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It’s not the breeze from the window they forgot to close last night that tickles Nagi awake. Rather, it’s the fluttering of gentle lashes on his back, bare and exposed with the thin sheets bunched around his waist. An arm wraps tighter around his torso, pulling them closer until they lay flush, bodies touching at every possible spot. Legs tangled, hips fitted nicely together, cheek pressed against his shoulder blade as Yamato snores.
And on his other side, he gets to be the big spoon. Mitsuki’s hair is mussed and sticking up at odd ends; at some point during the night, some got in Nagi’s mouth. From the way he’s splayed about on his side of the bed, Nagi can tell that Mitsuki would have escaped from him had his arms not kept him firmly in place overnight.
This is why he likes sleeping in the middle, so that he can feel both of his boyfriends touching him, comforting him with their presence.
The early morning is quiet, even with Yamato’s soft snoring. Sunbeams dance along their skin in the shape of rectangular bars from the half-open blinds, bending and curving to wrap around them like a hug. The sun is warm, but not so warm that he’s uncomfortable. He shifts so that his body fits better in between the two of them, still surprised that he’s not too hot to stay in this position.
It seems, Nagi thinks with sleepy realization, that even in the muggy summer heat those who love you will want to stay close by.
There’s a muffled groan that reverberates along his back, and Nagi smiles to himself when Yamato clears his throat and flutters his eyelashes again. Nagi feels every motion with striking sensitivity, and he has to suppress a shudder.
Then Yamato presses a kiss in between his shoulder blades, and Nagi can’t control his reaction any longer. He giggles as the shiver runs down his spine. “Good morning.” His voice is quiet, barely there so as not to awaken Mitsuki.
“How long have you been up?” Yamato slurs, a sentence Nagi can barely understand with his lips still pressed into his back. His breath tickles Nagi’s skin, little puffs of air that send his pulse skyrocketing.
“I just woke up.”
“Oh.” Yamato shifts so that his fingers can trace light patterns on Nagi’s hips. “Too early. Wake me up at noon.”
He falls limp, but a single finger continues to draw hearts and swirls that creep up his side, gentle and slow and soft. It’s enough to make Nagi melt into him, almost enough to have him drifting back off to sleep.
Mitsuki stirs beside him, shifting further into Nagi’s arms even though they’re all slick with sweat. His back is pressed against Nagi’s breast, his hair rests under his chin. His legs stretch out, and even then they can’t reach Nagi’s feet.
He mumbles something unintelligible, a quiet “mmrph” that doesn’t help Nagi determine if he’s dreaming or awake. So he thinks to help him and reaches his arm up so that he can stroke Mitsuki’s hair, coaxing him into the land of the living.
He tugs on a few strands, twisting them around his finger as he buries them within his hair, and he smiles as Mitsuki moans again, just a little louder than before.
He reaches up with a heavy arm and grabs Nagi’s hand, pulling it back down around him and holding it close to his chest. “Gotcha,” he murmurs in a sleepy whisper.
“Oh no,” Nagi replies, pressing a kiss onto the top of Mitsuki’s head, “however will I break free?”
“You can’t. You’re stuck with me forever.” His chuckle is breathy and barely there, more like a lighthearted sigh than anything.
“I’ve lived through worse fates,” Nagi says, twisting his wrist so he can entwine his fingers with Mitsuki’s, holding his hand tightly.
“Should we get up?” Mitsuki asks. He doesn’t bother asking what time it is—he’s an early riser as well.
But Nagi shakes his head, knowing Mitsuki can only feel it rather than see the movement. “Yamato has me pinned down. I am trapped within a human cage.”
Mitsuki grunts, short and curt. “What time does he plan on waking up?”
“Noon.”
It’s a long, deep sigh this time. “Guess we’re stuck here until then.”
“I don’t mind that,” Nagi admits, and even for all the heat and sweat and humidity weighing on them like a thick blanket, it’s the truth. “I would love nothing more than to spend the entire day in bed with you two, just like this.”
