synergetic | Drunken Confessions

The day was already impossibly long at 2. By the time he puts Yukiko to bed, it's felt like a small eternity. But the kitchen is clean, everyone has bathed, the toys are put away, the homework is checked, and the foreheads have been kissed. He even got in a good conversation with Keita about becoming a big brother after bedtime story.

Frankly, he's so tired he could go straight to bed, but drinking with Yukimura on the couch has become a cherished nighttime ritual, and he isn't about to start skipping something so hard-earned and enjoyable now. Never mind the value it had in maintaining good rapport; that was never something to take for granted.

So to the couch he goes, where Yukimura is already waiting with Hima tucked comfortably in her bassinet by his side. For a moment, Bunta is struck all over again with admiration for this man who generously opened his home to them and who has given Yukiko and Keita the same patience and care that he gives Himawari. He didn't have to come home and straight from the genkan target handling the crying toddler instead of the snuggly and content infant he'd missed all day. He could have taken Hima and left Bunta to juggle Keita's meltdown and cooking dinner. Instead, he went to the fire. He's a good father and a good person.

"We made it....!" Bunta says with as much celebration as fatigue and flops down beside him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Similarly occupied in soothing his daughter to sleep, Yukimura stopped thinking about whether or not and was now thinking about just getting the answer on the record.

He didn't need the answer to be one way or the other, he thought. He wasn't affected by a preference. He couldn't tell which answer would be more awkward to move forward with, if he was being honest, but that in no way swayed the preference he did not have.

He was simply driven by a desire for a final answer, and to put the whole question to bed. He was not at all anticipating getting themselves to bed. He had no preference, not until he saw Marui getting ready for their little evening ritual and thought about how cozy it was, how familiar it became.

He moved across the room as if possessed and pinned Marui to the liquor cabinet.

"Either you kiss me or we never bring this up again."

Get the booze upstairs, because Bunta knows what he wants, and he intends to signal it. And anyway, who wants to pause that in the middle of things getting hot because the location isn't private enough? Serious mood killer!

Seems Yukimura is thinking the same thing, and actioned with his unmistakable personal brand of overwhelming confidence and aloof command. The same energy that helped him dominate the courts and ensnare the hearts of an entire school. Bunta himself had been no exception. The pin startles him, but despite its aggressiveness it sparks only appreciation. Knowing what you wanted was attractive.

Eyes fearless and engaged, he wriggles a hand free to cup around Yukimura's jaw and nape.

"Well, that'd be a shame. I hope that isn't all you're expecting, though."

With a gentle pull forward, Bunta tilts his head and leans in with his answer.

Affirmation unlocks him. He can admit now in his own mind that he was hoping for this. It'll be something to laugh about with Bunta later, how much he was wanting to be right, anticipating the euphoria of the moment they connected like this.

Once he actually has Marui's lips on his instinct is to take more, keep going but--

"I don't need Keita to find you undressed and on the floor tomorrow," he said wryly, reluctant to pause but feeling the necessity keenly.

As abruptly as the kiss was demanded, and barely with enough time for it to even start, it's put on hold. For the best, but in the one moment it sure is a horrible tease.

Bunta can't help but laugh at the returned affirmation, though.

"You're right. Meet you upstairs with these?" He asks with indication to the bottles. "Or do you not want them?"

"Whatever you can do fastest," he said decisively.

And what is this about meeting? Yukimura tugs on his sleeve. "Or you could just come with me," he suggested, in the same tone he might have once said 'Or you could just win the match.'

The 'immediately' is implied about as subtly as a truck.

Message received loud and clear, Captain!

"Alcohol dulls the senses anyway," Bunta remarks as everything he'd gathered is collectively set back to rest on the table, and Yukimura leads them up the stairs together.

Yukimura speeds them up the stairs and behind his bedroom door. He only stops because he can't decide what he wants to do just yet-- pin him to the door and make out furiously or say something poetic about his eyes and it makes him laugh self-consciously.

"How bad is this going to be tomorrow?"

The anticipation is palpable. Bunta can feel it, too. It's in the quickened pace, the tension in his grip, and the tingling ache of disappearing warmth on his lips. It's the kind of energy Bunta could ride all evening. Almost feels like they're trying to get away with something. Well, probably Yukimura's first time with children old enough to walk in on you under the same roof. Maybe that feeling isn't far from the truth in his case.

The laugh is pretty adorable. He's nervous, isn't he? Bunta would be lying if he said he wasn't, too. It's a good nervous, though. Recognition of what these changes mean for them and for their children. What it will mean for him on a personal level. He takes a half-step into Yukimura's personal space, placing a hand on his arm as he does.

"I dunno. I'm thinking about how good it's gonna be."

"I haven't stopped thinking about that, I promise."

He leans in closer, almost pressing their foreheads together but stopping just short.

But he pushes past it, ignores the perfect thing to say he hasn't thought of yet, and kisses Bunta again.

For a second, it throws Bunta off that the lean in to touch his forehead comes to a stop, before he sees the reason for it: a course correction into a kiss.

In that first moment of revisiting the warm press of Yukimura's mouth, this time with crystal clear sobriety, memories of Leia come flooding to the surface. It's impossible not to be reminded; Yukimura is the first person in nearly fifteen years he's kissed like this that hasn't been her, and his grip on Yukimura's arm tightens in response.

He's ready for it without the blunting effect of alcohol this time. This moment of closure and transition, where he remembers their intimacy, how much he cherished her, and how happy he is for the time they had. He remembers, and then releases his love for her to the era it belongs. It's neither sorrow nor longing for the past that wets his eyes as he lets go, and that memory cedes to the one he's making now.

Yukimura. Frankly, Bunta had forgotten just how it felt to ache for him like this. It's not that he'd forgotten the torch once existed-- he simply lives his life in the present. Even since moving in with him and spending months seeing him even more regularly than he did in school, he's been living as a widower, not as a single person looking to get involved again. It's a psychological weight he's carried so long he'd stopped noticing it, until suddenly it was lifted.

He kisses Yukimura hungrily, pulling himself in tight against the man's chest. Peripherally, he notices how flat and firm his body feels, a strange but not unwelcome change from fleshy softness and curves. Without breaking the kiss, he pivots and gently tugs Yukimura towards the bed, eager to discover what else beyond the obvious is different.

Edited 2025-05-29 07:05 (UTC)

Drunken Confessions

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject