red & rainbow
cw/tags: kurodai x reader, alcohol, brief physical fight, blood, age gap, harassment of reader by unnamed character, p in v sex, fingering
a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for almost exactly a year so i am setting it free!!! it was originally going to be multi chapter so i still might add a second part but we shall see where the wind takes me...anyways please enjoy and let me know what you think <3
wc: 10.9k
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ you can also read on ao3!
Lights shimmer down from the rafters like a kaleidoscope, casting constantly moving shadows onto the planes of your face. Your skin glows like a million tiny stars lay just below its surface as you move in time with the thumping bass. There’s easy laughter as you and your friends orbit each other on the dance floor. Familiar hands breeze across the exposed skin at your waist, spinning you as your raised voices are washed away with the hum of music that feels like it’ll be forever settled deep in your chest.
Something about the way laughter seems to warm your soul makes you feel as though this moment will be one you look back on again and again. There’s nothing quite like being here with the people you love, all of your energies matching at that specific wavelength that guarantees that this time in your lives will be dripping with nostalgia whenever you think back on it.
You’re all heeled boots and soft satin fabric wrapped around flushed skin. You feel eyes on you, but you just chalk it up to the density of people clustered on the dance floor—indulging a little and letting the attention of strangers wash over you for just a moment…until the feeling of indulgence warps into something stickier, like you can’t escape it no matter how hard you try.
You step away from your bubble with a laugh and a promise to return, just long enough to touch up your makeup and take a breather, but that’s enough to topple the illusion you’d been reveling in until now.
It is absolutely the worst time to lose every single one of your friends in the middle of this crowded club. Shortly after stepping away from the dance floor, you’d noticed the way that clinging, sticky feeling of surveillance had followed you, and you’d traced it to some guy who’s apparently been not so subtly trying to get close to you for the past fifteen minutes. You walk out of the narrow hallway that houses the bathrooms and realize he’s decided now is the time to move in. Your chest goes tight with the beginning feelings of panic. You can see it in his eyes every time you glance his way—he doesn’t look like the type that understands the word ‘no’.
Eyes scanning the crowded dance floor for any sign of a familiar face, your gaze sweeps over the people seated at the bar before you zero in—two men, probably at least ten years older than you but still exceedingly attractive, impressively tall, and well built—engaged in what looks like a relaxed conversation between long time friends. One is standing casually, leaning an elbow on the bar top. His impressive bulk and dual colored hair make him stand out against the crowd, and his friend, who’s seated at the bar next to him, seems just as tall, but more lean, his dark hair sprinkled with gray and an intimidating glint in his eye that sends a little bit of a shiver across your skin.
You quickly worm your way through the bodies separating you from the strangers you hope are about to be your saviors, taking a deep breath as you approach them. The dark haired one shifts a little at your approach, so he’s sitting sideways on the bar stool, and you take the opportunity to throw your arms around his neck in a way you pray looks practiced and familiar. Your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest, and you inhale deeply in an attempt to settle it—he smells like clean laundry and vanilla.
He starts when your arms circle his neck, their conversation abruptly cut off, and you can feel how hot your face is as you speak up enough to be heard over the music, “Baby! There you are!” Holding onto firm shoulders for just a few seconds longer, you speak desperately into his ear, “I am so sorry. This dude won’t leave me alone.”
You feel his posture relax as you pull back to look at him and he quickly schools his face, the initial shock easily replaced with a warm expression. He shoots you a toothy grin as his arm circles your waist, his large hand spanning your lower back. It’s just low enough to be convincing, while also being considerate enough to not make you uncomfortable.
Silently grateful, you lean into him a little more.
He matches your earlier volume, and the words he directs at you are easy and coated in familiarity, “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re not easy to find, too short,” he teases lightly.
You let out a surprised giggle and watch his dark eyes flick over your shoulder. With what you think is a murmured apology, he pulls you so you’re pressed comfortably between him and the bar. He shifts so you’re pretty much sitting in his lap and places a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before dragging his lips along your jaw to press them against you again.
When he pulls back, he lingers at your ear, the timbre of his voice rasping against your cheek, “Kuroo by the way.” He leans around you to look at his friend, who you’d honestly forgotten was standing next to you. Kuroo’s tone is casual. “Bo,” he says, only loud enough to be heard over the music, “go find Dai.”
Kuroo’s friend looks at you for a moment, eyes wide in surprise—they’re a warm bronzy color and almost owl-like in the way they flit about your face—before nodding as he seems to piece together what’s going on. When you look at him this close you realize you picked the exact right people to ask for help as you take in his stature, he’s very well built and even taller than you thought from a distance.
As soon as he’s left the two of you alone you blanch at the feeling of embarrassment that washes over you, turning immediately to face the man whose lap you’re currently sitting in with an apology already on its way out of your mouth.
Unfortunately, you don’t get very far before you’re interrupted by a leering voice, “Ah I see, you like to play hard to get huh?” You stiffen, hand fisting tighter into the fabric of Kuroo’s shirt. You’re manhandled a bit as Kuroo moves to stand with a reassuring brush of fingers against your waist, settling you on the bar stool and moving with a practiced nonchalance to place himself between you and the stranger.
“Not sure I heard you right, so I’m gonna let you reconsider and try again,” Kuroo’s voice is blatantly confident, lilting with the illusion of composure, but you can hear the undertone of something much darker—confidence that’s rooted so deeply it almost makes it sound like he’s issuing a challenge.
The asshole in front of him has the audacity to take another step closer, laughing as he motions towards you, “Your girlfriend's been leading me on all night, seems like you might be the one who needs to reconsider-”
You can’t stop the way your face twists at the sound of his laugh.
“Seems like it won’t take much persuasion to get her clothes off, not that there’s much to worry about anyway.” A gasp leaves your mouth and your brows pull together in disbelief at his predatory words as your stomach turns.
Despite being a good deal shorter, and not nearly as broad as Kuroo, the stranger takes another step forward so they’re nearly pressed chest to chest. You’re frozen in place, seemingly watching things unravel in slow motion.
First, Kuroo takes his hand from where it was resting on your thigh to press firmly against the stranger’s chest—something of a warning as well as a way to put space between him and you.
