Masaharu guessed it made sense, after a fashion. He was there, and willing, and Yukimura was there, and horny. Since Hiroshi was flexible about these things and Sanada had his head so far up his ass about Yukimura that they were piping his air into him through his navel, there was no reason for Yukimura not to kiss him, really.
The only thing he really wondered was where Yukimura had managed to learn to kiss, since what with one thing and another, surely he hadn't had the time.
Yukimura made an impatient, breathy sort of sound against his mouth, and nipped at his lower lip; Masaharu stifled a groan as the sharp feeling went straight to his groin. "What the fuck was that for?" he asked, winding his fingers in Yukimura's hair.
"You're thinking too hard," Yukimura told him, and nipped him again. "You're supposed to be thinking about me."
Pushy. But then, that was Yukimura all over. "Who said I wasn't?" Masaharu drawled, just to be contrary, and then he cursed as Yukimura bit him again, harder--fuck, that kind of hurt, even if it was hot.
"I can tell," Yukimura told him, but he didn't really sound all that annoyed. Masaharu figured that was because he'd just gotten Yukimura's jeans undone, and was groping him through the thin fabric of his underwear. "Fuck!"
Masaharu grinned and palmed Yukimura's erection, kneading it steadily, and Yukimura's hips bucked into his hand. "I reckon I'm thinking about exactly what I should be," he said.
Yukimura growled. "You're such an asshole," he managed, hands pressing against Masaharu's chest, pushing him down to a bench. Masaharu let him, and grinned up at him as Yukimura straddled him, cock hanging out of his jeans.
"That's why you love me, buchou," he said, and curled his fingers around Yukimura again, stroking him hard. Yukimura made a muffled sound that might have been agreement, or might not have been, and it wasn't long before his fingers clenched the fabric of Masaharu's shirt as he arched and came, flushed and panting.
Really, Sanada didn't know what he was missing.