Ivyfics

Ivy + eng/spa + HQ!!

[homunculus-argument]

Betrayed and backstabbed by your scheming evil advisor? Psch. Skill issue. Absolute amateur problem. Just hire two of them and reward them for snitching on each other. Just make sure that neither of them is gay or they'll just end up hate-fucking each other and fucking you over all the same.

[miss-hexatrix]

"hire two evil advisors but make sure neither of them is gay" are you hearing yourself right now. be serious

[ivyfics]

Wild Cherry

Read on AO3

IwaOi, E, 7.4K Tags: Bottom Iwa, Getting Together, First Times

Tooru is just going to come out and say it. Iwa-chan has a fat ass. Strong legs, thick thighs leading up to a fat ass. A round rump. A bubble butt. It’s out there. It’s done, he said it. Everyone knows it. It’s impossible to miss. It—It jiggles. Every move Iwa-chan makes is a conduit for his cheeks to ripple. They ripple the smallest, almost unnoticeable bit but oh, Tooru notices. He wants to smack it. It's ruining Tooru’s life.

Tooru is just going to come out and say it. Iwa-chan has a fat ass. 

Strong legs, thick thighs leading up to a fat ass. A round rump. A bubble butt. It’s out there. 

It’s done, he said it. Everyone knows it. It’s impossible to miss. 

It—It jiggles . Every move Iwa-chan makes is a conduit for his cheeks to ripple. They ripple the smallest, almost unnoticeable bit but oh , Tooru notices.  

He wants to smack it. 

It's ruining Tooru’s life.

In the two decades they have been friends, Iwa-chan’s ass hasn’t always been at the forefront of Tooru’s thoughts. A grandiose oversight. A mistake on Tooru’s part, he is more than willing to admit. It is a travesty that Tooru hasn’t always appreciated the beauty that is right in front of him—or that he is behind of, if you will. 

Thankfully, he shapes up. 

Halfway through high school, his brain decides to gain some sense and notice Iwa’s well-distributed proportions. There’s no coming back from that, once you see it. Awareness of it follows him through highschool, through crushed fists against his mouth to muffle the sounds in quiet nights, through practice and locker rooms, through shared summer vacations full of sand-filled bathing suits and foolish half-drunk skinny dipping the eve before graduation. 

They’ve gone off to different colleges, different parts of the world. They’re doing their best, respectively, but Tooru feels as if he’s missing a limb. Early morning or late night in Argentina—alone, awake when he shouldn’t. Missing Hajime is losing lung capacity. Everything is just a little bit harder to do, takes more effort, goes slower. Catching his breath seems a feat when he’s pushing ahead on his own. He’s doing better now but the beginning was freefalling into a life bereft of the best part of himself. 

Back in Japan for his sister’s wedding, Tooru is taking a break from being half a world away from his loved ones, even if he’s realizing home might be a different place to where he grew up. Is there a limit to how many homes you can have?

Tooru has three. Argentina, Japan, and Hajime. 

Hajime is on his way back too, from California. Tooru cannot contain his excitement at being both in the same time zone and physical presence as one Iwaizumi Hajime, his best friend, his one and only, the (secret) love of his life. So much so that he doesn’t consider the possibilities of Iwa being anything other than how Tooru left him—just, Hajime.

It bites Tooru is his own behind when he barges into what he considers his second house and finds Hajime in the midst of a conversation with his younger brother looking like Tooru should call him something akin the lines of Sir, as in "Sir, please, I’ll do anything.”

Hajime has always been gorgeous. When Tooru takes a stroll down memory lane he can’t recall a single moment where Hajime has not been attractive (not even at the awkward braces stage because unlike Tooru, Hajime didn't need braces and has always had perfectly spaced straight teeth, much to Tooru’s ever burning envy). He’s always had a good physique, all rough and tumble and hoarse voices at three in the morning when they couldn’t sleep. 

But Hajime now…Scruffy, buff, and beautiful. Came back with bigger biceps and a burlier build. Bigger everywhere. Rougher. With his already gorgeous ass popping that little bit more. 

Tooru might’ve swallowed his own tongue at the sight of him. Might have had to shake off thoughts of the crushing weight of Hajime’s body over him, of sitting in supplication to be allowed to touch and revere him.

Tooru is deserving of the highest accolade acting has to offer for making passable if inane conversation with Hajime and his family all night, through dinner and then two hours after in the family room. The food didn’t register and twice Tooru almost laughed at the wrong time before schooling his face into a neutral, placid expression, one the best friend of the eldest son might wear when invited to dinner. He focuses on Hajime’s mom, his brother, anywhere other than where his eyes want to be glued.

His performance doesn’t earn him more than a few stolen glances from Hajime, too familiar with Tooru’s façade to be completely fooled, and a minute alone together on the porch right before he leaves. The crushing bear-hug Hajime envelops him in isn’t earned by his pretense but by a life of friendship. Tooru feels entitled to it and the strength with which he hugs back. He has to take a deep breath to tame the swell of being home, truly home, after a big, long while. 

Hajime crushes him tighter, still. Tooru manages to mask the moan into one of rib pain and not of him getting a million fantasies injected directly into his bloodstream via Hajime’s compressing weight and his biceps. 

Hajime chuckles in his ear. Tooru might melt. “Talk tomorrow?” Hajime says, more a farewell than an actual question. 

Tooru nods, stepping back, hoping he can get away before the print in his pants is recognizable. “You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“Night, Oikawa.”

“Night, Iwa-chan.”

................................

Tooru’s mom follows the ancient tradition of not letting any idle children—adult or not—rest on their days off. He’s bestowed with all the upkeep and odd jobs around the house while his mother and sister have a wedding shopping marathon. 

Tooru toils around the attic until the sun has died down enough to start on the gardening portion of his to-do list. It’s hot, even with the sun past its peak. What a shame it would be to waste all the sweating and grunting on his own self instead of the one wet dream come to life that is Iwaizumi Hajime doing manual labor.

To rectify that Tooru sends eight thousand texts filled with nothing but star and heart emojis until Hajime calls him to yell that he is on his fucking way, Shittykawa, shut the hell up, you’re going to break my phone. You better have some ice cream for me when I get there, I swear, it’s hot as tits.  

Tooru doesn’t have any since he ate the last bar two hours ago, and he tells as much to an irate Hajime.

Hajime makes a stop before arriving. He walks into Tooru’s yard without any kind of announcement and throws the bag from the conbini straight into Tooru’s chest with a force that is unwarranted for a measly four bars of ice cream. By the time Tooru returns from a quick run to the kitchen to put them away Hajime already has a trash bag a quarter of a way full with leaves and the debris from pruned bushes, rake in hand to make a pile similar to what Tooru was working on beforehand. 

It is hot as tits. Hajime’s solution to that particular issue is to cause Tooru pain in the form of old athletic shorts and a white pleaser. Tooru knows they’re old shorts because they used to be his old shorts, short on him back in their Seijou days, immeasurably short and stretched on grown Hajime. The shirt is damp with sweat in the humid heat and sticks to every dip and peak of Hajime’s frame.

Tooru has to take a moment. He goes back inside with the excuse of rummaging for more trash bags, opens the cabinet under the sink, and closes his eyes. Counts to ten. Grabs the wrong roll of bags, has to backtrack to get the right kind, and heads back to see Hajime sweat and flex and curse yard work. Tooru doesn’t do much of the work now. He teases that he’s supervising and manages to get Hajime to call him names at least two more times before he throws a branch at him and barks for Tooru to get back to work. 

Hajime stomps his foot to dislodge a dead blossom from the sole of his shoe and the motion makes a wave that ripples all the way up to his delectable rump. His shorts do nothing to hide the movement. Hajime repeats the motion twice more and with every dulled thud of his shoe hitting the grass, Tooru’s mind becomes a little less preoccupied with things like decorum and not touching your best friend's ass out of the blue. 

Tooru doesn’t touch Hajime’s ass out of the blue.

There is a short circuit between his hand and his mind, some ill-intentioned, selfish override that has (much to Tooru’s horror and delight) his entire arm lifting in the air and coming down upon Hajime’s flesh with a speed and strength only gained through years of intense practice in a volleyball court. His open palm stings with the satisfaction of a hidden desire accomplished, his ears ring with the sound of hitting Hajime’s backside with such force that his hand recoils, and the resounding yelp from the owner of said ass.

There is the crack of thunder, then silence. 

“Oikawa,” Iwa-chan says, slow and deep as he throws the rake in his hand to the ground and turns, “did you just smack my ass?”

Tooru sure as fuck did. He answers with the honesty of a dead man. “It jiggles,” he nods.

“It jiggles?” Hajime enunciates each word slowly. 

At this point, to deny anything would be silly. If he must pay for his actions, which he is sure Hajime will enforce with a swift and firm fist, he will face the music as an honest man. “When you move. It’s—” hypnotic . Tooru shakes his head clear. “Obliterate me if you want but your perfect ass was made to be smacked and I’m not sorry. My only regret is that I only got to do it once.”

“Your one regret when you die, when I end you with my bare hands, is that you didn’t get to smack my ass more than once. That’s, uh, something.” 

Tooru catches the stumble and blinks, his lashes fluttering at the excitement of possibilities .

He breathes hard through his nose, pressing his body to Hajime’s. He could moan at the contact. Hajime has become a mountain, wide and tan, with heft he can feel by simply pressing their chests together. Fleshier than the stocky definition he had while they spent days together practicing. He licks his lips at the hunger that blooms in him and Hajime tracks the motion with his eyes. “Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan, did you like it?” 

Hajime says nothing. His mouth tries to form the words, but they don’t make it past his lips.  

Tooru trills, trying to contain his gloating before it incites Hajime’s suddenly lost ire. 

Slowly, giving Hajime enough time, enough space to headbutt him if he’s crossed another line, he puts his hands on Hajime’s abdomen and walks them underneath the shade of the tree Tooru climbed and broke his left arm falling out of when he was six. 

Hajime lets him. He doesn’t protest or tell Tooru to stuff it or punch him in the face or walk off fuming. Instead, when they’ve stopped and Tooru reaches to rest his hand on Hajime’s waist, he leans his head on Tooru’s collarbone and breathes out hard. 

Tooru’s hands rest there for a moment before slowly making the trek to Hajime’s back, to the curve of his spine down to his ass. In the shadow of the tree, Tooru presses even closer, his legs angled between Hajime before giving a hard intentional squeeze on the fleshy mounds of his ass. The sound Hajime makes in response lights Tooru up to the tip of his fingers. 

“Can I touch you?”

Hajime’s voice is gravel. “You’re already touching me.”

Tooru steps further into Hajime’s space, like he could crawl into his clothes, his skin. Their breaths share room and Tooru holds him tighter. It’s Hajime who moans this time.

“Iwa-chan, you’re hard,” Tooru gasps, awed.

“You’re hard too, asshole.”

“Yeah, you’re letting me grab your ass. If there’s ever no response from that, it’s an alien taking over my body.”

“Shittykawa.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve made myself come thinking about you?” Oikawa shudders, barely, and sinks his fingers into the meat of Hajime’s cheeks with enough strength to bruise. Spreads them as much as he can over the tiny, tiny shorts. “About this?” 

Hajime’s response is a low whine, a garbled mess of words that make no sense. 

“You never answered my question, Iwa. Did you like it?”

Hajime’s voice melts into the dying light surrounding them, a breath higher and just as airy. “Harder.”

Tooru has a brilliant, genius idea and moves his hands under the waistband of Hajime’s shorts and sheds a layer to get a better grip. He hits skin immediately. There is a single elastic band and then nothing but smooth skin. Tooru’s voice goes high. “You’re not serious.”

Hajime goes red, his voice hot with embarrassment. “I haven’t unpacked.”

He has to be dreaming.  Hajime is wearing tiny, itty bitty shorts and a jockstrap. Any second now he’ll wake up in his childhood bed, glow in the dark stars shining dull green light on the ceiling above him, hard as a rock and leaking like he’s fifteen again. 

Tooru slides his hand over the elastic. Feels its edges and the rugged texture with his fingers. He wants to snap it against Hajime’s skin, see how much redder he can make Hajime get, but the shorts have no give to make room. Defeated, he moves past it to ghost over the puckered rim between Hajime’s cheeks. “Iwa-chan, have you played with this?”

Hajime shakes his head. 

“But you’ve thought about it.” Hajime nods at another of Tooru’s squeezes.

Something foul and thick climbs Tooru’s throat. He’s never been jealous of any of his partners, no matter how short-lived those relationships were. Hajime has never officially, tentatively been his partner. Still, there is part of him hidden that classifies Hajime as Tooru’s. He has never been prone to share what's truly his. “With who?”

Hajime can read him instantly. “Who else, dumbass? I swear I’m going to smack you.”

Mollified, he shifts to hold the weight of Hajime’s ass in his palms. “What did you think about? My fingers? Or…”

Hajime groans, head thumping against Tooru’s collarbone once, twice. “Don't make me say it, jerk.”

“There's no need to be embarrassed. I’ve thought about it, you inside me. Me inside you. Any way I can get it.”

“Perv.”

“No, just severely in love with you.”

Hajime groans. “Tooru.”

Tooru stills. Maybe, not good? He should have led with that. Playing it cool seems like a good way out in case this was on the experimental side for Hajime. “Ah, I hadn't said that? Sorry. Should I let go?”

Hajime bites his shoulder hard and wraps his hands around Tooru’s waist. His hands span it easily, and with a light squeeze, the tip of Hajime’s fingers would touch. Tooru has never been small . He’s been slim but toned and muscled. Hajime pure mass dwarfs him more than he’s ever had, hotter than he’s ever been. Iwa’s scruff tickles against his collarbone and Tooru’s insides light up. 

“Don't,” he says, before Tooru can move away. Hajime’s hands move to knead at the stiffened muscles of his back, forcing Tooru to release the tension. 

They’re pawing at each other. He’s going to take that as a good sign. “I’m glad it didn't freak you out,” Tooru says, distracted by the touches. 

Hajime picks up something in his tone and bites him again, followed by a too-hard press of his thumb on the curve of Tooru’s back. It elicits a moan deep in Tooru’s throat. “Do you think I’d let anyone do what you’re doing? What you did?”

“Uh.”

Hajime scoffs at his wavering, pressing both of his thumbs at a time. “No, I wouldn't. Why do you think that is?” 

“Curiosity?”

Hajime brings up his hands to Tooru’s face. He holds it gently, treating Tooru like he is a precious thing between his palms. Looks at him in the eye for a moment. Then, he pinches his cheeks in chiding with a strong grip. Tooru couldn’t escape if he tried.

Hajime takes pity on Tooru’s suffering and stops pulling on the skin, running his thumbs over it to ease the sting, “I’ve never been in love with anyone other than you. S’just. Ah.” He clears his throat, bashful, looking away. “It’s weird not knowing what to expect when it comes to that.”

Tooru is floored. His dick twitches. “Iwa-chan. That is so cute. You’re a complete ass virgin.”

Hajime smiles at him, tightening his fingers. “I guess I am ending you today after all.”

Hajime has threatened his life countlessly so Tooru speeds past the menace. The tension has been expertly dispelled by his personal brute so he throws caution to the wind. “Iwa-chan, let me pop your cherry?”

Hajime balks. “Don’t know about that. I've seen you hard, you’re huge.”

Tooru sputters. He has been very careful to keep his Iwa-induced boners to himself for this to happen. “When have you seen me hard?”

“Morning wood. Camping. Showers. Skinny Dipping. Bed Sharing.” He looks down between them. “Against my hip.”

Tooru shrugs, and grins. “Yeah, it’s not small. Sorry.”

Hajime clicks his teeth. “Don’t be the guy that apologizes for having a big dick. It’s too much power for your tiny head.”

He doesn’t care about much at the moment. He never thought he’d get this far, what’s a little more waiting? Tooru lowers his voice, just in case. They’ve been bold with their location, uncaring of any surprise interruptions from Tooru’s family or any nosy neighbors within earshot. “We don't have to, but if you ever wanna, my dick is at your service. Can I finger you?”

Hajime mulls it over. “We can try that.”

Tooru responds by pulling his hands out of Hajime’s waistband and leading him up to his childhood bedroom. He didn’t bring any lube with him but he’s had a bottle stashed in between his mattress and the bed since he was a second-year. Hopefully, if he hasn’t been struck by the ill side of luck he’ll still find it there instead of having one more thing to not discuss with his mother.

................................

The first order of business is to actually get to kiss Hajime before anything else happens below the waist. It just feels right, to have some order to the situation. They go up to Tooru’s room and as soon as Hajime has stepped a foot in, Tooru slams the door, locks it, and plants one on him. 

It’s easy between them, like they’ve been kissing for ages instead of kissing other people and telling each other about it in the dead of night under shared covers. It starts chaste, sweet and love-filled with all those childhood-sweetheart feelings sprinkled into it. Before he knows it, he’s sucking on Hajime’s tongue and being held by the jaw so Hajime can fuck into Tooru’s mouth with it like he’s the one about to open Tooru up. It’s so maddeningly hot, how Hajime holds him where he wants him, grabbing his waist to push him against a wall.

He almost stops him to ask if Hajime would like to throw their original plan out the window and just fuck Tooru silly.

Tooru holds strong. 

He pulls away, leaning his head back. “Whew. Okay, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime follows him, voice thick. “Come back here.”

“We’re going to get carried away.”

“Shut up,” Hajime says and reels Tooru back into a filthy make out that he feels all the way to his toes. Tooru gets groped everywhere twice before he remembers he also has hands that can wander and takes to task kneading Hajime’s ass. 

He works at Hajime’s ass while they kiss. Tooru needs to see, needs for them to get back on track so that he can live out his fantasy. He pulls at the hem of Hajime offending shorts and Hajime releases Tooru’s hold on him to step out of it

He’s seen Hajime in his underwear a million times, in every shower and changing room. As far as Tooru remembers, Hajime doesn’t make a habit of wearing a jockstrap. He should. 

“Unbelievable. Turn around.”

“Tooru…” Hajime protests. His hands go back to Tooru’s wait, itching to keep him where he is and put his mouth back to use. 

Tooru lifts his pointer finger and waves it in a circle. He is a man on a mission. “Let me see.”

Hajime huffs and turns. Tooru is so thankful this is his life. He’s been counting blessings ever since realizing he has never lived in a world where Hajime doesn’t exist. He runs his hands over Hajime’s back, tracing the edge of his scapula with his fingers. Hajime shivers at the contact and Tooru leans in to kiss right between his shoulder blades. His hand slides down to Hajime’s cheek. He grabs it hard to see his fingers sink in.

Tooru pulls away and smacks it again, this time a friendly, less-hard pat common between teammates. “Nice ass, Ace.”

Hajime’s amusement rumbles out of him. “Strong grip, Captain.”

Tooru pushes Hajime to the bed, taking him by surprise. Hajime squawks, rights himself to lean on his elbows and glares. 

“You look good on my bed, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime’s response is to lift his hips and slide the jockstrap off. He arches an eyebrow as if to say how about now?

Tooru forces himself to move. They don’t have much time alone. They’re cutting it close as it is. If this is happening he has to ignore the part of him that wants to yell in victory and roll around the floor in giddiness. He focuses on finding the stash of lube—undisturbed, exactly where it should be–and gets to work. 

Hajime spreads his legs for him as soon as Tooru settles on the bed with him and Tooru pauses. He’s—can he do this without losing it? His hands shake. 

Hajime notices. Of course he does, there’s nothing Tooru can do or become that won’t be transparent to Hajime’s watchful eyes. He always seems to know. Hajime brings Tooru in for another round of kisses that clear his head of every thought. It steadies him enough to get his hand slick, to wrap it around Hajime’s length and pump, teasing him before making way to his rim. 

He’s not expecting a fireworks reaction and he doesn’t get one. It’s exploratory, curious. The sun has set at this point but the heat continues, making the skin they touch slick, fever slowly rising between them. It’s hums and little ah ahs and hard breaths . Tooru spreads two of his fingers inside against his walls and Hajime groans, his cock leaking on his abs. Hajime throws an arm over his face to cover his eyes, ears red. The muscles in his arm flex as he clenches his fist. He’s opening up beautifully, taking all Tooru gives him and transforming it into pleasure Tooru’s eyes can feast on.  

“Fuck, Iwa. You’re so good. Are you sure you haven’t played with this before?”

Sweat drips from Hajime’s skin, his abdomen tightening and relaxing with every thrust of Tooru’s fingers. He speaks hiding behind his arm and gives Tooru a short laugh, “Guess I’m a natural.”

Tooru reaches just so with his fingers, searching. He’s dying to crack Hajime open. 

Hajime jolts, arm slapping down to the bed for stability. “Ah!” 

Got him.  

Tooru finds his prostate and focuses. He’s too enamoured with how it makes Hajime look, how he moans and grips at the sheets, eyes clenched tight and chest flushed, to not go all in. Hit it until it breaks, right?

Hajime’s cock jumps with each pass. “Fuck me.” At Tooru’s continued movement, Hajime grabs at him to stop. His eyes are wide and wild. “Tooru, fuck me.”

Tooru’s dick throbs. No way. There’s no way he gets to top Hajime today. Just like that? Is he lucky today? He should buy a lottery ticket. “For real? You want me to pop your cherry?”

“Why are you so annoying?” Hajime’s hand tightens on Tooru’s shoulder. 

Tooru pins him with a stare, unremorseful. “You said you’d let me do you if it weren’t for my gigantic cock, my ego literally has never been bigger.”

Hajime shakes his head. “I’m offering you my ass here, can’t you be a little sweet on me at least?”

Tooru blinks. He brings his lubed hand to his chest.“Iwa-chan if you wanted to be romanced, all you needed was to ask.”

“Actually, I changed my mind. Never do that again.”

“No romancing?”

“No romancing.” Hajime waves his hand in a circle. “Pop my cherry, all that jazz.”

“This is a once in a lifetime moment, I’d like to thank the academy—”

Hajime throws a pillow at him, interrupting his speech. “Oi, Shittykawa, don’t get too carried away.”

He reaches for the lube and it hits him. Fuck. “Wait. No condoms.” He wasn’t exactly expecting this one day into his trip. 

Hajime grunts. “Just don’t nut in me.”

Tooru frowns at the bottle of lube in his hand. It all seems too casual for a life-altering event.

He tosses the bottle next to Hajime on the bed and looks to meet his eyes. “Hajime. You can ask for romance if you want it. I’m trying to be chill and not freak out, but it doesn’t have to be so—” Tooru struggles to find the word— “nonchalant. I meant it when I said I loved you. I’m in love with you. Even if you don’t wanna do anything at all or change your mind. Even if it’s just romance, no sex needed.”

Hajime stares at him hard. “It’s a little unsettling, seeing you so serious. I like chill. I uh—” Hajime steels himself, shakes off the tail end of embarrassment—“also meant it, when I said I loved you.” He shrugs, meeting Tooru’s gaze. “It’s you, so it doesn’t feel like a big thing to do.”

Tooru nods. “Yeah. Let a bro blow your back out.”

Hajime closes his eyes. “Sometimes, you need to learn when to stop. Try it every once in a while.”

“Why, when I have you to stop me?”

Hajime releases a long-suffering sigh. It’s all theatrics; Hajime becomes a drama queen and matches Tooru’s antics when it’s the two of them. “Just fuck me. I wanna, you wanna. It’s good like this.”

“Okay. Tell me if it’s too much.”

“Sure.”

He grabs Hajime by the chin, forcing him to look into Tooru’s eyes. “Hajime. I mean it.” 

After a stunned moment, Hajime laughs. “Shit, Tooru. You might be good at this romancing thing.”

“I know. Prepare to be romanced out of your socks Hajime. After too, I’m taking you out on dates. Doing the whole boyfriend thing.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Funny, can’t remember agreeing to being boyfriends anywhere.”

“You—” Tooru stammers, stunned. “Iwa-chan. Iwa. Hajime, I am locking this down.”

Hajime’s expression doesn’t change. He’s still mockingly wide-grinned, patronizingly so. “You’re locking it?”

“Consider it locked. No lock, no dick, no cherry-poppin’, no un-virginizing.”

Hajime’s chest vibrates with laughter until his eyes water. Tooru is being absolutely serious. Hajime continues having a tittering fit beneath him.

“Iwa-chan you are being very rude to my, in your own words, massive dick.”

That intensifies Hajime’s giggles. He reaches out a hand to grip Tooru’s waist for support and continues to shake and struggle for air. Iwa pulls him in for a kiss that barely lands. “Fuck, I love you. I missed you, Tooru.”

It’s a sad state when Tooru can call himself charmed by a big oaf laughing at him. “You better have. Don’t go around forgetting me in your sunny California.”

Hajime scoffs, as if it’s an impossible concept. They might have feelings for each other, but there haven’t been any promises made yet. Tooru might be possessive but that just means he’s very aware of the large distance between them. 

“You’re one to talk. Do any cherry-popping in Argentina?”

“Only one cherry I’m interested in.”

Hajime sighs. “Can’t tell if that’s sweet or gross.”

Tooru wants no misunderstandings when it comes to Hajime. There can’t be any room for doubt or mistrust, not with all the other things playing against them. Tooru can’t shrink the distance between California and Argentina but he can shrink the distance between the two of them. He pauses from undressing himself to put both his hands on Hajime’s shoulders and bring his attention to his words. “I only want you. Really, truly, want you . Nobody else mattered like you.”

Iwa pauses. He stares at Tooru intently, brow furrowing. “When did you get like this?” 

Tooru doesn’t back down. “Like what?”

“You’ve always been stubborn and self-assured but this is...Dependable. Sturdy.” Iwa shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. Let me look at you.” He frames Tooru’s face with his hands. They’re warm and the familiar feel of Hajime’s skin on his brings an extra kick to the warmth. Tooru can barely feel it over Hajime’s scrutinizing stare. 

He steels his face in defiance. Let him look. 

Hajime is not merely looking, he’s studying, roaming Tooru’s face and dissecting what he can find. After a long moment Iwa breathes in, sharp, then sighs the air out. “Ah, hell.” His voice is heavy with emotion, low and steady. “You grew up without me there to see it.” 

Tooru frowns, confused at the implication. “Did all my growing with you.”

“You’re a man.”

“Yeah? You, too?”

“You’re a man. You’re not the kid I grew up with, or the boy I crushed on, or the teen I fell in love with. You’re—“

“Tooru,” he affirms. He’s always been himself, always Hajime’s. 

Hajime hears his protest and shakes his head in disagreement, mouth curling. “More.” It’s not a bad thing, his tone says.

“I’m yours,” Tooru repeats. “Are you mine, Hajime?”

Hajime smiles. “Been for a while, it’d be nice of you to notice.”

“You drive me to distraction, you know? Always could tune out anything except for you.” Tooru says, standing to undress. He balls up his shirt and tosses it against the wall in frustration. His shorts and underwear follow. “A man. You’re one to talk. Thought I’d drop to my knees and call you Daddy when I saw you. Not even thinking, just instinct.”

“Really?”

Tooru waggles his eyebrows. “Want me to?” 

“You like calling men Daddy , Oikawa? That’s what you do in your spare time?”

“Jealous?”

Iwa snorts. “Try to sound less hopeful.”

Tooru doesn’t doubt they’ll get there. He can see them falling into it as easily as Tooru will fall to his knees and suck Hajime’s cock into his mouth. He’ll bat his lashes and pout and tempt Hajime with a call of Daddy please fuck me and Hajime will grumble and then relent. Some other time, though. “Ah, there goes my dream of a possessive boyfriend that fucks me into the mattress.”

“I thought you were going for the whole ‘l et me pop your cherry with my huge dick ’ super top vibe.”

“A man can be many things, Hajime.” Tooru tuts. “Didn't save my cherry for you but you can have my ass any time you want.”

“No? Who then?”

“Hinata is a very generous, enthusiastic fuck. He was also terrified of my, as you put it, magnus dong.” 

Hajime’s expression doesn’t falter, neither does his body close off. He’s quite at ease hearing Tooru speak of past escapades and while it's reminiscent of their talk as boys, well—Tooru isn’t as kindhearted or well-meaning when it comes to his own lover. He’s aware of the hypocrisy. 

“You’re very relaxed about me and other people, and I respect that about you Hajime, but any growing I did didn’t touch my petty feelings. I am jealous and possessive and all sorts of very inconvenient things. You should know.”

Hajime shrugs. “You’ve always been jealous and petty and inconvenient. It is what it is. Don’t change on my account.” A beguiling smile takes over his face. The flush Tooru worked him up to has started to fade. “I saved my cherry for you exactly because you’re a handful.”

That smile speaks of terrible things, an expression Tooru hasn’t seen Hajime’s face wear before. A sample that maybe he also had grown into more in their time apart, a facet unknown for Tooru to explore. “You did?”

“Ushijima is a very obliging lover and he had no issue with not fucking my, as you put it, magnificent death-worthy ass.”

Tooru has to swallow a scream of rage. It tries to burn its way out, igniting long held animosity like a tinder lights a wildfire. He doesn’t manage to quell it completely. His voice is strained with effort. “Did you do it on purpose?”

Hajime has the audacity to pull at him, making Tooru crash against him on the bed. He’s pleased, accommodating his body to have Tooru fall into him, putting more force behind the nails scratching his forearms. “Yes, always.”

Hajime’s lack of clarification on whether he’s referring to the choice of person or timing of the disclosure is not lost on Tooru. His guts twist.

Tooru has been callous and all around a terrible person to be involved with for those with any sort of romantic aspiration, seeing as he’s been in love and lust with his best friend since a little after puberty graced him a body others desire. He’s accepted it, and been transparent in the limits of his interest. For the most part, Tooru has managed to avoid broken hearts and unfulfilled promises.

The upturn of Hajime’s lips, the thinly veiled satisfaction in his expression whispers of a trail of half-in-love, abandoned lovers and less careful handling of expectations.  

“Really?”

“You’re incredibly easy to rile up and beautiful when angry. Can you blame me?”

It’s a vile game that they’ve played, on themselves and on others. Tooru’s pout covers his pleasure at the thought. “Hajime, that’s not fair.”

Hajime silently runs his hand up Tooru’s chest, to his collarbone, all the way to the back of his neck.

He pulls Tooru forward until their foreheads are an inch apart. His easy demeanor, the jovial tilt of his shoulders dies with the set of his lips and the implacable strength of his eyes. Hajime breathes in the pants that have suddenly formed from Tooru’s lips. There’s depth there that Tooru has never experienced before. It tastes of ownership, of a tame beast willing to break out at any second, ready to devour the world into darkness. 

Who the beast is between them, who owns, Tooru can’t tell.

Hajime's words push his breath against Tooru’s lips. “I’ve done the nice-guy thing while waiting. Now I have you. I have no intention of being fair. Get used to it.”

This time Tooru actually groans and spills out, “Sir, I’m just a hole.”

Hajime bursts out laughing, the spell between them banked from a raging fire to an ever-bright spark. There will be time for confessions and oaths some other time. Now, Hajime prods him. “And a mouth that won't stop running, too. Come fuck me, Tooru. Get with the program.”

“Yessir.”

Hajime’s lip twitches. “Stop that, I’m trying to set a mood.”

It’s Tooru’s turn to shrug. “We’ll be what we’ll be.”

“Nice to know that Grown-up Tooru is just as annoying as regular Tooru.”

He points at his crotch. “Do you want dick or not?”

“So romantic. The man who wants to be my boyfriend. The love of my life.”

“The man who is your boyfriend,” Tooru narrows his eyes accusingly, roaming over Hajime’s body. He kneels between Hajime’s legs. The mattress gives with his weight. Hopefully they don’t break his bed. “Roll over?”

Hajime bites his lip—actually bites his lip, who told him he could do that? “Actually, let’s stay like this.”

Tooru has to take a moment. It finally sinks in and he finds that even the promise of burying himself inside Hajime can’t tear him away from keeping to stare at his body. He scoots closer and grabs Hajime’s legs to place them over his thighs. He leans forward to kiss Hajime, and runs his hands over Hajime’s pecs, squeezing before continuing down his chest. He sits back on his haunches and says, “You’re so hot.” 

“Feeling the romance, Tooru.”

“You’re going to feel something all right,” he hums, guiding his cock to rub against the rim of Hajime’s hole. Hajime is still slick and fingered open but Tooru reaches for the lube and slicks himself up.

He’s been hard all this time and the contact has him squirming, itching to fuck into that tight hole. He has to remind himself that this is Hajime first time ever taking a dick into himself, and that his part in it is him being a good person and a good boyfriend and not a complete beast, ramming and fucking and seeing him be stretched over and over on Tooru’s cock—he takes a breath. 

Calms himself down. Good job, Tooru. He squirts a generous amount of lube on his fingers and presses them into Hajime who blows a hard exhale at the contact.

Tooru lines himself up.“Relax, Hajime.” He pushes in. “Bear down.”

“Fuck.”

Tooru huffs out a laugh. This is crazy. “I’m trying.”

A laugh rips from Hajime, ending on a groan.“Don’t make me laugh.”

It makes him tighten up and Tooru makes a strangled noise at the vise clamping around him. And look, Tooru is used to being a bottom, all right? Having a big dick means only the adventurous want to take him for a ride and the shyer, more self-preservational type bend him over and enjoy his flexibility. He’s used to being on the other end, feeling the slow, hot press of a body into his, the closeness and the stretch and all the really great things about being fucked. 

He’s not used to being engulfed by a hot inferno blanketing him in, or the way that first ring of muscle stretches over the head of his cock. About halfway, Tooru has to stop. 

“Why are you so big?”Hajime says, winded. “I’m going to wipe that smile off your face. The second I can breathe right again, I swear.”

His hands are shaking again. He has Iwaizumi Hajime naked in his childhood bedroom, spread open, cock standing proud against his belly, leaking. The visuals are enough to get him right to the edge.“Uh-huh.”

“You good?”

“Don’t talk to me, I’ll come.”

“Don’t stop halfway!”

“You’re tight,” He says, closing his eyes and hoping not to come before they even get started.

“It’s your dick,” Hajime hisses. 

He needs to get a grip. Hajime raises his hips the smallest amount trying to get reposition. Tooru might blow then and there. “Fuck me.”

Hajime runs a hand through his hair. “I thought you were fucking me.”

It’s Tooru that laughs this time. The tension in his shoulder blades relent and he presses forward another inch, two, until he’s seated.  

Hajime gasps, his hands bracing on Tooru’s forearms. He looks down between them. “Tooru.” 

“That’s right. All the way in, Hajime. You’re a natural.” Tooru ignores how wrecked his voice sounds. 

For all their talk, their first time is soft and syrupy sweet, whispering nonsense to each other until Hajime adjusts. Hajime’s hands rove over his body, reacquainting himself with every bit of Tooru’s skin. Hajime explores his back, down his arms, to his waist, and lands on his ass, taking a perch there and squeezing.

“Not as gorgeous as yours, I’m afraid.” Tooru says into his neck.  

“You feel good inside me,” Hajime answers and shuts down any train of thought Oikawa might have. 

There’s no finesse, no moves Tooru can pull, no suave seduction. It is the two of them intertwined, Hajime’s cock trapped between them. It’s an unhurried build up, each thrust slow and careful. If emotion wasn’t clogging Tooru’s throat, he’d tell Hajime that it’s his first time too, making love to someone. 

They love each other like that, licking into each other’s mouths, pouring into each other’s skin. Hajime’s scruff scratches at him and Tooru revels in the feeling. His jaw will be beard-burned but he doesn’t care. He can’t care when the alternative is to pull away from Hajime’s face. 

He hikes Hajime’s legs higher on his waist, angles his hips up and Hajime shutters a moan hard into his ear. He grins into Hajime’s mouth, pride coursing through him. He aims for that spot with each thrust and Hajime falls apart against him, abandoning kisses to a slack mouth. Tooru wants to make this good for him, wants Hajime to want more, to feel what they are to each other when they’re naked down to their souls.  

Hajime grips the sweaty hair on Tooru’s nape. “Tooru. Tooru, I’m gonna–”

Tooru gets a hand between them. He tries to match his hips and his hand but the arm he’s holding himself up burns with strain. Like he’s done a million times before, he powers through it, narrowing his focus only on Hajime. The only things that exist are Hajime’s body, the way he feels clenching around Tooru, the sound of his voice as he calls out Tooru’s name. He wills himself to burn it into his memory. 

This is the first time. It won’t be the last, but Tooru wants to cherish it, to reward all his waiting and the toiling of chasing where their dreams take them even if it’s half a world apart. Between their bodies there are no separations, no demarcated lines of geography. Just him and Hajime, sweating, grunting, breathing life into each other. 

He feels Hajime tense before he hears him come apart on Tooru’s cock. The greatest achievement of his life is not following that broken call of his name and spilling himself inside Hajime. He’d never hear the end of it. 

He works Hajime over with his hand, white splattering over his abdomen. It paints a pretty picture, Hajime with his sun-tanned skin, glistening with sweat and come and looking fucked to loose, pliant limbs. 

Tooru hisses as he pulls out. He wraps a hand around himself and looks at Hajime beneath him. 

“C’mon, Tooru.” Hajime calls out, eyes lidded with his orgasm. “Come on me.”

It’s like his body can’t help but obey. He adds to the splatters on Hajime’s abs with a moan and a gasp, calling out Hajime on a whine. It’s, all in all, a beautiful moment.

Tooru ruins it by flopping onto Hajime’s chest in exhaustion, their come sticky between them.

................................

Tooru, as a great super top, brings Hajime his ice cream bar in bed. “Good?”

Hajime takes it and sucks at the melting part close to his fingers. “Don’t eat the other ones. They’re for your mom and your sister.” Hajime mean mugs him, looking up from his bar. “And I will ask.”

“Just eat it.”

“My back hurts. And my ass feels weird.” Hajime stretches on the bed and takes up the whole thing. He leaves his legs dangling just off it. “Next time you bottom.” 

Tooru throws himself on the bed, pulling a groan of complaint from Hajime.

“As long as I get to grope you.”

................................

“Auntie, I brought you and Miko-san some ice cream. Did Tooru eat it?” Hajime asks, leaning on the doorway to the kitchen where his mother is, begging to get Tooru in trouble.

He knows it’ll be trouble because he knows Tooru ate them, the wooden stick from the last one still in his mouth, being chewed on until bits of the wet wood splinter off. From this angle in the other room, he has a great view of Hajime’s assets and nothing else, his silhouette eating up the space. 

Tooru can hear the door of the freezer open and slam shut. “Tooru!” His mother’s voice is filled with exasperation. “I swear. That boy’s sweet tooth has no limits.”

Hajime looks at the shopping bags on the floor, half of them unpacked, half not. “Do you need any help? Are there any more bags to bring in?”

His mother sighs. “Hajime, you’re such a good boy. Can’t I steal you to be my son, instead?”

“Mama!” Tooru chokes. “I’m right here!”

Hajime turns to him and laughs. He’s wearing some of Tooru’s clothes. His eyes crinkle at the corners the same way they did when they were sixteen. “It's good to be home.”

