When the Kodzuken channel hits its five million subscriber milestone, fans are given the opportunity to enter into a giveaway to win a special merch package including a crewneck sweatshirt with the Kodzuken logo on it, a matching pair of sweats, and, most importantly, a limited edition bobblehead figure of Kozume Kenma himself.
Kuroo wants that f*cking bobblehead.
He wants it bad.
It’s six inches tall: a tiny plastic Kenma dressed in a baggy black hoodie and ripped skinny jeans. They spared no expense replicating his likeness. It’s accurate down to his round cheeks, his big glossy eyes, the exact brassy tint to his half-dyed hair, and even the little dimple on his right cheek. The figurine is smiling Kenma’s trademark Expression #13 (Kuroo’s third favorite) and his tiny plastic hand is raised up in a peace sign.
When Kenma had shown him the early product photos all those months ago, Kuroo had given himself a tension headache trying to keep his excitement at bay.
The problem was that they were limited edition, with only 200 in existence according to Kenma himself when he announced the drop on his stream. They sold out so fast that Kuroo somehow wound up empty-handed despite the fact that he was refreshing the Kodzuken website every minute with his credit card in hand. He prowled various Buy and Sell pages looking for someone willing to part with their Kodzuken bobblehead but he found nothing, not even one single scalper looking to sell for four times the initial price.
He would have done it too.
But now… now he’s been presented with another golden opportunity. Unbeknownst to him, three figurines had been set aside for this very purpose, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to get his hands on one.
So he uses his secret, totally inconspicuous Kodzuken stan account to enter to win because he takes this kind of stuff seriously.
And nobody loves Kodzuken more than Kuroo Tetsurou does.
Nobody.
“Honey, I’m home!” Kuroo lets his bag slide off his shoulder. He hangs up his lanyard on the cat-shaped hook next to the front door and slips out of his shoes.
Kenma is sprawled out on the floor with his legs tucked up underneath the kotatsu and his handheld hovering too close to his face.
“You don’t live here,” He mumbles, eye flickering across the screen as he taps the buttons with astonishing speed.
So dextrous, his Kenma, so smart and talented and beautiful-
“Semantics,” Kuroo tugs to loosen the tie at his neck with a sigh and collapses down onto the floor next to him. He stares up at the ceiling until his vision blurs. There’s a bone-deep ache in the base of his spine and his shoulders are sore from hunching all day. His job is much less exciting than it used to be: jam-packed with written proposals, budget discussions that he doesn’t really care about, and virtual meetings to schmooze various stakeholders. He breathes out from deep in his belly and rubs at his temples.
Kenma’s head lolls to the side to look at him, “You look tired.”
“Thank you. You look gorgeous as ever.”
Kenma scrunches his nose in displeasure as if Kuroo’s lying.
He’s not.
“I’m serious, Kuro.”
“So am I.”
“What’s wrong?” Kenma prods.
“Maybe it’s my desk chair,” Kuroo relents after a brief staring contest that he loses, “My back is f*cking killing me.”
“So you need a new one?” Kenma sets his handheld down on his stomach and props himself up on his elbows.
Kuroo had browsed some options but they were all out of budget, and he’s got better things to spend his money on like Kodzuken merch and rent.
“At this point, I think I need a chiropractor. Or one of those massages where they walk all over your back.”
Kenma’s expression twists, “You would hate that.”
“True.” He raises his arms to stretch and groans at the tightness in his spine, “Maybe I just need new bones.”
“You’re an idiot,” Kenma says with the same tenderness that he might say ‘I wish you would take better care of yourself’.
Kuroo’s phone dings next to his ear.
“Is that work?”
“Probably,” Kuroo sighs and awkwardly palms up near his head for his phone.
He doesn’t need to look to know that Kenma isn’t pleased, “They shouldn’t be contacting you outside of working hours.”
“Now wouldn’t that be the dream-” He begins to say, but chokes on the end of his sentence when he sees the notification preview on his screen.
“Kuro?” There’s a tinge of worry in his voice as Kuroo coughs and sputters and rolls over onto his side. He leans over his shoulder to peek at the screen before Kuroo slams his phone face down on the carpet to hide it.
“I’m fine. All good-” He rasps through his burning lungs as he sits up and shoves his phone back into the pocket of his slacks, “Just choked on my spit.”
“Right…” He narrows his eyes, “So what was it about?”
“Work,” Kuroo says too fast, “Just some… scheduling issue. I’ll fix it later.”
