Not much is really required for a successful camping trip: a tent, some food, insect repellent and, of course, a sleeping bag. Basics. Camping is easy.
So when they reach their camping spot and set up, pitching the tent and unpacking all the luxury items they’ve carried to the picturesque spot (camping stove, actual food, picnic plates and cutlery, books to read, torches, foam mats to sit on, a trowel and toilet paper, a wireless radio, and two power banks to charge their phones), Shouta is heartbroken to discover that his trusty sleeping bag has fallen victim to the leaky seal on the vacuum flask of coffee he’d packed. He should have knows better, but he still feels betrayed. The bottom of his backpack, lined with plastic which was intended to protect the contents from moisture outwith the bag rather than turn it all into a coffee-souped disaster, gave no signs of the inner turmoil until it was too late. At least the only other thing that has suffered the same fate was his waterproof jacket and a book he probably wasn’t going to read anyway.
Still, it’s a blow. Shouta flops onto the ground beside his soggy sleeping bag, wondering what to do with it.
“What’s the—? Oh…”
Yagi sees exactly what’s wrong when he turns around, and bends down to poke at the saturated disaster.
“Oh my, that’s not good. Will you wash it in the river?”
Shouta shrugs. He’ll have to, really, if he doesn’t want to spend the next two nights stewing in the stale smell of cheap, instant coffee. He might not care, but he doesn’t think Yagi will appreciate it, and for once in his life he actually cares about what someone might think of him. They might be on this trip as friends, because Yagi said no one else was available and Shouta agreed that he could do with peace and quiet for three days, but he’s going to do his utmost to prove that, despite how he comes across at first, he can be worth knowing. He knows he’s not likely to win any favours by hunkering down each night in the fabric sitting in a soggy heap by his side.
Yagi, now carefully inspecting the disaster, frowns thoughtfully. “I don’t think it will dry by tonight, and you can’t sleep in a damp sleeping bag.”
“I know,” Shouta sighs. “I’ll just… layer up.” He didn’t bring more than one change of clothes with him, and two changes of underwear, so the extra jumper and t-shirt will have to do.
“Or you could, um,” Yagi pauses to clear his throat, blushing a little as his fingers tug at the one remaining dry spot of Shouta’s sleeping bag, “you could share with me.”
“My sleeping bag. It’s… big.”
“Big? Long big, or big big?”
“Both. I bought it when I was, uh…”
He doesn’t need to finish. Shouta knows what he means, and if a sleeping bag can accommodate All Might’s hulking form it can handle Yagi’s skinny body and Shouta’s average size. The only question is if he can handle it. Being in such close proximity to the only guy he’s managed to develop a crush on in years might not be the best of ideas.
But it seems to be the only one they have right now.
Shouta nods, “Okay. Makes sense. I’m going to go rinse this.”
And with that he gets up and drags the soggy sleeping bag after him, heading towards the burbling little river that passes close by their camping spot. He’s going to have to come up with a strategy to survive this, because already the thought of sharing a sleeping bag with Yagi is… distracting.
He can never have a simple life, can he?
Yagi is a good cook, creating a simple but filling meal that is somehow well seasoned despite them seeming to have only brought salt and mixed herbs. He’s also excellent company, keeping quiet for extended periods of time as they both lose themselves in thought, and then gently easing them back into conversation when he thinks of something worth sharing. So far, Shouta agrees with his subject choices. They talk a little of school, of their students, swapping stories about the more outlandish things they’ve done in the line of duty as heroes, and they even share gossip. No one would ever believe that Shouta would stoop to such a thing, and if he’s honest he can’t quite believe that he’s relaxed enough to open up like this, but Yagi listens with everything he has, laughing and gasping and adding ‘oh my!’ and ‘they never!’ in just the right places. He’s better company than anyone else Shouta can think of.
They’re both relaxed enough that, when they decide to turn in for the night, Shouta thinks he can do this. Yagi is agreeable company, and the few times he accidentally moved into Shouta’s personal space it didn’t leave him feeling tense or uneasy. There’s nothing weird about this, nothing that leaves him tense or apprehensive.