[ivyfics]

Crying Wolf

Read on AO3

Kurotsukki, T, 4.1K Tags: Fake proposal, Pining

With Kei’s incorrigible sweet tooth and Kuroo’s incessant need for mischief, it’s only logical that many of the quiet and boring nights in their shared accommodation would end up with them getting engaged over and over in all the fine and average dining their local restaurants have to offer. Even if they're not dating at all.

It’s no secret that they are the most prominent couple between all their friends and acquaintances. They get congratulated by strangers as they pass by narrow sidewalks with heat-broken asphalt and cracks that would make their mothers weep. They run errands and get nods from once before seen but never remembered faces on their way out of the door. 

 All of that is well and fine, Kei has no issue with the attention or the minute amount of prominence two people living in a college town can have. He just thinks it’s quite a funny situation to be in given that he and Kuroo—the other half to the said couple—are not a couple.

 They’re not dating. 

 Neither of them has the heart to say anything to their infamous reputation because you don’t commit a crime while committing a crime. To bring any sort of attention to the factual state of his and Kuroo’s relationship (that is, that there is none at all) would uncover a trail of high crimes. 

These encouraging strangers share the belief that at some point in the past four to six years in which Kei and Kuroo have been toiling away at university in different levels of superior education, they’ve not only had a romantic endeavor but a publicly successful one, one where they are to be wed. As in marriage—as in ‘till death do us part, until when we are old and wrinkled, and our entire life lays ahead to build intertwined you and me— when Kuroo is barely thirty and Kei hasn’t finished his degree(s) yet. 

 To say that this incorrect assumption hasn’t been encouraged would be a half-truth. What else were they supposed to do? With Kei’s incorrigible sweet tooth and Kuroo’s incessant need for mischief. It’s only logical that many of the quiet and boring nights in their shared accommodation would end up with them getting engaged over and over in all the fine and average dining their local restaurants have to offer.

 They swap rings and take turns proposing to each other on their free nights, a tradition emerging from the siren call of free food and a light wallet. It was a harmless suggestion initially, but one that proved irresistible, the both of them too broke and too willing to cheat the system for a quick thrill. For him, after times and times and rounds of delicious meals and adoring eyes from strangers inventing his life, both past and present, it was more about the thrill than the food. More about the company and less about necessity.

 It’s his thing. Their thing. They are mocked by their close friends, earning a shake of the head, eyes closed and turned-up lips at the audacity of their actions. It becomes them, their friendship marked by stories of ‘remember that time we tried in the dinner, with the chocolate cake’, or ‘For a three star restaurant, their food really wasn’t all that great.’

 It’s the challenge—Where haven’t they gone yet? What could they get? How far, really, can they push it if they try. It hasn’t failed them yet, only once having been met with a bill along with their well-deserved congratulations. So successful in their deceit that for their (respective) birthdays, the collective brain-cell that their friends share sparked bright enough to get them both thrifted suits, lending to the characters they’ve become.

 Seeing all of this, all they’ve done and become, when he gets a text from Kuroo saying he’s feeling ‘like a night out’, one would think he’d be at the ready, suit in hand. He’d be heady with anticipation of getting away with it once again, of spending another evening wining and dining on someone else’s dime and trusting the universe that no one in their vicinity would look at them and remember their dozens of previous engagements. 

 He’s not. Somewhere along the line, excitement turned into apprehension, conspiratorial approval swapped into doubt. The cheap ring they got from a street vendor they’ve been exchanging lays, as it always does, in the cutlery drawer in the kitchen, next to the spoons. Its presence leans heavily on Kei’s mind, as does the thought of Kuroo.

 Kuroo has been distant, his eyes shifty and his smile pasted on. Kei thought maybe their incredible ruse had come to an end, that Kuroo had gotten tired of the stares and the applause, the spotlight, the free sweet treats and well-wishes. Kuroo's last message said nothing of the ring. Kei could pretend that it’s not that kind of text. He could wear sweats and a beanie and keep his hair shaggy (or as shaggy as it can get for him, really,) and go for a slice instead of fine dining. 

He’s ready to enjoy a good night out with someone who has become one of his closest friends in the midst of overly dramatic speeches and manufactured grand gestures. He’s been busy—so has Kuroo. They haven’t spent time together in a while, no more than a passing hello and how's it all going and did you eat yet? , and even though Kei has no plan to cop some complementary sweetness he still takes more time than he normally would getting ready. 

 Kei has learned quite a bit about Kuroo in the past four years, seven months and five days they’ve shared a living space. He’s gone from an annoying roommate designated by fate and bad luck, to a reluctant friend, to a partner in crime(s).

 He—Kuroo, that is—is finally done. 

He decided against any more schooling. He confessed to Kei on one of his three-am-raids of the kitchen that he was thinking of getting his first big boy apartment in the next city over, close to his new job. It is with a jolt and the revolt of his stomach that he understands that the final days of their heists are coming to an end. 

The end of them together, if he’s honest. 

The end of shared sleepless nights, of spontaneous and unmentioned sex escapades that hold more meaning than Kei could ever express or determine to a stranger, to his friends, or to himself. He knows the way that they are looked at, the way their friends give them droll stares the more that they deny that they’re only roommates and not lovers or partners or in love. He sees Yamaguchi‘s face and the exaggerated roll of his eyes when Kei asserts once again that he and Kuroo are nothing but unlikely, unchosen friends.

You see, there is no more to them other than two people, strangers, beings lumped together to share a home for the better part of five years. Two strangers, both of them into men, both of them men, both of them lost and growing and available. Two strangers becoming not strangers under the midnight light of the refrigerator and sweaty sheets.

 They will, in the end, part ways when Kuroo leaves. Kei will stay behind with his dreams of working in museums and exhibits, of becoming someone who knows what the hell that they are doing. Kei has never been part of Kuroo’s original plan. There is no space in Kuroo’s life for anything other than volleyball and becoming someone. You can’t be someone while still holding on to what you have when you weren’t. He’s someone for Kuroo to leave behind once his actual life begins.

 That has always been the plan. They are liminal companions, standing by each other as they become something resembling a person. Exactly because of this,  Kei decides against his plans for casual. He will get his single ironed shirt and his good slacks to give Kuroo one great final night of them playing and being more to each other than they are, no dessert needed. 

 When he arrives at the restaurant, Kuroo is already there. He holds a table for them, off the side. A little two-seater with low lighting, a single rose, and a crisp white linen tablecloth. Kuroo doesn’t see him at first, an unusual event from Kuroo’s observant nature and Kei’s stature. Kei takes his shot at committing the scene to memory. This will be the last one, he knows. He’ll mention, the next time that Kuroo shoots a familiar smile his way, that they should quit while they’re ahead and become honest patrons of the culinary arts.

 Kuroo stands up to welcome him. He pulls out Kei’s chair and says, “You look nice.”

It’s all part of the game, too. The servers glance at them, their fellow patrons. He gives Kuroo a smile he doesn’t feel. “You, too.”

The food tastes like nothing. Kei can’t get out of his head for even a second. Kuroo orders them something to share when Kei stumbles and fumbles over what to order. He’s a perfect gentleman, exactly what you would expect of a man planning to propose to the love of his life. Kei tries to match it. To learn what that face looks like, to play the part.  

They reach the end of dinner and for a second Kei thinks that Kuroo stares at him too intently. He thinks, imagines, that there is something in Kuroo’s eyes beyond the end of a nice evening and a shared ruse. Kei’s hallucination shows him a Kuroo full of  unbridled emotion and genuine nervousness. Kuroo went into the wrong business. He should have been an actor because this is the perfect set up. The maître d’  passes by exactly as Kuroo drops slowly to one knee and offers his hand with a deep blue velvet box placed right in the middle

Kei’s stares at it, confused. He has their street-side ring in his pocket. 

Kuroo clears his throat to catch people’s attention and he feels the stares from the tables next to them shift to where Kuroo kneels before him. Kei is not ready for this.  It’s a joke for Kuroo to make the sappiest speech he can, almost to see what Kei will do. He’s burst out into song more than once, or answered Kei’s proposal with a shrill “Yes, a million times, yes.”

“I wish I had a better speech prepared but it seems my nerves are taking over the moment. Even with my tongue tied, I know one thing for sure. I want us to be together for whatever comes after. I have practiced the speech and this gesture over and over. I know it’s a big step but you’re the only one I want in my future.” 

Kuroo smiles at him then, conspiratorial, and edged with what seems like joy. “Kei, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

They have done this so many times before. Every single time they’ve played this game, Kei has been able to simply say yes and act and smile right back. A game known to those who are playing. This time. This time his heart is pressing on his windpipe. His hands shake and he won’t admit to it but for a second in the middle his eyes go blurry. It’s good, he rationalizes, that he’s taken by surprise because it makes it that more authentic. He starts to say something—anything—and can’t make the words out. He can’t.

He can’t comply with their usual plan. The need  for this to be real bowls him over. He wishes he could simply say yes and avoid all the stares and all the whispers. The searing and uncomfortable silence of an unanswered proposal. It’s embarrassing to have that much attention when he is not part of the con. Kuroo does not take his eyes off of him and the longer they stare at each other the more Kuroo’s face starts to fall.   

Kei has been getting it all wrong.

They are not nothing to each other after all. They are Kei’s lesson on love, his masterclass on unrequited, unresponded feelings. Instead of nodding and playing the part of lovers, Kei gets up with haste and leaves Kuroo kneeling on a restaurant floor, whispers and expressions of shock trailing behind him, accusatory. 

He’s ruining the last of their time together. He’s better off biting down on his epiphany and swallowing the enormity of his oversight until Kuroo moves out and he becomes a distant marker of Kuroo’s collegiate adventures, revisited in drunk anecdotes to new friends and the odd moment when the feeling of shared nights have Kuroo’s hands moving south.

.................................

Kuroo finds him in their apartment. Kei is waiting for him so he can apologise, to ask if he had to cover the whole thing. To know if the fallout in the restaurant was as terrible as Kei feels. Already he regrets it but he can’t think there is ever a way for him to say yes to Kuroo while he’s feeling what he feels. Unsteady, the whole world crumbling at his feet, slowly catching up to where he stands.

Kuroo enters slowly. He doesn’t rush, closes the door with a gente push. The knot of his tie has been loosened, his hair disheveled. He walks to where Kei leans on the wall in their kitchen, mirroring him and leaning against the sink to stare opposite him. “Well.” Kuroo sucks on his teeth. “They comped the whole thing because they felt bad. Can’t say I’m happy about it.” He places a to-go box on the kitchen counter. “Plus, dessert to go.”

At Kei’s silence, he sighs. “Kei. What gives?”

“I really thought I could do it one last time,” Kei whispers, staring at his hands. 

“Can you—what are you talking about one last time?”

“Before you left.” There’s no need to sugar coat anything. He’s been forcibly ignoring what he saw arrive for Kuroo last week. The stack of magazines and pamphlets boasting real estate. The marks and the red circles around different places Kuroo could imagine living in instead of here with Kei, playing a fantasy of his future and saying yes, this is the one I want . The hasty note of a phone number next to it, and a date and time. “I saw the pamphlets for the building complex you’re looking at.”

“Shit.” He gives Kei a rueful grin. It sinks into his chest like ice. “There’s still some time, I wouldn’t leave right away. Did you like it?”

The question takes him aback. “Did I like it?” Did he like that Kuroo found a place so quickly? That he’d taken steps to get away, soon if the date scribbled is any indication,  as if he couldn’t wait to be free of their space? 

Kuroo crosses his arms loosely, holding himself. “I mean, the museum is close so I thought that I’d surprise you with an apartment when I found one. Do you like that one?”

“Why the museum?” Did he expect Kei to visit ? Surely not.

“That’s the one you wanna work in? Right?”

“Yeah, but why would you pick your apartment according to my museum?”

Kuroo frowns. “How are you going to get a good commute if the apartment is far away?”

“Why would you care about my commute from your apartment? I don’t get it, I feel like we’re speaking two different languages.” This is ridiculous. Them talking about this in the middle of the kitchen. Him already changed into his rattiest sweats. Kuroo still looking hot and sleek in his suit, the undone vibe making him more alluring. 

 Kuroo straightens from his curved posture. “Tsukki. Wait. Who do you think is living there?”

“In your apartment? Kuroo—"

“Me? Just me? You’re not—I’m living by myself?”

“You said you were moving.”

Kuroo sputters, his hands coming up to cradle his chest, then to his hair. “I said I was looking at places! And that you should take a look too! Why would I ask you to take a look if it was just going to be me?”

“Cause I need to find a place to live, for when you move!” A new start, for when Kuroo leaves him alone here, and goes off to be someone else who doesn’t share anything other than memories with him. 

“What! This is insane. Tsukki, I meant to take a look at a place for us ! You and me! Take a look at places that you like so we can move in before your internship at the museum starts. I’d go first for my job, and you’d join me.”

“Us. You and Me.” Kei repeats.  

Kuroo pauses. Takes a breath. He starts again in a gentler voice. “Do you not want to live with me? Is this what this confusion is? If you don’t want to be together anymore—"

Kei all but falls into hysterics. “But we aren’t together?”

“Huh?”

Kei waves his hand frantically between them as if clarifying what he meant with you and me. “We are not together.”

Kuroo blinks at him, dumbfounded. “One more time?”

“You and I, we’re not—we’re roommates.”

Kuroo laughs. Kei doesn’t join him. His laugh trails off awkwardly, his face falling the longer Kei stands there. “Kei. You are not being real right now.” Kuroo slams his fist on his thigh. “You are, you really are being real right now.”

“Kuroo.”

His tone isn’t accusatory at all, just sad. “We’re not together?” Kuro pauses, his face increasingly souring. His tone angrier with each word. “ We’re not together!? We’re not together. Kei, what the fuck?”

“We’re not!” He protests. They aren’t. They are—something, nothing a single word can describe, nothing tangible. They’re sand slipping through Kei’s fingers as he tries to grasp it. 

“Are you seeing someone I don’t know about?” Kuroo inhales a sharp breath. “Do you sleep with anyone else?”

“What? No. I don’t, I haven’t.”

“Roommates. Is that all you think we are? All I am to you?”

“Kuroo—”

“I’ll tell you who you are to me.” He crowds Kei’s space, pointing his finger at his chest.“You’re the guy I’ve been in love with for the past three years. I thought we had something. Were something. You don’t like labels, and I’m okay with that. I guess I thought if I proposed—I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I just lost my mind.”

All Kei can think to reproach is, “I like labels.”

Kuroo sighs, taking a step back. He brings his hand to the back of his neck and rubs, back and forth, trying to soothe the frustration Kei’s being provoking. “That should have been a hint, huh? I have no idea what I am doing.”  

It’s eye opening to see Kuroo like this. The sure, confident embodiment of cockyness Kuroo, looking unsure. Looking the way Kei feels all the time. He hates it. Where is the Kuroo that looks at him with a smirk, that is one step ahead? 

He’s filled with guilt, sharp and accusatory in his gut, twisting the last meal they shared. 

“I didn’t admit to myself I was in love with you until tonight. Until this conversation I thought you were going to leave me behind. You’re the guy that’s going to leave and get a big  job and forget I exist until you reminisce about your college roommate.”

Kuroo stares right through him. “That is such bullshit.” 

“We didn’t—when we started sleeping together we didn’t, I don’t know, say anything.” Kei tries. He has to make Kuroo understand. In his mind they’ve never been a sure thing. He’s clawed at every moment he can steal. Taken advantage of the late hours they keep to get his hands on Kuroo. Enjoyed and replayed every touch thinking it could be the last. “I thought it was an ‘in the meantime’ thing.”

“Kei, we had sex for the first time three and half years ago. And we have kept sleeping together since. A lot.”

Put that way it sounds ridiculous. Feels even more so. “I know.”

“I am literally stupid in love with you.”

Heat blooms everywhere. His face, the palm of his hands. His cheeks light up like simmering embers, flush and hot to the touch. He never thought he’d hear that, never allowed himself to even imagine it.“I’m aware now .”

“I don’t think you are. How in the hell could we be an ‘in the meantime’ thing? Fuck the meantime. I’ve proposed to you like a hundred times and I’ve meant it every single time.” Kuroo’s voice breaks.“Tonight was real. I wanted to marry you.”

“Kuroo…”

“Well not anymore! We can’t go from not actually in a relationship to marriage. That’s crazy.”

“So where do we go from here?” There’s a chance he’s fucked this up beyond saving. At some point earlier today, Kei had everything he never thought he’d have and everything he could ever want. He should have said yes at the restaurant. Should have kissed him and come home to touch him and kept the pretense. Now he’s tilted the axis of their world and he’s about to fall right off of it. 

Kuroo grabs him by the shoulders, hands caressing their way down to collar his wrists. He gives Kei a strained smile. “Hi roommate. I like you, romantically. I’m in love with you, actually. I’d like to take you out on a date. Not as friends but as people who are dating. I won’t propose and I will pay for everything on the bill. I’d also like it if you could help me look at places to live, where we would live together, as a couple who are together in a romantic sense. That means that I would like for us to be in a serious, committed, exclusive sexual and romantic partnership.” Kuroo throws his hands in the air.“That’s all the labels I know.”

Kei takes a deep breath. Another. “I’d like that, too.”

.................................

Kuroo does take him on that date. 

Dining is a different experience when it’s on your own dime. Well, on Kuroo’s dime. The thrill doesn’t come from the idea of getting away with trickery, just enjoying each other’s company. Doing the dating thing right. 

Kuroo looks at him over the table. “I have a place for you to look at. Walking distance to the museum. Park nearby. Not super cheap, but still within the budget once I start at my new job. It’s an old building, but it has a rooftop garden.” 

We have a budget?  Kei blinks. They’ve steered clear of any future-talk while they get their bearings, treating dates like they haven’t been sweating into each other’s skin, orbiting each other, kissing on the counter the morning after with sex-filled eyes and pliant mouths. 

Their server comes around. As soon as she sees them her eyes widen, followed by a smile crinkling at the corner of her eyes. “Aw! It’s you guys. How’s the wedding planning going?”

Not repeating restaurants when conning them is an important step. Who would have thought that one of the products of going straight would be servers remembering them?   Kuroo gives her a wide smile back. “Postponed for now. While we figure out apartments and all, we’re moving.”

“Moving is rough.” She agrees. “What can I get for you tonight?”

Kuroo doesn’t look at the menu, but at Kei instead. He has a thing for ordering for them and Kei can’t seem to mind it. He doesn’t really care what they eat. “You liked the salmon last time, yes? One of those, and the steak. Thank you.” 

The choice doesn’t bother him but…how does Kuroo remember that? Kei knows they’ve been here before but he couldn’t tell you what he ate or how he liked it. If they had a fun time or if Kuroo ordered them the same thing as he did today. The past few weeks of them finding their footing again have been another lesson, one where Kuroo schools him on all the ways he’s been loving him the entire time.  

Kei reaches for his hand across the table. He’s done the motion a hundred times before, in every fake proposal, every dinner, at their table at home. Kuroo opens to entwine their fingers, easy as always. How could he have thought that the way they touch each other was anything other than love? 

It eats at him. He feels foolish, and above all he hates to think about what he’s made Kuroo feel. Kei speaks low, so that their nice server and the tables nearby can’t overhear them. “I’m sorry I thought we weren’t permanent. I’m sorry I thought you’d leave.”

Kuroo brings their locked hands up, kisses the back of Kei’s. He keeps it there for a moment. Then he says, murmuring, “I’m sorry I didn’t hammer into your head that I was in love with you three years ago.”

Three years. He wants those three years back. Wants all the time he can get. “In the future, after we’ve moved into the new place and when we figure life out a little more…Ask me again?”

Kuroo kisses his hand again, right on his ring finger. “As long as you don’t leave the proposal, I think something can be arranged.”

[ivyfics]

Through the Night

Read on AO3

IwaOi, E, 2.4k Tags: Substance Use, Somnophilia, Unsafe sex

Tooru has trouble sleeping sometimes and while he’s slumbering away Hajime gets to play with him all he wants.

In Hajime’s defense, it started innocently. He swears. 

Sometimes Tooru has trouble sleeping. It’s manageable and they’ve learned the ins and outs of it since they went from long distance to sharing an apartment. Tooru knocks himself out with some prescribed pills and sleeps through the night—and some mornings—like a brick. 

It means Tooru doesn’t drink a lot on a day-to-day basis, and that means Hajime doesn’t either because then Tooru is all whiny about how he can’t have any, and how he’d much rather have a good night’s sleep than a glass of wine and please, Hajime, for me. 

Hajime is particularly weak to that tone of voice after five years of long-distance, so it’s not like he can say no. 

The beginning was fun, doing crazier and crazier shit and watching Tooru not move a single muscle. One time Hajime stacked all their decorative pillows on his head, all eighteen of them. By the way, who needs eighteen decorative pillows? 

Another time he tried doing a cat-eye on him with liquid liner.

The pillow stack lasted until Hajime’s laugh got the best of him and caused a Jenga-worthy slow-topple to the surrounding area. The wing extended in a thin wobbly line all the way to Tooru’s forehead in the name of ‘evening the wings out.’ 

Both of those, and all instances after that left Hajime with an unending giggle and a stack of photos. That’s when Hajime started filming it. 

It’s how you survive miles and months apart. You get into the habit of filming mundane things, taking silly pictures that make no sense, and sending selfies at one in the morning because you’re missing each other. 

Hajime lost his shit more often than not so having video evidence of it is so hilarious. Those were his true intentions. To laugh. To carry on documenting things now even if they were finally, blessedly, together in the same space and not planning to be apart again. 

Honest. 

Sure, his mind wandered to how pliant Tooru was when he undressed him and redressed him in a full corduroy outfit including gloves and socks. 

How soft, how warm. Hajime kept it respectful though and didn't let his hands wander too much.

(He’d say not at all but in the spirit of honesty...)

What should have been amusing moments to be shared later made his mouth dry for entirely different reasons. It spawned the most confused boner Hajime has ever had, hands down. Made his blood simmer, a roiling boil pushing for traveling hands underneath covers and clothes and into the wet warmth he knows lays there for the taking. 

Hajime kept his mouth shut and his new kink leashed until he fully processed the fact that he wanted to fuck Tooru while he was asleep. Make peace with it, figure out if it’s something he wanted to bring up. Tooru didn’t do that. No, no, Tooru doing that would mean Hajime would have an ounce of peace, for once. Tooru bulldozed his way through it. 

Saw the video, got hard, and asked Hajime to do whatever with him next time while sitting on his cock. Asked him pretty if Hajime could film it so that Tooru could see it in the morning, kindly requested that they test how many times Tooru could come while out of it, softly inquired if, please, could Hajime put his cock in him hard enough to feel it the next day as soon as he woke up. 

Six. 

That’s how many times Tooru can come before Hajime is tired enough to fall into sleep himself, cock and fingers slick, the taste of Tooru on his tongue. So yes, Tooru has trouble sleeping sometimes and while he’s slumbering away Hajime gets to play with him all he wants. 

Hajime reaches for him, pushing his bangs away from his lax face. Caresses his cheek with soft, feather-like touches. He always starts like this, making sure to not disturb Tooru’s slumber with any sudden moves. Tooru won’t wake, at least not fully. Even when he does pull himself from his dreams, regarding Hajime with cloudy eyes and slack expressions, he never remembers in the light of morning.

Tooru’s face is of the angels. When he’s peaceful, his long lashes casting shadows on his face, he’s from another world. A fairy, gifted to Hajime from the world, ready to be debauched and defiled.

Tooru snores lightly—something to be exaggerated, to rib and tease until his cheeks puff up—and the magic of the moment breaks, leaving Hajime only with a ravenous need to feed on Tooru’s body.  

Hajime’s hand traces the curves of his body, taking stock: the dip of his nape to his shoulder, down his arm, and to his hip. Building warmth between them, seeping the heat from Tooru’s body and keeping him pliant. 

Tooru’s hand lays between his legs, the tips of fingers coated in his wetness. He’s soft, open, with slick trailing down his thighs from anticipation. He worked himself while he drifted off, getting himself ready for Hajime. Hajime looked on, letting Tooru take the reins, watching his movements get slower, less intense. His medication kicked in before he could come, his needy whines losing volume and frequency as sleep took him fully.

Still, barely over the edge of consciousness, he lets out a soft whine when Hajime pulls his hand away and takes Tooru’s fingers to his mouth. Runs them over his tongue. Sucks them clean, tasting him. 

Hajime has to take a moment to steady himself, still holding Tooru’s hand, He gets to do this. Gets to run his hands over whatever he wants, however he wants. Gets to be reminded that Tooru trusts him to an extent that frightens Hajime. He gives his body freely with so much certainty that he’s safe within Hajime's grasp, that whatever befalls him is alright if it’s Hajime who is his keeper in those moments. He lets everything slip away without a care only because it’s Hajime who’s touching him and fuck if that doesn’t set him ablaze. Makes him feel it pounding in every place in his body there’s a pulse, down to his fingertips. 

His mouth dries, Tooru on his tongue. His chest rises and falls the way tides do, pushed and pulled by Tooru’s complete surrender. 

He lets Tooru’s hand lay gently on his side. Hajime grabs his thigh, rubbing from his knee to his groin. Spreads it just enough to get a better look. 

“Look at you. You’re so ready for me,” Hajime whispers.  

It's odd to talk to Tooru out loud when he’s asleep. When there’s no one to talk back to Hajime and be an absolute brat about every little thing as much as Tooru does when he’s all-there. The rewards for pushing past that initial awkwardness are worth it, he knows now. It’s still hard to voice his thoughts, to verbalize his desire. It was so much easier to just show Tooru how much Hajime wanted him, the physical reaction to his need. 

Time has taught him better. Hajime knows how, when he sees the video the next day, Tooru’s chest will get red—almost as red as his ears—how his thighs will rub against each other to stave off the compulsion to plunge into himself just a little more until he gives up and lets his hand rub on his cock. Knows it’s better yet, when instead of his hand it’s Hajime’s tongue and lips, sucking and nibbling until Tooru’s coming and leaving a mess behind. 

Tomorrow will be different.  Hajime is not recording tonight, per Tooru’s request. He doesn’t want to see, just feel. Wants Hajime to be free to satisfy his desires without having Tooru at the front of his mind. 

(There is not a moment, recorded or not, where Tooru isn’t at the front of his mind, at the back, right at the middle and center and above and below and all the ways he can be and still exist both inside Hajime and outside in the real world—but if Tooru hasn’t yet realized the depth of Hajime’s obsession, there’s no need to make him aware.) 

Tooru wants him to do whatever the fuck he wants with his body and Hajime is more than happy to oblige. 

He pulls Tooru’s thighs further apart, licking his lips at just how wet he is, how pink and ready. His cock is fat between his lips, begging for attention. Hajime rubs it with his thumb. It springs to life, red and swollen in no time. Tooru leaks between his legs, his cunt weeping for attention. 

He’ll get there. 

Hajime repositions himself between Tooru’s thighs. He grabs Tooru’s ankles to make room and his eyes follow metal from the corner of his eye. A little silver glint further down. Just barely visible. Hajime groans, distracted from his original purpose. He spreads Tooru’s legs wide, bringing one of them to his side. With his fingers, he presses against the base of the plug in Tooru’s ass.

A little extra gift. He’ll be sure to make use of it later. First, he has to make sure Tooru is wet and messy with their cum. 

He spreads Tooru’s cunt with his thumbs, gives it an open-mouthed kiss, and takes Tooru’s cock into his mouth. He bobs his head, sucking the thick nub in between his lips. He circles the tip of it, alternating that with laying it flat against his tongue and rubbing the underside of it. He can feel the tremors of Tooru’s hips. His muscles flex and spam the closer Hajime gets him to orgasm. Hajime keeps his pace even, enjoying the feel of Tooru in his mouth when his orgasm hits. His muscles contract and Tooru lets out a barely there sound from his chest. Hajime carries him through it. 

He spears Tooru with his tongue before sinking two fingers into him. His fingers play with Tooru’s cum, spreading it and pushing it back in. He sucks his fingers clean before rising. Hajime flips Tooru over gently. He ensures his head is not at an awkward angle and pushes a pillow under his hips to support the obscene arch Hajime maneuvers him into. 

His inner thighs are shiny with his wetness, glistening in the low light. Hajime leans in and licks up the path they make, ending with a kiss to Tooru’s center. He tastes Tooru on his tongue, cock twitching. He licks another stripe up to where the plain silver plug is now plainly visible. It’s one of their smaller ones, just enough to be unobtrusive and discreet while Tooru played with himself earlier.  

He pulls the plug out. 

It’s wet from Tooru’s slick and cum, sliding easily from Tooru’s lax body. Hajime takes it slow, letting Tooru’s muscles stay relaxed. Pulls it out, then starts pushing it back in, until the base is back in place. Does it all over again. Then again. He stays that way for a while, watching the silver plug come in and out of Tooru. Pulls it halfway out and then back in. Grinds it in, pulls it out, and watches Tooru’s hole gape the smallest amount. 

He’s hypnotized. Tooru is a fiend for Hajime’s cum, demanding that he cream his cunt every time they fuck. Hajime can’t find it in himself to deny him, so he hasn’t had much chance to apply the same treatment to this hole. The plug is a nice start but nowhere near enough prep for Hajime’s cock. 

Hajime uses one hand to spread Tooru’s cheeks, the other to finger his cum out of Tooru’s cunt until they’re runny with their mixed spend. He starts there, using those wet fingers to finger Tooru’s hole. He plays with it more than necessary. Takes his fill in feeling his fingers stretch Tooru to Hajime’s liking. 

When his cock can’t take it anymore he slaps it down on Tooru’s cheek before ever so slowly feeding it inside Tooru.

He does much of the same with his cock as he did with the plug. Letting the head breach him fully, then pulling out to watch Tooru’s whole swallow him and push him out. The feeling is insane, but the visuals have Hajime's brain in a death grip. He fucks his cockhead in and out of Tooru’s ass, daring to feed him only a couple of inches at a time. He’s floating somewhere where the rest of his body doesn’t exist, only the point where his and Tooru’s bodies meet over and over at Hajime’s insistence. 

He could fuck this hole raw—Tooru would thank him for it, could slam himself in and feel Tooru’s tight little hole squeeze around him—instead, he keeps a steady pace of watching himself go in and out, of fucking Tooru slowly and shallow until his own thighs tremble with the effort of keeping the maddening pace.

Hajime gives in. He trades shallow and steady for deep thrusts. He still goes slow, watches inch by inch disappear inside Tooru with sharp hips, and pulls every single one of those inches out with infinite patience and gritted teeth. Sweat runs down his back, over his brow, his upper lip. Another deep thrust pulls a small sound from Tooru’s mouth and Hajime loses it all. He fucks the way his cock is begging him to. Lets his hips fly and jump, rutting against the meat of Tooru’s cheeks hitting his navel, and drops every bit of cum left in him as far as he can inside Tooru’s ass with a shout. 

Hajime lets his brain reboot for a second. Makes his eyes come back into focus. His breathing takes longer to kickstart. He finds himself bent over Tooru, his heated forehead resting on Tooru’s skin. He kisses Tooru’s spine and straightens, reaching his hand out for the discarded plug. 

Hajime pulls out with a hiss and uses his free hand to hold Tooru’s cheek open. His hole is red and swollen, gaping in truth this time. He wishes Tooru were awake. Wishes he could ask for him to push Hajime’s cum out and watch it drip. He settles for the next best thing and plugs Tooru back up. 

...........................................

“I think I want to try it. Letting you do whatever in my sleep.”

Loudly clanging against the plate, the fork previously in Tooru’s hand bounces to the floor, arm still perched in front of him. Tooru’s mouth is slack, lips the same shade of blush as his cheeks.  

Hajime hides his smile behind his tea and answers the question plainly on Tooru’s face. 

“Really,” he nods, “I’m serious.” 

Tooru stutters, flush treading down his bare shoulders. “Hajime…”

Hajime adores him. More than anything. “Give me your worst.”

[ivyfics]

To The Last Drop

Read on AO3

Kurotsukki, E, 7.8k Tags: Overstimulation, Undressing, Hurt/Comfort

Tetsurou falls back on his elbows. His gaze meets the dimmed glow of their pendant light, a myriad of small dots floating in the dark, blurring and meshing with each other the more his eyes fill. They are like he is: buoyant in the void, blurred and blending, tethered to his place only by steady arms.

 Tetsurou stares at the buttons. The lit-up segments of the screen that form the L stare back at him for a long, hard while. There’s a kink in his neck, his eyes weary of staring at rows and rows of words and numbers on screens.He blinks to focus and presses his floor number. He’s tired-drunk, his eyes burning with strain. The lights of the panel blur together for the ride up, diffusing until they disappear into the sleek slate of metal. 

As soon as the elevator's ding announces he has arrived at his floor he lets out a quiet oath aimed at the floor, gently, followed by a hard breath. It’s his turn to cook dinner. Fifteen stories high, his kitchen awaits for him to prepare a meal for two. Kei's turn ended yesterday. 

It's worked for them, taking turns. It took them three months, an all-out hangry brawl, and incredible make-up sex for them to divvy up kitchen duty. Two years of splitting dinner have kept them well-fed and of a generally pleasant disposition—or as pleasant as kitchen duty can make Kei, who is of the thought that things should be done properly and correctly by someone who is not himself.

He must make things that work and cooking the right way (or the way Kei thinks is right) takes effort he does not want to exert for a meal. They’ve learned to order in on weekends and fend for themselves on weekdays.

Today is Wednesday, and it's Tetsurou's turn.

Today is also one of the worst days he’s had in the history of his career. Minutes stretching and blending into each other, rolling over themselves to leave Tetsurou trailing after his boss amid a never-seen-by-him-before asshole-ish mood. He's left with a knot on his trapeze the size of a golf ball—regards from his habit of falling into the worst posture known to man, and no dinner.

Exhaustion laps at him in a sudden wave, limbs filled with lead, stiff. Folded in the hook of his arm is his suit jacket, pulling on his muscles, unbearable from the moment he could make his escape. So caught up in the aftermath of doom, he also forgot to let Kei know that he—and by extension, their dinner—would be late. 

His keys hang from his fist, at the ready. Basic human maintenance seems impossible then, the thought of doing instead of being , whatever that might entail. Going through the elevator door to his apartment entrance takes more effort than it should, every movement lagging.

Once inside, Tetsurou starts to remove his shoes. Setting them next to where Kei’s line-up neatly in their shoe closet, he stays bent for a moment. He might be hallucinating. Fragrant spices reach out to meet him, barely at first, swelling and becoming fuller under his nostrils. He takes a deep breath and inhales the smell of cooking wine, a familiar one when Kei is the one responsible for feeding them. It’s one of the two things he can properly (to him) cook and the only one of those he actually likes. 

He enters their apartment like a daydream, following the scent of cookingThe lights are dim enough to just make Kei out from a short hallway away. 

Kei paces, his back to Tetsurou, alternating his focus from the screen mutely playing the news in their living room, to his charging phone on their breakfast bar, to the stove. He’s barefoot, an apron tied around his waist to cover a matching black sweat set bought with the intent purpose of lounging about the house. He stirs the pot they use for stew without any sort of real effort, splitting looks between screens. Tetsurou drops his keys in the bowl by inertia, completely overwhelmed with relief.

The sound startles Kei into looking back at him, blinking at the shadows giving him cover. Once his eyes have adjusted, Kei catches whatever face Tetsurou is making at him and does all he can to not roll his eyes. His chin tightens, telegraphing his effort. He waves his hand in Tetsurou’s direction and turns to check on the pot. “I came home early and figured you were caught up in whatever you were doing.” 

It imbues life into him, the sight of it. Kei probably came home thirty minutes into Tetsurou’s late-night meeting about a bullshit contract that no one actually cares about but pretends is worth the extra two hours and forty-five minutes they stayed in the office. 

Tetsurou melts, partly exhausted from a day’s work and partly eased that he doesn’t have to bullshit his way through a meal. He drapes the jacket over the back of their armchair—Kei’s newly upholstered armchair—which earns him some side-eye. 

He makes his way to the kitchen, placing his phone on a docking station next to Kei’s. “Living together was one of the finest ideas I have ever had.”

Kei hums, reaching for the salt. “I asked you, if I recall.”

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t my idea.”

He turns Kei around by the waist and lays a kiss on his lips that clears every thought beyond their four walls. Kei leans into him and holds himself in place for a second after Tetsurou pulls away. It tastes like victory, like a spring washing away every one of the extra seconds he should have been here but wasn’t. It’s unequivocally home, the moment Kei leans in and stays, the smell of cooking and the lined pairs of shoes next to his by the entrance. 

“Hi. Sorry. Thank you,” he says.

Kei sighs, taking in Tetsurou's frame. He reaches to loosen his tie.“Go shower, your hair is falling apart.”

Tetsurou catches Kei’s hand in his and brings it to his lips. He lays another welcome kiss on the golden band on Kei’s finger, matching his own. 

Kei doesn’t manage to keep this eye-roll at bay this time. “I asked you that, too.”

Tetsurou leans in for another kiss on Kei’s mouth, smug. “Best idea I ever had.”

.........................................

Tetsurou wakes up three minutes before his alarm goes off. It's still dark out, and he debates five more minutes past his alarm, giving him a surplus of eight. A thousand things can happen in four hundred and eighty seconds, so many of them involve another body tangled in the sheets next to him. Kei sleeps beside him, dead to the world. 

He won’t be up until the sun has risen and crept in through the window, long after Tetsurou is gone. Contemplating the urge to wake him for some good old-fashioned tender love, care, and another extra five stolen minutes under the covers, he stretches toward Kei, a stray leaf reaching for the sun. He almost caves, almost. But Kei sleeps so soundly, so wholly—plus the issue of stacks of documents marked urgent waiting for him on his desk and a triple-digit number blinking red in his email inbox waiting for his reply weighs too heavy in his mind to entertain the thought.

He instead steals a kiss laid softly on Kei’s peeking shoulder before deserting their bed, ridding himself of temptation. He tiptoes to the bathroom, mindful to not make too much noise.

He’s never been one to wake looking anything other than absolutely wrecked, even when he springs alert the moment he’s vertical. Tufts of black hair stick up in every direction from tossing and turning during dreaming hours, surreal episodes filled with motion and oddities, his body too eager to get up and go even in sleep. Red imprints of where his pillow bunches against his skin stand out like a brand in the twilight paleness of his skin. He stretches again, this time towards the day and the comfort of water hot enough to bring color back to his cheeks.

Under the spray, he runs through his coming day. There’s a meeting at nine and another at three, the Okamoto affidavit to go over. Nishida is up his ass trying to usurp the Fukuda account, sneaking around Tetsurou and kissing so far up to his boss’ ass he might be deserving of a colorectal surgeon title. The water bill is due, as well as their phone plan. Shopping for Kei’s birthday. Returning the wedding planner’s call about the hush-hush things he’s devising to surprise Kei with. There are a thousand and one things to get to and only one Tetsurou to go around. 

