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Claude takes a deep breath, adjusts the ridiculous, fluffy headband to sit better over his hair, and spares one last look in the mirror before opening the bathroom door.
He can’t believe he’s going out like this.
He can’t believe he agreed to this.
Sure he looks good, even he can’t deny that, but it’s so far from his normal attire that he almost doesn’t feel quite like himself in it, more like a little kid playing dress up.
Although, he supposes ‘playing dress up’ is the entire point tonight, as well as becoming something other than yourself.
But still, this shit is breezy as hell. How the fuck do people wear these things? Claude feels like he’s going to flash someone if he bends over. He’s never been so consciously aware of his own legs as he is now.
Shu is waiting right outside when he steps out, wearing an expectant look on his face, along with his own makeshift costume—if a cheap party city cape over one of his normal turtlenecks can really be called a costume. It hardly feels fair in comparison, but technically Claude did agree to this, and he’s nothing if not a man of his word.
He holds his arms out to the sides, showing off the outfit he’s currently been made to wear. “Alright, what do you think?” he asks.
Shu gives him a once-over and Claude half expects him to crack a joke, but instead, he hums in contemplation, a strange expression gracing his features.
“What?” Claude asks, looking down at himself. “Does it not look right?”
He spins around for show and waits while Shu continues to stare at him intently, hand on his chin.
“Hold on,” he says, and then walks past him into the bedroom. He comes back out with a baggy knit sweater and shoves it into Claude’s arms.
“This'll match better.”
Claude snorts, but accepts the sweater and shrugs it on over the tight crop top he’d been wearing. Shu steps closer to help him tuck it into the skirt properly.
“Since when do you know anything about fashion?” Claude asks, lifting his arms out of the way.
For some reason, Shu blushes pink. “Hey, I've picked up some things here and there,” he mumbles, staring intently at his own hands as they adjust the sweater, “you know like, from our friends… also, it’s gonna be cold tonight—and that skirt is very short.”
Claude laughs loudly at that. “You’re telling me! This was your idea, remember? You wanted to see me in this.”
“Well, yes, I did,” Shu glances up at him through his lashes, violet eyes glinting. “So?”
“So how cold is cold? You really think the socks won’t be enough?” Claude asks, gesturing to the stockings currently digging into his thighs.
“Those are just for show,” Shu mumbles, “not warmth…”
“If you say so.”
“I do,” Shu says, deeming him finished and shoving him back into the bathroom.
Claude is about to say something back when he looks in the mirror again and sees his new reflection. The lavender color of the sweater does match the white skirt better than his black compression top had, but there’s something more about this outfit now.
He looks cute.
It’s not a word Claude would usually use to describe himself, but the effect of Shu’s choice in top is undeniable. It looks more like something Uki or Elira would wear. Maybe Shu had been telling the truth.
But of course, Claude can’t let him win that easily, so he leans his head back out of the bathroom and says, “You just didn’t want me going with my boobs out, didn’t you?”
Shu’s eyes widen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
“I can’t believe this,” Claude whines dramatically. “I’m being slut shamed in my own house—by my own boyfriend!”
Shu sputters at the title, too flustered to defend himself, and it makes Claude grin smugly. Even after months of dating, the effect of that word hasn’t worn off, and he’s going to use it to his full advantage.
He deserves it, he thinks, after how long it took them to get here.
From the terrifying realization that he had a crush on his best friend, thinking it was something he would have to take to his grave, and then the shock of learning it was reciprocated, it felt like Claude had lived three lifetimes by the end of it all.
But ultimately, at the end, they’d fallen together like puzzle pieces—as easy and simple as breathing. Hardly anything really changed, except for the moving in together part of course.
And the sharing a bed part… and the activities on said bed…
He’s brought abruptly back out of his thoughts by Shu’s hand on his shoulder.
“Petra said to get there around eight, so we should leave now,” he says.
Claude glances at his phone and immediately frowns when he sees it’s at least five minutes past eight o’clock. “We’re already late,” he grumbles.
“Yeah, but she expects that. It probably doesn’t actually start until nine.”
Claude groans. “Why can’t you guys just be normal about these things?”
“Wouldn’t be us if we didn’t— Oh! And don’t forget Elira’s gift!”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Claude says, picking up the small gift bag he’d prepared the night before. “Think she’ll chew us out for it being two weeks late?”
“Nahhh…” Shu drawls, in a way that leaves Claude unable to tell if he’s being serious or sarcastic.
So he decides to let it go, stepping into the new pair of heeled boots he bought recently—somehow the only part of this outfit that he’d actually chosen himself.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ready.” Shu grins, showing off the two fake fangs he’d stuck to his canines earlier.
Claude giggles at the sight, giving him a quick peck to the corner of his mouth before walking out the door together, hand in hand.
They learn later that Shu had been right.
Petra had asked them to come early, specifically to help with some last minute set up, not that either of them really minds of course. And Claude is always happy to help with these types of things—which is how he finds himself atop a step ladder now, hanging strings of paper bats from the ceiling.
Apparently, no one else had wanted to stand on this thing for long enough to get the job done, and so the duty had fallen to him.
Claude doesn’t know what they’re all so afraid of, though. The ladder feels perfectly stable to him, despite how much he’s had to move around on it, stretching to reach all the spots Petra had indicated.
He finishes the first string in barely any time at all and bends down to grab the next one from the table, when there’s a sudden commotion behind him.
