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Tamao’s mind wanders dangerously, his fingers running through the jet-black hair in his peripheral vision with ease. He silently admires how soft it feels, revelling in the soft sighs his actions are eliciting. When his mind catches up with him, he finds his eyes drifting downwards to look at the object of his attention. If anything, Tamao should feel that this position is ludicrous considering the amount he’s punched the man sitting before him, especially when he remembers the fact he’s currently standing between the said man’s legs and running his hands through his hair.
Genji’s head lulls forward towards Tamao’s chest, his face pressed into the soft fabric of Tamao’s shirt. Genji resists the urge to snort at the obnoxious floral design on the shirt, in too much of a state of bliss to think of much else besides Tamao and his fingers gently moving through his hair and against his scalp. It feels like all of his stress is leaving his body and he briefly has to move a hand up onto Tamao’s hip to steady himself, his cheek not moving from the position against Tamao’s chest. He thinks about how this would look if someone walks in, before remembering he doesn’t give a single fuck what people think about him and Tamao, no doubt a sentiment shared by Tamao.
The fingers suddenly stop in their rhythmic movements, Genji resisting the urge to whine, only just. Tamao smiles ever so slightly, leaning down to place a soft kiss on top of Genji’s head. Genji keeps his head pointed downwards, shyly avoiding eye contact with Tamao as his hand remains fisted in his shirt.
“You okay there, Gen?” Tamao teases, running his thumbs across the hair on the sides of Genji’s head where it had overgrown its usually close shaved look, Genji’s eyes fluttering shut in response. Genji would say something snarky in response but he can barely bring himself to move his head away from Tamao’s hands.
“Fuck off.” He manages, nuzzling his head slowly against Tamao’s stomach, Tamao’s hand cupping the back of his head in a gesture that was oddly comforting and intimate to Genji, his neck flushing in response.
“Move your head up for me,” Tamao steps backwards, grabbing the set of clippers from the table, noticing Genji’s head just lulling forward in the absence of Tamao’s chest to steady him, “babe, c’mon, lift your head up.”
Genji’s head lifts up slowly, his back arching as he stretches languidly, a show of all limbs and little refinement. Tamao just smiles to himself, admiring the flash of Genji’s abdomen he was briefly greeted with. Genji sighs as he sits fully upright, moving his legs apart again to accommodate Tamao standing between them, the only comfortable way for Tamao to reach Genji’s head of hair without straining himself.
“Stay still.” Tamao whispers, although he has little idea why he’s whispering other than that he doesn’t want to disrupt the relaxed atmosphere and startle Genji out of his comfortable reverie. Even as his fingers gently move through Genji’s hair to move it away from the area he’s about to shave, Genji’s head remains completely still, but soft sighs still escape his mouth. Tamao chuckles silently, always in love with how literally Genji takes things sometimes. It was clearly taking all his willpower to stay as still as humanely possible.
The clippers quietly hum away as Tamao makes his way over the shaved area of Genji’s hair, his fingers brushing off the excess hair from Genji’s shoulders automatically, stopping to gently squeeze Genji’s shoulder before continuing. Genji stays perfectly still but occasionally lets out the odd noise of contentment, which is amusing to Tamao who knows that ordinarily, Genji absolutely despises sitting still for most things. He can’t help but feel all kinds of soft when he realises it’s probably just because it’s him that’s here doing this, being affectionate with Genji.
“Hey, Tamao,” Genji murmurs, his eyes moving upward to look at Tamao as he began moving to the other side of Genji’s head, “uh. Thanks.”
For Genji’s sake, mostly due to his surprisingly shy temperament, Tamao doesn’t laugh at Genji’s awkward thank you, but instead just kisses the tip of Genji’s nose oh-so delicately, gently bumping their heads together. The way he stares, all wide-eyed with pink cheeks makes Tamao never want to leave his side again, wanting only to be looked at like this by Genji alone.
“No problem.” Tamao resumes his actions on Genji’s hair, running his thumb across the shaved area as he goes along to test the length. Genji might act as though his hair is effortless, but he was ridiculously picky about the way it was done, usually insisting upon standing in front of his bathroom mirror, having to resort to taking a handheld mirror in one hand and the clippers in the other. Sufficed to say when Tamao had walked in half an hour earlier, he told Genji promptly to sit down and let him do it instead.
When the clippers are turned off, Tamao is suddenly hyperaware of how silent it is in the room now, only hearing the gentle lull of Genji’s breathing and the sound of the clippers being put back onto the table carefully. Genji finally looks up, running his hand through his hair in the way he usually did, making Tamao weak at the knees for what must be the hundredth time. He finds it funny that Genji is probably completely unaware of how sexy he is, all tall, beautiful hands and a long neck with one of the most gorgeous faces Tamao thinks he’s ever seen. Even when Genji is bruised to the point of anonymity, Tamao thinks it does little to diminish the energy Genji naturally radiates, all alpha male and seething. And yet, underneath it all, here he was as his actual self behind closed doors. Rather quiet, unassuming and quick to embarrassment. But also fast to seek affection, all delicate stares and pouty lips. Tamao just didn’t know what to think anymore, it just made him lightheaded and more impossibly tangled in Genji’s web.
