Work Text:
NÄSINGE.
Yuma longingly trails his hand over the sturdy edge of the table, mind racing. The smell of the wood varnish lingers on his hands when he retracts them, artificial and fresh. The height of it is perfect for meals, his various projects, and supporting Jo well when he wants to be fucked against the table. They’ve broken their old one and they don’t come cheap, but life is short and Yuma doesn’t want to pass knowing he could have plowed his boyfriend in the kitchen if he wasn’t so reserved.
“Joooo?” He calls out, turning on his heel to lean against the kitchen island instead. Solid marbled stone meets his palms, and he can spot flecks of white and gold embedded into the slab if he really focuses. It creates an uneven grey and the gold is barely visible, neither of them would enjoy staring at it while bent over. The minor details aren’t important. For now, his attention aches to be elsewhere.
He doesn’t get an immediate response, and he’s impatient, so he sings out once more. “Jojo?”
The beaded curtain separating the kitchen from the living room rattles and out comes Jo, attentive as ever. He has that look on his face that means he’s found something good but he’s not sure how to bring it up, half-excited and half-brooding.
“Yes?” He’s on the other side of the kitchen island, leaning in close enough to hear Yuma’s breath hitch. A single thought runs through their minds and it shows differently for both of them. Yuma’s eyes fly to Jo’s lips and Jo has a silly, enamored smile on his face. They could kiss, right now, while no one is watching– So they do.
It’s a soft, fleeting press that the cameras won’t catch, and even though there’s no one around, Yuma pulls back too quickly. Jo sighs.
“We could do better than that.” He moves without thinking, cupping the back of Yuma’s head to properly kiss him. Yuma stills, stifling a pleased sound that comes from his chest when Jo starts sucking on his tongue. He’s been kissed in public more than he can handle lately, and it’s all his own fault. Jo has been carved from a hesitant pebble into this greedy, kiln hardened creature that whispers promises of a blowjob in a crowded restaurant.
Yuma was just as bad if not worse when they began dating, loudly teasing Jo at gatherings about his ‘thing for lifeguards,’ and he was sure he got away with it.
Now, with a hand at his nape keeping him still and open, it feels more like Jo has stocked all of his own teasing in a vault and he’s just now cracking it right open. Cashing in on his savings in the form of psychosexual torture– And predicting Yuma’s humors. It feels almost practiced, the way he knows how to charm him to keep him disarmed. Yuma is at a complete loss for words.
He tries to pull away, lightheaded and afraid of his own dick, but Jo voices his dissent with a hum.
Yuma is convinced humans are made of something weaker than clay, because the heat of Jo’s bold display of belonging has his knees weakening where he stands. Maybe it’s just him.
The loud creak of a faulty cart has them breaking apart in a hurry, Jo shoving his head into an open fridge and Yuma counting decorative fruits with great interest. He’s out of breath and the softness of this styrofoam banana isn’t helping him, projecting terrible visuals into his brain.
He lifts the price tag of the basket stuck onto the marble to pretend he doesn’t want to start screaming at the top of his lungs when Jo initiates a kiss, but it does nothing. The urge is still there and his lips are still stinging with the familiar bite of Jo’s central incisors. They feel like they’ll be red until his next cell cycle begins.
The cart slowly rolls past the kitchen set, full of baby toys, and the woman pushing it gives Yuma a polite smile. Much to his delight, she doesn’t seem shocked or judging, just serene.
“Young love. I get it.” Yuma returns her smile with one of his own, relief pouring out of his pores. The woman is gone as fast as she rolled by, making her way down Ikea’s classic, maze-like labeled path.
Jo takes his head out of the fridge and it's like nothing has happened to him at all. His lips are a little pinker and his ears are flushed, but he doesn’t seem as affected as Yuma and it’s pissing him off.
“You’re unbelievable. You can’t just grab me and kiss me however you like!” He whisper-shouts, stepping away from the kitchen display. Jo follows him into the same living room he just came out of, smoothing the collar of his shirt.
“But you liked it, right?” He lifts the bead curtain for Yuma to pass through and the beads hit him instead, causing him to wince a bit.
That gets a giggle out of Yuma but he can’t lose the argument, so he sits on the beige KIVIK loveseat on display and ignores Jo for being correct.
Jo takes the victory in silence because it’s all he can do, standing behind the couch with palpable glee.
“Is the store living up to your expectations?” He starts, gently squeezing his hand where Yuma’s shoulder ends and his neck begins. He doesn’t take it off when he feels Yuma shiver.
