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Clicking, the repetitive tapping of something that might eventually sound like stone on glass upon second or third listen. Not usually enough of a disruption to forcefully pull Hajime from even a light sleep at home - but this isn’t his home. Tiniest of sounds sending him shooting straight up while laying in the cottage bed, a light sheen of sweat building on his neck and palms in concern.
Squinting in the dark of night, almost like he is being watched from afar, an odd tingle crawls down his spine. A few bleary blinks, Hajime grows more and more uneasy the longer that strange tapping continues. With good reason, head snaps towards his window, and his body follows this reaction in full; pulling himself out of bed he drags his feet until he’s peering through the wooden blinds and out clear glass.
It’s too dark to see much of anything except the full moon, and while he’s gazing upon its magnificent glow is when the incessant tapping stops. Probably against his better judgment, the first thing that comes to mind is to pop open the locks on his window, likely identical to all the windows in every other cottage, and crack it halfway open.
“Hey,” Hajime calls out, a line between his brows and a grogginess in his throat. “Kazuichi, is that you? Whaddya want, it’s late?” Soda-kun is the only person he can think of that might want to mess around at this time of night. When Soda isn’t being a huge crybaby, he can get spontaneous.
Nothing but a rustling of leaves responds along the cool island breeze. Nothing until a new repetitive noise begins, like a winding pin. A twisting, constant mechanical click that resembles the forcing of two cogs together. It’s softer than the previous tapping on his window, almost missed over the tropical night ambiance. Abruptly, Hajime whirls around to face his door, and the most minuscule of administrations catches his eye. A barely-there shift of the knob enough to have anxiety welling up, alongside a wave of justified annoyance and irritation.
What is the reasoning for trying to bother him so late at night? Fear and suspicion are trying to be moved aside, not enjoying the idea of immediately mistrusting his friends, so he finds it more comforting to imagine that this is simply someone’s boredom or harmless mischief. A hot huff of breath forces itself from his lips while he marches towards the slowly turning knob. The clicking once again stops just as he approaches, as it did with the window. Immediately after unlocking the door, he yanks it open.
Tipping his body forward, hastily glancing around outside, Hajime sees no one and nothing. No traps or notes, still no classmate playing the prank. “I’m trying to sleep in here you know?” A frown forms on his face as he calls out, a side to side sweep of his surroundings still yielding no results. Far too pissed off to continue entertaining this jokester, Hajime yells one last time. “Leave me alone!”
Suddenly, directly behind him, there’s crashing. A bang, metal clanking noisily against his bedroom floor that drowns out everything else. Hajime jumps, a scream trapped in his chest as his body slams into his bedroom door, accidentally knocking it shut. Wrong move, but it’s too late to fix; shaky hand shoots out to flick on his light switch from the wall nearby. Florescent beams burn into his tired golden eyes, narrowing them drastically, but in his adrenaline burst he sees just fine.
The wooden blinds previously adorning the cottage window, along with its metal rod, are now spread out on the floor. There in the midst, ankles twisted in the many layers is Komaeda - sheepish and uncharacteristically blushing at the tips of his ears and peaks of his cheekbones. Messy fair hair is even more wild than usual.
Hajime is grasping at his own clothed chest with surprise, slightly cursing himself in his head for leaving his window open as he should have known that Komaeda was the lurking weirdo. “Why are you climbing through my window so late at night? And trying to open my door?” His voice is edging the ‘enraged’ marker.
“Ah~ I’m sorry Hajime,” Soft voice responds, a light laugh accompanying as Komaeda busies his hands with untangling himself. Unafraid to use Hajime’s first name. A strange mutual habit between them, beginning way back when they first met on the beach. “I wasn’t really trying to open your door, I just wanted to get your attention.”
“Then you just distracted me for long enough, so you could sneak through my window?” Hajime is accusing, hands crossing defensively against his chest. This is too weird, and certainly weirder than the normal weird around here. “Don’t play dumb.”
“Dumb? Oh, compared to you I really am, Hajime. You’re still an ultimate even if you don’t remember why.” Nagito finally manages to stand up, with a now clear view Hajime can see that he’s wearing grey cotton shorts that must stop at least six inches above his knees, and a plain white t-shirt; slightly tattered in certain spots like it’s clearly been worn for a while. Two years at least. It hangs loose, slightly too big for him, and the jut of his collarbones are prominently in view. “I’m sure Ultimate Serenity is still up for grabs.”
“Shut up, just tell me what you want.” A rough swallow that could be advertising his real trepidation. Komaeda doesn’t usually put that smooth, almost flirting, tone in his voice unless he wanted something. Right?
“Can someone really shut up and respond to interrogation at the same time? I wonder...”
Hajime ignores Nagito, his mind uncontrollably wandering. “Are you…?” Here to kill me?
Immediately, Nagito’s eyes grow wide as he thrusts his hands out and shakes his head like he can’t quite believe Hajime is even insinuating that. “No! Never, I would never hurt you, Hajime.” There’s an emphasis in the way he enunciates the word ‘you.’ A clear meaning to be interpreted with such a phrasing. After all it is no mystery as to whether or not Komaeda is capable of hurting someone - he is. Or at least he is capable of trying to.
“Oh yeah? Even if someone here is planning on killing me?” A totally fake scenario, but Nagito has said many times over now that he is willing to help the killer. Hajime refuses to loosen his harsh stance.
Midnight bedroom intruder rubs at the back of his neck, flowery blush blooming once more across the peaks of his high cheekbones, spreading through his pale skin like a crimson wave. There’s really no hiding his emotions when they’re painting themselves on his face like that. Wide, green eyes avert to the floor. “I would love to get more involved with the fight for hope, but then I would really like to persuade the killer into switching targets. Your hope is too great to lose so early into this battle with despair, but if they killed me instead - with a foolproof plan - I think that would be truly amazing.”
Hajime’s stomach is churning now, sick with worry and eating away at his sense of security the longer he’s stuck in such a confined space with Nagito. “That doesn’t make me feel better, you know. My friends don’t deserve to be targets, not even so someone else would take my place as the next victim.” Friendship is not conditional like that, not fear nor anger nor desperation for survival excuses such cowardly betrayal!
“We’re just a little different, Hajime. No one would miss a piece of trash like me, especially not you ultimates. Totally understandable, so don’t even worry about it, okay?”
