A/N: I don't think you'd believe me if I told you, but 11k of these approximately 13.5k ridiculous words happened in two days simply because I wanted to get this posted that badly.

So here – happy birthday to me! I'm sharing my HaruMako love with the world in celebration of my day of birth. Because what better way to celebrate being born. I really hope it was worth the wait, my fabulous darlings. 3

••∞• Chapter Two •∞••

Impossibly, in an astounding turn of events that Makoto barely dares to believe, nothing changes.

Well. Not nothing, per se. After all, he has a boyfriend now. He has Haru.

But where Makoto expects some sort of overwhelming change – something, for the world to tip over and shift, for everything to be new, and different and terrifying – there is only normalcy.

There is still routine.

He still stays home with the twins; still helps them get ready for school, walks them home from play-dates and cooks the entire household's dinner Thursday nights.

He still juggles summer training and school work and the expected everyday chores, sometimes literally starting the day off running.

On those days, he wakes up at dawn to go jogging along the beach with Haru, Nagisa, Rei - sometimes Rin, and ends the day late in the evening when he stumbles in through the door, arms laden with groceries and usually at least one twin clinging to his back while another whines at his heels, tugging at his sleeve.

He's still the one to wake Haru up and coax him out of the house.

But it's not the same. It's not the same anymore, because-

Because where Makoto used to have to call out after the twins exasperatedly when they bickered in their seats while he tended dinner on the stove, now peals of laughter echo in the dining room while Haru keeps them entertained, a gentle second pair of calm, helpful hands.

Because while Makoto used to nearly collapse onto the sofa by the time he got home from a day full of training and errands, Haru manages to carry one sleeping twin on his hip and the other dozing on his back as he pads beside Makoto as they all walk home from a second outing to the fish market at Mrs. Tachibana's embarrassed, last-minute plea.

Because now, months later, sometimes, in a turn of events that Makoto never saw coming—he isn't always the one getting Haru up in the morning.

"G'm'rning, Haru-chan," Makoto mumbles through a sleepy smile, slowly blinking his eyes open to meet Haru's, already awake and open from where he's resting his head on Makoto's pillow barely a hair's breadth away, and gazing quietly at him with alert, deep blue eyes.

Haru makes a muffled sound in the back of his throat that Makoto accepts as his good morning in return, and he gives a soft sigh of contentment as he wriggles lazily closer, curling the arm thrown haphazardly over Haru's waist tighter to draw Haru's lean body nearer.

Haru give an indignant grunt at being jostled, but he buries his face into Makoto's neck to breathe him in deeply, so Makoto figures he doesn't mind all that much.

His face grows hot, though, when Haru decides to shift until he's straddling Makoto's thigh, and he tries to hide a sheepish giggle by clearing his throat when Haru presses his clothed arousal against him with a quiet exhale.

"Did you have any good dreams? Haru-chan," Makoto lilts with a shy, sly grin; his voice quivers on the -chan, though, because Haru chooses that very moment to align their hips properly, rocking gently against him.

"You talk too much, too early," Haru says bluntly, startling a loud laugh from Makoto and Haru moves to press his mouth against Makoto's, morning breath and all, when he opens his mouth again to retort indignantly, eyes sparkling. But Makoto can feel Haru's own answering smile against his lips, so he thinks Haru's okay with it, if it gives him an excuse to kiss Makoto quiet like he wants.

After all.

It's only one of the many things that Haru wanted to know about him, how he tastes being kissed in the morning, and maybe it's a little embarrassing but it still fills his stomach with butterflies and makes his heart pound.

The only thought that can make it pound harder is what else Haru has asked to learn with him.

But for now, his heart races not just from his escalating trail of thought, but the way Haru shimmies out of his boxers and kicks them off to the side before starting to tug at his own.

Makoto obligingly lifts his hips for him, cheeks flushing dark as he bites his lip but he doesn't look away, doing his best to boldly meet Haru's eyes.

Haru says he likes to look at him, likes to see the faces he makes. It's really embarrassing, but Makoto thinks it's more romantic than anything, so he tries his hardest not to shy away.

It's new for him, all of this, and Haru—amazing, patient Haru—understands that he's had a great many more years to come to terms with his own sexuality, and he never pushes, never asks for anything more.

But it's.

It's just that.

Makoto thinks he might.

You know. Be ready. For more.

But... he doesn't know for sure. How can he know?

How can he possibly know, when for the last eighteen-odd years, he's been purely nothing but chaste? Until, about three months ago, he hadn't has his first kiss, let alone handjob?

He...he knows he probably isn't ready to go all the way—not if the very thought is enough to make his face burn hot enough to make him cover it, even when he's alone—but he's been... thinking...wondering—er—fantasizing.

God it's so embarrassing. He's spent so many years (too many) burying and vehemently denying any thoughts of a sexual nature, that now it's reallyreally hard to let himself take that step, to touch himself on his own.

It'd taken Haru the better part of two months to encourage Makoto to take time to figure his body out on his own-and despite himself his mouth twitches up in a bashful smile at the exasperated no, Makoto in his head that sounds suspiciously like his boyfriend, I really don't care if you do that sort of thing on your own, it's probably good for you.

The small smile that started to form drops off as his face grows hotter at the unbidden, blasé then you can show me that gets tacked on at the end-

See?

Like that.

That's exactly what he means. He's had these embarrassing thoughts running rampant for weeks now—what would Haru's face look like if he really did sit him down and make him watch?

Would he touch himself, too—even if Makoto...told him...toldhimhecouldn't? Or what would he say if Makoto said he wanted to watch Haru? What if he told Haru he...

He wanted to...

Wanted him to try...

The thought's still too much for Makoto to so much as ponder in the safety on his own head, and he whines loudly into Haru's mouth—but thankfully it's at the same time Haru suddenly deigns it to be about time to start moving properly.

After that, all of his thoughts go flying out the window as Makoto's world narrows down to the sheets gripped tight in his left fist, the fingers of his right scrabbling at Haru's nape, and the sweet, slow ache building up low in his belly as their hips meet in undulating little rocks.

Haru always takes his time, treats sex like they have all the time in the world, even when they're just making a quick stop at Haru's before they make it back home from school to watch the twins.

Or, even sometimes — to Makoto's never ending frustrationhorrifieddelight — when the twins, impossibly, knock themselves out halfway through the evening while they're babysitting, over-excited to have both of their undivided attention—even falling asleep in their arms while they obligingly play video game after video game to entertain them.

Haru says Makoto always makes this tiny, desperate sound that he's never sure is happy or horrified, when he first sneaks a kiss to Makoto's ear and tilts his head questioningly.

He smiles and tells him he's never seen Makoto maneuver the sleeping set of twins to their beds quite so dexterously as he does then.

His eyes darken and his hands slide down Makoto's sides as he promises his boyfriend he's never felt his heart race quite the way it does when Makoto's closed the door to the twins' room behind them—squeezes their joined hands together tighter and lets Haru tug him all the way back to his room.

And then, only then, meets Haru's eyes and gives a special, mischievous little smile that makes him ache in the best possible way.

Haru says there's nothing quite like watching Makoto fall apart slowly, when he's trembling beneath him with trepidation, eyes constantly flickering back towards the door – because there's nothing better than the moment he stops looking away from him, when he can't quite control the volume of his moans anymore, because then he knows then he's Makoto's entire world, and there isn't anything more amazing than that.

"Makoto," Haru pants softly into his ear, his warm breath huffing against the sweat slick skin of his neck, his lips glossing gently over the sensitive skin, already red with affection.

"You taste so good," he murmurs, and if that isn't enough to make Makoto's breath hitch, and his mind to run into overdrive again, Makoto doesn't know what is.

Because isn't that exactly what he wants?

For Haru to taste him, to taste Haru in return?

Hasn't that been all he's been able to imagine for the past few weeks?

But that's so-! It's just-...he doesn't know how to ask. Doesn't even know how to go about asking. How could he?

Because.

Because what would Haru think? Isn't that just too weird, too fast?—when Haru knows, is the only one who really knows, firsthand, how Makoto is such a novice to this?

That Makoto's spent the last eighteen years up until now unaware of his body, of his sexuality?

He's so damn new to this, who the hell is he to think he's ready for something more – especially something as, as intimate as that.

No. Makoto is happy, unbelievably, over-the-moon happy to have Haru, to have what he has with Haru, and he won't breach anything new, too fast, too soon. He won't mess what they have up.

