lacharcutiere · 3 years ago
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ur my favorite drug & my worst hangover [nsfw 18+, terushima yūji]
5,9k words
✯haikyuu!! masterlist✯
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winter sem break brings the new year, & a few other new developments too.
smut, tiny bit of angst, fwb, fluff // quit - lil aaron & travis barker. god this song goes so hard
the way all i talk abt is how much i love teru but have nothing to show for it— yeah we’re gonna fix that. man i love him
☾𓆙𓂻
��� SOBER
the soft hum of the tv in the background slowly fades into your awareness as you blink blearily awake, almost forgetting where you are for a second.
you’re in yūji’s living room, duh. your semestral break has not been nearly as interesting as either of you’d hoped: instead, you’ve both succumbed to alternating between each other’s childhood homes, binging netflix and random youtube videos and eating chips and tubs of ice cream late into the night, as has been your custom for years.
it’s dim but for the glow of the screen, and it’s kind of chilly in here now, even with you wrapped up in a hoodie. (yours, not yūji’s. you only borrow his in emergencies.)
he’s not next to you now, but his footsteps—you know them by now: quick and kind of heavy but not overbearingly loud—are entering the room again, and you feel the sofa cushions dip a little as he retakes his seat next to you.
“hey,” he says, smiling, “you’re awake.”
“hmmph,” you mumble, sitting upright to stretch your back. “what time is it?”
“uh.” he squints at the digital clock next to the tv. “like one?”
“‘m cold.”
“me too.”
“‘nd tired.”
“you just woke up?”
“i’m tired,” you whine.
yūji groans. “you’re really gonna make me go to sleep this early?”
“you don’t have to sleep, but i will.”
“yeah,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “but who’s gonna keep me company then?”
“i dunno,” you shoot back, “text tetsu or something. he’s probably still up.”
he rolls his eyes but relents, standing from the sofa. “fine.” and he holds out a hand to help you up, which you don’t take.
“i can do shit for myself,” you joke, rolling your eyes.
“right.”
it’s not much warmer in his room despite the thermostat supposedly being set to an acceptable temperature, but at least the sleeping bag on the floor next to yūji’s bed is insulated, and he’s given you a couple extra blankets for which you’re grateful. the biting chill of january does not fuck around.
so you nestle yourself into a little cocoon of linens and pillows and pull your hood up, curling into a ball in an effort to conserve your body heat. you hear him laugh a little as he watches you.
“what?”
“nothing.”
there’s the light hum of a phone ringing a few times, and that little beep as tetsu picks up the facetime call.
sleep clouds your senses to the background music of stifled laughter and loud whispers and the occasional static of yūji’s phone speaker.
— BUT U PULLED ME CLOSER
the next few minutes, hour—you have no idea—pass just like that, with you drifting languidly in and out of sleep and the sounds of yūji and tetsurō’s voices audible but incomprehensible in the background.
last you remember, you’re slipping back under again, hearing tetsu through the staticky iphone speaker.
and then you wake up again because you’re fucking freezing and it’s quiet and the lights are off, except for the little reading light mounted to the headboard of yūji’s bed. you sit up on your elbows, craning your neck, and see that he’s still up, lying on his stomach with his phone dimly illuminating his face.
“what time’s it?” you mumble.
“uh... 2:38.” he pauses. “y’alright?”
“cold,” you say.
he locks his phone then, and he just looks at you kind of blankly and maybe a little mockingly? except it must not be mocking; it must be something else, because he’s just kind of... studying you.
you look back up at him expectantly. “what?” you say.
he sighs, kind of rolls his eyes, turns away from the light to hide the little smile playing on his lips. “come on up here.” he scoots over and pats the spot next to him.
thankful for an extra source of body heat and blankets and pillows, you shove yourself up off the ground and shuffle over to the bed.
it’s kind of funny, the way you’re basically adults now and yet your relationship’s still fundamentally the same as it was when you met years ago.
duh, yūji hates that. it’s true, that whole thing about how “every one of your guy friends has thought about fucking you at some point.” it’s true, at least for him.