That is, until it comes time to undress. Shouta’s plan was, and usually is unless it’s particularly cold, to take off his clothes and just leave his underwear on. That’s not exactly appropriate when sharing, though. The thought of skin against skin leaves him shivering, turning away in the hope that Yagi hasn’t noticed how flustered he is.
“It will probably be quite warm with the two of us sharing,” Yagi says, his voice low.
“Yes,” Shouta manages to agree.
“I prefer to leave my shirt on, so I don’t mind if you undress as much as you’re comfortable with.”
Shouta’s not sure what to make of that. He nods, and then sheds his joggers and the hoodie he tugged on when the breeze became cooler, toying with the hem of his shirt. And then, because Yagi said he didn’t mind and because Shouta didn’t factor in having to sleep in his clothes, he tugs it off too.
Yagi slips into the sleeping bag first, and when Shouta slides in too and zips it up he’s welcomed by cool, high-quality fabric that quickly warms against his skin. There’s little danger of them being too cold.
It’s impossible to ignore the proximity of Yagi’s body. Thin as he is, there’s still a clear presence and warmth radiating from him, so close it would take little more than an intake of breath to bring their bodies together. Even over the frantic beating of his own heart, Shouta can hear Yagi’s breathing, and swears he can hear an echo of his own nervousness.
“Good night, Aizawa-kun,” Yagi says, his voice a little unsteady.
And with that, they try to sleep.
Shouta drifts off at some point, which isn’t entirely surprising but he honestly thought being so close to another person – someone he found attractive – might make his harder. Waking up is sudden, and… not entirely unpleasant. There are long arms wrapped around his torso, skinny legs pushed between his, as Yagi spoons him. It’s… very pleasant.
It’s also stifling. It’s too warm, and the thin layer of Yagi’s t-shirt is damp with sweat, sticking to their skin. Yagi’s breath is hot against his neck, causing Shouta’s hair to tickle him with every steady exhale. With one arm trapped completely and the other severely impeded, he can’t reach out to unzip the sleeping bag and let cool air in.
“Yagi-san,” he says softly, trying to turn towards the other man.
“Mm, Shou-chan,” Yagi murmurs, burrowing closer.
They both freeze at the exact same moment, Shouta pinned by the sound of his name, Yagi waking up.
“A-aizawa-kun!” Yagi coughs, jerking back and letting go.
Shouta huffs, unzipping the sleeping bag and feeling cold air against his back as he rolls over to face Yagi, who seems to be in the process of coughing up what’s left of his lung.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asks after a minute.
There’s a rustle as Yagi nods, his hair rubbing against fabric, and Shouta decides to risk reaching out, letting his hand come to rest on a quivering shoulder.
“Can I get you something?”
A shake of his head, and the coughing finally abates. It leaves Shouta’s heart racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins. There’s the familiar tang of blood in the air between them, and he can’t help but worry when Yagi reaches out to a conveniently placed strip of fabric, wiping his hand clean.
“I’m sorry about that,” he apologises.
“I didn’t mean to get so close.”
As Yagi is the one to mention it, Shouta decides he might as well talk openly. “I didn’t mind. I was just too hot.”
“No. Why did you call me ‘Shou-chan’?”
Yagi splutters. “I did? I’m sorry! I must have been dreaming.”
“You dream about me?”
If it was hot before, it’s absolutely scorching in the space between them now.
“I, uh…” Yagi starts to excuse himself, before losing steam. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to wriggle away without making it obvious what he’s doing.
“Aren’t you too hot in that?” Shouta challenges, pushing the zip down further so he can open the sleeping bag up even more and help them both cool off.
“Ah, I’ll be okay, thank you for your concern. You’re not too cold?”
Shouta must admit, the air is cooling him down quickly, but he has more meat on his bones so it’s not like he feels it the way Yagi no doubt does. “I’m fine,” he reassures him, settling down and hoping he can fall back asleep. “Also,” he adds, “if you wake up spooning me again, don’t worry about it.”
Yagi coughs. “Okay.”
“Good night,” Shouta offers.
They make it through to the morning. Shouta wakes with one arm flung out into the cold, Yagi’s pleasantly mild body plastered against his side, and a raging hard-on.
