happylittledrabbles

[happylittledrabbles]

Stream of Realization

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Izuku Midoriya

Character Count: ~4,500K

Rating: Explicit, 18+

AO3

Katsuki becomes obsessed with a sex cam worker named Pro D after his unfulfilled sexual fantasies toward Izuku accumulate to the point of severe sexual frustration. He watches Pro D weekly, and on this particular week, he is delighted to hear that Pro D is doing a challenge: outlast him in masturbating, and he gets to choose what Pro D does the next week. Katsuki loves watching his favorite adult streamer, but if only...

If only Pro D were Izuku...if only...

—

It’s nearly ten. Katsuki knows this because he’s been checking every clock in his vicinity every five minutes. He made dinner but didn’t eat it. He turned on the TV and looked on listlessly, his eyes snapping to his phone once he believed enough time had passed.

Now, he sits at his desk, waiting.

Waiting for Pro D to begin his stream in lingerie inspired by Deku’s hero costume.

Katsuki has come to terms with the fact that he watches men who look like his childhood enemy-turned-friend strip and fuck themselves on camera. He was ashamed at first and couldn’t even look Izuku in the eye the next morning when he came by Katsuki’s office to chat after finishing up at school. He avoided Izuku like the plague until he was forced to reckon with what he had done when he sat down in anticipation for yet another Deku-themed stream and masturbated so furiously that he nearly passed out on the desk. After that, he accepted that he was a pervert, a pathetic man who pays men to dress up like Deku as often as possible.

Pro D is Katsuki’s favorite streamer. He looks just like Izuku. His chest, his slim hips, his strong thighs, and even the scars he draws on himself are in around the same places as Izuku has them. It’s uncanny watching him. Even the way he moves elicits a sort of Izuku-ness, his gestures a bit shy at first before he gains the courage to continue. Then he puts on a show.

Katsuki had been transfixed the first time he came across Pro D’s stream. He had been wearing that stupid little mask with the ears Izuku chose in his costume’s earlier version to obscure his face, and as much as Katsuki had verbally torn it to shreds when he first saw it, it had actually been the reason why he stopped scrolling to watch Pro D’s stream the entire way through. It provided anonymity, which allowed him to project Izuku completely onto him. It could have easily been Izuku on the other side of the screen, and Katsuki never would have known.

He masturbated like it was Izuku. Every weekend he sat at his desk, lotion and tissues ready, his fly undone and computer cursor hovering over the refresh button on Pro D’s channel. And he’d watch Pro D wave at the camera and not say a word as he undid the front of Deku’s costume, exposing his lean and muscular body, and grabbing one of the toys he’d use for the stream.

9:59.

Katsuki blinks and it’s ten.

Refresh, refresh, refresh…

“Hey, everyone.”

Since his first stream, Pro D has invested in a voice changer, which makes his voice low and smooth.

Only his bust is visible within the frame, and he’s fully clothed. He waves and cocks his head, the ears on the mask flopping to the side. Katsuki can’t hide the tender smile that crosses his lips at the sight of Pro D resembling a puppy. That’s what Izuku reminds him of, too. An adorable little puppy, naïve and sometimes stubborn but who loves unconditionally, no matter how much he’s abused.

“Today we’re going to do something a little different,” he says as his gloved fingers raise to his zipper and begin to painstakingly pull it down, tooth by tooth. “We’re going to jack off together today. I want you to match my masturbation rhythm. If you don’t come by the time I come, then you get to choose what I do for next week’s stream. And I’m trusting you all to be honest.”

He puts a finger to his lips, and Katsuki can imagine him winking. One thing he enjoys more about watching Pro D than fantasizing about Izuku on his own is that Pro D adds his little affectations that Izuku would never do. Izuku has the opposite of sex appeal when he’s doing it on purpose. Of course Katsuki finds him sexy regardless of what he does, but he’s seen Izuku try and fail at flirting with girls at parties and Pro Hero galas. He’s a lost cause for seduction. Pro D, on the other hand, knows just what his audience wants. He knows what his audience has (money) and knows just how to extract it from them, and this includes Katsuki.

He’s spent almost 70,000 yen this month alone on sending virtual gifts to Pro D to get him to pay attention to him. He’s said Katsuki’s screen name five times, and each time, Katsuki came on the spot as if Pro D had pressed a button.

Katsuki can’t come before Pro D. He can’t. He has too many ideas for next week’s stream to lose and not get to use any of them.

So he frees his cock from his boxers and watches as Pro D stands up, only his chest and the top of his hips in the frame now, and unzips his costume until his body is revealed, the beam from the ring light behind his laptop casting him in a golden hue.

“To make things more difficult for me, you all will control this thruster machine that thrusts faster the more likes we get on the stream. So be sure to get this stream to the very top of the charts! I’m counting on you.” He dips his mask-covered face down into the camera and gives a peace sign. “However, I’ve had lots of practice, so don’t count me out of the competition just yet. Oh, thank you for the teddy bear, dynamight_murder69!”

The teddy bear costs 7,000 yen, but Katsuki sends it before he can think logically. He has to hold back a groan at how Pro D’s voice (it’s fake, but his voice nonetheless) strokes his stupid screen name. It was almost a turn-off the first time he read it, but Katsuki realized that Pro D was addressing him. They had shared a connection for however long it took Pro D to read the donation, process it, and think about it afterward before moving on to his next act. Pro D knows him. So the 7,000 yen is gone without another thought.

“Gifts count, too, so send those along to make sure this baby goes into overdrive.” Pro D disappears from frame for a few seconds before bringing in the aforementioned machine. It’s a black rounded cube with a dildo stuck onto a metal rod coming from inside the cube. He zooms the camera out before turning around to show off the modified portion of the costume on his ass. He’s included a zipper for easy access, which he undoes and sways his ass in front of the camera.

“I hope all 10,000 of my fans enjoy this special stream,” he says, spreading apart an asscheek to put his rosy, tight asshole on full display. “I got a promotion today, so I’ve been quite happy all day. And I’m so excited to share this happiness with you all.”

Katsuki wouldn’t use the word ‘happy’ to describe how he feels at this moment. No, if he were to use a synonym, it’d be ecstatic, euphoric, entranced. There’s also so much blood rushing to his cock from his sudden arousal that his head feels like it’s full of pillow fuzz, and it takes everything in him to keep his head up and his hand on his cock. He lets out a heavy breath as Pro D lubes up two fingers and traces the rim of his hole before plunging them in.

“Hah…nnn…it’s so tight,” Pro D whines as he pumps his fingers, arching his back to show off his salacious actions. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle this cock…it’s so big…”

Fuck, Katsuki thinks as he grips his cock even tighter. He loves it when Pro D does this—saying things that Katsuki can easily work into fantasies about Izuku. Yes, Izuku, you can’t handle my cock. I’ll make you handle it.

“I haven’t even begun masturbating yet, and I bet a couple of you have already finished,” Pro D quips, which is another line to add to Katsuki’s spank bank.

As much as he’s a sadist, he also enjoys when Izuku degrades him. Anytime Izuku confronted Katsuki about his behavior, or when they fought (physically and verbally), or he made some sarcastic comment about him that had the whole group laughing, Katsuki couldn’t hide the disdain on his face. Not disdain toward Izuku, no—disdain toward the fact that he’d have to stomp off to the bathroom to jerk off since even a small comeback had him stretching his trousers.

“Deku…” His voice rumbles in his throat as he reaches out to touch the screen, his fingers pressing against Pro D’s slicked-up, stretched asshole flaunted on the computer. He holds back from masturbating; he just grips his cock tightly and lets out small puffs of air to attempt to regulate his breathing.

“I think that’s enough,” Pro D says as he draws his fingers out. He then walks over to the machine and bends over in front of it, slowly easing himself backward until the tip of the cock is pressed against his hole. He has two cameras set up this time: one in front view of Pro D, and the other from the ceiling to get the full view of the cock destroying his pert little ass.

He glances at the camera and twirls a finger around one of his floppy ears, and that small action allows Katsuki to superimpose an image of Izuku’s face onto Pro D’s in his mind. Pro D manages to be so cute even while being a whore, something Katsuki can imagine Izuku doing if he had become an adult streamer instead of a teacher. He’s always wondered how Izuku is in bed. Pro D offers an alternative insight.

“Let’s get started, hm?”

The words awaken Katsuki from his whore Izuku daydream to Pro D slowly easing himself onto the dildo, letting out sweet sounds of struggle as the red thing lodges itself in his ass. His rim is red and stretched around its girth, and Katsuki can see his thighs trembling from effort. God, he wants to jerk off so badly, but Pro D hasn’t even begun. He wonders if this is all a ploy to make people realize they’re so desperate for Pro D that they can come untouched just by looking at him.

“O…kay…ngh,” Pro D mumbles, his gloved hand cradling his stomach. “It’s all in. T-time to start the machine…”

He grabs a remote and inhales sharply before pressing the power button. He then grips his cock and strokes himself in the few seconds it takes for the machine to connect with the stream. However, when it does, Pro D has to grasp the table holding the remote and all of his usual sex toys for balance as the dildo thrusts into him unforgivingly, violently.

“A-AH! Guys, y-you’re…hah—! So fast…” As much as the machine catches him off guard, Pro D doesn’t stop his stroking. His knees buckle several times and the only thing that keeps him from collapsing is the table next to him. “You’re so deep…it’s like you’re in my guts—ugh!”

Katsuki tries to keep time with Pro D’s stroking pace, but the dirty talk is causing his hand to lose time. Pro D manages to speak in the same cadence and whining tone that Izuku does despite the voice changer, making it all that much easier to imagine Izuku saying such lewd things.

Wet sounds from the precome slicking Katsuki’s dick only add to the lust accumulating in his small office. His hot breaths fog up the monitor, his eyelids heavy as he stares at Pro D’s sweet cock, how he pumps it with efficiency and care.

“F…fuck,” Katsuki breathes, his hips shifting as a feeble attempt to distract from the pleasure building in his stomach.

He’s already close, but how could he not be? Watching Pro D getting savagely fucked by a machine controlled by him, gripping the table and crying out—in pain, pleasure, whatever—as his head hangs limply between his shoulders is enough to get him to come on the spot. Pro D is enjoying it—whether it’s the actual fucking or the attention, Katsuki doesn’t care—as evidenced by his rock-hard cock that’s leaking precome onto the floor beneath him.

“Oh my! dynamight_murder69…t-thank you for the—unicorn! Ngh!”

Katsuki had managed enough motor skills to press the highest-value gift of all, making a unicorn flash up on everybody’s screens, including Pro D’s, and shake a bit before disappearing. It costs 75,000 yen, but with all the blood from his brain drained to his dick and his delusions of Izuku onscreen instead of Pro D, 75,000 yen seemed like a good price for the absolute perfection of a show he’s receiving. So he clicked and returned to timing his strokes with Pro D’s. He’ll weep over his poor financial decisions during his post-orgasm clarity.

“You guys really…nn…want to f-fuck me, huh?” asks Pro D, and Katsuki nods.

“Yes, yes…fuck, yeah,” responds Katsuki.

He’s so close. But it seems like Pro D gets closer the more presents are sent his way. His knees buckle for a moment upon receiving Katsuki’s unicorn, and his hand seems to speed up every time a present flashes across his screen.

“Dynamight_murder! Another…hah…unicorn? That’s…t-that’s 150,000 yen!” Pro D cries, his strokes growing wilder with each subsequent gift thrown his way. “T-thank you…fuck!…s-so much…mm—!”

It seemed impossible for the machine to speed up even more, but that adorable display clearly made everybody’s hearts soften and cock harden even more. Katsuki’s included in that, his cock throbbing in his grip as he abandons all of Pro D’s rules and jerks off to his own rhythm. As long as he doesn’t finish before Pro D, he counts himself as a winner. Besides, at this point, he’s jerking off much more rapidly compared to Pro D, who has to stop and recuperate from the sudden change in the machine’s speed.

“Guys…I’m g-getting close,” gasps Pro D, whose hand has since returned to his cock and is pumping steadily away. His hips swirl backward onto the dildo, meeting it with each thrust and leaving his hole stretched around it that much more used and abused. He trails a hand behind him to pull his asscheek away to reveal more of it for the camera, and Katsuki groans. The fact that Pro D knows what exactly to show the cameras and when makes him that much more of a professional in Katsuki’s eyes, a professional he wishes Izuku was.

“How many of you f-finished before…m-me? If you did, send me a…heart,” Pro D says, and hearts flood the stream and make the machine whine with how fast it’s going to keep up with the sudden influx of attention. “Wow! You guys finish early, huh…mm—! Am I just that s-sexy?”

Comments bombard the corner of the screen, but Katsuki forgets there even are comments with how seldom his eyes leave Pro D and his body.

“Fucking sexy…you’re so fucking sexy, Izuku,” Katsuki murmurs, his stroking pace now borderline punishing. If he finishes with Pro D, will that still count?

“I think I’m…I’m c-coming—! Coming, ngh—!”

Without much more warning, semen shoots out of Pro D’s cock and paints the floor white. His hips stutter, his hand gripping his red cock and pressing down on the head to squeeze out as much as possible. However, Pro D didn’t seem to account for the fact that a come shot would make the audience go wild, and he cries out when the machine continues to fuck him deep and fast.

“W-wait, wait! Guys, I can’t—”

He can’t get out another word before he slips off the dildo and collapses to the floor in his own come, his body wracked with pleasure and quivering from oversensitivity. He moans into the hardwood, curling into a ball, his position only broken by aggressive spasms as another wave of painful pleasure crashes over him.

The display is more than enough to have Katsuki doubled over himself, stroking his cock until the pleasure building in his groin shoots out and covers his desk in semen. He had been so lost in bliss that he had forgotten all sense of neatness. In the midst of his euphoria, however, he finds the sight of the evidence of his pleasure splattered all over his monitor and desk enough to shoot another load of semen out. Pro D switches the camera to a close-up of his masked face, the semen on the screen making it seem as if it’s coating his mask, and the image is enough to have Katsuki gripping the edge of the desk and groaning.

“A-ah…ugh, fuck,” he whispers to himself, squeezing his eyes closed to properly process his pleasure.

His orgasm seems a hundred times more powerful than anything he’s ever experienced, and it was just by his hand. He hadn’t added anything else, except for Pro D’s wonderful performance. The effect of Pro D on him is exceptional, and it’s only made more potent when Katsuki pictures Izuku’s face over his. It’s what sent him over the edge: imagining Izuku convulsing on the floor from overwhelming pleasure, a pleasure only Katsuki can provide him.

In the time Katsuki takes to recover from his mind-altering orgasm, Pro D has managed to pull himself off the ground and in front of the camera, tilting his head in that endearing manner that has Katsuki growing hard again.

“Thanks for an amazing stream tonight, guys,” he says with a small wave. He motions to the semen on the floor and chuckles. “As you see, it was really fun for me. I hope it was fun for you, too.”

He turns off the machine and pats it genially. “You guys destroyed me with this tonight. So, who managed to hold off until after I came?”

Katsuki scrambles to the comments, but he realizes his comment will be a blip in an avalanche of comments. There’s only one thing he can think of to do.

“Dynamight_murder! Another unicorn? You must be a really rich guy.” Pro D giggles and rests a finger where his mouth would be underneath the mask.

All Katsuki can think of is Izuku biting his finger sensually, his eyelids heavy and his pupils dilated with lust.

“Alright, dynamight_murder. You’ll be the first to choose what I do during the next stream. I’ll have all my sex toys, objects, and outfits laid out for you for you to pick. I’m looking forward to it.”

He then blows a kiss with his glove sticky with semen and makes a peace sign before signing off.

Katsuki sits back against his chair, absolutely stunned. He looks at his hand webbed with semen in awe of the amount of fluids his body can produce when yearning for somebody else completely unattainable.

Izuku has never shown any interest in him and has Ochaco flitting around him like a buzzing bee. Even Katsuki can admit that Ochaco is cute, and Izuku would be an idiot to not get with her. But it’s been five years since they graduated and entered their respective careers, and Izuku has shown no romantic interest in anybody. Katsuki finds himself jealous of his students sometimes since they take precedence over their rare meet-ups.

“Sorry, Kacchan, a student just asked to meet over Zoom to answer some homework questions,” he’d say as he popped in his earphones. He’d smile apologetically, his eyebrows down turning in desired sympathy. “Give me like, twenty minutes.”

Katsuki wanted to strangle the student every time. Now, he’s accepted that Izuku will never be his, that he’ll always belong to somebody else, whether romantically or otherwise. There had been a few times when he thought Izuku wanted him. They’d had a few drunk nights where they’d gotten touchy, grabbing onto each other as they laughed at some long-forgotten joke and were more laughing at the situation they had gotten themselves than anything else. But then Izuku would pass out, and Katsuki would want to kiss him so bad that he’d have to bite his bottom lip until it bled.

Katsuki searched for an outlet that would allow him to get his sexual frustrations out. It would never make up for Izuku, but once he found Pro D, he realized it was a pretty damn good replacement.

So, Katsuki sits in his chair, staring blearily at the ‘this stream has ended’ announcement flashed across the screen. He blinks once, twice, before closing out of the browser and shutting down his monitor. He cleans up the desk and his hands, planning on fully disinfecting everything tomorrow. He pulls up his pants and goes to bed, already thinking of what he wants Pro D to do next week.

“Hey, Kacchan!”

Katsuki turns and sees Izuku jogging toward him with a wide smile across his lips. What he won't give to see that grin every day when coming home instead of arriving at an empty, cold apartment. He hopes Izuku never stops calling him that nickname he thought was oh so stupid all those tortuous years ago.

“Hey, nerd,” he replies with a soft smile, bringing Izuku in for a gentle noogie.

“Kacchan! I just did my hair,” whines Izuku, escaping from Katsuki’s hold and quickly fixing his hair. “You want me to show up all messed up to my own party?”

Katsuki peers over his shoulder at the izakaya behind them, surrounded by paparazzi trying to get shots of all the famous Pro Heroes attending the former One for All’s birthday party.

“It wouldn’t hurt for Mr. Perfect to be humbled in the pap mags,” Katsuki says while rolling his eyes.

Izuku crosses his arms and shakes his head. “You never change, do you, Kacchan?” He smiles again as his eyes fall on Katsuki's arm, which is hidden behind him. “What did you get me? Toilet paper, maybe?”

“No,” Katsuki shoots back defensively. He exhales to calm himself before revealing a trophy, the gold gleaming in the moonlight. “Here. Hope you like it, or whatever.”

Izuku’s eyes widen in surprise, and they only widen more when he takes it into his hands and looks at the message carved into the base. “Number One…Teacher.”

The statue is a man in a suit and glasses, balancing a stack of books on his head. It’s real gold, and Izuku can tell by looking at it. The inscription is also in gold, serif lettering, and the base is real cedar wood. It’s a paragon of craftsmanship, and it must’ve cost Katsuki a pretty penny to have this handmade.

“It’s corny, but I thought you’d like it,” Katsuki says as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “You know, with you being in love with your students and all.”

But Izuku ignores the riposte and instead goes straight for a hug, flinging his arms around his friend’s neck and pulling him in close. He smiles when Katsuki overcomes his shock and gently wraps his arms around Izuku’s waist, his hands barely touching his body. It’s funny that, when it comes down to it, for somebody so aggressive and disagreeable, Katsuki is so incredibly shy that he can’t even touch his friend while hugging him.

“Thank you, Katsuki,” Izuku whispers into his ear.

Katsuki can’t hide the shudder that wracks his spine, and he wonders if Izuku can feel it. He also can’t hide the quivering breath that escapes his lips upon hearing his name in Izuku’s beautiful voice, so hot and close in his ear.

“Get off me,” is all he can offer, but his bark has no bite, and Izuku knows that. He only hugs Katsuki tighter before finally letting go and turning toward the izakaya.

“Come on, Kacchan,” he says, his grin no longer wide. It’s melted into a tender smile, his eyes glowing emerald in the moonlight. “Let’s go drink so much sake we pass out.”

Katsuki swallows thickly before nodding. He smirks and follows his friend. “Sure, Izuku.”

By the next stream, Katsuki knows exactly what he wants to see from Pro D. He’s taken notes and set them out by the computer. Once the clock strikes ten, Katsuki is on the stream.

He can barely prepare himself for Pro D before the stream starts up and Pro D is already naked in front of the camera, standing in front of the table with all the sex toys, outfits, and miscellaneous sex objects he has in his possession. It seems like he spots Katsuki’s name in the chat because he immediately reanimates and takes a step closer to the camera, giving a small wave.

“Hi, all! Especially you, dynamight_murder.”

Katsuki exhales sharply upon hearing his name, the individual attention out of thousands already leaving him light-headed and painfully hard.

“You’re my special guest this evening. So, what will you do to me tonight, mister?” Pro D walks back over to the table and spreads his arms across the length of it, crossing his legs at the ankle to solidify his cool, calm demeanor. He raises a finger to his chin and tilts his head cutely. “Don’t be too hard on me, ‘kay?”

Fuck, I’m already close, Katsuki laments, and he hasn’t even touched himself yet.

However, he’s halfway through typing his answer when he notices something gleaming in the background.

“Dynamight_murder?”

This time, Katsuki doesn’t even hear his name. Instead, he’s zeroed in on the statue off to the side of the room, on a wardrobe out of focus. It’s blurry, but it’s unmistakably a golden statue, a statue that has never been there before this stream. Before he gave a golden statue to Izuku the week before. When he squints, he can even make out the stack of books on the statue’s head.

“Hey, if you don’t say anything, I’ll have to give this to the next guy.”

That awakens Katsuki from his grave realization, and without thinking too much about it, types out his long-yearned-after fantasy of Izuku.

“Urethral insertion, double penetration with one of my alien dildos, and a nurse costume?” Pro D—Izuku—chuckles and crosses his arms. “Light work. I expected a little more from you, dynamight_murder.”

His eyes light up when another message enters the chat.

“Call me…Katsuki.”

He pauses and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes scan the comment section, which breaks him out of his own realization. Katsuki can’t hide the groan that leaves his lips at hearing his name finally uttered, not just by Izuku, but by Izuku naked on camera, with such a lustful tone that it leaves his briefs wet with precome.

katsuki—like katsuki bakugo? how obsessed is this guy with being great explosion murder god dynamight?

what a weirdo…using bakugo’s name to push his own fetish of bkdk happening

“Hey, guys,” Pro D utters, his voice crack audible even under the voice modulator. “This is a safe space to do whatever you want with me. I bet you all want to do worse things than making me call you a name. And I’ll do them for the right price. Dynamight_murder paid it.”

He lifts his head to look directly at the camera, and Katsuki can see it bright as day, even with the mask. Izuku—not Pro D, Izuku—is smiling. He can sense it, hear it in the lilt of his voice. Not even a voice changer can hide the pure excitement in his voice.

“So, Katsuki.”

Katsuki is rapt. He doesn’t move a muscle.

“Don’t look away for a second.”

Katsuki nods, his hands already on his weeping cock.

“Yes, Izuku.”

[happylittledrabbles]

Please, Daddy

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Nanami Kento

Character Count: ~8,500K

Rating: Explicit, 18+

AO3

When Satoru walks in on his students gossiping about their teachers, he doesn't punish them. In fact, he listens, specifically what they think Nanami Kento's secret kinks are. Because, well, he's hopelessly in love with Nanami and is no closer to winning him over than when he began fruitlessly seducing him all those years ago. When they posit that Nanami has a daddy kink, Satoru decides to try one last time to seduce him.

Spoiler: it works.

—

It was a lazy spring afternoon, one that mimicked the dead of summer with its humidity and heat. All the windows were open, but that did nothing to abate the torturous conditions inside the classroom. The curtains blowing offered a promise of some respite, but the wind was just as hot and provided no relief from the blazing temperatures.

Nobara held a small fan to her face while Megumi patted his forehead with a handkerchief, neither of which helped their fatigue.

“This sucks!” Yuji groaned, kicking his feet onto the desk and leaning his chair back.

“You’re going to fall over,” Megumi said, to which Yuji rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, if I was an idiot, maybe,” he retorted. Nobara stuck out her foot and tapped the leg of the chair, giving it that last push it needed to send Yuji toppling backwards onto the floor.

“Oops,” was all Nobara had to say as she watched her friend groan and wriggle around on the floor in pain.

“Kugisaki, you asshole!” he shouted. “As if this day couldn’t get any worse.”

Nobara sighed and got out of her seat, walking over to Yuji and kneeling. She placed a finger on her chin in thought before brightening, her grin catching Yuji off guard. “I know what’ll make you feel better. Let’s gossip about our teachers.”

The three of them huddled in a circle on the floor with Nobara going first.

“Kusakabe,” she offered, with the boys looking up to the ceiling in thought.

“I think he has boner problems,” Yuji said, making Nobara and Megumi wince in disgust. But the more they thought about it, the more it made sense.

“Do you think he takes pills for it?” Megumi asked, but Nobara shook her head.

“I think he’s too ashamed. And then he cries whenever he does it because he can’t get it up, and the woman has to comfort him,” she said, although she quickly regretted it as they all cringed at the image.

“Oh, man, let’s move on,” Megumi said, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look at him the same anymore.”

“Let’s do Gojo,” Nobara replied excitedly, to which Megumi swiftly shook his head.

“That’s our main teacher! We have to look at him every day—we can’t do him,” Megumi objected, although it was only half the truth. He already saw Satoru as a father figure, as much as he hated admitting that to himself. He didn’t want to discuss his sex life.

“I think Gojo does hard drugs,” Yuji said, ignoring Megumi’s outburst. “Like, cocaine and stuff. It gets him really wired to do it.”

“Oh, gross,” Megumi whined as he buried his face in his hands.

“What’s gross?”

Speak of the devil. The trio’s heads snapped up as the very man they were gossiping about strode into the classroom, a stack of papers and folders in one hand and a mug that read ‘#1 Teacher’ in the other. He set down his things and placed his hands on his hips as he stared at his students, who were gawking at him as if a curse was eating his face off.

“Hello? Earth to idiots?” he said, snapping in the air to get their attention.

Nobara, ever the quick-witted girl, looked between Megumi and Yuji’s shocked faces and smirked to herself. She had thought of an excuse the second she heard her teacher’s voice, but she liked the idea of messing with all of them better. She cleared her throat and said, “We were gossiping about our teachers.”

“Kugisaki!” Megumi and Yuji’s voices overlapped as they exclaimed in horror, turning their irritation onto her.

However, Satoru wasn’t surprised in the slightest. In fact, he rushed over to the trio and grabbed a chair, turning it backward to sit on it and place his arms on the back of the chair, leaning forward in intrigue. “Oh? One of my favorite conversation topics. Go ahead, shoot. What’d you guys say about me?”

Megumi and Yuji’s faces then morphed into genuine interest as to what Nobara had planned. How was she going to get out of the hole she dug herself?

By answering honestly, of course.

“We said you do hard drugs to do it,” she said matter-of-factly. “Like coke. That really gets you going.”

Satoru stared for a moment, shell-shocked, before dissolving into laughter. He slapped his thigh and hung his head over the chair, the trio laughing along nervously at his strange reaction. Once he finally got ahold of himself, Satoru looked back up and inhaled sharply. “Good guess. What about Nanami?”

“Confirm nor deny. Smart,” Nobara remarked, high-giving her teacher. The boys were less than enthused. However, once she processed Nanami’s name, she barked out a laugh. “Nanami Kento? That guy’s a virgin, one hundred percent.”

“Kugisaki, don’t be mean,” Megumi chastised, but he was the sole objection on that one. Yuji and Nobara fell into bouts of laughter while nodding.

“You’re so right,” Yuji said. “How old is he, forty? No way some straight like him gets anything. Can you imagine him flirting?”

“He’s twenty-seven, and no,” Megumi said with a sigh. He knew he was giving in, but it was true: Nanami didn’t seem to have one romantic bone in his body. He couldn’t even picture him with a woman on his arm—the sight would probably send the three of them into anaphylactic shock.

He watched Nobara and Yuji laughing together before he turned his attention to Satoru, who was staring down at them with an unreadable expression. “You’re awfully quiet, Gojo-sensei. Wouldn’t you know better than all of us about him?”

Satoru choked on his spit at that, coughing into his fist as a prickly blush climbed up his neck and blotched his cheeks. “W-what? Why would you think that? I don’t know Nanami at all like that.”

“You’re both teachers,” Yuji pointed out with a shrug. “Wouldn’t you guys talk in the teacher’s lounge or something?”

Oh, Satoru thought with a sigh of relief. They meant it like that. He visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping as he played with the bottom of his blindfold. “He’s never mentioned a girlfriend. Or any romantic interest, for that matter. No matter how much I’ve tried seducing him!”

Satoru whined to punctuate the fact that it was a joke to his students, who laughed and pulled disgusted faces at the thought of their beloved teachers kissing. However, Satoru wasn’t telling a joke. He had genuinely tried seducing Nanami on multiple occasions, having had a crush on him since Nanami called him up about becoming a jujutsu sorcerer again and he got to see just how much the blond had grown since they were in school together. The scrawny teen with a terrible haircut he had once known had grown into a muscled, attractive, and stoic man who made people think sinful thoughts just by looking at him.

Satoru could barely believe his eyes, although his pounding heart gave away just what he suspected he was feeling: arousal. He hadn’t felt that sensation in a long time, despite what his students—or anybody, really—thought. Nanami had brought it out of him, and the more he rejected Satoru and treated him terribly, the more Satoru wanted him. Frankly, it turned him on, just how respectable and stable Nanami was. A salaryman who took care of himself, who read and exercised and enjoyed the small things in life. Additionally, the sincere concern he had for his students—for any child—made Satoru want to raise a family with him, a thought he’d never had with anybody, ever.

Nanami was perfect partner material on top of being incredibly sexy. He was perfect. Except for the fact that he hated Satoru’s guts.

“Okay, okay, so Nanami,” Nobara said, pursing her lips together pensively. “I think…he definitely has a hidden kink even though he’s a virgin.”

“I’m going to throw something out there,” Yuji said conspiratorially. “I think he has a daddy kink.”

Satoru’s previous melancholic expression morphed into intense curiosity. He needed all the help he could get, as evidenced by the fact that he was secretly soliciting his students’ help with hopefully romancing Nanami successfully. “You think so? Like, calling people daddy? Or being called that?”

“Being called,” Yuji replied. “No way that guy gives into anybody. He’s as tightly wound as a stretched rubber band. He hates his job, hates being a jujutsu sorcerer, and is a virgin on top of all of that. He’s going to snap at any time.”

The more Yuji spoke, the more Satoru could understand why Nanami was the way that he was. He’d dealt with more trauma than the general population combined, had to submit to his dick boss every day, then deal with more shit in the way of curses. Plus, blue balls would drive any man crazy.

If he needed to snap, so be it—so long as it was with Satoru in the room. And perhaps being called ‘daddy’ would be the driving factor. At that point, Satoru had tried everything. What was one more shot in the dark?

“He’s definitely DILF material,” Nobara said, biting her bottom lip.

Megumi shoved her shoulder so hard that she fell onto the floor in a laughing mess. “You can’t say that about a teacher! You guys are hopeless.”

“DILF?” Satoru asked, tilting his head. “Is this another young person slang word I’m not privy to? You guys make me feel older every day.”

“No way you haven’t heard of DILF,” Yuji said, dumbfounded. “I mean, MILF? It’s just the dad version. Dad I’d like to…you know.”

That woke Satoru up to the fact that he was having this type of conversation with his students, his children. He stood up and swiftly shoved the chair back in its place before taking his place at the front of the classroom.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he said, sorting through his materials to ignore the horrid blush flaming his cheeks. “Let’s begin class.”

When the trio left the classroom after their lesson, Satoru thought back to Yuji’s explanation and chuckled. He had found a way to seduce Nanami. It was far-fetched, but he had exhausted everything else. And he was going to use it.

The only way to get Nanami to hang out with him was to show up wherever he was unexpectedly and follow him around until he relented. Nanami wasn’t exactly rude. He’d speak to Satoru, albeit sparingly. But Satoru couldn’t shake the fact that they weren’t spending time together—he was just following Nanami while he was doing chores.

Not this time. He was going to force Nanami to spend time with him. Which led him to standing on Nanami’s doorstep with a six-pack of beer in one hand and a movie CD in the other.

When Nanami opened the door, he barely got out a ‘hello?’ before his face dropped upon seeing Satoru.

“Don’t look so excited to see me, old pal,” Satoru said, but he couldn’t hide the sharp pain in his chest on his face. Luckily, he had his black blindfold on, which at least hid half his facial expressions. “Surprise! We haven’t hung out in so long, I decided I’d drop by for a movie night.”

“We’ve never hung out,” Nanami said tiredly. Had he been sleeping? He was in sweatpants and a black T-shirt, a casual look Satoru had never seen him in before. It did nothing to hide the lust building in his stomach just at the sight of Nanami. He thought he was attracted to Nanami in suits, but perhaps a simple pair of sweatpants was all he needed to fold over. It did a great job at highlighting Nanami’s crotch, anyhow.

“Well, let’s start now!” Satoru said, pushing past Nanami into his apartment since he knew Nanami would never invite him in. He set the beer on the coffee table in front of the couch before settling on the floor to pop the CD into the player. “I rented us Inception. I heard it’s really good.”

“It is,” Nanami said, shutting the door behind him. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he stared down at Satoru, not moving from the front door. “I’ve watched it. It’s also almost three hours long.”

“Yay, three hours we get to spend together!” Satoru said with a clap. “Come on, sit down, let’s drink.”

“You don’t drink,” Nanami remarked. He glanced up at the ceiling before closing his eyes with a sigh. After running a hand down his face, he relented and walked over, sitting on the floor across the table from Satoru.

“So I don’t,” Satoru said and tried not to show the excitement on his face. Nanami remembered something about him. He knew something about Satoru, something that would only happen if he paid attention to Satoru. “But it’s no matter! I’ll just watch you drink. You can put the rest in your fridge. Call it a housewarming present.”

Nanami took a beer out of the plastic and stared at it, pushing his hair out of his eyes. It was down and slightly wet at the ends from a shower, and Satoru had to look at the floor to prevent himself from blushing anymore at the sight of Nanami with his hair down. He looked so vulnerable, so in his element.

As Nanami regarded the beer can, Satoru took the opportunity to glance around the apartment. He’d never been inside Nanami’s apartment, and it was exactly as he thought it’d be. Everything was tidy and had its place. The apartment itself was humbly small, with what seemed like only one bedroom hidden beyond a slightly ajar door down a hallway. He had a modestly-sized television set on a TV stand full of books and magazines. His kitchen was spotless, and his small dining table had a vase with a blooming bouquet. It was strange and inexplicable how much the normalcy turned Satoru on. After the life he’d lived, all the trauma he’d endured, all he wanted was to settle down someday.

“Thanks,” Nanami said, the sound of the beer fizzling drawing Satoru back into reality. As he watched Nanami take a sip from the can, he realized that he wanted to settle down with Nanami.

“You’re very welcome,” he said. “That’s your favorite brand, right?”

Nanami swallowed and set the can down on the table. His brows raised high on his forehead as he pursed his lips. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. Thank you, Gojo-san. I’m not sure how you remembered that.”

I remember everything about you, Satoru almost said but caught himself last minute. “I already told you to drop it with the san. Just call me Satoru.”

“Mm,” Nanami hummed indifferently. His eyes drifted to the TV screen before grabbing the remote. “Are you going to make these movie nights a habit?”

Satoru’s heart dropped at that. Did Nanami truly hate him? Had he been so caught up in seducing him that he had been imagining things, that he had ignored all of Nanami’s rebuffs?

He bit his bottom lip and shrugged defeatedly. “I mean, we don’t have to if you don’t like them.”

He watched as the lump in Nanami’s throat bobbed when he swallowed thickly. “I don’t mind them.” He scoffed. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

Okay, they were getting somewhere. Satoru didn’t especially like Nanami having to resort to hanging out with him, but they were at least hanging out. He could work with this.

He leaned forward on his hand over the table, smirking at Nanami as the blond desperately tried to avoid eye contact. “Really? You don’t have any dates or anything? A good-looking guy like you—you should be drowning in women, Nanamin.”

The corner of Nanami’s lip curled at the nickname, but he had learned better than to correct Satoru. “No, I’m not,” he replied, although he didn’t seem too broken up about it. “I’m not a playboy like you.”

Satoru took genuine offense to that, slapping a hand to his chest. “Playboy? Playboy! Nanamin, you’ve burned me!”

If only Nanami knew the lengths Satoru had gone to seduce him, how many people he’d rebuffed at the slightest chance of getting in his pants. But he couldn’t say that. Not yet.

“You know, the students were gossiping about you,” Satoru said, reciting the script he’d created prior to knocking on Nanami’s door.

That took Nanami’s attention away from the movie long enough to glance at Satoru. “Oh? What did they say?” He narrowed his eyes. “And how do you know if you weren’t taking part in it?”

Nanami always knew exactly what to say to catch Satoru off guard. He did not expect that in his script. Nanami spoke so little, it seemed impossible for him to go off-script. Lo and behold.

“I just walked in on them speaking about you and demanded them to tell me what they said so I could punish them, I swear!” Satoru cried, but all Nanami did was look back at the movie. “Okay, but I’ll tell you what they said, and you can decide on their punishment after I tell you. They said that…well, that you’re a virgin. Ridiculous, right?”

Nanami’s expression went blank, and his arm shot out for the remote. He paused the movie and turned to Satoru, who stared back at him with an expectant smile. He took another swig of his beer and sighed. “They’ll have to spend thirty extra minutes every day after class cleaning the school for that.”

Satoru’s smile dropped. “But…but, they’re wrong, right?”

Nanami shot Satoru a look before it melted into something different. Something Satoru couldn’t parse. Was it guilt?

“Yes, they’re wrong,” Nanami said then chuckled humorlessly. “Although, I can understand why they think that. I don’t exactly present myself as somebody capable of…that.”

Satoru didn’t like seeing Nanami sad, but seeing him this dejected hurt even worse. This was the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. He shuffled forward so that he was next to Nanami, giving him a healthy amount of space before placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, what’d I say? An attractive guy like you—it makes sense if you get tons of action. But, I mean, I knew I’d find you at home on a Friday night instead of out anywhere.”

Nanami chuckled again, this time more good-naturedly. He ran a hand through his hair, but his hair just flopped back onto his forehead. “You know me too well, Gojo—ah, S-Satoru. That sounds so strange.”

Hearing his first name on Nanami’s tongue was euphoric. He wanted to hear it more. Hearing it made him feel as inebriated as if he had drank the entire pack of beer. It took away all of his inhibitions—the few that he had—and lubricated his lips so that anything and everything he wanted to say spilled out.

“They also said other things,” he continued, giving Nanami’s shoulder a light squeeze. “They called you a DILF.”

“A DILF? What’s that?” Nanami cringed. “Or do I even want to know?”

Satoru tapped his chin to feign thinking. “Hm, I think you do. To, you know, decide the right punishment.” He leaned forward so that he was mere centimeters away from Nanami’s ear before whispering, “Daddy I’d like to fuck.”

He leaned back quickly as if Nanami would strike him, putting his hands up as he laughed. “Crazy, right?”

However, Nanami was silent. He was a statue, his eyes solidly on the floor in front of him. He was so still that Satoru looked to the remote to see if it was a curse that had somehow paused the sorcerer.

“I mean, you’re not even that much older than them, and they’re calling you daddy,” Satoru continued amidst the awkward and unnerving silence. “Daddy. Funny, isn’t it?”

Nanami showed no emotion. Instead, he shot to his feet and turned off the TV. “I think you should go home.”

No. NO. Satoru couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A harmless joke turned into him getting kicked out of Nanami’s apartment. He never thought Nanami would actually kick him out, especially in such a callous way. He floundered for any way to fix the situation, coming up short. Nanami didn’t stick around to wait for Satoru to leave, instead walking away to his bedroom.

There was only one thing Satoru could think of that could stop Nanami in his tracks. It had been the reason why he so callously left, but desperation grew like a mold in Satoru’s chest, leaving him unable to breathe or move until he got what he wanted from Nanami: attention. Validation. Anything that wasn’t him walking to his bedroom, alone.

“Daddy, wait!”

Nanami came to a halt halfway through a step, stuttering forward like an unoiled machine. His back was wide and on full display in that T-shirt, and even underneath it, Satoru could see how tightly he was holding his shoulders, his muscles prominent. He had succeeded in getting Nanami to stop: but why? And now what?

However, that question was quickly answered when Nanami turned slightly, and those sweatpants Satoru had been so in love with gave away exactly what had Nanami rushing away so rapidly. His hand was covering most of it, but the grayness put on full display the prominent shadow of Nanami’s erection. Satoru found himself gawking at it for much too long, and when Nanami cleared his throat, his eyes flickered up to the blond’s face emblazoned with a blush whose color rivaled a tomato.

Oh. So it was true. Nanami did have a daddy kink.

The realization, when it finally hit, felt like a semi-truck had run over him. He had already been recovering from Nanami clarifying that he wasn’t a virgin (who had he had sex with? Who?), but the reveal that a kink that was largely said as a joke was true…it was enough to leave Satoru breathless.

“I really think you should leave,” Nanami mumbled, turning his back to Satoru again as he began to walk toward his room. “I’ve embarrassed myself enough.”

Nanami embarrassing himself was unthinkable. The display had been the opposite of embarrassing: it was incredibly arousing. Then again, everything about Nanami was arousing to Satoru. It was time for Satoru to embarrass himself.

He stood up, nearly passing out from the lack of oxygen in his brain. He hadn’t been breathing properly, and all of the blood in his body had been diverted to his groin. None of his bodily functions were working properly, except for his dick. And all of his best decisions were made when controlled by his dick.

“You haven’t embarrassed yourself, Nanamin,” he said, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I…I’ve been looking for a way to get you like this for so long. To…be excited. So, it’s okay, daddy.”

He leveled his gaze at Nanami before sliding off his blindfold so that he could see just how serious he was about the situation. His eyelids were heavy with lust as he slowly approached Nanami, his footsteps the only sound in the apartment for several moments. He stopped only a meter away from the sorcerer, sweeping a hand through his hair. “You’ve done the opposite of embarrassing yourself.”

Nanami’s eyes dropped from Satoru’s face down to the sliver of skin revealed as he lifted his arm to his hair. He exhaled shakily before glancing off to the side as any sort of eye contact with Satoru proved too difficult. “You’ve been looking for a way to get me aroused?” Nanami shook his head and scoffed. “I thought you were joking this whole time.”

“What?” Satoru couldn’t believe his ears. He was so shocked that he dropped the sex kitten act, outraged at Nanami’s thick-headedness. “Nanami, how many times did I explicitly ask you on a date? Told you I wanted to spend time with you, kiss you even? What is wrong with you?”

Nanami’s eyes were owlish at Satoru’s exclamations, his mouth agape but with nothing coming out of it. He was rendered silent, watching as Satoru caught his breath from his impromptu bout of shouting. Finally, he swallowed and shook his head. “I thought you were kidding all these years…that you didn’t actually like me…that’s why I never reciprocated. Because if I did, you’d be disgusted that I took you seriously.”

“Like you? Nanami, I’m in love with you.”

The admission caught both Satoru and Nanami off guard. Satoru clapped a hand over his mouth, and Nanami dropped the hand covering his erection. He covered his mouth so that both men were mirroring each other in their surprise. The only thing that got either man to move was when Nanami saw Satoru’s eyes drop to his crotch, which was still tented in his sweatpants and fully visible.

“In love, you say?” Nanami said, his voice dropping several octaves. “What does Satoru in love look like?”

Nanami may as well have been purring in Satoru’s ear with how gravelly his voice had grown. Satoru’s eyes grew dazed with desire, unable to focus on anything except the blond man right in front of him. This was happening. Nanami had reciprocated his feelings, feelings he’d supposedly had for years. That was the downside to being a responsible, stable man: Nanami would never put a relationship on the line because he had romantic feelings, unlike Satoru. If he had, they would’ve been together much earlier. So, they simply had to make up for lost time.

“It looks like this.”

Satoru was on Nanami in a flash, Nanami barely able to blink before he felt a pair of soft, warm lips on his. His hands raised in the air in surprise, but when he sensed Satoru’s arms draping over his shoulders, his fingertips slightly scraping his back, he brought his hands down and ghosted them over Satoru’s hips.

“You can touch me, Nanamin,” Satoru mumbled against his lips before diving back into their ever-deepening kiss.

Nanami found himself clutching Satoru’s hips out of surprise when he felt Satoru’s tongue licking his bottom lip for unspoken permission to enter. Once he gained his bearings, he granted permission by invading Satoru’s mouth first, earning a delicious gasp and moan from him. He found his confidence and massaged his thumbs into Satoru’s hips bones, bringing him closer until their chests were pressed against each other.

“I can feel you,” Satoru said, grinding his crotch against Nanami’s and licking his lips at the deep groan that vibrated in the blond’s throat. He could clearly feel the outline of Nanami’s erection against his thigh, and it only made him that much more dizzyingly aroused. There was nothing that could get him off his high now, except for an earth-shatteringly good orgasm.

He lowered his hand to Nanami’s erection, brushing his knuckles over it before grasping it gently with his full palm.

“A-ah, Gojo-san…” he sighed, his fingertips sinking into the tenderness of Satoru’s hips. “That feels—”

“Good?” Satoru whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of Nanami’s lips. “I want you to feel good, daddy.”

“Jesus,” Nanami exhaled harshly, his hands raising to grip Satoru’s shoulders. “I never thought that would get me this way. But of course, it’s only with you. You always make me this way.”

Only when Nanami’s words echoed in Satoru’s mind did he understand the implications of what he had said. Always. Had he accidentally turned Nanami on some other time? Did Nanami think about him sexually? Did he dream about him? The mere thought of Nanami jerking off to him was enough to have him dropping to his knees, face-to-face with the giant tent in those sweatpants that doubled as lingerie with how sexual they were.

“Gojo-san, wait,” Nanami said, his voice laced with panic. His hands wavered in the air much as they did when Satoru first kissed him before settling one of them on Satoru’s head, his fingers tangling in his hair. “You…you don’t have to do this.”

Satoru almost laughed at the suggestion that he was doing this for Nanami. No, he had dreamed about having that giant cock in his mouth ever since the first time he had seen Nanami’s transformation. After bidding goodbye to him that day, he went home and masturbated furiously at the faraway dream that he be able to fuck Nanami—or rather, get Nanami to fuck him so beautifully that he’d never be able to be satisfied without him. Who could have predicted that that faraway dream would be right in front of him one day?

“I want to,” Satoru said. He’d never been more truthful than in that moment.

He traced the top of the sweatpants’ waistband, glancing up at Nanami for permission. When all Nanami could do was grip Satoru’s hair tighter and stare at him expectantly, Satoru didn’t waste any more time. He took both hands and carefully pulled down the sweatpants, but they hitched on Nanami’s erection with how pronounced it was. The visual left Satoru salivating in anticipation, and when he finally was able to pull the sweatpants over his erection, his breath hitched in his throat when he saw that Nanami didn’t have any underwear on.

“Do you always go commando?” Satoru asked, causing Nanami to cover his face with the hand that wasn’t buried in Satoru’s hair. “Or were you expecting me?”

“When I sleep, yes,” Nanami replied, his voice muffled by his hand. Satoru thought it endearing that he could see the blush trickling down his neck to his shoulders, even blotching the top of his chest peeking out from his shirt. Everything about Nanami was delicious to look at.

“Easier for me,” Satoru said before turning his attention to the very thing he’d been daydreaming about for years.

He gripped the base of it with a hand, but it was so large that it made it look no smaller. It left Satoru somewhat intimidated—if he could barely fit it in his mouth, how would it go inside him? Regardless, it’d have to work. He wasn’t going to be leaving himself or Nanami with blue balls. He would be draining them, hopefully multiple times.

Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, he gave the head an experimental lick. Nanami groaned at that simple touch, and Satoru peered up at him as he got used to the salty taste of precome on his tongue. His Adam’s apple was prominent in his throat as his head lolled backward, the sight pushing Satoru forward to do more. He needed Nanami lost in pleasure, getting so drunk on sex with him that he wouldn’t regret a second of it when they were done.

He stuck out his tongue and took Nanami’s cock in one fell swoop, getting about halfway down before his gag reflex kicked in. He squeezed his thumb in his fist to abate it, breathing in deeply before continuing his journey down Nanami’s cock. Just when he felt like his dinner was about to come up, his nose nuzzled into Nanami’s neatly trimmed pubic hair, and he stayed there for a moment, enjoying the fullness in his throat and the tightness of Nanami’s grip on his hair, his scalp burning, before drawing away and coughing to the side. He inhaled sharply as he jerked Nanami off with all the new saliva coating his cock, leading to lasciviously wet sounds echoing alongside Nanami’s sinful groans.

“You’re incredible,” Nanami murmured, his hand trailing to Satoru’s chin and tipping it up.

He wiped away a trail of spit before his thumb rested on Satoru’s bottom lip, swiping alongside it. His eyes twinkled with fascination when Satoru opened it obediently, those eyes of diamonds settling on him with such a heated gaze, it had his cock twitching. Experimentally, he pushed his thumb into Satoru’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue with curiosity. He sucked in a sharp breath when Satoru’s tongue enveloped his thumb and gave it a warm welcome, bringing his lips around it and sucking on it dutifully.

“Did you learn this somewhere?” Nanami asked, although he quickly found that he didn’t want to know the answer.

“No,” Satoru replied, leaving Nanami at ease. “You made me this way, daddy.”

“Oh, you little minx,” Nanami said, but he couldn’t hide the groan or weakness in his knees when Satoru returned to giving his cock the royal treatment.

Satoru polished the cock as if it were his last meal, making sure no part was left unattended. A string of saliva hung from his chin as he bobbed his head back and forth, stroking the parts he couldn’t reach—which with the size of Nanami’s cock, were significant. He groaned with each tug Nanami gave his hair, his voice vibrating around the cock, which then had Nanami groaning and tugging more in response. It was a brutal pleasure loop that had Nanami slightly bucking his hips forward into the warm hole surrounding his cock, much to Satoru’s delight.

Satoru popped off Nanami’s cock, keeping it warm with both of his hands as he stared up at Nanami. “You can fuck my mouth, you know,” he said, opening his mouth to reveal his perfectly pink tongue and inviting throat. “Don’t be scared, daddy.”

Each time Satoru used the pet name, it sent rivulets of electricity down Nanami’s spine. He didn’t know when he first developed this kink—all he knew was that he found himself clicking on a gay porn video with a man whose body looked just like Satoru, and he called out ‘daddy’ over and over to the hunk of a man fucking him into the mattress. Ever since then, he searched high and low for videos of men crying out ‘daddy,’ men who all resembled Satoru in one way or another.

The second he heard Satoru use it for the first time only twenty minutes ago, he thought he was hallucinating. He thought that somehow the beer he drank was poisoned or laced with magic mushrooms, anything that would make more sense than Satoru Gojo calling him daddy. But then he said it again, and again. And again.

And now that Satoru was on his knees, sucking his cock so prettily with those flushed cheeks on pale skin and cherry-red lips stretched around his girth, calling him daddy in that wonderfully low, hoarse voice, it took everything inside Nanami not to pull out his phone and record. This was infinitely better than any video he had watched previously. No, there was no competition. He would never watch another porno again now that he had Satoru in the palm of his hand.

Or rather, on his cock.

“You asked for it,” he said, a deep growl in his throat as he fortified his grip on Satoru’s hair and slowly drove his hips further into his mouth. “S-shit…”

Satoru moaned around Nanami’s cock again at the sound of Nanami cursing, something he hardly did. But he was making him feel so good that he couldn’t help but let a curse slip. It was invigorating.

Nanami soon picked up speed, bucking his hips forward into Satoru’s mouth and down his throat. He felt himself falling into pleasure-fueled hysteria, no longer able to control his hips as he thrust into his mouth with full force, feeling Satoru’s nose bump against his lower stomach each time. The wet squelching sounds coming from Satoru’s throat were downright salacious, and his face and Nanami’s cock were a mess of precome and spit. Satoru raised trembling hands before setting them on Nanami’s thighs, sinking his fingertips into his quads and leaving behind crescent-shaped tattoos.

“F-fuck, I’m close, Satoru,” Nanami gasped, throwing his head back as he continued using Satoru’s head like a fleshlight. “Let me just pull ou—”

Hearing his name in Nanami’s mouth made Satoru go as crazy as Nanami did over being called daddy. He wanted nothing less than for Nanami to leave his mouth empty. His throat was rubbed raw, and he’d been fighting his gag reflex with every fiber of his being, but the pain hardly compared to the orgasmic pleasure he was feeling in his groin. So, he moved his hands to Nanami’s ass and pushed him forward so he had no choice but to stay inside Satoru’s mouth.

“S-Satoru—! If you do that, I’m going to…ngh…coming!”

Satoru’s eyes rolled up into his head as the combination of his scalp burning from Nanami’s tight hold on his hair and the semen pouring down his throat hit him. He was finally tasting Nanami’s semen, and while it certainly wasn’t creme brûlée, it was everything he had dreamed about and more. Satoru was certainly a playboy before he got attached to Nanami, but Nanami had thoroughly turned him into a downright whore.

After gulping down what felt like multiple loads of semen, Satoru slowly slid off Nanami’s cock with a pop and wiped away the mess of come and spit mixing on his chin and down his neck. His eyes were bloodshot, his eyelashes glued together from tears that streamed down his cheeks. The more Nanami gazed down at him, the more he felt himself grow harder again despite orgasming only a minute ago.

He reached down and wiped a stray tear away from Satoru’s cheek before bringing it up to his mouth and licking it.

“How many people have you practiced that with?” he asked, although he didn’t want to know the real answer. Satoru knew to play along, and he loved that about him.

“Nobody, daddy,” Satoru said, rising to his feet and pressing his chest against Nanami’s. “I promise.”

“You—fuck.” Nanami couldn’t help the breathless curse that left his lips. He gave Satoru a once-over, taking in his cotton sweater and black slacks, before grabbing him by the neck and tossing him onto the sofa. He loved looking at Satoru clothed, but at that moment, he needed him naked, and fast. “You showered before this, right?”

“Yes…” Satoru trailed off as he watched with poorly concealed excitement as Nanami undid his jeans and ripped them off in one fell swoop, leaving him in his special briefs. They bordered on women’s underwear with how small they were, but they were white cotton, still having that masculine edge while poorly hiding his weeping erection. He had nearly orgasmed just from having Nanami’s cock stretching his throat, and the evidence was plain as day looking at his briefs.

“I…I also prepped,” Satoru said sheepishly, his hand trailing between his legs. “You don’t have to do anything. You can just…fuck me.”

He pressed a finger to his hole, still clothed by his briefs. He stifled a gasp, remembering how thoroughly he fingered himself in the shower before walking over to Nanami’s. He knew Nanami had a big cock, just by the virtue of his being—but seeing it in person was something else. Insecurity sunk in as he realized he may not have been as prepped as needed.

Luckily, Nanami didn’t think Satoru prepping himself was enough. He needed to take it upon himself to pleasure his partner back, the partner he had yearned after for so long and who was now indulging in his most embarrassing kink.

“Come here,” Nanami commanded, grabbing Satoru’s hips and pulling him down. He then raised Satoru’s hips up into the air so that his ass was flush with his face. He licked a line from Satoru’s clothed cock down to his ass, pressing his tongue into the fabric until he could feel the throbbing hole lying past that thin barrier.

“A-ah, daddy, wait! That feels—hah…”

“Good?” Nanami asked, echoing Satoru’s previous purr. “So you knew that we’d be doing this tonight. Did you come over fully intending on seducing me?”

Satoru covered his face with a forearm, but his blush radiated past that. “Yeah, I did. Does that make you…disgusted?”

“Disgusted?” Nanami sounded appalled just at the thought of being disgusted that the man he’d been in love with for so long had wanted to have sex with him so badly he prepped himself before forcing himself into his coworker’s apartment, prepared to put his feelings on the table and their relationship on the line. Luckily for Nanami, Satoru was a bold motherfucker.

“It makes me want to eat you up,” he finished before pulling the briefs aside and diving into Satoru’s heat. He kissed a trail from Satoru’s balls down his perineum and finally, while listening to the symphony that was Satoru’s moans, licked the hole he’d be using and abusing very, very soon.

“Yes, yes! Fuck, that feels so…ngh, good…” Satoru couldn’t help embarrassing himself over and over, and Nanami’s neighbors would certainly hate him after that night. But he had dreamed about this moment for so long that he couldn’t help being overdramatic, couldn’t help wanting to let Nanami know how truly grateful and excited he was to have his coworker eating him out.

Nanami licked and sucked, trailing a hand to Satoru’s cock to stroke him there, too. He pressed a thumb into the head of his cock as he slid his tongue inside him, driving Satoru wild. He watched from his peripheral vision as one of Satoru’s hands gripped the bedsheets while the other came to rest on Nanami’s head, gripping his hair in much the same way as Nanami did with him.

“I’m close, daddy, I’m close,” Satoru breathed, his eyes fluttering closed to process his pleasure. However, he didn’t want the night to end like this. He opened an eye and peered around his hips in the air to see Nanami’s cock standing at attention as if he hadn’t just orgasmed a few minutes ago. After all the excitement that night, Satoru wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep going after one orgasm—and he wasn’t about to leave Nanami unattended.

“Daddy, fuck me. Fuck me, please. Now.” He wasn’t pleading anymore. He was demanding.

Nanami lifted his head from between Satoru’s legs, savoring the heat of his now-lover’s thighs pressed against his ears. He turned his head and sunk his teeth into the soft inner flesh of Satoru’s thigh, eliciting a yelp from the other as Nanami licked around the bite to seal the deal.

“Are you sure?” he murmured against Satoru’s thigh while gazing at him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back.”

Satoru reached down to his discarded pants on the floor and rifled through one of the pockets, bringing out a condom. Or, what looked like just one condom, before he let the entire roll of about six condoms drop down.

He smirked as he watched Nanami’s face fall. “I’m hoping you don’t.”

He winked as he tossed the stack to Nanami, who set down Satoru’s hips in favor of ripping a single condom packet away from the stack. An entire stack; Satoru couldn’t be serious. But as Nanami swung his gaze back over to the sorcerer, he realized that his playboy label was still true—his sights were set solely on Nanami at that moment. He was insatiable, as evidenced by him spreading his pretty, slender legs dusted with pink blush and a deep bite mark, knowing full well what that would unlock inside Nanami.

“You’re a drug, Satoru Gojo,” Nanami mumbled. “Not only prepping yourself, but keeping an entire roll of condoms…you are one conniving bastard.”

Saying his senior’s full name without honorifics and calling him names were still strange to him. But when he saw how Satoru’s cock twitched after what he said, he realized just how much of a turn-on either saying his name or being called names could be. Perfect.

“Then come have me,” Satoru said, holding out his arms as he watched Nanami tear a condom wrapper and slide it onto his cock. “However many times you like.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Nanami said, guiding his cock to Satoru’s entrance and pressing the head to the rim. Just that small touch had both men breathless, their chests rising and falling erratically to compensate.

“I love games,” was all that Satoru could reply with before Nanami pushed inside. The next thing that came out of Satoru’s mouth was a whiny moan, his trembling legs crossing behind Nanami’s back and pushing him even further inside him.

“Gojo-sa—nn…you’re tight,” Nanami breathed, his arms faltering in their hold on the couch. He nearly collapsed on top of Satoru but managed to keep himself up, one of his arms gripping one of the couch pillows while the other drifted to Satoru's thigh. He ran his fingers up and down that trembling thigh, raking his fingertips until they created light red trails on his pallid skin.

“F-feels…feels so good, daddy,” Satoru said, his voice hitching in his throat with how much every synapse in his body was on fire. It hurt, the stretching sensation from Nanami’s large cock making Satoru bite his lip. But the sheer pleasure he felt from finally being connected to Nanami, to know how his most intimate region felt inside him, to know the face Nanami made when he orgasmed…the pain was secondary. “More…harder, please.”

Nanami wanted to do more. God, how he wanted to fuck Satoru senseless until he could no longer speak and anything that came out of his mouth were whimpers. But he wanted to admire his lover first, wanted to take in his first time with the man he’d been in love with for years.

He slowly trailed his hands underneath Satoru’s sweater, pushing it up so that those pretty pink nipples he’d seen whenever they’d change in gym class or go to onsens together and had dreamed about. With a final push that fully buried his cock inside Satoru, he leaned over and took one of Satoru’s nipples between his teeth. His ears pricked at the sound of Satoru’s sweet gasp, and he dove in for more, sucking on the entire nipple while rolling the other between his fingers.

“There is…too much…” Satoru couldn’t object even if he tried. The stretching of his hole, the tickling sensation of his nipples sending ripples throughout his body, Nanami’s heat draped over him, everything amassed into a wave that crested and crashed over Satoru when Nanami bit his nipple again. “Too much! C-com—”

Satoru barely finished his sentence before semen spurted from his cock and painted his stomach white. His walls clamped down completely onto Nanami’s cock, causing him to groan and leaving any sort of movement impossible. Not that he wanted to move anyway—he wanted nothing more than to watch Satoru in the throes of an orgasm so powerful, his entire body went still before breaking out into shakes. His back arched off the bed and his legs squeezed Nanami’s waist so hard, he’d surely have bruises the next day.

Everything about Satoru was delectable. The more Nanami looked, the more he saw Satoru’s body as sweet: his nipples were strawberry-pink, his hole cherry-red, his skin milk-white.

“Are you alright, Gojo-san?” he asked sincerely once Satoru seemed to calm down, his chest rising and falling desperately to compensate for the lack of oxygen to his brain. He splayed a hand over Satoru’s chest, but the poor man was so oversensitive that he flinched away at the feather-like touch.

“F-fuck,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as he flung a forearm over his face. “That was…fuck.”

“You orgasmed after I barely put it in,” Nanami remarked, his eyes falling to Satoru’s nipples. “And after I played with you here for a few seconds.”

His hand came to rest over one of Satoru’s pecs, his fingers bumping against the abused nipple and making Satoru squirm underneath him. His eyes flickered back to Satoru’s face with an uncharacteristic smirk.

“You’re in for a long night, Satoru.”

Without another warning, he pulled out, leaving Satoru breathless, before slamming inside him, digging his fingers into Satoru’s waist.

“Fuck! Ah, daddy—it’s too much…” Satoru cried, his arms flailing in the air before coming to rest on Nanami’s shoulders.

Nanami leaned in slightly to make it easier for Satoru to hold onto him. “I thought you wanted more.”

Satoru pouted silently and turned his face away, but his pouting only lasted for a few seconds before Nanami thrust into him brutally again, enough for the wind to be knocked out of him. Except this time, Nanami gave him no breathing room, instead striking up a rhythm that had Satoru gasping for air with each thrust.

“Oh—ngh! Yes, yes, more…daddy…!” The new pet name settled over each man like an aphrodisiac, leaving Satoru hard again and Nanami throbbing inside his lover.

The combination of Satoru’s walls hugging him as if they never wanted to let go, Satoru’s moans, and Satoru’s beautiful expressions were enough to have Nanami fighting the crest of an orgasm from crashing over him. His rhythm gave him enough pleasure to leave his entire body buzzing, but it was punishing and left him racing to the finish. He was fucking into Satoru hard and fast, each thrust sending the couch a few centimeters to the right, the legs scraping against the floor. His fingers were already leaving bruises on Satoru’s svelte waist, and his thighs were littered with marks.

In the few seconds Nanami had left before he succumbed to orgasm, he leaned over and sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of Satoru’s neck, savoring the small cry Satoru let out. A shiver rattled each of Nanami’s vertebrae at the sensation of Satoru raking his fingernails down his back desperately as if he was hanging on for dear life. After releasing the bite and licking it as a silent apology, he turned his attention to Satoru’s ear, licking the shell of it and drawing out another weepy cry from his lover.

“I love you, too, Satoru,” he whispered and smiled to himself when those three words seemed to lead to Satoru’s second orgasm of the night.

But Satoru wasn’t orgasming alone. Nanami was right behind him, his hand shooting out to grip the couch’s arm for support as he slammed into Satoru once, twice, before filling the condom to the brim. He let out a shaky groan, his eyes squeezing shut tightly enough for white stars to break out in his vision.

“I feel it…I feel you,” Satoru whispered, his fingers releasing their hold on Nanami’s back and replacing it with a feather-like touch as he traced shapes into his skin. “Inside me. When was the last time you…”

Satoru swallowed thickly, thoroughly exhausted after his orgasms—the second of which ended up being completely dry. Nanami made him feel so good that his body couldn’t even keep up with semen production to go along with his orgasms. It made Satoru’s eyes drift to the roll of condoms and wonder how many more Nanami could fill up.

“A long, long time,” Nanami replied, slowly opening his eyes after what felt like eons.

His vision was bright at first before adjusting to the living room light. Once his eyes adjusted, he lowered them to his lover and was met with Satoru’s magnificent eyes staring up at him expectantly. He hadn’t masturbated in a few weeks at least, having been too busy with work, curses, and teaching to sit down and watch porn. Besides, he’d exhausted his specific niche of Satoru-lookalikes crying out daddy, and he couldn’t get off to any other video. Satoru had captured not only Nanami’s heart but also his attention. Nobody else was comparable to his Satoru Gojo.

“Well,” Satoru said, his hand moving to the back of Nanami’s neck to bring him down for a kiss. After a shallow kiss, he rested his forehead against Nanami’s and smiled. “Prepare to do it again. And again.”

Nanami’s eyes shifted to the condoms. “Now?”

Satoru licked his lips. “Now, daddy.”

Nanami asked no more questions after that.

[happylittledrabbles]

Kinktober Day 3: Crossdressing

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Suguru Geto

Character Count: 7K

Rating: Explicit, 18+

AO3

-

Satoru's been feeling neglected ever since he and Suguru had sex for the first time two months ago. However, when he sees Suguru eyeing a lingerie set in a store window, he quickly realizes what he can do to get his attention.

It involves a little lip gloss, eye shadow, and of course, the lingerie.

-

Suguru has been distracted lately. Anytime Satoru asks for attention—he’s practically begging now—Suguru gives him a weary smile and cocks his head in silent apology.

“I have to get homework done, Satoru,” he’d say. The warmth he used every time he said Satoru’s name, as if he was hugging it, as if revering it, was usually enough to get Satoru to give him some space.

Not this time. It’s been nearly two months since the last time they had sex. It had been their first time together on Satoru’s eighteenth birthday. While they had moments of fumbling around with no idea as to how to even begin to have sex, they had managed to have a fun night of tender pleasure. Now it’s nearing Suguru’s eighteenth birthday, a day marking one step closer to jujutsu sorcerer status. And Satoru is hellbent on seducing Suguru into his bed.

The question is how exactly he will do so. Since they had sex only once before, he isn’t too familiar with Suguru’s…tastes. He knows he likes his hair played with and tugged, but he can’t just go up to Suguru and pull his hair. He knows he enjoys making out with tongue, but he wants to drive his boyfriend wild. He wants to surprise him with something so sexy Suguru will have no choice but to fuck him, homework be damned.

The solution to Satoru’s problem came quicker than he expected. It’s the day before Suguru’s birthday, and Satoru is panicking. He had set up activities for Suguru’s birthday the next day—PG activities. Karaoke with Shoko and Utahime, Korean BBQ for dinner, then going home and hopefully having sex. But Suguru’s birthday falls on a Sunday, and while they don’t have class, he will no doubt find some way to excuse himself to do homework. 

Satoru needs to step up his game, and fast.

He’s walking next to Suguru, his hand shoved in Suguru’s pocket and squeezing his hand for warmth in the frigid February weather, much to Suguru’s unaffectionate chagrin.

“Satoru,” Suguru says, his tone warning. “People are staring.”

“I’ve stopped noticing people staring at me for years,” Satoru replies with an eye roll. “People just can’t get enough of me.”

“They’re staring at us,” Suguru corrects, taking their enjoined hands out of his pocket and trying to take his hand out of Satoru’s grasp. “Enough.”

With that, he breaks away. Satoru would’ve fought Suguru, given just a bit more resistance. But instead, disappointment weighs his chest down, leaving him faltering in his steps and watching as Suguru walked ahead of him. Does Suguru even…enjoy his company? Of course he does—he’s told Satoru as much over and over whenever they are alone. But Satoru wants to be loved enough to be put on display, to risk judgment because their love is too powerful.

With that realization, Satoru jogs to catch up to Suguru, having lost him in the busy Saturday Shibuya crowd. He finds him—of course he does, he’d be able to find Suguru off feeling alone—staring at a shop window. He slowly approaches, about to scare him, when he sees exactly what Suguru is staring at with cheeks dusted in pink.

It’s a lacy lingerie set for women, light blue and dainty. The bra is unlined, the only fabric being a light blue mesh that then faded into small floral patterns. The panties are much the same, providing little for the imagination. It’s a thong, the straps high up on the model’s slender frame with ridiculously wide hips. Around its thin waist is a garter of the same fabric and color as the rest of the set, the straps holding up thin blue thigh-high stockings, the top few centimeters taken up by an ornate lace detail. Everything about it is utterly and unmistakably feminine.

Satoru follows Suguru’s sightline just to ensure that his boyfriend is admiring a female mannequin…despite dating a man. However, Suguru has moved onto the next mannequin, another hourglass figure with a white button-down crop top that ends just below the mannequin’s breasts. But what Suguru’s eyes are stuck on is the tiny miniskirt that’s only a few centimeters off from showing off the mannequin’s nonexistent vagina. It’s black with a tiny shiny belt looping around it, pleated and flaring out to give the illusion of wider hips.

Satoru has had enough. “Suguru!” he calls out good-naturedly, but he can’t hide the edge in his voice.

Suguru startles as if he’s been caught with his hand down his pants and a porn magazine in the other—which, to Satoru, isn’t too far off from what he had been doing.

Satoru plasters on a grin and pretends to walk forward as if he has just found his boyfriend instead of looking over his shoulder silently to creep on him. He doesn’t want to get in a fight one day before Suguru’s birthday. He’ll save his accusatory questions for later.

“Ready to get some crepes?” he asks, motioning with his thumb behind him to the crepe shop on the corner.

The lump in Suguru’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly. He nods silently before starting toward the crepe shop, his hands deep in his pockets. As Suguru passes him, he really sees how red his boyfriend has grown at the mere sight of lingerie, something that is a more common sight than vending machines in some parts of Tokyo. However, before jealousy can grow in his chest, Satoru realizes that that could be one of Suguru’s tastes. He likes feminine things—or rather, looking at them. And Satoru, well, isn’t opposed to doing anything if it means he gets fucked at the end of the day. And celebrate with his boyfriend, of course.

Disappearing into the shop, he rushes up to the mannequins to check the price tags. Holy shit. Damn Suguru and his expensive taste. He calls a store attendant over and tries not to think too hard when he swipes his card, walking out with two paper bags. When he meets Suguru at the crepe shop, he asks where he’s been.

“Oh, I went to that shop over there,” Satoru says, pointing to the figure store next to the lingerie store. “They’re your presents, so no peeking.”

Thank goodness the lingerie shop has nondescript bags. Suguru glances down at the bags and grins, rubbing the back of his neck apologetically.

“That’s very thoughtful, Satoru, thank you.” He chuckles and shrugs. “To be honest, I was expecting you to just show up to my room naked.”

Oop. Well, that is almost Satoru’s gift to his boyfriend, plus a few articles of clothing.

“I think you’ll be surprised,” Satoru says and raises a finger to his lips. “No telling.”

By the time evening falls on Suguru’s birthday, Satoru has amassed more cross-dressing components. It isn’t enough to put on slutty clothes—Satoru had to become a woman. He saw how Suguru’s eyes traced the curve of the mannequin’s body. He’s sure Suguru is some type of bisexual—they haven’t discussed such things. What is better than a woman’s clothes on a man he loves? It’s the best of both worlds. Besides, Satoru finds that he quite likes feeling feminine when he tries on the clothes and tries his hand at makeup.

After karaoke comes Korean BBQ, but instead of bulgogi beef, all Satoru can think about the fact that the thong he’s wearing is digging into his ass. He technically didn’t have to wear it all day, already planning to change before showing up at Suguru’s door. But he likes how confident the thong makes him feel, how every interaction he has with Suguru feels elevated and sexier because of it.

The boys say quick goodbyes to Utahime and Shoko, who hand over their presents before disappearing down the street together.

“That was nice,” Suguru says earnestly, turning to his boyfriend with a small smile. “Thank you for planning all this, Satoru. You didn’t have to. I didn’t even think you knew how to plan anything.”

“Hey!” Satoru cries, smacking Suguru’s shoulder with all bark and no bite. “Do you have to insult me every time you compliment me?”

“Yes, otherwise you’d grow too big a head and float away,” Suguru says, motioning to the sky. “Bye, bye, Satoru Gojo.”

“Enough,” Satoru grumbles with an eye roll. “Let’s go home so you can open your presents.”

“I wonder what figure you got me,” Suguru muses with a teasing grin. “I bet it’s something stupid from some anime I’ve never seen.”

“Oh, just you wait,” Satoru mumbles. He certainly got Suguru a figure alright. His own body.

The two boys sit on Suguru’s floor as he opens his presents from friends, family, and teachers. He receives a mix of clothes, jujutsu-related merchandise, and posters of his favorite manga.

“Wow, Utahime really splurged on me,” he says softly before picking up his phone. “I have to send her a thank you message.”

“While you do that,” Satoru begins, grabbing the two bags holding Suguru’s secret present, “I’ll set up my present for you.”

Suguru watches inquisitively as Satoru gets to his feet. “Set up? No offense, Satoru, but the whole point of giving somebody a figure as a present is they get to set it up.”

