to come to some sort of a uni reunion in twenty years and have forty-year-old Yatora ask “Do you remember that time we were at the sex store together and you crashed into me in front of the cock ring selection?” because he would simply die.

Yotasuke takes a long step back, cheeks red and palms sweaty, and quickly looks away from Yatora’s tilted head to look at the shelf instead. Why is his heart beating so fast? Sure, for a second he imagined Yatora as a forty-year-old man, with dark roots coming in and two piercings on his lip and a few signs of aging and maybe a cigarette between his lips, but that has nothing to do with it.

In fact, Yotasuke would much prefer never seeing Yatora again after the current day. Not even twenty years from now. The humiliation would still be too much.

Why is he even here?

Yotasuke’s eyes finally focus on the products in front of him. There are a lot.

As if reading Yotasuke like an open book, Yatora says, “I didn’t know what to pick out at first either. I mean, the men’s section feels a lot more limited compared to women’s, so I really had to think about what you’d like out of these.” Yotasuke freezes, but Yatora doesn’t seem to mind talking about the fact that he blatantly imagined what the other man would be interested in sexually. “Like, these rings? I thought they might be too much to start with, since they kinda stop you from finishing, and because you’ve never actually finished before, it felt kinda silly to push it back even further.”

Yotasuke swallows rather roughly. Is this something normal for friends to talk about so casually? Even if they’re supposedly close enough to talk about it. Is it normal just because it doesn’t feel wrong?

“Oh, and these ones?” Yatora points at a row of products that look like flashlights, only the end that’s supposed to shine the light is decorated with a vagina instead. The different designs make Yotasuke a bit dizzy. There are even some shaped like a mouth, or the anus. “Obviously any guy would probably like the idea, but I didn’t really know what you were into with the designs, so I opted for that one that’s just like a transparent sleeve.” He nods at the same product he already bought, a few of them still for sale.

“...Why are you so excited about this?” Yotasuke mumbles.

Yatora looks at him with surprise before grinning awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “I am? I don’t know, maybe I just… wanted you to know the effort I put into picking out the gift.”

“I didn’t need to know that you’ve imagined me sexually.”

“Huh?” Yatora blinks. His grin turns more horrified now, with him basically leaping back in fear. “Did I make you uncomfortable again? I didn’t mean to, I just—”

He isn’t denying it. He isn’t saying that he only did it to get him a fitting gift. Almost like there was more to the story.

Yotasuke shouldn’t think about it too hard. It’ll just make him more dizzy. Besides, sometimes Yatora blurts things out like that without thinking too much about it. He might have very well just looked at the situation from a strategic perspective, like a mandatory assignment where he has to research uninteresting topics just to get it over with.

“No, it’s just kind of funny,” Yotasuke says with a shrug.

“What is?” Yatora asks, still awkwardly scratching his neck.

“That you’d be ready to think so much about another guy in compromising situations just to make me happy.” Yotasuke looks at the shelf next to the one they’re standing in front of. Some packages hang from hooks there, with thin metal rods with some bumps displayed on the front of them. If they’re for men too, Yotasuke has an idea of where they’re meant to go, and he doesn’t like it. “And then I didn’t even like the gift.”

“Don’t rub salt into the wound,” Yatora whines, looking away and leaning down to observe some package with a motorized masturbator. Yotasuke doesn’t even want to see the price. “Anyway, is it that odd?”

“Huh?”

“Thinking about another guy?”

Yotasuke blinks. He doesn’t like how the room seems to be getting redder and redder. Maybe he’s losing it. Maybe he will actually faint soon. “I mean,” he mutters, the words feeling sticky on his lips, “it is if it’s me.”

Yatora blinks right back like they were in a competition to out-confuse each other. “Why?”

While his brain might be currently dripping out of his ears like melted strawberry ice cream, Yotasuke forces out whatever explanation he can come up with. “I don’t see why that mental image would be pleasing to anyone,” he says slowly, spelling it out for them both. “It feels a bit weird to know you’ve willingly done that.”

“You’re acting like I wouldn’t paint you naked if you just asked me to,” Yatora laughs. Something hitches in Yotasuke’s throat. “Anyway, I’m happy to know that you’re not weirded out by me specifically doing it. You’re just insecure in general.”

“...Insecure enough to leave you standing here all alone, looking stupid?” Yotasuke challenges.

“Oh, no you don’t.” A hand is gripping Yotasuke’s arm before he can even consider taking a running step towards the beaded curtains. Yatora looks at the products before them, as if he knows Yotasuke might not be able to handle his gaze at the moment. “Do you have anything in mind that you want?”

Yotasuke thinks he wants Yatora to let go of him, but he also thinks that steam is coming out of his ears and that he’s slowly losing his height as he becomes a puddle on the floor, so who really knows what he actually wants.

“...I’ll look over there,” he says and slips away, Yatora’s arm falling to his side. Yotasuke moves to the next shelf, trying to figure out what exactly he is looking at. There is no sign above it, so it’s probably still related to men’s pleasure.

The shapes are interesting, but the products seem much smaller than the vibrators and dildos at the women’s aisle did, so they probably aren’t for the same purpose. After all, men usually don’t have a place to put those in.

Yotasuke leans close to a specific box to read the label of the black toy, shaped like a wonky rod with a flared base. Apparently there’s some kind of a remote too, according to the cover of the product.

“They’re prostate massagers,” Yatora tells him from somewhere behind him right as Yotasuke is about to touch the box. He stiffens into a straight stick at the information.

So they go there. Well, it’s not like he didn’t know people did that, but at the same time, he hasn’t really thought about men, and especially himself, going to those lengths.

Yatora leans forward, over Yotasuke’s shoulder, and says, “Apparently touching that spot feels really good.”

“How would you know?” Yotasuke scoffs, glaring at the man beside him.

“I did my research, Yotasuke,” he says with a grin. The shorter man might as well pass out with how pale he goes. “I haven’t tried it myself, but I’ve seen those in porn and again when I looked up toys for men.”

Yotasuke doesn’t know how to react to the fact Yatora has seen something like this go inside another man. Can it really feel good? And more importantly, why has Yatora watched something like that?

Yatora tilts his head and looks down at the other man. “Do you want one of those?”

Yotasuke takes a step back in surprise and hits a shelf behind him. Nothing falls down, luckily, but he is still unable to stabilize his breathing. There is no reason for him to be here, looking at sex toys at an adult store with Yatora, of all people. He wouldn’t want to go to places like these with anyone else either, but something about Yatora being his companion makes his heart beat so much faster.

“I’m not—” Yotasuke starts, unaware of how to finish his own sentence. He’s not brave enough, maybe. He’s not deviant enough. He’s not stupid enough. He’s not…

“What? Straight men use them too, you know. Might help them stay hard during sex or provide extra pleasure,” Yatora informs him. “It’s not like only gay people are granted a prostate. It has some real functions too, but I kinda forgot what they are.”

“...Just because they use them in porn doesn’t mean that it’s… normal.”

“I kinda figured you’d say that,” he laughs. “That’s why I didn’t choose that for you even if it’s safe and doesn’t really require you yourself to do much.”

Yotasuke wants to smack himself just as much as he wants to smack Yatora. His words imply that he considered it, which implies that he thought of Yotasuke using a toy like that. Slipping something like that inside him… There’s no way it’s actually enjoyable.

Maybe he always just thought that sex between men is mainly done the way it is because there was nowhere else to enter. He didn’t think the one receiving actually felt good, and especially in porn, even if he has never really watched it, it’s most likely just acting and not real pleasure.

However, if even straight men can like things like that…

He doesn’t really want to prove Yatora right, about anything, generally, but about Yotasuke somehow being a prejudiced jerk who thinks these things are below him, in particular. Maybe these things are below him, but that’s because he doesn’t need sex to live his life and not because he is straight and narrow-minded and rude.

Who knows what Yotasuke is, anyway? It’s not like he has ever crushed on a girl, either. He probably wouldn’t recognize a crush even if it hit him straight in the face.

“Anyway, should we look at other things?” Yatora suggests. Behind him there is a row of some kinds of sex machines, with some penetrative thing at the end of a stick which most likely moves back and forth. They’ve probably seen most of the things aimed at men that are within the budget.

Yotasuke glances at the black toy on the shelf. He’d probably be better off just taking the initial gift Yatora got him as it is safe and doesn’t need batteries and doesn’t involve experiences such as shoving something foreign inside him.

It’s not like he actually needs to use it. And it is free, in a sense.

“Can I have that one?” Yotasuke whispers. Yatora looks at him, confused. For clarification, the shorter man points at the product on the shelf, not daring to repeat his words any louder.

He shouldn’t need to ask these things, but Yatora is the one paying, technically.

Yatora steps closer and leans down, until his face is rather close and— Why the hell is it that close and why is he grinning? Yotasuke feels both fury and embarrassment bubble up inside him as he meets Yatora’s golden eyes, the proximity making it impossible not to see every perfect pore on his cheeks.

“I don’t know, Yotasuke. Will you use it?”

He looks away. All he needs to do is lie. All he needs to do is stop breathing in the scent of Yatora: nutty, sweet and a bit sweaty. All he needs to do is stop imagining that toy whirring to life in Yatora’s hands before he steps closer to spread Yotasuke’s thighs.

“...Yeah.”

And then Yatora’s smooth and probably-soft face is gone from Yotasuke’s peripheral vision, and by the time he dares to look back forward, the blond is already on his way to the beaded curtains with the toy under his arm. He stops for a second and looks back at Yotasuke.

“You coming?”

Yotasuke doubts it. He’s gone twenty years without and the current night can hardly be any different.

Still, he hurries along with Yatora and slips past the curtains after him. The employee is still behind the counter, having just popped a piece of gum in her mouth.

“Did you find anything to your liking?” she asks once the two men make their way back to the checkout counter. Yatora plops the toy on the counter while Yotasuke quickly looks around to make sure there are no others in the store. It’s empty aside from them, to his delight.

“Oh, yeah, this one’s a classic. Really good reviews,” the woman says as she turns the box around a bit. “It comes with a charger and should be left to charge for around two hours before the first use. Oh, right, you should also wash it properly before using it.”

“Got that, Yotasuke?” Yatora asks him with a grin, and Yotasuke wishes the Earth granted him some magical superpowers right then and there so he could headbutt the blond and send him through the wall full of condoms.

“...Got it,” he grumbles despite it.

The woman checks the receipt Yatora had given her before. The gum-chewing is starting to really get on Yotasuke’s nerves, not that there is much that hasn’t gotten on Yotasuke’s nerves in the past couple hours. Now, however, it’s pretty much all he can focus on. The sticky stretch of the gum between her teeth before it’s forced back together with a wet sound.

“Do you and your boyfriend need lube to go with this?” the woman asks, and maybe for the first time that day, Yatora can be seen freezing along with Yotasuke. She blinks at their wide eyes before saying, “I can give you a discount since you’d be buying it along with a toy. It helps with insertion, and I can recommend a few—”

“We’re not,” Yotasuke says, his voice barely audible.

“Huh?”

“...We’re not dating,” he repeats, slowly sliding his eyes down to his feet.

Way to make things awkward, Yotasuke. But wouldn’t it be worse not to clarify? Surely Yatora is uncomfortable with the idea, too.

“We’re not dating, but we could use some,” Yatora replies rather casually. Yotasuke’s clothes envelop him with heat until he’s suffocating in it. “There was something strawberry-flavoured over there, right? Would it be inconvenient with this?”

Yotasuke glances at Yatora, who’s focused on the woman at the moment. Did he notice the shorter man looking at the product? But still, it wouldn’t really make sense to have a flavour on something Yotasuke would put inside his—

“Those are usually recommended only for oral sex or masturbation, since it can cause some infections because of the ingredients,” the clerk explains. “I have this one at the counter because it’s reliable and a bestseller. Not too expensive, either. It’s water-based, so it should go well with the toy you chose.”

“What do you think, Yotasuke?”

“...Sure, whatever.”

He continues staring at his feet as the employee rings them up. Why does he even feel so awful? They’re nearly out of the store, soon able to go their separate ways, after which Yotasuke never has to mention this whole ordeal to Yatora ever again. He never has to talk about such things with the man again.

Then why…?

“The price is a bit higher than the product you returned, so after I subtract the price from your receipt and apply the discount… It’s 3,500 yen. Cash or card?”

“Card is fine,” Yatora says while Yotasuke balls his hands into fists.

He went over the budget even when he never wanted anything from this store in the first place. Even if he insists on paying the rest himself, Yatora would refuse on the account of this being his gift.

This would’ve all been easier if Yotasuke never met Yatora in the first place. If he quit art, or if Yatora never got into it. If they never became close. At the same time, though, Yotasuke wouldn’t really know how to go about his life without this stupid blond man by his side.

Even if this is all his fault.

“Thanks,” Yatora says to the employee before softly touching Yotasuke’s shoulder to get a move on. He turns around weakly to leave, and Yatora follows right by his side with a plastic shopping bag in hand.

They climb the stairs in silence and exit the building completely without a word. It’s still relatively bright, yet for some reason Yotasuke is exhausted. All he wants to do is sleep until death claims him.

Maybe he should be nice for a change, though. Since Yatora did spend extra money on something Yotasuke claimed he would like.

“...How much was the whole thing?” he asks as they slowly travel towards the busier streets.

Yatora offers him the white bag. It is Yotasuke’s, after all.

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to share gift prices, Yotasuke,” he teases, but after Yotasuke glares at him and starts digging through the bag for the receipt, he whines. “Okay, okay, fine! It was like 7,000 yen.”

Yotasuke’s eyes widen. “That much? I can eat for a week with that amount.” He is quiet for a second before mumbling, “So it was twice as expensive as what you intended.”

“Hey, I don’t mind,” Yatora says. “I mean, sure, I couldn’t really afford stuff like that for myself, but since it’s you, it’s fine, you know?”

What could Yotasuke possibly know? It’s pretty stupid to buy something too expensive for someone else, even under the guise of a gift. Yotasuke would much rather get something cheap and useful rather than something pricey that he does not need.

“But if it bothers you so much… Maybe you can pay me back next year,” Yatora suggests, looking down with a small smile. “You don’t turn twenty-one every year, after all.”

“And I’m sure you’re gonna like it when I buy you a sex swing or something,” Yotasuke grumbles. The stairs to the train station are already visible in the distance, behind people’s heads. “Since what matters most about a gift is that you get pleasure from it, right?”

