Work Text:
They fight all the time. At least once a week. Over stupid, meaningless, endless nonsense. Over what bun filling they should get. Over which way round the toilet roll should be put on the holder. Over the correct way to prepare tea. Over whether or not eggs are stored in the fridge. Over which detergent leaves their clothes smelling the nicest. Over what to have for lunch. Over what to have for dinner. Sometimes Ennoshita wakes up in the morning and Yamamoto’s already picking a fight with him for stealing all of the blanket again.
It’s their thing.
And it’s fun. Most of the time Ennoshita decides to have the opposite opinion just for the fight. Just so he can raise his voice and call Yamamoto a skunk head. Just so he can open a cupboard door and slam it, listening as it disturbs the glasses inside. He picks the fight for Yamamoto’s intense stare and the way he squares up his shoulders. He picks the fight because he knows it always ends with one of them pushed up against a wall, a knee wedged against their groin. It ends with shared breaths, noses touching and rough hands down pants. It always ends with Yamamoto’s heartbeat stuttering under his splayed hand as his gasps fill the room.
They never fall asleep fighting.
It’s their thing and Ennoshita loves it. He loves that Yamamoto isn’t afraid to shout back. Isn’t afraid to shout first either. Loves that his go-to insult is to call Ennoshita a Pretty Boy. Loves that he has never once been scared of him and never tries to run away – Ennoshita spent years rounding up Tanaka and Nishinoya as they dodged him; chased after Kageyama and Hinata more times than he can count too, but Yamamoto faces him head on, forever running towards him.
He loves that when he’s with Yamamoto he gets to be a completely different person. One who doesn’t have to be the strong leader, doesn’t have to set an example, doesn’t have to fill a hole left by someone as perfect as Sawamura. When he’s with Yamamoto he doesn’t have to pretend he’s the sensible one. Instead he gets to leap onto him and tumble him to the ground whenever he laughs at how Ennoshita double knots his shoelaces. He gets to blow raspberries all over his belly when he growls about how Ennoshita’s worn all his t-shirts as pyjamas again and now he has no clean clothes. He gets to steal the end of Yamamoto’s ice lolly, wait for it to melt in his mouth and then dribble it in Yamamoto’s. It’s kind of disgusting. But he gets to do it.
He picks fights so they can make up. It’s no secret that Yamamoto does the same.
Except this doesn’t feel like one of their fights. Neither of them are shouting, which isn’t a first – sometimes they snarl at each other in the dark, rough lips right on top of each other’s ears. But Ennoshita isn’t finding this very fun. There’s a lump wedged in his throat that won’t go away and a cold feeling spreading outwards from his belly at the look of complete confusion on Yamamoto’s face.
“Why are you being weird about this?” Yamamoto’s voice is steady, the furrow in his eyebrows real; he’s not finding this fun either.
“I’m not being weird.”
“You are.” Ennoshita snaps his eyes away from Yamamoto’s face, looking down at his fingers. He is being weird, but it’s rude for Yamamoto to point it out. “Ryuu’s one of your oldest friends.”
“That doesn’t mean he has to be here all the time.” He glances up to look at Yamamoto for just a second. He hasn’t moved other than to raise a single eyebrow. Ennoshita wants to tell him he doesn’t like how much space there is inbetween them, wants to ask why Yamamoto is leaning against the doorframe of their bedroom instead of coming in and flopping himself down next to him on the bed like he always does. He can feel his skin thrumming with the knowledge that he’s just there and wants to reach out to touch him. But he doesn’t. He glances away and looks resolutely at his laptop.
“He’s here like once a week and you know it.” Never before has Yamamoto taken someone else’s side over Ennoshita’s. He’s loyal to the edge of embarrassing; once he even barked at a priest when he accidentally bumped into him. “Did you guys have a fight or something?”
“No.” He chews on his bottom lip. Yamamoto, he wants to ask, are we having a fight or something? But he doesn’t. Because he’s never had to pretend to be brave when it’s just him and Yamamoto and he doesn’t want to start now.
“Okay… so you don’t want him here because…” He trails off, expecting Ennoshita to fill his blanks and sighing deeply when he doesn’t. “What does it even matter? You said you’d be working on your deadline all night.” He had said that. And he will be working on his deadline all night. It’s due Monday.
“So to help me you invited the loudest person you know over?” Ennoshita stares up at Yamamoto, unsure if he wants him to buy the lie or not.
