Work Text:
Usahara wakes to an unfamiliar ceiling.
More accurately, he’s jostled awake. The person next to him is kneeling on the bed, crouched over, holding something in their hand.
Usahara mumbles, still half-asleep, and pulls the blanket closer to his chest. An unfamiliar blanket. He curls on his side, unceremoniously yanking it off the body of the person next to him, and lets his eyes flutter shut again.
The bed is slightly more comfortable than the cheap platform under the mattress on his apartment floor. It feels like he’s sleeping on a real bed. He presses his face into the unfamiliar sheets...
He jolts upright.
He starts to look around.
A familiar face looks back at him.
A familiar head of brown hair…
He whips his head away, looking at the other side of the bedroom. His heart pounds in his chest. What the hell is he doing in Uramichi-san’s bed…!?
“Give it back,” Uramichi says, his voice slightly rough with sleep. He’s wearing a t-shirt. Usahara is shirtless. And pantsless. And are those his boxers on the floor?
Usahara makes a vaguely terrified whimpering noise - Uramichi, the shadows under his eyes three times the usual size, ignores him and grabs the corner of the blanket over his shoulder, yanking it back over to his side. He lays back down.
Usahara’s memory starts to, hazily, come back. He had been drunk… he had crashed at Uramichi-san’s place… Uramichi-san had also been drinking…
He puts his head in his hands.
“Oh my god.” He whines, trying not to let the noise become too pathetic of a sound. “Oh my -”
“If you’re going to stay, please shut up.” Uramichi says, his voice muffled by his pillow.
“I can’t!” Usahara shrieks, making Uramichi glare at him. “We just-”
The reality of what he’d done - with Uramichi-san - settles into his bones. His ass hurts. He swallows and slowly glances over to meet Uramichi’s glare. Somehow, even in the morning-after scenario, he’s still scary.
“Don’t make such a big deal of it.” Uramichi mutters, shutting his eyes again and rolling over to his other side. Uramichi is usually either relentlessly faux-cheerful or completely dead inside. This strange middle ground, where he almost feels like a normal person, gives Usahara pause. “Just two adults blowing off steam.”
--
It’s not even the fact that he’d apparently banged his most terrifying senpai that bothers Usahara in the following days - it’s the fact that he doesn’t remember it. For some reason the questions won’t leave his head. Is Uramichi a sadistic partner? Is he surprisingly gentle? What would Uramichi’s gorilla-like muscles feel like under his hands? Usahara takes inventory of his own body and finds nothing that would give him a hint, save a single pink hickey at the base of his neck.
In the employee changing room, alone, he touches his fingertips to the mark. It’s completely strange. The thoughts are occupying his mind more than he would like to admit, especially when he’s by himself.
On the other hand, Uramichi-san seems completely unmoved. He’s still terribly pessimistic, and he still bullies Usahara mercilessly.
--
Usahara knocks on Uramichi’s door before he can think.
Frankly, he’s never been good at thinking. He’s not smart enough to watch his mouth around Uramichi to avoid his wrath, and he’s not conscientious enough to save any of his money. He’s not in the habit of thinking before he acts.
Uramichi opens the door. He looks briefly surprised to see Usahara.
“Usahara,” he says, his hand still on the door handle.
Usahara steels himself. He tries to fix his facial expression and fails.
“Uramichi-san,” he says, his voice cracking unintentionally. He coughs and tries again. “Uramichi-san…”
“Yes?” Uramichi says, deadpan.
Usahara bites his lip. He feels a wave of something in his gut - the same thing he usually feels on the rare occasion that he’s dug up the courage to ask Uramichi to stop bullying him to his face.
“Can I come in?” He asks.
After a long moment, Uramichi holds the door open for him.
“Sure.” He says. It feels like a victory - it also feels like walking straight into the lion’s den.
Apprehension mounts in Usahara’s chest as he takes his shoes off at the entrance. What is he doing…?
“I didn’t bring any snacks,” he rambles, hesitating in the foyer. Uramichi closes the door behind him. He glances back - Uramichi is looking at him oddly, with an expression he can’t decipher. To be fair, he’s not good with any of Uramichi’s expressions that aren’t anger or anger disguised as happiness.
“That’s fine. I don’t like sweets anyways.” Uramichi says, clearly waiting for him to move out of the doorway and into the apartment. “Did you need something?”
Usahara swallows.
He turns to Uramichi. He’s suddenly aware of the fact that he’s taller than his senpai by a decent amount. Trapped in the narrow foyer, with a relatively non-angry expression, Uramichi doesn’t look too frightening.