“What do you want, Nagito… why did you come here?” The amnesiac ultimate demands to know, because the faster he gets to the point then the faster he can get out of here. Every conversation with Komaeda is packed with riddles and it’s too late for that. Hopefully he doesn’t notice the drooping of Hajime’s eyes, how dark the heavy lids must be.
Glossy green’s meet sleepy features with that smug grin of his, and Nagito’s slender fingers are beginning to tug through the ends of his own messy locks. “Isn’t it obvious? I got tired of watching you sleep. I wanted to be closer to you, especially when you started to toss and turn. I thought maybe you were having a nightmare.” The smile that comes after these words is totally innocent.
Really, it brings an unnerving shiver through his very core, truly unsure of how to handle a situation as delicate as this. Tactful, never has he been. Finally uncrossing his arms, Hajime balls his fists up at his sides, still closed off but now on the offense. “…That’s not okay, Komaeda,” he responds seriously, in the similar tone of scolding a misbehaving child. “You can’t watch me sleep without my permission. Things are tense enough here as it is, making me even more uncomfortable than you usually do is just totally unnecessary.”
Standing your ground is really difficult after hearing such a horrifying confession like that!
Unexpectedly, a trembling hand reaches for his own balled up fist, latching on tightly and not allowing for him to really escape the hold even with a small, reflexive jerk. His heart begins to pound in his chest, a panic on the verge of filling him up whole. Nagito is much stronger than he expected for someone so skinny.
“Kha~ Hajime! I’m sorry, please forgive me. I really don’t mean to disturb you, I just can’t sleep when I’m thinking about you, and then I saw you in bed and I really, really couldn’t sleep after that, it’s impossible.”
While it’s not exactly a normal compliment, Hajime can recognize that it’s probably meant to be one coming from Nagito, or at the very least a nonsensical explanation that is only sane inside that eerie mind of his. Being on someone’s mind doesn’t really excuse blatant stalking, does it?
Honestly, Hajime doesn’t even know how to respond to something like that.
The cool thumb on the back of his hand begins to rub, and before he can find the words to acknowledge such an odd clarification, the lucky student continues to speak in soft, rushed breaths. “What was bothering you in your sleep, can I help you with it? I hope your subconscious isn’t scared of becoming a victim. A petty killer could never extinguish a monumental hope like yours.”
Their eye contact is brief, what with the rapid way his golden gaze flicks around, unsure of where to really look. Every time he does manage to keep contact Nagito is staring back unabashedly, slowly blinking as if he is merely a comfortable and lounging cat. Totally at ease when someone else is clearly not, and after manipulating a break in no less. Or maybe Komaeda can’t really tell when others are disturbed by him, Hajime has heard of those who are more socially inept - which describes a lot of people on the island now that he really thinks about it…
“I don’t need your protection, I’m perfectly fine.” Eventually comes out his rushed response in a puff of offense. “I don’t even think I was having a nightmare…” Was he? He can’t really remember anymore after the startling way he was woken up.
“Oh, of course. You’re an ultimate after all, you’re more than capable of protecting yourself I know that.” Nagito brings his other hand to Hajime’s, holding them both in his own. The tips of Nagito’s fingers are pressing into the most clenched parts of the ultimate’s fist, where Hajime’s own fingers are digging harshly into the palm. Attempting to pry them apart, Nagito says smoothly, “I can see you’re very tense, let me rub your back, then maybe you’ll get a good nights rest.” Green eyes are hooded, grey lashes batting like the expression is purely to tempt. To get his way. Whatever that way is, Hajime can’t tell just yet.
“Wha~!” It is now the brunet’s turn to blush, heat crawling up his neck like a gentle flame sparking between his bones. “N-No, I don’t need you to do that. You should just go back to your own room!” Eyes painfully squeeze shut only for a minute, unwilling to look at Nagito but also not willing to keep closed for too long lest he get caught off guard by something. It’s not that he means to appear flush, but the mere insinuation of laying down bare-chested for another man to rub his back, while in bed, is granting him unintentional shivers.
He’s not too ashamed of that, not really, but allowing that man to be Nagito in itself is a bit shameful. Then again, even if it was Nekomaru offering to do “it” to him, Hajime would need a substantial amount of coaxing to accept.
Tension only manages to climb further up the muscles in his arms and back once Nagito’s hands begin to further roam. Skating along his exposed arms, making the hairs stand up pin straight as if chilled. Hajime wishes he is wearing a long sleeve rather than a loose tank top. “Just let me help, I promise you’ll feel better.” The smile Komaeda gives is on the scary side of alluring, almost as if perfectly practiced in the mirror for hours.
Seems like no doesn’t meaning no to Nagito.
Eventually those slender yet tough fingers trail along to find Hajime’s shoulders, squared rigidly with well-earned apprehension. Is this really what it’s going to take to get him to leave? Nagito’s thumbs dig in a half-inch to reach the nervously flexed muscles hiding under the skin, rubbing firmly in semicircles before dragging out to the summits of both shoulders, where his arms connect. Unconsciously, Hajime sighs through his nose, the sound slightly ragged.
It couldn’t have been too long since he’s been able to touch his friends or his family, hug them and hold them and cherish them, but it feels like an eternity ahead. Time becomes cloudy when he starts thinking about the last time he’s really been affectionately touched – with bites from Ibuki and punches from Owari-sama not really counted – to the point that with only one dip into deeper thoughts about it, a headache starts to boil, and he must banish the thought entirely.
With no consciousness to it, Hajime’s eyes are fluttering shut just as Nagito purposefully slides against him. Repositioning himself up against Hajime’s back without ever relinquishing his fervent touch. The warmth from Nagito’s chest radiates across the entire expanse of his back through their thin tops; durable fingers meet side by side between the underneath of his scapulas and they push there with careful attention. Small bubbles and pops of air leave his tense muscles as they’re massaged in full circles, being gripped and pulled in a way that broadcasts just how much Nagito means it when he says he loves the ultimates.
Hajime still doesn’t fully grasp what that means to Nagito himself, but even normal people who are in love tend to communicate with devotion and touch- not that his love is love more than it is an obsession. Regardless, this gesture reminds him a little of his mother, who would rub his back when he was younger, and couldn’t fall asleep late at night. Hajime misses her greatly, misses his whole family. Misses that familial touch and care.
