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He gets the idea coming back from a run. The blast of air conditioning is welcome as Rin makes his way back, silent to avoid rousing Nitori when he sees the lights are off and the room is quiet. Grabbing his towel and bathroom supplies, Rin heads for the communal showers—snatching his phone on his way out the door.
Long-distance relationships are hard, and harder when they’re with Haru. Rin tries not to blame him for being difficult about it, but when his texts go unanswered for hours (enough to make “should I get mackerel on my way over?” irrelevant if Haru says “yes” when he’s outside his door), Rin can’t help his frustration.
It could be worse, naturally. A train ride apart isn’t too far. Rin has even run the distance between Samezuka and Iwatobi. But most days they can’t see each other because Rin has to be at school, has to keep up with his studies as well as swim practices. Even if he wants to spend every day with Haru, it’s more of a distraction than his grades can afford. A part of him is a bit guilty as it is for making Nitori cover for him on weekends.
Rin’s spirits lift once he finishes a hot shower and his phone blinks with a text from Haru confirming he isn’t asleep yet. He’d sent it while walking over to the bathroom, giving Haru enough time to remember he has a phone and a boyfriend.
Once checking the perimeter of the bathroom to make sure he’s alone, Rin wanders over to the mirror. He sets his hand against the porcelain edge of the sink and cradles his phone with the other hand, then tugs off his towel with two fingers.
Rin is proud of the way his body looks—solid lines of muscle and broad shoulders, skin unblemished and smooth all the way down. He likes objectifying himself, likes it more when the low neckline of a shirt draws Haru’s quiet looks toward him.
He grins into the mirror, jagged teeth showing in a white strip, and pulls up the camera on his phone. The angle is done well, cut off at the lowest point on his belly, hinting at the smooth continuity of skin by the jut of his hips and between his thighs without showing it. The arm he has braced on the sink is tensed up, bicep rigid and defined in the harsh bathroom light. His hair is dark red with moisture and the water drips silvery paths over his throat. The image comes up to his chin—he can’t fit his face into the shot while he’s standing like this, but he doesn’t mind.
It’s not like Haru will mistake what doesn’t fit in the frame.
Jittery with anticipation and an aftereffect of embarrassment he didn’t have while taking the picture, Rin hits send and stares at the screen blankly for a few seconds.
The sound of the bathroom door summons him into motion as he grabs his towel, wrapping it around himself before making a quick exit.
It takes Haru almost an hour to respond. By then, Rin is in bed and glaring at his phone, tiny screen illuminated in the dark.
Nanase Haruka
what is it?
Rin frowns. He texts back with record speed—hoping to catch Haru before he puts his phone down and wanders off. a nude, what does it look like?
Nanase Haruka
it’s just your chest
He rolls over with a frustrated sound. send me one back, he types rapidly. The duration of the wait for Haru’s slow turtle response is a nail-biting twenty minutes.
Nanase Haruka
Makoto’s here
Rin’s eyes flash across the words, unable to help a kernel of jealousy. It’s not fair Makoto can live so close to Haru and even stay over if he wants. It’s not fair they can hang out while Rin is somewhere else, miserably yearning after Haru. His fingers are sloppy on his response, jealousy burnt down to an ache of irritation and pining. so make him leave, haru. i want to see u naked.
When there’s no reply forthcoming, Rin kicks one of his pillows off his bed in a childish fit of temper. It cools as quick as it flares up, and making a decision, he rolls to the side and stands to throw his pillow back on the bed before leaving the room. His phone is cradled in the center of his warm palm as if willing it to light up.
He gets all the way to the locker rooms near the swimming pool without a text back. Sitting on one of the benches, he relaxes in the cool and isolated dimness of the empty space. It takes a few seconds to dial Haru’s number, waiting impatiently for it to connect.
“He was about to leave,” is the first thing Haru says into the receiver, his voice low and sullen. There’s something else in it, and his chest feels buoyant when he realizes.
“What, are you embarrassed?” He tucks his phone against his shoulder. “I didn’t even send anything that bad. Makoto didn’t see, did he?” While Rin doesn’t mind—it was just his chest, something on display when they swim—it’s the context of the picture that’s more important. It’s for Haru only.
“No,” Haru says shortly.
“But I bet your face was all red when you got it,” he pushes. “He was probably sitting right next to you.”
“Why did you call?”
“I wanted to make sure he was leaving. And I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Haru must be flustered, because the tense silence lengthens out. He only gets like that when he’s hiding his face or quieting his voice with purpose. It bolsters Rin’s confidence as he stretches on the bench and smiles.
“Well? What did you think?”
It’s like pulling teeth to get Haru to talk, which he kind of expected before he called, but he can’t stop. He wants to make Haru talk. “It was okay,” Haru says, his voice soft and halting.
“Just okay? I guess it wasn’t really a lot. Next time I’ll make sure to get everything.”
“Everything…?”
Rin purposefully drops his voice to a huskier level. “I’ll get hard first and then send a picture of that. But you’re not allowed to show anyone, even if you’re around someone else. Even if you’re in public.”