His voice has taken on a dangerous tone, it's low and cutting as he warns, “Last chance.”
The guy just laughs louder and you think you can smell the alcohol on his breath from where you sit. “Last chance at what? Getting my turn with your bitch?” he spits.
There’s barely time for him to finish his sentence before a fist is connecting with his face.
The guy brings a hand to his mouth and has the audacity to look surprised. You can already see the blood beginning to drip between his fingers. Shock only paints his features for mere seconds before his face twists, eyes lit up like he’s enjoying this. Before you can blink Kuroo’s being grabbed by his shirt collar and shoved back into the bar next to you.
In the next few seconds several things happen at once.
You jump off the bar stool, stumbling in your godforsaken heeled boots and barely managing to stay on your feet at the same time that a punch lands square on Kuroo’s cheek. Things immediately dissolve into chaos as the men exchange blows, though it’s over fairly quickly as you watch Kuroo’s friend seemingly materialize out of nowhere in front of you, his large hands shoving the stranger away with an iron grip on his shirt and a deadly look on his face. A bouncer follows close behind, he’s shorter than the two giants next to you, but no less built; you watch his muscled biceps flex against the fabric of his black polo as he helps haul the guy away from Kuroo to drag him towards the entrance of the club. Before they get too far, the bouncer turns to throw a worried glance at Kuroo, who’s slumped against the bar a few feet away from you with his hand pressed to his face.
You’re moving before you can think better of it. Hopping up so you’re tall enough to lean across the bar, you reach behind it and grab a couple towels before jumping down and pulling Kuroo towards you, mindful of the bruises you can already see forming on his skin. Through the fog of your thinly veiled panic you realize that you’re standing really close to him—like close enough to see the little flecks of gold in his umber eyes. Your brain also helpfully provides you with the thought that he looks really good covered in blood and bruises, but you’ll unpack that later (or preferably never).
Pushing your borderline insane thoughts aside, apologies start spilling from your lips at an honestly impressive speed. He’s just staring at you wide eyed while you dab at the cut on his cheek with the clean bar towel.
“I am so sorry, fuck, sorry I didn’t—” your tone changes to something almost clinical for a split second, “pinch your nose for me, it’ll help stop the bleeding—I didn’t know he was like actually crazy shit sorry I-” you’re interrupted by a startled laugh.
Hands pausing, you meet his eyes again for the first time since you started babbling. He smiles at you, cringing when it stretches the cut on his lip, but he pushes through it and grabs your wrists with steady hands. “M’okay, you didn’t do anything wrong, don’t apologize,” he tells you softly, looking at you with something like awe in his expression.
You’re startled by the feeling of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but the adrenaline still coursing through you doesn’t let you dwell on it for too long. Instead of letting yourself fall into the sincerity of his words, you just nod and move on, resuming your appraisal of his injuries and cleaning them the best you can with the damp towel. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches and your nose doesn’t seem broken. You’ll probably just have a lot of bruising.”
The look in his eyes is way too soft for someone you met just minutes ago, and his next words have heat rising in your cheeks, “You’re real sweet ya know that? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I was trying to be convincing, before,” he gestures vaguely to his bloodied face, “ya know.”
You’ve only had a few drinks, so it’s definitely not the alcohol that has you feeling so bold as you tell him, “Definitely not uncomfortable…quite the opposite actually.”
Your breath hitches as you watch his face change; he looks up at you from his seat on the bar stool with hooded eyes that burn with an obvious heat.
You bite your lip, leaning closer and letting your voice get a little raspy, “It was hot…you coming to my rescue and all.” He just hums in response; looking smug as he brings a hand up to rest against your waist, pulling you closer so you’re standing between his long legs, leaning your weight against him.
You jump a little when the bouncer appears next to him with his friend not far behind, walking up with an impressed whistle.
“Jeez dude! That was kind of badass!” he exclaims, his excitement almost childlike in its honesty. Then, to your bewilderment, the bouncer reaches out to grab Kuroo’s face, turning it to get a good look at the damage—his touch is so gentle that it gives you butterflies.
"I'm fine Daichi," Kuroo tells the bouncer, despite the way he winces when the man prods softly at his cheek. Kuroo’s hand is still warm on your waist, and you catch a faint sparkle as the club lights shine down on the bouncer’s hand. You nearly give yourself whiplash when your gaze flies down to Kuroo’s where it rests curled around your thigh. Your brain screeches to a halt and all the noise around you morphs into ringing in your ears.
Wedding bands…they’re both wearing wedding bands—matching wedding bands.
Fuck. You’re standing in a very compromising position and you were just…you just-
“Oh my god I am so sorry,” you try to step away but Kuroo holds firm, "I didn’t know that you um,” you blurt, cringing when you realize you’d interrupted the soft way they were speaking to each other.
Both men turn to you, and Kuroo is the first to catch on as he follows your gaze to his husband’s hand. “Oh no no don’t freak out,” he laughs and you feel his thumb brush against the skin that peeks out beneath the fabric at your waist, “it’s okay.”
You tilt your head at him, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on at the same time that his husband seems to catch up with the two of you. He laughs, the sound smooth and deep, like a balm to your nerves, as he places a comforting hand on the small of your back, “Honestly you just handled that like a pro so you two can do whatever you want. I mean…you could do whatever you want either way.” There’s a teasing spark in his eye but his voice is warm and his smile is so genuine it makes you nearly lose your train of thought.
You’re still not entirely sure what the fuck is going on.
Kuroo seems to take pity on you, though there’s something roguish hiding beneath his smile. “My husband,” he motions to the bouncer who winks at you and then smirks at the way it makes your cheeks flush, “Daichi.” You balk at the heat you find in the depths of his dark eyes, but Kuroo keeps going. “My best friend,” he now points towards the man he was with when you first approached him, who's now waving at you cheerfully, “Bo."
Kuroo pulls you even closer, leaning in enough that lips brush against the shell of your ear as his voice dips low, “Everyone here is on the same page, yeah?”
Your response is nothing more than a softly exhaled, “Oh.”
You absentmindedly point to yourself and mumble your name, a strange introduction, but this whole situation is rather strange so you’re not too concerned about being proper right now.