Under the murky surface, there are very noticeable differences with how his mother might rub his back to the way that Nagito is meticulously massaging him now, in the semi-privacy of this cottage (Monokuma is always gonna be watching, after all.) Such as the way Nagito’s breath is warm against the shell of his ear, and while usually this would be considered weird, the soft release of these breathy pants only adds to the strangely comforting sensation. Every exhale is neurological hypnosis, doing magic under Hajime’s skin in the form of tingling, rippling chills. With a swooping motion those fingers arrive at the lowest of his vertebrae, just above the edge of his sleeping shorts, much lower than any parent would go. They twist and slide against the firm base of his spine, relieving pressure he didn’t even know resided there.
A slight sway in his body treacherously reveals how pliant he’s become to the motions of those cool hands, even to himself. A saccharine giggle falls humidly against the back of his ear, pulling all relaxation from the moment entirely - Hajime freezes up, eyes opening and painting his room strange colors after having had them shut for a while. It’s so late and he’s sick of light.
“What’s wrong?” Nagito’s voice is soft, much softer than his forceful touch. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No,” Hajime lamely replies in a low pitch, full of a sleepy sort of bass. Then after one long minute, he confesses, “Is it weird that I like being touched, that I miss being touched by people who care about me?” Is that why you just laughed at me?
“It’s not weird at all.” Nagito’s voice is quieter than usual, his hands have started trembling again and Hajime can feel it much more clearly on his back. “But you don’t really have to miss it when it’s right here.” Serious tone is aloof in its execution, such rigidity from Nagito seems almost out of place right now.
Is he begrudgingly implying that he cares? Does he even know how to really care about anyone here in a non-deranged way?
Hajime simply locks his gaze onto the floor of his messy bedroom, not sure what to do with his torn down blinds, but he does manage to eventually peel himself off Nagito; crossing the room to yank the window shut, both locks on the sill quickly being pulled into their rightful place. Then he turns to face his uninvited guest, leaning his back against the window with his hands pressing nervously into the white paneled wall.
Nagito isn’t nervous like him, at least he doesn’t look it, but he is minutely shifting his weight from foot to foot like he doesn’t want to stand there and be stared at. “Are you tired, Hajime?” Without waiting on much of a reply, Hajime watches raptly as he reaches out to perch his fingers on the tip of the light switch. Not flicking it off just yet, but like he seems to be waiting for permission.
“Aren’t you tired too?” Hajime’s voice comes evenly, hyper-focused in this moment. A million thoughts trapped behind a fragile glass wall, to be dealt with only after Nagito’s motive here is deciphered.
“Oh~ I won’t be able to really sleep until I know you’re not having any more nightmares. Or maybe you’re saying trash like me should go sit on the ground outside?”
A roll of golden eyes, but there’s no argument on his tongue. Nagito seems to notice instantly because he begins to smile in that wide way he does, and there’s no more hesitation as he flicks the bedroom light off. At first, it’s pitch black with Hajime’s eyes squinting and catching nothing.
Eventually nothingness transforms into shadows, barely outlined by the moonlight pouring in through the bare window. Shadows belonging to Nagito, moving closer and closer to him, his feet making slight shuffling sounds against the floor with his approach. When hands blindly find Hajime’s waist in the blackness, he gasps in a way that’s barely audible. Can Komaeda see well in the dark, or was that pure luck? Nagito leads him backwards until they both sit perched precariously on the bedside. Hajime is still very unsure as to what to do now because he’s never really shared his bed with someone before.
Especially not with someone who he has such a tumultuous relationship with, the way he undeniably does with Nagito. Oh, great, I’m referring to it as a relationship now.
“Oh, am I being rude right now?” Nagito asks breezily, almost like he didn’t really want an answer. “Can’t I stay with you tonight; I don’t know how I could leave until I see you sleep peacefully. No one saw me come in here, you know, everyone’s lights are off and have been since eleven-thirty.” Based on this, Hajime can see that Nagito believes if this interaction carries on surreptitiously, he’ll relent.
While Hajime would like to feign total indifference towards Nagito, it is no well-kept island secret that he spends time with him. Nestled in the back of the library, Nagito will read and read and read, likely his only getaway as he doesn’t have many friends, and – like an idiot – Hajime will appear just to listen to him ramble on and on about anything. A desperate and probably futile attempt to get to know him. Between passionate tangents, incoherent arguments of hope versus despair, and coy flirting, Nagito still manages to stump him. Maybe by now, as two class trials have already come and gone, Hajime should be unaffected by the mid-debate callouts, that rabid tug-of-war between them, but instead it leaves him stumbling out of trials feeling wound up tight like an adrenaline-fueled coil. Itching to get a semblance of release because catching the killer didn’t quite fulfill that like it should… or maybe it’s just a desire to get inside Nagito’s brain and burrow deep. No, he can’t deny that he’s interesting, and unfortunately, he can’t hide it from others either. Kazuichi, Nekomaru, and Pekoyama have all already scolded Hajime on separate occasions, either suggestively or outright commanding that he ignores Komaeda out of fear that any attention he gets encourages him to “act out.”
Nagito isn’t stupid, he must notice it too. That’s why he’s so comfortable coming here.
Thankfully, in the darkness, Nagito cannot see the return of blush pooling in his cheeks. “Why do you care so much? I told you I don’t remember the nightmare and even if I did it was probably something that’s already happened and there’s nothing you can do to fix it.” Those words alone bring the bloodied bodies of his friends to mind – Togami-san, Hanamura, Koizumi-chan, and Pekoyama – swallowing the memories down like shards of glass stuck in his throat, Hajime suddenly groans while tossing his head backwards until landing firmly on the edge of his pillow.
Ragged breath, twitching fingers, and clammy skin; this had been the topic of his supposed nightmare. Remembering now, he begins to whisper, “I walked into the restaurant early in the morning… the walls, they were covered in blood. Everyone was spread out on the floor, they weren’t breathing… Monokuma was laughing in that high-pitched maniacal way, like he’d just massacred them all.”
Bed shifts, groaning with adjusting weight as Nagito carefully climbs over his body to settle beside him. The blanket starts getting tugged down from underneath him, until it’s pulled free and Nagito settles it atop themselves. Chasing the cold away further, his company finds it somehow appropriate to slide in close and press himself firmly against Hajime’s side. Nothing about this indicates that Nagito knows anything of personal boundaries. One of Nagito’s arms snake around his waist, long fingers shamelessly dipping under his shirt and skating across the expanse of his stomach. The muscle there jumps inadvertently, only serving to create more blush on his face.
