Shouta doesn’t mind that the teacher picked to bunk with him on the camping trip is Yagi. He doesn’t mind in the slightest. He’s in no particular rush to admit it to anyone, but the older man has grown on him in recent months, despite the fact Shouta can tell he’s struggling. Yagi’s company is pleasant; he’s a quieter man than Shouta thought All Might could ever be, but he’s just as self-sacrificing and devoted to those around him. He’s a good man, a private man, and perhaps a little too self-sacrificing.
Shouta has noticed – he can’t help but notice when his attention is drawn to the tall, slender man so often – that Yagi doesn’t do well when left alone with his own thoughts and problems. He’s better at helping others than he is at helping himself, and he’s uncomfortable in his skin. It’s a tragedy, Shouta thinks. The man is beautiful, in his own striking way. He doesn’t even seem to realise it.
Shouta has caught glimpses of Yagi’s inner struggle before, but now, on this trip, seeing Yagi in much closer proximity…
Yeah, Yagi has a problem.
And it becomes even more apparent the second evening. Shouta doesn’t think Yagi slept much the previous night, and he hasn’t offered much by way of conversation beyond polite comments and safe chatter about their students, despite clearly wanting to speak more. He seems at a loss, drifting with no idea of which direction he should be reaching towards. It’s difficult to watch. Shouta almost wants to reach out to him, so that at the very least he can anchor the lonely man, because he catches Yagi looking in his direction more often than not.
He’s not about to do something so reckless, though, so the conversation dies, they ready themselves for bed, and then settle down to sleep.
Shouta doesn’t get much before he’s woken by an almost inhuman sound of suffering. He awakens with a jolt, listening as the sound comes again, followed by another.
To his side, so close he could reach out and touch him, Yagi is writhing beneath his blankets, air choking in his wet lungs and escaping as miserable sobs. At first Shouta thinks it’s a nightmare, but then he realises how Yagi is moving, and that in amongst the sounds of pain are sounds of miserable pleasure. The other man is hard, caught in a dream that ought to be pleasant but is doing nothing but tormenting him.
He doesn’t think twice before calling out.
“Yagi-san,” he tries, his voice low and as calm as he can keep it. The sound barely seems to register. “Yagi-san. Oi! Yagi!”
At last, Yagi wakes, and immediately stills, tension radiating from his body. In the fading light Shouta sees dampness spilling from the corner of his eye, and he finds his heart beating faster than it ought to.
“You okay?” he asks, hoping to prompt some sort of dialogue.
“Yes,” comes the thin lie, Yagi punctuating it by rolling over, turning away from him. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. It won’t happen again.”
Another lie. Shouta huffs, annoyed by it. He’s here, barely half a metre from the other man and asking if he’s okay, and Yagi isn’t giving him a chance. “Do you always cry when you have wet dreams?”
His words, he realises, are too harsh. The moment they’ve left his lips he can tell that his own particular brand of unfiltered honesty maybe isn’t the best way to deal with Yagi. Such a thing is so private, so embarrassing, and he’s just ripped it out of the other man and cast it still twitching and bleeding into the space between them.
It stands to reason that Yagi moves to get away from him.
“Wait!” Shouta pleads, a little breathless as he reaches out and wraps a hand around Yagi’s wrist. The way Yagi reacts tells him that was the wrong thing to do, and he lets go. “I shouldn’t have teased,” he acknowledges, trying to soften the damaging blow. “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
The answer, of course, will be ‘no’, but he wants Yagi to know that he’s there, that he regrets his unthinking words, and that he actually, in a way, understands. He can tell Yagi is lonely. He can see he is unhappy within himself. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the man is alone, and he could perhaps use support of any kind.
What’s weird is that Shouta wants to give it, but he’ll question that either later or never. Never seems more likely. He’s not stopped to second guess why he’s started smiling at the sight of Yagi in the staff lounge, or why he actively stays awake just to hear the other man speak.
To his surprise, Yagi answers by trying to move away again. “I just need some fresh air.”