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Yamamoto’s eyes open wide, a moment of clarity falling across his face. Ennoshita has always loved how openly Yamamoto wears his emotions on his face, but right now he only feels disappointed. “We’ll be really quiet! We’re just going to play Mario Kart and probably get a pizza or something. I already told him you’re working so he knows we’re not to bother you.”
“But you guys always get loud when you drink.” Yamamoto pushes himself away from the doorframe, smiling easily.
“Then we won’t drink.” He wanders over to the bed and crawls across it to kneel next to Ennoshita. “I promise. You won’t hear a thing.” And Ennoshita lets himself be cradled in Yamamoto’s warm hands, lets himself lean into his lips and lets himself ignore the doubt stealing across his mind. If Yamamoto’s allowed not to notice it, then so is he right? “And when have I ever broken a promise?” Yamamoto breathes across his face, kissing each of Ennoshita’s eyelids and stroking the soft skin under his jaw with his thumb.
“Never.” Which is true, it’s just Ennoshita isn’t really worried about them making noise. He opens his eyes, thinking maybe he could say it. Maybe Yamamoto would kill the feeling with his booming laugh and a flick to his forehead for being so stupid. But then he sees the smile curled on Yamamoto’s mouth, his eyes so close and so large Ennoshita is able to pick out the flecks of dark green near his pupil; he looks so content and Ennoshita doesn’t want to ruin it. So he ducks his head, wedging it in the crook of his neck and breathes in Yamamoto’s scent – he was right, his brand of laundry detergent does smell nicer – and holds onto his neck with both hands until the door knocks. Twice. Three times. Yamamoto groans, leaning back and kissing Ennoshita’s temple.
“There’s my man now,” he says in a voice Ennoshita pretends is reluctant as he rolls off their bed. “Don’t work yourself too hard.” He adds, before closing the door behind him. Ennoshita listens to his feet as they bound across the floor – why is he always bounding? – and buries his face in his hands when he hears Tanaka yell out half a greeting only to be strangled into silence. If only he wasn’t such a goofball.
- - - - - - -
Three hours later Ennoshita can’t take it anymore. He’s only managed to write half a page, all of it garbage that he’ll end up deleting anyway, because they’re being too quiet. He can’t hear a thing. It’s very troubling. Yamamoto is one thing because Ennoshita knows once in a blue moon he likes to be quiet, likes to give Ennoshita foot rubs as he watches him work, likes to pillow his head on Ennoshita’s thighs and watch the rain fall down outside their window. But Tanaka. Tanaka is another thing. Three years of Ennoshita’s life spent trying to make him shut up; there’s just no way. Especially not when Yamamoto had said they were playing Mario Kart.
He eases the bedroom door open, confused about why he’s sneaking in his own apartment and why his heart is thudding inside his chest and tip-toes down the hall. It’s not a very long hall. It takes him exactly three tips of his toes. Their entire apartment isn’t big, one main room that serves as an entryway, kitchen and living room with just the kitchen counter and sofa to divide the spaces. A tiny bathroom opposite their shared bedroom. And that’s it. On a normal day Ennoshita can hear Yamamoto giggle in the kitchen if he’s in the bedroom. Sometimes he’ll catch the tune he’s humming somewhere in the house when he’s showering. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to find, whether or not he wants something to justify his doubt.
“Chikara.” Tanaka stage-whispers up at him from where he’s hunched over one end of their sofa. “You finished already?” Ennoshita shakes his head.
“Not yet. Got a little hungry.” Yamamoto, sat cross-legged at the other end of the sofa, not even touching Tanaka, smiles proudly.
“I got your favourite pizza.” He’s whispering too, even though Ennoshita just spoke at a normal volume. He unfurls his legs and hops over to the kitchen, abandoning his Wii remote as if it’s inconsequential. Tanaka picks it up for him.
“I’ll make sure you don’t lose bro.” He goes about juggling one controller in each hand, tapping away at the muted game, even though Ennoshita is sure it would be easier for him to just pause it and wait for Yamamoto’s return. The logic of idiots. Ennoshita wanders over to where Yamamoto is popping slices of pizza into the microwave.
“We got it an hour ago, but I didn’t want to disturb you.” He admits, ears a soft shade of pink. He’s always embarrassed to say out loud how thoughtful he is, prefers actions to words. Ennoshita notices there are only two pizza boxes.