He clears his throat and lays his head back on the headrest, eyes meeting Jo’s. “It’s nice, but it’s huge. There’s just so many rooms, and we’ve only seen the kitchens.”
“Was there anything you wanted to get for our place over there?”
Our place. The combination of those words from Jo’s mouth makes his blood turn sweet and pink, and it probably isn’t good for him to be so elated all the fucking time. Jo’s lip quivers when he says it, like he can’t believe himself, and his sentence always ends with a smile.
Yuma would trap him in his mind and make him say it over and over again if he could, but he won’t for very clear ethical and moral reasons. Back to the table.
He thinks about his visions from earlier, how the solid wood wouldn’t creak to the rhythm of his thrusts, how he’d be able to hear the lovely sounds Jo makes when he’s about to come– and he nods while his pupils dilate. “I was looking at that table. Very sturdy.” He sighs, words weighing on the darker side of innuendos.
Jo picks up on it and launches it back, right in his face. His hand inches higher up Yuma’s neck, and he bends down to talk softer. “Yeah? It doesn’t look like it would break with heavy movement. Unlike the one back home. I wish we could test how solid it really is before buying it–” He prattles on, mouth nearing the curve of Yuma’s ear.
“Shut up, right now, please.” The whine is sincere, from the confines of his blushing maiden heart. His dick is too hard to be surrounded by overpriced Swedish furniture.
Yuma simply doesn’t have it in him to up the ante, suddenly lightheaded. He’s embarrassed about his enthusiasm, even though Jo was the one who subtly suggested christening their apartment by fucking on every available surface.
He’s not the pervert here. From their first hookup in that hotel room to their recent stint in their new apartment, it’s all been Jo. Yuma’s been tricked into thinking he’s holding the reins by basking in the coy reactions and flustered giggles, but they’re as deceitful as they are sweet. Jo is a giant, spoiled, darling of a man, and Yuma is the one who repeatedly enables him.
“It’s getting late. Let’s go check out the bedrooms before the food court closes.” He stands up and out of the living room and Jo follows eagerly, devoted as ever. “Sure. Should we get new bedding too? I heard good things about their bedsheet durability,”
It’s an innocent question, but with the way things have been going, Yuma has a knee-jerk reaction to it. He hits the side of Jo’s shoulder, a backhanded warning that’s too weak to wipe the smile off his face.
“Be normal, will you? There’s a lot of people over there.” They pass by the rest of the living room sets at a brisk pace– Yuma is walking fast on purpose and Jo catches up to discreetly hold his hand. Jo eyes the apron sets on their way to the bedroom sets, and he makes a corny joke about kissing cooks that makes Yuma want to kill him.
“I’m normal, Yuma-kun.” He’s an icon of formality when he shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye that only surfaces in two instances– When he’s hiding a secret, and when he knows Yuma is riled up. He’s just been perpetually blushing for the greater part of their little date.
“Normal my ass. You’re a freak, Sweetheart.”
There it is. That tone Jo clung onto so dearly when they first met, the one that stayed on his mind long enough to formally ask Yuma out. He only takes out the honeyed ‘sweetheart’ when Jo really makes him feel insane, a poor form of retaliation against his inescapable charm. Jo just kisses his own fingers before pressing them against Yuma’s cheek, loving and subtle.
“What was that for?” He huffs, heavy flush evident under his skin despite his attempt at mimicking nonchalance. Romantic gestures catch him off guard and flip him upside down, and Jo knows this too well.
“A kiss. For good luck.” Jo murmurs, assigning his selfish loverboy whims to some greater force.
Yuma’s heart swells under the layers of stubbornness that Jo gently claws his way through everyday, and his answer is an extended hand for him to grab.
The beds at their disposition make them forget they’re only here for bedding, all soft and fresh and comfortable to a fault.
“Oh, look.” Jo spots a bed with an integrated bedside table, which would be perfect for all the drawings he hasn’t finished yet. Sure, drawing will be the last thing on his mind once he starts waking up next to Yuma everyday, but it’s good to have hobbies.
Yuma skips and hops onto the opportunity to tease him. “You plan on drawing in bed, when you have me there?”
“I plan on doing way more than that, I feel like you know this.” Jo sings, matter of factly, and Yuma feels his palm start to sweat. He gulps and redirects Jo to the topic at hand.