“I’ll come with you,” Shouta insists. If he lets Yagi go now, he knows the other man will only allow embarrassment to consume him, and Shouta doesn’t want that to get in the way, to linger between them any time in the future. He wants this resolved here and now.
“No, please don’t, I’m fine.”
It’s another lie, and Shouta scowls at Yagi’s insistence of suffering alone. “Yagi-san,” he says, pushing his sleeping bag off and shifting, poised to follow. “You are quite clearly not fine. I don’t care if you stay or go, but I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Aizawa-kun…” comes the complaint, but it’s not a particularly strong protest. Shouta gives Yagi space, lets him decide.
To his relief, Yagi decides to stay. He announces his decision by lying back down, a stray sob tugging at his chest. Shouta’s heart softens, going out to him.
“Good night,” Yagi says.
Shouta doesn’t believe that either of them are at any risk of falling asleep any time soon.“Yeah right. Like you’re going to sleep,” he points out.
Yagi, again, answers with silence, the weight of it growing and growing and starting to smother them. Shouta struggles not to fidget beneath it, and not to reach out to touch the other man, because he can feel the heat and tension, the shame and need, radiating from the other man, and Yagi has somehow become someone in his life he truly cares for, even if they’re not exactly friends.
It becomes clear as the seconds tick by that Yagi really isn’t going to relax. He’s uncomfortable, and Shouta… Shouta feels a special kind of recklessness overcome him, the kind usually reserved for leaping headlong into situations with no regard for his own wellbeing when others are at risk.
“You know, I could help,” he murmurs, his heart clawing its way up his throat.
Yagi shifts, turning to stare through the near darkness. “W-what?”
“If you wanted to me to…” Shouta adds a little helplessly. Now that he’s taken the leap, he’s not too keen on the landing rushing up to meet him.
He’s right to dread it. The silence – the rejection – hurts. He gives a tense exhale, trying to push away the crushing disappointment closing in around him and create more distance between them.
“Nevermind, forget I said anything.”
He’s surprised to find Yagi breaking what he expects to be a very painful, prolonged silence.
“What do you mean?”
Shouta, taken aback by the question, has to ask: “What do you mean what do I mean?”
“You said…” Yagi said, sounding highly uncomfortable, “‘help’.”
Shouta doesn’t really want to revisit what he just said. He has no intention of opening himself up to another mistake. “I was joking. Forget it.”
There’s an uncomfortable pause, and then: “It wasn’t funny.”
The moment he hears that, the moment the vulnerable, broken pitch of Yagi’s voice registers, Shouta turns towards him. “I’m sorry,” he says, meaning it. It’s the second time he’s apologised within the space of ten minutes, which has to be a new record but he doesn’t particularly care. In that moment as he reaches out he realises that he hasn’t thought this through properly. Yagi is lonely. He’s not used to people being there for him, reaching out to him. Yagi won’t, or can’t, initiate anything. He holds himself back.
He also flinches away from the contact.
“You’re hurting,” Shouta says out loud, almost another apology. He can sense Yagi’s struggle, and he wants to help him from it, pull him away from the edge.
Knowing that, if the distance is ever to be closed he has to be the one to initiate it, Shouta slides closer. “You can trust me,” he promises, letting his hand find Yagi’s, and his fingers brush against the back of a clenched fist. The startled sound Yagi makes, and the fact he doesn’t pull away again, gives Shouta the shove he needs to voice something he suspects, and hopes, is true. “You like me, don’t you?”
Although he doesn’t speak, Yagi’s body answers. His limbs lock even further in tension, his breath hitching, and Shouta feels him trembling. Absence of denial isn’t admission, but in this instance it feels as if it leans towards it.
Shouta, his heart now having taken up residence in his mouth, decides that this – that Yagi – is worth the risk. He respects the older man, he admires him and he thinks more of him with each passing day, and he decides that Yagi deserves his honesty.
