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It's dark by the time Suga's well-lit front door comes into view, fireflies winking in the shadows of the carefully-tended front garden that spans the length of his house. Suga hefts his gym bag higher on his shoulder, its contents feeling particularly weighty tonight in the oppressive June humidity. Daichi pulls in a deep, audible sigh, just a few steps behind. When Suga turns to look at him, Daichi's eyes are closed, and a faint smile is tugging at his lips.
"Smells like summer," says Daichi, by way of explanation. The night chorus of crickets chirps to life around them as if in agreement. A light breeze ruffles through Daichi's hair, and when he opens his eyes they're full of warmth and good humor, and Suga suddenly can't bring himself to bid him his usual goodnight.
"Hey," says Suga instead, jingling his keys in his palm, "d'you want to come in?"
---
"Where're your parents?" Daichi is lounging at Suga's kitchen table, nursing a beer Suga stole from the scattered collection in the fridge. It's too hot for the tea Suga offered, and there's nobody here to notice if a couple are missing. Condensation is beading on the outside of the dark glass bottle. Suga watches the way his fingers curl around the bottleneck with absentminded interest.
"They're in Tokyo for the week. Some big business conference." Suga takes a long swig of his own beer, throat bobbing. His tee shirt is sticking to his chest, but the surface of the kitchen table is cool against his bare forearms. "I've been alone in here since Monday."
It shows; the sink is full of unwashed dishes, and the refrigerator was nearly devoid of food when Suga had opened it to offer him a drink. Daichi whistles low, looks around at Suga's big empty house. "Sounds a little lonely."
"Mmhm," Suga agrees, "It's been quiet. Nice to have some good company in here." Daichi grins down at his beer, bashful. There's a soft clink as Suga sets down his bottle, and Daichi feels an affectionate urge to remind him to use a coaster on the wood. "You can stay, you know. For the night. If you want."
Daichi catches the hopeful glint in Suga's eye when he looks up, the shy little glance he shoots him from under his bangs. "Yeah. Maybe I will." He laughs lightly. "Someone's got to make sure you don't steal all your dad's beer." He's met with a playful shove to the arm, but he doesn't miss the way Suga's whole face lights up when he says he'll stay.
"Yeah? I'll even make up the couch for you." Suga's couch, a big cushiony sectional, is Dachi's favorite. Suga knows this well.
Daichi fakes a swoon, pressing a hand to his forehead and leaning back in his chair. "An offer I can't refuse." Suga chuckles. The cicadas chirp away in the muggy dark outside the open window.
"C'mon," Suga finally says, pushing his chair away from the table with a squeak, "I'll lend you something to sleep in." He grabs Daichi's hand, unthinking. His fingers are cold from the bottle he's been holding. Daichi feels his face heating as he rises to scramble after him, trying not to slosh his beer onto the expensive carpet.
--
There's sheets laid out on the couch, a movie on Suga's tiny TV screen, and a few more empty bottles scattered on the nearby tabletop. Suga feels warm and bubbly all over with Daichi pressed tight against his side, sinking happily into the cushions. He's fairly small, unaccustomed to alcohol, and the couple of beers he's had already have him unusually sweet and giggly. Daichi looks a little silly in his threadbare boxers and Suga's old tee shirt, a couple sizes too small but cleaner than the one he'd been wearing. He's pleasantly flushed, his limbs heavy. Suga's shirt smells like familiar laundry detergent, homey and comforting.
"You're tipsy," laughs Suga, close to his ear. Something about his proximity sends pleasant shivers down Daichi's spine. The lamplight is catching warm in his hair, glinting off his teeth when he smiles.
"M'not. I'm too big to be a lightweight like you." Daichi is lying and he knows it. The whole room is going soft around the edges; he's never had more than three beers in his life. Still, he's too comfortable to be properly embarrassed about his buzz. This close, he can smell Suga's shampoo, sugary and a little dizzying.
