"I know your weakness. It’s kisses. You are doomed. (Don’t worry. We’re all doomed eventually.)" - OiSou, because I have a dire need for fluff now
from 50 A Softer World Prompts
7. I know your weakness. It’s kisses. You are doomed. (Don’t worry. We’re all doomed eventually.)
i call this one: let’s see how much i can make the squad yell at me
also called: i am not sure how fluffy this is and i apologize for that
Sousuke glares out the window like the scene outside it personally offended not only him but his mother, his sister, and his best friend just by existing. Tooru glances out and sees nothing but the tops of buildings and the clear sky above them. His apartment on the floor above them has a better view, he would know from the countless hours spent staring out the windows there, but this one has Sousuke’s couch. And Sousuke, he supposes. That’s not a bad trade for a less than spectacular view of the city.
Toou stares at Sousuke. Unabashedly studies his features like Sousuke is a puzzle that he can’t wait to figure out. Which is a bit silly. He’s had Sousuke figured out for a while now. They’re not so different. Underneath all the polish and veneer and topcoats of anger and sugar and meticulously rationed smiles. The same pulse of anger throbs in their veins. The same feathers of dreams slip through their fingers. The same steely will fills their bones. The same doubts pool between their organs. The same worry gnaws at their hearts.
No, he thinks when Sousuke sits on the floor next to Tooru’s leg and presses distracted kisses to his knee and thigh while Tooru flips through channel after channel of mindless drivel on Sousuke’s tv, they’re not so different, he and Sousuke, not so different at all.
--
Tooru’s eyes are fixed on his phone on the counter. The screen is on and he taps and swipes just enough to give some semblance of reading something on it but Sousuke can see the jitter in his touch each time his finger leaves the surface and the way his socked toes - that Sousuke can see individually thanks to the atrocious toe socks that Oikawa is wearing today - twitch and tap at the rung of the bar stool he’s sitting on. Oikawa’s fingers drop to his knee only once, barely brushing the skin just past the bottom of his shorts, and then his hand is back on the counter and Sousuke keeps watching him.
Sometimes Tooru is like a caged animal, pacing wildly along the edges of his apartment, feet slapping the floor and eyes darting, looking for an escape. Sometimes he is a tamed thing. Sprawled against Sousuke’s back leaving kisses and gentle touches across his skin.
More often than not he’s just Oikawa Tooru. Something complicated and human and tired and warm.
--
Sousuke settles himself in bed with a quiet groan. The mattress dips when Tooru follows a moment later and rolls himself against Sousuke’s side. Tooru’s breaths are even and soft against his arm and Sousuke debates just taking a nap. Not like anyone was around to be upset if he did. Tooru would probably doze off not long after him and they would both wake up groggy and disoriented and hungry.
Or he could roll over, pull Tooru even closer, and spend the better part of the next hour or so trading lazy kisses with him.
The second option seems so much more enjoyable than the first.
“Hey Tooru,” he whispers softly as he shifts and rolls and tugs Tooru closer. Tooru’s lids flutter and a sliver of brown glints over at Sousuke. “Can I kiss you?”
Tooru’s eyes snap open at his soft words and a splash of red colors his cheeks.
“Do you really have to ask,” he drawls playfully.
“Probably not,” Sousuke admits. “But I like the way you smile when I do.” He leans close and nudges Tooru’s cheek with his nose. “So can I?” He breathes the question across Tooru’s cheek and smiles at the quick inhale he gets in response before Tooru replies.
“Yes, please.”
