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It startles Haruki at first that Akihiko not only asks but also waits patiently, his eyes staring down at the pan he's washing. “Can I kiss you, Haru?”
Haruki’s name falling from Akihiko’s mouth shouldn’t easily spread joy through Haruki until every hair on his body stands in attention. But it does.
He contemplates his options. Say nothing and then what? Akihiko likely withdraws and goes back to washing the dishes? Say yes and…get kissed? As if he can survive that.
The kiss from all those months ago has practically been burned into his mind, stamped behind his eyelids, taunting him. No. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Through all these years, he has built a sanctuary in his mind he can go to and imagine. How he might hold Akihiko’s hand in his, kiss his high forehead, or smile against his broad shoulders.
That night broke through his defenses and set his mind on fire. As he sat in Take-san’s chair and listened to the sound of his hair being snipped away, he’d wished his feelings got treated to the sharp edge of the scissors as well.
However, standing here with the edge of the kitchen counter sharp against his lower back, his eyes burning a hole in the side of Akihiko’s head, Haruki can’t even properly consider saying no.
He has wanted this forever—no, he wants this. He wants Akihiko, with his too-big-for-three-seater-sofa body, his loud drumming on JUMP volumes, his stern eyebrow as he practices the violin.
“Mm-mm,” is all he says—like the coward he is.
Akihiko turns to him, the sun from the window behind him, shining, leaving his expression in the dark, impossible to decipher, but there is no need. He comes to Haruki slowly, easing himself into Haruki’s personal space, first pressing a hand to Haruki’s shoulder, then sliding it to his nape. Haruki shudders, full-bodied and catastrophically obvious. His eyes squeeze shut, and he wonders for a second if Akihiko is messing with him.
No way—he wouldn’t—
Haruki kisses Akihiko to silence the doubts.
And ends up missing Akihiko’s mouth, landing in the general area, but that is not a problem, Akihiko’s big hands are on his face, burning, burning, burning—he can feel sweat happily glide down his spine and into the waistband of his jeans. He shifts and lets his lips part, feeling the dry, smooth pair against his.
Akihiko kisses diligently. Careful and slow like he has all the time in the world. Like he wants to spend the entire night simply learning Haruki’s mouth. It’s so different from that night—Stop. Don’t think about it.
“Ah,” escapes his lips, licked out of him by Akihiko’s hot tongue. It’s so fucking amazing that Haruki isn’t sure whether he should cry or pounce.
Calloused fingers fumble with his ears, a thumb and a pointer finger grasp his chin, tilting his head up. His neck will protest but for now, Haruki is too damned glad and honestly, the happiest he has ever been to care.
His body is thrumming, knees trembling and knocking against Akihiko’s. He realizes he’s been grasping the edge of the counter. Foolish. Why hold onto that when he had Akihiko? His body reacts slower than he likes, but when he finally wraps his arms around Akihiko’s back, Haruki can hear his sigh in his mouth.
“Haru,” it sounds like, and Haruki wants to bottle the sound.
Akihiko slips his tongue against Haruki’s, a barely there lick, teasing, until Haruki’s loose fists tighten into Akihiko’s shirt, pulls him closer, their chests melding together—he can feel Akihiko’s thighs against his hips, and for a second, he resents the slight difference in their height. Until Akihiko’s hands slide down his shoulders, rub his sides, slip over his ass, and pick him up. He nearly shouts but is too aroused to voice his concern. He’s sitting on the counter now, Akihiko’s face close, eyes glittering with a hint of green and that mischief Haruki loves so much.
“There. Isn’t this way better?”
He’s about to scoff, say that five centimeters aren’t much when Akihiko’s hand slides along his thigh and steals all the syllables out of his mouth. His head is blank and yet crowded. He is suddenly shy for being so aroused—well, there is no mistaking the hardness against which Akihiko’s hand is rubbing. In a moment of self-consciousness, Haruki attempts to hide his face in Akihiko’s neck, but Akihiko steals his lips in another kiss.
This kiss is faster, hotter somehow, and he is arching his back and whining ever so quietly. The tongue against his is persistent and demanding and so good he wants to die right there. He feels helpless to just sit there and allow Akihiko to take from him all the pleasure he wants, but—a part of Haruki has been waiting for this for years.
“Not fair,” he huffs between long kisses that burn his skin and leave him breathless.
Akihiko grins, and Haruki really wants to bite it off his face. Then he simply does it.
The move is so unlike him that it leaves Akihiko gaping and Haruki prideful of that reaction. He takes advantage of Akihiko’s shock and frees him from his shirt. It falls with a satisfying sound to the ground, and now it’s Haruki’s turn to stare. Akihiko’s sharp lines and hard ridges are impressive, but it’s the softness around his belly and the perfect way his chest rises and falls with each hard breath that make Haruki’s heart tremble.
He's affecting him as much as Akihiko affects him. He wants to crack a joke about how virginal they’ve been behaving, all shy looks and tentative touches, but some switch is turned on in Akihiko, and he’s hauling Haruki off the counter.
“Put me down! You’re going to hurt yourself!” he demands.
Akihiko pauses, and Haruki readies himself to gain his balance. But he’s faced with Akihiko’s ass and a question: “Sofa or your bed?”
“Haaaaah?”
“Where can I take you?”
He gulps and answers, “Bed.”
He doesn’t even want to give himself the chance to think of that night. He would rather have his first time with Akihiko on a bed, true, and he doesn’t want to hurt his back on the sofa. His face burns at the realization of where their night is going and can’t look at Akihiko when they do end up sitting facing one another in his bed.
He wants to hide behind his hands, or worse, get up and leave, but not really. He’s embarrassed, but it’s not so bad that it makes him want to stop.
“Akihiko—are you sure?” The question leaves his lips before Haruki can swallow it back. Then it’s out there between them.
Akihiko looks at him, and for all of those years Haruki has prided himself on knowing the drummer, he cannot decipher it or find the words to describe it besides intense.
“I should be asking you that question.”
Haruki swallows harshly. “If it’s about that time—I forgive—”
“It’s not forgiveness I’m after.”
He whispers, “Then what?”
“A second chance. Haru,” he says, leans close enough for Haruki to feel his breath against his temple, “I can’t promise to be the best man, but I meant what I said that time. I’ll strive to be a better man. For you.”
There they are. Those words. The promise that waters in Haruki’s heart a thousand gardens of hope and love. A fresh possibility. It seems almost too good now, to hear them from a shirtless Akihiko. He wants to laugh at how such gentle words have ignited his desire.
“If it’s all right with you, Akihiko, I am ready for you to strive to be the best lover I’ll ever have.” There is a crystal-clear challenge in his voice, and Akihiko picks up on it immediately. That grin. Wide and impossibly beautiful. It splits his face in half and shreds all of Haruki’s senses.
They fall together onto the mattress, Haruki’s clothes gently peeled from his body, his laugh too loud and joyful to his ear. He feels Akihiko’s mouth, smiling against his belly, kissing down his chest, flicking his nipples with his hot tongue until Haruki’s breath is all out of sorts.
There is beauty to behold at that moment, spilling from eyes and mouths, hands holding onto one another, Akihiko’s shining eyes, bare and honest, and Haruki’s love, abundant and loud.
Haruki loves Akihiko, and Akihiko loves Haruki. There is nothing between them but the slick of sweat and the excitement of how good they feel together.