Satoru puts a finger to his lips once again. “You’ll see in a second.”

It’s more than a second. After all, Satoru has to put on a wig—thankfully, he found one that matches his hair color almost perfectly—and apply makeup. He even came up with the courage to ask Utahime to borrow her hoops, and like the sweet girl she is, didn’t even question him and handed them over. And then they proceeded to get into an argument over why Utahime even has hoops if she never wears them.

After finishing putting on lipstick, he takes a step back to look at himself in the mirror. He looks feminine alright. Positively womanly, minus the curves. The blueness of the bra peeks out from the cellophane blouse crop-top he donned, straight from the mannequin. He pops in a stick of gum and blows a bubble before finally pushing through the bathroom door.

The room echoes from the platform heels Satoru has on, adding about twelve centimeters to his height and making his legs seem endless in length. His calves are on prominent display as he tries his best to walk normally, but he had less than twenty-four hours to practice in the borderline stripper heels. Instead, he opts to stand, leaning his weight on one leg and jutting out his hip. He rests a hand on his hip, blowing into the bubble until it pops onto his lips. He makes sure to lick away the residue with as much tongue action as possible. He flutters his eyelashes thick with mascara, revealing eyes peppered with glitter and light blue eyeshadow.

“S…Satoru?” Suguru asks like he genuinely can’t tell if the person in front of him is his boyfriend or not.

Because it’s not. For the night, Satoru is now Satoko.

“Who’s that?” Satoru shoots back, and he fears he’s laying it on a little too thick with the attitude and personality change. That is until he sees Suguru’s wide eyes, agape mouth, and already-pink face. He takes a few steps forward before dropping down into a squat, holding his hand out while using the other to toss a lock of hair behind his shoulder. “I heard it’s your birthday. My name’s Satoko.”

Satoru—Satoko, whatever—looks pretty. Suguru can’t believe what’s happening before his eyes. Satoru is in the exact same outfit he had been ogling earlier that day, mistakably so. Or so he thought. Perhaps his moment of vulnerability has led to what is beginning to look like the best moment of his life.

Suguru lets out a light chuckle of disbelief and decides to go along with whatever joke Satoru is making. He wonders what the punchline is—is it to not look at female mannequins anymore? Is this a form of punishment meant to humiliate him? Because it isn’t working.

He shakes Satoru—Satoko’s—hand and cocks his head in intrigue. “Hey…are you my birthday present?”

Satoru stands back up and crosses his arms, looking down at his boyfriend with a lip-glossed smirk. “If you want me to be. I mean, I bought this stuff for you. Looked like you were really into this stuff. It’s a little surprising, you know, with you being gay and all.”

Suguru can’t put into words why he’s attracted to feminine things while also liking men. He’s never truly sworn off being with a woman even though he’s never been with one before, but Satoru captivated him the second he set his eyes on him during their first year. There had been no room for anybody else in Suguru’s mind. But he found his eyes drifting to schoolgirl uniforms, to the maid costumes at maid cafés, to any piece of frilly or lacy clothing item. Because he pictures Satoru in it and subsequently gets so ashamed that he has to do homework to get his mind off how aroused he gets.

So, to see Satoru not only accepting Suguru’s embarrassing kink but indulging him in it…he couldn’t waste any time hesitating before Satoru thinks it over and decides to take it all off.

Suguru stands up and slowly approaches his boyfriend, and only then does he really take in how beautiful he looks. His svelte figure is on full display, his toned milk-white stomach glowing in the moonlight streaming from the window. The skirt mimics hips, and Satoru adds to it by keeping a hip jutted out at all times.

“You look nice,” Suguru says, his voice catching in his throat as he lifts his hand and takes a lock of Satoru’s wig between his fingers. He twiddles it for a moment, admiring the quality of it, before glancing at Satoru’s face as he tenderly tucks a lock of the wig behind his ear.

“Nice? I do all this for you, and all I get is ‘nice?’” Satoru pouts, but he can’t hide how Suguru’s small display of affection stirs warm arousal in his stomach.

“Okay, then,” Suguru begins before leaning forward, his lips brushing against the shell of Satoru’s ear. “You look so sexy that I want to bend you over and take you right now.”

When he pulls away, Satoru’s pale skin is on fire with blush. That was quick. That’s something Suguru finds endlessly endearing about his boyfriend. As cocky as he acts, it only takes a whisper to get him hot and bothered.

“But I’m not going to do that just yet. I want to enjoy my present,” Suguru continues as he places his hands on Satoru’s shoulders. Just that small, innocent touch is enough to get Satoru to inhale sharply, his eyelids growing heavy with lust.

Finally. Finally Suguru is touching him, wanting to fuck him, even though there’s a stack of unfinished assignments on his desk. All Satoru had to do was indulge in his tastes a bit. And it’s becoming well worth it.

“How…are you going to do that?” Satoru asks breathily, watching as Suguru’s hands slowly trail down his torso.

“Mm,” Suguru hums in thought. His hands stop on Satoru’s chest, where he spreads them flat across his pecs and brushes his thumbs over the small buds visible through the bra and shirt. “Like this.”

“Nn!” Satoru turns his face to the side and raises a hand to his mouth, the small flick of his nipples sending sparks down his spine. “Just that?”

“You’ve always been impatient, Satoru,” Suguru chides before dropping his hands to his boyfriend’s toned waist and abs. He brushes the back of his hand across the soft, taut skin, brushing against the garter, and delights in the sudden reaction of Satoru’s stomach tightening and caving in at the small touch.

“It’s Satoko…” Satoru manages to get out somewhat normally. He’s trying to suppress his moans as much as possible because he considers it humiliating to act like a bitch in heat over just a few touches. But that’s just how touch-starved he’s been, and now that he’s finally getting attention from his boyfriend, he doesn’t know how to act.

“No, you’re Satoru,” Suguru says, gripping Satoru’s waist tightly and tugging him forward until their chests are pressed together. He ensures Satoru is looking at him before pressing a tender kiss onto his forehead. “I want to have sex with Satoru Gojo, not anybody else. Satoru Gojo, who happens to be dressed like a girl.”

Satoru can’t pretend not to melt at that. Instead of tearing up, however, he puts all his emotional energy into throwing his arms around Suguru’s neck and pulling him in for a deep kiss. It grows heavy quickly, with Satoru invading his boyfriend’s mouth and finding his tongue to dance with. The kiss is wet and breathy, and their hands cling to each other as if they’re about to fall off a ledge at any second.

“Wait,” Suguru mumbles as he pulls away and chuckles at the needy whine that escapes Satoru’s throat. “I want to take another look at you.”

He pushes Satoru onto the bed, which causes him to bounce off the mattress and reveal the blue lace panties underneath the black miniskirt. His semi-erection is fully visible underneath the panties which leaves Suguru salivating. Satoru looks positively erotic in this state, leaning back on his elbows and crossing his legs as he gazes up at his boyfriend with blue eyes darkened by his long eyelashes. His waist looks even smaller at this angle, especially thanks to the garter, and it takes everything in Suguru not to grab it.

No, he wants to take it slow. He begins by leaning over Satoru and planting a hand by his hand. He uses the other to trail it back to Satoru’s shirt, his fingers bumping against the buttons before undoing them.

“Is the bra itchy?” he asks as the shirt falls open. He wishes he could take a picture of Satoru in this state—he would use it as masturbation material every single day. He slides his hand underneath the shirt, which causes it to slip off and gather around Satoru’s wrists, leaving him in only the bra.

“No,” Satoru replies, the blush on his cheeks worsening. Or rather, getting back—at least in Suguru’s eyes. “I…I like it. It’s comfortable.”

“Well, then,” Suguru says with a light chuckle. “I’ll be sure to be careful, then. So we can use it many more times in the future.”

Satoru’s eyes widen at that. Not only is Suguru about to give it to him so well, but he’s promising more sex in the future? He swoons, falling back against the mattress and tossing the shirt on the floor before raising his arms above his head. “You promise?”

Suguru’s eyes slide from Satoru’s face to his long hair spread out across the mattress before dropping down to his body, which has somehow grown even more erotic from the way he is now posed. He looks like a French nude model, with those glossed, kiss-red lips, a lace bra with hard, pink nipples underneath, and a miniskirt that does nothing to hide the evidence of his arousal. Suguru drifts his hand down to Satoru’s thigh, which is covered by blue stockings, before his fingers bump against the strap around his ankle for his heels.

“Fuck…” Suguru breathes before looking back up at his boyfriend. “I promise.”

Satoru’s hand ghosts the inside of Suguru’s wrist before gripping it and bringing it between his legs. “Then let’s begin that promise now.”

Suguru wastes no time. He grasps Satoru’s thighs roughly before yanking him down until his thighs are draped over Suguru’s and his ass is flush against his crotch. Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat when he feels the hardness in Suguru’s pants and swallows thickly.

“There’s lube in the drawer,” he says.

“Let me taste you first.” Before Satoru can react, Suguru ducks his head and slides it underneath his miniskirt, giving his painful-looking erection a lick through the lacy panties.

“A-ah! Suguru, wai—” But he can’t even finish his sentence before Suguru slides the panties aside and takes the cock into his mouth. “Suguru! Ngh—!”

Suguru never knew the depth of his fetish until this moment. Rubbing the lace as he sucks Satoru off, feeling the skirt on his head and Satoru’s lace-covered thighs squeezing him by the ears, smelling the floral perfume Satoru put on…every one of his senses is engaged and heavily aroused to the point that he might finish just by giving his boyfriend a blowjob.

With it being his first blowjob, Satoru isn’t sure how to react. He and Suguru had only had penetrative sex the first and only time they had sex, so something like this is completely unexpected. He isn’t even sure if Suguru is doing a good job or not. It doesn’t matter anyhow—he has a warm, wet mouth on him, his boyfriend’s warm, wet mouth, and Satoru has never felt more loved and sexier in his life.

“That…that feels…fuck, it’s amazing…” Satoru says, about to say something else before a moan eclipses any coherent thought in his mind. He thrusts his hips up out of pure ecstasy, which he only comes out of when he hears Suguru gag. In a panic, he pulls his miniskirt off Suguru’s head to see his boyfriend in his full blowjob glory.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Suguru,” he says hurriedly, reaching forward to stroke Suguru’s saliva-covered chin. His cheeks are flushed and lips are bright red, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Concentrating on making his boyfriend feel as good as possible. If all it takes for Suguru to push aside homework in favor of giving his boyfriend head, Satoru will gladly wear a miniskirt every single day so he can get fucked.

However, despite Satoru’s apology, all Suguru does is shake his head slightly and return to taking the rest of the cock into his throat. Satoru can’t even tell him to stop before bliss overtakes him once again, but once the pleasure broiling in his stomach becomes too much, he grabs Suguru’s hair and attempts to pull him off. “Fuck, Suguru—fuck! I’m close, s-stop…I’m close—!”

However, Suguru is suctioned on and refuses to let up until Satoru’s semen pours down his throat. He swallows, which adds to Satoru’s pleasure as the tight constricting feeling of a throat around his cock only draws more come out of him.

“Ah! Fuck! Mm…” Satoru bucks his hips wildly, and while he feels bad (he truly does), he can’t deny that the gagging sounds Suguru’s making are enough to make him hard again while still in his mouth. However, after the last of his come (it truly felt never-ending) slips down Suguru’s throat, Satoru collapses back onto the bed, sweaty and spent. He covers his eyes with a forearm, his chest rising and falling erratically as he tries to calm down.

Suguru lifts off Satoru’s cock with a satisfying pop and fixes his hair while swallowing the last of semen. He swipes a bit of it gathered at the corner of his mouth and licks it off his thumb. “You need to drink pineapple juice.”

Satoru’s eyes fly open at that, and his pleasure suddenly subsides, replaced by offense. “Well, I’m sorry my come isn’t up to your standards.” The outrage passes quickly, however, when he sees Suguru smile and laugh softly. He reaches out to his boyfriend’s face and caresses his cheek, lightly pulling him forward so that Suguru’s body obscures his. “I want you. Now. In my…”

He had prepped himself to say ‘pussy.’ He had searched up ‘best ways to turn on your boyfriend’ on every search engine imaginable, and all of the websites suggested dirty talk. He had wanted to say it, to dirty talk, to play into the crossdressing fetish. But being only eighteen and having sex for the second time in his life, he quickly realizes that he’s far too humiliated to say something so heinous.

But Suguru refuses to let him trail off with that thought. “In your…?”

“My…” Satoru gulps, the lump in his throat bobbing as he closes his eyes. Suguru won’t let him off that hook that easy and won’t do anything else until he spits it out—Satoru knows this. If he’s going to say such a thing—something only porn stars do—he might as well say it to the black void of his closed eyes. “My…pussy.”

He hears nothing. He squeezes his eyes closed, afraid that Suguru is on the verge of laughing. He doesn’t even hear him breathing.

Finally, as if Suguru broke out of a spell, Satoru feels lips on his stomach. He gasps at the oversensitivity and flings his forearm off his face to see Suguru looking up at him, practically salivating, with eyes darkened by lowered eyelids. The moonlight casts shadows across his cheeks from his eyelashes, making him look even sexier than before, which is a feat in and of itself.

“Your…fuck, Satoru.” The way he says Satoru’s name is like a prayer, as if he’s caressing it with his tongue. His eyelids flutter as he makes his way back up to Satoru’s face, at which point he plants a fat kiss onto those salacious lips. Lips that willingly—albeit sheepishly—say things like ‘pussy.’ “How does your pussy feel when I do this?”

Satoru watches in breathless anticipation as Suguru reaches over to the nightstand for lube, uncaps it, coats three of his fingers generously, and drops them to his entrance. With a singular finger, he traces the rim of his heated hole, and that simple touch makes Satoru fist the bedsheets. When Satoru mewls at him to continue, Suguru grants him his wish and plunges a finger inside him. He doesn’t move at first, not until Satoru grabs his wrist and squeezes it in a silent plea. With a low snicker, he moves his finger, curling it up and prodding Satoru’s soft walls until he feels a walnut-like bump underneath his fingertip. Just as he found it, Satoru lets out a high-pitched yelp, and he knows that he’s found Satoru’s spot.

“There! Nn, right there!” Satoru cries, but his moans only grow louder when Suguru adds another finger. A slight burning sensation spreads across his groin, but the gentle massaging of his prostate far overshadows any pain he may feel. His hand flings forward and grabs onto Suguru’s shoulder, digging his fingers into the muscle there as an attempt to expend the pleasure he’s feeling. “Suguru…I want you…”

“Not yet,” Suguru says because he knows Satoru isn’t ready yet, although the whining tone he uses is enough to get him to take off his clothes and ram into him right then and there. “Not until you tell me how it feels…here.”

With that, he adds another finger, thrusting back and forth as he tries to find Satoru’s prostate again. The moan that draws out of Satoru is ambrosial. Suguru leans over him and kisses a trail down his cheek to his neck, where he licks and sucks hickeys until evidence of their night together is imprinted on his snow-white skin for weeks to come.

“I-it feels…ngh…good…” he says weakly. He’s already hard again even after orgasming so few minutes ago. That’s the effect Suguru has on him, and he’d be embarrassed about it if Suguru didn’t pleasure him so damn well.

“What feels good?” Suguru prods, pausing his fingers as he gazes up at his boyfriend.

“Suguru!” he protests, dropping his hand from Suguru’s shoulder back to his wrist to try and get him to move. However, Suguru’s hand stays put. “F-fuck you…”

“You said it first,” Suguru replies easily with a smirk. “I didn’t tell you to dirty talk like that. Now, open your potty mouth and say it.”

Had Suguru been reading the same articles Satoru read? How did he know how to dirty talk so well? They had been both of each other’s firsts…they had no practice with sexual things beforehand. He doesn’t doubt that Suguru watched porn before they got together, but to use that sort of language with each other…while it is beyond embarrassing to hear it come out of his own mouth, he can’t deny that it got him so heated his body felt feverish.

Satoru bites his bottom lip before letting out a shaky sigh and closing his eyes again. “My p…pussy feels good. Please, Suguru…”

“Please what?”

Now this is getting ridiculous. Satoru opens his eyes and focuses them on his ever-so-annoying boyfriend. With one swift move, he grabs Suguru’s face and brings him forward, crossing his legs behind his back and pushing him forward until Suguru’s crotch is flush with his ass.

“Please fuck me. Fuck me, Suguru, fuck!” Satoru yells from pure frustration, swirling his hips against the hardness in Suguru’s pajama pants rubbing tantalizingly against his ass.

“Okay, Satoru,” he whispers, bending over to kiss the corner of Satoru’s mouth to appease him while slipping off his pants.

Once he straightens back up, Satoru can see every centimeter of arousal in Suguru’s briefs wet from precome. He had gotten so turned on just from sucking his boyfriend off that the front of his white briefs are grey with wetness, a sight that makes Satoru lick his lips. If he wasn’t so desperate for that cock to be inside him, he’d lean over and suck Suguru off with every trick he’s read about on the internet. But instead, he watches with a heated gaze as Suguru pulls his white T-shirt off and drops it off the side of the bed before lowering his hands to the waistband of his briefs. With a glance at his boyfriend, he slips his briefs off, having to stretch them over his throbbing erection, and kicking them to the floor.

Satoru can’t help the stuttered exhale that leaves his lips at the sight of his boyfriend, all lean muscle and pale skin and arousal in one warm, loving body. No matter how brutal Suguru could be during training and while they were out on missions to kill cursed spirits, he always managed to come home and be completely soft with Satoru. Well, minus the teasing and occasional spats they’d have. They’d had physical fights on more than one occasion, but now that they are together, their fights have turned into play-wrestling, which then turns into make-up makeout sessions. He loves Suguru’s body, and he loves him more for what he does with it.

He doesn’t even wait for Suguru to ask. He lowers his hand to his hole, pulling aside the lace thong and using two fingers to spread it apart for Suguru’s viewing pleasure. “Inside…please…”

A spark lights in Suguru’s eyes at the sight of his boyfriend with his lace tights-clad legs spread, begging to be fucked. He guides his cock to Satoru’s entrance and pushes in slightly while holding the thong away, just enough for the both of them to get accustomed to the tightness. However, just that action is enough to have Satoru’s back arching off the mattress, clinging desperately to the sheets, while Suguru has to bite his bottom lip hard enough for it to bleed so that he doesn’t plunge the rest of himself into his boyfriend.

“More…you can do more, Suguru,” Satoru whispers, reaching forward and scraping his fingernails against Suguru’s hip.

Alright. Suguru can’t wait any longer—that whiny voice, paired with Satoru’s expression dazed with lust leaves him with no other choice than to grip Satoru’s miniskirt and pull on it as he snaps his hips forward, the sound of skin on skin echoing throughout the room.

“AH! Ngh, ah! Suguru!” Satoru calls, but his voice cuts off as another strong thrust wracks his body with pain and pleasure.

However, in the midst of conflicting emotions, he manages to feel wetness on his nipple. When he looks down, he covers his mouth at the sight of Suguru licking his nipples through the lace bra, cupping both of his pecs and squeezing them gently while sinfully playing with the nipple he isn’t orally fixated on. He doesn’t stop his rhythm for a moment, making every erogenous zone on Satoru’s body light up at once.

“You’re so tight, Satoko,” Suguru murmurs against Satoru’s chest before returning to licking and lightly biting the pink bud.

Satoru’s ears ring with his cross-dressing name, breaking him out of his pleasure-fueled trance for a moment. “I thought…nn!…that you didn’t…w-want to call me Sato…ko…hah—”

Suguru moves his lips from Satoru’s nipple to his face, peppering him with kisses before ending with a deep, tongue-filled kiss to the mouth. The sounds they’re making are lascivious—the wetness of the lube, the creaking of the bed, the slap of skin-on-skin, their overlapping moans in each other’s mouths. Thank goodness Suguru’s dorm is on the end of the hall and Satoru is his neighbor—although, he can’t guarantee that any passerby won’t hear the sounds of their coupling.

“Just for now, Satoko,” Suguru says, and simply saying the name is enough to get his hips to stutter. He isn’t sober enough to think through why it gets him so turned on—it just does. And clearly, his arousal translates very well to Satoru’s enjoyment.

Satoru is drooling, his eyes rolling back into his head at a particularly brutal thrust. Suguru guesses that his cock brushed against Satoru’s prostate because it has him nearly convulsing, his cock throbbing and weeping onto his stomach. Their first time didn’t go anything like this. It had still been sweet, but Suguru had been holding back a lot. Now, Satoru permitted him to treat him like the slut Satoko is for daring to wear that outfit around him, knowing full well how much it attracted Suguru’s attention.

“There! There! Fuck, yes! Yes, yes, yes!” He’s moaning like a slut, too, rolling his hips in time with Suguru’s thrusts to angle his cock so that it would hit his prostate every time.

Perhaps that’s why Suguru plays into the Satoko thing. He doesn’t want to call his boyfriend a slut, but some amorphous, fake person means all cards are off the table. Suguru’s playing a part, too: the part of the domineering boyfriend who takes what he wants and likes girls in short skirts that show off lace thongs.

“You’re so sexy,” Suguru groans into the crook of Satoru’s neck before biting down. It’s a cringey saying, something he’d wince at if reading it in a book or watching porn. But saying it at this moment feels right, because Satoru is. Sexy. He’s the very definition of it, with his feminine wiles paired with masculine body.

Suguru straightens back up only to balance Satoru’s legs on his shoulders, grasping his lean thighs shaped with muscle and giving an experimental thrust.

Satoru gasps something painful, throwing his arms above his head to grip the headboard behind him. “Shit!”

With the new position approved, Suguru continues fucking Satoru beautifully. Almost as beautifully as he looks with his bra pulled down to expose his pink nipples, the miniskirt flipped up but still accentuating his waist, and the thong pulled aside to make room for Suguru’s cock. Only in this upright position does Suguru spot Satoru’s cock, which looks moments away from bursting. He brushes his knuckles against it, which earns a whimpering cry from Satoru. Clearly, it’s the right move.

He grips Satoru’s cock with firmness, leaving his boyfriend completely at his whims. Satoru’s hand flies forward and grasps Suguru’s wrist, but he can’t even look at his boyfriend since he tosses his head back in overwhelming pleasure.

“Please, Suguru—fuck, please…touch me.”

A full second doesn’t even pass before Suguru begins pumping his hand in short, stiff strokes, making sure to rub Satoru’s frenulum. After learning about it in anatomy and all the nerve endings in that one spot, he made sure to pay extra attention to it during all of his and Satoru’s sexual encounters afterward. He had been too nervous their first time to remember it, but now, as he watches Satoru begin to cry from pleasure, he will never, ever forget it.

“I want to come, S-Suguru…fuck, I want to come! It feels so…g-good—!”

Suguru wonders if Satoru will even remember how he sounds after they finish, or if it’ll all be forgotten in a post-sex haze. If only he could take a photo or video of this moment…but his memory would have to suffice.

“Come, Satoko,” Suguru purrs against Satoru’s calf, grazing the muscle with his teeth.

As if on command, Satoru releases all the semen that had been pent up for two months straight. His hips are floating in the air, his abs spasming as semen coats his stomach and gathers in his belly button. It stains his garter, but neither man particularly cares at that moment.

It’s a glorious sight, and Suguru stops thrusting just to enjoy it. He wanted to continue to at least finish with Satoru, but the sight is too beautiful, and Satoru’s hole has grown so tight around him that he can barely move without feeling as if his cock is about to be ripped off.

“NGH—! Ah…yes! I’m…coming!” Satoru cries, a seemingly endless stream of semen splashing against his skin. Finally, after what seemed like hours of watching the most well-made cross-dressing porn ever, Satoru settles back down into the mattress, going limp, and Suguru is finally able to blink. Satoru’s eyes close, his chest rising and falling as if he had been electrocuted.

After a few moments, Satoru cracks open a brilliant blue eye, indubitably more crystalline blue than before as a result of his orgasm. When he sees Suguru gazing down at him with low lids, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, and his hips completely halted, Satoru licks his lips and shakily reaches forward to overlap Suguru’s hand on his thigh with his.

“You…can move,” he says with a small nod. “I want to see you come, Suguru.”

It’s been what he’s wanted ever since they first had sex. He had been so caught up in his own pleasure that he hadn’t had the privilege of seeing Suguru’s orgasm face. Now, he’s determined to see it in all its glory.

“Fuck, Satoko.” Every time he says the name, Suguru’s cock seems to throb. Without any more prompting, Suguru rolls his hips forward in a way that has Satoru mewling from both oversensitivity and the languid pace Suguru has set.

“F-faster,” Satoru demands. “Come on, Suguru, come on…”

Suguru can’t help the man he turns into those final moments before his orgasm. He rips Satoru’s legs open and thrusts himself between them, gripping onto Satoru’s svelte waist and pulling him down so he doesn’t hit his head against the headboard. He moves Satoru up and down his cock, feeling the lacy bra and the waistband of the miniskirt along the way, until the wave of pleasure crests above him and crashes down.

“Fuck! Inside, Satoko? Can I…?” he asks desperately because he isn’t sure how much time he has left, and he physically can’t stop his hips from moving.

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” Satoru exclaims, and for emphasis, locks his legs behind Suguru’s waist so he can't pull out even if he wants to.

It doesn’t take much else at all to have Suguru spilling inside his boyfriend, gripping his waist hard enough to leave bruises, his hips stuttering a few last thrusts before sinking himself deep inside. The combination of Satoru’s tight walls giving him one last hug, his own semen coating his cock and making the entire sensation tighter, and Satoru’s lace-covered legs against him are enough to leave him dizzy. So dizzy he nearly completely collapses on top of Satoru, burying his face in the crook of his neck as his hips jerk forward uncontrollably. Satoru moans softly, his throat vibrating against Suguru’s cheek and leaving the both of them breathless.

After what feels like twenty minutes, and after both have grown soft, Suguru pushes himself off and smiles down softly at Satoru before slowly pulling out. Satoru bites a finger and squeezes his eyes closed at the sensation of suddenly being empty paired with the semen dripping out of him. The last time they had sex, they had used a condom—it had no use as they were both virgins, but it was for the principle of the act. Now, Satoru is experiencing what true intimacy feels like, and it feels like warmth spilling out of him and yet knowing that it’s because it had satisfied his boyfriend so well that he had begged to finish inside.

Suguru deflates onto the mattress, lying on his stomach and hiding his face in a pillow. Satoru chuckles at the sight of his boyfriend utterly spent and feels a pang of leftover lust in his stomach at the realization it’s all because of him and his attentiveness. He reaches up and undoes the clasp on his bra, setting it aside gently since he’d certainly be using it again. He curls up next to his boyfriend, tapping him on the shoulder until Suguru turns his face.

“So…” he trails off, suddenly feeling sheepish with Suguru’s eyes—still lustful—on him. “You liked it?”

Suguru laughs. It’s genuine, the same laugh Satoru fell in love with the first time he had heard it. He nods and tucks a lock of Satoru’s wig hair behind his ear. “Yeah. I liked it very much. I liked Satoko very much.”

“Well, good, because I created her,” Satoru says with a roll of the eyes. But he can’t keep up the sass for long, his smirk melting into something softer. “You know…I think Satoko is free next weekend for another meetup.”

“Oh, yeah?” Suguru says, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

Satoru pouts and twirls a lock of hair around his finger. “But she understands if you’re too busy with homework or whatever…”

“No,” Suguru replies with a firm nod, grabbing onto Satoru’s hand so that he gets his attention. “No, I won’t be busy. I’ll make it so that I’m not. And she can visit me anytime.”

That’s exactly what Satoru wanted to hear for so long. He understands Suguru’s fixation on homework, on getting good grades, on being a good sorcerer. But sometimes it was difficult seeing his boyfriend put so much pressure on himself, especially since his way of taking care of cursed spirits was so unpleasant. He wants nothing but love and relaxation for Suguru, and it looks as if he can now provide both every week.

“Okay,” Satoru says softly, leaning his forehead against Suguru’s. “She’ll be here.”

Suguru nods and smiles. “I love you, Satoru. I love you.”

Satoru chuckles. “I know.”

A knock sounds at the door. Suguru looks up from his calculus and puts down his pencil just as the door opens.

“Suguru? You called?”

Satoko steps out from behind the door in a wine-red bra that’s so low-cut that it exposes the tops of her pink nipples contrasting against her glowing white skin. She’s tall in her red platform heels, and she turns around just enough to show off the bow on the back of her red lace underwear, along with the hole right where her ass is. Her long ponytail sways by her lower back, and she winks an eye to show off her smoldering black eyeshadow. 

She smiles and bites her bottom lip in anticipation. “Are we celebrating anything today?”

Suguru taps his pencil against his chin as he looks her over hungrily. He nods. “Yeah. My birthday.”

“Well, then,” she purrs as she strides forward. Just the sound of her heels clicking against the laminate has Suguru’s heart beating in overdrive. She slides a finger underneath his chin and tips it up, her blue eyes fixating on her boyfriend’s lips.

“Happy birthday, Suguru Geto.”

[happylittledrabbles]

Kinktober Day 2: Threesome

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Erwin Smith x Mike Zacharias

Character Count: 6,700

Rating: Explicit, 18+

AO3

-

Levi can see that Mike is jealous of his and Erwin's relationship. But he's not quite sure who he's jealous of. After enough prodding, one answer is enough to set in motion a number of actions that takes all of their relationships to the next level.

"Do you want a captain to fuck, Mike? Or a commander?" "Both."

-

It was no secret that Levi and Erwin were together. Well, most people didn’t know the exact extent of their relationship, whether they were lovers, friends with benefits, or simply exploring each other’s bodies for the hell of it. Only Levi and Erwin knew the depth of their relationship, the likes of which couldn’t even reach the bottom of the Underground with how they knew each other inside and out. At least one part of their relationship was safe from gossip and tabloids.

Erwin never got called out for his behavior by Dhalis Zachary or anybody else in Mitras, so long as he could perform. He had slashed cadet casualties in half, advanced Titan research twofold, and increased morale so high that people showed up to the procession of Scouts on their way outside the gates to celebrate rather than mourn. It was an unspoken rule between Erwin and the bigwigs: keep doing his job, and they won’t ask if he fucked men. Which he did, and proudly so.

The knowledge of their relationship was so widespread that nobody dared go near Erwin’s office after hours. If anybody needed to get work done in headquarters past quitting time, they took it in the cafeteria since it was the furthest room from the office.

It was doubly perplexing that Levi found himself staring at Mike, who had entered the office without knocking and came across Erwin pressing Levi against the desk, in the middle of a heated kiss.

Thank goodness they had all their clothes on, but the sight of them kissing was enough to leave Erwin stuttering and red. It was one thing to know people knew they were together—it was another to have them see it. Erwin was only confident in battle. When it came to romance, that was another story.

“Mi…Mike, hello,” was all Erwin could get out before his throat closed up on him. He coughed into a closed fist and turned his back to his friend, giving into the situation's awkwardness and completely removing himself.

Levi, on the other hand, was enjoying the situation far too much. Frankly, he thought Mike should have been the first to know and witness their relationship for himself. After all, he was Erwin’s closest friend.

Mike sniffed and pulled a face, no doubt smelling the arousal in the room and the fading scent of sex from last night.

To the untrained eye, Mike would have seemed prejudiced. After all, anybody who scowled the way he did after coming upon two men acting romantically toward each other would seem bigoted.

But Levi knew better. He had spent years by Mike’s side, had been the one to usurp his title as captain. Mike was jealous, but it wasn’t because he lost his title. He had been glad to do so, claiming that being captain was “too much damn work.” No, he was jealous in a more fascinating way—fascinating to Levi, at least. To Erwin, his friend’s recent standoffish behavior had been frustrating. He’d nearly died with Mike a thousand times over, had saved and been saved by Mike throughout their nearly decade-long friendship. And yet, his friend was too cowardly to give voice to whatever concerns he had. Concerns, or jealousy, as Levi theorized.

As he watched Mike’s eyes switch between him and Erwin, he realized the stifling silence between them was becoming too much to bear. The three of them had been beating around the bush for too long. Even Erwin could tell Mike was uncomfortable with their de facto relationship but wasn’t sure why. Levi, always prioritizing bluntness over coded language, decided to go ahead and ask.

“Mike,” Levi began, causing both men to startle. He couldn’t hide the smirk building on his lips as he looked between the two men. He walked to Erwin, who had turned to face him in confusion. Levi took full advantage of Erwin’s body by wrapping his arms around his neck and looking over his shoulder right into Mike’s eyes to ensure he was watching. He ignored the harsh Levi Erwin whispered and kept his eyes on Mike. “Do you have a problem with me being with Erwin? Everybody’s known about us for a while now. Was this a surprise to you?”

Instead of being taken aback, Mike kept his characteristic stoic exterior, something for both Levi and Erwin admired him.

“No, it’s not,” he said and subsequently shut up. The paperwork he had been holding (a lame excuse to enter Erwin’s office after ten at night) was completely wrinkled in his white-knuckled fist, a reaction that had Levi biting back a full mischievous grin.

However, Levi wanted to draw more out of Mike, wanted to see his raw reactions.

“Are you…jealous?” he began, tracing circles into Erwin’s chest and delighting in the soft grunt that drew from the commander. “Of me? Or…Erwin?”

The question hung in the air like a noose. It seemed if either Erwin or Mike said something, they’d hang themselves regardless of what they said. The first to strike was Erwin, ever the commander.

“Levi, you’re being ridiculous,” he said, but when his voice cracked in the middle, it was as if he was swinging from the roof, choking on the noose. That crack showed the lie he was covering and brought everybody’s attention to it, namely Mike’s. His eyes shifted to his friend, and he raised a brow.

“What’s ridiculous is you fucking your captain,” he retorted. But the slight whine in his tone was the sound of a petulant child who didn’t get the same toy as his sibling, not somebody who was morally opposed to the situation.

“Do you want a captain to fuck, Mike?” Levi pushed on, grabbing Erwin’s hand and pulling his reluctant frame closer until he was only a meter apart from his friend who was staring him down. “Or a commander?”

“Levi, I’m getting angry at this line of questioning,” Erwin warned, yanking his hand out of Levi’s grip.

“Both.”

Before Levi could argue back with Erwin, Mike’s voice registered in both commander and captain’s minds a beat too late. Once they realized what he had said, they turned to him with agape mouths and wide eyes. Even Levi was shocked. Yes, he knew Mike was jealous (of whom, still uncertain), but he enjoyed teasing uncomfortable people in his own apathetic way with jarring questions and a monotonous voice. But to hear him admit to wanting…both of them? To fuck? And Levi thought he was taking it too far.

“Very funny, Mike,” Erwin said, although his voice made it clear he knew that answer was far from a joke. “Now, hand over the documents and get some shut-eye.”

“I said both.” Mike’s hard gaze was now on Levi, seemingly expecting him to say something, do something. Anything.

Levi didn’t think he’d get this far. He watched as Mike dragged his eyes back to his friend, his commander, who looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of his skull. He had wondered as he fell in love with Erwin if anything had ever happened between him and Mike. So many sleepless nights in Erwin’s office, brainstorming new battle plans before he came up with the Long-Range Scouting Formation. So many days and nights by each other’s side out in the wild beyond the gates, on the brink of death with nobody but each other to keep warm. Something should have happened, or at least feelings should have developed. It was with that exact process that Levi fell in love with Erwin.

Levi pursed his lips before stepping toward the desk, his back hitting the edge of it. That move left Erwin and Mike opposite each other with nobody else to mess up the flow. “Both, you say,” Levi mused, his eyes switching between the two men. “Start with the commander, then.”

Erwin had never turned so scarlet as he did at that moment. He looked positively absurd, the perfect image of a ripe tomato. “I’m done with this,” he said, throwing his hands up, but he didn’t move. Instead, he glanced back up at Mike, his frown faltering into something softer, something genuinely inquisitive. “You’re…serious, Mike? After…after all these years?”

“Yeah, after all these years,” Mike said, the lump in his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “I didn’t realize it until the rumors of you two went around. Fuck you, Levi, but…I got…jealous. Yeah, I got jealous. Jealous that you got it through his thick skull that you liked him. No matter what I did, even if I didn’t know the full extent of why I was doing it, he never seemed to pay me any mind. It was solely formations, funding, training, blah blah blah. Fuck, Erwin, you’re an infuriating guy.”

“I…I wasn’t aware,” Erwin said before cutting himself off. “I suppose that was the problem. Mike, I apologize, but now I’m with—”

“You really haven’t thought about it, Erwin?” Levi interrupted, motioning toward Mike. “Kissing him? Fucking him? Or, perhaps getting fucked by him?”

Erwin opened his mouth, and Levi knew him so well that he knew his first impulse was to lie. However, he was a known terrible liar in personal matters. If it came to keeping his cadets and civilians calm, he knew how to dispense the right lies. But when it came to feelings...well, he was illiterate in lying.

“I…can’t say I’ve never thought about it.” However, before anybody else could say anything, he wheeled around on Levi, pointing at him accusatorially. “Levi, don’t tell me you’re encouraging this—”

“Oh, I’m not just encouraging it,” Levi said, hopping up on the desk and crossing his legs. “I’m enforcing it. If you want to fuck me again, you have to at least kiss Mike. See if those feelings are real.”

“Kiss—!” Erwin ran a stressed hand through his hair, removing some of the gel and causing small locks of blond to fall onto his forehead. “This is most improper, Levi, seriously. I can’t believe you’re asking me to cheat on you.”

“It’s not cheating if I want you to.” Levi looked at Mike, whose eyes never left Erwin. “Besides, if he wants, Mike can fuck me, too. Right, Mike? You did say you wanted us both.”

A shiver rattled each of Levi’s vertebrae at the heated look of lust Mike shot him. He could feel the desire coursing through Mike’s veins, the warmth radiating from his body, from across the room, and it only made his own body grow feverish with longing.

“Erwin,” Mike said, his voice gravelly. Erwin’s eyes widened conspicuously at how his friend caressed his name, how he said it like a prayer. “Just…just this once. Please. I…”

And down went the paperwork to the floor, scattering across the room like anything resembling a normal relationship between the three of them moving past this. Levi hadn’t considered that their relationships would be fundamentally changed from his prodding, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about it, especially with the erection straining against his pants.

“Mike…” Erwin trailed off. He watched as Mike got closer but didn’t fall back.

With one last spare glance at Levi, he tipped his chin back to try and look at his friend. However, Mike took that as an invitation and dove down, brushing his lips over Erwin’s chastely for any signs of resistance. When Erwin surprisingly gave none, he solidified the kiss with a hunger he’d never had for anybody else. No, his eyes—or heart—had never moved on from Erwin. He’d slept with other people, sure, but they were only bodies to him, a means to an end. Erwin was his end. Even if he couldn’t date Erwin, he at least wanted to experience his undivided attention once. To hear him say his name embedded in a moan, to taste him carnally.

Levi watched on with flushed cheeks, a hard cock, and twiddling fingers. He wasn’t sure what to do with all the pent-up horniness in his body, so he scraped the paint off the edge of the desk as he rubbed his thighs together to get some sort of tactile pleasure in his groin. When he saw the pinkness of Mike’s tongue slip inside Erwin’s mouth and heard Erwin gasp in response, it took everything in him not to unbutton his pants, whip out his dick, and begin masturbating right then and there.

He knew he’d never fuck Erwin. He didn’t want to—the idea of conquering that giant of a man was daunting. And he enjoyed how well Erwin took care of him. But to see him submissive, to see an even bigger man envelop him into his arms and control him in a way Levi never could…it was enough to get him to finish on the spot.

“You’re hard, Commander,” Mike breathed, his hand palming Erwin’s crotch straining against his trousers. He licked his lips at the sound of Erwin’s delicious moan escaping his lips, his embarrassment evident in the way he quickly covered his mouth with both hands. He wondered if Levi made Erwin moan like that.

Levi. Right. Mike had said he wanted Levi, too, and it was true. Ever since he had been the one to catch him in the Underground and grip his hair, shoving his face in a puddle and hearing his muted cries of struggle, he hadn’t been able to deny his attraction, either. He was small but powerful, a man who knew how to handle business even if he was on the receiving end. Mike found himself staring at Levi’s body on more than one occasion; the curve of his pert ass, his svelte waist, the way his collarbones framed his chest perfectly.

Levi met Mike’s gaze and took that as permission to intervene. Or rather, join. Yes, they were going to do this all together.

He slowly strolled up to the two men in an embrace, who quickly parted in anticipation of what Levi was about to do. Without wasting another second, Levi dropped to his knees, his hands stroking the bulges at his eye level.

“Fuck, Levi…” Mike groaned. Erwin was so overwhelmed that all he could do was breathe heavily, his arm shooting out to grip Mike’s forearm for support. The contact only made Mike’s cock twitch, which consequently made Levi’s mouth water.

“Let’s get started, hm?” Levi murmured, turning to Erwin and unbuttoning his pants. Tooth by tooth, he undid his zipper, his cock all but falling out of the gap in his undershorts. Every single centimeter of him was on full display. Levi wouldn’t be surprised if every milliliter of blood in his body fed into his erection. “Wow, you’re like this only after a short make-out session with somebody else. Should I be the jealous one, Erwin?”

“Levi, please,” Erwin gasped, his other hand coming up to his mouth so he could bite his knuckles. “Don’t say such things.”

“Well, I’ll have to punish you instead.” Leaving Erwin’s cock unattended, he turned to Mike, whose bulge was equally big. What was with these giant men having cocks to match? He carefully undid Mike’s zipper and nearly got his eye poked out at the giant cock that emerged. The tip was ruby red and slick with pre-come already, leaving Levi’s mouth watering. “So stand there and watch for a bit.”

Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, Levi shuffled forward until his lips pressed against the tip of Mike’s cock, that simple move enough to draw another salacious groan out of the poor man. After a few moments of merciless teasing—licking only the head with the tip of his tongue, stroking him with only his pointer finger and thumb pressed together—Levi went all-in. His grip solidified on Mike’s shaft and gave him a few good pumps before wrapping his lips entirely around the head, taking him in until the head of his cock touched the back of Levi’s throat.

“Ngh…guh.” Wet, lecherous sounds escaped Levi’s throat, which was suctioned onto Mike’s monster that he called a cock. He pulled off it with a pop, his throat already rubbed raw from only a minute of sucking. “How does anybody let you get near them with this thing? You’re going to give me internal bleeding, motherfucker.”

However, Mike was too lost in his world of pleasure to listen to anything Levi had to say. It wasn’t as if Levi wasn’t feeling anything, either. While one hand was on Mike’s cock, the other was pressing down on his erection, the pressure and small shocks of pain leaving him moaning around Mike.

“Levi,” Erwin said, and he barely gave Levi any time to respond before he gripped Levi’s hair and pulled him to his cock. “My turn.”

Levi sucked on his teeth, but he couldn’t hold back the impish grin on his lips. “Aren’t you also quite the jealous one,” he began before grasping Erwin tightly as punishment for his roughness. “We’re all jealous in our own ways, aren’t we?”

He glanced at Mike, who stared at him dazedly and decided to stroke him off while he was servicing Erwin, too. Just to make his commander that much more jealous.

“S-shit…Levi,” Erwin breathed as he watched Levi take him in all at once.

He coughed about halfway down before drawing back and stroking his cock with all the new saliva gathered on it. Slick sounds echoed off the office walls, and Levi prayed to anything holy that Mike at least checked the entire building before attempting whatever he had wanted to do in the first place by barging into Erwin’s office.

Returning to Erwin’s cock, Levi squeezed his eyes closed and furrowed his brows as he slowly took all of him in, feeling his throat expand and tighten to accommodate his lover’s massive size. He didn’t even think to compare Mike and Erwin’s sizes—all he knew was that both of these cocks were about to be inside him at different points of the night, and he needed to memorize their girths with his throat to mentally prepare his other end.

“Hah, just like that…fuck, Levi, you’ve always been amazing at this,” Erwin moaned, tossing his head back as Levi’s nose nuzzled into his trimmed pubic hair. “Fuck—!”

“You absolute fucker, Erwin Smith,” Mike said with a breathy laugh, looking down at the deft and skilled movements of Levi’s hand on him. He knew exactly when and where to press down on the head of his cock, when to lighten and tighten his grip, how to attend to every centimeter. “I can’t believe you kept him to yourself all these years.”

“No way in hell was I going to share him,” Erwin replied with a soft, low chuckle, a chuckle that had Levi moaning at the sound of it. His mouth vibrated around Erwin’s cock, leaving the commander doubling over in pleasure. His grip on Mike’s forearm tightened, and at Mike’s grunt of pain, Erwin came to and glanced at his friend. His eyes then dropped to Mike’s kiss-red lips. “Except for you, now.”

As if reading his mind, Mike leaned forward, his hand cupping Erwin’s jaw as they met in another heated kiss. They moaned into each other’s mouths every time Levi switched onto their cocks, their teeth bumping against each other’s and accidentally biting their bottom lips. A sudden broiling in Erwin’s stomach hit him all at once, the all-too-familiar feeling of tipping into an orgasm. He accidentally bit down on Mike’s lip, drawing a small bead of blood. Instead of shying away, he gripped the sides of Mike’s face firmly and licked it away. Blood was nothing to a commander of the Survey Corps. His friend’s blood was even less consequential. He licked the taste of iron away and replaced it with more of Mike’s tongue.

However, Erwin could no longer deny his impending orgasm and broke away from the kiss with a shuddering breath, his hips stuttering and his knees liquifying. He kept his arm around Mike’s neck as he rode out his orgasm, grabbing Levi’s hair and pulling him away in time for warm come to splash across his lips and cheeks.

“F-fuck—fuck, Levi! M-Mike…hah…” He stumbled backward, not getting far before Mike caught him and supported him by threading his arm underneath his armpit.

Levi had wanted Erwin to come in his mouth, but ever the considerate man he was, he instead decided to paint his lover’s face white. Levi wasn’t complaining—instead, he waited for Erwin’s eyes to open before gathering the come on his cheeks onto his thumb. He then pushed it between his lips, licking the rest of it away before sucking on his thumb in the way he knew Erwin enjoyed.

“That…that was…” Erwin’s vision was still spotty as he gazed down at Levi with heavy eyelids. His body was on pins and needles as all the blood that went to his cock rushed back into the rest of his limbs, except for his head, which was still in the clouds. Once he was sure he could stand, he gently stepped away from Mike’s hold and staggered back into one of his stuffed office chairs. His head tipped back, all of the gel from his hair gone, which allowed it to fall in his face. “I don’t think this has ever happened before.”

Before Levi could get jealous, Mike tapped Levi’s cheek and pointed to himself. “What about me? I was close.”

Levi’s eyes shifted between Mike’s cock and his face before biting his lip. He’d need to dutifully prep himself to take Mike inside. He had thankfully had sex with Erwin only the day prior, so he was still somewhat stretched. He walked behind Erwin’s desk and pulled open one of the drawers, taking out a bottle of oil and tossing it to Mike, who fumbled it a few times before catching it.

“Prep me first or you’ll have to carry me to the emergency room. And I doubt any of us want that.” He waited until both pairs of eyes were on him before dropping the skirt and trousers part of his uniform, leaving him in only his undershorts. He leaned his back against the desk and cocked his head to the side as he stared at Mike. “Want to take them off me?”

Mike was on him before Levi could inhale, his undershorts off and gone somewhere in the office before he could exhale. His hands caressed Levi’s hips before dropping to his ass, cupping the flesh there and massaging it in a way that had Levi faltering and having to hang onto Mike’s shirt for support.

“Turn around,” he demanded. He grabbed Levi’s arm and turned him around before waiting for Levi to listen, leaning forward and hesitating before licking the nape of his neck.

“Nnh—! Mike, that’s…ngh…” Levi couldn’t finish his sentence before Mike’s oiled-up fingers were at his hole, waiting for permission to come in. “You’re impatient as all hell, you know that?”

“For you and Erwin, yeah,” Mike murmured in a voice that made Levi pull his hips back so the tips of Mike’s two fingers entered him. “Shit, yeah, you’re right…you’re fucking tight, Levi. Didn’t you guys do it yesterday? And you’re already like this?”

The dirty talk wasn’t helping with Levi’s desperation. He worked his hips back until he was essentially fucking himself on Mike’s fingers, his hand trailing between his legs to jerk off. “Mike…do your job and prep me,” Levi tried to demand, but it came out as a pathetic whine, his voice high-pitched and submissive.

But it was all Mike needed to move and curl his fingers inside Levi in search of the spot inside men he knew drove them crazy. When Levi yelped, his head dropping to his chest in bashfulness, he knew he had found it. “How’s a third one?”

“Do it,” Levi said and hissed at the light ache that sparked inside him when Mike followed his orders.

He wanted to get fucked as quickly as possible, as many times as possible, by both of them. His hips followed Mike’s movements, swirling to the point that Mike had to steady them by sinking his fingers into the soft, milk-white flesh of Levi’s waist. Before long, he felt Mike put in a fourth. The sensation awoke something in Levi, and he realized: tearing be damned, he wanted that cock in him now. He wanted to be fucked beautifully, and he knew Mike could deliver.

“…you,” Levi mumbled, his voice dying in his throat. “I want you, Mike. Put it in, now.”

“And I’m impatient,” Mike remarked with a chuckle.

Despite his comment, he wasted no time, just as Levi had predicted. He lined himself up with Levi’s entrance, the head of his cock kissing his hole and leaving Levi breathless. Just the blunt tip of it was bigger than any cock Levi had had before him and Erwin, and he almost regretted not being stretched more. Regardless of his impatience, Mike eased himself in slowly, the tip clearing Levi’s rim and fully submerging itself inside him.

“Nn…fuck, you’re bigger than I thought,” Levi said, which was only a half-truth. He knew intimately that Mike was big from taking him down his throat, but his ass was a different story.

He then had to stifle a gasp when he felt Mike’s hand pressing against his lower stomach, the pressure strangely adding to the pleasure.

“It’s like I can feel myself in you,” Mike said with a dark chuckle, and his voice only got more cocky at the strangled moan in Levi’s throat as he sped up his hand’s movements on his cock. “Me being in your guts get you off, Levi?”

“Just…just fuck me,” Levi gasped, bracing himself on the desk.

He was grateful he did that before Mike thrust forward because he would have certainly slid across the desk with the sheer force Mike used to bury himself to the hilt inside the captain.

“AH—!” Levi yelped, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip to prevent any more embarrassing noises from escaping.

However, he didn’t even get the possibility before Mike’s hand gripped Levi’s jaw and wrenched it open and to the side, leaning over him to meet those bitten-up lips with a sloppy tongue kiss that had Levi’s eyes rolling up into his head. It only got worse when Mike began a rhythm, a disjointed rhythm that was hard for Levi to follow with his hips but managed to hit his prostate almost every single time in cruel succession.

“Ahn—! Fuck, fuck, fuck…like that, just like…yes, yes, yes.”

Levi couldn’t swallow his moans any longer. He wasn’t this loud all the time, nor did he like to be. But Mike was fucking him so beautifully, in just the way that he wanted, that the slut inside of him couldn’t help it.

Another near-scream came from his rubbed-raw throat when Mike bit the nape of his neck. “Mike! That…ngh, shit…”

After licking the circumference of the bite, Mike returned to focusing on fucking Levi so hard his ass rippled and reddened to resemble two apples. Finally, his hands encircled that small waist he’d fantasized holding for so long, he had to constantly reassure himself that this was real, that it wasn’t a dream. It curved perfectly into his ass plump with muscle, and he couldn’t help but give it a firm smack. He waited for any resistance, any genuine cry of pain from Levi, but all he got was a moan that rivaled all the ones before it. He chuckled and asked, “Does Erwin know you like it dirty?”

Levi glanced over at Erwin, who had been so silent he had thought the commander was sleeping. On the contrary—Erwin was sitting up and at attention, in more ways than one. He was hard again, painfully so, by the look of it, and was stroking himself hurriedly as he watched his friend bury himself in his lover. It must’ve been confusing for poor, straight-arrow Erwin, who would have never considered adultery if not for this exact situation. Levi didn’t fault him—watching Mike make out with Erwin was one of the hottest things he’d ever witnessed.

“Erwin,” Levi called out, his voice laced with need.

Erwin was on his feet before Levi even had to say anything, walking behind the desk so that he faced them. Levi was bent over the desk, but he needed to get closer to Erwin, whose cock was ready and crying for attention. He reached behind to grip Mike’s wrist, silently telling to stop. Before he could do anything, however, Mike got the message and lifted Levi completely onto the desk, his thighs and chest flush against it while his ass and feet were bent in the air.

“I feel bad getting all the love,” Mike murmured, beckoning Erwin closer with his finger. “Come on, Levi, do your part.”

With that, he began pounding Levi’s ass again, one hand supporting Levi’s stomach so his hips wouldn’t drop and the other fisting Levi’s hair. Levi gazed up at Erwin, his love, his commander, and opened his mouth obediently. Erwin didn’t take his eyes off Levi for a second, using his peripheral vision to guide his cock into Levi’s warm and welcoming mouth. Levi quickly took him in from the force of Mike’s thrusts, causing Levi to be shoved forward in a now-steady rhythm.

Being fucked from behind and in the mouth was an experience Levi never thought he’d have, but it was a dream he’d conjured up on more than one occasion. It was always a faceless man and Erwin taking turns with him and stretching him open with both their cocks at the same time. The latter certainly wouldn’t be the case with Erwin and Mike, but the fact that he was being spit-roasted was more than enough to have him on the brink of orgasm before he even took all of Erwin down his throat.

“Mike,” Erwin called, keeping one hand on Levi’s head and using the other to bring Mike forward by the chin. Mike paused, causing Levi to groan from frustration as he lost the orgasm building in his stomach, which in turn caused Erwin to moan at the vibrations spreading throughout his groin. “Ngh, damn…did you ever think those…hah…late nights beyond the walls would ever…e-ever turn into this?

“Not a damn bit,” Mike murmured against Erwin’s lips before kissing him deeply. He broke the kiss to thrust into Levi firmly three more times before pausing again, leaving Levi whimpering on Erwin’s cock. “But I did think about throwing you up against one of those giant trees and fucking you for all I’m worth. Many, many times.”

“Oh…if only you had.” With that, they returned to their kiss. Mike started up fucking Levi, Levi returned to massaging Erwin’s cock with his throat, and Erwin sucked on Mike’s tongue with reckless abandon. They were like a well-oiled machine, a cycle of pleasure that only grew exponentially with each passing second.

The cycle ended with Levi first, who found that pleasuring and being pleasured at the same time was far too overwhelming. His orgasm boiled over, and with Mike’s steady rhythm, he was finally able to find relief in spurting come all over the wooden desk, smearing it against his chest from Mike’s continued thrusts. Erwin’s cock slipped out of Levi’s mouth as his head fell to the desk, his body wracked with oversensitivity from the brutal, never-ending thrusts.

“Mike! Mike, fuck—I’m coming, I-I—” Another load spilled onto the desk, leaving him shivering and writhing in Mike’s grip. “Please, I just came, Mike—fuck, I can’t—”

And Mike’s never-ending thrusts subsequently came to an end. How could they not, what with Levi’s walls squeezing his cock as if to milk him, those sweet moans pouring out of his mouth, the sight of Levi’s arched back and quivering body beneath him. He shot his come inside Levi with a drawn-out groan, his fingernails leaving angry red crescents on Levi’s hips. Feeling the come pooling inside Levi was so satisfying it seemed to draw even more semen from inside Mike, leaving Levi even tighter between the pulsing cock and the amount of come gathering inside him that poured out from around Mike’s cock.

“A-ah…mm…” Levi sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. 

To torture Mike slightly, he rocked his hips backward onto him before leaning forward, the small movement enough to elicit groans from both men. With grave reluctance, Mike slowly pulled out, leaving behind a mess of oil and come that dripped down Levi’s trembling thighs. He stepped back, and without his support, Levi’s hips fell to the desk. He managed to catch himself so he didn’t hurt his cock on the way down, but once he felt adjusted, he relaxed fully on the desk to catch his breath.

Mike, like Erwin, stumbled back into one of the chairs, resting his temple against his fist. Erwin, on the other hand, felt it was his turn to be impatient. Levi had started it all—he was going to end it.

He rounded the desk so that he was standing behind Levi, a pang of jealousy striking his heart at the utterly fucked-out state Mike put his lover in. He had come buckets inside him, and Erwin used the excuse that he fucked Levi every day, so his semen supply was running a bit thin. Yes, he fucked Levi every day, because Levi was his, goddamn it. And he was going to show him just how good he can get fucked.

“I’m not done,” he said, gently grasping Levi’s ankle and pulling him until he rolled onto his back.

Levi’s eyes flew open at that, and they scanned the room as if he was lost before settling them on Erwin. He began to groan before it gave way to light laughter, covering his eyes with a hand. “God, just when one finishes, another one is ready. Are you guys ever going to let me rest?”

Yes was the answer. Eventually. Erwin had to fuck the daylights out of his lover first, driving him into the desk with astonishing speed and accuracy. In the last few minutes of their coupling, he managed to strike Levi’s prostate with each thrust and with such force that the sheer level of pleasure surging in Levi’s body was downright painful.

However, pleasure and pain mixed well in Levi’s body, and all he could do was pull Erwin into an embrace and hold onto his shoulders for dear life as he rode out his orgasm. With impressive—and annoying—stamina, Erwin used and abused Levi’s hole for what felt like a thousand more thrusts before spilling inside, coating his walls in another layer of come. He had never felt Levi’s hole so sloppy, even after they had had sex multiple times in succession. Was Mike truly that big? Did he fuck so crazily, so well, that it left every single muscle in Levi’s body relaxed from how thoroughly he was bred?

These thoughts ran through Erwin’s mind as he pulled out of Levi with a low groan. Levi was so exhausted that all he could afford was a small mewl and a whimper before going completely limp across the desk. Erwin made a mental note to replace the soiled documents sprawled on the desk before turning to Mike, who was already staring at him. That seemed to be the story of their friendship. He’d be busy with something, and then he’d turn to Mike, whose attention was always taken by Erwin. How had he not noticed before? He truly was a dunce.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Erwin asked, undoing the buttons of his shirt as Mike waltzed over to him with a saunter of a man who just had mind-blowing sex.

Mike smirked, his eyes dropping to Erwin’s bare chest once all fabric was gone and on the floor. “Yeah, I sure did. But, I’d enjoy it more if I was the one with you.”

Erwin found himself pushed up against the wall of his office with Mike’s cock between his legs. He heard Mike spit into his hand and wipe it on the inside of Erwin’s muscular thighs before giving an experimental thrust.

“Ah…” Erwin breathed, the sensation of a cock between his legs—or anywhere near his ass, for that matter—completely foreign, but it was warm and slick and rubbing right between his balls and against his shaft. So he welcomed it, his hand reaching behind him to scratch Mike’s hip. “Keep…going.”

Mike couldn’t believe that he got to fuck two of the men he’d had an eye on for years in one night, at the same time. Fuck, just the realization was enough to make him finish, but no. He needed to show Erwin a good time. And he did just that.

He took it slow, knowing it was Erwin’s first time experiencing a cock in this manner. He also didn’t want to give Erwin’s balls rug burn, so he spat some more onto his cock before continuing. Erwin thought he was used to these wet sounds that came from sex, but he realized he only got used to them when they were coming from Levi, whether he was sucking him off or from his ass. But now that the sounds were coming from him, from his thighs, he was so bashful he had to cover his eyes with his forearms. Especially when he began to chase after Mike whenever he pulled away with his hips, seeking to close the gap between them.

“Jesus, who knew you’d like a cock near your ass, huh, Commander?” Mike asked, which only made Erwin grunt from embarrassment.

“Be quiet, Mike,” was all he could spare before dissolving into moans when Mike started up a faster cadence as punishment.

Erwin caught himself glancing over at Levi from time to time. One second he was comatose, the next he was watching intently, positioned on the desk like a woman model in one of the porn magazines in the back of bookstores. He propped his chin up on his knuckles as he lay on his side, his small waist making the curve into his hip that much more prominent.

When Mike thrust between Erwin’s legs particularly forcefully, leaving his ass pink and raw, he saw Levi’s abs tighten in response. What was Levi thinking? Did he enjoy seeing his man being submissive? Did he enjoy seeing his commander moan like a slut because of another man’s cock?

Just the thought left Erwin’s body weak, and it only took a few more strokes of Mike’s hot cock against his for the commander to leave a white coating dripping down the wall and everybody’s ears ringing from his low groan. He shivered with each desperate stroke Mike did, his hands coming down to Erwin’s thighs to push them closer together. After enough oversensitive moans spilled from Erwin’s lips, Mike finished with a sigh.

“Uff…shit, Erwin, you felt…” Another spurt of come coated the underside of Erwin’s cock and joined the rest of the semen on the wall. “…fucking amazing.”

“Mmm…” Erwin felt that he was about to pass out. Mike, who had orgasmed more in one day than he had the whole week, also couldn’t find the strength in himself to support another grown man’s weight. They collapsed onto the floor, leaning their shoulders against each other and their heads bumping, but they couldn’t care less from exhaustion.

After a few moments of steadying their breathing with their eyes closed, a shadow blocking out the dull candlelight caused them to open their eyes to see Levi standing in front of them with his arms crossed.

“Let’s go for another round.” He pointed to the floor. “This time, I’ll ride you, Erwin. And I’ll suck Mike off.”

He put his pointer finger and thumb together and hovered in front of his tongue. “And you can finish in my mouth.”

Erwin and Mike shared a glance that said every single one of their thoughts at that moment. Of exhaustion, of never-ending horniness, of true love for one another and Levi. A love that was late, but not too late. A love that took up the entire room and suffocated them in it.

They simultaneously turned to Levi and smiled.

“Absolutely.”

[happylittledrabbles]

Kinktober Day 1: Edging

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Pairing: Kojiro Nanjo (Joe) x Kaoru Sakurayashiki (Cherry Blossom)

Character Count: ~6,500K

Rating: Explicit, 18+

AO3

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Kojiro has a problem. He comes too fast.

Kaoru proposes an idea to fix that: a little game called edging.

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Kojiro has a problem. He comes too fast.

It wasn’t necessarily a problem the first time he had sex with Kaoru. Nor the second. In fact, Kaoru took it as a compliment—his ass was just that good. Then came the third…and the fourth, and Kaoru would barely be able to begin feeling good before he felt Kojiro throbbing inside him and heard his moans spilling out of his mouth.

It was a beautiful sight, of course. Seeing Kojiro so overcome with pleasure that his cheeks glow red, his eyebrows furrowed together as if perplexed by how something could feel so good, his sharp canines sinking into his bottom lip to suppress his moans because he claims it’s embarrassing. Every single part of Kojiro’s euphoric expression was almost enough to get Kaoru to finish on the spot.

Almost. Sadly, he would need at least ten more minutes of getting beautifully fucked out of his mind, ten minutes Kojiro couldn’t give. Kojiro apologized every time, of course, and Kaoru would sometimes finish with a handjob from Kojiro. Kojiro would always offer, but the apologies and sudden pressure on Kaoru to finish only made the situation worse and painfully awkward. They had only made their relationship official two months ago, and they didn’t have sex while they were first seeing each other. It wouldn’t have mattered if Kaoru had known of Kojiro’s predicament beforehand; he loved Kojiro, including his…struggles.

“I saw these condoms that make you last longer the last time I went to the store,” Kojiro mumbled as he tied the condom and tossed it in the bin.

He looked over his shoulder at Kaoru, who looked like a Greek god splayed out on the mattress, his pink hair sprawled out across the pillows in tendrils of bubblegum, his golden eyes lustfully gazing at Kojiro. Just the sight of him was enough to get Kojiro hard again, but the thought of disappointing Kaoru yet again was enough to leave him soft and dejected.

“Oh,” was all Kaoru could say as he watched Kojiro stand up to grab a towel.

“And I was thinking,” Kojiro continued as he walked over to Kaoru to gently wipe down his chest, “that I could start jacking off before we do it. I read that if you let one go, then you’re desensitized for the real thing, and—”

“Kojiro,” Kaoru murmured, lifting a hand to Kojiro’s cheek. He brushed his thumb across his boyfriend’s cheekbone and smiled as he watched Kojiro lean into his touch, those ruby-red eyes closing. “I don’t want you to be desensitized when we have sex. I’m serious—it truly isn’t worth making a fuss. You’ll get better with time.”

Despite the kind words, Kojiro looked less than convinced. His eyes opened but dropped to the bed, his hand fisting the bedsheets. “It’s just…I get so close, and I slow down so I don’t come on the spot, but prolonging that feeling makes it even worse. It’s like I’m on the edge, and the fact that I’m on the edge makes me want to jump off. Like, you know, when you’re on a super tall building, and you look down, and—”

“I understand,” Kaoru interrupted, pinching Kojiro’s lips closed. However, the more he digested Kojiro’s words, the more ideas bloomed in his head. Edge. He’s on the edge.

“Let’s go take a shower,” Kaoru offered, leaning forward and kissing Kojiro’s pinched lips before finally letting them go.

Kaoru half-expected Kojiro to say some sort of innuendo, something like, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Cherry,” or “Good idea—we won’t get dirty in the shower,” but he’s instead reduced to silence. It hurt Kaoru to see his boyfriend so depressed over his stamina, something he couldn’t help. All Kaoru could do was hope the next time was a little better.

“It’s like I’m on the edge…”

As Kaoru watched Kojiro lather his hair, the murmurings of an idea in his mind finally solidified into something tangible. Kojiro wasn’t the only one reading about things on the internet—Kaoru was doing his own research.

And he had an idea.

Between their demanding jobs, S, and household chores, they didn’t get remotely into the mood until nearly a month after their last coupling.

Kaoru had won a race against a high-ranking member of S in a nail-biter race, one that had Kojiro watching the screen praying to whatever god was out there to protect his boyfriend. In a photo finish, Kaoru managed to pull ahead by leaning all his body weight forward, a risky move since it could have easily deviated his path, but it eventually won him the shiny trophy only a few meters away from the finish line.

He didn’t even care about the damn trophy. His prize was quite literally falling into Kojiro’s arms as he crossed the finish line. He had lost his balance and was about to face-plant, the ground approaching his face faster than he could process until he felt weightless. When he processed the feeling of beefy arms underneath his armpits and the warmth radiating off the bare chest mere centimeters from his nose, he lifted his head and frowned at Kojiro, already knowing what was about to come out of his mouth.

“You're really falling for me, aren’t you?”

“You bumbling oaf,” Kaoru grumbled, but instead of pulling away, he dove forward, burying his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. He couldn’t hide the yelp that escaped his mouth when Kojiro picked him up by the waist and swung him around, laughing like a maniac. Kaoru couldn’t help but give into the infectious joy that seemed to permeate the air around Kojiro at all times, laughing along as he cupped his boyfriend’s face and planted a fat kiss on those dirty, dirty lips.

The adrenaline coursing through Kaoru’s veins had his entire body hot to the touch. He was feverish from triumph, from being able to hug and kiss somebody at the end of the race. For far too long, he’d been alone at the finish line with nobody to celebrate with except Carla. He’d look over at Kojiro on the other side, who was too busy flirting with women to even notice his win. Now, he had Kojiro all to himself.

The thought, albeit possessive, had him so feverish that he struggled to stand when Kojiro set him down. He watched as Kojiro retrieved the trophy, bringing it over with a giant grin on his annoyingly handsome face. He was so classically handsome, with a square jaw and small, deep-set eyes framed by dark eyelashes so long they tickled Kaoru’s face whenever they kissed. Kaoru’s growing lust was compounded by his annoyance at how handsome his boyfriend was.

“Kojiro,” he mumbled, subtly slipping a finger underneath the waistband of Kojiro’s pants and tugging at it. “Let’s go home, hm?”

As thick-headed as Kojiro could be sometimes, when it came to sexual advances, he was Albert Einstein. Sparing a few quick goodbyes to the rest of the members of S, he threw Kaoru over his shoulder and ran to their car parked in the abandoned lot next to the course.

“You buffoon!” Kaoru exclaimed, pounding his fists against Kojiro’s lower back as he kicked his legs. “Carla, cut off his path!”

Carla sped and paused in Kojiro’s path, but he easily avoided her by hopping over the board and continuing to the lot. Kaoru crossed his arms the rest of the way, including when Kojiro placed him in the passenger seat like a toddler.

Once Kojiro was done putting their boards in the back seat, he sat in the driver’s seat, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and sultry in the way he knew Kaoru liked, “we could do it here. Put the boards in the trunk. Maybe we need a little spice.”

He leaned over to Kaoru, his hand moving to his rose hair and watching as the long loose strands slipped through his fingers. He tucked a lock of hair behind Kaoru’s ear, his fingers lingering on his ear before stroking the shell of it, which was so red he wanted to take a bite out of it.

It was strange—it seemed like Kaoru’s expressions were sexier with the balaclava blocking half his face. It left Kojiro guessing—was he biting his lips? Was he panting with need?

Kaoru squeezed his eyes closed, but he didn’t move away from Kojiro’s touch—he knew that Kojiro knew all of his erogenous zones. What he lacked in stamina he made up in memorizing every other way to pleasure Kaoru.

He brushed his lips against Kaoru’s ear, delighting in the gasp that elicited from him. His hand dropped from Kaoru’s ear to his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What do you say?”

However, Kaoru intercepted Kojiro’s hand and held it in the air, turning his face so their noses were mere centimeters away. He smirked and licked his lips, looking down at the obvious tent in his boyfriend’s white linen pants. “I have an idea for tonight. Would you like to play along, Joe?”

He moved his hand away from Kojiro’s and down between his legs, ghosting his palm over his erection in such a tantalizing way that Kojiro couldn’t help but huff, a whine lacing his exhale. A whine that had Kaoru reaching across to start the car.

“I love games,” Kojiro replied. Kaoru’s desperation to leave only added to his painful arousal. He revved the car before putting it in drive, glancing at his boyfriend with his canines on full display. “Hang on, Cherry.”

It was a miracle they didn’t get pulled over for speeding or arrested for public indecency from how they groped each other on the way to Kaoru’s apartment. The moment they made it inside, Kojiro’s pants were off and Kaoru’s kimono had disappeared somewhere on the way to the bedroom.

However, Kaoru ensured he was facing the bed as they stumbled inside. Once they were standing in front of the bed, he pushed Kojiro down onto it, straddling him and having to bite back a grin as he watched Kojiro’s expression morph from surprise into red-hot lust.

“So, what’s the game?” Kojiro said, licking his lips as he rubbed the tops of Kaoru’s thighs spread on top of him.

Kaoru reached up and took out his hair tie, his hair draping like rose water down his back and shoulders. He couldn’t hide the smile that crossed his lips when he saw Kojiro gulp thickly, his eyes caressing his boyfriend’s svelte figure glowing in the moonlight like satin.

“You said that whenever you felt on edge, you’d finish even quicker,” Kaoru said, grinding his hips down so that Kojiro’s hardness rubbed between his ass cheeks. “So, we’re going to train that out of you.”

Kojiro scoffed, raising a brow. “So it’s not a game. It’s training. Sex training.”

Kaoru put a finger to his own lips and smiled something small yet big enough to show how excited he was for what was about to come. “No, it’s a game. If you manage to last over twenty minutes without coming from my…movements, then we’ll fuck every day this week, and you’ll get to come whenever you want. If you come before the twenty minutes are up, you’ll have to give me head for the rest of the week.”

Kojiro chuckled and sat up, wrapping his arms around Kaoru’s waist and pulling him close until their chests pressed against each other. “This is sounding like a win-win scenario.”

Kaoru frowned and flicked the space between Kojiro’s eyebrows. “For a sex fiend like you, maybe. Now, hush and watch.”

He pushed Kojiro onto the mattress again and wasted no time in starting up his hips like a mixer, swirling them until he felt Kojiro’s erection twitch.

“Hey, let’s lose the clothes, yeah?” Kojiro groaned, pressing his head back into the mattress as he sunk his fingernails into Kaoru’s thighs.

“Good idea,” Kaoru said, standing back up and motioning for Kojiro to sit up. “Take them off me.”

“Fuck,” Kojiro breathed, his hands on the waistband of Kaoru’s pants before he could even finish his sentence. “Don’t mind if I do.”

In one swift motion, he pushed down Kaoru’s pants to reveal his cock, rosy and hard and already wet from pre-come. Kojiro smirked and tipped his head back to kiss Kaoru on the jaw, gently scraping his fingernails down his back. “Doesn’t look like I’ll be losing any time soon.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, big boy,” Kaoru purred, dropping to his knees and rubbing Kojiro’s clothed thighs as he cocked his head. “Your turn.”

Kojiro’s pants were gone even faster than when he stripped Kaoru down, setting free his erection that was straining painfully against the fabric. Expletives ran through Kaoru’s mind at the sight of his naked boyfriend, resembling a bona fide sports model, except instead of a modeling set, he was in Kaoru’s apartment, legs spread like a king and ready to receive. It was frankly unfair to the rest of Kojiro’s suitors that Kaoru won him in the end—and he damn sure wasn’t going to share any of him with anybody.

With a firm hand, he gripped Kojiro’s cock and gave it a tentative stroke. He had to bite back a smile at how sensitive Kojiro was from any touch from his boyfriend, feeling even luckier that he could call Kojiro his boyfriend. He removed his hand only to spit in it before returning it to Kojiro’s cock, slicking it up and causing slick sounds to echo throughout the apartment.

“Don’t tell me you’re already close,” Kaoru mumbled with a smirk as delicious moans poured from his boyfriend’s mouth no matter how much he tried to stop them by biting his knuckles. “I had so much fun planned…”

“You really think…hah…this is enough to make me come?” Kojiro began to chuckle, but it quickly turned into another groan when Kaoru tightened his grip and quickened his stroking pace. “A fucking handjob? Don’t…mmm…m-make me laugh.”

