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They find a way around the ten-minute showers. Kinda. Osamu thinks it’s a good idea even if Suna thinks it’s stupid.
“It’s still ten-minutes per person, dumbass,” Suna says, doubtful. “Maybe less, even, if you get in the way because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
Osamu presses on the crease between the other’s eyebrows, smoothing it out. Suna makes a face and swats his hand away.
“Keep your greasy mitts off my face.”
“Think about it, if we shower together, that’s an entire twenty-minute block to ourselves,” Osamu wheedles. “Yer the one always complainin’ ‘bout the short-ass shower time…Just take some of mine.”
There’s a contemplative look on the younger’s face, the kind that gives away the fact that he’s already got the other convinced. Suna wrinkles his nose.
“So that a yes?” Osamu squishes Suna’s cheeks between his palms. “Yes, ‘Samu you're such a genius, I should never have doubted ya,” he mimes, punctuating each word with a squeeze.
Suna snaps his teeth at him, just missing his hand.
“Hey! Stop with the bitin’ already.” Osamu cradles his hand closer to himself. “I’ll catch rabies one day.”
Suna sniffs. “As if I’d talk like that.”
“For someone that lived in Hyogo almost as long as I did, you’ve sure got airs.” Finding out that Suna was from the same area as him and Atsumu had actually been a major point of interest for the twins, even if they were loath to admit they got homesick sometimes.
“I’m from Tokyo.”
“Sure, sure. Anyway, ya agree with the sentiment, which means in the end I’m still right, city boy” Osamu says, smug.
He reaches over and grabs both of their towels.
“Let’s get goin’, then. I wanna sleep at some point tonight. It’s late enough I doubt anyone’s gonna bother us in th’ bathroom.” He snaps the towel at Suna’s ass as the other gets up, and the other trips him as he crosses the room.
“Ah, fuck,” he whines, cradling his nose where it’d smacked against the door.
“Careful, Miya,” is the response, the sound of Suna’s footsteps fading as he walks down the hallway.
“Don’t call me that!” Osamu hurries after, draping an arm over the other’s shoulders when he catches up.
It’s subdued on their deck at this time of the night. They’ve only got about six hours left before they’re technically supposed to be up again-- Suna needs to pick up a shipment of space ash and Osamu’s got a session to oversee a few of the new flight cadets-- but the day had dragged on longer than expected for the both of them, leaving them to wash up in the late hours.
It would probably be faster if they both showered at the same time, but their schedules have been so different recently, so even though they share a room, sometimes Osamu feels as if he hardly sees Suna. There are days where he falls asleep before the other, working late into the night, is back, and when he wakes, the room’s empty but for a short message on his holo-pad.
Sometimes it’s the opposite, and he’s got an early day and when he comes back to their room, Suna’s already passed out in his own bed, uniform halfway off.
Kuroo’s coming out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his shorts, when they arrive. He glances at the two of them and then at the two towels Osamu’s got looped around his neck, before leering at them.
“Stay safe!” he calls behind his back as he heads down the hall to his room. “Don’t stay up too late,” he cackles, and Osamu groans.
Suna throws Osamu an unimpressed look.
“Well, it looks empty now, so I’m still not wrong…technically,” Osamu says, ears red as he peeks into the bathroom.
“I don’t mind,” Suna smirks now. “Even if someone does walk in.” His grin widens as Osamu’s blush spreads down his neck. “So bold earlier. You’re not gonna chicken out, are you?”
“No way,” Osamu mutters below his breath and pulls the other in by the hand as well. The door slides shut behind them with a soft hiss.
If there’s something Osamu’s learned to love about SSE Memory, it would be its automatic sanitation system. He imagines if he had met Suna when he was eighteen instead, thinks about showering together in the dorm bathrooms back on Earth. He shudders.
“What’s up,” Suna asks.
“Just wonderin’ hypotheticals. If skin-to-skin contact is worth the horror of touching walls covered by the piss and cum of tens of other guys.”
Suna gives him a weird look. “Alright then.” He’s already down to his boxers. “I’m just gonna head on in first,” he says, hooking his thumb below the waistband of his underwear.
He presses his finger against the scanner on the side and steps in, pulling the curtain closed after him. There’s a soft sigh as the shower spray turns on, adjusted to the fingerprint owner’s ideal temperature. “Hurry up, Osamu,” he calls.
Osamu strips quickly, feet bare against the cool metal of the floor. Antibacterial and auto-sterilized by the little robot in the corner of the bathroom, he knows. Showering without sandals outside of home had been something else to adjust to as well, strange but convenient, when he’d first arrived.
He dips into the shower stall and tests the water. Slightly cooler than what he’s used to, but that’s fine. Suna always runs hot.
“Mmh…” Suna crowds him against the wall, pressing him into the surface, ignoring his squawk at the coldness. “You smell like sweat.”
Osamu snorts. “Better than formaldehyde and guts.” His hands trail to the other’s hips to pull him closer, chest to chest, the length of him warm and yielding.
Suna buries his face in Osamu’s neck, the tip of his nose cold, and breathes him in. “Missed you,” he says, muffled.
“Hmm, what’s that?” Osamu can feel a goofy smile spreading across his face, and he’s thankful the other can’t see him right now. “Say it again?”