“You don’t like pineapple.”
“No. But you do.” Yamamoto grins up at him. “And I wanted you to have your favourite since you’re working so hard on a Friday night. You deserve a reward.”
“What did you have?”
“We shared that meat thing Ryuu likes.” Ennoshita shuffles closer, hating that such a simple sentence, one that Yamamoto obviously didn’t think anything of, makes his heart clench painfully. We.
“Idiot.” He wraps himself around Yamamoto’s back, knowing that if Tanaka were to look up he’d see and kisses the nape of his neck. “You should have got something we could share and made Ryuu eat alone.”
“Eh?” Yamamoto twists to stare at him quizzically, a chuckle brewing on his lips. “You wanted to share with me? That’s a first.” Ennoshita frowns, that can’t be true can it? They must have shared pizza before. Yamamoto bites the end of his nose gently. “You sure you’re okay? You can take a break you know, come hang out with us for a little bit, finish your work tomorrow.”
“Tempting.” He aims for sarcastic but it slips out of his mouth a little too honestly. “But I don’t want to interrupt you guys.”
“Interrupt us?” Yamamoto repeats slowly, as if the words are in a language he doesn’t know. “We’re playing Mario Kart.” The microwave dings and Yamamoto doesn’t wait for an answer, popping it open and dragging Ennoshita over to the sofa by his wrist. He settles back down onto his side, balancing the plate on the arm of the sofa and pulls Ennoshita into his lap. Tanaka tosses the control back to him, eyes never leaving the screen. “Bro, I’m seventh?” Yamamoto laughs loudly over Ennoshita. “I thought you said you wouldn’t let me lose?”
“You’re not losing!” Tanaka almost forgets to whisper, voice shrill before it drops back down to this low volume they’ve been communicating in. “Eighth would be losing.”
“I see.” He winks at Ennoshita. “He doesn’t want to admit he can’t play both at once.”
“You try focusing on two halves of the same screen at different places on the map.” Tanaka pouts, fluttering his eyelashes at Yamamoto, “my eyeballs are in knots.” Yamamoto pokes him in the side with his toes. The feeling in Ennoshita spreads to his fingertips; it’s like he’s not even here. He plucks the control from Yamamoto’s fingers easily – he always gives him what he wants – and nestles into his broad chest, facing Tanaka.
“I’ll win for you, babe.” He coos, knowing it makes Yamamoto cackle with laughter when he calls him pet names and knowing he’s never normally so openly affectionate. “So long as you feed me.” He crooks his neck upwards, fluttering his eyelashes. Two can play this game after all. Yamamoto’s face burns completely red.
“You should do all of your assignments last minute,” he whispers in awe, “if it fries your brain out this much.” He feeds Ennoshita pizza eagerly. Pizza, it turns out, is not a thing that can be fed any other way except sloppily. Ennoshita ends up with sauce on his nose and Yamamoto has to keep poking the pineapple chunks into his mouth when they drop onto his chin. It obscures his vision and they end up a solid forth.
“You guys are a lot grosser than I’ve always imagined.” Tanaka notes, his characters on screen blowing kisses to the crowd as they complete a victory lap of first place. “Especially Chikara.” Yamamoto toes him again, rougher this time.
“Chi-chan is completely lovely. All the time.” He hooks his leg around Ennoshita so that his heel is resting on his thigh. “He’s worn out from all the hard work he’s been doing. So don’t you be mean.”
“Very, very gross. Exceedingly gross.” Tanaka sings, ducking chunks of pineapple as Yamamoto flicks them at his head.
“What did you imagine us like?” They both pause to stare at Ennoshita with wide eyes. He wants to know. He has to know. Because he sees it too. Every day when he wakes up to Yamamoto’s solid weight holding him close he sees what Tanaka must be seeing; that Yamamoto has settled for someone plain and useless when he could have had anyone he wanted. He sees it in the faces of strangers at noodle bars and coffee shops when Yamamoto forgets they’re in public and nuzzles into his hair or snakes a hand around his waist. Everyone is drawn into Yamamoto’s orbit, everyone wants a piece of his warmth, his smile, and they all balk at the nothing guy he has by his side. He holds Tanaka’s gaze, unblinking. Tanaka, one of his oldest friends. Tanaka, who knew Ennoshita first and so shouldn't he see something more than all those strangers do? Tanaka who steals his boyfriend from him on Friday nights. What does he imagine?
