Work Text:
Nights like tonight, when it’s hard to sleep, when it’s hard to breathe, even, Tamaki is infinitely grateful for Togata Mirio.
He’s not here right now. He’s probably in his own dorm, or could even be back home tonight, since he’s on a break from his classes. But he doesn’t have to be here. Tamaki is still grateful for him. For so many reasons, innumerably many, but right now it’s because, once again, Mirio has lent him his shirt.
The shirt smells like him —smells like Mirio. Like the brand of fabric softener he uses. The same one that Mirio’s mom uses to wash the laundry, too. Like the sheets that Tamaki would tuck his head under on the futon laid out on Mirio’s floor next to Mirio’s bed. Like the sheets on Mirio’s bed, too, when Tamaki would inevitably feel anxious about sleeping in a place that wasn’t his own bedroom and crawl in beside him. Like the fluffy towels he’d borrow to use when he took a bath at Mirio’s house, or his own socks mixed in with Mirio’s wash and later returned to him. Like the way Mirio’s uniform shirt smells when he pulls him in for a hug, usually too tight and too boisterous and exactly what Tamaki needs.
Most of the time, the quiet of being alone is comforting, but sometimes when Tamaki has nothing to focus on but the battle to fall asleep, his litany of fears consumes him. His mind is weak, he knows, which is just another bullet on the list of things to worry about that feeds into itself. It gets to him here at night sometimes, alone in his dorm room, and wakes him up and keeps him up until his alarm is going off and there’s nothing left to do but drag himself to class again.
But he knows now that there’s a remedy for his unease. Surprisingly, it lies in another person. For all the fear he has of others, there’s one who can make it all go away.
Mirio doesn’t even have to be here. It would be nice if he was, but this is comfortable. When Tamaki drags the too-large collar of Mirio’s shirt over his mouth and his nose and breathes in, and then out, and then in again, he can lose himself in this scent. A scent like childhood and confidence and sunlight and everything that makes his lungs ache with warmth. The empty night isn’t too bad when he has this, and he can only think of one thing that would make it better.
As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door. Quiet, but brisk, in the rhythm of the chorus of some stupid song that Tamaki liked in junior high school. He sits up straight.
In the past, it would’ve been easy enough to just call out “come in,” but those days are over. Tamaki swings his legs out of bed and crosses the room. The doorknob is cold on his fingers but turns smooth in his hands and then the soft light from the hall is spilling in around the figure in his doorway.
“Mirio,” Tamaki says. Warmth washes over him, like stepping outside on a sunny day, like curling up under a soft blanket. He’s so grateful. So grateful that he can bask in Mirio’s sunlight.
“Hey!” Mirio says, smiling.
Tamaki takes a moment just to look at him. His golden hair and broad shoulders, covered by his jacket, are damp from the rain that’s pelting the ground outside. His voice is too loud for the late hour, for the fact that he’s not supposed to be in class 3-A’s dorm building after curfew in the first place, but Tamaki doesn’t bother to shush him. Not when he’s grinning so big like that, in that way he always does, like he’s genuinely pleased to see even someone like Tamaki.
“Nice shirt,” Mirio says.
If it was from anyone else, Tamaki would think he was being made fun of. He’d be mortified. But it’s Mirio. He steps back into his room to let him pass inside.
“Why are you here?” he asks, closing the door behind him. It plunges the room back into darkness, but Mirio’s already sitting on the edge of his bed by the time it clicks closed.
Moonlight, starlight, lamplight reflected from puddles sift through the gaps in the drapes, and it moves shadows across Mirio’s face. Tamaki watches them. Sometimes it strikes him in the chest. How handsome Mirio is. How much he’s grown.
“I wanted to see you!” Mirio replies. “I was just thinking about you.”
It’s weird, that. How Tamaki seems to think of Mirio too, right when Mirio needs him. Because somehow, Mirio does need him, especially these days. When Tamaki sits down on the bed, it’s close enough that their shoulders brush together. Mirio doesn’t shift away, not that he thought he would. In fact, he bumps him back a little. It’s calming, centering.
“I figured you probably weren’t sleeping either,” Mirio says.
He’s right, as always.
“I wasn’t,” Tamaki replies.
It’s been a little while since Mirio surprised him with a visit. Normally it’s planned beforehand, or he at least texts first. It’s just another way Mirio is amazing, Tamaki thinks, since he’s sure he does it out of consideration for Tamaki’s difficulties being around people. What Mirio probably doesn’t realize, though, is that he doesn’t really count as “people”. Rather than making Tamaki feel sick to his stomach, or like his chest is too tight and his heart is going to break through his ribcage, he makes him feel calm.
