Chapter Text
When r u free?
Megumi gets the text as he’s walking back to his flat having parted ways with Yuuji less than ten minutes prior. Looking at the notification, a whirl of pleasure and anxiety coils in his gut.
He doesn’t reply, returning his phone to the pocket of the hoodie the other man leant him.
“You can give it back to me next time we hang out,” Yuuji had said over breakfast. Megumi had nodded sleepily, too tired to think about the implications of the action.
Now, he actively doesn’t think about it. He tends to get stuck in his head about things like this. So, to stop himself from over analyzing a simple text, he concentrates aggressively on his surroundings: on the morning breeze, on the yellow-blue light of the early sun, sharp, like lemon juice squeezed on an open wound.
He inhales deeply. He’s got assignments to complete—he can deal with Yuuji later.
...
Nobara calls him in the afternoon as he’s consolidating lecture notes.
When he picks up the phone, she says, “Dog shelter tomorrow?”
“Alright,” he replies, pen in his mouth.
“Sick. I’ll pick you up at four. Oh, by the way, thanks for coming last night—I talked to Maki for ages. You really came through.”
He extracts the pen from between his teeth. “You realise I did absolutely nothing, right?”
“Don’t say that, you’re my good luck charm!”
“Nobara, you don’t need luck when it comes to Maki. Ask her out already,” he says, exasperated.
“Hm, I dunno,” she evades. Megumi doesn’t press it. “What time did you leave, anyway?”
He pauses, thinking how to phrase his response.
“I stayed longer than I expected.”
He doesn’t mention Yuuji; Nobara would never let him live it down. She’d ask too many invasive questions and find a way to meddle.
Megumi barely listens as she drones on about Maki, now stuck on thoughts of the night before. He chews his pen, giving distracted, monosyllabic responses when required. Nobara doesn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in commentary on her crush.
When they hang up, his phone feels dense in his palm, like it might sink through the table if he puts it down. Sighing, he opens Yuuji’s message. When is he next free? He mentally runs through his schedule for the near future. He’s got a small deadline for Tuesday with nothing planned after. He could see him then.
Megumi shifts on his seat, feeling a sore twinge in his ass. The sex had been shockingly good. Fantastic, even. He’d thought it would be decent, a presumption based entirely on Yuuji’s appearance. Being muscular, attractive and confident, he was unlikely to be a bad lay. Discovering he was a frat boy only added to these assumptions—whether it was fair or not, Megumi figured the other must have had plenty of experience in bed.
But what made fucking Yuuji so spectacular (because, if he’s being honest with himself, it was nothing short of mind-blowing), was how amazingly compatible they were. Yuuji met all of his requests head on, obeyed his every demand without question—with enthusiasm, even.
Megumi presses his phone to his forehead and closes his eyes as a curl of desire rises at the memory of Yuuji begging and saying please on command.
And, as if being a great fuck wasn’t enough, his aftercare had been tender and sweet without being overwhelming. He cooked breakfast while the rest of the house slept through a hangover and even leant Megumi his clothes to fight the morning chill.
Megumi looks down at himself, still in Yuuji’s baggy hoodie. It’s comfortable. It smells nice. Oh no.
He sighs, reading the text once more:
When r u free?
He’s embarrassingly keen to hook up with Yuuji again. Only, he doesn’t know if that’s all the other man’s looking for.
Commitment is not something Megumi does. He has a close knit group of friends to fulfil his social needs, and besides, biochemistry is a time-consuming degree. He doesn’t have space in his life for a partner at the moment, and, even if he did, he’s not looking for one.
He takes a deep breath—he’s getting ahead of himself.
Yuuji asked when he was free, not for his hand in marriage. It’s pretty narcissistic to assume he wants to date after one night together. Besides, Megumi reminds himself, the other man is a frat boy. He’s almost certainly just looking for another chance to hit it, and will soon quit it.
He replies before he can overthink further.
Tuesday.
Almost instantly, the typing symbol appears—Megumi’s eyes widen.
Dope. What do u wanna do?
He frowns at his device.
You?
Hahahaha
No fr tho. Let’s do something!
Other than each other?
We can do each other afterwards lmao
It’s not the end of the world if they hang out before they fuck, he supposes. He doesn’t have anything else planned, and getting with Yuuji had been fun from start to finish. Megumi thinks about the other man’s silly antics, which prompts him to think about the strip tease. A hot flush climbs his neck.
Ok.
So what do u wanna do?
idm
Okay!
I can send ideas and u can pick smthn?
Sounds good.
A little later, Yuuji texts him a list of potential activities. Reading through the options, Megumi has to admit he’d enjoy all of them. Although, he wouldn’t want to do some of them on Tuesday.