Stepping out, he meticulously follows his skincare routine. Shaves, applies, prods, combs. Builds himself ready for the commute to how he labors, for pinpoint staring from friend and foe alike. At last, he reaches for his hair gel. Ultra-strength, the only thing powerful enough to keep all that dreaming wrapped tight against his scalp.

Kei mocks him for it, affectionately calling him a goon and asking if he’s had a callback from Grease’ s casting director, but Tetsurou knows it makes him look sharp and sleek, just on the right side of mobster that makes rich guys think he’s going to play their way. Tetsurou plays his own way, all the way up to being one of the youngest associates being considered for partnership. The youngest ever, if he gets it. 

He so hopes he gets it. 

A list of daily tasks follows him around the apartment: Getting started on food for both of them and a pot of Kei’s specialty imported coffee, a specific kind of emotional manipulation to make sure Kei doesn’t skip breakfast. The dishes from last night, adding whatever is used up to the whiteboard on their fridge, keeper of groceries. Paying their water bill and packing his briefcase. Making sure he’s not leaving his earphones behind again. Menial things checked off one by one, every step of his routine feeding his drive, readying him for the day. 

By the time Tetsurou steps into the elevator, there’s a pep in his step, another to-do list to check off and a book to read on his way to the office. He meets his reflection in the mirrored walls. The serum and sunscreen included in the grooming kit Kei gave him have left his skin dewy and plump. His suit is pressed to crisp edges, his shirt a muted canvas for an unnecessarily expensive tie. He looks a bit too keen, too hungry, for a sky that hasn’t dawned yet. 

Good. 

He fixes his hair on the elevator mirror. Gives himself a wide smile. He’s a schemer alright, and he’s up to no good. He’s going to steal youngest partner right under everyone’s nose, even if it is the last thing he does. 

.........................................

Tetsurou rushes through the throng. He side-steps and swerves, waltzing through the ever-moving crowd. There’s a fine line of sweat running down his back accompanied by the early stages of a pounding headache. 

The museum doesn’t often hold events where employees are required to attend, but it’s not unheard of for them to deploy every weapon in their arsenal when trying to accrue funding from their most altruistic patrons. One brilliant, easy-on-the-eyes blonde is an excellent addition to their ranks, especially an observant one. While Kei might enjoy being raked with a thousand hot coals over mingling with crowds of uber-rich out-of-touch megalomaniacs, he relishes every tidbit of information he can have at his disposal. He stands tall above anyone, dressed to the nines in one of his tailored suits, one he doesn’t wear often in his regular office attire.

It stops Tetsurou dead in his tracks an entire room away. 

He feasts on it, letting Kei’s silhouette rid him of clinging worries and twisting trains of thought. With a champagne glass between his fingers, Kei nods, old aristocracy and young disdain on his every motion, the pursing of his lips in attention, the under-the-lashes stare his height forces him into. He’s in deep conversation with a colleague, all dignified looks. 

Intimidatingly beautiful.

Tetsurou box steps his way to Kei’s back. He struts up to him, laying a familiar hand on his arm as a greeting. It serves to bring attention to Tetsurou and to stop whatever irritating conversation was causing Kei’s jaw to flare ever so slightly. “Sorry, I’m late.”

For the sake of manners, he shouldn’t be pleased by how quick Kei’s body turns to him, and how easily dismissed his earlier conversation is by Tetsurou’s arrival. He is. Kei’s colleague excuses himself with a nod, knowing the chances of regaining Kei’s attention are null. Kei lays a hand over his arm and squeezes back in greeting. “You’re here now. The Okamoto case?”

Tetsurou clears his throat, trying to stop irritation from resurfacing. He’s finally gotten the vein in his forehead to disappear. “Nishida is very good at making my life harder.”

Kei scoffs, reaching for another flute from a silent server. “He’s a toad.”

Tetsurou trades the flute for a flirty nudge off of Kei's shoulder. He’d like a kiss, but the discreet curl of Kei’s mouth he earns is enough. “Now, whatever did toads do to you to deserve that?” 

Whatever verbal lashing is to ensue is cut short by someone calling for Kei across the room. Kei tilts his head at a short, round man making his way to them with quick, heavy steps. He turns conspiratorially to Tetsurou. “I’m being poached. That’s my next boss. Be charming.”

Tetsurou sips his flute, crisp golden elixir easing him into his role for the night. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He stands politely next to Kei, laughs when he should, and asks questions when he shouldn’t. He’s good at this kind of thing, at entertaining and making people tell him much more than they ever intended to share. It’s a good skill to have in his line of work and he’s more than willing to put it to use entertaining for Kei’s benefit. His frantic energy wears off as he plays second fiddle to Kei’s lead, led around the room with a warm hand to the small of his back. 

Tetsurou laughs and drinks champagne. At the end of the night, he leans heavily on Kei’s side, every part of him tired but easy. He slurs something into Kei’s shoulder as they settle in a taxi, his eyes falling heavy with the late hour and that last indulgent glass of bubbly. He fights it, trying to keep up with Kei’s steady company. Tetsurou feels a flutter at his throat, a slight tug of his tie’s knot being loosened. A hand fiddles with the stray hairs that have fallen to his brow. Any will to fight the void pulling him under dissolves with the feeling of Kei’s breathing and his hushed tone when giving the cab driver directions.

There is work to do tomorrow, endless lines of overtly winding text trying to best him to go through, but tonight he sleeps, leaning on Kei’s shoulder until they get home. 

.........................................

Tetsurou clears his throat, knocking lightly on the open door. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

A mammoth of a man dressed in all blues gestures at him from behind his desk. He dismisses his secretary with a wave and sets the documents they were discussing face-down on the glass top. “Yes, come on in.” 

The secretary’s heels click on the wood floors, a metronome to their waiting. It’s tempting to break the ice, but it’s not common for Tetsurou to be called in for a one-on-one with a name partner, much less with Ohashi-san. Best to wait and see how it plays out. 

The door clicks after the secretary—Iguchi-san? He thinks he overheard someone call her once— giving Ohashi-san his cue. “I had a look at the pitch you sent for the Okamoto case. Great work.” 

Tetsurou nods, camouflaging his pride. 

Ohashi-san sees it anyway and chuckles. He leans back on his throne. His hands come up to join at the fingertips and stay. Silence settles over them while he measures Tetsurou up. “It’s not quite there yet, there’s a lot to fix. I’d like you to run it.”

Tetsurou pauses, processing.

This is it.  

The Okamoto case is big, big enough to get Tetsurou’s foot in the door. He just has to get it right, see it to the end. “Thank you, sir.”

.........................................

Kei’s museum function serves as the last sane event before Tetsurou nosedives into the nether. 

It’s not quite there yet means nothing is right, everything needs correcting and Tetsurou sees more of the inside of his office than he does outside. Nishimura takes his pitch being selected as a personal declaration of war and aims to make all of Tetsurou’s moves just that much harder. 

There are still a million things to juggle and work is terrible, even for him who finds joy in the challenge and the overtime. He can’t quite get it right.

His other accounts can’t be left on hold while he works on this one thing. The paperwork assigned to him is doubled, his inbox bursting at the seams with endless waves of message after message. He spends more nights at the office than he’s ever done before, opting to shake the routine and the simple pleasure he’s grown into and asking Kei to please eat by himself instead of waiting for Tetsurou. It sinks him. 

The case turns and twists, taking Tetsurou with it for the ride. Latches on, claws its way into Tetsurou’s head, and parks itself there to whisper all the things Tetsurou has made himself forget to think. What an incompetent showing, how amateur. How can he ever be more, if a little obstacle has him fumbling and tumbling the long into even longer hours still?

Through it all Tetsurou tries to sleep. He places himself in the back of that cab for nights on end, hoping to quiet the deafening restlessness of his thoughts, of his skin. He tries everything. He grasps at the feel of the worn seat giving slightly under his weight, of the bumps and jumps of tires on city asphalt. 

When the toll starts to show and Kei stays up with him to appease his growing agitation Tetsurou starts feigning sleep, daring to stare into the wall only when Kei has trailed off to unconsciousness. 

It’s precious to him, the intention behind it, but watching Kei’s fair skin develop dark circles makes Tetsurou’s midnight racing thoughts worsen. Stealing the warmth of Kei’s body for himself is a siren song, ever at his reach, beguiling infinite sleep in the back of a taxi. 

Tetsurou trades greetings with sunrises and sleep doesn't come. 

.........................................

Tetsurou considers himself wily, among other things. There’s always a way. Sweet talking usually works, if you know how to use your mouth and your brain to your advantage. Pushing through is first nature—somehow, if he sticks with it, he’s sure to find a way to figure out whatever the issue is. He’ll stay on it, consistently butting his head up against it, singing praises, ramming his shoulders in until either he or the mountain moves. 

Sweet talking the mountain into loops doesn’t seem to cut it this time, not when the mountain is being led by someone hellbent on hindering Tetsurou’s every move. It’s all part of the competition. You don’t get to where Tetsurou is going without running into a few assholes with evil in their heart along the way. 

He leans against the balcony, sneaking a smoke before he loses his mind completely. He’s quit—several times, all of them with a vow to never return to the cold brick of the balcony’s walls and all the intentions to never hear Kei grimace after a kiss and say ‘ I don’t like how you taste when you’ve been smoking.’  

Well, he’ll grimace for other reasons tonight. 

Tetsurou is going to miss Yamaguchi’s opening night in a leading role—his first. He makes a mental note to send champagne and flowers to the dressing room, sweet enough to be endearing and silly enough to soften the absence. 

Tetsurou is not scared. He doesn’t frighten, doesn’t wait on messages with apprehension. Making this phone call has his swallowing feel like knives down his throat. The phone in his pocket is heavier than he remembers, dread climbing with the wait of every passing ring. 

He wishes that there won’t be an answer, that the line will ring infinitely until everything has passed and Tetsurou can step back into his life unchanged. Kei picks up. 

“Hey,” he starts. 

There’s a fist crushing his windpipe and he suddenly regrets that smoke break. Guilt seeps out of him in droves, as if it somehow could reach Kei through the distance and the sound of Tetsurou’s voice alone. Kei is so observant of Tetsurou, so in tune with his emotions, that he might as well be able to tell from half a city away. Voices and traffic meld in the background of Kei’s end, his voice far. 

There’s a long horn and a small curse from Kei’s mouth. “Hey back. Are we still meeting at the theater?”

Kei sounds happy. Excited. Tetsurou’s heartbeat jumps at the sound, aching. He’s been away a lot. He’s hit with how much he misses hearing Kei softly excited at their dates, at being together beyond brushing their teeth in the same bathroom or sharing the same bed. Tetsurou misses him, misses someone he lives with. Isolation laps at his feet, and climbs him like treading water until its weight becomes another piece of his suit to wear. 

He could explain all of it, flesh it out so that Kei knows every in and out of the situation, brainstorm shitty nicknames to dole out for those making things hard, and have a hellish old laugh at their expense. They would commiserate, plot everyone’s untimely demise together. Somewhere in between his shredded throat and the blunt ache of his chest, his words get lost and what he comes up with is. “Something went wrong.” 

Something has gone wrong, many things, a great deal of them inside Tetsurou. This particular thing is tangible. It costs time and memories, costs him a life outside of ambition. Tetsurou is not used to apologetic moods, nor has he ever felt the need to justify his need to be better, to do more. Never to Kei, who sees Tetsurou’s actions and motivations even clearer than he himself does. All he has now are apologies. 

“It's looking like an all-nighter. I’m so sorry.”

There’s silence on the line. The world continues behind Kei, echoing loudly through Tetsurou’s ear, thunderous in the balcony with the fancy chairs and the ashtrays filled with butts.

Kei breathes in audibly and carries on. “I’ll tell Yachi to steal your seat. How are you holding up?”

“I’m good. I’ll apologize to Yamaguchi.”

“Do you need anything from home?”

Tetsurou can’t let go. “I really am sorry, Kei.”

Kei sighs, parking another anvil on Tetsurou’s chest. “I know.”

Maybe he could still make it somehow if he tried. He stumbles over his own words. “I’ll try to be quick—”

“You don’t have to,” Kei cuts him short. He pauses, and starts. Stops again. “I’m not mad.” Pause. “It’s tough, just—Don’t push yourself too hard. Take breaks, will you?”

“Just hard enough,” Tetsurou sighs out, more to himself than anything. The sliding door to the balcony opens. A sharp, short voice calls for Tetsurou. “I have to go. I love you, and I’m sorry.”

Kei’s voice is quiet. “Love you, too.”

The evening lingers which is not new to Tetsurou, whether it be by the fluorescent lights of his office or by the diaphanous beams announcing dawn. He arrives home a thief in the night, a quick nap if the fates are willing, and a shower and he’ll be back out again. Light feet and careful movements guide him to where Kei slumbers, a book on his chest, and his glasses still on. 

On the lounger by the corner are the clothes Kei wore to the theater—one of Tetsurou’s coats. His gloves. Tetsurou’s cologne is in the air, too fresh to have been applied by him last.

It paints him a picture, a lonely, terrible picture of Kei missing his scent, wrapping himself in his possessions to bring him where Tetsurou’s absence is felt. Tetsurou falls for him again, the drop sharp, scraping at him with all its jagged edges. 

.........................................

He keeps it all front and center. Every missed dinner, every smoke break, every time he comes home late to the scent of his cologne fresh in the air and their sheets. He doesn’t mention it to Kei, doesn’t draw attention to his notice of it, but he thinks of it constantly. He thinks of it when reading piles upon piles of precedents when doing research. It centers him. 

Mistakes are unavoidable, even for Tetsurou, but when something does happen and he starts to ride the spiral of the brain goblins he reaches for the image of Kei, asleep in their bed, waiting for him. Kei is waiting. There’s no time for pity parties and dalliances. Tetsurou pushes and pushes and pushes, running himself ragged in the name of victory. 

In the name of vindication. 

When the day comes, he’s ready. He’s tired, sleepless, but ready to tackle the Okamoto meeting and have it all mean something. Tetsurou shows up to the meeting groomed to the last hair on his head, with his suit pressed and a dab of Kei’s cologne underneath his jaw for fortitude. He stands by the door to the conference room, ready to greet them. 

Okamoto-san is accompanied by Ohashi-san, entertained even. He nods at Tetsurou in greeting, unfamiliar with him. Not for much longer if Tetsurou has anything to say about it. “Okamoto-san, welcome.”

Ohashi-san gestures Okamoto-san forward. When Tetsurou is about to follow them in, Ohashi lays his palm on Tetsurou’s chest, stopping him from entering the room. There’s blood on the water, his eyes piercing. 

“Thank you, Kuroo-kun. I got it from here.” Ohashi smiles jovially, nodding in Okamoto-san’s direction when he stalls to throw puzzled looks at them. “You’re not looking very well, why don’t you go home?”

“Sir—”

“Oh, there’s no issue at all!” Ohashi-san’s volume goes up, effectively drowning any objections. He turns back to bring the others in on it, his cheerful tone and manufactured concern masking him royally screwing Tetsurou over. “Young ones, don’t know how to pace themselves.” 

He starts, every terrible personality trait coming to the front to fight—and stops. There’s no room for him to interject that won’t turn this into a scene beyond that of an overworked associate overstepping. Tetsurou is left to watch them go in, Ohashi-san’s eyes staying on him until the door is shut between them. 

The walk home is a blur. It has been two—three?—days since he’s had anything other than naps to keep him going. Above him, a blanket of lilac and orange tendrils spread and shifts, the sky already dark when he arrives at their apartment. The ride up is a blink, another and he’s at the door. 

Dim yellow light floods the room. From the bathroom, he can hear Kei brushing his teeth, the dim hum of his toothbrush carrying through the door left ajar. 

His body is drawn to their bed like a magnet, pulled to sit on the edge by simple physics. The cigarettes he brought back from the office haunt him. They tempt him to replace the taste of bitter disappointment trenched firmly on Tetsurou’s tongue. Just a quick one, before Kei leaves the bathroom. 

This is it . 

Light. 

Great work.

Drag.

Don’t push yourself too hard.

Hold .

Couldn’t sleep again?

Exhale.

I want you to run it.

In.

Take breaks, will you?

Out. 

You’re not looking very well ,

In.

Why don’t you go home? 

“You’re back early. How did it go?”

Tetsurou seeps in every moment, separately, all at once. He’s there, he’s here. He’s choking, gasping for air, and reaching for smoke. 

“Kuroo,” Kei calls out to him. Static interrupts him, blurring his words, his face. Kei tries again. “Tetsurou?”

It takes two tries. “Yeah.”

“What are you doing?” 

There is patience rarely used in Kei’s questions, an odd pause to his normal cadence. He approaches the words lightly, tentatively prodding their side. If Tetsurou was all there he’d be proud at accomplishing his ever-present goal of causing enough confusion to baffle Kei; but again, if he was all there he’d have a clue to whatever Kei is referring to. 

“What?”

“Cigarettes in our room?” Kei’s face twists. “Your shoes are still on.”

Tetsurou imagines how he must look. In the dark with a cig, creased clothes on a lake of silk sheets, staring ahead at nothing. 

Thoughts come through a nebulous cloud. Tetsurou looks down to his feet. That’s right, Kei doesn’t like it when they wear work clothes in their room, their bed barricaded against external happenings. It is their solace from a world demanding rush, the heart of their rest—rest Tetsurou has lost and been unable to find, even under layers and layers of soft sheets once thought to be impenetrable. He blinks, willing himself to answer. Treads through molasses, picking up words that leak through his fingers. Tries a simulacrum of his usual tone. 

“Ah. I–Uhm. I am. Seeking my swift and imminent demise?”

The wind whistles against the windows, accompanied by the echoes of odd late-night traffic. High and violent, it melds with Tetsurou’s racing thoughts, soaring and sinking while he careens deeper and deeper into a spiral. His chest raises to match every whip of their panes, every gust crashing against the glass. Tetsurou hears every shift in pitch and nothing of what Kei says to him next. 

Smoke gently wafts towards their curtains, their rug. He should put out the cigarette, continuing to consume in his trance. He stays exactly as he is. 

Kei pushes his glasses up from the bridge of his nose. He’s perfectly put together in his loungewear. Not a hair out of place. He’s leagues away from where and how Tetsurou is, so far away in the three meters of carpet that separates them that they might as well be different ends of the universe. Tetsurou breathes. His lungs freeze. 

“Okay. This has gone on far enough.” 

Tetsurou doesn’t follow, can’t, when he feels as if he’s stretched so thin no amount of fixing Kei tries to do can truly make him right again. Does Kei try, ever. Tries to keep him in one piece while Tetsurou aids the universe in hurling him against walls, holds him tightly with his gestures, and repairs the scratches and tears collected by Tetsurou’s hardheadedness.

Kei crosses the chasm separating them. 

He all but floats to Tetsurou’s side, reaching for the cigarette, using nimble and precise fingers to grab it—the kind he hates—and takes a drag. Ash falls on Tetsurou’s thigh. Kei exhales the smoke and with it goes Tetsurou’s heartbeat. 

He’s hooked, entranced by Kei’s graceful hold. Kei’s ring, his acceptance to be together come hell or high water, glints in the low light, a beacon to a drowning man. Water must be at his neck now, ever rising, for Kei to once again reach to pull Tetsurou out from the tides. Tetsurou follows the golden path as it lifts Tetsurou’s face to meet Kei’s eyes. 

Kei leans into him, so close Tetsurou can feel the hot of his breath on his lips. “I think it’s time to break you down and put you back together.”

It's slow motion, Kei putting out the bud on his beloved white carpet, climbing into Tetsurou’s lap to bracket his thighs, lowering to join their lips. 

Tetsurou hiccups into the kiss. It earns him gentle shushing and a firm grip on the back of his neck. It takes forever for his shoulders to climb back down, for his back to relent stiffness. He melts into Kei’s supporting grip with a shiver that grows into trembling. He tastes salt between them and doesn't register what it is until Kei pulls away to clear the tears away with his thumb. 

“Let it out,” Kei whispers into their kiss. “I can take it.” 

Tetsurou’s breath hitches, his eyes watering in response to the low command of Kei’s words. They flood to drip and meet the pads of Kei’s fingertips, his lips when he kisses them away. He breathes out an encouraging croon, beckoning every pent-up emotion from Tetsurou’s soul. 

Yes. Kei will take care of it, of him. He’ll take the twists and tangles that bend Tetsurou over backward and lay them neatly for him to sort through, shaking his head at how simple it all is. It is for him—as simple as letting Tetsurou bawl his mismanaged feelings into a kiss. A quick click of his tongue at Tetsurou’s heaving chest and the grubby hands that mess up Kei’s clothes in impatience of finding a warm body to anchor him. 

His warm body, one he’d know the feel of blind. 

Kei towers over him. Hands run through him, his hair, tracing down his spine and back up, digging into knots of muscle through layers of fabric. Kei’s form blocks Tetsurou’s vision, his presence obscuring everything else. Bending down to Tetsurou’s ear, he whispers, “I said no outside clothes in bed.”

Tetsurou nods, clueless to everything and all except the feeling of Kei’s arms around his shoulders. He’s trembling, still. 

Kei notices, too. His grip tightens on the back of Kuroo’s nape. “I’m adamant about it.”

Kuroo doesn’t move a muscle. “Uh-huh.” 

“I’ll lend you a hand.” 

That helping hand runs down the front of Tetsurou’s shirt and back up again, palm spread. He reaches Tetsurou’s collar and tugs on his tie. The motion pulls Tetsurou closer even, arching his back until they are pressing together, chest to chest. Tetsurou’s head snaps to look up at his husband-to-be.

“You always wear these too tight. I’m afraid you’ll asphyxiate.” 

Kei smells like him, like Tetsurou’s cologne, like smoke. It hurts to swallow. “ You take my breath away.”

The hands tugging at him pause, clench, and start over at trying to loosen the knot at Tetsurou’s neck with gentle movements. He slides Tetsurou’s tie off his neck, letting it drop to the floor. Kei runs his hands over Tetsurou’s shoulders and down his forearms with slow movements. 

Tetsurou’s arms go around Kei’s body involuntarily, holding them tight together at their hips. The trembling starts again. Tetsurou wants to say something, to keep crying, or to expire on the spot. 

Kei kisses him instead, letting him unload built-up frustration into hot breaths and desperate, sloppy tongues. Every so often, Tetsurou pulls back with choppy breathing and Kei’s thumbs find his cheeks again, wiping at his wet eyes. Tetsurou wants them to fuse together, to meld into a single beast. His hands travel to Kei’s ass, desperate to find perches and crush their bodies as together as they can be. 

Kei takes advantage of his position and grinds. The  loungewear he favors offers flimsy covering compared to the crisp and starched fabric of Tetsurou’s suit. His attire wrinkles with every move, every movement of their hips disassembling Tetsurou’s put-together appearance. Kei’s hands move to his hair, tousling it until it’s a mess of ink framing his face. 

“I like it better like this,” Kei murmurs, and runs his fingers through Tetsurou’s bangs, pulling them away from his face. 

Tetsurou is out of words, chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. Kei kisses his palm, his matching ring, and then deepthroats his fingers. Tetsurou burns, his gut dropping to hell. He strains against his slacks, overwhelmed by the feeling of fabric on his heated skin, of the wetness around his fingers. 

Kei pulls away from Tetsurou’s fingers, bringing his hands between them. Tetsurou’s throat forms a protest quieted by the drag of Kei’s fingers down his front and then back up, settling at the top button. 

Kei takes all the time he needs, going down the buttons one by one. He slowly reveals Tetsurou’s skin to the cool air, overheated and sensitive to being exposed. His entire body is a livewire, humming with energy just beneath the surface, ready to snap and crackle at attention. Kei’s slowly dragging fingertips beckon every nerve, every overactive cell on Tetsurou’s body, throwing him into a state where he doesn’t know if to push into the touch or pull away. 

The contrast between the exposed skin of his chest and the covered, constrained bits of him still under the fabric of his jacket throws him into a tailspin. It heightens all sensory input; He’s keenly aware of it, the quickness of his breath, the up-and-down of his chest making his skin brush against the open fabric lying on him, the pressure of Kei’s weight on his thighs, the heat radiating Kei’s legs bracketing his own, the plush give of the bed underneath their combined weight—It all combines into a recipe for harsh, quick breaths and desperation leaking from his body. 

Kei runs his short nails lightly over exposed skin. A gesture made to look unimportant, a small thing for Kei to amuse himself. Tetsurou all but writhes, back arching pressing him against Kei again, unexplainably ready to come then and there. His hips give a couple of pathetic thrusts, aching for something beyond the friction their fabrics provide. Kei goes back to his maddening massage, the sensations now amplified.

Kei leads in this seemingly innocent way of helping him undress, he leads and Tetsurou doesn’t have enough gray matter to follow. He’s a willing subject to whatever Kei wants to do to him, however he’s maneuvered. 

Tetsurou frowns when Kei breaks himself free from his grip, only to groan when he drops to a kneel. He knocks Tetsurou’s knees apart, eating up that space with the width of his shoulders. Tetsurou’s thighs get the same treatment as his arms, with attentive hands pushing and easing the tension from his muscles. Kei’s fingers inch closer to his cock straining against the front of his slacks, a divine to and fro that keeps Tetsurou on a razor’s edge. 

Kei’s hands travel down his side, a delicate touch that mocks the violent urges residing underneath Tetsurou’s skin. Carefully, he removes Tetsurou’s shoes. It takes an eternity, with him working around the shaking and trembling. Once he’s set them aside, he holds Tetsurou’s leg still with a strong, warm hand and lays a slow kiss to his knee. 

Tetsurou’s heart tightens to the point of pain.

Kei takes pity on him and unfastens his belt as precisely as he had taken Tetsurou’s cig, with confident, suave movements. He doesn't remove it entirely, just enough to get Tetsurou’s fly open, enough to touch him through the thin fabric of his briefs. Kei leans in to get Tetsurou wet through his clothes, the light pressure of his tongue muffled by the barrier keeping Tetsurou contained. 

Kei retreats too soon. He straightens enough to get his hands at the waistband of his slacks and pushes, making a soundless gesture for Tetsurou to lift his hips. Kei is so careful, so precise with his motions when removing Tetsurou’s slacks. He's making Tetsurou lose it, he realizes. Teasing and drawing back until Tetsurou is mad with want, until he is nothing but touches and breaths and sweat slowly beading down his back. His chest expands but no air comes in, just out, expelling every thought he’ll ever have and replacing it with involuntary spasms and incoherence. 

His briefs are next and Tetsurou almost begs, almost lets the wail building in the back of his chest go free. A chant of touch me please and no more war inside him, beginning and dying in his dry throat, becoming a croak released when all the clothing offending Kei is off his body, leaving him bare and for the taking. 

Kei gives his knee another kiss, then his thigh, once again settling properly between Tetsurou’s spread legs. Kei swallows him down, engulfing him in heat and wet and now . There’s not enough space in their room and Tetsurou’s mind for anything other than Kei’s mouth, other than the sounds he makes, the undulating motion of his head traveling down to his broad frame, the pressure of his fingers digging into Tetsurou’s thighs for purchase. No room for anything outside of Kei’s everything. 

Kei drools in his quest to fit as much as he can of Tetsurou’s cock in his mouth. Doesn’t care one bit about the mess. Tetsurou sees his nighttime glasses, his prim and perfect ensemble. Sees the spit making his lips shiny. Kei’s lenses are fogging slightly, he notices, as he tries to meet Tetsurou’s navel with his nose, his throat contracting in an effort to ravage Tetsurou whole.

Tetsurou comes, a strained, hollow sound resonating out of his chest, the threat of tears coming back in full swing. His eyes flood when Kei swallows his spend and continues to suck at him, pleasure and pain blending until he’s beyond them. His thighs spasm and tremble with the urge to escape but Kei holds him hostage, the muscles of his arms flexing with the effort. 

Tetsurou falls back on his elbows. His gaze meets the dimmed glow of their pendant light, a myriad of small dots floating in the dark, blurring and meshing with each other the more his eyes fill. They are like he is: buoyant in the void, blurred and blending, tethered to his place only by steady arms. 

Kei doesn’t stop, doesn’t let a single outside thought breach Tetsurou’s mind. He’s here. Only here. Willing and asking to be pushed and kept. Kei hears him; the moans and groans that leave him, the pleas to keep going. Kei’s hand goes around him, twists, and he comes—again. Mutely, he gasps. His muscles heaving, full of deep, overworked, and oversensitive nerves give in. 

His elbows give out. He sprawls on their bed, spent to his very core. He wants to ask for more, for pleasure outside his body, to say something—anything—but Kei’s face appears above him and nothing is needed. 

Kei ruts against his thigh. Tetsurou can only watch Kei’s face, his body weighed down by the force of Kei’s machinations. When Kei’s orgasm peaks his mouth falls open with a soft gasp and his brows knit together forming a painting only found in museums and the oldest of canvas. 

The air around them slowly cools, the gust of wind crashing against glass no longer sinister but a lullaby pulling Tetsurou under the cloak of sleep. Tetsurou has been dismantled, opened to his very core, and told without words to rest and recoup. He obeys.

.........................................

Tetsurou gets three blessed hours of sleep before his bladder protests. He’s shaky. The aftermath of tears and orgasms are weak legs and swollen eyes, all of them staring back at him in the blue light filtering through the window of their bathroom. He examines the man in his reflection in silence before returning to bed. 

He settles in as gently as he can. 

“Will you tell me?”

Tetsurou sighs. Turns so that he’s facing Kei in the dark. “I pushed hard but the mountain was harder.”

Kei gets the gist of it, even if he doesn’t. “You need to slow down.”

“Kei…”

“No,” he sits up. “This isn't a game. It’s your life.”

Tetsurou grasps his hand, needing to touch him, to be connected. He turns Kei’s hand over to kiss it right where his ring meets skin. He wishes he had words to give. Words that say that he knows. He knows, but he can’t help himself. 

Kei sighs and settles back, wiggling to get comfortable. “And since I don’t plan on ever marrying anyone else, it is also my life. I don’t mind pitching in more often but I'd rather you not have a heart attack at thirty-two.”

This, he has words for, slow as they come. “And leave you to fend off suitors as the world’s hottest widow? Preposterous.”

Half asleep, Kei rolls on his side. He reaches for Tetsurou’s hand and intertwines their fingers. Pulls it over himself. Tetsurou settles at his back, gripping Kei’s hand back just as tightly. Pressure travels from his fingertips, through his extended arm, and up towards his chest. It spills from him, uncontainable. 

“I want it all,” he confesses to no one, to himself, and trips back into lost sleep.

.........................................

Tetsurou wakes up to breakfast cooking. The aroma of Kei’s fancy freshly-brewed coffee is heavy in the air, as well as the low hum of the news seeping from the open door. Groggy, he feels around for his phone. He must have overslept. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, the clock marks ten minutes before his alarm is set to go off. 

Kei’s shoulder enters the room before he does. He carries a bamboo tray as wide as he is, gingerly setting it down next to Tetsurou. 

“Breakfast in bed?”

Kei shrugs and climbs next to him. “We have to change the sheets anyway.” 

He stares at the tray, a single daffodil peeking out of a glass and all. “You are so swee—”

“Eat your eggs, Tetsurou.” 

He eats his eggs and steals some of the coffee from Kei’s cup when he finishes his first. When he tries cleaning up after them Kei stares Tetsurou down until he’s firmly back under the covers. His phone dings with incoming emails and he deliberately does not look. He trades phone time for watching Kei go through all the things Tetsurou usually does in the morning up until Kei kicks him out of bed to start changing the linens.

Tetsurou runs through his routine but instead of wondering what awaits him at the office, he thinks of Kei’s hand softly resting on his thigh while he starts on his second cup of overtly-sweet coffee. He combs his hair absently, spinning ways to steal Kei away for a weekend together. He dresses, carefully lost in the feeling of Kei’s hand undoing knots—the ones at his neck, daily, the ones in his gut, the ones that form inside him and twist—until there’s nothing more to do but to leave.

Kei leans on the door, waiting to send Tetsurou off. The elevator dings its arrival and Tetsurou is loath to leave the place they’ve built together to deal with people who won’t ever be as interesting or hold as much of Tetsurou’s affection. Kei leans in for a kiss. Smooths down his lapels, re-knots his tie, and pushes him away, cutting his dallying short. 

“Tetsurou,” Kei calls back to him before he shuts the door to start his own day. He looks at Tetsurou from head to toe. A smile blooms on his face; a quick, ambitious thing that curls a corner of his lips and spells disaster for whoever’s crossed them. His eyes are firmly set, filled with violent enjoyment. “I want it all, too.”

[ivyfics]

So This is Love

Read on AO3

Kurotsukki, T, 4.2k Tags: Weddings, Murphy's law Part of Kurotsukki Zine

“Huh. I guess we don’t have a wedding planner.” Kei’s hand starts towards his hair again. He’ll have moved his hairline back an inch by tonight if he keeps at it. In order to preserve his fiancé’s hair (and to get some love and reassurance because it’s his wedding day) Tetsurou drags Kei down to bed by his waist, trying to find the most reassuring tone he has between a scratchy voice and the beginnings of a headache. “The wedding is like 99% planned anyway. What could go wrong?”

“Our wedding planner quit.”

The room is too bright and the sheets are just the right kind of warm, so Tetsurou’s chalks up Kei’s words to being half asleep. “She what?”

“She—quit?”

“Oh.”

It takes about three seconds.

Tetsurou jerks upright. His mouth tastes like death and terrible choices, his brain fuzzy with a slight hangover from yesterday’s joint bachelor party and his drinking contest with Bokuto. The adrenaline of the words out of his fiancé’s mouth has his brain booting up faster than any hungover meat organ ran by tiny electricity should. “She can’t quit. Today is the day for which we hired her, which is the wedding day. Why did she quit?”

“She has a family emergency— “Kei swallows—"So she quit.” 

Kei looks tousled but in a frantic manner, less sleepy bedhead and more anxious messing with his bangs. Tetsurou glances at the clock on their dresser at the expense of his eyeballs being assaulted by warm morning light. Seven oh three is about two hours too soon compared to the alarm that is programmed on his phone. “Is it bad?”

On cue, Kei runs his fingers through his bangs, pulling the hair up and then back down into a messy flop. His haircut is about a week old, cut just for the wedding. It’s shorter than it’s been in a long time and the fiddling is a habit leftover from his longer, shaggier style. “She didn’t say but she sounded spooked. Something about her daughter?”

“Huh. I guess we don’t have a wedding planner.”

Kei crosses his arms, shrugging, trying, and failing at looking like he’s unaffected. “Well. It’s her kid.”

Tetsurou nods several times in agreement, resigned. “Yeah, it’s her kid.” 

Kei’s hand starts towards his hair again. He’ll have moved his hairline back an inch by tonight if he keeps at it. In order to preserve his fiancé’s hair (and to get some love and reassurance because it’s his wedding day ) Tetsurou drags Kei down to bed by his waist, trying to find the most reassuring tone he has between a scratchy voice and the beginnings of a headache. “The wedding is like 99% planned anyway. What could go wrong?"

...............................

The ride to the hotel takes a while, but by the time they reach the venue Yamaguchi is waiting for them, a carton coffee tray in his hands. Wordlessly, he hands Kei an iced latte and Tetsurou a tiny cup with a plastic lid containing a macchiato. The shot is still warm and it’s exactly what Tetsurou needs to shake off the tail end of any alcohol-induced side effects. 

Tetsurou sees Yamaguchi’s bright smile and hates him a little. He was the winner of the contest, drinking Bokuto under the table. “How are you alive?”

Yamaguchi beats innocent eyes his way like he wasn’t a drinking demon last night. A pair of devils they are, Kei and his best friend. “Best Man powers.”

“Don’t say that in front of Aki, he’ll get sad.”

There’s the sound of fast steps and then a gargantuan amount of weight jumping on Tetsurou’s neck. Bokuto thinks himself a third of the size he actually is, having no qualms about choking Tetsurou with his aggressive affection. “Hell yeah! Matrimony day!”

Given the alcohol flowing through his system yesterday, he should also be dead and not hanging from Tetsurou’s neck with glee and a grin larger than the sun. 

Yamaguchi stares him down. “Best. Man. Powers.”

Kei shoves him discreetly before Akiteru reaches them. “Zip it.”

When Akiteru reaches them he beelines for Kei, stopping in front of him with intense, shiny eyes. “Kei.”

Kei grimaces at the emotion. “Don’t get mushy on me.”

Akiteru ignores Kei’s face, tone, and general disposition to clutch at his chest with airy hands. “It’s your wedding day.”

Yamaguchi moves things along before the glimmer in Akiteru’s eyes turns into actual tears. “Where’s your posse?”

“Kenma should be here any second.”

“Shouldn’t Maiko be here by now?”

He feels Kei tense next to him. No good. Tetsurou rushes to cover it, making eyes at Yamaguchi to not dwell on the matter too much, lest Kei starts the lip-biting thing he does when he’s stressed. “She-uh had an emergency, so we’re sans a planner for today.”

There’s a collective intake of air. Tetsurou coughs, all eyes on him. Reassuring tone, he tells himself. “It’s going to be fine. Let’s go check-in.”

...............................

The hotel is beautiful. Its luxe meets green with an open-air terrace in the middle, letting natural light through and lush, tall plants all over. When picking the venue Tetsurou was called for an out-of-town meeting, so he entrusted the choice to Kei and Maiko. He didn’t even need to see the pictures to give the okay, Kei’s dreamy face when describing the place was enough for Tetsurou’s stamp of approval—nay, his insistence that Kei book it the next day. It would be the cherry on top if they hadn’t mixed their reservations for a day after their wedding. 

“Dr. Tsukishima, once again, you’re on the calendar for tomorrow.”

Kei grits his teeth. “And I am telling you, we are not. Our reservations are for today. We’re getting married. Here. Tonight.”

The receptionist looks through the papers once again. “I cannot seem to find your contract anywhere. Without it, I can't confirm the reservations nor the ballroom for today.”

Kei’s spine goes rigid in less than a second. Tetsurou is on the same boat, gleeful at the thought of letting his fiancé set things straight. “Listen here—" 

Yamaguchi claps, stopping Kei from eviscerating the receptionist. “Okay. Kuroo-san, would you mind.” Taking Kuroo’s place, he turns to the receptionist with a sweet smile. “Hi. Could I speak to whoever is in charge? I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.” 

Yamaguchi is probably right, but Kei is losing his patience, so Tetsurou touches his shoulder and points to the terrace. “Kei. C’mon. Let’s get air for a second.”

“This is ridiculous.” Kei rubs at his temples while they hover over some plants. “I can’t believe I left my copy of the contract at home. I should go get it.”

“It’ll take forever to go home and back.”

“I know, but—"

A bellboy interrupts them, heading to grab their bags. “Tsukishima-san, Kuroo-san. Right this way.”

Tetsurou has whiplash from the change. He looks around. “What?”

