A/N: This fic is directly based on the song Sweater Weather by The Neighborhood, so if you like, go have a listen!
Written for the official MakoHaru festival 2015 on tumblr~
Disclaimer: I don't own Free!. Sometimes I wish I did so this stuff could be animated. xDD;
These Hearts Adore
A Free! Iwatobi Swim Club fanfic by Amethyst Arbiter's Scribe
They stand huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, and look out over the water.
Makoto is the first to speak, pushing his honey-brown hair up from his forehead. "What do you think?" he says softly.
Haru does not stir, his clear eyes so fixed to the ocean that they begin to absorb the gray-green tones of the wind-tossed waves. When the same wind reaches them, catching the edges of their clothing and stirring their hair, he shivers, and presses a little closer.
"Cold," he says finally, looking up. His cheeks are wind-burned pink, and Makoto caresses them with a thumb.
"We can go back whenever you like, Haru," he starts, but the other man shakes his head.
"No, it's cold," he reiterates, returning his gaze to the water. "The water is cold, but wild. It's..." He searches for the word. "Aloof."
"Ah, I see." Makoto smiles, knowingly. "So is looking enough, then?" There's a note of gentle teasing in his tone.
"Makoto." Haru huffs and looks away, down at the soft sand at their feet.
It's not their first time in America, but it is their first visit to California; and despite the fact that he has barely any time for sightseeing between events and press conferences and training, Haru is determined not to leave the country without at least seeing this side of the Pacific Ocean. So, here they are: just the two of them, and the water.
Makoto shakes his head, still smiling. "It's awfully cold though, I'm sure," he warns, squeezing his boyfriend's hand. "You sure you want to?" He asks, but he already knows.
Haru gives him a look, then lets go of his hand, kicks off his shoes, and wades into the water, the waves crashing about his ankles and splashing the hem of his shorts.
Makoto grins as he looks on, content to stay dry but taking part in Haru's enjoyment all the same. He folds his arms across his chest to block the wind, watching as Haru stands at the mercy of the water, closing his eyes.
"Just for a minute," Makoto calls, flinching when the spray hits him. It's just the beginning of October, but the ocean seems to be embracing the chill of autumn more wholeheartedly than any other part of the city.
Haru ignores him, crouching down to trail his hands in the water. A few minutes pass, the only sound the ebb and flow of the waves; until one such wave rushes upward with unusual force and washes around the dark-haired young man, drenching his shorts and cotton t-shirt through. Haru actually makes a strangled noise of surprise and stands, shivering and dripping.
Makoto laughs lightly, holding out a hand to him. "Had enough of this 'cold, wild' American water yet?" he asks, green eyes sparkling with amusement.
Haru scowls at him, but takes the offered hand without protest and joins him again, snatching up his shoes and retreating farther up the beach.
Makoto leans over and plants a kiss on his forehead, then rubs his hands up and down Haru's arms, frowning at the goosebumps he feels there. "You okay?"
"F-fine," Haru mutters, his own hands coming up to catch Makoto's wrists.
"Hmm..." Makoto hums his doubts, nuzzling into Haru's damp hair. "You're cold, though."
"I-I'm n-n-not c-cold," Haru retorts with a stubborn shake of his head, despite the obvious chattering of his teeth.
Makoto sighs and kisses him again, this time on the cheek. "Haru-chan."
"D-Drop the '-ch-'" Haru interrupts himself with a sneeze, and Makoto clicks his tongue and nods to himself.
"Thought so." He wraps Haru in his arms, pulling him close. Haru stiffens, then relaxes, curling up against him with a disgruntled sniffle. "It's a little too close to winter to stay in water like this," he reminds him, with yet another kiss – this time in his hair.
"Not the water's fault.." Haru mumbles, face buried in the thick fabric of Makoto's striped gray-and-black sweater.