“I don’t know, Yotasuke… Who exactly are you picturing in that sex swing with me?”

He glares at the taller man. “You’ll figure it out yourself, probably.”

“But Yotasuke, you said it yourself! I’m not very cute, remember?” Yatora whines dramatically. “You could’ve just said that I’m hopeless and unlovable, back then. Wouldn’t have made a difference.”

They reach the stairs and descend onto the platform, waiting for the next train. If Yotasuke remembers correctly, Yatora will stay on for a few more stops after the shorter one gets off. They’re still stuck together for at least fifteen minutes no matter what.

“Some girls like hopeless guys,” Yotasuke shrugs as they stand next to the tracks on the platform, a few steps behind the yellow line. “But it was a joke. I’m not getting you anything like that. I respect your boundaries.”

“Hah, fair enough.” The silence does not last long enough for Yotasuke’s liking, because soon Yatora is eyeing him again and saying, “The store employee must’ve thought I was cute enough, though.”

Yotasuke narrows his eyes, looking up at the other. He’s kind of given up on people not hearing their conversation. Everyone around them must think they’re some sex-obsessed perverts.

“You know, since she thought we were dating.” Yotasuke blinks. Yatora clarifies, “As in, you and me.” Yotasuke blinks. Yatora clarifies again, “So she must’ve thought I was good enough for you.”

Yotasuke wishes he could cross the yellow line and start walking down the tracks so all Yatora could see of him would be his glowing red nape before he disappears into the tunnel.

“...It was just a misunderstanding.”

“So I’m not good enough?” Yatora challenges. Yotasuke considers biting him, but given Yatora’s nature, he would probably like that.

“I never said that.” Yotasuke grips the bag harder. “What I’m saying is, we’re not dating, but we came in together and looked at the stuff together, so it was natural for her to assume that we were together romantically. She probably sees couples come in daily. It has nothing to do with whether you’re good enough for me or not.”

The train wheezes in the distance, quickly making its way over to the station. Yotasuke takes one step forward to prepare.

“Aw, you and your way of rationalizing,” Yatora whines from behind him. The train slides in, slowing down as the cars run by Yotasuke’s eyes. He’s focusing so hard on counting the endless windows that he doesn’t even feel the warm breath on his neck until Yatora’s already asking, “So, am I good enough?”

Yotasuke jumps up like his tail was just stepped on, but instead of bearing the humiliation of looking back at Yatora with his face red, he just storms inside the train the second the doors open, even if it means nearly getting trampled by the people exiting.

He clings onto the nearest pole he can reach, catching his breath when he didn’t really run at all. The cool metal briefly presses against his cheek to calm him down before he remembers that it’s covered by germs. He straightens up and keeps his eyes on the ground.

If Yatora’s teasing is supposed to be endearing, all it manages to do in reality is make Yotasuke’s mind fuzzy and his hands clammy. He has had his daily dose of Yatora Yaguchi and any more will result in an overdose.

He can’t even think about dating Yatora. They’re both men, not to mention how being in the same department would be difficult when they would eventually break up, and Yotasuke knows that he sometimes likes Yatora’s presence but also, does he really, or has he just been conditioned to like it? His stupid jokes and tendency to blush at anything resembling a compliment and his otherwise cool nature and the way he touches Yotasuke so casually and his canines when he grins wide and those awful eyes.

Yotasuke comes to the conclusion that he hates everything about Yatora but that he would not change a single thing about the man even if he could.

“Yotasuke?” someone asks from close by, way too close by, and Yotasuke opens his eyes wide to glance at the person who has appeared next to him. The band hoodie, the bleached hair, the worried expression.

The train speeds to life, and if Yotasuke had one wish, it would be to make Yatora just as flustered as he keeps making Yotasuke. A compliment would do it, but Yatora does not deserve that after all he has put the other man through.

“...You’re not good enough,” he whispers, “because you’re not even cute.”

Yatora blinks in surprise. How is he even staying upright in the moving train? No matter the reason, he still stands in place and laughs as he says, “Does that matter? You said you don’t find anyone cute.”

“Well, it’s not like I think you’re — either.”

“What was that?” Yatora asks, leaning closer. “Couldn’t hear you.”

Yotasuke bites his lip as he catches a whiff of that awful, enticing shampoo. He can see Yatora from the corner of his eye, waiting for him to respond. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to tell the truth.

Yatora isn’t cute. Yatora isn’t sexy. Yatora isn’t funny. Yatora isn’t entertaining. Yatora isn’t a good friend. Yatora isn’t a good rival. Yatora isn’t on Yotasuke’s mind all the time, bouncing around his head like Yatora, Yatora, Yatora.

Yatora isn’t even the type of person to like someone like Yotasuke.

“...You’re not a girl,” Yotasuke finally whispers, because at least that part is factual. His hands can barely stay still on the pole anymore because of all the sweat.

“So that’s it, huh?” Yatora hums. He crosses his arms and nods. “Alright, I get it. That sucks, though.”

Yotasuke glares at him with wide eyes. He’s been on the verge of a heart attack for the past twenty-four hours or so. He can’t take much more. “I’m a guy too.”

“I’m well aware.”

“So stop saying stuff like—”

“I haven’t said anything, really,” Yatora claims, like a liar. Yotasuke doesn’t like how he can tell when Yatora gets a stupid idea just from the way his eyes light up and the corner of his mouth tugs up. “If you wanted me to say something to really throw you off, well…” He leans so close that Yotasuke can feel his breath on his cheek. It’s hot yet the shorter man shivers. “I’d probably say that I like you, Yotasuke.”

Knowing that he is about to make the biggest mistake of his life, Yotasuke still slowly turns his head to look Yatora in the eyes. Golden. He’s seen those eyes narrow when he’s laughed before. Widen when he’s seen his grade from an assignment. Water when he’s teared up after the most trivial things. Fill with the strangest joy when Yotasuke has complimented him.

Yet now they’re dead serious.

Yotasuke doesn’t blush this time. He feels fear pouring into his body like a glass getting filled. His stomach twists and turns like his bowels were nothing but some child’s plaything.

The worst part, though? He can’t even play it off as a joke, even if Yatora intends it as such. Because something deep, deep, deep inside Yotasuke wishes that it was true.

A screech of the brakes combined with the train slowing down at record speed sends Yatora toppling over before Yotasuke can even react. He isn’t really sure of what happens given that he was sinking into the floor seconds prior, but he blinks and he’s leaning back against the doors of the train, backpack squished against the glass while his face is pressed into Yatora’s soft chest.

There are hands on either side of his head, palms against the windows on the doors, and if Yotasuke didn’t feel claustrophobic before, the feeling of Yatora’s misplaced thigh between his legs is certainly something to evoke panic in any human being. It’s hot. Like electric sparks.

“Ugh, sorry,” Yatora mumbles, pushing himself upright before Yotasuke can even urge him to move. All he can smell is Yatora, and unfortunately, all he can feel is the lingering presence of his touch. The blond rubs his forehead — did it hit the glass too? — and looks down at Yotasuke, lips parted as he catches his breath. “Are you—”

“This is my stop,” Yotasuke says before he loses the ability to speak altogether, quickly ducking under Yatora’s arm to rush to the other side where the doors are open to the platform. He doesn’t look back, because that would probably mean meeting Yatora’s eyes, which would mean stopping in his tracks, which would mean returning to the man’s side. He doesn’t know what that would mean.

Disoriented, but miraculously still alive, Yotasuke first looks down — why is it like that? — before he looks around the station. He tugs the hem of his plaid shirt farther down. He tries to hang the shopping bag in front of his hips, even if it thumps against him with every step.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is the current agenda. Bus. Home. Food. Shower. Sleep. Repeat. No Yatora. No Yatora ever again.

-

Yotasuke has only a fluffy towel around his waist when he steps out of his bathroom. It’s dark outside the closed window blinds, but he has the lamp on his bedside table on. Ceiling lights unnerve him.

He sits down on his bed with a sigh as a couple droplets fall from his hair to his naked shoulders. He just stares at his lap for a moment, appreciative of the fact that it finally calmed down.

Maybe it was because it has never really happened before — probably a few times in middle school when he woke up in the morning, but never in public — that it took uncomfortably long for it to go down. He was already past the third floor in the building’s elevator when he started to relax. Maybe living on the floor of death does have some effects after all.

Still, the events are in the past now, so why is the toy still charging on the sidetable?

Yotasuke leans in closer. The red light next to the charging spot stopped flashing while he was in the shower, so it’s probably charged all the way now. He carefully unplugs the cable and takes the charging block out of the wall. He leaves the plastic toy on his nightstand, next to its remote, and switches charging cables to plug his phone in instead.

He doesn’t really need to use the toy. He doesn’t know why he would, even if he technically promised Yatora. Everything he has ever told Yatora has now been nullified because Yotasuke is changing schools even if it means dropping out and applying to a different university the following year. Therefore, he is never seeing Yatora again. No need to keep his word when the other man won’t ever find out if he does or not.

The entire day is a blur in his head. He often likes to keep up a daily routine, but that becomes impossible whenever he’s with Yatora. On the timetable in his head, there were no scheduled events for things such as “get dragged to a sex store with Yatora” or “get basically confessed to by Yatora (maybe as a joke?)” or “get your first-ever human-given boner from Yatora.”

There is especially no free slot for an event titled “try masturbating for the first time with the sex toy Yatora got you.”

In short, the current day should not exist, and if Yotasuke just slips under the sheets after his hair has dried a bit, the day will be over and he will be able to forget everything that happened. Of course, he will also be refreshed enough to sign whatever paperwork is needed to quit university.

Yotasuke gets up and catches a glimpse of the pile of shredded wrapping paper on his desk. He would’ve at least liked to know where to buy that from. No craft stores or the like that he has visited have had anything like that.

Why does Yatora always have to ruin, not only everything, but more specifically, Yotasuke’s peace? His life would be so much calmer without the puppy-like man popping up everywhere, even in his damn mind.

Yotasuke quickly hangs up his towel to dry in the bathroom before returning to the dresser next to his desk. He opens the drawer that holds his underwear while considering what other schools there are to attend.

Actually, isn’t it kind of unfair that Yotasuke hasn’t done anything wrong yet he’s the one humiliated to the point of exile? Yatora is the one who couldn’t stop talking at the playground. Yatora is the one who got him that dumb gift in the first place. Yatora is the one who confessed.

All Yotasuke has done is put up with his indirect bullshit.

No, if Yotasuke is going to be uncomfortable for the rest of their university years, Yatora should suffer the same fate. Maybe when they see each other in the hallway the following day, Yotasuke should pin the blond against the wall. Shove his knee between the man’s thighs while trapping him between his arms. See how he likes it.

Yotasuke purses his lips. Yatora would like it, wouldn’t he? Not that Yotasuke has ever seen him turned on, but since he talks about sex so casually, it’d probably be easy to arouse him, right? A pressure against his crotch would probably be all that it takes until he’s red and whining, begging for more.

Would it even freak Yatora out if they were in public? Or would he like that, too? Then again, they’ve mostly ever talked about Yotasuke’s preferences — or the lack thereof. But Yotasuke would like to think that he knows Yatora better than most, even if he doesn’t want to.

A vision of Yatora crying on the train from being so hot and bothered against Yotasuke flashes through the man’s mind.

Slowly, cautiously, he lets his eyes wander down to look at his own naked body. It feels like his own dick is waving at him.

What is wrong with him?

Yotasuke sighs and closes the drawer; he’d rather not get any suspicious stains on his boxers again. Awkwardly, he sits on the edge of his bed like it wasn’t his own. He glances over his shoulder at the toy, charged up and ready to go.

Through some half-hearted logic that he isn’t even sure he believes in, Yotasuke comes to the conclusion that it doesn’t really matter why he’s currently hard or why he’s thinking about Yatora or why he wants to try using the toy, because it’s all fantasy and doesn’t mean anything in the end.

Yatora said it himself: straight men use those kinds of toys too. And it’s all the same to Yotasuke whether he likes men specifically or not, as long as he doesn’t like Yatora. Just because the image flashing through his mind kind of resembles Yatora doesn’t mean that any other person couldn’t get the same reaction out of Yotasuke if they just tried very hard.

Then again… did Yatora specifically aim for that or was he just being annoying on purpose?

It doesn’t matter! Yotasuke is tired of overthinking, so he goes and washes the toy with water and soap and he dries it carefully and he finds a box of tissues from under the sink and he grabs the bottle of lubricant from the drawer he previously hid it in and he sits in the middle of his mattress, supplies all around him.

He read the instructions that came with the toy while he was eating ramen with a fried egg. They should be fresh in his mind, so… he should just get to work.

Yotasuke tries to keep his breathing steady as he uncaps the bottle of lube. It doesn’t have a strong smell but he does pick up something vague. It’s not off-putting enough for him not to squeeze it onto his fingers, though. However, it is pretty cold.

His erection has slightly given up during his preparations, and it might only get worse as he lowers his slippery hand between his thighs. Yatora said he hadn’t tried this, which implies his only way of masturbating has been by touching his dick, which is probably the best way to start. Yet here Yotasuke is, about to push a finger inside himself.

Maybe he’ll be able to at least portray the pleasure of an orgasm in his art after this or something. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t really care.

Yotasuke presses one finger against his back entrance, his back awkwardly curled to aim his touches properly. It’s shiver-inducing, and although it tickles, he still starts pushing his finger in.

Okay, so it hurts a bit. That’s not unexpected. It’s not like anything is technically meant to go inside there. It’d probably feel the same if he were to try and force something into his ear canal, but that thought is so unpleasant that he grabs his dick with his free hand to shift his thoughts somewhere else.

He probably should have lubed up both of his hands, but it’s a little too late for that with his finger slipping deeper and deeper in. Yotasuke tries to breathe through it, trying to get used to the sensation of something being inside him.

When the rest of his fingers curled up against his palm prevent him from sliding it in any farther, Yotasuke experimentally pulls it out almost all the way before easing it back in. It’s slimy, which is more uncomfortable than enjoyable, so he has no idea why he’s getting hot.

Yotasuke trails the fingers of his left hand over his dick, up and down while repeating the motion inside him.

It doesn’t need to feel good for now. He just needs to get himself ready for the toy so it doesn’t hurt as much.

Another finger slips in easily enough, that is if “easily” means that it burns a bit from the stretch. He doesn’t know why, but when he has two fingers inside him all the way to the knuckle, the squelch that the lubricant makes every time he moves his hand makes him think of the gum the woman was chewing at the store.