“I like you,” he admits, hoping his admission will ease Yagi’s stiffness rather than add to it. “For what it counts, if you’re ever interested…”
He leaves the offer hanging as he tries to work out how his words have been received. Yagi is capable of denying him and rejecting him, that much he knows from just a few minutes ago when he very clearly rejected Shouta’s touch, but he’s accepting the touch now. He’s not pulling away or telling him to back off, so maybe…
There’s panic in Yagi’s voice, urgency. Shouta, his hand barely five centimetre lower than where it had been, stops.
“Please… I can’t…”
Not I don’t want , or I don’t like you like that or this makes me uncomfortable . Just that he can’t. Shouta takes that to mean he doesn’t know how to accept the touch, or perhaps he’s acutely embarrassed by what his body is doing, and the way he woke Shouta up.
So Shouta moves his hand back to where he knows Yagi can handle it, resting his palm over the back of Yagi’s still clenched fist, feeling the way he trembles.
“I’m sorry,” Yagi breathes before Shouta can say anything.
“It’s okay,” Shouta reassures him, his mind beginning to race. If this is all he can have, as far as he can get before Yagi becomes uncomfortable, he should maybe leave it at that, but he can sense that Yagi wants something more. He needs it, even. And Shouta wants to give it.
Words haven’t worked, nor has touch. Approaching him has only led so far, so the next logical step, in Shouta’s mind, is to offer a very clear invitation, one Yagi can’t resist if he is, as Shouta suspects and hopes, interested in him. He gathers all those fleeting moments in his mind, remembering the shared glances, all the shy, tentative smiles Yagi has ever given him, the warm silences whenever they’re close in a shared space, and the way he’s felt Yagi’s gaze lingering now and then, and he hopes…
He doesn’t like to pull away from the hard-won touch, but he feels like he has to. With an unsteady exhale he tries to gather himself as his hands move over his own body. He gives what he hopes is an inviting, low moan. “I need to…” he murmurs.
The benefit of this, Shouta thinks as he frees himself from his pants, is that it puts them on an equal footing. If Yagi feels embarrassed about his dream and continuing state of arousal, hopefully this will show him whatever it is he needs to realise that it doesn’t matter. Such things, such needs, are human. Shouta has them too. He has them, and he is willing to share them, to make a fool of himself for Yagi’s sake.
He gives a shaky sigh, wrapping his fingers around his cock and stroking, trying to bring himself to hardness. It’s not as easy as it ought to be, but he doesn’t relent, instead closing his eyes and allowing himself to imagine a happy conclusion to this: Yagi’s hands sliding over his skin and tugging at his hair, the two of them moving together in tandem, a beautiful, slender body pressed against his own as Yagi kisses him senseless. It wouldn’t take much. Just the thought alone of being kissed is enough to help, and Shouta bites back a gasp, tilting his head to expose his neck to his imaginary lover.
And beside him, Yagi hasn’t moved. Even through his own growing pleasure, Shouta can tell he’s still rigid, frozen in place. He’s not sure if that counts as a victory or not, if he should keep going, perhaps this too was an awful decision, and in his worry his arousal shrinks.
And then Yagi speaks, and Shouta can’t help keening at the sound of his name. “A-aizawa…”
“Toshinori,” he breathes without thinking. He bites his lip, shivering when he realises that the other man is moving closer, reaching out. A hand alights on his shoulder, and Shouta looks towards him through the darkness. “Toshi…”
The pleasure of the simple touch leaves him arching into his own hand, tightening and twisting without thinking.
The command is jarring, and Shouta hastily obeys, afraid that Yagi disapproves, that he’s really overstepped the mark.
“I-I mean…” Yagi stammers. There’s a tense, unpleasant pause, before he continues. “May… may I?”
Shouta finds himself delirious with relief, and almost laughs. Oh fuck, this beautiful man is such a mess, and easily the worst news for Shouta’s heart since he started teaching, but he couldn’t imagine being happier. The request leaves him smiling, a fact he only realises after he’s let go of himself to make room for Toshinori. “Go on.”