“A lot of angry sex mostly.” Tanaka admits, waggling his eyebrow and cackling when Yamamoto kicks him with his entire foot. “Not him feeding you pizza with that ugly look on his face.”
“Well.” Ennoshita blinks. That wasn’t an answer he was expecting. “We do have a lot of angry sex.” Yamamoto chokes on seemingly nothing and Ennoshita smirks at the way his heart thuds so hard in his chest it pounds on Ennoshita’s back where they’re touching. Tanaka flops in half, heaving laughter into the arm of the sofa.
“Excellent.” He wipes at the corner of his eyes. “I’ll imagine it twice as much now.”
“You will not.” Yamamoto growls, slinking down so he can kick Tanaka more fully. This action has the added bonus that Ennoshita falls further into his lap. “Only I’m allowed to imagine Chi-chan naked.” Tanaka grabs a hold of his ankle, tickling the bottom of his foot until Yamamoto is squirming under Ennoshita, howling with laughter. A clever way for Tanaka to not have to point out that it’s not Ennoshita he’d be imagining twice as hard.
“Ryuu?” The letter box flaps open, tiny brown eyes peeping through. “Ryuu?”
“Yuu!” Tanaka falls entirely over the back of the sofa in his haste to open the door. Yamamoto slots his head over to watch with mild curiosity. Ennoshita watches Yamamoto instead. He hadn’t mentioned Nishinoya was visiting too. There’s a moment where Tanaka and Nishinoya just look at each other, smiles growing slowly, the cold of the night seeping passed them. And then Tanaka has him hoisted into the air, Nishinoya’s legs wrapped around his waist tightly.
“Ryuu.” Nishinoya whines, voice muffled in his chest.
“Oi, Chi-chan.” Ennoshita can’t breathe. Yamamoto’s face is softer than he’s ever seen. He gulps, watching as Yamamoto has to physically tear his gaze away from the idiots in their entryway and force a smile at Ennoshita. “We should go, give them a moment.” He’s using his smallest voice. The one he used that time they found a dead bird on a walk in the woods. The one he used when his grandma died and he wanted Ennoshita to come with him, to stand by his side and meet his grandpa. It’s his heartbroken voice. When Ennoshita doesn’t do anything, he scoops him up, one arm supporting his back and the other holding up his legs. He toes open their bedroom door so gently even Ennoshita doesn’t hear it.
“Ney, it’s like I’m your bride.” That’s the way he’s being carried. And he meant to say it as a joke almost, wanted to say it light-hearted because he wanted to hear Yamamoto’s answering giggle. But it leaves him in a mangled sob and before he knows it he’s crying quietly into Yamamoto’s shoulder, listening to his soothing hums instead. His hands stroke meaningless patterns across his back and it just makes it worse, makes him cry harder.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Yamamoto tips his head up only when his shuddering stops. He’s still crying but he can breathe now. Yamamoto runs his tongue along Ennoshita’s cheek, taking his tears. “You can always tell me, you know that right?”
It happens sometimes. Sometimes Ennoshita gets overwhelmed by simple things and one of the carefully constructed walls he’s spent years building inside him cracks. Before Yamamoto he used to bury himself away from the world until he felt strong enough to start putting the wall back up again. But Yamamoto’s always been different. He likes to hear Ennoshita’s fears, and doesn’t think they’re small or stupid. He likes to hunker under five blankets with Ennoshita and curse the fear of failing that Ennoshita planted in himself as if it’s completely rational. He told him once that it was his job to carry the things that Ennoshita couldn’t. That’s what all these muscles are for Chi-chan, he’d explained, flexing his biceps and winking mischievously because even when he’s tender he’s still Yamamoto.
It’s darker now than it was before. Yamamoto’s face still close enough for Ennoshita to catch the green in his eyes, but his expression is a mask of worry. Like this he finally finds the words to ask him.
“Do you love Ryuu?” The question in itself is a little stupid, because Ennoshita loves Tanaka. And he knows that Yamamoto does too. He scratches Yamamoto’s t-shirt where it’s stretched over his heart. Do you love him in this way?
“What?” When Ennoshita looks up he feels as if the air has been punched from his lungs. Because never, not once in the six years he’s known Yamamoto, has he seen him look so in pain. His eyes are startlingly wide, shock etched in every scratch of his irises. His eyebrows are scrunched together so tightly the ends have joint down the middle in prayer. His mouth is open a fraction, air puffing in and out rapidly, sharply. “What?”