“No, I’ll make you moan,” Kaoru said before leaning forward and wrapping his lips around the tip of Kojiro’s cock, which was red and weeping precome and oh-so-hard.

The groan that drew out from Kojiro’s lips was lovely and only made Kaoru’s own cock harden that much more. Kojiro prided himself on feeling good by making Kaoru feel good due to his shortcomings, but Kaoru also enjoyed seeing Kojiro enjoy himself. After all, it was one of the only reasons why he had sex with Kojiro as often as he did. He got hard just at the thought of Kojiro ravaging him with only his eyes, nevermind with his hands. That really got Kaoru going.

An obscene noise escaped Kaoru’s throat as he took all of Kojiro’s cock in one fell swoop, his erection taking up every single centimeter of Kaoru’s throat until it suctioned to the sides. It was uncomfortable, certainly, but the way Kojiro’s abs were on full display and his moans spilled out like a river was more than enough to keep Kaoru going.

GACK!

Kaoru admitted to himself that he was making the sounds on purpose, knowing that Kojiro was an auditory type of person during sex. He enjoyed hearing Kaoru moan, say his name, say anything during sex as long as it was positive. Although, he didn’t have to try very hard to make the noises in the first place—Kojiro’s cock was simply too big for him to handle all at once without meeting resistance.

Saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth and poured down his chin, causing a big mess he usually wouldn’t tolerate, but the sweet sounds Kojiro was making were enough to distract him from the spit-and-come mess that was his chin, throat, and chest.

“Fuck, Kaoru, do you usually do…do it like this? Or am I j-just…super fucking horny?” Kojiro could barely get a sentence out without succumbing to pleasure.

His hand mussed itself in Kaoru’s hair, gripping it at the roots with the exact grip he knew Kaoru liked. Kojiro chuckled when he felt Kaoru’s mouth buzz around his cock as he moaned at the tightness of Kojiro’s grip on his scalp, shocks of pleasure shooting down both of their spines. The vibrations only made Kojiro grow closer to finishing, which made him pull gently on Kaoru’s hair.

“Kaoru, fuck, wait, I’m—fuck—!”

With a resounding pop, Kaoru lifted off Kojiro’s cock and brushed his pink hair behind his ear as he licked the tip with tantalizing slowness. He kept his eyes solely on Kojiro, who looked at him with a gaze so heated with lust it seemed like those red eyes would burst into flames.

“Not yet,” Kaoru murmured, his lips against the head of Kojiro’s cock. He then stood and climbed back into Kojiro’s lap.

Now that they were both completely naked, it only added to their mutual need to destroy each other sexually. Kojiro’s cock slotted perfectly between Kaoru’s ass, slipping into the divot the curve of his back made as Kaoru rocked his hips back and forth at a pace that had Kojiro gripping his hips for dear life. Kaoru gathered the saliva that moistened his chin and neck and reached behind himself to his entrance, where he gingerly slipped two fingers inside and pumped them unhurriedly. He still wanted to torture Kojiro, and he had gotten so used to his lover’s shape that it hardly took much prep outside of lubrication to get him ready to be fucked out of his mind.

“Ah-ah,” Kaoru chided, grasping Kojiro’s hands and loosening their grip on his body. “I’m in control. Do you not understand the rules of the game?”

Kojiro sucked on his teeth and reluctantly detached his fingers from Kojiro’s hips, instead settling them on his thighs. “Oh, I understand them,” he began, his eyes sliding down his boyfriend’s body with unadulterated arousal. “I just don’t like them.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Kaoru cooed, lifting his hips so that Kojiro’s cock was kissing the tip of his hole. “Because I’m about to get sucked off for the rest of the week.”

“Not that I’m complaining but,” Kojiro started, his hands sliding to cup each of Kaoru’s ass cheeks as if they were made of glass, “I like winning. And I’m going to win this. Do your worst.”

Kaoru snickered and reached behind him to give Kojiro’s cock a stroke to punish him. “Have you noticed that you aren’t wearing a condom? And you’ve always worn a condom the entire time we’ve been together?”

He almost laughed at seeing in real time Kojiro putting two-and-two together. His eyes dropped from Kaoru’s face to where they were almost connected, and his muscles began to spasm as if just the sight of it was enough to further his realization.

“Holy…are you sure, Kaoru?” he asked, his tone dropping from cocky to sincere. “We don’t have to…”

“You haven’t been with anybody else without a condom, right?” Kaoru asked, dropping just enough for the head of Kojiro’s cock to enter him. Both men groaned together, their pleasure and bodies harmonizing at the simple movement.

“Fuck no,” Kojiro grumbled, his fingernails leaving crescent tattoos on the soft flesh of Kaoru’s thighs. “I could never. How could I, with this, with you…”

“Then we’re fine,” Kaoru whispered earnestly. He carded his fingers through Kojiro’s hair, bringing his hand to cup his jaw before closing his eyes and slowly, tortuously dropping his hips.

The feeling of Kojiro’s raw cock was like no other. He could feel every vein, every pulse, every square centimeter of fiery hot skin against his walls, and it drove him crazy beyond reasoning. He dropped his hips all the way, all at once, causing a slap of skin on skin to echo in the room and his mind. He had only processed that all of Kojiro was inside him when he heard the sounds of struggle coming from his boyfriend.

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the Renaissance portrait that was Kojiro Nanjo in the throes of bliss. The moonlight streaming from the windows provided a perfect chiaroscuro, highlighting his expression and strained muscles in a milk-white spotlight.

More often than not, the second he slid down on Kojiro’s cock, he would finish on the spot. Not this time. It seemed as if Kojiro was using everything in his power not to finish because he could barely open his eyes or speak.

“Kojiro,” Kaoru murmured, trailing a hand down his boyfriend’s sweat-slick muscled chest. “Are you alright?”

“Fuck, Kaoru,” Kojiro breathed, his chest rising and falling erratically. “I’m more than alright. Fuck, fucking move.”

Kaoru licked his lips, his eyes heavily lidded with desire. “Can I get a please?”

Kojiro’s eyes flew open at that, those striking reds meeting gold. “Please.”

Kaoru couldn’t deny his boyfriend any longer. However, with only a few minute hip movements, Kojiro was already gripping him and bringing him to a halt.

“I’m close, fuck, I’m close—”

“Kojiro,” Kaoru said, slapping his boyfriend’s hands away until he fell back on the mattress, defeated. “What did I tell you?”

“I was so fucking close, Kaoru,” Kojiro whined.

Whined. Kaoru had gotten a preview of Kojiro’s brattish behavior back in the car, the first time he had ever witnessed his boyfriend nearly begging for something. Kaoru couldn’t hide the twitch his cock gave at that, and despite the heat broiling in his stomach, he felt a desperate need to draw those whines out of Kojiro again and again.

“Ngh…how about now?” Kaoru gasped as he rolled his hips in a way that had Kojiro’s cock brushing against his prostate with enough pressure that left him salivating. “Are you close now? Hm, Kojiro?”

Kojiro’s eyes squeezed closed again, his forest hair spread across the mattress wildly. “Shit, like that…yeah, just like that, Kaoru. More, more—”

Much to Kojiro’s chagrin, Kaoru steadied his hips, causing him to fist the bedsheets and buck his hips up in retaliation.

“Kojiro!” Kaoru exclaimed, steadying himself by planting his hands on Kojiro’s stomach, but that only made it easier to go along for the ride his boyfriend was giving him. “Ah, Kojiro—wait!”

“Oh, are you about to come?” Kojiro chuckled. His bravado swiftly toppled down the second Kaoru regained control and balanced himself by reaching behind him to grip Kojiro’s thigh, cementing his hips in place.

“Says you, you absolute buffoon,” Kaoru huffed. He would rather die than admit that yes, he had been close. The heat in his stomach was quickly reaching a boiling point, an unknown feeling when it came to having penetrative sex with Kojiro. How the hell was Kojiro faring so well?

“I’m doing just fine.” As if proving his point, he gave a half thrust, just to show that he could, that Kaoru couldn’t control him completely.

“Enough.” Kaoru was sick and tired of his game rules being violated.

He was a stickler for rules, as shown in S whenever Ainosuke bent or completely broke them without a second thought. But Kojiro knew better. So, Kaoru ground and swirled his hips at a pace that left Kojiro speechless. Kaoru’s cock bounced with the vigor of his movements, the slight indentation of abs on his svelte figure showing proudly.

“Kaoru—Kaoru! Fuck, please don’t stop…please, I’m so…” As if realizing that Kaoru was going to stop, Kojiro shut himself up and instead went along for the ride, palming Kaoru’s ass and following along with its gyrations.

“Close? You’re close?” Kaoru asked, his voice breathy and low.

Kojiro’s cock was beginning to pulse at a rate unfamiliar to Kaoru, who had only known three thrusts before feeling the condom expand inside him. It seemed to stretch him open with how big it was growing, and Kojiro wasn’t small to begin with. Kaoru hissed at the sudden stretch, but the pain coupled with the pleasure left his head fuzzy and unable to process any logic. Instead, it abandoned all thought processes together in favor of pursuing pleasure with reckless abandon.

“Hah, Kojiro…you’re so—ngh!” His voice poured with no regard as to how he sounded—all he knew was that he needed to moan, needed to make it known that his euphoria was consuming every thought, every synapse in his body. He wanted Kojiro to know that, yes, he was having fun, that he was feeling good, and that no matter what happened at that moment, he’d leave feeling satisfied.

It was only then that he realized that sex with Kojiro wasn’t about the orgasm. Sex in general wasn’t about orgasming. He enjoyed being in his lover’s arms, feeling his skin on his, tasting the sweat and come and spit along with hearing his moans like a symphony in his small one-bedroom apartment. He loved Kojiro’s cock, no matter how long it was inside him.

“Kaoru…Kaoru, you’re so…w-warm inside…” Kojiro’s voice died out as he watched his boyfriend mewl and move on top of him with the passion of a porn star. His eyes then fell on Kaoru’s bouncing, leaking cock, and he bit his lip before reaching forward and grasping it with a feather-like grip.

“Ah! Kojiro, that—!” The next movement Kaoru made with his hips inadvertently made him thrust into Kojiro’s hand, and move that fired every neuron in his brain and had him chasing that high again and again.

Kojiro could only watch in fascination as Kaoru thrust into his hand with each rock of the hips. But how could Kaoru not lose his mind? Being stimulated both in the front and back had his head floating off his shoulders into clouds so fluffy and light that he couldn’t fathom ever coming down.

“Keep…keep doing that, Kojiro. Oh, my—oh, my…!”

Kojiro sat up right as Kaoru finished in his hand and spurted his come all over his boyfriend’s chest and stomach. He knew Kaoru was about to come, having memorized every tic, every expression from the few times he had come by Kojiro’s hand. His eyebrows would furrow above those golden eyes that crossed as he’d look up at the ceiling before closing them, his kiss-drunk lips agape to let out those delicious whimpers and moans. Kojiro ate every single one by kissing Kaoru deeply, licking his bottom lip for silent permission before advancing his tongue into his warmth. Kaoru returned gratefully, their tongues sloppily hugging each other before he had to part to catch his breath from his heavenly orgasm.

“F…fuck…” he breathed, his shoulders sagging in fatigue.

“Wow, Kaoru Sakurayashiki cussing? Who taught you how to do that?” Kojiro teased, planting light kisses along his lover’s jaw.

Only after he had processed Kojiro’s words did Kaoru realize what had happened. He had lost his own game, the evidence right there on Kojiro’s chiseled chesticles. Kojiro’s cock was still inside him, still hard enough to stretch him open, and Kaoru’s ass was still empty of semen. It wasn’t as if Kojiro had gotten softer—no, in fact, Kaoru could feel his cock throbbing as if he’d finish at any moment.

“I…lost,” Kaoru mumbled, placing his hands on Kojiro’s hefty pecs. At least feeling up his boyfriend was a good consolation prize, but it didn’t solve the question of just how Kojiro was able to manage it. “How…how did you…?”

“Oh, how did I not come?” Kojiro asked with a smirk, one of his hands planted on Kaoru’s ass making its way down to where his cock was lodged inside his lover’s hole. He traced Kaoru’s entrance, which only made him whimper and dive forward to bury his face in the crook of Kojiro’s neck. “I used this numbing cream on my dick before the race. You always seem to get horny after them, so I thought ahead and…well, here we are.”

Kaoru’s face of shock was worthy of hanging a picture of it on the wall. His raised eyebrows then fell as he pouted and crossed his arms, flicking his hair behind his shoulder. “You cheated? Now, that’s not very fair.”

“I guess not,” Kojiro said with a shrug. Before Kaoru could retort with anything else, Kojiro gave another experimental thrust that had Kaoru scraping four red lines down his boyfriend’s chest. “Well, it made things interesting, right?”

Interesting wasn’t necessarily the word Kaoru would use to describe what had happened between them. He felt himself growing harder with each second he felt the minute movements of Kojiro’s cock slipping in and out of him, and he couldn’t deny the ever-present arousal he felt in his body whenever he was around his boyfriend. He cleared his throat and looked at Kojiro with a hard stare, his lips pulled into a determined frown.

“The only way you’ll be able to make it up to me,” he whispered, lifting his hips so that Kojiro’s cock slipped out of him, “is to fuck me until that numbing cream wears off.”

Kojiro had been in the middle of lamenting the sudden chill that hit his dick when Kaoru’s warmth and tightness disappeared, but his expression turned stony when his lover’s words finally processed in his mind. In one swift move, he had Kaoru on his back, his legs spread and his cock nudging against his hole.

Sliding a hand into Kaoru’s, intertwining their fingers, and listening for any sounds of resistance, he slowly entered his rightful place inside Kaoru, the tightness and heat of his lover returning all at once.

“Ahn-! So hasty…!” Kaoru gasped, the hand that wasn’t in Kojiro’s grip flailing forward before grabbing hold of his boyfriend’s back. “You couldn’t have warned me first?”

“Not when I’m about to fuck you until you come for me again.” Kojiro’s fingers brushed against Kaoru’s cheek before dropping to his chest, sketching a trail down his torso before ending just above his cock.

Kaoru began to writhe as if he could feel Kojiro’s hand on him already, but when he felt nothing, he paused and opened his eyes to see Kojiro staring up at him with a smirk that made him want to smack his lover into another dimension. “Kojiro! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Edging you,” he answered simply. His knuckles grazed Kaoru’s hardening cock with a whisper of a touch, an action so tedious that it had Kaoru huffing.

Kaoru tsked and rolled his eyes. “You’re joking.”

“I’m as serious as you are rock hard,” Kojiro replied easily before slapping Kaoru’s legs together and throwing them over his shoulder. Before Kaoru could say anything, he snapped his hips forward, nearly finishing on the spot from how tight Kaoru had grown from having his legs together paired with the surprise from the sudden change in position. He’d need to buy buckets of that numbing cream because the sight of Kaoru drooling from pleasure, squirming underneath him from too much bliss in too little of a body, was something he needed to see daily.

“Holy shit, Kaoru—fuck, this is nice…” he growled, biting the meat of Kaoru’s calf. Kaoru hid a yelp behind his hand, biting his knuckles as his head lolled to the side. As an apology, Kojiro licked the bite mark, which only left Kaoru in more of a fucked-out state than he currently was in.

“It’s too much, Kojiro…I can’t—I can’t—I’m—”

“Not yet.” Kojiro paused his rhythm and slowly slid out until he was about halfway inside Kaoru. He had to hide his laughter behind his forearm when Kaoru sat up and screamed at him. Once he regained his composure, he dropped his forearm and stared down at Kaoru, his position above him imposing and regal. “You’ll come when I tell you to.”

As much as he wanted to control, Kaoru enjoyed being controlled just as much. There had been multiple times when he’d had a stressful day, and all he wanted was for Kojiro to manhandle him and fuck him until he had to chase after his breath and skip work the next day. Kojiro had always finished too early before anything remotely resembling manhandling could take place, so, as much as Kaoru enjoyed taking the wheel, all he could do was lay back down and scoot forward so that he was taking in more of Kojiro’s cock.

“Please,” he murmured, rocking his hips to the best of his ability with his legs perched on Kojiro’s shoulder, getting stretched open just enough by Kojiro’s cock that all of his blood had drained to his own cock. “Please, Kojiro…I want to come…”

Alright, enough games. Kojiro had had enough of games. What he wanted was to fuck his boyfriend, something up until now had been an endeavor so fruitless that he had considered taking it off the table completely. He wanted to feel his boyfriend come on his cock, wanted to come inside him and feel every single groove of his walls hug his cock like an old friend.

And so Kojiro did just that. Holding onto Kaoru’s legs, he thrust away hard enough to have the bed squeaking and the mattress bowing underneath their combined weight. The sounds were so stereotypically sexual that Kaoru knew he wouldn’t be able to face his neighbors the next day, but he didn’t think about that at that moment. All he could think about was how Kojiro’s cock was ramming into his prostate with enough force and precision that he was already falling over the edge.

“Kojiro! Don’t stop—please don’t, I’m coming, I’m come—”

Tears of frustration escaped Kaoru’s eyes when Kojiro slowed his thrusting pace, cutting down the wave of pleasure that had been about to crest in his stomach. “Kojiro, I’m begging you, please—keep going, I want to come!”

“You just said the magic words.” With a chaste kiss to the bite mark he left behind, Kojiro thrust with such force that it rippled through Kaoru’s body like a whip. It only took three of these sharp thrusts for the bliss to finally overtake Kaoru’s body, the sensation resembling a warm shower, the water pitter-pattering on his skin and leaving him warm and relaxed.

The sight of Kaoru’s entire body freezing up paired with the restrictive tightness of his ass was enough to have Kojiro coming undone right then and there. He pulled Kaoru onto his cock until he was fully buried inside, hugging his legs to his chest almost in emotional support as load after load of semen flooded Kaoru’s walls with each squeeze his hole gave his cock.

“F…fuck! God, shit!” Kojiro’s expletives melted into graphic moans that far outweighed Kaoru’s quiet mewls of oversensitivity. His fingernails left angry red trails down the softness of Kaoru’s inner thighs, leaving him tattooed with evidence of Kojiro’s success.

Kaoru sighed at the feeling of semen inside him, an unknown sensation that he all but welcomed from the boyfriend to whom he had declared his love only weeks after meeting him. He had acted nothing but uncharacteristically around Kojiro—that was just what Kojiro did. He made Kaoru act like a fool, a fool who enjoyed the feeling of semen coating his walls and making him feel even more full than he already was.

Kojiro gently laid Kaoru’s legs down on the mattress, who then spread them open to make room for his lover. Kaoru held open his arms, and Kojiro gladly took the invitation, diving forward and sliding his hands underneath Kaoru’s waist to hold him close. They were sweaty, sticky, and slick with all sorts of body fluids, but they were creating courage for Kojiro to pull out.

“You lost,” Kojiro whispered into Kaoru’s ear, who groaned in protest. “That means we’re gonna have to fuck for the rest of the week. You think you can keep up?”

Kaoru moved his face so that he was glaring directly at Kojiro. He hooked his legs together and pushed Kojiro forward, milking him dry and smirking at the long groan that drew from him. “Mm…I can, especially if we fuck like this. The question is: can you?”

“S-sure,” Kojiro replied, still shaken up by how every centimeter of him was at the whim of Kaoru’s tight entrance. “As long as I have my numbing cream.”

Kaoru sobered at that, his smirk fading into a small frown. “Kojiro, I don’t want you to use that. I want you to feel all of me, even if that means you’ll finish quickly.”

He tucked a piece of sweaty hair behind his lover’s ear, bringing his hand down to his face to wipe away a bead of sweat next to his nose. “It’s alright that you don’t have much stamina. I have fun just being with you, regardless of whether we both finish through sex or not. I…I love you. And that means every part of you.”

Kojiro also sobered at that, but his expression was more disappointment than sincerity. “I’m just sick and tired of letting you down. I want you to feel good.”

“I will feel good no matter what you do to me, Kojiro,” Kaoru said with a light chuckle. “My entire body is an erogenous zone around you. It’s quite embarrassing, to be frank. Even if we’re just like this…I’m enjoying myself.”

Kojiro laughed. “Having my soft dick inside you?”

Kaoru pulled a disgusted face. “Well, when you put it like that…”

He was about to object when he felt Kojiro pulling out, but his body was so wracked with oversensitivity that all he could do was attempt to regulate his breathing. Once Kojiro was fully out, all Kaoru could focus on was the semen spilling out of him and leaving him cold and empty.

He watched as Kojiro flopped down beside him, blinking lazily from fatigue. “I never thought I’d get the edging turned around on me…that’s what I get for playing games.”

“Hey,” Kojiro said firmly, motioning to the sea of white on Kaoru’s chest. “You call this losing?”

Kaoru stayed silent, covering his face with his forearm. However, it was quickly taken away and replaced with Kojiro’s handsome, symmetrical face that grinned at him with a stunning smile.

“Let’s try this edging thing again,” he offered. “If I get to cry from desperation like you did…count me in.”

“You rude gorilla,” Kaoru grumbled, grabbing a pillow and hitting Kojiro with it.

However, he had truly taken a liking to edging. It felt as if he had completely separated from his body, becoming a slave to pleasure, his only goal to chase it.

And, well, it made Kojiro good at sex. Amazing at it.

And if edging was the way to go, so be it.

[happylittledrabbles]

The Marriage Pact, Chapter 5

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Pairing: Kojiro Nanjo x Kaoru Sakurayashiki

Chapter Word Count: 5K

AO3

–

Kojiro and Hiromi arrive at the afterparty, and Kojiro spots Kaoru, who looks...attractive? Alcohol creates a striking lack of inhibitions, which leads to some...situations.

–

Despite Kojiro’s need to erase Kaoru out of his brain, he had made a promise to try and connect with him as a friend. He spent most of his time getting ready in the morning staring at his phone screen and contemplating what he should text Kaoru, the blinking cursor in the text box a mocking reminder of how thoroughly confused and conflicted the man was. He left his toothbrush in his mouth, the toothpaste foaming and dripping down his chin as he glared at the screen, pleading for it to type something out itself so that he didn’t have to torture himself any longer. Finally, after enough staring, he sighed around the toothbrush, causing some toothpaste to spray out as he gripped his phone and pounded out a short and sweet text.

Hey. U good?

Great. Now that that was over with, he wiped his mouth and tossed his backpack over his shoulder, swinging open his door as a symbolic powerful start to his day. He nearly made it to class with a pep in his step until his phone vibrated in his pocket, and when he saw that the text was from Kaoru, he was crippled. He stopped instantaneously in the middle of the path, causing a guy to bump into his shoulder and cuss under his breath as he went around. But that didn’t matter; what did matter was Kojiro’s eyes scanning the text over and over again as if each read-over would give him a different answer. But each time, it was the same:

Yes. Thank you.

That was it? Kojiro couldn’t expect anything more after Kaoru explicitly told him to leave him alone, but it was still beyond disappointing. Kojiro needed that party to come a lot earlier than normal.

Hiromi would have been a great distraction had he not also constantly reminded Kojiro of his failed connection and the embarrassing and confusing way he kept pursuing him even though he wouldn’t even do the same for a woman.

“Why weren’t you at the race yesterday?” Kojiro asked as he picked up a chunk of beef in his curry rice with his chopsticks poised in his bandage-wrapped fingers. “I missed the infamous Shadow. He always makes the beef that much more entertaining, wouldn’t you say?”

Hiromi began to open his mouth, but Kojiro shook his head.

“Chew, then swallow, you heathen,” he grumbled, watching closely to see Hiromi’s Adam’s apple bob to signify that he had fully swallowed.

“You’re such a prude,” Hiromi groaned, putting down his sandwich. He grinned at the compliments and slicked back his hair, scratching at the shaved part underneath. “I do make things more entertaining, don’t I? Glad to hear you bitches missed me.”

He cleared his throat, picking a piece of wilted lettuce out of his sandwich. “Anyway, I was helping Shokichi answer emails complaining about the pact and deleting the ones that were obviously hate mail. When I looked at the time, I was already late. And you know how much Adam hates us being late. I figured he would notice my lateness more than he’d notice me missing. Did he notice at all?”

Kojiro shook his head. “If he did, he didn’t say anything. I think he was too caught up in showing off his new outfit to everybody and gathering compliments to care.” The mention of Ainosuke’s outfit transported him back to when he was hiding behind the bush, eavesdropping on Kaoru commenting on the same outfit. A pit settled in his stomach, one that was coal-like and heavy, and he found that the curry rice—even the smell of it—was making him nauseous.

“Classic Adam,” Hiromi said with a fond roll of the eyes.

That didn’t sit right with Kojiro. “You like him?” he asked quietly as if asking the question inaudibly would soften the blow of it.

Hiromi was taken aback, his mouth morphing into a tiny ‘o.’ “Um, yeah? I guess? I don’t know. He’s the president. All I know is that one day I’m going to beat him awesomely, and then I’ll be the president!” After his declaration, Hiromi’s attention returned to the question at hand, his eyes dropping to his friend. “Why are you asking?”

That was the one question Kojiro didn’t want Hiromi asking, and he couldn’t hide the annoyance in his body language as he shifted in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He tipped his chin to the sky as if his pretend show of confidence would make Hiromi believe him anymore when it was actually the opposite. Kojiro was tired of people asking him questions and not answering his. He thought he liked people asking him questions, like The Marriage Pact, but the more this went on, the least he could tolerate a question mark at the end of a sentence.

“No reason,” he said with a shrug. “Bad vibes. But he’s the president, so we gotta respect him.”

Hiromi stayed silent, his eyes focusing on Kojiro’s closed-off body language. He took another bite of his sandwich before commenting on his food, effectively shifting the topic of conversation.

“Are you going to the party on Friday? After the beef?” Kojiro asked, leaning forward in curiosity.

Hiromi shrugged. “Why not. I’m a party master.”

“Mhm,” Kojiro replied sarcastically.

Hiromi narrowed his eyes. “How would you know? You can barely remember a thing after your third beer, which you finish off within twenty minutes of getting to Adam’s place.”

Kojiro chuckled and threw his hands up in resignation, giving a curt nod. “Okay, okay, you got me.” He lowered his hands, picking up a piece of potato and saying, “Great, I’ll see you there, then,” subsequently putting it in his mouth.

***

Friday couldn’t have come sooner, and the beef was nothing of note. With Hiromi and Kaoru back in the race, Kojiro dropped down to fourth, but his heart wasn’t particularly in it anyway. The curves of the tunnels seemed monotonous instead of treacherous, and the bruises on his shins barely hurt when Hiromi poked them to be an ass. He had to hear Hiromi talk his ear off about getting above him as they walked over to Ainosuke’s house, but the promise of cheap liquor was more than enough to not put Hiromi in a headlock and make him cry uncle.

Ainosuke’s house was nothing of note. The one important thing, though, was the fact that the nearest neighbor was down the street and that it had a basement for ultimate booming sound quality from the speakers. The basement, like the tunnels they race on, was full of graffiti, which juxtaposed against his actual home. His house was pristine and monochrome and full of abstract modern art like something straight out of Patrick Bateman’s apartment. He had no roommates since he was filthy rich thanks to his family’s dirty money, but it worked out in his favor since he didn’t have to ask permission before he threw a party nearly every weekend.

The party was already in full swing when they arrived at the front door, the lights from the open basement door projecting across the shadowy upstairs living room and the music vibrating the glass in the windows. He texted Ainosuke that they had arrived, and two minutes later, the man came stumbling to the door in a red robe and his usual eye mask (an interesting combination) and pulled it open, making a grand gesture with his arm to usher them in.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Ainosuke proclaimed, bowing as the two entering men slipped off their shoes and held them in their hands.

You say that every time, Kojiro thought, but what came out was, “Thanks, man. It sounds like a rager.”

Ainosuke pulled out two bottles of beer from the pockets of his robe, holding them out for them to take. “It very much is. Now, shall we get started?” He giggled and cocked his head. “If you couldn’t tell, I already have.”

Kojiro and Hiromi shared a glance before reaching forward and taking the bottles. Thankfully, they were screw-on, and in a show of his absolutely formidable strength, Hiromi unscrewed both of their bottles and handed Kojiro his with a shining grin.

“Wow. Thanks.” Kojiro rolled his eyes and promptly took a long swig from the bottle, nearly half of it gone before he came up for air.

“Well, don’t just stand there! Come downstairs!” Ainosuke persuaded, turning on his heel and running downstairs. Even if he hadn’t said he was drunk, it was still very obvious from the way that he trekked onto his spotless floor with his party shoes, leaving specs of dirt along the way. The walk down to the basement was quick, and Kojiro didn’t know whether the alcohol was already hitting or the fact that he was so incredibly happy to be back in the party scene, but either way, he was enjoying himself thoroughly.

“The one thing I wish I could change about Shokichi is to make him more of a party-person,” Hiromi said, checking his makeup in his phone camera and swiping on another coat of purple lipstick. He pursed his lips together, looking over at his friend and lifting a hand to ruffle his hair. “He thinks that socializing in wood-shop is more than enough fun for a Friday night.”

Kojiro stood there and took the ruffling with a deadpan face before ducking his head and stepping away, running his fingers through his hair to fix whatever bird’s nest Hiromi created. “Well, you have me. So, let’s get this party started!”

He took another swig of the bottle as Hiromi cheered him on from the sidelines, holding up hand-horns on both hands and sticking his tongue out, shaking his head as the alcohol drained from the bottle and into Kojiro’s stomach. People began to gather around them to see what the commotion was about, and when they saw how quickly Kojiro polished off the beer, the empty bottle was quickly replaced with a new one, and a chorus of people chanting ‘chug’ started up, only doubling the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Fuck yeah!” Hiromi screeched as Kojiro downed another bottle, setting it aside and pounding his chest as an obscene burp slipped from his throat and assaulted the ears of anybody standing beside him. He blinked, his eyelids suddenly a lot heavier than before. His stomach was full and warm, the alcohol lighting a fire in his torso and creating a series of combustion reactions that made him want to dance as if he’d die tomorrow. He took Hiromi by the hand and waded through the sweaty bodies on the dance floor until they were in the middle of the pit, grinning wider than he had in nearly a month. It was strange to think that being sandwiched between multiple sweaty bodies constantly riding up next to him and bumping him forward and back would be freeing, but all the free time Kojiro had was like a prison since that one person had his brain in a vice grip and wouldn’t let go no matter how much he begged.

He felt a soft hand on his bicep, and when he turned, a woman with bleach-blond hair and a stormy glint in her eyes looked up at him with those heart-shaped lips in a smirk. She didn’t have to say a word—he got the gist. He turned to her, figuring Hiromi would find some platform to jump onto to crowd surf soon enough once the alcohol kicks in, his hands meandering in the air until they laid themselves on her swiveling hips. They followed every movement her hips made, happily going along for the ride as she wrapped her arms around his neck, a grin overtaking his lips.

“This your first party?” he asked, and she nodded.

“My friend Yua brought me here,” she replied, pulling Kojiro in by the back of his neck to line her lips up to his ear. She smelled subtly of perfume, and whatever it was, it was drawing Kojiro in and nudging her jaw with his nose. “I’m glad she did.”

Kojiro chuckled low in his chest, letting out a short grunt as one of her hands trailed down from the nape of his neck to the center of his naked back, tracing his spine with her manicured nails. “Are you having fun?”

The woman’s nose kissed the tip of Kojiro’s, their eyes on each other’s lips as if they were the most irresistible sight in the world. “More than you can imagine.”

Even though the sight of the woman’s lips moving, the gloss causing them to stick together between words, was mesmerizing and caused him to lean forward to feel those lips on his own, his eyes drifted away from her and over her shoulder. And there he was. The person he came to this party to forget, even for a few hours, because the memory of him, his presence, his smell, his everything, was far too painful for Kojiro to handle.

Kaoru stood with his weight on one leg, the other kicked up behind him as he leaned against the wall alone, nursing a cup with mysterious juice splashing inside every time somebody bumped into him. He looked like a child lost in a grocery store, his eyes searching the crowd desperately for any familiar face, his lips pulled into a displeased frown. He was wearing…something that wasn’t a yukata or a hakama. He had been wearing a turtleneck during their first meeting, but it was dark, and Kojiro wasn’t exactly focusing on his outfit but the fact that he was meeting the Cherry Blossom. No, now he was taking in how his body looked, slender and tall, in a white shirt that was much too tight for his style and a green flannel layered on top—not to mention how his legs looked fantastic in those tapered trousers.

Kojiro let out a heavy breath and stepped back, the woman’s grip on his chest dropping.

“Are you okay?” she asked, about to lift her hand up again to his shoulder, but he got bumped to the side in the nick of time.

“Bathroom!” he shouted before melting away into the crowd, becoming one with the jumping and flowing river of people. The river eventually spat him out onto the sidelines, only a meter away from Kaoru.

Either Kaoru was pretending not to see him, or he was simply too overwhelmed to focus on one thing; either way, when Kojiro stumbled up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, Kaoru’s short scream was heard over the music. A few heads turned but quickly went back to the party once they saw nobody was dying. Kojiro allowed Kaoru to catch his breath, apologizing profusely.

“You’re really jumpy,” Kojiro said as he watched Kaoru grip his own chest in response to his heart nearly somersaulting out of his throat.

“I don’t always expect to be touched from behind,” Kaoru replied, his voice inaudible due to the booming music.

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

“What?”

“I said—”

“You know what?” Kojiro bit by bit lowered his hand to Kaoru’s wrist, and when he was met with no resistance, took it into his hand and pulled him up the basement stairs. The music was still loud, the expensive glass sculptures looking as if they’d shatter or fall off their glass tables at any second. How Ainosuke was able to throw parties in here so often was beyond him.

“There. That’s better,” Kojiro finished, letting out a sigh of relief now that he could finally talk without having to get a headache. “Now, what were you saying?”

He turned to Kaoru, who was staring down at his drink with a blush on his cheeks. He tilted his head back and polished off the rest of his drink—which was a substantial amount—and wiped his lips with the back of his hand as he set the cup down on a less expensive-looking wood table.

“You…drink?” Kojiro asked, surprise evident in his voice.

Kaoru frowned and flipped a lock of hair over his shoulder. “Yes. What, do you think I’m an innocent teenager who can’t handle a few drinks?”

Either Kaoru was really drunk, or he was really pissed at Kojiro or both. Either way, the alcohol coursing through Kojiro’s veins made him that much more ignorant to tone changes because he snickered and said, “Yeah, basically.”

Kaoru scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m not innocent.”

This moment was the first time Kojiro frowned the entire night, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Oh, yeah, I guess so with that whole Adam thing.” Before Kaoru could process exactly what Kojiro said, he continued, “So…did you two really hook up after the beef?”

Kaoru’s blush became full-blown, his face matching the red of the cup. He stuttered before stopping and gathering his thoughts, letting out a slow exhale. He crossed his arms, looking up to Kojiro from underneath his eyelashes, and if Kojiro didn’t know better (and wasn’t currently heavily tipsy) he’d think Kaoru was flirting with him. But no, he was just incensed. When wasn’t he when he was with Kojiro? Without any warning, he took off up the far too-clean stairs, leaving dirty footprints along the way as he made his way to the second floor.

“Kaor—Cherry! Where are you going?” Kojiro yelled, grabbing a pack of beer on the way as an apology if Kaoru didn’t kick his ass first. He lost sight of him, but when he saw an open door, he assumed Kaoru opened it and followed him inside.

It seemed to be Ainosuke’s room, which was as polished as the rest of the house, but something was even eerier about it. Perhaps it was the messy bedsheets and the open package of condoms on the nightstand that got Kojiro’s mind running and sobered him up just enough to make him angry. He shook off the thoughts of how Kaoru and Ainosuke were most likely why the bed was messy and that box of condoms was nearly ripped open. He turned his attention to the shutters of the main bay window thrown open and the chilled breeze blowing into the room. He walked over to the window, spotting that pink head of hair on the roof, and chuckled lightly to himself. He climbed through the window, shutting it behind him to hide any more signs that they were inside the club president’s bedroom and climbed carefully down the tile, sitting down a safe distance away from Kaoru.

“You gave quite a chase,” Kojiro murmured, setting down the pack of beers between them. “I brought these as an olive branch. For, uh, my drunken line of questioning.”

Kaoru’s side profile was aesthetically perfect. His sloping nose, his upturned top lip, his high cheekbones that seemed to be the optimal landing spot for the moon’s rays, and his pale skin drank up the moonlight like milk. Kojiro grabbed another beer and cracked it open, downing half of it to try and focus on anything other than how fucking pretty Kaoru was.

Kaoru turned his face, his eyes focusing on the pack of beer. He reached out and took one for himself, opening it and sipping at the can pensively.

“So what if I did?” he asked.

Kojiro paused his drinking and turned to face Kaoru, who was tracing circles into the roof tiles bashfully. “What?”

“So what if I did sleep with him?” he repeated. He looked up, meeting Kojiro’s bewildered gaze. “What are you going to do about it?”

Now it was Kojiro’s turn to look down in bashfulness. He shrugged and leaned back on the sloped roof, using his elbow to support himself as he turned to his side to give Kaoru his full attention. His lips felt looser, plumper. They felt heavy as if his bottom lip was being pulled down and somebody was reaching down his throat to pull the words out. The barriers in his mind that prevented stupid things from spilling out had been cracked and flooded by the alcohol, leaving him vulnerable to just about anything to exit his mouth.

“Nothing, I guess. I’m not your boyfriend. As you said, I shouldn’t even be asking. Just, uh. Be safe?” He laughed somewhat sadly, his smile not reaching his eyes. “I’m glad you’re getting something. God knows I’m not.”

Kaoru let out a sharp laugh, turning his face to the sky. “What?” He looked down to take in Kojiro’s surprise. “You’re not getting anything? Mr. Tanned Chesticles? Mr. Womanizer? Please don’t make me laugh.”

“Hey, listen, women don’t throw themselves at me, okay?” he exclaimed. “Sure, I get hit on and catcalled at beefs an alarming amount. But none of it really matters. It’s just sex. You get tired of it after a while. So, I’m on a cleansing kick.”

Kaoru stifled a laugh. “You’re cleansing yourself…of sex?” He tossed his head back and laughed again, but it was quickly cut off when Kojiro gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. Kaoru turned to see an uncharacteristic shade of red on Kojiro’s cheeks and cocked his head, an amused smile on his beer-soaked lips. “I’d sure love to see how long you last.”

“About a month now,” Kojiro replied nonchalantly. "Ever since I first met you, actually."

Kaoru made a surprised sound in his throat but quickly turned away his head, silencing himself with the tip of the beer bottle. “It must be difficult.”

“No,” Kojiro said. “It’s kind of freeing. To not want to constantly be worrying about another person. That’s why I thought The Marriage Pact was stupid and that it was a joke. I don’t really believe in…you know, soulmates. Being with one person for the rest of your life. Sounds boring, doesn’t it?” He stole a glance at Kaoru before dropping his eyes back to his beer and taking another swig. “Just a stupid fairytale.”

Kojiro was the philosophical drunk when he was alone, the party animal drunk on the best of days, and the depressed drunk on the worst of them. His mind was rolling through all the different theories about love: how it’s just a chemical reaction, how love is just based on the best mating characteristics, how humans aren’t meant to be monogamous. But when he looked over at Kaoru, it seemed as if he vehemently disagreed.

“How can you say that?” he asked in a small voice, his eyebrows furrowed and the corners of his lips downturned. “You don’t believe in love?”

It seemed as if Kaoru was the sad type of drunk. Kojiro sighed and scooted a few centimeters closer, and when Kaoru didn’t move back, he closed the distance until their hands were finger-to-finger and the beer had been moved up the roof and away from them. He didn’t know whether it was the alcohol or because Kaoru’s body was a natural heater—either way, his core was roasting, and he was aching to do something. He didn’t know what, but the energy was mixing in with the alcohol in his veins, his entire body thrumming. God, he was drunk.

“It’s like ghosts,” he replied eventually. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Kaoru’s shoulders dropped in resignation, his head hung low. “I was in love once.”

Kojiro turned quickly in disbelief, but the sudden movement made him dizzy, and Kaoru’s face was difficult to decipher. “What? How did you know?” He blinked. “Was it with Adam? Ainosuke?”

Kaoru shook his head, covering half his face in shame with his hand, his fingers digging into his scalp. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hey, we’re already here and drunk,” Kojiro slurred and motioned with his hand, causing some beer to spill over and trail down the back of his hand to his wrist. “Just tell me. I probably won’t remember this tomorrow.”

He looked out into the dark horizon sliced with trees and populated by millions of stars—ah, the perks of living in the countryside. However, a swish of pink in his peripheral made him turn his head just in time to watch, his inebriated state slowing each second down to what felt like a minute, as Kaoru reached forward and gripped his wrist, bringing it forward and up to his mouth. Then, his tongue, as pink as his hair, slid out from between his lips and lapped up the nearly dry beer, trailing it down from the vein on the back of his hand down to the knob of his wrist.

“Let’s focus on something else,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss onto his knuckle, his eye contact unwavering. “And try to remember it.”

The reaction was immediate. Kojiro could have counted as sober with how quick his reaction time was as he leaned over and enveloped Kaoru’s slender body with his arms, bringing him near and closing that tantalizing distance that became too difficult to resist. The kiss was hot, heavy, feverish. It was paused for only a second when Kojiro separated to slide Kaoru’s glasses off his straight nose bridge, giving the tip of it a kiss before setting the glasses down behind him. He took in each swirl, fleck, and sparkle that decorated Kaoru’s irises, looking like two golden coins that dully reflected the moonlight. However, Kaoru cut the veneration of his eyes short by leaning forward and resuming their salacious kiss, and Kojiro gladly accepted. He could look into Kaoru’s eyes whenever he wanted after this. He wasn’t sure when the next time they’d kiss was. More reason to savor it as much as possible.

They were panting into each other’s mouths, their eyelids heavy and their visions blurry as they took in the sight of each other in their most uncontrollable states, where inhibitions were long forgotten and impulses were acted upon with reckless abandon. Kaoru swung a leg effortlessly over Kojiro’s hip, sitting pretty in his lap and cupping his jawline with two hands for dear life. It was wet, squelching—each time they separated for a much-needed breath, a puff of congealed air rose up from between them and into the cold night, cold except for the fiery forcefield the two men were creating around them.

Kaoru’s body was muscular and lean. Kojiro’s hands ran up and down his hips, sides, back, nape of the neck, back of the head. Everything about him was graceful. His scapula was sharp but fit into the palm of his hand perfectly. When he traced a line along the vertebrae in Kaoru’s spine, he groaned at the visible chill that ran through Kaoru’s body. A soft whine escaped his lips when he felt Kaoru’s svelte fingers trail down his chest, bumping as they went over his pecs and abs that were flexing with each shuddering breath he took. He was getting drunker not on beer but on Kaoru’s physique, his lavender scent that became overwhelming, the way his silken hair slipped between his fingers like spring water. The fact that Kaoru was a man escaped Kojiro. In his mind, he wasn’t making out with a man, somebody of the same sex, somebody that wasn’t a woman. In his mind, he was making out with Kaoru. He was making the Cherry Blossom feel good. The muscles under his fingers didn’t bother him, and neither did the growing hardness in Kaoru’s pants. It was simply something to get used to. And the worst part: he didn’t believe he was that drunk. All these thoughts were genuine and sober. He kissed Kaoru deeper to distract himself, and the way Kaoru clung onto his bare shoulders was the optimal distraction.

Kojiro started out as hungry, wanting to devour anything and everything Kaoru Sakurayashiki, but now, all he wanted to do was sit back and admire him. He wanted to drink in the way his eyes fluttered whenever Kojiro’s teeth grazed his jawline. He wanted to play on repeat his gasps and sighs when a new purple mark was left on his milky skin. He realized he wanted to hear and watch these things about him many, many more times. And the realization did not trouble him one bit.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispered between hurried kisses. He massaged his thumbs into Kaoru’s hips before running them upwards, his thumb tracing circles onto Kaoru’s chest.

Kaoru, on the other hand, hesitated. He broke away from the kiss, but Kojiro took that as a hint to move on and attached his lips to Kaoru’s collarbone, causing the other to involuntarily arch his back from unexpected pleasure. “A-ah!”

Kojiro sucked in a deep breath and looked up at Kaoru from underneath his eyelashes, a proud grin on his bitten-up lips. “You’re gorgeous.”

Kaoru pressed his lips into a tight line, his eyebrows pulling into a frustrated expression. “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Kojiro asked with a chuckle. He licked the beginning of Kaoru’s collarbone before biting it playfully, delighting in the squeal that came out of the other’s mouth. “Don’t keep on making you feel good?”

“Stop! J-just stop!” Kaoru pushed Kojiro away, falling backward onto his rear as his chest sputtered to catch his breath. “Stop calling me beautiful!”

Kojiro was left at a loss, both in warmth and in logic. His hands that were just holding Kaoru’s torso were left hanging in the air, his fingers curling slightly at the suddenly empty space. His mouth was agape, his eyes searching the space in front of him until they settled on Kaoru’s defensive form. He had a few sober thoughts, and one of them was the comprehension that they were both still at least tipsy. Rationality was not something both of them could afford.

“W-what?” Kojiro spluttered, attempting to lean forward, but Kaoru backed up dangerously close to the edge when he did. He stayed put where he was, staring at Kaoru with bewilderment from afar.

“You keep calling me beautiful,” Kaoru repeated, his lips curling up into a snarl. “Listen, I know you have this whole ‘I’m not gay’ attitude going on, and maybe I shouldn’t have kissed you since you must be blackout drunk to be making out with a man, but treating me like a woman won’t make this a better experience for you.”

Kaoru was incredibly articulate for somebody who was supposed to be heavily tipsy at best. And incredibly emotional for somebody who was nearly sober at worst.

“I’m not treating you like a woman,” Kojiro explained, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“I tried to reason with myself as to why I was kissing a man who so vehemently denied liking men but did it with such enthusiasm. I thought it was another case of internalized homophobia, and I was happy to be your turning point. But I am not going to be stuck in an in-between.” Kaoru was speaking a mile a minute, spit flinging out of his lips as he pushed himself up to his feet. He was unsteady, but anytime Kojiro reached out to help him balance, he only stepped back further near the edge of the roof.

“I am not going to take care of another closet case! I cannot, I will not…” Kaoru trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he seemed to have lost himself in his own mind. He was trapped, and Kojiro and everything in their surroundings—most notably, the edge of the roof—disappeared. Finally, after the light in his eyes returned, his eyes flickered around before settling on Kojiro sitting below him. A fury crossed his face, and he gripped the hem of his shirt before lifting it up, exposing his flat chest.

He was crying at this point. “I’m not a woman! Can’t you see? Can’t you…look! I don’t have breasts! So stop treating me like I am one!”

“Kaoru…Kaoru, listen, I can see perfectly fine that you aren’t one,” Kojiro said, suddenly completely sober. “You’re a man. I was making out with a man, and I’m fine with it. Look.” He slowly got to his knees, flinching when Kaoru moved, but once they both stabilized, he reached his hand out and slowly rested the pads of his fingers on Kaoru’s chest, letting the heat from his fingers warm the frigid air settling onto Kaoru’s skin. It was not the alcohol's fault that Kojiro was saying these things. His lips were still loose, but they were honest. The words they formed were the truth, and nothing but the truth. “I still think you’re beautiful, man or not. You’re a man. And you’re beautiful.”

Kaoru’s arms were held out wide, unsure where to put them. Kojiro was sure he was getting through to him, getting Kaoru to believe what he wasn’t quite comfortable believing himself: that it didn’t matter that he was a man. He was sure that, with enough time and patience, they could both come to accept that fact together. However, his dream was ripped to shreds with a swipe of Kaoru’s hand, knocking Kojiro’s hand away.

“No! You’re lying!” Kaoru’s eyes welled with tears, his mouth pulled into a tortured grimace. “I’m tired of being treated like a secret! I won’t, I won’t—”

The gutter groaned. The tile of the roof broke. Kaoru’s heel fell with the tile onto the gutter, and the gutter fell, and the rest of Kaoru along with it.

[happylittledrabbles]

The Marriage Pact, Chapter 4

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Pairing: Kojiro Nanjo x Kaoru Sukurayashiki

Chapter Word Count: 4K

AO3

–

Kojiro tries to convince Kaoru to stop seeing Ainosuke. After getting home, he notices that there's going to be a skate club afterparty on Friday, and he's more than looking forward to it.

–

Kojiro burst out from behind the bush before Kaoru could move too far away. It was a little too dramatic to be seen as him just arriving at the site, but he was a good liar. The fact that he was breathing so hard was good evidence that he had just gotten back from jogging over, except he wasn’t breathing from physical exercise. Just the sight of the two men together alone, Ainosuke’s hands on Kaoru, the sound of Ainosuke’s voice dripping in lust, Kaoru’s hesitant agreement, was enough to take away the oxygen in his lungs.

“Joe!” Ainosuke exclaimed, a little nervously. His voice had a waver to it, and his eyes flicked over to Kaoru, who was a statue in place at the mere thought of being caught. “What a pleasure to see you.” Ainosuke’s eyes narrowed, his eyes falling to his phone. “This is the earliest you’ve been here. You just got here?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kojiro said, clutching his board hard enough to chip the paint on the hanger. “I read my clock wrong. Daylight savings time, you know?”

“Japan doesn’t have daylight savings time,” Kaoru replied in pure confusion. It was the first sentence he had spoken to Kojiro in nearly a month, and it surprisingly didn’t fill Kojiro with rage. His cocked head and hair falling over his shoulder reminded him of a confused puppy, and it was almost endearing.

“Oh, right,” Kojiro replied with a nervous chuckle. “I’ve been watching too much American T.V., I guess.”

“Right,” Ainosuke said slowly, he and Kaoru meeting eyes and exchanging a perplexed look. “Anyway, I have to check on something. Over there.” He pointed to nothing in particular—it was clear that he just wanted to leave to expel any rumors that he and Kaoru were apparently hooking up. Whatever—it gave Kojiro some time alone with Kaoru. Ainosuke turned to leave, lifting his arm in a half-wave. “See you soon, boys. Make sure to impress me tonight.”

Kojiro didn’t bother to answer, he simply took a beeline for Kaoru, who stepped back from surprise at the sudden advancement. His hand looked primed to throw a punch in defense, but his fist unfurled when he saw Kojiro’s open body language and the look of pure worry on his face.

“What was that?” Kojiro whispered harshly, motioning to Ainosuke’s figure disappearing into the dark.

“What was what?” Kaoru asked, the same shameful waver in his voice as Ainosuke had. He had the guiltiest expression on his face like a sinner in church, but he continued to play it dumb. Kojiro had had enough. He didn’t like the way Ainosuke looked at Kaoru one bit, the dirty hunger in his eyes as if Kaoru was a piece of meat. No, if Kojiro was looking at Kaoru, he’d look at him with appreciation—

Nope. Not going down that route.

“That!” Kojiro repeated. “That—you—together—ugh!” He dropped his board onto the ground, both hands fisting his hair. “Are you serious? You and Adam?”

Kaoru’s guilty expression morphed into his usual unreadable one, his eyes steeled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joe.”

Kojiro sighed heavily in frustration, looking up to the sky to call on any higher being for help. “Don’t play dumb, Cherry.”

Kaoru rolled his eyes and looked at his nails. “Wherever have I heard that before.”

Kojiro groaned and dragged a heavy hand down his face, pulling at his lower eyelids on the way. “Forget about that! This isn’t about that. This about how you and Adam are apparently hooking up? Are boyfriends? What are you?”

Kojiro’s questions finally got to Kaoru, the blush on his face showing off his mortification. “A-and what’s it to you?” Now he was stuttering. Kojiro would have poked fun at it, but he couldn’t deny that instead of shutting Kaoru up, he wanted to hear him stutter more.

But the cute (cute?) stuttering aside, how the hell was he going to answer that question? He didn’t think this far ahead.

“U-uh—” Now he was stuttering, and it was ugly. “Well, for the good of the club—”

“What do you mean ‘for the good of the club’? What a lame excuse. You’re just a stalker,” Kaoru huffed, crossing his arms defensively.

“I’m not!” Kojiro exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “No, you know what? We’re not going to argue. I just don’t like the way he was touching you. You don’t actually want to hook up with him, right?”

Kaoru’s mouth underneath his thin mask pulled into a deep frown of disgust, his eyes narrowing. “Why should I answer that question? Why are you prying into my private life? We barely know each other. And you don’t like him touching me? What are you, my boyfriend?”

Kojiro was left speechless at that, letting out a few stutters before he fell silent again.

“I’m not a damsel in distress, Joe. First of all, you didn’t even want to date me, so why are you so concerned about my dating life? You’re acting awfully like a jealous boyfriend.”

Before Kojiro could respond, Kaoru continued, not sparing a moment. “Second of all, even if we were dating, this is extremely inappropriate and possessive. I’m not your property. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with my private life or what I do with it, but we’ve met twice, and one of the times we got together, you broke my nose. I…” He paused, gathering a shaky breath. “I really wanted this to work. But, as you said many times, you don’t like men. So please,” his eyes went from cold and hard to wet and soft, his eyes glistening, “just leave me alone.”

Kaoru’s eyes were so much more vulnerable, so much closer when not behind the white reflection of his glasses. Kojiro couldn’t tell if that was a bad thing or not because his heart only sped up even more when those eyes laid themselves on him.

“I can’t!” Kojiro blurted out, his own eyes growing a little wetter and his voice growing more desperate at the sight of Kaoru growing just the slight bit emotional. “Adam is up to no good. He just wants you for your body, I promise. I know that look.”

“Why, because you have the same look when you see women?” Kaoru asked critically.

“No! There’s a difference between looking at somebody because they’re attractive and looking at somebody like they’re a piece of meat, like they’re an object.” He pointed out into the darkness where Ainosuke was supposed to be. “That’s how he looks at you. I’m just trying to protect you from getting hurt.”

“You already hurt me,” Kaoru replied, unfeeling. “In more ways than one.”

Kojiro sighed, this time one of resignation than frustration. He dropped his eyes to the ground bashfully, his hands fumbling with each other in front of him. “I actually came here early to try and apologize to you alone. I…I fucked up. Bad. I shouldn’t have said those things to you like that. I shouldn’t have even put men on my form. I don’t know why I did that. And I don’t know why I pushed you. You calling me crazy just…I don’t know. But I hope you forgive me enough to know that I can’t stop thinking about you and—uh, um…”

Kaoru’s eyes widened an imperceptible amount, and while half his face was covered, Kojiro could tell his mouth was wide open and he was just limiting the mobility of the upper half of his face.

“Just, uh…you deserve better. Even after I said all those asshole things to you, you still wanted to try having a relationship with me.” He finally met Kaoru’s eyes, the ones that seared themselves in his brain from the sheer number of times he had dreamed about them. They were so much more intimidating in real life. “We’ve met twice, but you’re…you’re a good person. I came to ask if you wanted to hang out more. Like, as friends.”

Kaoru was baffled. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, Kojiro could tell. His fingers curled, then hung limply by his side, then he lifted his hands, then dropped them again. “Um…well…” His eyes drifted off to stare into the distance before snapping back to meet Kojiro’s gaze. “Adam is all I have right now. It’s not like I can date you. If he just wants me for my body, so be it. I want him just for his. It’s a mutual transaction. So, stop interrupting and stop trying to get to know me.”

As if right on cue, the ground began to rumble with the arrival of several skateboards, their fellow club members screeching to a halt before greeting each other with fist bumps and secret handshakes.

Kaoru stepped forward, catching Kojiro’s attention again. “Your apology was…fine. We’re acquaintances now instead of enemies. Acquaintances don’t get in each other’s personal business. So, stay out of it and let me do what I want.”

Kaoru gave Kojiro a hard stare before his ponytail whipped behind him as he turned to go to the start line, the end brushing against Kojiro’s cheek like the last departing touch between them. At least now it was a hair stroke instead of a punch.

Kojiro decided to listen to Kaoru’s demands. For a total of an hour.

He finished third in the race after, of course, Ainosuke, and surprisingly, a sophomore. Kaoru was somewhere between fifth and sixth, leading to some baffled head-scratching and wary glances. After the race, he was kneeling over his skateboard, finicking with the electronics on his skateboard (apparently, he named his skateboard Carla?). Was he that distracted by their conversation that he sacrificed a good race for it? Or was this just a one-off?

Cherry Blossom didn’t have one-offs. No, Cherry Blossom was a talented skater, and Kojiro was the reason for his downfall. He’d have to apologize for that too. So, before Kaoru could slip from between his fingers once again, he picked up his skateboard and began to approach the crouched Kaoru until his path was intercepted by Ainosuke, who went directly for Kaoru.

“Cherry,” Ainosuke cooed, gently placing a hand on Kaoru’s shoulder. “Was something off today? I expected a better performance out of you.”

Kaoru did not turn his head. His head was bowed, his hand stilling on the top of his board. Kojiro darted behind a tree just as Ainosuke began to look around for any witnesses before returning his attention to the piece of meat in front of him.

He bent down slowly, crouching to Kaoru’s level and delicately tucking a piece of strawberry hair behind his ear. He traced the shell of his ear with the back of his fingernail, his tongue swiping greedily over his lips and leaving them glistening in the jade moonlight.

“How disappointing,” he whispered, leaning forward to brush those lips against the shell of Kaoru’s ear. “I will need to have a very serious conversation with you.”

Kaoru slowly turned his head, his nose grazing against Ainosuke’s. His spidery lashes stroked Ainosuke’s cheeks as he looked down at those saliva-covered lips, closing the gap and pressing a quick peck onto them before looking back down at his board.

“Not too serious, I hope,” Kaoru replied under his breath, pushing off the ground to stand up. Ainosuke followed his movements, tucking his skateboard underneath his arm before reaching over to rest his hand on the small curve of Kaoru’s back.

“No, it won’t hurt too much,” Ainosuke murmured. He led Kaoru away like a lamb to the slaughter, all the while stroking his back to make it seem as if it was okay.

Kojiro was purple with fury, his skateboard suffering the worst of it. His nails were digging into the wood of the tree and his skateboard, bark tumbling down and burying itself in the dirt beneath it. He could hear his teeth creaking in his ear, but if he didn’t channel his anger somewhere, Ainosuke would be six feet under by now. Questioning why he was angry only made him angrier. Kaoru’s words embedded themselves in his head like arrows, and the infection that bloomed from his wounds was rotting his brain. He could stand by no longer. He should let them leave. He should have let Kaoru do whatever he wanted because they were only strangers. But there was that burst of energy in his body again, and instead of that violence being targeted at Kaoru, he was gunning for Ainosuke as he pushed himself off the tree and marched forward. The gravel crunching underneath his boots provided only a short warning for the two men walking away, and before either could react, Kojiro grasped Kaoru’s wrist and pulled him aside, turning his back as a barrier for Ainosuke.

“Joe, let me go!” Kaoru cried, yanking his wrist away from Kojiro. It was easy since Kojiro’s grip held no strength to it, and his expression no longer held anger. No, now it held that same worry he had before, and it made Kaoru sick to his stomach.

“Please don’t go with him,” Kojiro pleaded, taking a step forward. Kaoru countered with a step back and to the side to try and escape Kojiro’s broad body, but the muscled man wasn’t giving up ground.

“God, what is with you?” Kaoru demanded as his eyes raked over Kojiro’s stiff body. “Are you going to do this every time I try to move on from that stupid pact? Listen, you’re not my ex. You have no reason or jurisdiction to be acting like this.”

Kojiro didn’t budge on his stance, his chin dimpling with how tense his lips were. “I consider you a friend now. It sounds stupid, but I don’t think we can just forget about each other anymore. And now I want the best for you. So just listen to me, please.”

“Cherry? Joe? Is everything okay?” Ainosuke piped up from behind them, but Kojiro ignored him and shifted closer to Kaoru so that he was the only thing in his line of sight.

Kaoru was clearly frustrated, trying to sidestep Kojiro at every chance but quickly getting denied. He grunted in exasperation and shouted, “Kojiro, I don’t know what you’re on, but we don’t know each other. The Marriage Pact was stupid. We never should have met. I don’t know you and you don’t know me, so stop acting like you do and leave me alone!”

Kojiro grasped Kaoru’s hand that was in the air next to him, giving it a tight squeeze. “What if we got to know each other?” His hair flopped into his eyes, but his eyes never wavered from Kaoru. “Would that change your mind?”

Kaoru was flabbergasted. He blinked, blinked again, then shook his head as if to clear his brain of excess information before settling his eyes on Kojiro again. “I—what? Uh—”

“My, my, boys,” Ainosuke interrupted, clapping both men on the shoulders and causing them to jump in surprise, their hands parting and dropping to their respective sides. Either they had been so caught up in the moment together, the rest of the world surrounding them melting away, or Ainosuke teleported to their sides. Kojiro turned his head away from Ainosuke and Kaoru, his gaze dropping to a jagged rock in the gravel. Kaoru turned his head the other way while also not making eye contact with Ainosuke, a pained expression on his face. “Are we having a disagreement?”

“No,” Kaoru answered quickly. “No, just a misunderstanding.” The two men met eyes simultaneously at that, and Ainosuke swore he could see a spark of bitter electricity lighting up between their stares.

“Well, if it’s just a misunderstanding, perhaps we can fix it?” Ainosuke asked innocently.

“No, we’ve resolved it,” Kaoru replied, his eyes still fixed on Kojiro.

“Hm.” Ainosuke switched his gaze from man to man, taking in the sweet begging in Kojiro’s face and smirking at the stone coldness that was only natural from his Cherry. “Well, then, shall we go, Cherry? We have strategy to talk about.”

Kaoru didn’t answer immediately. Kojiro found himself leaning in an imperceptible amount, but it was perfectly perceptible to Ainosuke. He stepped back from the men, dropping his hand from Kojiro’s shoulder but keeping his hand perched steadily on Kaoru’s. Hope bloomed in Kojiro’s chest, sitting in anticipation next to his fluttering heart, but when Kaoru’s eyes left him and settled on Ainosuke, he knew he had lost the battle.

“Yes,” Kaoru replied, turning to face Ainosuke. “Let’s go.”

Ainosuke grinned as he turned to leave, twirling Kaoru so that his back was facing Kojiro as they both began to walk and get smaller with each passing second. He tossed a quick look over his shoulder, sending a malicious wink Kojiro’s way. “Toodles, Joe. I’ll see you at the next race, yeah? Keep up the good work.” He held up his pointer finger and thumb in a circle before turning back to Kaoru, his hand still stuck to his shoulder as if stapled on.

Kojiro bit back the urge to shout out something snarky, something sarcastic. What would he even say? What would he even have the right to say? It wasn’t as if Ainosuke was stealing Kaoru away from him. He didn’t want Kaoru romantically, and Kaoru didn’t want him. They weren’t in a relationship like Kaoru said. Then why did it still hurt as if Kaoru had taken his heart and taken a whopping bite out of it before spitting it out onto the floor and tossing it over his shoulder like an expired snack?

Kojiro left that race with a headache and a tight chest. The bruises and scratches from the race hardly compared to the pain in his lungs and brain. It was a deep throbbing pain, one that no painkiller could target.

But booze could help. Whenever he bombed a chemistry exam (because memorizing organic compounds would totally help him flambé a crêpe), he’d count down the days until the weekend so he could get trashed and wake up the next day on his friend’s futon, his shirt stained with beer and his memories hazy but, from what he could remember, full of exuberance. His eyes drifted to the calendar in his room when he arrived home, immediately falling upon the bright red circle around the Friday that was only in two days.

Sk8 Afterparty!!

Kojiro’s lips curled into a grin. All he could think about the rest of the night, besides studying a new recipe for an exam and the horrific look of pain on Kaoru’s face was the night he’d be able to completely let go and allow the alcohol to take his hand for the rest of the night, his motor functions guided by liquor and his mind fogged up to prevent any pestering thoughts from sneaking in. Kojiro wasn’t an alcoholic, no. But the thoughts he’d been having as of late, the disgusting way Kaoru had been monopolizing ninety percent of them, had grown insufferable. Alcohol was the only legal way of hindering their power over him for a short time, short of zapping his brain with 300 milliamperes of electricity.

The skate afterparty was going to be interesting.

[happylittledrabbles]

The Marriage Pact, Chapter 3

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Pairing: Kojiro Nanjo x Kaoru Sakurayashiki

Chapter Word Count: 3K

AO3

–

The two men decide to go their own ways after a strict talk with the dean, but Hiromi convinces Kojiro to apologize and start anew with Kaoru. Then Ainosuke enters the picture.

–

Both men lifted their heads, and none could even begin to explain before Kaoru was flung off Kojiro by the teacher, his butt landing in the dean’s office alongside Kojiro. He had hardly been given medical attention before being kicked into the office, his nose stuffed with tissues and his under eyes beginning to bruise while Kojiro was only left with an ugly shiner on his cheek. The lucky bastard.

They had the campus police called on them, but after both of them refused to talk or press charges, they were shipped over to the dean to deal with, who obviously did not want to be there as much as them. She clearly had more pressing matters to tend to, and Kaoru was missing Algorithms class.

“So, you both refuse to press charges,” she started, glancing down at the police report hastily typed on her desk. “But because you are representatives of this school, this is incredibly disappointing and should be corrected.”

“I want a restraining order,” Kojiro grumbled.

Kaoru barked out a laugh coated in derision. “You want a restraining order?” He whipped his head to the dean and motioned to the sentimental reminder Kojiro left of their time together on his face. “He broke my nose!”

“Stop,” the dean ordered, holding up a hand. “It seems as if nothing will be able to satisfy you two. You are adults. I expect you to act like it. Avoid each other at all costs, and if you get into another fight, you both will be suspended. Next fight after that, expelled. Got it? Ask your professors to move you to a separate section if you share any classes together, and do not make contact if you pass each other on campus.” She seemed as if she aged thirty years after she finished her talk, rubbing both her temples as her frown lines deepened. “For the love of God, I already have one hormonal teenager to deal with at home. I thought you two would have gotten over that by now as grown adults. Now get out of my office and never let me see your faces again.”

Both men parted as soon as they left the office, no words, glances, or even angry breaths exchanged. Only complete silence.

That was how their days went after their final parting outside the dean’s office. Radio silence. There were no nasty comments, there was no spreading rumors. When people asked how Kaoru broke his nose, he’d say skate club. Kojiro would say the same thing. It was a great cover. It seemed as if both were trying to convince themselves that the fight hadn’t happened and that they’d actually gotten their injuries from skate club. It was easier than to remember the pain, mental but mostly physical, every one of their interactions brought them.

Speaking of skate club, they skated normally. Kojiro’s skill dropped slightly since he was too distracted by the pink hair flowing majestically beside him to notice the rocks and turns in his path, but overall, they managed to keep it together in each other’s presence. Once their bruises healed and bones righted themselves, it was as if they were two perfect strangers. They really were two perfect strangers—all they knew about each other were their first and last names and that they both were in skate club. Their meetings revealed nothing about themselves, except that Kojiro was irritable when personally targeted and Kaoru had a vicious mouth—the perfect match. What a joke.

The Marriage Pact was a joke. Love was a joke. Kojiro was a fool to think it was anything else. Kaoru was right about one thing. Kojiro was a goddamned fool.

“No, you’re not,” Hiromi said after Kojiro recounted the experience after his friend had kept pestering him about the bruise on his cheek. Kojiro just wanted to forget about it, and he knew Hiromi would never stop talking about it. He sucked it up and relived the experience, feeling the sting on cheekbone afresh and seeing the glint of fear in Kaoru’s eyes as he got on top of him. It made his stomach roil.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he said, stabbing a piece of broccoli and crunching it as if he was chewing bone.

Hiromi flinched at the crunching sounds, curling a piece of orange hair around his finger nervously. “Listen, you’re stupid in general, but about this, you both were just, uh, caught up in feelings, right?”

Kojiro deadpanned. “What feelings?”

“You started off on the wrong foot,” Hiromi rephrased. “You had your whole ‘I don’t like men’ persona on, and that obviously pissed Kaoru off. And then, uh, yeah, you were pretty obnoxious about the theory that he was following you.” He bit his lip and scratched his jaw. “You sound pretty bad here, man.”

“He punched me!” Kojiro shouted. He tried to ignore the attention he drew and instead lowered his voice. “Is that in any way proportional to a push? It was an accident. I didn’t think I’d do that.”

“Okay, how about this,” Hiromi said, leaning forward and pressing his hands together. “You go up to him, apologize, and ask him out on a date—”

Kojiro balked, his chopsticks clattering on the table as he dropped them as if he had been shocked. “Apologize and ask him out on a date? You’re out of your goddamned mind.”

“—and maybe you two fall in love and then fill out a survey saying The Marriage Pact was successful.” Hiromi gave a lopsided smile, one awash with shame as his eyebrows furrowed in a silent plea.

However, Kojiro’s expression did not soften. In fact, it only hardened, his eyebrows furrowing together in a steely-eyed gaze. “Did Shokichi put you up to this?” The chair scraped against the linoleum as he sprang up, his fingernails digging into the wood table. “Have you been listening at all? Or have you just been trying to peddle your boyfriend’s little scheme to make his garbage fire of a class project look better so he gets an A?”

Hiromi stayed quiet for a long time, his eyes dropping to his table in the face of Kojiro’s sharp hostility. His chair scraped shrilly as he stood up as well, standing tall. He was shorter than Kojiro, but his silence stood thirty meters above them. He lifted his eyes to meet his friend’s, his lips pressed into a firm line.

“I’m going to check in with you again when you’re not being a little bitch and when you’ve calmed down,” Hiromi said, his tone measured and calm. “I won’t tell Shokichi what you said. You don’t have to get with Kaoru. But sometimes you have to recognize when things are your fault. Otherwise, you’ll end up exactly how Kaoru thinks of you.” He swung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his plate before taking off, leaving Kojiro alone. Eventually, Kojiro exited the scene as well, leaving behind a set of deep fingernail crescents imprinted into the wood lacquer.

***

Hiromi wasn’t exactly ignoring him. He answered Kojiro’s texts, sent ‘LMFAO’ in response to the TikToks he’d send him, and sat with him when they wanted to eat. But he wasn’t exactly all present, either. It was very noticeable how he had pulled back, and Shokichi was MIA. Hiromi said it was because he was dealing with the fallout of The Marriage Pact, and that was fully believable. He and Kaoru were the least of the extremes from some of the stories Hiromi described, and that was saying a lot. It seemed as if human nature did not agree with being randomly selected a mate to fall in love with. Kojiro and Kaoru’s fate was no exception.

But he wanted to make his friendship right again. He knew what he said was more than harsh, and the more he thought about it, the more he hated to admit that Hiromi was right about Kaoru. He had been a real dick when Kaoru asked if he wanted to try the pact out. Of course Kaoru would still be interested—both of them had selected men as an option. Why did he think that his partner would automatically understand his reason for selecting it when he himself didn’t understand why he chose it?

All the reflection made him sleepy. He’d never slept so much in his life and in such inconvenient places. His professors certainly weren’t happy, and the janitor having to wake him up after hours at the library certainly didn’t agree to waking up snoring students as part of the job description. But once he realized he couldn’t escape the constant reflection with sleep, he became addicted to caffeine to suppress the strange dreams where Kaoru made a regular appearance. His gilded eyes, his cherry (ha) red lips, his long eyelashes that cast spidery shadows on his high cheekbones, and, of course, that unnaturally pink hair that could easily have been mistaken for silk. Kojiro had come to terms with the fact that Kaoru intrigued him. He hadn’t even attempted at figuring out why. Because then that would mean figuring out himself, and he was the most difficult enigma to solve.

He thought that apologizing to Kaoru and asking him to hang out would stop those dreams from continuing. He took Hiromi’s advice but made it very heterosexual; just two dudes being dudes. Just two men hanging out as friends. Kaoru seemed like an interesting person to have as a friend. Perhaps his brain was punishing him and forcing him to stare into those calculating eyes until he absolved his guilty conscience with a bow, a pleading apology, and a promise of time spent together. Then he’d be able to mend his friendship with Hiromi as well.

So that was how he ended up trying to track down the elusive Kaoru, who returned to being nowhere on campus but everywhere in Kojiro’s mind. He then remembered that, in only a few days, he’d be able to see Kaoru as Cherry at skate club. He could corner him after a race and apologize, and it was up to Kaoru to accept it. After he apologized, that was all Kojiro could do. His conscience was clear.

So he waited anxiously for Friday to come. When it came time to leave his apartment, he put on his usual blazer (he’d take it off eventually—even ripped guys got cold), and let his skateboard drop to the ground, pushing off the ground and sailing down the empty street.

Skate club technically wasn’t a club. It was secret not-so-secret—it was all up to Ainosuke whether somebody joined or not. If they had something to offer, they were in. If they were a friend of Ainosuke—not as if he had many of those—they were in. They skated in the tunnels near the chemistry labs that were long abandoned when they stopped doing nuclear research. They also might have abandoned them because they were so twisty for no reason, but they were perfect for skaters. All the tunnel walls were coated in graffiti, and it was a rite of passage for a newly inducted member of skate club to graffiti their skate name onto the tunnel to memorialize their memory. Hiromi’s name, Shadow, naturally was one of the biggest. He had the skills to back up his bravado, so it slid by.

The crunching of asphalt turning into the dull earthy rumbling of dirt let Kojiro know he had arrived, long since drifted into his own world. It was still dark—was he that early? He looked at his phone and realized he had read the time wrong and was a full twenty minutes early. He sighed in frustration and kicked a pebble a meter or two in front of him, plopping down on a rock as he opened Instagram to pass the time.

