Request #7: can you write a drabble about Misaki doing ~the boyfriend shirt~? (wearing Saruhiko's shirt with nothing else 8D)

Note: One thing I noticed while writing this drabble and hunting through the official art for a shirt of Fushimi's that would actually have the "boyfriend shirt" effect on Yata is that, while Yata wears some loose clothing (which has the added effect of making him look smaller - well done, Yata), Fushimi seems to prefer clothing that fits him. Also, aside from the height difference, they're probably not all that far apart in terms of size. So... there's possibly a bit of exaggeration here.

Also, I apologize again for being unable to take anything seriously. All of you should know this about me by now, though.

 

There was an insistent knocking sound nearby.

That was the first thing that penetrated the haze around Yata's brain. After he'd started drifting towards wakefulness, though, a few more things started to stand out. The weight and resulting uncomfortable tingly feeling on his left arm. The steady sound of breathing from beside him. The stiff discomfort of a standard-issue dormitory bunk bed beneath him. The dryness of his mouth, and the faint echo of some funky taste.

The ominous pounding at his temples - almost in rhythm with the knocking sound.

Fuck. Okay, yeah, his situation was starting to piece together. Yata cracked an eye open and the now-familiar sight of Saruhiko's sleeping face shifted into focus on the pillow beside his. They were squished in together on the top bunk at the Scepter 4 dormitory room - a place he'd only spent the night once before - with Saruhiko's arm slung over his chest and both of them naked and grimy from... activities he could vaguely recall now.

Yata felt his face grow hot at the memory. It seemed like no matter how many times they did it, he still got embarrassed thinking about that kind of stuff. It was stupid, but... whatever, it couldn't be helped. And last night had been particularly intense, both of them drunk and desperate, shedding clothes carelessly as they rubbed up against each other, breathless panting and moaning filling the air and hands all over the place, clutching and stroking...

Right. Okay. Anyway... Thinking about it was really not helping. Yata shifted a bit, wondering if he could slide his arm out from under his sleeping boyfriend without waking him.

Probably not, but it was worth a try...

The knocking sound came again, and he instinctively froze. "Fushimi-san?" a voice called out, muffled.

Shit!

Saruhiko stirred beside him, let out a small sigh, and then lazily cracked his eyes open. "Mm?" He squinted at Yata for a second, and then reached up toward the headboard, fumbling for his glasses.

"Fushimi-san?" The knocking came again, a bit louder.

Yata's skin prickled. What the fuck does that guy want?

Saruhiko let out a weary, frustrated sigh, pushing himself up. "Coming!" he called back, voice still carrying hints of grogginess and laced with unmasked irritability.

"Oi!" Yata grabbed his arm before he could move further, trying to keep his own voice low. No one had seemed to care the last time he was here, but it wasn't like they had to fucking advertise what they were doing, either. "You can't let that guy in right now!"

"Why would I let him in?" Saruhiko frowned at him, not bothering to tug his arm free. "I'm just going to see what he wants. Anyway, move - you're in my way."

Yata didn't budge, scowling back as if there wasn't a hot flush climbing up his face. "What if he fucking sees me, asshole? You want everyone to know we - we - you know - in here?"

Saruhiko blinked at him for a second and then clicked his tongue, raising a condescending eyebrow. "You think there's anyone who doesn't know? Don't be an idiot."

"Th-that's..." Okay, yeah, it was probably true but... "That's different, okay? There's a difference between everyone knowing and someone actually fucking seeing it!"

"Well, they've probably already heard it, with how loud you are." Saruhiko frowned back at him, unimpressed. "Move."

"H-Hah?" Yata sputtered for a moment, feeling his face grow even hotter. "Don't act like it's all just me! Y-You're loud, too, you know!" Although if he was being honest... Fuck. Whatever. "And it's still not the same, goddamnit!"

Saruhiko clicked his tongue again, looking thoroughly annoyed now. "This is pointless. Stay there, then." He abruptly pushed the covers aside, depositing them in Yata's lap with a kind of spiteful efficiency, and then shifted to climb over Yata's legs.

"O-Oi!" For a moment, the move caught him off-guard; the sight of his boyfriend's lean, naked form turning to climb down the ladder with about as much dignity as he could maintain in the situation had Yata staring after him, a little stunned.

It was only a moment, though, because he was struck by the sudden awareness that he was sitting there in plain sight of the door on Saruhiko's bed, completely naked except for the damn blanket. It'd look like one of those stupid movies where the girl hid under the covers while her lover answered the door.

No fucking way! Yata shoved the covers violently off of him and ignored the ladder in favor of just jumping down from the bed.

At the very least, he was going to be dressed in something. There was his pride to think about, after all.

One problem, though... "Where the fuck are my clothes?"

"How should I know?" Saruhiko muttered, from the base of the ladder. He was squinting at the room with obvious displeasure, probably feeling some of the aftereffects of the drinks they'd had at that celebration the night before. He clicked his tongue again, and headed for the small basket of his clean clothing. "It doesn't matter right now."

"How does it not fucking matter, you - !" Yata glared at him incredulously. "What the fuck am I supposed to wear?"

"No idea." Saruhiko ignored him in favor of pulling a pair of boxers and a T-shirt from the basket. "Figure it out yourself."