Except when Yotasuke closes his eyes and sighs, he unfortunately sees Yatora chewing gum instead. He’s not sure if he’s ever actually seen the man do that, but he can picture it. Yatora leaning on his hand, biting down on the substance while grinning. It would stick to his teeth, stretching across his mouth when he would part them. White, kind of like cum.

Yotasuke curls his fingers and makes a noise against his will as something electric runs up his spine. A whine? A whimper? He isn’t sure, but the sound makes him open his eyes.

Was he this hard previously or is it actually working? Yotasuke experimentally wraps his hand around his dick before curling his fingers against the same spot and finds his body jerking involuntarily. A surprised gasp leaves him like he wasn’t the one in control of his own body anymore.

That’s a bit scary. Yotasuke slowly withdraws his fingers all the way before letting go of his cock. It’s redder than before, which is surprising because his skin is pretty pale. Something is beading at the tip, looking rather pearly and pretty for something coming out of his body.

Even if it is a bit white, it’s not the same colour as gum. Maybe if there was more of it… Would it look whiter on Yatora’s tongue? Well, no, that doesn’t matter. It’d probably look white on top of any other colour. Yatora doesn’t need to be involved.

Yotasuke holds back from touching his precum because something is telling him that he should insert the toy before he gets too excited. He picks it up, places it on his lower belly and picks up the lube because one of his hands is sticky and he only has two.

He turns the toy on before lathering it in the transparent lubricant. It takes a bit of pondering before he figures out which way to hold it when pressing it to his backside.

The beauty of an orgasm, Yotasuke. Just think about that. Nothing else matters.

He takes a deep breath before pushing it in, not taking a break even when his back curls involuntarily or when his dick weirdly twitches against his stomach. He doesn’t stop until it’s all in and the base presses against him, and yeah, he doesn’t really feel like forcing that in too, so it’s time to reach for the remote.

As Yotasuke straightens up, he trembles. Something’s off. As in, something’s rubbing against him from the inside. As soon as he is able to grab the remote, he throws himself onto his back to make the sensation stop.

The best way to describe it would be to say that he’s being tickled, except the tickling feels like these little bubbles of pleasure bursting inside him.

Yotasuke lets out a shaky breath before turning the toy on. It has eight different settings, which he assumes only grow in intensity, which is surprising because he already gasps when the first setting turns on and the toy starts vibrating inside him.

Weird. Really weird. In fact, it’s so weird that Yotasuke writhes in place, twisting his neck before curling his toes before thrusting his hips up to nothing.

His right hand is still plenty slippery, so he wraps it around his erection. Softly rubbing himself to the rhythm of the vibrations, like he was used to doing things like this.

Maybe he’s normal now. Still a virgin, yes, but so is Yatora, so he doesn’t really have the right to whine to Yotasuke about anything anymore. They’re just as experienced, and Yotasuke might even beat Yatora in that category, given that he has a sex toy in his ass at the moment and everything.

He changes to the next setting with the click of a button, the shaking inside him intensifying like a lightning bolt running through his body.

…He might get it after all. The fuss, or whatever. Feels kind of good. His hand runs up and down his cock, but it’s a bit messy because of the way he moves his hips at the same time, like he can’t keep himself contained.

Yotasuke lets out little mumbles, little whines of pleasure as he keeps turning the setting higher. He’s basically rocking off the bed at level five, mind growing hazy like this is all there is to life.

He’s wrong, of course, as in his life there is art and there are animals and there is Fumi and there are video games and there is his small social circle and there is Yatora, who’s the one who got Yotasuke into this situation so if Yotasuke happens to become a sex addict, it’ll all be his fault.

Yotasuke bucks his hips off the bed and whimpers like an animal in heat. His feet slide along the sheets so he never gets very far up, but it feels good all the same. He’s kind of seeing white, but also not seeing anything, but also seeing his ceiling, but also seeing Yatora.

Stupid Yatora who can’t leave him alone even for a second. If Yotasuke had asked him to join him to test the toy that night, he most likely would’ve agreed and just stared at the man as he convulsed in pleasure on his bed. But regrettably, Yotasuke did not do that as he was far too humiliated by whatever, and now he’s moaning all alone.

Maybe Yatora is doing the same thing at his home, who knows. He still lives at his parents’ house, so he probably can’t be very loud. Maybe he’s hunched over his desk at this very second, watching porn with his headphones on and his cock in hand, biting into his fist to silence himself.

Would he cry during it? Would he look good while crying during it?

Something strange is building up, like a tidal wave, like a volcanic eruption, but Yotasuke can’t slow down. He can only turn the setting higher once more as he writhes there, breathless gasps leaving him.

He can see canines in his field of vision and he imagines Yatora touching him like this, or like that, or like whatever, because he’s there one way or another, and Yotasuke jerks up as it crashes over him.

A bunch of nonsense escapes his mouth, something akin to strings and strings of the same word, as he grinds his hips against nothing, his dick spurting thick ropes of white over his chest and stomach like it had been waiting for a release for years. Yotasuke is a damn puppet as he twitches everywhere, riding the wave until it dissolves and he’s left with sensitive skin everywhere, and apparently sensitive guts inside.

“Fuck,” he cries, quickly pressing the button on the remote to turn it off.

It’s the wrong button, though, and he’s onto level seven with the toy working overtime to make him spasm like a possessed man. Yotasuke thinks he sees the pearly gates and in the time that it takes to find the power button, he already manages to get turned away from heaven because of a single, simple yet pressing reason: he’s fallen for the wrong man.

The vibrations end instantly and Yotasuke slumps against the sheets with one final gasp. The ceiling is blurry and he blames that on his sweaty eyelashes. He breathes himself back to life, until he realizes that he’s sweaty everywhere and he needs to shower again and probably change his sheets as well.

His cum is already drying on his skin and all he wants to do is lie back and sleep for the rest of the week.

However, as he gently removes the toy from inside him, he remembers that he has classes the next day. And as he shakily gets up to go wash the toy and prepare for a shower, he becomes rather aware of the fact that Yatora will be at campus too. And as he stares at himself in the bathroom mirror with his messy black hair, tired eyes and dry semen on his abdomen, he wishes he wasn’t aware of the fact that he kept repeating Yatora’s name as he came.

Yotasuke hops in the shower in hopes of the cold water washing away his sins.

-

For the first moments after Yotasuke woke up that morning, he didn’t remember anything. He had slept better than maybe ever before in his life, and after realizing that, he remembered the exhaustion that was most likely the cause.

The morning was spent wallowing in regrets, but somehow Yotasuke found himself at the school gates once again, like everything was normal again.

And as he walks into the building where his first class is located, Yotasuke goes through the different options for why he did what he did the previous night, but none of them make sense.

The one reasoning that especially doesn’t make sense is the assumption that he likes Yatora. As in, romantically, sexually, spiritually, whatever. He was fine with just liking him platonically — in fact, it fit their relationship perfectly, so Yotasuke is unsure of why his mind is giving him these kinds of ideas.

The semester has been going on for just a few days yet everything is already a mess. Yotasuke won’t drop out — which is still an option, admittedly — but he won’t exactly face his struggles with confidence, either.

It feels like a slap in the face when his struggles face him, instead, because he finishes climbing up the stairs only to see Yatora lingering by the entrance of a smaller hallway that leads to the bathrooms. He looks up right as Yotasuke stops walking, like he was expecting him or something.

“Yotasuke,” he says with a strange smile and big eyes. Almost like he was relieved. Bitterly, Yotasuke makes his way to the taller man so he isn’t blocking the stairs. Yatora is wearing a simple sweater and jeans but somehow it looks weird. Like Yotasuke can’t see him the same way anymore. He wants the feeling to stop.

“I take it you got home safe?” Yatora asks once Yotasuke is standing in front of him but a safe distance away.

“You could’ve just texted me that question,” Yotasuke says quietly. He wants to look away but Yatora’s bright eyes look more saturated than ever. Unfortunately, the shorter man’s face must be getting rather saturated as well.

“Would you have answered, though?” Yatora asks. “You seemed upset when you left.”

Any normal person would be upset when being teased like that. Ignoring the whole situation where they got pressed together and Yotasuke got an unwilling boner, Yatora’s words before that were infuriating. They were the exact kind where he could say them without getting into any trouble no matter what he meant. If he was serious, he could say he was just joking when rejected. Or maybe he’s just a jerk who likes messing with Yotasuke.

Too bad for Yatora that Yotasuke is not a toy.

It might just get worse if he brings the conversation up, though, since they have class together in just a short while, and probably for the rest of the year.

“I don’t know,” is all that Yotasuke says, because it is the truth. If Yatora texted him, Yotasuke might still have been fuming before his shower and blocked the man entirely. Or if his text came in later, Yotasuke might have been in the middle of something very unlike him, and he’d rather not think about what he would’ve done if Yatora reached out then.

Yatora nods, awkwardly scratching his cheek. “Well, I see you’re not about to shove a box into my guts today. I’m a bit surprised, actually.”

“Didn’t I pick it out myself?”

“You did, yeah, but I wasn’t sure if you’d have second thoughts,” he says with a shrug.

Yotasuke narrows his eyes. Even if he has crossed about every line in existence inside his head, so far they’ve only really talked about hypothetical things. It’d be weird to suddenly get into specifics about what exactly he did the previous night.

Luckily — or unluckily! — to both of them, Yatora has no filter and loves humiliating Yotasuke in the place that they visit nearly every day and that is occupied by people they have to see nearly every day.

“So, did you try it?” he asks, and Yotasuke tenses. Visibly, apparently, as there’s a glint in Yatora’s eyes right before he grins. “Really? How was it?”

It was so good that Yotasuke moaned Yatora’s name when he climaxed.

“...It was alright,” he mumbles, finally looking away before his blush can betray him.

“Did you… you know?”

“What?”

“Well, you know. Did you come?”

This isn’t what friends talk about. Yotasuke wonders when they first crossed that line.

He glances at Yatora, who looks extremely curious, basically salivating over the information like a dog, before looking back down. “Yeah.”

There’s the sound of a sharp inhale, and when Yotasuke dares to raise his gaze, Yatora’s holding his hand up. Yotasuke lazily moves his eyes from the man’s palm to his face.

“Don’t leave me hanging, Yotasuke.”

“Why does the news of my orgasm require a high five?” he asks, careful to keep his voice quiet.

Yatora awkwardly lowers his hand before digging it into his pocket. “Well, I guess since that was the point? I think, at least. I don’t really remember everything we talked about back then.”

“You were so adamant about it but you don’t even remember why.”

“I remember the general gist of it,” Yatora insists. “Anyway, uh… Are you gonna keep using it? The toy?”

At this point Yotasuke would react better to Yatora just declaring his love for him. At least in that case the shorter man would know exactly what was going on instead of being left to wonder just how perverted Yatora is.

Whatever. He’s sick of being the one always ending up flustered.

“Why are you asking?” Yotasuke inquires, casually tilting his head. “Do you want to see me use it or something?”

Almost without missing a beat, Yatora asks, “Is that an option?”

Yotasuke blinks. Yatora blinks right back. Yotasuke feels his legs being ground up by the blades of the blender they appear to be standing inside of.

Yatora slowly covers his mouth and looks away. A slip of the tongue? The fact that he turns nearly as red as the blood circulating inside him doesn’t bring Yotasuke much satisfaction when he is well aware of his own condition. Blushing like an idiot.

“...Nevermind,” Yatora mumbles against his own palm.

It’s a bit useless to take his words back when they still echo in Yotasuke’s head. The implications are clear, no matter how much Yotasuke wishes he could misunderstand them. It’s not a joke. Not a form of teasing. Yatora just wants to see him like that.

It’s terrifying and Yotasuke wants to curl over and hurl from the burning sensation on his skin, from the way Yatora is sweating just a couple small steps away, from the way he could just reach over and feel the flush on the man’s skin. From the way he might not mind Yatora watching him when he does it.

“...When does your final class end?” Yotasuke whispers, the pain from the blush on his cheeks radiating about everywhere in his body.

Yatora’s eyes snap back to him and he opens his mouth a few times to no avail. “Oh, uh— Around four in the afternoon?”

The shorter man nods. “I’ll wait at the gate, but I’m leaving without you if you’re late.”

Yatora just stares at him with his eyes wide. Isn’t this what the man wanted?

“What?” Yotasuke asks, already clinging on to the strap of his bag.

“Nothing! Um, have fun in class!” Yatora yelps, his hands kind of fidgeting in place but not actually doing anything worthwhile. His smile looks more creepy than it does charming this time around. He must be panicking just as much as Yotasuke is, but it seems the latter is able to hide it better for a change.

“Yatora…”

“Y— Yeah?”

“Don’t we have the same class next?”

Yatora pauses. Thinks. Considers. Ponders. Then he laughs like he was being held at knifepoint. “Right, yeah, we do. Let’s… go?”

Yotasuke didn’t think it could be done, but it seems he has finally broken Yatora. The man turns nearly mechanically, like he has to think individually about each body part he wants to move. Quietly, Yotasuke follows this broken machine to the lecture hall with his only hope being that the rest of his classes away from Yatora will go smoothly.

-

Yotasuke doesn’t know what he was thinking when choosing his courses for the term, but having to share a room with Yatora for the entire day once every week must not have been what he had in mind.

At least Yotasuke finally got out and managed to escape to buy a soda from the vending machine while Yatora moved onto his final class. The short man sits down on a bench with a clear view of the school gate as he sips the drink.

Neither of them were eager to sit together during their shared classes. Throughout the day it became clear that Yatora would run to the seats closest to the windows while Yotasuke chose one by the door. By the exit. The safe route. It was like they were sworn enemies and not planning a rather sexually-charged event at Yotasuke’s apartment later.

Yotasuke finishes his drink in just a couple swigs like he hadn’t drunk in ages. He stares at his feet and considers if screaming would be worth it. Screaming and crying and kicking and pulling out his own hair. What the hell is he doing? Did he masturbate once and like it so much that now he’s ready to do anything at all as long as he’s able to get off?

He covers his mouth in horror. Yatora is coming to his apartment soon and it’s all Yotasuke’s fault. Was it worth it, seeing the way Yatora lit up red like a Christmas tree during their interaction? Was it worth it just to have the upper hand for a change?