However, it didn’t take long for the sound of more wheels approaching to cause him to look up. A bush blocked his line of sight, but the pink hair was unmistakable. Kaoru had arrived, and he was about to spring up and run over to apologize to finally clear his conscience, but a second pair of wheels made his ears prick and the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Oh, Cherry,” a voice said. Was it mocking? No, it was just Ainosuke. Wait—Ainosuke? Adam?

“Hello, Adam,” Kaoru replied. “Mm, I see you’ve had a change of wardrobe.”

A high-pitched giggle. “Well, you know I love to keep my competition on their toes. I live to shine.”

Kojiro moved a branch aside for better visibility, watching as Ainosuke slowly approached Kaoru, who was turned away as he fiddled with something on his board.

“But I hardly hold a candle to you, my love.” Before Kojiro could even begin to react to the gag-inducing term of endearment, he watched in slow motion as Ainosuke’s hand snaked around Kaoru’s waist and pulled him in close, his shoulder pressed into the captain’s chest. “You look rather ravishing.”

Why do they both talk like Shakespeare?

But Kaoru wasn’t having it. Kojiro felt a sense of relief in his chest.

He pushed Ainosuke away gently, his head whipping around, trying to spot any other skaters. “Adam, I told you not to try anything here anymore. We could get caught.”

But Ainosuke wouldn’t let Kaoru go, his grip on the back of Kaoru’s hakama tightening. “So? I’m the captain. What I say goes. They won’t say anything.”

Kaoru grasped Ainosuke’s wrist before throwing it at him, taking a step back and crossing his arms. “Have you stopped to think about me? All of my accomplishments would be chalked up to the fact that I’m hooking up with the captain. They’d all think I get preferential treatment. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

Ainosuke sighed and massaged the back of his neck as if the rejection piled on thirty kilos onto his shoulders. “You were always a stickler for those, I suppose.” He smirked, lifting a hand to take a lock of Kaoru’s hair into his and twirling it like pasta around a fork. “I’ll still see you tonight after the race? Your place?”

Kaoru took a moment to think, his back turned to Kojiro. He couldn’t get a read on Kaoru’s face, but his body language was stiff, his shoulders hiked up to his ears and his hand clutching his fan for dear life. But eventually, his shoulders dropped in resignation, his head slowly nodding.

“Yes,” he breathed just as Kojiro’s heart dropped to the soles of his feet.

[happylittledrabbles]

The Marriage Pact, Chapter 2

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Pairing: Kojiro Nanjo x Kaoru Sakurayashiki

Chapter Word Count: 3K

AO3

–

Kojiro and Kaoru finally meet, and they're both less than pleased. Then it gets physical.

–

“W-what?!”

Kojiro was dumbfounded. Both at the fact that Kaoru looked like that in real life and the fact that that pretty face was currently pulling the most revolting expression he’d ever seen.

“What do you mean by that?” Kojiro asked defensively, crossing his arms. “We just met. You could have at least said ‘hello’.”

Kaoru copied his stance, crossing his arms and tipping his chin to challenge Kojiro. “Why would I need to say hello to the infamous Joe? It’s a miracle you haven’t been mobbed by girls by now. It’s probably because you have your shirt on for the first time in your life.”

What?

“You…you know my skater name?” Kojiro asked, scratching his jawline in confusion. “Only people in skate club know that.”

“Yeah.” Kaoru didn’t say anything else, just stared at Kojiro with those stunning eyes the color of pure gold that were currently burning a hole in Kojiro’s forehead.

“I…” Kojiro stammered for a good few seconds before stopping to gather his thoughts. “You’re in skate club? Since when?”

Kaoru scoffed and crossed his arms. “It’s so like you to not remember somebody you compete against. Too busy ogling the walking breasts around you, hm?” He blew a lock of hair out of his face, but when it fell back in front of his eyes again, he delicately tucked it behind his ear. The action made Kojiro’s face heat up, and he didn’t have the mind space to question why. “It’s just what I would have expected out a gorilla like yourself.”

“Gorilla?” Kojiro exclaimed, throwing his arms up in objection. “Wow, we’re really pulling the insults out on the first date, huh?”

That seemed to catch Kaoru off guard, who stepped back and softly placed his hand on his chest, his mouth agape and his cheeks dusted with a pink the same shade as his hair. “First…date?”

The two men stared at each other for what felt like eons before Kojiro broke the silence with an adamant shake of the head and a step back, creating even more distance between them. With every sentence they said to each other, they stumbled backward. Eventually, by the time they finish speaking, they’d be on opposite sides of the garden. This was not how Kojiro pictured this meeting to go. But what had he been expecting in the first place? This wasn’t too far off from what would’ve happened had Kaoru not previously recognized him. Kojiro would’ve had to tell him that he wasn’t gay and that he was just looking for a friend, and Kaoru would have not been too jazzed about that. But clearly, Kaoru started off the conversation less than jazzed about his match.

“Um, nevermind.” It was easier to move on than to acknowledge what he just said. “We had a beef against each other?”

Kaoru shook his head. “Not directly. There was a competition with nearly everybody from the club there.” He sighed before pulling up his turtleneck to cover his nose and gathering up his hair to form a ponytail behind him. “Ring a bell?”

“Cherry Blossom?” Kojiro yelled, alerting a passing couple who promptly shuffled away. His eyes raked over Kaoru’s body and face, trying to overlay the blurry image he had of Cherry from that night with the person that was currently standing in front of him. He was undeniably Cherry, but he was still confused as to how The Marriage Pact paired them together.

“Wait, I got matched with the Cherry Blossom? And you’re, you’re…”

Kaoru raised a brow.

“A guy?”

Kaoru’s eyebrows dropped and furrowed in irritation, and he quickly dropped his hair and yanked down his turtleneck. He sighed and shook his head, glancing off to the side because just the sight of Kojiro was making him want to punch something.

“Yes, I’m a man. Is that really so radical that it deserves such a reaction?”

Kojiro was a flurry of stutters and poor excuses that he stopped in the middle because he realized how offensive they were. Finally, he silenced himself, cleared his throat, and stood a step forward, almost as if he was extending an olive branch.

“It’s just that…uh, well, this is awkward. But I’m not gay,” he explained matter-of-factly. However, Kaoru’s response was anything but nonchalant.

“You don’t have to be gay to like men,” he scoffed, crossing his arms and turning to the side to restrain himself further from taking any physical action against the irking figure in front of him. “So, you’re a gorilla and ignorant. What a spectacular combination.”

Before Kojiro could embarrass himself with a response, Kaoru interrupted, “So…does that mean you really aren’t into men?” His voice was softer than before, timider. Vulnerable. “Then…then why did you put men on The Marriage Pact? Or was that a mistake?”

Kojiro could have easily lied. He could have chalked it up to a statistical error and been on his merry way, avoiding Kaoru at all costs during skate club and otherwise never seeing him except in passing on campus. But no, he acted as if he was Pinocchio with a built-in lie detector for a nose because he replied, “No, I put men on there. I just thought it’d be more fun to have a wider pool of people for statistics to pick from.”

Kaoru stroked his arm, his lips pressed together into a firm line. His face looked pained as if somebody was poking him in the ribs with something sharp. He turned his face away in an almost bashful move. Wait…was Kaoru actually getting embarrassed? Kojiro knew the embarrassed expression very well since he’d have to deal with it multiple times weekly whenever a pretty woman would confess to him, pulling the same moves Kaoru was doing now. Except with Kaoru, Kojiro felt something move in his chest. His hand flew up to silence the incessant hammering against his rib cage, but the strawberry blush on Kaoru’s cheeks was making it hard to not stare.

Kaoru inhaled sharply as if the sharp thing poking his ribs impaled him, and he turned his head slightly to face Kojiro, his eyes still on the cobblestones underneath their feet. “Well, would you…would you still like to try this out? Put the pact to the test?”

His golden eyes glimmered with saccharine hope in the dim orange glow of the streetlamp hanging above them as he looked up to meet Kojiro’s panicked gaze.

What Kojiro wanted to say was, Hey, sorry, but guys aren’t my thing. You’re really attractive, though. Like, crazy attractive. I’m sure you’ll find a guy you like. I’ll see you around skate club!

What came out was, “Ha, no way!”

Kaoru’s eyes widened in disbelief, matching Kojiro’s shock in the words he just spat out. His hand flew up to his mouth, clapping over it to prevent any more garbage from spewing out.

“You’re serious?” Kaoru asked in the smallest voice he’d used all night, and Kojiro could swear he saw his bottom lip trembling.

“Well, I mean, yeah. I mean, not like that, though. I just—ugh, I’m not into guys, okay? I’m sorry to disappoint.” He held up to big fat thumbs up as if that would smooth over his entire asshole personality and make Kaoru forget about this entire unpleasant encounter. “I’m sure you’ll find a hot guy you can fall in love with. That just isn’t me, though. Because, uh, I don’t like men.”

Silence fell between them like an inescapable sheet of snow, and it felt suffocating. Kojiro’s chest was stuttering in its breaths, unable to inhale fully while Kaoru’s piercing eyes were analyzing, dissecting, scrutinizing every aspect of his being. A long sigh broke the silence, and Kaoru shifted those unreadable eyes up to the starless, navy sky.

“Well, I suppose that’s that.” He looked back down to the pavement, kicking at a pebble with his Oxfords. “It was nice finally meeting you, Joe. Good luck with everything.”

Kojiro’s view was taken up by Kaoru’s back that shrunk with each passing second until he turned a corner and was gone. It was as if the entire interaction never occurred, and it had all been in Kojiro’s head. He looked at the time on his phone to ensure that this wasn’t a dream, that that had actually happened. Sadly, frustratingly, this was reality, and he had finally met Cherry Blossom in real life. He never imagined that he’d meet the ruler of computerized skateboards like this and in such a hostile manner. Well, it was only hostile because he had to go out of his way to prove that he did not like men. The night left a sour taste in his mouth, and none of the sweets at home could take that foul taste on his tongue away. Neither could he do anything about the fact that all of his dreams that night involved Kaoru. He couldn’t remember the plots of any of them; all he knew was that that lavender scent permeated his dreams and that pink hair glistened enough to make Kojiro reach out to touch it. It was soft as silk.

***

The two men continued on with their days as normal. Kojiro didn’t see Cherry on campus or in skate club for quite a while afterward. His skating was incredibly off, so off to the point that the leader, Ainosuke, came over to check if everything was okay. Kojiro went home with a litany of ugly purple and yellow bruises all over his legs and elbows. The color pink and the smell of lavender were cursed for him now. Pink T-shirts were the enemy since they’d appear in his peripheral vision, and he’d whip around to see if it truly was Cherry. He fought the urge to tear out the lavender plants on campus at the roots and toss them in the creek. He didn’t question why he wanted to do those things all because of a random man he talked to for a couple of minutes.

However, after the first few days of Cherry’s disappearance, he suddenly started to see the man everywhere on campus. Awkwardly standing behind him in line at the library café, sitting down to study in the quiet reading room only to notice Cherry across the room from him, and worst of all, when he finally got off the waitlist for a class and nearly crashed into Cherry’s back walking into the same classroom. They had the same movements; they even shared a class even though they had vastly different majors (he looked Cherry up on the student directory as saw that his major was computer science—they both needed to take an expository writing class for core requirements. Such luck).

It got to such a point that he decided to map out the least popular sections of campus and declared those places as his new study locations. On the first day of seeking out a location where Cherry would not be, he rounded the corner only to be absolutely blessed by the smell of lavender and discover Cherry sitting underneath the weeping willow in the beach chair, typing away on his Dell computer.

After class one day, he went straight to the bathroom—not because he actually had to use it, but he wanted to avoid Cherry at all costs, and that meant hiding in the bathroom until the coast was clear to walk in the hallways instead of awkwardly being behind or in front (God forbid next to) of him as they walked outside the building.

He decided to take the time to take a leak before his next class in thirty minutes, saddling up in front of a urinal and unzipping his zipper. Just as he was about to expose himself, the door squeaked open. Usually, he wouldn’t look to see who it was, but the sight of pink in his peripheral made him snap his head to the right to discover Cherry walking in, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and pushing them up.

“No way,” Kojiro grumbled under his breath as he tucked himself away and zipped his jeans back up. He intended it to be quieter, but his voice echoed off the bathroom walls and caused Cherry to raise his head inquisitively.

“What? You said something?” he asked, pulling an AirPod out of his ear.

“You’re stalking me,” Kojiro blurted out, stomping over to Cherry with his arms outstretched in confusion. “Why are you following me everywhere? First, you disappear, then you’re everywhere I go. What game are you playing at?”

Cherry just stood there dazedly with those owlish eyes fixed on him that made Kojiro want to pull them closed.

“I—what?” was all Cherry could say, and it made Kojiro walk around in a circle of frustration, his fingers gripping his hair in exasperation.

“Listen, I get it. I can be pretty hard to give up. I’ve had my fair share of stalkers. But I promise you, this isn’t going to make me fall in love with you.” When he saw that the stunned expression on Cherry’s face hadn’t changed, he added, “And don’t play dumb, just own up to it, Cherry.”

Cherry’s furrowed eyebrows slowly softened, and he calmly took out his AirPods case and popped his AirPods inside, snapping it closed and dropping it into his trousers pocket. He swung his glance upwards to meet Kojiro’s, his eyes no longer surprised. No, now they were cold, calculating.

“First of all, what are you talking about? Second of all, call me Kaoru outside skate club. Third of all, what are you talking about?”

Kojiro had never encountered a stalker so stubborn before. Usually, they fessed up after he had exposed them, but Cherry—Kaoru—was holding out longer than most. Kojiro scoffed and shrugged, motioning to the door with a grand sweeping motion.

“You’re everywhere I am. You get the same coffee order I do. You’re on D level in the library when I’m there when nobody goes to D level except for horny exhibitionist couples. You even registered for the same class after I did it to complete a requirement! You’re trying too hard, Kaoru. It’s obvious.” He rubbed the back of his neck, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes. “Listen, we can put this past us if you stop following me everywhere.”

When he opened his eyes again, Kaoru’s face was bright red, clashing with that pink hair of his. Except his face was red from embarrassment and shame like his other stalkers’ faces were. No, this was a livid man, a bull ready to spear his horns into his opponent. And Kojiro, unfortunately, was wearing a red shirt.

“You. Are. Insane.” Kaoru whispered between gritted teeth, his knuckled fists turning white by his sides. “Clinically. You must have a narcissism disorder of some kind to be this delusional.” Before Kojiro could react, the bull stomped over to him, burying his finger in his muscled chest.

“You think I’m following you? I’d much rather follow a garbage truck than follow a muscled testosterone-powered gorilla around campus all day. Do you think I don’t have anything else better to do than watch you accidentally pour salt into your coffee instead of sugar that one day because your brain is running at 2 FPS at most? Also, I went to D level because I never expected a pig-headed man like you to be down there. As for me registering for Organic Chemistry, I forgot that it was a requirement for my major, and I registered last minute. If anything, I thought you were following me.” He paused, out of breath, letting his finger trail down Kojiro’s chest and back to his side. “I thought that whole ‘I don’t like men’ thing was overcompensation, but my Lord, you must be straight to be this stupid.”

“Overcompensation?” Kojiro raised a brow. “You think I’m overcompensating?”

“Is that all you retained from this conversation?!” Kaoru screamed, causing Kojiro to take a step back. He’d never expected Kaoru to actually raise his voice. He’d been keeping it level the entire time, except his tone was dripping in sarcasm and biting with anger. Kaoru took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose before pushing his glasses up with his middle finger, a not-so-subtle way of telling Kojiro fuck you without being undignified. “Kojiro, I am not following you. So stop being so histrionic before I get you sent to the psychiatrist for hallucinations.”

“Hey, stop calling me crazy!” Kojiro yelled. He felt a burst of energy in his arm, his fingers furling and unfurling to try and release energy, but he watched his arm shoot out in slow motion and push Kaoru backward, causing the man to stumble but catch his balance, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

“You…” Kaoru’s eyes slowly slid from the floor up to Kojiro’s eyes, meeting his petrified expression of fear. “You…!” Kaoru’s eyes, on the other hand, split into bright yellow flames as he took two bounding steps toward Kojiro, the crack of his fist against the man’s jaw echoing off the walls of the bathroom.

Both men slipped and tumbled onto the floor, Kaoru landing beside Kojiro. He began to get up, but before he could gather his balance, Kojiro was on top of him, hand in the air one second and crunching Kaoru’s nose the next. Time seemed to stop, both their eyes wide in shock and their chests rising and falling at a rate that would be considered hyperventilating.

“OWWW!” Blood gushed from Kaoru’s nostrils and traced his cupid’s bow before streaming down his cheek. While Kojiro was too stunned to do anything else, he took the opportunity and lifted his knee and nailed Kojiro in the crotch, sending him careening to the floor with a yowl of primitive pain. However, Kaoru was on top of him before his back hit the floor, his fist poised to return the favor of a broken nose.

Before he could give Kojiro his gift, the door creaked open, the light from outdoors falling onto them and illuminating the gory scene before the professor and student. Silence fell over the bathroom, and for a brief moment, the two battling men met gazes, the same expressions on their faces. It was the one thing they found they had in common since they had first met.

[happylittledrabbles]

The Marriage Pact, Chapter 1

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Pairing: Kojiro Nanjo x Kaoru Sakurayashiki

Rating: Mature (non-graphic smut)

Genre: Enemies to lovers, fluff and angst

Chapter Word Count: 3K

AO3

—

Kojiro gets an email from The Marriage Pact at his university, a survey that promises to match him to his soulmate based on in-depth questioning and statistics. He doesn't believe in soulmates (or love, really) but signs up anyway, putting both women and men down for the sake of the "joke." He gets paired with Kaoru Sakurayashiki, and they immediately get off to a rocky start—one involving a bruised cheek and a broken nose.

They decide to avoid each other, but when Kojiro spots Kaoru with skate club president Ainosuke in a suggestive manner, he feels something that he shouldn't feel in relation to a stranger—and a man on top of that—he met twice: jealousy.

Classic enemies to lovers with some angst peppered in, all wrapped in a fluffy happy ending bow.

—

Kojiro scoffed at the idea of marriage. He thought the idea of being tied down for the rest of his life was repulsive and could never imagine himself doing it. After all, that would mean not admiring a beautiful woman just because he had a wife. What guy would ever subject himself to that?

This reasoning only made it even more baffling to Kojiro that Hiromi suggested he should join the newfangled “marriage pact” that was floating from mouth to mouth across campus.

“I’m just saying, you should try it,” Hiromi said one day with a shrug. He elbowed Kojiro straight in the ribs, causing the man to double over and clutch his side. “Maybe you can meet the damsel in distress you’ve been reading about in those books next to your bed.”

Damn. Kojiro had Hiromi over far too often for him to notice his romance book. Alright, alright, so what if he read romance books as a guilty pleasure? That didn’t mean he actually wanted a romance, nevermind even liked the idea of romance. Romance was far too polished, too unrealistic. Falling in love always seemed so sweet and perfect and as if everything in the person’s life would fall into place just because some attractive loner walked into their lives. It always had to be an attractive loner, too.

In Kojiro’s experience, falling in love was anything but. It was like fighting in the trenches, like skydiving with a parachute, like tearing a hangnail too far and now it stings like a sonavabitch every time you use hand sanitizer. Hooking up with no strings attached was so much easier, so much better than ever considering getting into a relationship and being disappointed at every turn.

Then why did Kojiro find himself opening the link to The Marriage Pact in his email and staring at the blank form, debating whether to fill it out?

And then why did he actually fill it out?

The world may never know.

****

“Wait, so you actually filled it out?” Hiromi asked far too loudly, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. A few people in the dining hall turned their heads curiously to see what all the fuss was about, making Kojiro turn his head in embarrassment and cup his head over his eyes to hide his face.

It wasn’t as if it was hard.

“Would you rather be left at the altar or leave somebody at the altar?”

Leave somebody at the altar, obviously. He would never let somebody make a fool out of him by leaving him up there with false hope until the last minute.

“Are you smarter than most people at your university?”

Chyeah, duh.

“The purpose of college is to find yourself.”

No, he was buying this culinary arts degree. Maybe he’d learn something new about himself, but that pretty piece of paper would get him into any Michelin-star kitchen in the world, not his amazing personality or by flaunting his banging body.

He mumbled, “Say it louder, why don’t you.” When he saw Hiromi inhaling to do the exact thing Kojiro told him sarcastically not to do, the green-haired man scrambled to reach forward and slap a hand over the redhead’s mouth.

“Do you not understand sarcasm?” he whispered harshly before sitting back in his chair. He loved his best friend, but sometimes, talking to Hiromi was exhausting. “Yeah, I did. So what? It’s not like anything is going to come of it. One of the questions on the form asked what you were looking for in this experiment. I put that I was only looking for something casual. If they message me and say that they’re looking for a relationship, then I will gladly say, ‘Aw, that’s too bad. Well, good luck on your search!’ Easy peasy.”

Kojiro snickered to himself, satisfied with the plan he came up with. He justified his filling out of the survey by telling himself that he just liked answering questions about himself (which wasn’t necessarily untrue) and thought it would be interesting to see if their data collecting would prove accurate. He doubted that a bunch of computer science majors who had zero human interaction outside of cutesy anime girls in those video games would know how to pair two people together, so he had very low expectations.

However, Hiromi didn’t seem to find his theory as comedic. In fact, he looked constipated.

“What, Hiromi? You good?” Kojiro asked, cocking his head.

Hiromi’s head snapped up, a guilty expression crossing his face. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, pulling at the collar of his crewneck. “Erm, well, I—uh.” He cleared his throat. “’They?’”

Kojiro raised a brow. “What?”

“You said ‘they.’ As in, gender-neutral.” Hiromi could be an idiot, but he was incredibly perceptive when he wanted to be. And it never worked in Kojiro’s favor. “Did you put both guys and women on the form as preferences?”

Kojiro stiffened and suddenly found eye contact too difficult to hold, his gaze dropping to the worn-down wood dining table. He grabbed a fork and twirled pasta around it absentmindedly, having no plan to eat it since his appetite had since left his body. He had no idea why the subject made him so uncomfortable. It was a joke.

“I thought it’d be funny if I put both. You know, so I get more variety and can see how they’d pair me with a guy. Not that I’d care, of course. Not that, uh, that’s bad, either. I know you and Shokichi are cool. And, you know, other gay guys. Um—” Every single sentence that was coming out of his mouth was digging him another meter into the hole, and there was no way in hell that he was going to be coming out unscathed.

However, instead of Hiromi tearing him a new one, he chuckled. Then he burst out into laughter, slamming the table with his fist, sending their tableware clattering and causing even more attention to be drawn to the strange man laughing and the other strange man trying to calm him down.

“Oh, boy,” Hiromi sighed after a while of him ignoring Kojiro’s attempts at diffusing the situation, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Damn, I really needed that after my macro exam. Thanks, Kojiro. I owe you one.”

He popped a fry into his mouth and washed it down with apple juice, which Kojiro used to think was the most abhorrent combination of foods on the planet, but Hiromi quickly proved him wrong by eating lasagna and proceeding to drink it with chocolate milk. He had since become desensitized to Hiromi’s questionable food choices.

“But seriously,” Hiromi said, giving his friend a hard stare. “If you ever need to tell me something, you know you have my full support.” He winked and stood up, taking his plate and cup to the dishwasher station.

“I’m—I’m not gay!” Kojiro shouted after him, and this time, the attention drawn to their table was not because of his boisterous friend.

He quietly went back to finishing his food, which didn’t take long due to his loss of appetite, and quickly went back to his dorm to escape the shame he felt. However, a certain shame still stuck with him even when the prying eyes of his peers had long gone. Why did he feel the need to defend himself so viciously against the idea of being gay? It was becoming a regular—normal—thing on campus to hear somebody refer to a same-sex romantic partner. So why then did he feel something foreign move in his stomach whenever that topic came up?

He decided to bury himself in microeconomics homework, which always took his mind off difficult things he didn’t want to think about since it made him want to kill himself instead.

****

The Marriage Pact’s buzz continued on in the background, with Kojiro blissfully having forgotten about the damned thing. It seemed as if any mention of it went straight over his head, and Hiromi never mentioned it again. He didn’t have a reason to since he already had a boyfriend, even though there was an option to use the pact to meet a friend. Although, he doubted anybody was actually doing that.

The pact only entered his mind again when he got an email from The Marriage Pact’s team, revealing the initials of his potential soulmate. Kojiro laughed at the word, but when he opened the email, his smile disappeared.

Hello, everyone! Pardon the long wait—we still have more women than men in the dating pool! While we get that sorted out, please enjoy a hint as to who the love of your life may be:

K. S.

Do with that what you will—we'll be in touch with more details soon.

The initials K.S. haunted Kojiro’s every waking hour since the email came out. Every person in his class was now a potential suspect. Naturally—naturally—Kojiro’s eyes fell on the women first, trying to remember their names, and when he couldn’t, went into the class groups to see who was registered for the class. Every time he’d see somebody with the first name starting with K, he felt a little fainter in the head. However, every single time without fail, no S would complete the initial. He’d see a pretty woman pass him in the halls and wonder what her name was and if she was his potential soulmate. He wouldn’t mind having a soulmate and buying into the torture that is romance if it meant his girlfriend was hot.

The following update email, still emblazoned with those damn initials, said that the results would come on Friday night. Kojiro was on pins and needles the entire week and flubbed every single class participation, his professors on more than one occasion catching him daydreaming instead of answering the questions on the board with his clicker. Even Hiromi noticed, who was too busy trying to get Shokichi to relax about any code errors since he was one of the programmers behind The Marriage Pact.

“It keeps spitting out an error message every time I put in a new code!” he cried before hiding his face in his arms on the dining hall table when they went to go grab lunch one day. “I swear, I’m going to delete the entire thing and start from scratch. This time with Python instead of Javascript. It’s archaic what they’re making us do, Hiromi.” He groaned as Hiromi sighed and rubbed his back reassuringly, giving Kojiro a knowing glance.

“Why don’t we go to the woodshop after your last class so you can blow off some steam? Fixing stuff always makes you feel better,” Hiromi suggested, raising a hand to Kojiro to enlist his help. “Your skateboard needs fixing after that last race, right?” When Kojiro didn’t reply immediately, Hiromi repeated through gritted teeth and a hard stare, “Right?”

Kojiro got the hint—was slapped in the face with it, in fact—and nodded emphatically, leaning forward to tap Shokichi on the arm to get his attention. “I’ll give you my skateboard after your last class. It ends at twelve, right? I need some upgrades, too. Can you fit me with some badass orange wheels? Like, with flames?”

Shokichi sniffled as he raised his head, running a hand through his hair as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I think I can do that.” He sniffled again as he turned to Hiromi. “Can we watch The Princess Bride if you don’t have too much work tonight?”

“Of course, baby,” Hiromi cooed, slipping his hands into Shokichi’s and patting the back of his boyfriend’s hand soothingly. “We’ll do anything you want to do.”

“Anything?” A small smirk crossed Shokichi’s lips, immediately causing Hiromi to break out into a horrid blush and leaving him a stuttering mess.

“Alright, I think that’s my cue to leave,” Kojiro said as he pushed off the table to stand, grabbing his plate.

“If you leave now, you’re homophobic,” Shokichi joked, pointing at Kojiro accusatorily.

Kojiro laughed and rolled his eyes as he turned his back to the two men, giving them a curt wave. “Call me homophobic, then. I’ll catch you guys later when you’re not having mind sex in front of me.”

“W-we weren’t—!” Hiromi exclaimed, but Kojiro was already out the dining hall doors before the redhead could finish his lame excuse.

The fall weather was setting in, a chill characteristic only to October settling on his cheeks and shading his nose in a pretty pink tint. He inhaled slowly and deeply, taking in the smell of the tricolor leaves, those stubborn green spots still holding on even in mid-October, and the crisp evening air. However, his moment of solitude was interrupted by a body stumbling into his back. He barely moved an inch, but the act still annoyed him, but when he turned to look at who it was, a head of hair as pink as his nose swept past him, the person scuttling away like a cockroach in a kitchen when somebody turned on the lights.

“Hey, learn some manners!” he shouted, rubbing his lower back even though he barely felt anything from the unpleasant encounter. He harrumphed to himself and went on his way; however, he stopped when the scent of lavender drifted by his nose. He looked around—there weren’t any lavender plants near him. He turned his head to where the rude person was speed walking away from him and frowned. Could it be—?

Strange to think somebody so nasty could smell so sweet.

***

It was the special day, and Kojiro had never been such as nervous wreck as he was that day, not even at the most important beef of his life. His palms were clammy from his morning classes to the afternoon to the point that the woman next to him frowned in disgust when she saw the wet handprint he left behind on the lab table. His nervousness made him more nervous—why was he so nervous anyway? If things went south, he could always just ghost the person. The woman. If things went well, he got himself a new soulmate. Win-win situation. Then why did it feel like it was life or death?

“So did Shokichi sort out all the code stuff?” he asked as he and Hiromi walked to the library.

“Yeah, thankfully,” Hiromi replied. “He was pulling his hair out over this whole pact thing. I think he really overinvested himself in this. It’s just a stupid show of coding and statistics to cause a stir on campus and get a few funny sexual tension or weird hookup stories on the college meme account before it dies down.” Hiromi caught himself from saying anything else, giving Kojiro a pointed stare. “Don’t tell him I said any of that.”

Kojiro zipped his mouth shut and threw out the invisible key with a smirk. “Your secret’s safe with me.” They fell into step with each other, silence setting in. Kojiro opened the door for Hiromi as they got in line for the library café, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets to prevent them from getting clammy. Didn’t work. He shifted his weight from foot to foot as they got closer to the register, trying to focus on the menus and read the names of the drinks instead of thinking about the fact that his stomach was so tight, he couldn’t imagine a drop of food or drink entering it.

“Hey.” Hiromi’s voice thankfully broke him out of his thoughts, but the look of worry on his face made Kojiro even more nervous. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

Kojiro sighed and swept a hand through his hair. “So you really think that this thing won’t work?”

Hiromi didn’t respond right away. He stared at his friend for what felt like forever. He could have teased Kojiro about him actually caring about romance and finding a soulmate after what felt like years of rejecting the notion, but the ball of anxiety that had consumed his friend was no laughing matter. He turned to face the register and shrugged.

“I mean, statistics don’t consider human feelings. Just because you like the same color as the other person doesn’t mean you’re set for life.”

Kojiro let out a sigh. Of relief? Of disappointment? Both the men would never know. “Right, yeah. You’re right. It’s stupid.”

Hiromi turned to face his friend again, a resolute frown on his lips. “But statistics are used in dating apps for a reason. Maybe humans aren’t too abstract for math after all. I think we’re pretty simple.” He ordered two coffees, walking over to the counter and grabbing one to hand to his friend.

Kojiro laughed and shook his head. “Maybe you’re simple.”

Hiromi punched Kojiro’s arm. “Hey.” He shook the coffee in Kojiro’s face. “This is for you to stop being so tense all the time. You’ll need it. Now take it before I down both in front of you because you’re being an ass.”

The coffee did the exact opposite of making Kojiro less tense. In fact, it made him so jittery, all his notes were basically illegible. It wasn’t as if his notes would be logical anyway. He was just copying sentences that seemed important from the reading but didn’t actually process any of the information the closer to the release of the email it got. Five minutes left and—

PING!

Kojiro flipped over in his chair, his chair falling backward and his head bouncing off the carpet. That hardly mattered, and he barely felt any pain as he scrambled to his bed to grab his phone, checking his email. There was, in fact, an email in his inbox.

From: The Marriage Pact Team…

He grunted from frustration as his fat thumbs clicked everywhere but the email, but once he opened it, his heart dropped.

Dear Kojiro,

Your optimal Marriage Pact match is:

Kaoru Sakurayashiki

Your match is in the 93% percentile of possible matches. Their contact information is below.

A…guy?

No…no, it could be a woman with a very masculine name. Right?

His phone slipped from his hands and thumped on the carpet, his hands the driest they had been in twenty-four hours.

***

The next morning, when he was in a better state of mind and with enough prompting from Hiromi, he mustered up the courage to send an email to K.S. (he still didn’t have enough courage to say the full name). It was basic, with a borderline professional tone. He didn’t want K.S. to think any funny business would be happening. The only way he was justifying sending the email was because he thought he could make a new friend (since that was a possibility on the form after all, even though it’s called The Marriage Pact—confusing, yes). His only friends were Hiromi and some guys in the skateboarding club. New additions were always welcome. To his friend group.

Hi,

My name is Kojiro. You already know that, though.

We matched on The Marriage Pact. Below is my contact info. Text me and we can figure out a time to meet up.

-K.N.

“I mean, it sounds like you’re talking to your boss, but whatever,” Hiromi said before handing Kojiro back his phone. “Let’s see if he bites.” He took a bite of his sandwich, watching his friend carefully. “And if he bites…?”

“Then I have a new bro,” Kojiro replied a little too quickly. He cleared his throat and continued typing on his laptop, although this time faster and harder than before. “If he’s looking for something else, I’ll just reject him. Easy peasy.”

Hiromi stared at his friend before lowering his eyes to his sandwich. “Easy peasy,” he repeated under his breath before taking another bite.

It was another two hours, the sun beginning to set behind the university buildings, before Kojiro’s phone pinged with a text from an unknown number.

Hi. It’s Kaoru. I received your email. Would you like to walk through the sculpture gardens sometime this evening?

Well, he certainly returned the professional tone. He wasted no time with pointless exclamation marks and conversation. The corner of Kojiro’s lip quirked up just a tad at the text until he realized that he was smiling at a text message. He added Kaoru’s number under the contact name K.S. with the company name Marriage Pact, just to make things clear that the contact was only a placeholder until they figured things out.

Unlike the days leading up to The Marriage Pact’s announcement email, the evening rolled by quickly. Kojiro dressed casually: a tight black T-shirt (although it wasn’t his fault it was form-fitting—all his shirts were), a windbreaker, and jeans. However, even though it looked casual, the planning was anything but. He stared at his closet for what felt like an eternity until he wondered why he was so worried about getting gussied up.

He shoved his hands deep into his windbreaker pockets as he swayed to generate some heat in the chilly night. Every shadow and movement in the garden caused him to turn to see if it was K.S., but alas, it was either a squirrel or a couple who had the same idea as Kaoru for a date night spot.

“Kojiro?”

The soft voice surprised him more than a yell would, his shoulders hiking up to his ears as he slowly turned around. The smell of lavender hit him before the striking pink hair did. Before he could put two-and-two together, Kaoru interrupted him by pulling a face of pure disgust, his nose scrunching as if he got hit with a whiff of sewage.

“Oh, it’s you.”

[happylittledrabbles]

Coincidences

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Eren Yeager

Rating: 18+ (DNI IF A MINOR)

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 8K

AO3

—

Reiner finds solace in a gay bar to forget about his traumatic past in Paradis. However, the last person he expects to be there, in a gay bar, in Marley, is Eren Yeager. They confront each other until they go hash it out in the bar's bathroom.

Hashing it out turns to fucking very quickly, and it is very public.

—

Reiner had discovered his sexuality a long while ago. With the help of Bertholdt (and his dick), he figured out that those lingering stares at erotic men’s drawings in pornography instead of women wasn’t just because he wanted to look as athletic as them. His eyes took in their muscles and crotches, but he never compared himself to them. They went there because he wondered how their skin would feel underneath his fingers, how he’d trace the collarbones jutting out above their broad chests, kiss the happy trail leading to their jeans, and grip their full crotches—

“Hey.” A gruff voice broke him out of his thoughts, causing him to snap his eyes from staring at his whiskey up to meet the eyes of the man beside him. He was tall, dark, and handsome. Just his type. He had muscles for days, and he had that scruff that made him look edgy but manly.

He never thought he’d find himself wandering into a gay bar on the outskirts of Marley, just a few avenues down from his childhood home. Who knew such a masculine and testosterone-fueled haven was so close by his entire life? He had found it through connections, through men he hooked up with and used their bodies to forget the pain of his past when he returned home. Now it was like a second home: the aroma of sweat and liquor, the flashing lights that displayed colors he never thought lights could be, the warm press of bodies next to each other on the dance floor, exchanging sweat, saliva, and breaths. He couldn’t have imagined being anywhere else on a Friday night. His mother thought he was out at a bar with friends, having good, innocent fun—only half of that was true.

A hand slipped around his waist, tentative but strong.

“Hello,” Reiner replied, his voice low and smooth. His eyes dropped to the hand on his hip and took a step closer to the man, facing front as he lifted the whiskey glass to his lips.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” the man asked, taking another step forward until their shoes were toe-to-toe with each other. Reiner could see the man’s Adam’s apple jump as he swallowed in anticipation, his collarbones straining against the tight button-up shirt. All he wanted to do was dive forward and kiss it until hickeys decorated the entirety of his tan exposed neck.

He was tipsy on whiskey, but he was high on adrenaline and desire. The man’s piercing eyes made his mouth dry, the way his gelled hair flopped into his eyes made his fingers numb, and his musk made his crotch ache. It hurt him to hold back from making out with that man right then and there.

But what was stopping him? Everybody around here was homosexual. People didn’t come to this place to enter a relationship. They came here to enter or be entered by somebody else without any strings attached.

“Whiskey,” he replied, snaking a hand behind the man’s neck and giving the back of his hair a playful tug. The man let out a hissing groan, one that made Reiner’s toes curl in his boots. “Want a taste?”

The man wasted no time in leaning down, and Reiner wasted no time in reciprocating. The kiss was heated and hungry, with the man groaning as if he was eating the best food of his life. He was devouring the blond, and Reiner couldn’t complain. It made his chest tight as if he was wearing a corset. He took the man’s lip in between his teeth, nibbling on it like a biscuit snack. He could taste the salt of the nuts and the bitterness of the beer on the man’s tongue, and it mixed delectably with the whiskey taste in his mouth. His whiskey had long since been abandoned on the counter, their hands on every square centimeter of each other’s bodies. They were breathless, their lungs begging for oxygen, but the kiss was far too delicious to separate.

Reiner swore he was about to pass out, his eyes rolling into the back of his head until the man finally separated, his strong arm holding Reiner’s near-limp body by the small of his back. That made him feel even more weightless—what was better than being cradled in the strong arms of another man?

“Woah there,” the man murmured with a chuckle. “Don’t get too carried away. I don’t want to kill ya.”

“Mm,” was all Reiner could reply with before tilting his head up again, his cherry-red lips pouting for another kiss. The man chuckled again, rolled his eyes as if to say this idiot, and leaned down.

At the last moment, his eyes clouded by the man before him, his eyes darted to the left.

He didn’t know why they did, or how he knew to look, but he sincerely wished he hadn’t.

He regretted it immediately, especially when his eyes locked with the Eren Yeager.

He blinked, blinked again, and before he knew it, his vision was swarmed by the man’s face, his lips on his once again. Except this time, Reiner was not reciprocating. He was in too much shock to process what was happening before him.

Eren? Eren Yeager in Marley?

His eyes darted to the whiskey on the counter. Yes, it must be that. There was no fucking chance that Eren Yeager was in Marley.

“What’s wrong?” the man asked, quickly realizing that Reiner wasn’t kissing back. He lifted his head, a quizzical look on his face before a smirk overtook his agape mouth. “Oh…” He trailed off, his hand trailing down from Reiner’s waist to his ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Do you want to move on?”

Reiner blinked again, his eyes focusing on the man. His mind registered the squeeze, registered the fiery look in the man’s almond eyes, and pushed the impossible idea of Eren Yeager being here out of his head. A weary smile crossed his lips, his hand slipping on top of the man’s behind him.

“Ye—” He didn’t even finish his reply before the man was forcefully pushed aside, revealing none other than Eren Yeager—in the flesh—on the other side of him.

“Hey!” the man exclaimed, but the two other men were dead silent. Reiner and Eren were staring at each other, jaws slack and eyes wide as saucers. Eren’s pupils sliced down his green irises, the mere sight of Reiner setting them aflame in two balls of fury. Reiner’s eyes, on the other hand, were narrow slits, his vision clouded by tears of stress and a mist of terror. But his eyes were narrowed for something else, something that made him cock his head when he realized just where he discovered Eren, the main reason for his persistent night terrors. He found Eren here, in a gay bar. Now, what the hell was Eren Yeager doing in a gay bar? The question made Reiner’s fear soften when a new state of confusion took over, one that was pleasantly surprised. He began to ask, but it seemed as if Eren had the same idea.

“What—”

“What—”

“—are you doing—”

“—the fuck are you doing—”

“—here?!”

They both pointed fingers at each other at the same time, and it would have been a comedic sight if Eren wasn’t confused out of his mind and Reiner wasn’t terrified out of his. There was a long pause, and none of them blinked once.

“What is going on here?” the man asked, his gaze switching between the stare-down in front of him, stepping away from the two men as if he’d get stabbed by the daggers in their glares. His eyes settled on Reiner, stepping closer to him and slipping a hand on his lower back for reassurance, his previously ravenous look morphing into one of genuine care. “You need me to get rid of this guy for you?”

Reiner snapped out of his fear-induced coma at the man’s tender touch, but he quickly grasped the man’s wrist and gave him a gentle push. Without another word, he yanked Eren by the collar of his shirt, not caring about the horrid popping sound the seams made as they stretched and broke—Eren could buy another shirt. But, even though he expected some resistance, he found that Eren’s footsteps fell easily behind his until he was flung against the bathroom door, stumbling into the tiled bathroom only to turn around to reveal an absolutely incensed Reiner Braun. He looked like a bull ready to charge, his stout chest rising and falling erratically as he tried to level out his anger fused with fright, but the deep breaths he taught himself to do to subside an anxiety attack only made him more irritated.

“What,” he finally spoke, breaking the ten-minute long bout of silence between them, “the actual fuck are you doing in Marley? Here, of all places?”

Eren flinched at Reiner’s voice as if he wasn’t expecting it to sound like that as if he forgot what Reiner sounded like. The flinch made Reiner gain some of his bravery back, leading him to square his shoulder up and take a step forward even though he was quite a few centimeters shorter than the other man. When did that happen? Of course Eren had to outgrow him—yet another reason on a long list of tally marks as to why Reiner despised everything about the embodiment of the Attack Titan.

“Fancy seeing you here. It’s nice to see you, too, Reiner.” Eren rolled his eyes before continuing with an explanation. “I…” He paused. Reiner thought he could visually see the gears turning in the brunet’s head, but it wasn’t amusing. It just made him angrier to think that Eren was trying to think of a way out of this, using his dastardly brain to create a plan that would somehow solve the problem.

��If you transform into a Titan, I swear to—”

“I won’t,” Eren interrupted, then chuckled. The chuckle was so evil, dripping with such malice, Reiner’s hands curled into fists to hold himself back from lunging and leaving a beautiful purple mark to decorate that piece-of-shit face.

“I’m here visiting the place my father came from,” Eren continued, breaking Reiner out of his murderous train of thought. “Can’t a boy visit his father’s birthplace?” He shrugged. “Didn’t you kidnap me to bring me here in the first place?”

“God, you infuriating bastard,” Reiner grumbled. “What are you really doing here?”

Eren giggled—he giggled—and shrugged. “I can’t tell you why I’m in Marley,” he replied, lifting a hand as he explained, “but I can tell you why I’m at this bar.”

Confusion once again replaced the rage inside Reiner, and his eyebrows softened with one quirking up in intrigue. Eren found this endearing and took a step forward, leaving barely a meter between them. With the brunet being this close, Reiner could see the sickly blue dark circles under his eyes, the veins crawling underneath his translucent skin, the grease in his hair. Everything about him was repulsive—so why was the blond feeling something stir in his stomach when he saw a flick of mocking amusement in those emerald eyes? He attributed that uncharacteristic stirring to the whiskey, but he was completely sober by now—he knew that very well. He just didn’t want to think about what else that stir could possibly mean.

“Why…” Reiner’s voice fried, dropping out. He cleared his throat to restart his voice, his eyes dropping to the ground when Eren’s gaze was too heavy to match. “Why are you here, then?”

The heel of Eren’s shoes clicking on the tile echoed off the walls as he took a step forward, causing Reiner’s shoulders to hike up to his ears. He refused to meet Eren’s eyes, chewing on his bottom lip in a fit of anxiety. Or was it anticipation? Reiner shook that idea out of his head—he was too tipsy for this. Except he wasn’t.

“I’m here for the same reasons you are,” Eren replied. “You look different, Reiner. Stronger. Maybe it’s the facial hair.” His eyes raked over Reiner’s body, leaving the blond shivering. “But you’ve become more submissive. Is it the guilt taking over? Or is this how you really are, and you were just projecting the entire time?”

He took another step forward. Reiner closed his eyes, preparing for whatever was coming next. Except, instead of a punch, it was Eren’s finger stroking his facial hair, twirling a long strand between his fingers. His slowly opened them to view Eren closely examining the hair before dropping his hand to his side. He closed them again, afraid that the tender stroking was a warm-up for the real beatdown. His ears pricked at the sound of Eren sighing deeply.

When he opened his eyes again, Eren’s back was to him, the brunet facing the door.

“Why are you here, Reiner?” Eren asked, still not turning around. He scoffed, the sound causing Reiner’s stomach to drop as if he ate twenty bricks. “You and Bertholdt were pretty obvious in the barracks, but I thought you’d take a little longer to mourn the death of your boyfriend.”

“H-he wasn’t—!” Reiner cut himself off, unsure of what to say. Bertholdt was…Bertholdt was Bertholdt to him, and he took plenty of time to grieve him. In fact, he was using and disposing of bodies in order to distract from the fact that his bed was too cold at night, that hugging the pillow was no match for cuddling the almost two-meter tall man that crawled next to him every night.

He finally looked up, swinging his gaze up to meet the nape of Eren’s neck. “I’m here to fuck.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them again, the band outside and the dripping of the sink the only sounds in the restroom.

“I was talking to a cute blond before you surprised me,” Eren mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “I was about to fuck him, too. We were about to leave together.” He sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. “Maaan, I hate being blue-balled. Don’t you?”

Eren swiveled around, and, what seemed to be at the speed of light, crossed the room and pushed Reiner’s shoulder back until his back thumped against the tile wall, causing him to let out a surprised grunt.

His tongue slid over his top teeth and made them glisten in the flickering dim bathroom lights. His eyes, despite the low lighting, were gleaming, one of them twitching with excitement. “I decided to dabble in the nightlife while I’ve been here in beautiful Marley and stumbled upon this club. Man, you’ve been hiding some beautiful men back home, Reiner. I really should’ve come with you all that time ago. I haven’t stopped fucking since I got here.” He reached up and pinched Reiner’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently tipping it back to force Reiner to meet his gaze. “So, Reiner, you come here to fuck? Or to get fucked?”

His eyes went dark. “You ruined my chance at getting some ass. I think you should make up for it.”

Reiner swallowed and blinked, his mouth agape as he tried to process all that was happening to him. Once he finally got a grip, he swatted Eren’s hand away and pushed against his chest, to no avail. “What the hell are you doing here in Marley? I don’t give a shit about how much you’ve been fucking. And I definitely don’t want to know what ‘making up’ for blue-balling you insinuates. Why the hell are you here?”

Eren’s hand crumpled into a half-fist from frustration, causing Reiner’s eyes to flinch slightly, before it shot out to grip the space of wall next to Reiner’s head, essentially trapping the blond underneath him.

“That’s neither here nor there. What I’m excited about is that I finally have you where I want you. No Bertholdt, no other cadets. And you’ve finally confirmed that you like men.” He chuckled darkly, a few strands of his hair slipping from the bun it was in to fall in front of his eyes. “Who would’ve thought the guy I looked up to would turn out to be such a slut?”

While Reiner tried to act offended, he couldn’t deny the word had the opposite effect he desired on his body.

“Listen, I would let you go and run off with that guy that’s basically a replica of me—kinda weird if you ask me—but I think the real deal will satisfy you better.” Eren stuck his bottom lip out and cocked his head in a mockery of empathy. “For old time’s sake?”

Reiner’s body was thrumming with warmth and electricity, and all the pent-up energy in his body came out as a sudden swing of his arm, his fist connecting with Eren’s jaw with a sharp crack.

However, before he or Eren could process what just happened, Reiner’s body moved on its own, his hands cupping Eren’s horrid, disgusting, infuriating face and bringing it down to cover those dastardly lips with his own. Those same lips that once spilled how much he wanted to be Reiner one day, how he admired him, that now just called him a slut. Reiner should be furious. He should beat Eren to a bloody pulp and report him so they can get one of their Warriors to eat him for the Attack Titan. But instead, he’s eating up Eren’s lips, and the brunet had the audacity to reciprocate Reiner’s repulsive behavior, and Reiner’s body had to audacity to thrust itself forward at the feeling of Eren’s knee between his legs.

“You’ve got an arm on you, Reiner,” Eren murmured against Reiner’s lips as they caught their breaths. “You’ve definitely gotten stronger since training. Remember when—”

Reiner dove back into Eren, cutting him off from dredging up any more painful memories that the blond had tried desperately all these years to suppress with alcohol and anonymous bodies. Those memories were painful mainly because he betrayed his closest friends, but they were also painful because he remembered Eren as being a spry fifteen-year-old who bragged about getting his first pubic hair, not this prideful, exasperating, sexy man—who, from what Reiner could feel, had much more than one pubic hair.

Eren tasted of the coppery blood leaking from his lip, brandy, and cigarettes. Since when did Eren smoke? Reiner had half a mind to even think about lecturing Eren about smoking. He was no longer the boy’s mentor. No, now he’s going to fuck—no, be fucked by the man that used to be that innocent boy whose main mission was to avenge his family by killing all the Titans. Now Eren was a Titan, and who knew what his dark, pride-fueled mind was planning for Marley? But that hardly mattered when Reiner was already half-erect and lust was plaguing his mind and preventing any logical thoughts from forming. Eren was worse than alcohol for the brain; he was the liquid in those syringes in the Underground that left you waking up in a puddle of mystery blood with a broken arm and an STD with no recollection of the previous days. Reiner could only hope he woke from this fugue state with no memory of Eren. And no STDs.

“Reiner, R-Reiner, hold on,” Eren pleaded. His voice kept getting muffled with every kiss Reiner planted on his lips, and he had to use both his hands to grip Reiner’s shoulders to pull him back. The look on his face was almost…genuine, Reiner thought. He looked almost cute.

“You’re clean, right?”

Not anymore.

“For fuck’s sake, shut up,” Reiner groaned, pulling Eren in by the back of the neck and smashing their lips together once again. Eren’s lips provided him some comfort from its heat, but most of all, it prevented the fucker from speaking and ruining the moment.

“Hey, it’s an honest quest—” Nope. Reiner cut him off quickly by moving his lips to Eren’s neck, nipping at the soft skin underneath the stubble on his jawline (since when did Eren grow stubble?). Each centimeter of his body Reiner explored reminded him of the fact that he really hadn’t seen Eren in four years, and a lot could happen in four years during puberty.

Eren let out a sharp gasp as Reiner left a particularly big hickey, an amused snicker escaping his reddened lips. “God, you’re eager. It’s honestly a compliment that you want to get fucked this bad.”

“Do you always talk this much during hookups?” Reiner grumbled, lifting his head back up as his hands fell to the hem of Eren’s shirt, fluffing it to indicate he wanted it off, now.

Eren leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of Reiner’s highlighter-pink ear, and whispered, “Nope, just with you.”

For some inexplicable reason, Reiner’s body betrayed him again at that by sending a chill down his spine, causing it to curve toward Eren’s body as if saying give me more of what’s making me feel this good. Reiner, as much as he wanted to pull away, couldn’t deny the pain in the crotch of his pants or the fact that his heart was fluttering against his throat. Eren suddenly became a sweet-talker, which somehow was a side effect of puberty just for him, and Reiner was ashamed to admit that it was working.

“Take this off,” Reiner demanded, kissing Eren’s face in a frenzy as his hands explored the tan skin that was his for the taking.

“Slow down, Reiner,” Eren murmured, gripping both of Reiner’s wrists in his scarred hands with knobby knuckles wrapped with veins that Reiner desperately wanted to lick. “Let’s take this to the stall.”

Now, instead of the cold tile pressing into Reiner’s back, it was the stall wall. A shaky breath left his mouth as he watched Eren slide the lock over before sauntering over to meet the blond again, a shit-eating grin on his chapped, broken lips.

“Now we can resume,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it onto the tile. His bun was fully undone at this point, and Reiner wasted no time in pulling him in and running that hair through his fingers as he listened to the soundtrack of their lips smacking echoing off the walls and the muffled band just outside the door. The only time they separated was for Eren to yank Reiner’s shirt off and throw it on top of his own before mauling his lips once again.

However, he had gotten too swept up in the kiss because he hardly noticed as Eren moved them over to the toilet, sitting down and pulling Reiner on top to straddle him. The blond only opened his eyes when he felt Eren’s hand gripping his ass while the other hand slipped underneath his trousers and underwear to get dangerously close to his hole.

“W-wait!” Reiner cried, reaching back to grip Eren’s wrist.

“What?”

Reiner’s blush covered his entire face and ears like a red cloth. He squeezed his eyes closed and bit off a chunk of skin from his lips before hesitantly whispering, “Do…do you have lubricant?”

Eren let out a sharp breath and lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “Damn, I thought you were having second thoughts.”

Was Eren scared that he had been about to say no? Of course, no man likes being blue-balled, but Eren didn’t seem just disappointed—he seemed scared that he wouldn’t have sex with Reiner. He didn’t like the implications of that.

“No,” Reiner replied slowly, extracting Eren’s hand from his underwear. “I just, uh, don’t want to bleed.”

“Fair.” Eren used the hand that was once in Reiner’s underwear and reached into his pocket, flashing a glass vial of colorless liquid with a toothy grin and waggling eyebrows. “Let’s get the party started.”

“It’s a wonder you’ve had sex more than once,” Reiner grumbled as he watched Eren unscrew the top of the vial, his blush still endless and incessant. As much as he was taken aback by Eren’s masculine transformation, his core personality stayed the same: an awkward goof who never knew when to shut his mouth. It got him beat up within an inch of his life by Levi back in training, and it earned him a split lip from Reiner now. But as much as it was annoying, Reiner found that it was the only thing that had made him genuinely smile in quite a long time.

“You’ll find out soon why I’ve had so much sex,” Eren said with a wink. He tipped a generous amount of lube onto two fingers and watched as the liquid swirled around them, leaving them slick and gleaming in the light.

“I’m jumping for joy,” Reiner replied flatly. He was about to say something else, but a gasp sharply interrupted him as the cold wetness of the lube trailed down from the dimples of Venus to his inner left cheek, spreading them apart to make room for his long fingers. “A-ah—!”

Even Eren’s fingers changed, both and length and girth, from what Reiner remembered. He recalled holding Eren’s fist in his when they sparred during training, feeling how minuscule the hand to his and how the entire fist fit in his palm. Now, as he looked down and braved himself to lace his fingers with Eren’s other hand, he found that they were more or less the same size. Reiner’s hand was wider, but Eren’s was longer. He could’ve stared at their intertwined hands all day if his entrance wasn’t stretched to accommodate the two fingers inching into it.

“Eren!” Reiner gasped, his eyes wide and his nails clamping down onto Eren’s knuckles as he flung his other arm around the other’s shoulders. “T-too much!”

“Oh, sorry, I should’ve started with one, huh?” Eren asked, and the question was laughably genuine as if he really didn’t know how to prepare a man. “I thought you would’ve been looser by now.”

Reiner’s hand twitched to punch Eren again, but his body, again, heated up at the insinuation of him being a slut. It was a confusing dichotomy, but his mind didn’t have the time nor the energy to sort it out as those long fingers began to pump in and out of him at a languid pace. He shivered, burying his face in the crook of Eren’s neck as he tattooed the back of his hand with crescent-shaped fingernail indents.

Eren grunted at the sharp pain of Reiner’s fingers digging into his skin, sending another dreadful shiver down his spine at the sound. “Is it hurting?”

Eren’s concern was almost touching. Reiner shook his head in the safety of Eren’s neck. “N-no, just feels weird.”

Eren said nothing in response, just kept stretching and scissoring Reiner open. The sounds were positively lewd, squelching and squishing, and it made Reiner want to go deaf. However, the next sound made him want to die, and it came directly from him.

“M-mmm!” he moaned, tossing his head back just as Eren hit that special spot that he had tried to reach himself but was unsuccessful. His own fingers couldn’t reach that spot, but Eren’s were long and tactical enough to find and press it with every thrust inside they did. “Ngh-! There, there…”

Reiner gasped, his teeth digging into his bottom lip to suppress more of his moans. He had almost forgotten that they were in a public bathroom and that anybody could come in at any moment and come upon two pairs of feet underneath the gap in the stall and two voices, one lewdly moaning and the other chuckling teasingly. It wouldn’t be hard to piece together what was going on. They needed to move quicker.

“Put it inside…put it inside me,” Reiner rasped, his voice coming out in puffs.

Eren’s eyes went wide at that. He slowly withdrew his fingers and grasped Reiner’s hip tight, the other squeezing Reiner’s hand. Only then did the brunet realize that he was holding Reiner’s hand and the implications of such an intimate move. Sure, his fingers had just been inside the other and he was about to put his dick inside him, but holding hands during sex? Now that was intimate. But…it almost felt right.

Eren didn’t speak. He simply undid Reiner’s trousers at the speed of light and pushed them down and reached down to unbuckle his own belt. Reiner sighed at the relief of pressure in his crotch, his cock tenting in his boxers. He began to salivate at the sound of him undoing the zipper so desperately (he could only imagine how much it hurt to keep himself trapped in his pants for so long), watching expectantly as he reached underneath the fabric of his underwear and brought out a cock that would surely make him walk funny the next day. Yep, Eren was a boy no longer, that was for sure.

“Like what you see?” Eren asked with a snicker.

Without saying a word, Reiner lifted his hips and pushed his trousers down before reaching back to grasp Eren’s cock tightly, eliciting a groan.

“F-fuck,” he whispered under a heavy breath, leaving Reiner’s legs trembling with a simple curse. He snuck out the vial from Eren’s pocket and tipped the remaining liquid onto his cock, tossing the vial onto the floor.

He lined his entrance up with the pulsing cock in his hand and slowly lowered his tips, sucking in a sharp breath when he felt the head, leaking with precome, press against his hole. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, he felt the rim stretching to accommodate Eren’s girth and his walls wrapping around his cock as if giving an old friend a warm, tight hug.

“Holy shit, y-you’re…mmm…tight…” Eren grunted out, moans interjecting themselves into his speech.

Reiner was too focused on not squealing in pain and trying to go slowly, lowering his hips until he was sitting prim and proper in Eren’s lap again, except this time, he had a hard pole lodged inside his ass. He abandoned holding Eren’s hand in favor of digging both sets of fingernails into his bare shoulders for dear life. He tried to regulate his breathing and hold himself back from making any sounds, but a strangled cry emerged from his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the patronizing look that was sure to be on Eren’s face. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to get used to the feeling, shifting his hips a minuscule amount in each direction to try and find his spot.

“I’m so…full,” he said after what felt like an eternity. He continued to swirl his hips, detaching one of his claws from Eren’s shoulder to reach behind him and use Eren’s leg as leverage. He felt his own cock slapping against his stomach the faster he went, and as much as he still needed to get used to the feeling, he needed this to be over quick before anybody discovered them fucking in the bathroom.

“God, you feel good,” Eren growled, his hands massaging Reiner’s hips and going along for the ride as Reiner began to lift himself up and down to try and feel some pleasure. “No wonder so many guys want your ass.”

“N—aahn!” Reiner had no retort as he felt just a smidge of what was hopefully to come as Eren’s cock brushed up against that spot, leaving his body wracked with tremors and his eyes fluttering. “More…I n-need more…”

“More? You want more?” Eren asked, and before Reiner could reply, bucked his hips upward simultaneously with the pulling down of Reiner’s hips to meet in a back-breaking, star-exploding match.

“Ugh! Eren, oh my—nngh!” Reiner’s chin went skyward, his body failing to stay upright with the wave of pleasure brought about by Eren nailing that spot right on the head. “Fuck, again!”

Eren took over for Reiner full-time and continued to thrust his hips upward, the toilet creaking underneath them from their sudden movements. He wrapped his arms securely around Reiner’s waist, which was a lot more built than he remembered it, and brought the mewling blond forward. He nuzzled the coarse facial hair with his nose, suckling on Reiner’s chin, causing the other to let out more crazed sounds.

“Eren, i-it feels—mm, so hot, I-I need more,” he was blabbering at this point, but he didn’t care. “Your cock—I love it s-so—guh, faster! Please, plea—”

The scrape of the bathroom door against the tile was the only thing that could have shut Reiner up at that moment, and it surely did. The slapping, groaning, creaking, and squelching sounds came to a screeching halt, followed by the small talk of two men walking into the bathroom.

“Did you see the ass on that redhead?” one of them said.

“I’m not into redheads,” the other replied.

“How can you not be into redheads?”

Reiner wasn’t focused on the conversation, however. He was focused on the fact that he was about to bite through the palm of his hand to silence himself due to Eren’s cock being pressed resolutely against his spot.

The men in the bathroom continued to talk about inane things, things that Reiner used to distract himself from the fact that his voice was about to come out at any second. Eren, on the other hand, was not stressed at all. In fact, this scenario had been bound to happen, and he was thoroughly cherishing every moment of it. From Reiner’s erratic breathing to the minute body shudders to his weeping cock, everything about the muscular blond sitting on his lap was picture-perfect. Reiner’s trembling thighs were squeezing Eren’s hips tightly as if that would take away the mind-numbing pleasure he was feeling in that moment, and it was beyond endearing to watch. However, as much as Eren loved to sit back and watch, he’d had enough of Reiner directing the show. And Reiner’s thighs squeezing him gave him a dirty, dirty idea…

Eren licked his lips, bracing his arms for the move he was about to pull. Reiner was oblivious to Eren’s scheming, oblivious up until the point that his back was pressed against the cold stall door and his legs were waving wildly in the air, his arms searching for security in the form of Eren’s already scratched-up shoulders.

“Wha—” But his momentary outburst was immediately covered by Eren’s hand, his palm practically crushing Reiner’s teeth back into his mouth.

“Sh,” Eren whispered, which made Reiner’s nostrils flare with fury.

“What was that?” one of the men asked, followed by a singular footstep.

“Sounds like buddy in there is having some trouble,” the other whispered poorly. He was probably drunk, but it didn’t matter. “Let’s give him some privacy.”

Yes, yes, Reiner thought. Privacy is exactly what I—

“Mmph!” he cried into Eren’s hand as the brunet thrust upwards into him, and he swore he could feel the tip pressing against his stomach.

“Yikes,” the other whispered, probably also drunk. Or they just had terrible stage whispering abilities. Whatever it was, it meant they were also incompetent, which is exactly what Reiner wanted.

“Eren,” Reiner practically mouthed, trying to disguise his voice with the music outside as a sound cover. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“What,” Eren replied mockingly, “do you really think I’ll stop because a few people came in?”

He swiftly cut off Reiner’s response with another savage thrust, digging his fingers into the back of Reiner’s thighs to prevent himself from crying out, too. He acted as if he didn’t care, but truly, he didn’t want to risk getting charged with public indecency, even though this was a gay bar.

However, the risk was worth it to see Reiner’s eyes roll back and his Adam’s apple stutter in a poor attempt to silence himself. Eren almost felt bad. Almost.

He continued to torture Reiner, slamming into him hard enough to cause the door to rattle.

“Is his shit rattling the door?” one of them whispered as he flushed the urinal.

“Lactose intolerant, probably,” the other replied, a shuffle in clothes indicating a shrug. “Hey, are you okay in there?”

Never have the two men ever met eyes so quickly before, and both had the same expression on their faces. Sure, Eren expected the men to be confused about the actions and sounds made by the stranger in the stall, but he didn’t expect them to actually begin a conversation.

He tipped his chin up at Reiner to signal him to talk, and the blond immediately shook his head.

No, Reiner mouthed, his eyes wide to indicate how incredulous of an idea it was.

“Hello?”

Footsteps. Footsteps. A knock. A knock!

“You need any help?”

Reiner felt the knock on his back, and he felt as if he could cry from frustration. That didn’t stop Eren from continuing to swirl his hips, causing the blond to let out a pathetic whimper. He begged Eren to say something, anything, promised in his head to do anything Eren wanted afterward as long as the brunet said something, but, unfortunately, Eren Yeager wasn’t telepathic. He could be the Attack Titan, but reading facial expressions was apparently too much to ask from him.

Reiner sighed a sigh of defeat and raised his head, clearing his throat of any lingering moans and strange sounds. “Hey, yeah, I’m—nngh-!”

So that’s what Eren was planning the entire time. That’s why he didn’t want to talk. The fucker.

“You’re what? You don’t sound good, bud,” the man continued.

The door rattled.

“No, no!” Reiner shouted, and he heard the man step back slightly. Good. “I’m fine! Just ate s-something…hah…weird, is all.”

Reiner’s face was the ugliest shade of red, hiding his face behind his forearm to prevent Eren from seeing and to prevent himself from seeing the look of nauseating satisfaction on the other’s face.

“Damn, okay.” More shuffle of clothes.

Please just go away! Reiner begged desperately.

“Do you need anything from us?” the other man asked.

Something hit Reiner on the shoulder, and he lifted his head from his forearm to see toilet paper hanging from the top of the stall. From the man’s hand.

“Oh,” Reiner mumbled, reaching upwards to grab it. “Thank—”

Another brutal thrust from Eren drew out a yelp and a curse from the blond, causing footsteps to draw back from the stall.

“Holy shit, man, you should get yourself checked out,” one of them said. It didn’t matter who was who anymore in Reiner’s fucked-out head. He was thoroughly mind-broken, having taken one too many hits to the prostate to come out conscious.

“We’re going to leave you now,” one of them said. “If you need help, just, uh, scream. I don’t know.”

“T-thank you,” Reiner panted, completely fatigued. His eyelids were drooping, and he flinched when he felt Eren’s body move in anticipation of another thrust, but none came. Even Eren could see how tired the blond was, emotionally and physically, but that didn’t stop the deep chuckle of pleasure he took in seeing his mentor wholly and utterly broken at his hand.

The sound of the door closing pierced through their hisses and sighs, and the two rutting men went silent at the creaking and final thud of the door against its frame. Eren looked up, meeting Reiner’s stare.

“Eren, Eren,” Reiner harshly whispered, his arms around the other’s neck forcing him to lean forward. He brushed his lips against Eren’s ear, copying his previous move, and said, “I hope you die.”

“How romantic,” Eren replied with a malicious grin. He dove forward and left his mark on Reiner’s pale skin in the form of a deep bite, certainly not forgetting to snap his hips forward to hear those gasps and sighs up close. He could feel Reiner’s hot breath against the side of his head as he whimpers, hissed at the scratches left on his shoulders and back. Reiner, on the other hand, could feel Eren’s cock pulsing inside of him, indicating—

Oh, no, Reiner thought, eyes snapping open in realization. Oh no oh no oh no oh no—

“Oh!” Reiner screamed as Eren started pounding into him, an unbreakable streak that nothing could stop now. “Fuck, fuck—w-wait, too f-fast!”

“S-shiiit,” Eren sighed, manhandling Reiner’s thighs and hips as he continually tried to find a good grip on the other’s sweat-slicked body. “This—hah—you feel so good…”

Reiner kept one hand firmly on the back of Eren’s neck and the other flung up to cling onto the top of the bathroom stall door for leverage, his chin tucking into his chest as he tried to hold back. He could have come right there and then since every thrust pounded straight into his spot, sending uncontrollable spasms and jitters in his legs and stomach.

After kissing the fresh imprint of his teeth in the other’s skin, effectively marking him as his, Eren moved onto Reiner’s broad chest, plummeting his face between them and taking in the musk of salty sweat and oaky cologne as well as two fleshy pecs on either side of his face.

“Good set of tits you got here,” he said, his voice muffled.

“God, s-shut up!” Reiner whined, his mouth pressed into a thin line, but that didn’t stop the drool accumulating on either side. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that also didn’t stop the tears of pure ecstasy from sliding down the sides of his face. Eren was lasting forever, even though he could feel the cock inside him just throbbing to release. Reiner was fatigued beyond imagination, but he knew that if he allowed himself to come now, Eren would carry on hammering into him, and he’d become so overstimulated, he’d pass out.

“Just come already!” he cried out, scratching Eren’s back so desperately he was surprised he hadn’t drawn blood yet.

“Without you coming first?” Eren asked, and although he tried to keep his cocky tone of voice, he was nearing the end and thus running out of control. It didn’t help that Reiner was trying to skin him alive. “Th…that wouldn’t be very gentle…manly of me.”

He lowered his head from between Reiner’s pecs to one of his nipples, which seemed almost painfully hard with how erect they were. He latched onto one, giving it a playful bite before lapping at the pink areola and bud. The action seemed inconsequential in the grand scheme of his ravaging of Reiner’s body, but little did Eren know, Reiner’s nipples were the most sensitive part of his body, second to his dick.

“A-a-AH!” Reiner began to scream, but it was cut off by a sharp gasp before his lungs stuttered and gave out. His chest was painted white with glistening semen, mingling with the dewdrops of sweat gathering in the valleys of his ab muscles. His whole body tensed, his muscles locking as he rode the wave of mind-numbing, blinding ecstasy, the whites of his eyes making a prolonged appearance. Then, as quickly as his body tightened, it slackened with deep fatigue. Every single one of his muscles was sore. His walls were pulsating around Eren’s cock from every micromovement the brunet made, racking his body with tremors.

“Woah,” Eren breathed, adjusting his grip on Reiner’s body to make sure he didn’t fall now that he was the sole supporter. “That was intense.”

In Reiner’s bleary state, it seemed as if Eren’s voice was coming from underwater. Once his irises returned to their rightful state, he saw Eren’s blurry figure in front of him. However, as blurry as he was, the taunting intrigue was more than clear.

“How…” Reiner was beyond out of breath—stringing simple sentences was proving to be a chore after an orgasm that intense. “How have you still…n-not come?”

Eren scoffed. “I will admit, it got real hard toward the end, especially with how tight you got on me.” He looked down to where they connected, seeing the built-up precome mixing in with the lube on himself. “I could barely move. I was getting sucked in.”

“Ngh…” Reiner shook his head. Even though it seemed like Eren’s voice was coming in bubbles, it was still too loud and much too obscene.

“I need to come soon, though, before anybody else comes in,” Eren continued. Before Reiner could even begin feeling his limbs again, Eren snapped his hips forward in a rough thrust, causing the blond’s body to seize up and for his head to slide down the door as it craned back.

“GUH—!” Reiner scrambled to ride out the oversensitivity, struggling to hang onto Eren’s sweat-soaked shoulders, but it was all too much. “S-stop! Stop! Pl…please…”

“What?” Eren asked, raising a brow. “Are you crying? Does it feel that good?” Despite his cruel teasing, his hips stilled. “I need to come, you know.”

Reiner inhaled erratically, his chest faltering in its expansion. His head lolled to the side, his eyes slowly rolling up to meet Eren’s heavily lustful gaze. “You used to be so sweet.”

This was the first time he’d ever seen Eren dumbfounded. He’d always have something to say, whether it was his friend or his superior. He could never settle down and listen. But here, with six words, he had put Eren in his place. Or, at least he thought.

Eren grit his teeth, his nose scrunching as he tried to hold back from moving. “And you used to be my friend.” His voice held that same sarcastic mockery, but his mouth was a thin pressed line, and his eyes held no humor. “That kid is dead because of you. There’s nothing we can do to go back. Now, are you going to let me keep fucking you or not?”

Reiner was taken aback, left speechless because, well, Eren was right. It was all his fault that Eren turned into such a self-obsessed monster. But there was no changing the past. Eren was right about that much. Now, all there was left was to continue being savagely fucked.

His body had recovered in the time they spent staring at each other, and his mind was much more conscious. Besides, he felt a certain weight off his shoulders. There really was nothing he could do to fix this fucked up relationship he had with Eren or the situation they found themselves in presently. He had tortured himself every single second of every single goddamned day since he’d returned to Marley about what he could’ve done differently, what would have happened had he never joined the Warriors at all. But he couldn’t change the past. He could only focus on the present, and presently, he was still in a public bathroom, still had a pulsating cock inside him, and was still hard.

Reiner, too shy to verbalize it, nodded and pulled Eren close to him, smearing his semen onto both of their chests. He gasped weakly at Eren’s lips on his neck, leaving hickeys galore, and the languid pace of his hips diving back inside him. The sounds were even more explicit now that he had come, and Eren’s moans and heavy breaths next to his ear did not help his predicament.

“Please…please come,” Reiner pleaded, mussing his fingers in Eren’s hair as he continued to be spread open and to have his walls rubbed raw.

“Where do you want it?” Eren asked, nipping at Reiner’s earlobe.

“Inside me—inside, please!” Reiner turned his head to moan as Eren increased his pace, and he could feel the cock throbbing inside him once again.

“S-so close,” Eren whispered, giving the side of Reiner’s face a sloppy kiss. “Can I fuck you harder?”

“M…mhm.” Reiner nodded desperately. Then, he turned his head until the tip of his nose bumped Eren’s, their glowing eyes meeting each other in a heated exchange of lust and hot breaths. He pushed Eren’s head forward, clutching that long brown hair in fistfuls as he kissed Eren, hot and heavy. He sucked on his bottom lip until Eren captured the rest of his lips and slipped his tongue inside right as he gave two of the roughest thrusts of the night, causing the bathroom door to rattle so hard he was afraid the entire stall would come down.

“Eren! Eren!” Reiner squealed.

