Short one this time, exams are coming up :(
Haru woke to the feeling of soft, moist fabric sliding over his tender skin, gently wiping away the traces of sex left behind on his body. He sat up and blinked sleepily, running his tongue over his teeth, tasting the rusty tang of blood – Makoto's blood, or his own, he knew not. His whole body ached as if he had just done a mile-long sprint in rocky terrain, and he felt the ache in his hips.
Makoto was wiping him down with a wet cloth, cleaning the traces of his own semen off his body. Haru touched his cock instinctively, and winced at the twinge the sensitive flesh gave him.
"Makoto - ?" he said, stretching, reaching out to the figure looming over him and tenderly wiping off his blotchy skin. The other man jumped, and stumbled on the loose linens of the bedsheets. His face was a dark crimson, and he stammered, avoiding eye contact. "H-Haru!" he cried, waving the cloth around uselessly, frantically. "You're up!"
The pointless statement made the tips of Haru's mouth curl up slightly, albeit a touch warily, as he frowned down at the familiar sight of a flustered Makoto. He tried to remember the darkness of the atmosphere as the two of them had rutted on Makoto's bed, but there was barely a wisp of memory, a hint of fear tinging the memories, which were now all but clouded by the single-minded pleasure he had felt in the rough, capable hands of his childhood friend. He sighed, and cocked his head at Makoto, who by this time had somewhat better control of the rampant flush on his cheeks and was attempting to find a pair of boxers for Haru to wear.
"I - " Makoto hesitated, "I didn't hurt you, did I, Haru?" he squeaked, turning timidly to face him and immediately flushing as he met the other man's open, honest blue eyes. The desperate fear of rejection in his eyes and the whimper at the edge of his voice made Haru smile – this was the Makoto he knew, the kindly, easily-discomposed gentle giant who touched everyone like they were a glass doll on the verge of breaking. This was his Makoto – and Haru immediately pushed away the memories of a dark, threatening figure looming over him, a tender smile in its cold green eyes, and hands like Viking plunderers. He shuddered, as he recalled the pleasure and pain those hands had brought to him.
Haru shook his head, remembering that Makoto had asked him a question which needed an answer. "No, it was… alright." It was not a lie – in fact, the experience had been significantly more than just 'alright', but Makoto blushed and accepted his words with a small, relieved smile. "It's late, Haru," he continued, as he found Haru's black swimsuit instead and put it carefully into the latter's hands, "will you be staying over? I can take out the futon if you want. We didn't get much studying done just now, did we?" The words were said innocently, casually, and Haru felt his ears heat up. He turned his head away to hide his blush, and mumbled, "I suppose I could stay. I can cook dinner for you if you have mackerel in the fridge."
Makoto laughed, clear and ringing, and pulled a sweater out of his closet, in which he had been steadily rootling around for the past minute. Haru caught it with a quiet grunt of assent, noting that it was his dolphin-printsweater – when had he gotten so careless?
"I always have mackerel in my fridge, Haru, in case I have the privilege of having you cook dinner for me," Makoto said, his voice gentle and caressing. Haru pulled on the sweater without comment, flinching slightly as the rough cotton slid over his abraded skin – and then he remembered the bite mark on his shoulder.
"Makoto!" he almost yelled, yanking down the right side of the sweater's collar to expose a bright ring of red. "How am I supposed to swim tomorrow?"
Makoto flushed, and looked so adorably apologetic that Haru couldn't do anything more than pinch his lips together, and frown a little frown at him. "I'm sorry I got a little carried away, Haru-chan," he mumbled sheepishly, "but I'm sure it'll heal… soon… hopefully…" He looked so much like a kicked puppy that Haru couldn't stay angry with him, in the end, and simply left in a huff to the kitchen to cook dinner for the two of them.
Things didn't really change between them, surprisingly, except that sometimes when Haru felt the urge again he would glare a little longer at Makoto, press into his side a little, until the clueless giant got the message. However, he would always be the one initiating their little sessions together – Makoto always seemed to be the one giving in to his desires, never expressing any lust of his own (though he seemed to get into it plenty enough when they really got down to it). In fact, the larger man had seemed almost reluctant to touch him again, but Haru had brushed off his hesitance as Makoto's natural shyness.