Well… maybe it was. Yatora just so happened to look extremely appetizing while blushing red from head to toe. Yotasuke plays the memory back in his head over and over again. Those alarmed eyes and nervous movements, and if they go through with their plan, Yotasuke will be seeing a lot more of that kind of behaviour over at his apartment.

He presses his knees together. He needs to get his head out of the gutter. All Yotasuke needs to focus on now is surviving through the day, and no matter what happens, at least they won’t be in public during it.

Yotasuke checks his phone, surprised to find out that he’s been both fantasizing about and dreading Yatora for so long that his class will be over in around fifteen minutes. Breathing in deeply, Yotasuke stands up and tosses the empty soda can to the recycling can next to the vending machine. He brushes strands of black hair off his face as he slowly walks towards the main road that leads to the school gate. It’s not like he’s in a rush.

Or so he thought, before he hears fast steps approaching from behind him, followed by heaving and gasps for fresh air. When Yatora finally reaches his side a good ten meters from the gate, his running steps slow down and he leans on his knees to catch his breath.

“How’d you get out so early?” Yotasuke asks, scrunching his nose a bit at the way Yatora keeps gasping. Why’d he run when he had so much time left? The man hangs his head and Yotasuke once again gets the dangerous view of Yatora’s sweaty nape.

He wonders how it would taste.

“Ah, yeah,” Yatora laughs, slowly straightening back up with his chest still rising up and down heavily. “I kinda just left the auditorium. I didn’t… wanna be late.”

Yotasuke glares at him, at the way his eyes sparkle in the sun and at the way the tip of his nose glistens. “No one asked where you were going?”

“Nope, but I did think of a fake dentist’s appointment in case someone did,” Yatora says. He exhales deeply once more before meeting Yotasuke’s eyes. He smiles brightly. Where did that nervousness from before go? “Are we going to your place?”

“Yeah, we need to take the bus.”

“Alright.” Yatora beams like the damn sun while Yotasuke leads him to the nearest bus stop. As they wait, the shorter of the two keeps sneaking glances at the blond. He’s pretty calm now, but he did run out of class about fifteen minutes early just to make it to the gate in time.

Maybe he’s just faking it now, much like Yotasuke, but that’s not nearly as entertaining. Yatora can’t just stand next to him while looking pretty and unstoppable when Yotasuke is melting into a puddle at their closeness, from the knowledge of what’s to come.

Yotasuke’s eyes catch the way Yatora swallows, the lump in his throat moving up and down. He has to stop this. His chest is getting tight just from the sight.

He needs to improvise.

“Yatora,” Yotasuke whispers.

“Yeah?” the other man answers, turning his head to face the shorter of the two. Yotasuke swallows hard, gripping onto the strap of his bag. Yatora smiles softly at him and he swears that he’s about to explode.

“You know… How I ran away yesterday…”

“Oh, yeah,” Yatora nods, “I was a bit confused, but I figured the day was a bit too much. No worries. I probably should’ve sensed you were exhausted.”

The bus closes in on them from the distance and Yotasuke has to forcefully remove his eyes from Yatora’s face. His heart pounds against his chest. Nothing is going according to plan.

The bus stops in front of them and the doors open. Some people step out, but Yatora appears to be waiting for Yotasuke to do something first.

As he slowly pulls his bus card from his pocket, he whispers, “I had a boner.”

He does not look, but he can basically hear Yatora blinking in confusion. Why the hell did Yotasuke say that?

“Huh?”

Yotasuke hops inside the bus and swipes his card against the reader, his own heartbeat so loud in his ears that it wouldn’t surprise him if he went deaf just from that. As he walks deeper in the bus, he’s shaking so intensely that he estimates his death will arrive upon him in three, two, one—

“Hey, you need to pay for the ride,” a strange voice says behind Yotasuke, and he slips into a pair of empty seats just in time to see Yatora awkwardly rubbing the back of his head as he faces the bus driver.

“Uh, right. Can I pay with cash?”

“Sure, just don’t waste my time. I see punks like you daily, trying to ride for free.”

The assumption of Yatora being a good-for-nothing delinquent, while understandable, couldn’t be more false. Maybe if he stopped bleaching his hair and took out his piercings, he wouldn’t face those prejudiced views anymore. Then again, he wouldn’t be Yatora anymore if he did that, would he?

It doesn’t matter what Yatora looks like because the driver should already know that when he stops at the bus stop right outside Geidai, some freaks are bound to hop into his vehicle. Even the weirdest of art students need a way to get home.

Besides, Yotasuke has already established in his mind that he’s weirder than Yatora. He might not look the part, but if he was normal, he wouldn’t feel so warm and giddy around the blond man. So there. But Yatora doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t need to know that Yotasuke has grown fond of his hair and piercings because they compliment his eyes.

Yatora digs through his pockets before he hands over a bunch of coins to the driver. He should probably invest in a bus card, especially if he ever plans on coming over to Yotasuke’s again.

Yotasuke is about to smack himself for being stupid when Yatora starts heading his way.

The man is not going to come over again, even with the tiny chance that both of them would want that, because with the way Yotasuke is trembling just from Yatora taking a seat next to him, he’ll most likely die before they even reach his apartment.

Yatora’s bag thumps onto his lap as he curiously turns to Yotasuke. “You know, I never realized how much you like running away before,” he notes rather cheerily.

Yotasuke stares at the backrest of the empty seat in front of him because if he doesn’t meet Yatora’s eyes, he cannot become aware of reality and he cannot die and he cannot focus on the thigh pressing against his own and he cannot pop another boner.

“Hey,” Yatora gently kicks Yotasuke’s foot with his own, “how are you gonna say something like that and then just ignore me?”

“You keep doing the same thing,” Yotasuke mutters, kicking the man back just a bit harder. “You say stuff to freak me out and then act like nothing happened.”

Yatora leans forward a bit to meet Yotasuke’s eyes. “Huh? I do that?”

“You haven’t noticed?” The shorter man glares at him. “You’ll yell at me like ‘I want you to feel good, Yotasuke’ or ‘it doesn’t matter how expensive a gift is as long as it’s for you’ and then you’ll change the subject before I can even understand what you’re on about!”

Yatora leans back against his seat in thought. “No one’s ever told me I do that. Maybe it’s just with you.” He scratches his head for a while, silence settling upon them for long enough that Yotasuke feels it’s safe to look at the other man. “I feel like those examples are different, though. I was pretty straightforward.”

“And I wasn’t?” Yotasuke scoffs.

“Well, you know, Yotasuke,” Yatora’s voice is quiet as he leans close to him, their cheeks nearly touching and Yotasuke completely malfunctioning, “you can’t really tell another person that you got a boner around them and not provide an explanation.”

“Shut up!” Yotasuke whines, kicking Yatora in the calf so hard that the man actually winces. The shorter one rubs his face in embarrassment. He tries to whisper, to keep his voice calm, “It wasn’t because I was around you. It was because a person, who could’ve been anyone but you, basically fell on top of me and shoved their thigh between my legs.”

“Right,” Yatora says, as if he doesn’t quite believe it. He has leaned down to rub his leg, yet he’s still looking at Yotasuke from behind his shoulder. There seems to be something on his mind, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Right, okay. Fair enough.”

“...What?”

“What?”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Yotasuke asks. “You wanted to annoy me again, didn’t you?”

Yatora straightens back up, furrowing his brows. “I didn’t, I just… I was wondering if maybe there was something more to it.”

“Like what…?”

The man grins. Yotasuke wants to kick him off his seat. “Well, you remember what I said before I fell on top of you? Like, I could be wrong, but if some hot guy said the same thing to me… I could be affected,” he says with a shrug and Yotasuke assesses how much strength he should use in his leg to knock Yatora over.

“I wouldn’t describe you as that,” he grumbles.

Yatora sighs, throwing his head back. “Okay, so I’m not cute. I’m not hot. I’m not even a girl, so what exactly am I, Yotasuke?”

Yotasuke reaches over to press the button because the next stop is theirs. “You’re coming with me, I guess,” he mutters, urging the man to start getting up. Yatora yawns rather lazily before standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder while Yotasuke just waits for him to get out of the way. “...You’re pathetic too.”

“I know you don’t mean that, at least not anymore,” Yatora says with a soft smile before making his way to the open bus doors in the middle. Both of them hop out and stand there for a second before Yotasuke realizes that now it’s his turn to lead Yatora to the correct destination.

As he starts walking, he becomes painfully aware of the fact that this is the first guest he has had at his new apartment aside from his own mother. Yotasuke has barely settled in and he is already subjecting the place to such sights…

“This is a nice neighbourhood,” Yatora hums as they make their way deeper into the world of high apartment buildings. “Seems peaceful and it’s pretty close to our campus as well.”

“It’s not like I chose the place for its spacious nature,” Yotasuke says, walking just a couple steps ahead of the other man. If their hands happened to brush, Yotasuke might just throw up, and that wouldn’t really be a turn-on even for someone as strange as Yatora. The best course of action would probably be to eat something light before getting into action so the embarrassment of it all won’t make Yotasuke faint.

“Any fun places nearby?” Yatora asks. “Like my favourite arcade is in Shibuya — we went there together, yeah? — but it’d be cool to have a place close by to crash at afterwards.”

“I haven’t really explored the area yet,” Yotasuke responds, deciding to ignore the implication that Yatora would be using his apartment as a hotel whenever he didn’t feel like taking the train to Shibuya. “I’ve seen maybe two izakaya and a karaoke bar around, but that one seemed kind of lame.”

Yatora takes a leap to catch up to Yotasuke. “A karaoke bar, you say…?”

“We’ve gone to a different one before and you know I didn’t really care for it,” the shorter man reminds him.

“Man, but I really liked your voice.” As Yotasuke starts pulling out his keys as they approach the door to his apartment complex, Yatora’s eyes go half-lidded as he looks down at the poor man just trying to open the door so they can get indoors. “Well, I guess I can hear it again later.”

Yotasuke shivers, his key not going in. He tears his eyes away from Yatora to slide it in the lock. “I don’t make a lot of noise,” he whispers, even if he only has one night worth of experience and even if he did make too much noise for his own liking that night. He’s just glad no neighbours complained, but he still has to focus on keeping his voice down if he keeps doing things like that.

The key turns in the lock and Yatora’s chuckle can be heard from behind Yotasuke’s back. “Noise? I meant I’d force you to go singing with me some other day. What were you thinking about?”

Yotasuke slowly pulls the door open, his keys pocketed, and puts on the best possible mask to face Yatora without a whirlpool appearing inside him. It fails, because Yatora’s amused expression has Yotasuke considering the best way to sharpen his nails before clawing the man to shreds.

“Then I guess you won’t mind when I stay dead silent tonight,” he hisses. He had considered letting Yatora enter first, but now he storms inside the building so that Yatora has to leap forward so the door doesn’t close on him. Yotasuke is already calling the elevator to the ground floor when Yatora makes it to his side. “You’re the one who wanted to come here but you’re still being annoying when I indulge you.”

“You asked if I wanted to come,” Yatora points out.

Yotasuke furrows his brows. “It was a rhetorical question and you’re the one who took it seriously.”

“I mean… yeah, okay, fine, but after I told you to forget about it, you still basically invited me.”

Yeah, why did Yotasuke do that? He doesn’t remember his logic but he’s certain his mind was conjuring up images filthy enough to make a grown man cry. Or maybe the grown man crying was in those images and the man was Yatora and Yotasuke wasn’t strong enough to resist the urge.

He can’t just say that, though. He won’t take any blame when none of this would’ve happened in the first place if it weren’t for Yatora's stupid gift idea.

The elevator arrives, the doors open and the two step in. Yotasuke presses the button to the fourth floor as they stand shoulder to shoulder.

“Isn’t that bad luck?” Yatora asks, observing the movement of the shorter man’s hand near the floor buttons.

“Clearly it is, because you’re here with me,” Yotasuke mutters, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves. He doesn’t really want their argument to end with him losing. “Maybe I invited you, but you ditched class early because you were so excited about coming with me. Which is pretty weird.”

“Weird because I’m going to be watching you?” Yatora asks. Their conversation at the store the previous day comes to mind. Something about Yotasuke being insecure and something about Yatora picturing him masturbating. Casual stuff.

“No,” Yotasuke says, kind of unsure of where to look inside their little metal cage. The elevator dings and the doors start sliding open right as Yotasuke asks, “Yatora, are you… gay?”

A part of him wants to run away again, but this time his legs just won’t move. The floor looks wonky in front of him.

That’s maybe not something that can just be asked like that, but… doesn’t Yotasuke have the right? Given that he’s going to be taking his clothes off soon just to fulfill some fantasy of Yatora’s?

“I mean… Nah, I’m not,” Yatora says with a shrug, stepping out of the elevator into the fourth floor. Yotasuke blinks himself back to reality and follows the man. It’s not like he knows which door is the correct one, and Yotasuke was getting a bit scared of the elevator doors closing in on him.

“Really?” he asks with some kind of a sneer, which soon makes him feel pretty rude. They stand in the hallway, facing each other as the golden afternoon sun impales the windows close to the elevator. “You say that, but you got me a sex toy because you wanted me to feel good. You wanted me to experience… an orgasm. You took me to a sex store. You told me you imagined me doing different… things. Then you kept asking if you were good enough to date me, and then you— You basically told me you liked me.” He pauses for a second, because putting it all together sounds insane, and he hasn’t even gotten to the worst part. “Then you inquired about what I did with the sex toy you bought me, and now you’re enthusiastically on your way to watch me use it.”

Yotasuke’s feet feel much like jelly. He’s feverish while looking at Yatora, the man doused in warm, sunny colours, and his breath grows shaky when Yatora just laughs again.

“I guess it does sound pretty bad when you put it like that,” he admits. “Would it bother you if I was gay?”

It certainly would make this situation more difficult given that Yotasuke could no longer chalk everything Yatora does up to his teasing and perversion. It would open a new, scary door.

Everything that has ever happened between them would shift tones, and Yotasuke would have to go over their timeline and realize how nearly nothing they’ve done together has been normal for two friends or rivals.

It would make this real.

Yotasuke gasps for breath, uncertain of when exactly he started shaking but certain that it’s already too late to try and get it under control. Yatora’s smile falls immediately and he walks over, grabbing the shorter man by the shoulders. Yotasuke can’t really see beyond the blurry front of Yatora’s sweater, but if he’s lucky, he’s not yet crying.

“Hey, hey,” Yatora says, tone urgent, “I’m not gay, alright? So— So don’t hate me just yet, okay?”

