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They bound through Reki’s bedroom window seconds before the rain hits, a great stroke of luck not only because their clothes stay dry, but because Reki’s mom won’t kill him for leaving his window open on the afternoon of a storm. He knows his mom and sisters aren’t home, but he yells out a quick greeting into the hallway for good measure.
Silence.
When Reki closes his door and faces the room again, the gears in his brain screech to a halt – his tall, muscular, soft, oblivious-to-the-power-he-holds boyfriend is shirtless, rifling through Reki’s closet like it’s his own. It may as well be with all the hoodies and boxers Langa has stolen.
“Take a shower before you rub your sweat all over my clean clothes,” Reki teases, but without any notice, his stupid brain says don’t because, well, Reki likes the way Langa smells like this.
“I’ll wash it, Reki. I promise,” he pouts.
“Baby, you’re 19 and don’t know how to work a washing machine.”
Langa grumbles, “I’m not a baby.”
Reki has to dig his fingers into his palms to keep from striding over and telling Langa that he’s his baby, because Langa is shirtless, Reki is only a man, and his mom, who has a habit of not knocking, may return home at any minute.
So instead, he shrugs off his hoodie, sits on his floor a safe distance away, and smiles. “Okay, baby.”
Having gotten his way, Langa doesn’t protest the pet name (besides, Langa loves it by his own admission) and tugs one of Reki’s old threadbare t-shirts over his head.
They lean against the bed and watch videos of skating stunts, Langa resting his head on Reki’s shoulder, until they’ve gotten through all the new posts on his feed. It’s quiet for a minute save for the sound of raindrops on the roof, and even though Reki wishes he could enjoy the companionable silence, his brain doesn’t work that way. His leg starts bouncing against his will.
Langa lifts his head and rests his hand on Reki’s knee, and the weight of it makes Reki sigh.
Then Langa suggests they play Truth or Dare.
“Just the two of us?” Reki asks.
“Well, yeah. It’s a good rainy-day game, isn’t it?”
Damn, Reki loves his boyfriend. His leg bounces again, this time from excitement rather than restlessness, and his face breaks into a wide grin. “Okay, okay, me first.”
“You’re cute,” Langa says casually, like that’s not going to turn Reki’s whole face red. “Truth or dare?”
Still recovering, Reki murmurs, “Dare.”
Langa smirks. “I dare you to kiss me.”
“Not much of a dare when I already do that a hundred times a day, Langa.”
He only gives Reki a blank stare in return, so Reki just bites his lip and grins.
“Fine,” he says before cupping his boyfriend’s face in both hands.
He’s soft at first, just pressing his lips to Langa’s, feeling the bumps and cracked skin, memorizing the shape of his mouth. Langa hums, a sound of pure contentment. Reki becomes drunk with it, his heart beating a mile a minute and his brain buzzing, and suddenly he’s restless and desperate to pry more noises out of the beautiful boy in front of him.
He scoots a few inches across the carpet on his knees, closing the gap between them, and he pulls Langa’s wrists to wrap those long arms around his waist. He grips Langa’s biceps, digging his fingers into the flesh there, feeling the way the muscles flex under his touch, and he wants more.
Reki scratches down the length of Langa’s arm, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make his lips part in a gasp, and pulls a full bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling softly. Langa groans, deep, so deep it rumbles through Reki’s bones. Yes, he thinks. Reki wants to feel every sound Langa makes, to hear every shuddery breath, to never forget the way Langa’s arms mold themselves to Reki’s body.
Some may call it an obsession, but, look – Reki has his other friends, his family, his interests, his hyperfixations. And when Langa’s lips are attached to his, Langa just happens to become his fixation. It’s normal.
When Reki finally pulls away, Langa looks kiss-drunk and ethereal in Reki’s shirt with the worn collar hanging loosely across his shoulders, with swollen lips and ruddy cheeks that stand out against the rest of his pale skin.
“I said kiss, not cut off my air supply,” Langa grumbles.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought that’s how my boyfriend liked to be kissed?” Reki doesn’t know where this confidence is coming from, maybe he’s a bit kiss-drunk, too, but he runs his thumb over Langa’s bottom lip and continues, “Maybe I should hold back more in the future.”
Langa’s face settles into something hard.
“Dare me,” he says.
“Hey, baby, I was just joking —,”
He forgets how to form words when Langa swings a leg over his lap and settles, knees pressing into Reki’s hips.
“Reki, dare me.”
Reki likes to think he’s become well-versed in Langa and knows how to read the small flickers of emotion in his face and body language that other people don’t notice. He couldn’t tell where Langa’s head was a few seconds ago, but when the hint of a reassuring smile flits across his face, Reki doesn’t hesitate any longer. He places his hands on Langa’s hips.
“Okay, yeah," Reki says, voice shaky. "I dare you to kiss me the way you like to be kissed.”