“At least you know that can’t happen, right? Our self-proclaimed headmaster can’t mass murder us, it’s against his rules.”
“That’s not what my nightmare means, it means we can all end up like that eventually. Dead, murdered or executed, lost forever on this piece of shit island.” Hajime’s voice is shaky, not nearly as impactful as he would have liked. “Monokuma wants us to play this killing game until we all die, and how do we really know that won’t happen, that someone won’t kill again? How do I know that I’m not next? Or Chiaki? Or Kazuichi? Or Sonia? Or you-!” Wild ranting morphs into a choked off squawk as Nagito’s blunt nails suddenly dig into the thin flesh of Hajime’s hip.
Delirious laughter flows from the lips of his temporary bedmate, sounding nearly feral in its pitch. How could he possibly be finding any of that funny? What a complete, insensitive asshole!
“Do you really mean that Hajime? You care about me as much as you do the chosen ultimates? Really I-I’m so honored.” Heated breath lands squarely on Hajime’s neck - where Nagito seems to find it best to hide his face - directing a forceful wave of full body shivers across every inch of warm skin. “You always try to understand me, I think about it all the time.”
How did a break-in turn into this mess?
“I care about everyone.” It’s all he can think to say, all his shit brain can conjure up. “It doesn’t matter if I care about you, when it’s impossible to trust you.”
“Impossible, really?” Cocky little comment, Hajime knows from experience that what follows is guaranteed to be sarcastic and deftly probing. “Hajime, it’s really careless of you to allow people you don’t trust to sleep beside you in the dead of night. Not following your gut in situations like these means you’re willingly letting a murderer touch you.”
Thumb begins to rub back and forth on the tip of Hajime’s hipbone, peeking out to form a gentle hill under his skin. Repetitive motion makes heat bleed through his gut and draw scribbles in his racing mind. What the hell does Komaeda get out of this – an admission that Hajime’s so sick he does trust him? There’s a nagging thought that Nagito knows that already and that’s the only reason he’s saying it. What was he even talking about before this? Oh yeah, possible impending death. Teeth graze his pulse point, unexpected and almost frightening considering the randomness of this moment, yet Hajime’s body shakes with his head tipping slightly in unconscious surrender.
“What are you d-doing?” Hajime asks in a rush, but the choppy words are barely whispers.
From his hip, Nagito’s hand easily slips past the loose waistband of his sleep shorts in one nimble motion. Fingertips graze the edge of where Hajime’s pubic hair begins, then twirl into the short strands like he’s simply testing the limits.
Heat spikes down the entirety of his spinal column, full body tremors wracking through him as Hajime imagines what exactly his bedmate is getting at with this. Is he really wanting to…?
“I want to take your mind off things, Hajime. I know what it feels like to be stuck in your head. And this always clears my mind for me.” This? What is he talking about exactly? Hajime’s imagination isn’t allowed to run rampant for long, as the fingers exploring his body wind up curling around his length; stirring with interest from the light touches alone. How embarrassing! “When I’m in bed, thinking about you, and touching myself… it always puts me straight to sleep after,” Nagito continues to whisper into his ear, only adding to all the overwhelming sensations.
“Don’t just say it like that, Nagito, like you think about me all the time… when you’re…!” Hajime pants, unsure of how to say it aloud, hips squirming as if he isn’t set on what he wants to do yet: sit still and allow Komaeda to ‘take care of him’, or fight back and force himself to just pass out. It’s true that he hasn’t been sleeping well since arriving to this death island, but it’s hardly his fault when every day brings a new anxiety.
A single stroke - tender grip is still loose - more teasing than anything, and it’s accompanied by another flow of soft words. “I do, Hajime. I think of your serious voice, your beautiful face, how overflowing you are with hope, and then it puts my body on overdrive. Feel it for yourself.” While he says this, Nagito cants his hips into Hajime’s outer thigh and there is no hiding the hard, clothed imprint pushing into his skin as silent evidence.
Hajime keeps squirming, his knees unconsciously falling further apart; one knee even manages to wiggle its way between both of Nagito’s own, from there it’s trapped between both of his legs and refused to let go. Thumb brushes along the tender underside of Hajime’s steadily hardening member, and that earlier shaking from Nagito returns full force - quivering fingers and rapid breathing in his ear. “Komaeda,” Hajime manages to finally force out. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now. Seriously.”
I feel like I never know what you’re really thinking. Even less now than ever before. Why are you shaking like a leaf when you’re the one who came into my room uninvited?
Still rubbing, that utterly maddening thumb climbs to find Hajime’s slit - already bubbling over with a few beads of precome as if he’s the definition of a needy virgin, when in reality he simply hasn’t been touched (not even by himself) in weeks. Things were too tense to even think of being aroused… well, not too tense it seems. Not for Nagito.
Nagito, whose skin is unreasonably smooth where they touch; whose cottony hair is gently tickling the side of Hajime’s face and neck; whose scent is engulfing the entirety of the bed - and dammit if he doesn’t smell so good right now. Has Hajime just never noticed before or has he been pushing him away subconsciously because of these irritating mysteries?
Monokuma did refer to him as a tsundere…
“I’m thinking about how to be good enough for you,” Nagito divulges, his lips brushing the shell of Hajime’s ear. “I know I’m just garbage to you but I really want you to just relax and let me try.” On cue that slightly shaky grip of his becomes much firmer, sliding down to the very root of his dick and squeezing. Is it true, is that why he’s been trembling? Does he really care that much about what Hajime thinks of him?
Are you being honest? Do you like me like this?
Golden gaze is staring intently up at the white canopy enveloping his bed frame, the moonlight slinking in through the bare window has become enough for his eyes to adjust even more in the darkness. For the first time ever, he wishes he could look into Nagito’s eyes. To try and uncover any lies in his words. Not that he was particularly good at that anyways, that’s something class trials have taught him at least: anyone could lie well if they wanted to.
“Hajime?” Nagito breaks the silence again. “Can I put my fingers in your mouth?”
For the first time since getting in bed, Hajime turns his head abruptly to get a look at Nagito. The outline of his body in Hajime’s peripheral is blurry, but with their faces so close golden eyes can pick up the contour of his small nose, and especially his hooded pale green eyes. The eye contact must excite Nagito, because it forces out a gasp from him and his chin jerks like he’s fighting the urge to devour Hajime whole.