Claude looks over his shoulder just in time to see decorations spilling across the floor. Plastic pumpkins and rubber spiders bounce and roll away noisily as Shu collides with a very exasperated looking Petra.
“Shu Yamino!” she shouts. “If you don’t start paying more attention to where you’re going instead of staring at your boyfriend’s ass, I’m gonna—“
Shu cuts her off with an indignant squeak, blubbering out some incoherent excuses that are more half formed words than actual sentences. Although, Claude does catch something about, “not my fault,” and, “it was just there!”
He decides it’s his duty, as a good boyfriend, to come to Shu’s rescue. “It’s okay to admit you’re jealous, Petra, not everyone can have this much cake,” Claude says, wiggling his hips for emphasis.
Shu slaps his hands over his face at that, so he’s not entirely sure how much it actually helped, but at least the attention is on him now instead of Shu’s little mishap. Petra groans loudly. “I can’t stand either of you,” she says. “Get back to work. We have to finish before Elira gets here with the food.”
“You got it, dawg,” Claude answers, throwing her a mock salute.
Shu scurries off without another word, arms full of the decorations he had re-gathered from the floor, and Claude goes back to his taping.
He finishes the rest of the bat strings quickly, climbing back down the ladder and then scanning the place for something else to do.
Petra is at the snack table, busy setting up some rainbow LED mist maker cauldron contraption. It seems like a one person job though, so Claude goes hunting for Shu.
He finds him in the living room, lighting tea candles and placing them in tiny ceramic jack o'lantern holders.
He’s completely immersed in his task, arranging the cute, smiling pumpkins on every available surface. The familiar scent of cinnamon and apples warms the air.
It doesn’t look like Shu has noticed that he’s not alone anymore, so Claude decides to take advantage of this opportunity. He sneaks closer and closer, staying as silent as possible—until he can wrap his arms around Shu’s waist, grabbing him from behind.
“Boo,” he whispers in his ear.
Shu doesn’t so much as flinch. “Hi,” he chirps.
“Damn,” Claude sighs, “thought I had you.”
“I heard you coming.”
“I was being so quiet though!”
“Mmm, I know your footsteps.”
Claude’s stomach does a useless little flip at that. He tries to hide it by giving a peck to the nape of Shu’s neck, before hooking his chin over his shoulder. “Need some help?”
“Not really, but you can if you want. I just have a few left,” Shu says, gesturing to the several unlit candles still waiting on the coffee table.
They’re surrounded by other decorations that Claude recognizes as the ones Shu had dropped all over the ground earlier. He can’t help but laugh.
“You really were staring at my ass before, weren’t you?”
Shu tenses against him, coughing awkwardly. “It’s a nice ass,” he mumbles.
“Hmm? What was that? I couldn't quite hear you…”
“Hey!” Shu shoves Claude off of him. “Are you gonna help me or not?”
“Sure, sure.”
They work as a team, lighting and setting the remaining lanterns, making sure all of them are facing towards the couch.
The doorbell rings as they’re finishing up, and Petra runs to get it.
Claude can hear her greeting whoever has just arrived, leading them into the kitchen. He’s only half paying attention, but enough to recognize the sound of Uki’s voice, when suddenly his name is being called.
Shu chuckles. “Sounds like you’re needed. Go ahead, I got it from here.”
“Okay,” Claude says, “see you in a bit.” He presses another tiny kiss to Shu’s cheek as he leaves, and then goes to find the others.
“Claude! Finally!” Petra cheers the second he walks into the kitchen. She grabs him by the shoulders, pivoting him around to face the far counter where Uki is setting down a pair of wine bottles.
From the strings of pearls and seashells in their hair and their shimmery, sequined outfit, Claude guesses their costume is some sort of sea siren. He wonders how Finana is going to feel about that one.
“Uki,” Petra calls, “Get over here! I have a job for you!”
Uki looks up, jaw dropping when their eyes land on Claude. “Oh my god.” They begin making their way over, an incredulous look plastered across their face. “Wait, so what exactly is your costume? Like, are you a discord kitten or something?”
“What?! No!” Claude squawks. “I’m a catgirl, obviously.” He crosses his arms over his chest, and tries not to feel insane for having just said that.
“But you don’t have a tail.”
“We couldn’t find one in time, okay?”
“You’ll do it, right?” Petra interrupts, addressing Uki.
They sigh. “I don’t have any with me—”
“That’s fine! You can use mine!”
“But yours isn’t waterproof!”
“It’s fine,” she repeats, waving them off as she makes for the stairs.
“Um… guys?” Claude glances between the two of them, left standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen.
“She wants me to put makeup on you,” Uki explains.
“Oh.”
“Is that okay?”
“No yeah, it’s fine. I’ve worn makeup before. Go wild.”
Uki chuckles ominously. “Don’t say that to me, because I will.”
“Hey, I’m already wearing a skirt,” Claude points out.
Uki’s grin only grows wider at that, but before they can say anything, Petra returns with a pink zip pouch the size of Claude’s head. She places it onto the kitchen table with a heavy thump, and turns to Uki. “Take care of him while I go get changed, okay?”
Uki nods, already sifting through the makeup bag and checking out the selection of brushes. They slide one out with a small rounded tip, holding it between two elegantly manicured fingers, and point it at Claude. “Alright, get seated.”
Claude obeys, dropping into one of the chairs surrounding the table and preparing for Uki to work their magic.