The divot between Kenma’s eyebrows deepens, “Alright,” He says with an air of nonchalance like he’s pretending he’s not being lied to.
“Hey,” Kurro reaches over to gently tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, “It’s getting late. How about I make you dinner?”
Kenma leans up into the touch, butting up against his palm like a cat, “You were going to do that anyways.”
“You don’t know that,” Kuroo lightly presses the pad of his thumb into the dimple on his cheek, “What if tonight was the first night I was just going to let you go hungry?”
“It’s not.”
“But what if it was?” He gets to his feet and pulls Kenma up with him.
“I’d just assume you were concussed,” He tucks his game into the front pocket of his hoodie, “And then we’d have much bigger problems than feeding me.”
“Kenma,” Kuroo lays a hand over his chest, “That was almost nice. When did you get so sweet?”
He yelps and twists away when Kenma reaches up to pinch his nipple. Hard.
“Kuro. Dinner,” He demands as he walks away towards the kitchen.
Kuroo rubs at his chest with a fond smile, “Coming dear!”
In the safety of his home, Kuroo stares at the ‘Congratulations!’ message from Kodzuken in his Twitter DMs until his phone goes dark. Then he turns it back on and does it all over again.
His heart races in his chest even though he knows for certain that it’s Kenma’s team messaging him and not Kenma himself. After he had reached a certain level of popularity, running his social media accounts by himself started to make less and less sense. He hired someone to keep an eye on them as well as check his business email and skim through his direct messages for anything important.
So Kuroo knows it’s Hikaru on the other side of the phone asking for his shipping information and not Kenma, but it’s still exhilarating because, weirdly enough, he feels noticed.
Even in the privacy of his apartment and away from prying eyes he feels paranoid that somehow Kenma knows. It's as if he’s got an extra organ in his body that’s directly linked to Kuroo’s brain and right now it must be tingling and alerting him to some type of mischief.
This isn’t quite mischief, though. This is more like a hobby. Or maybe a fixation. There’s a storage bin in his closet full of every single T-shirt and sweater that Kenma has released since the beginning of his career. Kuroo hoards numerous carefully rolled-up posters, metal pins, stickers, and mugs. There’s a never-used lime-green headset that Kenma did in collaboration with Logitech last year in a discrete box on his top shelf.
Kenma still drops by every once and a while, even though they usually hang out at his house these days, so Kuroo keeps his collectibles boxed up and out of sight. He doesn’t need to display them. He knows they’re there and that’s all that matters.
He’s tried to chalk it all up to pride. Of course, he watches all of Kenma’s streams and collects his merch. Kenma is his best friend and Kuroo is proud of his success. But pride doesn’t explain the fan account that Kuroo runs on the side. Pride doesn’t explain the way he thinks about Kenma when he’s alone in the dark of his room. There’s something much bigger than pride at play here.
Kuroo’s always had a bone-deep dedication to Kenma. He thinks the feeling that drove him to beg Kenma to play volleyball with him all those years ago is the same feeling that makes him want to sink his teeth into him today.
There are a lot more fans these days, some of whom want him in all the same ways that Kuroo does. But they don’t know him. They don’t know what kind of detergent he uses, or how his ankles ache when it starts to get cold outside, or how he used to be afraid of thunder but these days he finds it kind of exciting. They know the distant, slightly sanitized Kodzuken who’s rarely spotted in public and prefers to keep his personal life private. But they don’t know Kenma, and that’s an upper hand that they’ll have to pry out of Kuroo’s cold, dead fingers .
At the very core of it all, Kuroo wants to be useful. He would lie down and be the ground that Kenma walks on if the situation arose. He would stand over him on a sunny day and become his shade. These days Kenma’s an influencer, so naturally Kuroo is a fan. If Kenma ever thought about becoming a jockey, Kuroo might need to figure out how to become a horse.
Kuroo is, without a doubt, fiercely proud of the confidence and stability Kenma has built for himself over the years. Kenma bought a house at 22 and paid off his student loans. He knows people who know people and there are more zeroes in his bank account than most people his age. He’s got a new car that he never drives and the biggest TV that Kuroo has ever seen but he’s quiet about his wealth and humble about his success.
It’s just that Kenma used to need him, and now the fact of the matter is that he doesn’t.
Kuroo used to make all the phone calls he was too nervous to make and he held his hand on crowded public transportation, but now Kenma has an assistant and sometimes when he needs to go somewhere he calls a driver so he never has to take the train. Kuroo used to moderate his streams when only a few hundred people were tuning in and now there’s an entire team of people doing that. And the reasonable part of his brain knows that this kind of stuff comes with the territory, and Kenma’s independence is a natural part of growing up. But the unreasonable part of him worries that if he doesn’t adjust to this changing landscape, he might get left behind.
