Chapter Text
One good thing about being relentlessly roped into schemes with the Laurent-proclaimed Team Confidence is the fact that Makoto gets to join them in basking in their lavish lifestyle. Don’t get him wrong—he’s perfectly fine with the amenities a normal existence would provide him, but if he’s going to be forced to be a schmoozer alongside a bunch of other schmoozers, he’s going to selfishly and shamelessly take advantage of everything they have to offer.
At present, it’s the private swimming pool connected to the Las Vegas luxury suite they’re currently staying in. Makoto doesn’t want to know how much money Laurent dumped into staying here, but he also doubts it’s any skin off the guy’s nose. He’s so damned snooty sometimes.
But Makoto can’t deny how nice it is. The suite itself is like a home all on its own, with a private bedroom, a spacious living room, and a legitimate fucking kitchen. He’d go back home to Japan in an instant if he could, make no mistake, but…yeah, vacation. He just needs to keep calling this a vacation.
In any case, he’s going to enjoy every second of it because it’s coming out of that French asshole’s pocket.
Laurent willingly paid for Makoto to have his own suite, and Cynthia and Abbie are staying in the next one over, but seeing as Laurent’s happens to be the only one with a pool directly connected to it, Makoto plans on making the best of it until it’s time for him to dip off to bed.
The pool is located in what is essentially a glorified patio. The suite’s living room features full-length windows and a sliding door that opens up into a concrete deck which overlooks the city from almost frighteningly high up. The pool is set up so that it almost looks like it runs right over the edge, and at this time of night, it’s downright gorgeous. Makoto doesn’t like heights, but he finds that if he stays on the side of the pool furthest from the scenery, it’s actually pretty nice to see.
At night, Las Vegas is a city of bright colors. There are lights scattered about the city, blinking and stretching across entire blocks in shades of reds and blues and purples. Makoto could quite honestly soak in this pool all evening long and never get bored.
But of course, this is Laurent’s suite, so he’s naturally going to come and ruin the good time by joining Makoto in the water. Not surprisingly, he has a drink in his hand as he slips into the water.
“I chose this room specifically for the view,” the Frenchman announces proudly as he leans back against the edge of the pool.
Makoto glances over at him as he extends the drink toward him. Laurent is sporting nothing but a smile, and Makoto means literally nothing. For whatever reason, the guy has decided to join him in the pool in his birthday suit.
The unfortunate reality of the situation is that Laurent looks good in just about anything. With or without clothes, he’s stupidly attractive. If not for the fact that he’s so aware of how attractive he is, Makoto might have been interested in taking a longer look, but he’s definitely not about to feed the ego of some dumb blond jackass.
No wonder Abbie and Cynthia call him that so often—it has a special sort of ring to it.
Either way, Makoto outright scoffs at the sight. “Go put some shorts on.”
“Is this damaging to virgin eyes?” Laurent teases softly, and before Makoto can retort that he’s not a virgin (which he isn’t, fuck you very much), he speaks up once more over the rim of his champagne glass. “This is my suite, and I just so happen to want to swim naked.”
Jeez…and to think Makoto had planned on staying out here and enjoying the scenery until his skin pruned up. Now, he’s genuinely debating climbing right out and leaving Laurent to his champagne and the uncontrollable thing floating around in the water between his legs.
He’s about to speak up when Laurent cuts him off once more.
“You’re welcome to join me.”
“I’m already joining you,” Makoto growls in response.
“You knew what I was implying, Edamame.”
“Edamura,” Makoto snaps. “And no, I am not skinny-dipping with you.”
Laurent snickers there, doubling over somewhat and looking away. God, he’s such a prick.
“The hell is it this time?” Makoto demands, though he already has an inkling of an idea.
“Say it again!” Laurent chokes out around his own laughter. “With your accent, it sounds so ridiculous!”
Makoto feels his entire face go red with embarrassment and frustration. For a solid three seconds, he catches himself fantasizing about snatching that glass from Laurent’s hand and shattering it over his head, but seeing as he doesn’t plan on swimming with a bunch of glass shards, he should probably keep his hands to himself. That in mind, he instead glares in the opposite direction of Laurent. “I hate you so damned much.”
“You don’t hate me.” The fact that Laurent is still giggling a bit ticks Makoto off even more.