and there’s something electric in how you haven’t slept next to him in months because you’ve both been busy with school, and now you’re back here. back here, where it feels like you belong.
there’s something deep in his chest that’s set aflame by the way you laugh and let him tuck the comforter over you; the way your sweatpant-covered legs brush against his own underneath it.
he wants to touch you.
he wants to wrap his hand around your thigh and pull it over his own; to run his fingertips up the length of your arm and make you shiver; to snake his around your waist and pull your head into his chest.
maybe he will once you’re asleep, he figures. once his pride can’t be hurt because you don’t have to know.
except... except he’d let it be hurt for you. without a moment’s hesitation. he would shatter it himself for you, would let you take him in your fingers and rip him to pieces too small to be puzzled back together.
because maybe he doesn’t just want you. maybe he loves you.
but even he, completely truthfully, doesn’t know.
he’s got a sneaking suspicion that he does, though, because he’s rarely confused and this is an enigma he can’t quite seem to decipher, no matter what he tries.
it’s absurd, too, he realizes laying on his back next to you, how suddenly he’s afraid to touch you. because the two of you have always been touchy, that’s just you. you’re two halves; you’re so similar. you’ve been attached at the hip since childhood—why is it different now, now that he wants that more than anything?
so here he is, spiraling in this conundrum of feelings, when it’s cut short by you, tiredly whining, “yūji.”
“what?” he sort of feigns annoyance.
“‘m cold.”
“and?”
and. and his breath catches because you roll over and latch onto him. and he brings his arms around your shoulders and holds you to his chest.
so close, and yet so far away.
and he shudders as you lay one hand flat on his chest. it belongs there forever.
you nuzzle your nose into his shoulder and inhale his scent and his brain short-circuits.
has she done this before?
and mostly unconscious, you mumble, “—warm. y’re pretty’.” his eyes go wide.
“what?”
your arms tighten around him, and he’d hate to admit it, but it’s setting him off. he’s... a little hard.
a hand settles itself on your thigh, the one that’s draped over his legs, and he pushes it downward a little, so that it’s not resting next to the rising erection in his pajama pants.
god, he wants to fuck you so badly right now, he wants for you to feel him throbbing between your legs as you whimper against his skin. but he also wants you to want him.
miraculously, a little sigh escapes your lips at the touch. so he doesn’t move his hand.
“feels nice,” you whisper.
so he decides to test the waters, and squeezes gently. you giggle sleepily.
inhibitions dissipating for a moment, his stomach leaps to his chest and he snakes that hand up over your hip, consciously avoiding your ass just in case, and rests it on your back, rubbing up and down slowly.
his chest constricts as you snuggle even closer to him. and then your leg moves back up and your thigh nudges his crotch.
your eyes snap open and he inhales sharply.
and then you’re propped up on your elbow, leaning over him.
he curses himself for forgetting to turn off the light; the flush in his cheeks is obvious.
half terrified and half excited, he watches as your face breaks into a wide, shit-eating grin.
“what?” he breathes.
your eyes narrow; a look of mischief he’s so familiar with, one that’s often mirrored on his own features. (it’s not now.)
“yūji,” you say, singsong and bright, “what’s this?”
and—oh, god, oh, fuck—you bring a hand down to rest on his dick, tenting in his pajamas.
he doesn’t know what to say to you.
“i— uhm—”
“hmm,” you hum. “y’ alright?”
he clears his throat, nods. “are— uh, are you?”
“mhm,” you laugh, wide awake now. “yūji...” you pause. he can’t stand it; he needs to know what happens next, needs to know what’s fanning the flames behind your eyes.
oh god. oh god, all he leaves is a breath in between and then you’re throwing your leg over him again and, fuck, you’re straddling him. he lets out a shaky breath, voice tight as he chokes out, “what are you doing?”
the smile is gone from your face now, replaced with something softer, something lustful. your hands move to his shoulders to balance yourself as you grind your hips down, and a low ahh slips out of him.
it’s just like that, just your clothed bodies rubbing together. he comes embarrassingly quickly in his boxers, but he lets you ride his thigh until you finish as recompense.
afterward, he excuses himself and cleans himself off in the bathroom. when he comes back, you’re sound asleep again.
that’s all that happens.