Toshinori takes a moment, moving a fraction closer as he settles into a comfortable position, and as his hand reaches out he bows his head, hiding what little Shouta could make out of his face from his sight. He wants to reach up, to push his fingers into that messy blond hair and massage Toshinori’s scalp, showing him that it’s okay, that he likes and wants this and Toshinori is allowed to like and want it too, but that would be too much.
Instead, Shouta focuses on the hand moving lower over his body, on the way it causes the fabric of his top to shift and tickle and his breathing to become more and more laboured. The sweet ache of anticipation erupts into almost blinding need when Toshinori at last touches skin, and Shouta whimpers in need.
When he at last gets what he wants, he doesn’t bother holding back a moan. Toshinori’s fingers are long and cool against his flushed cock, wrapping around it and— oh fuck!— stroking, moving as if Toshinori is remembering how to do this. The way he squeezes at the head is so sweet and tender it leaves Shouta gasping and needing to claw at something as Toshinori starts to fully stroke him, jerking him off with growing confidence and warmth. Shouta is loosely aware of the sounds escaping him, and closes his eyes, drinking in every detail of this and trying to commit it to memory. It feels like heaven.
He reaches out to Toshinori, wanting to touch in return, finding his hand brushing against the older man’s cheek and then, to his utter dismay, Toshinori flinching.
“No,” he argues, hating the imbalance. “Let me touch you.”
He can see enough to make out that Toshinori is shaking his head, and his hand is withdrawing too, leaving Shouta to mourn something so good he’d, for a moment, forgotten why they were even in this situation.
“Toshinori,” he pleads, “this isn’t fair.”
“You don’t have to,” is the horrid answer he gets, Toshinori sounding like he believes what he’s saying. “I don’t need you to.”
“I want to,” Shouta insists, shaking of the pleasant haze that had overtaken him and leaning towards Toshinori ever so slightly, wary of startling him again. “Please?”
His plea is met by silence as Toshinori wars with something Shouta wishes he could tear out of the other man so they can destroy it together.
“I don’t want you to see me,” Toshinori says at last.
“It’s dark,” Shouta points out. He knows exactly what Toshinori means, but he treats the worry literally and gives the obvious answer.
Toshinori makes his unhappiness clear, turning and facing the other way.
“Toshinori…” Shouta all but begs, reaching out, his fingers alighting on a fragile shoulder. He rests his palm over the joint, feeling how prominent Toshinori’s bones are beneath his shirt, and then slides his hand down lower to a thin arm.
It’s almost like Toshinori forgot to try and shake him off. The action, when it comes, isn’t convincing, and as he rests against Toshinori’s back, Shouta can tell his tension isn’t as great as before.
“Would you believe me if I told you I thought you were beautiful?” he wonders, captivated by Toshinori’s proximity. His touch had been so gentle on Shouta’s skin, so thoughtful and somehow kind. It was the kind of touch you spent your life fantasising about but never finding. From his overshadowed, cornflower blue eyes to his gangling limbs, his rich, expressive voice to his kind heart, Toshinori truly is beautiful.
The answer, although expected, breaks Shouta’s heart a little. He presses his forehead against the struggling man’s back, exhaling softly as he measures up the pros and cons of continuing.
“I’m not in the habit of coming on to colleagues,” he admits, in part thinking out loud. “I’m not in the habit of coming on to anyone ,” he emphasises the point. He hasn’t made any time for relationships because he’s not found someone whose ideals align with his and whose goals in life are the same. He’s never found someone he felt might be worth it. Until now, that is. “I don’t take such things lightly. I will only do something like this if I really, truly like the person.”
Toshinori is still, but not as tense as before. He’s listening, and hearing what Shouta has to say.