Your whirlwind of thoughts is broken by Daichi’s voice, his sincerity palpable when he asks, “Are you okay?” He’s still got a hand on the small of your back, steady and comforting, the warmth of his palm soaking into your skin. Bo’s moved further down the bar, now leaning heavily into it as he has a spirited conversation with the platinum blonde bartender on the other side. Kuroo and Daichi are both standing so close to you that it should feel suffocating, but instead it’s like your own little protective bubble.
“Sorry we didn’t catch onto that guy sooner,” Daichi looks almost upset as he apologizes, the expression pulls at his handsome features in a way you have the urge to remedy as soon as possible. “He didn’t touch you did he?”
The earnestness of his question makes your chest squeeze and you smile at him and shake your head, “No, m’okay. He didn’t touch me—just scared me is all.”
Daichi takes a moment to look genuinely relieved before turning to his husband, pushing at his shoulder with a comically stern expression on his face. “Give her a break before you throw yourself at her will you?”
Kuroo looks up at his husband and sticks his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. You have a feeling that Kuroo uses that pout often, because Daichi just rolls his eyes before leaning in to place a gentle kiss to his lips, carefully avoiding the place where he was bleeding earlier. Before he walks away, he gives you a soft squeeze at the waist, touch lingering as he meets your eyes.
“I’m sure I’ll see you again soon,” he winks at you before he turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.
Your brain to mouth filter must be nonexistent at this point because as soon as he disappears into the crowd of bodies you blurt, “He’s hot.”
Before the words have even fully left your mouth your hand flies up to cover it, shocked by your own forwardness. Kuroo sputters out a laugh, leaning his forehead on your shoulder. After he’s done laughing at your unintentional brashness he looks back up at you, the smirk that pulls at his lips melts into something more genuine when he tells you, “I’m glad you’re okay…really.”
There’s only a few inches of space between the two of you, and you note the way his eyes almost glow, cat-like under the club lights.
“I owe you one, you know…” you trail off and Kuroo’s eyebrows inch upwards at the suggestion in your tone.
The moment is quickly broken by your phone vibrating against your thigh where it’s tucked into your pocket. You look at him apologetically, pulling it out to read over the messages in your group chat, rolling your eyes. “Assholes,” you mumble fondly. You haven’t seen your friends since earlier, but somehow they’d caught sight of you and Kuroo and assumed you had other obligations. So instead of dragging you out of there to whatever bar they’re headed to next, you’ve just been sent a litany of explicit messages that feature some very interesting combinations of emojis.
Kuroo waits patiently for you to type out a few replies, assuring your friends that you’ll be okay by yourself and promising to drop them a pin if you end up going somewhere other than your own apartment. Tucking your phone away, you meet Kuroo’s gaze again, settling your hands on his thighs hesitantly.
You clear your throat and look over his shoulder to avoid eye contact while you speak, “Um so…I was here with some of my friends, got separated from them—obviously, and it just so happens that they saw, ah-” you just motion between the two of you instead of verbalizing whatever it is you’re trying to get across, “so they thought I was, um, leaving with you.”
The way he’s looking at you is making it hard to breathe—his pretty brown eyes inquisitive as they scan your face. “So?” he asks you, tilting his head like he’s waiting for your answer to a question he hadn’t even asked. All of your unexpected bravado from earlier vanishes when he looks at you like that, a little teasing and a lot handsome.
Seeing your struggle, he shifts forward to brush his nose against your jaw, his voice is low but you feel like it’s the only thing you can focus on in the loud club, “Are you gonna let me take you home?”
You hum, an excited little shiver racing down your spine, and lift a hand to rest against his unbruised cheek as you nod, powerless against the way your eyes dart down to his lips.
“Important question first,” you lift a finger and smile at him, “do you have a first aid kit at home?” He laughs in surprise, but you continue, “I’m serious! You need to like, disinfect this shit.”
He doesn’t break eye contact with you when he responds, “Hmm I guess…m’not sure I can do it all by myself though.” Turning the pout he used on his husband on you now, he reaches to grab his phone and keys off the bar, “Might need someone beautiful to come help me out.”
You laugh and roll your eyes playfully, “I already said I’d come home with you, no need to lay it on so thick.”
He laughs as you move from your spot between his legs so he can stand, turning to Bo, who’s still sitting a few seats down talking to the bartender, to shout a goodbye. He waves back excitedly, making sure to look at you when he yells, “See you around!”
Kuroo breathes out an exasperated laugh and turns away from them with his palm splayed across the skin of your lower back, guiding you easily through the crowded space. Daichi’s standing at the door, and you can’t help the burning beneath your skin as he rakes his eyes over you and Kuroo before winking with a smirk on his face and a hushed, “See you at home,” that feels like it’s not just directed at the man next to you.
The coolness of the air hitting your skin makes you realize how stifling the inside of the club had been.
“Hey so this isn’t like, your thing right?” you ask, humor in your voice but also a bit of caution.
Kuroo turns to you, tilting his head in confusion.
"Surely you’re not serial killer husbands and I’ve just fallen into your carefully orchestrated trap or whatever?” It’s only mostly a joke, but the bit of clarity provided by the crisp evening air is making you think that there’s no way the last thirty minutes were real.
Kuroo stops suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk and just looks at you. You shift uncomfortably when he doesn’t say anything.
“What?” you ask, cheeks flushing. His face twists and you watch his shoulders shake with the laughter he’s desperately trying to hold back. A little embarrassed, you cross your arms with a huff, “Hey I’m serious! You saw what just happened in there!” You can’t help the laughter that rises in your own chest, “Like what the fuck?” The two of you giggle on the sidewalk for a few more moments before he finally says, “You’re funny—kind of unfair since you’re also incredibly hot.”
“You’re one to talk,” you mutter against him when he wraps an arm around your shoulders and guides you to what you assume is his car parked along the curb.
“M’not gonna kill you…” he looks up in performative thought, “although serial killer husbands is an interesting concept.”
You roll your eyes, unable to stop the way a smile makes its way back onto your lips at his theatrics as he opens the passenger door for you. “I refuse to be your first victim so at least circle back around to me in a couple months, if that’s the route you’re gonna choose,” you tell him as you settle into soft leather.