Well, sometimes Mirio does make him feel that way. Like his heart might beat too hard and too loud, like his stomach might float away, but it’s a little different. It’s nice. Tamaki accepts it as a physical side effect of the emotions he has about Mirio. He’s always liked butterflies.
The rain pattering against the window makes the room feel smaller, cozier. The places where the light and shadows meet are fuzzy and soft. The darkness, the atmosphere, gives Tamaki the courage he needs to shift even closer. To look up into Mirio’s eyes.
The desire to be close to Mirio isn’t anything new. He’s always wanted to warm his face under his glow, to feel the turbulence inside of him quiet in his presence, to look into his eyes and see his smile up close, to know it’s for him. But these days, it’s almost ravenous. It feels selfish at the same time that it feels thrilling. Mirio is loved by so many people. He’s the sun. But sometimes Tamaki wants to steal the sun all for himself.
And when Mirio freely gives that to him, it’s a rush. Mirio draws closer too, like he’s just as magnetized to Tamaki as Tamaki is to him. It seems impossible, in Tamaki’s mind. But it doesn’t change the fact that Mirio is here. In his bedroom, in his space, in his life. Smiling, eyes soft, gazing steadily at Tamaki like he’s worth coming here through the rain for.
“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay with you,” Mirio says abruptly.
A zing of electricity shoots down Tamaki’s spine, making him sit straighter. But this isn’t the fear he usually feels. It’s excitement.
“If you want to,” he replies, already letting his eyes slip closed, already leaning in.
He melts. Mirio’s warmth against him is familiar and stirring all at once. Not that Tamaki has anyone to compare him to, but Mirio is good at this. At making Tamaki feel like he’s floating, like his heart is going to thud so hard it could explode. His lips move slow, soft and steady, careful and testing before he starts opening up. Tamaki follows his lead, sliding his tongue against Mirio’s when it slips into his mouth.
This has been going on between them for a little while now. This kissing thing. It just happened one day and it felt right and Tamaki’s never stopped to question it. Especially not after the time Mirio slipped in a quiet little, “I like you,” between traded kisses, and Tamaki had, face burning, responded in turn. This, like everything else to do with Mirio, is something Tamaki is endlessly grateful for. The fact that it’s been so easy to fall into him like this. The gradual shift from friendship to relationship isn’t something that he’s ever had to push for or pursue here. It’s been happening slowly but steadily, probably since the very first day that Mirio’s rays brightened his life.
Tamaki doesn’t think he could ever love someone he wasn’t friends with first. The idea of wanting someone and then having to work to make his feelings reach them is far too frightening. Anxiety wells up in his chest like the rising tide when he so much as thinks about things like confessing, like dating, like getting to know someone new.
He’s so lucky. He’s so lucky that it’s not like that with Mirio. It never has been, and it never will be. Mirio has always been here, and this is just another iteration of the same relationship that they’ve always shared. Something easy, something calming, something free of worry or fear. Something that makes Tamaki feel light and free.
Mirio’s smiling when they split apart. Tamaki can see it in the dim light, but he can also feel the ghost of it against his lips. It makes him want to smile too, makes him want to mold his mouth to the shape of Mirio’s. He leans in again so he can, and Mirio accepts him easily.
They shift nearer. Somehow it makes Tamaki greedy. Every time he gets closer to Mirio, even though they’re already touching, he wants to be even closer still. Unconsciously, his hands come to rest on Mirio’s body, one against his solid chest and the other on the side of his neck, holding him close. Tamaki would feel self-conscious about taking initiative but Mirio returns the gesture, one broad hand sliding into Tamaki’s hair and the other landing on his knee.
That one on his knee doesn’t stop there. He slides it ever so slowly up the inside of Tamaki’s thigh. Even over his sweatpants, Tamaki can feel the warmth of it. It’s hot and broad and feels like it belongs there, on him. When Tamaki shifts one of his hands down to Mirio’s waist, he finds that Mirio’s shirt has ridden up a little bit, exposing a sliver of skin. His fingertips come in contact with it, and the sensation of his bare, smooth skin makes him inhale sharply. It feels impossibly satisfying, just the same way that Mirio’s hands on him do.
