Work Text:
Bokuto smiles, pulling open the door of Akaashi’s apartment from the inside to send Kuroo away. “Now get out of my restaurant.”
Kuroo eyes him, and Bokuto wonders if he knows just how pouty he can look when he’s having a hard time dealing with his feelings. He showed up to talk about the restaurant, about Kenma, about what love is and how it works, but now that Akaashi is home, it’s about time he gets gone so that Akaashi can finally relax for the next eight hours until they have to get ready to go back to the restaurant yet again. Bokuto just wants Akaashi to eat, rest, and not pass out in the hallway—to stop thinking so much about everything going on because he perpetually overworks himself to the point of exhausted, anemic collapse. Kuroo’s emotional issues and the strain he’s been putting on the restaurant for the past ten months don’t help in the slightest.
As his best friends, Bokuto and Akaashi care for Kuroo in a way that the others in the restaurant don’t. But when it comes down to it, ever since his third year of high school when Akaashi asked him to meet outside by the tennis courts after the final bell and confessed to him, Bokuto cares about Akaashi just a little bit more.
He puts a hand on Kuroo’s back and pushes him out into the hallway. “Good night.”
“You two,” Kuroo mutters, before putting a palm up, saying, “Night,” then pocketing his hands and heading down the hall to the elevator.
Bokuto closes and locks the door.
He turns, stretching his arms up in his white T-shirt as he goes to Akaashi in the kitchen. “What a mess,” he says.
Akaashi holds one of the onigiri Bokuto made him in one hand, the top corner taken off in a small bite. He pours cold barley tea into two glasses from a pitcher with the other. “Have you eaten?”
Bokuto nods. “Before he showed up.”
Akaashi fills the glasses exactly equally. “Thank you for tidying things.”
“Mhm.” Bokuto comes behind him and wraps around Akaashi’s middle, arms against the uncomfortable stiffness of Akaashi’s work uniform. He kisses the side of his head. “Relax, Keiji.”
Akaashi sighs, setting the pitcher down on the counter. He holds Bokuto’s arms against his stomach with his free hand. “He’s stressing me. I’m so irritated with him.”
“I think he’s annoyed with himself, too.” Bokuto kisses his cheek. “Think of how annoyed Kenma must be, having this all on him.”
Akaashi angles his face to the floor. “That makes me feel…”
Bokuto stands back a step, takes Akaashi’s upper arms in his hands and turns him around to face him. “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way. You’re doing what’s best for the restaurant. And for Kuroo. We’ve been trying to get him back for a long time.”
“I’ve put so much on Kenma.” He brings his hand not holding the onigiri up to Bokuto’s chest, resting it gently there. “I feel like I took everything off of us and laid it on his shoulders. He said that to me.”
“First of all,” he squeezes Akaashi’s arms, “trust me—it isn’t all off of us. Second of all…” He shrugs. “Who knows? He told me they kissed. It might be working.”
Akaashi clicks his tongue as his gaze slides off to the side. “I want it to work, but I wanted it to go better than it is. I just wanted it to be easy. For him to get back there.”
Bokuto kisses his cheek again. “Come sit and eat.” He nudges Akaashi toward the living room, bringing the glasses of tea to follow him.
Akaashi takes his seat in the chair at the end of the coffee table where Bokuto placed a second onigiri and a bowl of nanohana for him earlier. Bokuto sets a glass down next to the bowl, then sits at the end of the couch next to Akaashi’s chair.
“Thank you again for this,” Akaashi says. He picks up his chopsticks and pulls back the plastic wrap covering the nanohana.
Bokuto watches him over the rim of his glass, sipping his tea as Akaashi has a few blossoms. “Good?”
Akaashi nods. “As always. You make it the best.”
“I guess being a chef is good for something, then.” Bokuto shrugs one shoulder.
Akaashi smiles a little. “Did you get here long before me? How is it with your new car?”
Bokuto sighs. “Not long. And I don’t know. It’s nice, but I think I’ll miss you driving me home after service every night.”
“Your apartment is ten kilometers from mine, Koutarou.” He takes a bite of onigiri.
“I know that.” He sighs again and takes another sip. “I guess that’s why I just come here all the time, huh?”
Akaashi looks at him. “Did Kuroo say something to you? About moving here?”
“No, barely.” Bokuto waves it away. “He just asked if we had decided yet. I said we were still talking about it.”
Akaashi hums, has another bite.