Although he couldn't help but remember the tight gripping fingers on his waist, the sharp teeth sinking into the flesh of his shoulder, the unrestrained, hungry gasps –
Haru always managed to shut down his brain the moment such thoughts, such tainted memories invaded his conscience, plagued his sleep. But the aggressive Makoto had never appeared again, and Haru was always wondering if it had been his imagination, that controlled ferocity in his childhood friend's eyes. He tried to tamp such thoughts down, but he couldn't help it – he wondered about that banked fire when Makoto gently caressed his stomach, wondered about that hidden passion when Makoto took at least five minutes to prepare him for entry, wondered where that raging dominance had disappeared to when Makoto almost gingerly thrust into him against the soft linen bed. He wasn't sure what he had seen that day, if it had just been a figment of his lustful imagination.
And he wasn't sure if that raging uncertainty in his stomach meant that he wanted that Makoto back.
The mark on his neck had gone quickly, taking only a few days and incessant panicky moments where he had to explain it away as a dog bite (although Nagisa had looked wickedly delighted when he had seen the red teeth marks on Haru's shoulder, damn him), but the feelings had taken longer to fade. Uncertainty, fear, and a heightened awareness of and sensitivity to Makoto whenever the taller man stood next to him – they were the screw turning on his heart, clamping it down, squeezing it until he couldn't stand near Makoto without wanting to run. Or, alternately, jump him (a decidedly more tempting but dangerous path to take).
Meanwhile, he was nowhere near comfortable with this uneasy state of affairs between them, a blurring of the lines in their relationship with no clear direction, but there was nothing he could do about it. Several times, he thought of voicing his concerns to Makoto – what, exactly, were they? Fuck buddies, sex friends, lovers, something more? – but he always shied away from the issue. Just as he had always shied away from confrontation, from expressing his insecurities and fears, from reaching out to the people who mattered the most.
Things changed, however, the day Rin touched him.
It had been a casual touch, a brushing of their hands together as they passed each other in the locker room of the Iwatobi pool, but he had felt Rin's fingers curl around his for a split second before the other man had jumped away, blushing crimson and spluttering. Something had changed in the air then, again, the electricity from the first time permeating the locker room, and it had taken Haru a bare moment to pinpoint the source of the tension.
Makoto.
As soon as Haru turned to meet the eyes of the tall brunette towelling himself off in the corner of the room, he had seen a flash of anger, no more, before those green eyes had crinkled up in their usual questioning smile. But the tension was still there, in every hard line of his well-muscled body, and Haru knew Rin felt it too. Haru had seen the uncensored shock in Rin's eyes, had seen the unspoken words on his lips – but then the auburn-haired swimmer had looked at Makoto, looked at Haru, and clamped his mouth shut. He had then hurriedly picked up his bag and excused himself, and Haru hadn't been sure if the quick glance Rin had directed in Makoto's direction had been his own imagination, or not.
The train ride, and the subsequent walk home was full of silence. Not the comfortable, companionable silence Haru was used to, the calming silence which put him at ease, but a pregnant pause heavy with unspoken words and repressed emotions. Haru snuck a glance at the hard lines of Makoto's face – and since when had he started thinking of Makoto's face as hard – and he realised that he didn't know what the other man was thinking. Not being able to see his way clearly into Makoto's mind scared him, scared him a hell of a lot, and Haru felt his fingers trembling. He shoved them into his pockets and looked stubbornly down at the ground, refusing to look at Makoto again. Well, if his childhood friend was going to be like that, there was no way he was going to be the one to break the silence.
They walked for what seemed like an hour from the station to the white stone staircase, around which their homes were situated. When they reached the second level, Haru mumbled a hurried goodbye and turned to stumble up the steps to his home, but a hand on his arm arrested his movement.
He looked up to meet Makoto's eyes – liquid, green eyes with passion, a banked, hungry fire unfurling within – and he felt his stomach coil with repulsion, and fear, and a single-minded, overwhelming desire.
"Stay," rumbled Makoto, in a voice low and foreign to his ears. Haru felt a shudder run through his body, and his brain told him to run – the part of his brain which had existed in men from times primeval, from when primitive man had had to run from sabre-toothed tigers and mammoths and the like – told him to run from this predator standing before him with darkened eyes and a gentle smile. But something in that smile made him hesitate, made him freeze, and now, again, he felt like he was swimming in the midst of a storm. The high, roaring waves buffeted him from all sides, and he felt slow, sluggish, unable to move.
He was nodding before he realised it, and the hand on his arm was guiding him in. Makoto's grip was gentle, careful not to leave finger-marks on Haru's pale skin, but at the same time it was as a vise, tight and immovable, impossible to escape from.
Briefly, as Haru passed the threshold of the doorstep and the door closed behind him, blocking out the light of the evening sun, he wondered just what he had gotten himself into.
Things can only get darker from now on. Possessive Makoto is scary :( Hit me up on tumblr and AO3 under KitCatKandy. Reviews are appreciated!