Tamaki shivers. It wracks his whole body, but not in a bad way. Mirio pauses, lifts his head to check on Tamaki’s expression, but Tamaki only uses it as an opportunity to drop his face into the junction of Mirio’s neck and shoulder. He doesn’t want Mirio to see his face right now. Even though it’s dark and he probably can’t tell, he doesn’t want him to see the shade of red that he’s become, or the way that Mirio’s hands and mouth and heat and scent have worked him up enough that it probably shows clear in his expression.
“Tamaki?” Mirio asks.
“P-please...,” Tamaki forces out.
Mirio goes very still. “Please what?”
Trying to figure out how to say what he’s thinking feels like nausea stirring in his gut, but it’s just Mirio, in the end. If there’s anyone in the world he can say these things to, it’s him.
“That conversation we had,” he tries. “A few weeks ago. When we talked about, um….” Tamaki shuts his eyes, feeling like he’s wilting by the second under the weight of Mirio’s expectant silence. “You know. Doing more things. Together. In-in bed….”
Mirio perks up immediately.
“Oh!!” he exclaims. “Sex, right? I’ve been waiting for you to ask about that.”
“You—you have?” Tamaki’s shoulders drop. “Why didn’t you just say something….”
“I wanted to make sure you wanted it,” Mirio replies.
Tamaki considers telling him that of course he wants it, that he’s always wanted it, since long before they first talked about it or their relationship began to take this new shape. But he doesn’t know if he can say the right words to make himself understood without sounding weird, so he elects to let it go instead.
“Yeah,” is all he says. “If it’s okay...with someone like me….”
“Okay!” Mirio replies. He shifts Tamaki off of him to stand up, smiling, somehow looking all too confident for the situation. “Let’s do this then.”
Tamaki admires his stance, the way he’s grinning down at him with his hands on his waist as if this is just the next interesting challenge he has to take on in his life. He only stays still like that for a moment before starting to shrug off his jacket, but Tamaki has already memorized the happy, excited look in his eye.
“You’ve never done this before, right, Tamaki?” Mirio asks, getting tangled in his sweater as he tries to pull it off. Tamaki watches him struggle with it before it pops over his head, his blond hair emerging disheveled. A few strands of it swoop down over his forehead, and Tamaki feels breathless.
He somehow remembers to shake his head.
“Oh good.” Mirio laughs. “Me neither. I think it’ll be more fun if we figure it out together, anyway.”
Then he’s fiddling with his belt, dropping it on the floor, tugging down his zipper and pulling down his pants like it’s nothing and in a lot of ways, to him, it probably is nothing, but Tamaki’s head is spinning.
He knew that Mirio had never done this sort of thing before either, but being told to his face is a different matter. In some ways, the pressure to be as good as someone else is thankfully absent. But the need to make this memorable also weighs heavily in Tamaki’s chest. Frozen, he watches Mirio peel his briefs off and kick them down his legs.
Tamaki has seen Mirio naked before. Of course he has. Everyone has. More times than he can count or remember. It stopped being a shock probably within a few weeks of their friendship, and altogether stopped being something he even noticed within a year. Even as both their bodies had changed it wasn’t something he actively thought about often, though he would be a liar if he said he never noted the cut of Mirio’s muscles or the lines of his body in passing. He knows now sometimes it’s better not to look, now that he’s older, but Mirio’s naked body has never been a reason for a different reaction than Mirio’s clothed body.
Except, this. This is different.
Mirio is incredible. Of course every hero has to have a good physique. Has to be in top physical condition. Of course every hero’s body is trained to have the right musculature and strength and power. But Mirio is more than that. His shoulders are so broad, his arms are so thick, the muscles in his chest and abdomen are so pronounced. Everywhere, his skin is smooth and only marked by the scars he’s picked up through the years. Tamaki thinks he could probably admire this body all day, would admire it all day if he had the opportunity, and the thought of getting to touch makes him feel vertiginous.
Then there’s also the matter of... that . Tamaki tries not to look even though he knows that’s part of the point of this, of everything that’s going on right now, but his heart is thundering so hard and fast in his chest he thinks he might have a heart attack if he looks at the junction of Mirio’s legs straight-on. He already knows the general size and shape of it, not because he’s looked but because he’s happened to see, more than once. Impressive doesn’t quite cover it. He averts his eyes again, back up the cut of Mirio’s hips, then off Mirio’s body altogether, because he’s doing all that he can to keep himself together.
“Okay,” Mirio says, slow as he leans in towards Tamaki. The mattress shifts under the weight of his knee leaning next to Tamaki’s thigh, and he puts his hands at Tamaki’s waist, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. “Can I help with yours?”