Kenma pops out from thin air, making him jump. He has his bag slung over his shoulder and points his chin towards the bellboy. At their puzzled look he says, “I bribed them.”

Tetsurou is appalled. A little impressed. “Kenma.”

Kenma shrugs at his tone. “Happy wedding gift, I’m keeping the air fryer I got you.”

“You can’t just bribe people when they’re in the wrong,” Tetsurou laughs, a little incredulous. “The world-famous Kodzuken plays dirty.”

“You know what, fighting the people who own and operate the place where you want to get married the day of your wedding does sound like such a great idea.”

Tetsurou pauses for a moment. Nods once, twice. “Thank you, I’ll be on the lookout for your air fryer.”

...............................

The day room is pretty great. They each get one, him and Kei, to get ready for the wedding. A lot of natural light, a bathroom big enough to have Tetsurou consider taking a quick soak in the bathtub before getting ready and tackling their planner-less wedding. For a while, things run smoothly. He and the boys get ready. Kuroo went for a black damask tuxedo, with velvet lapels that match the black and gold cufflinks Kei gave him. He’s managed to tame his hair, somehow, going for a slicked-back look that had Kei giving him bedroom eyes when he tested it months ago. 

He’s about to open some champagne for a quick toast with his boys when Kei calls him. 

Even when it’s not their wedding, Kei rarely calls. He’d rather text, send an email, or smoke signal before he resigns himself to bringing his phone up to his ear. His voice is full of panic, his sentences running on top of each other. 

“I’ve gotten calls from both the florists and the photographer. One of them—the florist—got the wrong confirmation from the hotel because of the mix-up with the reservation, and the other got the address wrong. Both of them are running late.”

One of them has to be calm and cool and while Tetsurou will gladly take the title of Drama Queen in their everyday lives, Kei gets to have all the big emotions he wants today. He’s ready enough, and while the whole two rooms are nice, Tetsurou promptly grabs his room key and heads towards where Kei is. “Okay. Okay. But they’re on their way now, right? We booked a little earlier in case something like this happened.”

“Tetsurou. There are guests showing up. Why are there guests showing up? Tetsurou there are people.” The last words are a furious ( panicked ) hiss. 

“There shouldn’t be people.” Obviously, those are the wrong words because Kei knows that. Guests are meant to arrive three hours from now. As soon as he says that, Oikawa appears walking down the hall, Iwaizumi next to him. “Oh shit, there are people. Let me figure out what’s going on. I’ll be right there, love you.”

Iwaizumi frowns at him. “Hey man, you good?”

“I’m having a heart attack."

Iwaizumi’s eyebrow shoots up. “Getting cold feet?”

Tetsurou shudders at the thought. As if. “Not on your life. Our wedding planner quit.”

Iwaizumi’s face is stone. “She quit. The day of your wedding.” 

Tetsurou finds himself trying to justify her absence, “She didn’t mean to. Some family stuff going on. Her kid—that’s not—ugh. I don’t mean to be rude but why are you here?”

Oikawa gives him a life-ending stare. “Well, I  am your fiancé’s guest. I was invited to this wedding, Kuroo-san.”

“Tooru.” Tetsurou takes whatever his old college roommate says with a nanogram of salt, always. “I am trying to figure out why guests are arriving three hours early.”

Iwaizumi, hunk of the ages and all-around great guy, pulls out a familiar envelope. “The invitation?” 

Kuroo’s fears come true. “A misprint. We checked the proofs, but the people who printed them also sent them out.”

Seeing his worry, Iwaizumi, the only real actual gentleman still left, says, “You need a hand?”

“All the ones I can get.”

Iwaizumi nudges Oikawa slightly. “Put me to work. I did the legwork for one wedding already, can’t be worse.”

Tetsurou could cry. “You are so nice. The florists were running late, could you help them set up when they get here?”

“You got it.” 

“I’ll go figure out the guests, I guess.” 

Oikawa falls into step with him. “Where’s Kei-Kun?”

Tetsurou stops in his tracks. He’s missed them since they moved. “So that’s what you’re doing, you’re calling my man by his name now? You are my guest, I’ll have you know.” 

Oikawa’s eyes shine with the satisfaction of getting under someone’s skin. “Kuroo-chan, I didn’t know you were the jealous type. I’ll go give your man some moral support, you go deal with all the things. Shoo, shoo.”

...............................

After leaving Bokuto to deal with the guests, and Kenma to deal with the photographer, Tetsurou heads to Kei’s room. He’s halfway there when Yamaguchi zooms past him holding a white shirt—Kei’s ivory shirt, actually, the one he got tailored and embroidered. His stomach drops to the basement. “Oh no. No.”

Yamaguchi halts, turning to look at Tetsurou with eyes of madness. “I’ll fix it. It will be fixed.”

“What happened?”

Yamaguchi whispers into the stale air. “It doesn’t fit.”

Tetsurou swallows glass. He speaks very slowly, processing the shitshow this would mean. 

“Yamaguchi. That is a tailored dress shirt from a ridiculously expensive tailor that had a waitlist . It has to fit.”

Yamaguchi looks through Tetsurou, a man who has seen horrors beyond belief. “That’s not all. His cufflinks are missing.”

Suddenly, the room is devoid of air. “The cufflinks cannot be missing.”

“Do you believe I would lie about this?”

Tetsurou runs his hands through his hair. His mouth twists in a grimace at the sticky feeling the mountain of hair products he laid in his hair leaves behind and fights the urge to drag his palms in his trousers to remove it. 

“I’ll take care of this. You go take care of that.”

Tetsurou nods. There’s a weight off his shoulders at having some backup in the midst of all the crazy happening. Yamaguchi has been a godsend, and even if he’s only here and present because Kei is the one getting married, even if he’d probably do the same if Kei was marrying anyone else, he appreciates the support. 

Before Yamaguchi turns to go do his best man duties, Tetsurou clears his throat. “Today would have been very different without you. Thank you, for being here for him. For always being there for him.”

Yamaguchi mocks him. “You going soft on me Kuroo-san?”

“That’s not—”

Yamaguchi laughs, leaving Tetsurou standing. Before he takes a turn right down the hall, he looks back at Tetsurou and gives him a shit-eating grin. “It’s my job, you see. My best friend is getting married today.”

The rest of the way to Kei’s suite takes forever, if only to Tetsurou’s mind and his hurried steps. Many things that could go missing today, many others that he didn’t think of that have gone awry, but the cufflinks cannot fall prey to whatever has befallen their wedding. The cufflinks have to be okay. 

Tetsurou’s hands go over his own pair, a matching set to Kei’s. It was their first shared and tangible offer. The cold feeling of gold rescues Kei’s silhouette from Tetsurou’s memory, the visage of Kei waiting by his door late at the night with doom on his face and a barrage of fear-bitter words. 

I planned to buy them only for myself. ‘When I get my doctorate,’ I promised, ‘I’ll get them for me’. I had them picked out. But they were the last pair, and all I could think of is how they don’t match you at all, so I bought us two of the same kind. Marry me, or whatever. 

They have rings now, but it’s not the same. Tetsurou enters Kei’s suite without knocking, all but barging in, and is promptly hit in the solar plexus with a bat. Kei is—he is, to Tetsurou, everything, always.  At the moment he is (even as he holds his fingers to his temples) still gorgeous. Sitting by the window, translucent curtains soften the mid-afternoon light into a sliver of glow bouncing off the planes of Kei’s face. He’s an angel, lit by the divine, keeper of Tetsurou’s heart. 

He's on the phone, lips bitten and hair askew. He looks at Tetsurou and frowns. “My parents should be here by now. “

It’s one thing after the other. He can see the weariness in Kei’s demeanor. “Have they said anything?”

“No. I’ve tried calling them, but no luck. Aki is calling the airline to see if he can get any info.” 

Summoned, Akiteru breathes through his teeth. “I did get some. Their flight is delayed.” 

“How delayed?”

Aki pats down his suit, grabbing his keys. “Very. Listen. I’ll go to the airport to get them and bring them here.”

Oikawa holds out a hand before Akiteru can run off. “I think I should do that.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you get stuck there then we have a solitary groom. I’ll pick them up.”

Kei huffs. “You don’t even know what my parents look like.”

“Wow. You are right. If only we had a device that could store and display pictures of people we don’t know.”

Kei narrows his eyes. He’ll murder Oikawa in a second, no hesitation. “Don’t sass me on my wedding day.”

Oikawa lives to prod at Kei whenever they are around each other for more than two seconds. “It’s okay Kei-Kun. It’s a good thing we got here early.”

Akiteru looks at Kei for guidance, and after a moment Kei nods. 

Oikawa, like the corrupt saint he is, leads Akiteru away. “Come with me big brother, give me the rundown.”

When it’s just the two of them left in the room, Kei’s shoulders drop. Tetsurou tries, for him. “Hey, you got a nicer room than me.”

Kei barely looks up. “Is this the universe telling us something?”

Tetsurou plays it cool, a little dumb. “Something like what?”

“It seems like we take a half-step forward and two backward.” Kei intakes a sharp breath, halting painfully. “I—I just want to marry you.”

“We will.”

Kei’s tuxedo jacket, a deep velvet green, hangs neatly by an antique armoire. Kei gets up and goes to stand in front of it, runs his hand over the lapel, facing away from Tetsurou. He did the same when they first went tuxedo shopping and Kei fell in love with it. “Then why is it so hard?” 

Kei’s voice is close to wet and Tetsurou crumbles. He walks to stand behind Kei, gently turning him to face each other and entwining Kei’s outstretched hand with his own. “All the parts except this one are the hard part. The hard part was learning to not be stubborn and to admit that we love each other. That one took a while. The hard part was finding someone willing to share everything. Willing to share a life with, to build a life with. Finding each other.”

Tetsurou lets go of Kei’s hand. He brings his fingers to his sleeve. Tetsurou, carefully, undoes his left cufflink. Once the bar is through, he holds it out for Kei to take. “The hard part will be remembering that we're not out in the world on our own.” 

When Kei takes it from him, he snatches Kei’s free hand and brings the back of it to his lips. Kei sighs at the gesture and Tetsurou’s grip tightens ever so gently. “This? The getting married part? I'll marry you in my underwear with no lights and zero food. This part is easy.”

Kei’s eyes close, followed by a heavy breath. When his eyes open again he’s calmer, the hysteria from before a shadow in the corner of Kei’s expression. “That's a very beautiful speech, and I'd recommend putting it into your vows before I steal it, but you will not be marrying me in your underwear Tetsurou, so help me god.”

Relieved, Tetsurou throws his head back and laughs.

Kei is not amused. “I'm serious. We spent months planning this wedding. I painstakingly selected every detail exactly because it was hard. Everything else, we fought for. We deserve an easy, beautiful, extravagant wedding before we go back to not trying to kill each other every day.”

Tetsurou clears Kei’s bangs from his forehead. “We're not that bad.”

Kei gives him the look, the one he puts on when Tetsurou is off doing his shenanigans and Kei pretends he’s not enjoying every minute of it. “Tetsu.”

“Okay, we're a little bad. Do you want to not marry me today?”

Kei balks. “No, and if you say you don't want to marry me today, I will actually murder you.”

Tetsurou grins, breathing fully again now that Kei has lost the awful, sad look that adorned his face. “Then we're good. The universe just has a sense of humor.”

“Yeah, well, the universe is not funny.”

“Shhhh.” Tetsurou looks up, using his free hand to reel Kei in and press their waists together.“ He didn't mean that. Very funny, ha-ha. Let us get married now, please.”

Kei moroseness relents. He lays his head on Tetsurou’s shoulder and relaxes his own frame. “Fine. Fine.”

“It will be fine. I got you.” 

He tries sneaking a kiss but Kei stops Tetsurou’s lips with his palm. “No kissing until the ceremony.”

“There’s my annoying husband-to-be.”

...............................

Tetsurou finds Bokuto with his sleeves folded to his elbow, moving a centerpiece. “Tetsu!”

No guests are floating around the halls, so he believes Bokuto has everything under control. “Bokkun. You are the best of the best.”

“Thanks! Did you talk Tsukki down from murder?”

“There will be no death in this venue today. For now.”

Bokuto gives him a grin. “How are you holding up? Need a hug?”

Tetsurou’s automatic answer is to deny it, but it’s been a long day. “You know, I kind of do.”

Bokuto has dropped more for less and soon as can be, Tetsurou is wrapped in two very strong arms. “Come here. It’s all going to work out! Either way, you’re marrying your high school crush.”

Tetsurou groans, flushing all the way to his ears. “I forgot I told you about that.”

Mid hug, Bokuto whispers in his ear. “Dude, did you see the hot photographer? He’s like really hot.”

Tetsurou laughs. “Akaashi-san? I have seen him, Kou, we hired him. He’s Kenma’s friend.”

“He’s…very hot.”

Tetsurou is about to tease him to high heaven when Bokuto pulls them apart violently. 

“Hey, I forgot! I found these.” Bokuto digs around his breast pocket and hands him a pair of shiny black and gold cufflinks. “They’re yours, right?”

...............................

Things work out, one way or another. Kei’s parents make it with around two minutes to spare, sliding in their seats just in time while Oikawa looks gleeful. Tetsurou goes back into Kei’s suite to present the missing cufflinks like an offering and manages to earn a pre-ceremony kiss. It seems Tetsurou’s plea appeased the universe enough to let him marry the man of his dreams. 

Kei wears his green velvet and lures Tetsurou into gifting away his soul forever in front of their friends and family. Tetsurou says some stupid thing or another for his vows, leaving his and Kei’s earlier conversation his own private promise. It’s okay because Kei laughs at his jokes and that’s all that matters. 

He manages dry eyes for longer than anyone expects. Tetsurou cries the second Kei takes out the cards he prepared and doubles down on the tears when Kei follows up with extending a handkerchief that matches Tetsurou’s tux. 

After a moment Kei foregoes his cards. He addresses the guests first. “Some of you can attest, today was a difficult day.”

Then, he looks at Tetsurou with siren eyes and something that can only be described as devotion. He rocks Tetsurou’s core with just standing in front of him. Kei has never been one for public displays of affection, has preferred to keep his softness to their intimacy and their privacy. Tetsurou is happy with him just showing up, with him deciding to stand in front of others and saying ‘I agree to be yours as long as we are alive.’

But Kei is forever finding ways to shake Tetsurou’s understanding of joy, constantly seeking ways to leave him dumbfounded. Kei shakes his head and smiles at him. He reaches to clear away a stray tear from Tetsurou’s cheek. “If it were anyone else, I don’t think we would have made it this far. Not today, not yesterday, not tomorrow. But it’s you. It’s you, so we’ll make it. I’ll dive headfirst on whatever, if it’s with you.”

...............................

One would think that getting actually, legitimately married would be the end of it but there’s still the party to get through. After all the hassle and the worry, they get to show off finding eternal love to the stylings of a DJ and low, green and blue lighting. 

They can eat, and dance, and drink, and be merry and happy. They move, slowly, to the dance floor. Tetsurou is peaceful. His joy has transcended excitement and glee. It’s become all-encompassing happiness radiating from his chest. He grabs Kei’s hand, grateful, so grateful, to love and be loved by such a wonderf—

A trumpet halts his brain.

Whatcha gonna do with all that junk

All that junk inside your trunk

Tetsurou’s entire body clams up. It did not. This is not happening. “Kei…I—”

Kei folds over, catching his middle. His laugh barrels out of his chest, the sound reaching Tetsurou over the beat of the music. Tetsurou freezes. The DJ cuts the song, leaving them in silence and Kei’s uncontrollable laughter. When he has to come up for air, takes one look at Tetsurou’s expression and shouts, “We’re married!”

“What?”

Kei laughs even harder, his entire face alight with red. “This is a mess and I don’t care! We’re married!”

Their song—the actual song they picked—starts playing. 

So this love, mmm Kei’s laugh is inescapable. A responding chuckle of pure joy bubbles up in Tetsurou’s chest. He steps into Kei’s space and takes him by the waist, swaying slowly to the music. Tetsurou can’t dance worth a damn.

So this is love

Kei follows along. He loops one of his arms around Tetsurou’s neck. With his free hand, he cups Tetsurou’s jaw gently. His eyes are still shiny from laughter. “Thank you.” 

So this is what makes life divine

“For marrying you?”

Kei hums. “For being so patient today. You can’t get rid of me now. Until we perish.”

I'm all aglow, mmm

“I’m shocked at your oversight, Dr. Tsukishima. There’s always murder.”

“Tetsurou.”

And now I know (and now I know)

Tetsurou shakes his head. “What kind of ‘Get rid of you’ nonsense. Like I’d ever try.”

The key to heaven is all mine

[ivyfics]

That Guy

Read on AO3

BokuAkaTsukki, OT3, E, 7.5K Tags: Getting Together, PIV, Unsafe sex, Sloppy seconds, PWP

Kei is not that guy that falls in love with his friends and pines pathetically. (Kei is actually that guy.)

Kei is not trying to be that guy. In fact, he’d rather not be that guy at all costs, to the point where he’d rather be the asshole—but, here he is, somehow being both, ignoring what Bokuto is saying and staring at his ass simultaneously. Kei would like to not ogle his new friend’s boyfriend. Akaashi has been nothing but nice to him, even with Kei being short to everyone and their mother in the weeks he’s been forced into human interaction for the sake of a degree. Akaashi has been an angel, god-sent to take Kei down a notch or a dozen with nothing but kindness and quiet smiles. Akaashi is kind and gracious and so pretty?

Incredible seems too light of a word, too frivolous. He’s smooth, calming energy that takes Kei’s innate need to piss everyone off as a charming quirk, and sharp eyes that make Kei as peaceful and as anxious as a newly adopted puppy. It certainly feels like Kei trails behind him unwillingly, following Akaashi with his eyes across the room against his knowledge and his better judgment, feeling that ball of rolling giddiness when there’s no mistaking that Akaashi is, once again, choosing to be in Kei’s company. 

Kei might have sported a little crush since the first time Akaashi gave him a polite smile and invited himself to the last free seat next to Kei in the library. He, as he has a habit of doing, pretended he was put out by the company while fantasizing about their third date and their two month-anniversary not thirty minutes after Akaashi’s soft and polite ‘hello’. His fledgling romantic hopes were not only dashed but bulldozed, demolished, by the wall of muscle that introduced himself as Akaashi’s boyfriend one night. One late stay at the library thanks to one of their study dates—yes, one of the several study dates they had, named that way by Akaashi himself—Bokuto was casually waiting for them outside. He’d just left the gym, sporting a beanie and a wide grin, with his freshly washed hair in his eyes and limber arms.

And you know what? Kei gets it.

He thought he and Akaashi had a thing—a musing if you will, but why would you want a wiry gangly thing when you have Mr. Built With The Good Smile as your partner?

He’s not that guy so he flushed his Many Thoughts about Akaashi and put some of that good and polite mental distance shit between the Fantasy Please Date Me Akaashi and real Happy and In Love With a Strongman Akaashi. Focused on the friendship with the person whose presence he could tolerate for extended periods of time. Built that shit up when it turned out Akaashi is an exceptional human being that gets Kei’s dry humor and doesn’t judge him for being a mean snarky bitch for absolutely no reason other than he’s a Scorpio rising or whatever other bullshit he can blame his attitude on.

He tries to not fuck it up when they get closer and become actual friends by avoiding being that guy at all costs. You know the guy. The guy that can’t take a hint and lives in love with his friends that are already committed, miserable. Who hurts and aches like he’s owed anything for his feelings. No, Kei is not owed a single thing for the quick beats and the hidden trembling of his hands when Akaashi leans too close to spy on his reading and offer corrections. The very specific machinations of Kei’s mind are his and his alone to enjoy and to bear.

So, he’s not that guy, or at least he tries his hardest not to be.   Bokuto asks to join in on their study dates and Kei slaps himself and takes a good long hard look in the mirror before he meets up with them so that he doesn’t, above all, somehow call Akaashi’s beloved boyfriend a dickhead to his face.

‘Cause he has to be a dickhead. He has to be.

There is no way someone is that hot and that big and has a nice smile and killer looks and is also a nice person. No. Way.

He’s Akaashi’s hot asshole gymrat boyfriend and everything is right with Kei’s little jaded world.

Except…

Infuriatingly, Bokuto is not a dickhead and he’s not an asshole. He’s a little bit annoying, a little loud when they’ve all been quiet and still for an extended stretch of time but he looks so sorry every time he interrupts, like he can’t help himself. Bokuto’s face drops and his bouncing leg stops. He stiffens in an effort to stay motionless and then holds a blush when Akaashi stills his leg with a slight tap to his knee when he starts up again—all things that make the slab of ice that holds space where Kei’s heart is melt, flooding his lungs.

Kei feels for him and empathizes with his frustration, wants to pat his head in reassurance and to eviscerate anyone who has ever made him feel guilty. Maybe worm himself in the middle of one of the hugs he gives Akaashi when it’s cold and dark, the three of them walking home together. Even when Akaashi gives his boyfriend a soft look of understanding and secretly holds his hand under the table like they’re fooling anyone and Kei dies of hot bitter jealousy, he can’t fault the guy. He’s sweet and apologetic to Kei for not letting him focus—now Kei is that guy that has a crush on someone with a boyfriend and that someone’s boyfriend.

Which is fine, you know? It’s never happened to him before and he went off the deep end for three consecutive days with varying and rotating degrees of intensity but he’s stopped trying to apply logic to it and he’s calm about it now.

So he likes Akaashi and his intellect. He also likes Akaashi’s hot architecture student boyfriend of four-going-on-forever years.

Kei might be an idiot but he’s not a masochist on purpose. He buckles up and decides to get over his crush by going where all crushes die: Being so close that the person(s) become(s) a null romantic opportunity in the dating sim that is life. You don’t wanna date or fantasize about your very close friends.

Kei is not that guy that falls in love with his best friends and pines pathetically.

(Kei is actually that guy.)

He’s not supposed to still want them when he’s seen them get so intoxicated that they throw up, face bent over a toilet seat and sweaty hair pressed to their forehead. He’s not supposed to feel his heart curl after they stop closing the door when they pee. It’s been months and all he wants is to find a place between them where they embrace him into their lives like he belongs there.

In the end, he’s got no one to blame but himself when he gets Bokuto lounging in his underwear, an old stained tee, and zero pretenses on the floor next to him unaware of Kei's eyes feasting on his form. Bokuto’s hair is down, fluffed from the shower he took while Kei waited for him on his bed (because that is a thing that they do. They shower, or change, or cook in their underwear and Kei is there, orbiting them with thoughts that make him less of a satellite and more of a vulture).

There’s still a towel over his shoulders to catch the drips, but Bokuto leans and folds as he plays a racing game and the droplets go everywhere outside of it, staining his broad shoulders with circlets of dark cotton. Akaashi will be home late from his job today and they’re just hanging, two guys being dudes, playing video games, talking about their day, the game Bokuto is playing and all the secrets of the universe for all the attention Kei is paying to what Bokuto is saying.

His boxers are so short. Are they meant to be that short? Are they riding up? Is Kei’s head still on his shoulders?

His brain is melting out of his ears the more he stares. There’s a beehive where his brain is supposed to be yelling at him to just stop! being dismissive and a creep. To move his eyes left and lock down his stupid horny thoughts away from his friends.

He doesn’t.

Bokuto has a smattering of freckles on the back of his right thigh. It’s such an innocent, inconsequential thing to dunk Kei’s head underwater and rob him of air. He wants to lick them, trace the path between them with his tongue until all he can taste is salty skin. Kei’s eyes burn behind his glasses and he feels the heat coming from his cheeks, ablaze. He has the single rational mortifying thought that he’s half-hard, being very obvious. He is never ever going to be allowed in their apartment or near them again when Bokuto finally realizes that Kei is both that guy and an asshole.

Bokuto moves, startling Kei from his spiraling thoughts. He lays on his side facing Kei, looking up. “Tsukki, are you okay?”

Kei freezes. No, no, I am not okay, I want you to break my spine, I’m staring at your dic—

Bokuto tilts his head at Kei, questioning. He sets the handheld game on the floor and to the side, leaning on his elbow.  The light from the game reflects the side of his face, innocent and unaware that Kei’s mind is running a vulgar film of him on his knees licking up from Bokuto’s ankle to his groin. He’s mellow, all concern, and Kei doesn’t deserve to be here and to be allowed to be around him–them– because all he can see is how the change in position pulls on the fabric of his boxers and accentuates his dick print. 

Fuck. Kei’s eyes are sweating.

He:

Wants Bokutos’s dick so bad.

Can feel the slick dampening of his boxers.

Is a terrible human person.

Bokuto continues, blissfully unaware of Kei’s internal strife. “You’ve been a little out of lately. Is something bothering you?”

Kei stares at Bokuto’s face. Says absolutely nothing. He’s trying to form words so he can scrounge up a mediocre lie and then escape into the night to never be seen again. Twelve full seconds of silence go by.

Bokuto’s brow furrows and he trips over himself to backtrack. He takes a single breath and runs with it. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I know you’re closer with Akaashi and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable–or make you feel like you need to share stuff with me—not that I don’t want to know! Because I do wanna know! I want you to feel like you can tell me things, but if you don’t feel like you can or wanna tell me then don’t feel pressured cause I’m just a little worried about you but that’s just me and you don’t have to worry about what I feel at all, so yeah.”

Bokuto’s rant ends with him on his back staring at the ceiling, away from Kei. He’s biting his lower lip and the fabric of his ratty shirt is so thin Kei can see the motion of his breath through it.

Kei moves silently and bends to kiss him.

(He might as well be that guy, too.)

Bokuto isn’t expecting to see Kei enter his field of vision as much as he’s not expecting the soft press of lips, so he gasps into the kiss and holds himself still.

He doesn’t shove Kei away or get up or move at all which Kei is grateful for. As soon as it ends he’s going to up and leave in a very civil manner and apologize profusely through a text like the coward he is. He starts to pull away so the Bad Times can commence but Bokuto feels him going and the kiss finally registers.

He palms the back of Kei’s neck with a warm hand and licks into his mouth. Pulls him in tighter and makes their kiss wet, open, and messy until he pulls an airy, miserable sound off of Kei he will deny making until the end of the earth. It's light-years away from the chaste impulse Kei’s lips allowed themselves. It’s world-shattering.

The apartment door creaks open.

The sound of hinges slam home Kei’s current situation. He’s in Akaashi’s apartment, alone with Akaashi’s half-naked boyfriend, boxers wet, now fully hard, making out with said boyfriend whose half chub is pressing against his hip.

(Oh god, he’s that guy.)

Kei tries to pull away but Bokuto grips his nape harder and makes a sound of protest. Presses a broad lick against his lips to quell Kei’s squirming and does nothing to help the situation Kei’s got them in. Kei tries to mouth the words to tell him, ‘Hey, it seems like Akaashi, your boyfriend, is home. Maybe we should stop kissing and you shouldn’t grind your dick on me,’ but Bokuto bites his lip with a growl, and Kei’s brain shuts down pretty much immediately.

It’s not fair, so very not fair that Bokuto is eating him alive and making Kei make a mess of his underwear when Akaashi is going to walk in on them anytime. The whole morality–or lack thereof–of having his friend’s boyfriend’s tongue down his throat doesn’t even matter anymore.

All that matters is that he’s going to have to stop at some point. Kei only gets this single kiss and he doesn’t even get to kiss Akaashi at least once before they kick him out and that fucking sucks. He loses himself in that thought, in Bokuto’s hardness against him, in Bokuto’s movement against him as he grinds himself on Kei’s hip bone. He drowns in it to the point where Kei remembers he should stop only when the light from the bathroom spills in to blind them.

Akaashi clears his throat lightly to break them up.

Kei’s lips are throbbing, shiny with spit when he turns to look at Akaashi head-on. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Akaashi’s brow quirks up. “Oh?”

(Fuck. Now Akaashi knows he’s that guy.)

Bokuto pulls Kei in tighter with a hum and throws a half-lidded smile Akaashi’s way. He slurs a, “Hey babe,” and latches on to where Kei’s neck meets his shoulder to suck, nibble, and slobber all over him.

Okay.

Okay.

What?

Akaashi turns to look at Kei again, waiting for an answer. For the record, no one should be asked to piece coherent thoughts when being all but mauled by a buff, hot dude.

Kei is forming empty thoughts and trying to piece together what anyone is supposed to do in this situation. He’s expecting Akaashi to tell him to get off his man. Maybe slap him, or curse his firstborn.

Akaashi looks at them, at Kei, like he’s actually expecting a coherent verbal answer instead of having Kei dissolve into a pile of dust from shame. He’s calm. He’s barefoot—and that’s what gets to Kei for some reason.

Kei is in mild hysterics when he says, “You’re not freaking out?”

Akaashi hums at that. Comes closer and crouches to be at eye level. This has to be it. Kei is going to be murdered while Akaashi stays collected and beautiful.

Akaashi cups his cheek. “No, but you definitely are.”

Kei chokes. Of all the things, he’s surprised Kei has ascended to a new realm of panic? “Hyu—duh! Why aren’t you?”

Akaashi shrugs.

There’s something he is missing. Two ends of a cable he can’t put together, not if Bokuto trails hot kisses down the column of his neck—which he is! still! doing! while Kei talks to his boyfriend— and Akaashi strokes his cheek. Akaashi’s eyes are dark and familiar, bringing a rush of emotions, all good, caring. Kei can’t believe he let himself fuck this up so badly.

Akaashi gives him a half-smile, seeing past the mess that is his thoughts. “What should I be doing, Tsukishima?”

Akaashi strokes his face with infinite patience. His thumb cleans up a trail of spit Bokuto’s messy kisses left behind with care and something Kei could classify as adoration if he was feeling so bold.

Kei is exploding at the sight. At the possibility.

Akaashi brings the thumb to his mouth to clean up. “What do you want me to do?”

Kei burns up in honesty. “Kiss me?”

Akaashi’s kisses are completely different from Bokuto’s. They’re playful and Kei is half sure Akaashi is smiling into the kisses as much as he is still holding Kei’s face in his palm. Whereas Bokuto held him and kept him where he wanted Akaashi is happy with letting Kei do as he pleases. He nips with sharp teeth when Kei pulls away too much and masterfully tilts Kei’s chin to his liking without Kei even noticing. It’s a breath of fresh air when he’s been drowning for weeks.

Albeit hard to believe given the recent actions that got him here, Kei isn’t entirely daft. He can relax his shoulder blades now, release the tension keeping him taut, easy in knowing he didn’t singlehandedly wreck two important friendships. He can grow lax in the mouths on him and let go.

Akaashi pulls away with calculated glee in his eyes. After a short shared look with Bokuto, Kei is being hoisted to straddle Bokuto’s hips. Bokuto’s hands find his ass, Akaashi sweeps in for another deadly kiss, and Kei groans loudly.

He frowns, given a reprieve when his glasses get in the way of kisses. “I was played.”

Bokuto grins beneath him. “What?”

“We would never.” Akaashi’s eyes hide too much laughter to be any sort of serious.

Kei huffs, mock annoyance in his tone. “Assholes. I was genuinely concerned about this.”

Bokuto answers with a hard squeeze to his ass. “You think too much.”

Kei is so offended. He has been losing sleep over this whole ‘I wanna bone my friends’ situation. “If you compare me to you, who doesn’t think at all—ah!”

Bokuto bites his collarbones and laughs at Kei’s bitching. It’s one of the things he likes the most about him. He is sweet and soft and doesn’t take any of the drivel that comes out of Kei’s mouth seriously. Kei doesn’t have to edit his words around them or walk on eggshells.

Akaashi turns Kei’s face his way and Kei is one hundred percent on board with this new development. Akaashi can direct him any way he wants.

“You were too busy asking yourself if you should be looking at us that you didn’t notice we were looking right back at you.”

Kei swallows. “So what now?”

Bokuto surges up, grinding his hips up while pushing Kei’s down and giving him delicious friction. Has he soaked through his sweats yet? It feels like he’s soaked through his sweats.

“M’gonna fuck you.”

“Koutarou!”

Kei hums with glee, grinding down on the hard bulge beneath him. “Hell yes. Let’s go.”

“Tsukishima!”

It’s finally Kei’s turn to return his grievances. He grins at Akaashi’s scandalized face. “It’s okay Akaashi, I’ll fuck you too.”

Bokuto joins in. “My dick has been killing me for a piece of that ass.”

Kei puts on a resigned, put-out tone. “Well, you’ve made me ruin my underwear already. Might as well.”

Akaashi throws Kei an accusing glare. “You’re just like him, aren’t you?”

Kei’s face is innocent. He blinks at Akaashi once, twice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bokuto grinds his hip harder and throws him a predatory smile. “You’re a horny monster, too, is what he means. I saw you staring.”

Kei strokes his abs through his shirt. “Well, duh.”

“Fuck me. Take your pants off, yeah?”

Kei laughs. Bokuto’s tone is pained and pleased all in one. “You’re the one holding me down.”

“Shit, yeah, yeah.” Bokuto doesn’t move him. He keeps grinding up into Kei pathetically. He whines, “Akaashi.”

Kei mocks him. His blood is bubbly, drunk on the feeling of being wanted. “All the blood goes to your dick, huh?”

Akaashi chuckles. “It’s a big dick.”

Kei knows.  Bokuto is the god of grey sweats. Even then. He reaches to cup Bokuto through the fabric, tracing his length, feeling his girth.

Bokuto’s abs contract under him. “Ah.”

Kei is so entranced by the moment he doesn’t see Akaashi get up and take his shirt off until he’s standing above them, reproachfully. “Are we seriously doing this on the floor? The bed is right there.”

Instead of answering, Bokuto covers Kei’s hand with his own and pulls him down for a searing kiss.

Akaashi rubs at his temple, used to Bokuto’s impulses. “The floor it is, then.”

Bokuto kisses Kei until enough blood returns to his brain. Once the spike of adrenaline has cooled, he holds Kei’s face with tender, loving hands, and says, “Sit on my face for a little.”

Kei chokes. “I loathe you.”

Bokuto gives him a quick peck. “Make sure you remind me of that when I’m making you come.”

Kei rears to be an absolute insufferable bitch for the fun of it but Akaashi traces the column of Kei’s neck with his short, manicured nails. “Be nice.”

Akaashi’s voice is sweet, slow velvet. Bokuto makes him giddy and bubbly and combative, but Akaashi makes Kei want to melt at his feet and take solace in his presence. Bokuto has ground on him, kissed him, made him wet and crazy, and Akaashi has Kei just as flustered with a little kiss and a touch of his hand. Any and all retorts Kei might have die on his tongue, leaving him pliant to be handled and maneuvered by them like a ragdoll.

Akaashi hoists him up, chuckling at Kei’s kiss-induced lethargy. “Pants, remember.”

Kei fumbles through stepping out of his sweats, grateful to all of the high heavens that he’s not wearing underwear with a stupid print or anything overtly embarrassing. There’s a prick of self-consciousness at the very obvious darkening of the fabric at the apex of his thighs. Akaashi takes care of that with a press of their hips and a distracting kiss, all teeth and intensity. He thumbs at the waistband of Kei’s boxers, asking silently.

Kei keeps kissing Akaashi. He can figure it out on his own. Akaashi pulls Kei’s boxers down, letting them pool at his feet. Bokuto makes a pained noise, and Akaashi gives one final bite to his lips before he releasing him to the hounds. Bokuto pulls Kei down immediately. Impatiently, he positions Kei up to straddle him. He kisses and nips at Kei’s bare skin, cleaning up the shiny wet spots leftover with his tongue and his teeth. He bites down hard, pinching the skin on Kei’s left thigh and leaving a mark. Kei hisses and pulls on his hair as revenge until Bokuto yelps.

Akaashi decides to stop letting them run around with their heads cut off. He straddles Bokuto, just behind Kei, reaching over to press Bokuto’s head between Kei’s thighs like he’s been doing it for an eternity and it’s not the first time he’s seen Kei naked in any capacity. The move has Kei breathing hard already. Bokuto takes advantage of it giving Kei one last you’re in for it now look before following Akaashi’s lead.

At the first touch of Bokuto’s tongue Kei whimpers and dies of shyness. He bites his lip to keep any other whiny squawking in check, failing terribly. Yeah, he’s had several fantasies and dreams involving a variation of this or another but dream Kei wasn’t as vocal, nowhere near as sensitive.

Akaashi has different plans. He grabs Kei by the chin and pushes his head back to suck on his throat. That, mixed with a Bokuto tongue, breaks through all of Kei’s resolve to be composed and calm while fucking his friends.

Akaashi reaches behind him to play with the wetness coating the back of Kei’s thighs. His fingers glide through it before heading up and sinking one finger slowly into Kei’s cunt. He’s a mess so it glides in and Kei bears down on it, wanting more already. He swallows and speaks to Akaashi’s ear. “Another.”

Akaashi complies, adding one more, tentatively exploring Kei’s hole, maddeningly slow.

Kei groans, on edge from Akaashi’s exploration. “C’mon, finger me properly,” he says, aching for more friction.

“Difficult.”

“Always.” Kei looks down at Bokuto, pulling on his hair to meet their eyes. “Bokuto, help me out.”

There is mischief in his eyes. Bokuto licks his lips before moving one of his hands from Kei’s hip and reaching around. He doesn’t bother with moving Akaashi’s fingers out of the way, just pushes his in alongside them. 

“Ah! That’s—fuck.”

Akaashi laughs at his reaction—at him, Kei is sure, and it ignites his gut as much as their fingers do. It’s all the pushing that Bokuto needs to get going. He eats Kei out with defiance, pairs it with an impeccable, teasing rhythm.

Kei shivers, trying and failing not to whimper. “Traitor.”

“Tsukki,” Bokuto calls out. “Remind me.”

“Ah—you are so anno—shit.” Kei’s hips jump, trying to escape the onslaught. He’s always been sensitive, but this is another realm of sensations. Akaashi settles his hands on Kei’s hips and holds him still for Bokuto to ravage. He’s smirking, entertained by Kei’s inability to form words and the way he eagerly drips onto Bokuto’s waiting mouth. Sweet, angelic Akaashi is a demon masquerading as a saint, thoroughly enjoying Kei’s downfall.

Akaashi runs his lips on the sensitive skin behind Kei’s ears, licking to taste the sweat produced by Kei existing a hair away from orgasm. Content to steal some of the action from Bokuto, he sets his still fingers in motion, curling them into the rough patch of nerves inside Kei’s cunt until he comes. Kei feels the involuntary jerk of his pelvis, the contractions against the fingers inside him. They don’t stop in his regard, continuing to rub and prod and tease while Kei convulses around them.

Akaashi, gentle as ever, runs his free hand down Kei’s arms. He waits until Kei comes down from wherever his consciousness just escaped to. “That should do it.”

Kei slurs, pulling all of his post-orgasmic strength to find some wit. “What, make me astral project?”