Besides, how can he keep worrying and wondering when he's so close to coming apart just by Haru's clever hands alone?

"Haru," Makoto pants out in warning, and then, again, "Haru!" twisting and tugging at the sheets as his climax approaches hard, and sudden, all at once—and he arches helplessly up against his boyfriend, letting out a soft keen as Haru's weight keeps him pinned where he is, slave to Haru's hand, Haru's pace.

Haru's mouth quirks despite his own short, soft gasps for breath, and curls his fingers tight around their erections, and then they're coming all at once, practically within the same heartbeat; Haru biting back a groan and Makoto smothering the wail that tears from his throat by digging his teeth into his own palm, green eyes clenched against the somuchtoomuchperfect onslaught of pleasure.

They wind down together, chests gradually slowing from their nearly painful heaves until they're breathing in slow, easy sync, in that weird way they tend to do when they're pressed up against each other.

"Mm, Haru-chan, what time is it?" Makoto mumbles at long last, because where the room was once still cast in lingering shadows, sunlight struggling feebly to make its way through the slatted blinds, the light isn't nearly as muted anymore.

In fact, Makoto realizes with growing trepidation as he blinks and looks around, there are cheery sun rays stretched across the wooden floor as far as Haru's dresser, and that's Not A Good Sign.

"Seven thirty," Haru answers helpfully, and makes an unhappy noise when Makoto veritably throws him off with the rest of the covers, scrambling madly out of bed with a slew of frantic nonsense sounds as he scrambles for the armchair to snatch his uniform from it's rightful place gently folded up and resting neatly on the arm.

Except-

"Haru," Makoto begins patiently, "where's my shirt."

It's not phrased as a question, because it isn't a question. Makoto doesn't need to turn around to arch an eyebrow expectantly at his boyfriend, who'll be staring blankly out the window in an innocent, silent I Don't Know What You're Talking About stare.

And not anywhere near his bag, which is oddly stuffed for Haru's bookbag.

Haru, who barely even remembers to bring his schoolbooks if Makoto doesn't pester him.

"You have others," Haru grumbles, not sounding nearly as perturbed as he probably means to as he steps gracefully and shamelessly from his bed to walk out down the hall. "You can just grab one from your place while I'm in the bath-"

Or, that's where he'd been headed before Makoto gently intercepts, grasping his arm without batting an eye and marching him towards his closet despite the look Haru shoots him over his shoulder.

"We don't have time for a soak, Haru, you know very well where that time went this morning. And that means we don't have time for me to ninja my way into my room past the twins," Makoto chides, willing himself unsuccessfully not to blush furiously as he gives Haru a pointed glance even as he rifles through Haru's messenger bag, snagging his impossibly wrinkled shirt out of Haru's bag and shaking it out with a long, fond sigh.

Haru recently discovered his love for stealing his boyfriend's shirts, because despite the way they hang off of him, he declares there's nothing better than going to sleep or waking up wrapped up in a shirt that smells like Makoto when he can't have the real thing.

Damn it, Makoto just can't get mad at Haru over something as adorable as that.

Even if it means he's been missing over thirty percent of his wardrobe for weeks.

Haru makes a few grumpy sounds but quietly dresses himself – in clothes that fit him properly, Makoto notes with vague amusement and a bit more satisfaction – and Makoto turns to focus on dressing himself as quickly as possible, because if he lets Haru finish first, he's going to go downstairs and start grilling mackerel and they just don't have time for that.

By the time Haru flounces downstairs in his version of a huff, Makoto's already toasted two pieces of bread and cut them into his best impression of a dolphin.

Haru looks as though he wants to object to their breakfast, but he's having a hard enough time as it is just keeping the corners of his mouth straight as he stares at Makoto's improvisation.

He settles for grabbing his piece from an innocuously smiling Makoto before turning to walk out the door, cramming the whole thing in his mouth for an excuse to muffle the laughter that Makoto does not, in fact, miss-shaking Haru's slender shoulders even as he opens the door.

Haru miraculously deigns to forgive Makoto for his slight by the time they reach the bottom of the stone staircase of the shrine, because they hold hands the entire way to the station.

And it's perfect.

Makoto chides himself for even thinking of asking for anything more.

••∞••∞••∞

"Rei-chan, gimme more of your bento."

"Nagisa-kun, if you please—you've already eaten a third of it," Rei replies despondently, sighing heavily and holding his lunch easily out of the whining blond's lazy reach ("but it tastes so goooood!") spluttering with embarrassment when Nagisa dramatically flops face-first into his lap, muffling a defeated "I'm a growing boy, Rei-chan."

"Nagisa-kun, if it eluded your notice, we're in public," Rei hisses despite his furious blush, refusing to meet Makoto's amused gaze (Haru's far too busy gazing out over the roof towards the pool as usual to pay the scene before them any mind).

"And what's more, you know that I balance my meals precisely, for optimum nutrition," he adds with a little more pride, "having you steal bites isn't conducive to an—mmph!"

"Rei-chan needs more sugar in his diet," Nagisa informs Makoto sagely as Rei gags on the very pink, very sweet strawberry flavored red bean cake Nagisa has graciously stuffed into his mouth. He gazes at the glowering blue-haired teen fondly before he leans in to steal a peck from the corner of Rei's mouth to kiss away a smudge of powdered sugar.

Makoto is vaguely impressed that Rei doesn't faint right then and there on the spot, what with all the blood that rushes to his cheeks at the speed of light; but he doesn't react the way Makoto half expects – all impulse and social awkwardness and shouting to hide his immense embarrassment.

Rather, he merely takes a long, deep breath before letting it rush out, resigned and—with a flicker of a self-conscious glance in Makoto's direction (the green-eyed teen makes sure to let his own eyes flit away respectfully, barely biting back a smile)—he turns into the kisses Nagisa is peppering over his cheek to sneak a chaste one full on the lips.

Makoto can't help but watch in awe from the corner of his eye as Rei bashfully ducks his head to hide his reluctant smile when Nagisa gives him one of his blinding smiles—because if he can hardly believe the steps he and Haru have taken, he's blown away by the leaps and bounds Rei and Nagisa have made.

As it turns out, Rei and Nagisa had had a conclusive night of their own, the rest of the evening (morning?) after Nagisa's drunken birthday bash -– not quite so much in action, but words; with the sake finally loosening Rei up enough to cave into acting on Nagisa's babble about "how cute Rei-chan is," and "how adorable it is when Rei-chan blushesl" and "wow, Rei-chan, your eyes are huge, seriously-hasn't anyone told you how beautiful you are before?"

While their confessions only lead to a sweet first kiss under the streetlight by their station and cuddling all night long during the ensuing sleepover at Nagisa's, Nagisa has, unsurprisingly, proven to be someone who loves nothing more than to kiss and tell.

And, of course, this means shamelessly sharing much more than kissing.

Over the last few months, Nagisa has been dropping hints like they're going out of style—gleefully cackling when he manages to produce a scandalized reaction.

This is precisely what happens next.

(Which should really surprise exactly no one, and yet makes Makoto choke decisively on a roll.)

"You should learn to swallow properly, Rei," Nagisa smiles earnestly. "I'd really have thought you'd have had enough practice by now."

There is dead silence interrupted only by Makoto's wheezing and the sounds of Haru pounding him on the back for a good ten seconds before anyone can respond to the devilishly smiling blond.

"No one wants to hear about you getting blown, Nagisa," Haru informs him dryly, rubbing Makoto's back soothingly in silent apology for the lifesaving smack-down it endured before.

"But sharing is caring, Haru-chan" Nagisa chirps back without batting an eye, and Makoto swallows thickly, painfully as he tries to get his mouth to work again, gratefully taking the water bottle Haru passes him and throwing back half the bottle to try and soothe his throat.

"See, Rei-chan?" Nagisa yells excitedly out of the blue, grabbing a worrisomely still Rei and jostling him back and forth as if to try and bring him back to earth from whatever dimension he's tried to flee to escape this torture. "Lookit what a pro Makoto is!"

"Nagisa," Haru snaps, because he's pounding Makoto's back frantically again and he casts his gaze between his spluttering boyfriend and Nagisa where he's rolled onto the ground laughing hysterically, nearly as out of breath as Makoto.

Makoto can't meet anyone's eye, and Haru refuses to stop glaring daggers at the smallest swimmer, until the little blond slinks away to cower quietly behind his utterly fed-up boyfriend.

