You wake up with his limbs entangled in yours. He’s all muscle, ankles, knees, elbows, and wrists. His slender fingers have spanned themselves against the skin of your stomach—having somehow slid their way up the hem of your shirt in your sleep. You feel his warm breath, ghost down the back of your shirt—his shirt. And he nuzzles his chin against your hair, pulling your dazed body closer to his torso.
He releases a sigh and you glimpse the early morning light stream through his curtained windows through fluttering eyelids. The rays seep through the fabric, casting the floor a hazy red, bouncing shadows off all the clothes and mess strewn across the room.
You take a moment to look—to really look—at your surroundings:
With all the time you've spent with Yuuji, you've learned that he’s definitely not an organized person, but he’s not overly messy either. His energy and excitement emanate from every nook and cranny of the room. From the crumpled balls of paper all over the desk to the drawers stuffed to the brim with, hopefully, clean shirts and shorts. He’s hung posters of indie and rock bands, random polaroids of him and his friends—most of them posed with at least one kind of drug and obscene gestures. The focus is blurry but you can tell that he’s having fun. But his candid photos of you always seem to have the best lighting and focus. It brings a smile to your face.
You feel his bicep twitch beneath you, and he begins to stir.
“Morning,” he groans, his voice raspy. He kisses his lips against your hairline, muffling his next words. “Sorry for the mess,” he chuckles, “but I’m sure you didn’t notice with all the fun we were having last night.” He smirks and you roll your eyes.
“I guess that’s one way you can put it,” you reply, rolling yourself around so that you could face him. The disheveled look fits him, it’s a wonder to you that he always looks like a whirlwind just hit him: cowlicked hair, narrowed eyes with a wildness roaring underneath. His lip is still upturned, and the arm at your waist begins brushing circles on your hip.
“I’m sure there's more elegant ways to describe what we did last night,” he says. “But actions speak louder than words, and my, my, did your actions speak veerrry loud.”
You scoff and flick him in the forehead, his wrinkles his nose and blows a raspberry at you. His tongue piercing glitters in the limited light and you feel your face go red as you remember where that had been last night. “Don’t remind me,” you moan. “I think that's the longest we've ever...gone.”
“Mmm, really?” he acts coy, and you feel his fingers slowly glide up your side. You shiver at the touch and bat his hand away. "I didn't notice."
“Jesus Christ Teru,” you whine. “You just woke up! Can at least try to have a conversation before we go for a morning round?”
His eyes perk at your words, a beast growling underneath his morning fatigue. “That suggests that we’re gonna fuck again once we—”
“No promises!” you sputter out quickly. “I can barely handle one night of your goddamn everlasting stamina, give a girl a break.”
A light-hearted chuckle escapes his throat and he you feel the rumble in his chest with every laugh. His eyes twinkle at the corners as he smiles and clears his throat. Goddamn, no human should be this gorgeous in the morning!
“Alright, alright, princess,” he untangles his arms from your body and stretches them above his head. You watch his muscles ripple with each of his movements, his arms flexing, how his lithe skin moves against his ribs. You don’t dare point out the red scratch marks that you left on him last night.
He notices you ogling. “Enjoying the view?”
“Very much yes,” you sigh, breathless. He brings his arms down and makes a ‘come-hither’ motion with the crook of a forefinger.
“It’s much better looking up close,” he winks.
You blow your hair out of your face exasperated at his antics—you wouldn’t admit to him out loud, but his cheesiness was actually really cute; his ego was inflated enough as it is, this would only poke the bear.
You shuffle over to his side and rest your head on his chest, shoving an arm underneath his waist and placing the other on his stomach. His breath hitches as you begin tracing shapes across his abs with the nail of your thumb. You raise an eyebrow.
“Relax, Teru,” you drop your thumb and spread the flat of your palm over his belly button. “Tickle fights are for when we’re not half-naked.”
“But nudity makes it that much funner!”
“Funner isn’t a word, silly,” you tease him, peering up to look at his smug face.
“What can I say,” his shrugs his shoulders. “Your presence makes me fumble my words.”
“Making you speechless would be even better then,” you mumble into his chest.
He hears you anyway. “Then how else am I supposed to fuck with you if I have no words at my disposal?”
“I know you can think of something.” From under the blanket, you run a toe against the inside of his calf and he shudders out a breath, a shiver travels down his body.
“God, if you keep doing that I don’t think I can control myself,” the fingers at your hip pinch the skin and you yelp. “Not that I can control myself in the first place, but—“
“I can attest to that,” you groan, feeling the soreness in your midsection from the tumble last night. And what a glorious tumble it had been.
You catch yourself replaying moments from last night in your head. Images of his fingers running up and down your legs, your waist, your chest. How his lips worked mercilessly at your neck. His head in between your thighs. Sweat beading down his throat as he began moving with you—
"Watcha thinkin’ about?” he asks. You feel his eyes peering down at you, his gaze eager to delve into your thoughts. And based on your embarrassed visage he’s willing to bet big money that you were thinking about last night.
“Nothing,” you quickly reply, your gaze downcast as you stare at the wall behind him.
He slides himself down from his pillow so that he’s eye to eye with you. His feet are almost dangling off the bed, but he just can’t resist you for so long without losing his sanity. His dark brown eyes stare into yours with the intensity of a predator. You gulp as you feel his fingers trail up your ribcage, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.
“We’ve been together for a while, ___________,” he growls. “I think by now I know what you’re thinking—”
“Admit it, love,” he says, his voice low. “You never did have much of a poker face.”