“Warm you up for him,” Akaashi answers. He places a kiss on Kei’s cheek. “Bokuto topping is no joke.” Bokuto hums, pulling Kei’s attention. “He’ll be great.” Bokuto is not even breathing hard. Kei feels like he just ran a triathlon and Bokuto is simply, chilling, holding up Kei’s weight with a light grip on his thighs. It is so unfairly attractive. All of Bokuto is.

Kei’s eyes narrow. “Let me scoot.”

Bokuto massages feeling into Kei’s thighs before starting to push him back. “I don’t trust that face, should I be worried?”

“Shh,” Kei hushes him. Bokuto does most of the moving for him and when he’s settled, he lays his slick flesh just above Bokuto’s cock. It’s enough to tease the head of it and to get a good position to bend over and grab an unsuspecting Bokuto’s chin to kiss the cocky out of him. When he’s satisfied with his lark, he separates to stare down at a slack-jawed Bokuto.

“There. Better.”

“Didn’t enjoy his gloating?”

Kei turns to Akaashi. Kei’s change in position forced him to move further away, still within reaching distance. Kei is not pleased; he wants Akaashi and him to be skin to skin. “You’re not far behind.”

Akaashi deadpans, “Oh no. Please. Don’t kiss me senseless to teach me a lesson. Whatever will I do.” “You—Bokuto!” It is at this moment, Kei will know in the future, that he learns a valuable lesson: Don’t poke the bear unless you are willing to be eaten by it. Poking and prodding Bokuto is fun in their regular, daily lives where the most he’ll get in return is a hip bump and a laugh in his face. In the bedroom, he’s a menace. If you push him, he’ll push back twice as nice—or twice as mean. He grabs Kei’s waist and pushes him up enough to situate him over his cock. He lets Kei’s cunt get them both wet to make it glide smoothly. It’s an overstimulating trip, Bokuto’s cockhead hitting Kei’s sensitive dick at every new pass. Kei doesn’t have time to react, he only has enough reflexes to grab onto Bokuto’s arms for balance and that’s about it. He’s at Bokuto’s mercy, unable to do more than gasp and shiver at the edge of pleasure and pain of having his dick stimulated so soon after coming. He’s right on the verge of a second orgasm and Kei feels every drop of his stomach, the throbbing of his pelvis the wetter he gets, giving Bokuto a slicker, messier ride.

He’s almost there—almost—when Bokuto stops. The sudden stop is disorienting. Kei opens his mouth to ask what the hold-up is when Bokuto simply lifts him by the hips and holds him there. “‘Kaashi.” It's the only thing he says, focused. He doesn’t look at Kei, his eyes buried where his cock is leaking, eager. Akaashi finally moves closer, where he’d be back to chest with Kei if Bokuto put him down. He seats himself and promptly grabs Bokuto’s cock in his hands. He strokes it once and guides it to where the tip of it kisses the outer folds of Kei’s cunt. It’s a filthy, silent thing watching Akaashi rub Kei and Bokuto together before he aligns them.

When he’s done Bokuto drops Kei, impaling him slowly on his member. The friction is heaven and hell, the pace unbearable. Bokuto doesn’t rush it, doesn’t slam Kei’s hips down or takes his big, fat cock and rams Kei until he screams. It’s an unhurried affair, the parting of Kei’s folds and his flesh to accommodate Bokuto. When he’s seated, Kei drools on Bokuto’s chest, mouth open on a silent moan. He’s thankful Akaashi was smart enough to know he’d need someone holding him up and moved closer again. He’s a solid figure at Kei’s back. Kei leans his weight on him, getting used to Bokuto’s girth.

“Told you he’s big.” Akaashi bands his arm around Kei’s middle. The other runs up and down Kei’s back soothingly. “That’s why I’m the one topping most of the time.”

Gibberish comes out of Kei’s mouth. He is unimaginably full, the stretch bordering on impossible yet delicious. He looks down to see where Bokuto is entering him. There’s still an inch left to take and Kei’s head spins, the implications of this not being all of Bokuto and Akaashi topping Bokuto on the regular too much to handle.

All Kei’s stupid mouth can say is, “We should double-team him next time,” which only serves to rev Bokuto up. Bokuto’s dick twitches inside of Kei. His answer to Kei’s statement is to bounce him on dick, once, twice, infinitely, until Kei is nothing but balderdash and nonsense that spills out of his mouth.

Akaashi’s hand strokes him, ever so slightly and Kei shakes apart, creaming Bokuto’s cock. Kei wraps his free hand on Akaashi’s neck, moaning, hips matching Bokuto’s thrusts and curses. When he’s done vibrating out of his skin, Akaashi breathes into his skin. “Two down.”

Kei wants to cry. “How many more?”

“As many as I can get from you.”

“Mercy.”

“Hm, I’m all out.” Akaashi laughs at him and all it does is ignite Kei more. Bokuto takes the wet from Kei’s cum as a sign to increase the tempo and now—finally, he uses those big hands and all those muscles to grab on to Kei and thrust into him until the missing inch Kei agonized over disappears. Kei is the one on top but he’s being ridden for all he's worth, not a single ounce of effort being put into meeting Bokuto’s thrusts or keeping himself up.

Akaashi hums between kisses, expertly handling the undulating motion of Kei’s body while being absolutely destroyed. “He fucks like a rabbit, doesn’t he?”

Kei’s response is a harsh breath out because, well—he’s on the receiving end of said fucking. Bokuto slams Kei down harder as if to agree, holding him down for a moment to grind with a curse before jump-starting his thrusts again.

Akaashi perks up, curious. “Bokuto, did you just cum?”

The question earns him a laugh. Bokuto radiates satisfaction, eyes glued to where his and Kei’s bodies connect. “Yeah. Just kept going. Hey, Tsukki. Cum again? I wanna feel you around me. Feels crazy good.”

“I am—“Kei moans—“not going to survive this.” Still, he leans backward to plead for Akaashi’s assistance. “Make me?”

Akaashi has been, even with all the hidden malice he holds, an absolute gem. He’s holding Kei stable enough so that the man he’s in love with can slut Kei out with top-tier efficacy. “Make you what?”

Kei thinks about it with his single remaining neuron. “Make me cum so your boyfriend can feel it?”

Bokuto’s voice is smoke. “Yeah ‘Kaashi. Make him cum so your boyfriend can feel it.”

“I can do that,” Akaashi answers, voice smooth. He’s the beacon of Kei’s sanity, literally holding his hand through the best fuck of his life. His hand slides down Kei’s body, reaching where his dick stands, swollen red with stimulation. “You’re so sweet like this, is this the secret to making you behave?”

Bokuto joins in. “Fuck him well enough and he stops bitching?”

Kei gives him some bitching, just for the sake of it. “You are literally inside me.”

Akaashi stops any further train of thought with his fingers. He swirls where Bokuto meets Kei’s body to gather some wetness that looks suspiciously like cum (which Kei is not going to think about or he’ll cum before Akaashi has any chance of putting those fingers to use) and lightly, ever so gently rubs Kei’s dick.

Kei is a live wire, a jolt of electricity and pleasure and too much wrapped into one at a touch. His hips jump, only to be held in place by Bokuto’s hands. They’re a team, a unit doing nothing but rendering rapture from Kei’s body. He might cry—he’s not entirely sure if the wet sliding down his face is sweat or tears but both taste of sweet nectar in the midst of it. There’s nothing else, Kei’s eyes close, every nerve in his body standing to the attention of where Akaashi’s fingers cause a violent orgasm. Bokuto is right, it does feel amazing, the bearing down of his muscles around Bokuto’s cock, the added wetness of Kei’s cum dripping from him to create obscene squelching sounds that drown out Kei’s heavy breathing, his moans, and the curse from Bokuto as he feels the spams of Kei’s muscles demanding his release. They work him through it, Akaashi’s warning of his lack of mercy bouncing around Kei’s head as they thrust and stroke and rub until every last contraction has been milked from his body, every last convulsion.

When he descends from his high he has Akaashi’s hand rubbing the middle of his back and Bokuto, still hard and throbbing inside of him, patiently waiting for him to repossess his body. Kei has no words left, no extra quips, no wit existing in his brain for answers. He drops his head on Akaashi’s shoulder, even breathing steadily returning.

Akaashi turns him by the chin until their eyes meet. Kei’s are still half unfocused, Akaashi’s sharp and only foggy with lust. “Good?” Kei nods and blinks. He can’t think of anything else to do to convey that they’ve literally, momentarily fucked the capacity of speech out of him. Akaashi seems to get it anyway, his smile growing at Kei’s inability to do anything other than lay there to be made to cum over and over. He feels Bokuto squeeze his hips reassuringly.

Akaashi continues, tucking Kei’s sweaty hair behind his ear. “Want to tap out?” Kei finds his words then, heartbeat almost back to a normal speed. He licks his dry mouth to say, “Fuck. No.”

Bokuto gives him an experimental thrust, a bump, to start up again and Kei’s stomach drops out. He slides his hands down to where bruises the shape of Bokuto’s fingers will appear tomorrow and holds them in place. It’s him who leads now, testing the movement of his hips, his tights. It’s a grind more than a thrust but it earns him a groan from Bokuto. He doesn’t take his eyes off Akaashi, continuing a lazy motion with his head rested. He goes as slow as he wants and hears no complaints from either side. Bokuto encourages him by staying as still as his errant jerking hips will let him. Kei makes Bokuto cum in a move that is almost loving, riding him while staring at Akaashi in the eyes. It’s an odd, invigorating moment that has Kei’s adrenaline spiking for no good reason other than he was halfway in love with them before they had sex and this amount of canoodling isn’t going to help one bit. The sound of Bokuto coming beneath him will be engraved in his mind forever, the call of Kei’s name on his lips when he peaks.

Instead of a post-orgasmic haze, Kei is energized, acutely aware of everything and everyone. He’s remiss of moving, even when he starts to feel Bokuto softening inside him.

Akaashi is the first to move, making sure Kei is holding on his own before separating himself off of them. Bokuto springs into action, effortlessly sitting up and bringing Kei into a kiss. Kei does what any other man would do in this situation and climbs into Bokuto’s lap, letting him lift Kei off of his cock and then settle for some more kisses.

Kei should be tired. He should be bone-weary and ready for a nap. Instead, he ravages Bokuto’s mouth with intensity. They separate for air and Bokuto makes a grab behind him, pulling Akaashi in. Kei can’t see them, only hear them, and it has his guts in knots. Akaashi moves in and Kei feels something hard poke his back. He reacts with lit gasoline poured directly into his veins. “Ah, is that—”

Akaashi rushes to assure him. “Relax, I’m not putting it in.”

Kei blinks at him. It bursts out. “Why not?”

Akaashi is the one wordless this time. He stammers, blinking and flushing red all the while. “Well—I, you.”

Bokuto goads him, high on pleasure. “C’mon. He feels awesome.”

It garners a violent reaction from Kei’s gut, “Oh, did your huge dick feel good?”

“Yeah, can’t you feel?” Bokuto leans back, spreading him open and Kei’s first instinct is to push out the mess of cum and slick inside him, which was Bokuto’s plan all along. Akaashi’s breath stutters audibly at the sight. Bokuto kneads his ass, content with stirring the pot and patting his own back. “Think you’re wet enough for it?”

He is. Kei is. He’s tender and sensitive and wet. Kei finally finds his voice back. “Shut up. Akaashi, you can fuck me too.”

“You sure? Can you cum again?”

His cunt is swollen and his dick is red and angry. Kei throws all caution to the wind. “Probably not, but fuck me anyway.”

Akaashi hesitates, his eyes going from Kei’s sloppy hole to his face. There’s want there, Kei can see it. His cock is hot and hard, ready to find a warm place to come. Kei reaches back, wrapping an arm around Bokuto’s outrageous and unnecessary muscled traps for balance. He pulls Akaashi in, guiding him to Kei’s cunt. He’s sensitive from the stimulation, delirium firing every odd nerve at the physical evidence that he—after many weeks and days of pathetic yearning— is finally getting to be fucked by Akaashi Keiji. Akaashi shivers, setting his hands on Kei’s waist, enthralled. He enters Kei with a slowness to rival Bokuto’s initial prod, watchful of his own flesh disappearing into that wet heat. Kei is still embarrassingly slick, dripping with more than his own doing, and when Akaashi’s hips finally meet his cheeks a fresh wave of satisfaction coats them. Bokuto breaks them out of their trance by giving Akaashi a lewd smile and uttering words dripping with complicity. “S’good inside him, right?”

Kei’s teeth crash together. “Ah. I fucking hate you.”

Bokuto laughs at him. He bites Kei’s exposed nape, all play, and rumbles into his skin. “Mh, what’s that? You wanna cum?” Bokuto reaches down between Kei’s thighs. He uses gentle fingers to graze Kei’s cock, slow.

It makes Kei vibrate out of his skin. He tries a warning tone but what comes out is a wet, broken wail. “Bokuto.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna cry, Tsukki? We’re fucking you that good?” Kei might, to his dismay. He feels a sharp sting behind his eyes the more Bokuto strokes him.

“Don’t bully him too much,” Akaashi jumps in. Even as he says that he grips Kei’s waist harder. If Kei is lucky, he’ll grip hard enough to leave bruises matching the ones Bokuto left on his hips.

Bokuto clicks his tongue. “He likes it. Don’t you?”

He does, he really does. Likes being fucked by them, being between them. Likes having them inside. Likes that Bokuto could not give less of a shit about Kei’s crap attitude, that Akaashi is astute enough to not warrant any attitude in the first place. Likes Bokuto’s dick more than words can describe, Akaashi’s too. Bokuto is sweet underneath him, comfortably rubbing Kei’s dick the way he idly rubs Akaashi’s thigh when they’re outside.

Kei’s eyes water, finally, his vision blurred.

“I like it.” He really, really likes them. Crazy likes them. He’s raw enough and gone on orgasms and good dick enough to tell them. “I like you.”

Bokuto beams at him. He leans in to press their foreheads together. “Yeah?”

Bokuto’s rhythm gets it just right, and Kei whispers a sob into Bokuto’s mouth. “So much.” “We like you a whole lot back.” Bokuto kisses Kei’s desperation from his face. “You’re so cute like this, Tsukki. We should’ve made you cum ages ago.”  

Kei simply cannot take it. He cries for help. “Akaashi.”

Akaashi bites down on his shoulder, grounding him from all his flyaway thoughts. His hands wind around Kei’s middle for purchase, deepening his thrusts. “It is good inside you. You feel amazing.”

Kei buries his nails on Akaashi’s forearms, fighting to hold on for his building orgasm. “I’m—” Kei starts, but the warning falls off with a startled whine, his mouth open in a silent scream. His orgasm takes him by surprise. Instead of a steady build, he gets a freight train of pleasure and Akaashi’s deep moan in his ears.  

Akaashi buries his face in the curve of Kei’s nape, riding the wave of Kei coming. “Fuck me.” Kei meets the thrusts of Akaashi’s hips against his gone on pure instinct, using Bokuto's thighs as leverage. Kei is riding the edge of painful pleasure intertwined with the indulgence of Akaashi’s erratic movements and his voice. He’s loud, louder than Kei expected or ever dreamed, with a saccharine tone of desperation like he’s the one being fucked. He lets out breathy moans and groans that Kei will remember for the rest of as many lives as he still has to live before spending himself inside Kei with abandon.

In the throes of coming, Akaashi reaches out for Bokuto, pressing himself against Kei’s back to reach his boyfriend to the point where he’s crawling into Kei’s skin. They are a single beast, loops of tangled limbs, shared breaths, sweat, and skin. Kei is more them than he is himself, carried by the motion of being caught between their bodies and their kisses, a mockery of every delusion and bitter resentment he held against himself when he was without them.

Akaashi thrusts against him with a final, deep sigh. He lays his head against Kei’s spine to breathe himself into a regular heartbeat. The hot of his breath shakes Kei into realizing the intimacy of it, more than the spill inside his body. They are a far-off cry away from fucking out of lust, out of base attraction or curiosity. There is want beyond pleasure inside Kei, desire borne out of infatuation and of closeness that is satisfied not by the throbbing of his flesh but by the soft back and forth of Bokuto’s hand on his thighs and the tickling of Akaashi’s hair on the sensitive skin of his back.

Kei feels lead-heavy exhaustion sandwiched between them and thinks of jealous nights where this would have been an unreachable fantasy.  

Akaashi groans. “We are going to regret this floor choice tomorrow.”

Kei’s limbs are numb already, even with the care Bokuto is paying the circulation of his bent legs. It could be the floor or the orgasms, but he’s going with the floor. He’s got cum dripping out of him and no clue on how to move without dislodging two heavy bodies. “I’m regretting the choice right now.”

Bokuto laughs, unaffected. “What’s youth for if not fucking on hard surfaces?”

[ivyfics]

Somebody I Used to Know

Read on AO3

Kurotsukki, M, 2.9K Tags: Hanahaki, Mentions of Throwing up

He doesn’t buy flowers, or garden. Doesn’t have any kind of floral print on clothes or books or walls or anything. He convinces himself he was never in love in the first place and the flowers in his lungs go dormant. Kei ditches the inhaler and stops believing in love at 17.

Lovesickness is as old as time itself. It seems people have been dying over star-crossed love and suffering ill-timed infatuations since the beginning of history. Thankfully, they’ve grown past mourning for the ailed, flowers and blooms and thorns growing into flesh and wreaking havoc.

It’s not a death sentence to be unrequited, just a miserable existence for those unlucky enough to be free with their love and affection.

If you get over it—it goes. Sleeps into oblivion until there is no love to think about. For those too romantic to be anything but martyrs there are options: shot, pills, inhalers, surgery.

All invasive and painful, a constant reminder of so-called, undying love. That is lovesickness—an undying ill. 

Kei gets over it.

He tries the medical aids for a while. Experiences a year of being lovesick while he gets his head on straight. All the miles between him and Tokyo help. So does being a dumbass wet behind the ears that has some growing up to do. Kei grows up and grows out of choking on petals and thorns in the middle of the night. Leaves a hoarse voice akin to a lifetime of smoking and rattling of his lungs for volleyball and university entrance courses.

 Doesn’t think of a boy he used to believe himself to be in love with or shitty laughs or black hair. Forgets crossed stares and accidental touching of hands. Only dates brunettes and blondes and boys and girls with weird colored hair and swears off on anyone tall.

 He doesn’t buy flowers, or garden. Doesn’t have any kind of floral print on clothes or books or walls or anything. He convinces himself he was never in love in the first place and the flowers in his lungs go dormant. Kei ditches the inhaler and stops believing in love at 17.

 How real can it be, if you can trick yourself out of it?

 He does the growing and the graduating and the dating and the college and the job and all the things he’s supposed to be doing until the days of bloody thorns on pillows and a torn esophagus are a lifetime away.

Kei simply does not think of love outside of a decade ago when he was so full of it that it bloomed from his chest.

He grows, and he forgets both of his love and that love exists at all. He’s grown and jaded and loveless.

He accidentally bumps black hair and memories on a busy Tokyo street and his throat closes fully shut, the smell of rotting petals and the sting of branches enveloping him completely. It drenches his nostrils and chokes any free airways currently not exploding with leaves. He tastes the rot of a love he tried to kill and his eyes water in protest. His lungs shriek at him. They protest every second they’ve been forced to forget.

 How is one supposed to survive love that won’t die?

 Kei falls in love at 16, spends ten years two months, and fifteen days convincing himself out of love. It takes Kuroo Tetsurou exactly two point five seconds to show him he’s full of shit.

 Kei almost dies—except he won’t. He does throw up a decade’s worth of flowers on Kuroo’s fancy suit, so he wishes he would. Wishes love sickness would take him instead of edging relief.

 Kuroo is, after all this time, still worthy of it. He does not recognize Kei at all.

 Still, he helps. He pushes Kei’s bangs out of the way and holds his glasses. Rubs his back while a complete stranger vomits greenery on his shoes. When Kei can take a breath, when the contractions of his abdomen stop, Kuroo asks if he’s okay and he feels a new flower bloom. If he speaks, thorns will scratch his throat, so he tries to nod and gets a nosebleed instead.

 Kuroo maneuvers himself into getting Kei to a hospital and Kei is too full of flowers and love to fight him, even for a second. Looking at him directly has Kei gasping for air, so he lowers his head and stays still. Stares at the seats of the taxi until the seams blur.

 Kuroo speaks absolute nothing at him, nervous words meant to fill the silence and take attention away from the fact that Kei has literally spilled his feelings all over the floor. He introduces himself and talks about his life, gives Kei all the information he needs to fill the gaps he’s purposefully left empty about Kuroo’s years without Kei and his personality. Kuroo’s intention is kind and he means to take Kei's mind of it all, at least until they get to the hospital. All it does is make the vines inside of Kei double in size.

 The moment he gives his name for check-in at the hospital, raspy voice and all Kuroo turns to stare at him. Stares and stares and stares. Kei is a ghost to him.

 The idea of revealing exactly who has made him lovesick to such an extent gets Kei rearing to be whisked away and seen by a medical professional as soon as possible. He doesn’t know how obvious he’s been with his ailment. Maybe Kuroo can tell that it’s quite odd to have such a severe reaction to a stranger, that they’re not strangers at all. That Kei once was so in love with him in his youth that he’s been sick with love for half of his life.

The whole thing threatens to bring tears to Kei’s eyes that have nothing to do with the bile burning his insides and everything to do with the fact that he’s pretended to not know of love while having too much of it. Who decided teenagers know enough about feelings and caring to make themselves chronically ill?

A nurse with sharp eyes and a kind smile takes him away before he can simply turn and ask Kuroo to put him out of his misery. She gives him an emergency shot to reduce the swelling, gives him a mask with a vaporized antihistamine to help him breathe. He’s lucky he’s not allergic to pollen, besides it making his nostrils burn. He hasn’t seen a doctor about this in so long, he isn’t sure of how to explain to them that no, this is not the first attack he’s had, but it has literally been ten years since his last one.

 The doctor, a lovely woman half his height, gives him a follow-up shot and it takes twenty minutes for Kei to feel relatively normal again. He’s prescribed an inhaler and given an appointment with a surgeon to remove the rooted nodes in his lungs and be free of flowers altogether. It feels like a loss.

 Kei turned down surgery once. He doesn’t want to erase what loving Kuroo felt like. What being in love for the first time felt like. He’s made himself forget once, he can make himself forget again.

 The doctor gives him a once-over full of understanding and bad news. It makes Kei feel like a child again.  

“At this point, it’s so advanced you have two options. You either get on the daily pills to keep the growth in check, or you get it removed. Even then, the pills are not a forever solution. It’s not an easy process or an easy recovery, but unless you want diminished lung capacity, ulcers, and the threat of neurological damage for the rest of your life, I suggest you consider removal.”

Kei says absolutely nothing and she takes it for what it is.

 “Tsukishima-san, I know this is not an easy choice to make. Your history shows you’ve turned removal down once, and maintaining your dormant status going as long as you have is an admirable, rare thing. Rare being the operative word. It is unlikely to happen again. Please consider all of your options.”

 Kei takes a deep breath and his chest rattles. “What about complications?”

 She nods, “All procedures come with risks. In this particular case, since your illness is so advanced, you are at a greater risk of memory loss and other brain-related complications. We still need further imaging and testing to see how compromised your lungs are. Even at that greater risk, the odds of complications are low and this is a relatively safe procedure.”

 Kei is not convinced. Even with his diagnosis, his gut is screaming no.

 The doctor sighs and closes his chart. “If you’re still hesitant about the removal, why not speak to Tetsurou-Kun? His recovery has been great, and even five years out there are no complications or side effects, just test screenings. Maybe he can ease your worries better than I can.”

 Kei chokes on his own saliva at the words. His chest sounds like it’s full shrapnel, feels that way too. She takes it as another flower coming up and starts another cycle of the nebulizer. “We still need more imaging, so someone will be coming to get you soon for that. In the meantime, take deep breaths, and speak with him.”

She turns to leave Kei to it, but hesitates. With her hand on the handle she says, “Tsukishima-san, people live extraordinary loves. Sometimes they go away on their own, and sometimes they are removed by surgeons. All we are looking for is quality of life. We’re all on your side here.”

Kei doesn’t have enough thoughts to say anything back, so he nods in hopes she’ll leave him with the mess of thoughts he’s become.

Kuroo has had an extraordinary love removed. He’s loved someone enough—so much, that it has had to been removed from him by external forces. Kei wishes he could be ashamed by the wave of jealousy riding through his body. 

It consoles him, that even if he has to part with this feeling, he has loved enough to feel it. Kuroo will be his extraordinary love, so persistent that even years of Kei’s insistence is futile in the face of it. Maybe it is time to let this one extraordinary love go. Kei decides to, for once, listen to the kind doctor and close his eyes. Takes deep breaths until the sounds of his vine-filled thorax are replaced with white noise and he can finally feel his lungs expand completely. It’s not painless—it hurts, but he can do it. There’s a bout of coughing from outside his door, and then a knock. Kei throws out a scratchy, “Come in,” hoping to see a nurse ready to take him for some imaging. Kuroo stands by the open door, unsure, and steals the breath Kei has been working on for the last thirty minutes. Kuroo clears his throat and closes the door. “Hi.” Kei's chest tightens. He’s a fool in love with a memory, enamored by a man he doesn’t really know anymore. “Hello. Sorry to meet you again this way. And about your suit. And your shoes.” Kuroo seems nervous. Uncomfortable might be a better descriptor. Kei gets it.  How often do you run into someone you used to know having a crisis?

“Don’t mind that.”

“Did the doctor send you in?”

“Uh—”

Kei can’t stop talking, even to his own detriment. “To talk about the removal, I mean. She said you’re doing well, after.”

Kuroo pulls at his tie. “Yeah. Yeah. Pretty okay.” “She said you had no complications?”

“Not complications, really. Intended effects. My case wasn’t as…old.” Kuroo winces at the word. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Kei waves him off, grateful for the insight. The best he could have asked for, really. He dares ask for more. To confess without confessing. He’s not one to share any of his thoughts but this is his only chance. “I’m hesitant, you see. I don’t want to risk forgetting.”

Kuroo freezes. Kei has had that reaction several times, from family and doctors when he refused to be put under at 16 and a half when the nodes were new and there were no roots. “No?”

Kei sneers at his younger self. “Maybe things have changed in a decade, but when I first looked it up forgetting was common. It seemed people appreciated not being reminded.”

Kuroo leans against Kei’s bed. It’s an examining one, fake shiny black leather without the sides and with the shitty cushion.

“It doesn’t bring you peace? You’ll be at less risk of relapse after going through it.” Kuroo sighs. “It’s so painful.”

“Not even a little.” Kei’s words are hot, but he’s had this argument in the back of his mind forever. “It’s why I avoided it in the first place, Kuroo-san. I didn’t ever want to forget, even if it’s painful.” Kei coughs, clears his throat, and coughs again. “Exactly because it’s painful. ”

Kuroo wears a torn expression. He hunches over, eyes closing. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve heard you call my name, Tsukki. I missed it.”

That is all it takes. Kei remembers midnight texts and afternoon phone calls full of Kuroo calling him Tsukki and Tsukki-kun and Kei that fizzled out the more he couldn’t breathe. He remembers the fear, the sheer panic of what was happening to his body, that he’d be found out. That he’d be discovered to be in love with a boy that didn’t love him back to the point where he is cursed with the sickness of the ages. Kei reminisces and forgets to pretend like he’s forgotten what it’s like to be in love for so long. His body decides that that specific moment is a good time to make up for lost time. His ears ring, and his chest heaves with coughs that have no air to expel. It catches him mid-breath and makes him pay for the oversight of not providing oxygen. His nails grip his knees in a death grip. Kei doesn’t feel it. Doesn’t feel anything beyond the fire in the mouth of his stomach and the thorns that litter this larynx and the velvet-soft petals that rob him of air long enough for him to dream of unconsciousness but that ultimately snatch the relief away.

“Hey, hey. I got you.”

It’s never been like this before. This burning of his gut, the pain in his chest a hot lance. He tries to do something, to push Kuroo far from him before he faints. “Get—away.” 

Kuroo doesn’t listen or doesn’t care and pulls some of that dumbass chivalry he’s always carried around to try and get Kei’s attack under control by getting closer to him, by placing a hand on his shoulder like some sort of hell-sent saving angel.

Kei coughs and coughs until he feels his eyes try to bounce from his sockets and sees blood dripped on his shirt from his nose. When his body decides it would like to stop dying and gives him a break, he slumps over.

Kuroo’s hand is still on his shoulder, rubbing back and forth, hovering over him like he could stop Kei’s physiology with sheer worry.

Kei can’t do this anymore. If it’s shame he’s concerned with, he’d throw it all to the wind to escape Kuroo’s worried expression. He gives himself away with broken words. “Please, don’t touch me. You’ll make it worse.”

He doesn’t wait and see Kuroo’s expression. Doesn’t clarify what he means.

Kuroo moves to stand in front of Kei. He lifts Kei’s chin with a sure grip and wipes the blood under Kei’s nose with his tie in a poor attempt at clean-up. When he’s satisfied, he kisses Kei’s forehead with absolute tenderness.

Kei braces himself for the worst attack of his life and nothing happens.

Kuroo kisses his forehead again, then his cheek. He sighs and lays his forehead on the crook of Kei’s nape. “I’m sorry, Kei. I forgot. I’m sorry I couldn’t recognize you right away.”

Kei does not understand anything. “Kuroo—”

He doesn’t let Kei interrupt. “I waited it out as much as I could. Five years, active. I thought I was so tough. I went to see you, thinking—” Kuroo shakes his head—"that doesn’t matter. You were with someone, some pink-haired girl, holding hands and kissing and I gave up. Booked a surgeon two weeks out.”

It takes Kei a minute to make sense of Kuroo’s words. It’s impossible. His brain is fried and full of a shrub of some kind, surely. He still asks. “Me? It was me?”

“Who else?” Kuroo’s extraordinary love.

“Oh,” Kei says. The flowers will wilt, and he’ll have to expel them, but the vice around his throat stops. He takes a breath with his beaten lungs. “Are we monumentally stupid?”

Kuroo laughs at him. With him, maybe. “I think so, yeah.”

Kuroo coughs, again. It’s a small one, not like Kei’s racking coughs, but he returns the favor nonetheless. “It’s you, for me.”

“Kei after—” Kuroo makes a face—"after we get over it, let’s catch up.”

Kei will get over it after the worst flu of his life, getting rid of ten years’ worth of pent-up feelings. He’ll get over it—and it will go. He still has growing up to do, and the job and the getting to know and the dating and the life thing. Only this time he’ll think of a man he might fall in love with again, and shitty laughs and black hair. He’ll start gardening the black roses that have made him cry and ache and bleed,  and he’ll date someone tall. Kei ditches the inhaler and learns that you can’t trick yourself out of love at 27.

[ivyfics]

Nap Time

Read on AO3

BokuakaKurotsukki, OT4, T , 1.2k Being Gross Au of the Au Tags: Fluff, Napping

He was never much of a napper until they got together. It’s the same thing that happened when Kuroo and Tsukki first got together and Bokuto had a front-row seat to Kuroo slowly adapting to Tsukki’s napping schedule. After all this time, it’s rubbed off on all of them.

The first thing Bokuto does after coming home and finally getting to pee after holding it in for what seems like an eternity is tiptoe to the bedroom. Quietly, making sure to not step on the creaky floorboard by the bedroom door, taking extra care to lower his bag gently to the floor instead of flinging it around. 

He holds his breath, steady while closing the door to the bedroom. The blinds are down, the heater is on and there is one blonde fluffy head of hair barely peeking out from underneath the mound of blankets. The blanket is Kuroo’s, but the bedroom is his and there are a million and a thousand one butterflies in his ribcage at Tsukki’s choice of location. 

He was never much of a napper until they got together.

It’s the same thing that happened when Kuroo and Tsukki first got together and Bokuto had a front-row seat to Kuroo slowly adapting to Tsukki’s napping schedule. 

After all this time, it’s rubbed off on all of them. They’ll find a warm body somewhere in their apartment and they’ll fall asleep together, just for a little.  Akaashi struggles most with it but now he’s found his place running his perfect fingers through whatever head of hair closest to him while he reads. He does yanks a tad harder when it’s Kuroo’s, but their constant need to ruffle each other’s feathers is something both Koutaro and Tsukki have come to terms with. They never go too far, so it’s best left alone. 

For all of Kei’s bold moves at jumpstarting their little quad, he’s hesitant to mess with the balance they worked to achieve. 

Kei doesn’t snore much. He lays there, his face buried in the extra pillows Bokuto has been slowly adding to his bed.  Bokuto slides in behind him because he can. He presses all of his chest to Tsukki’s curved back, the way he’d do it to make sure there wasn’t a piece of them not touching if Tsukki wasn’t wrapped around Kuroo’s blanket twice. 

It’s a nice mix of them. Kuroo’s scent on the blanket he wraps around himself when Tsukki hogs all the others, Akaashi’s on the pillow he slept on the night before. 

It’s incredible to think that he has this. All of them, together, even when it’s just Bokuto coming home to a cold, tall-ass dude sleeping in his bed. Which, by the way, how nice is that. Coming home to someone he loves wrapped around his (and his other boyfriend’s!) sheets. 

It’s. Awesome. 

He’s too eager, too fidgety in the way he gets too excited and filled with affection so he jostles Tsukki with his knee. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. He’s apologized a thousand times before and Tsukki has waved off his apology every time. Tsukki makes this adorable hum before he opens his eyes. 

It’s all wrong.

He’s not mad, or sad, or anything. It’s just wrong, in the way his eyes are a little dull, his mouth doesn’t quirk with hidden glee at having someone join him.

Bokuto wants to hurts whatever is hurting him. “Wanna talk about it?”

Kei takes a moment. Thinks about it and shakes his head. “No.”

“Okay,” he says, and presses a sleepy kiss to Tsukki’s forehead. 

He’s learned the hard way that doing nothing is what helps the most right now. He wraps himself around Tsukki tight, as if to hold him together by sheer force. Bokuto would. He’ll physically wrap himself around any of his boyfriends the second they seem like they need it. 

Tsukki lets him. Goes a step further and sluggishly untangles himself from his sea of blankets and lifts it up so Bokuto can burrow underneath them with him. Even then, he wiggles so that they’re as close as they can, his breath hitting Bokuto’s collarbone with every exhale. This is all that Bokuto needs. 

Tsukki speaks up, his words dragging. “Today was hard.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Yours?”

“Pretty normal. I did see a dog, that was awesome.”

“Tell me about it?”

Bokuto does. He tells him about the lady with the crazy hair on the subway and the dog he got to pet on his way home and what he had for lunch until his voice lulls Tsukki back into sleep against Bokuto’s chest.  

.................................

Bokuto wakes up when Kuroo’s knee hits the bed a little too hard—it’s though, four objectively large people on a measly double. Someday they’ll get a place for all of them with a huge bed and a gigantic tub. Koutarou might die of happiness when it happens. 

His head jumps at the same time Kuroo lets out a hissed, “Shit.” 

“Hmm?”

“Noooo, go back to sleep. Keep being cute.” Kuroo’s hands are on his waist, treading up and down softly. 

Bokuto fights the cotton in his mouth to croak out, “Go on the other side.”

Kuroo’s hands still and already Bokuto is regretting it. It feels so nice. Kuroo’s voice is fakely cautious. He’s had the hardest time with this, getting used to being able to have more than one person, but he’s doing better. There’s no trace of the hesitancy from the beginning, no careful treading to, and Bokuto quotes, “ruin this for all of them like he always does, ” which is by far the dumbest thing to ever come out of his mouth.  

“Aw, baby. Are you mad I woke you?”

He manages to shake his head, going a little too hard after getting the impulse. “Tsukki sandwich.” 

As much as he’d love letting Kuroo spoon him back to sleep, he figures Tsukki would appreciate it after a rough day. 

“Bokuto, you’re a fucking genius.” Tetsurou smacks a loud kiss against Bokuto’s ear. “This is why I love you.”

“And my butt.”

Kuroo laughs “Yes, and your butt.” 

Kuroo goes to settle on the other side, he feels Tsukki stir against his chest. Kei burrows impossibly tighter, letting Kuroo wrap an arm around the both of them. Kei says something, he thinks, but he’s pulled back into the darkness of sleep.

.................................

 Bokuto wakes up to Akaashi and Tsukki cooking dinner. 

The smell of garlic and onion tease him until he’s awake, their voices barely carrying to the bedroom. Akaashi is the best out of all of them in the kitchen. Simple, comforting flavors that always make Bokuto feel like he’s eating properly, even when it’s fried chicken for dinner. 

He might request fried chicken for dinner a lot. 

Bokuto stretches, eyes getting wet with a yawn. Soft yellow light keeps him from being totally in the dark. Kuroo’s doing, probably. It’s too dark outside for Kuroo to be home still, his schedule turning more to nighttime now that he’s had new students sign up for tutoring. 

He’ll wait to have dinner, he thinks, so that Kuroo doesn’t eat alone. Kuroo’s been eating by himself too much these days. 

That’s no good. 

You can’t have three boyfriends and eat dinner by yourself. 

So, Bokuto will wait. He’ll go back to sleep in his bed, with the light Kuroo left on for him and the sheets that smell like Tsukki and Akaashi’s cooking reaching his nose and dream far away dreams that hold no candles to real life. 

[ivyfics]

In the Closet - Chap 6

Read on AO3

KurotsukkIwaoi, OT4, E, 5.8k

There’s a 15-second clip staring back at him. It’s right there, ready for Kei to press the play button. It’s a terrible video, all in all. Shaken and blurry, pointing at the ceiling. It swallows Kei whole and he regrets everything, all of it. Regrets opening the clip, coming into class that day, enrolling in his university, being born. Obviously, they are fucking. Obviously.

Previous Chap All Chaps

They make a group chat. Well, They don’t really do anything, Oikawa adds them all to a group chat and starts speaking drivel at them at all times of the day. He goes on and on about every single minute detail of his day, well into the night. Even the days when he and Kei have practice, or when he knows they’ll see each other at night. 

It’s strange. Kei can’t shake the oddness of waking up and seeing a good morning selfie from Oikawa just chilling on his phone. 

He’s compelled to send one back but resists. He sends a one-word response to Oikawa’s messy hair and drool-stained face instead, a poignant “ ew .”

Kuroo follows along seamlessly, even going as far as photobombing some of Oikawa’s pictures by making wretched, illegal faces in the background. 

It takes a whole week of Oikawa and Kuroo plus an appearance of Iwaizumi sending a selfie of both of them, Oikawa still asleep on his chest for Kei to pony up a blurry, sneaky pic of him in class. 

He does not miss Kuroo’s seventeen million heart emoji’s, every single one of them an individual message and notification, nor Iwaizumi’s follow up pic of just him, sleepy and smiling. 

Very strange.

 He’s getting used to the whole Oikawa and Iwaizumi permanently on his phone thing. Kei sends more pictures now, mostly because he’s noticed that when he does Iwaizumi is more likely to respond with a picture of his own.