“You can tell me, it’s okay.” It isn’t okay but it’s important that Ennoshita knows. “If he hadn’t been in love with Noya when you first met, you could have ended up together.”
“What?” The growl that tears itself from Yamamoto’s throat is unlike anything Ennoshita’s heard before. It’s borderline feral and maybe Ennoshita should be a little frightened, but instead some sick part of him explodes in tiny jolts of glee because it’s him, Ennoshita, who has managed to create something so strong in Yamamoto.
“I just–” Yamamoto barrels into him, pressing his shoulders down heavily into the mattress as he looms over, knees caging his ribs tightly. And then his mouth is on Ennoshita’s, his tongue strong and insistent as it licks into him. He presses down with everything, snarling into Ennoshita’s mouth. One of his hands remains anchoring him into place on his shoulder but the other trails hot and heavy down his chest, mapping a slow and deliberate trail. It slips under the bottom of his shirt, fingers flowing across his abs, thumb dipping into his belly button. Everywhere he touches Ennoshita feels himself catch on fire; this is what it’s like to be consumed by the sun.
“Chi-chan.” And it’s a rumble against his skin, a name no one else has ever called him being pulled from somewhere deep inside Yamamoto. His hand catches a nipple. When he pulls away it’s only for a second, only to treasure the look on Ennoshita’s face, and then he’s sucking hard at the side of his neck, nails scratching harshly from nipple to navel.
“Take-kun.” And it’s a whimper, a plea, a name no one else has ever called him and one he doesn’t use in front of other people the same way Yamamoto flings Chi-chan around. It’s one Ennoshita only takes out when he’s desperate for things only Yamamoto can give. He rolls his hips up into Yamamoto’s, almost crying out loud when he feels his want mirrored.
“Chi-chan.” Yamamoto pulls back, eyes dark and lidded. The hand on his shoulder floats up and catches his face, cupping it like he’s small and broken. Like he’s the most precious thing Yamamoto’s ever held. And like always Ennoshita melts under him. “Even if Ryuu hadn’t been in love with Yuu,” his voice is steady, firm, unwavering, “it wouldn’t have changed a thing. I love you.”
“But–” he stalls, biting his lip. Yamamoto leans over, resting his forehead on top of Ennoshita’s. Today he had chosen Tanaka, hadn’t he? Had chosen to sit by his side and share his pizza. “Why would you ever choose me?” Ennoshita feels the puff of air as it falls out of Yamamoto’s startled mouth.
“Choose you?” Yamamoto’s eyelashes flutter as he draws himself away a little. Just enough for Ennoshita to be able to see his entire face. To be able to collect the words as they fall from his mouth. “That’s not the right word at all.” His head dips to the side in the way that Ennoshita has learnt means he’s thinking about how to articulate his thoughts. “Chi-chan, choose makes it sound like you were an option. One of many in a selection.” His hand brushes the hairs from Ennoshita’s forehead in a gentle caress. “And that’s not right at all.”
“It isn’t?” He knows – both by witnessing it himself and stories leaked through various team members – that Yamamoto did have many options. He knows he used to get confessions regularly, every couple of weeks. Who wouldn’t want someone like Yamamoto? Maybe he’s not academically the smartest, but he’s passionate and beautiful, funny and daring. Everyone daydreams about a soft hearted bad boy sweeping them off their feet; Yamamoto is that soft hearted bad boy. He’s the only thing scary enough to defeat Ennoshita’s nightmares. And the only one warm enough to return after battle and hold him through the night.
“It isn’t. You’re not my choice.” Yamamoto hums, his fingers finding Ennoshita’s and slotting in between them. “You’re my everything.” Something breaks at the back of Ennoshita’s throat, a warbled squeak forcing its way out. Yamamoto smiles, all teeth and crinkles at the corner of his eyes. “You’re the thing I chase all the time, this burning feeling inside me. It’s like I’m always hungry for you Chi-chan! When I wake up you’re the first thing I want to see, the first thing I think about.”
“Shut up.” Ennoshita grumbles, grabbing at a pillow to shove in his stupid face. “You don’t need to make fun of me.”