Though they’ve been together for eleven years, it’s something they’ve mutually agreed to hold off on, just for the sake of waiting until they were both completely sure. It wasn’t until Tiger’s Eye came into existence and they started working together that they began talking about it seriously, logistically rather than just emotionally. It was also when Bokuto realized that he was completely sure. Since then, he’s been waiting patiently for Akaashi. It will ultimately be his decision.
So maybe it’s better to not talk about it right now—something that might cause Akaashi more stress than he’s already dealing with.
“Did you leave your jacket at the restaurant tonight?” Bokuto asks, changing the subject.
Akaashi nods, picking up a few more blossoms from the bowl. “I’ll take everything to be dry cleaned on Thursday.”
“How about I do that,” Bokuto says, “and you stay home.” He props his elbow on the arm of the couch and leans his head on the heel of his hand, gazing at Akaashi in the chair. He brings his glass up to his mouth again.
Akaashi turns away from him and takes the bite of nanohana. “Kou.”
“Hmm?”
“Let’s make love.”
Bokuto smiles with the glass against his lips. “Yeah?”
Akaashi nods.
“Is that what you meant when you told Kuroo you’d be getting me to bed?” he teases.
Akaashi has another bite of onigiri and shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be the bed. I just want you.”
Bokuto smiles a little more, curling his hand into a fist and resting his cheek on it. “All right. Only once you finish at least that one,” he nods to the half-eaten onigiri in Akaashi’s hand, “because you’ll be too tired to keep eating afterward.”
“Mm.” Akaashi nods. “Okay.”
Then Bokuto will just do what he does best: wait for Akaashi to be ready. “How do you want to then?” he asks. “You want to lie down and relax?”
“I don’t know yet.” Akaashi looks over at him. “Can you take your shirt off?”
He chuckles. “Of course.”
He puts his glass down on the coffee table, then brings his hands to the neck of his shirt, tugs it over his head, and tosses it to the other end of the couch. He lays one arm over the back of the couch as he leans back, sitting there in his sweatpants. He watches Akaashi’s face.
Akaashi’s eyes roam over his chest. He brings his onigiri up and takes another bite. “I love you.”
Akaashi’s receiving love language is acts of service, but with his taciturn disposition, it can be hard to believe that his main language to speak is words of affirmation. When they’re alone together, he never forgets to tell Bokuto his feelings, even though he’s been saying that same little phrase for nearly eleven years.
“I love you too, Keiji.”
For a moment, Bokuto just watches him eat, tracking Akaashi’s gaze to different points on his body. Akaashi glances between his legs where his sweatpants don’t leave anything to the imagination. “Are you getting turned on?” he asks.
Bokuto nods. “Very.”
“Do you want me to hurry up?”
“I don’t want you to get a stomach ache. Take your time. I’m happy to wait.”
“You don’t have to.” Still carrying the onigiri, Akaashi stands from the chair and comes to sit next to Bokuto on the couch. Bokuto watches him, hardly blinking, and turns his body into the corner to face Akaashi better. As Akaashi has another bite, he brings his hand up to touch Bokuto’s chest again, sliding his fingertips over his collarbones, then down the center over Bokuto’s solar plexus, out to his ribs, back in to gently brush over a nipple. Bokuto’s eyelids flutter and he draws in a breath. Akaashi does it to the other side.
“I know I’ve said this before,” Bokuto sighs, “but you look really good eating.”
Akaashi brings his hand down to palm him through his pants. Bokuto breathes in deeply, jaw clenching, and locks eyes with him. “I’m going to taste like rice,” Akaashi says. He rubs his hand back and forth.
Bokuto replies, “Not all of you.”
Akaashi pauses, rice in his cheek, then swallows with a little effort. He brings his knees up and straddles Bokuto’s lap, placing his free hand on Bokuto’s shoulder and looking down into his face.
Bokuto immediately takes his waist. “How can you do this in those pants?”
“I’m not sure.” He kisses Bokuto twice, then takes another bite. “Rice, right?”
Bokuto smiles up at him, eyes lidded. “Yeah. Rice and tea. It suits you. It’s kind of a clean taste.” He glances at Akaashi’s hand; the onigiri is almost gone.
“Undress me?” Akaashi asks.
Gladly.
He first removes the clip holding down Akaashi’s tie. It glints golden in his fingertips as he reaches forward to place it on the coffee table with a clink, holding Akaashi from falling back. He watches Akaashi chew as he hooks a finger into the knot at Akaashi’s neck and tugs, loosening the tie. He unravels it, slides it out from Akaashi’s collar, tosses it aimlessly over to where it falls to a rest on his T-shirt.
