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To Maki’s credit, Harua starts it. And he starts because he wants a reaction, wants to press all sorts of buttons to see what could happen. Maki usually lets him. Indulges him in his teasing, and even lets Harua get that rise out of him, which enables Harua to go further. Maki would like to think that he can hold it together around him, whenever he needs to at least, but more often than not, he acts without thinking. Plays dangerously and unintentionally into Harua’s games.
Right now, it’s impossible to not react, with Harua’s face so close to his own. So close, Maki could tell he swiped a little bit of balm on his lips and still had some remnants of the orange blush the stylists used on him that day. It’s cute. Harua’s cute even when his teasing edges into taunting.
“You’re not the type to take charge,” Harua says, smiling. “I don’t think you have it in you.”
Maki’s not sure how they even started talking about this. Whether Maki has kissed anyone before, and what he’s like when he does. It doesn’t matter either way. The moment Harua says that, he takes it as a challenge, and practically corners Harua against his bed.
In his mind, all he wants to see is if he could fluster Harua too. That’s it. He’s already trying to figure out something witty to say, with Harua wide eyed in front of him. He looks truly surprised, like he really didn’t think Maki had it in him, and that’s almost enough to satisfy him. But Harua is still smiling. Not quite faltering the way Maki wishes he would.
That drives Maki forward. He kisses Harua, and his mouth is soft, balmy like Maki figured it would be. He keeps kissing him, taken in by how nice it feels. Harua’s lips part with an earnest, flustered gasp when he does. Maki doesn’t think Harua meant to let it out.
Catching Harua truly off guard, even for a moment, makes Maki’s head rush. Makes him hot all over. He nips at Harua’s bottom lip, emboldened.
Then Harua lets out a short, breathy laugh as he puts his hand on Maki’s shoulder, weakly pushing him away. “Okay, okay, I get it,” Harua mumbles against his mouth, face slightly pink. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, and Maki does the same with the back of his hand, suddenly embarrassed. He kissed Harua longer than he meant to, and the sensation lingers, skin buzzing.
Maki mumbles out an incoherent excuse about having plans with Jo, scrambling off the bed and away from Harua before he thinks about it too much.
Harua crops his shirt for ISAC. Fashion, he tells everyone who asks. Nicholas and Yuma both give him the same kind of amused grin. Kei tells him not to forget his jacket.
“You look good,” Maki says, when Harua looks at him. Not quite asking, but he looks at him and Maki figures he’s looking for a response. Reaction.
Harua makes a low, hmph sound in his throat, turns away to one of the company cars without any other response. Maki follows, eyeing over the way the band of his underwear pokes past his pants and all of his exposed belly.
ISAC always drags too long. No matter how much Maki enjoys catching up with everyone, there’s a point where everyone gets sleepy and stir crazy after being stuck in the too warm stadium, under the eyes of thousands of fans and hundreds of cameras.
Maki tunes out Harua’s chatter with Nicholas behind him until he feels Harua hitting the ground around Maki’s hands. Pestering him, intentionally or not. Any other time Maki may have just let it be. Maybe turn around and smack his hand at most. Sleep deprivation skews his judgement.
When Maki wraps his broad hand around Harua’s throat, he really only means it to be silly. Funny. A not at all serious threat to get him to stop. But he’s flustered by how pleased Harua looks. Accomplished. Mentally tallying this as a win. Harua smiles until Nicholas smacks Maki’s hand away, and then Harua looks at Nicholas, vague annoyance on his face.
“Quit it,” Nicholas says, expression not quite scandalized, but Maki could practically hear the raise of his eyebrow Nicholas wanted to give them both, eyes darting between the two. Maki doesn’t know how to take that. Doesn’t have time to figure it out either.
When Euijoo turns to face them all, it’s one set of eyes too many for Maki. It makes him go from a little too warm to almost too cool with familiar, icy embarrassment. He tries to play it off when he turns back around. He thinks he manages, despite the tight feeling in his chest.
Maki’s pulse is still racing and he wonders if Harua’s little rabbit heart is too.
They’re all styled in these oversized, partially torn apart pieces. Fabric hangs off of them in one way or another. Maki thinks Harua’s is his favorite, with his shirt clinging to his torso and showing off the curve of his waist and an off-shoulder scarf with dangly strips of fabric.
“Pretty,” Maki tells Harua, pulling at the fabric hanging off of him. Yanks it to see if Harua gets annoyed.
