Chapter Text
"You’re more familiar with it than me. You better teach me properly?"
What fucking bullshit, Akira thinks, as Natsuhi kisses him deeply against the student council table.
A fucking asshole liar, his thoughts continue as he softly sighs between their lips. One of Natsuhi’s hands move to cup Akira’s face as they press closer to each other, a thumb gently brushing against his jaw, and Akira thinks he’ll burst from how intimate just that simple touch feels.
Who the hell would mistake Akira as the teacher in this situation?
And why does this liar kiss so well?
Natsuhi’s thumb slides over Akira’s jaw again, a downward motion that Akira somehow knows is a request to open his mouth. And so he does, obediently parting his lips just enough for Natsuhi’s tongue to slide over his own, exploratory, as butterflies explode somewhere deep in Akira’s stomach. Kissing is more intense like this - warm, tangled, wet. Akira tastes something sweet and briefly wonders if Natsuhi bought juice from the vending machines at lunch. Then, Natsuhi takes a hand into his own; Akira’s thoughts swirl into nothing but the kiss.
Everything is hazy and close and good. It’s too good, and Akira wants more. His free hand curls into the front of Natsuhi’s hoodie to pull him closer just as Natsuhi pulls back with an amused huff. Whimpering, Akira can’t even muster a glare as his senpai smirks down at him. He’s uselessly handsome. A uselessly good kisser. So unfair.
“Breathe,” reminds his senpai. Ah, his head is spinning. Akira can barely tell with Natsuhi’s hand warming his face, but Natsuhi could? He takes a breath, and then another - in, out. How is his senpai still OK, smiling down at him like this, when Akira feels completely out of his depth?
He desperately wants to continue, yet he doesn’t know what to do.
And that is the dilemma, Akira thinks, when his breathing evens out just enough for Natsuhi to dive back in. He has no experience. The control was in his senpai’s hands right from the start; Akira wonders why he even bothered asking to be taught. The way Natsuhi’s free hand slipped from Akira’s face to his hips, thumb now rubbing circles at the sliver of skin exposed from his uniform - it's too natural, too good, fuck. There’s no way in hell reading BL could’ve prepared him for kisses to feel like this.
There’s no way reading BL could’ve prepared him for the sudden thigh between his legs, either. Startled, Akira jerks his hips against Natsuhi’s thigh, breaking away from the kiss with a high-pitched noise - a moan, he realizes after a few seconds, gripping the front of Natsuhi’s hoodie tighter than before. Embarrassing - what would Natsuhi think? Akira’s eyes dart up to Natsuhi’s, only to find himself under intense scrutiny already. Self-conscious, Akira flinches.
Something dark flits across Natsuhi’s face before he closes his eyes.
Natsuhi takes a deep breath. Untangling their intertwined hands, he steps back from Akira and looks away. “Let’s stop here. We need to go home.”
Akira blinks - unexpected. But he nods. The walls of the student council room are slowly being painted with the sunset’s soft glow and his brother would be done with dinner soon enough.
Even so, the loss of contact feels…lonely. He already finds himself craving their next touch.
His desires are suddenly answered when Natsuhi links their hands once again, helping Akira up from the table. Akira tries to meet eyes with Natsuhi, surprised and questioning, but Natsuhi avoids his gaze.
“C'mon,” mutters Natsuhi, “I’ll walk you back.”
His ears are red.
There’s a warmth in Akira’s chest for the rest of the night.