He can feel Akaashi’s fingers on his shoulder, sensing tactilely the changing shapes of his muscles as he moves his arms. He brings his hands up to the top buttons of Akaashi’s shirt, leaning in to kiss his neck and underneath his jaw as he goes. The shirt slips down to Akaashi’s elbows, still tucked in and hooked around his waist and forearms, exposing his entire chest down to his belly button as Akaashi slides his hand down Bokuto’s arm. For a moment, Bokuto stays to admire his shoulder line—his favorite part of Akaashi’s body besides his face. Everything about him is sharp, thin, and lithe; the pools of shadow in the handles of his collarbones and the one at the base of his throat, the angles where his shoulders abruptly cut downward to his upper arms. He splays a hand at Akaashi’s lower back, leans him backwards a little as he dips his head down to kiss Akaashi’s chest, briefly flicking his tongue over sensitive nipples. Akaashi’s hand threads into the back of his hair, scratching lightly the way he loves.
Eventually, he leans back and untucks the shirt entirely. He takes the last piece of onigiri from Akaashi’s fingers so he can pull the sleeves off of his wrists and drop the shirt to the floor.
Bokuto pauses for a moment, holding himself at bay, staring at Akaashi.
Akaashi looks at the onigiri, then back into his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Savoring you.”
A faint blush still creeps onto Akaashi’s cheeks, eleven years later.
Bokuto takes his chin gently between thumb and forefinger and holds up the final bite. Akaashi opens his mouth, and Bokuto feeds it to him, placing it on his tongue before Akaashi closes his lips. Bokuto brushes his thumb across them, kisses him once quickly as he chews. Seeing Akaashi eat is one of his greatest joys in life, one of the sexiest things he knows. Though, to him, anything Akaashi does is sexy.
He smiles, placing his hands above Akaashi’s knees. “These pants make you look incredible.” He slides his hands upward.
“So do these.” Akaashi dips his fingers into Bokuto’s sweatpants around the back, pushing them down to reveal the V at his hips and the upper curves of the muscles in his ass. He digs his hands down further and grabs at swells of flesh, drags his nails upward to Bokuto’s lower back, then brings his palms forward to his abdomen, up to his chest, and over his shoulders to rest his forearms there. Bokuto shudders under his touch.
Akaashi swallows the last bite.
“Okay,” Bokuto says. He slides his hands under Akaashi’s thighs. “My turn now.”
He stands all at once; Akaashi wraps his legs around his hips and his arms around his neck. He brushes their lips close together, teasing Bokuto with his leverage above him, until he presses a firm kiss there and opens his mouth, letting Bokuto taste this part of him again. Since Bokuto knows Akaashi’s apartment even in pitch darkness, he takes them easily to the bedroom without needing to think.
He flicks the light on and lowers Akaashi down onto the bed. Akaashi moves to make space, and Bokuto climbs up, facing him on his knees. “Do you want to kneel above me or do you want to turn over?”
Akaashi gazes up at him. “What do you want?”
Anything. I want you.
He goes for Akaashi’s pants, undoing the button and tugging down the zipper. He hooks his fingers into the hem of Akaashi’s underwear to wiggle everything down off his hips, revealing him partially aroused. Akaashi bends his knees up to help slide the legs off, and when Bokuto gets them to his ankles, he takes his socks with it. Everything gets pushed off the edge of the mattress to disappear over the other side of the bed.
He takes Akaashi by the waist again, saying softly, “Turn over, Keiji.” Akaashi lets him move him onto his hands and knees, a glide of palms against his hips as he turns. Bokuto places a hand at the base of his spine and brushes upward toward his neck to gently direct him down onto his elbows on the sheets. He admires Akaashi in the position for a moment, the shape of his waist and the line of his back, sharp shoulder blades and flawless skin.
“Okay?” he asks, caressing his hands at the sides of Akaashi’s thighs.
Akaashi pillows his head on his forearms. “Yes.”
For a while, Bokuto kneels there and leaves kisses around his lower half, whispering, “A little wider for me,” so Akaashi will adjust his knees. He makes his way around the upper portions of Akaashi’s thighs, watching him become increasingly aroused and listening to gentle hums at soft bites into his flesh, at a bruised mark left on his inner back thigh. And at the first sign of Akaashi needing to adjust his arms, he brings his hands up to spread him open and buries his face.
