It’s a crazy whim that’s gotten them this far (in more ways than one) and before they realized it they’ve been swept away with the moment, first catching each other’s lips before shedding their uniforms partway. Makoto’s still got his shirt mostly unbuttoned, even if his green tie is now near to slipping off his own neck and while his hand occupies itself with the fluttering heartbeat underneath the warm chest of his elder his other rests at Homare’s thigh, fingering at a length of blue that he’d stripped away from around the other’s neck only moments before.

It had taken a bit of coaxing beforehand, of course—Homare had objected to being on the receiving end given how he’s the elder of the two, but he’d given in perhaps a touch too easily at soft, teasing little gestures so freely given, and Makoto had proven most…gentle throughout the affair. That’s the important thing, really.

He nips at Homare’s shoulder and neck and the latter tenses up, his breath hitching and Makoto can’t help but smile a little in satisfaction, his mouth curling over the other’s shoulder as he does so.

And Makoto might’ve found a more adventurous side to himself after all—a kind of intensity even he hadn’t been aware he had in him until tonight. Maybe it’s because of the full moon, or the fact that, despite all his reservations, he’s still close to his element, the water bubbling away behind them, creating a glittering backdrop against the stark, starry sky.

The marble feels cold and wet under his clothed thighs, but he doesn’t mind it so much, not when the rest of their bodies are already heating up, and he’s spared Homare-senpai the worst of it, even if the latter had to be draped over his lap at a somewhat awkward angle. But Homare had squirmed, made himself comfortable on top of Makoto beforehand, had even helped him to take off that sweater vest and the first few buttons of his shirt before he’d clutched at the younger’s more powerful arm, hanging on for dear life lest he slip off his seat entirely.

It’s their first time together and everything, and Makoto for his part had taken great care in preparing for the evening’s performance. Not to the same extent as Homare-senpai had, but he’d duly brought the lube, the condoms—even a towel, just in case it got too wet for the both of them.

Not that they had any need of that at the moment, even with the fountain water splashing against him. His massive back has managed to shield Homare from the worst of it, but now his crisp white shirt had gone translucent, clinging to the ridges and whorls of muscle on his back, trickling down his scruffy crop of hair.

And he’s…terribly unrefined even in the water as well, though he’d come to accept it already. He’s not like Homare-senpai, forever delicate, forever prim and proper and so very correct that it must agitate some, but never him, never little Makoto who’s not quite so little after all. His middle finger brushes over an eager nub of nipple and he pulls his hand away, dragging his lips up Homare’s throat and jawline and reaching his ear:

“Hold onto me.”

And Makoto tugs at him, pulling Homare backward till his hand’s trapped between them, but the latter only manages a gasp and moves to lean away before the length of his tie cuts off his view of the world altogether.

But that had been part of the plan too—like the silent scrape of leather against fabric as Makoto relieves Homare of his belt, fingers tracing underneath the waistband of his slacks to feel out the outline of his underwear, the way Homare’s muscles tense as he explores new ground. This is, after all, the first time they’ve done this to each other, and no matter how carefully orchestrated this entire episode had been, they can only account for so much in their plans.

It’s hard to truly factor in things like the state of his partner’s arousal, of how quickly or how slowly he needs to get it done, and even Homare can only teach him so much in that regard. They’ve never really truly learned each other’s bodies until tonight, and tonight is, well, as good a time as any.

“Are you okay?” he asks Homare, not a little concerned as the latter darts his head to and fro, eyes groping about in a different kind of darkness.

Warm hands continue to wander over Homare’s body, Makoto watching the other intently from beneath the gentle veneer of his smile, taking note of the way his mouth falls open, the way his head lolls to the side, the way his muscles clench and strain against his hand as he moves them over Homare’s firm shoulders, then down over his pectorals, shoving the lapels of his shirt aside to expose more skin to the cool air.

And he shivers—not because of the water on his back but for the minute shiftings of the other’s body, of how Homare’s trying his best to keep still but not really, and for all his own rough angles and clumsiness Makoto’s already understood that Homare’s been trying to move against him, trying to rile him up in his own little way, and he’s surprised at how well his body’s responded.

His skin flushed and heated, nipples thrusting against the wet fabric of his shirt and he contemplates shrugging it off altogether, letting it fall into the fountain and bare himself in its entirety. But it’s Homare’s shirt that’s still in the way, and he slides the fabric off of the older boy’s shoulders, tugging the sleeves down as far as Homare’s elbow, still crooked between them, snagging the fabric in place and well, Makoto really has no choice but to make do, hasn’t he?

But does Makoto mind? Hardly, though he lets out a little moan of his own as he buries the rest of it into Homare’s shoulder, his teeth nipping lightly at skin as his hand wanders lower, following the line of coarse blue hair still tucked safely underneath Homare’s impeccably starched slacks until he can feel the latter’s burgeoning interest underneath his palm and he gives that one an affectionate squeeze.

If he’s bothered at all by Homare’s challenging attitude throughout this affair he’s hardly one to show it. He does understand Homare’s reservations about the whole affair, after all—the older boy can’t really help instinctively wanting to be the one giving instead of receiving. And he hardly has enough room to do what little he can for the former, anyway.

Looks like Homare-senpai’s gotten ahead of him with that, and with the initial squeeze he’d straightaway flinched and Homare’s earned a wobbly little surprised whisper of a yelp that he immediately has to force down for both their sakes.

This is not and has never been an easy game for them to play, after all, but see, with Homare fully intent on moving against him Makoto has no choice but to squeeze back just as hard to keep him in place, chuckling a little when he can feel the other suck in a breath and stiffen under his hold.