— UR GONNA FUCK ME UP
following that, everything proceeds as it had before. neither of you bother to speak of it, but nothing even seems off between you at all. it’s as if it never happened.
or maybe, yūji sometimes allows himself to think as he touches himself to the memory in the middle of nights when you’re not together, it’s like it was meant to happen.
what a wonderful illusion that is.
because he knows it won’t work, and if you ever thought about him like that, you would know, too.
the two of you have watched each other fall in love—get dumped, ghost people, whatever—several times over the past few years. he remembers your first boyfriend, your last year of middle school: the guy had been a mutual friend that you’d been crushing on for months. and yet, when you’d finally become a thing, it had taken no more than a couple of weeks for you to grow uninterested and dump him.
it’s not like he hasn’t done similar things in the past.
and it’s not like some people who’ve dated either of you haven’t had better luck; there have been several who have been the ones to break your hearts.
but both of you have yet to have maintained a long-term relationship, and neither of you have kept in contact with many of your exes.
he doesn’t want to be another one of those, and he certainly doesn’t want you to be, either.
it’s maybe a week after that night when you pick him up to go get takeout and ice cream.
that, in itself, is a pretty normal thing.
but then you’re sitting in your car, and between spoonfuls of mocha chip and hot caramel, you say, “so i saw this thing.”
“hm?” he responds, his mouth still full.
“your aura is striking, dude,” you quote. there’s a pause as you try to suppress a giggle. and then: “can i kiss you deeply, bro?”
he snorts and jokes, “anytime you want.” and he really hopes that you take his tone at face value, but he also knows you way better than that.
so he’s only half surprised when you actually do. half surprised, and wholly in awe.
your hands are in each other’s hair. it’s quick—feverish, but quick—and the first thing you say when you pull back is, “tastes like sugar.”
he laughs again, unsure of what move to make next. “yeah?”
and then you’re... shy? because you look away from him, back down to the cup of ice cream in your lap, and you say, “you feel good.” it’s so low that it’s almost unintelligible. but he hears you.
both your faces are burning when you look back up at him. “should we talk about that?”
“‘bout what? kissing? ‘s not the first time.”
it isn’t—he kissed you once in middle school, because there was this other girl that he’d thought was pretty, and he wanted to make her jealous. it hadn’t worked; she’d just thought the two of you were together, and a teacher had scolded you for pda. but at least it had been a fun story to laugh at for a while after.
this is obviously different, though, and you both know that. this kiss wasn’t to make anyone jealous. this one was for yourselves.
and anyway, that’s not what you meant by that.
“no,” you say. “the um... last week. at your place.”
“oh, yeah.”
“should we, um, do you wanna talk about it?”
“d’you?”
you shrug.
“alright,” he says. pauses. “so... what was that about?”
and you almost laugh incredulously. “you’re asking me?”
he stares blankly.
“you’re the one who got a boner when we were cuddling, yūji. as if we’ve never done that before.” you notice the mortified look on his face, and your expression softens and your voice lowers. “you wanna tell me what that was about? you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
and he laughs nervously and says, “no, no, ‘s fine. i was just kinda horny, that’s all. i haven’t hooked up with anyone in a while, y’know?”
you give him a sardonic grin. “and that’s why it only took you, like, three minutes to come?”
“yeah... yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
a moment passes where you stop and think for a little, and then you turn back to look at him. “it was, uh, good, though. like, objectively. it was good.”
it’s his turn to flash a grin at you: “‘course it was. it’s me.”
“and me.”
“shoulda won the sex gods superlative in last year’s yearbook.”
“ha.” another thing crosses your mind: “and now look at us. too busy with school to even have time to fuck anyone.”
yūji doesn’t say anything, so you do it for him.
you start out carefully. “but...”
“but?”