Kuroo has caught him in his little ruse and in response has started taking awful candids of Kei and sending them behind his back when he wants a quick Iwaizumi fix. The ass. 

Yeah, yeah, Kei sends more too, after a while, to get his own Iwaizumi fix, but he’s not making a big deal out of it even if it feels like it is. 

................................

Oikawa is silent for about a day and a half. Doesn’t say anything at all, doesn’t text them a Hi! at 5:30 in the morning when he’s up for his run, doesn’t send a picture of the neighbor's dog Mari-chan. He waits until Kei is elbow-deep in the most mind-numbing group assignment to say anything and immediately sends them nudes. 

Kei takes a break from staring at a blank piece of paper and chokes into his water, having to pretend he’s fine so his study group doesn’t latch on to the filth on his phone.

 It’s all fine. 

Kei can wait and see Oikawa’s nudes later. Maybe rope him into some fooling around. 

Oikawa sends another picture, but of Iwaizumi half-naked. 

And then another of Iwaizumi inside Oikawa.

Kei has needs. So many needs. One of them is to violently shake Oikawa for torturing him while he’s indisposed. 

Why? Why him? Why now, when he has to make his brain function and make it coherent? 

Kei is pointedly not looking at his phone, and not checking his notifs. He can’t get hard in public, he’ll never live it down. He’s already getting longer stares simply by trying to calm himself down.

In the end, he simply shuts off his phone and violently throws it deep in his bag to keep from obsessively drooling all over himself. His part of the assignment is mediocre, at best. He doesn’t care. As soon as there is something passable down he’s grabbing his stuff and running out with a stupid excuse that is probably going to come back to bite him in the ass. 

He makes it out of the library, just past off-campus when he’s digging his phone out. He checks and stares. Stares and stares and stares.

There’s a 15-second clip staring back at him. It’s right there, ready for Kei to press the play button.

He shouldn’t…

But he does anyway, fumbling for his earphones in his jacket pocket. He wills himself to be calm. Forces patience and tortuous slowness to untangle the mess his headphones have become in his pocket. If he’s going to watch what is most likely porn in the middle of the street, he’s going to be discreet about it. It’s the one thing that will save the shred of dignity he has left. 

It’s a terrible video, all in all. Shaken and blurry, pointing at the ceiling. It swallows Kei whole and he regrets everything, all of it. Regrets opening the clip, coming into class that day, enrolling in his university, being born. 

Obviously, they are fucking. 

Obviously.

Evidently, Oikawa is getting his shit rocked all the way to hell and back. The video doesn’t show anything other than the ceiling. Oikawa’s quick, hard wailing and the sound of them don’t need anything else. Iwaizumi laughs, evil, all smoke, and grit in the background and Kei ceases any brain function before he can be charged for indecent exposure. 

Kei takes a deep steadying breath and heads to Kuroo’s apartment instead of his own.

................................

The commute is mind-numbing enough that his dick calms down. Not all the way, no, just enough to perk back up at the quickest thought of them. Of all of them, and the plans Kei has later. He’s zen, at the moment, to be able to make it to Kuroo and Oikawa apartment in one piece. 

When he reaches their place, all bets are off. He wastes no time going through the door and kicking off his shoes. Usually, he has some respect for other people’s homes. There’s no time to set everything down neatly. He throws his bag next to what he assumes is Kuroo’s shoes and hopes that his phone doesn’t break from the impact. 

Iwaizumi, the bastard, is all smiles and post-fuck nonchalance. He’s leaning against the doorjamb of the kitchen, half-naked and happy, talking to Kuroo like he’s not a rat. Kei kisses Kuroo without even saying hello, and takes his hand to drag him along. He yanks Iwaizumi’s hand with bitterness and pulls them along, no explanation offered. 

As established, Iwaizumi has a knowing smile, because he’s a bastard and he knows exactly what has Kei in a tizzy. 

Kei beelines for the bedroom—Oikawa’s—where he’s probably sleeping off the orgasm Iwaizumi gave him not two hours ago and all but hops on him. Oikawa wakes up with a start, glares at Kei, and fails miserably to be any kind of intimidating. “What in the fuck?”

Kei forgoes how cute Oikawa looks when he’s like this and cuts down to the chase. “I want your boyfriend to fuck me. That cool?”

Iwaizumi's sharp intake of breath fills the room. Kei gets some satisfaction at getting back at them for their shenanigans. He can be a bastard, too. 

It’s silent for longer than Kei would like. There’s some hesitancy at it. He did spring this on them. Maybe he’s being hasty about this... 

Oikawa hums and pouts a spoiled bratty pout like the worst of them. “Only him?”

The delivery dispels the tension in Kei’s back. “You want in too?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you just get fucked?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa smiles, satisfied. “Iwa-chan, I know you want in on Kei-chan. This okay?”

Iwaizumi’s voice is gravel. “Yeah, s’okay.”

Kei turns to his own boyfriend.“Kuroo, how ab–you’re already taking your pants off.”

Kuroo’s pants pool at his feet as he tries to kick them off his feet with no finesse. “Got no time to waste.”

He’s unbelievable. Kei wants to mess with him. “You haven’t even asked if you can join.”

“Oh.” Kuroo freezes then shrugs. “I can just watch. I don’t care. I’m good.”

Kei’s evil side rises, about to force him to follow through with that statement when Kuroo manages to get his pants off completely by kicking them and clapping, standing there in the oldest pair of boxers he owns. “We got the good lube yesterday!”

Oikawa snickers. He looks like the picture of innocence, staring up at Kei with his big doe eyes.

 Iwaizumi climbs on the bed behind him, the mattress dipping under his weight. Trying to give them space, Kei starts to climb off Oikawa’s lap. Iwaizumi’s hand on his lower back stops him. “No, no. Stay there.” 

Oikawa's hands run up and down his hips, keeping him in place. Iwaizumi lets out a chuckle, running a finger down Kei’s back. Even clothed it gives him goosebumps. “He’s wanted you.”

Oikawa blushes down to his chest, embarrassed by Iwaizumi putting him on the spot. Kei’s heart settles south of his stomach, the throbbing of his pelvis intensifying. He might have instigated it, but he’s not ready for what these two will do to him. He might not survive it. 

Oikawa bites his lip in a way that is so reminiscent of how Tetsurou does it that Kei can’t tell who stole the gesture first. It endears something in Kei’s cold, shriveled heart. Something—dare he to name it—tender. 

Tetsurou comes back with a boom and a clatter, dropping his loot on the bed next to Kei’s thighs. He’s about to say something and Kei knows that face, so it will make everyone in the vicinity lose part of their dignity and blush to high heaven. Before he can, Iwaizumi leans over, wraps his hand around Tetsurou’s nape, and brings him in for a kiss that has Kei breathing funny. 

It’s not the first time any of them have kissed, by far, but this one holds the promise of something new.

Oikawa agrees with a rake of perfectly manicured nails against Kei’s hip. It brings Kei’s attention to his face, the way the blush on his skin deepens, how his chest rises rapidly. His eyes are dazed with sleep and an edge of fever, hair tousled either by the fuck Iwaizumi gave him earlier or by his nap.

What else is Kei supposed to do?

He grabs Oikawa’s chin ever so gently and bends down into a kiss of his own. He intends it to be short and sweet, a little scratch of an old itch that’s been nagging him for a long time, but turns into a sloppy, nasty thing that has Oikawa straining against the thin sheet covering his modesty. Kei is wearing far too many clothes, but he still bears down to press their hardnesses together. 

Kei’s initial plan was to get down and dirty with Oikawa’s beau, let all that built-up tension that got them here in the first place come to a head. Get fucked by Iwaizumi, let Tetsurou watch his boyfriend get pounded for a while, maybe switch places, and cheer Tetsurou on. If he’s being completely honest, maybe, possibly find Oikawa, blow him, and snuggle with him for a long while. 

Kei doesn’t know if he can bring himself to stop kissing Oikawa. Can’t stop touching him, unglue himself from the warmth pouring from Oikawa’s body underneath him. Oikawa lets out a barely-there moan into Kei’s mouth and Kei loses the grip he thought he had over the situation. He deepens the kiss, grip on Oikawa’s chin growing hard, and Oikawa gifts him with another moan, harder this time, louder, and seals his fate. 

Kei has to make him come. Has to. 

Kei has never been afraid to admit this side of him at least, so he reluctantly pulls off and says straight out, "I wanna make you come.”

Oikawa is beautiful on a bad day. He’s all sharp features and doe hair with evil eyes. He’s graceful and strong surrounded by an aura that belongs to royalty. Kei envies it on the regular, the ease that carries every calculating move that spawns from his brain.

He’s a vision when he’s like this, when he exchanges his bravado for coy eyes and unintentional naivete, lips puffy red from kisses, looking at Kei like he’s never seen him before. 

Iwaizumi sees him looking. He knows how Oikawa is, the aura he gives off when he’s been done and soft and waiting. He plays them like a violin, tense and soft and in-between to get what he wants. “He’s already loose from before, try him.”

Kei feels his revenge in the air. He wets his lip with anticipation building in his gut. Stealing a page from Oikawa’s book, he says, “You don’t want to get me ready, Daddy?”

Oikawa smacks his hip lightly. “Sneaky, glasses-kun.”

Two can play the game. Iwaizumi doesn't give Kei an inch, ever. He doesn't fluster or flounder. He's a steadying, warm presence at Kei’s back. He croons, plastering his body to Kei’s back. “Baby, did you want me to take care of you? I can get you ready. Anything you want, if you're nice." 

Kei hasn't been nice a day in his life. He's been a bastard from birth. And still…

"I'll be so nice. Nicest you've ever seen."

Kuroo snickers. “Don't know if nice is possible.”

Iwaizumi tuts at Kuroo, running a hand carefully down Kei’s nape. “He’ll be nice, the nicest he’s been to me. For me.”

Iwaizumi’s voice, his affirmation, makes Kei want to do it. Makes him want to rescind every cynic bone in his body, every inclination to trick them into thinking he’s good, and to actually behave. To embrace the desire to please others for the sake of pleasing them and not for himself, to bring happiness to part of him that wants to play the part. It’s not an easy thing to access, for Kei. He’s the king of ulterior motives, of hidden agendas. How terrible would it be, to have no second scheme running his actions? How mortifying to be meek and obedient. It gnaws through him, the want of it. There has not been a day on earth where Kei has been meek , but being honest about his desires doesn’t sound too bad if the three men next to him are the only witnesses. 

He looks at Kuroo. Kuroo will save him from anything. He sees through Kei’s machinations on the daily, and he’s more in love than Kei thinks is physically possible, so there’s something of value there. 

Kei has been quiet for almost too long, so he presses back into Iwaizumi’s warmth and throws it all to hell. 

Who the fuck cares about anything, anyway? 

Kei licks his lips. “I’ll be nice, for you. Get me ready, please?”

A triumphant smile blooms from the edge of Iwaizumi’s lips. He shifts, turning Kei’s chin towards him, going over Kei’s lick with his own. “Anything you want.”

Iwaizumi’s voice rakes through Kei’s spine, eliciting a shiver at the anticipation. Kei is --to no one’s surprise-- so fucking hard. Kei sees the same feeling in Oikawa. He tries being sneaky. Tries .

The second his hand starts to travel south, Iwaizumi stops him. “Don’t. Not yet.”

Oikawa’s voice is a miserable plea. “Iwa.”

Iwaizumi is hot honey, languid with his voice. “Not. Yet.”

Oikawa’s lip trembles. If he starts crying Kei will come before he has a chance to see how this plays out, much less be an active participant in making it happen.

“You’re going to wait until I come.” Iwaizumi bites Kei’s earlobe before speaking into his neck. His demands carry all authority without any of the defiant feelings Kei gets in his gut when someone tells him what to do. The words seem into him, given. He speaks low enough that only Kei can hear him.“Then you can make him come.”

He raises his voice in Kuroo’s direction. “And I’ll make him come, too.”

Kuroo has become increasingly comfortable with Iwaizumi’s presence in their sex lives—he taunts and much as he shuts up now. “Oh?”

Exasperated with Kuroo’s affront, Iwaizumi growls at him. “I’m eating you out, got a problem with that?”

Kuroo, like the rest of them, is also a bastard. He sticks his tongue out and raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Promise?”

“Fucking asshole.” Iwaizumi leans down to Kei’s ear to whisper. “I’m going to fuck the haughty out of him.”

Kei laughs, broken. “That’s impossible.”

“Fucked it out of this one.” Iwaizumi’s hand reaches out to Tooru’s bent thigh and pinches the skin. Oikawa moans but doesn’t say anything else, eyes glassy. “He used to be a brat. Now he’s all cute, can’t wait for dick. Take one look at him and he’s ready to beg for it. And this one.” Iwaizumi grips Kei’s waist, squeezes him tight. “I thought you’d be a bigger pain than Tooru, but you’re not, not even a little bit. You’ll be good, won't you? You’ll wait until I fill you with cum so you can fuck him and come inside his hole.”

Oikawa cries. “Iwa.”

Iwaizumi ignores him and Kei’s gut goes up in flames. “It’s sloppy already, he’s messy like that. Gets testy if I come anywhere else."

Something is eating at him. When they’re together like this, when Iwaizumi is in charge without saying it, Kei has never been consumed by this need to have it all, to follow his lead. He’s felt like an accomplice, like a spectator. He can feel himself bend to Iwaizumi’s will out of his own volition. “Even in me?”

Iwaizumi can see through it, he’s sure. He can see Kei bend and twist and turn to be whatever he wants Kei to be. But, even if Iwaizumi is a rat bastard, he’s good. There’s no other way for him to be listened to and obeyed so intently other than being so intensely good to them. Iwaizumi lets Kei bend and bend and holds him up with his strength when he stretches too far. “Why don't you ask?”

Kei doesn’t turn to look at Oikawa, just tilts his head in Oikawa’s general direction.“Can he?”

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue while chiding. “Properly.”

He turns now, to face Oikawa. He’s not trying to be crass. Kei just wants.“Can your boyfriend fill me with cum?”

Oikawa's lip trembles. “You’re mean.”

It makes Kei smile. He’s so beautiful like this. “No?”

Oikawa's hand tightens in Kuroo’s grip. They’re holding hands so cutely, such contrast to the filth Kei is feeling raging inside his brain. “Isn’t he awful, Kuroo-chan? Saying things like that to me when I’m so hard already.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “Answer him.”

Oikawa sniffs, dignified. “Yes, Iwa, you can do and put whatever part of you anywhere on him.”

Iwaizumi turns to Kuroo, all molasses. “You mind, gorgeous?”

Kei can see Kuroo lose his stiffness at the name, going red in all the right places. “Fuck me. Please do.”

Kei shakes his head, amused and in love. “So loose.”

Kuroo has the good sense to not fight it. “So I melt when the hottest man on earth gives me compliments, can you blame me?”

Oikawa turns his head to press his cheek against Kuroo’s thigh. Looks up at him. “Slutty.”

Kuroo grabs his cheeks. “Learned from you.”

The mood shifts, transforms from a raging burn to a slow roil, keeping Kei warm but pulling him back from the edge. They’re good at that, Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Effortlessly working in tandem at controlling the pacing, directing attention and affection. 

Kei can’t find it in himself to mind, not when Kuroo is brushing the hair out of Oikawa’s face with a sweet look and at Iwaizumi warming his back. He can give them this. He can let himself go to their whims. 

He’s going to cum super hard, anyway.

................................

Being in the midst of it is too much, far too much, when he’s getting the best of them. Kei is too big for his own body. Oikawa has decided to become an obscene rendition of Kei’s fantasies, shimmying to release himself from under Kei’s body and getting on all fours to suck Kuroo’s dick like he’s starving for it. He lets spit and precum drip from his chin, bobbing his head while refusing to relinquish his hold on Kuroo’s hand. 

Iwaizumi wastes no time in fulfilling Kei’s request and plunging two lube slick fingers inside him to stretch him out. Kei is soft and loose—Kuroo fucked him into the bed yesterday, so there is no waiting for him to feel Iwaizumi’s thickness plowing into him. He’s not gentle, for all that he nuzzles the side of Kei’s nape. Slow and steady, with ruthless, punishing thrusts that shake Kei to his core.  

He’s an echo of moans, waves of sound pouring out of his mouth. He’s wanted this, craved it since he saw them all those months ago before knowing them, longed for it the more he got to know them. 

It peaks, the phantasy of it, overlaying with the materiality of Iwaizumi’s body in his, of Oikawa’s glossy swollen lips, of Tetsurou’s sweat dripping down his torso. 

He’s pulled back, centered by Tetsturou. Tetsurou looks at him, through him, and knows he’s on the edge of melting into putty in a way that he rarely does. He steals Kei’s attention, anchoring him, giving him reprieve from the heat, closing him in with a kiss far too sweet for the amount of depravity they are participating in. 

Kei is so in love with him. So in love, crazy to be. He’s getting railed, getting the fuck of a lifetime, and Tetsurou can match it with a sugary kiss. Iwaizumi thrusts harder, making Kei moan himself out of Tetsurou’s kiss, hand reaching out to grab onto Tetsurou’s nape, feeling the brush of his hair on Kei’s knuckles. It grounds him.  

Iwaizumi hits a good spot and Kei shrieks. After letting out a breathy laugh that will haunt his wet dreams for eternity, Iwaizumi follows through with impeccable aim in every push of his hips. 

Kei is going to die. He won’t make it out of Oikawa’s bed alive. 

He wants to cum so bad. 

Iwaizumi reads him like a book. “C’mon. Don’t come, baby.” 

“I can’t.” 

Iwaizumi keeps his pace slow and deep. It’s infuriating, if he sped up Kei could try to fuck himself back and cum before anyone could stop him. Iwaizumi keeps an iron hold on his waist. Kei can’t try to cheat and grind back on him for extra stimulation. “Hold on a little longer. Don’t you wanna come inside him?”

“Please—ah.”

“Please what?”

Kei chokes on his own spit at a particularly hard thrust. “—um!”

“What was that?”

“Just—hah, cum already,” Kei whines.  

“That doesn’t sound very nice.”

“I can’t. I’m already—haah.”

 “You can,” Iwaizumi purrs into him. 

Kei begs. There’s no dignity worth not cumming. “Please. Please please please please , Iwa, please.”

Iwaizumi hums. “Please what, baby?”

“Please—fuck!—come.” He cries out, desperate in ways he didn’t know he could be.“I want to come.”

Iwaizumi tuts, barely out of breath, unaffected. “You're not coming yet.”

Tetsurou breathes out a moan. He’s staring at them, even as Oikawa’s head bobs between his legs. “ Fuuuuuuck .”

He can’t see Iwaizumi’s smile but he can hear the predation on his tone. “You’re next. Don’t forget.”

Another moan, but this time from Oikawa. He’s loud, even with a cock in his mouth. Iwaizumi fires at him, a tyrant.“Keep that hole ready, Tooru. Don't slack off.”

Oikawa, ever compliant, arches further for a better reach inside himself. 

Kei is holding on by a thread he’s been gnawing at like a rat. There’s a violent swirl of emotions raging in his gut. He lashes out. “I hate you.”

Iwaizumi lays a loud kiss on his shoulder, followed by the sharp sting of teeth. “Sure you do.”

“So much.”

“U-huh.”

Kei wails, desperate, a mimicry of Oikawa’s tone. “Iwa.”

“Brats don't get to come, Kei.”

Kei sobs. He’s strung out, frayed to the very end of his rope. “Sorry, sorry.”

Iwaizumi sees the fine edge they are walking. Maybe he takes pity on Kei’s ache. “You want me to come?”

“Please.”

“Where?” 

“In me.”

Iwaizumi strings him along, leading him to the answer. “No, try again.”

Kei breaks, a tear leaking out in frustration. “Please, please come inside me.”

Iwaizumi has the good sense to put a hand around the base of Kei’s cock before he goes wild. He absolutely destroys Kei. Goes deep and hard, chasing his own release. Kei braces one hand on Kuroo’s shoulders, hanging on to dear life. His short nails leave red crescent moon indents on Kuroo’s skin. 

Iwaizumi cums with a grunt Kei can feel through his back, resonating in his own lungs. He slowly thrusts once, twice, and finishes. Once his hips have stilled, he pulls out and spreads Kei to see his cum leak down the back of Kei’s thigh. “Fuck yeah. Told you you could.” Iwaizumi slaps his ass for good measure. Kei’s soul will leave his body if he keeps touching him. “Good boy.”

Kei hasn’t cum, the pressure unbearable, but the satisfaction he feels from the exposure and the praise of a job well done give him a high he can’t soon compare to anything else. He goes limp. There’s no strength in him to hold himself up, so he flops next to Oikawa’s stomach. Oikawa runs a hand through his sweaty hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. Kei’s back is going to hate him tomorrow. 

He groans a dreadful, “Magic dick.”

“I told you. Iwa-chan is the best.” Oikawa spreads out his arms, invitingly.“Kei-chan.”

Kei groans. He wants to. Really, really wants to. Oikawa is ready and has been ready, his stiffness a reminder. Kei’s legs don’t work yet. “Give me a moment, I’ll come right away.”

Oikawa laughs. “It’s okay, cuddle with me for a second.”

Kei huffs, unbelieving. “You’re so hard.”

“Boners come and go. Just want to feel you.”

Kei is touched. A little moved. “Ew.” 

Oikawa sees right through him. He’s used to Iwaizumi’s denial, trained to bear it with a sunny disposition. “Come here, come here.”

Kei relents, crawling to Oikawa’s side. He lets Oikawa maneuver him into an embrace, turning him around until he’s the little spoon. Kei is about to argue--the least Oikawa can do is let Kei make out with him in the meantime--until he sees exactly the why of the position. They have a front-row view of Iwaizumi hiking Kuroo’s knees to his shoulders, bending him in half and pulling the most wanton sounds out of his chest.

Kuroo’s entire face goes cherry red, this head falling back against the headboard to reveal the line of his throat. Every sound coming from him makes his throat move, entrancing Kei. He looks so beautiful. Tetsurou is being ravished. 

He is entranced by them, by the trembling of Tetsurou’s legs where they hang down Iwaizumi’s back, by the look of utter contentment in Iwaizumi’s face between Tetsurou’s legs. He’s so distracted by them he doesn’t see Oikawa’s hand sneak down to tease him until it’s too late. 

Kei trembles. His eyes dart back to where Iwaizum is pulling obscene noises from Tetsurou. “Oikawa…”

Oikawa strokes him avoiding his tip. “He won’t be mad. You were so good. So good for him. Thank you, Kei-chan.”

Kei shivers at the tone. Oikawa’s words rake through him like a caress, and Kei stiffens. He is not one to back down from a challenge. He survived Iwaizumi fucking within an inch of life, he’s not going to be done in by Oikawa’s praise. “Hold on. I can do it.”

“No, Kei-chan.” Oikawa’s tone is mild. He releases Kei and flips them over. He straddles Kei swifter than anyone with a hard-on should be able to move. Once he settles on top, he grabs Kei’s chin. “Look at me.”

His eyes are a little wild and a lot steady. He’s the great king, the mastermind. He obeys by whim, and he does as he pleases. Kei forgets that, forgets until he has Oikawa’s gaze on him. He might have barely made it from Iwaizumi’s hands, but Oikawa will take whatever is left. Kei will give it to him with glee. 

“Good boys get rewards, and you are mine. I have been very patient, and what I want—” Oikawa lets go of his chin. He positions himself and sinks onto Kei with an easy swing of his hips—“is for you to shut up and cum.”

Kei lets out a strangled breath. “Oikawa.”

He rides Kei like he’s done it a million times. It takes no effort for him to fall into a familiar, excruciating rhythm. Kei holds back from thrusting up into him, hoping to not embarrass himself. 

“Kei-chan, don’t you wanna cum?”

Kei laughs. “Obviously.”

“Then? What is it?”

He’s begging. Can’t Oikawa see what he’s doing to Kei’s sanity? He wants to do what he’s been told, no matter how incredible Oikawa feels riding him. He talked all this big talk and made a show of it to be done in like this. “Ah, I’m not going to-”

Oikawa cuts him off with a kiss. “That’s okay.” Oikawa smiles down at him, sweaty, glowing. “It’s okay because we’re feeling good, so it doesn’t matter who’s fucking who.”

Kei shivers at his words. Oikawa might be riding him, but he’s fucking Kei into the bed with every cant of his hips. They know it, Kei knows it. He feels it, the same tidal wave that urged him to give into Iwaizumi’s demand. Iwaizumi asked for his surrender in a big tone and a flashy fuck. Oikawa seduces his surrender away. “Oikawa.” 

“Hm?”

Kei is so in over his head with all of this. “You’re so pretty.”

Oikawa’s features fold. “Ah, no fair Kei-chan. You can’t.”

“But you are, so pretty, Oikawa. It’s crazy.”

“Shut up.”

“No, why would I?”

“Because—I’ll—ah, I’ll cum right away.” 

“So?”

Oikawa shakes his head, trying to stay focused. 

“You look so good like this. You’re leaking so much.” Kei strokes Oikawa gently, barely applying any pressure, and he’s rewarded with adorable whimpers and slick coating his hand.

“Kei-chan, I’ll cum.” Oikawa’s voice is small. “You feel so good. ”

“I told you didn’t I? That I wanted to make you cum.”

“Ah, but I—” His words come out as a whiny pitch, bordering on wet—“I wanna be good, too. I wanna show you. Let me show off in front of you.”

Kei wipes the stray tears off his cheek and holds his cheeks. Their foreheads press together, Kei’s grip keeping them in place against the sinuous rise of Oikawa’s hips. “Okay, okay. I have you. All you have to do is feel good. ”

Kei lets him fall back into his riding before grabbing his hips and thrusting from below. He doesn’t give Oikawa a chance to protest, just holds him still and fucks into him with a faint madness and a drive to make him cum. 

Oikawa’s moans go silent, his mouth open. His hands scramble to find perch, settling on Kei’s wrists and holding against the onslaught. A few tears run down his cheeks. The sight of it, of him, ignite Kei’s gut. He’s so close, but he knows Oikawa is closer and he’ll be damned if he hasn’t earned the right to see Oikawa cum on his cock. 

Oikawa breaks apart in front of him. He cries, sobs his release, his insides tightening and spasming around Kei. It triggers Kei’s own orgasm, slamming Oikawa down so he can do what he said and fill him to the brim with cum. 

They stay still, breathing heavy. Oikawa gathers his strength to lean forward. He brings his hand around him to feel. His fingers come back sticky and wet and when he sees them he beams. “Thank you, Kei-chan.”

Kei must be under some sort of spell. His hands move to Oikawa’s hole to feel for himself the mess he’s made of it. His eyes shut at the touch. A shiver wracks through him.

He opens his eyes to Oikawa wiping his fingers on the sheet.  

In the background, he hears Kuroo cum with a frail mewl and a groan. There’s no strength left in him to force himself to look so he treasures the sound and keeps it for later. He misses Iwaizumi leaving the room. He misses a lot of things, staring at the ceiling trying to come back into his body. A warm cloth cleans Oikawa’s cum off his navel, up to his torso, and Kei’s eyes lock with Iwaizumi. 

He cleans Kei off meticulously. “You two had fun?”

”Kei-chan was super loud,” Oikawa answers in a loud, grating voice like he wasn't moaning and panting into Kei’s mouth moments earlier. 

Kei hates his guts. “Slut.”

Oikawa smiles at him, throwing himself on Kei’s stomach, using it as a pillow. “Yeah?”

Kei pinches his cheek and is rewarded with Oikawa blowing a raspberry into his side. 

Tetsurou throws himself on the bed next to Kei’s other side. “I’m dead.”

Oikawa looks over at him.“You look dead.”

Tetsurou boinks Oikawa gently in the head. He turns to Kei, giving him a fucked-out look.“Hi.” 

“Hey.” Kei smooths out his hair. It’s wrecked, the back standing completely up. 

“All good?”

“Yeah. You?”

Tetsurou deflates against the bed. “Pretty fucking great.”

Iwaizumi growls, back to his regular demeanor. “Tooru don’t be gross, let me wipe you down.”

“I don’t wanna move.”

“Give me, I’ll do it,” Kei says, resigned.

“Kei-chan, so generous.”

“You are annoying.”

 Oikawa starfishes and lets Kei take care of him. “I say we all sleep in Kuroo’s room. These sheets are fucked.”

................................

Kei wakes up to the smell of burnt sugar. It’s faint, a waft reaching his nose, but he identifies the scent so specifically that it sobers his sleep almost at once. The sheets next to his are cold, and there is one less body in the bed he went to sleep in last night, contorted and piled to make room for all of them. In the night, Kuroo and Iwaizumi tangled with each other, stealing one of the pillows Kei was using. 

He follows the smell.

The floor is cold, the morning blue, and everything is too quiet.

“What are you doing?”

“Kei-chan!” Oikawa’s voice is a yelp, followed by a furious whisper. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Kei ignores him, looking at the pan. It’s smoking. “The heat is too high.”

“Shit.”

“What is going on?”

Oikawa frowns at him, confused.“I’m making pancakes?”

Kei blinks. His voice is rough, and he’s sore. “Why?”

“We–we need to eat food?”

“You suck at making food.”

Oikawa pouts, crossing his arms. He’s holding a whisk, and there’s a bowl full of what Kei assumes is flour behind him on the counter. “All of you were asleep. I wanted to make you breakfast.”

Kei sighs. He’s so annoying. Kei stretches out his hand to do a come hither motion. “Okay. C’mon. Give me.”

“Wait. Really?” Oikawa claps, catching himself before he makes too loud a noise. He stretches the whisk in his hand towards Kei. “Yay, thank you.”

“But look closely, so you can make them yourself without burning everything down.”

“Yes!” Oikawa takes his usual position against his back, his hair tickling Kei’s neck where his chin is firmly perched. Oikawa lays a zealous kiss against his ear, another against his cheek. “Good morning Kei-chan.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good morning.”

It’s not until he’s holding a ladle in one hand and petting the hand Oikawa has around his waist that he realizes it. There’s no burnt pancakes anywhere, not even a failed first batch, only a couple of grains of sugar in a too-hot pan and neatly laid out ingredients. 

He’s been had. 

Previous Chap All Chap

[ivyfics]

In the Closet - Chap 5

Read on AO3

KurotsukkIwaoi, OT4, E, 2.5k

Things don’t change too much after that. Fucking out in the open is what they do now, but everything else stays pretty much the same. Kei and Oikawa still annoy the shit out of each other. Kuroo and Oikawa play a little game called my boyfriend fucks me better and try to out-loud each other from behind their bedroom walls.

Previous Chap Next Chap

Things don’t change too much after that. Fucking out in the open is what they do now, but everything else stays pretty much the same. Kei and Oikawa still annoy the shit out of each other. Kuroo and Oikawa play a little game called my boyfriend fucks me better and try to out-loud each other from behind their bedroom walls. The weird tension Kei didn’t know existed between them is all but gone, replaced by hornyness.

It’s like Kei’s sex life doubled in intensity.

Practice goes as planned, even if Iwaizumi fucks Oikawa a little too roughly when he ropes Kei into being a sanctimonious dick by rubbing their team’s victory in a little too hard. Seeing Oikawa lose his mind with Iwaizumi’s hand around his throat later that night still feels like a win in Kei’s book. Kuroo’s teeth on his shoulder blades when he gets his own punishment feel just as good, if not better, than winning.

......................................

 Tetsurou struts out of his bedroom, overheated and still a little sweaty, old ratty boxers the only thing keeping him from being buck naked in front of the other two living room regulars. 

Iwaizumi is making dinner for all of them because he’s heaven-sent like that, nicest guy you’ll ever meet in your life. Oikawa is decidedly not helping but strewn across the couch in his pajamas and a pillow Kuroo recognizes from his own bedroom because it used to be his before Oikawa stole it. His one redeeming quality is bagging a man that will cook dinner for his boyfriend’s roommate and his boyfriend’s roommate’s boyfriend. Sure, Oikawa got the groceries and will do the dishes but there’s no fun in being nice to Oikawa, even if he deserves it.

He walks to the fridge, turns around, and stands there, door open, cooling down his body. He meets Iwaizumi’s raised eyebrow from where he is by the stovetop and gives him a tired grin, twisting to show him his back. It burns like a bitch, burned even worse when he was still actively sweating. 

He doesn’t know how much of his back is scratched but he feels the throbbing down to his tailbone, a few spots on his ass. His shoulders ache. He’s not going to be able to change in the locker room without severe, heavy mocking. 

Completely worth it. 

Iwaizumi whistles at the damage. “Guess he was feeling mean.”

Tetsurou snorts at that understatement. “Oh, I pissed him off big time.”

“And you still let him at you naked.”

Tetsurou smiles at that. He’d let Kei at him naked even if he was wielding a chainsaw. “That’s the whole point. I like him mean.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, amused. “Food’s almost done.”

“I’ll jump in the shower real quick. Going to sting like a bitch.”

“I’ve got stuff here, I can patch you up later if you want.”

Tetsurou grabs two sodas and says goodbye to the cold relief of the fridge against his skin, sends Iwaizumi a smile, and blows him a kiss. “Thanks.”

He’ll try to cajole Kei into a joint shower. Buy into his good graces with a blowjob if he’s still ticked at Tetsurou being the most annoying person on the planet. He’s passing by the couch when Oikawa’s stray hand smacks his ass.

Tetsurou shimmies at him and curbs the impulse to kiss Oikawa’s forehead.

......................................

Things change a little after that.

......................................

They come home to find Oikawa half-way fucked and hard on the couch. Kuroo is blowing Kei in the kitchen until he’s crying and gagging and choking on Kei telling him he’s doing a good job. Suddenly it’s not only Kei but Oikawa telling Kuroo what a good boy he is, singing him praises until Kuroo is tired out and then yelling at them for fucking in the kitchen. 

Kei slips-up once and riles Iwaizumi too hard when he’s fucking Oikawa in the living room until he’s holding Oikawa against the wall and giving him the pounding of his life. He gets Oikawa some icy-hot for his back the next day as penance. 

 It’s not just stares but suggestions, comments, and praise. 

They learn things about each other. 

Kei learns that Oikawa likes an audience twice as much as Iwaizumi does but he’s shy about it. How, pray tell, does Oikawa get the idea in his brain that he’s allowed to be shy when he’s already all that he is? It blows Kei’s mind. 

He learns that Kuroo loves to be done and used and Kei loves to use him. Iwaizumi’s smile is at its widest when he gets Kuroo to come without laying a single finger on him, working him slyly, maneuvering him expertly without being overt. Kei feels both outplayed and strangely proud. 

They’re on their own, for once. They—and Kei is loathe to say this but it ‘s true— made love on Kei’s bed. They are tender and slow and all the nasty that they always are. He buries his face on the crook of Kuroo’s neck, lets the heat of his breath find room there, and bites down on pure instinct. Grabs Kuroo’s face in his hands from where Kei is riding him, coaxes his mouth open with no resistance and spits down Kuroo’s open mouth. Kuroo comes with a groan of I love you and a slam of his hands on Kei’s hips. It’s debauchery and intimacy mixed with Kei’s come glistening on his stomach, the red his nails leave behind on Tetsurou’s shoulders down his arms and almost to his wrists. 

They don’t talk for a long while, past after Kei gets out of the shower and finds Tetsurou with his underwear on, facedown on Kei’s bed. Kei simply lays on top of him, dropping all his weight on Tetsurou’s back and breathing on the side of his neck, using his wet hair to tickle until Testsurou giggles and flips over to cuddle. 

He’d be embarrassed if this side of him was seen. 

He’s still embarrassed in front of his own self sometimes when there’s no one to look at the idiot face he puts on when Tetsurou texts him something god awful at four in the morning and Kei only wakes up to check his phone because of the personalized ringtone. 

It’s not been an easy thing for someone as closed off as Kei to allow himself some silliness in this relationship. With Tetsurou it’s always been like this, allowing himself to one hookup, and then casual sex, and then actual dating and exclusivity, and then love--to be in love-- and now to be relaxed and silly and as dumb as the raspberry Tetsurou blows onto his neck when Kei has trailed off into thinking about how much he enjoys having someone to be silly with. 

There’s something about the easy affection between Iwaizumi and Oikawa rubbing off on him. Tetsurou has no shame in general and is openly free with his affection in front of anyone. Oikawa is a disgrace and literally does not care about anything at all. But Iwaizumi…

Iwaizumi is serious and tough. He’s stoic and very no-nonsense unless it’s good-natured, and yet…. he will just as easily blow a raspberry on Oikawa’s stomach while they are all together watching a movie. No-fuss, no nothing, plain affection, and playfulness without reserve.

Without embarrassment. 

It baffled him. Baffles him, really, now that he has an up-close and personal look to the dynamic of their relationship, how they match so well while being so different. How they tend to each other as an extension of themselves. 

Kei’s mind shouldn’t be wandering away to Tetsurou’s roommates while he’s cuddling with his own boyfriend. Tetsuro lets out a deep, long sigh, more wistfulness than contentedness and Kei thinks he might have fucked up a dash. 

Kuroo doesn’t ask him where his mind has been or any of the sort. He sighs, again, and looks as far away as Kei's brain feels. “What would we do?”

Kei hesitates. “About what?“ 

“It’s just…” Kuroo blushes, subdued. He doesn’t tense or huff, he simply turns a light hue of pink and wiggles against Kei to settle in more comfortably. “Sometimes I wish we could do more. With them, I mean.”

It’s eerie, how in sync they seem to be, Kuroo and him. Maybe they both crave it more than they realized. Crave them . 

Kei feels silly for thinking Tetsurou would be mad, or jealous, or something. Between the two of them he’s grown to be the most secure one in their relationship and after getting some reassurance from Kei that no, it’s not weird, and yes, they’re still in this together he’s run with it and not looked back. It’s a comfort, one more thing Kei does not dwell on too much because it makes him embarrassed by how steady it makes him feel. 

Kuroo asks again, taking Kei’s silence for what it is. What would we do? It's still couples, right?

Yes, it’s still couples fucking couples, no swapping around. No messing around outside of their own partner, no matter how much their eyes wander, how much they catch themselves reaching out to touch. 

Kei had to bite his own cheek until it bled to stop him from pushing Oikawa’s sweaty hair out of his face as he always does for Kuroo last week. 

And that’s the crux of it all, that he wants to. Wants to reach out and touch, sees the fever in Kuroo’s eyes to have a connection when he’s in the throes of an orgasm led by Iwaizumi’s voice. 

So Kei says back What do we want to do? What do they want?

It’s the perpetual pebble in his shoe, the forever hitch in his stride. He wants to control it, would like to look at Kuroo’s unsure face and his bitten lip and to simply give him peace of mind, grant him permission to go crazy and rake Iwaizumi’s skin with his touch and lean down and finally, finally , kiss Oikawa’s stupidly attractive face. But it’s not only up to him.

Now they have to have a conversation, of all things.