Akaashi lets out a moan. His shoulder blades move under his skin as he turns his face downward into his arms, clutching at the sheets. Bokuto stays there for a long time, changing the shape of his tongue, building Akaashi up, watching Akaashi’s toes curl in his periphery when he dips down to glide slowly back up. He uses his fingernails gently on Akaashi’s waist and thighs to feel Akaashi’s body shiver in his hands, hums once in a while because Akaashi is particularly sensitive to vibration and sound and reacts with tilting hips that Bokuto has to hold in place. He aches in his sweatpants and itches to touch it, to feel Akaashi surrounding him. Akaashi will let him know when he’s ready. He works steadily, waiting for the pulse around his tongue, the final twitch of Akaashi’s hips to tell him it’s time.
“Kou,” Akaashi breathes after a length of time Bokuto doesn’t know.
He keeps going, his hands already gripped at the thickest area of Akaashi’s thighs.
“K-Kou.”
Bokuto pulls away to see Akaashi’s face angled back toward him, flushed at his cheeks and his eyes glassy from the pleasure.
“Put it in. I want you in me.”
He feels himself twitch in his pants at Akaashi’s blatant command, a burning in his gut at the quality of Akaashi’s voice. He’s always easy, level, and naturally breathy when he speaks, but it’s even more so like this, ragged and intoxicating.
He caresses Akaashi’s skin, still squeezing at his softer parts, as he brings the back of one hand up to wipe across his mouth. “Hmm. Do you want to stay like this?”
“No.” Akaashi lifts up. “No, come here.”
Bokuto watches him turn back over and pause, propped on his elbows with his knees together to stare at him. Where Bokuto likes Akaashi’s shoulders, Akaashi favors his chest and back, the muscle tone and breadth of them, the strength he has from all of the work he does with his hands, arms, and shoulders, and the lifting when they get deliveries at the restaurant. He builds and maintains muscle easily, and Akaashi says it suits him incredibly well. Though he isn’t significantly taller than Akaashi, he’s bigger in general, and Akaashi has said more times than he can remember how much he enjoys it.
Akaashi’s eyes flick down to his thighs in his sweats and to what’s between them that, relative to his body and his energy, is perfect, Koutarou. Ideal for my needs. His body, his hair that he still dyes because it feels like the only right him after so long, his golden eyes. They…they eat me. They take me in, Akaashi once told him, gasping his words out in a heady, mid-pleasure daze with his back against the wall of his shower, one foot propped on the corner shelf with the bottles long fallen to the floor and his hands pushing Bokuto’s wet bangs back from his face to get a closer look into his eyes. Not like you’re devouring me, but like you’re thoroughly enjoying me. Like you’re savoring me. And it’s true. Each time Bokuto looks at Akaashi is a complete acknowledgement and admiration for every bite his gaze can take, every little nuance and notion of him, his presentation, his flavor.
Eleven years has nothing on the way Bokuto feels about Akaashi. The love he has for him could hardly fit into eleven lifetimes.
He waits, letting Akaashi’s eyes give every part of that sentiment back to him, until Akaashi opens his legs and beckons him with another, “Come here.”
He crawls between Akaashi’s legs and over him. Akaashi pulls the band of his sweatpants down and pushes them off, over the slope of his ass and down his thighs. Bokuto shifts to get his pants off his ankles and kick them away, then stays there, feeling his pulse between his legs, until Akaashi brings one hand to the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss and the other to take him in his palm, sliding it back and forth, using this thumb, his wrist. Bokuto groans into his mouth and glances down between them at Akaashi’s long fingers wrapped around him before looking back up into his eyes.
Akaashi kisses him again and says, “I should have asked if you want me to blow you.”
Bokuto looks at his mouth, his lips. It’s not that he’s opposed to it, but that, this time, he can’t wait any longer. “I want to make love to you, Keiji.”
Akaashi meets his lips again, putting his hand back on his chest just to have it there. He never takes his hands off of Bokuto during sex if he can reach him, and those hands on his body make Bokuto crazy, the increase in intensity as they go on: the way they start out light and gentle with lots of fingertips like when they were on the couch, then shifting to smoother, fuller touches like they are now, to the firm grip they have when Bokuto is inside of him, to the vicelike grasp he takes when he orgasms. It’s a series of steps that come naturally to Akaashi, as Bokuto was euphoric to learn back in his room for the first time when his parents were out for a weekend. And every time since then, Bokuto always puts in the effort to make sure each stage gets its chance, for Akaashi’s pleasure and his own.
Akaashi breaks their kiss with a soft breath. “Let’s use a condom tonight. Less mess.” He extends his arm sideways to the bedside table, but he can’t reach.