After about ten minutes of holding his face as still as possible, Uki passes him a small handheld mirror. “What do you think?” they ask.
Claude raises the mirror to his face. “Whoa…”
He isn’t sure what he’d been expecting, especially after Uki’s earlier remarks, but the reflection looking back at him now is enough to leave him speechless.
The dark liner carefully smudged across his eyelids fades out into soft shades of purple, blonde lashes turned black with mascara.
Claude blinks, and spots the tiniest hint of a shimmer where the colors catch the light.
His lips are a light peachy pink color that could easily be mistaken as not having anything on them at all, especially with how striking his eyeshadow is by contrast.
Claude wishes he had the proper vocabulary to compliment Uki’s skills but all that comes out is, “Nice… very, um, purple?”
Uki sighs, throwing him a withering glare before calling over their shoulder. “Petra, get over here!”
Petra trots over, now donning a cute plaid dress under a bright red cape and carrying a picnic basket.
“Little Red Riding Hood?” Claude guesses.
“Yep! And Rosemi’s the Wolf,” she informs him.
“Wait, really?”
“Petra, what do you think of his makeup?” Uki interrupts.
Petra hums, hand on her chin like this is a very serious matter. “I think you need a little bit more color underneath,” she says, pointing a finger at the corner of Claude’s eye. “He’s got really nice bottom lashes, so put some mascara on those too.”
Uki nods and begins applying according to her instructions.
It’s almost funny—the two of them hunched over in such focused concentration, staring at Claude’s face like it’s an escape room puzzle.
It takes him a second to realize Shu has appeared too, standing a little bit behind them, observing quietly.
They make eye contact, and Claude doesn’t even need to say a word to convey what he’s thinking. Shu breaks into silent giggles behind his hand, shoulders shaking.
Claude would do the same if he didn’t know it would earn him a scolding for moving his head.
Eventually, Petra and Uki must come to some sort of conclusion because they both step back to admire Uki’s work.
“Now, here’s the real question,” Petra says, placing her hands on her hips. “Does it pass the boyfriend test?”
Everyone’s eyes land on a certain sorcerer.
“W-what? Me?”
“Yes you, idiot! Does Claude have another boyfriend I don’t know about?”
“Whoa—”
“Oh, shut up, Claude.”
“Hey! I didn’t even say anything!”
“You didn’t need to,” Petra snaps.
Whatever Claude was going to say back to that leaves his mind the second Shu approaches his chair.
He blinks up at him, feeling nervous for some reason, even though he knows Uki did an amazing job.
Shu reaches his hand out, and Claude takes it, letting himself be pulled up and out of the seat. He steps forward, standing so close they’re practically nose to nose.
His hands settle on Claude’s hips.
“I like it.”
“So I know it’s like super late and we really don’t have an excuse since we live just down the street and all, and even though we were out of town a few weeks ago we still probably could have gotten this to you earlier, but… um—”
“Happy belated birthday!” Shu finishes for him, cutting into Claude’s rambling. The colorful paper bag dangles cheerfully from his outstretched arms.
Elira gasps loudly, accepting the gift from Shu’s hands. “Thank you! And don’t even worry about it, seriously!”
“I like your costume, by the way. The lights are a nice touch,” Claude adds, referring to the wire of LEDs wrapped around her fake halo.
“Thank youuu!” Elira sings. “It was Petra’s idea! Isn’t she awesome?—Wait! Speaking of awesome… Claude? This outfit…” She trails off into a suggestive chuckle.
“Yeah? What?”
“Nothing, nothing!” She gives him a sly grin. “I like it! You match with Meow-meow!”
“Oh, uh, thanks?” Claude responds, caught off guard.
Elira suddenly frowns in contemplation. “Wait, are you guys supposed to go together?” she asks, pointing her finger between the two of them. “Like a vampire and his… uhh… discord kitten?”
Shu immediately breaks into a peal of giggles.
Claude wants to die again. “Why does everyone keep saying that?!” he whines.
“Maybe because it’s true?” She wiggles her eyebrows at him, and then adds in her fake deep voice, “Meow for me, kitten!”
Claude crosses his arms over his chest. “Nuh uh, not for free.”
“What about for Shu?”
“Shu doesn’t want me to meow for him.”
“Hey!” Shu interrupts.
“Do you?!”
“Erm, that’s a loaded question…”
Elira is cackling at them like she’s having the time of her life.
Claude hangs his head, defeated. “Just open the gift, please,” he begs.
“Fine, fine,” she says, calming down a bit. Reaching around the tissue paper in the bag, she pulls out a teal polaroid camera, followed by a box of film as big as the camera itself. Her eyes widen, as if realizing something. “Wait, oh my god, is this a joint gift? You guys are practically a married couple at this point!”
“Well, technically the camera is from me and the extra film is from Claude but okay, yeah, a joint gift,” Shu answers with a shrug.
Elira stuffs the camera and film back into the bag, clearing her throat dramatically, and gives them a mock bow. “Thank you, Auntie and Uncle!”
“Hey! You’re older than us!”
Claude’s cry is overlapped with Shu’s question of, “Wait, who's the Auntie and who’s the Uncle?”
Elira grins cheekily. “Now, normally I’d say you were the Auntie—but today…”
She gives Claude a pointed once over, lingering on his lower half.
“Heyyy… What’re you tryna say?” he asks, putting his hand on his waist and popping his hip. “This is an extremely Uncle outfit.”