He snorts and says, “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” and closes the car door.
His hand lifts to hit the push start button, but he stills and looks over at you instead. “You’re not drunk are you?” he asks, the question genuine. Your eyes widen before quickly narrowing at him. “Well aren’t you chivalrous,” you tell him teasingly, “but for the record I’m fine.”
The sigh he puffs out sounds relieved, and the engine starts with a soft purr.
“Oh,” you say a little breathlessly as he pulls the car into a brick driveway. The house is beautiful—pretty little lights sparkle along the sidewalk that connects the front porch to the driveway. The siding looks like it’s a soft blue with clean, cream colored trim around the large windows. It’s a good sized two story with an attached garage that rolls open when Kuroo clicks a button clipped to the car visor above him.
He doesn’t say anything when he turns off the car, just opens his door and steps out before crossing to your side and pulling the passenger door open for you. Your ears buzz softly in the quiet, and you take his offered hand, letting him lead you inside the house proper.
He flips lights on as he walks, his hand resting casually on the small of your back the whole way down the short hallway that soon opens up into a large kitchen. With a light press of his fingers to the skin of your waist, he pushes you to sit at the stool at the island. Its butcher block counter looks to be the designated catch all space—there’s a few unopened pieces of mail and a set of keys, a little ceramic dish holds a handful of change. It’s homey and kind of lessens the intimidation of the obviously expensive house you’re sitting in.
“You want a cup of tea?” he asks you, already pulling a pair of mugs down from one of the dusky purple cabinets to the left of the stove. You nod gratefully, and he busies himself with the kettle.
Turning on your stool, you glance behind you to take in the large living room. There’s a pretty sliding glass door just past the amazingly comfortable looking couch that you assume leads to the backyard. A tall bookshelf along the wall catches your eye, haphazard arrangements of books fill its space, broken up by the occasional trinket set along the shelves.
“You can snoop if you wanna.”
You jump at the sound of Kuroo’s voice, turning to find him leaning on the counter with his cheek resting on his palm, elbow propped comfortably in place and a smirk on his infuriatingly soft looking lips. A flush paints your cheeks at being caught, but you hop off the stool anyway and cross the room to the bookshelf. You recognize a few titles among the different genres and authors seemingly placed at random on each shelf. There’s a miniature Manekineko towards the middle, and you use your finger to press down gently on the top of its head, making its raised paw wave rhythmically.
The whole room is cozy; soft looking blankets sit in a woven basket next to the couch, and a lot of framed pictures on the walls, with a few smaller pieces of art mixed in. You stop in front of one of the frames, the photo it holds pulls your lips into a soft smile.
Daichi and Kuroo stand side by side in the middle of the picture, wearing crisp suits with their arms around each other and big, toothy smiles on their faces. You recognize Bo’s face among the people that surround them, his hair tamed into a handsome swoop that accentuates the strong lines of his jaw and cheekbones. Your eyes find a head of silvery blonde hair, and you’re surprised to recognize the bartender from earlier standing with an arm thrown around Bo’s shoulders.
Feeling Kuroo’s eyes still on you, you don’t bother turning around when you ask, “How long have you been married?” He and Daichi look mostly the same, though their skin looks smoother and their hair is free of the graying you can see now.
Kuroo makes a soft humming sound. “Ten years in a few months,” he tells you proudly.
Your chest warms at his answer, they look good together and you tell him as much. The tea pot whistles on the stove and you cease your snooping (for now) to return to your seat at the island.
There’s a first aid kit sitting on the counter top when you return that Kuroo’s pulled from somewhere, and you pop it open as soon as you settle onto the stool again, digging around until you find a little bottle of disinfectant and a few cotton balls. The silence between the two of you is surprisingly companionable, not awkward or uncomfortable, just soft, intimate.
Metal clinks lightly against ceramic as Kuroo stirs the contents of the mugs before turning towards you, rounding the corner of the island to stand at your side and slide your tea across the wood.
You’re facing him, and you boldly tug him closer by one of his belt loops. “C’mere,” you say softly.
You slide off the stool, using your hold on him to switch your positions. Now seated, and with your platform boots giving you a little extra height, he’s just an inch or so taller than you. Liquid caramel eyes simmer with palpable want as he parts his legs and pulls you by the waist to stand between them. You want so badly to press your mouth to his, but the way the blood has dried around the cut on his lip looks more than a little uncomfortable.
“This probably isn’t going to feel great,” you tell him, breaking eye contact to tip a bit of the clear disinfectant onto a cotton ball.
He scoffs playfully, winking at you, “I’m a big boy, I think I can handle it.”
You laugh softly before pressing the cotton gently against the cut. There’s a quiet intake of breath, but other than that he sits perfectly still while you clean the blood off of his lip before switching to a clean cotton ball to pat carefully at the blood around his nose and the cut on his cheek. It’s hard to focus when you can feel the heat in the way he’s looking at you, but eventually his face is clean and the cut on his cheek is patched with a small bandaid.
Goosebumps break out across your skin when you finally meet his eyes. He pushes the first aid kit and its loose contents away from the edge of the counter without looking away from you, then pulls you against him, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning in so your noses are brushing. The sound of your soft breaths seems loud in the relative quiet of the kitchen. Tension simmers in the air around you, causing your next inhale to catch in your throat. The sound that passes between your lips on your next exhale is embarrassingly close to a whine.
In comparison, Kuroo looks infuriatingly calm and collected, a smirk pulling at his lips the longer he lets the moment heat.
When he finally leans in it's syrupy slow, the air buzzing with electricity so that when his lips capture yours, it's sent dancing across your skin. Your arms drape over his lean shoulders, hands fisting in the material of his shirt. He’s barely even doing anything, but that doesn’t stop you from moaning into his mouth as his tongue brushes across your bottom lip.
It’s easy, how he controls the kiss. His hands are firm on your hips, and he holds you still every time you try to roll them against him, seeking even the tiniest bit of friction to ease the tight feeling of need that’s soaked into your very bones. His lips are like silk against yours, pushing and pulling and throwing you hopelessly into the waves where you’re forced to give up any semblance of control over what’s happening right now.
