Archive of Our Own

"B-because you sprang them on me out of nowhere, okay? And—and I ended up kissing you back eventually, didn't I?"

It's burned into his memory. Thinking back, he remembers the flash of hurt that'd flickered across Maki's face as he'd shoved him back, replaced quickly by a self-assured smile. Already expecting to be rejected, already ready to laugh it off. A twist of guilt curls in the pit of Haruta's stomach. His head droops a little bit, bangs brushing against Maki's forehead.

"I didn't mean to push you away like that either, that time. I just..." Haruta looks up, timid. "I just—I wasn't expecting it—and it's not like I didn't not like it, I just—"

If Maki's eyebrows could rise any higher, they'd be sliding clear off his face. Haruta's mouth slides shut, eyes darting around the room before settling back on Maki's face.

"I like kissing you," Haruta says, finally. "And I want to kiss you, and—and do other couple-y things with you—and I know you're not a girl. And..."

The hand in Haruta's hair slides down to cup the side of his neck. Maki's touch is warm as always, and it makes something strange happen to Haruta's chest; he shivers, leaning into the caress.

"You drive me crazy," Haruta confesses, burying his face in Maki's shoulder. Words half-muffled, he rambles, "Every time you kiss me, I can't stop thinking about it. I want—well, to be honest, I don't really know what I want—b-but I know I like you, and I want to touch you, without you worrying about whether or not I'm really interested, because I really am—and I get so jealous imagining you with anyone else, and I don't know what that makes me, but—"

"Just... stop talking," Maki groans, covering his face with a hand. "I get it, so just..."

Haruta does as requested. Maki shifts a bit, and Haruta turns to peek over at his face. Maki's mouth twists a bit at the edges, his eyes watery.

When Maki speaks, his voice is soft, almost sad. "You're sure you're okay with me?"

Haruta practically jumps up, nodding furiously. "More than okay. I..."

The expression on Maki's face makes a pang run through Haruta's chest. It's his fault somehow, probably, but he can't figure out how to make it better. He wants—he wants Maki to be happy. He wants to be the one to make Maki happy.

Haruta leans down, pressing his lips gingerly to the corner of Maki's mouth, as if it'll make the frown go away.

"I love you," Haruta murmurs against his skin, because it's true, "and I might be an awful lover, and you'll need to tell me what to do, b-because I've never done anything like this with anyone, guy or not, but—but I want to. With you. Really."

Maki's mouth twists a second time, his eyes sliding shut. Haruta can't read his expression, for better or for worse.

Before Maki can tell Haruta to shut up again, Haruta's moving to kiss him for real this time. Maki's hand slides up to settle on Haruta's jaw, gently adjusting the angle. Their lips meet—once, twice, and again—then Maki's tongue swipes against Haruta's lower lip and Haruta's mind goes blank, mouth parting half by instinct, half by surprise. Maki takes advantage of the opening, deepening the kiss; Haruta's fingers tense where they're still clutching the side of the couch, grip going white-knuckled.

Haruta can't think—can't do anything but kiss Maki back, pulse racing and pounding in his ears. It's—it's embarrassing, how badly Maki affects him.

Haruta pulls away, breaths ragged, and trails kisses shakily down Maki's jaw. His teeth scrape against Maki's neck, and Maki sucks in a breath, making a soft sound of surprise. It's barely more than a gasp, but Haruta feels dizzy with how much he wants to hear Maki make that sound again. He sighs against Maki's skin, one hand dropping to slide hesitantly under the hem of Maki's shirt. Maki's skin is soft, and he's so warm—Haruta aches, all of a sudden, with how badly he wants to touch the rest of him. He sits back, free hand coming back to fiddle with one of Maki's shirt buttons.

"Can I," Haruta breathes, and Maki searches his face for something before nodding.

Haruta doesn't need to be told twice. Clumsily, he undoes the rest. Maki's shirt falls open, and Haruta slides a reverent hand over Maki's waist, thumb moving in gentle circles.

Maki looks at him with caution in his eyes, like he's still bracing for something. A rejection, maybe, as if Haruta will run away screaming once he realizes that Maki's chest is flat after all—as if he hasn't seen Maki half-naked a dozen times already, getting in and out of the bath.

Still, it's different like this, when Haruta is so close. Close enough to trace the flush that paints Maki's ears red, close enough to run his hand up Maki's ribs and smooth his palm experimentally over Maki's chest.