One fluffy-socked foot nudges at Daichi's calf, and he can't help the little laugh that bubbles up in his chest. This reminds him of being a kid, sleepovers with his friends, building pillow forts. Suga rests his mop of messy pale hair on his shoulder then, and Daichi fidgets around to accommodate him, slipping a careful arm around his back. It's warmer this way. Comfortable.
"Liar, liar. Your breath smells like beer." Suga angles his head up so his face is right by Daichi's own. He misjudges the distance, and their noses bump together. Daichi's hazy eyes zone in on the light fan of Suga's eyelashes, near enough to count. His lips are chapped and pink and very, very close. There's sweat beading at the nape of Daichi's neck, a fact he's suddenly all too aware of.
It's only an inch or two, thinks Daichi. His heart is thumping in his throat. That's not very much at all. That's hardly any -
It could be an accident when their lips brush together. Daichi could pull back right now and blame it on the drinks, on the sagging couch cushions, on Suga being too near.
He doesn't.
"Mm," Suga hums against his mouth, surprised but unoffended. He pulls away, blinks a couple times, meets Daichi's wide eyes with curiosity. Then he presses his clumsy lips to Daichi's again, and oh.
The room is spinning slightly, and Suga's mouth opens just a bit against Daichi's, and suddenly they're falling backwards against the couch cushions, the pillows rushing up to meet them. Suga's eyes are closed, his breath loud in his ears, and he giggles at Daichi's surprised noise into what is maybe, probably, definitely, a kiss.
"I've always wondered," Suga breathes, his weight heavy on Daichi's chest, "what that'd be like." Their bare thighs are tangled together, skin brushing skin, and Daichi is starting to go overwarm in the muggy air between them. Suga's flushed in the yellowish lamplight, staring soft-eyed down at him, traces of laughter still flickering at his lips. Pretty, Daichi thinks irrationally. He can feel his unsteady pulse hammering all the way out to his fingertips.
Suga kisses him with abandon, inexperience outweighed by new and obvious enthusiasm, and Daichi smooths his hands up his back to tangle in his hair, brushes his knuckles soft over his jaw. There's something warm and electric fluttering behind his ribs, and Daichi slants his lips against Suga's, breathing erratically through his nose. When Suga's mouth opens hot-slick against his, Daichi's fingers involuntarily tighten in his hair and tug, and Suga whines in a way that makes Daichi flush all down his neck.
Their kiss breaks with a soft pop. Suga breathes sweetly against Daichi's wet lips for a moment. Daichi is dazed and happy, his eyes half-focused on Suga's blurred shape. He's tingly all over.
"You're hard," Suga comments bluntly.
Humiliation rushes in on Daichi from all sides, hits him like a slap, and he immediately wants the couch cushions to open up and swallow him whole. A warm bare thigh is wedged between both of his own, shoved up against the front of his boxers, which are considerably tighter than they'd been a few minutes ago.
"Oh-oh my god," he stutters, voice cracking, "I'm sorry, I'm, I'll - " His hands scrabble at the sheets behind him, trying to push himself up, to shove himself away. Suga only settles his weight even more firmly on his chest, effectively trapping him in place.
"I don't mind," he says, laughing, as if this should be the most obvious thing in the world. He presses his thigh down, shifting it in a tight circle that makes Daichi's racing thoughts blank out for a moment.
"Uh," Daichi rasps.
Suga giggles breathlessly (drunkenly, Daichi thinks) and leans down to kiss him again. Daichi's heart skips into his throat, and it's so warm in here - there's sweat dampening the places their knees and stomachs press together. Suga is grinning against his mouth like he thinks Daichi's just the funniest, cutest thing. He shifts his legs around, slides a hand down to grab at Daichi's sweat-sticky thigh, and angles his pelvis so Daichi's erection slides right up into the crease of his hip.
It feels good, too good, and Daichi squirms under the new friction. "Suga," he hisses, trying to regain some of his composure, "what're you doing?"
