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This is the story of how Yuma got the boy.
Okay, not really. This is more the story of how Yuma got the boy he liked to come over to his house so that they could have a swell time together.
Then again, this isn't even a story like that either. So far, this is the story of how Yuma got the boy he liked to come over to his house and sit in his room, only to have him be really uncooperative and generally unpleasant. Yuma wants to push him outside into the rain so that maybe he would come back indoors gratefully and help Yuma build his blanket fort, but knowing Shark, he would just sulk until he caught a cold, and isn't that a situation Yuma would rather avoid.
Honestly, most of the time, Yuma thinks that Shark's kind of cool. There's something about him that says “cooler than you” — in his speech and his mannerisms. It's the certain way his hip cocks and his eyes light up when he sees his opponent in a duel, in his smirk as he goads on the opposing duelist, ready to face the challenge.
But sometimes, Yuma thinks Shark kind of tries way too hard. Like this one time he turned down Yuma's invitation to go to Kaibaland and ended up coming anyway, vehemently denying that his decision was in any way influenced by Yuma. He let it go then, because what did it matter that Shark had no idea how to civilly accept an invitation?
It matters, though, right now, that when Yuma's throwing blankets over his hammock and trying to best construct a fort, Shark's just sitting there, giving him the most skeptical look. Clearing his throat, he asks pointedly, “Aren't you going to help?”
Instead of getting up and saying “Of course I will, Yuma. How silly of me not to”, Shark makes a grunting noise and doesn't get up. When Yuma turns back around, he rolls his eyes, idly hoping that it's hard enough for them to fall out of his head so that Shark would feel bad that he brought this situation upon them. His hopes go unanswered, probably for the better on behalf of his eyeballs, and he fumbles some more with construction.
The real reason why Shark tries so hard, Yuma thinks, is because he thinks he's compensating for some uneven ratio of cool to uncool, like he owes it to everyone who so much as looks at him to be the coolest kid in town. He tried telling him once that he thought he was cool, even when he stole Tetsuo's deck and broke his key and was a condescending jerk about Yuma's dueling. For some reason he hadn't taken the compliment very well and scowled at Yuma instead, before stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking away. Yuma hasn't tried bringing it up since.
Well, good thing he's feeling pretty optimistic today. He tries to think of a few questions to ask Shark, who's looking through his deck absently. Talking to Shark or even at Shark isn't a delicate operation, but talking with Shark is. So much so that it actually requires a strategy on his part.
Clearing his throat again, he puts on his most nonchalant air. “If you want, you can always go back home,” he says, fiddling with the clasps. “I can lend you my umbrella.” Shark doesn't say anything, but he doesn't make any motion to leave his room either. The only indication that he heard Yuma at all is in the stillness of his hands, where he's paused while shuffling through his deck. It's a sign that Yuma can go onto phase 2.
Phase 2 is a little something like this: “My favorite thing to do on a rainy day is lie inside a blanket fort and wait for the weather to clear up again.” He prods, watching Shark out of the corner of his eye. It's a lot like fishing: any sudden movements or loud noises will definitely throw him off, and he has to make sure that he chose the right bait. He could probably think of more bad shark metaphors, but Shark's shifting where he sits, just shy of fidgeting, and that's Yuma's cue to approach him again.
It takes a moment for him to decide what he wants to say, but he pops a squat in front of Shark and smiles at him, and then he doesn't have to think about it at all, really.
“You know that it could just be our secret if I ever found out that you helped someone build a blanket fort,” Yuma says. Shark looks at him with a raised brow. It drives him a little nuts how roundabout the entire exchange is, but this wouldn't be the first time Yuma's learned to compromise in his life.
He considers his plan successful when Shark suddenly stands and starts pushing the hammock around, saying something about poor construction choices. There's no bite to his voice when he asks Yuma what he does instead of paying attention during physics class, and the corner of his mouth twitches, even as he pretends he's fussing over the base of the fort. Yuma would describe it as cute, if Shark were cute in any capacity. He takes another look at him, and thinks that maybe there's room to amend that opinion. Later.
Right now, he's going to tell him “I think we're done!” and then pull on his hand and drag him inside the fort and kiss him square on the mouth. Shark makes a halfhearted comment about how there was no “we” about it, but falls silent when Yuma licks into his mouth, and clutches at his arm instead. He grins and listens to the rapid ins and outs of Shark's breath, feeling it mingle with his own.
Kissing is fun and Yuma likes kissing Shark, likes watching him fall apart without trying to put himself back together. He likes it when he pushes all other thoughts from his mind and relies upon instincts that he tries so hard to suppress. He especially likes it when he catches Shark watching him through his lashes, because it's rare to see him focus on anything half as much as he does on dueling, and it makes Yuma shiver when that single-minded focus is on him.
He sighs into Shark's mouth, loses himself in the feeling of it slanting hotly over his own, and he makes a little noise in the back of his throat when Shark's fingers start pulling his shirt out of his pants and tracing the skin there. For once, he doesn't pause to ask for permission, just runs his thumb over the plane of his stomach and lets Yuma muss his hair and nip at his tongue. Yuma wants to tell him, between their slow and languid kisses, that he's glad to be here with Shark, and that he hopes they'll do this more often. But then Shark moans loudly, and Yuma doesn't want anything but to touch him and find new ways to make Shark moan just like that, over and over again.
Just when he thinks he can do this forever, Shark pulls away and looks at him. “You said,” he says, lips shining, “until the rain stops.”
Yuma blinks. “Well, yeah,” he answers, because that is what he said.
Shark's face goes blank and unreadable, which is a problem for him. It makes knowing what to say next a lot harder than he wants it to be. Yuma goes with, “We don't have to stop.” Then he adds on quickly, “Unless you want to.”
Everything goes still for a short moment, until Shark shakes his head and kisses him again. This time around, they don't stop, not even when Yuma's breath shortens and comes out in punches of air. He arches into Shark's touch, into his hand rucking up his shirt and Shark kisses like it's some sort of test where the results are determined by how many noises he can draw out of Yuma, by how many times he can make Yuma gasp out his name. By how many times he can make Yuma's knees go weak by just looking at him, like he wants to eat him up . He looks at Yuma like that now, when he pulls away and tries to catch his breath.
“I don't want to,” Shark says, his answer both late and unnecessary at this point, but Yuma's never been picky. So he pushes back Shark's hair and presses his lips against the corner of his mouth.
“Then let's keep going,” he breathes, before Shark lets him kiss down his neck and lick at his skin there.
Neither of them notice when the skies clear up and sunset peeks just over the horizon, filtering his room with a bright shade of red.
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