"Oh, c'mon, Haru-chan," Nagisa teases from the safety of his boyfriend's shadow, "it's not like you 'n Mako-chan don't know what we're talking about, it was just a joke—"

"I don't care, Nagisa," Haru cuts in coolly as he spears a piece of mackerel on his chopsticks to bring to his mouth. "Nobody wants to hear about you and Rei swallowing each other's dicks."

Nagisa opens his mouth to reply with an undoubtedly witty counter, but Rei slaps a hand over his mouth, face just as aflame as Makoto's and silently, emphatically shaking his head no.

Makoto still finds it within himself to give an only slightly stricken sounding laugh at the look of utter betrayal on Nagisa's face from the bridge of his nose up.

Any strain in his laughter is gone in the next instant, when Rei lets out the shrillest scream Makoto's ever heard come out of the athlete as Nagisa licks the palm of his hand.

Everyone turns back to their lunches after that, Rei and Nagisa starting off on one of their usual, playful bickering arguments and Haru rolling his eyes and turning away.

Makoto just stares down into his own barely touched bento, the same of which Haru is steadily polishing off beside him, because they made them together last night, and quietly despairs over how, as of late, all of his existential issues seem to be raised unwittingly by his friends and glossed over.

It doesn't make not thinking about it any easier, and that's all Makoto wants; is to stop...thinking about it! Thinking of things like that, thinking of really really embarrassing things, especially right now, in public.

"Makoto?" He jumps at the sound of his name, quiet as it is, and he swivels his head to glance at Haru, who's eyeing his nearly untouched lunch warily. "Are you feeling alright?"

It's all Makoto can do not to smile, even with the angry butterflies in his stomach making it feel like his gut is twisting itself into tiny knots. "I'm alright, Haru-chan," he says easily, and he means it—he's alright.

He will be.

He just needs...a moment.

Or something.

"I'm just not feeling too good," he admits, idly placing a hand over his stomach and giving a slightly exaggerated grimace before gathering himself to his feet. "I'll be right back, okay? Just gonna try and walk it off."

Haru stares at him for a few questioning seconds longer, eyes scanning Makoto's face before he slowly nods at whatever it is he sees there, turning his attention back to his lunch.

"It's because Haru's eating mackerel with pineapple again," Nagisa stage whispers to Rei, who can't seem to quite hold back a reluctant smile at the memory it provokes.

"Which, by the way—keeping pineapple in your diet? Super courteous of you, Haru."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it was your dick jokes—which, by the way, shut up, Nagisa," Haru shoots easily back, and Makoto nearly stumbles down the stairs as their witty banter (most of which admittedly goes over his head) follows his exit and decline.

From the sounds of it, though, it's raunchy enough for Rei to take a turn to choke on his lunch.

Makoto gives the thought of visiting the infirmary all of two seconds before he waves it away, choosing instead to visit the third floor bathroom to splash his face with water. He's exasperated to see the lingering flush on his cheeks when he raises his head to glance at himself in the mirror, and he pats his face lightly with a huff, willing it away.

In his reflection his green eyes stand out brightly against his pink face. To his horror, his blush only deepens as he recalls one of Haru's offhanded remarks, unbidden, about how pretty his face looks when he's sex flushed.

"Stop it," he whispers to his reflection, closing his eyes and leaning forward to rest his forehead against the cool glass, "you're being stupid. Get over it."

"Get over what, Mako-chan?"

Makoto doesn't quite slam his head against the mirror when he jumps, but he does bump it hard enough to leave a big fat red mark—and he can't help the yelp of pain that accompanies it.

"Ohmigod, Mako-chan, I'm so sorry!" Nagisa wails, hands waving frantically in the air as he hovers by Makoto with his lower lip wobbling dangerously, uncertain whether touching his friend will harm him even more or not.

Makoto winces, because Nagisa's yelling reverberating around the tiled walls is not helping the quickly-growing headache spreading from the center of his forehead. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

"It's fine, Nagisa," Makoto smiles weakly through only slightly gritted teeth, gingerly rubbing his head and letting out a long breath. "It's my own fault for being such a scardey cat."

"Aah, and I just wanted to make you feel better, too," Nagisa sighs, magenta eyes falling sadly to the ground, where he's scuffing his feet. "I always seem to just mess everything up."

Nagisa sounds so uncharacteristically dejected that Makoto forgets his headache for a moment, his hand dropping to his side as he raises his eyes to Nagisa's face to find, sure enough, that the ever present grin on his blond friend's face is missing, replaced by a troubled expression.

"Nagisa, why would you say that?" Makoto asks gently, hand twitching at his side as he barely restrains from instinctively trying to smooth back Nagisa's hair fondly.

Because Nagisa doesn't often let himself get open like this—about the serious stuff anyway—and he'd be far too easily giving his friend an out, a chance to tangent into something about Makoto being a mother hen, always knowing how to cheer him up! and altogether avoiding the issue at hand.

Thankfully it seems that whatever is troubling him enough to come talk to Makoto alone like this is pressing enough that Nagisa is willing to soldier on, giving a shy little shrug and he hugs his arms around his stomach.

"I always let my mouth run on and on, and take things a step too far before I can stop myself. I'm sorry, Mako-chan," he says, looking up at Makoto with such wide, apologetic ruby eyes that it makes Makoto's heart throb more than his head for a split second.

"Nagisa, no, it's okay," Makoto hastens to assure him, no longer able to keep from reaching out, and he reaches out to grab Nagisa's hands in his own like the blond so often does.

"No, Mako-chan, it's not okay!" Nagisa does not take the opportunity to swing their arms together back and forth, and that's when Makoto really starts to get how upset Nagisa is right now.

"I mean, I know that you and Haru-chan have only been together for a while, even though, like, we all thought that you guys have been dating since middle school, even Rin-chan—" (Nagisa is clearly on a roll, and so keeps speaking on through Makoto's startled splutters of "say what now?")— "but I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

Makoto somehow doubts that Nagisa means that, but he figures he means it in the most harmless way possible, so he kind of gets where the smaller swimmer is going with this.

"We really all thought you were joking during my birthday party," Nagisa says sadly, his lower lip sticking out a little as his eyes drop back down to the floor again. "We should have-I should have known better than to think you were lying."

"You were really, really drunk," Makoto points out helpfully.

"You're a Mako-chan," Nagisa replies seriously, "and Mako-chan's never lie."

Makoto can't not smile at something stated that's so purely Nagisa as that, so he doesn't fight it. It seems to cheer Nagisa up somewhat, if the slight sway that is cautiously beginning to build between their arms is any indication, so Makoto just lets his arms go slack and goes with it.

"So, like, of course I wasn't really paying attention to what I was saying up there—'cause, like, it's fun messing with Haru-chan, y'know—? it's so fun trying to get him riled up, and now that you're actually dating it's easier than ever, and hey—I'll take the cheap shots as I seem 'em," Nagisa explains brightly, before his tone drops down to a unusually bashful one, "but sometimes, I forget that you're new to this—you're like, like a baby bird, you're delicate."

"You're new to this, too. And I'm not delicate," Makoto interjects, slightly miffed.

"Shh, don't speak, you're delicate," Nagisa reassures him, briefly letting their hands part so he can raise them to pinch Makoto's cheeks, before he jabs him on the chest with a finger. "And I creamed my jammers when I was, like, twelve, remember? I've got years on you, Mako-chan," he adds without batting an eye as he reclaims Makoto's larger hands in his own.

Someone walks into the restroom, but they stop short at the pair of swimmers standing in the middle of the room holding hands.

Makoto isn't sure what they can possibly be thinking is going on, what with the way he's helplessly spluttering and his face is probably fire engine red, but Nagisa helpfully glances over his shoulder to inform them "we're having a moment" before they quietly (wisely) back out.

"As I was saying," Nagisa speaks over the sound of the door swinging shut and Makoto's increasingly shrill choking sounds. "You're still a rookie, and therefore deserve to be treated accordingly. With delicate words, respect and, of course, advice."

"Advice?" Makoto gasps in a pique of morbid curiosity, the first coherent word he can manage after a good minute of straight-up mangled syllables.

The look in Nagisa's eyes somehow promises absolute evil despite the innocent smile on his lips.