“But nor will I keep trying if you keep pushing me away, or don’t reciprocate,” Shouta admits, trying to define his boundaries. He will give, but he will not give until there’s nothing left of himself. He won’t pour his time and attention and effort and affection into a bottomless pit. He wants Toshinori to understand that, and to know that he’s serious. He will give his attention if it will be warmly received and cherished, otherwise he needs to pull away, now, and mend the hurt before it becomes too great.
He doesn’t want to pull away. He doesn’t want to abandon Toshinori when he’s started to realise just how alone the man is, and just how wonderful a lover he might be.
“You’re coming onto me?” Toshinori asks, as if confused by the fact.
“I would have thought that was obvious,” Shouta says as softly as he can, “but yes, I am.”
“How can you stand something like me?”
Shouta hates those words. There’s something so deeply, pervasively wrong about them it’s jarring. “Something?” he echoes. “Some one . And easily. I didn’t lie. You are beautiful, and so much more besides.”
Toshinori gives a shaky exhale at his answer, as if struck by it.
“And you want to touch me?”
He’s so bound by the negative that Shouta doesn’t hesitate to latch onto the positive, feeding it. He hums in approval, letting his hand move again. “Very much so.”
There’s no resistance this time when he moves his hand towards Toshinori’s chest. Shouta can feel a racing heartbeat beneath the hard bone of Toshinori’s breastplate, and he splays his palm over it, as if he can touch the other man’s heart and soothe it.
Wanting permission before he takes this any further than this simple, hopefully comforting touch, Shouta bites his lip and then says: “If you’ll let me.”
Toshinori gives a small, startled sound, as he nods without hesitation. Shouta can’t help grinning at that, happier than he can describe with the permission. His thanks is a gentle kiss, pressed to the base of Toshinori’s neck as he presses even closer. He doesn’t even care about his own arousal. He has what he wants now: Toshinori’s permission to touch him in a way that he knows can only help.
“Let me return the favour,” he says as his hand moves lower, caressing Toshinori’s contoured chest. He brushes close to what feels like the centre of the wound that began the demise of All Might’s career, and he feels Toshinori freeze, so he doesn’t linger. Skirting over Toshinori’s pyjamas, he feels the rigid, wonderful heat of Toshinori’s arousal. He can’t help moaning as he caresses the healthy erection, admiring the form and shape of it through the thin fabric even as he feels a flicker of sympathy for Toshinori’s plight. To be so hard despite all that embarrassment… He has to need release, badly.
“How long since you touched yourself?” he wonders, although doesn’t expect an answer as he lets his hand slip between the loose waistband and Toshinori’s abdomen. He’s barely touched him when Toshinori cries out and thrusts forwards into the slight friction Shouta offers, precome smearing over Shouta’s palm.
“You must need this,” Shouta says softly, nuzzling against Toshinori’s back and doing all he can to make this easier for him. Toshinori is so close to the edge already, tension returning to his body, and Shouta wants to make sure none of it is from embarrassment. “I’ll make it quick, don’t worry,” he promises. “Just relax.”
Toshinori doesn’t relax, exactly, but he accepts Shouta’s touch, meeting it with a needy whimper and a whole body shudder. Just a few more moments and Shouta realises it really isn’t going to last long.
He doesn’t mind, but he knows Toshinori will if his clothes are stained by his release. Preempting the shame that might plague the other man, Shouta pulls away, reaching for a discarded pair of boxers. “Here,” he says gently before he places the underwear in a strategic position. Toshinori’s pants are around his thighs, his cock completely exposed to the cool air, and Shouta sighs with a happy smile as he takes Toshinori in his hand again, feeling him jerk and shudder.
“You have such a responsive body,” he praises, feeling the positive reaction in the sharp exhale Toshinori gives. “So beautiful, Toshinori,” he continues, “perfect just the way you are.”
Toshinori whines at that, giving Shouta the excuse to continue he didn’t need. “I could do this for hours,” he admits, moving his hand just a little faster. “Just lay here touching you, exploring your body, kissing every part of you.” Oh fuck, does he want to kiss Toshinori. “Would you like that?”