Shit. Now he is crying. What’s wrong with him? Why is neither of those answers what he wants to hear? Is there anything in this world that has ever managed to satisfy him?

“I didn’t mean for it to get so serious, Yotasuke, I’m sorry,” Yatora sighs, hesitantly looking away. Yotasuke doesn’t know if it’s his shoulders or Yatora’s hands that are shaking. “What’s your door? I’ll get you inside and then leave you alone, okay?”

Yotasuke wipes his eyes desperately, over and over again until it burns. Everything is too much. It’s overflowing and all he can manage to do is push Yatora away and stumble to the door of his apartment. He pats his pockets to find the keys and unlocks it. He can’t hear Yatora around him when he pulls the door open, and only after he has turned on the lights inside does he manage to turn around.

Yatora is rubbing his arm in the hallway, bothered. Tears still sting at Yotasuke’s eyes.

“...I’m fine,” he mumbles, because it’s about all he can say after his embarrassing tantrum. “You can come in.”

“No, uh, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” Yatora says. “I think I should go.”

“...But you’re not gay. You said so yourself.” Yotasuke looks down. His thoughts are all jumbled up. This is a lost cause. “You’re just a weirdo or a pervert or something, but I already knew that, so it’s fine.”

“I don’t really… I mean, I don’t see why you would be fine with that but not with—”

“You can’t like me if you don’t like guys,” Yotasuke whispers, eyes glossed over. He stares at Yatora’s blurry sneakers and waits for the inevitable moment they turn around and walk away. He waits for the mocking laughter, too. He waits for the voice he usually enjoys to call him stupid and conceited and delusional.

It takes a while, maybe around thirty seconds or so, for the sneakers to start walking Yotasuke’s way. He looks up and comes face to face with a face serious enough to kill. Yotasuke doubts he’s ever been on the receiving end of this look. Usually it has been directed towards an art piece Yatora has been desperate to master.

“You said I can come in,” Yatora says quietly. Yotasuke stares for a moment before stepping out of the way, closing the door behind the taller man when he walks in, and taking his shoes off next to Yatora.

Yotasuke leaves his bag by the genkan and Yatora follows his lead before taking a few steps in. The blinds aren’t closed this time around so Yotasuke turns off the lights, leaving the entryway dim but the rest of the place lit up by the golden sun.

“I think I only have water or tea,” Yotasuke says at the back of Yatora’s head as the latter takes in the studio. The shorter one wasn’t exactly expecting guests, so his fridge is pretty hopeless. He isn’t sure if he’s willing to share the strawberries he’s been saving. “I can make us cup noodles, but there might also be some juice or cereal—”

“I like both,” Yatora says, not to Yotasuke but to the combined living room, kitchen, office and bedroom.

“...What?”

Yatora turns around, shifting his gaze around nervously. He grins like a madman before chuckling, “Fuck, this is harder to admit than I thought.” He cracks his knuckles and twists his fingers, which might come across as intimidating to some, but Yotasuke just furrows his brows at the way Yatora is slowly unravelling. “But yeah. I like both, or all, or I guess it doesn’t really matter to me. Fuck.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about right now,” Yotasuke says, because thinking any deeper about Yatora’s words would probably lead to a very, very bad breakdown. He just needs to focus on memorizing whether he ate the last of his cereal that morning or not.

Yatora steps closer, and when the light hits his eyes, Yotasuke’s own widen. The blond is about to cry, and not in the good way that Yotasuke fantasized about very recently.

“Well, even at the cost of making you uncomfortable, I’m gonna be very clear, but because I haven’t told anyone else, I might not be very eloquent with my words,” Yatora sighs, darting his eyes around before finally focusing on Yotasuke. He looks like a man at the gallows who knows the trapdoor is going to open under his feet any second. “The exact label is unclear to me, but I do like guys and girls. I mean… I guess I’ve kind of always found both attractive? But the ratio of crushes has been pretty disproportionate so far. So, uh, yeah. Not fully gay, though.”

Why did he need to be so honest with Yotasuke? He’s about to pass out and crumble to his knees and just weep all night, yet here comes Yatora, needing support. And the worst part? Yotasuke wants to give that to him.

He just doesn’t know how.

“...I’m not uncomfortable,” he whispers. “And I didn’t freak out outside because the idea of you liking guys made me uncomfortable. I don’t really… care about what you’re into.”

Yatora looks at him. Yotasuke clearly failed at the whole “providing support” thing.

“I heard what you said earlier,” the blond mumbles, hands in his pockets. “So I guess it’d be more accurate for you to now say ‘I don’t really care about what you’re into as long as it’s not me,’ right?”

Yotasuke nods rather hesitantly, looking away.

“But didn’t you—” Yatora exhales heavily. “I don’t know. I could’ve been misinterpreting what happened since I was kinda distraught. I mean, you don’t really want to see a cute guy break down at the idea of you being gay.”

Maybe Yotasuke should’ve accepted that he lost the argument so they could’ve just moved on to whatever they came here for. Now it’s all getting complicated. Now he’s getting called cute.

Yatora made Yotasuke think about the idea of the blond being gay and that made him panic. Yatora said he isn’t gay and that made him cry. How can he be upset both by the idea of Yatora being able to like him and the idea of him not being able to like him? What’s wrong with his head?

“Anyway, you’re the first one who knows, so,” Yatora chuckles pretty sadly. “I guess I just wanted to tell someone and I know you won’t spread it around. I think Yuka and Hashida might be suspecting something, but if someone happens to ask you, can you—”

“You’re not denying it,” Yotasuke whispers to both their detriment. He ruins everything once again but at least once the truth comes out, their future will be clear. Or maybe not. Neither outcome seems good enough.

“Huh?”

“You’re not saying you don’t like me.”

“Do you want me to say that?”

“I don’t know!” Yotasuke groans, rubbing his face. “Why’d you have to… I’m so confused.”

“Well,” Yatora steps even closer, the two standing face to face next to the kitchen counters while the sun starts setting behind the blond’s back, “if it’s confusing to hear me say anything definitive… Maybe you can start?”

Yotasuke peeks from behind his fingers. Yatora looks a bit more sheepish than usual. It really is a talent how quickly he can change mannerisms. From cool and flirty to a blushing mess. Yotasuke sometimes wonders if the blushing part only makes an appearance when the two are together. If Yotasuke is the only one who has seen it.

“What do you want to hear…?” he asks, hesitantly lowering his hands.

Yatora looks at him before sighing. “Fuck, I don’t know,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel like if I’m honest with you, I’m shooting myself in the leg. I can only imagine it’s the same for you too.”

If Yotasuke tells Yatora that he likes him and Yatora has only been messing with him so far, their friendship will get ruined. If Yatora feels the same way, Yotasuke will have to face the facts. He won’t be able to keep running away just because he’s scared. Whether Yatora has feelings for him or not, it will hurt either way.

Something tells Yotasuke that they can’t come back from this even if nothing changes, though. They’ll just keep suppressing everything until they both get hurt.

Yotasuke doesn’t know when this stupid crush first came to be but all that he’s learnt from it is that love makes everything more complicated.

Fuck.

“Um,” he starts, his voice weak, “I’ve never liked anyone before.” He needs to shut up. “I don’t… know what it’s supposed to feel like.” It’d be so easy to just close his mouth. “I don’t even know what kind of people I like.” If he gets rejected, he’s dropping out. “But I like you, I guess. I’m assuming this is what it feels like.”

Yotasuke drills holes through the kitchen floor with his eyes when a hand sneaks up to his cheek. He pretty much dies right then and there. Yatora makes their eyes meet, his hand cupping Yotasuke’s cheek, and the taller man is so red that it looks dangerous. Like a fresh bruise.

Not that Yotasuke is any better because there is a warm hand on his cheek and this is the first time there has been a warm hand on his cheek and it’s soft and he wants to lean into it but he also wants to swat it away because it feels as wrong as it does right.

“...I didn’t think you’d actually say it,” Yatora chuckles weakly, breathless. He lets out a long exhale — even his breath is shaky — before pressing his free hand to his chest as if to make sure whatever is in there is still working.

“You’re not saying it back,” Yotasuke notes. Yatora just keeps looking at him, which is weird, because there has never been much in Yotasuke worth looking at, aside from what he can create with his hands.

Right as he grabs Yatora’s wrist to move his hand, Yatora snaps into action. Or into speech, to be specific. “Wait, let me think.”

“What?”

“Well, there was the New Year’s celebration way back when… But I don’t know if that really counts. There’s been a lot more recently, though. I don’t think I meant to say it when we were drinking, but like… ‘I want you to feel good?’ Like, come on now. I can’t believe I was that obvious,” Yatora rambles, ending it with a sigh. Yotasuke’s hand freezes around the taller man’s wrist. “Right, and the gift itself was a pretty big giveaway, too. I was really insistent about it, wasn’t I? Not to mention the way I kept pestering you to deem me good enough to date you yesterday. God, that was so lame.”

Yotasuke stands there, wide-eyed, but it’s not even over yet.

“And then when I finally pretty much got the words out, the train brakes cockblocked me before you could respond, and then you ran off,” Yatora mutters bitterly. “So, maybe I haven’t really said it, but I think I’ve shown it.”

…Fuck.

“So you’ve just been messing with me this entire time while being vague about your motivations,” Yotasuke concludes, deadpan, as if his skin isn’t gushing out heat. “You know… at the playground, you could’ve just said it. You like me. You didn’t need to get weird about it.”

“And if you had rejected me out of your own stubbornness?”

“I think it would’ve still been better than trying to figure out whether you’re just some sex-addicted pervert or if you’re just trying to make me realize something you won’t tell me!”

“...I reckon rejection wouldn’t have been better for me.”

“I haven’t even accepted you yet, though,” Yotasuke points out. “You might still get rejected.”

Yatora raises an eyebrow before a challenging smirk takes over his face. He leans close, his thumb softly brushing over Yotasuke’s cheek. The shorter man feels his soul escape his body. “Technically… you told me you liked me first. Wouldn’t I be the one rejecting you, Yotasuke?” Yatora asks, dark golden eyes staring at him. Yotasuke huffs, trying to avoid the strong, affectionate gaze. “Aw… I can’t believe I got my first-ever love confession from such a cute guy…”

“Shut up,” Yotasuke groans, pushing the man away and walking past him into the bedroom. It’s getting too dark. He turns on the light on the bedside table while catching his breath. Then he just stands there, his back facing Yatora. “...Are we still doing this?”

“Huh?”

Yotasuke huffs once more before opening the nightstand drawer and moving its contents onto the bed, one at a time. Sex toy. Remote. Lubricant. Tissues. Then he turns around to look at the blushing Yatora. “Or did you change your mind?”

That was the plan, and even though it’s pretty strange to think that masturbating in front of someone will take less of a toll on him than talking things through will, it’s probably true. Yotasuke won’t have to make any lasting decisions with a vibrator inside him.

“You still want to?” Yatora asks in surprise.

“...Yeah.”

He blinks. Yotasuke tilts his head, not really meaning to establish a challenge, but not really minding it when Yatora’s eyes narrow just a bit, either.

“Do I get an onlooker chair or something?”

“I think the bed will fit us both,” Yotasuke decides and nods at the mattress, and like a flash of lightning, Yatora suddenly appears on the edge of it, sitting down. Like a good dog. “I’m going to clean up quickly.”

“Take your time,” the blond beams, leaning back on the sheets with his hands. Yotasuke doesn’t really even dare to glare at the man anymore — he brought everything up first so Yatora technically gets to be as excited as he wishes — so he just grabs the sex toy instead and goes to use the bathroom first.

It’s pretty easy to clean the area, but once he zips his pants back up and meets his eyes in the mirror while washing his hands, Yotasuke starts to regret everything. He’s already nervous enough and now he’s somehow meant to enjoy playing with himself while Yatora watches. He wonders where it all went wrong. When he first lost his mind.

It was at that cram school, wasn’t it?

What brings him a bit of comfort, however, is the fact that Yatora is probably going crazy all the same. And when Yotasuke comes out of the bathroom after cleaning the toy, the blond is sitting there politely with his hands on his thighs, head perking up like a dog’s when the shorter man approaches. He’s red and nervous again. That’s good.

Yotasuke considers his options. It might get messy, so it’s better to just get naked from the start, even if that’s embarrassing. He calculates the best position for them on the bed as he starts undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“You’re undressing?” Yatora asks in surprise.

“It’d be annoying to have to get stains out in the laundry,” Yotasuke says while shrugging the plaid fabric off. He follows this by pulling off his undershirt, setting both of them on his desk chair right before realizing that he’s now shirtless in front of Yatora.

He can’t even take his chances with jumping off the balcony because his small apartment doesn’t have one. Even if he feels like he’s currently providing Yatora with the world’s most awkward striptease ever, he still undoes his belt while facing away from him and takes his pants and socks off.

It’s not like Yatora doesn’t know that he’s small and scrawny. It’s not like his usual clothes add ten kilos or anything. Still, he’s red and nervous all the same when he travels back to the bed and climbs in the middle in his underwear. Yatora’s staring at him intently. It’s unnerving.

Yotasuke gets seated with his back facing the headboard, a few pillows behind him in case he feels like lying down. His legs are crossed for now as he gestures to the spot in front of him. “You should get comfortable too.”

The fully-dressed Yatora nods and scrambles properly on the bed, now sitting in front of Yotasuke with his legs crossed as well, eyes running up and down the shorter man’s body.

It’s weird but what’s weirder is the way Yotasuke has to look away to stop himself from getting turned on.

“Stop staring,” he mutters as he reaches to bring his supplies closer.

“Sorry!” Yatora yelps as if only now realizing that his eyes hadn’t left Yotasuke once in the past five minutes. “I just haven’t… seen you like this before.”

“There isn’t much to see.”

Yatora grins. “I’ll prove you wrong one day.” Probably realizing what a vague sentence just left his mouth, he clarifies, “I mean… I kinda thought it’d be fun to draw you like this sometime. We never see ourselves the same way others do, after all.”

“How do you see me, then?” Yotasuke asks as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers. Then he freezes and looks at Yatora. “Nevermind, I don’t need to know.”

Yatora slowly drags his gaze up from Yotasuke’s underwear and meets his eyes. Yatora smiles. “I think you’re way too pretty for your own good, Yotasuke. Do you know how I felt when I had to be at that cram school with you all the time when I both hated and liked you? You could’ve at least been a little uglier.”