"You're so pretty," Haruta says, before he bites his lip nervously and backpedals. "...Not—not in a girly way, I just mean—"

"Shut up," Maki hisses, but there's a blush rising over his cheeks and fond exasperation in his voice. Their eyes meet, and Haruta can't help the dopey smile that tugs at his lips. Fondly, Maki traces the shape of it with a thumb—before his hand fists in Haruta's collar, tugging him back down, swallowing Haruta's surprised yelp with a fierce kiss.

Haruta can barely breathe, his world narrowing to the feeling of Maki's mouth on his, the sound of Maki's quiet breaths, the warmth of Maki's skin under his hands. He feels drunk, too-warm all over. One of his hands runs over Maki's chest again, fingers skimming over a nipple. Maki groans quietly into his mouth, the sound making something in Haruta's gut go taut with arousal.

One of Maki's hands traces the curve of Haruta's hip, running over his thigh to press against the growing tent in his sweatpants.

"Maki," Haruta whines, bucking instinctively into the touch. He barely recognizes his own voice, low and desperate and choked.

"Oh," Maki says, as if he's surprised.

Haruta groans, pressing his face against Maki's neck. He stays there for a moment, trying to get himself together before he embarrasses himself.

"Do you believe me now?" Haruta presses a kiss to the curve of Maki's neck, plants another at the juncture where neck meets shoulder.

"Y-Yeah." Maki's voice is shaky, so far from his usual smug confidence.

Haruta's only seen him like this a few times—when he's said something to hurt Maki, or when he's made him emotional. There's a small part of him that doesn't know why—a part of him that doesn't know why Maki fell for him in the first place, why Maki cares for him this much. He probably doesn't deserve it, Haruta figures. Especially not after everything he's put Maki through.

But—it's selfish and he knows it, but the larger part of him just doesn't care. He's grateful, either way. Whether or not he deserves it, Maki likes him, and that's what matters. He doesn't want to lose Maki to anyone else—Haruta wants to keep him close, wants to make him happy.

Haruta pulls back, straightens up, His hand runs down Maki's stomach, fingers settling along the waistband of Maki's pants. His mouth feels dry, something like hunger gnawing at his stomach.

"I want to touch you," Haruta whispers, glancing nervously at Maki's face. Maki swallows, letting out something halfway between a scoff and a laugh before nodding. Haruta beams, leaning in to kiss him again.

"Tell me if I'm doing anything wrong," Haruta mutters against Maki's lips, before he's tugging Maki's pants down to palm him over his boxers. Haruta figures that he should probably feel weird, touching another guy like this, but it doesn't bother him as much as he'd expected—if anything, he's relieved to find Maki half-hard, if only to confirm that he hasn't been a complete failure at kissing.

(He wonders if he's sorted Maki into his own category: not guy or girl or anything else, but just—Maki. Haruta's come to realize that there's not much he wouldn't do, if Maki really asked him to.)

Swallowing down his anxiety, Haruta slips a hand into Maki's boxers. Maki's eyes flutter closed as Haruta's fingers find their way around soft skin. Haruta's grip tightens, and Maki lets out a quiet noise.

"Maki," Haruta murmurs, because that's all he can say, his thoughts reduced to a litany of Maki, Maki, Maki. His eyes are locked on Maki's face, his pulse roaring in his ears.

It's not rocket science, this part. God knows Haruta has had enough experience with self-love to get a feel for what to do. The angle's different, sure, and he's sure Maki's preferences aren't quite the same, but Haruta tries his best. He's rewarded for his efforts when Maki shudders, turning his face to the side and breathing out Haruta's name into the couch cushions.

Haruta feels dizzy with it, the way it feels like nothing else in the world matters but the way Maki is leaning into his touch, the broken noise that Maki makes whenever Haruta swipes his thumb over just the right way, the heady rush of feeling Maki warm and heavy in his hand.

He wasn't kidding about the size either, Haruta thinks, with a hint of nervousness. Would it fit, if they—

—Haruta chases the thought from his mind, filing that away for later. Still, his thoughts wander back to the feeling of Maki pinning him down, the softness of Maki's lips against his.

Maki is going to be the death of him.

Haruta turns his focus back to the devil in question. He pauses his movements, tugging down on Maki's boxers; Maki lifts his hips cooperatively, and Haruta pulls them down, exposing his lower half.

The sight of Maki sprawled across the couch like this is almost too much for Haruta to take in: his shirt open to expose the way his chest rises and falls with shaky breaths, the flush across his face, the way he's biting down on the back of his hand to muffle himself, the way he's hard, erection pressed up against his stomach—

Haruta swallows down the strange weight in his pit of his stomach. He doesn't know what he wants, but he—he wants Maki to feel good, wants to show Maki that he's serious about all of this.