“I’m serious! Feel my heart!” He brings their hands up over his chest. “Why, it beats only for you!” Ennoshita cries out, pushing against Yamamoto’s chest with all his might and flipping them over. He stares down at Yamamoto, flushed red in the face and spread out under him. His heart stuttering under their palms. “Chi-chan. You’re my everything.” And it’s maybe the most sincere voice he’s ever heard in his life and yet–
“So what was with your face earlier?”
“My face?”
“When Yuu arrived. You looked at them like it was killing you.”
“But it was killing me! Yuu went to see Azumane-san today.”
“Oh.” Ennoshita blinks, the cold shifting from his mind a little. “Why?” Nishinoya hadn’t seen Azumane in months. Not since he left him and showed up on their doorstep in Tokyo. Not since the two of them had moved out and given Nishinoya their old room. Not since Tanaka had finally, after all these years, confessed his feelings.
“He asked him to. So he went.”
“Oh.” Tanaka’s willingness to be quiet but unwillingness to stop playing Mario Kart not only makes a little more sense now but causes Ennoshita to feel a wave of guilt. Tanaka, one of his oldest friends. Tanaka who had smiled happily at them as Ennoshita essentially marked Yamamoto as his, dangled him in front of his face. Tanaka who had laughed with them as his boyfriend met up with his ex. He groans, crumpling on top of Yamamoto heavily. “I’m really stupid.” Of course Yamamoto wouldn’t want Tanaka to be home alone on such a night. Of course he’d want him out of their apartment and somewhere with people who he knew loved him. It’s highly possible that he was so wrapped up in concern for Tanaka that he has no idea Ennoshita even thought they were fighting earlier.
“Mhm,” Yamamoto agrees, combing his fingers through his hair. “I would have told you but I didn’t want you to worry when you had your deadline to work on.” Ennoshita groans again.
“I hate that you’re so perfect.” He feels Yamamoto’s entire body vibrate with giggles.
“I can’t believe you were jealous of Ryuu.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Like, you might actually be the first person ever to be jealous of that block-head.”
“Not true,” Ennoshita pouts, hiding his face in Yamamoto’s top, “Shouyou’s been plenty jealous of him before.”
“Pfft.” Yamamoto reaches up to ruffle Ennoshita’s hair. “The shrimp has been jealous of his skill, not who he is as a person.”
“Well,” Ennoshita puffs out his cheeks childishly, annoyed that maybe this time Yamamoto has a point, “I was sort of jealous of his skill.”
“Oh Yeah? What skill?” Yamamoto raises an eyebrow.
“Why,” Ennoshita raises his head, just enough to flutter his eyes at Yamamoto, “the skill of knowing you so well of course.” Yamamoto rolls his eyes. “I’m a little serious.” Mostly serious. “You guys have your own language.” He trails his fingers on Yamamoto’s top, writing all the things he can’t bring himself to say.
“Hmm.” Yamamoto curls his arms around Ennoshita’s back. “Well I guess that’s because we’re like the same person. He’s a mirror of me! Like my twin who got separated at birth because of some hospital mistake and grew up in the country and then years later we just happened to find each other. Through volleyball!” Ennoshita blinks.
“You guys should make a movie.” He wriggles up Yamamoto’s body a little. “I’ll write and direct it for you.”
“You’ll make me do perverted things!” He’s not wrong; they’ve made home movies before.
“Not with Ryuu. I’m not into incest.” There’s something about saying it out loud like that, about confirming for himself that Yamamoto looks at Tanaka like he would a brother that finally shifts the chill in his mind. Of course Yamamoto doesn’t love Tanaka. And if he did there’s no way he’d have been able to keep it a secret for so long. He’d blurted his feelings for Ennoshita out the first time they’d found themselves alone together.
“Is that so?” Yamamoto trails his hand a little lower, flirting with the waistband of Ennoshita’s sweatpants. “What are you into then?” Ennoshita raises his head up, hovering his lips over Yamamoto’s teasingly.
“I could think of a few things.” He dips down for all of a second planting a chaste kiss at the corner of Yamamoto’s mouth then pulls himself up and away. “But some other time. I’m very busy right now and you’re distracting me.” He grins wickedly, rolling out of Yamamoto’s reach and picking up his laptop.
“You’re kidding right?” Ennoshita glances over his shoulder, tipping his head and blinking innocently as Yamamoto raises himself up onto his elbows.
“Nope. I have a deadline Monday.”