Not wanting to draw Yagi’s attention to what was always going to be an inevitable side-effect of sleeping in close proximity to anyone vaguely attractive, Shouta slips from Yagi’s embrace as fluidly as he can, and manages to get outside without waking him. The air is chilly, dew clinging to the grass, and he lets the sharpness of the early morning cut through the lingering warmth and, at last, cause his erection go down. For a while he watches the insects darting around by the river, before he really is cold and then heads back to get dressed.
Yagi is still asleep when Shouta slips back inside the tent, although he’s restless, a frown creasing his brow. Shouta considers lying down again – it is early after all – and then thinks better of it and dresses as covertly as possible. With nothing else to do, he boils some water for caffeinated drinks, and then laments the loss of his book. He’s not sure how long Yagi will sleep, and he doesn’t want to wake him.
He needn’t have worried too much. He’s on his second mug of coffee when he hears coughing behind him, and shortly thereafter Yagi half stumbles from the tent, looking as if he hasn’t slept at all. The bleary way he rubs at his eyes, yawning and looking around to get his bearings, is rather endearing.
“Sweet dreams?” Shouta can’t help teasing.
Yagi’s flush tells him that the taller man definitely remembers what happened last night. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“I’m not,” Shouta shrugs, handing over a mug of tea he started when he heard Yagi rouse. “Here. I’ll start breakfast.”
“Thank you,” Yagi says softly, settling down and sipping his tea as Shouta fidgets with the stove. “I thought we could go for a walk today, up the ridge.”
“As long as I don’t end up having to carry you back,” Shouta says by way of agreement. “Also, we’re going to need that insect repellent.”
“We are,” Yagi chuckles, the sound soft and warmer than the rising sun.
Shouta keeps himself as busy as possible preparing breakfast, doing his utmost not to let his focus drift as Yagi gets up and walks slowly back and forth, stretching his long limbs as if working lingering stiffness from them.
Needless to say, he doesn’t quite manage.
The day is hotter than they expected, the forecast off by at least five degrees, and by the time they reach the rise they’d been aiming for, Shouta is sweating. His hair clings to his face and neck, his t-shirt contoured to his skin, and he swears he’s never going camping or walking in ninety-eight percent humidity ever again.
“I need a shower,” he complains, taking another mouthful of juice and thinking that at least the journey back should be easier.
Yagi chuckles, rummaging in the backpack for fruit. “You and me both!”
He offers Shouta an apple, and then tucks into a rather bruised banana without seeming to care. The view, at least, is worth it, although Shouta spends a solid minute studying Yagi rather than the expansive vista, envying in the way the taller man seems to be taking the heat in his stride while also admiring the pleasant lines and angles of his body. He seems tired, but not exhausted, which has to count for something.
“Let’s take a picture,” Yagi suggests, finishing his banana and then fishing his phone out.
“I look gross,” Shouta argues.
“Oh, I don’t want to share it with anyone,” Yagi says, “I just want it for myself, and I’ve seen you already.” He gestures vaguely at whatever current mess Shouta is presenting as. He does have a point.
“This won’t leave your phone?” Shouta checks.
“I won’t show it to anyone.”
Shouta tries not to think about that, and how Yagi is taking a picture for his own personal use, as if this sticky walk in sweltering heat is an experience he wants to remember. They crowd closer, the picturesque landscape their backdrop, and Shouta feels the heat radiating from Yagi’s body as they press together.
He even smiles.
Yagi doesn’t seem to notice, the sun reflecting on the screen, until he curls over his phone, inspecting the result.
“Oh,” he says.
Shouta takes another sip of juice as he waits for him to elaborate. Yagi’s cheeks are flushed a deeper red than they were a moment ago.
“You look very, um…”
Shouta doesn’t get to find out what he looks like. Yagi falls silent again, and Shouta is suddenly too nervous to pry, lest he make Yagi uncomfortable. He doesn’t want the other man to pull away, so he gives him no reason to.
They enjoy a somewhat refreshing break, cooling as best they can without any shade, and then trek back towards their camping spot. Yagi, using his phone, frowns at it.
“It’s going to rain later.”
Shouta looks up at the sky, tasting the air. He’s not surprised. “How long have we got?”
“A few hours.”
“Enough time to get back, then.”
“We should make food too. It’s going to rain well into the night.”
“I can cook while you bathe, if you like,” Shouta offers.