His name in Reiner’s mouth, being screamed so desperately, was all Eren needed to finally close out the night in the form of filling the mewling blond up to the brim and causing him to splatter a fresh set of come onto both of their chests for the second time. His hips sputtered as he struggled to thrust out the rest of his orgasm with how tight Reiner had become—between his tightening walls and the amount of semen inside him, there was barely any room for Eren to move.

“FUCK!” Eren shouted out, slamming a hand onto the stall door while his other arm was shaking from supporting all of Reiner’s weight. His head fell onto Reiner’s shoulder and left the final hickey of the night once his lips stopped trembling.

“Ah…” Reiner sighed, fatigued and defeated and full. He followed Eren’s movements as he was slowly lowered, his legs carefully placing themselves underneath him. However, that didn’t last long, and he collapsed onto the floor. Thankfully, his pants had gotten pulled up in the move, saving his bare ass from leaking cum onto the bare bathroom floor.

Eren caught his breath, raising a hand to wipe the thick layer of sweat from his brow. He blinked, then blinked again, almost as if coming out of a trance. He slowly turned his head to Reiner, whose head was lolled to the side and eyes were closed, as if to confirm that the previous encounter had actually happened and wasn’t just a fever dream. He wiped some saliva from the corner of his mouth and swept his hair up into a quick bun to try and quickly dry down some of the sweat on the back of his neck.

“Are you going to stay on the floor?” he asked with a chuckle. All he received was a grunt as a response.

Eren tucked himself back into his underwear and fumbled with his zipper, fastening it and fixing his belt. He bent down to pick up his shirt, slipping it on and walking back over to the door. His hand was on the lock, ready to slide it open, but he paused.

“You know, you should get up before somebody comes across you like this,” Eren said. Why did he care so much about the man who ruined his life, especially since he planned on killing him later that week?

“Yeah, yeah,” was all that Reiner said as he slowly pushed himself off the tile and reached over for some toilet paper to clean himself up. Eren turned away to give him privacy and only turned back around when he heard the clinking of Reiner’s belt as he did it.

“Great.” Eren’s duty as a sensible human being was done now. He turned to bolt out of the bathroom, but something was still holding him back. Instead, he went over to the sinks to pretend as if he cared about washing his hands, and Reiner followed suit, an awkward silence ensuing.

“I’m, uh, sorry.”

Eren’s head whipped around so fast, he felt something in his neck snap. He shook it off and turned his attention back to Reiner, who was staring resolutely at a tiny puddle of water next to the sink on the counter.

Reiner continued, “For ruining your life.”

Eren’s eyes lowered to the counter bit by bit, unsure of how to process or even respond to the apology. He eventually decided on shrugging. “My life would’ve been ruined by Titans anyway. You just sped up the process.” His eyes dropped to Reiner’s ass, and he dried his hands before reaching over and giving it a quick squeeze. “You’ve made up for it, though. Somewhat.”

Reiner yelped before rolling his eyes and drying his hands. “Yeah, well. I’m glad.” He lifted his head, and, without making eye contact, let a small smile cross those bitten-up, cherry red lips.

Eren felt something stir in his chest, something foreign. Not lust, no. Something he did not have the mental capacity to process in the aftermath of the best sex he’d ever had in his whole life. But all he knew was he wanted to kiss Reiner, badly.

So, he did. He slid a finger underneath the unassuming blond’s chin, guiding it to face him and gently tipping it up before leaning forward and brushing their lips together in their gentlest kiss of the night. He then moved his lips to Reiner’s temple in a quick peck before tucking in his shirt, fixing his hair, and turning to exit, leaving a baffled, emotionally confused, and satisfied Reiner in his wake.

“See you next Friday.” With a wink, he was gone and ready to come back for more.

[happylittledrabbles]

Like a Virgin

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Erwin Smith

Rating: 18+ (DNI IF A MINOR)

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 9K

AO3

—

Levi is very sexually frustrated from all of Erwin's wandering touches and wants to know for sure whether Erwin is into him or not. He questions the commander on if he has a woman he wants to have sex with, and Erwin doesn't reply. That's the moment Levi finds out Erwin is a virgin. He proposes to "help" Erwin learn how to have sex before he goes on to have sex with the woman of his dreams.

Shenanigans ensue.

—

“Wine or champagne?”

Levi eyed the two bottles in front of him, his eyes then sliding to the blond man behind the desk, his uniform a size too small for him. But he knew that Erwin liked it like that since it showed off his body. He’d never admit to it, though.

“Wine,” Levi said ultimately, motioning to the opaque bottle. Erwin obliged with a nod of the head and leaned forward, the leather chair groaning underneath his shifting weight. He took the glass and let a bit of wine dribble into it, handing it to the black-haired man to taste.

“Didn’t know you were a sommelier,” Levi remarked with a scoff, swirling the wine in the cup and giving it a sniff before tipping it to his lips. He smacked them together, the oaky wine reminiscent of the nights when he and Erwin would get too drunk after a successful mission—their arms around each other, their hands roaming to places that only lovers should touch…

“Are you drunk already, Levi? Your face is flushed,” Erwin asked, breaking Levi out of his daydreams. He reached across the desk, brushing his fingers across Levi’s cheek (as if that would make the problem better) (it absolutely didn’t). “You only had one sip. Are you sick?”

“Get your hands off me, old man,” Levi grumbled, swatting Erwin’s hand away even though he desperately wanted to grab it and lead it to the places where his mind went a few moments ago. His blush had worsened tenfold, causing Erwin to laugh and raise a caterpillar brow in pleased confusion. He took Levi’s cup and filled it up the rest of the way before handing it back.

“I’m not that old,” he retorted, standing up from his office chair to lean on the edge of the desk with the cup of wine he poured himself in hand. He kicked the tip of Levi’s boot playfully before taking a sip of the wine, wincing away from the cup. “Wow, this is pretty strong.”

He was far too close for comfort to Levi—he could practically smell that warm, masculine cologne he peppered on himself every day. It seemed as if every sight, every smell, every taste, every touch...everything was reminding him of the fact that he was horribly frustrated. Sexually frustrated, that is. Erwin was too much of a dunce to ever figure out that Levi wanted to take him apart and put him back together in a fit of pleasure. He’d never figure out that those lingering touches when they had dinner together weren’t a mistake, but a silent plea to never let go. No, Erwin’s nickname was—lovingly—meathead in Levi’s mind. It was getting to the point that all of Erwin’s playful touches and sexual remarks seemed mocking, as if Erwin was saying, “Yeah, you’ll never have me. But every woman on the Scout Regiment wants to fuck me. And I’ll fuck them, too.”

That gave Levi an idea.

“Speaking of old,” Levi continued, taking another sip of wine. If he was to have this conversation, he’d much rather carry on drunk so that he could blame it on the alcohol if—when—it went south. “It’s about time you get a wife. Any women on the Scout Regiment looking like a nice piece of ass?”

“Levi, how crude,” Erwin admonished, his eyes widening in surprise. “You shouldn’t refer to women that way.” Levi would have missed the slight blush rising in Erwin’s cheeks if he hadn’t already been staring straight into his soul for any hint of a reaction at the mention of women.

“Ah, sorry,” Levi apologized, thankful that Erwin wasn’t the type to reply to that gross comment with an equally grosser response. “Well, anyway, we’ve been in close quarters with them for a while. Any lucky ladies get a little closer?”

Erwin uncrossed and crossed one leg over the other as if he couldn’t decide where to put his legs, taking a heavy swig of the wine. It seemed as if Erwin had the same idea as his friend: get as drunk as possible to answer this line of questioning. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Erwin, don’t play dumb with me,” Levi said, leaning his elbows forward on his knees and sipping his wine until there was less than half left. “You can tell me. I’m your best friend. At least I hope.”

An unreadable look crossed Erwin’s face—what Levi wouldn’t give to crawl inside his mind right now. The blond ran a heavy hand down his face, letting out a groan that made Levi sit back up as straight as a pole. His hands drifted into his lap in case the little friend in his pants made an appearance, as it so often did when he was alone with Erwin, getting drunk like this.

“You…you are my best friend. Although that sounds a little juvenile.” Erwin chuckled softly before rolling his eyes. “Why are you so interested in my private life? For the record, it’s highly unethical for me to sleep with members of the Regiment.”

Levi tossed his head back in laughter. “We’re all adults. Shit happens.”

Erwin balked before shying away behind his desk, turning his back to Levi. His back was tense—the muscles surrounding his scapula rose through his uniform as he crossed his arms firmly. “You shouldn’t refer to making love that way.”

Levi stood up, tracing the edge of the desk with his fingers. Erwin was pissing him off. Why was he so defensive of his answers? Usually, men would jump to brag about their experiences at the mere insinuation of having sex with women. Meanwhile, he acted as if he’d never had sex before and was avoiding the question as much as possible. Levi just wanted to know if those lingering stares or tender touches meant something more, and he needed Erwin to tell him that he was taken so that he could be turned down without making a fool out of himself.

“’Making love’? You’re a big ol’ softie, aren’t you?” Levi sat on the desk as he watched the muscles of Erwin’s back tell the story his face was hiding. He polished off the last of the wine in his cup and set it gently down on the table. He kept his eyes on Erwin’s back, biting his lip and hesitating before finally saying, “It’s like you’ve never had sex at all.”

It was supposed to be a joke, one that would make Erwin splutter about to defend himself and spill all his sexual experiences. Levi was illiterate at reading Erwin’s facial expressions but had an advanced degree in literacy in reading his body language. He thought it’d be laughable to anybody to insinuate Erwin had never had sex. After all, anybody who met the man had hearts glowing in their eyes. But his shoulders hiking up to his ears, both of which promptly turned pink, and his arms quickly wrapping around himself were an obvious confirmation of Levi’s suspicions.

Levi was far too surprised to say anything or even move. His jaw went slack as Erwin shifted his body weight from one foot to another uncomfortably. The tension in the room was palpable, dripping from the ceiling and coating each man in a layer of unease. Erwin was a man of honesty. He’d never outright lie unless it’d reduce panic among the population or his cadets. He’d never lie to somebody of his rank, least of all Levi. So, the most he could do was stay quiet in the face of the accusation. If he stayed silent, he wouldn’t be lying, but he wouldn’t have to talk about it.

Except, Levi wouldn’t take silence as a complete answer.

“Erwin,” he pressed, the chair groaning as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers together as a hammock for his chin, cocking his head at Erwin’s statuesque figure. “Are you serious? You’ve never had sex?”

Erwin flinched at the claim, and he turned to the side, the lamplight creating a halo around his profile. His aquiline nose and thin lips were put on prominent display, and it took everything Levi had to not grab his face and turn it to face him. He needed to see what Erwin was thinking. He needed to parse out what the wrinkles in his face meant, what each flick of the eye signified. This discovery was the last thing he expected. He expected the secret to the Titans be discovered before Erwin’s more-than-intact virginity.

Erwin’s eyes were set on the floor. “I…it just never happened—"

“You’re approaching middle age, Erwin! What the hell do you mean?” Levi finally moved toward Erwin, grabbing his bicep and whirling the blond to face him. “You’ve never had one girlfriend? One woman you've liked?” He paused. “Have you even had your first kiss?”

“Of course I have!” Erwin was finally animated, and he tossed Levi’s grip off him and stepped back. “My Lord, Levi, you think so lowly of me.”

“Erwin, you are a fully grown, extremely attractive man who hasn’t had sex yet. People have flung themselves at you for years.” Levi tried to find another explanation for his shock, but all that came out was stutters and word vomit. He truly was at a loss for words.

Erwin pursed his lips before catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “I just haven’t met the right person yet,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, I-I have, I simply…don’t know how they feel about me.”

Levi tried to catch Erwin’s eye, but the blond was resolute on keeping his gaze on a particular swirl in the hardwood.

“You’re kidding,” Levi scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “You’ve been waiting all this time because you’re scared to admit your feelings? We’re on the brink of death every day, Erwin. We’re going on a mission tomorrow. Sure, it’s a run-of-the-mill mission, but you never know what could happen. One moment you’re there, the next, you’re being crunched on by a Titan like potato chips. I think you’ll survive a little confession.”

Erwin turned his body completely to face Levi, catching the shorter man off guard with the sudden confrontation. “Well, what about you? What’s your entire sexual history? I can’t be the only one on trial here.”

Levi shrugged. “The Underground is an interesting place. Prostitutes are very forgiving for your first time. They give you a discount.” He laughed at the pained expression that crossed Erwin’s face and waved his previous statement away. “I’m kidding. There were some cute girls down there. And then here…well, I got around as I rose the ranks.” He deliberately left out the part where he fucked and got fucked by plenty of men, deciding that was too forward. He needed Erwin to come to him first.

Erwin braced himself on the edge of the desk once Levi finished recounting his sexual tales, his knuckles turning white with how tightly he was gripping it. Levi’s eyes fell onto the other’s hand, the veins and bones in his hand rising above his skin, causing his mouth to go dry. Was this the right thing to do—to ask Erwin about his love life? Wouldn’t he be disappointed when Erwin told him all about the sweet woman he was in love with, the woman he wanted to lose his long-overdue virginity to? Especially after all those yearning gazes shared between them, the times when Erwin draped a blanket over him after he passed out on top of his desk, the handmade teas and horrible cookies (but they tasted perfect because Erwin made them)? Suddenly, Levi wanted desperately to renege on the topic of conversation.

He was about to ditch the entire thing when Erwin cleared his throat, his face pinkening. The lamplight couldn’t lie; the commander was actually getting embarrassed.

“But…what if they’re disappointed? I should’ve…done it…a while ago. I should be good at it.” Erwin covered his face with his hand, the other still digging its nails into the wood desk.

Levi’s whole mindset changed then. He could work with this. He could…do something with this. He had a brilliant idea.

“Men your age and older still can’t fuck right,” he said softly, a sympathetic smile on his lips as he slowly approached the commander. “With how caring you are, I’m sure you’ll do better on your first time than any man who’s had sex a million times.”

Erwin’s blush worsened, but instead of bashfulness, it seemed as if he was surprised. “You think I’m caring?”

Levi hesitated. “Well, yes. You do everything in your power to protect your cadets.” Now, time for the hardest part of the plan. He swallowed thickly before sliding his hand across the table, his fingers meeting Erwin’s before sliding on top of the back of his hand. His eyes flicked from their enjoined hands to the panicked blue eyes in front of him, analyzing them for any sort of resistance. “And you do everything to protect me. So, if you want…I can teach you how to fuck. Before, you know, you go and have sex with the right person.”

His eyes fell to the floor after he finished speaking, disappointment setting in. Sure, if Erwin agreed to this, he’d get to fuck the love of his life and finally see him in his true, pleasure-fueled element. He’d probably even get closer to him. But this was all a precursor to Erwin going out to “make love” to the woman he actually liked, and Levi would have to watch from the sidelines with a pained smile as they settled down and had beautiful children. Sure, Levi wanted to fuck Erwin. But he wanted to love him, too. He wanted a life with him—as much as a life within the walls could afford. And he wanted Erwin to love him back.

Erwin was silent, but he didn’t move his hand, nor his eyes. His eyes stayed on their hands, evaluating, dissecting, inspecting. Finally, he inhaled sharply, causing Levi to inadvertently tighten his grip on Erwin’s hand.

“You’d be willing to teach me?” he repeated. Levi nodded. Neither of the men was looking at each other. They didn’t have the courage to, even as full-grown adults. “Physically, you mean? Not with a chalkboard?”

Levi’s next move was a surprise to him, too; it was as if he was watching his own body from afar as he gripped Erwin’s wrist and flung him into his desk chair before settling in his lap, his legs snug between Erwin’s thighs and the arms of the chair. Erwin’s thighs provided a wonderful seat: they were big and strong, the muscle providing the perfect padding for Levi to sit back and still reach the blond’s flabbergasted face. His hand gripped Erwin’s tie and brought him closer, the tips of their noses kissing.

“Does this answer your question?” he murmured, and Erwin quickly nodded, looking like an obedient puppy in the hands of his equal.

His eyelashes fluttered as his gaze dropped to Levi’s lips. “When will the lesson begin?”

Oh, you fucker, Levi thought before diving in and massacring the lips he’d been dreaming about for far too many years. He never in a million years expected Erwin to accept his advances, and yet, unbelievably, it was happening now, in front of him, and not all in his head. He didn’t have time to process the fact that he was kissing his best friend, and that his best friend was reciprocating (with tongue). He had accepted that this was a dream, and he’d treat it that way until it was confirmed that it was real life—presumably after they’d both finished their “lesson”.

Erwin was an extremely good kisser. Whoever he’d shared his first kiss with evidently taught him well, or he was experienced in that department, or he was a fast learner. Or all three. Whatever it was, all he knew was that just a kiss was getting him hot and heavy. He sighed into the kiss when he felt Erwin’s hands on his back and hip, big enough to span from one shoulder blade to the other and for his palm to cover Levi’s entire hipbone. Unwittingly, Levi bucked his hips in Erwin’s palm, trying to get closer to his burning hot touch, only to elicit a delicious groan from the other.

“Fuck.” Erwin bit down on Levi’s bottom lip, his hand gripping onto the back of Levi’s shirt as if he were hanging on for life.

Levi was on fire. The kiss was like a drug. It was nothing like the drugs peddled in the Underground; no, it was far stronger. It was deadly because he would rather sacrifice his lungs than come up for air.

“Levi,” Erwin all but growled, causing Levi to grind his hips down in reply. All that did for the commander was make his eyes roll back and call out another “Levi,” except this time, his voice was soaked in need.

“Oh, what you do to me, Erwin,” Levi whispered. He ground his hips down again, making Erwin see stars. The fronts of their pants were equally and painfully hard at this point, and if it weren’t for their pesky clothing getting in the way, Erwin would’ve finished a long time ago. Levi relished in the feeling of Erwin’s hardness pressed against his inner thigh, making sure to give it ample attention whenever he moved his hips because it gave him the perfect reaction from Erwin: a drawn-out moan that left Levi lightheaded.

Levi wasted no time in tossing Erwin’s tie aside and ripping open his shirt, the buttons popping off and clattering on the floor. The clattering did nothing to distract him from Erwin’s muscular chest, however. He’d seen Erwin shirtless before, of course. Living in such close quarters, they’d oftentimes had to change in the same room. Levi began to wonder if Erwin looked at him the same way he had admired the blond; his broad chest, imposing upon the other males in the room as if to say “I know I’m stronger than you, and you do, too,” his bedhead locks hanging limply in front of his coarse eyebrows when they’d been woken up far too early, the gray sweatpants they wore during training that might as well have been lingerie. They left little to the imagination, and Levi was about to find out if the bulge he’d have to pry his eyes away from every day lived up to its potential.

Erwin slipped his hands up Levi’s shirt hesitantly at first, but when Levi leaned into the touch with another whirl of the hips, his tender touches turned ravenous. Levi’s shirt was also not spared from their hungry love affair, joining Erwin’s torn shirt on the floor. Erwin’s lips detached from Levi’s and reattached to his neck, suckling on the soft skin until Levi was forced to dig his fingernails into the blond’s shoulders to not alert the guards mulling around outside. It was dark out; all the cadets were asleep—however, he didn’t want to risk anything.

“This is very un-virgin-like of you,” Levi murmured before a groan overtook his voice, his spine curving so their chests were pressed against each other. “You’re—mmm—good…”

Erwin chuckled a reply, his hands roaming Levi’s chest until his thumbs got stuck on his nipples, which were hard and tantalizingly pink. All Erwin saw was candy.

“Do you like being touched here?” Without wasting a breath, Erwin kissed a trail down Levi’s chest to place a gentle kiss on the nub.

“Yes,” Levi breathed, tossing his head back as his arms moved to hug Erwin’s head to his chest. “Erwin, this is so—h-hey!”

Erwin’s teeth snagged on his nipple, and the blond looked up with a smirk of mischief.

“Apologies. My mistake.”

Levi scoffed. “Bullshi—a-ah!”

Levi wasn’t a small man—frame-wise. He was muscular and broad and sturdy; however, Erwin’s hands made him feel like a delicate plaything, they were so big. He was starting to feel his dominance wane, especially with the way Erwin made him moan like a bitch in heat. He was always in control whenever he had sex, and the only way to do that…was to make Erwin the bitch in heat.

“Have you ever gotten a blowjob, Erwin?” he whispered, placing butterfly kisses on Erwin’s head as the blond busied his lips with Levi’s nipples and chest. However, those lips stilled at that question.

“I…I have,” he replied reluctantly, raising his head to meet the other’s eyes.

Levi was a little disappointed because if Erwin already knew how a blowjob felt, that meant he’d have to out-blow the first person. Not that that would be a challenge, but still.

“So you’re not entirely a virgin,” he mused, drawing swirls in Erwin’s gelled back hair. If his hair wasn’t sweat-soaked and messy in his eyes by the time they’d finished, Levi would consider it a job badly done.

“I-I suppose not?” Erwin stuttered, confusion evident in his tone. “Why, what are you—”

Levi was already on his knees before he finished his question, ready to answer it. He quickly undid Erwin’s belt, licking his lips at the bulge he had very clearly felt against his leg a few moments ago.

Erwin immediately began to panic, his arms flying out to try and stop the other. “Levi! Y-you don’t have to—”

Levi was quick to interrupt. “I want to,” he replied. He was practically drooling, the clinking of the belt and the zipper unzipping music to his ears. It was pornographic just how much Erwin’s cock was straining against his drawers—the poor fabric was hanging onto his hips by a thread. It only took a short wave of his hand against the fabric crotch for Erwin’s hardness to emerge, leaving Levi breathless and confused.

How the hell am I going to fit this inside me?

“Don’t look at it like that,” Erwin said with a frown, breaking Levi out of his thoughts.

“No, Erwin,” Levi cooed reassuringly, brushing his fingertips against the vein encircling his shaft. “I’m just admiring it.”

Erwin didn’t seem convinced until he felt Levi’s fingers against them—then, all insecurities vanished. His whole body stiffened, his fingers digging into the leather arms of the chair.

Levi smirked at the whitening knuckles in front of him, his eyes drifting up to meet Erwin’s heated gaze. “Christ, if that’s how you react to a touch like that, I wonder how you’ll react to this…” With that, he gripped Erwin’s cock firmly and gave it an experimental stroke.

“A-ah!” The reaction was better than what Levi could ever imagine. Erwin’s body was pulsing, his eyelids dropping with lewdness and his gruff chest voice coming out in spurts. “Fuck…”

“Hm,” Levi hummed, leaning over to give the head a chaste kiss.

“L-Levi!” Erwin gasped. “Stop playing with me!”

“Oh, but it’s so fun,” Levi replied, his never-ending smirk on display on his lips. It only disappeared once he took the head into his mouth, letting the saliva he accumulated in his mouth drip down the shaft and gather around his hand that grasped the base. He gave it another pump as he sucked happily, lubricating it both to provide less friction for Erwin and for himself when he’d eventually have to put it inside himself. It was hot in his hand and heavy against his tongue, and all he was thinking was how it’d feel slapped against his cheek. But of course, he didn’t expect a virgin to do that for him.

“Mm—mm! Levi, ple-ease…” Erwin begged, his body racked with overstimulation.

“Pleath whath?” Levi asked, his voice muffled from the cock in his mouth. But Erwin’s answer was interrupted by another bout of moans that dribbled out of his mouth once Levi returned to dutifully sucking, taking more of the shaft into his mouth. He continued to descend, the corners of his mouth burning by how wide his mouth was stretching to accommodate Erwin’s size, not to mention how he was on the verge of gagging with how deep the blond’s cock was rubbing in his throat. And he was only halfway down.

This is going to be difficult, Levi thought, but he couldn’t focus on thinking when Erwin was making such a huge racket above him.

He pulled up enough to speak, saying, “If this is how you react to the beginning of a blowjob, then the one you got before must’ve been horrible,” before diving back down to his previous spot. He heard Erwin begin a retort, but he stuck out his tongue and stroked the vein in the corner of his mouth as a dirty trick, effectively shutting Erwin up with his own groans.

Even though he was focused on going as deep as possible, he couldn’t help but look up and try to make eye contact with Erwin, who was watching him with such a hungry expression, Levi couldn’t help but reach down into his pants to try and relieve some of the pain in his crotch as well.

However, after a few more strokes and gulps of Erwin’s shaft, he could barely prepare himself for the pressure at the back of his head or the gag that came from the back of his throat.

GACK!

“E-Er–“ was all Levi could say around the thick shaft in his mouth before Erwin’s heavy hand pushed him further down, burying himself deeper in the dark-haired man’s throat.

“Fuck, Levi!” Erwin groaned, his head tossed back in ecstasy. “It feels so…fuck! I’m so close…”

Erwin’s last curse came out as a growl, lighting Levi’s cheeks and groin on fire. However, his throat was also on fire, but for an entirely different reason. He liked control, but he couldn’t deny that being manhandled this way, feeling the sting in his hair where Erwin gripped it, made his body electrified. And he also couldn’t deny that the feeling of a cock lodged in his throat, as much as it was sexy, was also extremely uncomfortable.

“Er—!” he began, his voice muffled before being interrupted by another gag. His taps against Erwin’s leg quickly turned to slaps just as Erwin’s pushes brought him down to the base, his nose nuzzled into his golden happy trail.

“Oh, Levi!” Erwin exclaimed, suddenly broken out of his pleasure-fueled fugue state. He released Levi’s hair and the pressure on his head, leaving Levi to immediately lift off his cock with a lewd pop. He was left coughing while Erwin spluttered out apologies, his hands up in the air before one of them found a place on the top of Levi’s head. However, this time, there was no pressure. He pet the soft hair underneath his fingertips apologetically as Levi caught his bearings.

“I’m so sorry, Levi,” Erwin finally said after a myriad of unfinished sentences and stutters. “I-I got too into it. That’s never happened before…I—“

“No,” Levi finally said, his voice now hoarse. He wiped at the corner of his mouth, his hand streaked with saliva and precome. He took a moment to clear his throat before quietly adding, “I…I liked it.”

Both men could barely meet each other’s eyes, their faces as red as the candle flame dancing about on the desk.

Erwin was the first who dared to speak. “Uh, well, I—“

But Levi was quick to interrupt. “If that’s all it takes to get you to come, then we better move on.” He stood up, his hands dropping to his own belt as he held Erwin’s curious gaze. He dropped his trousers, leaving himself in just his drawers. “We wouldn’t want you to finish before we even got started.”

Erwin cleared his throat, his eyebrows furrowing together as he took in Levi’s body. His curious gaze morphed into something darker, his clear eyes turning stormy as they dropped to Levi’s crotch. “Y-yes, we wouldn’t want that.”

Erwin’s hungry gaze sent shivers down Levi’s spine. He had wanted this for so long: to be admired, to be sexualized by Erwin. He wanted to be wanted, and that was exactly how it was going. Erwin was physically restraining himself from reaching forward and pulling Levi to him; it was obvious from how tightly he was gripping the chair. It was perfect.

He carefully climbed back onto Erwin’s lap, sighing at the feeling of the blond replacing his hands to their rightful position on his hips once again. The position was the same as before, except now, Levi could feel Erwin’s leaking cock pressed against his asscheek, wetting his drawers.

“Nervous to finally lose your V card?” he asked with a smirk, reaching behind him to give Erwin’s cock a playful tug, earning a delicious grunt from the other.

“Should I be?” Erwin replied, cocking his head as he gazed up at his friend with lowered eyelids and heavy pants. His chest was rising and falling erratically the more Levi fondled him.

“No,” Levi cooed, reaching up to push down his drawers. He leaned forward and kissed Erwin’s cheek, delighting in the whimper that escaped those thin lips. “I’ll take care of everything.”

He lifted a hand to his lips, sticking two fingers inside his mouth and wetting them dutifully with his tongue. If he wanted to walk the next day and not bleed, he’d have to stretch himself very attentively.

“What are you doing?” Erwin asked. He was watching Levi’s every move with heated glances.

Levi chuckled between the fingers in his mouth, pulling them out and reaching behind himself. “Sex between men requires some stretching and lubrication,” he said as he slowly pushed a finger inside himself, letting out a low hiss. “When you have sex with the woman of your dreams, you probably won’t have to endure this. Women make their own lubrication, and if she’s not a virgin, she’s probably loose enough. Just give me a second.”

Even though he knew he shouldn’t rush the process, he didn’t want Erwin to think he was a boring lay, so he inserted a second finger, feeling a slight sting. Even though he only wanted to fuck Erwin in that moment, he at least wanted it to make it enjoyable and sweet for the man who was losing his virginity. He was sharing an important moment with his best friend, and even though sex between men wasn’t really counted as real sex, he might as well educate Erwin on real sex. So that was what he decided to do.

“You’re not exactly small, Erwin,” he continued, using his other hand to stroke Erwin as he fingered himself. It’d been a while since he last had sex. Perhaps a couple of years. Ever since he met and bonded with Erwin, he hadn’t had eyes on anybody else and wouldn’t let anybody touch him. In a way, he’d been saving himself for Erwin.

“You have to be patient with your lady,” he instructed, flinching each time he pumped his fingers in and out. He was loosening up, just not at the desired pace. “She might not handle it well.”

“Levi,” Erwin rasped, breaking Levi out of his teaching persona. “I want to do it.”

“Uh—” This was the last thing Levi expected, especially out of Erwin. “What?”

Erwin snaked a hand down Levi’s hip down to cup his cheek, his hand dangerously close to his entrance. His fingers inched up to stroke Levi’s wrist, which had since stilled from shock. He craned his neck up, his eyelashes fluttering as he looked at his friend.

“I want to prepare you,” he repeated. “Shouldn’t I learn how to do this?”

Levi hesitated. “Er, well, you probably won’t have to do this with women—”

“Levi,” Erwin interrupted, his eyes closing with annoyance, “for fuck’s sake, shut up about women. Let me help you.”

Levi’s ears went bright pink at that, and he had no choice but to let his fingers slip out and let his hand hang limply by his side. Erwin hardly ever cursed. It’d have to be a life or death situation for him to curse. And yet…

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Erwin warned, lifting his hand to his mouth and wetting two fingers like he watched Levi do. He dropped his hand to Levi’s entrance once his fingers were sufficiently coated, pushing in his fingertip as he held his breath.

“You’re not,” Levi said after sucking in a sharp breath. Erwin’s fingers were much bigger than his own—he knew this very well after dreaming about them for years. They felt even bigger than in his dreams. “Keep going.”

Erwin pushed in until he reached his knuckle and slowly pulled out, using Levi’s sighs and breaths as a guide as to whether he was doing well or not. He decided to risk it and push in a second finger before the saliva coating it dried up, earning a squeal from Levi.

“Are you okay?” Erwin asked hurriedly, but all Levi responded with was throwing his arms around his shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“Erwin…” Levi’s voice was shaky. Erwin had never heard him like this. Levi always had a monotone voice, one that was reassured and calm. Even when he yelled, it was controlled. He was always in control. Well, it was only fair. This experience was a first for him, and it was a first for Levi to not be in control.

“Should I continue?” Erwin asked again.

Levi let out a shuddering breath. “I-inside every man’s ass, there’s a spot. And when you touch that spot, it makes you see stars. A-and…” He shifted his hips backward, causing Erwin’s fingers to brush up against a walnut-shaped mound raised from Levi’s walls. Yet again, Levi let out a cry, his fingers digging into Erwin’s back and leaving behind crescent-shaped tattoos.

“So, it’s here?” he asked, pressing into that spot again as if it was nothing, but it was everything to Levi. His mind was foggy, and his head was light. He was so confused; how did Erwin find his spot so quickly and how does he continue to find it so easily? Big fingers are good for that reason, but it seemed as if he knew intuitively where it was.

“Are y-you sure you’re a…a virgin?” he asked, moving his hips to match the pump of Erwin’s fingers. For a virgin, he was finding the spot over and over with impressive accuracy and stroking it with beautiful mastery.

Erwin chuckled and buried his nose in Levi’s dark mop of hair, taking in the smell of his hair mousse and salty sweat. “Yes, I’m very sure.”

After a few moments of continuous pumping, Levi instructed Erwin to scissor him open with another joke about him being well-endowed.

“I think you’re a virgin because women are too scared to handle your giant dick,” he said with a breathy laugh.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Erwin replied, giving Levi another scissor stretch. He fell silent in his thoughts for a moment before beginning, “You know, women aren’t my—”

“Okay, I think I’m ready,” Levi cut in, his hand gripping Erwin’s wrist. “I’m ready to put it in.”

“P-put—“ Erwin spluttered, his face matching Levi’s pink ears. “O-oh, right.”

It was almost as if he just remembered what was happening, that he was going to have sex. It was frustratingly endearing.

“We’ll go nice and easy,” Levi whispered, his tone no longer having its usual bite. He wasn’t that drunk on horniness—he knew how much of a big moment this was for Erwin.

“Okay,” Erwin replied quietly. He sucked air through his clenched teeth when Levi gripped his cock against, standing it up as he hovered above it. “You can stop whenever you want.”

“I know that,” Levi replied hurriedly. It almost felt as if he was losing his virginity, not Erwin. He let out a long breath before lowering his hips, but his chest seized once his entrance made contact with the head of Erwin’s cock, the sheer size of it making his body shut down.

“A-ah,” was the small whine that escaped Erwin’s lips. It invigorated Levi—he had control. It was all he needed to lower his hips further, letting out a groan with each inch that entered him.

“Mmm, fuck,” he grunted, his legs trembling the more he lowered himself. However, as strong as his thighs were, they were no match for Erwin’s size, and they gave out, causing a smack to echo off the walls from Levi’s legs giving out and landing him in Erwin’s lap yet again, except this time with his full size inside him.

“Ngh-!” It was like ripping off a bandage—it was better to get it over with all in one swoop, but damn, did it hurt. It was confirmed: Levi would be walking funny the next day for sure. But it couldn’t have felt any better. He was finally joined with Erwin. And he couldn’t wait to fuck him into oblivion.

However, Erwin was suspiciously quiet. Levi tried to lift his head from being buried in Erwin’s gelled hair, but Erwin’s stiff hold on him prevented him from checking in on the blond or even seeing his face since it was pressed against Levi’s chest.

And then came the warmth flooding inside him. It was strange—did Erwin grow a few inches in the few seconds he was inside? But it felt like liquid… which sent Levi into a panic. Was he bleeding that badly? Was he hemorrhaging? If he died because of internal bleeding from a giant cock instead of going down in glory from a Titan, he’d have some hands to throw with God.

However, he quickly pieced together what was happening when he felt Erwin’s entire body shivering and a guttural groan escape from the back of his throat, reverberating throughout Levi’s entire body.

Erwin came.

“Erwin?” he whispered. He bit his lip apprehensively, unsure of how to approach the sensitive issue. Usually, he enjoyed a good creampie. But he needed to have his mind fucked out before he got to the point where he could tolerate the slimy mess inside him, and he was hardly there. Now, he was just uncomfortable, even if it was Erwin’s, the love of his life’s slimy mess.

Erwin wasn’t talking. He was a statue.

Levi took his perpetual silence and interpreted it as shame. He rubbed Erwin’s shoulder reassuringly and kissed the top of his head, making sure to keep his hips still to not overstimulate the poor man.

“It’s alright, Erwin. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of men do this, especially during their first time. It’s completely nor…” Levi trailed off when he realized something dire: Erwin wasn’t getting softer. He was preparing himself to lift off Erwin’s lap and have that difficult conversation, but how the hell was he supposed to get up with that thing still lodged inside him?

Erwin wasn’t just not getting softer; he was getting harder. Enough to stretch Levi open even more, causing the man to hiss both in pain and in confusion. What the hell is going on?

Before Levi could realize what was happening, he was being lifted into the air and subsequently flipped over, his face pressed into the cold hardwood desk. His legs flailed about before finding their place on the floor, his arms pinned behind him in Erwin’s strong grasp.

“Erwin—?!”

“Sorry, Levi, but I’m not done.” Erwin’s voice was gravelly, and Levi couldn’t see his face to match the voice to the expression he was making. “Mind if I come in you again?”

“W-wait—!” However, a powerful thrust cut him off, replacing his objection with a shout mixed with a lewd moan. His chin and knees thumped against the desk, and his softening erection was at full mast yet again. “Erwin, wait!”

Erwin was about to pull out again—he had become a machine—but stopped upon hearing Levi’s pleas. “Are you alright? Does it hurt?”

How dare you fucking ask that when I’m leaking like a hose over here? Levi thought angrily. He shook his head to the best of his ability and clarified, “N-no, just…what happened?”

“Oh.” Erwin chuckled bashfully, and when Levi turned his head, he could see the blond rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

The damn brute, acting all shy.

“Well, that was embarrassing. You caught me off guard. But I recovered. So, shall we continue?”

He pulled out an imperceptible amount before pushing back in, giving Levi a mouth-watering taste of what was to come.

“Erwin,” Levi breathed, his cheek heating up the wood underneath it as he tried to meet Erwin’s eyes. “Fuck me until I can’t stand.”

Levi liked to be in control. But something that he’d learned very quickly from Erwin (who knew he’d be learning something from the virgin?) was that sometimes…it was nice to give up control. He had been in control his entire life, especially now as a captain. Maybe he could let somebody take the reins for a while.

The small smile that crossed Erwin’s lips sent chills down his spine. “Duly noted.”

The subsequent thrust that followed made Levi’s knees buckle, but Erwin’s hold on his wrists pinned to his back held him in place long enough for Levi to barely recover in time for another back-breaking thrust.

“E-Erwin!” he cried, his skin prickling with each smack and squelch that hit his ears. “Erwin, fuck, it feels—ngh, s-so—"

Both his legs and voice were trembling, his legs close to collapsing at the feeling of Erwin’s size stuffed inside him and pushing out his semen with his thrust. The previous semen provided the perfect lube, and it only added to the lascivious sounds filling the room. Erwin’s groans and grunts were short but dominant, each one causing Levi’s body to seize up and his hole to tighten, which then caused Erwin to groan more. It was a vicious cycle, one that brought each man eye-rolling waves of pleasure.

“You’re so tight, L-Levi,” Erwin murmured, leaning over Levi’s body to lick the shell of his ear. He gave another rough thrust, relishing in Levi’s unhinged reaction. “Are you sure you’re not a virgin?”

Levi was about to reply with a sarcastic remark, but Erwin never gave him the time as he ramped up his pace and continued to give his ear—one of his erogenous zones—special attention. Erwin let go of Levi’s wrists, to which the captain responded by spreading his arms out and digging his nails into the wood. However, Erwin didn’t leave Levi’s hands unattended for long. In between hard thrusts, he slipped a hand over Levi’s, interlacing their fingers from the back and running his thumb over his knuckles. He kept his other hand staunchly on Levi’s hip, leaving angry red marks for Levi to enjoy afterward.

“You’re going to have to buy me a new desk,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the slapping and wet sounds behind them. “You’re leaving scratch marks. That’s pretty…ugh…s-suspicious.”

“Erwin!” Levi begged, both out of frustration and pleasure. He wanted Erwin to stop teasing him, but at the same time, that was the main thing that was sending him over the edge—other than the punishing thrusting pace, of course. “Fuck me, f-fuck me, f…fuck…mmm—! Harder!”

“As you wish,” Erwin replied. He complied beautifully to Levi’s request, each thrust leaving a fresh set of raised red circles on Levi’s ass. “A-ah, Levi…it’s getting quite hard to move…”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Levi demanded. Yet again, Erwin complied, leaning back over and meeting Levi’s cherry red and bitten-up lips with a sloppy kiss that only added to the wet sounds in the room. “Mmph!”

“Levi,” Erwin growled hoarsely in between kisses, causing Levi’s toes to curl in his boots. “Levi…are you cl…mmm…close? Can I...c-can I come inside?"

Levi nodded quickly, which only added to his disorientedness. He couldn't tell down from up—that was Erwin's effect on him. "I-inside...plea...please!"

They were breathing into each other’s mouths at this point, too afraid to separate lips and lose that connection between them. Levi nodded, his hand drifting down the desk.

“My…my cock…” Levi mumbled before a moan overtook him, his hand stopping in its movements as his body went stiff again.

Erwin understood right away. He acted quickly, wanting Levi to come at least once before he finished again. He moved the hand on Levi’s hip down, down until his fingers brushed against Levi’s leaking cock. Within a second, he had it in his grip, giving it a tight pump and utilizing the precome as lube.

Levi’s reaction was immediate, his voice coming out as a shrill squeak and his body ransacked by tremors. He could barely see anything between his sweaty hair clumping in front of his eyes and the way his head was being tossed about with each brutal thrust. All he knew was that he needed one more thing, and he was done.

“Levi,” Erwin whispered again, planting a kiss on the corner of Levi’s lips. “I like you. I like you so much. I’ve liked you for so long…”

That was all Levi needed. With all his erogenous zones activated, plus the romantic confession from Erwin, it was the perfect concoction that brewed up a warm, familiar feeling in the depths of his stomach. It only took the combination of a pump of Erwin’s hand and a thrust from his brilliant cock to send him over the edge.

“Er-Er—” His voice cut out just as his vision was overtaken by blinding stars, his come splashing against the inside of the desk and leaving it covered in the evidence of his and Erwin’s romantic encounter. His entire body seized, and every time he felt the fluid movement of Erwin’s abs moving against his sweat-slicked back, it overstimulated him to the point that all that came out of his mouth were pathetic whimpers. With the next movement, he used all the strength in his neck to move his head over to their conjoined hands and bit down on Erwin’s knuckles to silence himself.

It only took two more thrusts for Erwin to finish. He had been holding back ever since they first started back up again, but he needed Levi to enjoy this as much as he was. And his captain very clearly did. His captain.

His orgasm was quieter than Levi’s, but it wasn’t any less dramatic or took any less of a toll on his body. His hips stuttered forward, his chest erratically falling and rising to compensate for the lack of breath in his lungs. He grunted into the nape of Levi’s neck as he buried himself deep inside, spilling his second seed of the night inside his captain. His captain.

Levi was very much in that fucked-out-of-his-mind state of being because he thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of being filled to the brim with that sticky substance a second time. It was the perfect feeling to close out the night, followed by the worst feeling of the night: Erwin pulling out. He let out a pathetic whine, and he wasn't even ashamed—he loved Erwin's cock that much. He felt so empty, and he had to deal with the sensation of Erwin’s hot come spill out and wind down his leg. He’d have to take a bath right after this. But his legs could barely stand, and he could hardly hold onto the desk; all his limbs had turned into jelly.

Luckily, Erwin caught him by wrapping his arm around Levi’s stomach before he could collapse, seating him in his lap. Since when had Erwin sat back down in the chair? Levi didn’t know—all he knew was he had been thoroughly and totally fucked from the fact that he had no sense of linear time. All he knew was that he was still madly in love with Erwin, and he had fallen deeper in love…if that was even possible.

“Hey,” Erwin finally spoke up after a few uninterrupted minutes of them breathing heavily. “You’re the right person I was talking about earlier, Levi. You’re the person I’ve been saving myself for.”

Levi was so lightheaded, he felt as if his head could up and float away at any moment. But the second he heard Erwin say that, heard his meatheaded commander confess his love for the second time, he was all-too grounded.

“I…I think I figured that out pretty quickly, Erwin,” Levi replied softly, still catching his breath. He slipped his hands over the blond’s that were sitting over his stomach, and he leaned his head back to rest against Erwin’s shoulder. He looked up to see those blue eyes he’d wanted to focus only on him for so long, and he earned it. Now, those blue eyes never left him. “No normal man would’ve accepted my proposal without being a little attracted to men.”

“Well, then, I’m glad I’m not normal,” Erwin replied, hugging Levi closer to him. “I’m glad you taught me to love you, Levi.”

How could Levi not feel all warm and mushy at that? As much of the stern man he was, he wasn’t heartless. In fact, Erwin reminded him just how big his heart could be at times, as if it was too big for his chest and would burst at any moment.

“Okay, but you seriously saved it all these years for me?” Levi asked, lifting up and turning slightly to be able to look Erwin in the face. “Ever since we first met? Why didn’t you make a move earlier?”

Erwin sighed deeply and shook his head. “I was honestly about to lose it before I met you. I had a girlfriend, and I was satisfied with the thought that I’d be living out the life people expected of me. Get a nice wife, have a couple of kids, and retire from the Regiment or die with the honor of leaving behind a nice family and being a strong man.” He looked up, his eyes never having shone so brilliantly before. “But then I met you, and I realized I needed to share such an intimate part of myself with somebody I truly cared about. And as for taking so long…”

He snickered and tapped Levi on his behind. “That’s your fault. I dropped so many hints…”

“You dropped so many hints?!” Levi interjected. “I was dropping hints every time we were alone together! Your nickname in my head is meathead because you never understood anything!”

“Er, I—” Erwin hesitated, his eyes dropping as he gathered his thoughts. “Now, wait a minute—”

“Ugh, it doesn’t matter,” Levi sighed, lifting a hand to Erwin’s cheek and stroking his famously sharp cheekbone tenderly. “It took too goddamn long, but we’re here. We…” He bit his lip before saying, “We made love.”

Erwin let out a bark of a laugh and threw his arms around Levi, pulling him in for a tight, bone-breaking hug. “And you said I was a softie!”

“Be quiet,” Levi demanded, pushing himself off Erwin’s lap and grabbing a tissue from his desk to clean himself up to the best of his ability before pulling his drawers and pants up. “By the way, how did you know where to touch me? It barely felt like I was having sex with a virgin.”

Erwin smirked. “I read pornography.”

Levi whipped around, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. “Those pictures? There are ones with males?”

“Once you’re the commander, you can get a lot of things normal people can’t,” Erwin replied coolly.

Levi went silent, fumbling with his belt absentmindedly as he imagined Erwin masturbating to gay porn late at night. Dare he imagine that Erwin was thinking about him while masturbating, replacing the men’s faces with theirs? He was far too exhausted to get hard again, but damn it, could he still use his wonderful imagination. “Well, you won’t need that now that I’m here.”

Erwin chuckled and shrugged. “I suppose not.”

Levi finished fastening his belt, his cheeks heating up as he tried his best to ignore Erwin’s fond gaze on him.

“Stop staring at me and get back to work.”

“Oh, Levi, won’t you stay?” Erwin pleaded, reaching out to tug on Levi’s pants.

“With your come in my ass? I don’t think so,” he replied with a scoff. His first reaction was to smack Erwin’s hand away, but instead, he lifted it to his lips and gave his knuckles, which harbored a clean red bitemark from earlier, a soft kiss. “Besides, I only came in to drop off those documents and talk about them for a little bit. My side mission was to seduce you. I’ve been pretty successful today.”

Erwin grinned and nodded. “I have been thoroughly seduced.”

Levi was so in love. All he wanted to do now was get back in Erwin’s lap and kiss him until they both passed out. But he had to control himself. He just took the man’s virginity, they confessed both their feelings to each other, and he had to cope with the fact that he wouldn’t be able to walk straight the next day. He was exhausted.

He walked over to Erwin’s closet and pulled on one of his shirts since his had been ripped to shreds. It was far too big for him, which was both a blessing and a curse. He was far too tired to care about the curse—besides, it was late. He could run to his room without anybody seeing him, right?

“I’ll see you in the morning, Erwin,” Levi said after buttoning up the shirt.

“Can’t I seduce you to sleep in my bed tonight?” Erwin asked, standing up to fasten his belt and pad over to Levi. He towered over the captain, that pleading expression leaving Levi at a loss for any rejection words.

“I…” He’d never be able to say no to that face. “I won’t make it a habit. But since I took your virginity…” He tugged at Erwin’s belt, stumbling him forward enough so that his nose reached his downturned chin. “I can make an exception for tonight.”

Before Erwin could react, he added, “But I have to clean myself up. I’ll be back after my bath. You should probably take one, too.”

“Can’t we take one together?” Erwin asked in that pleading voice, but this time, Levi put his foot down.

“The entire Regiment probably heard us rutting about. Us going to the bath together is pushing it,” he said. When he saw the gloomy look that crossed Erwin’s puppy-dog face, he pulled the blond down by the back of the neck and smooched him hard enough to leave the other dazed. “I will see you in an hour. Goodnight.”

He shuffled out of the room before Erwin could object, closing the door and rushing down the hallway. He was smiling to himself, so excited that he made it out without being seen that he missed Moblit’s entire body in the middle of the hallway, bumping into him hard enough to get the other to grunt.

“Hey—oh, Levi!” Moblit exclaimed, quickly lowering his voice since it was late. “What are you doing out here at this hour?”

He stepped back, and it was comical how quickly his eyes dropped from Levi’s face to the oversized shirt he had on. It was less comical how they slowly drifted down the hallway to take in Erwin’s slightly ajar office door and how the lights were still on inside the room. Not to mention, Moblit certainly noticed how disheveled and sweaty Levi looked.

“What are you staring at?” Levi snapped, tugging the shirt tighter around his body as he shouldered past Moblit. “Get back to your post before I inform Commander Erwin about this.”

“So you’d go back to his office?” Moblit asked, hiding a snicker behind his hand. He barely saw the kick in the back of the knee coming, crippling him to the floor as Levi continued on his way.

“No more smart remarks from you, soldier,” Levi grumbled, slipping into his room and hiding behind the door. He walked to the bathroom and looked himself in the face: he was far too red. He knew he could trust Moblit to keep his secret—it didn’t make the encounter any less embarrassing.

Before long, he was bathed and clean. He made sure that the hallway was clear before sprinting down and slamming Erwin’s bedroom door closed behind him. He sighed, but before he could even turn around, Erwin’s hands were on him, around his waist, pinching his hips.

“You took too long.” Erwin had probably fallen asleep; his voice was gruff but melodic.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Levi whispered, turning around in his arms and taking in the refreshing cotton scent of his shirt.

“Mm.” They shuffled and practically fell onto the bed, Erwin out like a light before Levi could even adjust his position. He was convinced that they’d get up to some more funny business before falling asleep, but perhaps losing his virginity in addition to orgasming twice in one night was a little too much for the commander. It would have been too much for anyone.

Levi, fully believing Erwin was asleep, fit himself into his side. His head found a place on his muscled chest, the same one he had been envisioning himself laying on for far too long. And here he was, with that chest all to himself with no need to share it with anybody else. He draped an arm around Erwin’s waist and hugged him tighter.

“I like you, Erwin,” Levi whispered as he shut his eyes.

Erwin smiled to himself in the dark, his eyes fluttering open and casting down to take in Levi’s frame snuggled up against him. I like you, too, Levi, he thought. More than you could ever know.

[happylittledrabbles]

Sour, Then Sweet

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Eijiro Kirishima

Rating: 18+ (DO NOT INTERACT IF UNDER 18)

Genre: Fluffy smut

Word Count: 7K

AO3

-

Kirishima used to like having sex with Bakugo...until he had to keep calling in sick every time they did it because Bakugo was so rough, it hurt doing Pro Hero work the next day. He avoids having sex with his boyfriend until Bakugo thinks that he isn't attractive anymore, causing a miscommunication between the two men. Kirishima eventually fesses up, and Bakugo reveals he's preferred romantic sex over rough the entire time.

Then, they try it out.

-

Eijiro Kirishima liked sex. Keyword: liked.

It’s not as if he’s completely averse to it now. No, he enjoys it—it’s very evident every time he does it. But, well, the effects of the deed afterward left much to be desired, and now, whenever Bakugo initiates, he can’t help but imagine the amount of pain he’s going to feel the next day. Bakugo is…rough. Very rough. Kirishima used to like it…the first few times. Really only the first time. But that’s probably because that was when he was between Pro Hero jobs and didn’t have to get out of bed the next day and do actual work.

“Oh, my God, just tell him!” Mina would say whenever Kirishima would FaceTime her, but he’d just change the subject and promptly hang up.

There’s no way in hell he’s going to talk about something as embarrassing as a sore butthole or the fact that his hips feel so rickety that he has to call in sick for work. Actually, he’s had to call in sick every single time they have sex. The fading hickeys on his neck don’t get the chance to fade away before being replaced with a fresh set; usually, that’d be very sexy to the Pro Hero, but when he has to go out as a venerated public figure, being seen by children and old people, it’s very much not desired. Mina lent him her concealer, saying “It does the trick” with a wink, but Pro Hero work isn’t exactly conducive to keeping makeup looking flawless. Thankfully, Pro Hero work is conducive to explaining away the scratches and “bruises” on his chest and neck.

Bakugo is genuinely concerned whenever Kirishima has to call in sick, but the redhead just pushes him out the door saying that he was fine; he just isn’t feeling it that day. But the excuses are running thin. There are only so many times he can call in sick without losing his spot in the top ten of Pro Heroes, and above all, he needs to help people. He can’t help but turn on the TV and watch in horror as depressing story after depressing story popped up on the news, all while lying on his side because sitting on his ass hurt too much.

So…he’d started turning down sex. And never initiating it. Well, he’d stopped initiating for a while. But he’d never turn it down. Now, before getting home, he’d use his trip home to think of all the excuses he could use when he climbed into bed with his boyfriend later that night if Bakugo was in the mood. He knows a simple ‘no’ would satisfy the blond and earn him a forehead kiss before being left alone, but…he still feels guilty. Therefore, the excuses came rolling in.

“Ah, sorry, just ate a big burrito.”

“I just took a shit. Ha.”

“Look over there! Oh, no…our potted plant broke. Gotta fix that.” (Kirishima pushed it off the dresser.)

“I’m really sweaty from work…no, it’s not sexy. No—a villain pissed on me, too.” (They had not.)

Bakugo, instead of being sexually frustrated, has been panicking. The main worry on his mind hasn’t been “Fuck, blue balls again?” Rather, it’s been “Is Eijiro not attracted to me anymore?” He hasn’t put on any weight. In fact, he’s gotten more muscular as an effect of his Pro Hero work. U.A. was challenging, especially with the League of Villains always up their asses, but at least they had their teachers and other Pro Heroes looking after them. Now it’s all up to him. He thought this feeling of losing control would stay at work, but clearly, it’s followed him back home because he can’t get a grip on Kirishima. Any time he thinks he’s figured Kirishima’s feelings out or gotten him close to talking about his feelings, he slips right out of his hands and locks himself behind a door, both metaphorically and physically. He’s already losing control and stamina in his Pro Hero work; the last thing he wants is for that to happen to his relationship.

Bakugo’s frustration boils to a point after a particularly hard day when he comes home and sees Eijiro on the couch, and instead of his boyfriend greeting him with a hug and a kiss, he stiffens and looks over his shoulder with a weary smile.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bakugo shouts, throwing his hands up in the air as he kicks off his boots. His anger subsides immediately when he sees Kirishima’s face fall, and he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, that came out wrong. I mean, why have you been acting weird?”

Kirishima frowns, visibly confused. “Weird? What do you mean?” He gets up from the couch and pads over to his boyfriend, his hands nervously laced together in front of him.

Bakugo’s scowl deepens, his eyebrows furrowing in the middle of his forehead. He snaps his arm forward, motioning to Kirishima’s hands. “I mean, you won’t even touch me. Why are you acting so nervous every time I get close to you?” He steps forward, and Kirishima takes a step back. Bakugo’s heart falls to his feet, cementing them to the ground. He’s paralyzed.

“See?” he adds with the smallest voice he’s used in a while.

It’ll be painful for Kirishima to explain why he’s been avoiding sex. But it’s even more painful to watch his boyfriend, who is usually so full of gusto, look like a timid mouse before him, pleading with him to explain himself. Kirishima never thought that communication would be this hard. It’s so simple out on the field: “Uravity, on your right!” “The villain is heading west down Third Street!” It’s short, informational, and unimportant in the long scheme of things. But relationships are a whole ‘nother level.

“I—” he starts, but panic sets in and closes his throat to any speech.

“Spit it out!” Bakugo’s hair is standing on end, and he lets out a long breath. “C’mon, Eijiro. You’re treating me like a villain here.” He hesitates before asking quietly, “Are you not attracted to me anymore?”

Kirishima’s chin dimples as he tries to hold back tears. He’d never thought that he had been hurting Bakugo, too. But clearly, he had, to the point of the other thinking he isn’t attractive. That is the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. So ludicrous, in fact, that out of pure spite, his mouth opens to offer the explanation once and for all.

Kirishima groans from frustration. “No, that’s not it at all! You’re still the most attractive man ever! Like, the first time I saw you, I was like ‘wow.’ Then when I saw you blow stuff up, I was like ‘wow.’ Like, you went kablam and kaboosh! It was so cool! What’s there not to be attracted to?”

Bakugo scowls. “Then why won’t you have sex with me?! Why do you keep putting things off? If you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s fine. I guess.” He begins to stutter out his next sentence before stopping to recollect himself. “I just want to know…if I did anything wrong.”

Kirishima’s never seen his boyfriend so downtrodden. He’s desperate to put a smile back on his boyfriend’s face, but the only way to do that would be to have sex with him, and well…

He purses his lips before coming clean. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise! I’m sorry, Katsuki! It’s just…you’re…” He looks up from the floor to meet Bakugo’s eyes, the blond’s ruby eyes darker than usual. Kirishima inhales sharply and balls his hands into fists by his sides, finally yelling, “You’re too rough!”

When he has the courage to open his eyes, they reveal a thoroughly confused Bakugo. His head is cocked, and his scowl has morphed into a straight line.

“…What?” Bakugo asks, lifting his hands up to look at them. “Like…my voice? Or how I act?”

“Uh…” He’s gone this far. Time to come clean. Kirishima rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and groans before saying, “In…in bed. You’re too rough in bed.”

It’s comical how quiet the two men are and how quickly they meet eyes. They just stand there, staring at each other for what feels like eons before Bakugo takes a step forward, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m too rough…in bed,” he repeats, and Kirishima feebly nods.

“I’m sorry for letting it drag on for so long; I know that isn’t really manly of me. But I didn’t…I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s embarrassing, but I can’t do it anymore. My ass hurts so much after, and—and the hickeys and bruises are embarrassing, and—”

Kirishima is silenced by the softest pair of lips upon his own, a mere brushing of lips together. He barely would have noticed had his vision not been clouded by a flurry of spiky blond hair and blushed tan skin. His hands are up in the air, unsure of what to do with them, until they come to rest on Bakugo’s shoulders, his fingertips digging gently into the hard muscles underneath them.

“You fucking idiot,” Bakugo whispers underneath his breath before diving in for a deeper kiss, making sure to keep it passionate but gentle. He lets his hands roam Kirishima’s torso with a feather-like touch before resting them on his hips, giving them a tender squeeze to let the other know that none of his words have any bite. But Kirishima has known that for a long time. Ever since they first met at U.A., while everybody feared Bakugo, Kirishima knew there was something else under the surface. And there was. Pure, unadulterated love.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Bakugo asks, pulling away for a short second before going back to kissing. “You should’ve told me.” Kiss. “Why don’t you ever tell me anything?” Kiss. “Now I feel like an asshole.” Kiss. “You’re the asshole for not telling me, asshole.” Kiss.

“If only you’d let me talk!” Kirishima exclaims with a laugh, cupping a hand over Bakugo’s mouth to stop any further kisses for a moment. “I know, I am the asshole. But it’s humiliating, Katsuki! Admitting that your butthole hurts? Why the hell would I ever tell anybody that? Especially after doing hard anal the day before? Mina laughed in my face—”

“You told Mina and not me?!” Bakugo roared, tearing Kirishima’s hand from his mouth. “You are dead. You’re fucking dead. You both are dead, you and that purple shitbag.”

Kirishima has to hold back a chuckle. “She’s pink.”

Bakugo’s head whips back to his boyfriend, his eyes flaming hot. “Not the point!”

Kirishima laughs again and cups the sides of Bakugo’s face, which is now a mild shade of red. He leans forward and plants a butterfly kiss on the tip of his nose, drawing himself back with a soft smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, Katsuki. Seriously. I really should’ve told you. I just figured that you really like rough sex and didn’t want to get in the way of that. We can still do it…just on a weekend or a day off so I can recover.”

“No, no.” Bakugo wipes Kirishima’s hands off his face and laces his own fingers through his boyfriend’s, dropping their hands between them. “We’re not doing that anymore. Unless you want it. I just…”

Now Bakugo’s face is the shade of the hot sauce in the fridge. He suddenly understands why Kirishima was so embarrassed now. Talking about sex is…embarrassing. Their first time, while sentimental, is not something he wants to remember often. In fact, his brain only brings it up when it wants him to cringe, like on a random patrol down the block. Full of misunderstandings and miscommunications, it was a jumble of body parts and weird fluids and Kirishima’s head hitting the headboard so hard he got a lump afterward. Well, the misunderstandings and miscommunications clearly didn’t stop there because they are in the same situation—just without the jumble of body parts and weird fluids. Not yet, anyway.

Bakugo inhales like Kirishima did, using the short time to build up the courage. “I thought you were the one who liked it rough. You seemed…really turned on that one time in the love hotel. With all the, uh, handcuffs…and stuff. So I just…kept on doing it like that.”

Kirishima’s eyes are wide as an owl’s, and he tries not to bite through his lip with his sharp teeth with how hard he’s attempting at not laughing.

“You based…our entire sex life off one time where I seemed particularly turned on?” Kirishima asks, his voice wavering as the laughter tries to butt in. “Is that what the logic was in your head?”

Bakugo yanks his hands back to himself and starts toward the bathroom. “Shut up, you idiot! Forget I ever said anything.”

“No!” Kirishima practically throws himself at his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. “No, I think it’s adorable. You just wanted to make me happy, right?”

Bakugo stiffens before relenting with a nod.

Kirishima rubs his cheek against Bakugo’s back and grins. “You know, I was so excited that one time because of when you weren’t rough. When I had the blindfold on and I couldn’t see you, and you slowly dragged your fingers over me…” He mimics what he’s saying on Bakugo’s chest, stroking his pecs with the tips of his fingers. He lifts them up to the skin above the deep V of his costume, feeling the warmth of Bakugo’s skin skyrocket.

“That’s what made me so excited,” Kirishima explains. He begins to step away from Bakugo, but his hands are firmly kept against Bakugo’s chest by the other’s grip on them.

“Don’t move.” Bakugo’s voice is strong but with a needy undertone. He turns around in Kirishima’s arms, his eyes looking down at their feet. “I’m sorry.”

Kirishima chuckles. “That’s not something I hear every day. This is a cause for celebration.”

Before Bakugo can retaliate or stomp away in a fit of rage, Kirishima stands on his toes, kissing the firecracker on the forehead. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re still my favorite manly man.”

Bakugo manages a smile despite his previous bitterness and nods. “I’m gonna go shower.”

Kirishima nods along with him. “I’ll shower after you. Mind throwing a frozen pizza in the oven while I’m in there for dinner?”

Bakugo’s smile fades, and he hums absentmindedly as he turns around to go to the bathroom. “Yeah, sure.”

Kirishima’s smile fades as well at that response. Hadn’t everything been resolved? Why was his boyfriend still acting like that?

His worries continue for the better part of the evening, especially when Bakugo steps out of the shower and doesn’t say anything in passing before flopping on the bed and going on his phone. Kirishima tries to share a smile with him, or even just a glance, but there is no contact. He frowns to himself and goes to shower, his mind swirling with panic the entire time he’s in there. Once he’s done, he steps out and wraps a towel around his waist before walking into the bedroom. However, he doesn’t walk two steps in before he spots Bakugo sitting at the foot of the bed, smoothing the throw blanket down.

“Babe, what’s going—”

“Eijiro, c’mere,” the blond says, his voice gruff but sincere. He pats the spot next to him, and Kirishima obeys, nervously fumbling with the towel as he sits down. Bakugo places a hand over his boyfriend’s hands to still them and looks up with a gaze of pure love and admiration. His eyes rake over Kirishima’s body, the tan skin still dewy from the shower and his stringy hair framing his angular face. He truly is the manliest man, Bakugo thinks before biting back a snicker. That is clear evidence that he’s been spending too much time with the redhead: he’s even starting to think like him.

Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

“Eijiro,” Bakugo starts but hesitates. He clears his throat before saying, “Y’know, I like rough sex, but I’ve always been more of a romantic guy. Um, like…” He sheepishly scratches the back of his head, his eyes refusing to meet Kirishima’s. “Candles…or rose petals. Or…like, soft music. I don’t know. But…I—I like that more.” He bites his lip. “Especially with you.”

Kirishima’s eyes are wide as saucers. He knew that Bakugo didn’t always act like the rude stereotype people make him out to be, but never in a million years did he think that he would purposefully like lovey-dovey sex. He didn’t like fucking—he liked making love. Just the thought gives Kirishima butterflies, which are now running rampant in his stomach. He places a hand over it to stop the feeling from going down too far, but the look in Bakugo’s eyes makes it seem as if that isn’t so bad.

“I…I want to try it,” Bakugo finishes, twiddling his thumbs anxiously for his boyfriend’s response.

However, he doesn’t even need to think about it. He replies, “Then let’s try it.”

Now Bakugo’s eyes are wide, his head turning slowly to meet Kirishima’s determined gaze. He wants to laugh at how adorably resolute his boyfriend looks. Instead, he whispers, “Eijiro,” but he doesn’t finish his sentence, letting it trail off as he leans forward and touches his top lip with Kirishima’s. Both their eyes are lowered, their breaths quickening and their heart rates jumping.

Kirishima closes the gap and nearly falls into their routine foreplay of smashing lips and roughly tearing their clothes off each other like hungry animals. It’s strange doing it so slowly; he’d never felt Bakugo so vividly before. He can taste the strawberry lollipop some kid probably gave him on the street. He can feel every wrinkle, every cut on his bottom lip from how he’d anxiously bite it. The kiss has no teeth, no sharpness at all. Just the soft smacking of their lips and their warm breaths against each other’s chins.

It feels juvenile, all of it. As if they’re going to have sex for the first time and getting to know each other’s bodies. Bakugo lifts his hand and hesitates before gingerly placing it on Kirishima’s chest.

Cute, Kirishima thinks of Bakugo’s nervousness.

“You can touch me, Katsuki,” he whispers, guiding Bakugo’s hand to press firmly into his chest. He’s certain Bakugo can feel his heartbeat going at the speed of a hummingbird’s, but he’s not embarrassed. It’s perfect: it shows how much he’s enjoying this without him having to voice it.

“Okay,” Bakugo replies and returns to kissing, cupping Kirishima’s pec in his palm and giving it a tender squeeze.

“Mm,” Kirishima breathes, breaking the kiss.

Bakugo’s face was already red, but now it’s horridly scarlet at the mere sound of the soft groan. He’s also nervous; he knows that Kirishima will tell him—now that they’ve worked everything out communication-wise—if he’s being too rough, but the panic still lingers.

“Good?” he asks.

Kirishima can tell Bakugo’s being overly cautious, and all he does is direct his boyfriend’s hand to go lower down his torso, letting out another shaky breath. “Y-yes,” he replies, his eyelids heavily lidded. “Good.”

Bakugo nods, and they return to kissing, the one thing both know how to do softly by now. It’s everything else they need to learn how to do. One step at a time. The only “rough thing” they do is when Kirishima playfully nips at Bakugo’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth, eliciting an irresistible groan out of the other.

Bakugo laces his fingers with Kirishima’s and gently pushes him down onto the mattress, never breaking their lip-lock as he turns to settle himself between his legs. While one hand is secured in his boyfriend’s, he uses the other to roam Kirishima’s body, of which he had missed for far too long. He caresses his soft stomach, feeling the strong muscles underneath the thick skin. He runs his fingers down his black happy trail (he burst out laughing the first time he saw it, saying “So the carpet doesn’t match the drapes?” earning a swift kick to the head). His fingers’ journey is stopped by the towel, and Bakugo separates from Kirishima to look down at him for approval.

“Yes, Katsuki,” Kirishima mumbles, his breaths already heavy with anticipation. “Touch me.”

Bakugo smiles and slips his fingers underneath the towel, his hand bumping into Kirishima’s cock only a few centimeters down.

“You’re that excited for me?” Bakugo asks, gripping Kirishima and drawing out a shrill gasp from him. “I’m flattered.”

Kirishima’s about to say something before he’s cut off by his own moan once Bakugo begins pumping his hand, his head falling to the side and his free hand coming up to cover his mouth. He bites his knuckles as Bakugo’s lips fall to his jaw, then to his chin, then to his neck, leaving his skin prickling and pink wherever those lips fall.

The knuckles provide the bare minimum of sound dampening, his voice still echoing off the sides of their bedroom as Bakugo’s stroking gets faster and his kisses grow more feverish. He resorts to draping his forearm over his eyes, squeezing his eyelids shut underneath the darkness his arm provides. If he’s going to be heard no matter what he does, then he’ll hide whatever embarrassing expressions he’s making. Usually, the foreplay and sex go by so quickly, there’s no time to even look at each other. But he can feel Bakugo’s eyes on him, on his body, and the thought makes him squirm.

“Before you say anything, no hickeys, got it,” Bakugo says after pulling away from kissing. He takes a moment now that he’s hovering over Kirishima to admire his body as it is. Usually, they went too fast to savor each other’s bodies. For instance, he didn’t know his boyfriend had a freckle in the middle of his sternum. Or that his nipples are slightly mismatched—but are gorgeous all the same. Or how his stomach expands then contracts erratically to compensate for his hurried breaths.

“You’re beautiful,” Bakugo whispers, diving in to kiss Kirishima’s jaw.

Kirishima chuckles before letting out another soft moan. “I’m a man, you’re supposed to call me handsome.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Bakugo replies, tweaking Kirishima’s nipple playfully and earning a surprised yelp and displeased grumble. “A beautiful dumbass.”

“I’m going to harden and crack you across the face.”

“But you’re already hard.”

“Hey-!” Before Kirishima act out his promise, Bakugo tightens his grip on him and strokes him even faster, pressing his thumb into the head and smearing the precum around it. “A-ah!”

Kirishima shivers, but Bakugo isn’t done with his compliments, even though his boyfriend thinks he doesn’t deserve them.

“Beautiful nose,” Bakugo says, kissing the tip of Kirishima’s nose that’s peeking out from underneath his forearm.

“Beautiful cheek.” Kiss.

“Beautiful jaw.” Kiss.

“Beautiful neck.” Kiss.

“Beautiful chest.” Kiss.

“Beautiful stomach.” Kiss.

Bakugo sits back on his haunches as he pulls the towel away completely, revealing the rest of Kirishima’s body. Another shiver racks Kirishima’s body at all the compliments, his legs self-consciously shutting closed at all the love. He isn’t used to being looked at. To being revered. Of course, Bakugo compliments him, but it’s usually laced with an insult or said begrudgingly. Not like this. Not so easily. Not so…tenderly. It’s…nice. The butterflies are at full speed now, and he’s feeling dizzy as he watches Bakugo continue to press kisses into his skin. Probably because all the blood in his body is draining into his dick. With each compliment, his head gets fuzzier.

“Cute dick,” Bakugo says, which brings Kirishima’s mind back to fully functioning.

He tosses his arm off his face and sits up to look at his boyfriend staring up deviously at him from between his legs, his cock right in front of his face. “What? Not beautiful? Cute?” he exclaims, his voice breaking.

“Yeah, now shut up,” Bakugo says, pushing Kirishima back onto the bed and giving the head a kiss before the redhead can retaliate.

“T-that’s playing—ah! D-dirty…” Kirishima says before dissolving back into his moans.

Bakugo snickers and gives his cock another lick before kissing the tops of Kirishima’s thighs, delighting in seeing them flinch at the touch. “Beautiful thighs.”

He lifts Kirishima’s leg to his shoulder, all the while still pumping him vigorously.

“Beautiful calves.” Kiss.

He kisses the top of Kirishima’s foot. “Beautiful feet.”

“You’re into feet now?” Kirishima asks with a half-laugh, half-gasp.

Bakugo doesn’t answer. He knows that what he’s about to do will be funnier than anything he could say. He licks a trail from Kirishima’s ankle, putting down his leg in the process, to his thigh, watching with satisfaction as his boyfriend’s back arches off the bed. Without giving Kirishima time to recover, he engulfs his cock in his mouth, nuzzling his nose into the black happy trail before coming up for air.

“T-too fast!” Kirishima cries out, his forearm pressing down on his face while his other arm was outstretched, his hand fisting Bakugo’s spiked blond locks. “I’m gonna come…”

“From just that?” Bakugo teases. When he feels Kirishima’s legs tense underneath him and try to close, he forces them back open, leaning forward to give the tip another kiss. “C’mon, Eijiro, I thought I knew you better.”

But what Bakugo is really thinking is: If this is what it takes for him to come so easily, no wonder it took him so long when we were doing it rough before.

He makes his way back to Kirishima’s cock and lays his tongue flat against the base before licking up the shaft, giving special attention to the head before doing the whole routine again. He takes it into his mouth again and, using the spit pooling at the base, wets his fingers and circles Kirishima’s entrance.

Wait, he thinks, stopping himself. That’s too rough.

He lifts himself from his mewling boyfriend, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving a condom and the lube bottle rarely used since they get to the deed so quickly, there’s barely any time to stretch.

Fuck. I’m an idiot. No wonder Eijiro was complaining about the pain. It must’ve hurt like a bitch.

He coats his fingers in a generous layer of lube and lowers himself back onto Kirishima, rounding his entrance tantalizingly.

“Katsukiii!” Kirishima whines, his hand back in Bakugo’s hair. “Please!”

“Patience, babe,” Bakugo replies nonchalantly. “Didn’t you say you wanted it slow?”

“Not this slow!” the other exclaims from underneath his forearm. His legs spread apart to make room for his boyfriend, his body language much more communicative than his words.

Bakugo is about to tease Kirishima some more before he gives in and works in a finger, spreading Kirishima’s walls and pumping it back and forth. He’s just as needy and impatient; sure, he loves some romantic lovemaking, but damn, did he want the main course.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, looking up at his boyfriend while he busies his mouth with his cock.

Kirishima feebly nods. “Getting t-there.”

