The joy hits Miyuki harder than he expected.
It's the rush of adrenaline, tension snapping into bliss faster than he anticipated, faster than he's experienced before. He knows the joy of victory, the rush of pleasure at a particularly excellent play from Tanba, or Kawakami, or Furuya. But with Eijun's eyes still sparkling at him and the heft of the thrown ball hot against his palm something else clicks over, some part of reasonable satisfaction flares into heat. It shoves Miyuki to his feet, pulls a wordless shout of delight from his lips before he can think, before he's even heard the confirmation of a strike from the umpire.
His helmet comes off as quick as his glove, tugged off so rapidly he's in some danger of losing the prescription goggles over his eyes. But he catches the frames, shoves them back on his face, and he's surging forward before his dropped glove has hit the ground, still yelling raw pleasure as he stumbles over the distance to the pitcher's mound.
Eijun's eyes are wide, startled into the shock that comes before belief, before realization. It's Miyuki he's looking at, Miyuki who his eyes focus on, Miyuki he's staring at as the golden intensity of his gaze goes chocolate-soft with pleasure.
"Miyuki-" he says, and that's all he has time for before Miyuki's arm slings around his shoulders and Miyuki's weight bears him to the ground. Eijun folds more than falls, collapses at the knees before toppling back to crush his white uniform into the dirt of the diamond. Miyuki doesn't care. He doesn't have time to think, isn't considering anything but the laughter warm in his throat and the resistance of Eijun in his arms. He can't remember the last time he touched Eijun, can't draw the memory up except from that first day months ago, and suddenly it's unbearable, all that heat so close and his mouth so desperate for friction.
He dips his head sideways, catches the curve of Eijun's neck and the soft skin against the collar of his uniform under his parted lips. It's not a kiss; it's just delight, laughter pressed warm and lingering to dusty skin, and Miyuki doesn't pull away when Eijun's giggling pleasure catches shocked in the pitcher's throat. He finally has him where he belongs, angular shoulders in his arms and heartbeat fast and steady under his lips, and he's not going to let him go now. His nose fits in under Eijun's ear, his mouth opens on a whimpering mewl of pleasure, and when Eijun swings his hand up to indicate victory Miyuki doesn't look up, just tightens the desperate delight of his hold.
He's not sure he's going to ever let go, now that he has Eijun where he belongs at last.