“do you— i mean. we’ve got, like, what? three weeks left before we go back? and we’re stuck here. and— and we already hang out like every single day anyway, and. uh. and it was objectively good.”
“are you—”
“and i’ve known you for years. come on. there’s, like, nothing i could do to embarrass myself around you anymore.”
friends with benefits. you’re suggesting that you temporarily be friends with benefits.
“and it wasn’t weird after last time,” you add. “i think.”
“hm,” he says, “yeah, no, it wasn’t.”
his first instinct is to say no, to tell you it’s a bad idea. but as he thinks about it more, he realizes that you’re kind of right. and anyway, what is the worst that could happen? because he’s pretty sure he’s far gone enough for you that falling a little further wouldn’t change a thing. even if he weren’t, he’d never think of hurting you intentionally.
and, he figures, he’d hardly mind being hurt by you.
that is how you end up back in his bed an hour later—his parents are out on a date this evening; you’ve got until a few hours past sundown to fuck and clean yourselves off and make it look like you’ve been eating and talking and watching tv the whole time.
outside of the guise of midnight impulses, it is a strange—but also strangely pleasant—thing to be having sex with your best friend.
there’s no pretense, hardly any need to keep up appearances (at least, for you). you’re not strangers only concerned with your own pleasure; you know each other. despite never actually having done this before, he already knows what you like, and vice versa.
it’s nice.
it’s nice to hear him laugh when you whine for him to stop being so gentle, vanilla-ass bitch, only to have him call you a “horny little—” (to which you respond, no, you.)
and it’s nice to sleep with someone who reads all the cues you give him without you even needing to say anything.
it is possibly the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.
it is possibly the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, and... it might not be just because of the dynamic between you two, or the fact that you don’t have to be afraid to tell him what you like and what you don’t—the fact that you don’t even have to tell him at all.
it’s nice. for you. and it’s hell for him.
it’s hell for him to have to hold back all the sweet nothings he wants to whisper in your ear—he’s restricted to you like that, huh, baby? and fuuuck and god, you’re so fucking tight, and he knows you’re into it, but he wants to be treating you like a princess right now. he wants to call you his, wants to whisper, tell me you’re all mine against your bare shoulders, wants to tell you he loves you.
so... he does love you.
but he can’t say that. he knows he can keep you around, but you’re not his to keep.
it continues like that for the next several days: you fuck, it’s good sex, and he’ll touch himself to the memories if you’re not there: memories of how you taste, of the softness of your skin, of you with your legs around his waist and your bare chests pressed together, damp and warm with sweat.
it is so gratifying, and even more painful.
and then, one day, as he’s fucking you in your childhood bedroom—all white walls covered in sketches and colorful postcards you’ve accumulated over the years—something is slightly off.
there’s something about it that feels more intimate than the other times, and it goes slower than before. it’s not all lust and clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor and bodies shoved hurriedly into mattresses.
you kiss him for a long time before any clothing comes off, and you keep pulling him back to your lips as he thrusts into you. you’re not urging him faster, more, harder; you let him keep a steady pace and arch your back into the sheets as you lie underneath him.
it hits him as you come down from your orgasm and writhe in his arms, softly moaning, “god, yūji, i l—”
he stops.
“don’t say that,” he says.
still shaking and catching your breath, you respond, “what?”
“just don’t.” but his tone is casual, and so you don’t think much of it.
you don’t hook up every time you hang out, and yeah. you were right. it’s hardly different than before. except, isn’t it?
you’re sitting on opposite sides of your sofa one morning after your parents have left for work—he slept over the previous night, but you didn’t have sex. you’d spent it laughing over the dumbest things and blasting music as you drove around without a destination.
your’re sitting with your knees pulled against your chest, scrolling lazily on your phone while you and yūji eat handfuls of cereal straight from the box between you.
it’s mostly quiet for once; comfortably silent. neither of you have ever really been a morning person.