Yagi chuckles. “No, I’ll cook.”
“What, you saying I’m in greater need of a wash than you are?”
“No, I’m saying your cooking is, um…”
“Oh dear,” Yagi mutters, fussing with his bangs. “It’s not the best.”
“‘Not the best?’” Shouta echoes, and then laughs at the diplomatic wording of what he knows Yagi wants to say: his cooking is awful. “You’ve hurt my feelings,” he teases, and then, because Yagi looks alarmed by his statement, Shouta fixes him with a grin. “Okay, you cook, I’ll clean. Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually good at that.”
“I never said you weren’t,” Yagi says softly, sounding a little sore.
“I know.” Shouta takes that opportunity to lean in close, pretending to peer at the map Yagi has. “We veer left here, yeah?”
There’s enough time for them both to wash as best they can in the river and for Yagi to cook before the heavens descends on them. They quickly move beneath canvas when the rain starts to fall, settling down for the long haul. Yagi has a book – a biography of some sort, it seems – and Shouta has his thoughts and the oversized sleeping bag Yagi is content to allow him to make his home. It’s not as nice without Yagi in it, but it’s soft and warm and smells faintly of the two of them.
As the light fades and Yagi sets his book aside, Shouta wonders if they will talk. He doesn’t much want to. Listening to the rain is soothing, and he’s dry and warm, and more tired than he ought to be. He snacks on some of the leftovers before getting ready for bed, and after a quick trip out into the downpour he’s grateful not to have to go out there again until morning.
“Is your sleeping bag dry?”
Yagi asks it when he returns, shaking his waterproof off as best he can in the vestibule. The garment is big enough to be a tent in its own right, and Shouta was glad for the use of it when he had to go outside.
His sleeping bag, dumped in a corner, quickly reveals that not only has it failed to dry in the humid air, it still stinks of coffee. Shouta tries to hide his relief when it becomes apparent that it’s not fit for purpose.
“Well, I could use it, but it wouldn’t be pleasant,” he surmises.
“We can share again, if, um, if that’s okay with you.”
Shouta hesitates, hearing something tense in Yagi’s voice. He can’t quite place it. “Is it okay with you?”
A pause, and then a soft: “Yes.”
Letting out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, Shouta moves towards the oversized sleeping bag, only to be blindsided by another confession.
“I… like it.”
The air between them is instantly charged, tense and thick with something Shouta doesn’t dare to name. He swallows audibly, and hopes Yagi can’t tell in the fast-fading light that he’s blushing.
“I like it too,” he finds himself admitting, his heart hammering in his chest and breathing failing to keep the world from spinning a little. He slowly moves again, following Yagi into the comforting embrace of the sleeping bag, and he realises it’s not just his breathing that’s loud. He can hear the wet rattle of Yagi’s chest, even over the hammering of the rain outside, and feel the tension thick in the air between them.
He also realises he hasn’t taken off his shirt, and huffs, breaking the tension a little. “I’m going to end up too warm again,” he mumbles, reaching for the hem and trying to twist as gracefully as possible.
“Wait, here,” Yagi says, interrupting him. Rather than moving away to try and give Shouta space, he reaches out, his hands taking over and helping to ease the fabric up so Shouta can navigate his way out of it.
“Thank you,” Shouta manages, his mouth suddenly dry.
Yagi doesn’t answer, instead giving a sharp intake of breath when Shouta accidentally brushes against his forearm as he settles back into place.
“I’m sorry, I—”
They hesitate, both trying to peer through the gloom, and Shouta wonders how in the world such an innocent touch can leave him feeling so highly strung. Every atom of his being is now focused on Yagi, on his warmth, the mint on his breath, the pallor of his skin in the dying light, his sunken eyes stark in contrast, and the petrichor still clinging to his skin. Everything about him is inviting, begging Shouta to gravitate towards him.
“It’s okay…” Yagi says again, as if the words are an echo on his tongue he needs to shift. “Aizawa-kun, may I touch you?”
Shouta can hear the way his voice trembles, shaken by the racing of his heart, and his own answers with a staccato beat, thrashing wildly against his ribcage.