Bokuto leans over for him, tugging the drawer open. “Anything you want.”
“I love you, Koutarou.”
“I love you, too.”
He gives Akaashi a quick kiss before sitting up to tear open the packet and roll it on, cap the bottle before readying himself. He brings his hand down and dips two fingers into Akaashi, just to be sure, and Akaashi gasps and brings the back of his hand to his mouth.
“You okay?” he whispers.
Akaashi nods. “I want you, Kou.”
‘Want’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.
He lifts Akaashi’s thighs to tilt his hips upward, and steadily pushes into him. Akaashi’s reaction to being filled is always the same: his eyes close and his mouth opens, his hands find something to hold onto (Bokuto, himself, the headboard, the counter’s edge; the sheets, now) and he makes a small, indescribable noise in the back of his throat. During their first time, it scared Bokuto enough to make him stop abruptly halfway and look closely into Akaashi’s face, saying, Oh no, Ke-Keiji. Are you all right? Did I go too fast? And Akaashi just breathed out, Oh my god. Keep going.
When Bokuto can’t go any further, Akaashi starts to reach for him. Bokuto leans over him and allows Akaashi to clutch at his sides instead of the sheets, tugging him down to kiss him deeply.
Sometimes when he’s atop Akaashi, Bokuto wonders if he’ll crush him or make it hard for him to breathe. Akaashi is on his feet and moving for hours on end at the restaurant, and he’s the kind of person who loses weight with stress; he weighs less now that he did in high school, and his body has gotten used to being thin. Bokuto’s first instinct when they’re like this is to keep himself pushed up on his hands or his knees entirely, keep his weight off of Akaashi so that he has space and air to breathe, but Akaashi never lets him. Now, like every time, he pulls Bokuto down onto his elbows and doesn’t let him back up, squeezing his legs around his hips, digging his heels into the backs of Bokuto’s thighs. He makes small, demure sounds, and he keeps a close watch on Bokuto’s pace, encouraging him with his legs. Akaashi is all about efficiency—in his paperwork, with suppliers that keep the restaurant running, in the house during service—but in bed, he lets Bokuto take his time, just as long as he isn’t too gentle.
Bokuto stays close and kisses him over and over again, listening to Akaashi and to the sound of them together; feeling the slickness between their hips, the light sweat making his chest cool, the way Akaashi tightens harder around him once in a while.
Akaashi’s hands never stay in one place for too long, choosing different points on his shoulders, his sides, his hips, his head, his face—all solely for the purpose of having Bokuto’s skin against his palms. They grip his waist and his back, dragging against him in a way that betrays Akaashi’s need, that pleads without words for Bokuto to give him what he’s desperate for. Akaashi likes sex and enjoys it while it’s happening, but it’s a rare moment that he so overtly asks Bokuto for it like he did tonight. When he does, Bokuto understands how badly he needs that release of dopamine and oxytocin, how much he needs to get his mind off of work and the present and the future, how capable and appreciated he needs to feel.
“Keiji,” he murmurs. He lets his tongue glide over Akaashi’s again, that clean taste of him, then kisses his lips, then the corner of his mouth. “I’m with you.”
He moves down the side of Akaashi’s face and Akaashi responds by tilting his chin up and sighing out Bokuto’s name. Bokuto feels his hands slide down and up his back, his breath against his shoulder, and the gentle movement of Akaashi’s body with each time he pushes into him.
As he’s kissing Akaashi’s neck and maintaining his pressure and pace, trying to give Akaashi all the pleasure he needs and gaining just as much back, lost in Akaashi completely, he almost misses the way Akaashi’s nails dig into his sides and his thighs grip his hips tighter. Akaashi patting him and saying, “Kou.”
He pushes up to look into Akaashi’s face. Those blue eyes are closed and his brows are drawn together, a wrinkle between them and a light shine on his forehead from the heat. His cheeks are starting to flush pink.
“Kou. Turn over. Lie back.”
“What do you need?” Bokuto asks. “Do you want harder? Want me to touch you?”
“Just…” His frown deepens. “Just turn over.” His eyes are keen when he opens them, the intense look he gets during service at the restaurant when something isn’t going exactly how he planned it to. “I need to…”
Bokuto nods, kisses him twice softly. “All right.”
He moves back and pulls Akaashi up, rubbing his arms for a second and smiling at him. They maneuver for Bokuto to lie back against the pillows. Akaashi wastes no time in straddling his hips, his thighs tensing as he positions himself, taking Bokuto in his hand again. He lowers back down until their skin makes contact, bottoming out with that same frown at his eyebrows and a sigh. He adjusts his hips, situating himself the way he wants.
