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“You,” said Yuma, pretending to be as angry as he probably had the right to be, “are a little monster.”
Harua blinked innocently up at him, curled up in the elbow of the couch with a book. He’d never been much of a reader, but those of the group who were had been doing their best to rub off on him, and it seemed to be working, at least a little.
“You could’ve at least told me,” Yuma said, scowling with his arms crossed.
“Told you what…?”
The brown cardigan Yuma wore looked itchy, like knitted wool, but it was actually very soft and light. It brushed over the bare skin beneath with every move he made. There was something he loved about wearing outerwear over nothing, especially on lives. It made him feel seductive. Wantable. He’d even undone the top two buttons to give everyone an ever-shifting, elusive view of the planes of his throat and collarbones and upper chest.
In the middle of which glowed a faint but noticeable reddish mark, just under his right clavicle.
He pointed to it accusingly, and watched realization come over Harua’s face, followed swiftly by a dissonant chord of mixed chagrin and delight. “Oh. Um. Sorry? I didn’t notice.”
“I ignored all the LUNÉ asking about it in the comments. I’ll probably say it was the top button chafing me or something, if they don’t let it go. But seriously. C’mon.”
Harua put the book down and reached up to trace a fingertip over the mark, grinning despite also seeming sincerely chastened, at least somewhat. “I didn’t mean to,” he said. “Honest. I’ll be more careful.”
The feather-light touch trailed away from the mark across the underside of his collarbone, going nowhere in particular. Just malingering.
Harua’s other hand caught Yuma’s and tugged him a step forward as he put his legs down and sat up, so that they came to rest knee-to-knee. Yuma knew what was coming, and locked his knees so they wouldn’t buckle.
It was still a near thing. Harua’s arm curled around his back to hold him still as he leaned up, and his lips brushed over the mark in the slightest kiss before he opened his mouth and put his tongue to it and then his teeth and then enough suction to bring it blooming to brilliant livid life.
Yuma braced himself on Harua’s shoulders, eyes closed, shuddering.
Visible marks were an inconvenience. They got him yelled at, they meant he had to button up properly for a while until they healed, they invited questions and conversations he really didn’t want to have.
But he also loved them. Though there wasn’t much room for possessiveness or jealousy in the pack, and while he did love that about it, he had a bit of a personal kink for those things, and very much enjoyed having it indulged like this. Branded, as if Harua owned him.
He leaned over Harua’s head and clutched at his hair as Harua slid his hands up under the cardigan’s hem onto his skin, unhurried but deliberate.
“Maybe not here,” he managed to whisper. “Should we—”
Harua briefly dug his nails into the muscles around Yuma’s spine, and Yuma jerked and trembled, focusing with urgent intent on keeping his knees steady.
“You’re right,” Harua sighed, and let him go.
Now Yuma had to walk, which might prove a challenge. Upright alone was hard enough as it was.
Picking his book up and carefully marking his page with a beautifully decorated bookmark he’d made himself, Harua slipped under his arm and held onto his waist to walk with him.
It wasn’t far, luckily. Just a couple dozen steps out of the common room, down the hall and in through the second door on the left. Harua left him standing for a moment while he locked the door behind them, then turned and smiled at the look on Yuma’s face. Yuma couldn’t see himself, but he could guess.
He opened his arms, hands out to receive, and Harua walked into them, laying his chin on Yuma’s shoulder with his mouth next to Yuma’s ear.
“Yuu-kun,” he murmured.
It devastated Yuma, as Harua knew full well it would. It always had, since he’d started doing it at odd times a couple of years ago. The deceptively casual intimacy of it. Like they were childhood friends who’d grown up inside each others’ personal space and knew everything worth knowing about each other but still couldn’t get as close as they wanted.
Yuma kissed the side of his neck, then grazed it with his teeth. Not hard enough to leave a mark. Just enough to make Harua feel it.
Harua hissed and pulled away just far enough that he had room to undo the remaining buttons of the cardigan and push it off Yuma’s shoulders, hands sliding up over his chest and outwards as it fell away.
The mark glared from his clavicle, standing out twice as vehemently against the backdrop of his pale and otherwise unblemished skin.
Being half-bare with it on display while Harua was still fully dressed was also making him feel some delicious kind of way.
“The light,” he managed to say, with his last scraps of lucidity.
“Leave it,” said Harua. “I want to see.”
Though Yuma’s knees had fought a truly heroic battle of endurance, those words tolled the end of the war. He sank to the floor, hands sliding down the backs of Harua’s legs to come to rest gripping his slender but muscular calves, and looked up, dizzy.
“Want to put one on me?” Harua offered, and finished him off.
—