Haruta moves without thinking, scooting back and leaning down to press a kiss to Maki's trembling thigh. His face brushes against the side of Maki's cock, and Maki's eyes go wide, his hands moving to card through Haruta's hair.

"Wait," Maki says, voice strained and half-air, "Haruta, you don't need to—"

Maki's voice cracks and breaks into a wordless moan when Haruta licks experimentally up his cock. The sound makes Haruta's breath catch in his throat. He feels like he's going to burn up—all he can think of is Maki, Maki. He wants to hear it again, that sound.

"I want to," Haruta says again, and wraps his mouth around Maki's cock, his tongue swiping over the head. Maki shudders, and Haruta tries his best to fit as much as he can in his mouth, fingers wrapping around the rest and stroking rhythmically. It's—it's a little awkward, and he's not sure what he's doing, too preoccupied with trying to make sure he doesn't graze Maki with his teeth to really do anything else.

"Haruta," Maki pleads, his voice lower and darker than Haruta's every heard it, and that—the way Maki says his name, the way his body is tense and shaking underneath Haruta's hands, his cock heavy against his tongue—it's enough to drag a quiet groan out of Haruta's throat, his hips stuttering to rut helplessly against Maki's leg. Maki notices, because he hisses out a curse, fingers running through Haruta's hair. They curl when Haruta wraps his mouth tighter around Maki, bobbing hesitantly up and down his cock; the dull tug of pain where Maki pulls his hair makes Haruta's pulse stutter—another moment of self-discovery to file away for a later date.

Suffice it to say, Haruta's never done this before, and he's almost sure he's not doing a great job of it: it's messy and he can't quite get the seal right, and he can only take Maki halfway before he's not confident he won't gag, and yet—Maki's breaths are ragged, cracking at the edges, and Haruta can feel the tension in his body like a coiled spring drawn taut.

"H-Haruta," Maki groans, an undercurrent of desperation running through his voice, "Wait—I'm—"

Maki's hands tug at Haruta's hair again, trying to pull him back. Stubbornly, Haruta stays where he is—and then Maki's voice breaks on a soft cry, cock pulsing against Haruta's tongue as Maki comes in his mouth.

Haruta waits it out, rubbing soothing circles against Maki's hip with his free hand; Maki trembles beneath him, breathing out Haruta's name like a prayer, all reverence and affection that Haruta's not sure he deserves.

There's bitter warmth across his tongue. Haruta's nose wrinkles at the taste as he pulls back and swallows, tongue flashing out to swipe over his lips. Maki watches him, expression equal parts shock and satisfaction as Haruta wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Haruta makes a dissatisfied noise. "Gross."

(A voice at the back of his mind adds: yes, but it's Maki, and the thought of it—of Maki's taste lingering on his tongue, of Haruta's name falling from his lips—is enough to make him want to do it all over again.)

Maki scoffs, propping himself up with an elbow before sitting up so that he's face to face with Haruta.

"Sorry," Maki says, and Haruta shakes his head, and then Maki's grabbing his collar and pulling him into a kiss. Maki's hands roam over his body, and Haruta shivers—he's gone without attention all this time, but he's so aroused that it feels like he'll come the minute Maki touches him.

"Was it—" Haruta breathes, against Maki's lips, "Was that okay?"

Maki snorts, pulling back to meet Haruta's wide eyes with a fond look, the edges of his lips curling into a gentle smile. The corner of Maki's eyes crinkle, and Haruta can't stop staring. "Yeah. It—you did good."

The praise makes him feel warm all over. He would do anything to keep Maki smiling like that forever, Haruta thinks, anything if it meant Maki would be happy. He's so stupidly in love with Maki it hurts, his chest so tight it could burst—he's mirroring Maki's smile with a smile of his own, wide and bright.

"Haruta, you..." Maki shakes his head, pressing another kiss to Haruta's mouth and breathing out an sigh of disbelief against his cheek. "Come here."

"I'm already here," Haruta mutters, brow wrinkling in confusion, but he scoots closer nonetheless, until he's all but sitting in Maki's lap.

"Stay," Maki says, tone firm, and that, well. A shiver goes down Haruta's spine. Maki glances at him, too perceptive for his own good—his lips curl into a smug smirk.

Sadist, Haruta thinks to himself, with a tinge of dismay—and then Maki's lips are on his, and Maki's hands are slipping under his waistband, and he can't think of anything but Maki's name.

When Maki's fingers wrap around him, skin on heated skin, Haruta whines, head dropping to land heavy on Maki's shoulder.