They have to verbalize the rules and the boundaries and yes, they should have done that since the beginning, but there’s not a chance Iwaizumi and Oikawa will turn them down if they don’t ask. 

So Kei does what he can do, by himself. Tell Kuroo he’s alright with anything Kuroo would like to do with either of them and then gives him another (less sappy) orgasm to seal the deal.

......................................

 Iwaizumi has to leave for a working camp.

He’ll be gone two weeks and Oikawa is sad before he’s even packed. If Kei stays over at Tetsurou’s apartment six days in a row to keep him company then that’s his business. If he ends up sharing a bed with Oikawa (platonically) one night that Kuroo is out late, and a couple more times after that, the three of them sardined on Kuroo’s bed, that’s his business too.

......................................

With Iwaizumi being away, they don’t have a conversation, of all things. They’re procrastinating actually sitting down and doing it but who is going to call them out on it? 

When Iwaizumi comes back, they still put it off. Kuroo tries, once, and ends up tongue-tied and saying nonsense. They come home to the lovebirds asleep on the couch with a movie reflecting on their faces and drool down Oikwa’s chin, so they tiptoe into Kuroo’s bedroom with similar grimaces. They seem to agree, those two should not be allowed to be cute. 

It never seems to be the right time to bring it up. 

They share breakfast when Kei stays over and Iwaizumi makes dinner and then college turns into a bitch and Kei doesn’t see them, barring Oikawa once, for like a million days. It’s more like a week and a half but he’s gotten so used to being around all of them that his brain can’t cope. He calls Kuroo thrice in the span of thirty-six hours. Obviously, he is in shambles. He’s been so obvious with his whining and general bitchery that when he leaves the class that’s been making his life especially miserable with his assignment turned in for a revision, Kuroo is waiting for him, leaning on a wall like a bad boy cartoon. All that’s missing is a cigarette hanging from his lower lip.

Kei kisses him with all of his classmates watching because he is far too strung out and tired to be embarrassed by kissing his boyfriend in front of them. 

Kuroo buys him dinner.

They go to the same place where they first made the bet and the food is just as good. They swing by Kei’s place to get clothes. He debates whether he should stay over at Kuroo’s or if he’s being a clingy mess that needs to get his head straight but Kuroo sees him stalling and casually starts packing the overnight himself while making inane conversation. 

All in all, it’s a good remedy for the past week and a half. Kei is already looking forward to sleeping in Kuroo’s double instead of his twin. If he’s lucky Iwaizumi will also be staying over and will make breakfast before Oikawa can try and be nice by producing some monstrosity in the kitchen. 

Sure, Kei will eat it, but he’d rather not have to. 

It's all well and good until they actually get to Kuroo’s apartment and Iwaizumi is being straddled by a very naked Oikawa fucking himself on his dick. 

Kei is tired. He’s exhausted, weary down to his bones, wants nothing more than to belly flop onto Kuroo’s bed, and let the sweet release of sleep take him for the next ten to twelve hours at the least. 

Oikawa wouldn’t even notice, not really. Not with the way his face is buried in Iwaizumi’s hair, facing away from where they entered, with how loud he’s being. Enough to cover the sound of him and Kuroo arriving. Kei could simply turn, go to bed pretending that he’s not missing out. He locks eyes with Iwaizumi instead. 

Kei is getting eyefucked with a severity that roots him to the spot.

He’s so tired. He’s going to be horny now, too, because Iwaizumi can’t not eyefuck Kei the minute he shows up. He’s debating if he should sleep after all, and then take revenge tomorrow when he’s a real human person again when from Oikawa’s lips falls a moan that sounds too much like Kei’s name not to be. 

Iwaizumi’s horrible laugh tells him that, yes, actually, that is Kei’s name coming from Oikawa. It’s low and evil, followed by a whisper into Oikawa’s ear that has him grinding down hard, hips snapping. Kuroo’s name comes next and Kei needs to steady himself. 

Oikawa calls for him again and Kei is on the move. He’s not sure what he’s going to do but his feet are carrying him straight to the pair in front of him. Iwaizumi seems to know and by the time he can feel the heat of Oikawa’s sweaty back he’s yanking Oikawa’s head back by his hair so Kei can bend down and bite his lips. 

He tastes Oikawa’s orgasm. 

Carries him through with no finesse and bites that might leave a bruise. Kei can feel him shaking where he’s pressed to Oikawa’s back, coming down from his high. The couch dips when Kuroo slams himself down next to them but he’s infinitely soft when he slides his fingers over the back of Iwaizumi’s hand to signal he’s taking over.

Oikawa is still out of it, startled when Iwaizumi makes way for Kuroo to reach over.“Kuroo-chan?”

“Hi.” Kuroo smoothes out Oikawa’s hair. “I’m going to borrow you for a bit.”

Oikawa wraps his arms around Kuroo’s neck. Goes as if it's the most natural thing. Where else is he supposed to go after coming all over himself but to cuddle with his roommate? He settles on Kuroo’s lap and they kiss, soft, and shallow. 

Kei is entranced seeing them, focused on their meeting lips and cuddles. 

He’s pleased. There’s not an iota of jealousy or guilt in his body, not from kissing Oikawa or seeing him and Kuroo necking in Oikawa’s post-orgasmic haze. He is so focused on them that when Iwaizumi’s hand pulls him in, he’s startled, making him almost smack into Iwaizumi’s jaw. He lands, cheeks burning while he rights himself until he’s the one straddling Iwaizumi. 

“You two stole my boyfriend.”

Kuroo answers after a smack of Oikawa’s lips. “Borrowed.”

“Didn’t even get to come.”

Kei sneers at him. The audacity of this man. “Oh, poor baby.”

Kuroo laughs into another kiss at his scathing tone. Iwaizumi hums and bends to bite down on Kei’s collarbone as a warning and Kei is infinitely grateful he chose the stretched out sweater to wear. Unlike Oikawa—who is naked except for a pair of socks Kei previously missed— Iwaizumi is fully dressed, his pants pulled over his hips just enough for his dick to be out and at attention. 

Kei pushes his shirt above his abs, higher still until Iwaizumi gets the hint and takes it off completely. Iwaizumi is an adonis. There is no other way to describe him. Every single person in this room is hot. Kei is very hot, he is aware. Iwaizumi is the painting of a god, a sculpture of casual debauchery. 

If not for the way his cock juts out, shiny with lube and precum, he could as well be having a beer with the guys instead of having just been used as a true-to-life dildo by his boyfriend. Even with Kei running his hands up and down his chest, pressing against his crotch with his half-chub, he looks as unaffected as ever. 

It makes Kei want to get a reaction out of him. Worse—it makes Kei want to please him. 

Kei is loopy, tiredness, and adrenaline mixing into a bravery boost he didn’t know he needed to bend down and steal a kiss from Iwaizumi that is nothing like the ones being shared next to him.

Those are soft and slow, with the occasional break to whisper conspiratorially. 

These ones hold promise and Kei keeps it by sliding his hand down Iwaizumi’s chest and down to his groin, fisting his cock and giving him an easy stroke. He’d suck it but he’s too exhausted to wrestle with a dick of Iwaizumi’s caliber. Two more strokes pull a grunt deep from Iwaizumi’s chest that Kei feels reverberate on his tongue and a fuzz runs over Kei’s body at getting a response. 

Iwaizumi takes over, leading him and turning him into putty. Kei lets himself be led like a puppy on a leash, arches his back deep when Iwaizumi’s hands run under his shirt to hit skin and slide from the small of his back to cup his ass with his strong grip.

When Iwaizumi’s hand returns to his shoulder to push him off and down, Kei fucks it all to the wind and follows. Iwaizumi doesn’t even ask, just pushes him down and cups himself. Well, that’s what youth is for, sucking dicks and postponing sleep. Kei hops off from Iwaizumi’s lap, settles between his knees when Iwaizumi spreads wide to fit his shoulders, like a king lounging in his throne, and bends over to where Iwaizumi is holding his cock to take it in his mouth.

Iwaizumi has an A-grade dick, not an exaggerated length that is impossible to swallow but with a girth thick enough to be a challenge.

Kei wants to choke on it.

Iwaizumi is, at heart, a gentleman. He lays back and lets Kei go to town, keeping his hands to himself and being utmostly the most polite person to get a blowjob ever. It’s okay. He doesn’t know Kei like this yet.

Kei sucks harder and is rewarded with a hand in his hair, guiding firm but not too pushy. 

Kei is about to grab Iwaizumi’s hand to give his okay for a harder grip when he feels Kuroo reach over and push him down until his nose is pressed against Iwaizumi’s skin and his glasses go askew while pressing hard on his forehead. He’s got no choice but to hum and swallow around the cock in his mouth. His vision blurs with tears and Iwaizumi’s mouth lets out a curse he’s never heard from him before. 

Kuroo lets him up once and then pushes him down until he’s deepthroating Iwaizumi again and again. When he lets go for good, Kei comes up to breathe, tears falling down his cheeks, face and knees burning, chin slick with spit. Iwaizumi reaches over and swipes his thumb over Kei’s lip, picking up a mix of saliva and precome and pushing it back in Kei’s mouth, new light falling into his eyes. 

Yeah, Kei isn’t a little bitch. 

Wait until he finds out Kei swallows.

Iwaizumi leads him back, feeding him his cock inch by inch and setting a punishing pace, holding Kei down into a deepthroat but pulling back just enough that Kei doesn’t have to go without cock completely. With Iwaizumi guiding his head his hands are free to roam and scratch, so he rakes them down Iwaizumi’s abs to spur him on until he’s fucking Kei’s face methodically.

Iwaizumi comes with a grunt, and holds Kei there to take all of his spend, his hips pumping into Kei’s mouth, salty bitterness coating his tongue.

He cradles Kei’s face, clearing the wet running down his cheeks with his thumbs, down to his mouth where he coaxes Kei’s mouth open to check that he’s swallowed it all. Kei is a brat at heart, so he mockingly sticks his tongue out for inspection. 

Iwaizumi chuckles, and plays along, letting Kei feel like less of a brat and more of a good pet. “Good boy.”

By the time he’s wiping Kei’s chin with his thumb, Kuroo is coming, Oikawa’s hand bringing him over in a scene that is as soft as Kei’s is messy. 

Kei needs sleep. His throat is going to be a wreck tomorrow, his jaw aches from the strain, his knees locked and sore from the position. His face is sticky with sweat and spit and tears. His pants are tight but he has zero leftover energy to deal with that.

He’s about to request a one-way piggyback ride from anyone to Kuroo’s bedroom so he can be disgusting and pass out immediately, but Iwaizumi coaxes him up from his kneeling position and trades seats with him, dumping him next to the other two rascals before he has a chance. 

The seat is warm from Iwaizumi’s body heat and Kuroo chances a kiss to his ear so Kei closes his eyes for a power nap.  Iwaizumi comes back with a pack of Oikawa’s face wipes, hot tea, and fresh underwear for Oikawa to change into. 

Kei gets his face wiped fresh and a cup of tea mixed with honey placed into his palms for him to sip before he can blink. 

Oikawa looks at him with a knowing, tired but proud face. “Iwa-chan is the best.”

......................................

Kei wakes up to the lilac of dawn and Kuroo’s snoring into his pillow. He blinks twice, remembers he sucked Iwaizumi’s dick dry, and chooses to not bring it up or discuss it in any way shape or form because it’s far too early to get hard on purpose. 

He’s the first one up, ironically. Kei tries to stay in bed but ten minutes of pretending to look at his phone and another five of trying to go back to sleep are enough to have him ready to pull his own hair out. Time to get up to make breakfast for everyone. What else is he going to do? 

Kuroo has class early so he might as well.   

He drags himself out to the kitchen and starts pulling things out of the fridge. He’s grabbing the flour in the cabinet when Oikawa joins him, bypassing any awkwardness present last time they were here and using Kei’s elbow as a headrest with sleepy eyes.

“Kei-chan,” Oikawa mumbles. “I want pancakes.” 

Kei’s voice is wrecked. He’s whispering, matching Oikawa’s sleepy vibe. “Now I don’t want to make them anymore.”

Oikawa nuzzles him. “Don’t be mean. Feed me.” Ends it with a peck to his cheek. “Please?”

Something is wrong with him, probably, that it makes him want to pull Oikawa’s hair like a preschooler. Kei resists, but just barely. He does make Oikawa pancakes, does it all in fact with a half-asleep Oikawa glued to his back, his forehead pressed to Kei’s nape. 

Kei can’t wrap his head around it. He even shoes him away to sleep half-way through cooking cause there is no reason for Oikawa to be awake too if he’s not even being recruited to pretend to help. 

Oikawa shakes his head, Kei can feel it on his skin pressed as they are. “Missed you.”

Kei shuts up and decides to add another line to the list of things to not think about. The other two make their way to the kitchen eventually when the vanilla is fragrant and Oikawa is awake enough to be as loud as he usually is. 

Kuroo kisses him goodbye when he’s off to campus leaving him with two fiends who don’t dawdle on making him think and returning the favor for last night.

......................................

Iwaizumi isn’t a little bitch, either.

......................................

Tetsu So  Fyi Gave Oikawa a handjob today But like Hot as fuck 

Pics

Tetsu I didnt Take any?’? I’m livid   You beat him off   and couldn’t even send me pics

fuck u  Tetsu Is that a promise Bitch Ill fuck you up Get your ass ready Tetsu Cant wait <3

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[ivyfics]

In the Closet - Chap 4

Read on AO3

KurotsukkIwaoi, OT4, E, 2.5k

Kei has seen Oikawa naked like twenty thousand times. Oikawa has made fun of the mole on Kei’s left buttcheek since eternity.  None of that gives him a smidge of an idea of how to handle this situation. Oikawa seems to be in the same boat. So. Kei does the thing that takes the least effort. “Want some pancakes?”

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The secret is out, fully. There’s no way to pretend any of it is not on purpose so they don’t continue the ruse. It’s one of those mornings where they wake up hungry, raiding the kitchen for any kind of food they can scrounge up. It’s usually them, in their pj’s, half awake. 

Now it's them, half-naked and discreetly giddy, lounging in their hickeys and scratch marks. Kei wakes up first and drags himself to the kitchen. He’s going to make pancakes because he figures Kuroo deserves them after last night. Also, he’s got a soft spot for Kuroo, sleep-addled and happy in the mornings. Fuck you, Kei can be nice to his boyfriend. 

He’s in his underwear, bent over, hand around the milk carton when he hears it. Oikawa’s door, quietly opening and shutting. Kei closes the fridge, unbends and locks eyes with Oikawa.

His eyes go big, his mouth dropping to a tiny circle in surprise. If Kei had to guess, Oikawa wasn’t expecting anyone awake at the crack-ass of dawn after last night’s exploits. He probably didn’t imagine a one on one with Kei after he got a front-row seat at his boyfriend impaling himself on his dick. They’re close enough for teammates, probably. 

Kei has seen Oikawa naked like twenty thousand times. Oikawa has made fun of the mole on Kei’s left buttcheek since eternity. 

None of that gives him a smidge of an idea of how to handle this situation. Oikawa seems to be in the same boat.

So.

Kei does the thing that takes the least effort.

“Want some pancakes?”

Oikawa blinks. Blinks again. Gives Kei a smile that should not be legal at something like six oh eight in the morning. 

It’s relief and sleep wrapped into an atrocious head of hair. It’s a nest of tangles and tufts wildly arranged but, where Kuroo’s bedhead is beyond redemption, Oikawa’s is—dare Kei to say it— oddly fitting and nice to look at.

Oikawa yawns mid reply, “Yes, please, Tsukki. I’ll help.”

Kei would contest the nickname but it’s too early to care (worry) about Oikawa picking up some of Kuroo’s habits.

It’s fine. 

He’ll make Oikawa fumble in practice and make it even. Make Kuroo do something dumb, too, to restore balance to the universe. 

After twenty minutes and a flour incident, Kei learns that Oikawa is absolutely useless in the kitchen and relegates him to an observer. Oikawa gives himself the role of commentator. Kei doesn’t talk much in the mornings so it’s a change of pace having someone speak absolute drivel at him while he’s making pancake batter.

He doesn’t care who Mari-chan, the team manager, is dating but he does know that Oikawa is wrong and no—one of the team’s MBs is not fucking the librarian. Before he knows it, he’s arguing with Oikawa the way he does every day at practice, going against everything Oikawa says out of pure spite. 

That’s how Iwaizumi finds them, Oikawa trying and failing to steal the spatula away from Kei’s hand and the smell of blueberry pancakes permeating the kitchen thanks to the nice fat stack they have on a plate. Kuroo trails behind him, wearing Kei’s shirt and looking like he’s still asleep. 

It’s awkward for about two seconds until Oikawa asks, “Kuroo-chan, you were yowling like a cat in heat yesterday, is your throat dead?” 

Iwaizumi follows up with a nod. “I’m surprised Tsukishima can be so rough, being so scrawny.” There’s teasing in his eyes and Kei doesn’t feel as vengeful as he would, were it anyone else. 

Kuroo looks lost, blinking at them for a couple of seconds while his brain works through words. He flushes furiously when he gets there.  Kei can’t wait to cash-in the prize from his bet. 

......................................

After sleep, and gloating, and (as promised) a right fucking from his own boyfriend Kei can’t decide which makes him happier. That Kei was right, that Kuroo is just as into it as he is or that the golden couple thinks they’re hot and interesting enough to start this little game. 

Do you know how many people want to fuck Iwaizumi? Hordes. When Kuroo’s team visits people come and cheer for them in their skimpy outfits and tight clothes to see if they can steal a moment of attention. 

As much as Kei hates to admit it, Oikawa is pretty much the same. Up until this whole sex thing started he’d swear up and down that Oikawa’s eyes existed only for his boyfriend—to quote Oikawa’s loud, grating voice— the love of his life.  

That he and Kuroo make the cut for this whole fucking-around situation is incredibly flattering, albeit unexpected.

They come home from a date to find Iwaizumi eating Oikawa’s ass out on the couch. 

Oikawa is, as usual, smiling without a care in the world. Ass up, hair plastered to his forehead with Iwaizumi behind him. “H–ah. Hello.” 

Kuroo freezes for a second. Kuroo actually lives here, so maybe he’s used to seeing Oikawa in less compromising positions in the comfort of his own home. Kei is his teammate and all, but he has no qualms in walking in, setting Kuroo’s keys in the drawer they use and taking his scarf off. “Hello. How’s it going?”

Iwaizumi pulls off with a pop, his fingers taking over his mouth. Oikawa buries his head in the cushion while Iwaizumi answers casually. “Pretty good. Taking refuge from the cold.”

“I’ll say. It’s freezing out there.”

Oikawa moans, long and hard and Kuroo finally gets a move on taking off his jacket. His arm gets stuck and he almost falls over, but he gets there. Stands in front of them with eyes as big as saucers and a tent in his pants. 

That has to be a new record—no, there was that time Kuroo lost a bet and Kei made him wear a skirt. 

Good times. 

They make a lot of bets. 

Kuroo is hard as shit watching his gorgeous roommate get eaten out by his adonis of a boyfriend en Plein air. Kei can relate to the dumbstruck look on his face. 

Kei can also be devious. 

He sits on the other end of the couch and gets both a front-row seat to the debauchery and arm’s reach grip to Kuroo’s crotch. He takes advantage of this immediately. Kuroo isn’t expecting it, but if the other two are going to be shameless about it Kei is going to follow along. 

It doesn’t take much to reach over and unbutton Kuroo’s jeans, pulling them down just enough to have his dick pop out. 

How Kuroo goes commando in freezing weather is a mystery of life and a sample of defiant hubris. Still, it makes Kei’s life easier when he wants quick access to giving him a handy in front of their friends. Kuroo groans something foul and Kei clicks his tongue at the obscenity. “Language.”

Kuroo laughs.“Not enough brainpower for that right now.” Realizes the incredible setup and chokes-out, “Don’t!” before Kei can take advantage of it. 

Oikawa groans at something Iwaizumi’s fingers do, pants and stares right at Kuroo’s dick. He tilts his head, curious. “Kuroo-chan is bigger than I remember.” 

Kei hums, wrist still going infuriatingly slow. “He’s a grower, not a shower.”

Kuroo hisses at a harder stroke. “Don’t talk about my dick like I’m not here.”

They ignore him. 

Kei licks his lip, holding back on sucking Kuroo dry to tease him. “He’s big when he gets worked up. Gets wet so easy.”

Oikawa giggles (Yes, giggles. No, Kei is not okay), but Iwaizumi stops him with a crack to his backside that has him breathing through his mouth. “You’re one to talk. I take a single look at you and you start dripping.”

Iwaizumi spanks him again, just for good measure, which Kei is a thousand percent on board with. 

A million. 

Oikawa is looking gone, eyer feverish and breathing heavy. Kei has never seen him like this. Even that time in the dressing room, it was a frantic, adrenaline-filled rush. Kei is calm now, and he can look and dissect all he wants. It’s fascinating. 

His voice comes out breathy. The air feels thin and his head is spinning, slightly. “Is he going to come from that?”

Iwaizumi shrugs, nonchalant. “He’s easy.” He raises himself on his knees to nuzzle Oikawa’s cheek. Crooks in the deepest tone of voice known to man, gruff and sweet. “A little attention and he melts. Right, baby?”

Kuroo has been silent for a while. His sharp breath isn’t overtly loud but Iwaizumi catches it with a heavy look. He hides the grin in Tooru’s back, kissing his spine, humming into his shoulder blades.

Kei is entranced, somehow, watching Iwaizumi work the room with nothing but a few words. “That’s right. So good.”

Kuroo’s muscles ripple in response. His thighs trembling with every word coming out of Iwaizumi’s mouth. 

Kei is distraught. 

He can’t choose between watching Kuroo fall apart or watching Oikawa completely disintegrate. It’s very hard.

Oikawa heaves a pant and Kei feels himself heat. “So fucking pretty,”  is pulled from him before he can think about any unsolicited word vomit. 

Oikawa startles. Looks at Kei, flushes harder somehow and hides his face in the crook of his neck. What?

Iwaizumi laughs, evil. ”What do we say when someone compliments us, Tooru?”

Oikawa moans like he’s dying. Like he’s being killed. He’s still hiding in his arm. Iwaizumi is not having it, grabbing his hair and lifting his head to stare at Kei. His hair is a sweaty mess, some wetness glistening on his cheeks. Kuroo’s hips jerk, borderline violent, and Kei feels a little bad. He’s not paying that much attention to him if he’s being honest. Kei looks up at him to make up for the neglect but Kuroo isn’t paying attention to him either. His eyes are buried where Iwaizumi’s hand is buried deep in Oikawa’s hair, feverish. 

Well, then. 

Iwaizumi pulls harder, making Oikawa’s spine curve deliciously. “Tooru. What do we say?”

Oikawa tries. He tries hard to form words but manages a wheeze and a weak cough first. Pants once, twice. Licks his lips. His voice is a whiny mess. He might be dying.“Thank you, Kei-chan.”

Kei can’t make a single word, honestly. Couldn’t even if he tried. 

Iwaizumi is there, thankfully, still coherent. “Good job.” 

Instead of relaxing his grip, Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa back even more, until his back is resting on Iwa’s chest, giving him the full view of Oikawa’s front. Iwaizumi quickens his pace, hand working faster. “Come for daddy, baby.”

Oikawa keens and Kuroo cums immediately. Kei’s hand still moves at that slow, infuriating pace, milking him for all he's worth, but it’s not Kei that brings him over, they know. Iwaizumi’s words pushed him over the edge like a trained puppy.

Oikawa makes some filthy sound Kei has come to recognize as him coming. Kei’s stomach clenches hard at Oikawa coming untouched all over himself, messy and pink.

Kei has never been harder in his life. 

Is it okay that someone else making his boyfriend come while Kei is still jacking him off is getting him so hot? That seeing Iwaizumi making Oikawa come is the best shit ever? Is it allowed? It feels like it shouldn't be. Something this good should be outlawed.

Kuroo kneels and paws at Kei’s belt with desperate hands and Kei’s mind goes entirely blank.

.........................................

By the end of the night, Kuroo and Oikawa have their respective boyfriend’s cum on their faces. They say their sleepy goodnight and pass out like the dead. Kei sleeps dreams of everyone in the apartment taking turns over and under him and wakes refreshed. 

.........................................

Here’s the deal. Kuroo is like. Immensely happy with Kei. Borderline blissful, or some other sappy shit he’s too chicken to say outright. So it’s strange that he so into this whole semi-fucking-your-friends thing, right?

Wait, no. Kei is also very into it. So into it. Kuroo has the back scratches to prove it. 

Ok. 

Kei isn’t weird, so if he’s fine, it’s fine. 

Right? 

.........................................

Kuroo’s been too quiet. If there’s one thing Kei has come to know is that a quiet Kuroo isn't always the best thing. He’s prone to worrying in silence, mulling things over before he talks about them. He doesn’t want Kuroo mulling, but he’s not going to interrupt him, either. After eons of chewing on his lip, making it rosy red and tempting Kei into leaving his warm spot on the bed to soothe it with his tongue, Kuroo finally speaks. “Are we weird for liking this?”

They’re laying in Kei’s bed, for once. Kei’s room is private but there’s no added fucky-neighbors benefit so they hang out at Kuroo’s when they can. It’s quieter, for one, the atmosphere more subdued. Kei likes both, but this is the right place to have this conversation. “I don’t think so. Some people like piss, some like being hit. We’re borderline having a foursome every other day, but everyone is okay with it.”

Borderline is a bit generous, but Kei will allow himself the leeway. 

It was the right thing to say to clear Kuroo’s mind, his head hitting the pillow with a low thud. Kuroo hums, letting his hands wander and pick at the loose thread on Kei’s pillowcase. “Would you still date me if I liked piss?”

There’s something about the moment that makes Kei’s chest go a little tight. It’s stupid. Kuroo is literally just laying there. Feelings are weird. Kei stops thinking about that and comes back to the conversation at hand. 

How does one say to their significant other that they’re most likely okay with piss?  “Are you asking if I’d kink shame you?”

“Would you?”

Kei sighs, full of completely manufactured annoyance.  “I’d still love you, I guess.” 

There’s something wrong with the silence that follows, but Kei can’t exactly put his finger on it. He’s still trying to figure it out when Kuroo’s too pleased tone seeps in. “You’d still love me, huh?”

Well, fuck. Their first ‘I love you’ right in the middle of a conversation about piss? Kei is not a romantic but, seriously? His face goes hot and he makes sure to bury it in his shirt before Kuroo sees and holds it over him forever. “Shut up.”

Kuroo singsongs, laying on his elbows, “Why, I just repeated that you’d still loooooooooooove —”

The meat of Kei’s palm presses against Kuroo’s jaw, making the sound warble. His knees hit the bed and he slaps the rest of his hands-on Kuroo’s face, then the other when Kuroo’s comes up to pry it off him. They wrestle like kids until Kei’s knee presses down a little too hard on Kuroo’s crotch and he freezes immediately.

“I give. I give, leave my babies intact.” 

Kei presses harder.“Tsukki! You love my balls and I love you, too, so you can’t knee me in the nuts. You can’t!”  

He knees Kuroo in the nuts—accidentally, mind you. Kei loses his balance and his rotula grinds down into Kuroo’s crotch.

It’s fine, he kisses it better.

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[ivyfics]

In The Closet - Chap 3

Read on AO3

KurotsukkIwaoi, OT4, E, 1,5k

While Kei’s absolutely sure about the whole lock-in thing, he’s less steady as to how to prove it. So far the only thing that’s come out of it— aside from both of them, several times—is their new habit of fucking with the door ajar when in Kuroo’s apartment. Kei might have deliberately been moaning louder than usual, but Kuroo’s never made that sound when getting sucked off before so he’s not the only one trying to be bait.

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While Kei’s absolutely sure about the whole lock-in thing, he’s less steady as to how to prove it.

So far the only thing that’s come out of it— aside from both of them, several times—is their new habit of fucking with the door ajar when in Kuroo’s apartment.

Kei might have deliberately been moaning louder than usual, but Kuroo’s never made that sound when getting sucked off before so he’s not the only one trying to be bait.

It’s cute.

The new sound, not the both of them being deliberately terrible to Kuroo’s roommate. Oikawa is the roommate though, so Kei remembers the last time Oikawa was insufferable and kindly does not give a shit anymore. He also remembers him getting dicked down against the lockers and pounds Kuroo harder into the bed.

They’re not horrible enough to obviously start going at it when the other two, or just Oikawa, is in the apartment but rather adopted a go with the flow attitude and hoped for either of them to arrive somewhere in the middle. Baby steps.

No results so far.

Except for right now.

It’s between him putting a hand on Kuroo’s back to press his chest harder into the bed and Kuroo’s back curving obscenely that Kei hears the door. Kuroo clenches around him with a terrible moan and, yeah, he heard too.

Sex with Kuroo is good. Going from dick appointments to fucking out his feelings has been a noticeable improvement in the sex department. There’s just something about having Kuroo under—or over, Kei doesn’t really mind when his boyfriend gets in a mood where all he wants to do is ride — that makes it so much sweeter.

Making Kuroo fall apart is one of his favorite pastimes.

Another is poking at Kuroo until he snaps and fucks Kei rough.

Good hobbies.

Back to the sex. It’s usually pretty great, their kinks match, they’re sexually compatible to a tee.

This is…

What’s the right word?

Mindblowing.

It’s a special privilege, being able to see Kuroo fall apart so wildly just from the fact that they’re being heard.

There’s a corner of Kei’s psyche that’s dingy and mean and takes so much pleasure in bending over so that his mouth lines up with the flaming red tip of Kuroo’s ear, giving back some of the teasing that Kuroo’s known for.

“Did you hear that? Somebody’s home.” He blows cool air against the red shell just for the sake of seeing Kuroo’s shiver at those words intensify.  It waves down his back and ends with a clench that makes Kei’s breath punch out, but it’s so worth it. Kuroo’s not letting up, working himself harder and faster against Kei, volume rising with each backward cant of his hips.

Kei doesn’t stop him or try to hold him. Doesn’t think he could, not with the sound of that clicking door dancing around his brain. He’s enjoying it way too much to try and slow it down.

He can, however, take full advantage of this opportunity.

Kuroo is so preoccupied with fucking himself on Kei’s cock to think anything of Kei wrapping himself against Kuroo’s middle, arms holding steady over his ribcage, his abs. The high keen it forces from Kuroo’s mouth when Kei pulls them both upright to sit Kuroo fully on him is music to Kei’s ears, Kuroo’s thighs on the outside of his, both of them on their knees.

Loud, surprised, and needy.

The kind that would make him swell and sweat if he was them, outside listening in—and they are, Kei knows. Now it sends a throb through his length where it’s pressed inside Kuroo.  

Kei rakes his nails down Kuroo’s chest, just as he likes.

Jumpstarts him into moving again.

Kuroo does most of the work, Kei letting one of his arms keep them pressed together while the other goes on the see just how many red welts he can leave for Kuroo to find later. Kei’s hips thrust every now and again, mostly to hear Kuroo’s voice break on what can only be considered a yell at this point.

Kei loves this.

Loves that Kuroo is so needy for it, aching to be heard and wanted by somebody else while Kei is the one inside him.

Loves that it feels like he’s showing Kuroo off to everyone else.

Loves that with every bead of sweat rolling down his back, the heat on his cheeks and his chest, he doesn’t know who he’d want more if he were them.

Want to have Kuroo writhe and slut out on his cock or be the one to feel something—someone— thick, hard, and hot inside?

But he doesn’t have to choose, because he’s the one balls-deep in his boyfriend’s ass, even if it feels like Kuroo’s fucking him. Using him to get the dicking that he wants, and oh , he gets it now, gets what Kuroo meant—

Kei’s hip jerks hard, grip tightening on Kuroo’s hip. Starts thrusting up into Kuroo viciously because he’s the one fucking now, sinks his teeth on the meat of Kuroo’s shoulders with fury, reveling on the guttural sound it pulls from Kuroo.

Instead of stilling him, the pain makes him more frantic to work himself on Kei’s cock and it breaks something inside Kei. It does.

“You’re such a little slut,” he sneers and points his words with harder thrusts, hand holding tight to keep the jostling from separating them. He keeps his a voice low hiss, only for Kuroo to hear because this doesn’t belong to anyone else but the two of them. “Can’t fucking believe it. Gets you hot when they can hear you take it. You love it when I mark you up, when I bite and it hurts.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Give it to me,” Kuroo chants, drops a hand to work over where he’s dripping.  “C’mon, give,” Kuroo snarls when Kei doesn’t start right away.

Kei gives. Pushes against him, bites and chomps and rakes his nails over every piece of bare skin he can hold on to. Kuroo does the same, pink crescents swelling where he grips Kei’s body for support while they work to get themselves there.

It’s not soft, or sweet.

There’s no Kuroo drowning him in words of praise, or any trace of when they go slow and quiet, losing themselves in each other. It’s fast, hard. Uncoordinated and jerky, but they’re so close, they’re almost there—

Kei comes first because, as infuriating as it is, Kuroo’s stamina outlasts him more often than not. Kuroo takes over then, working Kei through his orgasm and clenching painfully on his sensitive dick when his hand brings him over the edge.

Kuroo stiffens, jolts, and slumps back.

Kei’s got an armful of dead-weight boyfriend and smack of sweaty hair on his face. It takes every last ounce of energy he has to dump Kuroo onto a pillow and tie off his condom before face-planting on the bed, muscles shaking.

.........................................

 Kuroo’s been out for a while, snoring coming through his face smushed against the pillow. Kei’s been treading the line between asleep and awake for the last half-hour or so, Kuroo’s warmth at his back where he curled into Kei and his orgasm lulling him to bed faster than usual.

Eyes closing, he settles in.

Then he hears it.

A long, broken moan, followed by a gasp.

It’s ringing and clear, slinking in along a pale line of light from where the door stands open. Neither of them had thought to close it, or the energy.

Kei is tired enough to let it be and use it to fluster Kuroo tomorrow. Watch his face get red with excitement, the way other people do about sports teams or hobbies but they do when it involves their friends fucking.

Another moan breaks, and this time it snaps Kei up from his place on the bed, hand reaching out for his glasses.

It’s not Oikawa.

Motherfucker.

Another moan.

Willing every bone-tired limb to move, he treads to the sliver the open door shows him.  

Iwaizumi flushes all the way down his chest, and up to his ears. He’s also a lot more vocal that Kei has imagined, but he knows riding someone will do that to even the most stoic of people, himself included.

He should go wake Kuroo up. But he’s so tired from before, Kei really did work him to the bone.

He’s not going to wake Kuroo up, no matter how much he wants to share the vision of Iwaizumi riding Oikawa on the couch. Doe brown hair is the only part of Oikawa he can see, head tilted up to meet Iwaizumi for a kiss, back facing Kuroo’s room. Iwaizumi is shirtless, not sweaty yet, and moving slow where he’s straddling Oikawa.

They’re not being quiet, Oikawa’s light grunts and moans filtering through along with Iwaizumi’s. Kei is too entranced in how loud Oikawa is to notice Iwaizumi’s stare on him until it’s too late. Their eyes meet, again, no slats between them to vague the intent. That smirk from the locker room blooms back on Iwaizumi’s face until it’s cut short by one of Oikawa’s thrusts.

Whelp.

Guess Kuroo owes him a right fucking.

Kei was right after all.

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[ivyfics]

In the Closet - Chap 2

Read on AO3

KurotsukkIwaoi, OT4, E, 2k

“Iwaizumi wants to fuck me,” Kei says in passing while they have dinner, eyes buried in his phone, fingers scrolling down monotonously.  

Kuroo’s chopsticks clang against his plate, face going red as he chokes and reaches for his water. Kei continues, head not lifting from the screen, “Or us. I’m not sure yet, but I think maybe both of us.”

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“Iwaizumi wants to fuck me,” Kei says in passing while they have dinner, eyes buried in his phone, fingers scrolling down monotonously.  

Kuroo’s chopsticks clang against his plate, face going red as he chokes and reaches for his water. Kei continues, head not lifting from the screen, “Or us. I’m not sure yet, but I think maybe both of us.”

The place where they’re having dinner is nice in that it’s not teeming with people and the food is pretty good. They're alone for the most part, the only other patron sitting across the room on a stool, so Kei's not worried he's being overheard. Music playing in the background and the smell of fresh garlic has become familiar to him ever since they’ve taken to coming here after their dates— yes, there are dates now.

That’s a thing that they do.

They date.

They’re dating.

And it’s going pretty well.

Turns out he can blow Kuroo in the bathroom and go on a nice date with him afterward.

Who knew?

Taking a deep settling breath, Kuroo takes a couple of sips. He’s staring at Kei from across the table, shoulder to the wall, face unreadable until it breaks out into a grin. “Alright, yeah, I can see it. Hard to think anyone would not want to fuck you. And now that we’re together? I’d want to fuck us too.”

Kuroo tone is everything but serious, borderline mocking, and Kei’s head snaps up. He’s being legit, Iwaizumi wants to fuck him. He’s sure of it. “You do know he locked us in on purpose, right?”

“So you keep saying,” Kuroo says in that irritating tone again right before he steals a bite from Kei’s half-eaten plate, “but it’s kinda hard to picture. I know the guy, you have no idea how possessive he gets about Oikawa. I think that extends to letting your teammates seeing you have a kinky quicky in the locker room.”

Setting the phone down, Kei bats away Kuroo’s chopsticks. He’s not going to eat it all but Kuroo’s not getting any until he agrees. “Not if you’re a filthy exhibitionist. He stared right at me and smirked, why would I make this up?”

Kuroo shrugs across from him. “I’m not saying you made it up. Maybe he figured out we were there and didn’t want to make things awkward by calling us out or letting Oikawa know.”

“Yeah, didn’t want to make things awkward so he’s going to smirk at me right before leaving, flawless logic,” Kei mocks, only a little bitter.

Kuroo laughs. “Tsukki, c’mon.”

Kei looks at him. Really looks, looks at that condescending smile, at the curl of his lip, the way he’s still trying to steal food from Kei’s plate.

It’s infuriating.

He wants to wipe that smile right off.  

Kei pulls out one of his own, sharp. “I’m going to prove it.”

Brown eyes squint, face turning away with a huffed laugh. Ooooh, Kuroo’s so gonna get it. He doesn’t believe him and Kei’s going to make him eat his words. “What are you going to prove?”

“That I’m right. Because I am.”

“So you’re going to prove that Iwaizumi did that on purpose and that he wants fuck you slash us,” Kuroo drawls.

He sounds so amused. Asshole.

“Yes.”

Kuroo holds out his pinky. A challenge. “You sure?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Kei hisses out. His pinky hooks onto Kuroo’s outstretched one with violence. It kind of hurts Kei a little but it doesn’t matter because he has a point to prove. He holds them there above the table, squeezing hard before he lets go.

And just like that, Kuroo’s face falls into sleaze.

That exact grin has gotten Kei on his knees in places knees were never meant to be. Kuroo’s eyes are full of mischief, sparkling and staring right through him as he picks at Kei’s plate.