“I despise you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Honestly? Makoto doesn’t hate Laurent. He likes him significantly less than he likes Cynthia and Abbie, but ‘hate’ really is a strong word. Right now, however, it feels like the only one that actually fits. He could honestly slug the hell out of this dude and not feel an ounce of guilt for it.
Even if it left a bruise on that ridiculously pretty face of his.
“It’s very relaxing, you know.” Laurent’s sudden topic change is a bit dizzying. “When you don’t feel like you have to put your clothes on to come out and enjoy yourself, it makes this place seem a lot more like your own.”
Makoto doesn’t honestly know anything about Laurent’s life outside of being a con artist, but because he has a tendency to overthink things, he’s automatically wondering if that statement has some sort of deeper meaning. Constantly traveling, never able to stay in one place for too long…does Laurent crave some sort of stability? Something to hold onto?
Actually, you know what? There’s no way in hell that’s possible. Laurent Thierry is a simple-minded jerk and nothing more. Makoto notes this with another scoff, this time turning his glare out to the Las Vegas horizon.
“I think you just like having your junk hanging out,” Makoto grumbles. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Laurent shrug.
“That too.” He sips on his drink and then sets it aside on the concrete edge of the pool. Makoto watches him swim toward the edge that overlooks the city and almost feels compelled to yell for him to stop. It really does look like you could just…swim right over the edge. “I still suggest that you try it with me.”
Makoto’s concern for Laurent dies instantly when he hears those words. “That sounds like you’re coming on to me.”
“And if I am?” Laurent is at the edge by now, and he doesn’t turn around as he responds.
Okay, so here’s the thing: Makoto knows Laurent is a flirt. Abbie has made a point to announce on multiple occasions just how perverted the guy can be. Laurent has called him cute time and time again, and sometimes he says things with this look on his face that implies so much more than what his words are getting at. Early on, it just grossed him out, but as time has passed, Makoto has learned to let it go in one ear and out the other.
But right now, he doesn’t feel like this is one of those moments. They’re alone in a pool together and without saying it directly, Laurent is suggesting he take his clothes off. The flirt bears a little more weight with all that factored in.
“You’re not serious,” Makoto responds around a frown. He’s not even grossed out at this point. He’s just…perhaps a bit confused. If Laurent is actually hitting on him, will he reciprocate? Makoto doubts it’d be anything long-term since Laurent likely isn’t the relationship type. And when’s the last time he actually did get laid?
Wait, no. There is no way in hell he’s contemplating getting it on with Laurent Thierry. That asshole would never let him live it down, and the looks he’d be giving him…god, Makoto is embarrassed just thinking about it.
But then, Laurent turns around and says something so surprisingly not pushy that it catches Makoto completely off guard. He’s smiling at him, the lights in the distance almost coming off as a clever backdrop behind him. The way the shadows play on his hair and skin and eyes damn near makes Makoto shiver.
“I’m only serious if you want me to be.”
Is this what being seduced feels like? Makoto honestly isn’t sure. He does know that despite having his accent made fun of literally a minute ago he can’t seem to take his eyes off the man who had done it. Laurent is just floating there, grinning lazily at him with that stupid careless look on his face, and as much as Makoto wants to slap it right off of him, he’s suddenly very interested in what the man has to offer.
The water is only roughly four feet deep, making it obvious the pool was intended for nothing more than lounging about. Makoto can definitely say he’s never done anything like this in the water before, but he’s a little too far mentally to stop now. That in mind, he stands upright and shoves his shorts down, kicking them off and tossing them out of the water. They hit the concrete with a very not-sexy slapping sound.
Laurent raises both eyebrows, before he extends a hand toward Makoto. “Come here.”
Makoto swallows down nervousness and shakes his head. “The view’s enough for me right where I am.”
He watches the blond turn his gaze out over the edge of the pool once more, and he also sees the realization hit. “Right…you’re afraid of heights. No matter…I’ll come to you.”
Is he being sweet? Makoto really can’t tell—there’s truly no guessing with a guy like Laurent. Either way, with the swishing of the bright blue water, Laurent flutters closer, holding out his hand once more. Makoto stares at the extended hand, before he decides he’s just going to go for it, and then he takes that hand.
Laurent his big hands with long fingers, and Makoto instantly feels like his own fits perfectly in that grip. He doesn’t protest as the Frenchman pulls him in, and he’s only mildly surprised when he feels that other arm curl around his waist.