The shuddering exhale carries the faint scent of blood on it, the toothpaste not quite managing to hide Yagi’s frailty, but Shouta can’t think of anything sweeter as he slides closer. A large, warm hand ghosts over his arm, tracing the contours of it briefly, and then comes to rest against his waist.
“I… I very much like you.”
The sincerity of those words weighs on Shouta in a way he never thought possible. He wants to smile, to express something, but he finds himself caught, in awe of the confession. He almost asks why. It seems surreal, and with the rain hammering down on the canvas above them and Yagi’s warmth so immediate, he could almost believe it’s a dream.
“I do. Please don’t think any less of me for it.”
“I don’t think I could.”
Yagi’s breath hitches.
“I mean,” Shouta forges ahead, realising how his words could be misunderstood, “I think well of you. To be… liked by you is…”
“You’re okay with it?”
“More than okay.”
The warm sweetness of Yagi’s breath caresses Shouta’s lips as the other man relaxes, and the hand on his waist moves slightly, Yagi’s thumb tickling Shouta’s side as he strokes it.
“I would very much like more of this with you,” Yagi confesses.
“More of what?”
The question is so tender, stealing Shouta’s breath with the depth of all it could mean. The vastness of the world around them is forgotten, shut out by the heavy rain and disappearing beyond the boundary of their shared space, nothing mattering as much as the potential of that one, simple word.
“Can I touch you too?” he whispers, his voice catching on the tightness of his throat.
Yagi nods, his hair rustling with the movement, deep gaze fixed on Shouta.
With that as permission, Shouta reaches up, touching Yagi’s face. He cradles the taller man’s jaw, thumbs tracing over the shadows of his cheeks, caressing, exploring the pleasing lines of his visage. There’s little light left to see by, the paleness of skin and shadows all he can still really make out, but his gaze still falls to Yagi’s parted lips, his heart racing as he considers the distance between them.
He almost speaks again, to ask if this is okay, but there’s something about the weight of the world around them, the melodic drumming of rain and the rise and fall of their rapid breathing, the dampness in the air and the shared warmth of their bodies, that stills his tongue. Instead, he moves, putting his lips to a better purpose and kissing Yagi as gently as he can.
He didn’t expect a simple kiss to change everything. In a way it doesn’t – the world is still the same, unchanged from just a moment ago – but he’s changed. He feels himself falling, the potential between them opening up, deeper and more boundless than anything Shouta has known or felt before. And he wants it. He wants everything. He already knew he was comfortable with Yagi, but this…
He kisses him again, in the hope that he can tell if Yagi feels the same. He doesn’t want to be alone, and finds that he isn’t, Yagi’s breath hitching and hands moving to embrace him, to pull him closer. Shouta goes without hesitation, pressing himself against the sharp contours of Yagi’s body, finding himself more at home than he’s ever known.
The kiss breaks before it can consume them, Shouta unsure as to whole eased back first. He’s left dizzy and breathless, and holds tight to Yagi, murmuring in contentment when Yagi leans in and kisses his jaw.
They don’t speak. Shouta isn’t sure he can. His tongue is too heavy, his heart aching with need. It’s better to touch, to comb his fingers through Yagi’s hair, to caress the curve of his neck and shoulder, hooking his calf around Yagi’s knee so that every of their bodies might press together. He kisses wherever he can reach – lips, cheeks, jaw, nose, brow – and finds Yagi doing the same, holding him close and worshipping his skin with lips softened by Shouta’s kisses. Their breathing evens out a little, settling into a rhythm, but Shouta’s heart refuses to steady. Each beat of it is so strong and deep, and so profound he wonders if Yagi can hear it, can feel it.
A palm pressed against his chest, and Shouta knows he can. Yagi murmurs into the kiss they’re sharing, and for the first time Shouta deepens it, pleading more from the other man and finding it given without question. Yagi reaches past him as Shouta learns the taste of his kiss, fumbling blindly with the fastening of the sleeping bag, and then there’s cool air against Shouta’s back and hands once again holding him close.
His own fingers explore Yagi’s chest, tugging at the t-shirt the other man still wears, inching it higher. He doesn’t want to pull away, to ruin the way Yagi is undoing him with the slow, deep kiss, but he needs to try and catch his breath, and he needs to work Yagi’s top off of his flushed body so that they can press closer together.