Toshinori nods, before he gasps out: “Yes!” There’s a pause in which he tries to draw breath. “Aizawa-kun, I—”
So formal. Shouta can’t help chuckling at the strangeness of his name said like that. “Shouta,” he corrects. “Call me Shouta.”
And then Toshinori – beautiful, wonderful Toshinori – drops all formality, careening towards completion as he cries out: “Shouta!”
With a firm twist and gentle squeeze of his hand, Shouta makes sure there’s no way Toshinori can miss this, no way he can hold back, and he’s rewarded by broken pants as Toshinori shudders, his whole body caught up in the effort of release.
Shouta can barely breathe. He strokes Toshinori through it, pressing in close and fighting to keep his own hips still as Toshinori rocks into his hand. He’s spent now, Shouta knows, finally free of the physical demand that has been plaguing him for who knows how long, and from the sound of his breathing and the shivering of his body, it seems like Toshinori is too blissed out for several wonderful moments to think or care about anything.
Shouta’s heart sings. He stills his movements, instead pressing close against Toshinori’s back, imagining that his proximity might be of some comfort. He’s certainly not going to leave Toshinori alone, not even for a second, until he’s sure the other man is okay.
A strained little huff alerts him to the shift in Toshinori’s state, and he tries to encourage him to stay as he is for a while longer. “Shh, it’s okay,” he promises. “Relax a moment, just enjoy this.”
He can feel Toshinori trying to fight it, struggling against the post-orgasmic haze and heaviness of his body. He’s relieved when it seems that tiredness has won, and when he feels that Toshinori is perhaps asleep, he moves his hand away.
Immediately Toshinori is tense. Shouta is disappointed in himself, feeling like he’s failed.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he insists, moving to wipe away whatever come might be lingering on Toshinori’s skin before he cleans his own hand on his dirtied boxers.
“What about you?” Toshinori asks, his words slowed by tiredness.
“What about me?” Shouta frowns, easing Toshinori’s pyjamas back into place.
He doesn’t expect Toshinori to shift against him, pressing back and rubbing against his still hard cock. It steals the breath from his lungs, leaving him dazed.
“You’re still…” Toshinori starts, unable to finish. The shyness in verbally addressing the issue is endearing.
“It’s fine,” Shouta tries to dismiss. After all, this was never about him. “I’ll take care of it.”
Toshinori doesn’t accept his answer, and rolls over, squishing against Shouta’s body as he does. His movements are slow, lazy, almost, but still determined. “Let me help.”
He sounds like he won’t take no for an answer. He also sounds like he should have been asleep yesterday, and Shouta isn’t in a rush to keep him from that.
But Toshinori asked. “You want to?” Shouta clarifies.
For a moment he hates that he asked, and hates himself for being disappointed when he thinks Toshinori might change his mind, but then Toshinori gives his answer: “Yes. I want to, if you’ll let me. I want to make you fee—”
Shouta, breathless again and allowing himself to remember how good that touch felt, takes Toshinori’s hand and presses it to his still exposed cock.
His touch is, for some reason, more hesitant than before. He trembles slightly too, although Shouta chalks that up to the fact he’s just come and is fighting off tiredness to do this. Slowly, with tender care, Toshinori traces the shape of his cock, and Shouta shifts, getting comfortable on his back despite the cool, hard ground beneath him. Toshinori moves with him, staying close, and Shouta whimpers when his touch grows bolder, fingers exploring with more confidence now. He can’t help gasping, shivering, when Toshinori teases him, smearing a bead of precome over the head of his cock, and he rocks into the thrilling touch.
“Toshinori,” he murmurs, unable to remain idle as Toshinori caresses him. He wants to share this, and reaches down to touch himself, his hand on his own cock and matching the slow, tortuous pace Toshinori sets. He turns towards the other man, wishing he could see more than a shadow in the night, and he whimpers again when Toshinori doesn’t pull away. He’s so close, so immediate, and Shouta’s senses are filled with the warmth and promise of him as their hands move together and his own quickening breaths find harmony with Toshinori’s just as laboured ones. As Toshinori’s pace falters and his hand comes to rest against his hip, Shouta’s heart skips a beat, thoughts scattering as Toshinori leans in to kiss him.