You swear the little sound that leaves him sounds like a laugh when you attempt to tug him closer with a hand on the warm skin of his bicep. The pout that pushes out your lower lip is involuntary, and your words are uncharacteristically simpering.
“You’re being mean,” you tell him between frustrated breaths.
He just smiles at you, leaning close enough to pull your bottom lip between his teeth before he says, “Sorry, you’re just so fun to tease.” He very pointedly does not look sorry, and you fight the smile that tries to creep onto your lips, rolling your eyes.
“Lemme make it up to you,” he whispers against your skin as lithe fingers find their way beneath the waistband of your shorts. He presses his tongue against yours at the same time that he pushes your shorts down. Your own hands fumble against his, too enthusiastic to really be much help, but it earns you the feeling of Kuroo laughing roughly against your lips. Seconds after kicking the offending article of clothing from its hold on your ankle, you’re being lifted. For the speed at which he plops you onto the counter, he doesn’t separate his lips from yours for even a second.
Your legs press into his sides, ankles crossing as you cant forward to be met with the solid feeling of his cock straining against the front of his jeans. The movement draws a low groan from Kuroo, and he wastes no time taking one of his hands from its place on your hip to drag it across the thin, meshy material of your panties. The silky, slow nature of the kiss from before is nowhere to be found; the way your lips slide together now has the intensity between the two of you ratcheting up so high it borders on desperation.
Both of your hands are buried in thick, dark hair, and the way he’s sucking on your tongue while his thumb swirls over the damp fabric between your legs has you already embarrassingly close to coming.
With a pause in the motions of his thumb, he uses his fingers to push your panties aside, gasping into your mouth at the feeling of how wet you are as he easily presses his pointer finger inside you.
“So fucking wet,” he says against your lips. Your exhale gets caught in your chest before rushing out in a plea shaped around the sound of his name, throwing your head back and squeezing your eyes shut at the feeling.
After the slick, effortless slide of the first finger, he doesn’t hesitate to add a second, curling them like he knows exactly what he’s doing as he sucks dappled bruises along the column of your throat.
“M’gonna cum,” you tell him through heaving breaths. His satisfied hum is punctuated by the sharp bite of teeth against the skin at the juncture between your neck and shoulder.
“Then come for me, baby,” the rough lilt of his voice pushes you over, and the heat that snaps through you is all consuming—your ears ring with soft static, but you can hear enough to catch the sound of Kuroo cursing roughly at the way your cunt squeezes around his fingers where they’re still buried inside of you.
You thank the heavens for the way he works you through it, curling his fingers to brush against that spot that has the arch of your spine bending further, extending the waves of your orgasm before slowing just as they melt into the sting of overstimulation.
With the rise and fall of your chest beginning to even out, you open your eyes to find him flushed before you, his pupils so dilated they’re threatening to consume the swirling warmth of his irises. His fingers are still inside you, and you take the opportunity to reach down and grab his wrist, only wincing slightly at the feeling of them leaving the warmth of your cunt. He watches you with rapt fascination as you bring his hand to your mouth, tongue laving over his fingers before hollowing your cheeks and sucking the taste of yourself from his skin.
“Holy fuck.”
It sounds like he didn’t mean for the words to make it past his lips, and shock mixes with the look of arousal on his face. He’s barely pulled his fingers from your mouth before he crashes his lips to yours. You eagerly part to let his tongue swirl against your own, and he moans at the heady taste of you he finds there.
Finally feeling like you’ve managed to regain some control of the situation, you move your hand to the scant space between your bodies, deftly undoing the button on his jeans and tugging the zipper down so you can grind the heel of your palm against him through the fabric of his boxers. The way his hips jerk forward is so satisfying it has you smirking against his lips. With a soft grip on his chin you break the kiss to tilt his head a bit, allowing you access to the expanse of tanned skin along his throat.
You take your time exploring his skin with your mouth while you work your way down the buttons of his shirt, undoing them slow enough that he’s starting to squirm with impatience. Popping the last one open, you trail your fingertips along the firm planes of his torso, nipping lightly at his collarbone. Your touch falters as your hand makes its way south.
“Oh my god,” you pull back to look while his face pulls into a coy smirk, “you have your belly button pierced.”
The soft gold color of the little curved barbell perfectly compliments the tan warmth of his skin, nestled just above the trail of course, dark hair that disappears into his waistband. His eyes search yours for a moment before they narrow slightly like he’s won a competition you didn’t even know you were participating in.
“Y’know,” he drawls, “it’s just half of the pair. Dai’s is silver.”
Heat rushes through you, pooling low in your belly, and you find yourself pushing almost frantically at the fabric of his shirt, tossing it to the floor before your hands find the hem of your own top. He helps you pull it over your head with frustratingly steady hands, while you nearly lose your mind with the need to have your skin against his. As soon as the barrier of your shirt is gone, you press forward to kiss him. He curses softly against your lips, hands burning a path across your flushed skin.
The wooden counter disappears from beneath you as Kuroo scoops you up into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist like they belong there. You pull an arm from around his shoulder to flick the clasp of your bra open, shrugging it off and abandoning it to its fate somewhere on the hallway floor. His hands squeeze at the fat of your thighs when you dip down to suck and bite along the skin of his neck.
The way he carries you up the stairs without so much as a pause at the bottom is so hot you think you might die. You pull back to look at him, mischief dancing across your features, and flex your hips in his hold so that you grind down into him.
“You keep doing that and I might drop you,” his words are breathy and lack the bite of sarcasm you can tell he intended to put into them. He adjusts his grip on you so that most of your weight is held in just one of his arms and then stops in the middle of the hallway.
Words die before they have a chance to make it past your lips when he presses your back against the wall, his mouth finding yours, kissing you deep. It’s all teeth and tongues and gasping little moans every time he uses the hand on your waist to hold you still as he rolls his hips against yours with practiced precision.
“Kuroo-” you plead into his mouth. The sound that leaves him is a cross between a moan and a laugh.
“Okay, okay,” he gives in, pulling your back from the wall to stumble a few more steps down the hall to the next door. He throws it open, barely pulling back enough from the kiss to glance into the room before crossing it in long strides to bend at the waist and press your body into the plush softness of the mattress with his own.