Elira laughs so hard she starts wiping tears from her eyes. She slaps Claude on the shoulder and he and Shu can’t help bursting into giggles too.
Between wheezes, she catches her breath for long enough to say, “Actually, I think you might both be Aunties.”
Claude’s grin falls off his face. “Never mind, I'm taking the gift back.” He reaches a hand out but Elira quickly clutches the bag to her chest with a squeak.
“No, no! It’s mine now! No take backsies!”
Before Claude can say more, Shu pipes up. “It’s also so you can stop borrowing mine.”
Elira drops her arms. “Ah, you got me,” she says, with a sheepish grin. “Actually, let me go get it for you.” She leaves in a hurried jog, headed for the stairs.
When she comes back, the bag has been replaced by a different polaroid camera.
Unlike Elira’s, it’s plain and black and scratched on one corner from the time Shu dropped it on the sidewalk. He’d gotten it to practice his photo taking skills after Uki told him they left much to be desired, but the girls ended up using it more than him.
She’s about to hand it over when she gasps in excitement again. “Wait! You two! Get close!”
Shu reacts first, laying his arm across the back of Claude’s shoulders and pulling him against his side.
Elira raises the camera to her face. “Say cheese!”
Claude does his best to not look like a man standing emoji as she snaps the photo.
The film slides out of the camera and into her waiting palm. “Cute!!!” Elira cheers after taking a look, bouncing on her heels. She hands the little square over to Shu.
Claude bends his head down to see the soft image of them standing side by side slowly come into view—him with his smokey purple eyelids and awkward peace sign, and Shu grinning ear to ear.
Elira is right.
It is a cute photo, the charming glow of the developing film giving it an air of timelessness, like something you’d discover tucked away in an old album.
A warm feeling slots into the center of Claude’s chest.
He glances back up to see Elira watching the two of them with round eyes.
“Thanks,” Claude says, hoping it sounds as genuine as he feels.
Elira smiles softly at him. “Of course! And thanks for coming! I hope you both enjoy the party.”
And then she’s gone with a flourish, off to greet more guests.
The sweater was a mistake.
Now that everyone’s arrived, it feels like a hundred degrees inside the small house. Claude can feel sweat beginning to bead along the back of his spine and, god, he hates sweating.
The entire room feels bogged down with the heavy scent from the candles. Claude hadn’t minded them so much when he and Shu were setting up earlier, but now the smell of apple pie is overwhelming, like he’s the one sitting in the oven himself.
And Shu certainly isn’t making matters any easier, the way he’s glued to Claude’s side where they’re sitting on the couch, so close that Claude swears he can feel his body heat seeping through to him.
What most people don’t know about Shu is that he’s a clingy, tactile drunk. Not that he’s drunk yet, Claude’s pretty sure he’s only on his second beer so far, but he’s well into tipsy territory for sure.
There’s no other reason for him to be sitting here in front of all their friends and blatantly trailing his fingers along Claude’s thighs, slipping them under the tops of his stockings where everyone can see. Luckily, it seems they’ve all consumed enough alcohol at this point to either not notice or not care.
But Shu’s fingers are warmer than usual, and it only makes Claude sweat more. He decides he can’t stand it anymore and pulls away from Shu just long enough to pull the thick sweater over his head.
Tossing the lump of fabric to the side, he turns around to find Shu staring at him with a heavy gaze. The candle glow reflecting off his eyes makes them look more black than violet—stark and stunning like his hair.
The sight takes Claude’s breath away, just for a moment, and then Shu shatters it by turning to grab a chocolate cupcake off the coffee table and stuffing it into his mouth.
Claude lets out a hearty laugh at that, baffled by Shu’s confusing behavior but endeared by it regardless.
“You’ve really been scarfing those down, huh?” he teases.
“They’re yummy,” Shu mutters guiltily. His words are slightly muffled behind his hand, politely raised to hide his mouthful of food.
“Oh, you’ve got some on your—”
Shu is staring at him like he’s speaking another language, so Claude decides it’ll be easier to just take care of it himself. He grabs Shu’s left hand by the wrist, tugging it away from his mouth and instead up to Claude’s own.
He licks the leftover frosting off of Shu’s hand, tongue gliding over the web of skin between his thumb and first finger.
Shu’s eyes go wide.
And truly, Claude has no other intentions here, but the metal of their piercings clink together and suddenly Shu is jolting out of his seat.
“I need to use the restroom,” he announces to no one in particular.
A couple people nod, but most of them don’t even seem to hear him.
Claude counts the seconds up to ten, long enough for all their friends to return to their previous conversations, before getting up himself.
The second he’s inside the bathroom, Shu is burying his fist in the front of Claude’s shirt, dragging him into a bruising kiss.
They stumble, off-balance and overeager in the cramped space, narrowly avoiding a crash into the sink.
Between breaths, Shu brings a hand up to his own mouth, hastily popping off both fake costume fangs and dropping them in the trash before rushing to continue, uninhibited now.
He grabs Claude’s face with both hands, desperation on his tongue where they meet, a tidal wave of force behind it. His frenzied movements send the cheap, cat-ear headband flying from Claude’s head, hitting the bathroom tiles with a muffled clatter.
Shu kicks it to the side, pushing Claude backwards until he collides with the wall behind him.
He meets Shu's gaze, and the pure fire Claude sees in those violet eyes is enough to have him moaning quietly again, head thrown back.