Harua pretends to, before grinning and reaching out to tug at the holes in the torso of Maki’s shirt, strategically ripped to censor the obvious Orgasm donor written across the chest. “Nice shirt,” he says, fingers ghosting over Maki’s bare skin, making Maki shiver. He fakes a cough, in a failed attempt to cover it up.
During a lull in filming, while they’re all adjusting hair, makeup, and clothing, Maki tugs at one of the pieces of fabric again, twirling it in his fingers first then wrapping around Harua’s throat like a choker. It’s all playful. Innocent—truly innocent because it didn’t make Maki’s heart pound. He didn’t think much of it at all. Harua’s tugging at the cords hanging off of Maki’s outfit, too. He even gets on his tiptoes, eyes twinkling with mischievousness, when he decides to wrap the cord around Maki’s neck too. It fills Maki with syrupy fondness, a smile spreading onto his face instantly.
It’s fine until he looks at Harua’s mouth for too long, and then at the moles dotting his neck in an effort to shift his gaze anywhere else.
Maki starts to spend far too much time trying to figure out what’s going on between him and Harua. Most of the time, he thinks he understands. Understood it better before he maybe, kind of made it weird by kissing him. Maybe it was always sort of weird. Maki’s always been particularly sensitive when it comes to Harua. Somewhat attached.
The television has been on but neither of them have been watching. It’s a drama they’ve already seen together, and they did pay attention to the first episode, but then Harua’s phone started buzzing on the floor. He’s been texting for at least half of the episode. He keeps smiling too, and stifling laughs that don’t line up at all with what’s on the TV.
Maki stopped paying attention too, unable to keep himself from trying to steal a glance at Harua’s phone. Harua had mentioned that he was going to hang out with someone he met at ISAC. Maki doesn’t remember who, and doesn’t want to. Harua said it in a way that made Nicholas snort, and Maki bristle with jealousy.
The jealousy comes back and makes Maki lean over, his shoulder pressing into Harua’s. He doesn’t try to hide the phone. He doesn’t have to. It’s not even open to his messages now, instead it’s scrolling through one of his burner accounts. Even if he was texting someone else, it’s not like Maki and Harua actually have anything going on. A singular, poorly thought out kiss means nothing. Nothing is set in stone, and nothing should be complicated about this at all, no matter how complicated it feels to Maki.
Still, he can’t seem to bite his tongue. One of his flaws, probably.
A message comes through, notification visible at the top of Harua’s screen.
“Is that what you were doing at ISAC?” Maki asks, immediately wincing at his own phrasing, managing to be both too direct and too unclear. “Making friends, I mean. Are we not enough?” Maki tries to joke to save it. Except, he almost says I instead of we though, which would not be very funny. At least to him. Harua would laugh. Does laugh—he snorts like he’s humoring Maki.
“Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do there?” Harua turns to face him. His face is too close. “Make content, make friends, maybe find a hookup or two among all the other idols.” The corners of Harua’s lips twitch up, a flicker of a smug smile before his expression smooths back out into that wide eyed sweet look he likes to give Maki. “Why do you ask?”
Why did he? Maki knew that Harua would be like this. Blatant and shameless and intentionally oblivious.
“Just.” Maki straightens up when Harua scoots closer, head still turned to look at Maki. Maki has taken to looking at his stretched out legs. The faded denim. The frayed fabric at the ends. Anything besides Harua. ‘“Just asking, I guess.”
Harua puts his hand on Maki’s thigh. He’s still looking at Maki.
“I was just curious,” Maki mutters. He hopes it’s enough to get Harua to stop looking at him like that. Anticipating for Maki to crumble under him. “That’s all.”
Harua hums a little exaggeratedly. Making sure Maki knows he’s toying with him. Putting a show of considering his words.
“Okay,” Harua says with a little nod. He smiles and then his hand is gone from Maki’s thigh.
They sit without doing anything at all, the drama long forgotten. Without anything to distract him, Maki can’t help but stew. Harua keeps tapping away at his phone. The loud little clicks feel intentional. His sharp, almost giggly exhales too. It twists in Maki’s stomach, wondering whether Harua is just bored of him or just poking again, fanning the flames to get a rise out of Maki. The former would be worse, a thousand times worse, but the latter just flusters Maki. Makes his thoughts go in circles.
The drama on the TV flashes the Continue watching? screen. They both ignore it. Maki breathes in too deep, exhales too shaky, and Harua sets his phone back to the side.
“Are you okay, Maki? You seem bothered.” Harua pouts. Like he feels bad. He probably does, deep down. Maybe. “What’s wrong?”