“Just have to find the right spot,” Bakugo whispers to himself, using Kirishima’s moans and sighs as a guide to where his prostate is. He has a vague idea; however, yet again, they went too fast for him to properly know where it is.

He inserts another finger, scissoring Kirishima open while trying to find his spot at the same time. All the while giving him a blowjob. Why hadn’t he done this earlier? The delicious moans and cute exclamations and sultry expressions Kirishima’s releasing is addicting, and Bakugo can’t picture their future sex life without any of it. Even though they’ll probably be having sex less often with how long the process is going to take now, it’s completely worth it.

“Yes!” Kirishima cries out, his back arching again and his head flying backward into the pillow. His legs begin to tremble the more Bakugo massages the bump raised from the velvety walls around it. “Katsuki—hnngh! Feels…so g-good…”

Bakugo puts all his energy into working Kirishima open so that he feels no pain the next day while paying special attention to that special bump, sending Kirishima into a pleasure-fueled frenzy.

Kirishima’s tripping over his own words, his tongue getting caught in “C-coming! I’m—"

“Not so fast,” Bakugo says after popping off his cock, slowing down his hand and slowly slipping it out. Kirishima lets out a high-pitched whine at the loss inside him, and Bakugo chuckles as he pushes himself back up to his boyfriend’s face and kisses his cheek. “Just a little more, baby. You can take it.”

Kirishima’s panting like a dog in heat at this point. The only reason he isn’t completely humiliated is because his forearm is his saving grace, but even that is taken away by Bakugo. He grips Kirishima’s wrist and uncovers his face once and for all, pushing his wrist into the mattress.

“I want to see your face,” he whispers in the other’s ear, giving the lobe a feathery kiss. Kirishima grumbles something under his breath but complies to his boyfriend’s request since, after all, how is he supposed to see Bakugo’s face and all his expressions if his eyes are closed?

Bakugo uses his free hand to lift the condom up to his mouth. He uses his teeth to tear the packaging, spitting out the corner and retrieving the condom from inside. He meets Kirishima’s eyes for the first time the entire night, which are dark with lust and wild from unadulterated pleasure. “Mind putting it on me?”

Kirishima’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, but he eventually nods, pushing himself up by the elbows and taking the condom from his boyfriend’s fingers. He reaches forward, pinches the tip, and slides it on with ease, giving Bakugo’s cock a gentle squeeze and quick stroke to tease him back for everything he’s done.

“Fuck,” Bakugo mutters with a heavy exhale. He smirks and looks up at Kirishima, who’s now laying back down with his hands fisting the pillow underneath his head and his pink legs spread wide open in invitation. “You can be a little devil, can’t you?”

Kirishima lifts a hand to Bakugo’s face, drawing him closer until their lips are touching once again. Bakugo’s blond eyelashes tickle his cheeks, and he smiles. “Make love to me, Katsuki.”

Bakugo’s power trip is gone, replaced with highlighter bright red cheeks. That’s it. He’s going to only make love to Kirishima from now on, especially if it means this.

He nods; it’s the only thing he can do. He glides his hands into Kirishima’s, prying them from the pillow and pressing them into the mattress next to his shoulders. Their hands are so warm together, slick with sweat, their knuckles white from how tightly they’re clutching each other. Their hands are their anchors. Bakugo nor Kirishima can imagine separating them now.

“I love you,” Kirishima whispers, placing a butterfly kiss on the tip of his boyfriend’s nose. “So much.”

Bakugo smiles and presses his sweaty forehead’s into Kirishima’s. “I know.”

With that, he slowly slides inside, letting out a low groan at the sudden warmth and tightness surrounding him. Kirishima, on the other hand, is speechless. He’s confused; either it’s the combination of the lube and the stretching or he’s just gotten looser from all the rough sex, but…it doesn’t hurt. He just feels full, yet to feel pleasure, but if he shifts his hips a specific way, he’s certain he’ll feel it in no time. But it’s the lack of pain that he’s surprised about. He couldn’t be happier.

“You okay?” Bakugo asks from the crook of Kirishima’s neck, where he buried his face, his voice muffled by the soft skin underneath.

“Move,” Kirishima demands, moving his hips down and whirling them around. He’s left speechless again as Bakugo’s cock brushes against his prostate, his eyes wide and his nails digging into Bakugo’s knuckles. “Move, please.” He doesn’t want to rush it in case of injury, but damn, he’s on cloud nine.

Don’t need to ask me twice, Bakugo thinks. His hips move on their own, rocking forward slowly and drawing groans from both men. He starts up a languid rhythm, listening to the noises spilling out of his boyfriend’s cherry-red mouth both because it’s music to his ears and for any signs of distress. But there is none. Just begs and whines and mewls.

“Faster,” Kirishima pleads, his thighs clinging to Bakugo’s sides. Bakugo can feel them shaking, as well as the rest of Kirishima’s body. And he gladly complies, ramping up the speed, but it’s nothing compared to their fuckfests. Even though it’s slow compared to their other times, Kirishima is treating it as if he’s going a hundred kilometers an hour in terms of going absolutely crazy. His back is arching so much, his stomach meets Bakugo’s, their chests touching every time Bakugo pushes inside. His neck might break with how far his head is thrown back, allowing his Adam’s apple to protrude from his neck and dance along to every single moan and whimper that comes out like samba music.

“Yes, Katsuki—fee…ls s-so—nngh!” He dissolves into blabbers and incoherency, working his hands free from Bakugo’s to cling onto his back for dear life, leaving ugly red scratches along the way. “I want…I want—ugh!”

“Use your words, baby,” Bakugo murmurs, and Kirishima’s shoulders hike up to his ears at the warm breath on one of them.

“Mm… deeper, harder—” That’s all that comes out of Kirishima before he’s overtaken by moans again.

Bakugo works out his pace. Usually, he just goes fast. But Kirishima isn’t asking for faster anymore, he’s asking for deeper. Harder. Same speed, but just—

SMACK!

“GUH!” A guttural cry escapes Kirishima’s throat, and Bakugo groans along with the hard thrust. It echoed off the walls, the bed creaking to show its displeasure with the move.

“Yes! Like that! Just like that!” The scratches are numerous and ugly now, covering the majority of Bakugo’s back.

“Good boy,” Bakugo mumbles, pressing a kiss onto Kirishima’s forehead adorned by beads of sweat. “You did good. F-fuck.” Now Bakugo’s getting incoherent, unable to form a singular thought as he continues the punishing thrusts and slow pace. “You f-feel so good, baby, so good…”

“Close…I-I’m close,” Kirishima warns, crossing his ankles behind Bakugo’s back to push him even closer. He drops his hands from Bakugo’s back and cradles his face with them, bringing his boyfriend’s face back to being nose-to-nose with him. “God, I love you. Make love to me, Katsuki. Love me, love me, love me—”

“For the rest of my life,” Bakugo murmurs back against Kirishima’s lips. “For the rest of my goddamn life, I’ll love you.”

That’s all that Kirishima needs. Yes, the pleasure he’s receiving from his prostate being abused by Bakugo’s cock is more than enough to push him over the edge. But hearing his boyfriend, the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with, confirm that he in fact feels the same way and is using passionate sex to communicate that to him…it’s more than enough.

“Katsuki, I’m gonna come—I’m—!”

With one last snap of Bakugo’s hips, Kirishima’s done. White blurs his vision, his entire body racked with pleasure, tears, and electric pulses, both across his skin and deep in his muscles. His hair stands on end, goosebumps decorate his skin, his body is pink and glistening with a sheen of sweat, and his come is the last garnish on the eye candy that is Kirishima’s orgasm.

Bakugo would’ve come anyway from how tight Kirishima’s clamping down on him, but just the look of ecstasy on his love’s face pushes him over the brim. He buries himself deep inside Kirishima and grabs one of Kirishima’s hands on his face for support, burying it in the mattress. He rides through the demanding orgasm that commands his entire body, his hips continuing to snap forward because of the aftershocks, causing even more oversensitivity to torment his body. He feels the ends of his hair singe from how hot he’s burning, and he’s afraid that the intense orgasm will lead to him burning down the apartment.

“Fuck!” he growls, using Kirishima’s lips to silence himself.

“Katsuki, Katsuki…” Kirishima pants, trying to separate from Bakugo’s kisses. “I love you…”

The two men stay there for a few more moments catching their breath, Bakugo long since collapsed on top of his redhead. Their chests rise to meet each other, their skin sticking together like glue. Their hands are still joined together, making a nice imprint on the mattress. Everything about them is joined together.

Somehow, Bakugo finds the courage to push himself off Kirishima and pull out. Both men hiss with displeasure, the loss of warmth on Bakugo’s end and the loss of fullness on Kirishima’s end. He carefully rolls the condom off him and ties it at the end, tossing it in the trash and flopping onto his back. Kirishima immediately saddles up next to Bakugo, tossing a leg over Bakugo’s hips and laying on his chest.

“Thank you,” Kirishima mumbles, giving the skin underneath him a kiss.

“For what?” Bakugo asks then laughs. “For giving you the best night of your goddamned life?”

Kirishima laughs and hardens his fist to punch Bakugo playfully on the chest—delicately enough to not scar, but hard enough to hurt. And it does: it elicits a great yelp of pain from his boyfriend.

“No. I mean, yeah, but—I mean, there will be other nights—ugh, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” He props himself up on his elbow to look Bakugo directly in the eye, unhardening his fist to slide it up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek. “Thank you for understanding. For not making fun of me. I…” He sighs. “I regret not talking to you. I’ll always regret that. But I just wanted to make you happy and being rough seemed to make you happy. So, I went along with it.”

“Eijiro—”

“Let me finish,” Kirishima stresses. “You didn’t force me. I liked those times. But this…this is different. I’ll tell you what I’m in the mood for. I will let you know.”

Bakugo’s eyelids are heavy with fatigue, but he nods and runs a hand through Kirishima’s damp hair, shaking the hair into his boyfriend’s eyes with an amused smile. “Okay, babe. Just don’t pull that shit again.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Kirishima says. “Manly men don’t break their promises.” He winks before relaxing back into his boyfriend’s side. “I love you.”

Bakugo snorts and drapes a lazy arm over Kirishima’s waist. “I love you, too. Idiot.”

They’re both drifting off to sleep when Kirishima whispers, “Who would’ve known you’re just a big ol’ softie for lovey dovey sex in the end.”

Bakugo stares at the grinning redhead through the darkness.

“Ow! Okay, I get it, sorry! Stop burning me!”

…

When Kirishima awakes, Bakugo’s already left for the early shift he picked up from Ingenium since he’s sick. When Ingenium’s sick, that means something is really wrong with him since that nerd always clocks in, even if he has to wear a face mask because he’s hacking up his lungs from the flu.

He stretches his arms over his head, delaying the inevitable: the sharp pain in the ass from sitting up. He’s woken up with this pain one too many times, so he turns to slip off the bed instead of sitting up. However, out of habit, he sits on the edge of the bed to stand up, and he almost misses it before he stands up. His ass is fine. He has no pain. He feels nothing. It’s almost as if they didn’t have sex last night.

Did they? Yesterday feels like a fever dream, but that doesn’t make the fact that he feels no pain after sex any less real. He stands up, almost as if testing the waters, and walks around. No pain. He slips on some boxers, which includes lifting his legs, which also elicits no pain. He sits down on their ottoman. No pain. He gets in the shower to clean himself up, pressing his fingers inside himself. No pain, other than the usual sting from going in dry. No throbbing, no swelling, no puffiness. Nothing.

No more pain.

Kirishima has successfully had sex without needing to call in sick afterwards. And he’s ready to celebrate.

He cooks himself a giant breakfast fit for a king and goes out on patrol with a grin so big, it startles a few children. He knows his coworkers know that he got laid, but they don’t know why specifically he’s so happy about getting laid. He can actually walk. And use his Quirk without a flare-up of pain in his lower back. And he doesn’t need to worry about bruises or hickeys to cover up. Mina sees his joyful demeanor and tries to “accidentally” wipe away the concealer on his neck as a joke, only to reveal that there’s nothing to cover up.

“Did you even have sex?” she asks, and Kirishima gleefully nods.

“Yep.”

Mina’s eyes snap open. “What? How are you standing? Why didn’t you call in sick?”

Kirishima smirks and shrugs. “No pain.” He winks at his pink friend and throws her two finger guns. “I worked it all out.”

Bakugo, on the other hand, is suffering from taunts from everybody in his department. He has a relatively conservative costume compared to Kirishima’s, but his shoulders are still exposed for all the world to see as a spectacle. Kirishima made sure of that. They’re tattooed with angry red scratch marks, and anybody can see that they lead to a maze of many more rows underneath his shirt. Bakugo can’t even think of an excuse. Yes, a villain is an obvious excuse, but with how airy and normal he’s acting at the agency, anybody can infer what happened. He’s blowing up a lot less and isn’t using his Quirk on innocent bystanders to intimidate them.

“You should get laid more often,” one of the Pro Heroes in his agency mutters under his breath, and in return gets his eyebrows singed off.

But it’s true, and Bakugo can’t deny it. When he gets home, he finds Kirishima on the bed sitting back on his heels, his eyelids heavy and his sharp teeth tugging on his bottom lip in a smirk. He takes full advantage of the fact that his good behavior at work earned him a day off and that Kirishima got a day off from so efficiently handling villains by making love to his boyfriend all night. When Kirishima wakes up the next day to reveal, yet again, that he has no pain, he can’t help himself to a morning lovemaking session as well. And the cycle continues.

Eijiro Kirishima likes sex. Keyword: likes.

[happylittledrabbles]

Our Day Off

Fandom: Haikyuu!

Pairing: Koushi Sugawara x Daichi Sawamura

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 8K

AO3

—

Daichi gets called onto the scene of a horrific car crash and is thoroughly traumatized. He asks Suga to take a day off to stay with him, and the two begin their three-day vacation together. Except...Suga loses his engagement ring. They spend all day looking for it while reminiscing on how much their rings mean to them...and what they mean to each other.

They had both managed to get the day off to extend their weekend into three days. Daichi borderline blackmailed his coworker into taking his shift while all Sugawara had to do was tell his fellow teachers that he was hungover—they all understood that to function with patience in a classroom of snot-nosed, screaming children, they needed some liquid courage.

But really, they just wanted to spend some more time together. They had gotten so caught up in their own careers that the last time they slept in the same bed was almost a week ago (Daichi gets home so tired that he just collapses on the couch after taking a few bites of his dinner). The decision was also accelerated by the fact that Daichi had one of his worst calls to date. He was called to the scene of the most horrific car crashes he’d ever seen, and he had to watch as the wife screamed at her dead husband to talk to her. That had ruined him. After radioing it in and talking to his coworkers, he walked off into the nearby woods and promptly vomited the lunch Suga painstakingly made for him, which only made him feel worse (if that was even possible). He accepted water from his coworkers, but anytime they tried to make conversation with him, he just stared out the window or off into the night, his eyes as dead as the car crash victim.

The second he came home, he smooched Suga so hard that their lips were both left red for a few hours and pleaded for his husband to stay home one extra day. Suga saw the trauma and pain in Daichi’s eyes and immediately nodded. He’d ask Daichi about it later; at that moment, he just led Daichi to bed, where he soothed his husband whenever he woke up from a nightmare or had a fit while sleeping. Daichi had covered his ears with his hands multiple times, the woman’s screams echoing all around him. Even Suga’s sweet voice wasn’t enough to mute her wails.

After a horrid night, Daichi manages to get a few hours of sleep thanks to Suga’s mere presence in the bed. His eye bags are the color of the jam Suga is opening up in front of the fridge, and he is dazed as he mixes eggs with other ingredients into a bowl. He at least has some background music, courtesy of Suga’s humming, to keep out the upsetting thoughts.

“Where’s the powdered sugar?” he asks, passing behind his husband with a bowl of egg mixture to set it down on the counter. He rests his hands on his hips, glancing around the kitchen. He lifts a hand to his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow, unwittingly leaving behind a dusty streak of flour on his forehead.

Suga peeks up from the cutting board to see Daichi standing in the middle of the kitchen with a white handprint on his forehead in an authoritative stance, and he’s instantly glad he looked up instead of answering absentmindedly.

“You look like a dad,” he says with a chuckle, walking up to Daichi and rubbing off most of the flour from his forehead, holding it up for him to see. “And the powdered sugar’s right here.” He puts a finger in his mouth, only for his lips to curl into a frown. “Oh, that’s flour. With sweat. Why are you sweating so much?”

“I’m not sweating,” Daichi retorts as he spots the bag of powdered sugar on the counter. “And I’m not a dad.”

“Then how do you explain the cargo shorts?” Suga asks, motioning to said shorts, and Daichi immediately pulls them up defensively and harrumphs. Like a dad.

“They’re comfortable,” he replies, almost mowing over one of their cats, Momo. “Momo—get out of the way, silly cat.” He chuckles and picks up Momo with his foot, swinging her over and away from the busy kitchen intersection. “If I am a dad, it’s for these cats. They’re giving me gray hairs.”

Are you sure it’s not from your job? Suga is tempted to suggest that idea, but he very much does not feel like fighting today because that line of questioning would only bring forth an argument.

“Well, if you didn’t drop all the ingredients on the floor, maybe the cats wouldn’t be swarming for a taste,” he replies instead, moving on to heating up the skillet and buttering it up. He gets out the brioche bread, jumping nearly ten feet in the air when he feels a pair of arms around his waist. “Daichi! You know I scare easily!”

Daichi laughs and nuzzles his husband’s cheek, transferring the last spots of flour onto him. “Sorry, I just missed you.”

“I’m literally right here.”

“Mm,” Daichi hums, burying his face in the crook of the other’s neck. He savors the smell of cinnamon and Suga’s cologne intermingling on his skin, leaving a trail of butterfly kisses along his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter.”

Suga stills in his movements, already having put two slices of French toast on the skillet. Daichi has always been affectionate of course, but after a few straight weeks of barely any contact, this is becoming overwhelming. And he knows exactly why Daichi is acting this way. He called Daichi’s partner to see why he had gotten so emotional after that one shift, and she spilled the beans. The mere thought of Daichi on the scene of that car wreck makes him nauseous, and the fragrant nutmeg-and-cinnamon combo wafting up from the skillet was not helping.

“Daichi,” he starts, turning around in his husband’s arms to face him. “Do you…want to talk about anything?”

Daichi lifts his head from Suga’s shoulder and furrows his eyebrows at him. He frowns and cocks his head inquisitively. “No? Not really. Why? Do you want to talk about something?”

“No! Er, no,” Suga answers a little too quickly. He clears his throat and shifts in Daichi’s arms, his eyes falling to the floor. “I’m fine. It just seems like…”

God, how the hell do you ask your husband if he has mental health issues after seeing a man die and leave behind an entire family after a drunk driver hit him? How do you even begin that conversation?

“It seems like you have something on your mind,” he replies finally, although it comes out more like a question than a statement. “Did…did something happen at work?”

Daichi’s confused expression fades, replaced with one of irritation. He lets go of the other’s waist and turns around, seizing another banana from the fruit bowl and tearing it open, dropping it onto the cutting board and slicing it into neat slices in record time.

“No, nothing happened,” he grumbles, although he knows he’s cornered. He knows that Suga knows. And the fact that he’s being so cryptic about it, treating him as if he’s porcelain, makes him want to scream. “Why are you asking?”

Suga sighs and pads over to Daichi, bumping his forehead against his back and resting it there. He feels Daichi’s back muscles tense before relaxing, lifting a hand to run it down Daichi’s bicep.

“I know what happened, Daichi,” he mumbles soothingly. “If you want to talk about it, just know that I’m—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he interrupts, turning around after putting down the knife. He holds Suga by the shoulders firmly, looking him in the eye. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“But there is!” Suga exclaims, moving Daichi’s hands off his shoulders and into his hands, interlacing their fingers together. “Don’t be stupid, Daichi. I’m your partner in life for a reason. I’m supposed to be here for you whenever you need it. Stop bottling things up like an emotionally repressed teenager and tell me.”

Daichi almost laughs, but his face stays stoic for the sake of preserving his angry exterior. No, not angry—displeased. He rarely ever gets angry at Suga, and he can’t possibly be angry at him for trying to coax him to talk about his feelings. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut, but he quickly opens them when the flashes of light in the black background remind him of the ambulance lights.

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” he says after a moment, dropping his hands from Suga’s and grips the edge of the counter. “I don’t want it to weigh on you, too.”

Suga crosses his arms and cocks his head. “How many times have I told you disgusting stories of kids shitting themselves in class? Or throwing up all over the carpet, and I had to clean it up? I went into detail, too.”

Daichi shudders as he recalls the multiple times Suga brought the off-putting topics during dinner, and he’d have to stop eating since he lost his appetite and nods.

“You don’t have to go into detail, babe,” Suga continues, walking up behind Daichi and rubbing his back. “I promise you, it’ll feel so much better than just bottling it up. I’m your emotional support sponge. I absorb all of your emotions and—”

“Alright, alright, enough with the metaphors,” Daichi says with a soft chuckle, turning around and leaning his back against the counter. “And stop trying to use your education tactics on me; I’m not a kid.”

Suga mutters under his breath, “Well, you’re acting like one.”

Daichi clears his throat in response, and Suga’s head snaps up, an apologetic look on his face.

Suga always knows what to do to wear him down. Daichi groans and drags a hand down his face, trying to form the words with his mouth, but no sound comes out. Finally, he claps his hands together, which acts as a catalyst and reluctantly unloads everything on his mind. “It’s just…I saw myself in that woman,” he finally lets up, his taut shoulders relaxing down a few inches as if a heavy load had been taken off them. His eyes drop to their feet, his chin dimpling as he tries to hold himself together. His hands ball into fists in Suga’s hold, his knuckles turning white. “And I don’t know what I’d do if some son-of-a-bitch drunk killed you.”

Suga is happy that Daichi is finally sharing his feelings, but he can’t say that he’s pleased with the result. The image of Daichi crying over his lifeless body is enough to ruin the entire weekend’s mood, but he won’t let that happen. This weekend is supposed to be about them. Just them. Not their jobs, not their worries, not what-ifs—

Suga goes to rub the ring on his ring finger, a sort of self-soothing activity whenever he gets too overwhelmed but finds only skin instead of the gold band that usually sits there. His frown deepens, and he looks down at his hand to find a tan line in the shape of his ring, but no ring. No worries—he always took his ring off to cook in fear of getting it dirty or scraping it with a knife. But something about its absence makes anxiety spike in his chest, and he steps away from Daichi to go look for it.

He realizes him moving away is a little rude, so he lifts his head to look at his husband and smiles. “Thank you for telling me. Besides, you have nothing to worry about. In that scenario, I’d just come back alive to kill that son of a bitch. You know I have enough spite in me to do so.”

“Damn, what did the kids do to you last week?” Daichi asks with a laugh, most of the worry and dread in his chest melting away just at the sight of Suga’s radiant smile. Damn, his husband was right about talking about his feelings. His husband’s always right. He feels light as a feather. “Do you have something you want to talk about?”

“Oh, please,” Suga replies with a roll of his eyes, pawing around the counter for his ring. “When don’t I have something to talk about. I’ll tell you when breakfast’s ready. Speaking of, mind flipping the toasts on the pan for me, dear?”

“You got it,” Daichi replies with a wink, walking over to the stove and grabbing the spatula. However, he barely finishes flipping the first toast when he hears a soft cry, and when he whips around, he sees Suga frantically searching around the counter for something.

“Pochi, get away from the bowl!” Suga shouts, hurriedly shooing their cat off the counter as he continues his panicked search for his ring. It’s not on the counter: he’s checked it with both his eyes and hands about thirty times. It’s not on the cutting board. It’s not in the sink. He groans and pushes his sleeve up, taking out the sink drain basket and tossing it to the side to look inside the drain for anything shiny. He holds his breath before diving his arm into the drain, fumbling around the mushy wet pipe in search of anything metallic, anything hard.

“Koushi! What are you doing?” Daichi exclaims, dropping the spatula and going over to try and pull his husband’s arm out of the drain, but he refuses.

“No! I lost my ring!” Suga yells, shaking his head emphatically as he continues to try and find it.

“Are you sure? You probably just left it on the counter—”

“No! I didn’t! It’s not there!” Suga’s on the verge of tears, pulling out his arm—now covered in slime and old food—and shrieking behind clenched teeth in frustration.

“Babe, baby, let’s relax for a sec, okay?” Daichi coos, but it has the exact opposite effect on his husband, who turns around slowly and shoves his slop-covered arm in his direction.

“Don’t tell me to relax,” he demands before diving into the drain once more. Daichi watches on with wide eyes and a horrified expression, unsure of what to do. He decides that helping the search instead of telling him to stop would be the most fruitful use of his time and saddles up next to his husband, searching the countertop and pulling open drawers to see if the ring had somehow been swept into them. Nothing in the utensil drawer. Nothing in the silverware drawer. Nothing in the junk drawer. Now Daichi’s beginning to panic, and he looks at his husband’s ring finger to see if the ring really is gone. It is—all that’s left is a mocking reminder of it in the form of a tan line.

“Maybe,” Daichi begins, looking over at the skillet that was currently burning the French toast. He goes to turn it off and takes the toast off the skillet—maybe it accidentally ended up in the skillet. Not there. He takes the skillet off the burner—maybe it accidentally fell into the burner. Unless the ring combusted in the span of ten minutes. Gold doesn’t combust, right?

All of Daichi’s knowledge of chemistry burns away along with the French toast, and he is left paralyzed, staring at the smoking butter on the pan.

“Daichi,” Suga whines, his head hanging low and his arm limp in the drain. “It’s lost.”

“Koushi, you’re being dram—” Before he can finish that sentence, he cuts himself off, knowing exactly what the outcome would be: a face full of drain slop. He clears his throat and approaches Suga, rubbing his back soothingly and slowly pulling his arm out of the drain. “Let’s check the floor, okay? But first, let’s wash and disinfect your entire arm.” He winces at all the disgusting stuff on Suga’s arm and runs it under the water, slathering it in dish soap and then hand soap before he claims it clean.

Suga straightens his shoulders once he sees Daichi begin to search calmly, getting down on his knees to scour the tile for his beloved wedding ring. Looking for the ring makes him think. Think about how he got it. Why it means so much to him, why it makes it seem as if its loss would cause him to have a heart attack.

Well, first off, he received it when he was at the lowest point in his life. He had just received his third rejection letter from yet another master’s program, and his grandfather had just passed away. To put the cherry on top, Momo had run away. She eventually made her way back home, but that stretch of two months had been the worst emotional pain he had ever experienced.

He hadn’t been aware that Daichi had been planning to propose to him way before that two-month stretch and was about to pull the box out on their picnic when Suga got the call from his mother that his grandfather passed. Daichi put the box back in his pocket just in time for Suga to collapse onto his shoulder, racked with sobs. When Daichi thought about wearing the suit in his closet, the last place he thought he’d be wearing it was Suga’s grandfather’s funeral. And it stayed in the closet for quite a while after, gathering dust in the dark.

The box was left in Daichi’s nightstand to gather dust, too. Well, until they were in the middle of a heated make-out session, and Suga reached over to grab a condom when his fingers came across velvet instead. He grabbed the box-like item and brought it up to reveal it behind Daichi’s head, causing him to immediately go rigid.

“Koushi?” Daichi asked when he felt Suga stop reciprocating, and when he slid out of his arms, his mouth fell open at the box. He immediately went to snatch it, but Suga’s reflexes were faster. He blocked the box with his body, staring down at the velvet with emotionless eyes.

“Is this…what I think it is?” he asked quietly, and Daichi hesitated, trying to think of any excuse that would explain why he has a ring in his nightstand. When he came up empty, he just nodded and dropped his eyes to the bed.

“I…I couldn’t find the right time to do it. So, I just—”

A gasp ripped through Suga’s throat as he opened it, an avalanche of tears pouring out of his eyes, now brimming with emotion. A thin golden band, embellished with three small diamonds around it, sat and stared up at Suga from the indent in the velvet.

“Koushi, I’m sorry—I’m so sorry! I don’t want to make this about me. I know you’re going through stuff, so if you want to ignore it, please—”

“Why the hell is this ring sitting in your nightstand when it could’ve been on my finger this entire time?” Suga shouted, gingerly taking it out of the box and holding it up to the dim light.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly propose to you when you heard that your grandpa died,” Daichi replied softly, wringing his hands nervously.

Suga’s eyes widened even more, making him look like a tarsier. “You wanted to propose back then? That’s what the picnic was about?”

Daichi bit his lip. “Um. Yeah.”

Suga let out a shuddering breath, tossing the box onto the bed and turning to Daichi, holding the ring out to him. “Put it on me.”

Daichi took the ring and raised a brow before taking Suga’s hand into his, but he was left even more confused when Suga snatched his hand back.

“On your knee. Duh, this is a proposal,” Suga corrected with a scoff, motioning for Daichi to get on his carpet. Daichi laughed and bounced off the bed and onto the floor, getting on one knee and holding the ring between two fingers.

“Koushi Sugawara,” he began, and Suga was having trouble choosing between laughing hysterically or crying hysterically. Whatever sound that came out of his mouth was hysterical.

“Our lives have been difficult. You’ve been going through some of the toughest times and have come out stronger than before. But loving you has never been difficult, Koushi. Loving you has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done. That’s why this decision wasn’t a decision at all—it was the only thing I could think of whenever I looked at you. So, Mr. Sugawara, will you do me the absolute privilege of marrying you?”

One second barely passed before Suga tackled his now-fiancé to the ground, nodding emphatically and screaming ‘yes’ over and over again. Their neighbors must have thought they were going at it, which they eventually did later that night, but those yeses were out of pure elation. That ‘yes’ was a promise of love, companionship, and a future together.

That’s what the ring symbolizes for Suga. All his worries leave whenever he looks at the ring on his finger, and he smiles like a fool. It had also become a lucky charm: a week after getting engaged, Suga got an acceptance letter into one of his top master’s programs. It symbolizes the only thing he’ll never have to worry about: his love for Daichi, and Daichi’s love for him.

Without it, what the hell is that supposed to mean now? His love for Daichi isn’t gone—it never would disappear. But would Daichi doubt Suga’s love for him now that he lost the ring? That it isn’t special enough to keep around? The ring is also a good luck charm; would that mean that he will have yet another horrible stretch of time? Would…would Daichi’s car crash worries come true?

Suga’s crying before he can realize it, and it’s only when he almost slips on his tears streaking the tile that he stops and buries his face in his hands.

When Daichi hears sniffles, he turns around to reveal a red-faced Suga sobbing into his palms. “Koushi? Baby, what’s wrong?” He shuffles over to Suga on his knees, pulling him into a tight hug. “We’ll find the ring, dear, I promise. Listen, I’ve lost things and had them appear some random place a few months later. Ghosts are real, I swear.”

Suga lets out a soft chuckle, sniffling back his tears and wiping the rest from his sleeve. “I just…it means so much to me. I don’t know what I’ll do without it. It’s like my support animal at this point. I need it.”

Daichi smiles and holds up Suga’s hand, devoid of its usual ring. He runs a feather-like touch with his fingertip over the tan line, tracing it. “It’s just a ring, honey. Rings get lost. Our love doesn’t.”

Suga frowns. “I would get offended, but with that cheesy of a line, I’m madder at that than anything.”

Daichi laughs and pulls Suga into another hug, stroking the back of his head as he let him cry out the last of his panic.

“It’s more than just a ring, Daichi,” Suga sighs after a while. “I need it with me. Whenever I’m going through something hard, I turn it around my finger, and everything feels better again. Because…” He purses his lips, unsure if what he’s about to say is too cliché or not.

To hell with cliché.

“Because it reminds me that no matter how tough things get, I’ll always have you.”

With that, Daichi immediately regrets his previous words. He looks down at his own hand, where a band, like Suga’s but thicker, encircles his finger. Everything that his husband said applies to his own ring. If he lost it…well, he would be acting the same way as Suga, if not worse. It was his default comfort system when he came across the car crash, his hand going straight for the ring instead of his walkie to tell his department he was alright as he watched both victims being wheeled away to an ambulance. Their wedding bands are similar but less ornate, and while he’d be irate if he loses his wedding ring, too, his engagement ring holds a certain charm that keeps him sane. They had bought it the day after Daichi’s impromptu proposal—or rather, Suga bought it while Daichi said they could buy it on the weekend instead of calling in sick from work.

“No way in hell am I going to be seen with me wearing a ring and you wearing nothing,” he had said before walking into the jewelry store. It had taken the better part of the afternoon for Suga to choose, and all Daichi could do was wait in the living room since Suga wanted it to be a surprise. Suga had walked back into the waiting room, looking dejected, and said that he couldn’t find the perfect one. It was only when they were driving back did Suga pull over into the same spot they had the picnic, the same spot where Daichi planned on proposing and where Suga got the horrible news of his grandfather’s death. He wanted to add one more memory to this park, and that was to pull Daichi onto the grass, get on one knee, and propose to him with the perfect ring that had been in his coat pocket all along.

“You tricked me,” Daichi said with a pout after they had celebrated with a round of kisses and were cuddling on the grass.

“Sorry not sorry,” was all Suga replied before diving back in for a smooch.

That is all Daichi can see when he looks at the ring on his finger, and he fully understands his husband’s panic. He pushes himself up onto his feet and holds out his hand for Suga to stand up as well and pulls the other to his feet. He rolls his shirt sleeves up to his elbow and gives his husband a determined grin, holding out a fist for the other to bump.

“Let’s find this goddamn ring,” he asserts with a confident glint in his eye.

All Suga can do is stare at his reassured husband as he goes off and pulls open every single drawer in the kitchen to search for the ring. Whatever Daichi had been thinking when he got that faraway look in his eye clearly helped put him in action, and it’s amusing to watch, to say the least. Suga smiles softly to himself and follows behind Daichi in his search. He asks a few questions, whether Daichi has searched in a particular spot or if it could have possibly fallen somewhere else, but other than that, their search is quiet. Their cats watch from on top of the counter, their tails flicking in unison with the kitchen clock ticking behind them. Pochi’s yellow eyes follow Daichi’s movements while Momo’s blue eyes follow Suga’s, both of them thoroughly entertained by the sight of their two dads scrambling about like mice. Eventually, Pochi excuses himself to go to the litter box while Momo retires to the couch, the two men still deep in their search.

It isn’t until Suga’s alarm goes off to take his meds that he realizes how long they have been looking. It’s been nearly three hours of nonstop looking, their pancake batter crusted over and their pancakes sad and burnt on the skillet. He is on the verge of tears again when he’s faced with a glass of water, courtesy of Daichi and his keen sense of empathy. The man can hear a person struggling mentally a kilometer away, Suga swears.

“Thank you,” he says in a small voice, reaching for his pillbox and tipping two into his hand and then his mouth before washing it down with the water. He pauses in his words, setting down the glass and swinging his gaze up to Daichi. “We’re never going to find it.”

Daichi’s about to retort, to say, “We still have so much to go!” but when he looks around at where they ended up (their bedroom), he realizes they covered the entire apartment. They have checked every crevice, discovered places that they should have cleaned five years ago, as well as a dead cockroach underneath the oven that almost made him vomit on the spot, but no ring.

“Okay,” Daichi breathes slowly, holding his hands out for Suga to take, which he does. Just that simple touch ameliorates their emotional turmoil just a tad, but it’s enough to ground both of them in the moment instead of spiraling.

“Okay,” Suga breathes back, stepping forward and leaning his forehead against Daichi’s. They close their eyes, the warmth radiating from their chest enough to act as a shock blanket for both, especially Suga.

“It’ll turn up,” Daichi says, and although his voice is a little less confident, his words aren’t completely fake. “Remember when I lost my AirPods?”

Suga laughs and nods, his hair swishing against Daichi’s forehead. “You found them in the trashcan next to your desk. They fell in when you were brushing away eraser bits off your paper.”

Daichi chuckles and pulls Suga in for a tight hug, wrapping his arms around his waist and running a hand soothingly up and down his back. He traces the bumps in his spine, his hand ending up stuck in the gray hair that smells of lavender.

“Things have a habit of disappearing and reappearing in the darndest of places. We’ll find it soon enough, I promise,” Daichi says, and Suga visibly relaxes into his arms. They stay in silence, savoring each other’s touches until Daichi’s stomach rumbles up a storm, interrupting the tender moment. Suga bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over as he begins to walk back to the kitchen.

“It sounds like a dying whale!” he exclaims, tossing his head back as he narrowly avoids tripping over Pochi. “Okay, okay, I’ll finish the pancakes. Except they might taste a little stale.”

Daichi smiles and shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Hey, as long as it gets this guy to shut up, I’m golden.”

Suga looks over his shoulder to see Daichi kneeling to pet Pochi, his petting a little too heavy-handed, but Pochi always seems to love it. The now-afternoon sunlight streams in from the bathroom window off to the side of the hallway, and Daichi so happens to be caught in it, his entire tanned body draped in the blissful rays.

His gaze softens. “Yeah, golden.”

Their brunch turns out to be a late lunch, and Suga nearly chokes with how fast he scarfs down the pancakes. He hadn’t noticed how famished he was the entire time he was searching, the ring taking up all his attention, but with delicious—although not the freshest—food sitting right in front of him, he couldn’t help himself. The two men clean up the kitchen, Suga holding on to hope that lifting a pan or cleaning the counter will reveal the holy ring that had been the cause of so much disorder today. But alas, no such ring is found.

They sit down and go through old scrapbooks Daichi made for Suga when they were dating, the latter laughing at Daichi’s goofy stances or weird faces.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I didn’t know how to pose,” Daichi defends, smacking Suga upside the head playfully. “I’m not exactly a model, you know.”

“I think you could be with a little training,” Suga replies, turning the page only to nearly toss it in surprise. He points to the picture Tanaka somehow managed to snag of Daichi with the principal’s wig lying flat on his head. “Oh, my God! I almost forgot about this!”

“Aaand that’s enough for today,” Daichi says, taking the book and snapping it closed. He slides it into their bookshelf, only to be taken out to mellow out after another tough day in the future. The sides of the book have frayed with how often it’s pulled in and out of the shelf, the pair having their own fair share of bad days too often for comfort. But the pictures of them together, slowly seeing the progression of their relationship and how they’ve grown older together, is more than enough to destress from any bad day. The wedding pictures are only there if any of them needs a good cry, which only happens when the other is away on a business trip for a few days.

“Aw, you always do that when we get to that picture,” Suga pouts as Daichi returns to the couch. As much as he wants to protest Daichi taking away the book, he can’t help but give in to his husband’s touch and lean against his shoulder. He looks down at his hand out of habit as Daichi turns on the TV, only to see that stupid tan line in response.

Daichi notices this and grasps Suga’s hand with his own so he won’t be tortured by the memory of his ring, bringing it to his own lap.

“Disney or Pixar?” he asks, and Suga chuckles.

“You know my answer,” the gray-haired man replies, tipping his chin back and being greeted by Daichi’s sharp jawline and stubbly hairs he missed the last time he shaved.

“Ratatouille it is,” Daichi sighs, pressing a button on the controller. Suga claps his hands together in anticipation for his comfort movie, tossing his legs over Daichi’s lap and leaning back on the couch. Pochi and Momo make their homes on their dads’ laps, purring ambiently as Suga yells at the TV to encourage Remy to get away from the woman with a shotgun.

Daichi sneaks a glance at Suga from his peripheral vision. Even though his husband was just lying on the couch at an unflattering angle and dramatically flailing his arms whenever a particularly stupid decision is made in the movie, he couldn’t imagine having anybody else’s legs in his lap. He smiles to himself and leans his chin on his palm as he turns his attention back to the movie, but it wasn’t undivided—Suga always has his undivided attention.

They watch comfort movies for the rest of the night, ordering Chinese food and eating ice cream out of the pint.

“Bella deserved so much better,” Suga says, his tone dripping in pure disappointment as he shakes his head. “Team Jacob all the way.”

“So you’re saying you prefer hair over sparkly skin?” Daichi asks, raising a brow as he licks his spoon. “Wolves shed. And I know how much you love this carpet.”

Suga looks over at his husband, his eyes dropping to the hair on Daichi’s chest, forearms, and legs, and he grins before turning back to the movie. “I suppose you might have a point.”

Although hair is much better to play with while cuddling than sparkly skin.

When they reach the marriage scene in Breaking Dawn Part 1, Suga feigns having to go to the bathroom, setting down the ice cream on the coffee table, and leaving. He sits on the toilet, his hands in his hair to avoid staring at the void on his finger. He couldn’t bear to watch that scene, see those sparkling rings being exchanged by two people that—even though he doesn’t like them together—very clearly love each other. It’ll make him yearn even more for his ring, so he counts down the minutes until he reckons that the scene is over. He flushes the toilet for show and washes his hands, coming out of the bathroom just as the scene is over. But now they’ll have to watch Bella almost dying while having sex, which, safe to say, will certainly get his mind off his missing ring.

“Bella literally almost killed herself trying to get vampire dick,” Daichi says as Suga sits back down, causing him to bark out a laugh.

“I mean, you’re the one defending her choice in vampires,” Suga retorts, raising his brow in that ‘I-got-you-right-where-I-want-you’ look. “Wouldn’t you do the same?”

Daichi clears his throat, his face going stoic as he focuses all his attention on the screen to not make eye contact with his accuser. “No comment.”

The movie concludes, and even though they still have many more movies to go in the Twilight saga, Suga’s eyelids are growing heavier and heavier by the minute. He nearly falls asleep on Daichi’s shoulder multiple times, and when Daichi notices Suga’s head falling on him for the third time, he reaches forward to turn off the TV.

“Hey…? Why’d you do that?” Suga asks groggily, his words slurring together with fatigue.

“It’s time to go to bed,” Daichi replies, patting Suga on the head before getting up and staring at Suga with his hands on his hips.

“Who died and made you king?” Suga retorts, trying to blink away the sleepiness in his eyelids. He reaches his arms up in defeat. “Okay, okay. But carry me to bed.”

“Lazy,” Daichi remarks before reaching forward and wrapping his arms around Suga’s waist. Instead of carrying Suga bridal style, as a romantic and caring husband would do, he tosses Suga over his shoulder like a ragdoll in a deceitful move.

“Hey!” Suga exclaims, flailing his legs about and pounding Daichi’s back with his fists. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, you know!”

“Sorry I’m not a mind reader,” Daichi replies, which is even more infuriating since Suga knows he absolutely is for anything romance-related. He knows what Suga wants even before Suga does. “Besides, you’re awake now, aren’t you?”

Suga sighs and relaxes into Daichi’s hold, accepting his ragdoll fate. Thankfully, Daichi lays Suga gently on the bed instead of slamming him into it as he’s done multiple times before, both accidentally and on purpose. Suga looks up at his husband with spite, turning over so that his back is facing him.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that,” Daichi insists, lying next to Suga and pawing at his shoulder. “We had a good day today, didn’t we?”

He sees Suga nod his head, and he grins when the other finally turns over to face him. Their noses are only a few centimeters apart, and Daichi can make out every hazel speck in those brown eyes. He lifts his hand, his thumb brushing against the mole he’s kissed every day ever since they got together.

“I want my ring back,” Suga whispers, burying his face in Daichi’s chest. Whenever he was stressed, he knew being surrounded by Daichi’s chest always made him feel better.

The brown-haired man smiles and hugs Suga close, nodding in understanding. “If we don’t find it in a week, I’ll buy you another one. Look at it as an excuse to have another ceremony where we can renew our vows.”

“We just got married,” Suga replies, his voice muffled by the cotton of Daichi’s shirt.

“And?”

Suga’s laugh is also muffled. “You’re right.”

“Goodnight, Koushi. I love you.”

And a ring doesn’t have to show you how much I love you.

“I love you, too, Daichi.”

And I hope you’ll forgive me for losing our ring someday.

—

“Oh, my God!”

The scream awakes Suga violently from his sleep, causing him to sit up fast enough to almost make him blackout. Once the spots in his vision decrease enough for him to make out the rough outline of their bedroom, he cups a hand over his mouth and shouts, “Daichi! Are you okay?”

No response. An uneasiness sets into Suga’s bones, and he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up slowly to offset the dizziness from his sudden sit-up.

“Daichi!” he calls again, and when he notices no cats in the bedroom, he realizes something is seriously wrong. He stumbles out of the bedroom and out into the hallway, where the morning light is streaming in from the bathroom and casting golden rectangles onto the hardwood.

“Where are you, dear?” Suga shouts, trying to keep his voice level, but he can’t deny the panic in it. He hears the faucet running in the bathroom, and he practically trips over himself trying to sprint there to see what it is.

He grips the doorframe and flings himself into the bathroom, almost colliding with Daichi in front of the sink.

“Oh, there you are!” Suga says, heaving a relieved sigh. He raises a brow and asks, “What were you screaming about?”

Daichi’s body is turned away from Suga, obscuring the running sink.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Suga gently pushes Daichi out of the way to reveal something shiny in his fingers, the water glinting off it with the help of the morning sunlight. His eyes widen, and he begins to reach forward. “Is that what I think it is—”

“Stop!” Daichi shouts, causing Suga to flinch backward. “S-sorry, but uh…yeah, it’s your ring.”

Suga’s entire face beams as bright, if not brighter, than the sun, and he claps and jumps around like a grasshopper. “Are you serious?! Oh, my God, you found it! Daichi, you found my ring! Oh, thank you! I can’t wait to wear it—”

“Er, don’t you want to know where I found it?” Daichi asks, stopping Suga in his tracks. He turns his body so that his face is visible, a crease between his eyebrows set deep in his skin. “Well, actually, it’d be better if you didn’t know—”

“No, where did you find it?” Suga interrupts. He’s overwhelmingly excited, hopping on the bathroom tile as if he’s leaping from cloud to fluffy cloud.

Daichi frowns, which is enough to get Suga to stop yet again in his celebration. He watches Daichi turn away from him, lifting his hand to point to the litter box in the corner of the bathroom. “I…was scooping the litter. And uh…I found something shiny. In the poop.”

Suga blinks. He blinks again, and then again. He blinks until he realizes he hasn’t breathed in nearly thirty seconds, and he let out a slow and shaky breath.

“In…the litter box?” he repeats, his eyes drifting to the curved gray structure beside their shower.

Daichi nods solemnly, reaching for the soap and pumping an entire handful into his palm to slather on the ring. “Yep.”

No wonder Daichi has such a serious look on his face: he had to dig through actual shit to recover the ring. Suga can’t imagine the trauma he garnered from that. To think, this was on their day off.

Yet again, Suga can’t hold back his laughter. It’s a mix of relief, panic, joy, and pure love. His husband really dug through his cat’s shit, risking a disease that could give him some type of worm (he saw that on a show about parasites), probably has shit under his fingernails, and is currently cleaning the ring more than his own hands. The ring is a good symbol of their love, but this…this is the symbol of their love. Digging through cat shit.

Click!

Before Daichi knows it, this more-than-embarrassing moment is captured on camera, forever memorialized in Sugawara’s camera roll.

“Hey!” Daichi yells, reaching out a hand, but Suga leaps out of the way, using the reflexes he gained from volleyball to move.

“Don’t touch me with your shit-stained hands!” Suga yells back, taking another picture before tucking his camera away. “Now keep them under the water while I go grab bleach.”

Daichi has to take a full shower once the ring is on its third round of disinfection because he didn’t feel clean enough after washing his hands twenty times in a row. Suga hops in with him, even though he took one yesterday afternoon and didn’t do much afterward, but he feels as if he owes Daichi a lot to make up for the horrible experience.

Suga wraps a towel around his waist after he gets out of the shower, walking over to the bowl with the ring disinfecting on the counter. Daichi, thoroughly satisfied from his reward, rinses himself and turns off the shower. He lets out a long sigh; Suga always knows what to do to make it up to him.

“I wonder how it got there,” Suga ponders, tapping his chin in thought as he leans against the counter.

“Mm,” is the only thing Daichi says, his eyes closed as he leans against the shower wall, clearly reminiscing about his shower time with his husband.

Suga looks over his shoulder and frowns, rapping his knuckles against the glass. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Daichi startles and snaps his head up, just processing the other’s question. When he does, he shrugs and opens the shower door, grabbing a towel off the rack.

“Yeah, I don’t know—”

Just as he begins to speak, Pochi walks into the bathroom. However, now that Suga’s mind was clear of worry over his ring, he could now think and see clearly. Very clearly, and he could clearly see the white fur around Pochi’s mouth stained a tannish color.

“Hey, doesn’t that look like—”

“Pancake batter?”

The two men start and finish their thoughts in unison, turning to each other with wide eyes. Their thoughts are in unison as well: the ring must have dropped into the pancake batter, or batter must have been flung out of the bowl and onto the ring, and Pochi—ever the famished little fucker—lapped it up without a second thought as to the metallic aftertaste. Before the two men finish their trains of thought, Pochi lets out a meow indicative of his hunger.

Suga laughs. Yet again, he doubles over laughing, holding his stomach as if his intestines are going to fall out.

“I’m going to shit myself!”

Daichi frowns and practically runs over to his husband, patting his back rather forcefully to get him to stop laughing. “I’ve already cleaned up enough shit for today. Stop before I kill myself.”

But that only makes Suga laugh harder, leaning on his elbows on the bathroom counter since his knees were too weak with amusement to hold up his own weight.

“Alright, alright,” Daichi says, wrapping the towel around his waist and scooping Pochi up. He eyes his cat in the face, giving him a stern frown. “You’ve caused your dad a lot of stress these past few hours. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Pochi blinks slowly, mockingly at his father, and licks at his stained jowls once more before letting out a long yawn.

“I hate everybody in this house. Minus you, Momo.” Daichi looks over his shoulder at Momo, who was keeping a respectful distance by sitting next to the doorframe. He plops Pochi on the counter and wets a paper towel with water, ignoring Suga’s last bouts of laughter, and carefully wipes the crusted-over batter with the towel.

After calming down, Suga exhales for a long time to recover his breath. Finally, he turns to Daichi and approaches him, slinging an arm over his shoulders as he watches his husband clean their cat child.

“I love you, Daichi.”

Daichi stops and turns, his face bright pink. He turns back to Pochi and mutters back, “Brat.” But he’s smiling as he does so.

“You can’t deny my love,” Suga says as he dives in to pepper kisses all over Daichi’s face.

“You’re going to knock over the bleach!”

—

Suga, thankfully, did not knock over the bleach. Even though anybody would be thoroughly disgusted by the thought of having a ring that was found in cat shit on their finger, Suga was only mildly bothered by it. The sheer amount of love and emotional support the ring gave him far overpowered any form of repulsion toward the backstory of how he found his ring. He’d think about it, but the second he looked down and saw the gold glinting back at him, he’d be at peace.

It was a little tarnished by the bleach, even though it had only been in it for a total of two hours, but it was a welcome reminder of the blunder they went through. Every single scratch, bump, or dent in the ring was indicative of a certain adventure the two men went through together. One dent happened when they went rock climbing in the Andes. One diamond fell out after they went skydiving, which was quickly replaced using the strongest glue on the market. And now the new scar, a patch of flaking away, showed a time where both realized how much symbolism and meaning the simple gold band had for them. To put the cherry on top, they added another picture to the scrapbook: one of Daichi cleaning the ring with a look of shock and annoyance on his face with Suga in the reflection of the mirror, a grin of pure glee on his lips.

They are watching a movie the day after the whole debacle when Suga lifts his hand for the thirtieth time that day to admire his ring.

“When are you going to stop doing that?” Daichi asks with an amused smirk on his lips.

Suga chuckles and lays his head on Daichi’s shoulder. “I’m just checking to see if I lost it again.”

Daichi rolls his eyes. “Don’t even joke about that. I’m traumatized. I can still smell Pochi’s shit.”

Suga laughs and hugs Daichi’s bicep closer to his chest. “Thank you, Daichi. Seriously.”

Daichi turns his head and looks down at his husband, peering up at him with hazel doe eyes and with that irresistible mole. “Always, my love.”

And with that, he attacks the mole with kisses and joins his hands with Suga’s, their rings, one newly found and both dutifully loved, clicking together and sparkling in the afternoon sun.

[happylittledrabbles]

When Tomorrow Starts Without Me

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Koutarou Bokuto x Keiji Akaashi

Rating: M (non-graphic smut, cursing)

Warning(s): Major character death

Genre: Angst

AO3

—

"When tomorrow starts without me, and I’m not here to see; if the sun should rise and find your eyes; all filled with tears for me."

He first noticed it when they were on vacation. And there's no changing the diagnosis.

He first noticed it while they were on vacation.

Bokuto’s hands are cold as they slide up his husband’s torso; spending all day out in the frigid, Icelandic air clearly left its footprint on their skin. That is how they ended up in this position in the first place: Bokuto had not-so-subtly suggested they should do this to “warm up,” and Akaashi didn’t have the courage to deny him. Losing his calm demeanor, Akaashi gave into the neediness in his body and the puppy-dog look his husband had mastered whenever he wanted something.

“They’re still cold,” Akaashi mumbles, tilting his neck to the side to give Bokuto’s lips more room to roam. He flinches as they go further and further down into more sensitive territory until the cold is too much to bear. “Ugh—stop, I’ll do it. I’m warmer.”

He pushes the bigger man off him, his eyebrows furrowing as he uses more force than usual. Has Bokuto been putting on weight? He looks the same…

He rolls on top of his husband, seating himself comfortably in his lap. Akaashi’s thighs frame Bokuto’s hips in a way that makes Bokuto shiver, and it brings a satisfied smile onto the dark-haired man’s face.

“Whatever will get those pants off,” Bokuto comments with a smirk, lifting an arm and bringing Akaashi in for a kiss by the back of the neck. Their lips pull away with a smack as Akaashi busies himself with removing both their shirts. Bokuto’s eyelids are heavy, his breath coming out as puffs as he gazes at the beautiful Greek god of a man on top of him. “You’re right, you are warmer.”

They are just beginning to move together when Akaashi’s arms, holding him up as his hands fisted the bedsheets, suddenly give out, his muscles feeling like Jell-O.

“Feels that good?” Bokuto asks with that dastardly grin of his, but Akaashi isn’t having it. He tries to push himself back up, his arms trembling with the immense effort he is putting in until they give out once again, leaving him frustrated. He would roll his eyes affectionately at Bokuto’s insinuations, but he is genuinely perplexed. He isn’t even close to finishing—they had only started two minutes ago, for Pete’s sake. He has yet to start feeling good, so…?

“I’ll take over from here,” Bokuto eventually says after watching Akaashi struggle for a few moments. He finds the sight of his husband huffing and blowing the locks of hair out of his face exasperatingly as he adjusts himself incredibly amusing, but it’s hindering their time together. He rolls Akaashi gently onto his back effortlessly; meanwhile, Akaashi’s arms are still trembling mysteriously. What the hell? Thoughts of frustration overtake the thoughts of lust in Akaashi’s mind, wondering when his husband got so much stronger than him. Had it been because he hasn’t gone to the gym in a while? It must be that.

Bokuto gladly continues their lovemaking session despite Akaashi’s difficulties, and Akaashi finally gets to that ‘eyes rolling from pleasure and not annoyance at his imprudent husband’ point. But that moment of sudden weakness stays in the back of his mind, only resurfacing in that post-sex clarity.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, scratching his lower back as he ambles over to the bathroom to clean himself up and pee. He’s washing his hands when he smells smoke.

“I thought I told you to stop smoking,” Akaashi admonishes as he stomps back into the room. He swipes his boxers from the floor and slips them back on to protect some of his modesty. He’s at Bokuto’s bedside before the other can even open his mouth to retort, grabbing the cigarette and putting it out on the decorative ashtray on the nightstand, tossing the cigarette and tipping the ashes from the tray into the trash. While Akaashi’s constantly worrying about his cholesterol and blood pressure levels, taking vitamins and supplements galore, Bokuto freely does whatever he wants. As long as he’s performing at his best for volleyball, that’s all that matters in his eyes. And it’s working out for him: he’s completely and utterly healthy. Akaashi’s thankful if not envious of such healthy genes.

“Blame it on Coach Ukai,” Bokuto replies, grinning widely at his fussy partner. “It’s his fault for putting me onto cancer sticks.”

“At least try not to do it in an Airbnb, please. We could get fined.” He flicks Bokuto on the forehead as he climbs back into bed and cuddles up to his side. Iceland is gorgeous but damn, is it freezing.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to fuck in an Airbnb, but we did that anyway,” Bokuto teases, causing Akaashi to immediately turn over and give him the cold shoulder—no pun intended. He barks out a laugh and rolls over, rubbing Akaashi’s arm and placing butterfly kisses on the soft skin of his back. He feels that it’s stopped trembling, but he notices how limp it is by his side. He’s never seen this reaction in Akaashi before. Did he do something different this time…? “Aw, c’mon, babe, don’t be like that. You very clearly liked it.”

He pauses, stroking Akaashi’s arm absentmindedly as his mind hops on the train of thought.

“What was that about, anyway? Does fucking in an Airbnb excite you that much? I’ve never seen you like that.” He grins and pulls Akaashi closer to his chest, his breath leaving the shell of Akaashi’s ear pink. “It was sexy as hell.”

However, Bokuto’s horniness is not reciprocated. All Akaashi can think about is the heavy pit that buried itself in his stomach in that moment, and he reaches forward to grab a pillow. He doesn’t exactly need it—he could just turn over and use Bokuto as his body pillow. But it’s almost as if he wants to test his muscles, see if they had come out of their Jell-O state. He hates Jell-O.

Perhaps it really did feel that good. But…his stomach hadn’t been flipping or filled with butterflies then as it usually did when they had sex—it had sunk.

…

Bright and early, the two men are back to their worldly adventures. They tour local villages, eat local food, and chat with the local people until the sky is an ombre of purple and navy blue.

“There’s supposed to be an aurora tonight, according to the locals,” Akaashi says as he figures out a map he got from a gift shop, trying to find their next stop.

“Oh, it was the bakery guy who said that, right?” Bokuto asks, peering over Akaashi’s shoulder to try and help with the navigation. However, he knows he would only make Akaashi more frustrated since Akaashi likes figuring everything out by himself. “He said we have to go to this point.”

He takes a chance at helping and saddles up next to Akaashi, pointing to a particularly tall lookout point. “Think you can climb that?”

“Just because you work out every day doesn’t make me a weakling in comparison,” Akaashi counters. He bites the cap off the marker and circles the lookout point’s name, the paper crinkling underneath his hand. As if to prove how strong and capable he is, his bicep bulges as he marks the lookout point, and Bokuto very obviously stares. He’s always loved Akaashi’s body, how muscular yet lean it is. He has curves in all the right places and strong where it matters. His body is nothing short of beautiful, a marble sculpture made by Michelangelo.

Akaashi places the cap back on and tosses a smug look over his shoulder, saying, “Remember how I constantly had to pick you up whenever you’d get depressed over a missed hit? Carrying a hundred-kilo man isn’t an easy feat.”

“Seventy-eight kilos, thank you very much!” Bokuto corrects instantly, grabbing Akaashi by the wrist and dragging him to their rental car. “Fine, then let’s see your skills. We have to be there in two hours.”

The drive is full of punk and hard rock songs, all at Akaashi’s request. Bokuto tries to compromise with just one pop song in the queue of AC/DC and Green Day, but because of his sly comments throughout the trip, this is his punishment.

“Turn here,” Akaashi says over the blaring of “Readymade” by Ado, pointing to the upcoming sign. The tires squeal as they try to compensate for the horrible Fast and Furious move Bokuto does as he turns, righting as they reach the fairly full parking lot for the lookout point. Akaashi would have cussed Bokuto out if not for a steady mix of yellow and green lights highlighting both their faces and all the cars in the parking lot, the metal reflecting the light and causing everywhere to be flooded in a mock bokeh.

He cannot get out of the car fast enough, slamming the door closed and getting a head start on the hike. He trips a few times since his eyes are transfixed on the lights, his hand reaching out for Bokuto, who had since caught up to him and helps him steady himself. He’s panting by the time they reach the tallest point, revealing a crowd of people and, most beautiful of all, a lake that looked as if it was made out of glass. The sky and the water join into one, doubling the number of lights and showcasing a waterfall of colors.

He jogs over to where everybody is seated, their chins craned up in unison as they watch with awe the lights dancing in the sky. It’s like watching a ballet, each part of the sky following its own storyline and choreography. Akaashi stumbles from the vertigo of looking up too fast, Bokuto hot on his heels and ready to catch him until he rights himself.

“Be careful,” he warns as he unfolds their blanket and sets it on the knee-high grass, wading into it and sitting down. He pats the fabric, trying to get Akaashi’s attention. “Come here.”

Akaashi blinks as if he has snapped out of a trance, stumbling forward and into Bokuto’s arms. His head is foggy, the lights flashing in his vision every time he closes his eyes.

“They’re so beautiful,” he whispers, craning his neck up again now that he is on solid ground.

“Yeah,” Bokuto replies as he leans his head on his husband’s shoulder. “Beautiful.”

But Bokuto isn’t looking at the lights.

Their rings glimmer underneath the aurora, the gold morphing into all different shades thanks to the rippling of the colors above them. It really is like looking at the ocean, the sound of the waves being replaced with soft murmurs in Icelandic and the ambient breeze twisting through the tree branches. Akaashi almost stops breathing since his breaths come out an opaque white, obscuring the lights from his vision.

…

When tomorrow starts without me And I’m not here to see If the sun should rise and find your eyes All filled with tears for me.

…

Bokuto is nearly asleep once the lights finally fade out. They had gotten lucky—this aurora lasted nearly an hour. And Akaashi didn’t break eye contact for that entire hour. He was in love, his lips upturned into the faintest smile.

When the lights melt into the black night, he pats Bokuto on the cheek to wake him up and stands up, beginning to fold the blanket with the other still on it.

“Hey, hey, what’s the rush?” Bokuto exclaims, followed by a deep yawn as he rolls off the blanket and into the grass.

“I want to leave before both of us fall asleep.” One hour of keeping his eyes wide open with barely any blinking leaves Akaashi’s eyelids fatigued, and they are hanging low as he neatly folds the blanket in his lap and starts toward the car.

“Babe, I’m fine,” Bokuto replies, followed yet again by a yawn. They share a look, and he gives in. “Okay, okay, I’m getting in the car.”

They’re driving down the slope, both their eyelids heavy, drunk on sleep.

“Turn here?” Bokuto asks, beginning to slow down as he turns to his husband, who is fast asleep. “Hey, wake up, navigator.” He shakes Akaashi’s thigh before moving up to his shoulder. “Akaashi, hey—”

He’s paralyzed by the red lights that flood his vision, and his foot flies to the brake too slowly.

…

“We see accidents like that all the time on that slope,” the doctor says disapprovingly, shaking her head as she flips through the paperwork on the clipboard. “They should start putting streetlights there.”

“But then the lights wouldn’t be as pretty,” Bokuto protests, his arm shaking in its sling.

The doctor gives him a stern once-over before going back to her paperwork. “Tell that to the claim you’ll have to settle with the rental car agency. I’ll release you both in a couple of hours. For now, please rest.” She turns to Akaashi, who is sitting in the chair next to Bokuto’s bed with a pack of ice to the bump on his forehead. “Can you start filling these out, please?”

Akaashi nods and takes the offered pen, but as he puts it to the paper, his hand begins trembling uncontrollably. It isn’t violent, but it’s noticeable enough to make him stop trying to write and stare at his hand for a second. He looks up at the doctor, who is also staring at his hand.

“Hm.” She meets Akaashi’s puzzled gaze with a sympathetic smile. “Must be an after-effect of the accident. Don’t worry too much.”

She begins to walk out of the room but stops in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at Akaashi. “If that persists, I would check with your physician back home.”

She nods a goodbye before leaving the room, escaping just in time for Bokuto to wail about having to contact the rental car company and pay for the damages. But Akaashi isn’t listening. He usually ignores Bokuto when he gets like this, but now it’s for a different reason. He’s back to staring at his hand, willing the trembling to go away. It eventually does, and he proceeds to sign the papers, but that pit in his stomach never leaves. It only expands.

…

It’s Akaashi’s 36th birthday three days after the accident, and he’s celebrating it by helping Bokuto wrap his arm in plastic wrap in order to go to The Blue Lagoon. It has been thirty minutes, and Bokuto is yet to be satisfied by the amount of wrapping.

“What if it gets wet?” he whines. “I don’t want to interrupt the healing process. I have a game to play in two weeks!”

“Have you told your coach yet?” Akaashi asks pointedly, to which Bokuto grumbles something in response. “That’s what I thought. You’re not going to play for a while. Probably eight weeks.”

“Eight weeks?!” Bokuto shouts, causing everybody within a twenty-foot radius to turn their heads to the Japanese man so clearly in despair.

“You should’ve just stopped the car on the side of the road,” Akaashi replies, immediately regretting his words. This would only start a fight. And it does.

“If you could’ve just woken up,” Bokuto retorts heatedly, snatching his wrist back to do the wrapping job himself. “There wasn’t anywhere to pull over, anyway. We would’ve been the ones rear-ended if I stopped.”

“Okay, well—” Akaashi stops himself, his hands dropping to his lap as he turns his head to gaze out into the picturesque lagoon. He knew this argument would happen eventually. He swings his eyes back to Bokuto, who has put his finishing touches on the wrapping. “Can we not fight on my birthday?”

Bokuto huffs. “We aren’t fighting,” he explains but pauses, realizing he’s only furthering the argument. He purses his lips and nods, standing up from the beach chair and adjusting his swim trunks. They can’t go naked like in the bathhouses at home, so the rough fabric feels strange on his skin, especially when he submerges himself in the warm, milky blue water. He sighs, keeping his wrist elevated as he uses his other hands to splash the water in his face, running his fingers through his hair. He looks over his shoulder, watching as Akaashi busies himself with taking off his shirt, revealing his toned body that still had healing hickeys from a few nights ago. His muscles flex as he spreads sunscreen on his skin, causing Bokuto to roll his eyes and grin affectionately. Akaashi, forever concerned about skin cancer.

“Come on, babe. I’m waiting for you.”

Akaashi’s heart hurt a little from the fight, but it warms at the expectant look on his partner’s face. He nods and puts the sunscreen down, dipping his toes in the water before stepping into the pool and involuntarily letting out a long sigh of relief. All his muscles relax, and not in the strange way they did before, as if they were Jell-O. No, now they relax as if they’re softened butter, melting into his body. He rests his arms up on the edge, letting his head hang back like a ragdoll.

“Better?” Bokuto asks.

“Better.”

…

They stay nearly the entire day at the lagoon, switching between being inside the lagoon and the various spas and restaurants around the pool. Bokuto treats Akaashi to a couple’s massage until he gets kicked out of the room by his husband for groaning too loud and for making too many weird comments. He stays in the bar until Akaashi sits next to him, looking completely refreshed, his skin practically glowing in the soft haze of the sunset provided by the large bay windows.

“You look relaxed,” he comments. He hesitates to touch Akaashi, feeling as if he needs to wash his hands beforehand, but finally rests his hand on his bare shoulder. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were pregnant.”

“Yet again, mood ruined,” Akaashi replies, except it comes out as a joke rather than an admonishment. He leans on the bar and asks for a beer. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“Why not?” Bokuto asks, cocking his head. “We have to get back to Emiko. She’s waiting for us.”

It’s hard to believe that Bokuto isn’t related to their dog, Emiko, because he looks exactly like a dog at that moment, his still-drying hair flopping over like ears and his bushy eyebrows raising up his forehead quizzically.

Akaashi chuckles and sips at the foam, licking it off his top lip. “This place brings me some kind of…peace. I want to live here one day. Or at least come back.”

“We’re definitely coming back,” Bokuto replies with an emphatic nod. “I couldn’t get enough of looking at your face as you watched the aurora. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“The aurora?”

Bokuto turns his head to see Akaashi staring back at him with a thin white foam mustache on his top lip after taking another sip, clearly unaware of how endearing he looks.

He smiles softly. “Yeah. The aurora.”

…

“So, you say you’re having tremors?”

Akaashi never thought he would muster up the courage to go to the doctor. But he finally does after about a month, and as he’s sitting in the uncomfortable chair, his hands gripping the arms, he regrets he ever came.

“Y…es,” he replies haltingly. “It’s probably nothing, but the doctor in Iceland said I should get it checked out, and it’s just been so strange. I have probably just been overworking myself at the gym. I’m not twenty anymore, ha. Actually, I think I should just go—”

“Keiji, please sit down.” Akaashi does as he is told and watches his doctor pull out a forearm exerciser and sets it on the table. “If you can.”

Akaashi raises a brow but shrugs and reaches forward. He grabs the forearm exerciser and uses it as usual before putting it back on the table.

The doctor watches on silently, a finger on his top lip as his eyebrows furrow together. He puts the forearm exerciser back in his desk drawer and clasps his hands together. “You seem fine. I’ll just take some urine and blood samples from you to rule some things out. If you notice anything else, please give me a call.”

After peeing in a cup and giving up some of his blood, he practically glides out of the office. It seems as if there’s nothing wrong with him, which is exactly the diagnosis he was expecting. He had been over-exaggerating, and the doctor back in Iceland was definitely correct: his trembling hand had been a result of the near concussion he received. He drives back home and greets Bokuto with a grand smooch on the lips and musses up Emiko’s floppy ears before going into the kitchen and cooking them a beautiful three-course meal. He’s happily eating, but Bokuto finds it harder to eat. Not because of the cast on his wrist, but because of something else.

Akaashi is being a lot messier than usual. Dropping food back into the bowl, getting sauce on his face. He’s probably still excited, Bokuto thinks, but the ramen going down his esophagus turns into a pit that buries itself in his stomach, and he can’t shake the feeling. No matter how much Akaashi kisses him or hugs him or cuddles up by his side as they watch a movie, he still can’t smile to his full potential.

…

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry The way you did today While thinking of the many things We did not get to say.

…

It’s a few days later when Akaashi’s joyous mood crumbles. Doctors only call after tests when something is wrong. And sure enough, while in the middle of working on his computer, Akaashi’s phone rumbles on the desk with his doctor’s name lit up on the screen.

He’s once again sitting in the uncomfortable chair, his hands gripping the arms much tighter than before. He’s doing the breathing technique his therapist taught him for his anxiety, but it only makes him want to pass out.

“Your blood tests came back alright. No HIV, hepatitis, your vitamin B12 levels are good, and no cancer from what I can—.”

“Oh, my God.” Akaashi exhales out all the anxiety in his chest, nearly doubling over from the weight taken off his chest. He looks back up at his doctor and grins. “That means I can go, right? I’ll get going—"

The doctor holds up a hand to get Akaashi to be quiet. “These blood and urine tests are only to rule out diseases. But I wouldn’t have called you into the office if I hadn’t found something.” His doctor takes a sharp breath as he shuffles his papers around as if he got a paper cut. “Your CK levels are abnormally high.”

Something in Akaashi drops. His stomach? His heart? All he knows is that he’s heavy like a bag of rocks, and he feels strapped to the chair.

“What…is that?” he asks, his chest so tight, he’s afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. No better place to have it than in front of a doctor, though.

“Creatine kinase. It’s an enzyme that’s released into the blood when there’s some muscle damage. It’s released when you’re either having or had a heart attack—”

“Dr. Hirose, I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“No, you’re not, Keiji,” his doctor says with a look of pity on his face. It makes Akaashi’s panic heighten. Pity? “Or when you do a lot of strenuous exercises—”

“That’s what I said! It’s because I’ve been exercising—”

“Keiji,” his doctor breathes forcefully, giving the dark-haired man a stern look. “Or it’s a sign of a degenerative muscle disease. I’m going to schedule you for an MRI in two weeks. If it really is because of strenuous exercise, then nothing will show up. I just want to make sure there aren’t any tumors or pressure on your spinal cord.” His doctor scribbles something down on the notepad in front of him and crosses something out on his clipboard. “In the meantime, lay off the weights and rest at home.”

“O…kay.” Akaashi leaves, hope still bright in his chest. He goes through all the workouts he’s been doing over the past few months, and he nods his head to himself as he confirms that he has overexerted himself a few times. Now he has permission to just laze around at home instead of pushing himself to go to the gym. Doctor’s orders.

A week passes with nothing of note. Bokuto finally gets his cast taken off, brandishing his newly healed wrist like a trophy. Akaashi claps, unamused, but can’t help the smile that forms when Bokuto kisses him until his breath is taken away, using that wrist to grip the small of his back and press their fronts together.

“You still need to do physical therapy,” Akaashi reminds him, but Bokuto rolls his eyes and thanks the doctor before pulling his husband out of the clinic and into the car.

“That can wait,” Bokuto says, pulling Akaashi in by his tie and almost knocking his glasses off by the sheer force of his kiss. “Now let’s celebrate.”

Ever since that vacation, Akaashi hadn’t tried to go on top. He’s been scared that the same thing would happen, and it’d be on his mind the entire week. He had just gotten cleared by his doctor—the last thing he needs is for his arms to go weak.

After scolding Bokuto for smoking and after cleaning himself up, he walks to the kitchen and opens the fridge. He flinches at a pain in his ass, evidence left behind of Bokuto taking ‘celebrating’ to a whole new level. It isn’t as if he hadn’t enjoyed it, but damn, the aftermath was painful.

He grabs the filter pitcher and lifts it up, and the second he does, his right arm gives out. He watches helplessly as the pitcher cracks on the edge of the fridge and freefalls onto the floor, the top coming off and spilling four liters’ worth of water all over the kitchen. Not to mention the giant crack in the plastic. If they tried to fill the pitcher to full capacity next time, it’d surely split open.