“You’ve worked on it enough tonight!” Yamamoto hooks his ankle around Ennoshita’s waist attempting to drag him back on top of him. “You have all day tomorrow and Sunday.” Ennoshita doesn’t mention how he sat alone in the dark imagining Yamamoto eloping suddenly with Tanaka and barely wrote anything.
“You’ll find new ways to distract me tomorrow.”
“I will not.” Yamamoto’s other ankle sneaks around his other side, a hand reaching out to drag its way through the back of his hair. “I’ll be good.” A promise purred into the back of his neck, a hand already wandering down towards his sweatpants. Ennoshita shifts, turning around to lean across Yamamoto and place his laptop on their bedside table. It’s deliberate, the way he spreads across Yamamoto on all fours, not focusing on him at all. He knows Yamamoto’s watching his every move; he can feel his eyes tracing across his curves, hot enough to brand him.
“On one condition.” It’s deliberate, the way he slides the top drawer open noisily, slowly. He curves his back up so he can glance at Yamamoto’s face under him, smirks as he gulps.
“Anything.” Ennoshita doesn’t say anything else as his hands wrap around their bottle of lube. Doesn’t make a sound as he spreads Yamamoto’s legs, centring himself in the middle. He takes his time ridding Yamamoto of his t-shirt, rolling it inch by inch to appreciate every fold of skin before him. The only noises he makes are soft kisses, the drag of his tongue. Yamamoto groans, falling down fully onto his back as soon as his t-shirt is tossed from the bed. He arches his hips up for Ennoshita to tug his sweatpants down. In the end words are never needed. Ennoshita never has to ask. Yamamoto knows that on a day like today, when his inner demons crept too close to the surface, Ennoshita only wants to take. And Yamamoto always gives him what he wants.
- - - - - - -
Ennoshita wakes up to the sun in his eyes and a soft hum in his ear. There’s more movement next to him than is usual – Yamamoto usually only wakes up first on Christmas – and the room smells distinctly of–
“Chi-chan,” a careful hand sweeping his fringe from his eyes, soft lips pressed against his forehead.
“You made me pancakes.” He blinks at the tray that’s been placed in front of him, confused as to how their apartment hasn’t been burnt down when the last time Yamamoto attempted pancakes that’s very nearly what happened.
“And tea! The way you like it!” Yamamoto resumes his humming, hunching closer on his knees. “You want me to feed you again?” That wakes Ennoshita up, face burning. Last night he made Yamamoto feed him pizza. In front of Tanaka.
“No. That was gross.” Tanaka was right. He sits up more fully, pressing his hand flat into Yamamoto’s expectant face; he can’t give anyone anything without watching them enjoy it. Yamamoto cackles, much too loudly for Ennoshita’s barely awake ears, bringing a hand up to catch the one planted on his face. He turns, nuzzling into it for a moment and kisses Ennoshita’s palm. It’s only as he shuffles backwards that Ennoshita realises he’s already dressed. “What are you wearing?” Yamamoto looks down at himself.
“What do you mean?” Ennoshita stares at him. Yamamoto stares back. Ennoshita places the tray of pancakes and tea next to him, crawling towards Yamamoto and trying his very hardest not to laugh. He reaches out a hand and runs it along one strap.
“Take-kun,” he purrs, other hand meeting his first to tighten the buckle a little, “you’re wearing dungarees.” And nothing else that Ennoshita can see. Don’t normal people wear t-shirts under their dungarees?
“Well, yeah.” Yamamoto scratches the back of his head, clearly flustered. “I thought as you were going to be working all day I’d do something in the garden.”
“Where did you even get these?” They fit Yamamoto a little snugly, but it’s not unappreciated. And they’re short dungarees. Ennoshita flicks his gaze down to Yamamoto’s thighs, mouth running dry at the red marks peeking out from under the material. Marks that match the shape of his mouth perfectly.
“Kenma-san gave them to me. Graduation gift. Years ago.” Yamamoto licks his top lip, unconsciously leaning in to Ennoshita’s space.
“Ah.” That would explain the snugness; Yamamoto has filled out considerably since they were in high school.
“Well,” Yamamoto visibly shakes his head, cuffing Ennoshita on the chin with a gentle fist, “come and find me when you’re finished!” And just like that he’s gone, hips swaying around the door frame.
