Work Text:
Yuma knew this wasn’t the time to push it. He’d made his position clear, and gotten luckier than he’d ever hoped already, and now it was time to stand back and let Fuma work through his thoughts like a emotionally mature and thoughtful adult with foresight and the ability to prioritize long-time gain over short-term reward would do.
He knew. But he really, really wanted to push it.
Work wasn’t so bad. He could focus on the job and shut out the rest. Off hours were kind of torture, though. Fuma was just around all the time, being crazy hot, giving him long considering looks and then moving on like that was an okay thing to do. A significant chunk of Yuma’s brain had become dedicated to running an impressively filthy reel of imagined scenarios every waking hour of the day. A different chunk took over when he fell asleep, and that one was actually worse.
He’d thought he was prepared, when he’d made his move. He’d spent the two days beforehand thinking it all through and having a good talk with himself about what he could realistically handle, and made his decision with a mostly level head.
He’d thought.
He lasted almost a week. That was pretty impressive, so he gave himself credit, though the idea had been not to give in at all so he’d actually failed quite brutally.
It would’ve helped if Fuma had been annoyed and shut him down and sent him back to his room. It would’ve helped a lot. He’d really been counting on Fuma, at least, to keep a cool head and be responsible and all that, since that was something Fuma was a lot better at than he was.
Instead.
He still had no answer about what to expect or hope for going forward. They weren’t having the honest and productive talk they needed. They weren’t having any talk at all.
Yuma was hard up against the wall beside the door inside Fuma’s room, arms and legs twisted around Fuma’s back and hips, trying to eat Fuma alive like he’d starve to death in the next five seconds if he couldn’t get more than he could physically accommodate. Fuma was grinding against him, one hand around the back of Yuma’s neck with fingers shoved up through his hair, and it was everything he’d wanted — well, a lot of it, at least — and shouldn’t have tried to ask for.
Then Fuma was pulling him away from the wall, turning to stagger over to the bed with Yuma’s weight pulling him off-balance, falling down gracelessly on top of him.
This was definitely, absolutely the wrong way to go about things, guaranteed to make for a messy morning after neither of them would enjoy very much, but there was no lever left in his brain with sufficient leverage to put the brakes on now.
It wasn’t the reasoned, sensible answer he needed or had been expecting, but it was an answer, he realized.
I want you, too, it said. Enough to get stupid about it.
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