Maki chews on the inside of his bottom lip. He weighs every feeling living inside him. There’s something buried deep down that wants this—the taunting, the teasing, the simmer of humiliation in his chest and stomach when Harua pokes at his sensitive spots. Wants to be something for Harua to chew on. Wants even the uncertainty of it all, and all the pushing and pulling and pushing and pulling.
“I’m not bothered.” He decides to lie, wondering whether Harua wants an admission or pushback more.
Harua keeps pouting, keeps looking at Maki, pink bottom lip jutting out. Expectantly.
“I’m not,” Maki insists, doubling down on pushing back. He almost misses the scrunch of Harua’s brow.
Maki’s not sure where to put his hands when Harua decides to swing a leg over his lap, straddling him. He’s still trying to figure out how they got here, with Harua’s little body so close to his when Harua reaches out and guides his hands to his waist. Maki shivers, fingers tingling with want once they make contact. Harua’s small—they all know this, but Maki more than anyone. He used to be the same size, after all. But God, he’s small, and Maki isn’t anymore and the difference between them makes spit pool in Maki’s mouth. Harua props his arms on Maki’s shoulders, and cocks his head. Devious little smile, twinkling dark eyes.
“Maki,” Harua says and drags out his name until it’s purposefully whiny, bordering on pleading. Maki realizes he’s clenching his jaw because his teeth start to hurt and he almost starts to blame the sugary sweetness of Harua’s voice. He opens his mouth to speak, to loosen the tension, but no words come out.
“You’re seriously not going to tell me?” Harua asks, not-so-subtly grinding down. All Maki can do is dig his fingers into Harua’s waist, trying to steady himself.
“That’s unfair,” Harua claims. He’s barely moving now. Just barely wiggling and just barely giving Maki any sort of friction, but it’s still making Maki tingle all over. “I don’t want you to lie to me.”
“Harua,” Maki whispers. He tightens his grip, stilling Harua.
“Is it that you’re jealous?” Harua rocks into Maki, making sure he feels every second. “You’re afraid to admit you’re jealous, aren’t you?”
Maki squeezes his eyes shut. They’re hot. His face is hot. Harua wants Maki to break. He knows he wants him to break. Harua wants him to break like Maki did when he kissed him, when he almost choked him, and he’ll keep going until he gets there.
“Maki, am I not giving you enough attention again?” Harua continues. “Poor baby.” He clicks his tongue and leans closer into Maki’s face. He’s hardly even trying to hold back his smile. Always eager to delight in Maki’s overflow of emotions. “I still like you, I promise.”
It’s mean, a low blow, but Maki enjoys the way Harua digs his words into his ribs. Enjoys the justification it gives him.
Harua gasps, loudly, when his back hits the ground. Maki’s toppled them over, and now Harua is sprawled out across the small rug of his room, eyes wide and slightly crazy as he looks up at Maki. Harua’s chest rises and falls with every heavy breath, and he seems at a loss for words with Maki looming over him, arms and legs caging Harua in. Like this, it’s impossible to ignore just how much smaller Harua is. Again, Maki’s head rushes with the power of it. Moreso when Harua just blinks, waiting for Maki to do something. Let him up. Lean in. Chew him up instead.
”Stop trying to piss me off,” Maki says.
Harua wraps his arms around Maki’s neck to pull him down into a kiss. He’s particularly hungry with it, nipping at Maki’s lip, licking into Maki’s mouth. Maki’s cock throbs, and he shifts some of his weight onto one hand to yank Harua’s shorts down his hips. Harua lifts his hips to make it easier, but refuses to stop kissing Maki, sucking on Maki’s bottom lip. Maki can only get them halfway down his thighs, before Harua’s grabbing at his wrist and bringing Maki’s hand between his legs.
“Come on, Maki,” Harua urges between kisses. They’re only able to breathe each other in like this. It’s making Maki dizzy. Harua parts his legs more, and Maki slides his fingers through the slick mess of Harua’s cunt and over his already swollen clit. Maki stifles a groan, low in his chest. “Come on,” Harua repeats, less urgent, more exasperated, pulling away to lay flat on the ground again. “Before I change my mind.”
Maki exhales, harsh through his nose. Harua blinks up at him, still playing coy and cute, only sighing when presses his palm firm against Harua’s cunt. It drives Maki up the wall that Harua keeps trying to hold himself together even now. Refusing to let go of his composure all while pulling at the threads of Maki’s.