Bokuto caresses just above Akaashi’s knees. “Okay?”
Akaashi doesn’t answer. He plants his hands on Bokuto’s chest and begins to rock his hips back and forth. He draws in a breath, and his eyes, already closed again, squeeze shut a bit tighter. That little sound comes out of his throat.
There are times when Akaashi has to take over for himself—not because Bokuto isn’t good enough, but because the block Akaashi feels is mental, a result of external pressures and stressors that prompt him to ever ask for sex in the first place. Bokuto resigns his control and allows Akaashi to pay attention to his own body, to do exactly what he requires, in hopes that it will be better for tonight’s individual needs than what Bokuto could offer this time around.
And he doesn’t ever mind. Akaashi is the most beautiful thing he’s ever known, one of the few things he cares most about in this world. Getting to watch Akaashi pleasure himself with Bokuto there underneath him is addicting in its own way, and though Bokuto doesn’t ever want for nights like these when it comes to Akaashi’s stress level, he welcomes them when they do happen. It’s an experience he can’t deny he revels in.
But tonight, Akaashi’s body is stuttering more than usual, and the tense frown at his brow won’t go away. He hitches a breath and shifts his hips, pulling himself forward and back, but it doesn’t seem to work.
“What’s wrong, Keiji?” Bokuto asks.
Akaashi shakes his head. “I’m trying…” He swallows and his chin lowers down to his chest, shoulders tensing up as he moves himself. “It’s…I’m not…” He breathes heavily. Bokuto looks to see him straining against his stomach. “Kou. I can’t. Kou.”
He whines. It’s a sound Bokuto almost never gets to hear. It lights his body on fire.
“Take your time, Keiji,” he says. “I’m happy to wait.”
But Akaashi’s fingertips dig into his chest as he says, “I want it now.”
Bokuto’s stomach is ablaze. Maybe he can’t wait after all.
He puts his feet on the bed and pushes his hips upward.
Akaashi lets out an Ah, rocking forward, and his head tilts back up. His fingertips press even harder. “Kou. Again.”
Bokuto reaches for Akaashi’s right hand and takes it, and when Akaashi opens his eyes to look at him, he laces their fingers together. He tilts his hips up again and closely watches Akaashi’s reaction, the flutter of his eyelids and the gasp he draws in. A bead of sweat slides down the side of Akaashi’s face to his jaw, the little pieces of his bangs sticking to his brow, and his mouth is slightly open, breathing shallowly. He doesn’t look away from Bokuto’s eyes.
“Whatever you’re thinking about,” Bokuto says, “forget it. Just for this moment, forget everything. The restaurant and the inventory you have to take and the calls you have to make and the problems we have to deal with. Just forget it and look at me.”
“Kou.” The sound of his breathing. “Koutarou.” His hips moving at a consistent, steady pace.
“Are you forgetting?” He rubs Akaashi’s thigh with his other hand.
“I’m trying.” Akaashi grabs Bokuto’s wrist, moving his hand from his thigh to his waist. “Guide me. Help me.”
Bokuto holds his hip firmly, his thumb hooked against the sharp bone there, and pulls at Akaashi in time with the slight raises of his hips up into him. Akaashi whines again, his eyes slipping back closed, and his shoulders, that most beautiful part of his body, tuck upwards to his neck. His right hand clutches Bokuto’s left; his left cinches around Bokuto’s wrist at his hip. His arms are shaking.
“What if I can’t fix things?” he pleads at once, exhaling the words.
Bokuto frowns, frustrated for him. “Stop thinking about that right now.”
“What if we can’t figure out how to get back to where we were?” He keeps rocking his hips with Bokuto’s guidance. “What if the restaurant breaks down and I can’t do anything about it? What if I can’t fix anything?”
“Keiji. You worry too much.”
“But if I can’t—”
“It’s not up to you,” Bokuto tells him. “Look at me.”
Akaashi gasps loudly with a deep push from Bokuto, a strong tug at his hips. He lands his left hand on Bokuto’s chest again but keeps his right intertwined with Bokuto’s fingers. He says in another exhale, “Kou…” His skin is dusted in faint pink watercolors, the inside of his thighs red, and between them where he refuses to touch is the most vibrant shade. He writhes on top of Bokuto, trying hard to get him inside of him at every angle, but his release isn’t happening. “I can’t,” he breathes out. “I can’t.”