Shu barely allows him a moment to catch his breath before attaching his lips to Claude’s neck, kissing a line all the way up to the hook of his jaw. His nose brushes Claude’s earlobe, sending tingles down his spine.
“Shu…” Claude breathes. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, only that the weight of Shu’s name feels so good on his tongue.
And fuck, Claude knew he looked good in these clothes, but the way Shu is grabbing him now, palms flush against his skin, makes him feel like something truly special—something worth desiring and holding onto.
The thought makes him wrap his arms around Shu’s neck and pull him even closer, until their bodies are pressed together and Claude can feel the warmth of his chest against his own.
No longer oppressive, it’s a different kind of heat from the one that he had been drowning in earlier on the couch.
Now, he drowns in Shu—his scathing touch, the cut of his teeth, the mark he’s currently sucking onto Claude’s neck.
Claude lets him take what he needs, biting his own lip to stop the moans from leaking out. It all feels too good to ask him to stop or slow down.
It sends a thrill down his spine knowing that he can pull these reactions out of someone usually so reserved.
And Shu isn’t shy with his grip either. His fingers dig greedily into the meat of Claude’s thigh when he raises one leg up to hook it around his waist.
He hikes Claude’s other leg up too, until he's completely off the ground, his entire weight held aloft by Shu’s arms and the wall behind him.
The skirt nearly flips inside out, leaving no barrier between Claude’s underwear and the front of Shu’s slacks.
The friction feels scandalous like this, and Claude’s hips move of their own accord, rocking forward, seeking more, spurred on by the growing stiffness he finds there—
When suddenly the bathroom door swings open, followed by an ear piercing shriek.
Claude drops his legs immediately, shoving Shu off of him, but the damage is already done.
Elira is standing on the threshold with her hands over her eyes. “I just wanted to pee!” she cries miserably.
Claude whips his head around. “I thought you locked it!”
“I thought I did!” Shu shoots back.
Elira lets out a distressed sounding warble. Her tinsel halo rustles when she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I love you guys, thank you for the gift, but I think it’s time for you to go home now,” she says.
A part of Claude genuinely feels bad. He can admit they got a little carried away there.
Another part, residing a lot further south than the first, wants nothing more than to get back to their previous activities as soon as possible.
With a hand on each of their backs, Elira herds the two of them down the hallway, into the living room, and all the way out the front door, curious and amused looks from their friends following them all the way.
She's kind enough to let them stop to grab their stuff from the living room—Claude’s sweater and Shu’s camera—before throwing them out, but it only serves to make their sorry appearance all the more damning.
Claude thinks he must resemble a fucking tomato at this point. There’s no hiding from anyone what the two of them had just been caught doing. They’re never going to hear the end of this from their friends.
He knows from the way she’s laughing that Elira isn’t actually upset at them, but the embarrassment is still too strong for Claude to get a proper apology out.
Luckily, Shu manages for the both of them. “Sorry, Elira!” he shouts just as they’re pushed out onto the front steps. “Thank you for the party! It was really fun!”
“Thank you for coming! Happy Halloween!” She yells back, and then the door slams shut, cutting off the sounds of the party and plunging the two of them into a cold, jarring silence.
Claude stares at the door, rubbing his temples “Yeah…” he sighs dejectedly, “we deserved that.”
When Shu doesn’t respond right away, Claude turns around and finds him looking up at the night sky.
It's dark as ink now, well past evening and counting down the last hours before midnight.
The moon is full and bright and Shu is staring at it pointedly.
“Pretty.”
His eyes drop to Claude’s face as he says it, carrying with them a question.
The single word feels like a jolt to his system. Claude has to look away suddenly, unable to make eye contact, much less answer.
He can feel the harsh spotlight of Shu’s gaze boring into the side of his head.
“Isn’t it?” Shu adds, when the silence stretches on for too long.
Claude huffs out a sigh, and turns to flash Shu a wry smile. “You sure you’re not drunk?” he teases. He’s deflecting. He knows he’s deflecting, but he can’t help it.
The cold has broken whatever spell he’d been under earlier, where Shu’s hands on him had made him feel like he was on top of the world. And now, acknowledging something so profound feels like staring directly into the sun.
The irony is not lost on him.
He thinks he sees Shu's expression falter, but it happens so fast, that in the late night darkness Claude decides he must have imagined it. And when Shu lets out a laugh, he forgets about his worries altogether.
“I had like one beer, come on,” Shu says between his giggles. He pats Claude on the arm. “I'll be sober by the time we get back.”
“It was two beers,” Claude corrects fondly, holding up the same amount of fingers for emphasis, “but okay. Let’s go home.”
Shu stares at Claude’s raised hand for a second, before grabbing it with his own, lacing their fingers together. He slowly begins tugging him in the direction of the street.
It’s a nice walk back, even for this time of night.
The autumn breeze tastes sweet on Claude’s tongue after the crowded party air, and Shu’s hand in his is warm enough to stave off the chill as they make their way home.
Once they’re inside, Shu pauses in the hallway.
“Hmm, hold on a sec, I wanna put this in the office,” he says, referring to the camera in his hands.
Claude nods, dropping his discarded sweater onto the bench with their shoes before following him in.
Shu is already by the shelf in the back, so Claude takes a seat on the large, hardwood desk in the center of the room. A gorgeous statement piece of deep mahogany and beveled edges—he’d encouraged Shu to splurge on it last month and personally thinks it had been worth every penny.