He hears Langa’s breath stutter before soft, thin fingers slip into his hair.
“Okay.”
And those gentle fingers suddenly form a fist, pulling on Reki’s thick curls and making his whole body hot. Fuck.
Langa pulls Reki’s head forward and their lips crash, clumsily, without much thought except him. Reki tilts his head to the side slightly, a struggle against the tight grip his boyfriend has on his hair, but that pull makes it even better, makes the need to be on and in Langa’s mouth that much stronger.
Their lips finally slot smoothly together, and Reki runs his hands up from Langa’s hips to his strong, firm waist and squeezes, pulling a gasp out of him, and all Reki can think is perfect perfect perfect.
Langa makes one of his pouty-grunts, and Reki knows if he opened his eyes he would see two brows drawn together. Langa yanks Reki’s head away from him, and Reki is about to pout, too, before Langa dives for his neck. Soft lips work their way from his neck up to his jaw, right under his ear, along his chin, and all thought of protest leaves his mind.
One of Langa’s hands falls to Reki’s waist, slips under his shirt and digs fingernails into skin at the same time a breathy Reki tickles his ear, and Reki can’t stop the groan that escapes him, that should be embarrassing but isn’t when it causes Langa to whisper, “Fuck,’’ right against his neck.
Reki desperately wants Langa’s lips back on his, but this is Langa’s dare. Langa is taking the lead. So he just leaves his eyes closed and lets himself sink into the feeling of teeth gently scraping his collarbones, of lips ghosting along his neck and jaw.
But soon he can’t take it anymore. “Baby,” he croaks out. He feels more than hears Langa’s shuddery breath on his skin.
Langa traces soothing circles on Reki’s waist while Langa’s other hand leaves its home in his red curls and cups his cheek. Finally, finally, lips touch his again, chapped skin catching because the guy never remembers to wear the chapstick Reki bought for him, and it’s heaven.
It’s the sturdy frame under his hands, the silky hair so different from his own tickling his face, the plush, pouty lips moving against his, the sweet boy handling him with so much care and passion at the same time, kissing him as though Reki’s lips are what’s keeping him alive.
If skating feels like flying, then kissing Langa feels like falling.
Reki has always had a hard time with giving up control, with not doing all he can to go go go, but here with Langa in this bubble of trust and love that they’ve worked so diligently to build, he finds he doesn’t mind slowing down, doesn’t mind letting Langa catch him and hold him steady.
Langa tastes like the cherry cola he sucked down earlier, smells like sweat and asphalt, and feels like home.
In spite of his resolve to let Langa take the lead, Reki parts his lips just barely, and thank gods, Langa accepts the invitation. His tongue tangles with Reki’s, and heat pools in Reki’s stomach. He wants he wants he wants.
He manages to pull back somehow, just a centimeter between their mouths, and right before Langa is about to dive back in, Reki gasps out, “Langa, shit.” They stare at each other, chests heaving as though they’ve just finished a race at S.
“That’s –” Reki’s voice breaks, so he clears his throat weakly and starts over. “That’s how you like to be kissed, huh?”
Langa nods his head, so earnest. The awe, the desire, the love Reki feels is overwhelming.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Reki says, and Langa grins. The skin around his eyes crinkles the way it rarely does for anyone but Reki.
“By the way,” he says now that he’s caught his breath and is capable of stringing together more than ten words, “you said earlier that I was cutting off your air supply. How was that any different than what you just did to me?”
“What do you mean? I let you breathe.”
Reki scoffs. “Barely.”
And then Langa is laughing, a sound that fills Reki’s mind with the memory of delirious all-nighters and wipeouts that had them cackling at the other’s expense and inside jokes and the first time he found out how sensitive and ticklish Langa’s skin is.
Reki’s ever-growing to-do list and the random trivia locked away to pull out at a moment’s notice don’t leave. His mind still runs a mile a minute, but those other thoughts are momentarily muffled, overwhelmed by the flood that is Langa and his musical laughter.
“I love you,” he breathes, nosing at Langa’s cheek, reveling in the giggle it draws out.
“I love you, too, Reki.”
“Mm, say my name again.”
Langa’s bottom lip pops out, looking particularly biteable, and he mumbles, “You’re embarrassing.”
“C’mon, baby, it sounds so pretty when you say it.”
“You just like my accent.”
Reki grins, and Langa follows suit shortly after, and now they’re both just smiling at each other like idiots – like lovestruck idiots.
“Maybe I do,” Reki says. Langa’s cheeks darken.
“Whatever. I can make you flustered, too,” he says as if he didn’t already turn Reki’s thoughts into mush five minutes ago. Langa delivers the final blow when he whispers right in his poor boyfriend’s ear, “Reki.”
“Langa,” he sighs, the name coming as naturally to him as breathing, and Reki dives back in.