“That’s crazy. Thank you. I was thinking, should we get a bed today instead of just bedding?” Yuma eyes a queen bed with envy, until the price tag catches his eye. His tongue rolls over his teeth in contemplation, because he’s sure a reinforced frame with extra storage space is worth the price. Jo doesn’t let him fall for good marketing and manufactured domesticity, soft with his reminders.
“We don’t need a new bed, Yuma. Plus, this is clearly arranged for newlyweds.”
"Doesn't Harua call us that? Newlyweds." At the mention of his friend, Jo seems to fold a little. Yuma can't believe Jo is that easy to convince.
"That's true. We are annoying." His smile is pleasant and full of mirth, proud to terrorize their friends with his relationsip.
Yuma turns to him, humming. “Let's get married.”
Jo takes psychic damage from the serious, intense look in Yuma’s eyes, imagining himself in those aprons from earlier in the most disgustingly domestic settings. Turns out he’s not immune to Ikea’s marketing tactics.
He’s not shocked about enjoying the thought of housewifing it up for Yuma, shifting about to pull the collar of his shirt lower.
“You’d put a ring on my finger just for…” He glances over at the bedding, nervously wetting his lips. “Mr. and Mrs. matching pillow set?”
Yuma chuckles, brewing up an insane scenario to terrorize Jo even more. “Yup. Just for that. Picture this, I get home after a long day of work, you’re laying in bed on your comfortable Mrs. Nakakita pillow– Unless I’m taking your name–” He pauses, thinking about it for a beat.
Nagoya isn't too far. They could get their certificates, have a sweet wedding near the water, live a peaceful life, they could have it all— Yuma is getting ahead of himself.
Jo laughs with too much air in his chest, ears so hot they feel like they’ll fall off soon. This is when he decides to sit down for the first time since they’ve entered the store, slowly folding over and carefully smoothing over the wrinkles on the bed. Yuma wants him to giggle more.
“Anyways. I join you in our brand new bed and we fuck all night, causing me to be late to my mysterious and important corporate job, but it’s okay because I get a wifey pass. Sorry boss, my lovely wife wouldn’t let me leave the house. Oh yes, when we’re trying for a baby we just gotta keep at it, y’get what I mean?” He comes down from his reverie to glance over at Jo again, bright-eyed and expectant. He doesn’t know what to do about the overwhelmed face Jo makes at him, redder than beets and slightly panicked.
His lips part into an exhale. “Sounds good.” Jo says, strangled. Yuma had expected him to ask why he has to be the wife, or shush him, or give him his classic ‘I’m in love’ heart eyes.
Instead, he looks like he’s so horny he could explode. Yuma files that information somewhere easy to access and returns to his usual teasing pattern, prodding him to get him even more flustered. “What’s wrong? You don’t like that idea?”
“No, no I like it. I love it. I just feel a little dizzy.” He mumbles, arms pulled over his lap. Yuma decides to give him that as he stands up, ordering him to stay where he is.
“My poor Jojo. I’ll go pick up the bedding, okay? Won’t be long.” He lands a loud smooch on top of his head and then he’s sauntering off with a pep in his step, pleased with the upper hand in his possession.
He returns as promised and Jo’s boner-freeze seems to have melted enough, judging by the three plushies he’s got gathered in his arms. There’s an otter with its baby resting on her belly and a scraggly looking husky, both of them huge.
“They match the bedding.” Is all he says, holding them in front of his face to be more convincing. Yuma is clearly holding a pack of blue and white sheets, but he says nothing.
“Let’s break our wallets and go home, come on.” He’s hungry for dinner and he’d like to take his time to enjoy it but there’s something greater than hunger gnawing at him: Overwhelming lust for his pervert of a boyfriend.
🛏
To no one’s surprise, they arrive home from Ikea with a delivery slip for a brand new bed.
Jo was quiet in the car, as usual, but his silence carried an undertone of want that had Yuma considering the privacy of a dark road to suck him off.
They really do act like newlyweds.
It’s even worse now. The bags have barely touched the floor and Jo is already on him, sliding his jacket off his shoulders, hands trembling before he leans down to kiss him against the wall of the entryway.
“Mmf– What’s with you today?” They part to keep undressing and Jo looks like he’s been shot, pouting over a few seconds without Yuma’s mouth on his. Jo’s shirt hits the floor and he’s back on Yuma in a heartbeat, sloppily licking into his mouth like he doesn’t know any better.
Yuma squeezes his cheeks to pull him away once more, sucking in a startled breath. He’s insatiable today, for some reason, but that just means Yuma gets to fuck it out of his system.
“Am I neglecting you? My poor, poor angel.” Yuma jokes into the kiss, tone sweet and cruel, but Jo lets out a whine that’s too needy to be funny. His stupid khakis join the rest of his clothes and he breathes a little easier, bare skin against Yuma’s clothed chest. Yuma goes to lift his hoodie over his head but Jo stops him, almost timid with his request.
“Keep your clothes on. I like when you bite your hoodie to keep from, uh, you know.” He begs like Yuma would ever deny him anything, (he would and he has) wide eyes gazing at him past the burning of his cheeks.
Yuma smiles, drunk on it, and he undoes his drawstrings with one hand to cup Jo’s face. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”
Jo leans into it like he always does, chest rising quicker than it should. “You get to choose where we’ll… Yeah.”
Yuma hesitates to free his cock from his boxers because he might bust on the spot. Jo is getting shy this far into his little plan for god knows what reason, and the bashful expression on his face is fueling something inside his guts that makes his dick twitch.
Yuma chooses to feed it some more. “Where we’ll what, Jojo? Tell me. Don’t get all shy on me.” He’s gloating, palm pressing against the bulge in Jo’s sweats. It’s an intoxicating feeling that gets the both of them, but Jo breaks out of it to give him a whimpered response.
“You should decide where you’re gonna fuck me.” The haze fully has him now. He tries, really tries not to grind into the comforting weight of Yuma’s hand but there’s already a full day of tension steadily leaking into his underwear and it’s all so good– Yuma has no fucking idea.
He keeps feeling him up while he contemplates with a lazy grin, smirking until his fingers touch something through the fabric of his briefs. It’s round, hard, plastic? He realizes it’s the silicone base of a plug when he tugs on it and Jo’s forehead falls onto his shoulder, lips bitten to muffle his moans.
Yuma doesn’t let it slide. “When did you even…”
“I got up before you did, remember?” He’s speaking very clearly, almost proud when Yuma feels his wet rim.
“The bed.” Yuma rasps, pulling Jo towards the bedroom by his waist.
Jo follows him, chest swelling with pride. “What about the bed?”
Yuma hooks a finger between the skin of his navel and his waistband, eyebrows furrowed. “You have no idea what you're doing.”
Jo believes him and keeps quiet until his back is against the bed and his long legs are shoved apart without finesse, haste powering Yuma like a shot of adrenaline. His height is insignificant when Yuma wants something from him. It reduces him to mush.
“Lube, honey.” Yuma caresses the skin of his inner thighs, nails grazing the sensitive skin with a purpose.
Jo makes a sound that’s almost a squeak, fumbling to retrieve it without getting up. He hands it to Yuma and he’s so keyed up that he shakes a little when their hands touch. It’s devastating.
“Relax, let your husband do the work.” Yuma doesn’t want to acknowledge the thrill of saying something he knows Jo will pop a blood vessel over. Jo is about to be sick of him.
Jo covers his face with his hands but his thighs relax, opening wide enough for Yuma to properly see how hard he is. The sun is beginning to set through their window, drowning his skin in warm gold. The shadows on Yuma’s face are soft and promising, deepening the focused crease between his brows and the swell of his bitten lips.
He almost backs up when Yuma lets lube drip over his ass, cold running down his perineum and towards the spot where the plug keeps him nicely stretched. It’s clearly a smaller plug but it still gets Jo lightheaded when Yuma pulls it out– The thickest part spreads him wide open when it passes through his rim and onto the towel under him.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He’s teasing him, languidly stroking his hands up and down his thighs and leaving light red lines down the skin.
He watches his hole flutter around nothing and the reddened tip of his dick drool because he knows Jo likes being denied. He likes having to gaze up at Yuma to beg like he doesn’t deserve to have hands on him– He likes working for his pleasure, and the poorly contained clench in Yuma’s jaw is insanely rewarding.
“Are you gonna keep me like this?”
It’s a complaint disguised as a question, thin and airy towards the end. Yuma would keep at it for longer, probably mark him up and make him cry if he wasn’t so hard that breathing hurt.
Jo nearly sobs when he finally feels fingers between his ass cheeks, and he feels his throat sting with frustration when they retreat again.
He’s pulled his wrist back before he could circle his rim and Jo huffs, exposed and impatient. “Why’d you stop?”
Yuma brings the two fingers to his lips and kisses his knuckles, maintaining eye contact with a breathless Jo as he does so. “A kiss,” He parrots, “For good luck.”
