Yuto is always trying to kiss him.
It's not like half of JUMP isn't trying to kiss the other half of JUMP, it's not even like Yuto himself isn’t trying to kiss other boys of the band all the time. And it should strike him as odd, shouldn't it? All the kiss-y affection that has grown independent of the cameras being switched on or off. But, hey! They are heirs to the fandom and fanservice is their lifestyle, more natural than breathing. Still...
Yuto is always trying to kiss him.
So, one day, Yamada just lets him.
He doesn’t step back, he doesn’t hit the other boy. He just stays still, challenging him with his eyes, seeing if Yuto backs down. It’s not even surprising when he doesn’t.
His lips taste like strawberry.
It’s hot, the aircon barely helping if helping at all, and rehearsal isn’t really going anywhere.
Yamada feels the weight of the heat in every drop of sweat on Yuto’s body.
Drip, drip, drip…
Onto the floor and sparkling on Yuto’s skin. Pretty little diamonds all over.
He needs to focus. On dancing.
Yamada loves dancing. When he dances his mind is clear, no thoughts, no doubts, just action and movement. Careful balance. Easy control. The melody and his body unite in perfection and everything sharpens. Everything. Time, space, feelings and memories.
The rough sensation of Yuto’s lips over his. Strawberries.
He ends up staying late for practicing, and it’s almost nightfall when he finally reaches the dressing room. Alone.
His clothes feel sticky and they cling onto him, and he craves a cold shower for all of the right and the wrong reasons.
“Maybe we should kiss again”
They are alone in one of the small practice rooms, lousy aircon again, millions of mirrors. All of Yuto’s reflections look at him, puzzled.
“I think we should kiss again”, Yamada says. His voice is so, so serious; his expression solemn, like this is something he discussed with his lawyer or something.
Yuto cracks up laughing.
“You think?” Yuto asks when he can talk again.
Yuto is sweaty and warm, and it’s kind of gross. Or it should be, anyway, but he doesn’t have too much time to wonder why it doesn’t bother him at all.
The smile Yuto is throwing at him is really, really bright, so Yamada closes his eyes, afraid it would blind him. But maybe it’s too late.
And then Yuto’s lips are on his, a dazzling smile still upon them.
Touring is always wearing. There are airplanes and too many people, and Yamada misses his home, though he never ever would admit it.
The hotel is nice, at least. He is rooming with Yuto this time, which is cool, because Yuto is always thoughtful and not that loud, and Yamada wants to sleep till Christmas Eve, months away as it is.
He is just waiting for Yuto to come out of the shower. The walls are a little on the thinner side and the sound of splashing water is keeping him awake in spite of the exhaustion. He forces his mind not to wander too much in the direction of naked Yuto images. He is tired, but his treacherous body won’t cooperate and sleep if he lets his imagination run that way.
They kiss sometimes now, not all the time. When it happens, Yuto always smiles while Yamada acts all smug and kind of conceited; what he really wants is never letting go. Not that he would tell that to Yuto.
The grueling summer is giving slowly into the breeze of early autumn, but for some reason Yamada flushes all over when Yuto emerges from the bathroom with a green towel around his waist, sparkling drops of water shining over expanses of dreamlike creamy skin, perfect diamonds over a snow field.
It turns out he wasn’t so tired after all.
“Yama-chan!” Yuto’s voice is a giggle, bubbly, shinning, like laughter on sugar high. And he has to taste it, again and again and again… “What are you doing?”
He pushes Yuto, and Yuto lets him drive them to the bed, lets Yamada steer him and maneuver awkwardly, pin him to the mattress, lick his throat.
“I don’t know… I don’t know...” Yamada isn’t sure he says it out loud.
He does not really have much of a clue, actually; but his instincts are in overdrive, every millimeter of his skin ablaze. He has to feel Yuto.
There’s heat, friction making them sweaty in no time, and he is vastly overdressed, but Yuto helps with that. Soon they are rhythm, a song, and there’s a little frown on Yuto’s brow but somehow that’s alright. Somehow Yuto’s still smiling bright, with all of his being. Ten thousand suns going nova.
This, like dancing, sharpens all of Yamada’s senses, so he is acutely aware of Yuto breathing hard, of his mouth and hands everywhere, clumsy, wonderful. He bites back an embarrassing moan when Yuto wraps his legs around him, impossibly perfect pale skin all surrounding him, and there is a reason why white is his favorite color.
Staccato going messy, time warping and shifting, heights of pleasure, salty muted sounds. He wants to cling to this sensation forever, but knows the end is near, feels it on every cell of his body beginning to curl over itself. Yuto is not far either, for all he can see.
“Ryosuke…” whispers Yuto, seconds before biting the arm he once proclaimed wanting to eat, eons ago.
And it’s Yamada’s undoing, his name on Yuto’s lips. Everything just explodes in colors he didn’t even know existed, and all he can do is hanging on for dear life, at once terrified of the fall and wanting for it to never end.
“How come you never freaked out?” Yamada asks, much, much later.
They’re still naked and just slightly cleaner thanks to the pack of tissue that magically appeared in Yuto’s back pack, blissfully near. Yamada´s mind feels as lazy as his body, but he really wants to know.
Yamada’s answer is a slightly irritated look that takes in both of them, entwined and so clearly sated they glow.
Yuto chuckles, a dark caramel sound that tingles all over Yamada’s body.
“Silly Yama-chan”, Yuto begins in an annoying voice that turns deeper and a little embarrassed as he kisses Yamada´s temple. “I was just waiting. I know you like doing things your way”.