The thought sends another ripple of heat through Hajime’s entire body.
Left green eye is becoming obfuscated by a canopy of pure white locks and this alone seems to send all of Hajime’s control out the door, reaching up and pushing his messy fringe back completely. Gripping onto his hair tightly allows it to stay away from his porcelain face (it’s surprising that the moonlight isn’t reflecting off Nagito like he’s carefully crafted glass.)
The ultimate lucky student’s breath catches, those eyes widening to become almost owlish as he beholds Hajime. Searching each other for cracks, for fear, for apprehension… eventually it all comes to Hajime dropping his lower jaw and letting his mouth fall open. Totally intending on allowing Nagito to do whatever he pleased with his fingers, so it’s surprising when those fingers release his length to go flying past his face and end up curling around the nape of his neck instead.
Tugging forcefully, Nagito’s strength returning, Hajime’s reeled in for a breathless kiss. His knee is still trapped between Nagito’s legs which makes it awkward to do anything but turn towards him, so that’s what happens. Now facing each other, Hajime shivers, not knowing what to do with his other hand besides dig into the fabric of Nagito’s sleep shirt. It’s incredibly thin, thin enough that the warmth of his skin hiding underneath is radiating through to Hajime’s knuckles. The fingers still buried in Nagito’s hair tugs a little with no intention behind it. Certainly not the intention to pull the groan out of Nagito that he does.
As their lips drag together experimentally, Hajime swears that Nagito’s full-body shakes only worsen. He tastes like toothpaste and… oddly enough, caramel. Like candies Hajime’s grandma used to give him. It’s weirdly comforting, considering how everything else is making his heart hammer against his breast bone to the point that he has to wonder if Nagito can feel it pounding too. Returning the favor of shock, and using the way their legs are slotted together to his advantage, Nagito relentlessly pushes his hips forward and into Hajime’s - earning himself a multitude of dumbfounded gasps.
Nagito uses this minor distraction to prod Hajime’s mouth open further with his tongue, swallowing down the noises and forcing Hajime’s breath to quake through him.
Hajime can’t back down now, or more to the point: he’s so insane that he doesn’t want to. Instead he presses forward just as readily, his tongue meeting Nagito’s halfway, caressing the tip with his own before slipping into Nagito’s mouth entirely. The noises their lips make in the darkness are slick and wet, soft groans rumbling out of both boys as the heat between them dials up several notches. Hajime doesn’t expect it when Nagito uses his entire body weight to roll them over and press Hajime into the mattress.
Once on his back, Hajime releases the grip he had on Nagito’s hair to instead roam underneath his shirt. Fingers brush along Nagito’s abdominals in what can only be described as appreciation, Hajime’s fingertips dragging forward and back across each little muscle he can feel hidden under such soft skin. They kiss with a passion Hajime couldn’t even describe when thinking clearly, let alone with the dense fog that seems to be clouding his mind now.
Did Hajime like Nagito all along, or was he merely this lonely? It’s hard to tell but it can’t be denied that the deep, rumbling moans that Nagito keeps humming into his mouth are shooting straight to his now fully hard cock. One rough nip to his bottom lip is all it takes for Hajime to jerk, his hips snapping upwards against all better judgment and all Nagito can do in turn is groan before rolling his own hips down in retaliation. Just like in class trials, it’s like they’re relentlessly following after one another, unable to resist that desire to pick each other apart.
Nagito drags his lips away, across Hajime’s cheek until they find his throat. His hands move slowly down his chest while he kisses Hajime’s pulse point, even nibbling when he decides. Cool hands snake beneath Hajime’s shirt until they land upon his ribs, to which Nagito squeezes around them before dragging his thumbs up, up, up to brush against both of Hajime’s taut nipples. Perky from excitement before even being touched.
Hajime shudders, twitching helplessly as both nipples are played with. Combined with the teeth relentlessly tugging at his throat, he feels like he might just combust. Piece of shit Komaeda, always knowing how to get to him. “N-Nagito,” the ultimate hisses.
This gathers all of the lucky student’s attention, pulling back just far enough to look him in the eyes. Nagito’s breathing is erratic, and even in the moonlight Hajime can see that his cheeks are darkened, probably from being flush. Are his eyes glassy too? It doesn’t really matter because his gaze stays firm, and it’s clear there’s only one thing on his mind. In some sick way, it’s kind of reassuring. If Nagito had doubts, then surely Hajime would be crawling out of his own skin by now.
“Tell me, Hajime ~ What do you want?” That voice is nearly sing-song, or would be if it wasn’t so raspy with desire.
Hands splayed out against Nagito’s stomach eventually crawl up, taking his time, until all of his fingertips are perched at the peaks of Nagito’s protuberant collarbones. Skating along them sideways, Hajime absently pinches where Nagito’s clavicle meets the meat of his shoulders. On the tip of his tongue, Hajime feels things settle there that never even crossed his mind until tonight. He’s just got to go with it, right?
“I want… I want…” Not once, but twice he tries to get the words out. Oh god, just say it already. You can’t be embarrassed after all that making out. His eyes squeeze shut before he can say it, “I want to touch you.” In the cozy pitch black behind his eyelids, he pushes up against the material of Nagito’s shirt to make it clear what he means.
Take your clothes off, Komaeda.
Silence follows for a long time, actually it’s only a few seconds but damn it feels like a long time. Hajime’s eyes flutter open once he feels a puff of warm breath close to his lips. Nagito is so close all he can make out are pale green eyes and messy locks dangling around them. No response yet leaves Hajime squirming, even Nagito’s thumbs have stopped toying with his nipples.
“You want me to be naked?” His voice is serious, rumbly and low in his throat. Deeper than usual means he’s aroused - right? Not that it should even be a question, considering the erection pressing into Hajime’s waist right now. “And you’ll be naked too?”
“I will… if you really want me to. Just hurry up and let me touch you,” Hajime pushes impatiently, hating the way Nagito’s eyes are unwavering in their focused stare. Being the center of someone’s attention for an extended period of time has never been his thing.