“I’d like if our A/C worked, though,” Mitsuki grumbles.
“That would be nice. Yamato doesn’t seem to mind, though.”
As if in answer, Yamato snores loudly and buries his face deeper into Nagi’s back, his limp hand falling down the front of his torso and truly capturing Nagi within his grasp.
Mitsuki laughs, and though it’s still quiet, it’s filled with more energy, as if the rising sun is bringing him to life. “He’s a gremlin who can tolerate all kinds of weather. I swear he’s not human.”
“I heard that, you little shit,” Yamato grumbles, but it’s so muffled and garbled that it takes Nagi a few moments to process exactly what he said.
He hums. “I thought you were going back to sleep.”
Yamato finally picks his head up and props himself on his elbow, leaning forward so that his chin rests on Nagi’s arm. “I was, but then you two started degrading my honorable character. I’m offended.”
“Honorable, huh…” Mitsuki repeats. “I don’t think that’s the word I’d use to describe you.”
“I think it fits me pretty well.”
“Oh, Yamato, you aren’t wearing your glasses,” Nagi points out, turning his head so he can see him out of the corner of his eye. “You must be blind to reality.”
Even from his peripherals, Nagi can see the grimace that contorts Yamato’s face. “You two don’t let me off the hook for anything, do you?”
Mitsuki shakes his head furiously, flipping around in Nagi’s arms so that he’s laying on his back. “Not even a little bit.”
“It is because we adore you,” Nagi says. If Mitsuki wasn’t keeping him firmly in place with his arm still held prisoner at his chest, he would have leaned over to plant a nice, gentle kiss on Yamato’s nose just to drive the point home. A cherry on top.
Yamato doesn’t seem amused. “I think you’re just bullying an old man. That’s called ageism, you know.”
“We don’t have to resort to isms for me to oppress you, old man,” Mitsuki points out.
“That’s harsh, Mitsu.”
“You deserve it,” Mitsuki huffs. “You haven’t even said good morning yet.”
Yamato rolls his eyes and sighs. “When did you get so pouty? Come here.” He rolls himself over Nagi’s body just enough that he can press a long, soft kiss onto Mitsuki’s cheek. “Good morning.”
“That’s more like it.” Mitsuki returns the kiss onto Yamato’s lips, and Nagi’s heart flutters at the sight. The way Yamato’s bangs fall into Mitsuki’s face just enough so that their kiss is hidden from sight, as if it’s a secret, themselves too shy to exclaim their love—but that’s who they are. They’re not him, not like Nagi.
Nagi is a hopeless romantic, over the top and ostentatious in everything he does. He shouts his love and shows off and drapes himself over his boyfriends whenever he has the chance.
But Mitsuki and Yamato are quieter, softer. They’re gentle in how they touch, how they hold each other, how they talk. Mitsuki handles them with care; Yamato shies away from affection instinctively. Together, they’re like a soothing balm to Nagi’s energy and enthusiasm.
It takes his breath away every time he’s able to witness it.
“You’re next, Nagi,” Yamato says, and it sounds like a threat. Nagi’s so taken aback that he barely has time to register that Yamato is lunging straight for him, lips puckered and ready to plant something sloppy and wet on his face.
So Nagi dodges out of the way, rips his arm free, and swings it around Yamato’s shoulders, flipping him over so that Nagi is kneeling above him. He wraps his fingers lightly around Yamato’s wrists to keep him there, pinned down so that he can pepper kisses along his jawline. “Not before I have you first,” he whispers between each kiss, breathing out more than necessary to make Yamato squirm.
Yamato is staring at Nagi when he finally pulls away, totally dumbstruck with a slack jaw and unfocused eyes. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak, but quickly closes it again when nothing comes out.
“Well?” Nagi asks with a smirk. He tightens his grip on Yamato’s wrist, taunting him. “Aren’t you going to say good morning?”