Laurent is so much taller than Makoto. Nearly a foot taller, probably. Makoto is downright gaping up at him, wide eyes locked onto calm blue ones. Laurent scoffs softly, before he swishes back in the water, and Makoto notices that he does so sideways to avoid the edge. “Take a dip with me,” he requests, before he lowers them both beneath the surface and releases his waist.
Their hands are still clasped, and Makoto doesn’t let go. Under the water, the view is almost as beautiful as it is above. The lights from the patio shimmer down through the water, creating quivering round shapes, and the glass that overlooks the edge of the pool lets in some of the colors from the city lights. Makoto would have probably discovered this view on his own over time, but there’s something about seeing it with that hand holding his own. Still underwater, he turns his entire body slowly over to face Laurent, who’s still smiling that lazy smile of his.
He’s really about to do this. He’s really about to give his evening—his calm, relaxing evening in the private pool of a Las Vegas presidential suite—to Laurent. How is it that this man always occupies him so fully?
Makoto Edamura will always have a strict preference for a relaxing, honest life back home where he can exist as a normal person. He aches to be able to say he worked for everything he got, and for all of this crawling up from the bottom to have some semblance of a meaning.
But he also can’t deny just how much of the world he’s seen since he started traveling with these guys. And at the front of it has almost always been Laurent.
Makoto pulls on that hand holding his own, and Laurent pulls back. As they come to the surface, Laurent’s arm is back around his waist, and Makoto is all-but clinging to him for dear life. Laurent hoists him up wordlessly as they come up for air, and then he releases Makoto’s hand, bringing his own now free hand up to rest it between the younger man’s shoulder blades. In this current position, Makoto hovers over Laurent by a few inches, and he’s given the chance to see the man from above.
With the water weighing down that somewhat messy blond hair and droplets of it peppering his face, the lights glint down on it and make him look yet again like an unfairly perfect work of art. Makoto’s got one hand on Laurent’s shoulder, and the other moves on its own, brushing some of that hair off the man’s forehead.
“You’re still a bastard.”
Laurent just grins more widely. “I am.”
The kiss is mutual, but it’s mind-blowingly good all the same. Despite the fact that he’s got his mouth on Laurent’s and his hand in the man’s hair, it’s almost easy to forget that they’re both stark naked.
This is stupid. It’s downright crazy. Makoto had never once thought that he would wind up where he is right now, but despite that, he can’t bring himself to pull away. The champagne on Laurent’s tongue is bitter, but at the same time, it tastes good. Or maybe that’s just Laurent, himself.
In just seconds, Makoto finds himself backed up against the edge of the pool once more, and as Laurent nips at his lower lip, he can’t help but bring his own arms around the taller man’s frame. Much to what will later be his own personal chagrin, he notices how much he likes the feeling of Laurent’s skin beneath his fingertips. It’s to the point that he’s so distracted holding him that when the older man’s kisses shift to his neck, he’s genuinely shocked.
His breath catches in his throat at the sensation that comes from those lips closing around the crook of his neck. Laurent hones in on a particularly sensitive spot and sucks gently, causing Makoto’s entire body to light up with interest. The sensation goes straight down his spine and settles comfortably between his legs.
“…No marks,” he demands breathily, because he definitely doesn’t want to have to be explaining himself the next day. It’s also damned difficult to keep a good cover with a hickey, and Makoto doesn’t even know yet what kind of con they’re being roped into this time around.
“Do you want me to stop?” Laurent questions against his neck, and the heat of his breath on Makoto’s skin damn near makes him whimper.
“No…not a chance. Just…don’t leave any marks.”
Laurent chuckles—against Makoto’s skin again, damn him—but seems to obey. The sucking shifts to kissing, and he tips his head and focuses on Makoto’s jaw instead, before he uses a surprising amount of strength to pick the younger man up and plant him on the edge of the pool.
“Lie back,” He instructs simply, before he presses his hand to Makoto’s chest and urges him backward. “Look up at the sky and enjoy the view.”
The sky of a big city never offers much of a view. Directly up, it’s just smoke and clouds obscuring the stars. Had Makoto been off in the countryside somewhere, Laurent’s suggestion might have made more sense. And he’s about to question it when he feels a hand on either of his knees push his legs open somewhat.
His cheeks flush red as he realizes they’re really doing this.