He adjusts his hand so he can thumb at Harua’s clit. Light, barely there strokes at his now twitching clit. Harua pants through it, until he makes an involuntary, frustrated sound. Maki smiles to himself, pleased. “Is that better?” he asks, keeping his touch teasing. Harua bites his lip, and tries to grind against Maki again, refusing to answer.
“What, now you have nothing to say?” Maki asks, beginning to move his hand to Harua’s thigh instead. Harua grabs his arm.
“Don’t you dare,” he pants out.
Maki fits two fingers into Harua, easy with his dripping cunt. Harua curses under his breath and arches into the fingers, trying to grind down on them when Maki rubs against the swell of his g-spot. Harua’s breaths turn into pants, and he mumbles out a demand for more, and Maki gives it to him. He fits a third finger into his cunt and looks down properly at where Harua is stretched around his digits. They look too big to fit all inside him. It’s obscene. Harua is still trying to arch into it. Maki thinks he’s managed to leak through his briefs, cock twitching as he fingers Harua open.
“Stop—stop holding back,” Harua hisses. “Stop making me work for it.”
Maki’s pulse is harsh in his own throat, he can feel it when he swallows, he can feel it when he fumbles with his pants and finally gets his cock in his hand. His fingers are shiny, with Harua’s arousal, and his own cockhead is pink and wet with his precum. Harua’s making another frustrated, huffy noise.
“Maki, when are—”
Maki doesn’t think. He can’t. His head is too fuzzy with arousal and growing frustration, and he’s beginning to get tired of how much Harua demands of him and how he keeps twisting him around his finger. Harua cuts himself off with a surprised gasp when Maki grabs at his hips, pulling him down, positioning himself at the entrance of his cunt. Harua even starts giggling, satisfied at Maki’s show of strength. Maki smiles to himself, and fills Harua up with his cock in one, almost fluid motion.
“Fuck, Maki,” Harua squeaks, gasps, trying and failing to squeeze his thighs together. He blinks, looking up past Maki and into the ceiling, like he didn’t realize just how big it would feel, like he hasn’t been the one constantly pointing out how much Maki has grown. Now, Harua breathes like he’s truly overwhelmed, all out of sorts with Maki filling him up. Maki slides a hand from Harua’s hip to his stomach, caressing it with his thumb. “Too big, too big all over,” Harua breathlessly giggles out, clenching down on Maki.
Maki groans, and rocks his hips. Harua lets out a whiny, needy moan, reaching up to cup the back of Maki’s neck, fingers rubbing into the skin. Grounding himself.
Maki steadies himself by sliding his hand up Harua’s torso, over his sternum until his hand rests right at the base of his throat. He knows how it feels, knows what it looks like too, but he has a lot more time, more privacy to take it in. He skirts his hand up higher, fingertips barely having to press in to feel Harua’s flittering pulse.
Harua arches into him, into his hand, further onto his cock, all demands and little patience now that they’re here. “Move,” Harua murmurs harshly, leg twitching then kicking out. There’s a soft, dull thud behind Maki, where Harua thumps his foot against the bedframe. “Maki, move.” It’s whiny, actually whiny, instead of the forced sugary sweet whining from before.
Harua keeps making all sorts of sounds, unable to stop them when Maki fucks him. They’re wet and high and needy, and Maki can feel the vibrations of them against his hand, where he’s still holding Harua by the throat. He’s too scared to apply real pressure. Harua tries to get him to, by pushing at Maki’s wrist.
“Show me,” Harua says, voice cracking. “I know—” He pushes down harder on Maki’s hand, and chokes on his own words. Gurgles out a groan and wraps a leg around Maki’s hip, keeping him deep inside. “You can, show me, you can, I know you—”
Maki squeezes, not even that hard, but Harua cuts himself off with another, eager moan, trying to nod in Maki’s grip, pupils blown wide with lust. He looks as crazy as Maki feels, and Maki feels like everything inside him is on fire, like one of them poured the gasoline and the other one struck the match.
Maki only pushes into the sides of Harua’s neck when he cums. Harder, enough for Harua to go tight all around him, gasping yesyesyes. He shoves his hand between his own legs to finish himself off, unwilling to wait for Maki. He goes quiet when he cums, clenching even harder around Maki’s softening, sensitive cock. Maki can only watch, Harua’s mouth popped open, a little bit of drool at the corner of his mouth.
It takes him a couple seconds to realize he should pull his hand away. Harua’s practically melting into the floor by the time he does. Spent. Eyes shut, pleased little smile on his face. Red imprints on the side of his throat.
Maki stares at them. Torn between admiring the marks he left behind and worrying about whether they’ll grow darker.