“Look at me, Keiji,” Bokuto says quietly. With effort, Akaashi opens his eyes, a watery blue, to meet his gaze. “It will be fine. Just let it go for tonight.” He squeezes Akaashi’s hand. “God, I’m insane about you. I love you so much.”
Akaashi’s entire body is trembling. His voice, too. “Tell me again.”
Bokuto smiles. He knows exactly which part Akaashi means. As he pushes up again and Akaashi lets out another Hah, he says, “Let go of it, Keiji. Let go.”
He feels Akaashi’s hand gripping his painfully hard—the final stage—and Akaashi lets out a sound almost like a sob as he releases. Bokuto guides him through it, feeling him spill out onto his stomach and watching it drip down Akaashi’s length. He’s breathtaking, the way he looks and the sounds he makes. His expression when he climaxes goes to Bokuto’s head and his heart and between his legs in equal measure: the tilt of Akaashi’s eyebrows upward, the shape of his mouth, the flush dusting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The profound relief that washes over every part of his being.
“Keiji,” Bokuto can’t help but say.
“Koutarou.” He pulls himself through the last few waves of his orgasm. When he comes down fully, he softens his hand on Bokuto’s chest and scratches gently against his skin. “I’m sorry I worry. I’m looking at you. I always am.” He stays on Bokuto, still moving his hips around, lifting himself a little.
Now Bokuto can hardly keep his eyes open. “Keiji. God. Are you—” He swallows and looks up at him. “Is it uncomfortable?” Akaashi tends to get overstimulated very quickly.
Akaashi shakes his head and gives his hand another squeeze. “No. I just want you.”
“Oh god.”
“Are you there?”
Bokuto nods. He’s been there for a while now, waiting. “Yeah. Just—”
Akaashi sits up straighter, arching his back and tilting his face up to the light. His left hand slides down Bokuto’s torso into the mess at his lower abdomen, and he brings Bokuto’s hand that he’s holding up and places it on his chest over his heart, keeping it there in his. He circles his hips, sticky between his thighs and Bokuto’s skin, and breathes, “Bokuto Koutarou. Only you.”
Bokuto can’t last any longer. He feels his climax rush through him, and he groans and pushes his hips up hard. Akaashi yelps in surprise, falls forward onto his hands by Bokuto’s head. Bokuto presses a palm against his thigh, holding Akaashi in place to surround him while he comes. “Stay. Stay there. Sorry if—sorry. Please stay.”
Akaashi, still catching his breath, gives him the smallest, most loving smile, and squeezes around him. “Don’t worry. It feels good. Right?”
Bokuto groans again. “Yes. Yes, Keiji. You always do.” He holds Akaashi’s hips, letting him draw every last bit of it into the condom until he’s empty.
Both of them finally relax. Bokuto takes a deep breath and his legs fall to the bed. Akaashi pulls off of him and rests forward on his hands, breathing, exhausted. He looks into Bokuto’s eyes as if he’s about to say something, but Bokuto tugs him down to press their bodies together. He wraps his arms around Akaashi and turns them onto their sides, facing each other, with Akaashi’s head under his chin.
Akaashi does a mellow, satisfied sigh. “I needed that.”
Bokuto chuckles and kisses his head. “I could tell.”
Akaashi hugs him back. Their skin is tacky with heat and sweat. “I really am worried about things,” he says. “About Kuroo and the restaurant.”
Bokuto sighs, touches his hair. “I know. But don’t think about it too much. At least not tonight.” He kisses Akaashi’s forehead, and when Akaashi looks up into his eyes, he kisses his nose, then his mouth a few times. He mutters against Akaashi’s lips, “I don’t want you thinking about Kuroo while we’re having sex.”
Akaashi laughs. “Not like that. I don’t either.”
Bokuto kisses him again, rubbing his back.
Eventually, once he feels Akaashi’s body stop trembling in his arms, he pulls away and says, “Wait here.” Akaashi hums, and Bokuto gets up from the bed. He glances over his shoulder to see Akaashi admiring his body before he heads into the bathroom. He comes back out clean, with the condom gone and a warm washcloth in his hand. He climbs back up onto the bed and says, “Relax back.”
Akaashi lies back onto the pillows, lifting his arms above his head. Bokuto pushes his knees up so his feet are on the bed and uses the washcloth to wipe his stomach and thighs, over the mark he made with his mouth, kissing Akaashi’s knees a few times as he goes.
“I don’t know why I’ve never asked this before,” he says, “but…did you two ever, you know, mess around? When we were kids?”
