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Through the blur of stars and galaxies flying past the windows of the ship, his home, the polished chrome that brings him to new worlds, Spock’s lips first press out a stiff word to address his new superior, a cold sound of: “Captain.” 

When they leave a horrible planet full of carefully hidden war-thirst bursting all over them before the silver beam takes them back onto the ship, Spock stumbles to carry a bleeding body to the sickbay, slamming into the room to glare at the doctor, desperation simmering underneath his mask, a nod to the shaking man in his arms: “Kirk. He is – please do something.”

As their life falls into a routine of chess matches and writing reports side by side, the silence when fingers glide onto Spock’s shoulder and squeeze, tentative and shy, Spock looks up and says, soft as he didn’t know he could: “Jim.” 

And as Jim’s life-worn fingertips, bruised so many times and healed even more, fall against Spock’s, his mind roars and trembles in bright, golden reverence. The only word that matters then, with Jim’s skin against his own and their breaths melting into one, is: 
“T’hy’la.”

And, to that, Jim says in the indestructibly laced net of their minds: 
“For a lifetime.”

When the shirt slides off Suga’s pale shoulder and he throws his head back, grinning with a darkness in his eyes that has Daichi swallow hard, the button of his pants wrestled open by long fingers, hips swaying in a way that’s hell and heaven and goddamn bliss, that is when Sugawara attributes a completely new interpretation to the song pour some sugar on me for his boyfriend. 

Suga’s smile around the words “pour some sugar on me, ooh, in the name of love, pour some sugar on me, c’mon, fire me up” is cherry-red, his tongue a lick of flames. The music is loud, his striptease practiced – perfect. And it’s Daichi’s.

And Daichi swallows when that devilish little mouth nips at his ear, bites down on the skin of his neck, a low whimper stuck in his throat. He is indeed a goddamn lucky bastard, and Suga makes sure that he’ll always remember that.

Tooru has been biting his lips ever since Hajime first met him. He does it when he’s nervous (surprise quiz in class), excited (important volleyball game) or crying, silent tears on his cheeks, words stuck in his throat – when he thought Hajime would reject his brave, wonderful confession after training, after years.

And during that last time, Hajime had wiped his tears and pressed their foreheads together, whispering: “If you keep biting your lip like that, I’ll kiss you every time you do it. You’re ruining your skin. Alway make me care for you.”

Tooru had stared at him, soft mouth red and eyes tear-dark. Then, he’d smiled, choking on one last sob. “I’m sorry. But – but I think a kiss could make it better.”

Of course, Tooru still bites his lips nowadays – but he does so with a smirk at Hajime, and a soft noise in the back of his throat when Hajime kisses him gently.

Chocolate Pancakes.

“He said he never loved me,” Tooru says. “It’s over.” His eyes are red. 

“Come in,” Hajime says and wraps an arm around him, just before Tooru begins to cry. “You can stay here. I’m so sorry.” He lets Tooru into his apartment. 

He’s not good with words, has never been able to weave them so brilliantly like Tooru does. They’re playing on their university’s team, Tooru shines brighter than ever before, and Hajime loves him like never before. It doesn’t matter that Tooru’s had a boyfriend until now, a guy who’s always kissed him a bit too roughly (for Hajime’s taste) and who treated him like arm candy (Hajime thinks that Tooru deserves to be treated like a King, not some pretty thing). 

But that doesn’t matter now. Tooru looks tiny on his couch, wrapped into Hajime’s former baby blanket that’s ragged and paled out, the brilliant red faded to soft pink. Hajime returns after five minutes in the kitchen and he brings a stack of pancakes, drenched in chocolate syrup, and a cup of tea. 

“You… ‘s that for me?” Tooru’s eyes are wet. They’re big and silver-shining in the dim light. Hajime sits and pushes the plate into his hand, a fork into the other, the tea staying in his hand. “’course. Your favourite comfort food.” He tries a smile, but fails. “God, I’m sorry. I can beat him up. You can stay as long as – “

Tooru hugs him. Hajime can barely put the tea away before tears sink into his neck, trembling fingers curled into his shirt, shivers wrecking Tooru’s body. “Thank you. Just – thank you. I – I’m nothin’ without you.” 

Hajime lets him cry all night. Tooru eats all the pancakes, licks the chocolate syrup from the plate and falls asleep on Hajime’s lap. It’s been fifteen years since they met. Hajime closes his eyes and counts the beat of Tooru’s heart. One. Two. Three. 

Fourteen years of loving Tooru. 

For a long time, Kageyama is quite sad about every single animal being scared of him. He’s tried to feed and pet the neighbour’s cat, one of his teacher’s dogs, and he even built a nest for a hedgehog in his garden once. All of the animals made scared noises, immediately hiding from him. None would let Kageyama touch its fur or small paws, not caring how badly he wanted to pet and hold them.

But now it’s not so bad anymore. Ever since the day Hinata’s first roughly pushed his head into Kageyama’s hand after a great spike, Kageyama’s understood the way it works. 

Hinata came to him on his own. He’s chosen Kageyama, and he’s decided that he wants to have those awkward shaky fingers on his head and gently tracing along his neck. Somehow, Kageyama has earned this honour. 

And when he pets Hinata, this little bundle of sunshine makes a soft noise that’s better than any purr he could ever get from any animal in the whole wide world.