Laurent starts with a kiss to the inside of Makoto’s right thigh, while his hand creeps up along the left. He’s slow and patient, clear until he reaches his groin, where he sucks at the skin just next to Makoto’s pelvis. The sensation is sharp and pleasant and causes Makoto’s breathing to hitch again. He immediately moves to prop himself up on his forearms, glaring hazily down at Laurent.
“I said no marks.”
“Do you intend on showing off this part of you to anyone else anytime soon?” Laurent raises both eyebrows, before he curls his fingers around the base of Makoto’s growing arousal, giving him a few strokes. “Now lie back, won’t you?”
Makoto shoots him one last glare before he obeys and focuses on the sky. It’s not as bad as he initially thought. The city lights from below offer an almost pastel tint to the gray above, and it’s actually decently enjoyable.
What’s more enjoyable, though, is the sudden heat that surrounds his cock. Laurent’s mouth is warm and wet and while Makoto is definitely not a virgin, he can’t say he’s ever had someone suck him off before. Laurent is surprisingly methodical, with how he swirls his tongue around the head and runs it along the underside. He knows exactly what parts are the most sensitive, and it’s no surprise that he has Makoto flushed bright red and breathing a little raggedly within just minutes.
He’s relentless, too. Makoto gets the feeling that he doesn’t plan on stopping until Makoto himself is finished—not that he minds, because it’s actually damned good. There’s also something exciting about that French bastard having no choice but to shut the hell up with Makoto’s dick in his mouth.
It doesn’t take long before Makoto has one hand in Laurent’s hair, his grip shaky as his orgasm hits in a series of violent waves. He chokes back a series of moans as Laurent swallows him freely, and by the time it’s all said and done, he’s left on his back on that concrete, panting.
Laurent releases him and slithers backward, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s still somehow sporting that stupid grin of his, and it’s seeing that grin that propels Makoto forward. He seizes Laurent by that pretty blond hair of his and pulls him half out of the pool, kissing him almost frantically.
“Get out of the water,” Makoto demands, his own impatience surprising him. “Let’s go inside.”
Laurent chuckles. “It’s cold in there.”
“Then wear a freaking towel,” Makoto retorts, moving to stand up. “C’mon.”
Over the course of the next fifteen minutes or so, Makoto learns that as a lover, Laurent is surprisingly gentle and caring. He locates two thick, warm towels inside and makes a show out of drying Makoto’s hair. There’s a sort of playfulness to it that almost has Makoto feeling like this isn’t Laurent Thierry he’s doing this with. But when he looks up and sees those blue eyes gazing down at him from underneath the hood he’s made of his own towel, that lazy stare finds him once more and he’s reminded who it is.
Despite his earlier comments, he’s surprisingly thrilled to see that gaze locked on his own. Laurent leaves the towel hooded over Makoto’s hair, using his grip on either side of it to pull him in closer, and like that, they’re kissing again.
Just minutes later, Makoto finds himself on his back on the plush mattress of Laurent’s bed. It’s the last place he ever imagined he would be, but he’s not as against it as he expected he would be. Laurent moves to crawl over him, and he reaches up in response to curl his arms around that man’s neck once more, but Laurent stops him. His grip is surprisingly gentle as he takes hold of Makoto’s wrists and guides them onto the mattress over his head. He dips down to capture Makoto’s lips once more, and it’s all downhill from there.
If Makoto wasn’t in the middle of making out with Laurent, he might have taken the time to find some amusement in the fact that this all started with him lounging in Laurent’s pool and Laurent making fun of the way he said ‘skinny-dipping’. He does, however, realize that there’s a small possibility Laurent had intended for it to go this way the instant he’d stepped into the water naked with Makoto.
Which also implies that Laurent knew Makoto wouldn’t turn him away. Either that or he’s just a straight-faced gambler with a lot more luck than your average Joe.
Seriously, fuck him.
Apparently also literally fuck him.
Makoto is pulled out of his thoughts when Laurent rocks down against him. He’s already gotten off once already, but when he feels how hard Laurent is with his cock pressed firm between their torsos, he can feel the fluttering warmth of his own arousal starting to build once more. Makoto frees one of his wrists from the other man’s grip and slides his hand between them, curling his fingers around Laurent’s erection. He gives the man a few experimental strokes, and the approving hum tells him Laurent likes it.