Ennoshita tries to concentrate for as long as it takes him to finish his pancakes and drink his tea. The article that’s meant to be handed into his boss nine am Monday and ‘not a second later’ stares at him in all its poorly written and unfinished glory. He thinks it’s judging him at first, every blink of the text cursor a silent reprimand for his lack of self-control and concentration. But, then he reasons, it’s more likely that it's egging him on. It’s a Saturday, it blinks, go and enjoy your boyfriend toiling away in the sun. They’d chosen this apartment because it was on the ground floor and that meant that Yamamoto finally got a little patch of green all his own. A supportive boyfriend would definitely watch him. Especially on a day like today when his demons feel far away.
It’s been less than twenty minutes and Yamamoto already has his shovel out and gloves on. Of course he does. Why wouldn’t he? For perhaps the first time Ennoshita is thankful that their entryway-kitchen-living room is all one as it means he can watch Yamamoto under the pretence of doing the washing up. Because of the way walls work he has no idea what exactly Yamamoto is doing, but every time he bends over his dungarees dip and he gets an eyeful of nipple, a flash of scratched skin. So it’s not his fault that he gravitates outside as soon as he’s finished; it’s Yamamoto’s. Because really, who doesn’t wear a t-shirt with dungarees?
“What’s that on your face?”
“Hm?” Yamamoto glances up, smirking slightly but not pausing. Ennoshita doesn’t mind, following the flow of his biceps as he pushes the shovel into the ground. “Sun screen.” Ennoshita knew the answer to his question; he just needed to look like he’d stepped outside for a reason other than perversion. Straight across Yamamoto’s face in a line under each eye is a strip of sun screen. Because even when he’s being careful he’s still Yamamoto.
“Nice. So, what are you doing?” That causes Yamamoto to pause, smirk exploding fully across his face. People always think that Ennoshita has a great poker face, that you can never tell what he’s thinking. That’s maybe true in every respect except for this one.
“Digging holes for some flowers.” Yamamoto uses the crook of one elbow to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “What are you doing?”
“On a break.” Ennoshita leans mock-casually against their doorframe. “You could join me if you want?” Yamamoto mirrors him, leaning over his shovel, hips jutting out.
“I’m very busy right now and you’re distracting me.” He winks. The tease. “And you’re distracting yourself. Don’t you have a deadline?”
“It’s impossible for me to concentrate when I know you’re out here.” Ennoshita whines, pitching his voice at a deeper level and hoping Yamamoto doesn’t realise he’s actually serious.
“Did you just step out of a bad porno?” Yamamoto chuckles, shaking his head.
“Take-kun,” Ennoshita uses his bedroom voice just to shut him up. Yamamoto’s eyes grow wide as he blinks left and then right to see if anyone’s around who might overhear them. “All you need is a hat and you’re literally the star of the bad porno.” How can he be so oblivious?
“That’s not all I’d need.” His face burns as he trails over to Ennoshita’s side, dragging his shovel along behind him in a way that might be alluring if it wasn’t a shovel.
“Oh yeah?” Ennoshita can’t work out if he’s so excited because it’s Saturday morning and he’s seducing his boyfriend on his doorstep where any of their well-meaning neighbours could accidentally see, or if it’s the ridiculous short dungarees sans t-shirt get up that he's got on, but thankfully Yamamoto doesn’t ask him so he doesn't have to work it out
“Yeah.” There’s only about half an inch of difference between their height, but Yamamoto still makes a show of bending down, his lips grazing along the shell of Ennoshita’s ear. “I’d need something to ride.” His tongue is as hot and heavy as the sun as it dips inside his ear. Ennoshita tugs him by his straps, walking backwards with intent into their apartment and snorting in Yamamoto’s face when he uses the shovel to beat the door closed behind them. There’s a clattering as the shovel hits the floor, a rip of Velcro as the gardening gloves join it and then Ennoshita is being pressed onto their sofa, naked thighs straddling across him and Yamamoto’s chest so close that all it takes is a glance down to be treated with an eyefull of bare skin and nipples. Ennoshita smiles, head full of warmth as Yamamoto grins back. He lifts a hand up to his cheek, smudging the sun screen along with a swipe of his thumb just because he can.
“Yeehaw.” He crows, morphing Yamamoto’s laughter into a moan by tugging him down and crashing their lips together.
- - - - - - -
And sometimes, when they fight, it's over who has to clean up the mess they've made of the sofa.