So he self-soothes a little bit every now and again to assure himself that he’s still important in Kenma’s new ecosystem. Sue him. He could be doing worse things- like stealing Kenma’s dirty laundry and taking it with him on business trips. But Kuroo has only done that once or twice.
The point is that Kuroo isn’t hurting anyone and he wants that bobblehead. But the problem is that he knows Kenma’s social media manager personally. He’s been to his house, met his wife, and held his baby, so sending his personal shipping information is completely off the table.
“I need a big, big massive, huge favor,” Kuroo starts as soon as Yaku picks up the phone.
“What makes you think you deserve a favor?”
“Please, I’m serious.”
Yaku sighs so loudly that it crackles over the receiver, “Fine. What is it?”
“I won the Kodzuken giveaway and I need to send the merch to your address.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“No! Don’t hang up. Just hear me out.” Kuroo gets up to pace across the length of his bedroom, “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”
“Why do I feel like that’s a lie?”
“It’s not! If you do this I’ll never make fun of your height again.”
“Now that’s definitely a lie.”
“Yaku, please-” He whines.
“Stop sounding so pathetic it’s creeping me out,” In his mind's eye, Yaku is pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “Why can’t you just use your own address?”
“Because Hikaru knows mine.”
“Who the hell is Hikaru?”
“Kenma’s social media manager.”
“You know Kenma’s social media manager?”
“Yeah, of course. I know all of Kenma’s employees.”
“Naturally.”
“Right, you get it. So then my cover would be blown.”
“And? Who cares?”
“I do!”
“So? I buy Kenma’s merch too and you don’t see me crying about it.”
“This isn’t just ‘buying Kenma’s merch’. I entered a giveaway. If I respond with my address he’ll know it was me. And then he’ll know about my Kodzuken stan account. And then Kenma will know about my Kodzuken stan account.”
“Kuroo,” Yaku’s voice comes out a little softer this time, “I’m sure Kenma won’t mind. I might regret saying this but it’s kind of… sweet that you’re secretly supporting him online.”
“Yaku,” Kuroo says seriously, “I need you to understand that there is nothing sweet about some of the things I have said on that account. That stuff is between me and God.”
Yaku is quiet for a moment, “How do I even begin to respond to that?”
“Well, say something,” Kuroo frets, “You’re making me nervous.”
“You’re publicly thirst tweeting about Kenma? You? I didn’t even know you knew how to use Twitter.”
“Yes. And I know it’s bad so don’t lecture me. I’m not taking any criticism for how I cope-”
“No, shut up. I’m just confused as to why he would care. Aren’t you guys f*cking?”
“... What?”
“Yeah, you- well the general consensus among all of us is that you guys have been together for years.”
Kuroo feels his throat closing up, “Who is ‘all of us’?”
“I mean everyone. At least all of our mutual friends. A handful of professional volleyball players. A select group of individuals in Russia. My parents.”
“Your parents think me and Kenma are together?”
“I think your parents think you and Kenma are together.”
“No, I- No, we’re not together. Not romantically. Why would you think that?”
“Kuroo, I’m seriously not even going to bother answering that question.”
“Well, we’re not,” Kuroo says too loud, “We’re just friends. Buddies. Pals.”
“Okay, damn. Sorry for assuming, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Kuroo scoffs, “I’m not offended. I’d love to be dating Kenma. In a totally chill way. I mean, if he wants to date someone else I’ll never find happiness ever again and I’ll probably die alone but it’s no biggie.”
“Oh, okay great. I see you're handling this well,” He pauses, “...Kuroo, are you sure you and Kenma aren’t together?”
“Yeah. I think I would remember something like that.”
He hears Yaku inhale, “Fine. Well, now I feel kind of guilty for assuming so I guess you can put my address down.”
Kuroo pumps his fist, “f*ck yeah!’
“You’re paying for shipping.”
“Of course.”
“And I’m keeping the sweatshirt.”
“That’s totally fine. I already have one.”
“You’re really something. You know that, right?”
“Thanks. Has anybody told you that you’re actually kind of a good friend?”
Yaku answers by hanging up on him.