After a few moments they manage, and Shouta is left trying to steady himself as the warm expanse of Yagi’s chest is fully revealed to him. He pulls back just enough to reach between them, to run his hands over the sharp contours of Yagi’s chest, feeling his ribs, the starburst scar, and the fluttering of his heart. It seems for a moment like Yagi might say something, but the brief tension passes, and in its place Shouta hears a low, soft moan.
It’s impossible to see now, the light gone. Instead they have to rely on touch, and after a minute of allowing Shouta to explore his chest, Yagi pulls him in close again, fingers playing with the scars on Shouta’s back as their bodies slot together. The tell-tale swell of arousal is shared, and as their hips press together Shouta’s eyes flutter closed, warmth and excitement washing over him.
He doesn’t rush, though, and nor does Yagi. They pause for a moment, just to feel, to try and catch their breath, and then they embrace each other, Shouta’s lips against Yagi’s collarbone as the taller man kisses his forehead. He wishes he could move lower and shower Yagi with kisses, but there’s only so low he’d be able to go in the cocoon of the sleeping bag, so he settles for using his fingers to tease and explore the other man’s body. Yagi is responsive, his breath fluttering and low moans reverberating from his chest as Shouta begins mapping the contours of his skin, building up a picture in his mind he has no intention of ever forgetting. Already he’s thinking of all the things he wants to do when they’re back home, with a bed, a bath, and endless summer hours stretching out before them. He can’t help thinking that, despite his frailty and the angular jutting of his bones, Yagi is rather beautiful. His body tells a story, and Shouta wants to learn it, memorise it, and show his appreciation for everything Yagi is. The past is there, for him to feel, but so too is the future: all those places Shouta longs to kiss, to leave gentle bite marks, to see in daylight, exposed and waiting for him to worship.
Shouta doesn’t do things by halves. It shouldn’t be a surprise to him that, in this too, he wants to give his all.
He hopes Yagi will allow it.
He pleads for it with kisses, knowing Yagi won’t understand without words what this nameless thing Shouta longs for is. It feels like he doesn’t much care, like he’d give it without question anyway. He kisses Shouta as if Shouta is his world, his everything, and that in turn leaves Shouta caught between drifting and freefall, his heart still racing and skipping beats as Yagi undoes him.
He feels a hand against the waistband of his underwear, fingers dipping half an inch beneath the fabric, and he rocks his hips forwards in answer, smiling and sighing and tugging at Yagi’s hair as warm, trembling hands push his clothing off, caressing the curve of his ass and squeezing carefully. There’s no need for care, Shouta thinks. Yagi has him. All of him.
For a time Yagi kneads his muscles, growing more confident in his touch as Shouta gently grinds against him. The heat pooling low in his gut slowly builds, Shouta’s breath catching and stuttering as he struggles with the anticipation. He feels no rush, despite his body’s pleas; they’ll get there, slowly.
Very slowly, it turns out. When he mirrors Yagi’s actions, feeling out the waistband of his boxers and toying with the fact he’s going to do this, the kiss breaks, the air filled with panting and soft little moans as they rock together. Their actions are almost lazy, confident in a shy way. This is new, thrilling, and, Shouta knows, inevitable. No matter how long it takes, nor the path they take to get there, he and Yagi are going to end up together.
That thought makes him cling to Yagi just a little harder, fingers pressing into a trembling bicep as Yagi’s nose nudges at his cheek, a warm moan escaping the other man and reverberating through their bodies.
—Shouta silences him with a kiss. “No,” he breathes. “Call me by my name.”
He feels Yagi nod, but the other man doesn’t do as he’s invited to. Instead, he kisses Shouta again, easing Shouta’s underwear down past his thighs. Careful of their tangled limbs, Shouta slips it off, and then slides his leg over Yagi’s. The fabric of Yagi’s boxers is soft against his flushed skin, the worn cotton gentle and almost unbearable in the way it keeps them from truly touching. He longs to move it out of the way, and he can tell that Yagi longs for it too. His hand go down to undress himself, and Shouta catches it in his own, lacing their fingers and guiding Yagi’s touch to where he wants it. His sides are sensitive, touch there leaving him feeling vulnerable, and he loves the way Yagi’s broad, warm hands can make him feel safe. Even trembling, there’s a surety to them. Shouta has never truly felt like he belonged in someone’s embrace before now.