Akaashi doesn’t even notice when Bokuto skids into the kitchen or when he yells at Emiko to stop drinking the water. He doesn’t notice when Bokuto grabs the roll of paper towels and begins to mop up the water or his husband’s arms around him, whispering explanations or jokes or whatever nonsense he says to cheer him up. He only snaps out of it when he feels Bokuto’s finger on his cheek, lifting a tear from his skin.

He turns around in Bokuto’s arms, looking up at him, his bottom lip quivering. “I’m not okay, Koutarou.”

Bokuto wishes he could deny it. He so desperately wishes he could say ‘no, babe, you’re overreacting.’ To see that relieved smile on his face like he had on when he came home from the clinic. But he can’t. Because he knows that Akaashi isn’t okay.

“Let’s go back to bed, babe. I’ll get you some water. Go rest,” he says softly, ushering Akaashi away from the distressing scene and bending back over to dry the rest of the floorboards. But he can’t help it when he wets the hardwood further with his own tears.

…

Bokuto skips physical therapy to go with Akaashi to the hospital despite the latter’s many attempts to go alone. Akaashi had managed to convince Bokuto the previous times that he was just going in for a routine checkup, but now Bokuto’s not falling for it.

“The MRI is painless,” the doctor explains, beginning to help Akaashi sit down, but he waves away any help.

“I can walk, thank you.” Ever since the incident in the kitchen, Akaashi has grown more defensive of everything he does. If Bokuto asks if he needs any help, Akaashi fires back with ‘do I look like I need help?’ or ‘I’m not helpless.’ He has always been snarky, but his current demeanor is callous, uncaring. There’s no love in his sarcastic remarks, just hurt.

He lays down on the bed, shifting around until the doctor tells him to stop. It’s quick, and, like his doctor said, painless, and he’s out in less than five minutes.

“The results will be out in two days,” his doctor warns after coming out of the small glass room adjacent to the machine. “If you get a call from me, that doesn’t automatically mean bad news.”

“Okay.” Akaashi hasn’t mentioned the pitcher incident to his doctor. He knows it’s the stupidest thing he can do. But if he doesn’t mention it, treats it as yet another injury sustained from overworking himself, then maybe it doesn’t exist. And it doesn’t, not on paper.

The next few days pass by like molasses. Akaashi doesn’t get any work done, and each time his phone rings, he nearly passes out. When he finally does get the call, he actually does pass out, and Bokuto has to pick up the phone for him while trying to wake him up.

“Doc? Hey, it’s Koutarou.”

“Oh, Koutarou. If you could pass along to Akaashi that the MRI is all clear, that would be great.”

As if on cue, Akaashi wakes up and snatches the phone out of Bokuto’s hand, holding it up to his ear. “What, Dr. Hirose?”

“I said that your MRI is all clear. No tumor, nothing messing up your discs. There’s nothing wrong with your brain or spinal cord.”

Akaashi is out again like a light.

When he comes to, he’s in bed, the covers up to his chin. He sits up groggily and wipes his eyes, turning to see a bowl of mochi on the nightstand, nearly melted.

“Bokuto?” he calls, his voice hoarse. He reaches over and brings the bowl into his lap, nibbling on a mochi. Despite the mochi being cold, he’s warm. He can only picture Bokuto picking him up and tucking him in before making his famous mochi. It’s one of the only things he knows how to make, and he knows exactly when to make it.

Bokuto pads into the room, followed closely behind by Emiko. The two are twins, Akaashi swears. Emiko hops up onto the bed and nuzzles Akaashi’s arm before collapsing onto his thighs, laying her head down with a grunt.

"Hey, you feeling better?” Bokuto asks, walking over and sitting down cautiously at the foot of the bed as if Akaashi’s made out of glass. “I made you mochi to celebrate the clean bill of health.”

Akaashi smiles and nods, scarfing down another piece of mochi. “Thank you,” he says, his voice muffled by the sticky rice dough. The sight is enough to make Bokuto laugh and scoot closer, wiping a bit of ice cream from the corner of Akaashi’s lips and lick it off his finger.

“I’m going back to practice tomorrow,” he continues. “My physical therapist says I’m good to go. So we’re both doing awesome.”

Akaashi grins and leans forward, pulling Bokuto in for a kiss, burying his fingers in the white-gray hair. They continue to eat mochi together, making small talk and eventually watching a movie together, but Akaashi still isn’t fully happy. When Bokuto falls asleep, he gets up to put the bowl in the sink. Before he can finish the trip, he drops the bowl onto the carpet. The thud is muffled, Bokuto too deep in sleep to wake up. But Akaashi, who was drowsy before, is now fully awake. He looks to his right arm, his hand trembling and his forearm cramping up. He simply bends down and picks up the bowl with his left arm, puts it in the sink, and silently slips underneath the covers. He snuggles up next to Bokuto, much closer than usual, resting his head on his chest.

“Mm, Keiji,” Bokuto mumbles, more asleep than awake. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies a little too quickly. He grips Bokuto’s tank top in a fist, savoring the warmth of his husband’s skin against his cheek. “Just want to be close to you.”

“Mm,” is all that Bokuto replies before draping an arm lazily over Akaashi’s waist, burying his nose in the other’s dark hair.

Akaashi closes his eyes, but he doesn’t think he sleeps at all.

…

It’s a pretty normal month, but Akaashi’s knees are roughed up with all the tripping and tumbles he’s taken. He doesn’t tell Bokuto or his doctor, and he thanks God it’s nearing autumn so that he has an excuse to wear long pants. They bought a new pitcher, but Bokuto can’t help but notice Akaashi never gets near it. It’s particularly difficult to keep a straight face and not notice when Akaashi’s spoon trembles as he spoons sugar into his coffee or when food has made its home on his face whenever they eat. He needs to receive an Oscar for his acting abilities because every time he’s left alone, he can’t help but bury his face in his hands and pray.

It’s another month before Bokuto sits Akaashi down and stares hardheartedly at him.

“You need to go to the doctor.”

Akaashi, who already knew what the conversation would be about due to Bokuto’s seriousness when he sat him down, crosses his arms and shakes his head. “No. Why? There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Really, Keiji?” Bokuto using his actual name means serious business. “You think I don’t realize you dropping everything? All the stains on your shirt? How you can’t even fucking talk sometimes?”

“Hey. Don’t…curse,” Akaashi says, and, as if his body wants to prove a point, his words slur together.

Bokuto slams the table, sending both Akaashi and Emiko’s heads snapping upwards at the loud bang.

“It hurts me, too. You think you’re the only one suffering, but you’re being so goddamn selfish. Because it hurts seeing you like this and not do anything about it. Listen, I’ve been trying to ignore it, too, hoping it’ll just go away. But it’s getting worse, Keiji, whatever this is. And I’m not going to stand by while you kill yourself.”

Bokuto’s eyes well with tears, and it only takes his husband getting emotional—which only happens in a sports-related context—to get Akaashi to pick up the phone and call his doctor.

“Muscle weakness and slurring speech?” his doctor asks, pausing to ponder something. “Come in tomorrow. I’ll get an EMG appointment set up for you.”

The two men look at each other, and Akaashi stands up and walks to the bedroom with Emiko, slamming the door closed. Bokuto takes that as a sign that he’s sleeping on the couch.

…

“This will cause a bit of discomfort,” the neurologist says gently before conducting the test. Akaashi shifts in his chair each time the instrument sends small electrical shocks in his wrist and frowns when the needle is inserted in his arm.

“Move this way…and that way…perfect.” The neurologist is studying the screen, and Akaashi is studying the neurologist. He’s studying her facial expressions, the way she moves, anything that will give him an indication of the meaning behind the squiggles onscreen. Bokuto squeezes his shoulder even though the neurologist told him not to touch him, planting a butterfly kiss on the shell of his ear. Finally, after over half of an hour of uncomfortable tests, Akaashi is instructed to go to his doctor’s office.

“I’ll send the results over to your doctor now,” the neurologist says. Yet again, there’s that look of pity. The pit in Akaashi’s stomach expands until he feels bloated and barely able to walk to his doctor’s office. He uses Bokuto’s hand for balance, but he finds that his right arm can barely sustain his weight anymore.

“Your EMG test is abnormal,” his doctor says lightly, but just the word ‘abnormal’ is a shot to the face.

“What does that mean, doc?” Bokuto asks, seeing that all of Akaashi’s mental strength was zapped out from the tests.

“It means that the EMG showed electrical activity even when your muscles were in a resting position,” the doctor replies, setting down the paperwork on the desk and resting his chin on his clasped hands, his eyes flicking between the two men. “You have a degenerative muscle disease. This is consistent with your CK levels, which show muscle damage. I want to do a few more tests, but from what I can see, you might have amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.”

“What the fuck is that?” Bokuto shouts, practically jumping out of the chair and snapping his fingers in front of the doctor’s face. “Japanese, please!”

“Koutarou, stop,” Akaashi pleads, tugging on Bokuto’s sleeve, and even if he didn’t have degenerating muscles, he wouldn’t have been able to stop Bokuto in the state he’s in now.

“ALS,” the doctor clarifies, and both men freeze into place like statues. “Motor neuron disease, Lou Gehrig’s disease—there are many names. I’m not saying you have it for certain, but all the evidence points to it. Your accident back in Iceland certainly didn’t help. Now, I want to discuss treatment—”

Akaashi grabs the nearest trashcan and vomits into it, and no matter how much he throws up, the pit in his stomach stays, growing ever bigger.

…

I know how much you love me As much as I love you Each time that you think of me I know you will miss me, too.

…

It seems coincidental, but the second Akaashi receives the diagnosis from both his primary doctor and a second opinion from a neurologist, his symptoms worsen tenfold. He can’t drink coffee anymore, having burned himself too many times from spilling hot coffee all over himself. He’s going to physical therapy every day, taking a handful of pills every day, going to an ALS clinic every day. He works whenever he can. He tries to go to every one of Bokuto’s games. Climbing up the bleachers is rough, and he tries to arrive before the teams come out of the locker rooms so Bokuto doesn’t see him like this. He attempts to write posters—keyword: attempts. His handwriting comes out more like a scrawl, his fingers failing him and letting the pen slip through multiple times. They said this would happen back at the clinic. Loss of fine motor control. It’s one thing to hear it, it’s another thing to experience it.

If somebody didn’t know better, they’d think a child wrote the poster board. But instead of a child holding the poster and cheering on their father, it’s Akaashi, pointing at Bokuto when he jogs onto the court with as much of a fist as he can hold. Bokuto grins when he sees his husband, but his face visibly falls when his eyes drop to the poster. He misses the first shot, saved just in time by their outside hitter. He turns back to the game, but his mind is elsewhere. His mind is on his husband, who had just been given a death sentence, and he’s watching it all unfold.

Because that’s what it is: a death sentence. Stephen Hawking gave hope to everybody with ALS, as they say every day at the clinic and physical therapy, but he knows the statistics. He studied them until he fell asleep at the kitchen table: only about 20% of people live five or ten years after diagnosis, a far cry from Hawking’s 55 years. Hawking’s survival rate is as much of an enigma as the black holes he studied.

Akaashi knows all the statistics by heart. Memorization and Stephen Hawking won’t change the fact that he will die far too young.

He cries and laughs all the time. It’s not even because he’s sad or seeing something particularly funny; it just happens. In the rare moments where he’s particularly entrenched in his work or watching a titillating movie with Bokuto and can forget about his life, he’s interrupted by a bout of laughter or gobs of tears, and he has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, dragging his now-limp foot along with him.

Bokuto accused Akaashi of being selfish for not seeking out a diagnosis, but now the guilt has fallen onto him. He’s more selfish than Akaashi is, pitying himself for having a sick spouse. He feels guilt every single time he cries because he needs to be strong for Akaashi. He needs to be the one supporting his husband. He needs to try and get his mind off the stress. He needs put on a brave smile when he’s faced with Akaashi’s worsening symptoms. But he can’t help but suffer for Akaashi, absorb all the pain he’s feeling every time he can’t speak or struggles to lift a fork. Sure, it doesn’t hurt physically, but it tortures the mind. It must be torture to count down the days until your muscles lose all functionality and you’re left limp in a wheelchair, on oxygen until your diaphragm or heart give out because they, too, are muscles. Bokuto has a list of all of Akaashi’s symptoms, and his Internet history is full of experimental treatments, made up of both Western and Eastern medicine. They try acupuncture, chiropractic, essential oils, anything.

“Hey, I found this tea that might boost your CK levels—”

“Koutarou,” Akaashi breathes. His chest must be acting up again. “Enough. No more of that.”

When Akaashi doesn’t feel the symptoms as intensely, he tries to initiate sex with Bokuto every chance he gets. If I don’t do it now, when’s the next time I’ll have the strength to? he reasons to himself every time. Bokuto accepts, of course—not necessarily because he’s constantly horny (he used to be, not so much now), but because he has the same reasoning as Akaashi. He doesn’t mind being ravished at nearly every moment of the day if it means he’ll still have the hickeys to remind him of their intimacy together on the days Akaashi is too weak.

“I want to try being on top again,” Akaashi purrs in Bokuto ear one day, feeling particularly invigorated after a good physical therapy session. Perhaps all those pills he’s been taking are kicking in. Perhaps he’s getting better.

“Are you sure?” Bokuto asks, breathless. He’s never had to work this hard during sex before, and even though missing practice may have something to do with his lost endurance, he doubts it.

Akaashi nods, watching Bokuto flop onto his back before sitting up and tossing a leg over and beside Bokuto’s hip. Even though he had just been laying there and having Bokuto do all the work, he’s already breathless from that one move, his arms cramping up as he leans them on Bokuto’s chest. Flashbacks of their time in Iceland spot his vision. If only he had known back then that he had this disgusting disease…

He shakes that out of his head. He needs to focus on the now. And now, Bokuto was staring up at him with worry, his hands lifting up to Akaashi’s hips to provide him stability. He needs to wipe that worry off his face, and the only way to do that—

“Shit.” And he’s crying uncontrollably again. His arms give out, and he face-plants onto Bokuto’s chest, his left leg useless by Bokuto’s side while the other cramps up. “I can’t—”

He tries to push himself up, shifting his hips backward to try and continue, but the mood was gone. “Just give me a second—”

“Keiji.”

“Hold on, let me just—”

“Keiji.”

“One second! God, y-you act like I can’t do—ugh, did you go soft?”

“KEIJI.”

Akaashi’s head snaps up, his hand stopping its stroking to see Bokuto sitting upright, staring him down. “…What?”

“Stop.” Bokuto’s crying. “Just stop.”

“What, why? If you had just given me a second—”

“It’s not exactly sexy watching you struggle to hold yourself up because your muscles are degenerating.” Bokuto gasps at what he just said, his hand flying up to his mouth much too late. Akaashi just stares at him, his mouth in a small ‘o’. All Akaashi does is slowly sit up straight—as straight as he can—and stare directly into Bokuto’s eyes.

“If you hadn’t gotten into that fucking accident,” Akaashi grumbles, wrestling one of the sheets and wrapping it around himself as he uses all the spite in his body to get off Bokuto without falling over. Luckily, his muscles participate, and he’s off the bed, stumbling to the bathroom.

“Oh, you’re bringing that shit up again?” Bokuto exclaims, lifting his hand up in a show of exasperation. “Don’t tell me you’re blaming your stupid disease on me because I couldn’t wake you up.”

Akaashi whips around and stares daggers into his husband, his lips pulled into a scowl. “You heard Dr. Hirose. It certainly didn’t help.”

“I didn’t help? You know what isn’t helpful? Seeing my husband slowly die in front of me, knowing that the person I love more than anything in this goddamned unfair world is leaving me alone, and there’s nothing I can do about it except watch. To think that I contributed—to have you tell me I made this worse as if I’m the one who’s killing you—to know that no matter what fucking home remedy we try or expert we see, we can’t change anything!” He sniffs. “So it doesn’t matter how it fucking happened, it happened.”

SLAM!

The sound of the bathroom door echoes throughout the apartment, and Emiko scuttles out of the room in fear. Bokuto follows not long after because he knows he’s not welcome there, but also because he can’t stand the sound of Akaashi crying anymore. His sobs are quiet and muffled, no doubt trying to hide them, but he’s doing a terrible job. Bokuto doesn’t do that good of a job either.

He’s sleeping on the couch again. This time, Emiko sleeps with him, snoring away on the loveseat next to the couch.

He tries to sleep, but it’s as if something is blocking his ability to. He sits up with a prophetic realization.

This is so fucking stupid. We don’t have time for this.

They don’t have time for arguments. They don’t have time for pettiness. They don’t have time for anything, really, least of all this.

He tosses the thin blanket off his body, standing up and striding over to the door. His hand is almost on the knob before it turns and the door opens, revealing a disheveled Akaashi with a bright red nose and bloodshot eyes.

“I’m—”

“I’m—”

“Sorry.”

Akaashi moves first, diving into Bokuto’s arms and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Bokuto moves cautiously before giving in and wrapping his arms tightly around Akaashi’s frail form. He really does feel like porcelain compared to the built and fit man he was before. He loved Akaashi’s muscles. He’d have to learn to love his bones eventually as well.

…

I promise no tomorrow For today will always last And since each day’s the exact same way There is no longing for the past.

…

Akaashi’s parents come to stay with their dying son, and it’s morbidly silent. Usually, it’d be a joyous time, full of large meals, traveling, and laughing. But Akaashi’s mother can’t stop fussing over her son’s crutches, telling him he should get a walker, and Akaashi says he’d rather die earlier than he already is than use a walker that’s made for old people.

Finally, Akaashi’s father suggests they all take a walk in the park to brighten their spirits. Bokuto, who has taken the season off to stay with Akaashi—against his wishes, but a dead man’s wishes don’t mean much—agrees wholeheartedly. He puts on a wide smile, and even though it’s mostly false, it gets the rest of the family smiling and hopeful as well.

The cobblestones are a little rough to walk with crutches, but Akaashi manages. His forearms are still relatively strong compared to his legs, which degenerated far faster than his arms, even though the latter started to go first. The forearm holders in the crutches are uncomfortable, but Bokuto ordered padding, which should be coming in a few days.

Something to look forward to.

He doesn’t notice Bokuto giving the evil eye to anybody whose eyes linger on the strange man with crutches for too long, puffing up his chest intimidatingly until nobody has the courage to look in Akaashi’s direction.

“It’s a nice day,” Akaashi remarks as he stops in front of the pond. He smiles and giggles softly at the ducks waddling along the bank, hopping into the green water and fluffing up their feathers. A duck followed by an orderly line of yellow ducklings waddles past, stopping by to pick at the grass. “Hey, look, Mom, a mama duck.”

He lifts his arm to point, but the crutch goes along with his arm, leaving him destabilized. Luckily, his father is on his other side, and he holds him up without making too much of a big deal, keeping his face front.

“Oh, will you look at that,” Akaashi’s mother coos, getting out a bag of seeds from her purse along with her phone. “Koutarou, be a dear and take a picture of us with the mama duck, please.”

Akaashi’s smile fades. He knows his mother only used the mother duck as an excuse to take as many pictures as she can with her dying son before he’s six feet under or ashes. He’s yet to figure out which route to take. She had been taking pictures the entire trip. He has to remember to go through her phone and delete all the ugly pictures of himself before she prints them out to use at his funeral.

“For sure, Mama Akaashi,” Bokuto says, taking the offered phone and holding up the phone, waiting for Akaashi to turn around. “C’mon, Keiji, lemme see that pretty smile.”

Akaashi smiles, tries to think of the mama duck to get his smile to look halfway real, but when Bokuto shows them the photo, it looks horribly forced. He looks awful, anyway. A smile can’t save the way his body’s contorted with the crutches, how skinny he’s gotten, how sunken his face has grown. Eating has become more and more difficult. The movement of eating used to be the only problem, but now it’s swallowing. He’s mainly eating soups now, and he didn’t even have to tell Bokuto because Bokuto always knows before he does what he’s feeling. The perks of being together for nineteen years.

He turns back to the pond in search of the mama duck, but she had disappeared in the time they took the photo. Akaashi’s face falls, his hand clutching the plastic bag of seeds. A bit of pollen tickles his nose, and he sneezes into his elbow.

“Oh, Keiji!”

His head snaps to his mother, whose hand had flown up to her mouth to suppress her gasp. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

He follows her line of sight down to the crotch of his pants, which had darkened and become wet.

He had peed himself. Slightly, but enough to make him never want to step outside ever again.

The warmth on his legs hadn’t been the sun after all—it had been his bladder leaking from the force of the sneeze, with its host none the wiser.

He had read about the loss of bladder control as a symptom since the bladder is surrounded by muscles, and the bitch of the disease targets those. But he never expected that to happen to him. Bladder incontinence only happens to older victims. Urge incontinence, however, doesn’t have as small of an age range when it comes to ALS.

Only now, standing in wet underwear, does he realize how these diseases are sanitized. The movies he watched of HIV, ALS, cancer…none of them show how disgusting they actually are.

“Get me home,” Akaashi whispers, his eyes welling with hot tears of humiliation. Sweat prickles on his hairline and the back of his neck, a panic attack in the works. Every single pair of eyes is on him. Everybody’s staring, laughing, pointing. Everybody’s full of pity. Oh, poor thing, he can’t help it. He’s never been more embarrassed.

Humiliated, humiliated, humiliated…

“Come, Keiji,” his mother murmurs, leading him to the public bathroom. “Let’s go to the bathroom while your father and Koutarou pull up the car.”

Nobody questions the old woman as she enters the men’s bathroom, mostly because of the man in crutches who reeks of urine next to her. She takes him into the biggest stall and sits him on the toilet, beginning to undo his belt until he stops her weakly.

“Please,” he says, his breathing heavy. “Let me have a little dignity left.”

He has a few months left until he needs a 24/7 nurse to transfer him to the toilet and wipe his ass. He will postpone that until the last minute.

She waits outside while Akaashi cleans himself up. She listens for any sign of struggle and nearly jumps with surprise when the door opens, revealing her son, who smells a little better. The pee is already beginning to dry down.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” she says when they get home. Bokuto places a hand on her forearm, signaling for him to take over, and attempts to wrap an arm around Akaashi’s waist, only to be rejected when Akaashi dodges and nearly trips over his crutches.

Bokuto frowns but proposes, “Come on, let’s take a shower together.”

“Don’t get near me,” Akaashi says as he ambles over to the bathroom. “I’m disgusting.”

Bokuto laughs and shakes his head. “Akaashi, babe, I’ve had to clean up your vomit three days in a row before, both from food poisoning and booze. You literally brush your teeth while I’m shitting in the same bathroom. A little pee doesn’t hurt. Don’t act like a princess—”

“Please, leave me alone,” Akaashi begs, throwing his crutches on the floor of their bedroom and using the doorknob as support as he steps inside and closes the door. Bokuto knocks on the door and tries the doorknob, but it’s locked.

“Keiji,” he mumbles, hoping his quiet voice carries through the door. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“Keiji,” he repeats.

“I’m not letting you bathe me or wipe my ass. I’d rather slip and crack my head open in the shower before letting you do that.”

“Keiji,” he repeats for the third and last time. “You remember what Kuroo said? He was a terrible officiant, but he said some good things.”

The other side is silent.

“In sickness and in health. ‘Til death do us part. I’m here for the long game. I’m not leaving you.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Remember what I said in my vows?”

Again, silence.

He clears his throat. “Keiji Akaashi, I will love you until we’re two wrinkly old and ugly grandpas. I will love you, even if we both lose our hair and all our teeth. I will love you, even if we forget each other. Because I will remember you the next day, and I’ll fall in love with you all over again.”

Bokuto feels the light spring breeze on his face, almost as if he’s back at their wedding venue. He feels the ancient cobblestones underneath his feet, smells the cherry blossoms surrounding them, tastes the red velvet cake on his tongue when Akaashi smashed it in his face. Nothing has changed. Except they’re not going to be wrinkly old men.

“Really puts everything into perspective, huh? A little piss and shit won’t ever change my vows,” he ends, rapping the door yet again with the back of his knuckles. “Come on, Keiji. Open up and lemme see you naked. That always makes me feel better, at least.”

The lock tumbles and the door slowly creaks open to reveal Akaashi in his boxers. He clearly wasted no time taking off the soiled clothing.

“I needed to take a shower anyway,” Bokuto says with a shrug, stepping inside and closing the door. He strips down to his boxers before walking over and turning on the shower, but as he’s walking back, he feels just how healthy his muscles are. He used to never think about his muscles, except maybe when they were sore from the gym or how to make them bigger to impress Akaashi. Now he feels horrible every time he exists next to Akaashi, almost as if he was mocking his disease or bragging about how healthy he is.

“You know what will cheer you up?” Bokuto asks, ignoring the guilt blooming in his chest. He drops his hand to pinch Akaashi’s rear, causing the man to explode into a red blush.

“Koutarou! My parents are here!” Akaashi whispers harshly, swatting Bokuto’s hand away. “Besides…I won’t be able to…s-support myself.”

“I’ll do all that, baby,” Bokuto drawls flirtatiously, wrapping his arm around Akaashi’s lower back for support and using his other hand to push down both their boxers.

“Koutarou, stop,” Akaashi pleads, the corners of his eyes leaking tears. “I’m…I feel so ugly. I smell.”

“That’s what the shower is for.” Bokuto grins before leading his husband over to the shower, carefully helping him in, shielding Akaashi from the water with his back as he checks to see if the temperature’s good. Once he approves, he moves to let the water drizzle over Akaashi’s pale frame. Akaashi uses the support bar Bokuto installed a couple of days ago for balance as he steps forward into the water, closing his eyes as he feels the stickiness between his legs wash away. He lets out a sigh at Bokuto’s hands on his skin, the smell of fresh cucumber drifting from the lather on his shoulders.

“Turn around,” Bokuto commands, and Akaashi obeys, his eyes still closed. However, they fly open when he feels his body lifting up and the cold wall of the shower pressed against his back. His hand shoots out to grip the support bar, glaring at Bokuto.

“Could’ve warned me,” he grumbles, letting out a gasp when Bokuto ignores his complaint and dives straight into his neck to leave marks. “Not there! My parents will see them!”

“It’s turtleneck weather,” Bokuto replies easily.

Akaashi nearly succumbs to Bokuto’s seducing until he remembers something. “What if I shit on your dick?”

Bokuto tosses his head back and laughs, causing Akaashi to laugh along nervously.

“That’s what the shower is for,” he repeats without a second thought, going back to his seducing. His hand overlaps Akaashi’s on the support bar, squeezing it as both of them forget the trauma of today and melt into each other’s bodies. The sex is a form of amnesia because as Bokuto sets down a thoroughly fatigued Akaashi on the counter to get them both towels, Akaashi can’t for the life of him place why he was sad earlier that day.

He, thankfully, didn’t shit on Bokuto’s dick. And—Bokuto’s right—it’s chilly that night. It gives Akaashi the perfect excuse to cuddle up on the couch in a turtleneck, concealing the evidence of their spontaneous lust in the shower. The night is full of hot chocolate with marshmallows and caramel drizzle, just like Akaashi likes it, cheesy rom-coms he and his mother adore, and playing around with Emiko that he forgets that he’ll die in a few months or years. He talks and talks and talks until his vocal cords are sore the next day. Tonight, he isn’t Keiji Akaashi with ALS. He isn’t Keiji Akaashi who can barely form a sentence anymore. He isn’t Keiji Akaashi who will die before he reaches middle age. He’s just Keiji Akaashi.

…

The sense of normalcy continues for the rest of the year. His symptoms seem to have plateaued, and thankfully, he doesn’t have any more run-ins with urge incontinence. Bokuto attributes the slowing progression to his daily physical therapy sessions, and he finally feels comfortable enough to go to practices again and leave Akaashi to his work. Typing is difficult, and it takes him three times as long to edit a page of a manga, but it feels nice to be of use. To not be completely inept and earn his own keep. He always hated being doted on, but he’d have to get used to the idea soon enough.

Akaashi’s parents go home a month after their arrival once they see their son’s condition stabilizing, making him promise to call them every day and tell them updates. He struggles to muster up the courage to call their closest friends to break the news because he knows that the second he says the words ‘I have ALS,’ they’d be knocking down the door. And that’s exactly what happens.

“Why the actual hell didn’t you tell us the second you got the diagnosis?!” Kuroo shouts, causing Kenma to smack the back of his head and apologize for his partner.

“The man’s sick, Tetsurou. Don’t scream.”

Akaashi appreciates the gesture since Kuroo’s voice is much too loud for their little apartment, but he also doesn’t want to be labeled as ‘sick.’ He’s already had enough of being treated like porcelain from Bokuto; he doesn’t want his friends to do the same.

“Kuroo, calm down,” Bokuto warns, but he was in the same position Kuroo not too long ago. When Akaashi refused to go to the doctor and admit he had a problem. He can’t blame the frustration. “He’s doing fine. The crutches are working out well, and his motor skills are good enough to type and write. He’s improving.”

The initial shock of the diagnosis undoubtedly made every single symptom seem worse and did nothing to slow the progression. It racked Akaashi’s body like cancer, and he wishes he did have cancer because then he might have a shot of surviving and living a normal life. Cancer seems like a blessing compared to the curse his body harbors.

“Well,” Kenma starts with a sympathetic smile. He picks up a controller from the coffee table and sits down next to Akaashi, handing it to him and picking up a controller for himself. “Ready for me to kick your ass in Mario Kart?”

Akaashi laughs. Genuinely. Not caused by those random bursts of laughter or crying he gets. He was so worried about getting treated as if he’s breakable that the comment caught him off-guard—of course Kenma would beat him. Not only because he’s a savant at anything video game-related, but because Akaashi literally has almost zero motor skills left. And Kenma knows this very well. They ate together. Kenma watched Bokuto help wipe Akaashi’s mouth and cut up a bit of the tougher side of the steak. He winced every time Akaashi dropped his fork, the clatter causing the conversation to come to an abrupt stop. And yet, he still proposes to beat him in a game that is all about motor control. Because Keiji is still Keiji. And he deserves to play a game of Mario Kart.

Kenma, of course, wins. Bokuto promises to avenge Akaashi’s honor, but he, too, loses his honor when he’s defeated horribly by the video game developer. Kuroo is the only one who puts up a good fight before ultimately losing as well from all the practice the two do on a daily basis. Kuroo and Bokuto busy themselves playing another round while Kenma helps Akaashi stand up, and the two walk over to the small patio in the kitchen.

“Have you been smoking?” Kenma asks, motioning to the ashtray populated by a few cigarettes as he sits down. Akaashi sits down across from him, his hand absentmindedly stroking Emiko.

“No, that’s Bokuto’s,” he replies with a disappointed shake of the head. “I’m trying to get him to stop. But even if they…were mine, it wouldn’t matter. I’m going to die anyway.”

Kenma stiffens. He can sense the distaste dripping from Akaashi’s tone like acid. He knows Akaashi would never wish sickness on Bokuto, least of all lung cancer. But Kenma can tell how frustratingly ironic it is that Bokuto, whose diet consisted of the most sugary and fatty foods before Akaashi stepped in, who smokes nearly every day, is the perfectly healthy one. He’s healthy, not the one who meditates and does yoga and cooks homemade, healthy meals every day. Even Kenma has a frown of consternation, irritated at how unfair the world can be.

He needs to ask. He needs to be able to brace himself for when the time comes. “How long do you think you have?”

Something Akaashi always appreciated from Kenma is that he never beats around the bush.

“The way I’m going, Dr. Hirose says three years. I’ll hopefully make it to my 40th birthday,” he explains, staring down at his hands. “I’ll probably n-need…a wheelchair in a year. And a 24/7 nurse a few months after that.”

He’s planned out the whole timeline in his head. He finds that expecting changes in his body is a lot less shock-inducing than just waiting for them to happen.

“I won’t be able to talk soon. Sometimes I d…on’t want to talk anymore. My vo…voice is starting to sound so ugly.” He thought he didn’t have any more tears to shed, but he finds himself choking back tears, his eyes red-rimmed.

He was trying to speak as much as possible before his voice eventually gives out, but he was never talkative to begin with, so it all comes off as fake. As a desperate attempt to redeem himself, say all the things he never got to say his entire life. He compliments Bokuto every day. Tells him how amazing of a job he’s doing. Bokuto is, of course, pleased to receive the compliments, but they’re soured when he realizes why he’s receiving them in the first place.

He baby talks Emiko, even though he only ever spoke to her like an adult human. Baby talking allows him to showcase more of his vocal range, which is getting smaller and smaller each month. But after a while, he goes days without uttering more than ten sentences. What’s the point if he’s going to lose his voice anyway?

Kenma reaches forward and grips Akaashi’s hand in his before letting go, gazing into the sunset splashing rays across the horizon. “You should make a bucket list.”

Akaashi lets out a sigh. Finally, somebody who doesn’t bring up Stephen fucking Hawking. Somebody who’s realistic, who offers solutions instead of false hope. He’s going to die whether he likes it or not—he needs to stop pitying himself.

“A bucket list isn’t a half-bad idea,” Akaashi says, stroking his chin pensively. He needs to shave, but last time he tried, he nicked himself so many times that he looked like he had a beard of toilet paper. “I don’t even know where I’d go. It’d be so expensive, too.”

“Are you going to use that money when you’re dead?” Kenma asks. “You have a savings account, right?”

Akaashi nods.

“Problem solved.” Kenma smiles and gets out a small leather-bound notebook, handing it to his friend. “I brought this for you. For your bucket list.”

Akaashi’s looking down at the notebook, but when he looks back up, Kenma’s crying. He’s never seen Kenma cry before.

“Go live life, Akaashi. Live the life people who live eighty years will never have.”

…

First, it’s the Alps in Switzerland for New Year’s. Akaashi’s strapped to Bokuto’s chest as they ski down a hill made for children, but Akaashi can’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tries. He’s laughing, begging Bokuto to go again. Bokuto agrees, but he’s wary of anything and everything now with Akaashi’s declining health. His bones have started to rise underneath his skin, and the dark circles under his eyes are growing ever darker. The common flu could have him bedridden for a week.

Bokuto still has hope that Akaashi will live for years and years. His stabilizing condition only further cements that hope, and if he doesn’t pay too much close attention, he completely forgets about Akaashi’s condition. They say that people who get it early in life live longer…

Akaashi can’t drink with his medications—and even though his motto is now “I’ll die anyway,” he’d much rather complete his Switzerland trip before offing himself. So he’s left to take care of Bokuto, who gets much too drunk off eggnog, and Akaashi loves it. He loves being the one fussing over somebody else. He loves being the stronger one, the caretaker. And now, he finally has a reason to take care of Bokuto and drag him to the bed.

“Keiiijii!” Bokuto sings at the top of his lungs, reaching his arms up as the bedroom spins around him. “Keiji Akaashi, I loooove youuu!”

“I love you, too,” Akaashi murmurs with a chuckle, balancing his crutches against the wall and flopping onto the bed.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Well, that’s quite a change in mood. Akaashi laughs and quirks a brow at Bokuto, whose arms had since dropped to his chest and his eyes closed.

“I’m not leaving—”

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Bokuto slurs. His hands fly up to cover his eyes. “Why…why couldn’t it have been me? God, it’s all my fault. If we hadn’t gotten into…that crash. Of all people…why you? Live forever and forever for me. Please don’t leave me, Keiji, please…”

He continues blabbering until snores overtake his sobs, but Akaashi stays silent. Bokuto says it hurts him to see his husband’s decline, but it also hurts him to see Bokuto suffering so much. Perhaps if he died earlier rather than later, Bokuto wouldn’t be hurting as much. He’d have more time to get over him and fall in love again, preferably with somebody without a terminal disease.

He crosses off “go skiing” and “go to Switzerland” in his notebook and smiles as he goes to sleep.

…

Second, it’s Brazil. They coincidentally run into Hinata playing volleyball with his Brazilian friends on Copacabana Beach, but his expression doesn’t change when his eyes drop to Akaashi’s crutches. He just grins even wider and holds up the volleyball in his arms for Akaashi.

“Wanna play a set?”

He gets on Bokuto’s shoulders and misses nearly all the blocks and hits. It’s less about his condition and more so the fact that he was a setter and hadn’t played professionally in nearly fifteen years, but that doesn’t discourage him. He accepts Hinata’s ‘another game?’ proposition until Bokuto puts a stop to it, afraid he’s overworking himself.

Bokuto gets drunk, yet again, off too many caipirinhas, and Akaashi, yet again, has to take care of him. But he doesn’t complain once. As Bokuto sleeps, he gets out his leather-bound notebook as crosses both “meet up with Hinata one more time” and “go to Brazil” off his list. Slowly and surely, his list is being whittled down. It’s bittersweet: he feels accomplished whenever he crosses something off the list, but that just means he’s growing ever closer to his expiration date.

…

Third, it’s Italy. It’s been nearly a year since he was first diagnosed and add on two months for when he first started noticing symptoms. They’re celebrating Akaashi’s 37th birthday in a fancy seaside restaurant, the salty breeze making both their faces glow. They’re in their own little world, ignoring the other customers who either stare at them or ask to be moved to another table.

Bokuto now has to feed him nearly everything, spooning minestrone soup and twirling pasta onto a fork before putting it into his husband’s mouth. He fixes Akaashi’s bib, which has “what’s cookin,’ good lookin’” embellished across it, per Bokuto’s suggestion.

“This…is goo…d-d,” Akaashi says with a giggle, accidentally spitting out a bit of soup that dribbles down his chin.

“I know, right?” Bokuto’s heart aches at the sight, but he forces his acting skills to their maximum as he lifts a napkin up to clean Akaashi up. “We’re coming to Italy every…er, we should come back.”

He keeps catching himself saying presumptuous things that only make Akaashi draw back inside himself. Things like “I can’t wait to do this every day with you,” or “we need to come back here in three years” because, frankly, three years is a stretch.

“I wan…t the c-calamari,” Akaashi continues, seemingly not noticing Bokuto’s slip-up.

“Okay, we’ll have the calamari next. But save me some, okay? Your eye is bigger than your stomach,” Bokuto recites in a motherly voice, making Akaashi laugh again.

“Okay,” Akaashi replies, his eyes sparkling.

Bokuto hesitates to leave to go to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner, but Akaashi practically pushes him out the door with the little strength he still had. They’d have to switch to a wheelchair soon.

“I’ll be fine,” Akaashi promises in his now-unnaturally low voice. “I’ll be…on the couch.”

Bokuto bites the inside of his cheek before relenting, bidding goodbye and practically sprinting to the grocery store. When he comes back, his arms carrying a bag full of fruit and pasta, he shouts Akaashi’s name. No response.

“Akaashi?”

He hears a groan, and he can’t drop the groceries fast enough before running in the direction of the sound, coming across Akaashi on the floor in the bathroom, his pants halfway hiked up his legs.

“I h-had to p…ee,” Akaashi sobs into the terracotta tile, and Bokuto bunches him up in his arms, and he finds that his husband’s body feels much too similar to the bag of groceries. Dead weight. He weeps in Bokuto’s arms for a few more moments, and Bokuto’s about to get up before Akaashi lets out a choked wail.

“I don’t want to die!” he shrieks, almost intelligibly with how fast he gets it out in order to not slur his words together. He hits Bokuto’s forearms as hard as he can, which Bokuto barely notices with how light the taps are. He shakes his head, gobs of ugly fat tears and snot trailing down his face. He’s unraveling; all the fear and dread in his body bubbling to the surface like boiling water. The water runs down the sides of the pot, stoking the fire even more until everything eventually burns down into embers. That’s what’s left of Akaashi now. Embers.

“I d…on’t want to die. I’m s-sca…red. I don’t wan…t-t to die…I don’t…”

Akaashi thought dying was what he wanted. But the second he was alone in the dark bathroom, hopelessly and utterly alone and lying on the cold floor, he realizes that death is the furthest thing he wants. He’s scared. He’s been putting off his true emotions for too long. He’s always been terrified.

He dissolves back into quiet tears, hanging his head low over Bokuto’s forearm. For a while, all Bokuto can do is stare, biting his bottom lip until it bleeds in order to keep a stoic face for his husband. But he’s crumbling, too.

“Oh, Keiji,” Bokuto coaxes into Akaashi’s hair, stroking the locks and cradling him like a newborn baby. For every smile Akaashi gives, he weeps five times. The ratio used to be backwards. He wonders how much bigger the disparity in the ratio will grow.

Bokuto doesn’t leave him alone for longer than five minutes after that.

…

They can only do one more trip before Akaashi needs to be transferred to a wheelchair, according to Dr. Hirose.

“There are many comfortable and intelligent varieties,” he says, but nothing makes Akaashi want to die more than the thought of no longer being able to move on his own.

They end up in England, where they meet up with Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“Yikes, you look horrible, Akaashi,” Oikawa says with a grimace, motioning to Akaashi’s outfit and bib. “Just because Bokuto has to dress you now doesn’t mean he should get to pick out your outfits. Cargo shorts, really?”

Akaashi laughs and turns to Bokuto, shaking his head. “You h-hear…d the man. I…ge-t-t to choose.”

Bokuto rolls his eyes and glares daggers into Oikawa’s soul as he takes out a tissue to clean up the drool in the corner of Akaashi’s mouth. “I picked out this outfit with a lot of love. I think it shows off his model legs. Doesn’t it, Iwa?”

But Iwaizumi isn’t taking the news as easily as Oikawa. He’s still visibly processing how quickly his friend’s health went downhill, and his hands are fisting the sides of his jeans.

“Um, yeah,” Iwaizumi replies after nearly choking on the lump in his throat. “Maybe a vest would be tasteful.”

Akaashi taps Bokuto on the chest, which would have been a slap back in the old days. He raises his eyebrows in a ‘you hear that?’ motion, finding body language is a lot easier and less awkward for the other person in the conversation than attempting to speak. He ignores Iwaizumi’s reaction—he understands it. He’s gotten enough of those reactions to just laugh it off. But the lingering stares and pitiful glances still hurt.

When they get back to their hotel, Akaashi crosses off “go to England” and “see Oikawa and Iwa one last time” in his journal. Bokuto helps him brush his teeth, holding up a cup of water for him to rinse and spit into and wipes the toothpaste foam off his face.

“Look at those pearly whites,” Bokuto says, grinning in a way that bares all his teeth, and Akaashi copies as much as he can with his limited range of facial muscles. They dissolve into laughter, and Bokuto sits his husband on the foot of the bed and places a pajama set on the bed. “Alright, now because of stupid Oikawa, I have to get your approval on everything you wear because I have ‘horrible fashion taste’ or whatever. So, what do you think?”

Akaashi is silent, and Bokuto meets his gaze and sees his cheeks are dusted with pink.

“Koutarou…” Even with his slurred and irregular voice, his name still sounds like pure gold on his tongue. Akaashi blinks slowly, tipping his chin back and lifting his arms up haltingly until his hands find support by clinging to Bokuto’s face. “Ma…ke love to…to me.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen, and he fights the urge to step back in surprise and tear Akaashi’s hands off his face. He closes his eyes and covers Akaashi’s hands with his own, detaching them from his cheeks and bringing them back down to his lap.

“I can’t do that, Keiji,” Bokuto whispers.

“Why not?” Akaashi asks, his lips pulling into a frown. “Am I…too ugly?”

His face is so skinny. His eyes bulge out of their sockets, his eyelashes even longer than they were before. His lips are chapped, and there’s a growing sore in the corner of his mouth. Bokuto can see the blue-green veins running underneath his skin, feel the spots he missed when he helped him shave this morning.

But he couldn’t be more beautiful.

“Never,” Bokuto breathes, squatting down to be eye-level with his Greek god. “I’m just scared I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Akaashi continues. “I can take it.” When he still sees hesitation in Bokuto’s eyes, he practically begs, “One last time…pl…ease. Hawking still…fu-ucked while in…h-his wheel…wheelchair.”

Bokuto laughs, and Akaashi can see the last glint of reluctance turn into amusement.

“You’re not even in a wheelchair yet,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi nods eagerly. He sighs, the phrase ‘one last time’ echoing in his head. It really will be the last time they make love. Because even though Stephen Hawking was still a womanizer in his wheelchair, Bokuto doesn’t think he’ll have it in him.

He undresses Akaashi slowly, unbuttoning his Hawaiian shirt, letting Akaashi fumble with the last few buttons. He tries to take back as much of his autonomy whenever he can, and Bokuto gladly allows him.

Akaashi watches as Bokuto stands back up and pulls his shirt over his head, letting it drop onto the floor, and leans over to press kisses onto his abs. He runs his fingertips over the muscles, both in admiration and in jealousy. He remembers when he used to have ab muscles like these, how much Bokuto loved touching them. He looks down at his own torso, wincing at the sight of his ribs slicing his skin.

He smiles as Bokuto carries him up the bed, laying him down delicately like a baby. He whimpers at the warmth on the crook of his neck, his shoulders hiking up and his body racking with pleasure. He hasn’t felt so beautiful, so worthy of love, in so long, and it’s all thanks to Bokuto’s soft caresses.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto asks, and Akaashi has a feeling that question will be recurring throughout this session.

He gazes down at his husband, who has reached his happy trail, and nods. He gathers up all his energy to say, “I’ve never felt…better.”

It’s slow and tender, both because Bokuto is afraid he’ll break Akaashi and because it’s their last time together. He wants it to last forever. He wants to imprint every touch, every sound, every taste into his brain. He wants Akaashi tattooed on his body, wants any evidence that he was here, that he was loved, that he was strong until the very end.

He guides Akaashi’s arms to cling onto his back, holding up his bony legs as he locks lips with a particularly noisy Akaashi.

“The whole hotel can probably hear you,” he jokes, and Akaashi needs to catch his breath before responding.

“Good,” he finally replies, using the last of his strength to push Bokuto down into a deep kiss.

Akaashi’s tattooed on his body alright. After Akaashi falls sound asleep directly after finishing, Bokuto cleans him up and dresses him in the pajamas in case it gets chilly during the night. He pulls the covers up to his chin and kisses his forehead, brushing a few locks of sweaty hair out of his face. He smiles and heads to the bathroom, immediately spotting the hickeys Akaashi must have left on him while he was fumbling around with the pillows to make sure he was completely comfortable. He turns around to see scratch marks all over his upper back. He needs to stifle his laughter in fear of waking Akaashi, but it’s more than endearing to see how his husband marked him up. He needs to stop himself from going to the nearest tattoo artist and getting the scratches tattooed immediately.

He slips back into bed, and Akaashi responds by turning over and flopping his limbs over Bokuto’s torso. He smiles and wraps his arms around the love of his life and dreams of him with gray hair, wrinkles, and sunspots. All of which are considered to be the worst things to happen while aging, but what he wouldn’t give to see all three on Akaashi. That would mean he lived long enough to gain them.

…

Akaashi hates the wheelchair. It gets him places faster, yeah, and it’s very high-tech, but at what cost? He can barely move around the apartment without bumping into something and knocking it onto the floor. Bokuto rarely ever leaves the apartment anymore, so he’s always there to help, but Akaashi is still stubborn about doing everything himself. He asks Bokuto to buy him a grabber tool, but when his forearm strength eventually dies out, he has to swallow his pride and call Bokuto into the room to pick up the fallen bowl of cereal.

He celebrates his 38th birthday in their apartment, Emiko on his lap and in the process of trying to steal a slice of cake. She, unlike her owner, loves the wheelchair. It means a seat plus access to human food when he’s in a good mood.

“Mom, Mom, you’re…miss…ssing it,” Akaashi drawls, waving sloppily at the phone Bokuto’s holding up to FaceTime his parents. “I’m gon…na blow it-t out.”

“Go and blow it out, honey!” his mother encourages over the speaker. “Koutarou, did you use sparklers? You better not have, or so help me I’m flying over there—”

“You wound me, mother-in-law,” Bokuto exclaims dramatically, his hand flying up to his chest as if he has just been shot. “Hath you no trust in me?”

“Not after you did that on my birthday,” Akaashi’s mother retorts, giving him the evil eye. “Now flip the camera back to my baby boy!”

“He’s always had a pair of lungs on him, haven’t you, my boy?” his father shouts, and Akaashi laughs weakly.

Almost as if to disprove his father’s words, his lungs fail him in the middle of blowing out the candles. The flames pop right back up mockingly, stronger than ever. Akaashi attempts again but only manages to blow out a few.

“I bought the strong kind, I think,” Bokuto mumbles, trying desperately to make the situation better and to cover up the sound of Akaashi’s painful wheezing. He leans over to prepare to blow the rest out. “Let me just—”

“I want to do it!” It’s rare when Akaashi gets out a full sentence nowadays, which makes his faint shout even more potent. “I want…to do-o it.”

Bokuto steps back slowly, nodding encouragingly and lifting his hand up. “Okay. Go ahead, Keiji.”

Akaashi straightens himself as much as he can in his chair, leaning close to the cake and inhaling for a good few seconds before exhaling it all, leaving himself lightheaded, and with one candle still dancing tauntingly in his face. He slumps back in his chair, thoroughly exhausted, and feebly lifts a hand up to signal Bokuto to go ahead and blow the last one out. Bokuto obeys, and they both say quick goodbyes to his parents before cutting the cake silently.

“I’m…sorry,” Akaashi speaks up after a while, his mouth full of red velvet cake.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Bokuto instructs, wiping up the creamy mess around Akaashi’s mouth. He pauses, letting out a sigh. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re frustrated.”

Akaashi stays silent, slowly and methodically chewing his food ever since he had a choking scare a week ago. He swallows, but he doesn’t open his mouth for more. Bokuto raises a forkful of cake, but when he sees Akaashi’s mouth closed, he sets it down and slips his hands into his husband’s, his thumb running over the bony joints.

“Have you thought about joining a support group?” he asks. Akaashi scoffs, and he can see that he’s thinking all sorts of nasty things that he’d yell at Bokuto, but he doesn’t have the energy to bicker anymore. Fighting with each other is now a privilege since by the time Akaashi gets out a comeback, they’ve both had enough time to cool down and think about their actions.

“I know you don’t like the idea,” Bokuto says, speaking Akaashi’s thoughts to life. “I know you think it’s stupid, that it’s only for pussies.”

“I…would…n’t put it-t li…ke that.”

Bokuto chuckles and shrugs. “Something like that, then. But maybe if you vent to them, you’ll feel better. You won’t have to bottle everything up inside.”

Akaashi ponders it for a moment before opening his mouth again for more cake, and he thinks about it for the better part of the night while he watches Bokuto perform magic card tricks that he learned on YouTube in lieu of going to volleyball. In the morning, he gives Bokuto the go-ahead to find a group. He doesn’t really have any other reason to get out of the house. He can’t travel, and their small neighborhood barely has any wheelchair accessibility. When Bokuto finds one and signs him up for the following afternoon, he can’t deny that he’s excited to go.

“Hello, Mr. Akaashi, I’m Fumi Sugita,” the woman greets, and he lets out a sigh of relief that she doesn’t put her hands on her knees to talk to him like a child. But he supposes it’s because she’s literally the leader of an ALS group—she most likely knows how to talk to people in wheelchairs.

“Call him Keiji,” Bokuto says for him, and Akaashi confirms with a nod. He’d have to switch to communicating with the computer installed on his wheelchair, and even though the voice isn’t as robotic as the older models have it, it still isn’t his voice. Who is he kidding, his own voice isn’t even his own voice anymore. But he still hasn’t set it up yet.

“Alright, Keiji, let’s get started. Mr. Bokuto—”

“Koutarou.”

“Koutarou, please wait in the living room or come back by 3:15.”

Bokuto nods and places a kiss on the corner of Akaashi’s lips. Kisses are rare now since Bokuto’s so busy keeping house and taking care of Akaashi’s needs. Plus, there’s always something smeared across his lips or a painful sore from too much accumulating drool that it’s flat-out unpleasant to kiss him. But Bokuto got him pristine for the group session, and he didn’t even nick him while shaving. He’s getting better at it.

“Be nice,” Bokuto whispers, and Akaashi rolls his eyes and waves him off.

“Everybody, this is Keiji,” Fumi introduces to a room filled with people in varying stages of ALS. A chorus of slurred and robotic greetings follow her introduction, and Akaashi awkwardly waves as he maneuvers his chair with the joystick into the circle.

“We were just talking about fun things you can do in a wheelchair,” Fumi continues, motioning to a woman in a similar model wheelchair to him. “Do you want to show your trick off, Haruko?”

The woman nods eagerly and sticks her tongue out for concentration as she fiddles with her joystick, the chair moving backward, then forwards, then spins in the blink of an eye. Another woman shows off her trick: typing 80085 into her computer, which proceeds to read it out as “boobies.”

That earns a chuckle from Akaashi. Perhaps this isn’t too bad.

After the third session, Akaashi has grown quite close to Haruko, especially after she gladly showed him how to do her spinning wheelchair trick.

“My…hus…band thought-t it wa…s cool,” he says, and Haruko laughs. Akaashi had to tell Bokuto to stop making him do the trick over and over, but it was reluctant since he hadn’t seen that look of pride and excitement on the man’s face in a long while. Bokuto makes him promise to learn more tricks to show him, and he goes so far as to take videos to send to their friends and family. Kuroo replies with That’s dope, Akaashi! Parkour! and that makes both men crack up laughing.

Kuroko looks at her computer, waiting for the eye-tracking technology to start up, and flicks her eyes around the screen.

“I’m glad he liked it,” the robotic female voice replies. “How long do you have left?”

It’s a common question among the group. It’s never a sure answer since everybody still prays they have Hawking’s luck, but there’s usually an empty space when it gets near the time a person says they have left.

“A…year,” Akaashi says, and he suddenly has the urge to just use the computer to have a semi-normal conversation again. He’ll ask Bokuto to set it up tonight. “But…I wan…t to m-make it to-o my 40th…birthd-day.”

“That’s a short time,” Haruko says, her previous smile down turning into a frown. “I mean, I have shorter, but it’s more real hearing it out loud. Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

Akaashi nods, and that’s the end of the conversation until he can get the computer booted up and figures out how to use it.

After the fourth session, Akaashi approaches Haruko with a brand-new set of communication, and he proves it by picking up on their conversation left from yesterday. “I have decided what I’m going to do.” The voice is, of course, robotic, and Bokuto tried to call Kenma for help on how to fix it, but Kenma’s advice only made it sound creepier. But it’s worth it to carry a conversation and not hear how awful his voice sounds. He tried to use his voice until it gave out, but it became impossible. He had to swallow his pride, and it worked out. He can now hold a regular-ish conversation.

“And what’s that?” she asks, a look of intrigue on her face.

“I want to be cremated and buried under a cherry blossom tree I loved as a kid,” Akaashi replies, a sense of tranquility washing over him. The thought of dying always used to scare him before he was diagnosed, as it does to everybody. But now, he can’t think of anything more peaceful. “I used to read books underneath it, and I fell in love under it for the first time.”

His mind wanders to that one picnic in the humid spring weather. How reluctant their touches were because they were both in love but were too scared to admit it. How the sun lit up Bokuto’s face just in time for him to confess, highlighting the deep blush on his face as he picked up a cherry blossom from the blanket, tucking it behind Akaashi’s ear. How Bokuto smiled and laughed out of pure relief once Akaashi confirmed his feelings as well. How they cuddled, savoring each other’s touches before they had to leave for university. How the light filtered in between the branches of the cherry blossom tree until the horizon swallowed it. How he wishes he could go back to that memory one last time.

“I want to be cremated, too,” Haruko says, breaking Akaashi out of his thoughts. “But tossed in the ocean to be fish food.”

They both laugh, but Haruko interrupts the moment by asking, “Have you told your husband yet?”

Akaashi shakes his head, letting it droop forward in a show of embarrassment. “He still thinks I’m going to be the next Stephen Hawking. Sometimes I get mad at him because he gave us all false hope.”

“I wouldn’t want to live that long like this anyway,” Haruko retorts. “I’m tired. I’ve made my peace. My family has made their peace. I just want to close my eyes and open them in Heaven. Or Hell. I’m not jinxing anything.”

Akaashi stays silent, and the two cease their conversation when Fumi comes by to feed them a few pieces of fruit while both their caretakers come to pick them up. When she leaves to tend to the other people, Haruko turns back to Akaashi.

“’When tomorrow starts without me, and I’m not here to see; if the sun should rise and find your eyes; all filled with tears for me’,” she recites, and Akaashi cocks his head in confusion. “It’s my favorite poem now. I’ve always loved poetry, but this one resonates with me. You should look the rest up.” A man walks into their peripheral vision, a grand smile on his face when he spots Haruko.

“Come on, babe, I made soba! Let’s go before it gets cold,” he says, and Haruko grins and starts her wheelchair toward him. She spins around and lifts her eyebrows in a sign of goodbye, and Akaashi tips his chin in acknowledgment.

Bokuto isn’t too far behind Haruko’s boyfriend, nearly doubling over with how out-of-breath he is. “Sorry, honey, there was a ragin’ line at the grocery store. I had to elbow a middle-aged woman out of the way for a box of crackers.”

Akaashi laughs, and Bokuto laughs with him. He tells him all about his day at the grocery store, the never-ending tale lasting all the way back home. And while Akaashi usually loves listening to Bokuto’s intriguing tales, he finds his mind wandering to the poem Haruko quoted. When Bokuto is washing the dishes, he tries to look up the first lines of the poem as quickly as he can, and when he finds it, he reads it over and over until he can recite it by heart.

When Bokuto lifts him out of his wheelchair and into bed, draping the blanket over him, Akaashi clears his throat. Bokuto slips into bed and listens attentively, brushing the hair out of Akaashi’s eyes.

“I w-want…to be crem…cremated,” Akaashi says. He pushes on, even though he feels Bokuto stiffen next to him, the mattress sagging under the added weight. “Un…der the cher…ry bloss…som tree.”

Bokuto wants to argue. He wants to scream and yell and repeat over and over that Akaashi’s not dying, he’s not going to die anytime soon until it becomes true. But he knows better. He’s been to group sessions of his own—partners of those with ALS—and knows that denial is the first stage of the grieving process. But all this knowledge doesn’t make the air in the room any less heavy whenever the morbid subject is brought up.

He’s about to reply to Akaashi when he continues. “’When…tomo-rrow start…s…without me…’” He recites the lines Haruko told him today, slowly but surely, until he’s panting with exertion. Usually, he’d be crying whenever the subject of dying is brought up, but just like Haruko, he’s made his peace with the idea. He used to be terrified of the idea of death, but now, he’s expecting it like a visit from an old friend. It’s comforting to know that their suffering will be over soon. He wants Bokuto to be happy. He can see how stressed he is, how he’s been losing weight alongside the actually diseased person. He’s grown paler, and his smile carries the weight of an eighty-year-old man’s. He’s tired. They’re both tired.

Bokuto, however, doesn’t take it as well. He hates seeing how accepting Akaashi has grown over the idea of death. Fight a little harder, he wants to shout. Fight like you mean it. Fight like you want to live.

But Akaashi has no more fight in him left to give. He can no longer make fists with his hands. He can’t move his legs at all. He’s lost almost all his facial muscles. ALS is the grand champion of this fight, and Akaashi isn’t getting up from the floor.

“What’s the rest?” Bokuto asks, but by the time he’s finished wiping away his own tears, Akaashi is asleep.

…

Sleeping next to Akaashi is nearly impossible now. His wheezing is loud and sharp, the sound a constant sheer whistle in Bokuto’s ear. When they get him an oxygen machine, it isn’t much different. The tank makes clicking noises every time he inhales like a clock, ticking down the time until it goes silent, meaning Akaashi took his last breath.

Akaashi snores up a storm, which he supposes is payback for all the times he complained about Bokuto’s snoring. But Bokuto can’t risk moving to the couch and missing Akaashi’s last breath. Akaashi had chosen to have Do Not Attempt Resuscitation status, even though every single bone in Bokuto’s body screamed at him to stop the notary from signing off on the papers. He wanted to claim that Akaashi wasn’t mentally fit enough to have given permission, but he knew that Akaashi would never forgive him if he did that. The official paper framed above Akaashi’s nightstand mocks him every day, jeering at him, saying, “The love of your life will die, and you legally can’t do anything about it.”

Dr. Hirose tells Akaashi he should finish putting all his final touches on his will, but Akaashi hasn’t even started it. Yes, he’s accepted that he’s going to die—it’s another thing to put it on paper.

Akaashi spends his 39th birthday in a musty office, trying to think of everything he owns that will eventually go to Bokuto. Bokuto waits outside the office as he speaks with the drafter about his will. He covers his ears since he can still hear the muffled robotic voice from Akaashi’s wheelchair. If he hums a song loud enough and squeezes his eyes tight, he almost forgets where he is.

Each week, Akaashi recites one more stanza from the poem. Bokuto has to suppress the urge to just look it up and read until the end, wanting to hear it from Akaashi’s mouth. Each week, Akaashi gets sicker and sicker, his mouth nearly freezing up multiple times through his recitations. He chokes on a noodle during lunch one day, and the near-death experience knocks him out for a few weeks, having to skip multiple group sessions. When he shows up again, people nearly drop their food out of pure shock. Akaashi had left an empty space in the group, and nobody questions an empty space. They just move closer together, as if covering up that the space was ever there.

But Akaashi notices Haruko isn’t at the group session. When he asks Fumi, she just purses her lips and shakes her head: the universal sign of ‘they passed away.’ He wonders if she’s in Heaven or Hell. He wonders if he’ll meet her wherever she is and hear her real voice.

Akaashi isn’t too far away from dying either. He’s filled out the paperwork. He’s made funeral arrangements. He’s contacted the cremation place. He’s said all that he needs to all his friends and family. All there is to do now…is wait.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi says one day as Bokuto’s giving him a sponge bath. He remembers a time where he said he’d rather slip and die in the shower than let Bokuto bathe him, hire a nurse, fight tooth and nail to the very end. He never expected he’d be so tired by the end. He thought he’d go out with a bang. But it’s quicksand instead: slow, inescapable, and exhausting.

“Yes, Keiji?” Bokuto asks, his breath hitching in his throat. He tries not to cry around Akaashi anymore. When Akaashi’s absentmindedly watching a game show on TV, he feigns needing to go to the bathroom and instead locks himself inside and sobs into the sleeve of his shirt. He wishes he could one day wake up and be the one with ALS, for Akaashi is the last person on Earth deserving of such hell. He feels so helpless—none of his kisses or hugs or feeble attempts at jokes are enough to save Akaashi. He’s going to die, and there’s nothing Bokuto can do about it except watch his soulmate slip through his fingers like watching Akaashi lobbing a perfect set his way, and no matter what he does, Bokuto’s hand goes straight through the ball. The ball falls pitifully on their side of the net—match set point. The point is irreversible. There’s no way to get it back. There’s no way to win the game. They can reflect on the things they did wrong in hindsight all they want—“we should’ve done this,” “we could’ve done this better”—but there’s nothing they can do to change the game. They lost. Both of them.

“I want to go to Iceland again,” Akaashi says. “That’s my final wish.”

The words ‘final wish’ is a gut punch, and Bokuto has to take a few seconds to reel from nausea swirling in his stomach. He squeezes the sponge in his hands until all moisture dissipates from it, his nails digging into the foam. He tries not to splash the computer as he wets the sponge again.

“Dr. Hirose won’t let that happen,” Bokuto replies, returning to lightly wiping Akaashi’s skin.

“He can’t deny a dying man a final wish,” Akaashi defends. “You can’t deny me my final wish.”

Bam. Straight to the heart. Akaashi always knew exactly what would get Bokuto’s blood pressure through the roof. Because that’s exactly what Bokuto is trying to do. If they do go to Iceland, Akaashi will either die onboard the plane, in Iceland, or on the plane back. He’s not surviving the trip. He will die there. And Bokuto will be left cold and alone.

“Okay,” Bokuto relents, bowing his head so Akaashi can’t see the tears pricking his eyes. “I’ll book it tomorrow.”

…

The arrangements with the airline take longer than Bokuto ever thought since the subject matter is a dying man. He shouts one too many times into the receiver that Akaashi doesn’t have that many days left, and even after repeating and emphasizing that point, it’s as if his brain blocks that fact. It substitutes it instead for the idea that they’re simply going on another vacation, and the two of them are coming back together, not with one in a body bag.

He doesn’t let any of the flight attendants touch Akaashi or his wheelchair. He’s the one who folds up the wheelchair. He’s the one who lifts Akaashi into the first-class seat. He’s the one who touches him because any touch could be his last before his husband turns cold.

“Comfortable?” Bokuto asks, buckling both their seatbelts. “I’ve never been in first class before.”

Akaashi nods, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest. However, his eyes flutter open when Bokuto snaps his fingers in front of him, shaking his head.

“No, we’re watching Despicable Me 2. No sleeping on my watch.” Partly because he wants to watch their comfort movie together one last time, and partly because the mere sight of Akaashi’s eyes being closed gives him indescribable amounts of anxiety.

Akaashi rolls his eyes, which is one of the few things from his past he can still do now, and leans his head against Bokuto’s shoulders as they start the movie. Akaashi wheezes for a laugh since they couldn’t bring his oxygen tanks on board (it isn’t as if he’s going to need them for much longer, anyhow), and Bokuto senses the other passengers shifting uncomfortably in their seats. He couldn’t care less. He’s embarrassed for the other passengers, shifting away from a dying man. Pathetic.

He’s evidently fallen into the anger stage of the grieving process.

When they get to the hotel, the first thing Bokuto asks is when the northern lights will appear. The woman says possibly in two days. He bites his lip and looks down at Akaashi, who blinks slowly to reassure him that everything is alright. He’ll hang on for a little while longer.

They lay in bed those two days, Bokuto listening to Akaashi’s breaths and Akaashi savoring the warmth and fullness of Bokuto’s torso in his arms.

“Are you scared?” Bokuto asks, his voice cracking in the middle.

Akaashi holds up two fingers, meaning ‘no.’

“Will you miss me?”

He holds up one finger, meaning ‘yes.’

“Are you happy?”

One finger.

“Do you regret anything?”

One finger.

Bokuto reaches for his phone and opens the notes app for Akaashi to type. He does it so slowly, Bokuto nearly forgets what question he asked.

“Making you sad. Making you worry.”

“Oh, Keiji,” Bokuto whispers, setting down his phone and hugging Akaashi close, resting his chin on his oily hair. “You’ve only ever made me happy. And annoyed when you’d steal my secret stash of Oreos.”

A sharp breath comes from Akaashi, signaling a laugh.

“It’s the thought of you being gone that makes me sad. You never made me sad. I’m just worried about myself.” Bokuto chokes back a sob. “I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone.”

They fall into silence again, until Bokuto asks one last question.

“What’s the end to the poem?”

He looks down, and Akaashi’s sound asleep on his chest. He slowly and steadily picks up his phone and takes a picture. Akaashi looks…normal in the photo. He looks peaceful. He doesn’t look tired at all. He looks ready.

They arrive at the same lookout point where they had that transformative crash. It seems only natural to end where everything started. Bokuto sets out a blanket and sits down on it and next to Akaashi’s wheelchair, leaning his head against Akaashi’s forearm.

“Are you excited?”

One finger.

“Me, too.”

Before long, the light show starts. Akaashi gasps, but it isn’t one of those ‘searching for breath’ gasps. It’s one of amazement, his eyes widening as the colors dance across the sky, resuming the previous ballet dance they saw three years ago. His eyes, which had since gone dull many years ago, shine like he’s a child. They shine like mirrors, reflecting the aurora in their blue irises. He wants to tell Bokuto to look.

But Bokuto, once again, isn’t looking at the lights.

“Keiji,” he starts, the lights illuminating the wet film over his eyes. “What’s the end of the poem?”

Akaashi’s head lolls to the side to meet Bokuto’s gaze, the corner of his lip twitching into a smile.

Flashes of their life together, all culminating to this moment, streak across the sky in the form of the aurora. White for Fukuroudani’s volleyball uniform, where they first met and became the closest of friends. Green for the pistachio mochi Bokuto always made when Akaashi was sick. Purple for the color of the petunias at their wedding reception. Yellow for Emiko’s collar. Pink for the cherry blossom tree where they confessed their feelings for each other, where he realized his setter was the love of his life. Blue for Akaashi’s eyes. Black for the ink used to sign Akaashi’s will.

Instead of saying the end, the computer recites the poem from the beginning.

When tomorrow starts without me And I’m not here to see If the sun should rise and find your eyes All filled with tears for me.

Akaashi wheezes painfully.

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry The way you did today While thinking of the many things We did not get to say.

Akaashi’s eyes close. I know how much you love me As much as I love you Each time that you think of me I know you will miss me, too.

Akaashi’s hand on the joystick goes limp.

I promise no tomorrow For today will always last And since each day’s the exact same way There is no longing for the past.

Akaashi’s head drops.

So when tomorrow starts without me Do not think we’re apart For every time you think of me Remember I’m right here in your heart.

Akaashi dies before the computer finishes the poem.

He dies 301 days before his 40th birthday. He dies under the northern lights that he first fell in love with more than three years ago. And a part of Bokuto dies with him.

…

Akaashi’s father digs the hole underneath the tree and watches as his mother tips her son into the earth. The ashes land in a neat pile. Fitting. Everything Akaashi ever did was neat and tidy.

His mother breaks down before she can fill the hole. Emiko rushes to her side, their whimpers resonating together.

His father helps his wife out of the way, and Bokuto takes over. He takes one last look at what remains of Akaashi before scooping the earth into his hands and tipping it over, scooping and patting until the hole is filled. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the dirt underneath him darkens. He nearly collapses on top of the hole before Kuroo catches him by the shoulders. But even Kuroo can’t stop the tears. The two men sob into each other’s shoulders until they have no more tears left to cry.

“Petunias were his favorite,” his mother says. She hands Bokuto a bouquet to lay down. He complies, his body on autopilot.

He sits next to the pile of dirt, even when everybody else has left. They all bid him goodbye, kissing him on the cheek, giving him hugs. But he doesn’t register any of it. He just keeps his hand on top of the pile of dirt, hoping that Akaashi is sitting right next to him, his hand on top of his.

Akaashi gives him everything he owns, minus his money. His money is reserved for his parents—to provide them medical care for when they get old because they’re afforded that luxury—for his favorite nonprofits, and the biggest sum is split among various ALS foundations. Bokuto is left with his wheelchair, his crutches, his medications, his too-smart computer, his photos, and most bittersweetly of all, his memory. His body shape etched into their mattress. His scent—eucalyptus and black tea—that bursts out whenever he opens his closet. He’s everywhere and anywhere Bokuto goes. But he can’t bring himself to leave the apartment.

He buries Emiko next to Akaashi underneath the old cherry blossom tree. It’s bare-bones by now, having shed all its leaves and flowers in the autumn. They say Emiko’s death was from grief, but she was growing old as well. It seems as if everybody’s leaving him. What did he do to deserve this? To see all his loved ones turn into ash?

He enters the depressed state of his grieving process. He’s often too tired to eat the food his neighbors and friends bring him. He stopped smoking, which is what Akaashi would’ve wanted, but it’s less so about making Akaashi happy as it is he can’t even lift an arm up to grab the carton and put a cigarette up to his mouth. He just stares at the other side of the bed, his hand resting on the indent left by Akaashi’s body, wishing for his love to fill it once more.

When he finally gains the courage to get up and clean out Akaashi’s closet, a note falls out of one of his jackets when Bokuto tosses them into a pile on the bed. He picks it up and opens it. Inside is a horrible scrawl, barely decipherable. But Bokuto knows the poem all too well to need to decipher it.

When tomorrow starts without me…

The poem has haunted his every waking moment. He never really listened to Akaashi tell the poem. Mostly because it was too difficult to follow along with how little he could speak by the end, but also because he was too focused on savoring every little moment with him, ingraining it into his head. But as he sits down on the floor and stares at the poem, he now has the time—all the time in the world; wretched, wretched time��to read it in its entirety.

Each day is difficult. But with each day, he gets out of bed quicker and quicker. He eats bigger portions and more frequently. He brushes his teeth. He goes to the volleyball courts to say hello to his former teammates. When he spikes a ball, he instinctively turns his head next to him to seek out his setter. But with each day, he eventually stops looking. But Akaashi isn’t gone. He’s in his husband’s heart, just like the poem says. Akaashi’s body is no more, the ashes gone to feed the nature around him. But his spirit is more than alive. It thrives.

Every time he passes by the tree, he swears the tree grows a few more flowers. And every time he visits the aurora on his annual trip to Iceland, he swears there’s one more flash of light than usual in the sky.

[happylittledrabbles]

choke me!

Rating: 18+

DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18, NO MINORS!!!

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Eren Yeager

—

"It's been four years, Reiner."

Reiner never thought he'd see Eren again. And yet there he was, sitting in front of him. The two exchange some heated words until Eren has had enough and lunges at Reiner, pinning him against the wall by the throat.

Except, instead of a cry or a shout, Reiner's reaction is a lot more...unexpected.

"Did you just...moan?"

Choking kink fic, basically.

AO3

—

“It’s been four years, Reiner.”

The last person Reiner Braun expected to see tonight was Eren fucking Yeager. He knew he’d see Eren again eventually, he just figured it’d be when Eren was killing him or he was killing the damned menace.

He didn’t think the reunion would be so soon.

They had warned that if Eren were to attack Marley at any time, it’d be tonight. But he had had so much fun at the fair with the kids that he hadn’t fully registered that Eren Yeager still existed. All he could think about was how happy he was to finally be out of that hell that was called Paradis and away from seeing the devils he had grown to love die at the hands of his own people. And he thought he had finally escaped it, except now, the biggest threat among both of their worlds was sitting right in front of him.

“H-how…” No thoughts in his head. There was nothing. Eren’s expression was so calm, it was mocking in comparison to the panic running amok in the blond’s chest.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking in these four years, Reiner Braun.” His name sounded like pure acid on Eren’s tongue. Even if Eren kept his tone measured, Reiner’s name still came out like two spears that pierced him directly in the heart.