Before you can scoff at his jab, he’s pressing his thin lips to your neck, brushing his bottom lip up the column of your throat to land on his destination: your sweet spot. He starts with gently nibbling with his teeth, the sensation causing you to rub your thighs together. But he’s quick to transition to lascivious licks of his tongue. The cold of his tongue stud elicits a hiss from your lips that makes him smile as he finally takes a bite of your throat. He sucks the skin into his mouth, his thumbs lazily rubbing at the sensitive skin of your nipples. You gasp at his ministrations and grab at his hair, scratching your fingers again his undercut.
When he finally releases his mouth from the divine taste of your skin, he takes a moment to admire his handiwork. You’re a gaping mess beneath him as he rolls on top of you, his forearms on either side of your head. He gazes down at you with the full intention of ravaging his lover.
“Couldn’t you have at least waited til’ after breakfast?” you whine. You wiggle underneath him as his knee brushes against the inside of your thigh. “Whatever happened to breakfast? You know, the most important meal of the day?”
“I’m sure I can give you something even tastier than bacon and eggs,” he smiles, already closing the distance between his lips and yours.
“I truly doubt that,” you grumble, but your arms are already crossed around the nape of his neck. Your words are lost as he presses a kiss to your mouth. It’s all heat and tension as his hands clamp down on your sides, pinning you against the mattress. You feel the brush of his piercing against your tongue and you sigh as he runs it against the roof of your mouth. It’s warm and cold, soft and hard, and the slight tang of metal mixes well with the taste of him, and he has you melting beneath him. You feel every pulse of his heartbeat, your nerves hypersensitive to every brush of his skin against your own. Terushima tilts his head to the side, his nose rubbing against your cheek, and you gently bite down on his lower lip. He groans and instinctively thrusts his hips into the apex of his thighs.
You gasp at the sudden sensation, and he breaks his kiss with you. He places a single kiss on the tip of your nose before hovering inches above your face.
“So?” he asks. “How was that?”
You consider his question for a moment, which has him sighing, impatiently waiting for your response. “It was pretty good, but—”
He looks offended. “You’ve gotta be delusion, like seriously—”
“My hunger for food is kinda overpowering my appetite for sex, so—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” his eyes drop into a deadpan look as he runs an exasperated hand down his face. “Really killing the mood here, babe.”
“Aw jeez, Yuuji,” you blow your fringe out of your face. “Please don’t pout. I’m just hungry and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, already ignoring your argument about how three meals a day is really important. His libido falls flat as he collapses face down on the bed beside your prone form. He mutters something that sounds like a complaint, but the words are muffled by the sheets.
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” you scold him.
He goes limp, and you poke the small of his back to see if he's still alive. He doesn’t respond. A few seconds later you prod at his side with the heel of your foot. He mumbles something that sounds like a “screw off, woman” and you grow frustrated.
“Auuuughh!” you pull yourself up and place your legs one either side of his waist, straddling him. He stiffens at your weight as you lay face down on top of him. Your chin is perched on the back of his head when you begin speaking.
“I’ll make you your favorite meal,” you bribe him. “Lucky Charms with warm milk! I’ll even pick out all the brown parts so you just have the marshmallows.”
He shuffles underneath you as if considering your proposal.
“I’ll even put on your favorite Disney movie,” you try again. “I know how much you love Tarzan.”
He doesn’t take the bait.
I didn’t think I’d resort to this but…
After a long silence, where Terushima finds himself liking the feeling of your legs straddling his waist, you offer him something that he can’t resist.
“If you go eat breakfast with me…” you sigh. Please don’t make me regret this. “I’ll sit on your lap the entire time you’re eating.”
He turns his head to the side, exposing his face for the first time in five minutes. “Really?”
“Only if you don’t put any pants on.”
“It’s freezing, Yuuji!” you complain. “Just sitting like this is making my butt freeze to death!”
“I quite like your ass,” he confesses. “And I also know a few things that would warm you up.” Even though you can’t see his face, you can feel him wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"Goddamn it, fine!” you acquiesce, sliding off of him and out of the bed. He stares at you expectantly, you can already see the gears turning furiously in his head. “I’ll sit on your lap…without…pants.”
At your last word, he jolts out of bed, sending the blanket flying into the air. He grabs your wrist and is bolting out of his room, pulling the door open with so much energy that it slams into the wall behind it. You can barely keep up with him as he runs to the kitchen giggling like a five-year-old on Christmas day.
/ | \
Tarzan’s parents had just been killed by the jaguar by the time you’ve poured Terushima’s his cereal and were, unhappily, seated on his lap. To compensate for the chilly temperature, he’d wrapped you both in a thick warm quilt as he eagerly spooned his breakfast in his mouth. His free arm was casually wrapped around your waist, and although you would never tell him this…you actually kind of liked sitting on his lap. The pants-less part was less than preferable, but it was still pretty nice to be close to him like this.
But you found yourself regretting that fact when he finished his breakfast and picked you up and placed you on top of the table. His hands placed on your knees.
“What now?” you ask.
“I’m ready for my second breakfast!” he chirped.
“What second breakfast?” you were clueless.
He smirked, and with the shit-eating look in his eyes, you knew you were in for trouble.
"This is why I wanted to wear pants to breakfast," you grumble.
You're both lying on the table half-naked, his finger twirling around a strand of your hair. You're curled into him, his free hand intertwined with yours, and your head is resting on his exposed chest. Your leg is hooked around his waist, and you think how it's ridiculous that it's only seven in the morning and you're already exhausted. Tarzan is still playing on in the background, neither of you had the conscience to turn it off when you were so focused on the other.
"I'm not hearing you say you had a bad time," he smirks.
"Okay, no but—"
"But if you did..." his eyes narrow again. "We can always have a re-do round where I can change your mind—"
"Yuuji I will castrate you if you try to pull that shit again."
"I love it when you talk dirty to me." he pressed a patronizing kiss onto your forehead.