This is a purge fic. I wrote the sex scene first, then I wondered: Is this really MakoHaru?
Yes. Yes it is.
I always believed Makoto had a hidden side to him, behind that gentle, caring facade, one that wants to dominate and possess Haru almost exclusively. I think he's pretty insecure about his relationship with Haru and wants to keep him all to himself, at the same time deathly afraid of losing Haru if the latter finds out. Well, that's my hc, anyway.
Besides, Haru never knows what he wants (hint, hint: Makoto), and he's just a clueless little bby. I tried to bring out all that neuroticism and weirdness, I really did, but I don't know if it came out right.

Strange things had been happening to Nanase Haruka of late.

He still seemed that outwardly calm, stoic, unaffected figure, but deep down there had been a turmoil growing within him. Two days earlier, he had seen his childhood friend Makoto with another boy from their school, a quiet, mousy type with shaggy dark hair and blue eyes just a shade deeper than his own. He had been shocked, because the two had been kissing. Kissing passionately, deeply, sensually, and Haru had shuddered when Makoto had violently pressed the other boy against the wall and taken his mouth with an aggressive dominance Haru never knew he had. He had felt a strange twinge in his chest then, a strange twisting of his heart, and he had wanted to leave, but somehow the sight of Makoto and his full, sensuous lips engaged in such an illicit activity had rooted him to the spot.

Then, for some reason, the kiss had been broken off, Makoto had looked into the other's eyes with a gentle apology, pushed him away with a "Hachida, I'm sorry, I just can't do it like you asked me to," and had walked away. Haru had seen the tiredness, the passionate fire tempered by utter exhaustion, and he had wondered what had irked this man he knew so well.

Since then, Haru had been feeling strange. Strange, and frustrated, because he knew not what he felt, and he knew not why every time he saw Makoto's smile, his fingers clenched and his mouth twisted and he felt like throwing himself into the other man's arms. Other things had changed, too; now, after swim practice, when Makoto heaved himself out of the pool, water dripping down his rippling trapezius muscles and slicking over the brown lines of his hair, Haru found himself having to excuse himself to the locker room to hide the burgeoning flush on his cheeks.

He wondered if Makoto had kissed any other boys since then.

It was a queer feeling the memory inspired in him, a feeling he remembered feeling before, when they had been playing basketball with Kisumi and the two had walked off together to buy a drink, leaving Haru alone on the court. Yet Haru knew he could not entirely identify the emotion as loneliness – there was some other emotion in play as well. Makoto had always been unequivocally and undisputedly his, Haru's only, always by his side, and Haru didn't really like it when Makoto wasn't with him. He was fine with Nagisa and Rei taking away Makoto's time, because he knew them well and trusted them, but anyone else – especially a stranger like that dark-haired boy – it made Haru blanch at the thought.

And now he was in the conflict he had been in for the past two days. He was standing in the locker room, taking his bag out of the locker after a day of hard work in the swim club, and he felt a hand touch his shoulder. It was a familiar touch, one he had felt for many days in his life, but today it felt electric, it felt unfamiliar. Haru looked at the hand on his shoulder, and remembered it clasping the face of the unknown Hachida, pressing the other man down against the wall, and suddenly - a hot flush spread over the surface of his skin, a chill crawled down his spine, and he felt his temperature shoot up into the heavens. Confused, flustered, Haru instinctively yanked his shoulder away from the other man, his lips parting automatically and his hands going to the wall to support himself. Makoto's mouth fell open in a gentle 'o' as he stared disbelievingly at Haru, standing with his back against the lockers as if he were trying to distance himself from him.

The instinctual movement made Haru blush even harder, and he tried to stammer out an apology, but he had never been very good at words, had never been good at saying what he meant to say; besides, Makoto always knew what he wanted to say, and he didn't need to explain, and why did his body feel as if it were on fire anyway? Makoto crinkled his eyebrows worriedly, and reached out a hand to him. "Haru-chan, you okay - ?" he asked, fingers already almost touching the skin of Haru's shoulder – and Haru remembered the way those fingers had caressed the planes of Hachida's face, had stroked the other man's soft plump lips, had sifted through the raven locks of his hair – and he felt anger, confusion, arousalshoot through his body.

"I'm fine," he snapped, the words coming out curt and unfriendly. He shrugged off the shocked hurt in Makoto's puppy-dog eyes, and turned to the clothes in his locker instead. Later, he promised himself, he would apologise for his lack of tact, for his lack of an explanation, but now all he wanted to do was to punch a hole in the wall.
Makoto didn't press him for an explanation, didn't speak to him about what had happened. But for the rest of the day he kept a small but noticeable radius between the two of them – which was fine by Haru, really, because he was starting to wonder if he was having a fever, judging by the way his temperature seemed to rocket when the brunette came even within a few centimetres of him.

At the end of the day, Haru followed Makoto back to the latter's home to study together, as they always did when swim practice ended early. This time, however, they would be alone, due to Makoto's mother having brought the twins to the nearby Disneyland for a two-night-long birthday treat. The two of them laid down their bags on the sofa, and Makoto brought Haru a cup of tea.

"Haru-chan," he said, his head cocked to the side and his characteristic droopy-eyed smile already on his face, "have a drink." Haru reached for the cup, craving the hot, smooth green liquid within, but as his fingers accidentally touched Makoto's he jumped, and dropped the cup. It shattered with an abrupt crash on the hardwood flooring, the green tea already oozing out onto the carpet.

Haru knew he should have apologised, should have gotten up immediately and fetched a cloth to clean the mess off the floor, but somehow he just couldn't, couldn't do anything other than stare blankly at Makoto's hands. Makoto's hands, with their long, thin fingers; fingers which could bedangerous, he thought dazedly, dangerous when clasped around someone's neck. Strong fingers, calloused palms, thin fragile wrists –

"Haru-chan?"

Haru started as he realised that he had unconsciously taken hold of Makoto's hands, had unconsciously started to cradle the other man's palms between his own, smaller ones. Recalling himself, he dropped them immediately like they were a handful of hot coals, an unnatural blush already starting to form on his cheeks, a whispered apology – the first that day – already ghosting past his lips, when he realised that Makoto had reached out to him, and was now gripping his hand, hard.

"What's wrong?" he murmured, his voice soft, and Haru saw that his eyes had suddenly become unreadable. The gentleness was still there, but something in the nature of a dark haze has settled over the green orbs, hiding the true emotions within – and Haru realised, with a suddenness that was terrifying, that he was afraid, afraid of Makoto.

Makoto was still speaking. "You've been out of it all day, Haru-chan," he said, "You jumped away from me earlier in the locker room after practice. Is anything wrong? Do you need help with anything?" There was kindness in the soft lines of his smile, puzzled, naïve confusion in the slashing lines of his brow, but Haru felt the tension in the air around them. There was a strange stillness in the room which made the short hairs on his arms stand on end, an electrifying silence which made him swallow, and try to meet those deep, dark sea-green eyes.

He was suddenly conscious of the sound of Makoto's breaths and the quiet rustling of his clothes against his skin. Then he himself shifted, and felt the burgeoning erection between his thighs. As he realised the state of his arousal, there was a subtle, dangerous shift in the atmosphere around them, and he saw Makoto's pupils dilate.

This is a terrible place to end, I know, but I need to proofread the next chapter first.

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