Genji stands slowly, stretching once more, standing at least two heads taller than Tamao even when he’s slouching. He supposes he should hate that, but he can’t help but appreciate the difference. Genji naturally tended to look down when he felt awkward anyway, which suited Tamao just fine since that meant Genji would inadvertently look at him when he was embarrassed.
He can tell by the way Genji’s gaze is skittering that he’s probably thinking about several things at once and is struggling to keep up. His gaze settles on Tamao as he moves forward to grab onto Tamao’s shirt, pulling him upwards as he kisses him breathlessly, his hands keeping their grip on the shirt. Tamao laughs slightly into the kiss, choosing to angle Genji’s head down by sliding his fingers into Genji’s soft hair once more and pulling him downwards.
“What are you laughing at, asshole?” Genji grumbles, nuzzling his head into Tamao’s neck and instantly moving closer when Tamao’s arms link around his waist effortlessly, rubbing small circles down his back.
“Nothing,” Tamao chuckles, kissing Genji’s temple and tickling near his hip, laughing further when Genji starts squirming violently, “you’re just too cute sometimes.”
“I’m not cute!” He protests angrily, lifting his head to give Tamao a look of utter fury, “Dogs are cute. Kids are cute. I’m a grown man!”
Tamao can no longer keep his laughter down to just a chuckle, now regressing into full belly-laughter at Genji’s attempt to prove his manliness whilst simultaneously pouting and sulking in what could only be described as cute. He tickles under Genji’s chin affectionately, flashing a smile at him in the process.
“Stop being such a baby,” Tamao teases, knocking Genji back onto the couch to ensue a full-blown tickle attack, “you’re cute and nothing you can do will change that.”
The sounds of protest are muffled as Tamao all but clambers on top of Genji’s lap, tickling him in his ribs where he knows Genji is sensitive to the lightest of touches. Tamao is all too aware that Genji will definitely pay him back for this, but Tamao isn’t ticklish in the least, much to Genji’s chagrin. Genji suddenly stills as Tamao’s fingers instead just trace lines near his ribs, his hands hidden under Genji’s shirt as he continues to lull Genji back into utter relaxation with ease.
“I’m gonna kill you-,” Genji whines, his head resting on the back of the couch as Tamao continues to run his fingers down Genji’s chest, ribs and hips until Genji’s breath hitches so violently Tamao’s hands almost retract, “fuck.”
“Something wrong?” Tamao asks innocently, squeezing Genji’s hip before removing his hands from under Genji’s shirt. The look he gets in return would be enough to make his blood curdle if he was a lesser man, Genji’s dark eyes seeming to get even deeper as he stares malevolently.
“Bastard.” He huffs, standing up so quickly that Tamao is deposited on the floor like a sack of potatoes, staring up at Genji with a look of both bewilderment and amusement, “Short little bastard.”
“So how long d’you reckon this has been going on?” Chuta stares at Izaki with burning curiosity, leaning forward from his seat as though seeing Izaki more would help him make sense of the situation more clearly.
“A while, I think.” Izaki replies, taking a long drag from his cigarette, staring at the sky, lips curving up slightly. “Longer than we would’ve noticed, anyway. Not that that’s saying much.”
His eyes linger on Tokaji, a scathing look, clearly indicating his comments were aimed towards the object of his critical stare.
“Oh, fuck off, Izaki. We all knew something was going on with them, we just didn’t say anything because we’re not all attention whores.” Tokaji spits from his reclined position on the only couch on the roof, putting his cigarette back in his mouth with a disgruntled look.
“Did we all know, though?” One of the Mikami brothers questions, Izaki can’t be sure which one since he wasn’t looking at them when they spoke and their vernacular was so identical that it was impossible to differentiate without watching them both to be sure.
“What are we talking about?” Makise questions, a simultaneous groan from everyone else present only inflaming his idiocy. “No, seriously! What are we talking about?”
“Tamao and Genji, you fucking moron.” Tokaji sits fully upright, giving Makise such a disgusted look that Izaki has to resist the urge to snort, especially since he can relate entirely to the complete lack of patience when it comes to Makise.
“What about them?” Makise shoots everyone a clueless look, which is just further proven to be utterly ridiculous when even Chuta shoots him a look of disbelief.
“They’re a thing. They are together. Probably having sex right now. Who knows?” The Mikami brothers sing, high fiving each-other for completing the others’ sentence, laughing like hyenas. Izaki tries to avoid thinking about his leaders’ sex life, especially when he notices the similar glazed over looks of the others who are also clearly attempting to avoid eye contact due to their drifting minds.
“Since when?”
Izaki doesn’t even know who threw what in Makise’s direction, only managing to see the various items flying towards him at a distance. A chair, a set of cards, a shoe and what looks to be a manga book of some description. He sniggers to himself when he realises it’s probably Hiromi who’s thrown the manga book, which is most definitely one of Honjo’s since Hiromi doesn’t read manga much if at all. Hiromi gives Izaki a brief smirk, looking back at Makise who is nursing several wounds, making wounded animal noises.
“Okay, WHO’S SHOE IS THIS?!”