Claude runs his hand along the flat surface, admiring the richly-colored grain.
“You know, there’s a chair if you want to sit,” Shu tells him when he turns around.
“I know,” Claude says, swinging his feet a little.
The corners of Shu’s lips curl upwards. He walks closer, but pauses when he gets right in front of him. He stands there for a bit, between Claude’s knees, just gazing down at him like he’s drinking in the view.
Well, if it’s a view he wants, Claude can give it to him.
He puffs out his chest just slightly, leaning back on his hands behind him. The skirt is short enough that he can feel the cool face of the desk under his bare thighs. He spreads his legs and it rides up even further, barely covering him anymore.
“Well?” he asks with a smirk. “You just gonna stare at me all night or what?”
Shu rolls his eyes. And then drops to his knees.
Well, okay. Claude can work with that.
He reaches for the skirt impatiently, ready to pull it off to give Shu better access, but a hand on his wrist stops him.
“Wait…” Shu breathes, voice already huskier than it was just seconds ago. “Keep it on.”
“Oh? You like it that much?” Claude teases, ignoring the heat in his own cheeks. It feels so good any time he can get a reaction out of Shu that the embarrassment barely registers.
Shu chuckles, and looks up just long enough for their eyes to meet. “Maybe,” he says, but Claude understands it for the yes it is.
He keeps his hands on the desk behind him this time and lets Shu flip the front of the skirt up, pushing the pleated fabric even higher.
Claude’s pulse races in his ears. He wishes he had something more to grab onto, the smooth wooden surface offering him no leverage at all like this.
And he feels like he’s going to need it soon.
Shu manages to slide Claude’s underwear off without removing the skirt, although it probably wasn’t that difficult considering how rumpled said skirt has become.
A whimper escapes Claude’s lips when his bare crotch meets the air.
God, if he thought this shit was breezy before…
He feels so dirty, sitting on his boyfriend’s fancy desk in nothing but a white pleated skirt, the hard evidence of his arousal on full display. His thighs twitch where Shu is holding them open.
“Shu…” Claude whines when more than a few seconds go by with Shu just staring at him down there, dark and hungry eyes not straying for a second from the sight before him. And, oh god, just the thought of that is almost too much for Claude to handle. He’s almost glad the skirt blocks his view. He doesn’t want to think about what he must look like down there, just feeling it is enough. “Shu, please,” he all but begs. He thinks he might start sobbing soon.
And then Shu’s mouth is on him.
Claude’s entire body jerks at the sudden contact, head thrown back in a gasping moan.
One of his hands flies out to bury itself in Shu’s hair, tugging and pressing, regaining control over his half of the tempo. Claude drags him closer, thrusting himself deeper into the soft warmth of Shu’s mouth.
Shu groans from the harsh treatment, long eyelashes fluttering, and Claude feels the way his lips vibrate against him.
It’s so good already. It shouldn’t be possible for it to be this good this fast. Goddamn Shu and his fucking tongue. Claude can feel his composure slipping away already.
He hooks one of his legs over Shu’s shoulder, heel digging into his back as if scared he’ll move away.
It’s an irrational fear, considering how eagerly Shu is swallowing him down, like he’s fucking starving for it.
Maybe Claude should wear this skirt more often.
That’s about the last coherent thought he has before everything becomes too much, a tangled mess of sticky pleasure, spiking every time Shu takes him in deep and works his throat around him.
It doesn’t take long after that.
Claude comes hard and fast, thighs clenching tight around Shu’s head before falling bonelessly back onto the desk, muscles quaking.
Shu wipes the mess from his chin with the back of his hand, and then has the nerve to grin. “How was that?” he asks, like it isn’t obvious that Claude’s mind has just been blown, his world rocked, just from one blowjob. Fuck.
He’s still trying to catch his breath when Shu presses a sweet, chaste kiss to his inner thigh, glancing up at him through his eyelashes.
“Did you know you have a mole here?” he asks, rubbing a thumb over that same spot.
Claude almost forgets to answer, but eventually he shakes his head. How would he even see it there?
“It’s my favorite,” Shu says, eyes crinkling in the corners. He leans down to nip at it again and Claude bites down on a whimper.
Finally satisfied, Shu gets up from his knees, leaning in for a kiss. His lips are wet and shiny from overuse, and warmer than usual when they meet Claude’s.
He can taste himself on Shu’s tongue. It should be gross, he knows—but instead, Claude thinks it might be one of the hottest things to ever happen to him. Maybe he’s gone insane.
Claude melts into the kiss, shivering when Shu breaks it to nose up the length of his jaw, hot breath hitting his ear.
“You wanna do it here?” he asks, voice a deep rumble. It sends sparks dancing along Claude’s spine and he finds himself nodding fervently.
Sure the bedroom is right down the hall, but there’s something exhilarating about doing it on Shu’s desk instead—enough to make it worth the risk of soreness in the morning.
Claude takes a second to tug off his crop top and socks. He leaves the skirt on though—doesn't even need to ask about that one.
Shu generously sweeps the contents of his desk to the side, giving them more room to work with, and then he crowds in close, waist bracketed by Claude’s knees. There’s a small bottle of lube in his hand, already popped open.
“Wha—” Claude stammers. “Where did you even get that from?”
He’s given a shrug in response. “Pocket.”