“Rin,” Haru says in a warning tone. It just fuels him more.
“I wish I was there. Stop letting Makoto stay over so late.”
“I didn’t have anything else to do.” Haru’s tone is tenderer. “You couldn’t come, anyway.”
“Still.” Rin rasps the word out. “Would you have taken a picture for me? If you were alone.”
“Maybe…”
“I wanna see it. If I was there, I’d do it for you. I’d take all your clothes off and make you lie down, and then I’d take a picture just like that.” His eyes seal shut as he imagines it—Haru would passively go down on his back, hair fanning out on the pillow, his face apprehensive and darkened with sleepy arousal. He has a way of using bedroom eyes without realizing it; his pupils look blown, irises the darkest blue Rin’s ever seen. “But that wouldn’t really be enough. I’d wanna take more pictures of you.”
“Why?” Haru whispers.
“So I could do more to you,” he says, waiting for the hitched swallow in Haru’s steady breath. “I’d spread your legs open and hold them like that. I’d sit between them so you couldn’t close them if you got too embarrassed.”
It must occur to Haru belatedly, oh, we’re having phone sex, because he makes a startled noise and there’s rustling fabric sounds. “Rin,” he says, almost panicked.
“Then I’d slick my fingers up,” Rin presses on, phone comfortably tucked hot against the side of his face so his hands can work into the loose band of his sweatpants. “I’d put them in you, kind of slow, one at a time to make sure you feel it.”
“You do that every time.”
“I know. I wanna feel it too, because you get all tight when you’re expecting it. ”
“Rin,” Haru inhales, at the same moment Rin’s hand closes around his cock and an electric pulse goes up his spine.
“You really like it when I finger you,” he says in a growling roll, “your face gets red and you lick your lips a lot. I’d take a picture of that too. Once my fingers are in you, I’d take a picture of your face.”
“You’d have to delete it.” Haru sounds too short of breath to be defensive.
“Maybe I won’t. Why, are you afraid someone else will see what you look like when you’re really into it?”
“Shut up.”
“I’d never show anyone else,” Rin says in the next surging exhale. His warm palm works along his dick, rubbing it from the root to the tip in an even stroke, taking it slow because he doesn’t want to mess up the momentum. “I’m the only one who gets to see you that way.”
Haru chokes a sound into the receiver, and it’s familiar to Rin, he knows he must be palming his own cock to every filthy word. He’s very quiet—his voice is punctuated only by the irregular rhythm of his breath.
“Once you’re loose enough, I’d pull your hips down… you’d be whining for it by then, your body gets all shivery,” Rin says, stroking himself with a shudder of recollection. “I’d push in, then take another picture of you like that, so you’re sideways, with your ankle on my shoulder, with my cock in you. Haru, Haru…”
Rin ends on a broken noise, thumb rubbing at the slit of his cock and imagining Haru’s fingers in place of his own—or Haru stretched out in his bed, his boxers tight across his thighs, his cock red and swollen in his palm, doing the same thing in the same spots. Haru’s the only one who’s ever got him worked up like this, desperate enough to jerk off in the locker room with only those soft whispering sounds in his ear and the fantasy he’s spinning on his own.
“I’d touch you everywhere,” he picks up after a measure of silence, and his voice is even hoarser, rustier, “I’d squeeze your ass to make you tighten up again. But I’d do it slowly…” Rin’s speech is coming out shorter now. “So you don’t get mad.”
“I don’t,” Haru huffs, “get mad.”
His hand closes over the tip of his cock and he laughs in a weak way. “You get mad when I touch your ass. But I like the way my fingers leave marks. Your skin’s so pretty, Haru…”
The soft, shuddery whimper in his ear makes Rin’s whole body tingle.
“I’d fuck you so hard after that,” he says, forgetting about the pictures, because at this point he’d be too blissed out and concentrated on Haru to take one that isn’t a shaky mess. “Haru… keep touching yourself… I’d fuck you until you came all of yourself, until you couldn’t stop…”
“R-Rin,” Haru stutters, and it’s all the confirmation he needs to know he’s soaking his fingers with his orgasm. It takes Rin a few moments after that, jerking himself off with hard and quick strokes, his palm closed tight enough he can feel his dick throb from it.
In the dizzy afterglow, Rin wills his thudding heart to calm, staring down at the wet mess in his hand—and in his sweatpants. He forgot to bring something to wipe off with, an oversight he sorely regrets. He’ll have to shuffle toward the nearest sink on his way back to his room.
The atmosphere is dim and cool, and Rin feels calmer, his phone burning against his ear. “Haru?” he says quietly.
“Mm.”
“I’d take a picture when you’re like this, too.” Rin’s smiling into the receiver. “When you’re relaxed and spread out, kind of clingy. That’s the one I’d keep.”
“I’m hanging up now,” Haru says, irritated embarrassment creeping into his voice at his lack of composure. Rin can tell, but he doesn’t stop smiling.
“Fine. But I’m still waiting for my nude.”
The connection clicks. Once Rin is back in bed, cleaned up and sleepy, the pale screen of his phone blinks to life in the darkness and he lunges for it.