It sometimes startles Yamada, the way Yuto can make every hotel room feel like home just by being there.
Maybe is the fact that they have been working together for so long, maybe is the way he used to look up at him before Yuto got all tall and made it literal, the way he still admires him, even if the reasons are different now. Maybe it’s because Yuto cares about him, because he tends to his whims and never complains about leaving the lamp switched on so Yamada can sleep in unfamiliar hotel rooms and although Yamada still has to struggle to treat the younger boy as an equal and not a superior, Yuto has never done anything to encourage Yamada to treat him like the sempai he technically is (even if it took Yamada forever to stop calling him Nakajima-kun).
There are too many boxes scattered in Yamada’s new apartment, too many things and not enough of them. It’s all just a big mess, and he still has half his life packed up.
Even with the available members of JUMP that offered to help, he didn’t manage to properly set up his bed, so his mattress is still stuck in his living room; he is lying on his stomach over it, and there’s no force in the known universe that would make him stand up.
He is sleepy and exhausted, but clearly his brain isn’t yet acquainted with his new surroundings and is still on edge, his mind on some kind of alert mode, like he is on yet another tour and has to sleep light and wake up ready for a concert.
“Stay,” is the only thing Yamada can articulate when Yuto comes close enough to him to say goodbye. He is the last member of JUMP still there.
“Scoot over,” Yuto says simply, before laying himself down beside Yamada.
Autumn already began, and the blankets are somewhere in a box Yamada forgot to label, but Yuto’s back against his keeps him warm enough as he falls asleep so quickly that all lights are still switched on and he is still dressed.
He is home.
There is so much of Yuto in Yamada’s apartment that guessing where the younger boy spends most of his free time isn’t a difficult task at all.
Still, it isn’t until Yamada finds one of Yuto’s cameras in one of his shelves -in its case, with two interchangeable lenses-, that he is forced to consider this might mean something. Yuto doesn’t simply leaves things laying around, Yuto has a place for each thing, a place meant for them when he is done playing, and even if some pieces of clothing and the odd accessory got left behind before and it’s not a big deal, Yuto’s cameras are among his most precious possessions. Yamada can’t just ignore this.
This is Yuto making a point, making him know this is the place his camera is supposed to be.
It should be creepy, it should at least be scary; but Yamada’s sheets already smell like Yuto with how much he stays over and never, ever, sleeps on Yamada’s very comfortable couch. And, for some reason, all of this strikes him just a little bit short of normal and kind of like finally, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place at last.
It takes two of Yuto’s favorite coffee mugs on the shelves, a guitar in a corner and a giant book about insects on Yamada’s coffee table for Yamada to finally decide that he has to do something about this.
It isn’t until Yuto comes to Yamada’s apartment with a big bag of groceries that he figures out exactly what it is that he wants to do; because Yuto brings him strawberries, and Yuto’s room back in his parent’s house smells like strawberries scented candles, and maybe Yamada is a little slow, but he gets things, eventually.
His heart beats so fast it hurts as he gets closer to his friend, and reality turns blurry, as if he was drunk or dreaming. There’s a cold icy hand gripping his stomach, in spite of the easy smile on Yuto’s lips.
He has to stand on tiptoes to hold onto Yuto’s shoulders, and it would be embarrassing if this wasn’t Yuto and if Yamada was actually paying attention to anything other than Yuto’s lips, but he isn’t.
“Yama-chan?” Yuto’s voice is nothing but curious, and Yuto’s hands automatically fly to Yamada’s waist as if in a Super Delicate fanservice variation.
Yamada wants to ask so many questions, he wants to know so many things, but the only word that he can get past the tight knot on his throat is Yes, and Yuto laughs, but not for long, because Yamada tightens his grip on his shoulders, pulling Yuto toward him and pressing their lips together.
It isn’t magical, but it’s close enough, Yuto’s warmth and his own blush all over him, and Yamada knows he must be sweating already, but Yuto doesn’t seem to mind as he shyly begins to massage his lips with his own.
And home is this candor, this fervor that is familiar and strange all at once, home is the way Yuto laughs and sighs, the ways Yuto’s fingers feel when they dig into his waist to bring him closer still. And it’s terrifying and wonderful at the same time, more so when Yuto’s tongue finds his and the world starts spinning a little faster.
