Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone.
This chapter leans toward the "M" range, so if any of my readers think I should change the rating of this story as a result, let me know and I'm happy to do so. ^^
Sometimes Haru's mind wanders. He thinks of swimming and water, of pools and oceans, and particularly of baths. Occasionally, thoughts of mackerel will pop up in the middle of the day, and, rarely, he thinks of times and the diet he's supposed to be following while training.
Recently, though, he's been particularly distracted by thoughts of Makoto. Not that Haru hasn't ever been distracted by Makoto before, but it's become a steadily growing problem since they started dating, especially since they started exploring the, well, "physical perks" of their changing relationship.
Now, his thoughts are full of sunny smiles that still manage to make him turn his face away in a pitiful attempt to hide the blush on his cheeks, of green eyes gazing at him from amidst his navy blue sheets, of a soothing yet somehow teasing voice saying his name in a way that sounds like how those chocolate covered orange slices they tried once taste.
Sometimes, for example, he thinks about these things in the middle of grocery shopping, while Makoto's reading the nutritional value of the box of chocolate-y cereal and trying to convince himself it's okay to buy it over the healthier option that claims to have 20% more fiber and a lot less sugar.
"Haru, which one do you want?" Makoto smiles at him, holding up the two boxes, to which he just shrugs. He knows Makoto's simply asking to be courteous – cereal is his breakfast thing, while mackerel is Haru's – so Haru simply goes back to observing his boyfriend. He's wearing a black v-neck t-shirt that fits Makoto almost too perfectly (and is too loose on Haru, he knows, since he likes to sleep in it once in a while, surrounded by Makoto), stretched around Makoto's firm muscles, the pecs and abs that Haru's probably spent hours tracing his fingers over by now. His eyes drift to the sliver of tanned skin, namely the start of the v-cut Haru likes to kiss before slipping his mouth around other things, exposed at the edge of his jeans when he reaches up to the top shelf to set the fibrous cereal back in its place. He tries to censor himself, shifts his sights to Makoto's back before he goes too far down a dangerous path in the middle of a grocery store, but then he's just staring at the way his shoulder blades jut out under the shirt's honestly sinfully tight fit and Haru realizes that he probably needs to relegate this shirt to his collection of "these are no longer Makoto's, they're now mine" clothing items because Makoto's attracting everyone's attention with his sweet smile and sandy hair and greek-god-esque body.
Makoto says something, setting the chocolate cereal in their basket, and Haru agrees to words he hasn't listened to, following behind his boyfriend. All Haru can do is stare at his hips when they pass through the produce section, and think of how good it feels to have his fingers on Makoto's warm, firm skin, to watch the skin pale under his tight grip before flushing back to its full color when Makoto moves against him, thrusts into him and breathlessly asks "Haru, does this feel okay for you?", or "Do you want me to go faster?", or when he moans out Haru's name in a voice that Haru has sworn he won't let anyone else hear for the rest of their lives. He's not thinking of Makoto's thighs beneath the gray-faded jeans he's wearing when they make it to the fresh fish, or of the way they flex and firm up beneath his fingers, or the way it feels to have them wrapped around him when they switch positions and it's Haru watching Makoto fall to pieces with each fluid movement of his own hips.
Haru vaguely pays attention when they reach the check out and the girl blushes when Makoto drops his wallet and apologizes for holding up the line, bending down to pick up the fallen item, and Haru wonders what color Makoto's briefs are under his tight-fitted jeans. Maybe he's wearing the emerald green pair that are a little too small in all the right ways, or maybe the fuchsia pair Nagisa bought him that he only wears if he hasn't had time to do laundry.
Maybe it's the light blue pair with fish swimming across his hips and the top of his thighs, the ones that Haru likes to cover in wet, sucking kisses, watching as the fabric tints from the pastel, powder blue to something deeper under his mouth. He particularly likes the feeling of Makoto's cock, hard through soft fabric, warm under his mouth as he kisses and licks and sucks from fish to fish.
"Ready to go home, Haru?" Makoto asks, all smiles and an endearing head tilt, and Haru only feels a little bad when he nods, grabs Makoto's hand, and pulls him along at a speed slightly faster than normal.
He hopes Makoto's wearing the blue ones with fishes.
When they get to Makoto's apartment, Haru's deeply satisfied to find out that he's right.