For example:
Is the cooking class for couples?
They do that too, but in this one we’d cook at adjacent stations
I thought we could make it a competition, u know?
Like
Who can make the best meatballs??? 👀👅💦
Megumi snorts. Having eaten Yuuji’s scrambled eggs served on sourdough toast he suspected was hand-baked, Megumi doesn’t doubt the other man would win that contest.
He makes up his mind.
Let’s go to the arcade
He’s reluctant to go somewhere he can’t leave at whim. But, if they visit the arcade, he can easily dip if they don’t click in daylight.
Lmao scared???
No
Sounds like u might be!!
Sounds like YOU might be worried I’ll kick your ass in the arcade
Hahaha
Don’t turn this on me lol
But yeah arcade sounds good
...
Megumi arrives ten minutes early. He forced himself to leave before he could change a third time, having settled on a baggy, monochrome ensemble. He’s gone slightly too casual—he doesn’t want it to look like he made any effort.
His brows are pulled into a frown as he gazes at nothing in the middle distance, his back to the arcade.
Hypothetically, he thinks, this could be a date.
Yuuji hadn’t labelled it and obviously neither had Megumi. Still, he’s nervous, heart racing. In part because he isn’t sure what Yuuji wants, in part because he’s anxious to hang out with the other man for the first time. He doesn’t think fucking each other senseless counts.
Thankfully, before he can start catastrophizing, Yuuji appears. If Megumi thought his pulse was rapid before, it’s got nothing on what happens when he lays eyes on him.
God, he looks good.
Yuuji is just in jeans, a white T-shirt and a denim jacket, but the classic outfit is the perfect combination of casual and put together, fitting his well-proportioned form just right. His pink hair is cutely dishevelled and he breaks into a wide grin when he spies Megumi, white teeth dazzling.
“Sorry,” he apologises, even though he’s early. “Were you waiting long?”
“Hours.”
“Yeah right,” he says, taking Megumi’s hand in his. He does it so casually, it's as though they’ve done it a million times before. His palm is warm and dry; Megumi feels his nerves dissipate as Yuuji tightens his grip.
“Come on,” he says with a smile, leading them inside.
The arcade is dark, tinted in a mixture of moody and vibrant lights, predominantly purple and blue. The atmosphere is outdated and futuristic at the same time. There’s crappy pop music playing a tad too loud, and the venue smells like burnt plastic, fast food and dust. The only other people visible are a group of teenagers, probably skipping school. Walking in, it’s as though they step into another dimension.
Yuuji turns to him. “What do you wanna do first?” His hair is amethyst in the light, eyes sparkling with infectious excitement.
Megumi hums. He’s good at Shikigami Blast, so chooses that to begin with.
They play side by side, and although Yuuji makes a valiant effort, he’s terrible. When his character dies for the third time in a row, he gives up, moving to stand behind Megumi. He wraps his arms around his waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder to watch him play.
Hot breath caresses Megumi’s neck when Yuuji makes a noise of amazement, lips brushing skin when he murmurs words of encouragement. It’s distracting. Megumi plays poorly as his mind wanders. Yuuji is so warm, his body firm and comfortable. He thinks about the other man’s mouth, about sloppy half-kisses and a tongue licking up his neck.
His character dies when Yuuji’s nose brushes his jaw.
Frowning, he twists in the other man’s arms to look down at him. Yuuji’s golden eyes widen in faux innocence. “That was your fault,” he says as the machine spews tokens. “I could’ve kept going.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Yuuji grins cheekily, straightening up. Megumi misses the heat from his body and tries to glare, but it’s forced. Yuuji is unfazed as he pulls them to a pinball machine.
They try lots of games, classics like Pac-Man and Space Invaders, as well as newer ones neither have heard of before. They’re as competitive as each other, and keep tally of their scores as they explore.
“Oh!” Yuuji stops abruptly when rounding a corner. “Watch me wreck the boxing machine!”
He takes off his jacket, handing it to Megumi, who impulsively puts it on. He’s taller than the other man, but Yuuji’s frame is more solid, so the large item swallows him. He curls his hands into the jacket’s cuffs, pressing a fist to his face to subtly inhale Yuuji’s scent. Megumi can’t place what it smells like, but it’s familiar, comforting.
He watches Yuuji roll up his T-shirt sleeve, an action he thinks is wholly gratuitous—not that he’s complaining. He admires the way Yuuji’s bicep strains against skin as he flexes his arm. When he returns his gaze to Yuuji’s face, the other man looks smug.
“I said, what will you give me if I break the record?”