Motherfucker.

Mother. Fucker.

The cat who got the canary.

“Can’t wait,” Kuroo mutters between chews.  

Kei keeps getting played but he can’t find it in himself to mind.

................................................

 Kei’s dorm isn’t messy. He’s not a slob, unlike his last roommate.  

He cried the day he got a single.

Happiest day of his entire college experience.

Kuroo likes to move things around. Kei doesn’t think it’s conscious, his hands just move on their own while he talks. Shifting a paper one centimeter to the right, then a smidge to the left, tapping on the desk, moving a pillow. Kei doesn’t have enough knickknacks for it to become tedious, so it’s—somehow— mostly endearing.

Right now, Kuroo’s hands are playing with a paperclip laying on Kei’s desk while he slouches on the chair.

“I need a game plan. And his motives.”

“Motives are simple,” Kuroo mumbles, entranced with the paperclip. At Kei’s silence, he elaborates. “You’re hot.”

Kei pins him with a stare, but Kuroo looks at him like he’s the dumb one. “Like really hot.”

“Yes, obviously,” Kei agrees, because he is, “but it’s not like we see each other often, or talk at all.“

Kuroo’s face scrunches up, earning him a sigh from where Kei slumps on the bed. “What did you do?”

Kuroo bites his lip like he always does. “I, uh, talked about you a lot, maybe. Before we got together together . After, too.”

“Really?”

Kei’s intrigued. And a little horny from the dinner. He knows, okay, he’s self-aware, getting turned on by your boyfriend being a minor pain in your ass is how he’s built. Kei thrives on being a dick, so it’s only fair his dick does too.

He’s getting side-eyed. Again. “Did you expect me to land you and not talk about it? Even when we were just fucking.”

Kei plays along. Rises from the bed and makes his way until he’s sitting in Kuroo’s lap, facing him. Leans in and whispers against his mouth, “What’d you talk about? About my skills, or my looks?”

His voice is teasing, falling deeper into sultry as he goes on, “Maybe about how you begged me to suck your cock that first time? And how I got on my knees easy?”

Places a peck on Kuroo’s reddening cheek, “Or maybe how you came all the way to my college on my half hour break so that I could feed you my dick and my cum.”

Rubs his nose on the side of Kuroo’s neck where he’s ticklish, gets a shiver in return.“How I let you fuck me in the showers when you couldn’t hold it in anymore, even though everyone was still there?”

Trails his fingers up the column of his neck until he’s holding Kuroo’s face in his hands, making him look up at Kei’s eyes, breathes out, “Tell me.”

Getting Kuroo going is so easy. It shows on his face, clear as day.

It’s how they started the whole fuck buddies thing. A well-placed look here, a comment there, and next thing you know Kei’s nose is meeting Kuroo’s pelvis.

Even now, that tiny move has Kuroo’s half-chub pressing on Kei’s ass.

Kuroo sighs out, like waking from a dream, and cups him through denim. “You have a pretty cock, you know that? I love this cock. Sucking it, having it fuck my mouth.”

Kei nods. Kuroo’s been very… vocal about it.

“I walked in on Oikawa blowing him y’know.”

“They probably let you. Probably knew you were gonna walk in the room the whole time.”

Kuroo’s hands come to Kei’s back, start trailing up and down. Sneak under fabric to meet warm skin. “Sometimes they don’t close the door all the way and I get a peek at Oikawa on his knees or on the edge of the bed, mouth filled and looking like he’s in heaven.”

Blood is rushing to Kei’s face, down to his groin. He should feel bad that this is getting him worked up so fast, but he doesn’t. Not even a little bit. He’s wiggling to push harder against Kuroo’s bulge without a single ounce of remorse. “Yeah. Like all he wants from life is a dick in his mouth.”

“It always happens when I talk about your cock. I talk about your cock a lot. Sorry about that,” Kuroo says, looking the least amount of sorry anyone has ever looked, turning his head where Kei’s grip has gone lax to kiss his palm.

Kei’s a hypocrite.

He can talk and talk about how easy Kuroo is, how he’s ready to go no matter the time or place but Kei is exactly the same. He’s worse.

That, right there?

That tiny kiss to his burning palm? It melts. Pulls a whine from him, smothered by the breath caught in his throat. “Kuroo.”

Kuroo closes his eyes for a second, brings his hands to grip Kei’s ass and grind on him like they’re teenagers trying to rub one off while their parents are downstairs. “Fuck. What do you want? You want my mouth? Wanna fuck it like I’m him? Close your eyes and fuck his mouth dirty?”

Kei rakes his nails on his scalp, down his neck, and to his arms. “You okay with that? Your boyfriend fucking your mouth, thinking of someone else. Using you like that?”

Kuroo’s hips jolt upward with a force and that’s all the answer Kei needs. “Ah. S’that it, Tetsu? You want me to use you?”

Kuroo shrugs, picks up the pace, “Like looking at you cum, don’t care why you do it.”

“Did you know they were gonna lock us in? Give us a taste,” he asks, but it’s showing plainly on Kuroo’s face. “No, you didn’t. That must have been a treat for you. You played it off so bad, like you didn’t care either way.”

“Didn’t know how you’d react. Didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Hmm. You didn’t,” Kei grinds down hard, goes for the killing blow. “You got what you wanted, me cumming on you while getting off to someone else. Right, Daddy ?”

Kuroo’s eyes go wide, frozen until a shiver runs racks his body where he’s under Kei.

Bingo

“Tsukki…”

Kei laughs, powered by all the blood rushing through his veins and a tad mean if he’s being honest, “Fuckin’ knew it. Should have seen your face when Oikawa said it.”

Except Kuroo’s face is doing something weird, like the complete opposite of how it was then. 

He looks unsure, and that stops Kei’s hips from moving. He enjoys how they play off each other, especially this thing where they go all out and Kei can let loose every filthy thought that runs through his head.

He doesn't want to this if it’s going to make Kuroo do that face.

Fuck, going steady made Kei go soft.

Where’s the edge now?

His new bio reads: Would turn down hot fantasizing and kinky sex because it puts an uneasy look on my boo’s face.

Is this what being emotionally mature is?

Has he– gasp! –grown as a person?

“Not weird?” Kuroo asks through his lip. Fuck, he needs to stop doing that before Kei gives in and starts biting whenever. 

He wants to say something along the lines of We’re using our friends to get off and you’re worried about a daddy kink weirding me out?

Instead, Kei shakes his head, brings Kuroo’s hand from his ass to cup where he’s straining against his jeans. “Hot.”

With that all bets are on again, Kuroo surging up while pressing Kei down on him so that he can rub off dirty, chair creaking. “How are you real?”

Kei bites down on his neck, pulling a moan. “Weren’t you gonna suck me, Daddy?”

................................................

Kei stretches out in his bed, cooling off. Kuroo’s already gone back to his own place after a text from Oikawa to not forget to take out the trash. Again. 

This makes it twice that they have orgasmed using their friends as fodder, except this time the aftermath isn’t filled with dread but with excitement.

Kei’s going to prove he’s right and if his reward is anything like Kuroo’s face when they promised, it’s going to be fantastic.

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[ivyfics]

In the Closet - Chap 1

Read on AO3

KurotsukkIwaOi, OT4, E, 1.8k

Tsukki and Kuroo accidentally get stuck while Iwaizumi fucks Oikawa's brains out. Turns out, it may not be so accidental after all. Of all the places on earth Kei should be right now, like on his way to the showers, or by his locker packing up to leave for his next class, here , in the small, cramped, closet of the visitor’s team locker room, is not it.

Next Chapter

They should not be here. They should not be here at all.

He shouldn’t have been here in the first place.

Of all the places on earth Kei should be right now, like on his way to the showers, or by his locker packing up to leave for his next class, here , in the small, cramped, closet of the visitor’s team locker room, is not it.

Kei is going to lose it.

Oikawa’s voice is barely audible, but just enough to grace them with a whine of “Daddy, please…”

Kuroo stiffens, face going red from lack of oxygen before wheezing out, “Oh my fucking god. His boyfriend has a daddy kink, I’m never letting him live this down.”

As fun as this might seem to Kuroo, he does not want to be here while Oikawa, his teammate, whom he has to see every practice, indulges in whatever kink he might enjoy with his boyfriend unknowing of the two add-ons hiding in the closet.

He almost snorts at the thought. Kei hasn’t been in the closet in like ten years.

Iwaizumi’s chuckle reaches them loud and clear, not bothering to lower his voice. “You want it here, baby?”

“Oh my god.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“You’re going to be good for me?”

“I’ll be good.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“Will you be quiet! They’re going to know we’re here, ” Kei hisses at Kuroo, face red and palms sweating.

Kuroo looks at him. Stares. Turns to look in between the slats, then back at him. “I, in all honesty and in a real assessment of my capabilities, am not entirely sure I can stay quiet.”

Kei stares him down in the dimness of the cramped place they stuffed themselves in when the door they forgot to lock opened.

“Do you see the guy your roommate is hanging off of? Your teammate with the big arms? Do you want him knowing you’re here and that you saw a very private moment of theirs that involves a daddy kink being exposed?” Kei shudders at the next thought, whisper tinged with apprehension. “Do you want Oikawa to know?”

Even if they tried to leave swiftly, Oikawa did not forget to lock the door behind him like it’s amateur hour. This is his and Kuroo’s makeout-and-other-stuff locker room. They should have this shit on lockdown.

Kuroo winces and gives him a pained look, teeth digging into his bottom lip. If the situation were different, like the kind he followed Kuroo into the unused locker room for, he’d give in to the temptation to bite into it.

“Iwaizumi is a nice guy, he won’t kill us. Probably.”

“And Oikawa?”

Kuroo looks afraid. “So, we have to be as quiet as possible.”

Kei would be worried about the level of noise they’re making right now if it weren’t for the sounds coming from the couple outside.

There’s a loud crack followed by long, filthy moan and both their heads jerk to look between the slats.

Oikawa is spread facing a row of lockers, arms bracing him and ass sticking out. His naked ass, Kei might add—which he has seen before, because that’s what happens when your lockers are right next to each other, but never in this light, or in that particular angle, red skin flushed—shorts discarded to the side.

Iwaizumi’s hands are running over the reddened skin of his cheeks before lifting and smacking again.

Another crack!

Jesus, that’s his spiking hand.

That thought sends a shiver through him.

Was Oikawa waiting for this the whole time they were going against each other? Every time Iwaizumi spiked, when he heard the resounding thud against the floor when he managed to get past Kei and the other blockers?

Every hit is followed by a moan, each one getting louder than the last. Kei is glad he’s not making Oikawa count or the throbbing in his pants might intensify, loose clothing doing nothing to hide his bulge.

Kuroo is pressed up against him to get a good angle and his thigh rubs against the fabric of Kei’s shorts, just enough to feel something hard poking against him. Kei eyes haven’t left the scene in front of him, tracking the fingers Iwaizumi is using to open Oikawa up, so he doesn’t notice the set that’s reaching out to cup against him until they make contact.

It takes all of his willpower not to yelp. “What are you doing?”

Kuroo shrugs. The hand not being used to tease Kei’s dick is down his own pants, fondling himself, so the shrug is minute. “Might as well.”

“You’re a sketchy person with a dubious sense of morality.”

Kuroo scoffs at him, palming the head of his cock over the shorts. “Don’t act like you’re not hard.”

Kei rolls his eyes. “I need glasses, I’m not blind. Or deaf.”

Leaning over to kiss him, black hair tickles his cheek when Kuroo whispers, “We were going to do this anyway, now we have a show to watch.”

Whatever protest he has left is smushed when Kuroo shoves his hand down his pants and cups him without any dulling barriers. Okay, yeah, he’s hard and ignoring Oikawa getting rammed against the lockers outside is not a possibility so he’s going to stay hard unless they do something about it.

The heat from Kuroo’s body is intensified in the small confines of the closet, beams of light trickling in from the slats falling on the bottom part of his face and down to his chest. It’s what lets him see the smirk that crawls on his face. That cannot be good news.

Kei’s proven right when Kuroo kisses him again before he lays words against his lips. “I’ll do all the work, you just keep watching.”

He’d protest but a squeeze to his dick in warning keeps his all his focus on not letting any sound filter through.

Alright. Fine. He’ll peep at the two guys fucking while his sort of something dude gives him a handjob and touches himself.

He and Kuroo are kind of a thing, maybe, but that doesn’t mean he does not appreciate the two hot bodies fucking in front of him. He sees Oikawa train often but this a new look. He always keeps an air of dignity around him when he’s in the middle of it, focused.

Oikawa getting stuffed is a different story.

Hair disheveled, feverish eyes, ass red and trying to push back against the cock inside him.

Trying being the operative word.

He doesn’t know Iwaizumi well, only what Kuroo and Oikawa tell him, and whatever he learns from matches they’ve had together. What he does know is that holy shit, that back. Those arms.

Tan skin, muscles flexing and glistening with the exertion of keeping the muscular body underneath him still. Oikawa’s back is arched as much as he can with Iwaizumi’s grip on the side of his body and their hips slamming together. Iwaizumi is holding him down, only letting him have what he wants to give.

They have one mismatched uniform between them, Iwaizumi shirtless and with his shorts halfway down his ass, Oikawa with only his shirt bunched around his armpits.

It should not be as funny as it is, seeing that he’s hard with Kuroo’s hand working around him and trying very hard to be quiet.

Oikawa goes silent too, only he’s coming and gasping for air as Iwaizumi fucks him through it. Keeps going at it. Moves like his dick isn’t riding out Oikawa squeezing around him. Mark Kei down as impressed and horny.

Moans start filtering through again, lockers splattered with Oikawa’s cum.

Fuck, Kei is hard. The mean grin that blooms on Iwaizumi’s face only makes him harder.

Oikawa is wrenched to his knees by a hand on his shoulder, hard cock rubbing at his lips.

“Open up, baby.”

Kuroo is a fucking demon because somehow he feels something wet around him too and finds him kneeling and opening his mouth, tongue lolling out in offering, bringing the weeping head of Kei’s cock to rest on it. His eyes are full of mischief and he is going to pay for this. Kuroo wants him to fuck his mouth while he gets off to someone else? Fine.

Next time they fuck Kei is going to meet him with his ass stretched and plugged, and he’s gonna tell Kuroo to fuck him raw.

Fucking Kuroo.

Kei doesn’t think he stays quiet but he’s too far gone to try and stop himself, too busy grabbing the back of Kuroo’s head and thrusting.

Oikawa goes to town with it, slurping and squelching sounds high in the air.  He sucks Iwa off sloppy until he’s grabbing Oikawa by the hair.

Kei jolts at the merging of his senses, a dimensional warping where the strands on his hands are doe brown and not black, pink lips stretched around the girth of his cock with glee.

A loud grunt cracks the mirage and it’s Iwaizumi’s holding Oikawa still against his pelvis as he comes down his throat. His hips jerk, riding out his orgasm with heavy pants while Oikawa’s eyes water.

Somehow, he has the sense to signal his own impending orgasm by yanking hard on Kuroo’s hair, pulling him off Kei’s cock with a hiss, Kuroo’s hand coming up to finish him off.

When Iwaizumi backs off so he can breathe Oikawa doesn’t pull of completely but goes back to bobbing his head, cleaning all the extra mess.

Done, he leans back against the lockers and looks up at Iwaizumi, eyes still glazed and a loopy smile on his face. “Thank you, Daddy.”

That’s what does Kei in, Oikawa’s absolute and utter pleasure at being done on the floor of a shitty spare locker room, knees red, lips spit and cum shiny. The hand around his cock works him through his orgasm, Kuroo’s grip tightening while he milks Kei dry.

When his brain isn’t staticky anymore, Kei feels sticky, whatever cum landed on him cooling off and crusting in his shorts. That’s going to be a pain to get rid off.

Iwaizumi is cleaning up while Oikawa straightens up his clothes, hands running over the already forming bruises on his hips several times.

Kei’s breath isn’t labored anymore, and he glances over at Kuroo sitting on the floor with his hand still down his pants and his eyes closed. He looks like Kei feels, floaty.

He doesn’t know how much time he stands there, blinking at nothing while his brain reboots before turning back to look at the locker room.

They’re done cleaning up, lockers devoid of bodily fluids and Oikawa waddling out the door.

Iwaizumi takes one last glance around the room before stopping.

To stare right at Kei while smirking.

The door closes.

Kei lets his sweaty forehead slam against the slats, uncaring of the noise anymore, Kuroo too blissed out to care.

Apparently they were meant to be here after all.

Next Chapter

[ivyfics]

Under the Table

Read on AO3

Kurotsukki, E, 1.6k Tags: Semi-public sex, Blowjobs, Voyeurism

One thing would be to reveal that they are having an affair, sweet overtime, and late nights at the office bringing them together. It’s an entirely different story to spin if the president of the company is found to be throat fucking his secretary in the middle of an investors’ call

He should have known something was up. 

Kei is not one to sit idly by when a call like this comes up. 

Committed to his work, his competency wouldn’t allow anything less than him, focused, sitting across Tetsurou’s desk. Listening to voices and projections, taking notes for a report later on. A personal report, for Tetsurou’s eyes only, full of insight and connections. Strategies and predictions. It’s what makes Kei so efficient, so valuable as Tetsurou’s secretary. 

Halfway through the call, while the investors droned on, Kei sent him a long look. A placid one, subdued. He then sunk down to the floor, crawled under Tetsurou’s desk, and started sucking him off. 

It’s the time and place that is a shock. He and Kei, they’re together, and they are not. They fuck and they work, and Tetsurou is sure he’s going to marry him someday, but they’re not officially anything other than boss and secretary. 

He’s been trying to control his fidgeting since the moment Kei’s hands ran down his thighs and opened the zipper of his slacks to mouth at his dick. 

Tetsurou’s fingers dig into Kei’s scalp, trying to hang on to something, anything, and not moan out the filthiest, most guttural sound that has ever been borne from his soul. He’s already hanging on with all he’s got. The muscles of his abdomen spasm and contract, the motion being the only thing keeping him from gripping Kei’s head tight, throat-fucking him, and giving the board members and investors a pay-per-view they did not sign up for. 

Kei hums, just slightly, around Tetsurou’s cock. It does Tetsurou in, his eyes squinting and a barely audible growl slipping out. He recovers quickly, clearing his throat and pulling Kei back from his hair. He looks to the screen, pretending there’s not a hot mouth around his dick. 

On the screen, Kenma’s nose wrinkles and Tetsurou freezes. He can’t flinch. 

He holds Kei back as much as he can. He’s only human, so every other sentence he loosens his grip and lets Kei take him deeper before pulling him back. It’s the best kind of torture, a risky game he can’t quit. 

One thing would be to reveal that they are having an affair, sweet overtime, and late nights at the office bringing them together. It’s an entirely different story to spin if the president of the company is found to be throat fucking his secretary in the middle of an investors’ call. 

He wishes he could. Splay his thighs like a king upon his throne and show them exactly how Kei laves on his cock, how he takes it deep and craves it like rapture. Yank him up by his golden locks and show off how he moans and pants when Tetsurou has him on his desk those nights they stay after midnight. They’ve fucked on every piece of furniture in Tetsurou’s office, he’s had prim and proper Kei slobbering and wet against the glass for any fortunate soul to see. 

Tetsurou wants to show him off. 

Pull him up and seat him on his lap, show them how desperate Kei gets when he wants Tetsurou to stop playing and to fuck him with abandon. His daydream lulls his careful control and Kei moans his dissatisfaction, a breaking sound he’d be able to recognize even through a call. Masking his panic, he gags Kei the fastest way he has. Tetsurou pulls Kei until his nose is pressed against the zipper of his slacks and holds him there to quiet. Kei chuckles at the action, vibrations making Tetsurou sure they’re going to get caught and he’s going to have to explain that his right-hand man is currently deep throating him in the middle of the workday.

Someone asks him a question and Tetusoru answers hot garbage. It’s unbearable, to have to think of numbers and stocks and all those meaningless things when compared to Kei’s cute attempt to bob his head against Tetsurou’s firm grasp on the back of his head. 

They make it through the end of the call through sheer force of will and Tetsurou’s pleas to a higher power. Oddly, Kenma is the last one on call. He waits until everyone is gone and gives Tetsurou a fulminating look before disconnecting. “You’re disgusting.”

The screen goes to black, as does Tetsurou’s dignity. His sanity too, because he finally has the leeway of scooting back and looking at Kei’s face directly. He’s a mess. His mouth is red, as are his cheeks. His eyes are watery, gorgeous citrine looking back at him in a fever.  

There is not enough willpower in him to not mess him up more, to not yank him back until the head of his cock is hitting the back of Kei’s throat, willing hot tears to roll down his cheeks as he fights to stay perfectly where he is being kept.

Polished and immaculate Kei, who is known for his no-nonsense attitude, for his cutthroat demeanor, moaning and begging for his boss’ cum, crying to choke on his dick. His ironed slacks are a mess, his shirt open at the collar. Kei’s tie is missing, and Teturou entertains the idea of finding it to bind his wrists. To have him completely at his mercy, uncaring of how might walk in on their debauchery in his office. Parading a half-naked Kei around on his knees, happy and obedient, the tie knotted crassly around his neck as a leash. 

The thought ignites Tetsurou from the inside. Fills his gut with fire that travels to his hardness and makes his dick twitch on Kei’s tongue. He roughens the pace. Kei cheers him on with moans and hums, delighted. Kei’s hand comes up to tap his thigh twice and Tetsurou releases him, giving him room. Kei pulls off enough to breathe properly. He licks the wet off his lips. “You have a meeting. Cum,” he says, and opens his mouth in offering, looking up. 

“You’re unbelievable.” Wild, Tetsurou stands to get a better angle. Gripping Kei’s hair with both hands, he fucks Kei’s face until he’s coming on his tongue and down his throat with a stifled moan. Kei swallows him down, pulling off to breathe and cleaning him up before leaning back on his shins, all done. 

Tetsurou’s knees give out, falling back into his seat. He sighs, exhausted, leaning his head back on his chair and running his fingers through his hair. He’s a mess inside out, sticky all over. 

Kei rests against his thigh, clearing his throat and trying to compose himself. Tetsurou runs a hand through Kei’s hair to smooth it down into something less of a just-fucked tousle. Kei hums into the gesture. His eyes close, taking deep controlled breaths to keep himself in check. When he opens them again, the storm has calmed. It’s Kei, relaxed, looking at Tetsurou with affection. 

Tetusoru laughs to himself. Pulling out his handkerchief, he offers it to Kei wordlessly. Yeah, Tetsurou is so in love with him, it’s not even funny. They need to come clean with this before someone beats them to it if they’re going to be fucking in the office. Try to get ahead of rumors. 

He helps Kei up gently, urging him to sit on his desk while massaging his knees to ease the strain. Tetsurou makes a mental note to schedule a private consult with the jewelers, watching Kei’s hands smooth down wrinkles and magic up his tie to redress himself in proper attire. 

There’s a knock at his door, tentative. 

Kei turns to look at the door, then back at Tetsurou. Wordlessly, he smooths Tetsuoru’s hair in a mirrored gesture. He whispers into Tetsurou’s mouth, “Be right back.” 

Kei leaves through the door that leads to the connected conference room without saying a word, careful. The door clicks behind him without a sound. 

Tetsurou follows him with his eyes until he disappears. Zips up his pants and straightens himself. 

Another knock. “Excuse me, sir. I need your signature on a couple of documents.” 

He takes one deep steadying break before standing to unlock his office door. “Come on in.”

Fukunaga gives him an apologetic smile.“I hope I’m not interrupting the call, but these needed to be sent out yesterday.”

“No problem, you’re just in time.”

Kuroo sits at his desk, willing himself not to think about his lover, and focuses on reading over the stack of papers that need his attention. 

Kei knocks lightly on the open door, coming through his office door looking nothing like he spent the last forty minutes on his knees. He’s glowing, the picture of decorum and decency. 

Fukunaga nods in his direction. “Tsukishima.”

“Fukunaga.” Kei is back to his secretary role, not a hair out of place. “President Kuroo,” Kei nods. “You have a private lunch with Shiratorizawa’s VP in an hour and a follow up with the R&D committee at 5. The car will be here in twenty. ”

Tetusurou smiles, all teeth. There’s a light rasp to Kei’s voice. “Thank you, secretary Tsukishima. Will you be joining us for lunch?”

“No,” Kei gives him a perfectly bland smile in return, “I already ate. If you’ll excuse me.”

Tetsurou watches him walk away, posture perfect. He reads and signs Fukunaga’s documents, makes a phone call, and sends two emails before the car arrives to pick him up. Thirty minutes later, he’s in the town car, windows tinted and his briefcase is on the seat next to him. 

When he gets confirmation of the delivery he requested, he sends a message to his secretary. 

Cum is not an appropriate meal. Eat.

[ivyfics]

Like a Hug

Read on AO3

Kurotsukki, T, 2.7k Tags: Getting Together, Taller Tsukki

He is simply being lent a jacket. He’s been lent a jacket by one Tsukishima Kei, tall, blond, and mean, who is infinitely sweet and a little sour to Tetsurou in a combination that makes every inch of his body tingle and roil until he’s not sure if he wants to purr of vomit. Kei who is taller now, taller than what he was and what Tetsuro is, more confident, who smirks like it is he who is the cat and Tetsurou who is the canary.

There’s something about embarrassment that is incompatible with him, or so he’s been told. He grew out of shyness and never looked back. Tetsurou will do and say anything, as long as he means it. He’d rather live with rejection than regret and fortune favors the bold. 

There might be a limit to boldness, or to fortune. An invisible tally of all the lucky shots he’s been given, the uncanny coincidences that have put him ahead. He’s used to boldness, to kindness disguised as wit. He’s not used to infatuation so terrible it weakens his knees. 

He’s not used to this. It’s so different, you know? He’s not used to looking—slightly—up, instead of down, not used to being the one to not have to shoulder the breeze when it hits against them. He has never had to look down to hide an ill-timed blush and subsequently, accidentally, catch Yaku’s attention and be mocked for the redness of his cheeks until the end of time before. 

Tetsurou has always been the tall one, the strong one, the one with the broad shoulders and the big hoodies that are baggy on others. He’s used to crushes on sweet, tiny girls, and boys who are soft (and feisty, once, if that weird Yaku thing is to count,) that look up at him with doe eyes. This... battering ram of emotions after being lent a jacket that turned out to be too big on his frame is not usual. 

It smells like Tsukki, like the soap in the communal showers of their college volleyball camp and the shampoo that he brought from home because he refused to use the shared one, or worse, follow the lead of some teammates and forego shampoo at all. 

It smells like the firecrackers they lit last night in the dark, like their elbows brushing and the calculatedly accidental meeting of their hands hidden in the firelight from the bonfire. Kuroo is crushing, like a teen, like an idiot, like a dunce who has never had a first love. 

He might have left his teens behind years ago, and his first love will always belong to the older neighbor down the street, but he is an idiot, apparently. There is no reason for nervousness or embarrassment. He is simply being lent a jacket. 

He’s been lent a jacket by one Tsukishima Kei, tall, blond, and mean, who is infinitely sweet and a little sour to Tetsurou in a combination that makes every inch of his body tingle and roil until he’s not sure if he wants to purr of vomit. Kei who is taller now, taller than what he was and what Tetsuro is, more confident, who smirks like it is he who is the cat and Tetsurou who is the canary. 

Tetsurou does not expect or fantasize about chivalry, yet he is on the receiving end of it. It turns him inside out. 

Tetsurou is being pursued.

Sweetly, gently pursued by someone who calls him names and throws challenges in his face, expecting nothing but his very best and holding nothing back. He wants to throw up. Maybe let Tsukki pet him and bask in the feeling before he yaks. 

Tsukki, to put it plainly, is toying with him. He’s being kind and respectful and absolutely, definitely, amusing himself with Tetsurou’s reactions and his idiocy. Last night's drunkenness and the buzz from secret alcohol bottles can’t explain away his stuttering, or the constant burning of his face when near a taunting expression hiding behind black rims and wit. 

He’s wearing it again, even though he should give it back. It’s morning now, and almost time to return from their beach retreat. Even if there is no reason to still be wearing it when the sun is present and daylight exposes all the little cracks they can gloss over in the color of dusk, Tetsurou wraps himself around it. Finds color for his cheeks in the way the sleeves fall to rest by his knuckles. Releases butterflies in his gut, of all things, by the way the shoulders feel too broad, the fit obviously mismatched. 

The sun breaks through the clouds. Breeze whips his hair while he leans on a veranda and Tetsurou does more than his own part in Kei’s effort to curry his favor.

.....................................

Tetsurou keeps the jacket.  

He would love to say it’s completely accidental, but the scene of him shoving it below all of his other belongings is too intentional for his consciousness to ignore. He keeps it and wears it until the scent of it is replaced by one of Tetsurou’s deodorant. 

Every time he wears it alarms blare off in his skull at the possibility of running into Kei while he’s wearing it and have to painstakingly try to explain that no, Tsukki, I am not wearing your jacket because I want you to hug me and slam me against a wall, I enjoy wearing ill-fitting garments for the look. 

It takes him wearing it inside his own room paired with his sweats that have a hole in the crotch to admit that maybe it is time to be a decent human and return what is not his. 

Expectation doesn’t build in him, and he doesn’t put in extra effort in his outfit his first free day after he’s made up his mind to give back the puffy, black jacket, no matter how much Kenma gives him a knowing look when leaving their shared apartment. 

Kei is in the dorms, the new building with the fancy lobby and the working elevators. He’s been there twice before, so he knows Kei is on the fourth floor, to the right, on the side that has the obnoxious red doors. 

He makes it to the shared lounge of floor four of the new building before nerves get the best of him. The jacket is folded over his arm, and the hoodie that Bokuto gifted him two weeks ago is stylish but not heavy. The temptation to slide the jacket on is great—the comfort of it alluring, but it would be quite weird, he thinks, to show up to return a piece of clothing while wearing it. 

Maybe Tsukki will invite him in. He’d grant Tetsurou one of his accidental brushes of their shoulders, or a betraying smile full of misgiving and evil things that shouldn’t be thought of by anyone standing alone in front of a door like a creep. 

He halts, bringing the fabric to his forehead and shutting his eyes hard. Embarrassment crawls over him, slow and tortuous. He is making a fool out of himself, in the middle of a hallway, using a jacket that is not his to cover his glowing blush. He is a fool for being irreparably infatuated like he is. No dignity in a single one of his bones.

Tetsurou groans the frustration away. Time to toughen up. Without dignity and full of embarrassment, Tetsurou is not a coward. He strides up the last few steps to Tsukki’s door and knocks twice as hard as he intended to. 

It’s not long before Tsukki opens his door with a frown. His eyebrows jump high on his face before he schools his expression. “Hey.”

He is pretty, in a relaxed way. Tetsurou is still surprised by the solidity of his chest, the new broadness to his frame. Tetsurou’s tongue ties. “Hi, I thought I’d bring this… by.” Behind Kei, through the open door, is a first-year, probably. They’re studying on his bed, books open and strewn about. He has silver hair and a cute complexion, delicate and gentle. Something crawls inside of Tetsurou’s throat at the sight. Tetsurou clears it, trying to be inconspicuous. “In case you needed it.”

Tsukki closes the gap on the door quickly, blocking out whoever is inside. He leans against the wall. “You could’ve kept it, there’s no rush.”

Tetsurou doesn’t want to think about it, but he’s afraid he might have interrupted something. The thought makes the awkwardness at the exchange rise. He grasps the jacket and offers it. “Nah, It’s getting colder.”

Tsukki scoffs, mocking him. “Yeah, and your jackets are shit, keep it.”

He insists.“Tsukki, I’m good.”

Tsukki crosses his arms before he continues, leaning forward on his toes in a rare display of fidgeting. “Sure you are, but I bet you’re cold, too.”

Tsukki doesn’t say anything else or make a move to take the jacket that Tetsurou is still holding out. “You’re not budging on this.”

“No.” 

“Fine.” Tetsurou awkwardly retracts his arm. In his regular life, when he is not in front of his crush, Tetsurou is almost suave. 

All bets are off when Tsukki is in front of him, refusing to take back something he “lent”—something obviously and increasingly apparent that was never meant to be returned in the first place, which Tetsurou pretends not to have known so he could hold on to an excuse to see Tsukki again. 

Tetsurou knows it. Tsukki knows it. Tsukki has a cute first year sitting pretty on his bed as they speak. Tetsurou catches a wince before it shows. “Thanks. I’ll see you around.”

Tsukki hums a response, not moving from his pose. “See you.”

Tetsurou doesn’t look back. Stiffly, he walks back to the lounge, through the hallway. Waits for the elevator and hopes for the earth to swallow him whole. If he dwells on the past fifteen minutes, he’ll combust. There is a word for what he’s feeling and he’d love to name it if his brain wasn’t a goopy mush of thoughts. Tetsurou can’t wait to go home and scream into a pillow until he’s out of breath and with a headache. 

He should have texted Tsukki beforehand. He should have simply not done anything that he did and died wearing the jacket in the comfort of his own room with his holey sweatpants and his stained sleep shirt. 

A voice bursts his bubble. “You know, jackets only work if you’re wearing them.”

Tetsurou jumps out of his skin, turning around in self-defense. His hand goes over his ear, protecting it from any more low, intimate whispers. “Fucking—scared the shit out of me. What?”

He’s wearing the same green collared sweater he had before, but he has thrown a coat over it. Did he comb his hair, too? “It’s cold outside.”

“Why are you all dressed up?”

Tsukki shrugs, hands inside his pockets. “We’re going for coffee.”

“We are? You and me?”

“There’s no one else around.”

Tetsurou stammers and imagines neither of them notices. “What about your guest?”

Tsukki’s expression falls into spite. “Annoying as shit, he can choke.”

“Tsukki.” Tetsurou’s tone is scandalous. He revels in it, and his bypassing jealousy fades into contentment. Tetsurou can be annoying as shit, but Tsukki wouldn’t ditch him for it.  

Tsukki dismisses it. “I’m playing teacher’s pet and helping him out with a class. He’s a pain in my ass.”

The elevator cuts them off, doors opening. Tetsurou shuffles in, expecting Tsukki to stand beside him at the reasonable distance friends stand next to each other on elevators because that’s what they are. Friends. 

Instead, Tsukki lets him walk in and moves to stand slightly behind him, using his shoulder to rest his chin while pressing the button for the ground floor. The doors close them in. “I’m exhausted from dealing with him. I need to recharge.”

Is he blushing? Tetsurou is sure he is blushing. He grips Kei’s jacket to his chest, pulling it tighter against himself in reaction to Kei’s voice by his ear. “Right.”

The air is telling, heavy with their shared intentions. Tetsurou can feel Kei’s stare on him. Can he feel Tetsurou’s pulse racing against his neck?

“Kuroo?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we still pretending?”

Tetsurou plays dumb. He’s an idiot. Pretending… pretending that Tsukki is not putting the moves on him? That he’s not being wooed? That he’s not swooning? Hot and bothered?

What is he doing? 

The elevator dings it’s the arrival and Tsukki chuckles, easily. “Nevermind.” He takes Tetsurou’s silence as an affirmative and moves on without issue. He’ll do that, over and over, get closer and wait when Tetsurou gets flustered and doesn't let them move forward. He’ll push the boundaries without crossing them, waiting for Tetsurou to give the go-ahead. Tsukki is so sure he’ll do it, so confident in his success, that it’s not a matter of if but when.

Tetsurou is still holding the damn jacket.  

He walks ahead quickly. Turns around to face Tsukki inside the elevator and puts on the jacket. It blocks the chill immediately and adds warmth that has nothing to with the fabric and all to do with the fact that Tetsurou is wearing it in front of its owner. “Actually, no.”

Tsukki is frozen in place, waiting for him to finish his little statement. “No?”

Tetsurou says, full of fake bravado, “We are not still pretending that I don’t want you to rail me against every and all surfaces because I’m not a bitch.” 

Tsukki blinks at him for a second before he composes himself. The elevator door almost closes on him, but he grips it and pushes it back open. “Well. Good to know.”

Tetsurou waits for him to catch up before walking to the entrance. He walks four, five steps, stops, and turns. “And another thing! You cannot simply say we are doing things and expect me to go along. I can be asked.”

Tsukki is a picture of amusement. He gives Tetsurou one of those incredibly attractive sardonic smiles that hold no malice. “Did you not want to go for coffee?”

It’s frustrating, being so obvious. “Yes, I want to go for coffee, don’t head tilt me with your tallness.”

“My tallness.”

“Yes, your tallness and your–” Tetsurou shakes his hand to encompass Tsukki’s chest “–everything.”

“Asking and no tallness.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Tsukki smiles at him. Bends at the waist slightly to look at Tetsurou underneath his lashes and speaks sweetly. “Do you still want to go for coffee with me, Tetsurou? I am tired and annoyed and I just want caffeine and to stare at your face.”

Oh, no. No. He’s created a monster. Tetsurou swallows hard. “Tsukki.”

Tsukki straightens, laughing. His laugh is wonderfully cocky. It’s infuriating. “What, I asked. And no tallness, too.”

Tetsurou fans his face. “You are terrible.”

Tsukki looks around them. Satisfied, he maneuvers himself into Tetsurou’s space, gripping him by the waist. Tetsurou feels small again, even as a grown man that towers over most everyone. Small and safe and entirely too comfortable being handled. Tsukki melds them together, leaning in to breathe the same air. He steals Tetsurou’s breath, joins their foreheads together. Tsukki has to hunch a little for it. Tetsurou zones into that fact down to his fingertips. 

He stares and stares at Tsukki's mouth. Zeroes in on his lips. Something in him refuses to make the first move. He enjoys being pursued, likes the thrill of being chased and wooed. He wants to give in, wants to be pushed and prodded.  

Tsukki follows him, reads his cues perfectly. Walks him back into a wall without taking his eyes off Tetsurou. He’s smug, biting on his tongue to hold back a laugh. “Is that a no?” 

He’s melting. “Of course it’s not a no.”

He’s so easy. So easy, so ready to be kissed and touched, and all the things Tsukki’s hands promise. 

Tsukki hums, placating.“Will you let me steal a kiss?”

“It’s not stealing if I say yes.”

“I’m asking if you’ll let me.”

Tetsurou barely makes it out. His throat is closed, vocal cords useless. It’s a huff of air against lips, between them. “Just take it.”

Tsukki kisses him against a wall in the lobby of his dorm in plain sight while Tetsurou is wearing his too-big jacket. Tsukki smiles into the kiss, smug and completely right in his arrogance. It feels like a win and a fail at the same time. He’s conquered a battle by being the loser and claimed victory by forfeit. Tsukki breaks apart, bites his lower lip with more force than what can be classified as gentle, and looks down at him. 

“Sorry, I can’t rail you against all and every surface right now.”

 Tetsurou groans a sound of death and buries his head on Tsukki's chest. Embarrassment is his new best friend.