" 'Sperimenting," Suga mumbles against the bolt of Daichi's jaw. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it." Daichi has certainly thought about it, more often than he'd care to admit, and in some pretty compromising positions. Suga's breath is leaving a small damp spot on his prickling skin. Daichi can feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest.
"Yeah," says Daichi, squeezing his eyes shut as Suga's fingers trace clumsily down his stomach, "I guess I, uh. Oh fuck-"
There's a hardness sliding up alongside his, and Suga cants his hips, grinding them tight together, breathing a happy little sigh against his neck. When his hips draw back again, the fabric of Daichi's boxers drags across the head of his dick, and he makes a choked noise in the back of his throat.
"See? 'Snice." Suga's voice is rough in his ear. He sounds like he does when Daichi calls him too late at night, his throat scratchy with sleep, and the sound of it tugs at something behind Daichi's navel. He clenches his fingers helplessly in the thin fabric of Suga's shirt.
The room feels like it's about a million degrees, and the fan buzzing by the window hardly does anything to stop the sweat gathering on Daichi's forehead. Suga's eyes are open, pupils blown huge, staring wonderingly down at the place where they're sliding together through their shorts. Neat white teeth nip into the red of his lower lip, and Daichi is hopelessly, desperately hard. He can make out the blunt outline of the head of Suga's dick every time his hips jut forward, distending the fabric, dragging slow up Daichi's length. Suga's sweetly flushed, somehow still looks so fucking innocent even when he's leaking a damp spot through his boxers, even when he's making Daichi want to whine and squirm and hump up against him until he spills all over them both.
Daichi arches his hips up, and Suga slumps forward to pant against the stretched collar of his shirt. "Th-thought about this," Daichi breathes around a shudder. The admission is easier with Suga's face pressed hot against his shoulder, where he can't see his eyes. He doesn't respond, but Daichi can feel his hips stutter downwards, his dick giving a hard twitch. He fists a hand in his hair again, close to his scalp, and Suga's whimper makes him want to keep talking. He's definitely tipsy; his head feels like it's full of cotton, his thoughts slow and muted. "I did, I - thought about it a lot. Ungh, Suga, think about it all the time…" The press of their hips is gaining rhythm, forcing Daichi's breath out of his throat in rough gasps.
Suga's fingers dig into Daichi's shoulders. His face shoves even harder into Daichi's neck, and he can feel his lips moving against wet skin when he grits out, "Whaddyou think about?" He sounds so vulnerable, warm and sleepy, and the sound of it makes Daichi's head swim. He wonders if he sounds like that, too.
"Hah, dunno, I guess I just," it's hard to find the words with Suga's shirt riding up, the heat of his bare hip seeping through the fabric of Daichi's boxers, "I look at your hands, and your fingers - and they're so pretty, Koushi, I can't help it - I want you to-"
There's no space left between them, Suga pressed thisclose to Daichi everywhere. His body weight is bearing down hard, forcing their dicks together between their stomachs, the friction nearly unbearable. Daichi feels like he's going to float right out of his skin every time Suga angles his hips harshly enough that he can feel the tightness of his balls against the base of his cock. There's a delicious pressure building in his gut, winding tighter and tighter, pumping heat to his cheeks and his palms, making his inhales harsh and whining. Everything smells like sweat and Suga's shampoo, cloyingly sweet and sharp. The wet patch at the crown of Suga's dick has bled wider; it smears into Daichi's belly with every downward grind.
"Shit, Daichi-" Suga's voice breaks. He shoves a clammy hand under the dip of Daichi's back, drags it down until he can grab into the muscle of his ass. He presses his fingers inward, swipes through the crease until they rub fleetingly over Daichi's hole through the fabric, and Daichi's spine arches so sharply that Suga is winded for a second. "Okay?"