“You brought that to the party?! Whore.”
“You’re calling me that?” Shu scoffs, almost a chuckle. “When you spent the entire night dressed like this?” He sneaks a finger from his clean hand under the waist of Claude’s skirt, pulling it back enough to let it snap taut against his skin when he lets go. “Do you have any idea how—”
Shu cuts off abruptly, and this time it’s Claude’s turn to laugh. “How what?” he teases, unable to help himself.
“Ah—” Shu’s gaze slides to the side, ears a precious shade of pink.
“Tell me.”
Violet eyes flash, and Shu roughly shoves two fingers in at once, successfully shutting down Claude’s train of thought.
He lets his own eyes fall shut, brow furrowing as Shu fingers him open, absorbed in the feeling. But despite the initial harshness, Shu’s movements are drawn out and careful now, taking his sweet time.
Claude whines impatiently, canting his hips up off the desk. “H-hurry up…” he pants. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”
“All day? We left for Petra and Elira’s at eight…”
“Shu, please don’t talk about our friends when your fingers are inside me—and take your fucking clothes off already.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Shu snorts, but he does as requested, retreating enough to slip the black turtleneck over his head, unzipping his pants too while he’s at it.
He grabs a hold of one of Claude’s thighs when he’s done, taking full advantage of his flexibility and pushing it back against the burn. The skirt flares and unfurls around Claude’s hips as they spread, soft pleats fanning out like petal ends.
Shu kisses him through it, over and over again, swallowing the groans from his lips.
It’s a habit he picked up ever since their first time when Claude couldn’t fucking relax. Now, if anything, it just makes him more excited.
He wraps his arms around Shu’s shoulders and lets himself be taken, slow and languidly, savored in a way that makes his stomach flutter.
There’s no rush now. No one is going to walk in on them. The door to Shu’s office is open, and Claude couldn’t care less.
He lets out a pleased sigh.
But he can’t help feeling greedy now, desperate for more despite himself.
And for once, Shu gives Claude what he wants without having to be asked first, bearing down on him until his back hits the desk with a quiet thud.
He reaches up to pull the dark green ribbon from Claude’s hair, letting it spill loose across the wooden surface.
And then he picks up his pace.
Claude gives a sharp cry, jerking at the sudden roughness, before quickly regaining his bearings.
Sure, Shu has been leading them this whole time, but Claude refuses to be left in the dust. He matches the brisk, determined rhythm Shu has set, as best he can.
His thighs strain from the effort, each slide and drag feeling like it could tear him apart. Claude’s entire world shifts focus, narrowing down to nothing but the spots where the two of them are touching, connected.
But then, he’s pulled back down to earth by the sound of Shu’s voice in his ear, realizing with a start that he’s been talking this whole time, half formed phrases and sweet mumbled nothings about—
About Claude.
About how good he looks like this, laid bare underneath him.
How perfect he feels.
Every word that falls from Shu’s lips is a praise and a prayer and Claude’s head spins from it.
He tries to say something back but the words get wrapped up in a moan when Shu adjusts his angle and hits a certain spot dead on.
Claude’s voice rings against the walls of the office like a hymn.
“What was that?” Shu asks, sounding smug.
Claude tries again to form a proper response. Instead, what comes out is, “God, you fuck me so good…”
Luckily, he’s too far gone to be embarrassed by the unbidden words leaving his mouth. His eyes are practically rolling back in his head from it all.
Above him, he hears Shu's breath catch.
He doesn't slow down though, and Claude is grateful because he can start to feel his peak rapidly approaching again. The waves of pleasure swell and crest, carrying him towards what he can already tell will be a bone-deep kind of release.
The wooden desk is hard and unforgiving beneath him, but Shu has a hand cradling the back of his head and, fuck, Claude thinks he might be in love.
What a terrible time to realize something like this.
Or maybe it’s the only time that makes sense.
Claude feels like he can’t breathe, lungs squeezing tight as Shu’s thrusts bring him closer to the edge.
It’s too much. He raises both hands to his face to smother the sobs climbing up his throat, but Shu, ever attentive, notices anyway.
He stops abruptly, making Claude whine at the sudden loss of stimulation. He’d been so close. Fuck.
Through the fog of his mind, he hears Shu calling his name.
“Claude?” A question.
Claude shakes his head behind his hands, too afraid to look Shu in the eye. He doesn’t know what he’s scared of, it’s not like Shu hasn’t already seen every ugly part of him and decided to stay anyway. But still, the thought terrifies him. As if somehow, with just one look, Shu will be able to read his thoughts, and hear the confession festering like a wound on his tongue.
“You’re crying,” Shu murmurs quietly, interrupting his thoughts. “Did I hurt you?”
Claude shakes his head, both in answer and as dismissal of such a ridiculous notion.
How could Shu ever hurt him?
“Keep going,” Claude urges instead, finally finding his voice. He grinds his own hips upward sloppily, chasing that edge he’d been so rudely robbed of, but the angle just isn’t quite right. It brings another frustrated whine to his lips. “Shu,” Claude all but begs, “please…”
“Let me see you first.”
Claude whimpers, shaking his head again, but when Shu still refuses to move, he slowly lowers his trembling arms.
He’s greeted by a violet gaze so intense, Claude immediately feels dizzy, breathless from it.
“There you are,” Shu says with a soft smile. He leans down to kiss the remaining tears from Claude’s cheeks, before continuing his rhythm, harder and harsher than before.