“Fuck, oh my god,” Jo whimpers and falls back against the sheets, elbows too weak to keep him upright. His eyes squeeze shut to help him handle the unbearable emptiness he feels, and Yuma shushes him before sliding two fingers past the hot silk of his insides. Yuma’s fingers always move quickly, reminding him how thick they are without mercy.
Jo doesn’t need mercy, anyways. He needs Yuma to fuck him open quick and messy, just enough for the initial stretch to ache the way he likes.
He delivers but he needs to gloat, so he hoists Jo’s leg over his shoulder and wraps a hand around Jo’s neglected dick. He doesn’t jerk him off, just leans down to kiss his tip before tightening his fingers around the base.
“Look at you. I can’t believe you spent all day with something inside you– you’re still so tight.” Yuma croons, driving his fingers deeper, where he knows the plug couldn’t reach, pressing the right buttons to make Jo arch off the bed. He keeps him in place with ease, and it’s moments like these that motivate him to keep going to the gym. Jo makes a winded noise that wraps around Yuma and makes him shudder, hips kicking to try and rut into the mattress.
“Mhm, I got you.”
He’s got his face shoved in the crook of his elbow and an unsteady breathing pattern, reaping the seeds he’s been sowing all day. Yuma is having the time of his life fingering Jo within an inch of his life, and judging by the clear stream of pre drooling all over his hand, it’s reciprocated.
“I wanted to- aah, try it, f’r you.” Jo can’t really think of anything else to say, steadily losing his train of thought as he focuses on the texture of Yuma’s fingers against his prostate. White hot pleasure slices through him every time they circle upwards, reducing him to an unwise, capricious thing. He’s getting used to Yuma fucking him like this, defaulting to gasping out a hushed thank you. This is where he makes him come before pushing into him to fuck him through his orgasm– And oh, he’s so close he can taste the elation, but Yuma won’t let up the pressure around his cock.
He’s still basking in the climb, chest rising to let out scared little ah-ah-ah’s, eyes unfocused and blurry with tears as soon as Yuma slides in a third finger. He’s still tight, still so responsive, and he still thinks Yuma is going to let him come right away.
His hands fist at the sheets, desperate to feel something that’ll make his nervous system feel less like a livewire and more like something human. Yuma used to wonder how far the flush on his face would go in moments like these, and he figures out pretty quick that it goes lower the louder he gets.
There’s one thing floating around Yuma’s head when Jo looks like this, pressed into the mattress and vulnerable, and he blurts it out. “My wife is so sweet, getting ready in advance just for me. Aren’t I lucky?”
Jo clenches so tight around his fingers that he can barely fuck him, rising to his elbows with a panicked gasp. What can he even say? The words fail him. He blindly grabs at the hand wrapped around his dick and grinds into its grip, voice breaking on a desperate moan. “You can’t… Don’t say that. I’ll come, you have to let me come if you’re gonna talk like this.”
His words come out airy and needy, no bark and no bite, so shaky that Yuma has no choice but to keep going.
“But I know what’s best for you, sweetheart. That’s why we’re married. If you let me treat you right, it’ll take faster.” His sweet talking is paired with the barest release of pressure around Jo’s slick cock, and that’s enough for him to crumble into the sheets and cry out.
“Tonight’s a good night, I can feel it. I’ll get you nice and full as many times as I need to, and I know you’ll let me-
“Fuck, coming, please, please, please–” Jo keeps gasping out, whimpering endlessly even when his cum stops dripping down the length of his dick.
Yuma’s hand is coated in it and it makes something akin to pride bloom in his guts– That’s all him. He takes Jo’s cum, barely waiting for the comedown to give him his breath back, and he messily spreads it down his own cock. The feeling of his hand makes him twitch, too different from the rough fibers of the sheets he was just grinding into.
Jo makes a strangled noise when he realises what Yuma is doing and Yuma giggles, enamored. “I know, right? Filthy.”
His laughter melts into a moan of his own as the head of his dick pushes past the tight, wet ring of muscle that can’t seem to unclench around him.
His mouth hangs open as he steadily inches in, thumb caressing the point of Jo’s hip to quiet his overstimulated mumbling.
He’s thicker than Jo, a little curved and he always manages to find the angle that wipes the skate of Jo’s brain clean. He’s grazing it right now, he can tell by the way his stomach tenses when he bottoms out.
Jo’s right leg is still hooked over his shoulder and he doesn’t really mind, he actually likes folding him in half. Jo takes whatever he gives him with open arms and open legs, he’s never gonna recover.
He also realizes they’ve somehow never done it missionary in all of the 3 years they've been together– and he carefully gets him to fold both of his legs against his chest.