Suna doesn’t answer, just holds him tighter, arms winding around his waist. Osamu brings a hand up to card through the other’s hair, dark and unruly. Tucks a dripping curl behind his ear and settles his palm, warm now, against the back of Suna’s neck.
Then, the slightest hint of teeth and soon after, wetness— “You were the one that said no funny business, ya hypocrite!” He pushes Suna’s face away. “And stop hoggin’ the water, pig.”
He bends to pull out the collapsible shower bench and pushes Suna down by the shoulders to sit on it, switching their positions.
“I like the view,” Suna purrs, gazing up at him through the fan of his lashes and brushing the back of his hand against Osamu’s abdomen. His abs tighten reflexively, ticklish.
“Thanks,” he replies, drily. He raises both arms to comb back his hair in the shower of water, relishing in the heat against his face. Soon, he ducks back out from the spray and wipes the water from his eyes, before reaching past Suna’s head to get at the shampoo dispenser.
It’s artificially sweet, pleasant enough, and in the humidity and closeness of the stall, the air is heady, saccharine.
“Let me,” he says, and steps in between Suna’s parted legs. The other’s hands come up to grip at the back of his thighs to tug close, closer.
He massages the shampoo into Suna’s hair, working it into the roots and into a rich lather. Untangling as he goes, he rakes through the younger’s hair, making sure to brush at the hair behind the ears as well, the strands slipping silky soft between his fingers.
Suna exhales, resting his forehead against Osamu’s stomach, and hums, vibrations light against his skin. His breath is damp where it hits him.
Suna opens his mouth, licks, and Osamu rolls his eyes, tugging at his hair gently in reprimand.
“So bothersome,” he says fondly. He tilts Suna’s face up, then, and some of the foam clings to his sharp chin. Suna smiles at him, beatific, eyes closing as Osamu sweeps his bangs up and back away from his face. Like this, at ease and comfortable, Suna looks younger, the edges of his face sweeter, less sly-fox and more housecat.
Osamu’s heartbeat stutters in his chest, starts and restarts, and warmth, citrus-bright, spreads through his veins. He exhales through the mouth.
He pinches the other’s nose, then, and Suna coughs when some of the suds go up his nostrils.
“Ugh,” He sneezes, rubbing at his face. “You bitch.”
“Make yourself useful, lazy-ass.” Osamu twists around, rinsing off the shampoo on his fingers and almost elbowing Suna in the face. He reaches over Suna’s shoulder for another pump of shampoo and works it into his own hair, efficient and methodical.
Suna’s hands leave him, briefly, and then they’re back on him, cool with shower gel and making him flinch.
“Ya could have warmed it up,” he complains.
“Could have,” Suna supposes. “But I didn’t feel like it.” His torso arcs unnaturally as he reaches behind himself for another handful of shower gel. Hot, Osamu thinks distractedly.
The water cuts off.
“Ah, fuck.” He looks at his hands, which are still slightly foamy. Most of the shampoo had rinsed off in the spray, but some of it still clung to his hands. “The sensor’s not gonna process this.” He wipes fruitlessly at Suna’s shoulder, but the sticky residue remains. “I’ll jus’ wipe this off on my towel. Lemme borrow yours later, ‘kay?”
“Wait,” Suna stops him and grabs at his wrist. “Gonna try something,” is all the warning he gives before he pops Osamu’s thumb into his mouth, curls his tongue around the finger, and sucks.
Osamu stares down at him, eyes wide, feeling, suddenly, weirdly, unreasonably turned on.
Suna’s turning him into a freak.
He presses down on the other’s tongue, curious, and Suna’s mouth drops open, spittle dribbling down.
Osamu removes his thumb, wipes the saliva on Suna’s chin, and Suna closes his mouth.
“That was…disgusting,” he manages. He tugs at the younger’s cheek.
Suna spits. “Tastes disgusting,” he gags. He spits again, down the drain. “Just wanted to do that for some reason.” He flaps a hand at the curtain. “Turn on the water already.”
The sensor blinks green, easily, as soon as he presses his thumb against it, and the shower comes back to life.
Suna’s wiping at his face, when Osamu re-enters, and he squints at him, blinking the water out of narrowed eyes, when Osamu turns him around.
The water falling around them is hotter now, and Osamu’s skin is left flushed and heated. Steam rises thick and close around them. He pushes Suna against the tiles, opposite.
“I think,” Osamu whispers. “I might really like you,” and then he tilts forward to press their lips together, once, twice, chaste.
“How lucky,” Suna murmurs back, and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, wet.
Eventually, cognizant of the ever-present passage of time, Osamu takes the showerhead and aims it to rinse the rest of the bubbles out of Suna’s hair. In return, Suna rubs shower gel into Osamu’s arms, chest and back, between the legs, up and down his thighs, calves, and scrubs at the dirt at his heels, ministrations tender.
When Osamu brings the spray to himself, to wash off the shampoo and soap, Suna slathers the shower gel onto himself, cleans himself thoroughly.
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Back in their room, under the covers of Osamu’s bed, Suna in boxers and one of Osamu’s t-shirts and Osamu in just his pajama bottoms, it’s quiet.
Suna’s soft breaths caress the skin at his collarbones, where he’s tucked his head. Beyond, the east wall is transparent, and starlight filters in, lovely, and casts the room in a dull silvery glow. Far, far away, the humming of violin strings, and beneath them, the grinding of the ship’s gears, perpetual.
Five hours left.