Megumi feels his cheeks heat as he examines the scoreboard, avoiding Yuuji’s knowing eyes. The current high score is 871 out of 999. That’s pretty high.
He remembers the boxing gloves in Yuuji’s room as he takes in the cocksure expression on the other man’s face.
Megumi wants to wipe that smirk away.
He tilts his head, a smile playing on his lips as he says evenly, “I’ll let you eat me out.”
Yuuji’s eyes bug out as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Shit. Okay,” he says, turning away from Megumi, the back of his neck visibly darkening despite the poor lighting.
He slots money into the machine and pulls down the mini punching bag. Gripping his right wrist in his left hand, he winds his arm back as the timer counts down from five. On one, Yuuji adjusts his footing, stepping forwards to pivot, twisting his torso first before his fist follows. The momentum of his body adds weight to his punch, which makes the bag smack into the machine with a solid thud.
Yuuji stretches his hand as the red digits count up from zero, slowing at the eight hundred mark but still climbing steadily. When it gets to eight hundred and sixty, the gap between each number lengthens. Megumi can’t tear his eyes away; he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want Yuuji to break the record.
When the counter gets to eight hundred and sixty nine, it stops; Yuuji freezes in disbelief, before it raises by one point—and doesn’t climb any further.
Yuuji glares. “This fucker’s rigged,” he grumbles, shoving in more coins. He puts even more weight into his second punch, winding his body back to a greater degree in advance of his throw, which is so strong it makes the machine rattle. This time, the counter doesn’t slow until well past nine hundred, finishing on a massive nine-sixty-two.
Yuuji grins broadly, swinging round to face Megumi, who tuts.
“Shame,” he says, sighing in exaggerated disappointment.
Yes, he wants to sit on Yuuji’s face. But he also enjoys the rush he gets from denying the other man something he clearly wants.
Yuuji’s jaw drops, “I beat the high score!” He points at the machine, as if Megumi could have missed its blaring, celebratory sirens as it dispenses tokens.
“Not on your first go,” he points out.
“We didn’t specify how many goes I could have,” Yuuji whines.
Megumi raises an eyebrow, drunk on power. “You want a taste of my ass that bad?”
“So you’re saying you don’t want my tongue in you?”
Megumi splutters. “Nobody likes a sore loser, Yuuji.”
“Whatever,” the pink-haired man pouts. “Now I’m hungry. Let’s get burgers.”
There’s a small diner in one corner of the arcade. It’s not busy; there’s an old woman with three children, a couple playing footsie sharing a milkshake, and the teenagers Megumi spotted when they first entered the venue.
Yuuji orders a double cheeseburger with large fries and Megumi gets a hot dog; they both buy massive sodas. To his relief and, strangely, disappointment, Yuuji doesn’t offer to pay for him.
They tuck themselves into a booth, chatting as they consume their mountain of greasy food and liquid sugar. Yuuji shoves his fries to the centre of the table for them to share.
Megumi learns that Yuuji’s doing pre-law with a minor in film (which surprises him, but somehow makes sense), that he’s more interested in exploring haunted houses than attending football games, and that he really wants a tattoo.
“Why don’t you get one, then? You’re an adult.”
Yuuji sighs, playing with his straw. “I’m worried it’ll hurt my career,” he admits glumly, “I want a really big one.”
Megumi eyes his body and thinks he would look unfairly hot with a tattoo.
Yuuji perks up again when Megumi mentions his own degree, bombarding him with genuine questions and listening intently to Megumi’s responses.
He’s incredibly easy to talk to, Megumi realises as Yuuji squeezes an obscene amount of ketchup on their fries, licking salt crystals and grease off his fingers. Tucking in, Yuuji smudges sauce in the corner of his mouth. Megumi watches his tongue in fascination, waiting for him to wipe it away. A minute passes and he still hasn’t noticed the ketchup mishap, too absorbed in telling Megumi about the worst movies of all time.
Before he can stop himself, Megumi reaches out to rub the red mark away with his thumb, which he then sucks on. Yuuji goes quiet, french fry dropping limply from his hand as he stares at the dark-haired man, who, realising what he’s done, blushes and takes a drink.
Yuuji’s pink lips pull into a wide smile as he recovers his fallen fry. He grins as he bites into it, cheeks round as he chews, still smiling at Megumi as though they’re sharing a private joke. Megumi can’t help but smile back. He’s glad he came.
After they’ve eaten, Yuuji tries to win a stuffed dog from a claw machine.
“It’s fine, Yuuji,” Megumi says on Yuuji’s fifth attempt. “We can buy something with our tokens.”