“I confessed to you, Koutarou,” Akaashi says.
Bokuto shrugs. “Yeah, but maybe before then. Before you had feelings for me.” He makes one more pass over Akaashi’s left inner thigh, kissing him as the warmth from the washcloth fades into a comfortable coolness.
“Kou.”
Bokuto looks up into his keen eyes. He lets Akaashi’s legs slide back to the mattress and he sets the washcloth aside. He lies down with him again, propped up on one elbow with his chin in his palm and the other hand holding Akaashi’s face, brushing his high cheekbone with his thumb.
“Do you remember how long it took me to make love with you for the first time?” Akaashi asks.
Bokuto nods, remembering that evening back in his childhood home. He pushes at Akaashi’s little bangs. “Almost five months.”
Akaashi brings his hands to his face. “You’re my first and last, Koutarou. My one and only. Only you.”
Bokuto feels a steady, unending warmth in his chest. He takes Akaashi’s hand and kisses it, speaking against it. “You never, like, kissed experimentally? Held hands between classes or anything?”
Akaashi laughs and reaches over to pull him close again. This time, Bokuto puts his face under Akaashi’s chin and closes his eyes. “Kou, I like you so much,” Akaashi says. “No, I never held hands with Kuroo.”
“No kissing practice, either?”
“You’re the only person I have ever kissed and ever will kiss.”
Bokuto feels the hum of Akaashi’s voice against his lips, his cheek. He smiles and says, “Good.”
Akaashi sighs. “You did that on purpose.”
“What?”
“Pretended to be jealous. So I would forget about being worried.”
Bokuto lifts his head to gaze up at him. “Did it work?”
For a moment, Akaashi only looks at him. He brushes Bokuto’s hair back from his forehead and stares into his eyes. Finally, he holds Bokuto’s face again and says, “Move in with me. Come live with me forever.”
Bokuto’s mind flashes to Akaashi asking him if Kuroo said anything about him moving in. He realizes in that instant that Akaashi must have already decided, recently, and that he must have told Kuroo that he was going to ask soon.
But all of those thoughts come and pass in the instant it takes him to say: “Yes.”
Akaashi kisses him. “Once this is all over and things are back to normal. We’ll bring your stuff here. It’s big enough for both of us, right?”
Bokuto plays his fingertips at Akaashi’s lower back, his arm hooked over his waist. “I could move in right now with nothing but you and be happy.” Akaashi laughs, and Bokuto grins. “I’m so in love with you, Keiji.”
“Even when I’m stressed,” Akaashi says, not a question, as he brushes Bokuto’s bangs back again.
Sometimes especially when you’re stressed, Bokuto thinks. But maybe that’s better kept to himself. Instead, as he pushes up and brings their lips close together, he murmurs, “Forever.”
They kiss deeply, barely letting their lips come apart for an uncertain amount of time. Bokuto savors Akaashi’s tongue, the way he tastes and the way he kisses him smoothly, gently, like the moment could go on eternally and he wouldn’t mind at all if they got stuck here. All of Akaashi’s worries would be gone and nothing else would matter. His hands stay on Bokuto’s body, anywhere, and never leave.
“Want anything else to eat?” Bokuto asks eventually. He brushes their lips together, sensitive and swollen. “You still taste incredible.”
“Mmm.” Akaashi kisses him, faintly scratching his nails at the sides of Bokuto’s hair. “I’m too tired.”
Bokuto clicks his tongue. “I know you.”
“Better than anyone.”
Bokuto kisses him a final time, then gets up, finds his sweatpants and pulls them on. Akaashi watches him all the while. He goes to the doorway and turns back, leaning on the frame. “Then I’m going to go clean up the living room. I expect you to be ready for bed and under those covers by the time I get back so I can slide in and hold you.”
Akaashi smiles at him. “I’ll take care of you next time. I promise.”
Akaashi makes a point to reciprocate when he can the affection and care that Bokuto gives him, but Bokuto doesn’t care either way. Akaashi works harder than any of the rest of them when it comes to keeping Tiger’s Eye running smoothly. Taking care of Akaashi at home is the least he can do. Fortunately, next only to being a chef, it’s his favorite thing in the world.
“Five minutes,” he says.
Akaashi laughs like that will never happen—he’ll need way more than that to get ready to sleep. “Take your time, then.”
Bokuto smiles, briefly letting his eyes wander over every centimeter of Akaashi, savoring each part and moment of him and lingering too long at his face, then turns to go.