“Take off your pants,” you tell him, trying to sound demanding but landing somewhere closer to pathetic.
Somehow, the way you both fumble at his waistband in a desperate attempt to free him from his remaining clothing ends in one of his pant legs stuck around his ankle while the two of you giggle at each other between kisses. Your laugh goes breathy when he grinds down against you, making a noise of playful irritation when he finds the two of you still separated by the thin material of your panties. “So impatient with me and you’re still wearing these fucking things,” he teases, nipping at your jaw.
The way he says it makes you think that he’s about to reach down and take them off, but the reality pulls a moan from the depths of your chest. Kuroo’s nudged your legs open, just enough to settle his own hips between them, you can feel how hard he is against you. The fabric between your legs is long past damp, now saturated and sticky with how turned on you are as Kuroo angles his hips to press into you through them. He’s hot and hard and it’s not nearly enough despite the way it pulls the mesh and lace tight against your clit.
Your legs bracket his hips and you rock against him as he thrusts, the slide is slick and easy in a way that heats your whole body. Every time the tip of his cock pushes into you, you whine into Kuroo’s mouth—and he has the audacity to huff a laugh back at you, pulling away from the kiss to hum against the skin of your throat.
“If I would have known, hah-that you were a-actually the fucking worst,” your words are interrupted by your own keening, “I would’ve let your husband take me ho–fuck Kuroo—home instead.”
You regret the words as soon as you finish because now Kuroo is pulling away from you and you’re sure you’ll die if you don’t feel the press of his body against yours anymore. You’re already starting to protest, but his hand finds a place on your jaw before you can finish, his grip firm and the look in his eyes makes you think you may have gotten in way over your head.
The rasp in his voice has your pussy clenching around nothing when he says, “You weren’t calling me the worst when I had you spread out on my kitchen counter.”
You squirm but he doesn’t loosen his grip, instead he looks down between you, where you’re still pressed flush, his length glossy from the way he’s been rutting against you.
It’s embarrassing how easily you cave for him. The whine that escapes you would mortify you if you weren’t stuck beneath him, so close but frustratingly unable to tip over the edge, “I need you to fuck me, please I-”
A bit of surprise flashes across his face before he schools it back into the smug confidence that seems to be his default expression. “Okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” his tone is a little condescending when he interrupts you and it just makes you burn hotter.
He nods towards the bedside table, “Grab a condom for me, sweetheart.” You do as you’re told, grasping blindly around the drawer until you feel foil beneath your fingertips. “Such a good listener," he says as he takes it from you, and you bite down on your lip so hard you think you taste blood.
Your panties stick to you when he moves to pull them off and it makes the flush that’s creeping down his chest deepen. He curses quietly when he finally gets them off, tossing them somewhere on the floor without looking up. Sitting back on his knees, still positioned between your legs, his cock brushes against his stomach when he moves, leaking precome that falls slowly down the ruddy tip.
Your chest heaves and the tension that grows in the air has the corners of your eyes pricking, the intensity of your need eclipsing all other thoughts in your head. Kuroo is thankfully quick to roll on the condom, tossing the wrapper towards the edge of the bed before he leans over you, lowering himself so that he’s resting with his forearms on either side of your head.
“M’sorry, for teasing you,” you’re having a hard time telling if his words are sincere or not, but the way he’s sucking little bruises along your shoulder is enough of an apology in and of itself. He shifts a little, bringing one hand to your waist, anchoring himself as he begins to push inside you, and as soon as you feel the slight stretch of his tip breaching your folds you’re coming.
“Oh my god-” you babble, head thrown back into the silky pillowcase below you. He doesn’t stop, just speaks wispy little words of praise into your ear until he’s fully seated.
There’s a pause as you both try to catch your breath, he’s pulled his face from where it had been pressed to your neck, and you just look at each other for a few moments, a mixture of disbelief and gratitude swirling between you. It’s sort of unbelievable how comfortable you feel with him, like you’ve done this before and will surely do it again.
As if he can read your mind, a slow smile makes its way onto his face, and he speaks so softly you can barely hear him over the sound of your own breathing, “Hi…”
You hum quietly, a matching smile gracing your lips that he doesn’t hesitate to press a kiss to. This time when your mouth meets his, it’s intimate. Soft and slow in a way that has your hands set about exploring every inch of his skin that’s available to you.
“Move, please,” you whisper. Contrary to the earlier desperation of your requests, this time your voice floats between you like a warm breeze, carrying a connection that shouldn’t be possible between two people who met mere hours ago.
He grinds his hips forward before pulling back, the motion slow and controlled. Each pass of his tongue against yours is matched with an unhurried thrust into you. It’s as if he’s moving based solely on feeling, without concern for expectation or rhythm, and it threatens to cut off your air with how tight your chest feels.
He must notice the way your inhale stutters.
“Breathe,” he says gently against your lips. The way he’s fucking you has your next orgasm seemingly coming out of nowhere, warmth engulfing you in a cocoon of pleasure like you’ve never experienced before.
You’re convinced he’s actually capable of some kind of magic with the way his pace doesn’t show even a hint of faltering as you pulse around him—he just fucks you through it, dragging out the pleasure that burns through you. He gets another half dozen slow, even thrusts in before you feel his abs tense where he’s pressed against you, only then does he lose a bit of the consistent rhythm he’s held the entire time. The fuzzy haze of pleasure that’s settled around you has every touch feeling like its own little spark of electricity.
Kuroo doesn’t immediately pull away from you, instead he continues to kiss you, soft little explorations of his tongue against yours. Your legs twitch lightly against his sides, and the attentive way he brushes his fingers over them without missing a beat makes you melt a little.
Finally, after what seems like a lifetime, or maybe just a fleeting moment, he gently pulls out of you, apologizing sweetly against the shell of your ear when you wince at the loss. “Give me a second, kay?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple as he rolls off of you slowly to stand. You watch him step through a door across the room, its soft light spilling across the bed.
You sleepily look around the room for the first time, deep navy walls made warm by pretty wooden furniture. It's fairly large but still feels comfortable and cozy. The hardwood floor peeks through between several rugs, a mix of colors and textures that fit seamlessly despite being mismatched. To your right, across from the bedroom door, the wall is more window than anything. Heavy cream colored curtains are parted slightly to let just a sliver of moonlight spill across the floor.