Makoto chuckles. "Of course not." He pulls back and gazes into Haru's eyes, expression soft. "I love you," he adds, simply, taking both Haru's hands in his own and tugging them into his sleeves with a gentle smile.
Haru blushes, and for a moment Makoto thinks he will pull away; but instead, Haru stretches up on his tiptoes, and kisses him.
Makoto kisses him back, a sudden warmth kindling within him. They have had much practice with this over the past three years, and Haru knows exactly how to make him come undone. From the demure tilt of his head, to the glimpses of brilliant blue beneath long lashes, to the fleeting touches of a tongue, Haru has it all down to an art.
Or, Makoto admits, perhaps he's just so in love with Haru that he would feel this way no matter what he did.
"Makoto.." Haru murmurs against his lips, slipping one of his hands out of the sleeve to rest it on Makoto's neck. "You're being sentimental again."
Makoto bursts out with a laugh, and Haru pulls back with a glare that's really more of a pout.
"H-How could you tell?" Makoto manages, brushing his lips over Haru's forehead.
"..you're kissing me like I'll break," he grumbles, ducking his head to rub his nose. "I won't."
Makoto opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head with a smile so wide it hurts his cheeks. "...C'mere, you," he says, gathering Haru in his arms and burying his face in his neck. "I know you won't, I just.. sometimes... I can't believe you're mine." His voice hushes to something like awe.
Haru snorts. "Of course I'm yours, dummy."
This makes another laugh bubble out of Makoto, and on giddy impulse, he sweeps his best friend clean off his feet and spins them both around, setting Haru back down when they stop.
Startled, Haru grips the back of his sweater, eyes wide; then stumbles into him when he puts him down, shooting him a real glare this time.
"Sorry, sorry," Makoto laughs, bending to kiss the bridge of his nose. "I just..." He trails off with a happy sigh, eyes sparkling with affection.
Haru huffs and turns his head, cheeks pink. "..Stupid."
"Hey, hey..." Makoto protests good-naturedly, resting his forehead against Haru's and smiling. "Mm..." His hands wander to Haru's waist, and Haru tenses – not in displeasure, Makoto knows. "Where were we?"
Haru responds by pressing into him and kissing him again, insistently. Makoto indulges him this time, letting himself melt, getting lost in the taste, the scent, the feeling of Haru. Haru's hands slip beneath his sweater, under the bottom hem this time, to explore the muscled undulations of Makoto's back. Makoto shivers, with delight and desire rather than the long-forgotten cold.
He could easily have lost himself to bliss indefinitely; but after a few minutes, Haru jerks back to muffle a series of sneezes into his wrist. Makoto ruffles a hand through Haru's dark hair, concerned to find the ends of it still damp.
"Haru..." he chides gently.
"It's f-fine, I –" Haru cuts off abruptly, shivering violently as the wind picks up again.
"Okay, that's it," Makoto pronounces mildly, stepping back and shrugging out of his sweater. "Here." He slips it over Haru's head and tugs it down, causing his hair to stick out every which way. "It's too cold for you, we're going back."
Haru struggles to rearrange the baggy material, his hands not even breaching the sleeve cuffs. "It's not –" he objects, only to sneeze again and earn himself a pointed look.
"We're going back," Makoto repeats. The wind whistles around them, stirring up little puffs of sand, and Makoto winces, rubbing his now-bare arms. "Really, it's too cold for me, too."
"Then don't give me your sweater," Haru mutters.
Makoto just chuckles. "Come on, let's head back to the hostel." He turns toward the road, holding his hand out for Haru. Haru huffs his bangs out of his face and follows reluctantly.
Makoto slips his arm around him, leaning to plant one last kiss on his temple. "We can pick up where we left off when we get there..." he adds, meaningfully.
Haru stops for a moment, glancing up at him. "Okay," he intones. Anyone else would think he was indifferent; but Makoto knows better.
For the subtle gleam in Haru's eyes is the very same as the one with which he beholds the ocean.
~End~