Tamaki’s hand falls over Mirio’s, and Mirio freezes, expression open and patient.
“I want to leave it on,” Tamaki says.
Mirio grins. He lets go of the shirt and turns his hand under Tamaki’s so that his fingers wrap around his palm, and gives him a squeeze.
“Okay!” he says, cheerful. His other hand is still gripping the fabric, and he gives it a small tug. “Do you wear this a lot?”
“Yeah,” Tamaki replies, head dipping. “Do you not want me to?”
Mirio laughs, and puts his fingers against the side of Tamaki’s jaw, tilting his head up so they make eye contact through the dark.
“I let you borrow it for a reason,” he says. “It looks really cute on you, Tamaki. Please wear it more.”
“Cute,” Tamaki echoes, feeling the bite of anxiety. Is it good to be cute? He’s a man. Is he supposed to be cute?
But Mirio is still smiling down at him, his fingers warm against Tamaki’s cheek, and when he breathes in his scent Tamaki’s worries subside like mist under the rising sun. Mirio likes it. Mirio has only ever praised him.
Tamaki shuts his eyes and leans into Mirio’s touch, feeling a glow deep in his chest. He hears Mirio’s exhale, and a moment later the thumb against his cheekbone begins a slow swipe back and forth. It’s comforting.
“My pants, though...” Tamaki says after a moment.
This makes Mirio spring into action with a laugh. Still very naked, he gently backs Tamaki down onto the mattress. Tamaki goes easily, heart already jackhammering with the image in his mind of Mirio over him, which is quickly replaced by the reality of it. He freezes, goes completely still, so ensnared by the vision above him that he can’t do anything but stare.
Mirio sits back on his feet, the mattress creaking under his weight. The way he traces his gaze down Tamaki’s body feels cursory, casual, but Tamaki knows how much Mirio takes in with a single glance. He’s not even unclothed but he almost wants to hide, to cover himself more, to tell Mirio to close his eyes, but—
Mirio. This is Mirio. Just like he’s seen Mirio naked, Mirio has seen him naked too. In the onsen and the locker room and a million other places where it shouldn’t matter.
But it’s never felt like this before. Tamaki knows himself. He thinks he wants to sink himself into the mattress. And yet when Mirio moves to put his hands on the waistband of Tamaki’s pajama pants, still smiling gently, his head cocked to the side and his eyes on Tamaki as if asking him to tell him to stop if any of this is the slightest bit not alright, Tamaki instead lifts his hips and helps wriggle himself out of his pants.
The drag of Mirio’s fingers over his bare thighs sends sparks through him in a new way. Of course Tamaki has felt desire before, has wanted, has ached with need, has been aroused. But none of it was ever like this. No one’s ever touched him here, quite like this before. He’s never taken this much care in undressing himself. In gently pulling the elastic band over the curves of his thighs, down towards his knees, over his calves. He gets a pleasant chill as it rides up his spine he kicks the pants off of his ankles.
There’s still part of him wants to curl in on himself, but his personal sun is trailing the flat of his hand up the outside of his thigh. He slips it under the shirt and over his hip, his waist, across the ridges of his ribcage, and Tamaki basks in the touch. Mirio’s looking a little wide-eyed, a little dazed, and it’s not an expression Tamaki sees on him often, but he can recognize it as what he’s probably wearing on his own face too.
“Um, okay,” Mirio says after a beat, sounding shockingly breathless. Did Tamaki do that? Was that his fault? “Let’s do this, then.”
“Mirio,” Tamaki breathes in reply.
The man in question gives him a blinding smile, and then dramatically looks around himself, as though a little bit lost.
“I don’t know how you want to do this,” he says, “but I think one of us needs some preparation.”
Tamaki would sit up and get it himself, but Mirio’s broad body is blocking his way.
“If you look in my drawer…,” he starts, and trails off.
It’s fine. Mirio has always understood what he’s trying to say. They’ve never had a problem with communication. Mirio leans over, his body coming away from Tamaki’s for a moment to open the drawer on his bedside table. Immediately, Tamaki misses the warmth, misses the comfortable feeling that touching Mirio gives him. But before he can truly mourn it, Mirio’s back, grinning, bottle in hand.
“Do you use this stuff, Tamaki?” he asks. His tone is gently teasing, and Tamaki understands that—understand that Mirio means him no harm. “Do you do it to yourself?”
