#i wanna write him again UEUEUEU i miss him. i do not. i hate this rascal.

[uzurakis]

nagumo had one hand on the wheel, fingers tapping lazily against it, while the other, warm and ever-present, rested on your thigh. casual, like it belonged there. like it always did. just the weight of his hand, warm and unmoving, like it had landed there absentmindedly. you had glanced at him at first, expecting him to move it, but nagumo had simply grinned, eyes still on the road, and left it right where it was.

minutes passed.

his fingers, previously still, began to shift ever so slightly. a slow, lazy drag of his thumb along the fabric covering your skin. nothing overt. nothing that could be called out without sounding ridiculous.

“nagumo.”

“mm?” his tone was light, almost distracted, but that damn grin was still there.

". . . both hands on the wheel.”

“i told you, i don’t need both hands,” the guy mused, tapping the steering wheel with two fingers. “i’m a professional.”

“professional menace, maybe.”

nagumo chuckled, and that was when his fingers dipped lower between your thighs.

he chuckled, tilting his head in that lazy, almost careless way. “i'm driving and keeping you in check. you get fidgety, you know?”

“maybe because your hand is in places it shouldn’t be,” you shot back.

“mm. . disagree.” his thumb absentmindedly traced a small circle against your leg. “i think it’s exactly where it should be.”

you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move his hand. not that you ever did. not that he’d let you.