After maybe a second of glowering helplessly at his boyfriend's back, Yata spat out a heartfelt, "fuck!" and turned to the basket. "You asshole."

"Mmhm." Having dressed himself, Saruhiko was already moving towards the door.

Goddamnit... Yata had just enough time to hastily grab a sweater from the basket, pull it frantically over his head, and then flatten himself against the wall where - hopefully - whoever was at the door couldn't see him.

"What is it?" he heard Saruhiko ask crossly, almost at the same moment as the door was pulled open. "I'm not working today."

"Uh, right - sorry to bother you so early, Fushimi-san," the person on the other side responded. The voice sounded familiar, but Yata wasn't exactly close enough with Saruhiko's co-workers to be able to tell who it was without looking. "Just... um... your clothing..."

"What about it?"

"Well..."

From his vantage point, Yata was only able to see Saruhiko move to lean out of the doorway; whatever he might've been looking at was still out of sight. He could hear the muffled click of his boyfriend's tongue. "And this couldn't have waited until later?"

"Ah, right... I just wasn't sure if you'd want to know right away - and there were a few complaints..."

"Mm." Saruhiko backed into the room again, sounding completely indifferent to whatever 'complaints' there might have been. "I'll deal with it. Was there anything else?"

"Um... no, but - "

The door was quite firmly - and rudely - closed. Yata was starting to sag back against the wall, relieved to have the whole ordeal over with, when Saruhiko turned to face him. "Misaki, you're going to need to - " He stopped. Blinked.

Yata was suddenly aware of the loose fabric of Saruhiko's sweater sleeves drooping down over the knuckles on his hands. The hem of the shirt hung low, well past his hips - an unavoidable reminder of those eleven goddamn centimeters between them. His cheeks burned, and he scowled back, irritated with his own embarrassment. "What?" he demanded, crossly.

Saruhiko's mouth contorted; he abruptly brought up a hand and turned his face halfway to the side, letting out a muffled snort. His shoulders shook.

A little of the annoyance softened at that. Yata stared dumbly for a few seconds, caught between surprise and his earlier frustration. It wasn't often that he got to see Saruhiko genuinely laugh, even after everything had been fixed between them, so it was hard not to want to savor the moment. In fact, watching his boyfriend try to collect himself, he could almost forget that the laughter was at his expense.

Almost. "It's not that funny, damnit!"

"Whatever you say." Saruhiko straightened, apparently having gained control of himself again. There was unrestrained amusement in his voice, and the corners of his mouth twitched when he turned to look at Yata again. "You know, most people would put on pants with that."

Yata glowered back at him, hands curling into fists at his sides. "You didn't give me a fucking chance, you asshole!"

That infuriating little smirk on Saruhiko's face didn't so much as budge. "Well, you can go pick up your clothing from the hallway like that if you want."

"Huh?" Yata blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell is my clothing in the hallway?"

"Who knows." Saruhiko's expression was openly condescending. "I guess you don't remember much from last night, do you, Misaki?"

A vivid impression of fumbling for a door handle while trying not to disengage from a sloppy, insistent kiss or get too distracted by the feel of hands on his conspicuously naked skin rudely pushed its way to the front of his mind, and Yata jerked, staring at his boyfriend in growing horror. "You - I - we - w-w-we fucking - "

He couldn't manage to finish it. His face suddenly felt like a furnace. Anybody could have just walked by and seen! What the hell had he been thinking?

"Anyway, the fact that you made a mess in the hallway is why we got an unpleasant early-morning wake-up call," Saruhiko continued, deliberately ignoring his embarrassment. "So you might say this is actually your own fau - "

"Shut up," Yata ground out, clenching his hands into fists again and raising his eyes to glare. Remind me again why I date this fuckhead. "As if you had nothing to do with it, bastard!" Another thought struck him then. "Oi... I didn't see any of your clothes from last night, either..."

The remains of that maddeningly self-assured expression faltered; Saruhiko clicked his tongue, abruptly looking away.

"Heeeh." Somehow, this felt like it restored a little of his pride. Yata didn't bother to hold back the smirk spreading on his face. It was starting to piece together in his head now, too - the feeling of Saruhiko's skin against his as they drunkenly fumbled to get through the door. "What's that you were saying? It's all my fault? What's your clothing doing out in the hallway, then, huh, Saru?"

"Shut up," Saruhiko muttered at him, looking thoroughly disgruntled now. The faintest hint of a blush was rising on his face.

That was kind of appealing. I guess that's part of the reason I date you, huh? Yata allowed himself a small, amused huff and pushed away from the wall, meeting Saruhiko's wary gaze as he wandered over and then stretching up to plant a kiss on his boyfriend's warm cheek. "Well, I'll pick up my mess if you pick up yours," he murmured, lingering just a bit to get the most out of the brief contact.

Saruhiko's eyes softened just a bit - that tiny little shift that Yata probably would've missed if he didn't watch carefully for it, but which never failed to stir up a little knot of warmth in his belly. Maybe that's the rest of the reason...

He had just a brief second to enjoy it before Saruhiko lowered his gaze, running his eyes slowly down along Yata's torso, and then raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You might want to put on pants first."


 

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