Yes, Tamaki thinks. Yes, since the day years ago when I passed you a pencil and your fingers brushed against mine. Yes, since the time I saw you in the locker room and realized how much you’d grown. Yes, since the night you slept over and I woke up hard from a dream about you.
Tamaki whines, and then, embarrassed, bites his bottom lip.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Mirio says, smile going sheepish, almost as if he hadn’t been expecting a confirmation. He ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck, and it’s too cute for someone who’s completely naked, someone whose incredible body is currently centered over Tamaki on his bed. “I...I do stuff like that too, you know.”
His smile quirks up even further, making Tamaki’s breath catch in his throat.
“I think of you,” he says.
Tamaki thinks he might combust into flames. Thinks he might have a heart attack right here and now and pass away on his mattress. Thinks he might perish of oxygen deprivation, his lungs suddenly empty of air and unable to function. But being found with the dead body of his best friend can’t go on the great hero Lemillion’s record, so Tamaki clings to life, for now.
“Please, Mirio,” he says, and his voice is already strained and hoarse. He’s burning from the inside. “Do it...to me.”
This time, Mirio’s smile turns gentle.
“I thought you might say that,” he says.
When he opens the bottle of lube, the sound seems to echo around the room, deafening. Tamaki watches, nerves mounting, as Mirio pours some onto his fingers. He can feel his heart beating so hard it seems to vibrate his entire ribcage, it slams in his eardrums.
Mirio pulls back to settle between Tamaki’s legs. Tamaki widens himself for him, but suddenly, vulnerable and on display, he can’t bear to look at him. What if Mirio doesn’t like what he sees? What if Mirio is disgusted with his body, with his size or the comparatively unimpressive cut of his muscles or his smattering of birthmarks or the growth of his untrimmed hair? What if he does a bad job and can’t make it feel good? What if Mirio doesn’t enjoy himself? What if Mirio figures out he’s not into Tamaki, or he’s not into men at all, and it’s all Tamaki’s fault and—
Mirio pauses, just an inch before touching him.
“Tamaki, are you okay? You’re shaking really bad...maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
Tamaki, suddenly, feels stricken. He jumps to the only conclusion in his mind. “You don’t want to.”
But Mirio just laughs a little, gently, his smile stretching across his face. “No, no, of course I want to. I’m just worried about how much you’re shaking. Should I stop?”
The idea of Mirio stopping right now makes Tamaki want to cave in on himself. He grabs Mirio around the wrist and holds his hand firm against his chest, against where his heart is careening in his ribcage.
“No—no, Mirio, I want to—”
Mirio studies his face for a second, his gentle smile unwavering, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to Tamaki’s forehead. That, somehow, sends more of an unbearably hot flame through him than anything else Mirio has done up until now, and it burns away all of Tamaki’s fears with it. He feels safe. Breathing is hard when the palm and the fingers against his chest push just a little, comforting and secure.
“Okay!” Mirio says, and with his lube-drenched fingers, presses against Tamaki.
It’s strange. Foreign, at first. Tamaki has touched himself here, more than once. He’s imagined his fingers were Mirio’s, but actually having Mirio’s fingers there is another experience altogether. They’re thicker than his own, surer of themselves, less tentative, but gentle in a way that Tamaki has only dreamed of. And, more than anything, he doesn’t know where they’re going, what they’re going to do. When they circle around, when the first one is slow and takes its time to push inside, it surprises him.
“Relax, Tamaki,” Mirio says, a hint of a laugh on his voice. “It’s just me.”
It’s just Mirio. Tamaki does his best. He lets his legs fall open further. He wills his muscles, his heart, to calm down. The finger presses in farther.
“Did you eat any octopus today?” Mirio asks.
Tamaki looks up at him through the darkness. “What?”
“I’m joking.” Mirio laughs. “We can do that another time.”
He doesn’t give any further context, but he does surprise Tamaki with a second finger.
Another time , thinks Tamaki. Mirio wants to do this again. Tamaki feels the push of Mirio inside of him, widening him, opening him up. Mirio, inside of his body. Tamaki feels himself trembling again, but it’s not a bad feeling. He just can’t contain the way his heart beats so hard within his frame.
“Is this okay?” Mirio asks. “It doesn’t hurt, right?”
It doesn’t hurt. Not at all. Mirio is so considerate, slow and tender, that Tamaki can’t imagine he would ever hurt him. He shakes his head.
“It’s nice,” he admits, eyes averted.