Kenma has always been generous, even before he was categorically wealthy. A lot of people might mistake his outward apathy for a lack of care but that’s far from the truth. The reality is that Kenma doesn’t rely on the sanctity of spoken words. He likes to provide for the people he loves. He prefers to solidify his affection with real, tangible items. Some might say he’s materialistic, but Kuroo just thinks he’s a giver.
That’s not to say that the money hasn’t exacerbated this trait a bit.
Kuroo runs his palms up and down the armrests of his brand-new office chair, upholstered with what he can only assume is real leather. It matches the couch Kenma had bought him when he first got the job and it has plenty of lumbar support just like he needs.
It’s a mature, adult purchase. Much like the headboard Kenma bought him when he moved into his most recent apartment, and the new dining set, and the set of luxury kitchen knives. Kenma’s generosity has long since spilled from his home into his office. In fact, he’s bought most, if not all, of the nice things that Kuroo owns.
A hot, inexplicable feeling fills up the base of his belly.
To Kenma <3:
My battered body thanks you
From Kenma <3:
did the delivery guy help u set it up
To Kenma <3:
Ye of little faith
But yes, he did
From Kenma <3:
lmao
okay
To Kenma <3:
It’s very fancy
Is this real leather?
From Kenma <3:
obviously
To Kenma <3:
Wow
You spoil me
From Kenma <3:
mhm
come here after work
To Kenma <3:
Don’t I always?
From Kenma <3:
yes
i have something else for u
To Kenma <3:
Yeah?
What’s the occasion?
From Kenma <3:
no occasion
u deserve nice things kuro
There’s a flash of heat that spreads from the back of his neck down his spine. The prospect of Kenma continuing to shower him with pretty things just for the sake of it makes his heart pound.
To Kenma <3:
Sir yes sir
See you later <3
He places his phone face down on his desk after he responds and hopes he sounds a lot more casual than he feels.
Kenma’s house is mostly dark when he steps through the front door. Kuroo quietly drops off his bag and steps out of his shoes.
“Kenma?” He calls down the hallway. There’s a soft glow of blue light from under the door to the gaming room. Kuroo nudges it open and pokes his head inside.
He expects Kenma to be hunched over at his desktop, but instead, he’s curled up on the couch. When he spots him, Kenma is already looking back and Kuroo’s stomach turns with nerves. It’s not very often that he gets Kenma’s full, undivided attention without having to work for it first. It’s a little terrifying now that he has it.
“Hey,” Kenma greets him.
Kuroo lets himself into the room but hovers awkwardly by the door with his hands at his sides. The LEDs lining the ceiling switch from green to pink.
He clears his throat, “Hi. Everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” Kenma fiddles with the fabric of his shorts, “I got you something.”
“So you said,” Kuroo tries to muster up some of his usual false bravado. He grins, “I’m flattered.”
Kenma blinks slowly. There’s something in his eyes tonight that makes Kuroo feel like a pinned butterfly, “It’s in my room. On my bed.”
Kuroo waits for him to explain but he doesn’t, “Okay… Is it a living creature?”
“No.”
“I assume it isn’t food.”
“It’s not.”
“Is it wearable?”
“Yes.”
Kenma has gotten him clothes before. Actually, he gets Kuroo clothing and accessories all the time. Mostly dorky ties and funny T-shirts but sometimes he gets jewelry. He wears the white gold necklace that Kenma bought him every single day, and he wears his brown Patek Phillipe any time he needs to impress some old man with a heavy wallet.
“I’ll just go-” Kuroo gestures at the door, “Go check it out then.”
“Bring it in here.”
“Right. Sure.”
Kenma nods but doesn’t move to retrieve his phone. Instead, he watches silently as Kuroo shuffles back out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him as he goes.
He makes his way down the hall to the master bedroom. Kenma has a disproportionately large bed for someone so small. But considering how often Kuroo stays over, maybe it fits just right.
There’s a black garment bag laid out across the foot of it. Kuroo reaches for the hanger and weighs it in his arms. It’s fairly heavy and beneath the crinkle of the bag, he can hear the faintest whisper of fabric. He dutifully carries it back to the game room and lays it out on the coffee table.
Kenma has moved from the couch to the gaming chair and turned it to face the center of the room. His legs are pulled up close to his body and his eyes track Kuroo as he begins to unzip it.
“Christ, Kenma,” He breathes as he pushes apart the stiff plastic. His knuckles brush against the fabric. He glances up at him, “I don’t even-”
“There’s a charity event at the end of the month. I can bring a plus one.” Kenma explains.
Kuroo runs both of his hands down the lapels of the suit jacket. The callouses on his fingers catch slightly on the fabric.
