Work Text:
Eleven-forty P.M. was the time, according to Makoto’s phone. He had been sitting in the same chair, switching the screen of the mobile on-and-off just to check the time, for a couple of hours or so. Right across from him is another chair, identical to the one he was on. These two chairs were made from synthetic wood and bought from a local furniture shop within walking distances.
He was still in his work attire – a white buttoned-up shirt with its sleeves rolled and a black tie now loosened a bit. His starting-to-wear out suit hung on the rack in the hallway by the door.
The always smiling faces of the aged shopkeepers, a pair of husband and wife with words uttered out of their mouths in a slow, soft-spoken manner, imprinted onto the memories of Makoto. When he was dating with his now boyfriend, he also took the man to this shop. They bought nothing, merely just to visit the old couple.
His date asked a question: do you think we can be like them?
Makoto was confounded, making his usual cute, “what?” face. The man smiled right back at him. He cleared up his question, stating that he was just wondering if they could ever end up growing old like the owners of the shop.
They were 10 months into dating, hence why Makoto was taken aback by the inquiry his date made. He answered the man with just an “I don’t know”.
But in his uncertainty, was a tone of hope.
Makoto reached out his hand, of which the man placed his and locked with Makoto’s. They walked past a two-stories house with a “for SALE/RENT” sign taped in the front of it. Beige was the color of the house and the moderately-sized fences were made by bricks of a lighter tone in grey.
Standing there, they observed the house with bright eyes. For a second, Makoto’s date took a quick glance at him. Makoto did the same when the man turned his attention back at the place.
Many sleepless nights later, they were able to buy the place with a discount – with certain amount of cash still available in their joint account. The man wasn’t just a date anymore. He was now Makoto’s boyfriend.
Eleven fifty-five P.M. was the time, and Makoto heard the sound of the doorknob being turned. The door creaked, prompting a reminder for Makoto to finally get around to fixing it. Being a homeowner was no easy task, but Makoto was eager to take in the pros and cons.
His boyfriend shared the same attitude.
Makoto got up from the seat, flexing his leg muscles a bit so not to endure the pain of cramps. By the door, a pair of oxfords were being taken of.
He peeked out by the doorframe of the kitchen, where he spent his hours waiting for the man who just came home. A smile painted all over his face, greeting the man as he turned and shot it right back at him.
Makoto got out to the hallway, his back against the wall nearby the entrance to the kitchen and his arms crossed.
“You’re late, Yamazaki,” Makoto said, attempting his best to convey a serious sound.
“Sorry, Tachibana,” Yamazaki replied, taking off his suit to hang it by Makoto's, the hanger itself adjacent to the shoe rack. He went straight to Makoto, giving him an honest, “I’m sorry” kiss.
Makoto was never mad at Yamazaki for coming home late. But if he was going to be, it would have to be for something earth-shatteringly awful. He took comfort that he and Yamazaki never had to face such event of that magnitude.
The arms were no longer crossed, as they were now at Yamazaki’s hips to hold him close. Makoto kissed Yamazaki back, eager and warm. This was his way of accepting Yamazaki’s apology.
They parted their lips, light green eyes of Makoto locked with Yamazaki’s sea teal ones. They were the first part of Yamazaki he took notice of and got lost in. He had dreamed of them in their early days.
What a pleasure it was, to see them face-to-face.
And their bodies too were no more than an inch or two away from each other.
“Dinner’s cold but I can reheat them for us,” Makoto grabbed the tie around Yamazaki’s neck, freeing his boyfriend from its grasp with attentive hands. He rolled it up, transforming the shape of it into an imperfect Möbius strip and slid it in Yamazaki’s pants pocket.
“What if I skip it?” Yamazaki asked, his left hand caressing his boyfriend’s right cheek. Comfortable was the exact description for the sensation of the cheek underneath his palm. Traveling downwards, Yamazaki let his index finger traced along the lines of Makoto’s chin – its destination around the Adam’s apple, circling it.
A loud gurgle emanated from the belly of Yamazaki disrupted them. Makoto let out a small chuckle, saying his mother was right about never to skip a meal when he was a little boy.
Yamazaki let out a satisfied sigh upon entering the kitchen. This room was where they spent time together the second most often. The first being the bedroom.
It also served as a reminder for Yamazaki. He came from a family of restaurant owners, his big brother now running the whole show back home. On their shared calendar, Yamazaki had circled a date in the middle of June next year to visit his brother as a surprise.
Although, the brother might disapprove of the “food” Makoto was about to heat with a microwave. A single, digitized beep signaled the start of the process. The glass plate spun in circle as their dinner was being warmed up: two pieces of store-bought hamburgers. They were fresh and hot hours ago.
Disgusting to some, strangely enticing to the both of them. An addiction, maybe. Some nights, all one need might just come in the simple form.
Makoto opened the glass cabinet, grabbing two mugs and putting ice cubes in them. A 1-litre bottle of Oolong tea was brought out, the light brown liquid being poured into their cups.
Yamazaki drank it in big gulps, pleased and thankful. The weather outside had been a monster to all. People said global warming was the main culprit. They were probably right as tonight’s temperature hit a new high of ghastly thirty-eight degrees Celsius.
Two beeps. That meant the food was done.
Makoto took a quick sip of the cold tea, right before he wore a pair of mittens given to him by his friend from Australia – Matsuoka Rin. Two kangaroos in boxing gloves were on each side of them.