— BUT U KNOW I LIKE IT
the ice cracks a little when he stops shoving your hand away to grab himself another handful of cereal. you notice, and then you wonder if you always noticed little things like that, because it feels kind of weird to. not that you mind.
meanwhile, yūji watches you, studying the way your hair falls messily around your face, the way one sleeve of your sweatshirt is rolled halfway up your forearm and the other is pulled all the way over your hand.
the living room is bright, surrounded by windows, and you’re illuminated by light yellow late-morning sunlight all around and he feels safe looking at you.
the ice cracks a little more when he says your name softly.
“hm?” you say, confusedly looking up at him.
“nothing,” he answers, too quickly. “i’m just... happy right now.”
you smile, radiant. “i’m glad you are.”
in the afternoon, you’ve grown bored and are wandering the streets of your neighborhood, voicing thoughts and pointing out people you pass by.
it’s still early, but it’s january, so the sun is already beginning to set.
when you’re a couple minutes out from your house, yūji goes quiet, and it stays like that for the rest of the walk.
and then, as he stands next to you while you unlock the door, he blurts, “i have to tell you something.”
you freeze. “what?”
it’s silent for a bit. “never mind.”
“yūji—”
“it’s okay,” he says softly.
he wants to shrink away from your gaze as you study him. he knows you know there’s something amiss, and second thoughts have almost always been his own personal hell.
graciously, though, you don’t ask. and it’s like stepping through a portal when you’re back inside; it’s all forgotten and back to how it was before.
but: a little while later, you’re lying side-by-side on your bed watching netflix again, and for whatever reason you turn to look at him for a moment and it’s just—
you can’t look away. and you don’t know why.
he can feel your eyes on him and it burns, and he wonders how much longer he can keep this up before he loses his mind.
when he doesn’t turn to face you, you call his name softly.
“hm?”
after an uncomfortable moment of hesitation, you say, “something’s up.”
“what?”
“yūji,” you repeat, and he forgets to breathe for a second. “are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
the mattress shifts under his weight as he sits up, resting his head in his hands. he takes a deep breath and can’t bring himself to meet your eyes.
“what’s wrong?” it sounds less like a question and more like a plea.
“i—” he starts, and then stops himself. “i can’t, i can’t do this to you.”
“can’t do what?”
there’s a painful silence, heavy with anticipation and maybe a little bit of dread.
“i don’t wanna keep hooking up with you.”
you sit up, too.
“did i...? do something wrong?”
he shakes his head and sighs, and he sounds exasperated. “it’s... no, it’s— i think...” and he seems to grow more frustrated as he fails to verbalize whatever it is, this strange cold fire stinging in the pit of his stomach.
“what do you think?” you whisper.
and he stands and walks to the door. his hand rests on the knob and he whispers back, in a voice that sounds precariously close to breaking, “you, when i... y’know. ’m sorry.”
and he’s gone.
and you have no idea what to think, both of what he just said and the fact that it sends an excited buzz through your nerves, even though it probably shouldn’t.
— IT'S HARD N IT'S HARDER TO ADMIT
his words are stuck in your head all night, have you caught somewhere in between laughing and crying.
you want to call him, ask him what the fuck is going on and why you think you kind of like it, but you don’t.
but when you look over at your alarm clock to see that it’s 2:00 a.m. and sleep refuses to let you succumb to it and you relent to the warm emptiness between your legs, it’s yūji whom you imagine is there to fill it.
you think of the way his tongue trails down the expanse of your neck, the way he feels inside you, as you whine into your pillow and desperately try to make yourself come.
it doesn’t even occur to you until later, when you’re waking up to sunlight slicing through your half-open blinds. and then it does, and you text him: i do that too.
he doesn’t text back, but ten minutes later, your phone rings. he sounds breathless.
“be here in ten,” he says.
you pause. “okay.”
and you are. he throws open the door as he hears your car pull up and jogs out to meet you, and all he gives you is a quick, “hey,” before dragging you inside.
there’s no one else home, so he motions for you to have a seat at the kitchen table and takes the one next to you.
“do what too?”
“what?”
“what you texted me.”
you look down, studying the seams of your sleeve and feeling your breathing go shallow.