Instead of responding for once, Nagito surges forward, latching onto Hajime’s mouth and breathing in the last of his breath as a drowning man does for one gulp of air. Leaving Hajime’s nipples, he instead grabs the ultimates wrists and helps with the process of pulling his own shirt over his head. In those few seconds of being broken apart, Hajime takes the moment to shyly admire - roaming hands finding every muscle or vein or dip in Nagito’s torso. Even the entire length of both of his arms get the slight drag of blunt nails or a testing pinch. Nagito is soft, his skin is muted in the dark and Hajime wishes he could see moles or freckles but can’t make out much. A lump gets stuck in his throat simply watching the rise and fall of Nagito’s chest with every breath taken; he begins gnawing harshly on his bottom lip, instantly feelingly it welt up under the pressure. Fighting this unexplainable raw desire is too difficult.
Glancing up through his lashes, finally letting his eyes come back into contact with Nagito’s, it’s clear he isn’t the only one loosing his mind here. Nagito looks wild. White tresses are sticking up at all angles, and he’s panting with his mouth dropped open while both of his hands are reaching back to lean on Hajime’s legs for support. Hajime wonders if his chest is flush from excitement, if his usually pale skin is tinged pink. Candlelight would be good next time, there are probably a bunch of candles at the supermarket…
Next time? Slow down, this time hasn’t even happened yet!
In a very unbridled manner, Hajime grabs one of his schoolmate’s thighs and manages to wrap the other around his waist, miraculously rolling them over without them both tumbling off the bed. Nagito grunts before settling onto his back, his hair fanning out around him like a pure platinum crown. Hajime let’s his hands skate up Nagito’s stomach, re-examining every inch in slightly better moonlight, and when he gets to his chest, both of his palms run flat over his nipples in experimentation. Nagito arches his back into the touch while the nubs under Hajime’s hands tighten with enjoyment.
With feverish curiosity, Hajime curls his hands and pinches both nipples between his thumb and forefinger, earning a breathy keening sound from Nagito. Both of the blonde’s arms stretch out to grip the bedsheet tightly and he uses the mattress as a backboard to press his narrow hips against Hajime’s. When their clothed lengths touch it takes everything for Hajime to stifle a moan- part of him is a little worried that someone in their own cottage nearby would hear them at this time of night. When it’s so late with no other sounds to block them out.
“You’re… really warm,” Hajime mumbles. Tweaking both of his nipples one more time before sliding his palms back down, fingers eventually grip the waistband of his cotton sleep shorts. Short nails scratch there, wanting to pull them down but losing his nerve when that perpetual shaking returns full force, and Hajime is starting to think Nagito is half Chihuahua or something. Golden gaze flicks to pale green eyes as he shyly asks, “Do you-are you… can I take them off?”
Nagito averts his eyes for only a brief moment, but his hands detangle from the sheets to reach for Hajime’s shirt. Silently, he begins to tug at it. In compliance, Hajime let’s go to maneuver his way through it and tosses it aside for morning-Hajime to take care of. With equal admiration, Nagito roams bare skin freely. “Don’t worry about me, Hajime. I just want you to like what you see. Which I’m sure will be difficult when it’s a disdainful, lowly human like me in your bed.”
That’s kind of a tall order, considering Hajime himself doesn’t really know if he’s going to like what he sees genitalia wise, but he finds it best not to say that out loud. Not that he’s cared about sparing Nagito’s feelings in the past; things are different right now, you don’t typically have sexual relations with someone you’re going to be downright cruel to - well, Hajime doesn’t at least.
Foggy mind sees only one way to get them both through this concern, so Hajime rolls his hips down making sure to press hard into Nagito’s crotch. The sensation makes his eyelids flutter, and Nagito lets out a little noise, shaky hands sliding down Hajime’s bare sides until they’re anchored tight on his waist. Nagito gives a tug, and it’s all Hajime can do to meet him halfway, grinding their hips together and causing both of their breathing to stop completely with a sharp gasp.
Still Hajime doesn’t stop, instead he plants his palms flat against Nagito’s chest while the hands on his waist tightens their grip, and pushes every time their covered erections meet. Clammy hands unconsciously inch up until they’re digging into both sides of Nagito’s neck. With every rock of their bodies, Hajime gets hotter, nearly too hot, and Nagito’s own heated skin does nothing to soothe but instead continues to set fire to their every point of contact.
The pressure starts becoming too much, causing something tight and electric to coil in Hajime’s stomach. Recognizing that feeling right away, the hands on Nagito’s throat accidentally clasps around tightly and forces him into surprised stillness. Eventually, Nagito lowly croaks out, “This is a good way to kill me Hajime, you’ll just have to drag my body into my own room, or maybe even the pool… no one knows I’m in here with you.”
“Shut up, stop it! I wouldn’t kill you.” The implication of those words are going to be ignored considering the moment they’re in. “Now take your pants off, if we’re still going to touch each other,” Hajime grunts, a blush racing across his chest and burning the tips of his ears. It’s embarrassing to sound like he had just been so close to coming in his shorts, but it seems better to be honest.
“Aren’t we already touching each other?” Nagito’s teasing grin is wide, showing teeth, even now with hands firmly around his neck. It just goes to show that he must trust Hajime or genuinely doesn’t mind being killed right here, right now. “Just tell me you really want to see more of me, Hajime~ I would love to hear that from you. From someone whose hope I want to be filled with.”
Pinkish cheeks turn deep crimson, filled with? “Of course I want to see more of you. I asked for you to be naked already, didn’t I?”
“No, you said you wanted to touch me.”
Hajime can’t tell if Nagito is being purposefully stubborn or not, but the grin already painted across his face widens further and his eyes blink slowly, like he’s simply going to wait until Hajime says something else. “Can I please take your shorts off… so I can see more of you… because I-I really want to,” Hajime manages to push the words out despite his slight embarrassment. It’s all worth it with the way Nagito starts to move his hands to cover the ones around his neck, gently but surely guiding them down to his waistband. Encouraging Hajime to pull them off by the way he lifts himself up for ease of access.
Hajime complies, and can see that the way he drags his nails down Nagito’s thighs as his shorts come off is giving the blonde full-body shivers. Finally, when the shorts are off, Hajime drops them off the side of the bed before running his hands up the backs of Nagito’s calves, beneath his knees, and up under his thighs - feeling smooth and burning hot everywhere. When Hajime’s eyes get to his cock, he pauses for only the briefest of moments, mouth hung open in stunned silence. Expectedly proportional to Komaeda’s height, slightly darker in this light than the rest of him, and it’s likely flushed red from increased blood flow.