“Good?”
Jo makes a face, wiggling in place. “Need a pillow.”
“That Mrs. pillow would’ve been so handy.”
Jo grants him a chuckle while he traces the cum leftover on his stomach, entertained and twitching. He’s hard again but his dick can’t take anything stronger than a feather right now– It’s for his own good.
Regardless, he carefully slips a cushion under Jo’s hips, adjusting him to be even closer. It would be easier to do this if he just pulled out, but the room is cold and Jo is clearly enjoying being full without purpose.
“My wife is all comfortable now. Right?” Yuma rolls his hips back and forth, testing an easy pace to properly enjoy the sensitivity of Jo’s body.
“Mmh- You’re so good to me. “ Jo can’t hide from him when they’re face to face and hip to hip like this– His face is too honest. He can pretend to clutch his pearls all he wants, but he can’t hide the fact that he’s into this little roleplay Yuma has shoved them into.
Yuma’s eyes roll shut with pure pleasure, letting it wash over him like the strongest rays of the sun filtering through their window.
He's not gonna last like this. He needs to focus on three things at once yet he feels like he's about to burst. His eyes dart between the stretch of Jo's rim as he plunges inside him, the lovely tears glistening in his eyes, and the way his hands fly over his face as a reflex.
He takes them into his own and presses them into the sheets, grounding and mean, keeping them down to get a good look at his face.
"You're not used to me looking at you all, ah, pleased, right?" Yuma hums, savoring the dazed glance Jo gives at the swivel of his hips.
"It's so much, so good, I don't know—" He mumbles, face blotchy with unshed tears and a neverending flush. Yuma understands why he feels the urge to draw him whenever he does anythung.
Yuma takes pride in unspooling him like this, with words or with his own body. They're a near perfect match. Jo once said he waa 99% sure their atoms fit together, that their breathing cycles had become one.
The remaining one percent is for all the moments they'll have together, for all the ways Jo can protect Yuma from the stress of time. That will come later and he can't wait, he thinks through the pleasure, bringing Yuma's knucles to his lips to give him a kiss.
Yuma's forehead meets the slope of his shoulder as he chuckles, heart swelling in his chest as he keeps fucking into him just the way he likes. "I love you, I love you so much."
Jo cards his fingers through his grown out roots, all the way to his dyed ends, swallowing an overwhelmed sob. The words are stuck under the muted whimpers Yuma punches out of him, trapped beneath the vocalization of his pleasure. All he can do is tighten his legs around Yuma, a physical plea he can't ignore.
Yuma kisses up his shoulder, over his clavicle, one for each of his moles, marking the constellation he's memorized over the years. The moans he lets out wrap around Yuma's lungs and make him breathless with awe, mirroring the pang of satisfaction that gets his stomach tighter. He's so close, rhythm abandoned to chase something better than his orgasm— Consumption.
He wants to mark Jo with everything he has, to leave him panting and full of his devotion— And that's what he does. He gasps through it, flush against his sensitive skin, cum spilling out where they're joined together.
The final kiss lands on Jo's swollen, bitten lips, soft and final as he opens his eyes again. Jo's returning his gaze to the best od his ability, struggling to keep his own open.
He feels too raw, too open, too vulnerable like this. He needs to deflect, to start banter to stop Yuma from bringing up how much he likes getting creampied. Or some other kink of his.
"We have to clean up. You need to clean up." He whispers, punctual as ever, and Yuma collapses onto him with a giggle.
"It's my turn, isn't it?
Yuma sees right through him but he doesn't press. He never does. He leaves that space for Jo to close on his own terms, and he comes back with warm towels and gets to work.
It's soft and easy with the towels, and Jo's grip tightens around Yuma's wrist when he tries to get them both to shower.
"Later," He promises. It's an empty promise that'll come back to bite them in the ass in the morning, as it usually does.
For now, they get to enjoy a warm embrace and even more pointless bickering, and a few moments of silence marks the end of their night.
"I seriously can't wait for us to be married. We'll be so… cool." Yuma mumbles, so low he's almost purring, riddled with sleep.
Jo wavers, breathless in Yuma's hold. He's not hesitating, or afraid, his heart has just stilled with joy and he needs to start it up again.
Jo sighs, content with the pureness of his vulnerability and Yuma's honest optimism. "Yeah. We will."
"I love you too." He finally responds, soothing something inside the both of them.
They both dream of rings, signed leases, wrinkled smiles and a wedding by the seashore.