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Mahito sighs as he walks past the living room, loud enough for his husband to hear because he wants to get his attention away from reading a paperwork about a patient's brain. He hates it when Choso brings his work at home, worse is when he spends his days at the hospital instead of coming home. He knows that being a neurosurgeon is too much work and will make him the busiest person out there but at home, they are supposed to be cuddling while watching horror movies or just eating each other’s faces.
But Mahito receives no reply, pouting, he just proceeds to make late dinner for his husband. Just the usual pork tonkatsu and black coffee.
Humming happily at what he made, he puts the plate and mug on the tray and goes out the kitchen to where Choso is, the living room.
“You need to eat,” Mahito says and carefully puts the tray on the table, far enough from the scattered papers to prevent some clumsy accident.
Choso looks up, his eye bags become darker and more evident but for Mahito, it’s sexy, “You didn’t have to,” his husband replies.
Mahito crosses his arms, annoyed by the response, “You haven’t eaten yet.”
“Missing a meal, won’t hurt. I need to-”
“Is it that hard to say thank you and eat the meal your husband has prepared for you?"
“Or you just don’t love me anymore?” Mahito adds, eyes glistening and chest pounding so hard. He hides his hands behind, closing his trembling knuckles. He is being dramatic, he knows that, but he is just so sexually and emotionally frustrated that his sexy husband is too busy for him.
Choso removes his glasses and massages his temple, “Not this conversation again. Can we not fight? I’m too exhausted for it.”
“Well, you’re not the only one who is exhausted,” Mahito says sassily and then he walks out. He goes inside their room and slams the door shut. The deafening bang echoes throughout their silent flat.
Mahito removes his ponytail, lies on their queen sized bed and covers himself with a blanket, thinking that he just needs to sleep because he knows tomorrow will just be the same where they act as if they didn't argue. That's what he doesn't like about Choso, his husband thinks he is just being bratty. Well, Mahito is a brat but this time he is really annoyed and hurt.
He aggressively wipes the tears rolling down on his face while he murmurs words like “He doesn’t love me.” “He likes those brain tumor analysis more than his husband who he vowed his life to.”
Mahito keeps on murmuring to himself with dramatic thoughts about Choso not loving him anymore to the point where he haven't noticed the door opening, signaling that his husband enters their room.
Choso sighs as he sees him covered with a big blanket so he goes to sit at the end of the bed which startles Mahito and makes him curl his position even more.
“Mahito,” Choso says in a hoarse voice.
“I’m sorry.” He adds.
But he receives silence.
“I’m sorry for making you question if I still love you or not anymore. I love you, and I will always be—” Choso lies his head on top of Mahito’s covered body, he isn’t pushed away which relieves him.
Choso slides his hand underneath the cover to find Mahito’s hand, as he finds his warmth, he intertwines their hands together, “I admit my faults. Please forgive me.”
He feels that Mahito tightens his grasp, even hugs it closer to his chest.
Mahito’s tears fall once again. It has been so long since he held hands with his husband, they don’t even go on dates anymore since the weekends are for Choso to rest and sometimes he’s out again due to emergency calls from the hospital.
“Let me see you, “ Choso says quietly, enough for Mahito to hear.
But Mahito is too shy to uncover himself, because his face is wet with tears and he probably has mucus falling out of his nose.
Choso, pouting, makes his way beside Mahito and hugs him, “You’re still mad.”
“No,” Mahito replies.
"Really?" Choso tries to remove the blanket but Mahito firmly holds it.
"Stop, I look like a mess," he says. His voice is different which worries Choso so he forcefully removes the blanket and he meets the tear-stained face of Mahito.
"Fuck, I'm really sorry," Choso apologizes, guilt evident on his face as he cups Mahito's face and wipes his tears with his thumb. He removes the messy strands of hair covering Mahito's face and he also removes his outer white polo to wipe the mucus on Mahito's nose. But Mahito just snatches the polo from Choso's hand to wipe himself instead, he doesn't want to get swayed by how sweet his husband is. Yet Choso doesn't stop babying him, he uses the hair band he has on his wrist to tie Mahito's tousled hair— he never forgets to put one on his wrist because Mahito has a long hair and his husband tends to lose hair bands.
"I have a free time tomorrow. Where do you want to go?" Choso asks when he's done tying Mahito's hair.
Because of what he said, Mahito looks at him with delighted eyes.
Choso smiles.
Mahito blushes, looking away, he plays with the ends of his ponytail, "You're not lying, are you?"
"No, I'm not."
Mahito bites his lip then he suddenly hugs Choso, "I want to stay home and make you food. I know you're busy saving lives but I really hate it when you can't even look after your health. And it hurts when you disregard the things I do for you."
Choso man-handles Mahito as he leans back on the bed's head board, letting Mahito sit comfortably on top of him, "I'll do everything that you wanted to do, not only for tomorrow but I will always listen to you now."
Mahito snuggles his face on Choso's neck, there is still a faint smell of the shea body mist on him, "We live together but it feels like we haven't seen each other."
Choso kisses Mahito's forehead, "I know. I'm sorry."
"Then kiss me if you're truly sorry," Mahito says.
Chuckling, Choso lifts Mahito's head to face him. He first kisses his forehead then his cheeks, his nose and down to his lips.
Choso starts his kisses as soft and sweet as the warm feeling of their breaths together and the way his big gentle hands wrap around the small waist of his husband. The flutters intensified until it goes into the sensual state of intoxication where their tongues are battling back and forth. It's messy and torrid as if their life depends on it.
Mahito releases a sinful moan, toes curling from the sensation and then he feels a sudden large lump below him. Excitedly, he rocks himself on top of him until he grips Choso's hair away to gasp for air.
"Tell me," Choso whispers breathlessly on his ears, "—if you want to stop."
Mahito shakes his head, looking desperately at Choso, "I want you to destroy me tonight."
And so Choso does his request.