The apartment was finally quiet. Ichigo had crashed hard after a full day of park chaos, dinosaur cartoons, and three bedtime stories—two from Chris, one from Haru because the kid played them like pros. Haru closed the bedroom door with a soft click, leaning against it for a second. His heart was already racing, and he hadn't even touched Chris yet.
Chris was in the kitchen, rinsing the last dishes, apron off, sleeves rolled up on his simple gray tee. The overhead light caught his light brown hair, making it glow a little, and when he turned, those hazel eyes locked on Haru with that mix of playful and hungry that had been building all week.
"All is good?" Chris asked, voice low, drying his hands slow.
Haru nodded, pushing off the door. "Out like a light. Finally."
Chris's smile turned sly. "So… we've got the place to ourselves."
Haru crossed the room in a few steps, crowding Chris against the counter without a word. Their bodies met—chest to chest, hips aligning—and Chris's breath hitched. Haru cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over that soft bottom lip. "Been thinking about this all day."
Chris leaned in first this time, lips crashing soft but urgent. The kiss ignited fast—tongues sliding, tasting, teasing. Chris made that little needy sound in the back of his throat that drove Haru crazy. Hands went everywhere: Chris's fingers threading through Haru's black hair, tugging just right; Haru's palms sliding down to grip Chris's waist, pulling him impossibly closer.
They stumbled out of the kitchen, lips barely parting, bumping into the hallway wall. Haru pressed Chris there, taller frame pinning the slimmer one gently. Chris arched up, leg hooking around Haru's thigh, grinding slow and deliberate. Friction sparked hot through denim, drawing twin groans.
"Bedroom," Haru muttered against Chris's neck, voice rough. He nipped the skin lightly, feeling Chris shiver hard.
They made it to Haru's room, door shutting behind them. Moonlight filtered through half-open curtains, casting soft shadows. Chris pushed Haru down onto the bed first, climbing over him with that lively confidence. Straddling his hips, Chris leaned down, kissing deep and messy—tongue stroking, teeth grazing Haru's lip.
Haru's hands roamed under Chris's tee, pushing it up slow, palms gliding over warm, smooth skin. Every inch felt electric—the slim waist, the healthy tone from college sports, the way Chris trembled when Haru's thumbs brushed just under his ribs. Chris sat up long enough to yank his shirt off, tossing it aside, hazel eyes dark with want.
Haru followed, shirt gone in seconds. Skin met skin—chest to chest, heat flaring where they touched. Chris rocked down harder, rhythm building, hips rolling in a slow grind that had them both gasping. Haru's hands gripped Chris's ass, guiding the motion, feeling the firm muscle flex under his fingers.
Mouths found necks, shoulders, collarbones—kisses turning to soft bites, soothing licks. Chris's head fell back when Haru sucked a mark just below his jaw, breath coming in short pants. "Haru… feels so good."
Haru flipped them carefully, hovering over Chris now, dark brown eyes intense. He kissed down Chris's chest—slow, deliberate—tongue flicking over sensitive spots that made Chris arch off the bed, fingers clutching the sheets. Haru's hands worked Chris's jeans open, sliding them down along with boxers, exposing more skin to cool air and warm touches.
Chris returned the favor, hands shaking a little as he undid Haru's belt, pushing fabric away. They kicked everything off, bodies finally bare against each other—hot, slick with faint sweat. Skin on skin felt like fire, every slide and press sending sparks up their spines.
They moved together in a slow, heavy rhythm—hips grinding, thighs tangled, breaths mingling in open-mouthed kisses. Haru's hand wrapped around them both when the friction wasn't enough, stroking slow and firm. Chris moaned into his mouth, hips bucking up, nails digging into Haru's back, leaving faint trails.
The pace built gradually—urgent but controlled, every roll and thrust drawing them closer. Whispers filled the dark: Chris's breathy pleas, Haru's low growls of his name. Sweat beaded on skin; the room smelled like them—heat, want, closeness.
Climax hit Chris first—body tensing, back arching beautifully as he spilled over Haru's hand with a broken gasp. The sight and feel pulled Haru right after, pleasure crashing hard, burying his face in Chris's neck to muffle the groan.
They stayed tangled for long minutes, breaths slowing, hearts pounding together. Haru rolled to the side, pulling Chris close, legs intertwined. Chris's head rested on Haru's chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns on damp skin.
"Wow," Chris whispered, voice hoarse but happy. "That was…"
"Yeah," Haru agreed, kissing his forehead. "Intense."
Chris smiled against his skin. "Good intense."
They cleaned up quietly—shared shower turned playful but soft, more kisses under warm water, hands gentle now. Back in bed, wrapped in fresh sheets, Chris curled into Haru's side.
"Stay tonight?" Haru asked, arm tight around him.
"Try kicking me out," Chris murmured, already half-asleep.
Morning came soft—Ichigo's knock way too early, but they were dressed and innocent by then. Chris made pancakes while Haru handled the excited wake-up call. The kid didn't suspect a thing, just happy both his favorite people were there.
But as the day rolled—park, lunch, nap—Haru noticed Chris checking his phone again. That quick frown, silenced notifications. The debt shadow lingering.
Haru caught his hand later, while Ichigo napped. "Talked to them lately?"
Chris sighed. "Got another text last night. Before… everything. Just the usual reminder."
Haru pulled him into a hug. "We'll figure payment plans. Maybe I can help—"
Chris shook his head. "Not yet. I don't want you tangled in this mess."
Haru kissed him slow. "Too late. I'm already tangled. With you."
Chris melted into it, worry easing for now.
The day ended sweet—movie night again, Ichigo between them, falling asleep halfway. Haru carried him to bed, Chris following. Back on the couch, they shared one last quiet kiss.
Whatever shadows were coming, they'd face them together.