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The air is still buzzing with energy when they both step into Momo’s apartment after the wrap party, leaving their juniors to their rest or to return home. Pushing out of his shoes at the door much faster than Yuki does, Momo darts into the dark, comfortable space, curtains closed tight and giving them the first privacy they’ve had all day. He almost wants to sing just because he can, his throat finally freed from that crushing closure he felt whenever he’d tried the last few weeks, but as he opens his mouth and half-spins playfully on his heel, he finds himself face-to-face with his partner, barely inches apart.
Even after five years, that’s not an easy experience for Momo, and he lets out a small, nervous sound as he moves back a bit, naturally trying to put space between them out of consideration of Yuki. But his partner follows, looking both uncharacteristically determined and like he’s not sure how to say something, and Momo’s kitchen counter meets his spine the next time he tries to keep the gap and maintain his composure.
“D-darling…?” he manages, feeling the heat in his cheeks. He should be more used to physical closeness than he is, but the way Yuki is focused entirely on him is something he’s been trying to avoid more in recent years, and it makes him feel like a vulnerable nerve. “Do you need something?”
“No,” Yuki says, then pauses, seeming to consider. “…Yes. Maybe. How do people—”
He lets out a frustrated sort of hiss, running his hand up through his hair. Momo knows better than anyone how clumsy Yuki is with words, but he rarely sees him get this worked up about it – he usually doesn’t care what other people think. It’s enough to have his pink eyes narrow a little in concern, reaching to tuck some of Yuki’s escaped hair behind his ear.
“Relax, Yuki. Is something—”
The word wrong turns into a sound of frantic surprise as Yuki seems to go through several emotions within the space of a second, before simply rushing forward and taking Momo’s lips with his. There’s a good several seconds where he simply freezes, brain short-circuiting and insisting that he’d better wake himself up and figure out what’s going on in the real world, before his hands manage to fumble for some kind of grip on Yuki. It’s tentative at first, uncertain of whether this is a dream or fantasy, but it helps him to ground himself, so he tightens it and manages to respond to the kiss, shy but eager. Something in him wants to be able to take more, but it’s Yuki, and the fact that he’s kissing Momo at all is enough of a miracle that he doesn’t want to push it.
It feels like too long and too short when their lips part, Momo’s eyes wide, as unsure what to say as Yuki had been moments ago. But thankfully, one of them has managed to find them, and Yuki takes one of Momo’s hands firmly in his, with that awkward, heavy focus he gets when he’s trying to make sure he’s doing something right for Momo.
“Don’t leave. Ever,” is what comes out first, and then a mite of self-awareness about how overbearing that sounds seems to cross Yuki’s face, his cheeks going about the same colour as Momo’s feel. “I’ve already embarrassed myself tonight, so I wanted to make it worthwhile. Stay with me, Momo. Not just for singing, for everything. I want to be with you.”
And just in case Momo was looking for space for his brain to feebly argue that Yuki doesn’t mean what it sounds like he means, his fingers lace meaningfully into Momo’s, clinging tight. Yuki’s actions speak louder than his words most of the time, and Momo can only stare, feeling wetness beading at the corners of his eyes, as Yuki turns their joined hands so he can kiss the back of Momo’s hand, like he’s hoping that will get the message across all the more.
“Yuki…” Momo’s voice is still soft and shocked, wavering a little, but as he feels those tears finally drip down, he breaks into a smile. “I’m so happy, it feels like I’m dreaming. Are…are you sure?”
It feels like he has to say it, in the wake of everything that’s happened tonight. But as much as Yuki might have been swayed by Banri’s presence earlier, here and now, there’s a firm certainty in his eyes that almost knocks Momo flat from the sincerity of it.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Momo. You know that,” he says, the words direct but a bit of gentleness in his tone, as he brings their paired hands up to help Momo wipe away those tears a little. Seeing the small smile on Yuki’s face, Momo lets out a watery laugh, and then a moment later, they’re both laughing.
