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“That feels really nice,” Nicholas had commented, as Harua wrapped around him from behind.
Harua immediately regretted that he’d only done it to get the sticker on Nico’s back and complete his mission, so he stayed a while longer than he’d meant to, and resolved to do it for its own sake sooner rather than later.
Nicholas, he confirmed at his next opportunity, very much did like being the little spoon. He went all soft and relaxed the moment Harua settled around him and could bear his weight, head lolling back onto Harua’s chest and shoulder, forehead tucked against his neck under his chin.
So Harua began taking advantage of more opportunities as they came up. It wasn’t always logistically possible, considering their size difference, but it was great when Nico was on the floor at his feet, or when Harua was wedged into the corner of the couch in the common room and Nico could spread out lengthwise.
More often off-camera than on, which was fine by both of them.
Each time they wound up like that, something subtle shifted a few degrees further in their dynamic. Each time, Harua was less the young, anxious creature Nicholas had spent long nights comforting in the audition, and more a fully grown man and Nicholas’ equal. Nicholas became less the older man doing his best to set a good example and be responsible and take care of the younger ones, and more just a guy, Harua’s friend, someone not only capable of being messy and vulnerable but glad to be, when it was time for that.
Harua was probably done growing, and would never achieve the size necessary to literally be anyone’s big spoon. But he was used to making up for minor shortcomings like that with redirected strengths, and it wasn’t a particularly daunting challenge. He just got stronger, and better at positioning, and more assertive, so that his little spoon felt like a little spoon regardless of actual comparative volume of space occupied.
He’d always liked holding them all this way, even all the way back in the audition — EJ had been especially amenable to it, at the time — but there was something a little extra special in it for him when it was Nicholas, because of their specific history, all those nights Harua had spent curled up in the safety of his arms. It felt poetic, in some way, narrative resonance, full circle and balance set to rights.
He didn’t touch Nico’s hair anymore, even to tease him, but he was not only allowed but welcome to touch him anywhere else, so he did. They’d sprawl out to watch movies or dramas and Harua would run his hands thoughtlessly over Nico’s arms, chest, belly, throat, wherever, taking notes from Yuma’s ceaseless compulsive petting.
He hadn’t had any particular plan this night, doing exactly that, lost in his own thoughts and absorbing all but none of the drama, though Nico did appear to be watching properly and enjoying himself.
He was just sitting there, thinking about the difference between loving music as a listener and loving it as an artist, and his fingertips caught on the waistband of Nico’s sweatpants and slipped underneath.
Nico’s abdomen flexed slightly, tensing, and Harua felt half his attention shift away from the TV towards that stray touch.
He withdrew his fingers and patted the waistband, Sorry, and moved back up to higher, safer ground.
Nico’s attention stayed with him, though, and after a few moments, he reached up a hand to catch Harua’s and bring it back down. Not any further than Harua had gone; not even quite so far. Not a suggestion, or even really an invitation; just forgiveness, and permission.
Harua stood at the threshold and weighed the idea in his mind, rolling it back and forth, walking through not only the next few minutes but the few beyond it, and the night beyond those, and the day to follow, and the days to follow that one. It wasn’t somewhere safe to go on a reckless whim, so he had to do his due diligence.
While he did it, pacing back and forth in front of the door in his mind to examine it from all angles, he let his hand mirror his mind and travel back and forth across Nico’s midriff, under his navel but not by much, on the approach to but still clear of his waistband.
Nico didn’t push him. He moved most of his attention back to the drama and let Harua have all the room to think he could want or need.
The team were all good at communication, now, and boundaries. They had to be, to have survived being on top of each other for years on end. It had come easier to some than others — Yuma especially had struggled sometimes — but much the same way Harua had gone from being a total stranger to dance to being a full-fledged member of a famously skilled group through smart, determined practice, they had all gotten as good at this as they needed to be, and then some.
So they didn’t really have to talk this through out loud, and Harua was glad for that, because he was sure that if they’d had to work within the clumsy, semi-opaque realm of words, he would have just opted not to bother. It was too awkward, too pragmatic; like deep-sea fish drawn up to the surface and the light of day, things like this tended to deform and lose their beauty when introduced to the open air.
Nicholas shifted a bit to move his weight onto his other side and resettled a bit higher up, cheekbone level with Harua’s chin. He braced his hands on Harua’s thighs to effect the move, then left them there, squeezing and relaxing in a slow, comfortable rhythm.
Harua kissed his temple and realized he’d decided.
He had both hands around Nicholas’ midriff at the moment, fingers clasped. Deliberate, without hurry, so as to give Nico plenty of warning if he needed it, he unclasped them, spread the left over Nico’s abs to hold him in place, and slipped the fingers of the right under his waistband again. Just a little further than last time. Less than a centimetre. But very clearly on purpose, this time.
He felt Nico’s abs contract under his left hand again, an electric little ripple, and brushed his thumb over them, following it.
Nicholas leaned his head harder into Harua’s mouth at his temple and dug his fingers into Harua’s thighs a little harder. A clear and uncomplicated green light.
He found the elastic of Nico’s boxers not much farther down, and hesitated for one last moment, swiftly double-checking his thought process for obvious flaws.
Finding none, he pushed under the second barrier into wholly unknown and volcanically active territory.
The mat of hair at the base was coarse and curly, but warm and strangely welcoming. It was pleasant just to run his fingertips through it for a little while, tugging at the curls and letting them languidly resume shape, while Nico’s breath grew steadily shorter and shallower.
Neither of them were paying any attention to the drama now, but it was good to have it on, the light and sound running interference, plausible deniability should they need any.
Nico was nearly half-hard already, he found as he cupped his hand under it and brushed his thumb down the top.
He heard Nico hiss softly, felt his jaw flex through his lips on his temple, felt Nico’s abdomen go rigid with stern restraint, Nico’s fingers clamping down on his thighs hard enough to approach the point of pain.
It wasn’t just easy. It wasn’t just nice. Harua found that he was really, really enjoying this, and how Nico was reacting to it, heavy and hungry in his hands.
Changing nothing but the grip and tempo of his right hand, he slowly, carefully brought Nico up to the brink, feeling it out blindly and pausing before it. Nico was twitching and jerking in his lap, curling up and forward a bit so that his head came up off Harua’s chest and his chin lowered.
That put the nape of his neck squarely in range, so Harua settled his left arm more firmly around Nico’s waist to hold him in place, kissed the bump at the top of Nico’s spine with the barest graze of teeth, and gently pushed him the last two steps off the edge of the cliff.
Nico dug his heels into the couch and drove back against him, clenching his teeth around a strangled groan, twisting and shuddering as it worked its way through him.
What a pleasure. What a joy. What a downright honour, to be trusted this far.
Harua held him under he was fully wrung out, limp and breathing raggedly, pressing gentle kisses to his nape and neck and shoulder and jawline. The warm profundity of the tenderness he felt made him wish he could pour it directly into’s Nico’s heart somehow, through some channel more direct than mouths or fingers.
They had to deal with the aftermath, now, in all its sticky, uncomfortable uncertainty, but looking inward, he found nothing he could even mistake for regret.
Nico still hadn’t said a word, and Harua didn’t expect that he would, but it was more than clear enough that he had none to speak of, either.
Everything had shifted again, a few more degrees at once than usual, but it still felt good and right and as it should be.
While saying nothing, he told Nico again — for the thousandth time, at least — that he loved him.
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