At last he helps move Yagi’s boxers out of the way. It’s the last shred of fabric between them to go, and the bliss that grips Shouta when Yagi moves forward and their bodies fully reconnect again is almost blinding. His head tilts back, throat closing to hold back a sound.
Yagi kisses his neck, biting softly at the sensitive skin, as if knowing that his touch will weaken Shouta’s defences. With the next shift of their hips, Shouta cries out, and he both hears and feels Yagi whimper against his neck. They’re both caught, wrapped in their own world, and as he remembers that they’re completely alone, Shouta decides to let go of the last of his inhibitions and explore this fully. He’s never found the right space to give himself over to his reactions without inhibition, to let them happen without checking and readjusting them. He can now, he realises.
So as they move together, Yagi shifting and rolling on top of him, Shouta doesn’t stifle the gasps or moans he makes. He doesn’t try to hide the trembling of his hands as he caresses Yagi’s face in the dark, his heart aching as he thinks of how beautiful Yagi is. He explores the expanse of Yagi’s back, letting his body react to the stimulation and the ever increasing intensity of it. They’re both too warm, their skin becoming sticky and damp as they move slowly together. He listens to Yagi’s moans, the hitching in his breathing now and then as his movements stutter and falter, and touches his jaw, tracing the line of it with the back of his fingers and finding Yagi turning to kiss his knuckles.
In the darkness, with just touch and the intimate sounds of their union, there’s no need for words. Shouta doesn’t have to open his mouth to say he much he loves this, and he doesn’t need to hear Yagi’s words to know that he cherishes this closeness. It goes unspoken but not unfelt, the lack of sight only heightening every other sense. It’s perfect, Shouta thinks, burying his face against Yagi’s neck and whimpering as he hooks his legs around Yagi, changing the angle and find it even more pleasurable. It’s so perfect.
The slow, steady pace edges them towards the inevitable conclusion, and Shouta almost wants to fight it. He groans in frustration, and then finds Yagi’s lips on his own, the other man’s breathing ragged and his movements trembling he combs his fingers through Shouta’s hair.
Together, Shouta thinks, reaching up and touching Yagi in kind, a dry sob shaking his chest as he feels himself teeter on the brink of release. Together…
It doesn’t take much to coax him the distance he needs. The feeling of Yagi coming undone above him is all he it takes, and Shouta gives a breathless cry as Yagi breaks the kiss, trembling and panting above him. A searing joy Shouta has never felt fills him as the physical floods his senses, and when his orgasm abates that joy remains. He’s smiling, he realises. He’s smiling and reaching for Yagi, caressing his cheek and kissing his parted lips as gently as he can.
“Shouta,” Yagi sighs, nuzzling against him and not seeming to care about the dampness on their flushed skin. A sliver of cool air seeps into the sleeping bag, but it’s nowhere near enough to cool them. Neither of them care.
His fingers in Yagi’s hair, feeling out the one or two knots there and teasing them free, Shouta wonders if Yagi can tell how he feels now; he certainly can’t, and he’s not fool enough to try to reach for words right now.
Yagi is the one to reach for a shirt, wiping them down and then rearranging his long limbs around Shouta, holding him safely caged against his chest. His head pillowed on Yagi’s arm, Shouta feels himself starting to drift off, lulled by the still falling rain and the steadiness of Yagi’s heartbeat. It still feels surreal, so much like a dream, but the details are too vivid, too immediate, for him to have conjured up anything like this on his own.
Wriggling against Yagi just to make sure he’s still there, Shouta at last stops fighting and surrenders to sleep, hoping that, come the morning, they’ll still be in each other’s arms.
He gets his wish. It’s a little strange, he thinks, waking up to sunshine breaking against the canvas facing east, golden hair tickling his ear, long limbs tangled with his own, and the pleasing sight of Yagi sleeping at his side. He turns his head just a little more, and the movement seems to reach Yagi, causing him to stir. Shouta doesn’t move, waiting, finding his breath catching in his chest as Yagi opens his eyes, catches sight of him and blinks one, twice…
And then smiles.