Footfalls have you turning back to look towards the bathroom as Kuroo pads softly across the floor to the bed. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants that ride low enough on his hips that you can tell he decided to forego putting anything on underneath. Before settling his knees on the comforter, he flips on the lamp that sits on the bedside table, it’s one of those antique ones with a glass mosaic shade, casting warm light and little multicolored shapes against the dark bedroom wall.
“You wanna shower?” he asks you softly, reaching to brush a stray hair from where it’s fallen across your forehead. You’re still basking in the haze of post-orgasm bliss, your body not quite able to function as it should yet. It’s concerning how well Kuroo reads you, because before you can even figure out the answer yourself, he’s nudging you gently and lifting the sheets so you can snuggle into them, tucked comfortably into his side while he runs his fingers along the bumps of your spine.
“Daichi will be home in thirty minutes or so,” he says softly, face pressed against the crown of your head.
You stiffen a little, but he doesn’t let you get far, stilling you with his hand against your tummy. “M’not kicking you out or anything, just didn’t want you to be surprised,” he separates from you enough to meet your eyes, a little bit of that smug smirk peeking through his relaxed expression, “wasn’t sure if you had a preference for seeing him again clothed or unclothed.”
You narrow your eyes playfully at him, “You sound like you might have a preference.”
The way he places a kiss to your lips before he answers is easy, “I’d prefer you stayed in my bed just like this but you kind of smell like the bar.”
A scoff, rife with mock offense leaves you. “You smell like the bar just as much as I do,” you tell him, slowly sitting up to lean against the headboard. He loosens his hold on you enough for you to move, but lets his fingers find their way back to the soft skin on your thigh once you seem settled.
When he looks up at you again, you’re shocked to find that he looks a little nervous as he crosses his arms over your leg to rest his cheek against them. “You wanna stay the night? Dai makes great omurice.”
Warm little flutters delicately find a home in your chest. “For someone who punched a guy in the face a few hours ago you’re very sweet,” you tell him in place of a response.
He smiles up at you and places a kiss on your thigh before sitting up. “Go shower, I’ll bring you something to wear.”
You stand in his fancy shower until your fingers get pruney, letting the hot water soak you bone deep, washing away not only the layer of sweat and glitter from the bar, but all of the leftover stress and anxiety from earlier too. Kuroo had popped in to ask if you were hungry and bring you a fresh towel a little while ago, so there’s a fluffy gray towel waiting for you on the counter next to a neatly folded pile of clothes.
His t-shirt is unsurprisingly huge on you, it falls just above your knees and the material feels perfectly worn in. You huff a laugh as you pull on the soft, sage green boxers he’s left you as well. They're decorated with little black cats, and you have to roll them at the waist a couple of times to keep them snug on your hips.
You nearly jump out of your skin when you reach the bottom of the stairs to be greeted not by the sight of Kuroo standing in the kitchen, but his husband.
Daichi’s changed out of his work clothes, looking comfortable in a worn pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved t-shirt with some kind of faded volleyball logo on it. He turns at the sound of your footsteps, a steaming mug of what you assume is tea in his hands. You are very pointedly trying not to look at the way his shirt hugs the muscular build of his arms and chest.
“Nice to see you again,” he says, perfectly polite, but the look on his face doesn’t quite match—there’s a little heat swirling in the deep brown of his eyes.
“Hi Daichi,” you say softly. He smiles at you and points to a paper bag sitting on the island with a cute little rice ball logo stamped on the side that you vaguely recognize.
“Wasn’t sure about your onigiri of choice,” he turns to pull a glass from one of the cabinets, “there are a couple of different ones in there. Take whatever you like.”
A glass of water is placed in front of you as you dip your hand into the paper bag to pull out a neatly wrapped salmon onigiri. You look at Daichi, a question in your eyes—you don’t want to steal his or Kuroo’s if they’re picky. He nods and you push the bag across the counter to him. The silence in the kitchen is not as awkward as it probably should be considering you just had sex with his husband less than an hour ago.
You quickly polish off the last of your onigiri, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were, and finish your last couple sips of water. Your cheeks flush a little as you stand to rinse your glass in the sink, back still turned towards Daichi when you ask him, “Would you mind bringing me a blanket? For the couch?”
Before he can even answer, Kuroo appears at the bottom of the stairs and clicks his tongue in a way that makes you feel like a kid being scolded, “M’not gonna let you sleep on the couch when I’ve got a perfectly nice bedroom upstairs.” He must have been showering because his hair is damp and he's wearing different sweats and no shirt, just a towel around his neck.
Despite the way he was actively inside you less than an hour ago you feel your cheeks heat at the sight of his bare chest. You’re quickly learning that Kuroo is kind of a little shit when he sees you blushing and winks at you. Rolling your eyes you ignore the tension that’s beginning to simmer in the air around you again and say, “Big house, lots of rooms then I suppose.”
When you turn from the sink, setting the now clean glass in the drying rack, Kuroo is fully draped across Daichi’s shoulders. His long limbs hanging loosely, his weight pressed against his husband’s back—Daichi looks unfazed, still standing comfortably at the edge of the kitchen island.
A glance at the microwave clock tells you it’s nearly 3:00am. Increasingly observant, Kuroo untangles himself from Daichi’s shoulders, placing a kiss on his cheek before moving to stand next to you, his hand coming up to rest on the small of your back like it belongs there.
“Tired?” he asks softly. You nod, noting the way sleep pulls at the corners of his eyes as well.
“I’ll walk you up,” he offers, gently guiding you towards the stairs.
You peek around him to wave at Daichi who smiles back at you with a soft, “Goodnight.”
You’re surprised to feel a weighty pair of arms wrapped around your torso as you float to the surface from the depths of sleep. It’s warm, comfortable as the curtains sway lightly when the air conditioner kicks on, revealing a strip of bright sunlight making its way in from the outside world.
You bask in the soft light for a moment more before taking a slow, deep breath in preparation to move. Barely an inhale and the arm around your waist tightens. There’s a voice behind you, already groggy speech muffled further by the way his face is smooshed between your back and the pillow. You’re mostly sure the words are an expression of protest, so instead of continuing to attempt to get up you squirm away just enough to turn onto your other side, now faced with dark, sleep mussed hair and cheeks rosy from the way they’d been pressed to your skin.