Yotasuke inhales sharply. These words don’t matter. He just has to slowly ease his boxers off.

“Fuck, like, even now you look so cute.”

He just has to slip the fabric off and set it aside.

“Your eyes are so nice. The way they’re so big yet serious. The blue colour reminds me of the night sky. Kinda like it goes on forever.”

He just has to slowly push his knees apart until he’s able to reach down.

“I wonder how many times I’ve dreamed about kissing the moles under your eyes.”

His breath hitches and he snaps his thighs back together. Yotasuke lowers his head so he doesn’t need to meet Yatora’s eyes, but now he has to meet the gaze of the thing standing proudly against his stomach.

Why did he get turned on from that?

“...Sorry, I guess I got carried away there,” Yatora chuckles awkwardly; maybe, hopefully, probably not able to see Yotasuke’s erection from behind his lowered head. It’s not like it’ll matter: he’ll soon see everything anyway.

“I’m going to prepare myself now,” Yotasuke says out loud, more so to get himself moving instead of informing Yatora. He grabs the bottle of lube and squeezes some out on his fingers. He rubs them together to warm the substance up a bit, but after that, he has no other excuse to stall.

So Yotasuke straightens his back a bit and spreads his legs again, shuddering as he reaches his hand past his dick to press a finger against his ass. He did the same exact thing just a day ago, but now he can’t get himself to push it in.

It’s not that he’s scared. It’s just that there is some blond guy he kind of likes on his bed, observing his every move.

Yotasuke hesitantly raises his eyes only to meet Yatora’s gaze, causing both of them to jump a bit before the shorter man decides to lower his eyes once more.

Why is Yatora looking at his face? Isn’t the more arousing aspect here the whole thing with Yotasuke currently pushing a finger into his ass?

His brows furrow as the digit makes its way in, his breathing shaky. It’s clear he’s not yet an expert, not that he necessarily wants to be one either. It feels more sensitive inside than it did the previous day, maybe because he’s so nervous or because he’s playing with the place two days in a row.

“Does it hurt?” Yatora asks right as Yotasuke has managed to slip in a second finger and has started pushing them farther in. “You’re still hard, but… I don’t know. You look troubled.”

“Maybe if you stopped staring at my face,” Yotasuke breathes out. He then decides to look up and say, “How would you feel if you were doing something this and someone kept trying to meet your—”

He doesn’t make it to Yatora’s eyes, not at first, anyway, because he gets rather hung up on the bulge in his companion’s jeans that can’t, under any circumstance, be mistaken for a phone in his pocket. He’s hard. He has barely looked at Yotasuke’s lower half during the act yet he’s still turned on. Maybe they’re both hopeless.

The shorter of the two finally looks up properly. Yatora’s eyes move quickly, his cheeks red.

“Why are you hard?” Yotasuke asks almost accusingly. His fingers have frozen at this point, two of them about halfway in. “You’re just sitting there doing nothing.”

“I’d guess it’s because I’m looking at you,” Yatora shrugs despite his humiliating yet weirdly attractive blush. His hands clutch the fabric over his knees. “Can you blame me, I mean— I can’t believe I have a front-row seat to this.”

“I think there’s something wrong with you.” Yotasuke pushes his fingers knuckle-deep and lets out such an embarrassing yelp that he’s in no position to accuse others of being messed up. He covers his mouth but it’s too late; when their eyes meet again, Yatora’s are wide and amazed. “...What?”

“This is kinda killing me, Yotasuke,” the other man laughs. “I didn’t think it’d be this hot.”

Yotasuke considers his words carefully while he curls his fingers to stretch himself out a bit.

Everything is already weird enough. There’s no going back. Everyone dies eventually. Nothing matters in the end.

“You can jerk off if you want to,” Yotasuke decides to say, like seeing Yatora in action would not affect him at all. “I don’t care otherwise, but grab tissues so you don’t get the sheets dirty.”

Yatora purses his lips in thought. His pants look about ready to burst, so it’s more than surprising when he says, “I kinda just want to focus on you, though.”

“...Weird,” Yotasuke mutters before proceeding to find the good spot with his fingers and shivering. That’s enough of that. At least with the toy, he can just lean back and let it do the work for him. He can look at the ceiling instead of Yatora, who’s just going to be there staring instead of giving Yotasuke anything interesting to look at.

So Yotasuke pulls his fingers out with a quiet whine. He can feel himself involuntarily clenching around nothing down there, and all he can hope for is that Yatora doesn’t catch it. It’s embarrassing enough to be blushing and making noises over something like this.

He grabs the toy and turns it on before coating it in lube. It’s much smaller than the real thing, but a part of Yotasuke wonders how Yatora would feel like in his hand. How he’d react. How long he’d last.

When Yatora lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, Yotasuke looks up at him. He isn’t sure how long he was basically jerking off a sex toy while imagining it to be his friend.

With the way Yatora is basically panting, his eyes half-lidded and his lips parted, someone might assume he’s the one about to get fucked. Yet he didn’t even take the opportunity to relieve himself of some of that lust.

“I’ll put it in now,” Yotasuke mumbles and lowers the toy between his legs. He could swear Yatora’s breathing is louder than his own when the shorter man starts easing the toy in.

“Ugh,” Yotasuke whines, throwing his head back a bit when it slips all the way in. It’s in the weird spot again. The good spot. It’s itchy and his hips are shimmying around involuntarily.

He hasn’t even touched his dick yet yet he’s still rock hard and suspiciously close to the edge, if he’s even capable of assuming where that edge is located with his little experience.

It doesn’t help that Yatora is there, eyes basically glued to Yotasuke’s ass. That’s one way to get him to look away from the shorter man’s face, at least. Yatora shifts a bit on the mattress and with the way his eyes draw closed and he curses, it seems the seam of his jeans hits a good spot.

So he’s not touching himself because he’s too hung up on watching Yotasuke. The man wonders how far he is willing to go — able to go — before it gets weird. Before some boundary is crossed. Are there even any boundaries between them anymore? They like each other and they’re on the same bed and Yotasuke is naked with a sex toy in his ass.

“Do you want to control it?” Yotasuke asks and immediately regrets it. Yatora’s eyes snap back up. “...Was that weird?”

“Yeah!” Yatora yelps, leaning forward on his hands in a way that brings him dangerously close to Yotasuke’s crotch. “I mean, ‘yeah’ to controlling it. Not weird at all.”

Yotasuke nods because all words escape him at the sight of Yatora in the same space as his own hard dick. If he just lowered himself a bit, his ragged breath would hit it…

“Here,” Yotasuke says, interrupting his own thoughts and shoving the remote into Yatora’s hand. “The first button turns up the intensity. The second is the power button. Don’t mix them up.”

“Holy shit…” Yatora partly covers his mouth while staring at the remote. It’s just a remote, not that big of a deal. “To be clear, am I going to dictate all of it or will you tell me when you want me to turn it up or stop?”

It almost sounds like they’re actually having sex and discussing boundaries. Fuck, Yotasuke is not getting any softer.

“You can do what you want, but if I tell you to stop, you stop.”

“Okay, yeah, got it.” Yatora nods obediently. “Can I start…?”

“Yeah.”

All Yotasuke sees is Yatora’s thumb settling against the remote, and then it starts.

“Ah!” he yelps, throwing a hand over his mouth as the vibrations settle in, reverberating through his entire body even with the lowest setting. Was it this intense the last time as well?

His hips writhe against the toy, the single arm holding him up bending and shaking. He tries to get used to it, to focus his eyes on something again before the pleasure overtakes him, but Yatora quickly levels the toy up.

Yotasuke’s arm betrays him and he falls back on the pillows, a hand still clasped over his mouth to silence himself. He feels a wet droplet falling down his lower belly. He feels everything tingling. He feels good.

He desperately reaches for his dick, but something softly grabs his wrist instead. Yotasuke forces his eyes away from the back of his head to look at Yatora, whose brows are furrowed like he’s in pain. He can’t be that turned on.

“...What?” Yotasuke asks against his palm as calmly as possible given that his entire body is kind of shaking at the moment and he’s now unable to touch himself.

“Your hand, can you… take it off? I want to hear you,” Yatora requests, or maybe “pleads” would be a better term for what he’s doing.

“I have neighbours, you know,” the shorter man notifies him. Then, as an act of defiance, he pulls his other hand free and presses it over the other one to block his mouth completely. Yatora just smiles at him, and Yotasuke doesn’t realize that he’s in danger before the setting has already been changed twice.

Yotasuke shudders like a rag doll being thrown around. His hips thrust off the mattress and he still hasn’t touched his own cock. He glances down and sees it leaking precum onto his stomach, but lowering a hand would mean risking making sounds. Some of his whimpers are already making it through two layers of skin barriers.

“It looks like it feels really good,” Yatora hums, taking Yotasuke’s writhing form in. Yotasuke doesn’t know if it’s possible, but he wishes to just finish without ever touching his dick at all. It’d be less humiliating than having this drag on for any longer. Yatora exhales and straightens up. “...Fuck.”

Yotasuke hesitantly lowers his hands and tries to act like a human being when he asks, “What are you doing…?” because Yatora quickly throws off his sweater somewhere on the floor.

“I’m going to get heatstroke soon, sorry,” the blond mumbles before picking the remote back up but not yet upping the intensity.

…Since when was he this toned? That’s not fair. It’s not fair that Yotasuke gets to stare at something like that while Yatora has to look at… that. When the shorter man catches himself checking Yatora out and frowning at the fact that his sweater is the only thing he took off, Yotasuke slaps his hands back over his mouth and leans back.

Whatever. He should just come already. Then maybe Yatora could go to the bathroom to satisfy himself, too, and everything would be fine.

The vibrations get stronger and Yotasuke gasps against his palm. What is this, the fifth level already? Well, it sure feels like it with the way his feet try to press against the mattress to help raise his hips up, but they just end up slipping.

The way he’s feeling is so humiliating yet his brain is going fuzzy with arousal. He looks at the ceiling as his hands fall down to his sides, spasms of pleasure rolling through his body.

“Yatora,” he moans weakly, and only after a couple seconds does he realize what he just said. Yotasuke scrambles onto his elbows and stares at the other man even though bouts of pleasure are exploding in his eyes. It’s not like he was getting off on Yatora; if anything, he was pleading for Yatora to finish the job.

It’s too late to explain, though. The blond is already climbing over him, like his final string of restraint just snapped. His hands dig into the mattress on either side of Yotasuke’s hips, and if he just lay down, the man below him would be able to grind against his naked chest.

“...Say that again,” Yatora whispers, his lips parted, his eyes hungry. “Please.”

Yotasuke shivers once again before he manages to ask, “Why?”

“Feels so good,” the other man pants like he was in heat or something. “Please say it again.”

Maybe because he’s feeling bold or because the pleasure in his ass has made him lose all common sense, Yotasuke asks, “What do I, ah, gain from it?”

He doesn’t even know what the fitting response would be. All Yatora can really do is up the level.

Or so Yotasuke thinks, at least before Yatora crawls up and presses their foreheads together. The shorter man convulses and moans right in his face, and he’s so embarrassed and turned on that he could die.

“I can make you feel good too,” Yatora whispers. Their noses are brushing. Yotasuke is twitching but he can’t let himself come just from the proximity. “I promise I can, if I can just… touch you.”

Yotasuke is going to die. He gasps, something stinging at his eyes, and he involuntarily bucks his hips up again only to be shocked when they actually meet something. That is, Yatora’s own hips. He slumps down against the mattress, away from Yatora’s face, while the man above him just gathers his breath and looks down.

“...Please, Yotasuke.”

He looks at Yatora’s chest, his abdomen, the bulge in his jeans. His face, twisted from pleasure he has yet to even experience.

Yotasuke doubts he himself can possibly feel any better than this. And if Yatora touched him… That’d be different than whatever it is that they’re currently doing. It’d solidify that this is something they can’t just forget about.

According to all logic, Yotasuke should pull out the toy and put an end to this.

Yet he finds himself nodding. “...Touch me, Yatora.”

His eyes fly wide when Yatora’s preferred method of touching shows itself, though. The man crashes their lips together before Yotasuke can even figure out if his way of moaning the other’s name is good enough. Apparently it is, because Yatora parts his lips to pant into the kiss while slowly slumping down against Yotasuke, pressing their hips together.

Maybe it should be embarrassing that Yotasuke’s first kiss happens in a state where he can’t even really appreciate it. He sobs against Yatora’s lips, unsure of what else to do but to kiss back and wrap his arms around Yatora’s waist to grind against him better. It should probably be embarrassing, but when he manages to open his eyes enough to see the tears bubbling up in Yatora’s closed eyes, whatever shame Yotasuke had felt gets pushed aside by more arousal. Getting turned on by someone’s tears should probably warrant some embarrassment too, though.

Yotasuke fights back against moaning because the toy is still going with apparently no thought of stopping, and instead he raises a hand to push Yatora away by his forehead. “Why are you crying…?”

The blond pants, grinding against Yotasuke so fast and so good that there is no way either of them is lasting long. He slowly forces his eyes up, a tear rolling down his cheek right as he grins and says, “It feels so good. I like you, Yotasuke.”

Yotasuke’s eyes widen. Heat builds up. His hips shake. He gasps and manages to push Yatora off his body right before he crashes over the edge. Unable to see anything while under such pleasure, he cries, “Turn it off, Yatora, please—”

It takes maybe two seconds of writhing like he was possessed before the vibrations stop at once. Yotasuke gathers his breath, his vision returning back to normal. His dick is turning a pretty scary colour from being denied its release. As he reaches down to pull out the toy, he says, “I can’t believe I almost came from that…”

“Yeah, talk about embarrassing,” Yatora mutters from where he’s sitting back up and wiping the tears from his cheeks. He’s all red and sweaty as he settles on his knees between Yotasuke’s legs. The shorter man would kick him out for his words normally, if it weren’t for the dark stain at the front of his jeans.

Yotasuke blinks. “Did you…? From kissing me?”

Yatora scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t mean to. Especially since I said I’d make you feel good.”

Slowly, as if considering his plans, Yotasuke pulls out the toy, turns it off and sets it aside. Then he leans back on his elbows, parting his legs a bit and feeling more than pathetic for it. “...You still can.”

Yatora stares at him for a long moment before burying his face in his hands. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

“I probably won’t last long, but—”

“I could go again,” Yatora interrupts. Their eyes meet, one of them horrified and the other jovial. “I mean, if you want to. We have pretty much all night now that the sun has gone down, you know?”