“—gh,” Yamato grunts, breathing heavy and fast. He swallows thickly and blinks a few times to clear his vision, but his face is flushed pink with not even his glasses to cover it up. “Good morning.”
“Well now I feel left out,” Mitsuki complains, throwing his arm across Nagi’s bare back. He presses a kiss into Nagi’s cheek and then leans down to Yamato.
“We would never leave you out, Mitsuki,” Nagi says, letting go of Yamato in favor of lunging at Mitsuki, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso as they fall back onto the bed. Nagi trails tiny kisses up his sternum and his neck, and he doesn’t stop even when Mitsuki squirms and calls out wordlessly, breathlessly.
“How do you both have so much energy in the morning…?” Yamato grumbles, reaching over toward the nightstand to fumble around for his glasses. He finds them a moment later and fixes them on his face, probably feeling naked without wearing them for so long. “Days shouldn’t even start until like, two p.m.”
“Mornings are great for getting stuff done.” Mitsuki’s serious answer starkly contrasts his heavy breathing and flushed face as he pushes Nagi off of him to sit up. “You’re just lazy.”
“And I’m proud of it,” Yamato affirms with a nod.
“If there were no mornings, then there would be no waking up inside your lovers’ arms.” Nagi sighs and flops forward back down onto the bed, a blissful smile coloring his features. His heart stirs just thinking about them.
“You can wake up just fine in the afternoon, too.”
Nagi huffs. “Yamato, you have no sense of romanticism.”
Yamato is quiet for a second, and Nagi doesn’t think to check on him. It’s too late when he feels two bodies drop onto his back, the weight of two grown men pressing into him and squeezing his lungs until he can barely breathe. It’s not an unpleasant feeling.
Yamato holds one arm; Mitsuki holds the other. And then they bombard him with kisses, occasionally meeting in the middle to share one with each other. Nagi collapses into a fit of giggles, each tiny kiss sending thrills throughout his body as it tickles him silly.
“Get off! Get off!” he shrieks, writhing around to try and buck them off, but they hold fast and continue their attack at full power, only getting more adamant the longer Nagi protests.
“This is justice,” Mitsuki says when he picks his head up long enough to say anything at all. “For your crimes.”
“We have a reputation to maintain,” Yamato agrees, his voice breathy and heady. “How are we supposed to do that if you keep making us melt?”
“That’s not my fault!” Nagi insists through a bout of giggles. “You’re both just so cute—”
He cuts off when Yamato’s lips reach his shoulder and start making a trail up his neck. He feels Yamato latch his teeth onto his ear lobe, biting down gently and breathing out slowly, the heat causing Nagi to shiver violently. He can’t help the moan that escapes him.
Mitsuki chuckles. “At least we know how to get you back.”
Nagi’s breath stutters in his chest. His heart pounds against his ribs, as if trying to break free. It’s a state of pure bliss, and Nagi can’t help but want more.
When Yamato pulls away, Nagi’s a puddle of sappy goo on the bed. They both collapse onto the bed on either side next to him, worn out and breathing heavy. They join hands, Yamato and Mitsuki reaching across Nagi’s back and holding their free hands in front of them for Nagi to take.
And somehow, they’re back where they started, with Nagi in the middle as sunbeams play with shadows along their naked skin.
“I’m ready for a nap,” Yamato says, face pressed into his pillow even with his glasses on.
“We just woke up,” Mitsuki points out, but his words are slow and lazy and void of energy. “But I see where you’re coming from.”
Nagi smiles, his eyelids already growing heavy. He lets them fall closed. “Then we will sleep the day away.”
The morning is quiet once again, and their limbs tangle together, as if they can’t get close enough to each other. Yamato presses against one side, Mitsuki the other, still holding each other with the utmost care.
The summer heat is stifling and too warm. The light streaming in through the blinds they forgot to close last night sears their skin, as if it’s a grill. They’re even sweatier now than they were before, even with the sheets bunched around their ankles and them only in their boxers.
Nagi hates the summer. Summer mornings like this, though, are perfect.