"Yeah," Daichi bites out. His face is burning. How many times has he thought about Suga's fingers pressing right there, a little closer, a little slicker? His dick blurts a string of sticky precome against the inside of his boxers. "S'okay."
Suga's hand slides under Daichi's waistband on the second pass, and the sensation of the bare pads of his fingers toying with his puckered skin is almost too much. He tries to settle his breathing, tries to take his mind off the way he can feel Suga shuddering every time the head of his dick slides snug along the valley of Daichi's abs. They're pressed so close, so close -
I'm gonna come, Daichi realizes through the fog between his ears.
There's a desperate, pitched little noise against his shoulder: Suga is saying something, muffled in the material of his shirt. Daichi tugs at his hair, makes a questioning sound past bitten lips. Suga pulls back a couple centimeters, and his breath tickles Daichi's ear when he repeats himself in that sweet, cracking voice.
"Call me Koushi again," he breathes. His dick slots up against Daichi's just right, catching and dragging.
Daichi's vision goes white, and the world narrows down to his hands in Suga's hair and Suga's lips on his ear and the rawness of his own throat as he forces out Koushi, Koushi oh my god, fuck, Koushi, fuck, while the muscles in his belly jump and twitch and his orgasm slams into him like a wave. His cock spasms, jerking out heavy pulses of slick between their stomachs, the wet spot spreading fast across the front of his boxers and leaving the inside of the cloth a slippery mess. He feels like he's being wrung out, the fat length of his dick getting rubbed and kissed between their twisting bodies, the coarse fabric against the underside sending excruciatingly pleasurable little shocks through his gut. His thighs are locked and shaking around Suga's hips. He's dimly aware of Suga tensing wire-tight against him, hissing a vehement curse against his shoulder before he's sinking his teeth down into it, his boxers riding down enough against sticky skin that his come splashes up Daichi's still-quivering stomach. The grind of their hips slows, slows, stops.
"You bit me," Daichi says, dazed. Sweat is cooling on his heaving chest.
"Sorry," says Suga from somewhere around his neck. He's panting. Daichi can feel the heat radiating from his face.
"I think I liked it."
Suga laughs, a little bit unhinged-sounding. Then he heaves a deep sigh, curls into Daichi in a way that makes his heart batter his ribcage, but also makes him painfully aware of the tacky mess they've made between them.
"Oh no, your couch, we gotta clean up-"
"Just relax, Daichi." Suga presses slack lips to his jaw, and Daichi lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He turns his head until he can brush his mouth against Suga's, the angle awkward but the kiss just as dizzyingly pleasant as the first.
"Yeah. Okay." He lets his eyes slide shut. "I can relax."
-----
Morning dawns pale and early, and Daichi wakes up on the couch to a mild headache, a disgusting pair of boxers, and the smell of cooking from the next room over. He can hear Suga humming something unrecognizable over the sounds of sizzling and a staticky radio station. Someone has spread a blanket over him in the night, and he pulls it tight around his shoulders as he sits up.
Suga's back is to him when he enters the kitchen, flipping something in a pan, and Daichi is careful to pad silently up behind him. When he wraps his arms around his waist and squeezes, Suga emits an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp. "Daichi! Don't do that!"
The effect of his castigation is ruined by the way he's leaning back into Daichi's chest. His hair is still sleep-messy. He probably needs a shower. Daichi loves him, maybe.
"Can I stay?" he blurts out.
"What, for breakfast? Of course. I'm not about to eat all this by myself." Suga prods at his pan full of eggs with the spatula he's holding in his right hand.
"For today, I mean. And tonight. As long as you'll have me, I guess." Daichi is staring down at his bare feet, bracketing Suga's smaller ones. The kitchen is bright and sunny and smells like fresh-brewed coffee. Their shoes are laid out next to the door where they kicked them off yesterday, set side by side, and something about the sight makes Daichi's stomach go fluttery.
Suga smiles at him like the sun breaking through clouds. "Make yourself at home."