"You've got to have questions for someone as worldly and experienced as me," Nagisa nods, agreeing with the certainty of his own words on Makoto's behalf while the brunet is still mostly struck speechless, because this really wasn't where he thought this conversation was going at all.

He isn't sure he's even mentally prepared for it to go this way, to be honest.

But.

But. To be really, brutally honest?

"I...might-" Makoto starts, stops short as it comes out in a squeak, and he slams his eyes shut to avoid staring into the startled look of delight that brightens Nagisa's face, "...might. Have. Um. Been wondering. How to—err, about? Well. That. That thing you were. Uh, what you were joking about earlie-"

"Say no more," Nagisa all but shrieks, holding his hand out in his favorite dramatic motion to halt a conversation before he—yup, as expected, grabs Makoto's wrist and starts to drag him off to places unknown.

"Mako-chan, lunch doesn't end for another fifteen minutes and Rei-chan and Haru-chan will be bickering about the benefits of track verses swimming I started for at least ten of those before they realize how long we've been gone."

"But where are we going?" Makoto asks desperately, not at all immune to the many stares that follow a tiny blond leading a brunet that towers over him off at something approaching the speed of light.

Nagisa merely stops short as his answer, gesturing grandly to the door they've stopped in front of.

"Where else?" he crows. Makoto's eyes dart to the label.

The computer lab.

Wait.

No.

"Nagisa?" Makoto asks sharply, warningly (and no his voice totally does not break). Nagisa blinks rapidly at him for all of three seconds before he bursts into laughter and shoves Makoto lightly.

"Naughty, Mako-chan—that's not what we're doing at all, you pervert," Nagisa says, but his eyes are still glimmering with enough mischief that Makoto isn't really all that reassured.

He realizes his fears are spot on as Nagisa whips out his smartphone.

"We're just using MS Paint for the diagrams," he whispers before yanking Makoto helplessly in.

It somehow manages to simultaneously be the most excruciatingly long yet heart-poundingly fast ten minutes of Makoto's life – crammed with more knowledge than Makoto could have ever hoped to learn on his own, made possible thanks to the many years of porn surfing Nagisa has accumulated that bring them to this fated moment

And by the end of it?

Yeah.

They're so thorough that Makoto even gets the pineapple joke.

Oh. But—also? By the end of it?

Makoto—through all the embarrassment, the spluttering, and the many headaches he gets from all the blood rushing to his face again and again—has never been so grateful to Nagisa in his life.

"You should never be embarrassed to say what you're feeling, to ask for what you want Mako-chan," Nagisa caps off as he leads them back up stairs, his words slightly winded from their sprint back up the stairwell to the rooftop. "Sex is totally an awesome, physical thing—but it should be a baring, super emotional connection without any shame, you know?"

"Yeah," Makoto says after a beat, a shy smile touching his lips as he's immediately drawn back to that summer night, where Haru made himself Makoto's everything, made Makoto his own. Nagisa glanced back at him, probably at the tone of his voice, and his face softens.

And, being Nagisa, promptly launches at him to hug him, koala style, narrowly avoiding throwing them back down the stairs in a disgruntled (most likely fractured and broken) heap.

Thankfully, they make it back up to the roof in one piece where, sure enough, Rei and Haru are still speaking emphatically, empty bentos long since abandoned on the ground.

Makoto's heart leaps into his throat at the emotion shining bright in Haru's eyes as he fervently protects his stance on Swimming Is Everything, and he can't help the goofy grin that spreads on his lips.

Upon glancing sidelong at Nagisa, he's pretty sure he sees the very same smile on Nagisa's face as he stares adoringly at Rei.

Yeah. He figures they got pretty lucky.

"-Makoto." Makoto blinks suddenly as he notices those blue, blue eyes are now staring directly into his, and with a start he realizes that the emotion that usually quietly dims when the topic has moved on from water is still there, plain as day.

Haru's looking at him like that again.

Like he's the ocean.

It still makes his toes curl a little in happiness.

"Are you alright? You didn't really eat anything." There's a little dip in between Haru's brow, barely noticeable, probably invisible to anyone who hasn't spent a lifetime silently loving that face. He's worried. Realized by now how long it's been since he slipped away, since Nagisa went out after him.

"I'm fine, Haru-chan," Makoto reassures him warmly, reaching a hand out to help Haru to his feet, only then packing up his bento in his bag for later. "I wasn't really all that hungry anyway—not when we rushed out eating breakfast this morning." Haru seems to accept this explanation, nodding his head once in acquiescence before shouldering his bag.

"Besides," Nagisa pipes in helpfully, sweetly as he holds the door open for them, "we're still gonna get some popsicles after school!"

Haru hums in agreement as he passes Nagisa by, reaching out briefly to tousle his hair as he passes him on his way down the stairs after Rei.

So Haru doesn't see the way Nagisa is leering at Makoto. Or, for that matter, the way Makoto stops short and just Looks at Nagisa.

With a face that manages to be shocked, impressed, and resigned, all at once.

"You are a sneaky bastard," Makoto informs him as he walks through the door Nagisa is holding open, very much relishing the startled, miffed, and choking squawk of a laugh that escapes Nagisa behind him.

The rest of school flies by and so does practice—and before he knows it, the whole gang is walking out of the convenience shoppe nearby, cold treats in hand, alternatively talking excitedly about their weekend plans or listening to the commotion.

Makoto feels the expected poke on his shoulder, and he grins as he splits his and Haru's shared popsicle, handing it off to the raven-haired teen without a thought and watches him slurp the whole thing into his mouth in one easy gulp, pursing his lips around the end and -

Oh.

Shit.

Fuck, actually. Because Makoto probably won't not be making that connection in his head ever again, and that's a really uncomfortable thought, because this is totally a thing they've shared that goes back to childhood.

Wow, great, yeah, that totally makes it better—he's just gonna have to not look at Haru for the rest of this popsicle's life.

Though, Makoto figures with a hard swallow, unable to help but steal one last glance at the treat Haru's devouring beside him, it doesn't seem like it's going to have the longest life span.

Not with the way Haru's working his mouth around it and oh for the love of-

He kind of falters when he feels eyes boring into the back of his head, and he cranes his head to stare at Nagisa in a way he means to be accusing but just feels woeful. From the way the innocent smile plastered onto Nagisa's lips twitches, he feels he's probably right.

He glances down at his own half, sitting innocently in his hand, a little bead running down the side and he has to close his eyes and compose himself, like, now.

It's a fucking popsicle. He's eaten a hundred of these before.

Okay. He can do this.

He turns to send a triumphant look at Nagisa over his shoulder, but.

But Nagisa is ready for him, and he's just.

Smiling. Sweetly.

Walking, cool as can be, with his left hand raised up with his thumb tucked firmly, pointedly into his fist.

Makoto slowly turns his head back around in defeat, lifting his popsicle to his lips and sullenly popping it in there.

And if he has his other hand tucked into his pants pocket, what of it?

No one has to know he's got his thumb squeezed tight in the palm of his hand as he turns his head briefly away from Haru as he tries to deepthroat his popsicle as fervently as possible.

Because this is Makoto's life, he splutters and coughs so hard and loud he doubles over, Haru smacking his back in alarm for the third time that day.

Nagisa can't stop laughing long enough to explain to anybody why he's laughing. Rei has to half carry him the rest of the way to the station as he staggers hysterically with laughter, tears streaming down his face as he just points and shakes his head at Makoto.

Makoto figures he's had this conversation coming for a few hours now, so it's no surprise that as soon as Rei and Nagisa part ways, step out of the train to get off at their station, Haru turns on him.

"What is going on?" Haru asks, sounding far more bewildered than Makoto has heard him in a long time. "Where were you at lunch? What did Nagisa say to you? I swear, if he followed you just to make you more uncomfortable-" Haru begins, his eyes starting to narrow dangerously.

Makoto is oddly touched by Haru wanting to rush to defend his honor, but he figures assuring Haru that no harm need come to Nagisa is the more important factor to keep in mind right now.

"I'm find, Haru-chan," Makoto assures him with a smile, reaching over to surreptitiously cover Haru's hand with his own between their seats, squeezing softly and inwardly melting over the way Haru immediately flips his hand around to twine their fingers together and squeeze back.

"I promise Nagisa didn't upset me—he actually wanted to apologize. He really meant it," he adds, pleased with the way Haru's shoulders relax further.

"He...he also..." Makoto trails off, and Haru's attention is piqued again—but now Makoto can't quite meet Haru's eyes. He can feel them, though, steadily studying his profile.