Eventually though, Laurent shifts so that he’s settled more between Makoto’s legs than atop him, and once he’s there, he pushes the younger man’s legs open again. A look of realization crosses his face there, before he reaches off to the side and pulls open the drawer of the bedside table. Makoto is equal parts relieved and equal parts disturbed to see lube and a condom withdrawn from the drawer. He shoots an embarrassed scowl up at Laurent.
“You knew this was coming.”
“Mmm…not exactly,” Laurent hums in response. “but I came prepared just in case.”
Makoto flushes red there. “You’re so gross.”
“Do you want to stop?” Laurent questions simply, his eyes half-lidded as if it’d make no difference to him.
“No way in hell,” Makoto grumbles back.
A pleasant sigh falls from Laurent’s lips there, before he sits back and pops open the lube. “To clarify…are you a virgin?”
Makoto knows by the tone of that question that Laurent is asking simply because of the route things are going in, but it still feels like a personal jab, so he glares up at the Frenchman almost impatiently. “No. And you can tell Abbie that your damn self now.”
“I can?” Laurent looks beyond amused, and Makoto stifles the urge to kick him in the chest.
“On second thought, don’t you dare.”
Laurent scoffs in amusement. “Perhaps that’s for the better. She’d never let you live opening your legs to someone like me down.”
“Exactly.” Despite that response, Makoto does open his legs, and he also turns his gaze up to shoot Laurent a very impatient look. The look must be exactly the motivation the man needs too, because he takes that moment to squeeze out some of the lube onto his fingers.
Mind you, while Makoto is definitely not a virgin, it’s been a while since his last time. He’s not exactly the poster guy for sex, either. So when he feels one of Laurent’s fingers pressing carefully into him, he does tense up a bit. Laurent notices, and in an attempt to relax him, he leans over and presses a kiss to one of Makoto’s bent knees.
Jesus…why is he like this? He’s such a jerk, and yet he’s being so very patient right now. It’s not that Makoto has ever fancied Laurent to be impatient or anything…it’s just that, well, he’s a jerk! Why in the fuck is Makoto so damned flattered right now?
He looks up and away, and he’s not sure if it’s because Laurent is fingering him right now or if it’s because there may be certain aspects of the blond that he miscalculated on. In any case, he’s been proven wrong before, and it’s also not like he’s about to come crawling back to this man for sex again or anything, so he doesn’t allow himself to think too much about it.
Laurent is careful even as he pushes in a second finger. He’s slow and methodical about it, waiting until he feels Makoto relax before he moves the digits. He pumps them slowly, before he twists his wrist and curls his fingers upward, and in a display of skill that Makoto doesn’t bother questioning, he brushes up against his prostate within seconds.
Makoto’s been pretty good about keeping his noises to himself, but the instant he feels that direct stimulation, a moan tumbles from his lips and his head falls back loosely onto the mattress. His hands find the sheets on either side of him and bundle into them, seeking traction as he bucks down for more. He’s instantly addicted to the feeling.
Laurent chuckles a bit in response to that reaction, curling his fingers yet again. “That’s good?”
Makoto can only nod in reply. He thinks that maybe he should be more irritated that Laurent is getting to see him like this, but he’s honestly not. At this point, the man has earned it. So instead, he rocks down once more, hoping his actions get the point across. He’s rock hard all over again, and he can only imagine how good Laurent fucks if everything else he’s done up to now has been this on-point.
And luckily for him, Laurent is perceptive. He withdraws his fingers, instead reaching for the condom. Makoto finds himself irritated yet again by how good he looks ripping the thing open with his teeth, and the anticipation builds as he watches Laurent roll the condom out onto himself. He doles out another helping of the lube and covers his cock with it, before he hoists up Makoto’s legs so that they’re over his shoulders and begins the task of guiding himself inside.
Laurent is a lot bigger than two fingers, and the stretch almost burns, but not quite. Laurent is taking his time, and the level of focus on his expression is almost soothing. It’s…pleasant to watch as he pushes his way fully inside. Makoto knows beyond any shadow of a doubt that he’s never going to get to see Laurent look like this again, so he takes what he can get, clear until the other man is all the way in to the hilt.
Laurent hesitates for one, two, three seconds, before he finally starts to move, and Makoto finds he gets to be the one enjoying seeing him come apart for once.
Laurent isn’t exactly coming apart, of course. The guy’s just generally too composed for that. No, it’s more like he’s a little less…fucking perfect looking. Makoto has seen him nervous a couple of times, but this is different, and maybe it’s because he knows that he’s the one directly inducing the reaction.