“do what too?” he repeats.
and softly, you say, “want you.”
yūji stands, pulling you to your feet with him. “want me how?”
your eyes are wide and a little bit sad as you stare up at him. “i don’t know.”
then he cracks a tiny smile. “good,” he says, “i don’t either.
except he does.
he wants you every way, your presence, your time, your body, your fucking soul, all of it. but he doesn’t say that.
when you kiss him, he implodes, melts into your arms as if he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. but he says nothing of it.
the feeling of your wrist in his hand, the sound of your giddy giggles as he leads you to his bedroom—for now, that’s enough.
he takes it slow.
when he’s shut the door and ensured it’s locked, he turns to find you’ve already tossed your top on the floor.
a smile meets yours, gentle fingertips on your cheek, a soft whisper against your hair: “put it back on; i wanna do it myself.”
and you laugh and oblige, shivering at the now-familiar sensation of the warm metal bead on his tongue against your lip as his hand finds its way to your ass and squeezes gently.
“yūji,” you whisper.
“i like it when you say my name like that,” he murmurs into your shoulder, rubbing gently up and down your back underneath your shirt.
“hmm,” comes your contented response.
and then his fingers are rubbing gently against the hem of your shirt, easing it up to reveal your body inch by inch, and you shiver a little under his feather-light touch.
lifting your arms up, you allow him to slip your shirt back over your head, and then his hands are all over you again, squeezing your breasts through your bra and tracing lines up and down the center of your back. the little metal ball on his tongue presses against your lower lip. you tug at the hem of his hoodie, and he pulls it off.
the feeling of his skin on yours is nothing new now, and yet this time, there’s a certain nuance to it that he can’t place.
he wonders how you want him again; can’t stop wondering as you lead his hand down to the button on your jeans, laughing a little as he kneels at your feet to unzip them.
as he pulls them slowly down your legs he lines your thighs with little, butterfly-soft kisses, murmuring unintelligible praises.
when you’re left in only your bra and panties, he wraps his arms around your waist and falls backward onto the mattress, taking you down with him. you sit up a little, so that you’re straddling him, and he lets out a low sigh.
“you are fucking incredible,” he breathes as you suck gently at his neck, leaving light marks that will have faded by tomorrow.
your fingers trace the dips between his abs, tantalizingly, eventually making their way all the way down his stomach to the waistband of his sweats, and then a little further, palming his dick through them and feeling how fucking hard he is.
he groans a little, says, “please don’t tease me,” as you continue to do exactly that, but he doesn’t stop you.
when you shift a little so that you’re positioned right over him, soaking panties rubbing a tiny little wet spot into the tent of his erection, he sits up and gathers your body into his arms, lips and tongue moving against yours as one hand unclips your bra while the other settles itself on your hip, grinding you down against him. you press your thighs together at this feeling of pure need you’re experiencing and he pulls his mouth away and looks you in the eye.
“may i?” he whispers, and you smile and nod, laughing as he rolls you off of him to rid himself of the rest of his clothes and dig a condom out of his bedside table, which he hands to you.
you’re impatient as you tear it open but force yourself to roll it onto him slowly, studying his face as he revels in the feeling of your fingers grazing lightly against his dick.
once it’s on, he flips you over again, laughing, and exhales slowly as he slides your panties down your legs and tosses them somewhere on the floor to be found later. his fingertips ghost gently down the sides of your thighs as he bends down to lick a long stripe between your legs and across your clit.
“fuck,” you breathe as he groans softly against your skin, the vibrations sending an electrifying buzz up your spine.
he presses his tongue flat against you, metal bar circling your clit teasingly, and then he pulls away and groans, “sit on my face,” his words hurried and slurred with lust.
so you let him move to lie on his back and straddle his face, giggling as he wraps his hands around your thighs to pull you closer.