"Makoto?" Haru asks softly, tugging a little on Makoto's hand so their joined hands rest more firmly in Haru's lap—a quiet reassurance.

It's just what Makoto needs.

"He just talked to me, about some stuff—stuff that I needed to, talk about," he blurts out, feeling stupid as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Because Haru's frowning-not in his usual way, but the way that means he's hurt.

"And you couldn't talk about it with me, why?" Haru asks, raising a brow and clearly trying not to look upset.

"Because I was embarrassed," Makoto confesses, "but he set me straight. He really did, Haru. He told me how silly it was for me not to feel comfortable talking about it with you."

Haru tries to school his features, but Makoto doesn't miss the reluctantly impressed, grateful look that passes over his best friend's face. "Good," is what Haru eventually settles on, before quickly tacking on "what is it?"

"Well," Makoto coughs, looking up only to become suddenly fascinated with the way the handlebars are swaying gently with the rocking of the train. "That's. Not really something to. Talk about on the train, I think," he says at last, his voice trailing off into a high pitched whisper.

Haru looks intrigued, but satisfied for the moment, settling back with a nod and clutching Makoto's hand tighter in his own smaller one. Makoto's heart swells, full of thanks and relief and a fair bit of nerves, but he settles back in his seat, letting their shoulders touch.

They sit in a comfortable silence for the rest of the stops before their station, watching the sunset-washed scenery rush by. Haru's thumb moves back and forth in soothing sweeps over the back of Makoto's hand. Makoto feels silly all over again for ever having worried about talking to Haru.

Eventually they reach their stop, and they walk out of the car holding hands, headed straight to Haru's house. It's a Friday—and Makoto has thankfully long since stopped feeling compelled to stop by his place to let his parents know where he'll be if they need him.

In their own amused words as they shooed him over to Haru's for the weekend a week ago -if there really is a problem, they are fully capable of walking up the stone stairs—or, heaven forbid, calling his phone.

(Makoto is sometimes still surprised at how sassy his parents can be, and vaguely wonders where his own, perpetual earnestness comes from. Ren and Ran already seem to be full recipients of their sass, after all.)

But by this point, they've taken off their shoes and stored them at the cubby by the door to trade for slippers, he's sprawled out on the plush couch, and Haru has practically settled himself in his lap.

"Now talk," Haru says sternly, prodding his boyfriend with a finger, and Makoto can't quite keep from smiling despite himself. "What was so important that you couldn't talk to me about first, and even Nagisa somehow respected its sanctity enough to manage keeping from spilling it the rest of the day?"

Makoto bites his lip and forces himself to take a long, steadying breath. "I just. Well. This morning, I was—well, no, at lunch I started thinking..."

Makoto has to physically shut his mouth to keep from blurting out more words and just. Stop and think about what he's trying to say for a moment.

"There's something...I've wanted to ask you about. Lately. Ask. Ask about doing—trying," Makoto amends, his words faltering as he carefully chooses them, and he wills himself not to blush as he lifts his head to meet Haru's patient eyes.

Somehow, contrary to what he thought, looking at Haru gives him the last of the resolve he needs to steel himself before stuttering it out.

"I want you to—to try b-blowing me. A-and. And I wanna blow you. Too."

Haru blinks.

"Okay."

Makoto nearly falls over, he's caught so completely off guard.

"Oka—that's it? Really?" he gapes, blinking at Haru as if he's some inexplicable phenomenon. Haru arches an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Really. Did you...not... want to hear that?" he asks slowly, and a little hesitation starts to pucker his brow. "Because we don't need t-"

"No!" Makoto blurts out, before waving his hands madly to try and backtrack. "I mean, no, I didn't not want to hear it, I – I wanted to hear it, I just, wasn't-it's really okay?" Makoto settles for asking again, bewildered.

Haru goes from looking immensely relieved to pretty amused. "Why wouldn't that be okay?" he asks softly, lifting a hand to brush his knuckles softly, fondly over the curve of Makoto's jaw. "I already told you I wanted to do that with you, one day."

"Y-yeah-I-I know, but," Makoto stammers, his cheeks exploding with color as he recalls that moment for what has the be the hundredth time. "I thought...I don't know, you were just..."

"What, just saying that?" Haru asks doubtfully, his other brow raising to join its twin in disbelief. "Makoto, why wouldn't I want to try that with you?" he asks, shaking his head a little.

"I want to do everything with you, Makoto—I know I've only said it once, but I'll say it again, now. I want to try everything with you. Only you. And only when you're ready," he adds seriously, but his expression is soft.

"And if you're ready to move on to that, I'm ready, too."

Makoto bites his lip and wills the stinging in his eyes away, but he can't help but blink away a few misty tears. Haru's hands are there in a flash to wipe them away with his thumbs, before he leans in to press a kiss to Makoto's lips.

But their lips connect he pauses, lips so close Makoto's feel like they're tingling, and he shivers at the soft breath ghosting over his face.

"Just tell me what you want, Makoto," Haru murmurs, "say the word, and I'll give it to you."

The kiss that follows is soft and warm and surprisingly chaste after such forward words-but it's somehow filled with enough promise behind it that Makoto gives a little shudder as he kisses back, his hands coming up to cover Haru's where they're cupping his face.

He feels Haru's lips quirk up against his in a small smile and the next thing he knows he's being pressed back into the cushions with Haru hovering above, kissing the living daylights out of him.

This, he can do. This is something he knows, safe, comfortable and Makoto relaxes into the familiar, wrapping his arms around Haru's shoulders with a happy little sound and arching up against Haru's body just to feel him there.

Haru trails his mouth down from Makoto's lips to his jaw, nuzzling just below his ear and huffing a soft breath against the sensitive skin, making Makoto squirm.

Makoto loves it, loves this—how Haru has been so patient, so meticulous and gentle and absolutely loving with him, that he knows just how to wind him up, that he's learned just how to push Makoto's buttons.

It feels...feels like Haru is taking his time with him, every time. Whether they're just kissing, or they're touching each other, Haru makes it feel like Makoto is all that there is, that there's nothing else – no outside world or problems to worry about, like all there is is the present, is him and Makoto – and Makoto can only hope that he can return a fraction of that sentiment to Haru.

Haru has spent countless hours over the past weeks and months carefully mapping out each and every spot that makes Makoto squirm, makes him whimper, makes him outright moan, and Makoto is mortified and delighted all at once.

Because it's so much. Haru cares, so much, and Makoto figures he's the luckiest guy in the world to have someone like that all to himself.

Haru's taught him, too. Showed him exactly how he likes to be touched, where he likes to be touched, and always, always encourages Makoto to find more for himself. Lies back and shamelessly lets him know what he's feeling, tells hims what feels good, what feels better – harder, softer, Makoto, please – and Makoto thanks his lucky stars that Haru isn't even a fraction as quiet in bed as he is 90% of the rest of the time.

Because doing stuff like that to Haru? It's amazing.

"Makoto," Haru gasps softly as the brunet gently grazes his nails down the nape of his neck, and Haru's entire body arches towards the touch, not unlike a cat, and Makoto bites back a smile as he does it again, just to hear the closed-mouth moan Haru gives this time.

"Haru," he breathes back, shakily, letting his eyes flutter closed as his head tips back when Haru leans in to drag his lips down his throat, kissing down his Adam's apple to mouth over the dip of his collarbone—pressing a kiss there, like a secret, and making Makoto's lips twitch into a tiny smile.

Haru pulls back a little, just enough for his blue eyes to meet Makoto's hazy green ones, and he must see something on his face that pushes him into motion again, because his hands fly up to Makoto's tie to deftly remove it before working on his button down shirt—turning that uncanny knack he has for undressing on his boyfriend and ridding him of his uniform in what feels like seconds.

Because it feels like Makoto blinks, and Haru's already pushing his pants down his legs, frowning the tiniest bit when they get stuck at his knees.

"Haru," Makoto laughs breathlessly, "Haru, wait," he says again when Haru gives a harder, frustrated tug, and he gently pries Haru's hands from his slacks, kissing the back of each hand.

Haru settles for working on his own clothes, apparently placated with his kisses and watches intently as Makoto kicks his pants off the rest of the way. Makoto does not, in fact, miss the way Haru's eyes darken as his gaze travels lower when Makoto bashfully presses a palm idly against his arousal, biting his lip at how bad he wants this, wants Haru.