Laurent’s brow is raised just a fraction more than usual, and he has resorted to propping his hands up on either side of Makoto’s head as he starts up a careful pace. He’s gone utterly silent, which is another joy Makoto can revel in.
Either way, it’s beyond good. As the pace grows more and more regular, Makoto lets his own eyes fall shut and uses his hold on the sheets and mattress to try and meet each of Laurent’s thrusts. He’s aching to feel the way he had moments ago, when Laurent had found that spot inside him that had damn near made him see stars.
But for now, it’s also pleasant to focus on the way they sound moving together. There’s the gentle swish of sheets and the slick sounds of their bodies, not entirely dry from their dip in Laurent’s pool, moving together. The bed creaks just a little, and their breathing quickly grows heavier and more purposeful.
Makoto attempts to open his eyes and see Laurent’s face once more, but before he can, a sharp wave of pleasure hits so suddenly that he outright whimpers in response to the feeling. His mouth falls open there, and a breathy “fuck…” escapes his lips.
And like that, he’s gone. It doesn’t matter who he’s having sex with anymore. He just wants that feeling again and again. Desperately, he arches his back and pushes down to meet Laurent’s now-quicker thrusts. “Right—right there…”
It’s in response to that that Laurent actually lets out something like a moan, and when Makoto is finally able to open his eyes and focus his hazy gaze on the blond, he’s instantly gone. Laurent’s face is flushed, and a thin sheen of sweat has started to form at his brow. His mouth hangs open, eyes damn near closed, and his eyebrows are furrowed upward in pleasure.
The almost methodical sounds of their movements become borderline frantic, there. Laurent is making a point to angle his thrusts, and the grunts coming from his own mouth are erratic and breathy. Makoto is right there with him, too—a garbled mess of panting and cursing as Laurent picks up the pace. He bucks down onto the other man almost desperately, clear until he can feel the heat building at the base of his spine.
Laurent comes first, not surprisingly considering Makoto has already gotten off once. Makoto feels him twitching and convulsing from the inside—hears the way Laurent pants out something like cursing as his release takes over. His thrusts become rougher and more uneven as he works to bring Makoto to the same release, and it’s not long after he brings his hand down and strokes Makoto’s cock in time with his movements that the younger man hits his second climax of the night.
It’s safe to say Makoto is overstimulated. His release is borderline painful, but it’s also so damned good that he doesn’t stop moving until clear after his orgasm has peppered his chest and stomach and the ringing in his ears has ceased.
He tenses as Laurent pulls out, but goes still almost immediately afterward. He can barely make out the shape of the other man looking for one of their towels to clean them both up with. Laurent’s form disappears into the restroom, but once he returns from washing up, he heads for his closet. Makoto watches him with what little focus the afterglow will let him have.
“Need help back to your room?” Laurent teases almost instantly, though his own breathy voice tells Makoto he isn’t quite back up to a hundred percent just yet.
“Piss off…” Makoto grumbles, turning over in bed. “I’m not moving.”
“Are you suggesting I let you spend the night with me?” Laurent questions, both eyebrows raised.
“You can have the couch.” Makoto doesn’t give a damn that this is Laurent’s suite. He’s comfortable and he’s also now very tired.
“I’ll pass,” Laurent replies easily, and Makoto doesn’t have to look over to know he’s smiling.
“Then you can have the foot of the bed.” You know, like a dog.
Laurent doesn’t respond. Instead, he makes his way back to the bed and crawls in. The way the sheets sound as he does so tells Makoto he’s got pants on now. Either way, before he can turn and face the man to find out for certain, there’s suddenly an article of clothing plopped over his eyes. Makoto grumpily rips it off his face and holds it up where he can now see that it’s a pair of pajama pants.
“You can wear these.”
“You’re like a yard taller than me,” Makoto reminds.
“Roll them up, then,” Laurent suggests simply, and when Makoto finally turns to face him, he sees that the blond is on his back with his hands folded behind his head. “You only need them until morning, after all.”
Makoto supposes he makes a good point, and it doesn’t take him long after that to slip into them. He pulls them over his hips and then turns back onto his side.
“Goodnight, Edamame.”
Makoto simply flips him off and pulls the blankets over his body. It’s a lot colder now that he’s not swapping spit with that French bastard.