A distressed whine leaves his throat before he can stop it when he realises that he’s made a mistake. Toshinori isn’t about to kiss him, he’s simply bowing his head. Embarrassment tears through Shouta, and he closes his eyes, turning away a little, feeling a fool.
Toshinori’s fingers don’t stay still for long. For that Shouta is grateful; he couldn’t keep going without something to distract him from the painful disappointment of what feels like rejection. Not everyone likes to kiss, he tries to remind himself as fingers caress his hip, not everyone wants to kiss a partner they’ve just fallen into bed with.
Toshinori’s touch is still kind and gentle though, exploring Shouta’s stomach, teasing his happy trail and tickling up over his chest until he reaches Shouta’s nipples. He seems at peace doing this, drawing gasps and whimpers from Shouta and moaning as if in pleasure too. He’s content to experiment with what Shouta likes, offering both sharp pinches and gentle, teasing caresses. Shouta loves both, but doesn’t have the breath to say as much before Toshinori’s hand moves lower again. Without thinking, Shouta parts his thighs, and then flushes when he realises Toshinori wasn’t going to…
The warm hand against his balls causes them to draw up tighter, and Shouta moans, gasping when Toshinori squeezes and lets his thumb stroke the base of his cock. “F-fuck!” he pants, squirming beneath the onslaught of such pleasure and the weight of all those touches Toshinori has left behind. Every nerve ending where he’s been touched in singing out in pleasure and longing, and Shouta struggles to contain all he’s feeling, jerking himself harder.
And then Toshinori tilts his jaw in offering. Shouta accepts without hesitation, pushing his sighs and moans against Toshinori’s lips as he feels himself come undone. A kiss. A fucking kiss. He loses all control, his rhythm faltering as come splashes over his exposed stomach and his teeth nipping at Toshinori’s lips.
A fucking kiss; a perfect, wonderful kiss. Even as the last of his release spills from him, Shouta keeps kissing Toshinori, in ecstasy. It’s uplifting, it completes him, it’s grounding, it’s…
It’s him kissing Yagi Toshinori, and Shouta is far too gone to really process that. Instead, he brings his hand up to touch Toshinori’s cheek, and finds that Toshinori does the same. He gives a weak shiver, blissed out as the kiss takes its time, softening and fading naturally.
Toshinori sounds lost when he whispers his question, as if the kiss was an opening statement rather than a peaceful conclusion: “What now?”
Heavy-limbed, Shouta reaches for the boxers he discarded earlier, using them to haphazardly clean himself off. He only answers Toshinori when he’s done, sliding in close to his side. “We sleep,” he says, pointing out the obvious. They’re both too tired to talk – or Shouta is anyway – and he’s confident that, after what they’ve just shared, they’ll be okay tomorrow. They can talk about it then, perhaps even in the morning if Shouta wakes soon enough. Now would be good, sure, but it’s late, and Toshinori’s body is warm and pliant when Shouta eases closer, getting comfortable.
The blanket being wrapped around his shoulders tells them that Toshinori has come to the same decision; after a pause in which Toshinori’s thinking was so loud it was almost deafening, the arm that comes around him to embrace him and hold him close against Toshinori’s side tells of another decision Toshinori has reached. Wholeheartedly agreeing, Shouta wriggles as close as he can to Toshinori’s side. Sated and happy, he smiles when Toshinori nuzzles against his temple.
“Good night, Shouta,” Toshinori whispers.
Happy to hear his name spoken so gently between them, Shouta turns to kiss him. “Good night, Toshi,” he answers.
And it is. He’s managed to break through Toshinori’s lonely shell and get close to the man, experiencing something he could only have dreamed of before. As he drifts off, he can’t help thinking that, side by side, they can really make this work.