To be fair, though, he is a little...

"Nervous?" Makoto startles a bit, blinking up at Haru when the slender teen presses his thumb against his lower lip, gently prying it from where he's trapped it between his teeth – and he winces just the slightest bit when he runs the pad of his thumb over the indents, and okay, so he was biting that a lot harder than he realized.

"We don't have to do this," Haru says softly, sounding deadly serious even as his eyes are wider now, bright with concern. "Not now. Not ever, if that's not something that you want."

Makoto's heart gives a pang — because god, Haru is too much, sometimes, the most loving person he knows, and he just doesn't get how people can't see that like he can- "No, no Haru, that's not it—I do want to, I just—"

"Because I swear to God, if Nagisa made you feel pressured into doing this"-and then Haru's eyes go wide, like a deer caught in the headlights – before narrowing into slits as he lets out an angry tch-

"Oh my God. The fucking popsicles," Haru growls

And.

And Makoto can't help it. He nearly falls off the couch laughing himself silly—it's only Haru's swift reflexes that help him catch himself when he kind of curls into himself choking on his laughter.

"Haru," Makoto gasps through his tears, wiping at his eyes with the heels of his palms, "it's fine, don't worry about it.'

"That kid is the devil," Haru deadpans, but he's visibly struggling to hold onto his anger, because Makoto is giggling, and Haru's never been very good at glaring in the face of Makoto's smile, let alone his laughter.

"But... yeah," Makoto finally manages to say outright rather than squeak out, still rubbing his eyes through his laughter, "the popsicles."

"So, when you started choking," Haru starts, a little haltingly, a lot uncertain. Makoto's smile gets a little smaller, but not any less sincere—just bashful.

"Yeah," he admits meekly, licking his lips and dropping his head to rest his forehead against Haru's shoulder. "I tried. Uh. Tried," he finally settles for as answer enough, looking embarrassed. Haru makes a soft, noncommittal sound in the back of his throat.

"And?"

"And, what?" Makoto asks, a little bewildered, pulling away to look at Haru. Haru just shrugs.

"How was it?" Makoto gives a startled laugh and glances away.

"Too cold?" This time it's Haru's turn to smile at Makoto's answer, and he leans in to brush a kiss to the corner of Makoto's mouth. "Yeah, well, I don't think that'll be something to worry about," he murmurs against Makoto's cheek before pressing another kiss to his face for good measure.

Soft, butterfly kisses turn into a few heated ones until they're back to lying pressed against one another on the couch, moving against each other with soft pants and bitten moans.

"God, I want you," Haru breathes, and Makoto feels a warm rush of anticipation race from his fingers to his toes as he trails a slow, wet trail of kisses down from Makoto's clavicle to his chest, making Makoto gasp and arch a little in surprise when he mouths over his nipple, flicking it with his tongue.

"W-wah...want you too, H-Haru," Makoto stutters, swallowing thickly, jerking with a stifled whine when Haru ghosts his teeth over the hardened nub.

Makoto arches with a stifled sound when Haru's mouth makes an abrupt turn south, and Makoto's hips cant up in surprise as he catches the hem of Makoto's boxers between his teeth to tug them down.

"Haru!" Makoto half gasps, half squeaks, face flushing scarlet and hands flying to cover his face in embarrassment as Haru eases his underwear down, his erection springing free to curl flush against his belly. Haru merely smirks up at him from between his legs before ducking his head to press a kiss to Makoto's knee, making the brunet hide a smile behind his hands.

"Stop hiding, Makoto," Haru chastises softly, lips pressed to Makoto's other knee as he stares pointedly up at his boyfriend.

Makoto's green eyes peer timidly out at Haru through his fingers, before after another moment's hesitation, he slowly, reluctantly lets his hands slide down to his sides, fingers grappling nervously at the fabric of the cushions beneath them.

"Just tell me if it's too much. If you want to stop," Haru says casually, as if he's not busy nipping and kissing his way up along his inner thighs, leaving a trail of bruises blooming in the wake of his lips.

A weak "mhmm" is all Makoto can manage, and it takes everything he has not to lift his arms to hide his face again as Haru nuzzles the inside of one trembling thigh, instead grasping at the back of the couch to grip tight as he peppers kisses all over the insides of his legs.

But when Haru's lips graze the juncture between his groin and thigh, Makoto can't help the whimper that tears itself from his throat; it's loud and sharp enough that Haru glances worriedly up at him, eyes searching his face.

Makoto swears his cheeks are on fire at the blatant desire turning Haru's eyes more dark than blue, only the slimmest ridge of color visible around blown pupils.

Makoto's chest is heaving as he stares down with wide eyes at his best friend when he finally pulls away from the hollow of his thigh to turn his focus to Makoto's cock—flushed and already sticky with precum.

Makoto makes a soft, helpless sound in the back of his throat when Haru unconsciously licks his lips as he takes the sight of Makoto in, and he can't help the way he shudders beneath the dark-haired swimmer's scrutiny.

"Can I?" Haru asks mildly but seriously, glancing up at his lover for permission, and Makoto almost wants to laugh – because who even asks permission to give a blowjob, only Haru— ridiculous, loving, amazing Haru.

"Um, y-yeah. I-I mean-ifyouwant," Makoto adds in a rush, squeezing his eyes shut tight as if it can help ease the furious blush from his cheeks.

"Oh, Makoto," Haru hums, eyes flickering darker with hunger, "I want to."

And with that, Haru dips his head and gives a short, hot swipe of his tongue along the length-

And Makoto's mind goes very pleasantly blank. All the worries, the insecurities, all the quicksilver thoughts flickering through his head just—

"—stop?"

Haru's voices comes crashing into Makoto's ears, and he jerks back to his senses with a startled, eloquent "hngh?" But Haru's concerned face is already melting into one of relieved amusement, and an odd, sudden tension that must have gathered in his shoulders goes slack.

"Sorry, you scared me—you just kind of jerked really hard. And kind of nearly kicked me. In the face," Haru says dismissively, and Makoto's hands cover his mouth in a kind of belated horror as he realizes Haru has one of his ankles grasped with a gentle firmness.

"I—gah—sorry, sorry, Haru! I'm so-" Makoto gasps, mortified tears springing to his eyes, but the rest of his apologies must be superfluous to Haru, because he's already ducked his head back down to drag his tongue along Makoto's shaft again—effectively shutting him up.

Well.

Shutting up might not quite be the word for it.

"Fuck," Makoto hisses as he throws his head back—and thank god Haru is able to read him so well, because Haru lets go of Makoto's leg to drape his arm firmly across Makoto's hips as he leans forward, effectively pinning him down when his hips buck desperately up towards the sweet heat of Haru's mouth.

"God, Makoto," Haru groans against Makoto's lower belly, lazily lapping at the shiny sticky spots of precome spread over his skin, "you taste so good."

Makoto whines as his cock gives a nearly painful throb at Haru's words, and Haru seems to take that as all the invitation he needs to go back to lavishing Makoto's cock with attention, one hand curling loosely around the base as he raises himself a little to lap curiously at the tip.

Makoto immediately has to let go of the couch he's clinging onto for dear life to drape his arm over his eyes so he doesn't cum right then and there, because it's too erotic, watching Haru as he does this.

"Makoto," Haru says, his voice muffled, and Makoto's toes curl because Haru is talking with his cock in his mouth, fuck that's hot. "I want you to keep your eyes on me."

"I-ngh-c-can't," Makoto chokes out in a whimper – and the last, cognitive bit of his brain that has somehow held on through all this wishes for a quick death at just how pathetic he sounds. "I-if I look, I-I'm gonna cum," he whispers, abashed.

Haru makes a noise like a dying animal, and it's enough to make Makoto peek out from beneath his arm to look at his boyfriend.

As usual, the sight makes him stop and stare.

Because Haru looks on the verge of finishing, himself; his usual mask of indifference shattered some time ago as he looks Makoto up and down with something bordering on reverence.

His cheeks are flushed—probably just as dark as his own, if Makoto is being honest—and his blue eyes are open wide, as if he's afraid to miss anything by so much as blinking.

"It's okay, Makoto," Haru blurts out but he stops short, because he clearly has to take a moment to steady himself, lips trembling where he's pursued them tightly together as he takes a deep, composing breath through his nose.