It’s not entirely unexpected either as bubbles of heat burst in his gut, but it does answer a lot of lingering questions.
“Hajime~” Nagito is the one squirming now, and his voice breaks Hajime from this obvious trance. “Go ahead and touch me, you still want to, right? It’s already such an honor to be under your gaze.”
A nod comes before any real words but his hands don’t go for the unwrapped gift right away, instead Hajime peels off of Nagito to shimmy out of his own bottoms eagerly. To think he was tired not too long ago…
Once bare, Nagito makes a pleased noise like a long hum, then arches his body just enough so that their cocks rest together. Brunet is certainly willing to touch with this kind of coercion. Reaching out to stroke down the side of Nagito’s cock with one of his knees firmly planted into the mattress for balance. Nagito moans softly at the touch, hips jerking slightly as if chasing the feeling of Hajime’s hand on him.
Feeling more confident at such a reaction, Hajime wraps his entire hand around like Nagito had done to him, even swipes his thumb across the leaky head. This causes Nagito to buck his hips more purposefully, and Hajime’s grip is loose enough that he can feel the smooth, soft skin slide up against all his fingers. Having never touched a dick besides his own until now, it’s shocking for Hajime to feel one long streak of wet warmth cascade down past his knuckles so soon after touching. Like he’s doing something amazing to Nagito by simply being involved.
“Oh,” Hajime breathes the lone syllable like a fleeting prayer, losing more and more breath by the second, yet somehow succeeds in bringing his eyes up to meet Nagito’s intense gaze. “Oh that’s - you feel so… God, why are you so damn confusing?” Hajime’s sure he’s not making much sense, like he’s rambling instead of actually talking.
Nagito chuckles breathlessly, the sound only broken in half when Hajime tugs a little firmer. “Confusing? I feel like I’ve been very straightforward with you, Hajime. You don’t agree?” Stuttering breath is the only clue that Nagito is struggling to find all the right words. Not that he usually says the right thing, but here and now, every little huff of sound dribbling from his kiss swollen lips melt onto Hajime’s skin like thick honey.
“Straightforward? You? Maybe in an alternate dimension.” Maybe it’s even more fucked up that Hajime feels the most comfortable like this, bickering with Komaeda. Seems to be rapidly becoming one of the few normal routines Hajime has on this island.
Suddenly, Nagito loops his arms around Hajime’s neck, lifting himself up off the mattress and hanging with all of his meager weight. It’s obvious with the way he’s tugging that he wants Hajime pulled down, flush against him. “What are you so strong for, ultimate scatterbrain?” Wet lips tease as they slide along the edge of Hajime’s jaw, gentle yet persistent nibbles following sweetly.
Fuck, it should be weird. It should feel wrong. The rocking of Nagito’s hips into Hajime’s firm grasp should not be so god damn rewarding, and it should definitely not promise him all kinds of satisfaction that mediocre detective work hasn’t offered thus far. And yet…
“Not hard to be stronger than you, skinny boy. If you want me to do something, just say it,” while Hajime says this, he falters. Dropping his hold as Nagito kicks at his knee, shoving his leg out from underneath him to maneuver them however the blonde pleased. Eventually he’s repositioned on his back, Nagito’s hands pressed firmly into his chest and settling into his lap. Forced to take in a sharp breath as Nagito’s bare skin makes contact with Hajime’s cock, shaft pressed up underneath his perineum while the head is resting just below the cleft of his asscheeks.
Komaeda wastes no time in grabbing both of Hajime’s hands once he’s adjusted, bringing them to his stomach.
“Maybe you’ll come to appreciate my body.” Those words are too enticing when combined with the tactile overload, another example of Nagito’s superhuman ability to scrape his way underneath Hajime’s skin with little resistance. And he does so smugly; usually this would cause Hajime to snap and glower and argue, but all it’s doing now is making him harder.
Nagito with too much confidence is torture, Hajime nearly wishes he would revert back to self deprecation if only to alleviate his throbbing desire just a smidge.
“Will it outweigh my unappreciation for what comes out of your mouth?” A taunt.
“I’m sure a time will come where you appreciate my mouth too, Hajime.”
Just the thought forces Hajime’s hips to shoot forward, and he sits up to mouth at Nagito’s jaw. The friction that Komaeda’s body is providing is incredible.
To properly depict this claim of his, Nagito reaches for one of the hands Hajime has pressed into his stomach and drags it up, up, up. Hajime’s fingertips are lying in wait on Komaeda’s bottom lip; his mouth is parted, the tip of his tongue poking out to tease Hajime’s fingers with gentle prods. Kitten licks don’t last long and soon Nagito envelopes two fingers, down to the second knuckle with his parted lips. Warm tongue snakes between them, lathering them in spit before hollowing his cheeks and sucking.
Nagito’s saliva feels molten, continuously dribbling down his chin and surrounding Hajime’s fingers. Eventually, Hajime let’s him add a third while rocking up into him, and reduced to breathy pants.
A part of him just has to wonder if this is a dream, with how willing he is in this moment. What’s more embarrassing: having sex with Nagito or dreaming of having sex with Nagito?
The wet pop that fills the silence as Nagito pulls Hajime’s hand away is simply obscene, forcing a whimper out of the brunet and another shallow thrust of his hips. This time, Nagito returns in full, pressing down and squeezing his thighs just a little bit, eliciting the most reactions out of Hajime that he possibly can.
“What does Hinata-kun need?” Sickeningly salacious, how deep his voice can go. Suggestively, he’s licking a flat stripe over Hajime’s palm before pulling his hand downwards, hovering it just above his erection. Hajime can feel the heat ghosting his spit-soaked skin.
Shuddering, Hajime definitely has to grit his teeth to stop the terrible sound that had threatened to leave him. In quick recovery Hajime wraps his hand around Nagito tightly, and stroking down over his cock. “Are you really going to mock me right now?”
Komaeda shivers as his hands are skating back, fingers digging into Hajime’s legs. “Mock you?” Deep voice settles in the pit of Hajime’s stomach, green eyes are hooded and piercing right through. “I’m showing you respect, Hinata-kun,” Nagito hiccups as Hajime tightens his grip, then bringing his fist back up and twisting at the head.
Respect? Oh, shut up.
The spit is slick for now, but Hajime knows it won’t last. It can’t be helped because he can see that Nagito likes it fast- hips shallowly raising with every quick stroke, back arching provocatively. Also likes it when Hajime focuses his fist over his head- chin raising but those harsh eyes never leaving his, just burning right through him.