“Stay,” Yamada whispers when they break apart, burying his face on the wool of Yuto’s fluffy sweater.
He feels Yuto’s soft laughter rumbling in his chest.
“Yes,” Yuto says, maybe mocking Yamada a little, but it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter one bit.
There’s something about sunsets Yamada feels both fascinated and terrorized about. The way the sky just burns for one last time then quietly darkens, leaving the world in shadows and creepy half lights. The eternal limbo of blue and purple that is never long enough. The beauty before the darkness.
But now there’s the streetlamps light through the curtains in his room, and soft neon from a distant ad, and Yuto’s white, white skin, warm and wet with sweat against his own, glistening; and Yuto’s fingers inside Yamada are making everything burn, keeping the darkness away.
“Yama-chan…” Yuto’s voice sounds strained, careful, breathless; it’s heavenly. And Yamada nods even before he hears the words to the actual question, because Yuto’s tone is question enough. “Is it all right…?”
Yuto’s muffled groan as he enters him burns Yamada’s soul, the gentleness and caution tugging almost painfully at his heart. It hurts a bit, not enough to matter though, not nearly enough to stop and Yamada anchors himself on the feeling of Yuto’s hands on his hair, the tight control in Yuto’s breathing as he waits, giving him time to adjust, and it can’t be easy, not with the way Yuto’s heart is hammering in his chest, loud enough for Yamada to hear.
“Are you sure you are all right?” Yuto asks, his breath caressing Yamada’s forehead. “You are crying…”
Sometimes it touches him, the way Yuto takes care of him, the way he can snap at him but he worries and never mocks him whenever Yamada cries.
“It’s okay…” Yamada whispers, and the minimal movement of his hips elicits a half bitten groan from Yuto that speaks to Yamada’s own desire. And he wants more. “Move.”
They find their rhythm, clumsy at first then making sense of it as they go, slowly, static filling Yamada’s head as everything loses focus and he hangs onto Yuto’s shoulders, short nails digging into taut muscle, hard, so hard.
Yuto’s soft grunts and muffled moans are nothing but encouraging, and Yamada feels the need to tell him he can let go, that nobody will hear them here, no parents or siblings to worry about, but then Yuto sneaks a hand between them, wraps his long, strong fingers around Yamada’s hot flesh, and all the words die unspoken, forgotten, blissfully burnt.
“You feel so good…” Yuto sighs almost absentmindedly into a kiss that by now it’s mostly heavy panting in each other’s mouth and messy lapping, swirling tongues. And Yuto must feel it too, the added resistance that Yamada can’t help as his body curls on itself without his permission.
“Yuto, please…” Yamada moans, and he doesn’t really know what he is asking for, but maybe Yuto can read his body the way Yamada himself can’t read his own mind, because Yuto’s hips pound into him faster, rougher, and his hand pumps him harder, and all around him every tiny bit of reality is tight and charged and it tastes of Yuto’s name.
“Yama-chan… I’m…” Yuto’s voice is almost desperate, more vibration and air than sound; it makes Yamada tingle all over.
“Yes,” is all Yamada manages to gasp as he lets himself fall into bliss, his back arching as he spills over Yuto’s hand; and Yuto’s release, deep inside him, barely a couple of thrusts later, takes him higher still, just shy of oblivion.
There’s always this weird feeling afterwards, a kind of emptiness, blankness, but it’s all right now, even if he doesn’t have over him the grounding weight of Yuto, that somehow managed to roll over and to the side of Yamada. Yuto’s clean hand reaches out for his, and this is anchor enough for now.
Seconds pass by and Yamada is still panting so hard that he wonders when there’s ever going to be enough air in the universe again, maybe never. Yuto curls against his side then, his forehead resting on Yamada’s temple, and perhaps air is overrated when he can have the warmth of Yuto’s body and his soft laughter beside him.
He backs down a bit, his eyes searching for Yuto’s, dark chocolate and light and love all along. And Yamada smiles.
“Tadaima,” he whispers, bumping his nose lightly against Yuto’s.
Yuto’s smile widens, and he closes his eyes as he breathes deep and lets his head fall back a little. He’s all wild hair and effortless beauty, and Yamada’s heart simply explodes.
“Okaeri,” Yuto sighs, looking deep into Yamada’s eyes again before leaning in to press their lips in a chaste kiss, and they both smile.
They are home.