"It's fine. We can do this again. Again. As much as we want," he says shakily, almost more to himself than Makoto before his gaze meets his boyfriend's suddenly; and Makoto can't look away even if he wanted to. Not with the intensity blazing in Haru's eyes.

"I want to make you cum, Makoto. I want to taste you," Haru says so softly, Makoto almost thinks he imagined it—but the way Haru ducks his head to determinedly swallow him down in the next moment is enough to change his mind.

Because. Because, well.

Makoto's big. He knows that—Haru's offhanded comments about it and Nagisa's casual jokes in the locker room about Makoto being big "in every sense of the word!" only reaffirm what he's always already figured.

But Haru swallows him down like it's nothing.

Makoto tries to say his name, but he's kind of forgotten how words work, and his mouth isn't cooperating very well aside from asserting that his vocal chords are, indeed, working overtime – even if he's not really making any sense.

Haru hums, low and deep down in his throat as he starts to bob his head, just slightly—and it feels like Makoto's entire being is coming undone.

"Haru," he finally manages to rasp out shrilly, his chest rising and falling erratically as he struggles to remember to breathe- "Haru, how are you doing that?"

Haru pulls off at his stupefied query (and Makoto almost wants to cry, because he wants to needs to has to have that sweet hot wet mouth back on him, right away, right fucking now) looking only slightly miffed about being interrupted.

"Don't have a gag reflex," Haru replies simply, licking idly at the corners of his pinked, slightly swollen lips. Makoto swears what little bit that's left of his ability to formulate thought shuts down right then and there, because well doesn't that just make a whole lot of fucking sense - how else could Haru swallow those popsicles down so fast?

Goddamn, his boyfriend is so hot.

Leave it to Haru, to be naturally gifted at just about everything.

Not that Makoto's complaining. Now with the way Haru decides that this conversation has gone as far as it's intended, if the way he swallows down Makoto's cock again is any indication.

"I-"

But then Makoto registers a flicker of color, and he realizes he's staring straight down into Haru's too blue eyes, bright through heavy lashes; he can't pull his eyes away from how his cheeks are hollowed carefully around Makoto's cock, working his mouth clumsily but determinedly around him and then.

Then, Haru does something wicked with his tongue before he lets his length slip mostly out from his mouth to suckle thoughtfully at the head—and bright spots dance before Makoto's eyes as he lets out a hoarse, strangled shout of Haru's name, his hips bucking up towards Haru's mouth as he comes hard.

Haru makes a muffled sound of surprise which quickly melts into a moan of what Makoto can only describe as unabashed delight as he does his best to swallow as quickly as he can before he has to pull away, gasping for breath.

When Makoto's eyes finally focus, the little sparks in his vision finally scattering away, Haru's wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and there's cum spattered across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

Makoto wants to crawl in a pit and die.

"Oh. My god. Haru," Makoto meeps out at long last, slowly, haltingly. "I am. So sorry."

"Why?" Haru asks as his tongue darts out to clean a little dot of cum from the corner of his mouth, a little too nonchalantly for Makoto's taste, 'cause, well, he just sort of came all over his boyfriend's face.

And it's not a big deal? It's kind of a big deal, right? It's a big deal—is it a big deal?

"You're. Not mad?" he asks, hoping against hope – and he blinks in dazed confusion when Haru shoots him one of his Looks along with an emphatic "No."

It's one of those Looks that means Makoto's being adorably naïve, again, but in a way Haru doesn't really approve of because it means Makoto's unnecessarily beating on himself. And, seeing as they're in the middle of sex, Haru isn't really looking to verbally address it right now but will get around to it later.

Once again, Makoto silently thanks the powers that be for sending him the perfect other half.

So Makoto chooses to take Haru at his word, and just closes his eyes and revels in the lingering afterglow, stretching out languidly beneath Haru's weight as he waits for his limbs to remember how to operate.

Preferably as soon as possible. Because right now, as fucking fantastic as Makoto feels, there's a certain, demanding hardness pressed against his thigh, and Makoto desperately wants to return the favor. As soon as possible.

Because holy shit that was mind-blowing.

The only thing is...

Well...

"I don't think I'm gonna be nearly as good as you, Haru-chan," Makoto confesses breathlessly, giving a nervous, self-deprecating little laugh as he pushes himself up with only slightly shaking arms, running his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully as he gazes down at Haru's own, painful looking arousal.

Haru just gives a soft huff of breath and shakes his head, reaching out to run the back of his hand affectionately down Makoto's cheek. "I didn't know what I was doing, Makoto-I just wanted to make you feel good," he murmurs. Makoto pauses where he's slowly sliding to the floor beside the couch, blinking up at Haru from between his legs.

"Really?" he asks dubiously, but it comes out sounding a lot more hopeful than he means it to be, and he flushes despite himself, looking up at Haru for confirmation. Haru rolls his eyes, but Makoto can tell it's out of fondness and not impatience – especially when Haru's hand drops to gently card his fingers through Makoto's brown strands.

"Yeah," Haru replies quietly, smiling a little. "I'm just as new at this as you are, Makoto. We're on the same page now-you caught up," he teases, but his face is earnest, full of patience and encouragement despite the way he shifts restlessly, his hand twitching as he fight from pressing his palm against himself for relief.

Makoto figures it's high time he stopped wavering in uncertainty and tried to return the incredible favor Haru's just given him.

So he gathers himself onto his knees, resting his elbows on Haru's thighs for leverage as he takes a slow, steadying deep breath and leans oh so carefully in, pressing barely-there butterfly kisses to the soft skin of Haru's lower belly, cheeks growing pink again when Haru's cock twitches in interest against his cheek.

Feeling emboldened by Haru's clear, unwavering arousal, along with the soft, shuddering breath that escapes his boyfriend's lips, Makoto gently rubs his cheek along Haru's length, a tiny, bashful smile curling on his lips at the mangled noise that tears from Haru's throat.

When he glances up from the corner of his eye through his lashes to see Haru's face, he's pleasantly surprised to see Haru already chewing on his lower lip-something he usually only does when he's afraid he's too close to orgasm, too soon.

Makoto tries to keep in mind all the little touches Haru did that felt so good, and he finally settles for blowing softly across the tip, and he watches with rapt fascination as a pearly bead of precome drips down his shaft.

He doesn't think twice about leaning in to gently swirl his tongue over the tip to taste him.
He could never have expected, however, how loudly Haru would gasp his name at the innocent, exploratory motion, and he almost jerks away in surprise.

But the way Haru's hands fly to his shoulders to grip him tight for support, the way Haru's head swings down to press against his chest with a muffled curse reminds Makoto that it's good, it's okay to startle Haru—after all, he was pleasantly surprised at every little thing Haru did with his mouth.

Makoto drags his lips along Haru's milky skin, mouthing softly at the spot just below his navel and, on a whim, gently grazes his teeth along the sensitive skin.

Haru nearly jumps out of his skin, if the way his nails bite briefly into Makoto's shoulders and the way his hips buck are any indication.

"-'koto," Haru blurts out suddenly, when Makoto's suckling a dark mark just below the base of his cock, and Makoto is speechless at how small, how needy Haru's voice is. "Mmm-akoto, please," he adds after a moment to gather his breath.

Makoto tilts his head a little with the coyest smile he can muster, blinking innocently up at his lover. "Please, what, Haru-chan?" he almost coos, delighted at the startled look that crosses Haru's face only to be replaced by one of fervent want.

"I want to feel your mouth on me, want you to suck me off," Haru replies shamelessly, letting his legs fall further open and canting his hips a little to put himself on full display. Makoto can't help but cover his mouth with the back of his hand as he tries to keep himself composed, feeling the not-so-faint stirring of arousal all over again-but right now this is about Haru, and all Makoto wants to do is exactly what Haru wants.

So he takes another slow, calming breath, before he cautiously leans in to gingerly lick at the tip once more, then again, and again when Haru gives the sweetest, strangled moan each time—his hips trembling with the strain of not jerking forward.

Makoto reaches out to grasp Haru's hips to help him out, keeping him grounded as he carefully takes Haru halfway into his mouth and just looks up at Haru.

Makoto's never seen Haru so keyed up in his life, except maybe before a big race, or when he's anxious to go swimming after the winter season. But even then, this sort of thrumming energy is utterly different.