“...What exactly are you planning on doing to me?”

Yatora grins. Yotasuke wonders how those canines would feel when digging into his skin. “Want an example?”

“You can’t do anything weird,” Yotasuke says. “And… take your pants off. You can’t leave with those, I have to wash them.”

On command, Yatora gets up on his knees to quickly open the button and unzip his jeans. He struggles to slide them down his thighs along with his boxers. “Wow, a sleepover with Yotasuke…” It takes a moment of fighting, but eventually he manages to kick all of his clothes off and emerge victorious, naked and cock out and all.

“...We’ve still got classes tomorrow,” Yotasuke points out even as his eyes scan Yatora’s crotch, his dick already standing despite him having just finished. It glistens, probably from his own cum. “So… don’t exhaust yourself.” It looks bigger than Yotasuke’s with a shiny pink tip. The shaft is pretty thick, definitely beating the toy in that regard. And at the base… “Dark hair,” he mutters, and this time it takes until Yatora laughs for Yotasuke to recognize that he didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“You’re looking at me pretty hard, Yotasuke,” the blond says sheepishly as he settles back on his heels. “...Like what you see?”

Yotasuke’s cheeks are burning up, but maybe it won’t stand out in the midst of everything else burning up as well.

“I was just surprised you haven’t bleached those yet.”

“That would burn, you know. Sometimes even my scalp is too much.”

Yotasuke can’t argue with that, given his zero knowledge regarding hair dye and bleach. So he just lies there, on his elbows, shifting from looking at Yatora to looking at Yatora’s erection.

He doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants.

“...I think you promised me something,” Yotasuke eventually says after it’s become clear that neither of them is going to touch the other first. “And I’m kind of dying here… so.”

“Right, uh,” Yatora hesitates. Maybe he’s getting second thoughts after getting to orgasm once. “I promised that, but… I’ve never actually done this before, so you’ll have to tell me what actually feels good. And don’t laugh if I do something wrong ‘cause I might cry.”

Yotasuke silently decides that he should laugh at Yatora’s fuck-ups more often.

“But first, I kind of wanna…” Yatora crawls back over, hovering over Yotasuke as he guides the shorter man to properly lie down on his back. Blond hair hangs down from his head, and Yotasuke wishes he could take his face in for a little while more — his trembling lip, sweaty skin, the piercings that glow in their dim lighting — but when Yatora lowers himself to softly connect their lips, Yotasuke can’t really fight back. And it really, really doesn’t help that their cocks brush together when their bodies touch.

Yotasuke’s eyes fall shut, sighing as their lips move. Yatora’s heavy on top of him, but it’s comforting in a weird way. And arousing. Maybe too much so. He parts his lips to breathe, but Yatora’s tongue sliding into his mouth decides that Yotasuke shall choke instead. He doesn’t mind, not at all.

He’s gripping onto the man’s shoulders, and even though the toy is long gone, something is still whirring inside him. Yotasuke whines against Yatora’s mouth, or maybe Yatora whines into his — it’s no longer clear, especially with their tongues going every which way as long as they’re rubbing together.

With all the saliva pooling into Yotasuke’s mouth, though, he starts getting scared that he might actually choke. He gasps, his hand having found its way into Yatora’s hair at some point and now accidentally squeezing a handful of it right as he rocks his hips up.

Yatora pulls away at once, a soft whimper escaping him. Yotasuke licks his lips and swallows the spit down while he still can, not really caring who it belongs to anymore. Maybe there’s some part of Yatora inside him now.

“Was that good?” the blond asks with his excited eyes, even if his ragged breaths tell a different story. His cock feels like a brick against Yotasuke. “...Wish I wasn’t so impatient so I could just kiss you all night.”

Yotasuke’s heart is fluttering. He’s there, lying under Yatora of all people, and he’s not scared at all. He’s horny. He wants Yatora to touch him everywhere: his lips, his skin, his dick, his…

“...Good,” Yotasuke mutters, trying to avoid the other’s gaze but quickly realizing that Yatora is everywhere. “It was good.”

Yatora nods enthusiastically. “Okay.” He leans down and leaves gentle but deliberate kisses on each of Yotasuke’s cheeks. It’s only once he has moved down to kissing the shorter man’s temple and jaw and then his neck that the man realizes Yatora first chose to kiss his beauty marks.

A part of Yotasuke wants to squeal and kick his feet up and down, but he instead focuses on touching the moles under his eyes with his fingers. It’s ticklish but it’s very much overshadowed by Yatora licking wet stripes up his neck. He breathes against the pale skin before kissing it sloppily, appearing to follow a protocol along the lines of kiss, suck, bite.

“Ah!” Yotasuke whines when the teeth first dig in. He tries to sit up but all he manages to do is moan like a needy bastard and thrust up against Yatora’s lower stomach. The slight pain evaporates as Yatora licks over the spot of the bite. “...Are you trying to mark me?”

Yatora’s head perks back up, eyes shining. “Can I?” If the man had one, a fluffy tail would probably be seen wagging close to his naked ass.

“I don’t really own clothes with high collars,” Yotasuke mutters because for some reason he can’t bring himself to lie about the fact that he would really like it if Yatora bit him repeatedly until his skin was nothing but red marks. What has he become?

“Okay, so I just need to go lower, right?”

Yatora backs up, knees digging into the mattress somewhere farther away as his warm breath hits Yotasuke’s chest. Well, to be more specific, it hits one of his nipples. He shivers as three big exclamation points appear above his head.

“I know some guys like this,” Yatora talks to himself, using a finger to brush the nipple that he isn’t currently hovering over. He looks up and smiles at Yotasuke. “Yours are really hard.”

Yotasuke had never thought of a man’s chest as something that could feel good, but Yatora leans down and flicks the nipple with his tongue, and Yotasuke pretty much scowls in pleasure.

“Yatora—”

With his hand pinching the other one, Yatora wraps his lips around Yotasuke’s nipple and sucks on it. A desperate sob escapes the shorter man’s lips, and if it weren’t for the fact that Yatora’s torso is currently trapping Yotasuke in place with his thighs parted, he’d probably try and pull away.

It’s too hot and it feels too good, and all Yotasuke can do is writhe in place while Yatora switches targets every now and again and licks and sucks and bites.

Fuck, again?

It’s even worse this time, teeth digging into a sensitive area. Yotasuke could faint just from the feeling, and the light-headedness especially doesn’t ease when Yatora releases his teeth and sucks the area as if that would make it okay. Whatever is escaping Yotasuke’s lips at this point must be pure nonsense.

With a pop, his nipple is released, and Yatora laughs against the skin. “Wow, it got so puffy.”

“I thought you were going to bite it clean off,” Yotasuke scoffs. After hesitantly lowering his eyes, he sees Yatora’s red lips right above his own red, bruised nipple. Their eyes meet and Yotasuke has to stand his ground or else he will ask Yatora to keep at it. “...Can you come back up here?”

Yatora obeys without question while Yotasuke climbs up on his elbows. When they’re face to face again, Yotasuke raises a hand to the back of the blond’s neck. “...This is payback.” He scoots himself up so he can get closer, placing his lips against the base of Yatora’s neck. He waits to get pushed off, but Yatora does not move one bit.

So he parts his lips and bites down. He physically feels Yatora’s breath hitch as he digs his teeth in pretty deep. He doesn’t know how much force is too much, so eventually he just keeps his teeth in place and catches his own breath.

“Ah,” Yatora whines, his voice high-pitched, nearly reverberating through Yotasuke from where he is biting his neck. Was it too much? Yotasuke lets go, his hot breath hitting the red marks he left behind. Learning from the best, apparently — or maybe from the one of the two of them who has seen the most porn — Yotasuke licks over the teeth marks right before feeling something warm drip onto his stomach.

He releases Yatora’s neck with both his hand and his mouth, and when they both move to sit back down, Yotasuke notices all the precum leaking from the blond’s cock. So he actually likes being bitten. Either he’s just weird or then they’re the perfect match because Yotasuke apparently likes that too.

They catch their breaths, very close to each other on the bed but not enough.

“...What next?” Yotasuke asks, because he’s not stopping yet. He could try to touch Yatora, but he’s getting pretty impatient with his own dick, too. Would his hand fit around both of them at once? If he tried to rub them together?

Well, there is another option too, even if it’s scary. Yatora’s cock is much bigger than the toy.

“You haven’t come yet,” Yatora says before groaning. “I really messed up there, huh? I didn’t know I could come so easily.”

Some awful part of Yotasuke briefly wonders how easy it would be to do that again. If he pulled Yatora into a bathroom stall at their school or something and kissed him until he was crying and coming in his pants. On second thought, Yotasuke would personally die if he had to go home wearing jizz-stained clothes. However, that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be the hottest thing ever if he got Yatora that worked up.

Yotasuke’s too close to finishing just from thinking about imaginary scenarios, so he opens his mouth to just ask Yatora to fuck him before it’s too late.

“Yato—”

“Can I go down on you?”

Well, that works too.

“Sure, but isn’t that kind of gross?” He looks away right as Yatora gets properly settled between his thighs. “I mean, I doubt it tastes good.”

“Should’ve gotten that strawberry-flavoured lube, huh?” Yatora chuckles, but then his hand is wrapping around Yotasuke’s cock and the man himself is gasping. “You know how sometimes you just do stuff for the experience even if you won’t necessarily like it?” He experimentally strokes Yotasuke, sending the man reeling. “Bad analogy, actually. I think I’ll like this, even if I don't care for the taste. I hope you like it too.”

“...Can you stop breathing against it and just—”

Yotasuke’s eyes go wide when Yatora’s tongue dips out of his mouth to gather the beads of precum from the tip of the shorter man’s cock. As if Yotasuke doesn’t need any time to recover just from the sight and the feeling, Yatora keeps licking him. The tip, under it, in the slit— The pleasure is so intense that Yotasuke forgets about the sketch idea he just got that included Yatora with a cock in his mouth.

Is there any need to draw something Yotasuke could be able to see with his own eyes every single day for the rest of his life?

Yatora’s lips wrap around Yotasuke’s cock and the latter throws his head back against the pillows. Too much. Like fire. The lips go lower, sucking Yotasuke in until he can’t really do anything but lie there as a starfish and moan and shudder.

Yatora’s head bobs over Yotasuke’s dick until the latter makes the mistake of glancing back down at the man, and the sight of tears in the blond’s eyes combined with the way spit is dripping down the sides of his mouth is enough to make Yotasuke involuntarily buck his hips up.

There’s a distinct gagging sound as Yotasuke registers that Yatora’s nose is hitting the hairs at the base of his cock.

“Sorry—”

A hand reaches up to press Yotasuke back against the mattress. Another hand keeps his hips in place. Yatora pulls his head back until he’s able to run his tongue over the tip, and then he plunges back down until Yotasuke feels like crying too.

The feeling is so intoxicating that Yotasuke has to focus on anything but the pleasure. He gasps for air like there was a shortage of it, and he absentmindedly flicks his fingers over his own nipple, and he tries to think of how to be the best recipient who doesn’t try to fuck someone’s throat unprompted.

“Yatora,” he moans, digging his fingers into that mess of a blond head. He sees the tears under it, and he feels Yatora’s warm throat everywhere. He has to at least let him know he appreciates it. “Yatora, it feels so— Shit, it’s so good…”

While it feels foreign hearing it in his own voice, Yotasuke isn’t lying. Combined with everything that has happened so far, he’s about to come from just a few minutes of action. Maybe Yatora’s really good or maybe Yotasuke’s just really desperate.

A flood of warmth rolls over him, and his grip in Yatora’s hair tightens. “W— Wait, Yatora, I might—”

He wouldn’t want someone to come in his mouth without warning, either. Yotasuke tries to reach down, but Yatora’s jaw is just out of reach and the man doesn’t stop sucking him off, so he has to settle on quickly tugging at his bleached hair as a warning.

“I’m gonna come, Yatora—”

Yatora’s not pulling away and Yotasuke’s eyes shoot wide open when the crash arrives. His back arches and his lips part, something high-pitched and desperate coming out as he fucks up into Yatora’s mouth. Like after an explosion, he can’t hear or see anything, at least not until he finds himself sitting up weakly and shakily, feeling something warm still shooting out of his dick. The only problem is that Yatora’s lips are still wrapped around it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, something wet and stinging in the corners of his eyes. “I tried to tell you.”

Finally, Yatora pushes himself up by his hands, releasing Yotasuke’s dick. As it flops against the shorter man’s stomach, Yatora faces Yotasuke with his tear-stained cheeks full. He smiles and Yotasuke stares and he swallows and Yotasuke blinks.

Huh?

“Yatora—”

“I’ll be honest, not the best thing in the world flavourwise,” the blond hums. Then he grins. “But you came. I got you to come.”

“...You didn’t need to swallow.”

Yatora shrugs. “I know, but I wanted to. I kinda want to again.” His eyes slide down. “Can I?”

It’s a pretty entitled thing to ask when it hasn’t been two minutes since he sucked Yotasuke dry the first time. But Yotasuke’s feeling entitled too, so he leans forward and wraps his hand around Yatora as their faces come close.

“...Huh?” Yatora asks in surprise, but his tone quickly changes when Yotasuke tries squeezing it. It feels thicker in his hand, but Yotasuke doesn’t look because he wants to keep staring at Yatora’s face. The way his brows furrow and his eyes roll back when Yotasuke keeps touching him.

“Can you put it in?” he asks quietly. It might be his turn to play the desperate, pleading role.

“Huh?” Yatora repeats, eyes quickly focusing back on Yotasuke. He runs his thumb over the tip of Yatora’s cock, since it was a sensitive spot when his own dick was being touched. “Fuck, I— Really?”

“Yeah.” Yotasuke looks away, trying to think of how pathetic he’s willing to sound if it means he’ll get his way. “I… want you to fuck me, Yatora. If we stop here, we’ll just do it some other day anyway, so we might as well do it now.”

“Ah, can you—” Yatora gently eases Yotasuke’s hand off before taking a couple seconds to catch his breath, falling forward to press his forehead against Yotasuke’s shoulder. “...We don’t have condoms. I don’t, at least.”

Yotasuke softly pets Yatora’s hair. It does feel distinctly greasy from sweat, but he chooses not to point that out. It’s not like he’s any better.

“Does it matter since we haven’t done it with anyone else?” he asks.

