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“Ohse,” Fumiya has his hand under Ohse’s chin, thumb resting against his jaw. “Look up.”
Ohse isn’t sure if it’s more desirable to stay looking down - forced to look at where his thighs are being pressed together by Fumiya’s knees on either side of him - or risk looking up at him, where Fumiya is so close even now that Ohse can feel his breath on his forehead. Fumiya’s hand stays steady under his chin.
His stomach twists when he feels Fumiya shift even a little bit on his lap, and Ohse is immediately terrified that he’s going to accidentally jerk too suddenly and send the couch crashing down with both of them on it. His blunt nails dig as much as they can into the cushions and he takes a deep breath - resting with the thud of his chest for a moment before he looks up.
Fumiya’s hand moves with him, and Ohse tries not to curl up into himself at the realization that they’re this close. It makes him sick, deep in his stomach, that Fumiya is even bothering to put up with a shitty person like him to this extent. He imagines them even closer, touching like they have been recently - Fumiya’s hands on his chest or bare stomach against his - and Ohse finds himself needing to back out of the fantasy out of fear of the newly added context.
“It’s okay,” Fumiya says, and his tone is not particularly warm or comforting but it is uniquely Fumiya. It makes Ohse shudder. “Ohse?”
Fumiya’s face is taking up the entirety of his field of vision and Ohse can’t look away. With each word he can feel Fumiya’s breath against his cheek. Fumiya’s purple eyes are staring directly into his. If either of them leaned in just an inch more, they would...
“I’m okay,” Ohse blurts out. Fumiya’s expression doesn’t change. “I know I shouldn’t be reacting like this. It’s disgusting.”
“It’s fine,” Fumiya’s thumb strokes right under his ear and Ohse instinctively leans away from the touch. Leaving his neck bared makes him feel like he’s going to be devoured. The thought makes his pulse quicken under Fumiya’s thumb. Fumiya just observes.
When Fumiya leans in further, Ohse braces himself, closes his eyes, and expects their lips to connect. He’s... kissed one other person before now, so he’s probably as prepared as he could be. Besides, this is Fumiya. Fumiya, who has spent the last year inching closer and closer into Ohse’s personal space. Fumiya, who has open mindedly participated in every thought spiral that Ohse has pulled him into. Things have always felt natural with him, so it’s only natural that they’d get here eventually.
When Ohse feels Fumiya’s mouth on him though, he’s pressing an open mouthed kiss right above where his thumb sits on Ohse’s pulse. A choked sound leaves his throat involuntarily. “Ah.”
Fumiya tilts Ohse’s head back more, pulling away briefly before mouthing again at the bottom of his chin. Ohse opens his eyes, slowly, and finds he can only barely see the top of Fumiya’s head. His arms come up and wrap tightly around Fumiya’s waist. The action makes Fumiya’s hips shift on his lap.
Retrospectively, the action makes sense. Fumiya is keeping his hand on Ohse’s jaw, so he must be analyzing the way that his heart beats faster with everything he does and noting it down in his head. But it’s mortifying.
“Fumiya-san,” Ohse breathes out, and his chest is rising and falling rapidly. He wants to take Fumiya’s hand off of his jaw and put it against his heart so he can study the beat more directly. He wants to flip things around and push Fumiya back against the couch. He wants to tilt his head back even more and let Fumiya have at the entirety of his neck.
The idea of retreating back into familiarity is comforting, but the idea of pushing things even further than this is intoxicating.
Fumiya leans back, licking his lips, and the slight action makes heat settle at the bottom of Ohse’s stomach. Fumiya is blushing, bright red skin against his white shirt, and Ohse has to physically restrain himself from acting on his more obscene thoughts.
“No good?” Ohse shakes his head. It’s a genuine question. Ohse knows that Fumiya is just as nervous as he is. It’s just that he doesn’t verbalize it as much.
As if to prove Ohse’s point, Fumiya looks directly down at his lips and lets out a shaky breath. Fumiya clearly wants this, wants him, which is infinitely more terrifying than Ohse solely wanting it himself. His stomach twists.
‘Don’t kill yourself, Ohse,’ He says in his head. ‘Don’t kill yourself, don’t kill yourself, don’t kill yourself.’
When Fumiya leans down again, Ohse keeps his eyes open for as long as possible. He watches as Fumiya’s eyelids softly close, and the unique serenity of his expression is something he’s never seen before.
Fumiya hovers above him for a moment, breath fanning directly against his lips. Ohse wants this so bad.
When their lips touch, Fumiya’s mouth is still wet from where he had licked his lips just a minute ago. It grounds Ohse in the reality of it. He’s kissing Fumiya. The kiss is brief, only lasting a few seconds, but the thought of that by itself is enough to make Ohse’s chest clench.
Ohse’s eyes immediately land on Fumiya when they pull away. The blush is still vibrant under his skin, and his mouth is resting slightly open. The strands of hair that are usually falling in front of his eyes are slicked back with the rest of his hair, and Ohse wants to run his hands through it.
It’s more... confident, when Ohse leans up into Fumiya to bring their lips back together. Now that the initial hurdle is overcome, Ohse can focus more on making it good. Well, as good as his limited experience allows.
Fumiya’s hands are pushing his sweater up his back when he deepens the kiss, and all Ohse can think about is how eerily similar this feels to what they’ve done before. If retreating back into full familiarity is comforting and pushing things even farther than this is intoxicating, the middle ground between the two is nothing but overwhelming.
They pull away again, this time staying closer. It’s impossible to be fully connected in this position, barely fitting on top of each other on the couch, but the heat from Fumiya’s body seeps through his clothes at every point of contact. Overwhelming.
One of Fumiya’s hands retracts from Ohse’s back and comes to swipe his thumb over his own bottom lip.
Ohse already doesn’t find Fumiya intimidating or threatening the way the rest of the house says he is. If anything, Fumiya seems to simply get it sometimes, even when nobody else does.
When he’s sitting on Ohse’s lap, staring him down with a bright red face and shallow breaths, tracing his finger over where Ohse’s mouth was, Ohse can’t believe that anybody else thinks of him like that either.