“You’re the best, darling. I love you,” he says, smile refusing to leave his face. His heart is fluttering at a mile a minute, but his mind is winding itself into new possibilities, and he leans forward a little, head tilted and lips parted.
“Can I…?” is all he manages before his fluster takes him again, but thankfully, Yuki takes the hint.
“You don’t need to ask.”
Invitation given, Momo presses in more confidently to catch Yuki’s lips again, to take more of the opportunity his brain was too far into panic mode to properly appreciate earlier. He tastes sharp but sweet, some combination of the drinks they had earlier, lingering gloss from the concert, and something refreshingly Yuki, and his tongue flicks cautiously between their lips, trying to taste more but also asking for permission.
Yuki responds in kind, deepening the kiss, and a low sound escapes Momo that he’s never made before. Their wound fingers part, settling to hips and waists and a cautious feeling of each other’s form, until Momo’s fingers dip a little further down Yuki’s back than they need to be. Almost like he was waiting for the permission himself, Yuki pulls him closer, flush against each other, and Momo’s brain suddenly wants to overflow out his ears again. His hands act on their own, responding to the intensity of Yuki’s and the way he wants more now that they’ve got their hands on each other like this, the embrace dizzying and overwhelming and threatening to make him combust on the spot right here.
When they finally part, it’s barely by a breath, Yuki looking down at him with half-lidded eyes.
“Do you want to…?”
“Anything,” Momo cuts in, before he finishes the question. He doesn’t know how far they’re going to get, both of them somewhere between livewires and exhausted after the concert, but he knows he doesn’t want to let go of Yuki. There’s a more comfortable place they could be doing this than with Momo shoved back against the kitchen counter, though, so almost without thinking, he sweeps Yuki along with him.
When they roll onto the bed, it’s Yuki on the top for the moment, and Momo is happy to let him stay there tonight – he’s still hesitant, held back by self-doubt, wouldn’t know how to set the pace before they’ve talked through it. Yuki’s the more experienced of the two of them anyway, he knows, so he follows his lead, both of their hands scrabbling for fastenings of clothing, obstacles to remove, things getting in the way of them being skin to skin. He’s never been more thankful for Yuki’s dextrous fingers and his own honed by the constant pursuit of physical activity, stripping away those layers in what feels like one heartbeat to another. Once those are gone, his fingers naturally start to map out Yuki’s skin, marking it by feel and shape and the soft sounds Yuki makes when he rubs or pinches certain spots. He can sense Yuki’s fingers doing the same in kind, more refined in their pace and going where they know will work, but his mind has lifted somewhere so close to the brink of reality and fantasy that any touch feels like a symphony of sensation, something to engrave into memory so he never forgets this moment.
“Momo, look,” Yuki murmurs, pushing his head down past the end of the bed – they’d somehow ended up on it backwards when Momo was arranging himself so Yuki would land on top. It means Momo finds himself facing his mirror upside down, his own flushed, aroused expression something completely new to him, and Yuki’s face settles just above it with a smile that spells danger.
“Stay there.”
Momo barely has a chance to respond before he feels and sees Yuki’s mouth meet his throat, sucking at the apple of it in a way that makes his mouth fall open in a moan and his fingers tighten against the curve of Yuki’s hips. His nails might be leaving crescents, but he can’t think about that now, the capability stolen by the sight of Yuki’s naked form pressed over his, kissing and licking down his neck and into his collarbones, eyes fluttering closed as his brain threatens to hit some kind of unwritten capacity meter.
They snap back open as he feels Yuki grind down against him, bringing their lengths together, his fingers running through Momo’s hair as if to hold his head down watching it. Breath shortening to a desperate gasp, wanting to somehow become closer even when they’re already pressed together, he drags Yuki’s hips down against him and ruts up against his cock, finally breaking some of that composure Yuki’s managed to keep as his partner’s expression transforms into something loose and messy.