Maybe that’s what drives Usahara to lean down. Without thinking, he presses his hands to the back of the door, caging Uramichi between his arms.
“What are you doing?” Uramichi asks, and the tone that’s bleeding into his voice now might be something like annoyance. Usahara feels a shiver go down his spine. He’s in danger - months of working with Uramichi have honed his survival sense well.
“Uh,” he says, head swimming with thoughts of how close Uramichi’s face is, and how dim the foyer is, and how long it’s been since he’s had sex with someone that he can remember. “I…”
And then Uramichi grins. It’s a mean grin. Usahara feels his legs start to quiver, but Uramichi in this position is having another strange effect on him - he feels warmth curl in his gut, deep in the pit of his stomach, stirring his groin.
That’s certainly never happened before. That he can remember, anyways. It’s definitely Uramichi’s fault.
--
The sex is mind-blowing.
Usahara doesn’t know how he’d forgotten the first time. Alcohol is a hell of a substance.
To answer his own questions, Uramichi is both a sadistic and gentle partner, switching between them like the hot and cold settings on a tap . One moment he’ll be gripping Usahara’s wrists above his head so harshly it seems like they must be bruising as he thrusts into him, and the next he’ll be touching him gently, pulling absolutely humiliating noises out of Usahara’s mouth with each brush of skin. Just like when he bullies Usahara, he’s decisive, derisive, and sometimes borderline violent.
His muscles are very firm under Usahara’s hands. Usahara realizes that, all those times he’d made digs at Uramichi’s fit figure and handsome face and absolutely gnarly workout routine, he might have been looking.
“What do I do?” He whimpers. “Hey, Kumatani, what do I do?”
Kumatani looks at him.
“I don’t know.” He says, completely unhelpfully. He’s sitting on the floor, back leaned against Usahara’s bed. “You seem to be handling it fine.”
“What about this seems fine to you!?” Usahara says, voice cracking, pulling at a strand of his hair. “I don’t even like him! I mean, sure, he’s our elite senpai, and he’s really fit, and there’s a surprising amount of good points about him, and it’s been so long since I did it with anyone else…”
He trails off.
“The sex is good,” Kumatani provides, seemingly unperturbed by Usahara’s admission that he’s doing it with their mutual coworker and certified-scariest-senpai.
Usahara buries his face in his hands.
“The sex is so good...” he mumbles, his words muffled by his palms.
--
“You know,” Uramichi says, his breath coming in pants, the twist of his hips doing an absolute job on Usahara’s insides, “you’re much more bearable when you’re being pathetic.”
“That’s - hah,” Usahara whines, his more slender fingers digging into Uramichi’s bicep, his legs wrapped around the other man’s waist. He feels dizzy with pleasure. His face is pink and flushed, and he doesn’t want to think about what a mess he must look right now - no better than any of the times Uramichi had bullied him. “Ah, ah - that’s totally sadistic, Uramichi-san.”
Uramichi bites a mark into the side of Usahara’s neck in reply. Usahara whimpers. He’s that kind of person - he can’t stop the noises leaking from his mouth. At least Uramichi doesn’t seem put off by it.
They finish around the same time. Uramichi gasps and shoves deeply into him a few more times, hips stuttering, and Usahara comes untouched over his own stomach. Uramichi very nearly misses falling on top of him as he collapses, diverting his force, rolling onto his side next to Usahara. Both of them are sticky with sweat.
Uramichi takes off his condom and ties it off. He throws it at the trash can next to his desk - it goes in. Usahara is too exhausted to notice.
“G’night,” Usahara murmurs, rolling over onto his side. He’s taking Uramichi’s only pillow. He drags the blanket up to cover himself and passes out, his eyes fluttering shut.
Uramichi gives him an exasperated look. His bed is barely big enough for both of them lying side by side, especially so because of Usahara’s tall stature. He grabs his shorts from the floor next to the bed and shuffles to put them on, then yanks back a corner of the blanket for himself so he doesn’t catch a cold. Not that that would be possible in this summer night heat, anyways.
He closes his eyes. He’s going to have to wash the sheets. He slowly slips into unconsciousness…
--
Usahara wakes slowly - the side of his head resting on the pillow is warm, as though it’s self-heating. He yawns and rubs his eyes.
He realizes he is, again, in Uramichi’s bed.
It’s not the location that’s the surprise this time.