"Maki," Haruta pleads, voice pitched high. "Maki, I can't—Maki..."

"Shh. I'll take care of you," Maki murmurs, and Haruta nods, dazed, because Maki always does, doesn't he?

Maki draws him out, and Haruta shakes in his arms, muffling a string of whimpers against Maki's neck. He's so hard, it hurts, and Maki's hand feels so good, and he's never had anyone touch him like this anyway—and it's not just anyone, it's Maki, and just thinking about it makes him feel faint.

"Just look at you," Maki says, and Haruta shakes his head, because if Maki keeps talking like that, he really will embarrass himself. Maki's free hand slides up under his shirt, his thumb sliding roughly over a nipple, and Haruta gasps and shudders into Maki's neck, overwhelmed.

Maki's voice is teasing, dark. "You got this excited just from that? So eager to please. Do you do this for everyone?"

"Just—ah!—just you," Haruta gasps out, because it's true. Because he doesn't know why, but when it comes to Maki, he'd do anything—to keep him by his side, to make him smile, to hear Maki call his name one more time. Maki presses a kiss to his temple, tender and affectionate.

"Maki," Haruta begs, and Maki's grip tightens, movements quickening until Haruta can barely form words, mouth faltering on a dozen soundless pleas. He's so—so damn close, and Maki feels so good, and—

"I love you," Maki murmurs, voice whisper-close to Haruta's ear, and Haruta squeezes his eyes shut and falls apart in Maki's hands, burying a broken groan in Maki's shoulder. Waves of pleasure wash over him as he comes, and Maki holds him through it, peppering the side of his face and neck with gentle kisses.

When he comes back to himself, Haruta feels spent, collapsed against Maki's shoulder. He breathes deep before he pulls away, blinking back tears from his eyes. Maki watches him, affection written all over his face.

"You're going to kill me," Haruta accuses. He's still breathless, voice hoarse. His jaw is sore, he realizes.

"You started it," Maki fires back, breathing out a fond laugh. A beat passes, and then Maki speaks up again. "That was fast."

"Shut up," Haruta groans. He feels a blush rise to his cheeks, eyes dropping as he refuses to meet Maki's gaze. "I—I told you. You drive me crazy. I can't—ugh, look, let's just drop it, okay?"

Maki hums in agreement, though his mouth is still curled into a smile at Haruta's expense. Haruta pauses, eyes fixed on the couch cushions. "And—and it was my first time having anyone touch me like that, or—or doing any of that, so..."

He trails off, swallowing thickly.

Maki lifts a hand to cup Haruta's cheek, raising his head so Haruta's forced to look at him. There's a serious expression on his face, something a little bit like awe.

"Then thank you for trusting me," Maki says—and Haruta's really going to cry if Maki doesn't shut up soon, or if he doesn't stop looking at him like that. Haruta nods quietly, breathing Maki in.

"Of course. I'm yours, after all—right?" Haruta blinks at Maki with wide eyes.

"Mm. And—same here." Maki's thumb traces Haruta's cheekbone, tapping gently at his dimples.

"If you want," Haruta says suddenly, before he loses courage, "It you want to—you know. The—when two guys..."

Maki blinks, staring at him blankly.

"If you wanted to—with me—I..."

"Haruta," Maki says, very patiently, and Haruta shakes his head, because he feels like if he doesn't say it now, he'll probably never get another chance.

"I wouldn't mind, I think—I mean, if I were to be the... the g-girlfriend in the situation—"

"Haruta," Maki cuts him off, choking on a laugh. "Shut up."

"Yep, okay," Haruta squeaks, blushing bright red.

They rest for quite a while in companionable silence, holding each other tight and leaning wearily against the couch.

It's Maki who breaks the silence. "...You're serious?"

Haruta glances over. It takes him a beat to realize what Maki's talking about. He swallows nervously, before nodding. "I—I mean, I thought about it, and since I wouldn't know what I was doing, and I'd be too worried about hurting you, I... I guess I don't really care, as long as you feel good. And—I did a lot of research, and..."

"You did what?" Maki shakes his head, exasperated. His ears are red. "No. Okay. We'll talk about this later."

"Mm." Nervousness and anticipation coil in Haruta's stomach in equal measure. He leans over, capturing Maki's lips in a gentle kiss as he reaches for Maki's hand—

"—It's sticky."

"And whose fault is that?" Maki bites back, rolling his eyes. He shifts away, shimmying out from under Haruta and getting up; Haruta whines a little bit at the sudden distance, reaching out to pull Maki back.

Maki grabs his wrist instead, pulling him forward by the arm.

"Come on. Let's go take a bath."