Ship: Kinjou Shingo/Makishima Yuusuke Fandom: Yowamushi Pedal Major tags: None Other tags: None Square: C2: Confidence/Insecurities Word count: 410
Had to re-post bc of subject line rules.
***
Yuusuke is a contradiction, and Shingo loves it. Loves him, for all his many quirks and prides, appreciates them all for what they are. The bed they two share is spacious and soft and when it’s too hot, they can sleep beside each other without touching. The face Shingo wakes up to is sallow and hollow and greasy with night cream, and beautiful to nobody else. Yuusuke sleeps with his hair tucked up under a satin bonnet. Bereft of the careful framing, his face looks even narrower and pointier, drawn in harsh lines like a triangle.
A triangle has three sides, and Shingo kisses them all. One for the forehead, two for the cheeks. Yuusuke squints awake and rolls his eyes against the sappy awkwardness.
“Geeze, Shingo,” he grumbles. Shingo hears a popping bubble of laughter in the back of his throat. “S’too early for this.” He stretches like a cat and screws his face up against the morning.
Shingo reaches out to trace the long line of Yuusuke’s nose with his thumb. “You’re beautiful like this,” he says, solemn as a prayer. The hollowness under Yuusuke’s cheekbones are a perfect fit for Shingo’s broad, blunt fingertips, and he feels the muscles there jump.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yuusuke scoffs, tongue clicking, and though he starts to sit up, Shingo rolls on top of him to keep him in place. Their breath stinks, and they’re both just on the sticky side of sweaty, and Yuusuke’s heart beats against Shingo’s chest when he leans down further.
“Who’s ridiculous?” he asks. Shingo kisses Yuusuke’s face again, and Yuusuke rolls his eyes again.
“At least let me brush my hair,” he grouses. The skinny arms winding around Shingo’s neck and shoulders belie his grumpy tone, though, and he tilts his head up to meet Shingo’s next kiss. His nose wrinkles. “And my teeth.”
“You’re fine.”
Yuusuke’s laugh is a bark like a seal, harsh and dissonant in the soft morning. “Of course,” he says, and this time when he moves to get off the bed, Shingo lets him go, and watches the way his slim body moves, all angles, and the dance of the moles across his skin. He trip-skips across the room with a gangled gait unchanged from high school, and looks back over his shoulder with a twisted lip and a cocked eyebrow.
“I’m going to shower. Coming?” Shingo breathes in his quiet, unhurried confidence, and follows a handful of steps behind.
FILL: Team Aoyagi Hajime/Teshima Junta, C2, T
Fandom: Yowamushi Pedal
Major tags: None
Other tags: None
Square: C2: Confidence/Insecurities
Word count: 410
Had to re-post bc of subject line rules.
***
Yuusuke is a contradiction, and Shingo loves it. Loves him, for all his many quirks and prides, appreciates them all for what they are. The bed they two share is spacious and soft and when it’s too hot, they can sleep beside each other without touching. The face Shingo wakes up to is sallow and hollow and greasy with night cream, and beautiful to nobody else. Yuusuke sleeps with his hair tucked up under a satin bonnet. Bereft of the careful framing, his face looks even narrower and pointier, drawn in harsh lines like a triangle.
A triangle has three sides, and Shingo kisses them all. One for the forehead, two for the cheeks. Yuusuke squints awake and rolls his eyes against the sappy awkwardness.
“Geeze, Shingo,” he grumbles. Shingo hears a popping bubble of laughter in the back of his throat. “S’too early for this.” He stretches like a cat and screws his face up against the morning.
Shingo reaches out to trace the long line of Yuusuke’s nose with his thumb. “You’re beautiful like this,” he says, solemn as a prayer. The hollowness under Yuusuke’s cheekbones are a perfect fit for Shingo’s broad, blunt fingertips, and he feels the muscles there jump.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yuusuke scoffs, tongue clicking, and though he starts to sit up, Shingo rolls on top of him to keep him in place. Their breath stinks, and they’re both just on the sticky side of sweaty, and Yuusuke’s heart beats against Shingo’s chest when he leans down further.
“Who’s ridiculous?” he asks. Shingo kisses Yuusuke’s face again, and Yuusuke rolls his eyes again.
“At least let me brush my hair,” he grouses. The skinny arms winding around Shingo’s neck and shoulders belie his grumpy tone, though, and he tilts his head up to meet Shingo’s next kiss. His nose wrinkles. “And my teeth.”
“You’re fine.”
Yuusuke’s laugh is a bark like a seal, harsh and dissonant in the soft morning. “Of course,” he says, and this time when he moves to get off the bed, Shingo lets him go, and watches the way his slim body moves, all angles, and the dance of the moles across his skin. He trip-skips across the room with a gangled gait unchanged from high school, and looks back over his shoulder with a twisted lip and a cocked eyebrow.
“I’m going to shower. Coming?” Shingo breathes in his quiet, unhurried confidence, and follows a handful of steps behind.