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Yuma stared at Harua’s mouth. And stared. And stared.
Harua sighed. “Yuu-kun…”
Shaking himself a little, Yuma swallowed hard and blinked three times in quick succession, tongue flicking out past his fang — aligned now but still sharp — so that the red line it scored confirmed that he was awake. “Can I really,” he said, forgetting to make it a question.
“You’d better, before I change my mind,” said Harua, gaze fixed on Yuma, hands relaxed on his thighs, showing not the slightest sign of nervousness.
Was he actually that comfortable, or was he acting? He was the best actor among them, even better than Fuma. He could be. Would he do that at a time like this, though? Maybe not on purpose, but…
“Yuu-kun.”
Trembling slightly, Yuma reached up to cradle Harua’s face between his hands, still unable to look away from Harua’s lips, which he’d just been invited — not out of nowhere, but improbably — to kiss.
On camera, he pretended with a grin that Harua’s crush was one-sided, an honour he was proud to receive but did not reciprocate. He never actually tried to convince anyone, though, and knew no one who was actually paying attention believed him for a second. He was the one with the massive messy crush. Harua just loved him, simply and openly.
And Harua had kissed him first.
The invitation just issued was an offer to return the favour, if he wanted, at his own pace, so that he wouldn’t be too startled and amazed to enjoy it at all, like he had been the first time.
Also, Harua wanted to experience being the kissee himself, out of curiosity.
Yuma had frozen too long, though, and now it was awkward and overwrought, but he couldn’t bear to just give up and laugh it off, because he really, really did want to take Harua up on it.
Harua’s mouth tilted up at one corner, amused but not mocking.
Eyes fixed on that little quirk, Yuma leaned forward, careful and hesitant but determined, and — closing his eyes at the very last second — pressed his mouth to it.
Then, without daring to open his eyes or pull back to check how that had been received, he moved over a little and kissed Harua’s whole mouth, properly.
Now that Yuma had crossed this distance himself, under his own power, Harua evidently felt the exercise had been successful and stopped holding himself still. He caught Yuma’s elbow, angled his head a few degrees, and pushed back.
Yuma’s breath stuck in his throat for a moment. He wanted so much and so badly that he was terrified to move.
Harua wasn’t. He really didn’t seem scared at all, or even worried. He was sliding his hands up the backs of Yuma’s arms, one faster than the other so that it reached the back of Yuma’s neck as the other reached his shoulder, and both pulled gently but insistently.
Yuma’s restraint was cracking badly. He pushed Harua back a few centimetres, struggling to pull himself together, but Harua wasn’t having it.
“It’s okay,” he said, the warm breath of his words brushing against Yuma’s mouth. “I’ll stop you if I don’t like it. So come on.”
Yuma sucked in a ragged half-breath, all he had room for in his chest, and lunged at Harua hard enough to topple them both back onto the bed whose edge they were sitting on, Yuma on top with his elbows now braced to either side of Harua’s head, hands winding tight into his hair.
More, he thought dimly, less a word than an awareness. Need more.
Harua’s knees had risen to clamp around his hips, heels dragging up the backs of Yuma’s thighs, and Yuma realized that unless Harua stopped him, he was going to go all the way at a full thundering sprint downhill, pell-mell and perilous.
Harua wasn’t stopping him. Harua was pushing his hands up under Yuma’s shirt, lightly scraping his pretty decorated nails up the pillars of muscle to either side of Yuma’s spine. Harua was biting his bottom lip and running his tongue over the ridges of Yuma’s hard palate and squirming under him, trying to pull Yuma closer, pull Yuma into him if he could.
Somehow, Yuma dragged himself away from Harua’s mouth to kiss his throat, his clavicles, then pulled Harua’s shirt up over his head in two rough hauls and kept kissing his way down the hard line of his sternum, across his ribs, finally finding the striking mole on his side under his arm and setting his teeth and tongue to it until Harua was gasping.
He wasn’t completely sure where he was going. He was just driven to explore the new landscape under his lips and fingers as quickly and as deeply as he physically could, feel it and memorize it and shape it with his hungry hands.
He was usually more interested in bottoming, in his fantasies at least, and Harua had always seemed more interested in topping, but right now he very much wanted to be where he was, and from the way Harua was writhing and grasping at him, Harua seemed very much happy to be where he was, too.
Maybe next time — if he was so unbelievably lucky as to have a next time — they would switch, and he would let Harua eat him alive.
For the moment, though, Harua was here to be devoured, a willing feast, and Yuma was starving.
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