“A lot of thinking about how you betrayed us. About how you killed Marco. About how you were my role model. A big brother, really.”

Nausea swirled in his stomach like a hot pit of lava, and he couldn’t help but step back and bump into Falco, who was also petrified; the two of them stilled like perfect marble statues. Reiner had tried hard to forget he ever interacted with Eren, nevermind considered him a friend. There were many times when they were alone together that he almost professed that he was the Armored Titan because he felt so close to him. He felt pride whenever he watched Eren succeed, even though he should have been actively distancing himself from him in preparation for the big operation. When he was supposed to not feel anything at all after breaking through Wall Maria and effectively killing everybody Eren knew, he locked himself in a room and cried and screamed for hours until Bertholdt came in and had to pry his hands from the table and hug him until his other personality took over, and he felt nothing again.

Oh, how he wished his other personality took over now. Then he wouldn’t be able to feel the crippling fear resonating throughout his entire body. Then he wouldn’t be able to feel the pure dread cross his face as Eren grew his missing leg back and stood up, instinctively hugging his arms behind him to make sure Falco was protected.

“I won’t hurt him,” Eren said, his visible eye dropping to the young boy staring at him with stormy blue eyes, wide with terror. He snickered. “Maybe he’ll get caught in the fallout. But, I won’t hurt him now, if that’s what you’re wondering. In fact...” He gestured with his hand for Falco to leave, giving him a chilling smile that he meant to be reassuring. “Go ahead and leave, kiddo. This shouldn’t take long. I just need to talk to my old pal Reiner here.”

“Don’t talk to him,” Reiner whispered shakily, but eventually let Falco go and pushed him forward. “Go. Run as far away as you can. I’ll handle this.” If anything happened, he wanted Falco as far away from the site of disaster as possible.

He turned back to Eren and noticed he was several inches taller than when he last saw him. It made sense; he was a grown adult man now, but it was still a shock. He was so used to peering down at Eren and resting his arm on top of his head, ruffling his hair, tipping his chin back to make eye contact with him. But now, if he slouched even a bit, he’d be shorter.

“How cute. You used to be protective over me like that,” Eren said with a bitter laugh, beginning to step forward when Reiner stepped back and nearly tripped over a chair in response. “What, are you scared of me? Ha. I remember when—”

“Stop!” Reiner cried, slapping his hands over his ears and shaking his head emphatically. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t—”

“Don’t want to hear what, Reiner? How we used to be friends? How I looked up to you? How we shared so many good times together?” He picked up the chair he was sitting in and smashed it to the ground, the wood strewn across the ground like puzzle pieces. Reiner flinched at the echo of the crackling wood, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Eren blew the splinters off his palms and clapped them together to get rid of the rest of the debris as he walked leisurely around the room with his freshly grown leg, circling Reiner like a hawk to its prey.

“Did you feel anything when you killed Marco? Did you feel anything when I told you my mom was eaten? Knowing it was all your goddamn fault?!” Eren roared, his eye a ball of flaming green fire.

“I—”

“No, you didn’t feel anything. Because if you felt anything, you wouldn’t have tried so hard to get close to me.” Eren unraveled the bandages around his face to reveal his other eye, somehow making the fury blazing in his stare even more potent. He let the bandages drop to the ground, the fabric twisting and turning gently as they fell into a pile. Reiner blinked slowly, so slowly it would have seemed he fell asleep for a moment. He stepped forward, about to reach out to Eren when his breath hitched in his throat, his lungs refusing to expand as he was yet again face-to-face with the boy—man—he had ruined the life of and had grown close to, all at the same time.

He took a deep breath once his lungs began to function again, closing his eyes to block out Eren’s intense glare.

“I was always your friend, Eren,” he clarified, taking the chance to raise his arm up and reach out to the other man in hopes of understanding, of doing something to prevent whatever he was about to do. He flinched at the sound of applause outside, a horrifying reminder of the sheer number of people outside that Eren could so easily massacre in the span of a minute if he transformed. If only he could teleport and tell Willy to get everybody the hell out of there. But alas, he was confined to this basement with nobody other than the embodiment of the Attack Titan.

“Please believe me,” he pleaded, a hopeful yet terrified smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he watched Eren’s expression soften. “I’ve always liked you.”

But Eren’s expression wasn’t softening. It was merely morphing into one of mockery, disdain sharpening in his glare and piercing his chest like a lion’s claws ripping into its prey. He never felt weaker than at that moment.

“Don’t,” he huffed, taking a deep breath before shrieking, “ patronize me! ”

He descended upon Reiner with superhuman speed, gripping his outstretched wrist and pinning it against the wall along with the rest of his body, raising his forearm up and pressing it against Reiner’s neck. He expected Reiner to scream, grunt, curse, or exhale sharply, but the last thing he expected to hear was—

“ Ah-nn!”

It was almost comical how stiff the two men went at the sound, their eyes widening at the same time as they simply stared at each other. In awe, fright, surprise, or a mixture of all three. Reiner couldn’t gather what Eren was thinking from his unreadable expression, but all he knew was that his face was bright red, his heart was racing, and his body was being far too receptive to the heavy weight on his windpipe.

And all Eren knew was that he quickly found out that he liked this just as much as Reiner so obviously did as well.

“Did you just...moan?” Eren whispered, his eyebrow quirking in intrigue. He moved his forearm forward, pressing more of his body weight into Reiner, eliciting yet another sound of pleasure from the other’s thin lips.

“N-no— mmn!” The feeling of his windpipe and the sides of his neck being pressed in together was a feeling that left Reiner’s knees weak, his eyelids growing heavy as endorphins danced around his brain, leaving him in a state of swoon.

As Reiner struggled to stay standing, all Eren could do was stare in pure shock at the scene before him. Never had he seen Reiner come undone so quickly and so easily before, not even when he came across Bertholdt fucking him brilliantly in the outhouse during training. He looked, frankly, bored, as if he was putting on a scene for the other. Perhaps it really was a good thing the beanpole died. Now, Eren could play around with that expression of pure ecstasy without worrying that a seven-foot-tall bag of bones would try and slap him with those gangly limbs.

“Interesting…” Eren trailed off, his tongue wetting his lips as he dropped his forearm, allowing Reiner to gasp for breath and cough. The blond’s hand snaked up to his own throat, making sure it was okay, although its trail was hesitant, bewildered. Was this discovery also new to Reiner himself?

“So...this is new to you, too?” he dared to ask, his hand twitching to replace Reiner’s and uncover that never-before-seen expression on the other’s face once again.

Reiner scoffed and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the resistance his throat gave. “Shut up.”

“I mean, no wonder you always looked so bored when Bertholdt was fucking you,” Eren continued with a shrug as he looked around the room. He smirked, his eyes drifting to Reiner’s, mischief glinting conspicuously in both of them. “You needed something else to get you off.”

Reiner’s confusion was palpable, his agape mouth transforming into a sneer once he realized what Eren was talking about. His face had already been red, but now it was a deep scarlet as his mind ran back and quickly figured out that the shadow outside the window of the outhouse had, indeed, been Eren Yeager. How long had the little bastard been there? He was...busy during that time, so he lost track of the shadow outside once they changed positions. Had Eren...been watching them? Not merely passing by and getting surprised by the sight?

“I said shut the fuck up,” Reiner growled, pushing himself off the wall to leave. However, Eren’s hand clamped down on his throat, pushing him back in the wall and causing his head to thump off the concrete. “Shit!” He tried to gasp, but the force pressing against the sides of his throat was even stronger than before, with more purpose, causing his gasp to morph into a squeal.

“Did I say you could leave?” Eren murmured, leaning forward so that his lips tickled the shell of the other’s ear. He licked a trail on the outside of Reiner’s ear, causing the other to release another strained gasp and squirm under the weight of his hand. Perhaps this awakened something in him, too, because his body was reacting just like Reiner’s was. He couldn’t stop his hand no matter how much he tried; the expression and small whimpers the blond was making underneath him were like pure opium.

“Eren! Ere— oh,” Reiner cried, his clawing at Eren’s hand halting once the brunet’s lips fell to the junction of his jaw and neck, sucking feverishly at the soft skin that wasn’t taken up by his tense fingers. Once he came to after the sensation roiled him up, he exclaimed, “W-what are you doing? Eren, stop—”

“Stop?” Eren chuckled, his other hand dropping to Reiner’s crotch, which was painfully swollen and twitched as his knuckles brushed against it, drawing out a delicious moan from the throat underneath his hold. “And let you leave like this? How rude would that be of me, especially since I was the cause of this?” He paused, a pensive look replacing his devious one. “I mean, if you really want me to, I’ll stop.”

He stepped back, releasing Reiner’s throat and holding his hands up in the air. He tried to suppress the devilish grin that threatened to come out, keeping his face neutral. “I stopped.”

But it was nearly impossible to suppress the grin any longer as he watched Reiner’s expression morph from pure pleasure to confusion to, finally, loss. His trembling hands came up to reconvey the place where Eren’s hand was, an angry red bruise beginning to bloom at the sides of his neck as if trying to see if the hand was truly gone. His eyes dropped to his own crotch, wincing at the sight of it as well as, probably, the pain his constrictive pants were giving him.

“I…” Reiner was both at a loss for words. His eyes searched the room until they fell upon Eren again, a sort of pleading in them. He wanted Eren to read his mind so that he didn’t have to embarrass himself by begging do it again, please come here and choke me and fuck me— but all Eren did was stand there, which was somehow more infuriating than listening to him whisper humiliating things into his ear.

“...come here,” he mumbled, rubbing his forearm nervously. He didn’t dare make eye contact, staring down at the floor as if it’d kill him to look up and meet Eren’s undoubtedly jeering eyes.

“What? I couldn’t hear you?” Eren cupped his hand behind his ear and leaned forward, causing Reiner to suck on his teeth and ball his hands into fists at his sides.

“You’ve always been a little shit, haven’t you?” Reiner grumbled, his arm shooting out and gripping Eren’s wrist, bringing it up and guiding the other’s hand around his throat. “I said—”

“Ah-ah,” Eren interrupted, shaking his head. His hand stayed limp around Reiner’s throat, his other hand sitting comfortably in the pocket of his trousers. “You have to prove to me how much you want it.” He tipped his chin up, gazing at Reiner underneath heavy eyelids, shifting his weight onto one foot.

“Beg.”

“Wha-wha—” Reiner spluttered, his eyes wide and his grip on Eren’s wrist getting tighter and tighter. “What?” As much as he was surprised, his body very much was not. It took in the simple word like an aphrodisiac, his shoulders and cheeks getting even redder and his crotch getting even more painful.

“You heard what I said,” Eren taunted, licking his lips as he closed the gap between them, halting right before his lips. “Beg. Or else I’ll leave you like a bitch in heat.”

When had Eren grown so domineering? He had always had a certain gusto about him, some confidence that propelled him forward, even if it made him look like a loser. He didn’t give up during the ODM training even when it was clearly rigged against him. He made the broken thing work. It was pure rage that was fueling him, but...when had lust taken over? When had the fury in his eyes melted into hot ardor? Had he...always felt that way about Reiner?

“Eren…” he trailed off, trying to muster up the courage to actually beg. God, this was humiliating. How the hell did they even get here? What were they doing? But he couldn’t let Eren leave and kill all those people. And he certainly couldn’t fight in this condition. As much as it was dehumanizing, Eren was right. It felt as if he was in heat, his entire body boiling and in need of an electric touch.

“Choke me, please.”

“Yawn. Do better.”

“C-choke me, hard.” Reiner’s eyes rolled partly up as he felt the pressure of Eren’s hand growing around his neck, unable to restrain his outburst: “Harder! Please, choke me—touch me...ugh…”

The pressure had returned, and the physical incapability of speaking due to his constricted windpipe replaced his emotional incapability due to his dignity. But what dignity did he have now? All he could do now was completely let go.

“Fuck, yes! E-Eren, I—” He gasped when the pressure finally returned to its previous state, giving his body its much-needed dose of aggression. “I want you to f...f-fuck me.”

Eren chuckled, deep and dark, and before the other knew it, they were smashing lips, a violent exchange of saliva and pleasure.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured against Reiner’s lips, both of them panting after the impromptu makeout session. He smirked as he slipped his other hand out of his pocket and trailed it down Reiner’s chest, stopping at his pecs and giving them a generous squeeze, earning him a grunt from the blond. “To be honest, I thought you’d come just from me choking you. Kind of pathetic, don’t you think?”

Reiner’s eyes were tightly squeezed shut, biting his bottom lip to prevent any more embarrassing sounds from slipping out.

“S-shut up.” But that couldn’t have been less convincing. The affinity for choking was new, but the chest fondling was old news. The training camp had been torture for him since there were way too many instances of people accidentally brushing against his pecs or nipples, almost causing him to rupture a blood vessel from trying to suppress a squeak.

But Eren was taking full advantage of having it right in front of him, diving his face into them and massaging them with his free hand with a voracious speed as if they’d disappear.

“These have grown a lot, haven’t they?” Eren jeered, pulling back his choking hand to strip Reiner of the top half of his clothing to be even closer to those soft pecs. The second the fabric had been removed, his choking hand returned and he dove right back in, leaving a trail of hickeys on the cleavage made by his pecs.

“Eren! E—a-ah—”

“I’d say they’re almost D cups, I think,” he continued, his voice muffled from the masses of muscle. He pulled back slightly, eyeing them for a moment before opening his mouth and clamping his teeth around the perfectly pink and perky nipple, leaving deep marks in the velvety areola.

“AH! What the—ow!” Reiner’s eyelids shot open, looking to see what the hell Eren was doing down there. All he saw was him grinning proudly, his hand coming up to stroke the bitemarks and not-so-accidentally passing over the nipple, giving it a gentle squeeze and flick. “Eren, the fuck?”

“Get down on your knees,” Eren commanded, and Reiner found himself on autopilot at the conviction in the other’s voice, his knees wobbling before dropping to the floor in compliance. He kept his eyes on Eren’s knees, his previous bashfulness returning; how could he make eye contact like this? He knew what was going to happen next: the horrendous blush on his face and chest made it quite clear.

Meanwhile, Eren was taking his time enjoying the view under him. He bit his bottom lip, letting out another chuckle as he shook his head. “You know, Reiner, I always looked up to you. I never thought I’d see you like this. So...submissive.” He tipped Reiner’s chin up gently with his finger to get the other to meet his eyes. “You never let me get the upper hand in training. You were the one making me drop to my knees.” He frowned. “But now you’re looking up to me. Funny how that works, huh? It only took the murder of an entire village of people and my mom to get you like this.”

Eren teasing him about his choking kink was humiliating. Being on his knees to somebody he saw as a little brother, about to commit even more sinful acts, was humiliating. But being constantly reminded of all the atrocities he committed against his friends was pure torture. It was putting quite a damper on his mood, but he couldn’t exactly tell Eren to stop talking about it because he’d only jeer him more. The only way he could think to get Eren to shut up was…

He dove forward, opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around the bulge in Eren’s trousers, his hand coming up to further massage it. His trousers smelled of grass and disinfectant, but the distraction was clearly working, seeing as Eren’s agape mouth stopped forming words and only allowed a shuddering breath to pass through.

“You’re eager, eh? Alright, I’ll give you what you want.” With one swift motion, he unbuckled his belt and was about to let it drop to the floor, but his eyes flashed with intrigue as they switched between Reiner’s neck and the leather. “On second thought…”

He wrapped it around Reiner’s neck, and before the blond could say anything, he zipped the belt until it was pressed tightly against the pallid skin underneath, already causing it to pinken from irritation. He poked a new hole into the leather, sliding it through and returning his hands to unbutton his trousers.

“You look like a dog,” Eren scoffed. Once his trousers were unbuttoned, he pushed them down only slightly; he didn’t expect this to take too long, seeing as how undone Reiner already was. He gripped the other’s jaw tightly in his hand, maneuvering the chiseled face to look up at him. “Bark for me.”

Reiner, who was still processing the belt around his neck, spluttered about and furiously shook his head, trying to get it out of Eren’s grip. “Hell no! I’m not a damn dog.”

“Hm. Shame.” Eren’s grip on him lessened, only for it to return full force when he transferred it from his muscled jaw to his short hair, the locks sticking straight up in between his fingers. “Then put your mouth to good use.”

Reiner was going to object, but the warmth radiating from in front of him made him drop his eyes to be faced with what looked like an iron rod underneath the linen fabric of Eren’s drawers. He gulped at the sight; if this didn’t fit in his mouth, how the hell was this going to go inside of him? He would have cursed himself for thinking that far ahead, but the act was inevitable—Eren was going to fuck his brains out.

He took a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing a hesitant kiss to the tip wetting the fabric with precum practically sticking up out of the top. He had caught flashes of Eren naked whenever they came across a hot spring or all the boys bathed together, and what was in front of him hardly compared to what he had seen back then. Eren truly had grown in more ways than one.

He shakily lifted a hand and moved the fabric out of the way, allowing Eren’s cock to spring up proudly, almost as if he was mocking Reiner and his need for it. He licked his lips and leaned forward, licking from the base to the tip with a flat tongue, practically drooling over it with the amount of need swirling in his chest.

“F...uck,” Eren groaned, tipping his chin up as his grip on Reiner’s hair tightened. “Got a lot of practice with Bertholdt, I see.”

Just at the mention of Bertholdt, Reiner sped up his stroking and licking, yet again hoping this method would get Eren to shut up and to produce more of those sounds of pleasure. Sure, he seemed to be dominant in this dynamic, but Reiner was the one who held the most power as of now. He could leave Eren blue-balled and walk away, or Eren could do the same to him. They were caught in a lustful dance of power, and neither wanted to walk away, as sinful as it was.

“Wait, you’re going too— shit!” The grip on his hair was growing painful, and it only grew tighter when he opened his mouth wide and engulfed Eren’s cock up to the middle, using his tongue all the while to lap up his drool and his hand to stroke the places his mouth couldn’t reach. He very much successfully got Eren to shut the fuck up, and he smiled to himself as he graciously lent his throat as a substitute for yelling at him to be quiet.

“What a fucking slut,” Eren chuckled, brushing the few long locks of hair that flopped into Reiner’s eyes, tipping his chin up slightly to meet his eyes. “Look at me while you do it.”

Pervert, Reiner thought, but he wasn’t all that different himself, for he looked up at lightning speed and locked eyes with the commandeering man above him, feeling precum and saliva running down his beard. That’ll be a bitch to clean.

“Good.” Just that word was enough to send chills down his spine, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure as he reached his hand that wasn’t busy stroking down between his legs, trying to soothe the throbbing pain spreading in his groin. But he was interrupted by Eren groaning and his grip on his hair turning into stone.

“Since you wanna go so fast,” he murmured, cocking his head curiously before pulling Reiner all the way down his cock, the other’s nose nestling in the happy trail leading down his stomach.

GURK!

“It’s satisfying to see you choking on me,” he laughed, tossing his head back to let out a moan as he could feel Reiner’s throat tightening and moving around him, the softness of the back of his mouth leaving him breathless. “I’ll fuck you in a second, but in the meantime…”

He gave an experimental thrust, slow and shallow, leading to more gurgling and choking noises from the man below him, drool beginning to build up in the corners of his mouth and dribble down his chin. Reiner’s hands flung out to grip Eren’s thighs, trying to process the fact that he was being facefucked.

“Mmgh—nngf!” He tried desperately to slurp up as much drool as he could, but it was beginning to pour now, down his chin and onto the floor, gathering into a pool near his knees. His eyes were watering, the tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes.

“F-fuck yeah,” Eren growled. Now equipped with more confidence, he pulled out of Reiner’s mouth partly—giving the other a short sense of relief—before snapping his hips forward, lodging himself deep down in his throat. A horrid gagging sound released itself from his throat, squeezing between his cheeks and Eren’s cock. His stomach dry-heaved, but he had hardly any time to recuperate before Eren launched back into thrusting himself over and over into his mouth.

“Hah— fuck, this is good,” he groaned, a smirk ever-present on his lips. He could feel Reiner’s throat straining against the belt as it expanded, which only provided even more tightness. However, his smirk disappeared once he felt a familiar warmth building up in his stomach, signaling he was almost at his end. He lowered his head from the thrown-back position it had been in before, and he almost finished on the spot when he saw the lewdness on Reiner’s face. The blond was beet red, his cheeks looking as if he had been slapped over and over—which he had somewhat been, with Eren’s stomach—his mouth berry red and stretched to accommodate the cock he was sucking so deliciously, gobs of spit running down his chin, and tears trailing down those highlighter-red cheeks. God, he looked gorgeous.

“Well,” he mumbled, pulling out of Reiner’s mouth and allowing him a moment to breathe and cough out all the phlegm and irritation gathered up in his throat. He only added more spit to the pool in front of him, falling onto hands and knees as he spat out the last of the spit and precum that accumulated in his throat.

Eren let out an exasperated breath, rolling his eyes as he buried his hand in Reiner’s hair again and roughly tugged him up to his feet, the other whining and complaining the entire way. He faced the blond for only a second before turning him around to face the wall and shoved him against it, his chest pressed against the cold stone. While his hand was busy holding Reiner’s wrists together behind his back, the other trailed down to grip his ass, giving it a firm squeeze before slipping it underneath the waistband of his trousers.

“Your mouth pussy was fantastic, but I want to use the real one,” he explained, his lips leaving the tip of Reiner’s ears bright red as he stroked the soft skin underneath his hand and cupped the mounds of well-built muscle. “What a bubble butt. Heh, you really worked hard on this. If your muscles are this tight, I can’t imagine your asshole.”

“Mm!” Reiner whimpered, his shoulders hiking up to his ears to protect them from the assault of Eren’s hot breath and humiliating words. He tried to break free from Eren’s grip on his wrists, to no avail. Both his wrists and his neck were restricted, and although it was uncomfortable, it only made the throbbing ache in his pants even more painful. How he developed this kink, he had no idea—all he knew was that he wanted relief, now. “Eren...Eren, please. Fuck me. Ple—guh— ”

“Shut up for a second,” Eren commanded as he forced two fingers into Reiner’s already heavily lubricated mouth, sopping up the spit dripping from the roof of his mouth and tongue. He shuddered at the feeling of Reiner’s soft tongue wrapping around his fingers, amazed that such a thing was on his cock only a few moments ago and even more amazed that he didn’t come on the spot. He used his thumb to push Reiner’s pants down to his ankles, marveling at the view of his back muscles rippling under his pale skin, fighting against the restraining grip on his wrists, followed by the elegant slope into the two golden apples for an ass.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, lowering his head and opening his mouth to deliver a deep bite to the virgin skin at the nape of Reiner’s neck, sinking his canines into the flesh in an almost animalistic motion, causing Reiner to jolt from underneath him.

“Eren, stop with the biting!” Reiner pleaded, but he couldn’t help the whispery moan that passed through his lips at the thought of being marked.

“Sorry not sorry,” Eren replied with a snicker, resorting to leaving hickeys to further mark his presence on Reiner’s body, proudly screaming I was here and fucked him beautifully. “You clean back here?”

The mere insinuation that he wasn’t made Reiner want to turn around and snap Eren’s neck right then and there, especially considering he very much doubted Eren was. He grunted, the awkwardness of that question causing nausea to boil in his stomach.

“I...bathed for the festival earlier today,” he explained haltingly, his blush radioactive at this point. But when Eren didn’t move right away, he sighed and opened his legs slightly, wrestling one wrist free and trailing it down to his asscheek, spreading it open as a very clear invitation. “Hurry up.”

Eren’s eyes widened, and a heated smile filled out his face at the sight of Reiner coming completely undone and practically begging to get fucked. Before the spit on his fingers could dry, he spread Reiner’s cheeks with his other fingers and plunged his index and middle fingers inside, earning a squeal from the blond.

“S-slow! Slower!”

A confused look crossed Eren’s face, but he shrugged and continued to scissor Reiner open, curling his fingers against the soft walls to try and find that one spot that drove men crazy. He found out about that quickly while at the hospital, a male nurse being particularly caring and spreading his legs open to cure a patient.

“I thought you’d be looser than this,” he replied, genuinely baffled at how tightly Reiner’s grip around his fingers was. How the hell was he supposed to fit inside? They said the bottom being tight is more pleasurable, but he imagined it’d downright hurt his dick.

“You jackass, I haven’t done it in a-a wh... while,” Reiner stuttered, a grunt sneaking in between his words as he tried to accustom himself to the feeling. He was arching his back as much as possible, but he quickly discovered it could arch much more when a sudden wave of pleasure crashed over him and a lustful cry made his mouth drop.

“Found it,” Eren sang, a proud grin spreading across his lips.

“Hng-! ” was all that came out of Reiner, followed by heavy breathing and small whimpers as he tried to regulate his breathing, but it was difficult when Eren ruthlessly continued abusing that spot now that he knew its location. “Eren...it feels...a-ah…”

“My fingers are magic, I know,” he replied with a shit-eating grin, and although Reiner’s back was to him, he could feel the bratty expression he was making.

“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” Reiner groaned, about to insult the other once more before another wave of pure pleasure corrupted him and returned him to his panting, sweating state.

After a few more moments of scissoring and dirty talk, Eren pulled out his fingers, much to Reiner’s dismay, and gripped himself as he stepped closer and lined himself up with Reiner’s entrance.

“Alright, get ready,” he joked, bracing the wall with one hand and snaking the other around Reiner’s neck once more, pulling his head back so that he could see the look of shock in his eyes as he slowly pushed the tip inside.

“Ngh!” Tears were gathering at the corners of Reiner’s eyes again as he attempted, again and again, to relax and breathe the pain away, but it didn’t help that Eren was so well-endowed. “Just...slow—go slowly.”

Eren pulled out at a snail’s pace, looking down to see where they connected before pushing back in, earning a low groan from both the men. “I don’t even have to try. You’re so tight, I can’t fucking move. Feels like my dick is going to be pulled off.”

Reiner rolled his eyes, about to say something until a sigh interrupted him as Eren continued to pull out and push inside, staying at the same pace. “I can’t control that. I hope your dick gets pulled off. Maybe then you wouldn’t be a murderous basta— hngh!”

A slap echoed in the small room from Eren giving one solid thrust, the roughness of it seen from the reddening of Reiner’s ass. He chuckled at the other’s reaction and tightened his grip on his neck, the belt making it a lot easier to yank him back and force him to meet his eyes. “Watch your words, Braun. Or else,” he gave another rapid thrust, causing the fat on Reiner’s ass to ripple from the force, “that will happen.”

“O-okay, okay, I’m d-done!” Reiner cried, his arm reaching back to grip Eren’s shirt for leverage while the other clung to the wall for dear life. “I promise, I’ll s...nngh...stop.”

“That’s what I thought,” Eren taunted, licking a trail up Reiner’s cheek, picking up the salty tears spilling from his eyes along the way. “You think I can move now without losing my dick?”

Reiner didn’t answer. All he did was lower his head as much as he could with Eren’s grip on it, preparing himself to lose the small ounce of dignity he still had left. He arched his back and pushed back onto Eren’s cock, gasping at the feeling of it spreading him apart and leaving him so perfectly full. He swirled his hips, trying to find that spot Eren so easily discovered, all the while pulling out and swirling his hips as he pushed back. It was quite the ab workout, causing sweat to build up on his hairline and building a thin sheen on his skin.

This was heaven on Earth. The view was spectacular, but what was more spectacular was watching Reiner act like a complete slut, as if Eren’s cock was the only thing that could bring him relief and pleasure. He was really willing to give up all his dignity just to use it to pleasure himself, and Eren couldn’t have been more willing of a participant.

“I guess that’s the answer to my question,” he breathed, a moan causing him to throw his head back. He dropped both his hands to Reiner’s hips, riding alongside their gyrating motions. “Yeah...that’s nice. Keep moving like that.”

“Eren,” Reiner warned, looking over his shoulder now that his neck was freed. “Eren, move, goddamn it.”

Eren cocked his head. “Is that how you ask for it?”

“Oh, for fuck’s—Eren, please, fuck me. Ruin me, do what you want, just please fuck m— ”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” It only took half a second for Eren to comply with Reiner's wishes, snapping his hips forward and sending Reiner careening toward the wall, his face pressed up against the stone just like his chest was. He’d definitely have scrapes on his face as it bounced up and down with each merciless thrust that practically sent him up the wall.

“ Ahn—ugh! Fuck, fuck, yes! Feels good, f-feels so—hnngh! ” The dry slapping noises eventually turned into wet, squelching sounds that would have made Reiner cringe, but he could barely hear them in the fugue state he was in. Eren was right: he felt like a dog in heat, his mind on nothing else but getting pounded until he was filled.

“Faster! God, faster! Ngh, harder!”

Reiner’s moans leaked, and as much as he wanted to stop, he didn’t have the energy since all of it was going into not finishing right then and there. It was just what he needed, except…

He tilted his head back, which was difficult with how roughly Eren was slamming into him, but he eventually caught Eren’s eye and smiled. “Choke me, Eren. Choke me until I can’t breathe.”

Eren smiled back, his grin malicious. “You got it, sweetheart.”

He took that command to heart because instead of one hand this time around, he used both hands, wrapping them around Reiner’s neck and using that for leverage instead of his hips. It was honestly a nicer angle to better fuck Reiner into oblivion, and he used it to his full advantage.

Smack, smack, smack, smack…

“ Guh— ugh, fu-uck,” Reiner groaned, practically gargling his own words with how he could barely breathe. Meanwhile, Eren was struggling with holding back his own moans with how velvety soft Reiner’s walls were, hugging him like the most comfortable sweater in the world. How did he go this long without taking advantage of the hole that had been around him all this time?

“I never thought you’d be this easy of a lay,” Eren remarked, graduating one hand’s place from Reiner’s neck to his hair, pulling it and pushing his face into the concrete. “Who knew you’d open up to me this easily? If I knew, I would’ve fought Bertholdt for access to your ass.”

The fog of lust clouding Reiner’s brain long enough for him to understand and process Eren’s comments, and, even though it was nearly impossible to speak anything other than moans and whines and emote anything other than pleasure, he still attempted to reach backward and scratch Eren’s hip, leaving three bright marks on the tanned skin.

“After this is over, I’m going to kill you,” Reiner managed to say when Eren stopped shortly to readjust his angle. He was very grateful for that split second of clarity because once Eren started up, instead of brushing against that spot, he was directly nailing it over and over with perfect precision.

“ OH— oh, my God, I-I’m—too much, too much, I’m so— ah, hah... c-close—!” Reiner was incoherent at this point, finally reaching the “brains fucked out” stage of this brutal hookup. He could no longer think. All he could do was moan, pant, and cry out each time his spot was abused.

“ Hah—I’m gonna come soon, t-too,” Eren breathed, having his own difficulties with speech. He tried to act as cool and collected for as long as possible, but now, it was nearly impossible, with each thrust drawing out the warm feeling in his stomach more and more. It also didn’t help that Reiner kept tightening around him with each thrust, giving him all the components to finish. He just needed one thing.

“Where do you want it?” Eren whispered, dropping his head to take advantage of the last few moments to leave more hickeys all along Reiner’s neck and collarbones.

Reiner was beyond redemption at this point, evidenced by the fact that he all but screamed out, “Inside! Please, inside, come inside, I n-need it, I need you, please, I—”

His orgasm was sudden and unexpected, but Eren hit his spot at the perfect angle and speed, causing it to rip through his body. He was left speechless, going rigid as his vision spotted before going completely white, finally receiving the release he had been chasing over the past half hour. He heard somebody wailing, and when his consciousness returned to him, he realized he was the one making that awful noise, his vocal cords frying themselves with the unadulterated ecstasy running through his system.

Eren didn’t take much longer to follow, giving a few more slams—rougher than all the ones preceding them—before coming undone deep inside Reiner, groaning at the feeling of warmth coating Reiner’s walls and making his insides even hotter than they already were. But he wasn’t done. In his state of bliss, he managed to pull out of Reiner—earning a pitiful whimper from the other—and turn him around to push down on his shoulders so that he was on his knees again.

“Fuck, fuck—fuck! ” Eren couldn’t help the countless exclamations of pleasure that racked his body as he stroked himself furiously in front of Reiner’s face. The last of his come splashed on Reiner’s face, coating his cheeks and the bridge of his nose in the milky white substance. Yet again, he wasn’t done. He smeared the tip across Reiner’s lips, painting them with the same glossy color. And with that, he was done, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He grinned, satisfied with the result.

He had completely ruined Reiner Braun. His hair was tangled and sticking out in all different places. His eyes were red from crying. His face was completely coated in sticky, hot semen. He could barely open his lips without it stringing between them. Tears stained his splotched cheeks, and dried saliva ran down the entirety of his chin and throat. His chest was red as well, full of bite marks and hickeys. His neck was a completely different story—it was probably rubbed raw and full of scratches and finger indentations, all of which were hidden under the belt. And then…

“Turn around for me and bend over,” Eren said, his last demand of the night.

He had evidently turned Reiner into an obedient subordinate because without a single complaint or hesitation, the blond nodded submissively and turned around, revealing his back that was full of scratches and the deep bite mark at the nape of his neck. To think, he’d probably be targeting that nape in a couple of minutes once again, except it’d be for the kill. He wondered if, when he’d rip Reiner from the nape of his Titan’s neck and admire his dead body, the bite mark on his neck would still be there.

Reiner bent over, lifting his ass in the air and dropping his chest and face to the floor, a look of pure embarrassment on his soiled face.

“Beautiful,” Eren whispered to himself as he watched his come pour out of Reiner’s hole, running down his leg and dripping onto the ground. “Satisfied?”

Reiner, from his docile place on the floor, nodded his head, his hair flowing back and forth on the ground. “Y-yes...thank you…”

He then collapsed to the floor, his hips no longer able to sustain his own weight. His legs were trembling, never having experienced such a savage fucking before. It had always been loving, sweet, slow. But he quickly found that he had been severely deprived of something he so desperately needed. He’d probably get brain damage from all the choking he was going to do in the future, but that didn’t matter. He already planned on dying soon, anyway.

“I’m going...to kill you...after this,” Reiner continued, severely out of breath.

Eren walked over silently, squatting down and brushing the hair out of Reiner’s sweaty and dirtied face. “I’d like to see you try. You can barely walk.”

He laughed and pat Reiner on the rear, standing back up and walking over to the exit as he fixed his trousers and buttoned them.

“But thanks for the good fuck. I needed that. Honestly, if I hadn’t made everybody from Paradis come rescue me today, I’d save this battle for another day. I’m feeling very…” He lifted up his hands, looking at his nails and running his fingers through his hair. “...relaxed right now.”

Reiner was half-asleep, but he was conscious enough to have heard Eren’s words loud and clear. He snapped his head up and turned to stare at Eren to see if what he heard was the truth, but all he was met with was Eren adjusting his shirt and tightening his hair into a bun.

“P-Paradis?”

“Yeah. Heh.” Eren looked over his shoulder and winked. “I’ll catch you out there, then. If you manage to survive, come to Paradis. I’ll give you a very special welcome.”

And with that, Eren Yeager exited the room heavy with the smell of sex and quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Reiner Braun was left alone—used and besmirched with a fucked-out mind—to mull over what just happened and what will happen in only a handful of minutes.

Eren fucking Yeager.

[happylittledrabbles]

Four Years

Rating: T 

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Tsukishima/Kuroo, Tsukishima/Yamaguchi, Kuroo/Kenma

On the day of Kuroo's graduation, Tsukishima kisses him and runs away without another word, leaving both of them confused. Neither speaks to one another after that, and Tsukishima has to figure out his own emotions now that the person he loves has left, bouncing around from one person to another in order to fill the hole Kuroo created. Angst, hurt, self-discovery, and acceptance ensue, all ending in a high school reunion that ends in tears.

AO3

—

It happened so quickly, Kuroo barely knew what happened. 

One second, he was congratulating Tsukishima on his good work outside the nationals tournament gym, joking around with the skinny beanpole he had grown close to for nearly a year. Pushing him playfully, ruffling his hair, patting him on the shoulder. All the standard forms of affection Tsukishima had learned to tolerate over the months. Keyword:  tolerate . The last thing Kuroo expected was to have that affection returned by the same Tsukishima who slapped him the first time he placed his hand on his back. 

Especially in the form of a kiss.

A chaste kiss, one that lasted barely a second, but a kiss nonetheless. On the lips. 

Before Kuroo could even form a thought, nevermind actually react to it, he was faced with the back of Tsukishima’s head as he sprinted away and down the sidewalk to the hotel. If he hadn’t just been kissed, he would have found it comical that Tsukishima was finally putting effort into exercise—running no less—but all that he could summon was a shaky exhale as his trembling fingers came up to his lips, where he could have sworn he still felt Tsukishima’s chapped lips on his. 

If Kuroo knew that the last thing he’d see of Tsukishima for months to follow would be the back of his head, he would have sprinted right after him and captured his wrist, spun him back, and made fun of his escape plan before kissing him squarely on the lips. 

But he didn’t know that. So as he switched his gaze from the diploma in his hands up to the audience at his graduation and didn’t see the skinny blond he’d had his eye on since he first practiced with him, to blond who stole a kiss from him, he couldn’t help but feel his face fall and his heart go gray. His grip on his diploma tightened until his mother slapped the back of his head for damaging his diploma, but he couldn’t help it. He apologized to his mother and thanked his family for coming out in support of him and walked home with his family, desperately using the celebratory alcohol to escape the images of glasses paired with a shit-eating grin that assaulted his mind. What he would do to have that shit-eating grin in front of him and wipe it off the holder’s face with a deep kiss. 

He couldn’t even escape it in his dreams. Tsukishima dominated them in every form: his determined face as he practiced, his bored face as he watched his teammate’s foolish antics, his sleeping face that showed off an unguarded version of him for only a short time. But that short time was more than enough to win over Kuroo’s obsession. But that obsession had to come to an end. He had to focus on his new job while Tsukishima had to focus on school. They were at two different points in their lives. At least he would always have that kiss. 

 The problem was, Tsukishima wasn’t focusing on school when it started up again. Or practice. He wasn’t focusing on anything other than the kiss. Summer was torture since he didn’t have homework to at least pretend to lose himself in. All he had was his thoughts, and those were lethal. At random times, he’d find himself running his fingertips over his own lips, letting his eyes flutter closed and imagine Kuroo’s face in front of his, except instead of that surprised expression Kuroo held that day, it would be something full of want, of desire. When school started again, he was a lot more excited than usual, especially for volleyball practice. Except he still couldn’t escape the kiss. 

“Tsukishima!” Daichi yelled, snapping Tsukishima out of his thoughts. 

He hadn’t even noticed the volleyball that had whizzed past his head and nearly knocked Hinata down behind him, all thanks to the amazing ace who was currently apologizing profusely to the both of them, but Tsukishima couldn’t have cared less. 

“Sorry,” he said monotonously, trying to hold back a roll of his eyes. He got back into his blocker stance, holding his arms at chest-level in anticipation for Kageyama’s serve. 

“Great, now get your head out of your ass and actually play, moron,” Kageyama demanded before doing one of his powerful serves. 

Tsukishima scowled at the other, but the scowl lessened when he noticed how the light streaming in from the barred windows fell so perfectly against his black hair, casting an almost halo around him as he jumped nearly two feet in the air, seeming to float before finally landing on Earth. Kageyama at that moment reminded him so much of Kuroo, from the black hair to the offhanded remarks about his performance. Although Kageyama was a tad more offensive in his remarks, Tsukishima couldn’t tell the difference, especially when he was just reeling from the powerful effects of his first kiss. 

He swallowed thickly and swiftly blocked one of Asahi’s spikes, resulting in a very red palm from the aftermath. He cleared his throat and glanced directly at Kageyama, who was staring him down through the net. 

“That good enough for you?” he asked calmly, resulting in Kageyama needing to be held back by Daichi and promptly hit in the back of the head by Suga. He walked off the court and leaned down to pick up his water bottle, drinking slowly as he watched with pleased amusement as Kageyama tried to wrestle his way out of Daichi’s arms. 

“You do that on purpose, don’t you?” Hinata asked, causing Tsukishima to jump from surprise. 

“Geez, you pop out of nowhere, don’t you?” Tsukishima grumbled behind his straw, glancing down at Hinata before looking up at the ceiling. “But yeah, it’s fun to see him freak out.”

Hinata went quiet for a moment, which usually would have been a blessing for the blond, but it made him uneasy at the same time. 

“He has feelings, too, you know,” Hinata mumbled, looking down shyly at his fingers clasped in front of him. “He just can’t control them.”

Tsukishima scoffed. “What are you, his handler? Now I know that he officially needs to go to therapy for anger issues.”

“No!” Hinata exclaimed, attracting the attention of the nearby teammates. He blushed from embarrassment before grasping Tsukishima’s wrist and pulling him over to the equipment closet, staring up at the blond as much as the dimly lit room would let him. “He’s just misunderstood! And you need to stop throwing gas on the flame. He’s a nice person when you get to know him.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you have a wittle crush on him,” Tsukishima teased, making grabby hands to further cement the idea of Hinata being a lovesick puppy. However, with the combination of Hinata’s deepening blush, the turn of his face to hide it, and his lengthening silence, Tsukishima’s eyes widened in realization. So...his suspicions ever since the first day of meeting them were right? Oh, this was delightful.

“No way,” Tsukishima breathed, a grin of disbelief spreading on his face. “You actually have a crush on that volcano?” 

“Don’t tell anybody!” Hinata pleaded, clinging to the front of Tsukishima’s shirt and not letting go as much as the blond tried to shake him off. “Please! I...I want to deal with it on my own time. Please…”

Tsukishima, had he truly been heartless, would have picked up Hinata by the back of the shirt like the scruff on a kitten and burst out the equipment room to proudly announce Hinata’s crush to everybody. However, he had a crush of his own, and due to his calm and collected nature, was successful in keeping it hidden. Nonetheless, if anybody had found out…

Safe to say, he had sympathy for the little orange. 

“...Fine,” Tsukishima relented, pushing him away and walking over to the ajar doors. “Just don’t rub your weird couple fights in my face when you get together.”

He rolled his eyes at Hinata’s loud declarations of gratitude, shutting the doors on the redhead’s face before walking back over to his water bottle. Since then, Kageyama had calmed down (the lack of Tsukishima’s presence possibly contributing to this). He was practicing his serves in the short break Daichi afforded them, probably because he was too busy flirting with Suga to notice the rest of the team. Was everybody on the team just interbreeding? It was kind of disgusting to Tsukishima. Who the hell would fall in love with a teammate?

“Hey, Tanaka, throw me one,” Kageyama said, motioning to the sack full of volleyballs. Tanaka nodded and tossed him a ball, which Kageyama responded to by backing up behind the line and tossing the ball into the air, jumping up, and practically spiking it onto the other side as a serve. 

Just that move, paired with the nearly slow-motion view Tsukishima’s brain tortured him with of the wind moving so swiftly to push back Kageyama’s hair to reveal his determined expression, was enough to get him to swallow his previous criticisms. 

Oh, no, he thought. Oh no no no no. No, not a crush. It’s not a crush. Just...appreciation of beauty, is all. Not that he’s attractive! He’s an ugly bastard. Yeah, that’s it. 

But as much as Tsukishima tried to convince himself that his eyes cementing on his day-one rival and sliding down his figure glowing with sweat was purely platonic, he was intelligent enough to recognize a crush when he saw one. 

So he did what he usually did with crushes (the only exception being Kuroo): avoided Kageyama at all costs. It did help that Hinata eventually confessed to Kageyama, who reluctantly confessed back and ended with them as a couple. It was literally no different to their relationship from before: they constantly fought, with Kageyama continuing to throw insults that would make any regular person cry, but Hinata only laughed and took it as an encouragement to play harder. The only difference was when they would walk back home together at night after practice, they would be holding hands. Their hands must’ve been so warm together in the snowy night. As opposed to Tsukishima, who had perpetually cold hands. And nobody to warm them.

It also helped that a few weeks later—Tsukishima’s crush on Kageyama completely gone—his lifelong friend Yamaguchi confessed to him that he’d had a crush on him since he first learned about romantic feelings. 

“So...all these years?” Tsukishima asked, breathless. 

It was a cloudless night, the moon on full display to light up the pair of friends like a stage show. It was cold enough to have their opaque breaths overlap with each other with how close Yamaguchi was to the blond, his eyes shining with wetness from his overwhelmed tears. 

“Yes,” Yamaguchi whispered, his eyes never leaving Tsukishima’s. “I...I don’t remember a time when I didn’t love you, Kei.”

A crush was one thing. But love? Yamaguchi... loved him? And not in a platonic way? As much as Tsukishima hated to admit it and never would out loud, he loved Yamaguchi as a friend. He loved their friendship and cherished it as close to his heart as his headphones. But in a romantic way...he couldn’t lie and say he never considered it. He found himself closing the gap, both physically and metaphorically, between him and Yamaguchi over the years, with the inches between them when sitting in class turning into centimeters and then millimeters. And when they had sleepovers, Tsukishima couldn’t help but turn over in his bed and watch Yamaguchi sleep. Sometimes, he’d wake up on the floor right next to Yamaguchi, who just assumed Tsukishima had sleep-walked or fallen out of bed. And he tried to convince himself of that fact so much that he thought it was true. Until now. Now he knew…

“Can you give me some time to...process all this?” he asked haltingly. His heart broke when a few tears escaped Yamaguchi’s eyes at that response. He knew very well it wasn’t the one Yamaguchi wanted. It was better to be turned down than to be kept waiting. But he physically couldn’t think at the moment from all the thoughts and flashbacks swirling in his head.

“S-sure, Kei…” Yamaguchi mumbled, wringing his hands. “Bye, then.” 

He turned away and ran as fast as he could home. Tsukishima knew they both lived in the same neighborhood, so he’d give Yamaguchi a running start before he began to walk home to prevent any more awkwardness. Besides, he couldn’t imagine walking with the way his legs were shaking. 

 —

The next night after practice, their sweat drying down in the frigid night, they found themselves in the exact same position as yesterday: facing each other with tears in Yamaguchi’s eyes.

“Really?” Yamaguchi breathed in disbelief, clutching his hands into excited fists. 

“Yeah, Tadashi,” Tsukishima replied, cracking a rare shy smile. “I really like you. I...I want to try this out.” 

That was all Yamaguchi needed before he threw his arms around Tsukishima’s neck and pulled him in close, joining their lips that were so chapped, but it didn’t matter to him. All he knew was that he was kissing the best friend he’d loved since they were old enough to have abstract thought. And he wasn’t about to let go anytime soon.

All Tsukishima knew was that this kiss was...different. Different than the only kiss he’d ever had before. This kiss wasn’t bad—in fact, he found himself wrapping his arms around Yamaguchi’s waist and pulling him closer until their chests pressed together, cocking his head to the side to deepen the kiss. But a flash of Kuroo’s face made him gasp and pull away, lifting the back of his hand to his lips. 

“Did...did I do something wrong?” Yamaguchi asked in such a small voice, Tsukishima immediately went to reassure him. 

“No, no, it was just...overwhelming,” he replied quickly, adding in a small awkward chuckle which made Yamaguchi’s face brighten. 

“I’m glad,” Yamaguchi whispered, nervously picking at his hangnails. “N-not at you being overwhelmed, but that I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“You weren’t,” Tsukishima whispered back, his face reddening to match the rose bush across from them. “At all.”

In fact, it was all his fault for imagining the black-haired upperclassman who refused to leave his mind, even after all these months. He was probably succeeding heavily in his new job, had a girlfriend—or a wife, who knew? Maybe he had some mini Kuroos running around. The thought made him nauseous. But why? He had his own boyfriend now. So why was he still thinking about that stupid kiss with that stupid Kuroo?

“Let’s go home,” Tsukishima offered, to which Yamaguchi furiously nodded. 

“Yeah,” he replied, slipping his hand into Tsukishima’s, their fingers lacing together. He ran his thumb over his knuckles, which gave Tsukishima the impression that Yamaguchi had been imagining every single second of how this confession would go. 

“Let’s go,” Yamaguchi murmured, pressing a kiss to Tsukishima’s cheek while standing on his toes. 

 They dated for the rest of high school, sharing all their firsts together. Minus Tsukishima’s first kiss. That was still reserved for the devil named Kuroo who still haunted his dreams instead of his boyfriend. They are right, though: time really does heal all wounds. It didn’t take long for Kuroo to disappear from Tsukishima’s mind. From homework to tests to volleyball to Yamaguchi, he simply didn’t have enough brainpower to focus on the man who was probably already married. That logic ended with his dreams. And he’d rather die than admit he still dreamed about anybody other than his boyfriend. 

They went to the movies, had picnics, ice skated, laughed, and kissed. When they weren’t on formal dates, they hung out just like they did as before when they were just friends: at school or in each other’s bedrooms, playing on their phones absentmindedly or helping each other with their DS games. The only exception being their bedroom doors had to be left open, per their parents’ instructions. But that didn’t stop them from doing exactly what their parents were trying to prevent in their third and last year in school. 

“Are you sure about this?” Yamaguchi asked breathlessly, his breath having been sucked out by the near ten-minute makeout session they were having before he pushed Tsukishima onto the bed and wavered over him. 

Tsukishima only nodded, not having any courage to confirm out loud. His face was beet-red, and it only got redder when he felt Yamaguchi’s lips on his neck, chest, stomach, and beyond. The entire time, he hid his face with his arms and silenced himself, only letting out occasional whimpers and pants. It ended with both of them satisfied and with Tsukishima wordlessly clinging to Yamaguchi’s side. That was something new he learned about himself: he could be very clingy. And Yamaguchi was more than pleased to learn this. 

However, he wasn’t afforded the same luxury of hiding away evidence of his pleasure the next time, with Yamaguchi physically ripping away Tsukishima’s arms from his face in order to look at his boyfriend in all his glory. After that time, Tsukishima boycotted cuddling with Yamaguchi...for the first ten minutes. Then his need for physical closeness overruled any grudge he had. 

He was happy.  

 —

They wasted no time making up for all the sex they could’ve had the last two years where they only had clandestine makeout sessions and subtle clothed grinding. But it wasn’t just because they were horny, but because it was their last year. Their last year until they eventually split because they had drastically different life plans. 

Kageyama and Hinata had already split up a month ago. Asahi and Noya had a very saccharine one year of dating until they split because of the long-distance after Asahi graduated. Suga and Daichi dated only for a month before splitting and graduating, if you could call going on one date and making out and grinding against a wall dating. It was only a matter of time before he and Yamaguchi did the same. All eyes were on them. Well, that was an exaggeration, but that’s what it felt like for Tsukishima. 

Which made it all even worse when he found out his feelings weren’t mutual. 

“What? You want to...break up?” Yamaguchi asked in such a broken voice that Tsukishima wanted to act like it was a prank. But he couldn’t. 

“I’m just thinking about the future, Tadashi,” he replied, trying to keep his voice level, but just that felt cruel juxtaposed against Yamaguchi’s crumbling exterior. 

“The future?” Yamaguchi asked, his voice breaking yet again. His confused face fell into despair, his under eyes seeming to sink inches into his face. His eyes fell down to his wringing hands in front of him. “Right...the future.”

“Yeah, I mean, it just—”

“Have you thought—” Yamaguchi interrupted, his eyes still fixated on his hands. “—that maybe I thought you were my future? That we are the future? You’re the love of my life, Kei. I could never just leave you.”

That hit Tsukishima like a train. No, a bullet. No, a bullet train. He physically recoiled, his hand gripping his sweatshirt. 

“I-I—” How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? “We’re going to be across the country. You’ll be in Sapporo, and I’ll be in Fukuoka. It’s just too far.”

“Oh, well,” Yamaguchi said, trying to sound casual, but the big gobs of tears running down his cheeks were a dead giveaway that he was, in fact, not casual. “We h-had a good run.” 

Tsukishima raised his hand slowly to see if Yamaguchi would object, and when he didn’t, he brushed his hot tears away with his thumb. They were so salty, they burned the cuts volleyball gave him on his fingers and palm. 

“The best,” he murmured before leaning down and kissing away Yamaguchi’s tears, ignoring the burning as they slipped into the cracks in his lips. He moved them away from his cheeks to his boyfriend—now ex’s—lips, giving him one last tender kiss before standing back up and beginning his long, tearful trek home. He never cried. Keyword: never . And yet he was bawling like a baby the entire way home, only stopped when he had to walk past his parents before collapsing on the floor of his bedroom and crying until his voice was raw and he ran out of tears. 

Graduation didn’t occur too long after that. He and Yamaguchi had stayed tentative friends, especially since Tsukishima wouldn’t have literally anybody to talk to if they hadn’t. He was going to a university close to Fukuoka, focusing on archaeology. He signed up for the intramural volleyball team, the sport being the only love in his life other than Yamaguchi. Despite them being broken up, he still deeply loved and would always love Yamaguchi. Perhaps in another life, or even a few years...who knew? His motto was always “you never know what will happen.” So after saying goodbye to Yamaguchi and Hinata and tipping his chin up in a mutual agreement to never talk to each other again to Kageyama, he thought those were all the friends he had left at the school. The rest had already graduated, and he didn’t really think of them as friends. Not that he thought Hinata and Kageyama were friends.

Bokuto still tried to get in touch with him, but all his face reminded him of was Kuroo. And he seriously thought he was over that pain in the ass after four years. Plus, Bokuto had his own career and tax-evasion to deal with. Almost every time he tried to call Tsukishima, the call was interrupted by the tax service calling him. So when Bokuto called him up a week after graduation, he just counted the minutes until he had to hang up. However, it seemed as if Bokuto knew about his limited phone time, so he got the information out as quickly as possible.

“Hey, so we’re thinking of rounding up all the members of the dream team—Karasuno, Nekoma, Fukurodani, the works—up for a reunion!” he spat out, barely giving Tsukishima enough time to react before launching into the details of the meetup. 

“Anyway, see you there!” Click.

Tsukishima blinked. He blinked again. The third time he blinked, it all registered in his mind. 

Kuroo might be there.

He shamelessly RSVP’d to Bokuto’s email immediately afterward. 

 —

He wasn’t exactly given the dress code for the event, so he played it safe with a simple deep violet button-down and black slacks. He wore his father’s expensive Rolex watch and a thick black belt as if trying to convey to the others that he was already so successful after just graduating. “To the others,” i.e. Kuroo. He stared at himself in the mirror, fixing his glasses for the umpteenth time, only looking away once he thought his ear was melting off his face from staring too long at himself. Finally, once his brother yelled at him to get out of the bathroom, he grabbed his car keys and drove to the homey bar downtown where they sometimes visited after practice games to stock up on carbs and protein. It gave him both PTSD and déjà vu. 

He took off his shoes at the entrance and slipped into the slippers they provided, but he nearly fell from tripping at the loud, familiar laughter that echoed throughout the bar. That could only be—

“Beanpole!” Tanaka yelled for the entire bar to turn and witness the drunkard ambling like a toddler up to the blond, slinging his arm around his shoulders as he nursed a bottle of beer. “What’s up, man? I didn’t think you���d have the cojones to show up here!”

“I will never miss you saying that word,” Tsukishima muttered, only earning him another loud bark of laughter. He groaned and pushed Tanaka off him, being caught by Kiyoko. 

Hm, they seem to be going strong.

Perhaps not every high school relationship fell apart after high school or long-distance. He ignored the thought for now since he knew it would cause him to fall into a deep depression over his need to break up with Yamaguchi for that very reason. He didn’t need that in the middle of a bar, especially since he was sober. 

All his former teammates and rivals were sat around three tables joined together, all laughing and clinking drinks and screaming ‘Banzai!’ until their voices went hoarse. Tsukishima’s eyes scanned the rowdy bar-goers: no sign of who he was waiting for. Yamaguchi noticed him immediately. That wasn’t a huge change from their high school years; he had grown a sort of sixth sense to sense when Tsukishima was around and then to provide him company, even though he looked as if he despised it. He never did. 

“Hi, Kei,” Yamaguchi greeted timidly, as if he was scared of his lifelong best friend. They were best friends above all, from when they were boyfriends to now that they’re exes. So that hurt Tsukishima even more than he was already in pain. He was lucky if he didn’t walk away with a shriveled heart by the end of this. 

He sat down next to Yamaguchi and crossed his legs, smiling at him politely. He had learned to smile more with Yamaguchi—not because Yamaguchi told him to, but because it had happened so gradually and naturally he had barely noticed it until his mother pointed it out. 

“What’ve you been doing this week after graduation?” he asked, trying to make polite conversation, but it was obvious that he was a little tipsy. 

“Ooh, nothing,” he slurred. 

Okay, more than a little tipsy. 

“Just, hehe—” He made a jerking up-and-down motion with his hand, which caused a red blush to overtake Tsukishima’s face at the connotations and the fact that Yamaguchi was being so brazen with his insinuations. “—and looking at internships. Trade school, maybe. I never figured it out in school. I was too busy with...you know.”

His eyes dropped to Tsukishima’s butt before flicking back up to those horrified brown eyes. 

“I love baking,” he continued as if he didn’t just say something to get the teammates around them snickering. “Maybe I’ll work at a bakery.” 

“It...fits you,” Tsukishima replied, still reeling from the neverending suggestive comments his friend just made. 

“Hey, Yams, if those scones you brought us that one practice are any indication, I’m gonna spend all my money on your bakery,” Nishinoya butted in before taking a long swig of beer, being goaded on by Tanaka and Bokuto. 

“Heh, thanks,” Yamaguchi mumbled, a blush spreading on his cheeks. 

Oh, so that’s what gets you blushing?

Tsukishima got lost in the conversation, especially when more and more alcohol was placed in front of him. He got so lost, in fact, he would have completely missed the doors to the pub opening to reveal the main reason he came to the reunion in the first place. The only thing that pulled him out of his mental fog was Bokuto’s dramatic gasp and sprint to the door to envelop the dark-haired figure in a bear hug. 

“Enough, enough—get off me, Bokuto!” Kuroo yelled, bonking Bokuto on the head as a last resort. 

“Is that any way to say hello to the love of your life?” Bokuto asked tearfully, batting his eyelashes as Kuroo rolled his eyes. 

“Sorry, lovey,” Kuroo grumbled, hooking Bokuto by the back of the neck and pulling him in to kiss him on the cheek. “Better now?”

Bokuto giggled and nodded. “Yeeahh.”

Kuroo turned to his side, and oh, Tsukishima barely recognized him without the awful dye job. 

“Get jealous there, Kenma?” Kuroo asked with a wink, to which Kenma rolled his eyes and went back to typing on his phone. Kuroo immediately reached forward and yanked the phone out of Kenma’s hands, pocketing it quickly. “I said no phone tonight.”

“You say that every night,” Kenma mumbled as they walked over to the table. 

Tsukishima physically could not tear his eyes away from Tetsurou Kuroo. He looked so...handsome. So beautiful. Genuinely. He looked almost the same, and yet there was a certain aura around him that screamed ‘successful’ and ‘confident’ and ‘good-natured soul.’ He thought Kuroo was attractive in high school…

Oh, he was drooling. 

As he wiped his mouth with a napkin, he secretly prayed that Kuroo wouldn’t go anywhere close to him. But that was too much to ask for, apparently, since Kuroo sat right across from him. It was as if he made a beeline just for Tsukishima. Could he maybe still…? No, it was just a coincidence. 

“Hey, Kei,” Kuroo said before dissolving into laughter. “Ha, the rhyme never gets old.”

Tsukishima forced on a pained smile, but it wasn’t because the joke wasn’t funny. Well, it wasn’t, but he’d gotten used to the cringiness of it long ago. No, just having Kuroo in the same vicinity was enough to get him sweating profusely, nevermind right across from him, talking to him. 

“How are you doing?” Kuroo continued, pouring two glasses of sake.

Get ahold of yourself.

“I should be asking you that,” Tsukishima replied with a nervous laugh, about to reach forward for one of the glasses until Kenma reached for it first. He only processed how awkward it was that his hand was just wavering above the table, so he quickly wrapped it around an empty beer bottle and acted as if it was full. 

“Ah, I’m boring,” Kuroo said with a dismissive wave. “Same old, same old.”

“And what is that ‘same old, same old’?” Tsukishima asked, swirling the last drops of beer around the bottle. His entire body was warm. He set down the beer bottle to take off his coat, and he could’ve sworn he saw Kuroo’s eyes give him a once-over before returning to his face. Just the thought caused him to heat up even more. At this rate, he’d be stripped naked by the end of the night. Well, if it meant Kuroo’s eyes would be on him—

Wow, he was drunk. 

“Well, office work, mostly,” Kuroo explained with a shrug. “Being a software developer is a lot more boring than it sounds.” 

“Are you still playing volleyball?” Tsukishima asked hesitantly, his eyes focused on the table because otherwise, he’d be staring very creepily at the man in front of him. 

“Every once in a while when I can get out of the office,” Kuroo replied. “At the local gym. I’ve found a couple of guys.”

“Oh, cool,” Tsukishima said with a bob of his head. 

What a lame response.

“Any cuties at work?” he blurted out, and woah, he would take a lame response over the abomination that just left his mouth. He looked down at the beer bottle he was just drinking from to see if it was accidentally pure vodka. 

Kuroo seemed more taken aback than Tsukishima himself, which made him want to wallow in self-pity even more.

“Oh, uh—” Kuroo laughed, although it didn’t seem nervous. “No, I’ve actually had my eye on somebody for a while.”

“For a while?” Tsukishima repeated, his eyes brimming with hope. His chest felt as if it would burst. He didn’t imagine their mutual love confession being in the middle of a bar with everybody nearly blackout drunk and falling over themselves, but as long as it happened, he’d be over the moon. He very conspicuously leaned forward and over the table, his eyes dropping to Kuroo’s lips. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo replied slowly, his eyes also dropping to Tsukishima’s lips. 

This is it, this is it, this is—

“Your eye on somebody? Really? You’re so romantic,” Kenma interrupted sarcastically, so rudely interrupting the moment Tsukishima and Kuroo were having. “It almost makes me forget our anniversary is next week.”

Anniversary…?

“What, you can’t catch my eye?” Oh, God, Kuroo was resorting to baby talk. He lifted a hand and cupped the side of Kenma’s face, and only then was it glaringly obvious that Tsukishima was horribly, horribly wrong. To add insult to injury, the golden band that suddenly appeared on Kuroo’s ring finger glinted atrociously in the light, as if bragging to Tsukishima that it wasn’t his. 

“Mmmm,” Kenma hummed absentmindedly, burying his face back in his phone, which he magically got back from Kuroo’s pocket. 

“This is why I married you,” Kuroo replied, earning a bout of whooping and happy shouting from amongst the other guests in celebration of the announcement. But Tsukishima was silent. And stone cold. 

Without a word, he stood up and tossed his jacket over his shoulder before promptly walking out of the bar into the cool air, but it did nothing to calm the rage and shame mixing pitifully in his chest. He had seriously thought that...with Kuroo...and he would…

I’m such a fucking idiot. 

He kicked a rock into the street, which instantly got run over by a car. That’s exactly what Tsukishima’s heart felt like. Crushed ruthlessly. 

The opening of the bar door caused him to turn, revealing Yamaguchi stumbling out with near sobriety. His body hadn’t quite caught up, though. 

“Hey, where’d you go?” Yamaguchi asked, walking straight up to Tsukishima until he could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“I just needed some air,” he explained, looking up at the sky and how his condensed breath clouded it temporarily until it dissipated. 

“You know I know when you lie, Kei,” Yamaguchi replied, raising a brow before his face dawned with realization. “Was it Kuroo? Did he say something?”

“I—no, it’s nothing. It was just really hot,” Tsukishima said, waving Yamaguchi away. “Now go back, you’re missing the fun.”

“What, missing Tanaka throw up on Bokuto and try to clean it up himself and make it worse?” Yamaguchi joked. “Yeah, no thanks.” 

They stayed silent for a moment more before Yamaguchi’s soft voice broke the silence. 

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Yamaguchi asked, which immediately caught Tsukishima’s attention. Yamaguchi shoved his hands deep into his pockets and sighed. “It was always him.” 

“I...don’t know what—”

“Don’t lie to me, Kei!” Yamaguchi shouted, not caring about the passerby giving them strange looks. “I’ve always seen the way you look at him. Ever since that damn training camp...I thought that maybe, maybe I was just making it up because I was insecure, especially when you said you liked me back. But…”

Why did it always end up this way? With Yamaguchi crying his eyes out and spilling out his heart and Tsukishima dying of guilt? 

“But you never looked at me the way you looked at Kuroo just now. N-never.” Yamaguchi sniffled and wiped his eyes, but more tears just replaced the others. “Was I just...a replacement? Somebody to have fun with before moving on to somebody else? Was that it?”

“Tadashi, no—”

“Nevermind,” Yamaguchi interrupted, shaking his head emphatically. “I don’t want to know. I’ve already beat myself up enough after you broke up with me. I just...I hope you are happy, Kei. Or at least, I hope you get happy. I hope you find somebody who makes you as happy as Kuroo made you.” 

He smiled, but it was so pained that it felt like thousands of little needles were sticking straight in Tsukishima’s chest. 

“It’s okay, Kei. It’s okay.” Yamaguchi got on his toes one last time and pressed a long, tender, and tragic kiss onto Tsukishima’s cheek, wet with tears. Only then did he realize he was crying. 

“I’ll see you at the next reunion, okay?” Yamaguchi said softly, smoothing out Tsukishima’s shirt. “We’ll both be happy, Tsukishima.”

“I was always happy with you, Tadashi,” Tsukishima croaked, basically pleading for Yamaguchi to listen to him. 

Yamaguchi said nothing. Instead, he nodded curtly, pat Tsukishima’s chest, and walked back into the bar. Not long after, he walked back out with his coat, sparing Tsukishima another glance before getting in a taxi and leaving far away from the site of so many happy moments and one horrible, awful, disastrous moment. 

Tsukishima was getting ready to leave before the creaking of the bar door caused him to pause, but he didn’t turn his head. It was probably just a stranger, so he continued to search his pockets for his car keys, coming up empty. 

“Searching for these?”

A metallic jingle accompanied the voice, belonging to none other than his car keys and Kuroo himself. 

Tsukishima made sure the last of his tears were wiped away, but he still felt that his cheeks were burning and his eyes were bloodshot. 

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Tsukishima held out his hand and looked down at the sidewalk, awaiting the weight of the car keys in his hand, but it never came, forcing him to look back up and be met with Kuroo’s incredibly close figure who was currently smirking. 

“Why are you leaving so early? You just got here,” he asked, raising a brow in suspicion. 

“I just got tired,” he explained quickly, motioning to the car keys. “Please.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Kuroo sang, shaking his head. “Aren’t you drunk?”

“Please.” Before long, Kuroo’s teasing got very old, and Tsukishima couldn’t hold himself back from blowing up. “Please give me my keys!”

Kuroo, for the second time that night, was taken aback. It reminded him of the good old days when he would be taken aback with every word Tsukishima said because he expected him to never talk, and when he did, it was always a jab at somebody. He found it amusing, but in this moment, he found it terrifying. 

“Tsukki, no way,” Kuroo objected sternly, stuffing the keys in his pocket. “You’re drunk. I’ll drive you home after this; just come back inside.”

“No!” Without thinking, Tsukishima grabbed Kuroo and drove him deeper into an alleyway, throwing him against the wall and shooting his arm out to try and dig his keys out, but Kuroo blocked him in every way possible. “Just let me get my keys!”

“If you want to leave so bad, let me call a—”

“Don’t you understand? Are you that fucking stupid, or are you just blind?” Tsukishima was crying again by now, his face glistening with new tears thanks to the moon shining straight above them. “Let me leave, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“What’s your issue, man?” Kuroo asked, but it was less of a question and more of demand. He continued to hold Tsukishima’s keys hostage, which made him even more desperate to get them. He clawed at Kuroo’s chest, practically falling on top of him with how his legs were failing him.

“Do you seriously not remember? Or notice anything? I don’t remember you being this idiotic,” Tsukishima yelled, and he watched as Kuroo’s face morphed from confusion to calm realization. 

“...That was nearly four years ago, Kei,” Kuroo said. This time his voice was low, rumbling deep in his chest, and Tsukishima could feel it through his hands. 

“And I never stopped thinking about it! I never stopped thinking about you. You did this to me. You made me fall—” He hesitated, but he had already gone too far. Time to come clean about everything. “You made me fall in love with you! It’s all your fault, and now I have to deal with the consequences. You won’t leave my head no matter what I try. And now you’re fucking married? Did I mean nothing to you? You never...you never talked to me again after that. I…” He raised a trembling hand to his face, hiding it as best he could. “I’ve loved you for so long, it’s ruined my entire life.”

Kuroo was dead silent. The alleyway was silent other than the ambient noise filtering in from the entrance of the alley, of traffic and passerby and animals. The only sound between them was Tsukishima’s panicked panting, trying to get ahold of his own breath, and his strained weeping.

“You’ve always loved me,” Kuroo repeated, and Tsukishima let out a pitiful cry just at the sound of Kuroo saying those words. Kuroo pushed Tsukishima away but only to look him square in the face. “You never contacted me, Tsukki. I was just giving you space to figure things out.”

“I-I-I—” He didn’t have any excuses for that. All he wanted to do was blame everybody around him for his out-of-control feelings other than himself.

How’s that working out for you, Kei?

“Tsukki,” Kuroo started, and just hearing him use that nickname after so long in that low voice made Tsukishima nearly melt. “Tsukki, you were always like a little brother to me. I—”

A pathetic yelp erupted from Tsukishima’s throat at hearing that. Just that sentence alone was enough to kill him entirely. 

“But—”

There weren’t any buts. He was now just a walking husk of a man, rejected by the man he’d been yearning after for years, had devoted his dreams and daydreams to just to get by in high school. 

“But I’ve never stopped thinking about it,” Kuroo finished. “I never stopped thinking about you. I never forgot about you, Kei. Or what could’ve happened.”

“What could’ve happened…” Tsukishima gasped and clutched Kuroo’s hand, another burst of excitement swelling in him. “Y-you mean—”

“No, Kei, I’m happily married,” Kuroo clarified, showing off that dastardly ring that mocked him in all its beauty. “If we did get together, I know it wouldn’t have lasted very long. But I do know we would’ve been happy during that time. Until we found true happiness in somebody else.”

“Which…” Tsukishima winced, “is what you did.”

Kuroo nodded sagely. “And you will, too. You don’t have to forget me, Kei. You just have to find somebody who doesn’t make you look back on me with regret but with thankfulness that you got to a point where you found somebody you love more than me.” He reached up and caressed the side of Tsukishima’s wet cheek, stroking the red skin with his thumb. “You’ll always be my beanpole middle blocker.”

And you’ll always be my pain-in-the-ass captain.

“I’m gonna go call you a cab,” Kuroo said, motioning to the end of the alleyway they came from. “I’ll see you later, Tsukki. Take care.”

With that, he leaned forward and pressed a soft, short kiss onto Tsukishima’s forehead, leaving him in the alley to wallow in his own tears and self-pity until the cab he called showed up. The entire cab ride, he never let go of his forehead, wanting to preserve the warmth on his skin for as long as possible. 

And when he got home, he realized Kuroo had kept his car keys. 

Did he do this on purpose?

 —

The next day, after taking pain meds for the killer headache assaulting his mind and cringing sufficiently over his actions last night, he finally mustered up the courage to call Kuroo.

The line rang two times before Kuroo picked up. 

“Hey.” His voice was like molasses in the morning. “Calling for your car keys?”

“Yes,” Tsukishima replied, coolly as he always did. 

“I’ll see you after work,” was all Kuroo said before hanging up. 

When Kuroo showed up later that night, he brought somebody familiar with him.

“Sorry about not telling you, but I needed somebody to drive me back,” Kuroo said, motioning to the tall man beside him.

“Is that…” Tsukishima’s eyes raked over the man’s figure before settling on his eyebrows—or rather, lack of them. 

“Aone,” he finished for Tsukishima, bowing in greeting. “It’s very nice to see you again, Tsukishima.”

“Enough with the formalities, Aone, geez,” Kuroo joked, punching him playfully in the shoulder. “Well, anyway, here are your keys. I gotta go drop Aone off at a single’s night at a nightclub. Because, you know, he’s single.”

Aone blushed. Tsukishima never thought he’d see the day this concrete block of a man blush. It was...endearing in a way. 

“No need to advertise it,” Aone whispered under his breath, which made Tsukishima chuckle sympathetically. Kuroo’s eyes shone.

“Well, anyway, gotta go,” Kuroo said, motioning to the car and tossing Tsukishima the keys, which he barely caught in time since his eyes were stuck on a certain man.

“W-wait,” Tsukishima said, reaching out to get them to stop. “Single’s club? Um...is it any fun?”

Kuroo laughed his usual devil laugh that sounded more annoying than cute now. 

“Of course it is, it’s a club,” Kuroo said matter-of-factly. “But I’m sure it’s not your speed.”

Tsukishima paused and looked down at his feet before admitting, “I, uh, can try it out.”

“Oh,” Kuroo said as if he had just been given a critical piece of evidence. “Aone, did you hear that?”

“I’m not deaf.”

“Alright, Tsukki, go get dressed because those pajamas are tacky,” Kuroo demanded, waving Tsukishima away.

He sneered and turned his nose up as he turned his back on the former captain. “Bokuto is rubbing off on you.”

“Never say that to me again.” 

Tsukishima held back laughter as he ran back inside, an uncontrollable grin forming on his face. And for the first time after an interaction with Kuroo, he wasn’t the person that stayed in his mind as he left. Tsukishima himself was the man he was thinking about, about how excited he was getting at the possibility of meeting new people. That never happened before because, well...his heart had always been reserved for Kuroo. 

Now it was open, open to everybody. Including himself.