Work Text:
It’s not exactly rare for Ritsu to stay over at Mao’s, but it certainly doesn’t happen as often as it did when they were younger. The older boy has had more and more to do, now as a member of one of Yumenosaki’s big three units, and with Mao’s own responsibilities growing, the two of them don’t get to spend as much time together. They still walk home together, of course, and it often results in Mao carrying a sleepy Ritsu on his back.
It isn’t rare, but it is an occasion, and for once, he really doesn’t want to be working.
Mao sighs a little, looking over at the pile of papers at his desk. Homework, student council work, Trickstar work — Hokuto is in charge of most of this, but Mao helps out, because why shouldn’t he? — and some other sheets that must be Ritsu’s homework because Mao swears it has nothing to do with what he’s been doing in class.
“Maa-kun,” comes the sleepy grumble from behind him, “are you still busy?”
“Yeah, sorry.” It’s an automatic reply at this point, but he can’t help feeling bad as Ritsu makes a noise of protest, surely with an adorable pout on his face, and—
Work, Mao, work. Stop thinking about Ritsu.
“You’ve been working for an hour,” Ritsu whines, and although he’s been asleep for most of the time since they got here, Mao doesn’t doubt he’s right. There’s the sound of sheets being kicked away, followed by quiet footsteps and a soft yawn beside his ear as his boyfriend hugs him from behind. “Give me attention, Maa-kun, is your work really more important than your husband?”
“We’re not married, Ricchan,” Mao replies halfheartedly, only for Ritsu to lean more weight on him.
“Mm, not yet,” Ritsu affirms, and Mao’s face feels the same colour as his hair. “Ah, Maa-kun is a nice pillow...”
A cold nose burrows into his neck, and Mao winces. “Ricchan, you’re cold, don’t do that,” he sighs, but he can’t help reaching a hand up to card through Ritsu’s hair.
There’s a soft giggle, and Mao swears Ritsu’s laugh is the most beautiful sound in the world.
“Of course I’m cold, you’re not cuddling with me,” Ritsu says with a pout, “be more cooperative, or our marriage will never work out.”
(If anything, Ritsu’s the uncooperative one, but Mao’s brain is short circuiting from the marriage jokes and he doesn’t think he could say anything at the moment.)
Ritsu’s hair tickles Mao’s neck as he buries his face there, and now the older boy is leaning so heavily on Mao that he might fall over. He really can’t leave his work, but...
“C’mere, Ricchan,” Mao says with a sigh, spinning his chair around so that he’s facing his lover. Ritsu climbs into Mao’s lap almost immediately, moving his legs to dangle out of the chair so he can cling to Mao’s jacket and nuzzle into the crook of his neck with a contented hum.
“Thanks, Maa-kun,” Ritsu mumbles into his skin, and Mao shivers. “Love you...”
“Mm. Love you too.”
And then Ritsu’s asleep, soft hair tickling Mao’s skin, every bit of him so warm and pretty and perfect where he’s pressed up against Mao’s chest. It’s only after he tries to return to his work that he realises what a problem he’s given himself: it’s hard to think over Ritsu’s breath on his neck and body pressed against his, especially not when Ritsu shuffles impossibly closer to Mao during his sleep with a series of incoherent mumbles.
He could put Ritsu back in bed, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the contact, and even if he could move him...
Calling Ritsu a light sleeper isn’t right — he can sleep through anything if he wants to — but when it comes to Mao, he’s awfully perceptive even in his slumber.
(On multiple occasions, Mao has come into Knights’ practice to take Ritsu home, and the older boy always shuffles out of the kotatsu before Mao even speaks, the most adorable, languid smile on his face as his eyes meet Mao’s.)
Surely, if Mao were to move him, he’d wake up almost immediately, and on the off chance he wouldn’t, he’d wake up in Mao’s bed later and realise what happened. It crosses his mind that this might have been Ritsu’s intention to begin with; he is Knights’ strategist, after all, and devising a plan to divert Mao’s attention away from his work and to him instead is certainly something he could (and absolutely would) do.
Mao sighs, wrapping his arms around Ritsu and burying his face in silky dark hair. “You’re so annoying, you know that, Ricchan?”
(He doesn’t mean it. He doubts he could say something like that to Ritsu without it being entirely a lie.)
Well, he doesn’t have much of a choice now, he supposes. He can finish off the work tomorrow; it’s not like anyone would be upset by it. “Hey,” he calls, gently poking Ritsu’s cheek. A soft groan is muffled in Mao’s shirt, and then half-lidded crimson eyes are staring up at him. “You win, let’s go to bed.”
Ritsu hums, but doesn’t let go of Mao, holding on as he stands and rearranging himself just enough for Mao to carry him safely. It’s barely a few steps from the desk to the bed, and Mao has to make an effort to get both of them into bed because Ritsu seems intent on holding Mao like a human sized koala. It’s actually pretty cute.
(He loves him so much he feels like he’ll burst, sometimes.)
“Ricchan, you got me away from my work, I’m all yours now,” Mao laughs softly, holding Ritsu close. The older boy merely groans into Mao’s shoulder, though, and Mao plants a kiss on the top of his head.
“Cuddle,” Ritsu murmurs into Mao’s skin, leaving a kiss there afterwards. Mao nods, beginning to trace aimless patterns on his lover’s back, humming a tune that reminds him a little of Ritsu’s solo song.
Mao remembers the night he first heard it. He received a blank message from Ritsu save for an audio file, and by the time he finished listening, he was nearly crying. He called Ritsu then, forcing out an ‘I love you,’ and when Ritsu replied with his own sentiment and a nervous laugh, it felt like coming home.
(Now that he thinks about it, Ritsu has always felt like home.)
“Maa-kun,” Ritsu calls, looking up, “what’s wrong?”
Mao realises he’s stopped drawing on Ritsu’s back, having gone completely silent. Ritsu pouts a little, shuffling up in the bed a little to kiss Mao’s nose.
“Nothing,” Mao says with a smile, brushing Ritsu’s hair out of his eyes, “I was just thinking.”
The older boy hums, frowning a little. Mao smoothes out the creases on his forehead with a soft smile. “About what?”
“About how much I love you,” Mao laughs, holding Ritsu close and kissing his forehead.
“Not as much as I love you,” he retorts sleepily, “I love Maa-kun more than anyone can love anything ever.”
Mao huffs out a breath, burying his face in Ritsu’s hair. “Stop being silly, Ricchan.”
There’s no response, though, and when Mao looks down, Ritsu is asleep, face smushed into Mao’s neck. Smiling, he leaves a kiss on top of his lover’s head before closing his own eyes.
“Goodnight, Ricchan.”
(And if he cuddles all night and all day with Ritsu instead of doing any work, it’s only for him to know.)