It is nice. It feels weird, not entirely pleasurable yet, but the thought of Mirio doing this to him at all, touching him here, crouched between his legs and his weight leaned on one hand as he works Tamaki open, is enough to send cascades of heat through his entire body. He knows he’s hard where he rests in the open air against his stomach, where Mirio’s shirt is pushed up around his chest, and that Mirio can see him, what he’s doing to him. It’s a little unbearable when he thinks about it, but he knows that Mirio is hard too.
Right, Mirio is hard. He’s waiting patiently, but he’s still hard. Tamaki tries to push himself up onto his elbows to face him.
“Hey, where are you going?” Mirio asks. His fingers move with a wet sound that seems to simultaneously jolt right through Tamaki’s lower body and also freeze his brain.
It takes him a second to recover, and by that point, Mirio’s already prodding at him with a third finger. The stretch feels weird, stings a little bit, but not in a way bad enough that Tamaki wants to voice it.
“What about you?” he says, when he regains his bearings.
“What about me?” Mirio replies, tilting his head to the side. “I’ll get my turn in a minute. This is about you.”
Oh. Oh . Tamaki isn’t sure he likes that. It’s overwhelming, almost nausea-inducing, to be paid attention to in any respect. He flops back against the mattress, still watching Mirio. He feels a little dizzy. Very hot. He wants this, wants this so bad, but he isn’t sure he can keep a lid on the pressure.
“Are you sure this is okay?” he asks, voice small, hitching a little bit. He’s starting to feel something good when Mirio pushes into him, then pulls out, and pushes in again.
But, of course, Mirio is grinning.
“More than okay,” Mirio says. “Let me touch you, Tamaki. You’re doing great.”
Tamaki closes his eyes. Lets the words wash over him. You’re doing great . It doesn’t slow his pounding heart, but it doesn’t need to. It’s not anxiety that’s welling up in him, he reminds himself. It’s arousal. It’s the need to be as close to Mirio as he possibly can. And with Mirio’s fingers inside of him, when they move just like that, bend in that way, touch him there, he can’t help gasping for a breath of air. It’s Mirio. And it’s good.
But he wants more. He wants all of Mirio.
He says his name. Pleads it. Mirio glances up at him, eyebrows raised, and breaks out into a smile.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Please,” Tamaki gasps. Please, I’m going to burst if you don’t right now , is what he doesn’t say.
Mirio pulls his fingers out. Tamaki feels empty without them, incomplete, but he knows it’s only for a moment. He watches in nervousness, in anticipation, as Mirio takes the lube again and slicks himself up. This time, Tamaki doesn’t feel the need to avert his eyes when he looks at him. It’s just Mirio. It’s a part of Mirio that will be inside of him.
The first tease of a touch is gentle, but hot, and Tamaki’s spine straightens instinctively, still unused to being touched there. He can feel Mirio holding himself just barely against him, featherlight as he lines himself up. There’s sheepish laughter on his breath, like he can’t believe this is happening either. Somehow, to Tamaki, it feels like a warm blanket in this most vulnerable moment. He waits.
“Here we go,” Mirio says, and slowly, slowly, guides himself forward.
It’s different from his fingers. Thicker. Hotter. The stretch is almost too much but not enough at all. He wants to accept all of Mirio, all of his burning sun, inside of him. Tamaki shivers, breathes in deep through his nose, out through his mouth, wills himself to relax.
The hand that Mirio isn’t using to steady himself traces up Tamaki’s body, skimming over the exposed ridges of his muscles and bones, skirting over the folds of his shirt, until Mirio is bent down towards him and running his knuckle over Tamaki’s cheekbone. Instantly, Tamaki feels like he might cry. The sensation is almost overwhelming: the pressure of Mirio opening him below, the warmth of Mirio over him, the tenderness of Mirio’s hand on his face. And as he slips forward inch by inch, pausing to let Tamaki become accustomed to him, he brushes Tamaki’s bangs back from his eyes and gazes at him.
“Are you alright?” he asks once he’s buried all the way.
Breathless, Tamaki gasps out a, “Yes.”
Mirio begins to move.
His motions are small at first, testing, gentle, and Tamaki appreciates it because he still feels overfull and overwhelmed. But he quickly gets used to the sensation of Mirio inside of him, quickly starts to feel himself relax more, accept him more, and so Mirio picks up his speed and power.
On the first real thrust, Tamaki lets out a sound.