He took the burgers out, putting them directly on the table. Taking the seat across from Yamazaki, who was sitting at where he was, he got the mittens off and unwrapped the package.
The smoke rose from the burger, its weird, hard-to-describe smell starting to invade the room. Makoto folded the plastic cover into a makeshift handler. Between the buns were a single pork patty that Makoto was certain it wasn’t just pork, and a soulless patch of cabbage.
For Yamazaki, his came with a beef patty. The odor was slightly stronger than Makoto’s. He did the same thing with the plastic, only not so neatly as his boyfriend.
“Hey,” Yamazaki signaled Makoto, inviting him to do a toast. The latter leaned nearer to the former, his piece of microwaved food ready to do this tradition they had.
Yamazaki spoke first. “To us, yeah?”
“To, us, yeah!” Makoto responded.
Their pieces met each other, around the area where the meat was somewhat exposed. They raised their food up, as if they were pints.
With their “thing” done, they bit deep into dinner – chewing and swallowing. The tea helped with the flow and nulling the strong taste from the burgers.
Yamazaki and Makoto were rather silent eaters, not uttering much when they were eating. Especially with sweets, Makoto would lose himself in them. The same thing could be used to describe Yamazaki and his fascination with grilled meat and tonkatsu.
Instead of words, they relied on touches and glances. Their sights never once left one another. Their not-so-busy hands playing together, the fingers tapping on the skin – leading to the eventual intertwining of their palms.
Under the table, Yamazaki teased Makoto with his legs, prompting a sudden, visible jerk of Makoto’s whole body.
Makoto retaliated back, and Yamazaki almost dropped his piece. He let out a shocked grasp, followed by a giggle after seeing Yamazaki’s was still in his control. An apology in the form of a quick kiss was given to the teal-eyed man. Apology was accepted, as always.
They kept on eating and drinking, until they were done. The cups were cleaned and the plastic sorted out to the respective bin.
Time-checking was no longer needed. Yamazaki came home safe and sound. They sat around idly, doing nothing but what they had been doing to each other.
In quiet hours, the mind often wandered to places. The mind would give ideas, giving them out in signals through all the synapses.
For tonight, Makoto was the one to make a move first. He got up from his seat and to Yamazaki, asking the man to stand up. Yamazaki did so, a smirk painted his face. Makoto was up to his own volition, and how kind he was to share it with him.
Beginning with a kiss from Makoto, Yamazaki responded with his own – passionate and needy. Their tongues touched, seconds turning into eternity in an instant. On the neck, Yamazaki was given a light bite and more from his boyfriend’s lips – a faint moan escaped from him.
Makoto unbuttoned Yamazaki, just enough to see his toned pectorals. He ran his hands on them, getting every inch and curve as much as he could, mixing the motions with rubbings.
“Makoto,” Yamazaki let out a heated huff, noticing his bulge growing.
“Sousuke,” Makoto whispered, the tips of his fingers coming into contact with the other’s nipples with small brushes and light pulls. Down below, Makoto was becoming hard too.
A shift in his action as Makoto moved one of his hands and unzipped Sousuke’s pants, sliding it in to meet with the fabric of his underwear protruding from the growing length.
Makoto stroked it up and down, stopping at where the tip was and did a small press on it. Sousuke let out a groan, begging Makoto to continue.
He replied with a hushed, hot, “I will”, while his hands pleasured Sousuke on his pecs and bulge.
Work had been stressful and challenging for the pair, often resulting in them engaging in love-making after dinner. Global warming only supplied the external feverish heat. The internal one was all them.
Taking it a little bit further, Makoto lowered down to use his tongue on the pecs, especially at the nipples. Buttons, buttons, why didn’t I just take them all off, and so, Makoto opened the rest of his lover’s shirt.
Yamazaki Sousuke, the living Greek sculpture, for his body were perfect and muscular. They were made for Makoto, surely.
Kissing on the nipples – sucking each side with loud slurps, Makoto made Sousuke cried out his boyfriend’s name in ecstasy even more. Moving lower, he kissed and licked the man’s abdomen – burying his face deep with each interaction he made with it.
Only one spot left to go, and Makoto was heading for it. Sousuke stopped Makoto from doing so, with lustful green eyes looking up to meet him.
“I—We—Let’s do this in the bedroom,” Sousuke stammered, breathing in and out – his cheeks burned bright pink and sweats forming. The uncovered parts of the body moving in rhythmic patterns with his breaths. Intimate giggles from Makoto, as he got up to meet with Sousuke’s eye sight. They were still very much in the mood.
“You wanna get dressed first?” Makoto asked, coyly. Yesterdays ago, it surprised him that he was able to do varied activities with Sousuke as him as the one leading. The teal-eyed male found enjoyment in his role as the receiver.
A paused, and an answer of a resounding, “no. Fuck it” from Sousuke.
Makoto nodded in reply, giving his boyfriend a quick, loving kiss.
“I’ll prepare what we need,” he stated, exiting the kitchen. Makoto turned around, giving out his hand to Sousuke to hold onto.
Sousuke held the hand of his lover in return, despite some of his clothes being in a messy state. They reached the stairs, going up to their room to continue and finish what Makoto began.
In quiet hours and in their own home, they melted into each other.
In quiet hours and in their embraces, two souls became one.
In quiet hours, just the two of them – here and now – was enough.