Your heart stutters a little as you take him in, expression void of the confident smirk you’d become familiar with last night, settled instead into a relaxed tilt of his brows and a soft smile.
The curve of his lips extends further, pressing his cheek into an almost dimple when he mumbles, “G’mornin.” You resist the urge to push the thick strands of jet black hair from his face—no need to allow yourself to get overly attached when you may very well never see him again. The thought has an uncomfortable feeling weighing down your chest, but you push it aside to be dealt with later.
“I believe I was promised omurice,” you tell him teasingly, voice still thick with sleep.
Kuroo groans, burying his head further into your chest.
“Not a morning person, huh?” you ask with a soft laugh.
He squeezes your waist as you halfheartedly try to escape from his grasp, huffing in theatric offense when he holds fast. There’s the sharp sting of teeth along your collarbone, and when you manage to pull back enough to make eye contact with him there’s mischief and something much hotter swimming in his eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek, stifling the whine that had been on its way out of your mouth. The way your breathing speeds would be embarrassing if you were awake enough to really think about it.
Kuroo’s teeth press to your skin again, right over one of the bruises he’d left last night, quickly soothed by an open mouthed kiss when your own grip on his shoulders tightens. You’re suddenly released from his hold as he flops over onto his back, arms splaying out as he sighs loudly before rubbing the sleep from his eyes with an exaggerated groan.
You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you at the sight of him, surprised by the difference between the man you encountered last night and the one in front of you.
“You’re kind of a dork,” you say to him before you can think better of it. He makes an affronted noise, hand coming to rest dramatically on his chest.
“People who are rude to me in my own home don’t get breakfast,” he declares, voice still sleep-rough.
Your cheeks pinch as you attempt to hold back a smile, throwing off the comforter and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Feet hitting the soft rug below, you prepare to dash away from the bed only to be wrestled back under the covers. You giggle as Kuroo flops his body on top of yours, effectively trapping you beneath him while still being courteous enough to avoid actually squishing you. As your laughter dies down you find your hands carding through his hair.
Kuroo says your name softly, not raising his head from where it’s resting on your chest, “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, I don’t want to pressure you.”
Your hands still for a moment while you think.
This situation is definitely not normal for you—on the rare occasion that you do stay overnight after a hookup, you’ve usually left before either of you are even fully awake in the morning. From the start though, none of this has felt normal. Something about him and Daichi both has drawn you in from the start.
“You’re not pressuring me, I just don’t usually…” you pause, “this isn’t how this kind of thing usually goes for me.”
He finally lifts his head, resting his arms across your chest and propping his chin on his hands to look at you. It’s almost unnerving the way he observes you, quiet and intense. Warm eyes catching the scant rays of sun as they skirt across your features.
Finally he says, “Let’s go have breakfast, yeah?”
You hadn’t realized that you’d been holding your breath until you let out an almost relieved sigh. Kuroo peels himself from you, but not before placing a kiss to the soft skin beneath your jaw. As soon as he opens the bedroom door the smell of whatever is cooking downstairs wafts in and threatens to make your mouth water. Kuroo reaches for your hand, the gesture careful, almost hesitant. You easily lace your fingers with his and let him pull you through the house to the kitchen.
The way the light falls in warm beams through the living room windows has a small smile gracing your face when you turn the corner. Daichi’s standing in the kitchen, turned away from you, spatula in hand as he leans over the stove. Kuroo releases your hand, instead placing it on the small of your back to push you gently towards one of the stools at the kitchen island.
Rather than take a seat next to you, he moves with long strides to drape himself over Daichi’s shoulders. The shorter man doesn’t even flinch, as if this is a normal Saturday morning occurrence—which you astutely assume it absolutely is.
It should feel awkward, sitting a few feet away from them while they talk quietly, comfortably leaning against each other, but it’s not. You sit there for a few minutes, scrolling and replying to text messages in the time it takes them to plate the omurice, steam wafting from the mismatched dishes.
You’re nearly finished with your breakfast, which is very good for the record, when you still, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise on your cheeks.
Clearing your throat you glance at Daichi, “Sorry for stealing your husband last night…” The guilt in your voice that you’re trying to smother is apparent nonetheless, and Daichi just smiles at you before turning to Kuroo.
There’s a silent conversation going on in the mere seconds they take to meet eyes, but you’re in no place to be able to decipher it.
Finally, Daichi clears his throat, his face still soft, but now a bit more serious when he says, “I’m assuming that although this is a familiar situation for us, it’s not for you. So I wanted to apologize if either of us has pushed you in any way or made things uncomfortable.”
Your eyes widen a little, but before you can contradict him Kuroo speaks up. “What’s not normal, for either of us,” he glances at his husband, “is that we’d like to see you again.”
They both sit there quietly, as if giving you time to absorb what they’ve just told you.
You must be silent for too long because Kuroo starts talking again. “We have an open relationship,” he gestures between the two of them, “but neither of us has ever been interested in pursuing anything other than sex with another person.”
Kuroo’s face twists a little, a flash of uncertainty crossing his features as he starts to backtrack, “Sorry, I know we just met like twelve hours ago I didn’t mean to-,” Daichi’s hand on his thigh stops his spiraling and gives you the opportunity to finally speak up.
“I’d like that,” you tell them—your words are confident, simple and genuine.
Kuroo lets out a big breath and Daichi huffs a soft laugh to himself before pointing a finger towards your phone laying face down on the counter top. You unlock it, opening your contacts before sliding it over to him. He’s quick to punch in both his and Kuroo’s numbers before setting it back down next to you.
Daichi’s gaze turns teasing and he raises his hand between him and Kuroo like he’s telling you a secret when he says, “You might think he’s cool and put together, but he’s really kind of a loser.”
Kuroo looks shocked for a fraction of a second before a cackling laugh escapes his lips, hands raised to push playfully at Daichi’s broad shoulders. The former smiles wide at you, eyes crinkled at the corners and pretty white teeth on full display.
dividers by @/diviniyae