It’s embarrassing, and it slams him back into reality. He can feel his face light on fire. He can feel the way his expression scrunches. He can feel the way his body must look, unappealing, strange, unattractive, and the way he must move and the things he’s doing that maybe Mirio doesn’t like. Instinctively, he throws his hands over his face, hides his eyes behind his fingers. He wants to disappear, wants to become part of the sheets and the mattress underneath of him, and he presses his hands down harder.
“Tamaki?” Mirio says.
“Please don’t look at me,” Tamaki replies into the heels of his palm.
Mirio stops moving. Slowly, gently, a pair of broad hands wrap their grips around his wrists. They tug gently until Tamaki has no choice but to let his hands come away from his face, revealing himself. Somehow, he feels totally naked despite the shirt.
“Hey, it’s okay!” Mirio says. He’s smiling, and his eyes are glittering, and he’s looking at Tamaki like out of the two of them, Tamaki’s the bright and shining star. “You’re amazing, Tamaki. You’re beautiful.”
Tamaki looks into Mirio’s eyes, and finds only genuine support there.
Right. Right . This is Mirio. The person Tamaki has never had to feel anxious around.
Slowly, cautiously, he lets his hands fall away. Lets himself open up. Lets Mirio have everything of him that he can possibly offer.
Mirio bends over him, draws in close to his face, and kisses him long and deep. Tamaki feels it in the curl of his toes. Then, he pulls up, and starts to move again.
It’s Mirio who’s really the one who’s beautiful, but Tamaki doesn’t have the strength to say that right now. Instead, he lets him rock into him. Tries to keep the noises shut inside his mouth, but every motion has him barely in touch with himself, with his self-control. They start to fall out of him, and in between his own heavy breathing, Mirio laughs, delighted.
Since they were kids, Tamaki has often had the strange, intrusive thought of what it would be like to occupy the same space as Mirio. Of course it’s happened before, that Mirio has slid right through him. In training, in class, by accident, just the same as he was able to slip through his clothes or the walls or the ground. It had always felt like nothing, obviously. Tamaki knows he’s silly for thinking that it might ever feel otherwise. Mirio’s quirk allowed him to pass through anything without a trace.
But there had been something about it. Tamaki had always thought there was something to it. Sometimes he wished he could somehow just be subsumed by Mirio’s being. Sometimes he just wanted to exist in the same space.
This, he realizes, is like that. This, probably, all along, is what he wanted. He can feel him, feel Mirio, inside of him. Not just inside of him, but all around him, where his broad body presses down over Tamaki’s, where his arms cage him in.
Mirio moves there, inside of him, and the drag of it, the weight, the motion, it all feels so good. So much better than anything Tamaki has ever done to himself. Because it’s Mirio. He shifts his weight, and Tamaki feels him, hot and large, sliding home again and again and again.
“How’s that, Tamaki?” Mirio asks. He sounds concerned, but elated. Completely breathless. Voice a little raw. Hearing his own name in that voice is maddening. Electrifying.
Tamaki gasps, shivers, lets out little noises. “A-amazing, Mirio, you’re amazing—ah, ah —”
“You too,” Mirio tells him. “You feel so good.”
Warmth bursts through Tamaki’s body. It’s all he can do it hang on, to ride out whatever Mirio is giving him. It feels good, incredibly good, and it’s all Mirio, him and Mirio connected here, enjoying this together.
Mirio’s hand slips alongside his. He lets their fingers tangle together, and Mirio’s grip tightens. Instinctively, Tamaki’s tightens in return, feeling the strong muscles of Mirio’s hand under his fingertips. It’s warm and soft against his and feels so right there.
His other hand, the one not clasped in Tamaki’s, lands first on Tamaki’s hip, steadying him. Then it travels in, sliding across Tamaki’s abdomen, before wrapping around him, where he’s hard and leaking against his stomach. The first brush alone sends a violent jolt up Tamaki’s spine. When Mirio gets his fingers around it, squeezes a little bit, and then begins to pump in time with his thrusts, Tamaki loses all control of himself.
He doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed. It feels so good. Impossibly good. And Mirio’s hand is in his, Mirio’s warm body is above him. It’s okay that he’s letting out these noises. It’s okay that his heart is thundering so loud he thinks he’s going to break apart under the force of it. It’s okay that he’s leaking all over Mirio’s hand, because Mirio touches him more, around and over the top, dragging slick precome as he goes. And it feels incredible.
“You’re doing amazing, Tamaki,” Mirio says again. “You feel great.”
It’s a shock straight to Tamaki’s gut. He tosses his head back, clenches his teeth, whines from his throat. An instinctive part of him wants to cover his face again, but Mirio’s got his one hand and the other is desperately clutched in the pillow below his head because he feels like he needs to hang on for dear life.