“Momo—” It starts sharp, but melts into a moan as Momo pulls him down harder, one hand sneaking away from the harsh grip to finger into his taint. The way Yuki’s hips respond to it, searching for that pressure and pleasure, only makes him want to be bolder, but a sharp nip to his collarbone has his grip loosen with a small, choked sound in his throat. It feels like a reprimand, but one neither of them is upset about.
“Up,” Yuki says, apparently about as much in the mood for more words as Momo is right now. He moves off Momo’s front so he can sit up more easily, but keeps his hands on him, pulling and directing. Letting him be a guide, Momo meets the position his partner’s hands ask for, on their knees facing each other, not right to the edge of the bed but still very much in sight of the mirror in a way that keeps catching in Momo’s peripherals.
His gaze has to stray downwards when Yuki comes even closer, hand circling around both their lengths, and Momo realises what it is he’s trying to do. His own hand meets it on the other side, both of them together able to circle the hard shafts all the way, and as Yuki’s hand starts up a messy rhythm, his moves with it.
It’s a shockingly unfamiliar sensation, the completely new feeling of having Yuki’s cock pressed up against his, the squeeze of both their hands tighter and more intense than what he could reach on his own. As their motions start to match each other better, Momo brings his hips into it, rolling them up against Yuki, and the surge of sensation it brings grips his whole body into it and brings out a harsh moan, Yuki following soon after with a similar sound as he tries to do the same. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the motions reflected in the mirror, the way their bodies are so close it’s hard to tell some things apart – he can feel the self-consciousness in him threatening to rain on his parade, so he chases Yuki’s lips again instead. Head turned against his, tasting that sweetness again, the danger of seeing himself in the mirror – of seeing Yuki’s hand pleasuring him in the mirror – is gone. It allows some boldness to creep back, as he feels Yuki’s other hand cupping him and teasing at what hangs below, the sound it draws from him muffled in their joined mouths. Blindly, his free hand tries to squeeze between Yuki’s legs, to pleasure his base and his taint, bring him as close as he’s bringing Momo. It feels like they’re wrapped up in each other, no space between them, tangled into one, and as Momo’s hips rut into the tight space between their hands, rubbing against Yuki’s length in a way that makes his nerves set alight, he lets their lips part.
“Yuki, I—”
The end is lost in another rolling moan, but Yuki bows his head in understanding. “Me too. Together?”
Momo manages some kind of sound of assent to that, and as the rhythm starts to fall apart in favour of a driving intensity to the edge, his thoughts start to leave him as the static of pleasure and contact and friction overtakes his mind.
It rises, then breaks, his back arching as he feels himself release, mostly onto himself but probably onto Yuki as well, the two streams mingling into a shared mess that he doesn’t really feel until his mind starts to come down from the blank white. The sweaty, tacky feeling is less welcome, but the fluffy shape of his mind is still enough that he can put it aside for now, catching Yuki as he threatens to collapse to one side and laying them both down on the bed.
“Tired?” he asks, brushing Yuki’s hair back from his face with a few fingers. Yuki gives a humming noise that sounds like an agreement to Momo, before reaching his clean hand around the back of Momo’s neck, drawing him in for a lazier, more tender kiss.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that,” Yuki says softly when they part, a faint flush still in his cheeks, but seeming rather self-satisfied with the statement. Momo can feel the rush of blood to his own cheeks at the idea – he’d always ignored the possibility that Yuki might feel the same way he did, but now?
Now, it feels like another door to a new beginning.
“Maybe as long as I have?” he says, not quite keeping a touch of that shy tone he gets too often with Yuki out of his voice. He’ll have to actually try and get used to this closeness now, but he’s not sure he likes his chances. For now, he nuzzles in under Yuki’s neck for a little while, until they can be bothered getting up to wash off. “I love you, Yuki. I’ll be with you forever, if you let me.”
He feels Yuki’s hand stroke at the back of his hair, and can hear the smile in his voice, in words that wrap around him like a blanket.
“Me too. So it’s forever, then.”