Haru's eyes are struggling to stay open, against the onslaught of sensation that Makoto now knows only too well, and Makoto finds himself absolutely charmed by the way Haru's mouth hangs just the slightest bit open, like he doesn't even realize (thought Makoto is willing to be that he just doesn't care) that whimpers and gasps are falling steadily from his lips, in time with each of Makoto's experimental ministrations.

Makoto quickly learns a few things about Haru like this.

Haru can't keep his eyes off Makoto when he takes him into his mouth, darkened blue eyes fixing on Makoto's lips where they're stretched around his cock.

Haru makes this unfairly arousing groan when Makoto traces the tip of his tongue over the vein along the underside.

Haru's fingers twitch where they're buried in Makoto's hair when he purses his lips tighter around his cock.

Makoto also rapidly discovers something else-something personal.

He definitely, absolutely has a gag reflex. Tears prick at Makoto's eyes are he struggles to take Haru in as deep as he can, and there's a slight but rapidly growing panic when he realizes he can't quite breathe-but god did it feel fucking amazing when Haru did it for him, so the least he can do is try, right?

"Ma-! ko-to-" Haru gasps his name out in stilted syllables, barely strung together, and his head lolls slightly back as he shudders, hard, fingers scrabbling at the nape of Makoto's neck. Makoto makes a muffled sound and tries to move his head.

Bad decision.

"Makoto stop-stopstopstop," Makoto thinks he's saying but he can't quite hear him over the blood pounding in his ears-but then he's being pulled back, and he realizes oh, fuck, breathing.

He hadn't really been doing it.

Haru's eyes wide and hazy with pleasure but filled with concern as he leans over Makoto, gripping his shoulders, blinking hard as if it can help to clear his head faster while Makoto gags and splutters and coughs, trying to gasp for air.

"Makoto, breathe-your face is so red, are you okay? We can stop, I promise, it's fine," Haru asks quietly but urgently, running his fingers gently through the sweat dampened hair at Makoto's nape over and over, looking more than a little guilty.

Makoto wishes his face was burning this red because he couldn't gulp down enough breath, and he waves a hand weakly at Haru, unable to look up and meet his eyes, embarrassed.

Sometimes he doesn't understand how Haru is so. Understanding with him, when he seems to have so little patience with anything else the world has to offer.

Makoto figures it must be because Haru uses his entire quota on him.

He generally tries not to question it, though, but when Haru is so incredibly selfless like this, it's hard not to revel in just how much Haru adores him.

"I'm fine, Haru, I just forgot to breathe" Makoto says, straining not to sound as hoarse as he is right now, talking through a throat still tight with panic over forgetting to breathe?, like, who even does that-

"And I don't wanna stop," he says seriously, looking up Haru intently. Haru looks wary, but Makoto can feel his face set with determination, and then.

Haru's lips twitch. And Makoto can tell he's holding back a reluctant smile even as he shakes his head and sighs an almost convincingly dry "if you say so."

And just like that, everything's okay again. His heart is not longer pounding frantically with worry, but with affection, with anticipation over trying again.

He knows he wants to do this, he really does.

Just...properly.

So Makoto takes a steady breath in before ducking down again, taking Haru's arousal into his mouth and slowly working his way forward, mindful to try breathing through his nose this time, because his mouth is a bit occupied, obviously.

"You don't have to do that," Haru admonishes weakly, but he's chewing on the inside of his lip as he gazes down at Makoto-not a tell-tale sign of worry, but quiet want.

Makoto looks up at him through his lashes and revels in the sharp, inhale Haru takes as he lets his cock slip out of his mouth until just the head is in his mouth, and Makoto swears he watches Haru's eyes melt from blue to black.

"I want to, though. How else am I gonna learn," Makoto mumbles around him, pleased at the way a slow hiss of breath escapes through Haru's teeth as he trembles with the urge not to buck up towards Makoto's mouth.

Makoto knows he's not ready to take Haru in that deep again, not so soon after he failed so spectacularly the first time (maybe next time flickers through his mind and sends a shiver of excitement down his spine), so he wraps one hand around the base of Haru's cock, squeezing gently.

This is something he knows how to do, and Makoto instantly relaxes, gently slipping his thumb into his mouth to trace along the ridge of Haru's cock, making Haru gasp, just like it always does.

There's familiarly of the warmth, the weight of Haru's cock in his hand, the comfort of knowing what he's doing-and Makoto finally, finally realizes that he doesn't need to be nervous, he never needed to be nervous. How silly is he being right now?

He gets it now. What Haru was saying. How he didn't know what he was doing he just-

Did.

It's just like the first time. It is a first time. Just the same way as a few months ago, when Makoto didn't even know how to get himself off with his hands, let alone Haru.

And now they're learning this together-something even Haru doesn't know exactly how to do, but is willing to try with Makoto.

His best friend. His boyfriend. His lover.

And this is Haru. His best friend, his boyfriend, his lover. And Makoto just wants to make him feel good, loved, feel as amazing as he makes Makoto feel.

Makoto isn't nervous anymore.

He's. Really. Really turned on, because Haru's trembling with pleasure above him, lashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks as he struggles to watch Makoto working his mouth around him, and he's doing that.

"Hnngh," Haru keens lowly, his head dropping forward as he slams his eyes closed all of the sudden, his body jerking with each gentle, deliberate suck Makoto gives, hollowing his mouth around his cock like he remembers Haru doing before, and-

Haru can't last that long this time, either.

A full bodied shudder racks its way through Haru's slender frame and he makes an odd, desperate noise in the depths of his throat, fingers curling tighttight into Makoto's hair-just enough on this side of painful to make Makoto groan around Haru's cock.

"-'koto," Haru actually whimpers, small and strained, and it's all Makoto can do not to whimper right along with him. "Makoto, Makoto, I-I'm g'na," Haru chokes out warningly, trembling hands weakly, reluctantly trying to ease Makoto away.

Makoto responds by looking straight up into Haru's eyes and reaching his free hand to press gently to the small of Haru's back, pushing him forward, taking him as deep as he can into his throat and twisting his fingers on the next upstroke of Haru's cock.

And that's all it takes. Haru's mouth drops open into a small 'o', and his eyes snap shut, his hands flying to Makoto's hair for something to cling to for dear life as his orgasm crashes over him.

And he comes hard, spine curving into a gorgeous arch as he shudders through his climax, and Makoto makes a sound of surprise (much like Haru did) when cum shoots down his throat, but he keeps his wits around him and breathes through his nose between quick, careful swallows.

He bobs his head a little, all the way through Haru's aftershocks, until Haru gives a short, sharp sound in the back of his throat – and Makoto immediately pulls away, bringing a hand up to wipe his mouth with the heel of his hand, watching as Haru flops bonelessly back into the couch, panting.

Makoto doesn't really know what he's expecting it to taste like, but it isn't bad. Not bad at all.

Makoto idly litters kisses all over Haru's thighs, his belly, his chest and finally his lips as he eases himself up from his sore knees to settle himself on the couch next to Haru.

Haru lets out a long, shuddering sigh as he slowly turns his head and blinks his eyes open to stare dazedly at Makoto, chest still rising and falling rapidly despite his attempts to catch his breath.

"Wow," Haru finally manages at last, and Makoto drops his head to rest his forehead on Haru's shoulder, smiling stupidly.

"Yeah, he agrees, a little dazed, very happy, "wow."

"So we're going to do that again," Haru says idly, after a beat, and Makoto glances at him with a startled laugh.

"What, like, now?" Makoto gapes, his face torn between bewilderment and delight as Haru abruptly shifts to straddle him. "Haru!" he half giggles, half moans when Haru dips his head to kiss at his neck.

"Practice makes perfect," Haru replies casually against the curve of Makoto's neck, and Makoto feels the smile spreading on his lips mirrored against his skin.

Yeah. If Makoto's learned anything these last few months, it's that practice is something he knows he can handle.

••∞• Owari •∞••

A/N: Liked it, hated it? What did you think about it? It was fun, writing some awkward first time smut - I don't think I've done it before, aside from this fic. There were so many times I had to stop and ask myself, "really? Would childhood sweethearts trying the sex actually be as smooth and perfect as they make it out to be like in the movies? I don't think so."

Sorry sorry a hundred times sorry this took so long to get to you guys. All I can hope is that it was worth the wait.

Hopefully I'll have an easier time finishing up the last chapter, but if the way this chapter took me an unexpected zillion or so words to get off my chest, the last one's probably gonna be a doozey to write. As always, thanks for reading, you guys-you keep me inspired and I adore you 3