For reference, Usahara is the type to roll around in his sleep, while Uramichi is the type to lie quietly on his side.
His pillow is breathing.
He bolts upright.
“Guh-” He chokes, panic swirling through him. Uramichi frowns in his sleep and stirs, his eyes fluttering open. The skin on his chest still has the imprint from where Usahara’s hair had been pressed into it.
Uramichi frowns at him, his eyes narrowed with a combination of drowsiness and annoyance.
“What?” He says, irritated, voice rough with sleep. “Don’t jostle me. I’ll kill you. I was sleeping well for once.”
Usahara blinks at him.
“Alright,” he says, and he lays back down. He shifts to lay on his back, head pillowed on Uramichi’s chest. It’s oddly comfortable. He can feel Uramichi’s breathing under him. It’s been a while since he’s laid in bed with someone else in the early morning. He’s been trying to get a girlfriend, but girls don’t seem to want anything to do with a guy who spends his work hours in a bunny suit and blows all his savings on pachinko, so, he supposes, Uramichi-san will do for now.
Actually, the stranger thing is that Uramichi doesn’t seem to mind. If he were his usual self, he’d be trying to separate the skin on Usahara’s cheek from his body by now.
Usahara glances upwards.
Uramichi is asleep.
--
Nothing changes at work. Usahara is still unbearably brainless when it comes to provoking Uramichi, and Uramichi is still relentlessly sadistic when it comes to getting his revenge.
The only thing that changes is that it follows them home.
“What did you say earlier?” Uramichi says, slightly breathless with exertion, a faux-friendly smile stretching his face, with a few too many teeth to be kind. “A muscle-obsessed gorilla? I don’t hear you complaining now.”
He has Usahara on his stomach, hips propped up with a pillow, one arm twisted behind his back and pinned at the small. Usahara’s other hand digs into the sheets, fingers clawing at the mattress, as Uramichi pins him down. A particularly harsh thrust pulls a whine from Usahara’s mouth.
“Hah...” Usahara breathes, his mind hazy with pleasure. “Geez, Uramichi-san, you’re so sensitive-”
Uramichi scoffs. He presses into Usahara harder - the maneuver is successful at knocking the words right out of his annoying mouth.
--
Usahara gets into the bad habit of showing up at Uramichi’s place unannounced.
Well, he’s always had the habit - it’s not like Uramichi has ever made a point of inviting him or Kumatani over before. They had just made themselves at home as the closest thing he could claim to being friends.
Usahara rings the doorbell. There’s no response - he waits a moment, then frowns. He rings it again. A breath. A third time.
The door slowly unlocks.
“Whoa,” Usahara says, taking in Uramichi’s disgruntled expression and the shadows under his eyes. “You look worse than usual.”
“Shut up,” Uramichi mutters. He does look bad - Usahara steps over the threshold. Uramichi closes the door behind him. Usahara leans over and presses a palm against the other man’s forehead - his temperature is normal. He frowns.
Uramichi looks at him oddly.
“What’s wrong with you?” He says.
“Huh?” Usahara replies, unable to think of anything odd he’d done. “Are you alright? You don’t look too hot.”
“I’m fine.” Uramichi mutters, leaving him in the entryway and retreating back into his apartment, heading for the bedroom. Usahara follows him, dropping his jacket in a crumpled heap on the blue couch. “Just tired.”
“Did I wake you up?” Usahara says. Uramichi crawls back into bed, pulling the blanket up to his neck. He’s laying pretty far to one side of the mattress - there’s a conspicuous space next to him, large enough for another person. Usahara glances at it, then at Uramichi.
“Yes.” Uramichi grumbles.
Usahara feels a little thrill go through his chest. Uramichi-senpai, being weak. It’s like a rare event in a videogame.
He takes off his jeans - for cleanliness, not with any ulterior motive - and lays down next to Uramichi. He pulls a little bit of the blanket over himself. He can feel Uramichi’s body heat radiating from under the blanket, warming his side.
Uramichi, every movement vaguely tired, reaches up to pinch his cheek. There’s none of his usual bite in the movement.
“Ow,” Usahara says, looking at him. “What’s that for?”
“It’s comforting.” Uramichi mutters.
Usahara can’t help a laugh.
“You’re so scary. Bullying me is comforting to you, huh.” He says. Uramichi’s grip weakens, moment by moment, until the pinch is barely more than a stroke of fingertips against Usahara’s cheek.
“For some reason,” Uramichi mumbles, his voice drifting, quieter and quieter, “I sleep better when you’re here.”