Hajime isn’t so senseless as to not take full advantage of this position and use his other hand. What he cannot see well enough can only be appreciated with touch, allowing his hand to begin at the jut of Nagito’s hipbone, practically poking out. Trailing up over his flat stomach, into the crevice between his ribs, and up across the expanse of his chest; every little feature is sharp and with Komaeda’s height every bone appears twice as long. His chest is smooth, soft and practically hairless, but nothing like a woman at all. Hajime finds that way too attractive.
The moonlight highlights the white of Nagito’s hair, a perfect streak of light painting the lower half of his face and his neck in a bright glow: showcasing the delicate blue of the veins hiding underneath his fragile flesh. Hajime is in desperate need of a psychological assessment because the desire to see every inch of him is gnawing. Hajime growls as he dives towards what he can admire the most, lips finding Komaeda’s throat, his body heating up several degrees with every rumbling vibration he feels leave the lucky student. Sucking, nibbling, licking - there’s no satisfaction until a blooming mark paints Nagito’s skin.
Instincts are absolutely ruling Hajime. Morning regrets will need to be dealt with when they come. Will suppressing all these memories work? How his skin feels, how his lips taste, what his body is doing to Hajime’s dick?
Eventually his fingers clasp around Komaeda’s nipple, scraping his nail against it, inadvertently forcing a startled cry out of Nagito. “Oh, you’re amazing,” The blonde huffs, rutting down onto Hajime’s cock. “Please, don’t stop touching me, I’ll beg you, I’ll do it, I’ll-!”
Hajime hadn’t been prepared for such a choked off reaction, it compelled his hips to shoot up again, bucking high enough that the head of his cock nestles further between Nagito’s cheeks - leaky head flush to his hole - and the lucky boy squeezes his thighs in a spastic pulsing rhythm. Hands come to cling onto Hajime’s back, nails digging crescents into the heated flesh before scraping along a random path. Fueled only by Nagito’s desperate desire, which came in jagged sparks of heat cutting through Hajime’s skin.
“Oh my god,” Hajime groans into the blonde’s throat, drool following along that streak of careful moonlight. Nagito’s hole is so hot against him, and enough precome has soaked the tight muscle that Hajime is paranoid he might just slip inside. Instead as his hips buck again, his blunt tip prods with no leeway, and simultaneously he squeezes Nagito’s cock in one long stroke.
This friction is definitely enough, and if it wasn’t then Nagito’s voice would be. “So incredible Hinata-kun ~ I love it, I love it,” He babbles endearingly, continually pressing down. His muscles are starting to clench above Hajime’s body, the fingers on the burnet’s back clawing even deeper. Every little breath he pushes out comes in a louder pitch, not higher but all encompassing.
Hajime can’t help but drag his cheek through the messy blotches of drying spit so he can rest his face against Nagito’s throat to watch his twitching cock hungrily.
“Do it again, press against me, do it,” Nagito keens, scratching the back of Hajime’s shoulders.
Hajime thrusts his hips up a few more times at the urgent request, hoping the tight heat in his stomach stifles so he can watch Komaeda finish. It’s sick, but he wants Nagito to have something. Something deserved. Maybe then he’ll stop hating himself so much.
One more pinch to his nipple with another push of Hajime’s hips, and that’s all it takes. Hajime takes it all in with a starving stare, as Nagito comes in his closed fist and across his own stomach. Nagito makes breathless “ah” sounds as he cums, increasing in pitch with every one.
Hajime has never been so turned on in his entire life - not like he’s been in a comparable situation before but that’s what makes it worse, doesn’t it. He can feel Nagito’s release slide over his fingers, caking them like it was deliberately tempting Hajime to lick it off.
The brunet jerks his head until he’s able to whine into Nagito’s ear, squeezing his eyes shut and replaying that image of Nagito’s cock over and over.
As for him, Nagito continues to arch his back but this time with more purpose - pressing in just the right ways, adding weight where it needs to be on Hajime’s dick. The blonde grabs Hajime’s messy hand, nudging him back with his shoulder to force eye contact as he brings Hajime’s hand to his mouth. Sucking the cum off his fingers.
Hajime is gone.
Thrusting up against his tight hole one last time before shuddering; his release coming out, warm and sticky, into the cleft of Nagito’s ass and down along the curve of his thighs. They hold eye contact the entire time, both of their chests heaving like marathon runners. A charged stalemate: what do you do after you have a sexual encounter with Komaeda Nagito? If you’re Hajime, you run far, far away.
Right?
But he’s still making obscene little gestures with Hajime’s own fingers, likes he’s taunting. Daring. Encouraging. Stupidly and frankly predictable at this point, Hajime pulls his hand away just to grip Nagito’s chin and demand a sloppy, heady kiss. Hajime tastes cum, much saltier than expected, but overall it’s fucking hot. After pulling away for air, Hajime can see that Nagito’s pupils are blown wide enough that his eyes are more black than green.
“Such a fantastic job,” Komaeda is panting. “To be touched by you is an unforgiving act of good luck, Hajime. I’m terrified to see what bad luck finds me after a fortune like this.” Despite the words his tone is totally off, like he’s not bothered by the thought of ‘bad luck’ at all.
Really, right back to saying weird shit?
“No luck was involved here, just obvious manipulation,” Hajime grumbles, pressing both hands to Nagito’s hips and pushing until he gets the hint to get off.
Despite the dim glow, Hajime can see Nagito frowning. “You’re not going to be mad about me breaking in forever, right? Hurry up and get over it.”
Hajime glares, “If you want to sleep here, I suggest you shut up.”
The flip of a circuit breaker, cutting off all previous emotion and brining a whole new one to life. Nagito grins crookedly, his thumb and forefinger pinched together while dragging along his lips to signify zipping them shut.
Hajime falls onto his back and the mattress, usually stiff, could have transformed into quicksand. Swallowing him whole and surrounding him in weightless comfort. How long has it been since he’s gotten a full eight hours of sleep, or since he’s even felt like collapsing into unconsciousness this hard?
Vaguely, he can feel Komaeda settle in beside him. Both of his arms winding around one of Hajime’s, laid limply at his side for the taking it seems. There’s no room to protest, his breathing is evened out and his eyelids are weighted as if made of titanium.
Sleep comes easy for once.