“aw, don’t be shy, i thought that’s the whole point of this,” he says.
and then his mouth is back on you again, tongue flicking slowly and carefully, taking in your every response, and soon he’s got you shaking on top of him, grasping at the headboard and his shoulders and tangling your fingers in his hair.
he keeps going after you’ve already finished, making you writhe and whimper, only letting go of you once he’s satisfied.
he pushes you backward so that you’re still sitting with your knees on either side of him and he sits up, leaning back against the headboard. his lips are on yours, then, and he’s pulling your hips to his, the head of his cock nudging ever-so-lightly against your entrance.
“quit teasing me,” you whine when he grips your waist, refusing to let you sit yourself on his dick.
“i’m not.”
“yes you are!”
“‘m not,” he mumbles, smiling, as he draws his lips down the curve of your left shoulder and back up again. “i’m savoring the moment.”
you huff. “you can savor it with your cock in me.” and yūji does his best not to show it, but the high he gets from those words alone, from knowing how desperate you are for him, even if it’s just for his body, sends him straight to heaven. because regardless of how much of him you want, it’s still only him that you want in this moment, and right now that’s enough.
you allow him to move at his own pace, his movements slow, languid as he holds you to his chest, one hand around your waist and the other reaching up to tangle his fingers in your hair. he lets himself say the things he wants now.
“kiss me?” he whispers, and you oblige happily. you taste like him, and he’s so content he could lose his mind.
instead he loses himself to you, shaky breaths between “god, you’re so good,” and “you have no idea… how long i’ve waited… for you to want me like this.” there’s a single thing he holds back from saying, but he still plans on saying it. he’s just saving it for the right moment.
you’re drunk off of him, your body shuddering against him with every touch of his skin to yours, not knowing what to say and yet feeling as if you know everything you’ve ever needed to. and you say it for him.
“i love you.”
the words are barely there, just a breath against his lips as you kiss him, and it’s too much for him. he finishes with something akin to a sob, taking your face into his hands. “i love you,” he responds. and then, “say it again? please?”
you close your eyes and smile, leaning into him and brushing your lips against his. “i love you, yūji.”
his hand’s on the back of your head, then, pushing you back to his mouth, wanting you closer, wanting more. and you want more, too, fingers tracing lines down his back and arms and stomach, sending waves of light through his skin. this is it, he thinks as you press your body tight against his, this is all there is.
you are everything to him.
— SOMETHING ABT U I CAN’T QUIT
in each other’s arms later that evening, you feel yūji’s chest move slowly up and down with each inhale and exhale, contented in sharing this silent moment with you, and then you know. you know how you want him. you open your mouth to speak, and he does at the exact same time. the two of you share a laugh, just like you always have.
“you first,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbow so that you can look at him properly.
he reaches up and rests a hand flat against your face and runs his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. “i am…” the words are slow and quiet and purposeful. “i am so in love with you.”
your smile widens against his hand. “i want you. everything… about you, with you. i want it all.”
and he mirrors your grin, just like he always has. “i’m yours to take.” his eyes flit down to your lips, his thumb still pressed against them, afraid to look you in the eye as he speaks his next words. his face flushes pink; it’s adorable. “say you’re mine, too?” it’s a request, a plea—not a command.
you reach up to your face and place your hand over his. “all yours,” you say. “don’t even have to ask.”
it’s silent for a bit again, and then he sits up, going a little more serious.
“what?”
“what happens if this doesn’t last?”
you sit up, too, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and gently pulling his head to rest against yours. “after all these years?”
“hmm.”
you think for a moment: after all these years. your whole lives, spent together, maybe not as lovers but always as two halves of a whole. it’s him you always gossip to first, whom you always went to after heartbreaks and fights with your parents. he’s the first one you told when you lost your virginity, crashed your car, got into one of your top universities. he’s held your hand through everything.
so finally you say, “i don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
he pulls away to look you in the eye. “why not?”
his nose brushes against yours as you lean your forehead against his and laugh a little. “are you dumb, yūji?”
“i don’t think so?” when you say nothing, just continuing to look at him with that shit-eating grin on your face, he goes, “am i missing something?”
you press your lips to his for a second and pull away, still smiling at him. “it’s us, yūji. always has been.”
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