He’s making sounds and he knows it, but Mirio is making little sounds too, and he loves to hear them. He loves to feel him rocking against him, feeling everywhere he’s touching him hot and buzzing with energy. He’s burning underneath his skin and his entire body is clenched tight and his breath is coming in rapid gasps.
“Go ahead if you’re ready, Tamaki,” Mirio says, panting hard, voice strained. “I want to see you.”
So he does. Tamaki lets go.
He forgets how to breathe.
He shakes through it. Aches with it. Says Mirio’s name in a rasping, whining voice he barely recognizes. And Mirio’s here, holding him, touching him, pulling him along. He’s never felt like this before, never had his vision white out quite like this before or felt his body snap like this, felt the waves of it crash through him, and he knows it’s because Mirio’s here.
When he comes down it’s only one more thrust, then another, and then Mirio’s coming too. Tamaki watches him as his heartbeat slows, the beautiful way his face creases and his mouth opens, the way he feels inside of him, the heat of it, the grip of his hand tight around his own.
Mirio slows down, then stops moving. He looks up at Tamaki, chest still heaving. And then, the most shining smile Tamaki has ever seen crosses his face.
Before Tamaki can shield his eyes, or smile back, or even blink, Mirio is on him, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to his mouth. Tamaki accepts it, accepts the smile that comes with it and the outpouring of feeling that is coursing through his veins.
After a long moment, Mirio sits back up. He grabs a handful of tissues from the box on the nightstand and is calm and gentle as he cleans them up, happily humming a quiet tune to himself. Tamaki watches him, watches the care he takes when handling Tamaki’s limbs, how softly he wipes the tissue over his skin. His hair is completely disheveled, his forehead shining with cooling sweat, but a lump forms in Tamaki’s throat when he thinks about how beautiful Mirio is, and how happy he is to have shared this moment with him. Mirio tosses the dirtied tissue into the wastebasket.
“I’m going to spend the night in here,” he says, and flops down on top of Tamaki.
Tamaki wheezes at the sudden weight, and Mirio, mirthful and laughing as always, presses kisses to wherever of Tamaki he can reach on his shoulder and neck. It tickles pleasantly, bringing a smile to Tamaki’s face, but Tamaki still scrabbles at Mirio, trying to push his bulk off of him.
When Mirio’s had enough, he does roll off Tamaki, and onto his side, pulling him close in the process. With Mirio’s arms around him, Tamaki lets his face drop onto Mirio’s still-bare collarbone and relaxes. Their bodies are lined up together, and Mirio’s soft shirt is wrapped around him, and it feels comfortable, warm. Tamaki takes a long moment to sunbathe.
“Was I okay?” Tamaki asks, his words muffled into Mirio’s shoulder.
“Of course you were!” Mirio says. “You were great. It was the best thing I’ve ever felt.”
Tamaki hides his smile, but he’s sure Mirio can feel it against his skin near the ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum of his heart.
“Anyway, it’d be fine if you weren’t,” he goes on. “You’ve still got the Tama- key to my heart.”
Groaning, Tamaki presses his face further into Mirio’s chest. He prays this time that he can’t feel the burning in his cheeks, or the way that his smile has stayed firmly cemented in place. He loves Mirio. He loves this man so much that he can accept the fact that those words just came out of his mouth.
“What? That bad?” Mirio laughs. “I’m sorry I’m not very funny.”
“Mirio,” Tamaki says.
Mirio’s laughter stops. “What? What is it?”
Tamaki inhales deeply. He breathes in Mirio’s calming scent, the one from his childhood, from his current beautiful reality.
“You’re the sun,” Tamaki says. “You’re my sun.”
Even without looking at him, Tamaki can practically hear Mirio smile. His fingers on Tamaki’s back rub a smooth, slow rhythm down his spine and up again, tender and pleasant. Mirio’s head is tilted against the top of his own and he can feel Mirio’s breath stirring his hair, just the same way that Mirio himself stirs up this feeling of excitement—not anxiety—inside his chest.
“Well, next time you’ll have to show me why they call you Suneater, alright?” Mirio says.
Tamaki can’t help the snort that bubbles up at that one.
Mirio’s hand comes up, and he catches Tamaki by the chin again. Tamaki lets him tilt his head up, lets him guide his face in to meet him, lets him press their lips together. It’s warm. It’s so, so, so warm.
And Tamaki’s never felt less anxious in his life.