“It might still be uncomfortable if like, I don’t know, if I… come inside.” Yatora jerks back, raising his hands. “Not that I need to do that if you don’t want me to!”

Yotasuke feels something twitch against his stomach only to realize he’s rock hard again. He holds back a sigh, because it’s not like the situation can get any more embarrassing at this point. “...You can do that,” he decides. “I’ll have to shower after this no matter what.”

“Yotasuke.”

“What?”

“I just— If we’re gonna do this, then,” Yatora looks around before finally meeting Yotasuke’s eyes, a determined look in his own golden ones, “can we date?”

“...Huh?”

“You, me, boyfriends. How about that?”

Yotasuke furrows his brows. His heart strangely feels like it’s burning. They’ve admitted their feelings already, but it’s not getting any easier. He doesn’t know how to act in a relationship. If he will just have to pretend to be something he’s not until Yatora gets tired of him. Yotasuke probably wasn’t made to love someone, yet here he is. A fluke, probably.

But Yatora’s looking at him, so red and so calm and so happy, and Yotasuke knows he’d feel better every day if he could just hold that face in his hands whenever he wants to. It’s not like he’s expecting Yatora to be anything he’s not. He’d be put off if the blond tried pretending not to be the annoying weirdo he always is. Maybe Yatora feels the same way.

Okay. Yotasuke just has to cling onto this fluke as hard as he can.

“One condition,” he whispers, and Yatora’s eyes light up. “I don’t know if I want other people to know about it. If we date.”

“Works for me,” the blond says with a grin. “I don’t care what others know or don’t know. Well, not when it comes to this, at least.”

Yotasuke nods. So that’s that. He has a boyfriend.

“...Thanks,” he whispers. Yatora looks at him.

“For what?”

He shrugs. “I probably wouldn’t be the same if we never met, so. I’m choosing to thank you instead of blaming you.”

“The same goes for me.” Yatora smiles. “Do you think we’ll still be rivals after this?”

Yotasuke grabs the bottle of lube from the edge of the bed and says, “I’d be surprised if we weren’t.” He squeezes some out and wraps his sticky hand around Yatora, who gasps. Maybe he should’ve waited for it to warm up first. “I don’t mind that, though.”

“Y— Yeah,” Yatora sighs, no doubt quickly forgetting the topic of conversation as Yotasuke coats his dick in lube. “Hah, fuck—”

Yotasuke considers the situation. Yatora’s leaning on his hands, his legs crossed and chest puffed out. The shorter man makes the executive decision to climb into his lap and guide his dick to his ass.

However, the second it starts pressing in, Yotasuke hisses, hands finding support from Yatora’s pecs as he leans against them for support.

“Should I stretch you out more?” Yatora asks, a soothing hand coming to the other man’s waist. “It’s a bit bigger than two fingers or the toy.”

“I noticed,” Yotasuke huffs. He’s probably going to break in half or tear at the very least. “I’ll just go slow. Don’t move.”

“Okay.”

Yotasuke starts pushing his knees wider apart on the mattress, slowly sinking onto Yatora’s cock. His eyes are wide as he presses the top of his head against the blond’s chest. It burns like he’s ripping apart. It’s unclear whether it’d be better to just give up and climb off or drop down and take it all at once.

Unable to decide, Yotasuke stays still with his eyes watering. How come everything else felt good except for the one thing he wanted the most?

“Hey, Yotasuke,” Yatora says, kind of spelling out the other man’s name as if to stop himself from getting lost in the pleasure. At least one of them is feeling good. “If it’s too much, maybe another position?”

Yatora’s hand rubs at Yotasuke’s back, and he hiccups. “No, I’m— I’ll be fine.”

He lets his knees continue sliding apart, his stomach flipping with every bit that pushes inside him. How is that not all of it? Yotasuke trembles against Yatora’s chest, his tears slowly pushing to the surface.

Maybe he won’t be fine. He reaches down to feel how much is left only to discover that only about half of Yatora’s cock is inside him. In other words, the only way out is death.

“Yotasuke,” Yatora says, leaning down to whisper into his ear. “It might be easier if you relaxed. If I touched you here…” His thumb rubs one of Yotasuke’s nipples. “Or here…” His other hand leaves feather-light touches on the shorter man’s cock. To top it all off, he kisses whichever part of Yotasuke he can find. His hair, his temple, he even licks his ear.

Yotasuke gasps, finding himself sinking lower. Neither Yatora’s hands nor mouth will stop, so all that’s left is to succumb to the teasing until Yotasuke’s cries and sobs are more from pleasure than pain.

“I love you, Yotasuke,” Yatora whispers into his hair, and Yotasuke likes to think that it’s pure coincidence that his knees find a slippery spot in the sheets that causes Yotasuke to fall all the way down, bottoming out and whining loudly. At least the slip makes Yatora groan too.

“Ugh, it’s—” Yotasuke lowers his hand and finds that his ass is flush against Yatora’s hips, only able to touch the dark hairs down there. It’s all in. “...Feels weird.”

“Can you look at me?”

Hesitantly, Yotasuke moves his eyes past the naked torso in front of him. The tensed muscle and the hard nipples on the defined pecs and the blooming bite mark on Yatora’s neck, and finally, his face. Bothered, which isn’t really a surprise since he’s literally inside someone else at the moment.

There’s something else there too, though.

“What?”

“Was that weird?” Yatora grins awkwardly. Yotasuke is starting to realize that the more accurate way to describe the man’s looks would be to call him pretty. Still not cute, but… “What I just said?”

Right. He thought it might have been a slip of the tongue.

“We’ve been dating for like five minutes,” Yotasuke points out.

“But we’ve known each other for years.”

The hard throbbing inside the shorter man is slowly overtaking him even though neither of them is moving. It’s all-encompassing. Feels weird.

“Can this wait until we’re done? I can’t really think straight right now.”

A quick pout passes through Yatora’s lips before he nods. “You don’t have to say it back, but I can still do my best to get you to say it.”

Yotasuke furrows his brows. “How would that work?”

Yatora just smiles, which is very non-threatening until both his hands grab Yotasuke from behind. He doesn’t get much time to prepare before Yatora experimentally thrusts up.

“Ah!” His head falls back down, hands on Yatora’s shoulders to stop himself from completely slumping over the other’s cock. He should’ve changed positions when he was given the chance. It’s all the way in and it’s everywhere, and Yatora slowly starts grinding and thrusting in a soft rhythm, drawing out gasps and whimpers from Yotasuke’s lips.

Yatora whines right above Yotasuke’s head, the tip of his chin pressing against the back of the other’s head. With each move of his hips, Yotasuke’s eyes roll back more and more. He doesn’t know if it hurts or not. If it feels good or not. Still, he’s drooling.

“Yotasuke,” Yatora says in a sultry tone, except his purring is pretty much ruined by his own moans of pleasure. That just makes it sound better. “I love you.”

Yotasuke’s nails dig into Yatora’s shoulders. He’s twitching. Spit drips from his mouth down to their bodies like he wasn’t capable of closing his mouth anymore.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t get why. He still accepts it, or at least his body does, with the way his back curls in pleasure and he trembles more and more with each thrust.

Yatora loves him and maybe there’s something beautiful about that. Beautiful enough to make two grown men cry.

Yotasuke forces himself to look up, to meet Yatora’s teary eyes and agape mouth. It’s not enough. He pulls him down by his cheeks right as he rocks his hips down, their respective movements colliding, and their kiss is more spit and moans than actual kissing.

“I love you,” Yatora whispers into the wet kiss, hands clutching Yotasuke so tightly everywhere. “I don’t wanna stop saying it, I— I love you.”

The shorter man feels strange. Something keeps going in and coming out of him rapidly, like a drill that sends him shivering and crying. He’s touching Yatora everywhere but it still isn’t enough — how much more of a man can he have when he already has his cock inside him?

Yatora licks into his mouth. Yotasuke gasps. He can’t really see anymore and he doesn’t know if that’s normal. He can hear, though, he can hear both of their moans and cries and pathetic sobs like they were nothing but two animals.

A pair of arms wraps around him tightly, pulling their chests together as they writhe against each other, and Yotasuke hasn’t touched his own dick yet he knows it’s coming. Or, more like he’s coming.

“Ya-tora,” he gasps, the edge sneaking up on him like a flash of lightning. “I love—”

He’s too late because it crashes down on him and it crashes down on him hard, the sparks so intense that he gets a bit scared that nothing can actually feel this good. He doesn’t know if he managed to finish his sentence, but loud noises certainly are coming out of his mouth as he comes, clinging onto Yatora as he hears a string of swears and sobs and feels heat flooding his insides.

Yotasuke tries to blink but he can’t see, needles pricking at his skin as his sweat turns cold. He thinks of the night at the park and how much fun it can be to occasionally indulge in Yatora’s hobbies. He tries remembering the national laws regarding marriage. He wonders what it would look like if he drew Yatora, if he could capture the spark in his eyes.

“Yotasuke?”

His eyes slowly roll back to face whatever is in front of him, only to find his vision quickly shifting. First it’s just black, then it’s Yatora’s cum-stained chest, then it’s the ceiling. He breathes through it, little black dots in his sight, and only manages to whine pathetically when Yatora pulls out of him.

It’s over?

“Stay down,” Yatora tells him, quickly pushing him back when he tries to sit up from the mattress he doesn’t remember lying down on. The blond raises Yotasuke’s naked legs until his feet are above his head. “Now that I think about it, we haven’t eaten since lunch,” he hums. Yotasuke manages to focus his eyes on the man’s face just in time to see him grin. “Wanna order some food? Some places should still be running.”

Did he really pass out when he came? Yotasuke rubs his face in embarrassment. Who the hell passes out during sex?

“Hey, it’s fine,” Yatora tells him, still holding Yotasuke’s legs. “Sorry for going too hard on you.”

“It’s not you,” the other man mumbles. “I was already pretty hungry when we got here... And I don’t really like takeout.”

“That just means you haven’t tried my favourite places yet.” Yatora softly rubs Yotasuke’s ankles, smiling at the resting man all the same. “I’ll check the selection soon.”

The man currently trying to sink into the mattress doesn’t know what he expected for the “after” portion of their night to be like, but it sure wasn’t anything like this. Like they’re just hanging out. Like they’re a couple.

Actually, they are a couple now, right? So it all makes sense, probably.

Yotasuke carefully pulls his legs free from Yatora’s grip and sits up with his knees to his chest. It’s wet underneath him. His head spins a little but he’s fine otherwise.

“Feel better?” Yatora asks, sliding closer and smiling softly. Was his smile always this appealing? Yotasuke nods shyly and rests his chin on his knee. “Do you want to order something and then shower together while we wait?”

“Together?” he asks in surprise.

“Well, I did come inside you, so I figured it might be easier to clean up if I helped. And I’m a bit scared you’ll faint again.”

Yotasuke nods again. He’s really hungry but he’s also pretty satisfied. He concludes that the wet droplets falling down his ass and thighs are Yatora’s cum. The thought of him deep inside in Yotasuke’s guts should not be this pleasing.

“Yatora,” he says, meeting those golden eyes. There’s something about them that makes Yotasuke want to be honest. He rises onto his knees to wrap his arms around Yatora, which should be weird, but the blond hugs him back without question. He’s overwhelmingly warm, but he’s also sweaty and shaky, no doubt because of his own intense orgasm.

Yotasuke buries his face in the crook of Yatora’s neck. There’s no need for any wandering spirits to hear these words meant just for Yatora.

“...I love you.”

The man under his arms freezes, and Yotasuke takes this opportunity to pull away and sit back on his heels. Yatora blinks at him, shocked.

“What food places do you like?” Yotasuke asks next, moving to carefully climb off the wet sheets without sticking to them. “We can order but I have some strawberries in the fridge for desse—”

A pair of arms captures him, wrapping tightly around his arms and torso until he’s pulled down to Yatora’s lap, back facing the other’s chest. He’s now leaking onto Yatora’s skin, which clearly doesn’t bother the blond.

“There’s a good Chinese place near campus, so it might deliver here as well,” the man explains while affectionately nuzzling Yotasuke’s neck. “I love you too.”

“You already said that.”

“Let’s make a bet on who can say it more during the span of a week.”

“You’ll win.”

Yatora clings to him harder. His chest is so warm. This is Yotasuke’s life now. Maybe he doesn’t mind it.

He twists his head only to catch a glimpse of something on his desk, against the wall behind Yatora.

Maybe it took getting into a relationship with Yatora to actually get the question out, but now Yotasuke struggles to turn around to straddle the blond’s lap once again. “Hey, about the gift you got me.”

“Was it better than me?” Yatora asks with a curious tilt of his head. Yotasuke scoffs, because a question like that doesn’t need to be answered.

“The wrapping paper was really pretty. Where’d you buy it?”

“Somewhere in Shibuya, I think, but…” Yatora looks him in the eyes and smiles. “I only used it to wrap your gift so I still have almost a full roll of it.”

Yotasuke taps his finger against Yatora’s shoulder, acting like his eyes didn’t just light up. “Okay.”

“Do you maybe want to come and retrieve it, Yotasuke…?”

“Or you could bring it to class.”

“Or you could come and meet my parents.”

“Or I could bite you right now.”

Yatora tilts his head to expose more of his neck. Yotasuke scoffs and climbs off him. His legs hurt when he walks, and then he feels something already cool run down his thigh, so he settles on sitting back down on the bed and grabbing a tissue to clean up whatever is on his thighs and chest.

“Alright, that can be a question for another day,” Yatora decides, leaning over to grab his phone from wherever he had tossed it during their previous activities. “So, food?”

Yotasuke looks over Yatora in all of his naked glory. His boyfriend. His boyfriend. It sounds unreal but it’s true, so Yotasuke has every right to lean over and peek at the food-delivery app Yatora is scrolling through.

“Food,” he confirms, leaning back a bit so the back of his head rests against Yatora’s arm. It lasts only for a second before Yatora throws that arm around Yotasuke’s shoulders instead.

They’re only a few days into the semester and everything has already changed, and as a person who hates change, Yotasuke also hates how fine he is with the way things have come to be.

But Yatora orders them Chinese food to Yotasuke’s apartment — which means his address gets saved on the blond’s phone, as if implying that he will visit again — and the two crawl off the bed to go squeeze into the tiny shower, and even if all of it is new, Yotasuke doesn’t really want to change anything about it.

However, Yotasuke does want to know what Yatora will look like in his bed when the morning sun hits his golden eyes.