The contrast is enough to make Claude’s spine arch, the small of his back lifting off the desk. Shu quickly sneaks his other hand beneath him, holding Claude’s waist aloft and keeping that perfect angle, so deep it makes him see stars with each thrust.
Within seconds, Claude is back to that edge, dangling over the precipice this time. All he needs is that one final push to drive him over the brink.
It comes when Shu leans in close again to whisper in his ear, breath hot against the sensitive skin. The words sound like they’ve been punched straight from his gut. “Beautiful… You’re so beautiful. I love you so much.”
A sob tears itself from Claude’s throat, so loud it may as well have been a scream. The tears well and overflow again.
Claude comes with a mantra of Shu’s name on his tongue—the only word his spent body can even remember.
He hopes Shu hears it for the answer it is.
Claude comes back to himself slowly, in bits and pieces, starting with Shu pulling out and carefully lowering him down onto the desk. He whimpers when the warmth above him is replaced by cold air, the wooden desk offering no comfort for his aching muscles.
“Shh…” Shu hushes him, lips curved fondly. “Just give me a sec.”
Claude really doesn’t want him to leave, but he knows Shu is just going down the hall to the bathroom so that they can clean up. So he closes his eyes and tries to calm his racing pulse by sucking a deep breath into his lungs. It barely helps.
He feels like a mess. The ruined skirt is still bunched around his waist uncomfortably, sandwiched between his sweaty skin and the desk, but he doesn’t have the energy to slide it off. Without Shu to hold him up anymore, he feels like a puppet with its strings cut, legs dangling uselessly where they hang over the edge.
When Claude opens his eyes again, he turns his head to the side and finds Shu still standing there with his hand on the doorknob. He startles when he realizes he’s gotten caught staring again.
“Take a picture,” Claude teases in a tired mumble. “It’ll last longer.”
Shu holds his gaze for a soft moment, and then releases the doorknob. He walks over to the shelf and retrieves the camera he’d placed there earlier.
When he gets back to the desk, Shu raises the viewfinder up to his face, and then, without asking if Claude is ready, snaps the shutter button.
“Like that?” he asks with a smirk.
The slip of film pushes itself out of the camera as Claude scrambles for an answer.
“Th-that— that works…” he manages to say eventually. He hadn’t expected Shu to actually do it, but Claude supposes he should have seen that coming. If anyone is going to call his bluff, it’s Shu.
He waits a bit for the photo to develop before passing it over, and Claude has to hold back a gasp when he sees his own face reflected back on the film in front of him.
He’d forgotten all about the makeup.
And now it’s a mess, smudged and running from his earlier bout of tears. His melting eyeliner paints the highest points of his cheekbones in faint but dark streaks.
No wonder Shu had been staring at him.
“Ah— I… woah,” Claude stammers helplessly.
Shu saves him from having to respond any further by plucking the photo from his fingers.
He gives it one last lingering glance before opening the top right-side drawer on his desk and dropping it inside.
“You gonna look at that when I’m gone?” Claude teases.
“Yeah,” Shu answers bluntly, unfazed.
“You—”
“—But this one too.” Shu pulls something out of his pocket to show him, and Claude’s retort dies on his tongue. It’s the photo Elira took of them earlier that night, now fully developed and bright with color. “Maybe I’ll start a collection.”
The words make something warm bloom in Claude’s chest, light and airy and buoyant like it could carry him into the sky. He’s pretty sure he knows what this feeling is, even if he’s never felt it before. But first, he has to ask. “Did you mean it?”
Shu tilts his head. “Mean what?”
“W-what you said. When we were…” Claude’s face burns. He can’t repeat it. He feels like a house of cards right now, like if Shu were to look at him too hard, he’d collapse into a pathetic pile on the table.
Although, considering his current position, maybe he already has. He resists the urge to throw his arm across his eyes again, drowning in the puddle of his own emotions.
Understanding dawns on Shu’s face, saving Claude the trouble of explaining himself further.
His expression is impossibly soft as he brushes Claude’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. “I'd never say that if I didn't mean it,” Shu tells him. “Of course I love you.”
Claude grabs onto his wrist, holding Shu’s hand in place where he’s cupping his face. His voice feels so meek in comparison to how strong and solid Shu’s had been, but he wants to say this anyway. He wants to put these words out into the world as something real and tangible and not just silently understood.
“Me too. I love you too.”
He thinks he might start crying again, but it’s a good feeling. A hopeful one. One that speaks of futures and promises and things that should be impossible or terrifying but no longer are.
“I know,” Shu says, breaking Claude out of his reverie.
Claude’s lips pull into a pout. “Am I that obvious?”
Shu leans down to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Yeah. But that’s okay.” He laughs again and Claude finds himself unable to hold back a smile of his own.
He feels himself being scooped up, lifted off the table and set back onto his shaky legs.
“Now, come on,” Shu says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
Claude hums something incoherent that fades into a yawn, exhaustion hitting him now that he’s upright. He practically clings to Shu’s back as he’s led down the hallway, to the very bathroom where this whole thing started in.
“Bath?” he mumbles, too tired to form a full question right now, and why bother when Shu clearly understands anyway.
He chuckles, kissing the mess of Claude’s hair. “Whatever you want.”
Claude’s heart squeezes in his chest, full to bursting.
And okay, he decides, maybe he can accept being so obvious when the result makes him this happy.