“It’s not the same! And I can’t back out now,” the other man protests. “Dogs are your favourite,” he says, as if Megumi had forgotten in the last twenty minutes.
Yuuji has an adorable crease between his brows as he concentrates; Megumi wants to kiss it away.
After eight attempts, which is frankly excessive, Yuuji manages to win the prize, crowing in excitement and thrusting the gift into Megumi’s arms, who presses his face into its soft fur to hide his blush.
As they walk to a racing game, Yuuji spots a photo booth and changes course to drag them inside.
The lighting behind the curtain is harsh. Megumi squints, setting the cuddly toy on the bench. An irritating jingle plays through the speakers, which drowns out the arcade’s trashy playlist. He doesn’t know which is worse.
“Let’s start with a silly one,” Yuuji says, tapping at the display. He selects a filter with a banana background.
“What do you mean start with,” Megumi asks, frowning.
Yuuji doesn’t reply. When he’s done fiddling with the machine, he sits on the bench, pulling Megumi down next to him. He wraps an arm around his waist, drawing him snugly into his side. He nudges his palm under Megumi’s clothes to wrap it over bare skin; Megumi fidgets under the touch. He doesn’t know where to put his hands.
“Relax,” Yuuji murmurs. Megumi exhales, settling down as the first photo is taken with a click.
The camera flashes six times. Before the fourth, Megumi sees Yuuji pull what must be the ugliest face in the world, making him laugh and close his eyes in mirth. His expression is captured on the fifth click. Catching his breath, he turns to look at Yuuji, who’s already facing him. They’re so close that their noses almost brush. Click. Megumi jumps back in surprise, but he doesn’t get very far, contained by the other man’s arm. Yuuji’s eyes are lidded, unreadable. Megumi blinks rapidly as his pulse races.
Yuuji moves away to select a new filter before returning to the bench. They’re pressed together; everywhere they touch burns. Megumi resists turning his head, both afraid and exhilarated at what might happen if he does so. There’s a heavy tension in the air, thick with anticipation. He looks at the screen; in their reflection he sees Yuuji’s face trained on his profile.
“Hey.” Yuuji brushes a strand of dark hair back. He rests his hand on the nape of Megumi’s neck, whose eyes widen as he stares intently at the front of the booth. Click.
“Look at me,” Yuuji murmurs, and although he’s been trying to do anything but, Megumi helplessly obeys. His heart thuds in happy terror as he’s engulfed by the blatant desire in the other man’s eyes. Yuuji lowers his hand from Megumi’s neck to rest it on top of his thigh. Click.
Megumi bites his lip. He feels the grip on his leg tighten. Smoothly, Yuuji reaches out with his free hand to cradle Megumi’s jaw, palm searing. Click.
As if in slow motion, he leans in for a kiss.
Over the last few days, Megumi wondered if he’d imagined the intensity of Yuuji’s kisses, if he’d remembered them in a rose tinted lens, memories clouded by the colour of his hair. He’s exhilarated to learn that isn’t the case.
His stomach tumbles to his feet when their lips connect, feeling as though they’re not in an arcade but on a roller coaster. He closes his eyes—the other man still tastes like Coca Cola, flavour now overlaid with salt in intoxicating contrast to the faint scent of his raspberry body wash. Click.
Megumi wraps his arms around Yuuji’s broad shoulders, angling his head to deepen their embrace. Yuuji kisses him like he’s thought of doing nothing else since they parted. Click.
Megumi opens his mouth, pressing his tongue against the other man’s, gasping when Yuuji nips his bottom lip. He fists a hand in pink hair, shifting restlessly under the palm rubbing his thigh. Click.
Melting into the kiss, Megumi’s consumed by the way Yuuji devours him. They continue long after the photos have printed, after the booth’s annoying music has looped countless times.
When they finally pull apart, Megumi says, a touch too eager: “Wanna come to mine?”
Yuuji nods, grinning. “Yeah.” He squeezes his leg once more and captures his mouth in a brief, firm kiss that has slightly too much teeth as he fails to quash his smile.
They stand. Megumi rushes out the booth, frazzled and stupidly horny. He runs a shaking hand through his hair as he makes a beeline for the exit, forgetting all about the pictures and his prize.
It’s dark outside. He feels disoriented; he didn’t realise they were in there so long.
Yuuji catches up to him by the entrance, stuffed animal in hand. “Damn,” he laughs. “Where’d the day go?”
Megumi doesn’t answer, chock-full of conflicting emotions. Yuuji links their fingers and presses a chaste kiss to Megumi’s lips, who steadies his breathing.
Pulling back, Yuuji shifts the plushie so it’s secure under his arm. “Which way?”