“You want to bring me ?”
Kenma shrugs, “It’s kind of a red carpet event so… yes.”
Kuroo’s mouth drops open, “So you want to bring me?” He repeats.
Kenma looks at him like he doesn’t understand what the problem is, “Yeah. Who else would I bring?”
“Kenma. Kitten. You’re on Forbes 30 under 30. You could bring anyone you want .”
“You’re tall, you’re hot, and we look good in pictures together.” Kenma raises his eyebrows, “Isn’t that like… the whole point of the red carpet?” He casts his eyes down to the floor and picks at his cuticles, “So you don’t want to go?”
“I do!” Kuroo insists, “I really do. I’m just making sure that you’re…sure.”
“I’m sure,” Kenma takes a deep breath, “Look, you know I don’t usually like things like this. But everybody keeps telling me to diversify a little and it’s for a good cause and I don’t think I can do it without you.”
“Okay,” Kuroo softens, “Well you know me, I love rubbing elbows.”
“Yeah,” Kenma shoots him a small smile, “That’s what I’m counting on.” He nods towards the suit, “Try it on.”
Kuroo glances around and then down at his wrinkled work clothes, “What? Right here?”
“Yes,” He answers quickly, “Unless you don’t want to…”
“No, no it’s fine. I just-”
Kuroo keeps in pretty good shape. He still works out every once in a while but by no means as much as he used to in high school and college. He’s a bit softer and a lot hairier than he used to be when he and Kenma were still regularly changing in front of each other. Kuroo’s not insecure about his body, but he’s not not insecure either. It’s not like he spends every waking moment worrying about what he looks like naked, but any time he needs to change he ducks into the privacy of the bathroom whether he’s at the gym or here in Kenma’s house.
Standing in the middle of the room with Kenma’s eyes on him he feels exposed. He hasn’t undressed in front of someone since his last hookup an eon ago when he was still f*cking any blonde he could charm into his bed to fill the void. Obviously, it didn’t work, and now he’s taking his clothes off in front of Kenma.
There’s something undeniably lewd about the sound of his belt buckle clanking as he unfastens it and untucks his dress shirt. He chances a look at Kenma as he pulls down the zipper. He’s watching intently as Kuroo slides off his tie and works down the buttons of his shirt. For some reason, Kuroo had assumed that he would turn around or at least look away, but he doesn’t. His eyes are lidded with something that Kuroo hopes and prays isn’t boredom.
Maybe Kenma thinks of Kuroo so platonically that the mere thought that this might be a little intimate for them hasn’t even crossed his mind. Maybe Kenma’s not even thinking of sex. They don’t talk about those things very often, regardless of how close their friendship is, that is the one topic of conversation that remains undiscussed.
But he can’t help but wonder if Kenma is fulfilled in that area, if someone is taking care of him like that. They spend most of their free time together and Kenma’s never mentioned anything but maybe he’s crafty with his hookups.
He would have to be, right? He’s famous. Maybe not famous enough to make them sign NDAs but definitely famous enough to need to handle these things discretely.
The thought of it makes him a little ill.
Kenma’s had sex before, Kuroo knows that. Even though they didn’t really address it, they were both hooking up in college. It didn’t bother him all that much at the time because he was still knee-deep in denial but now… now it bothers him: someone else touching him, kissing him, f*cking him. Someone following him down the hall into the bedroom and laying him out on the bed that he shares with Kuroo four nights out of the week.
What if it was him instead? What would it be like if it was Kuroo tossing him onto those silky grey sheets? Kuroo would take such good care of him, it would be so good, he would be so good-
“Are you okay?” Kenma’s voice jerks him straight out of his head and back out into the real world.
“Huh?” Kuroo looks up.
“You looked like you were about to have a panic attack.”
“I wasn’t,” Kuroo swallows dryly, “I’m not.” He shucks off his shirt and steps out of his slacks. The refrigerated air feels good on his heated skin. He’s almost completely bare save for his briefs and his dress socks. He hesitates.
Kenma’s eyes stay fixed on him as he unfolds his legs and rises from his chair. The blasting AC overhead ruffles the wispy strands of hair that have fallen from the low bun at the back of his neck. Kuroo’s fingers itch with the urge to brush them behind his ear but he stops himself. That would cross a line. It’s one thing to do it clothed, it’s another thing entirely to do it like this. They shouldn’t touch like this.
Kenma, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have the same reservations. He presses his cold fingers to the hollow of Kuroo’s throat where his chain sits.
“You’re wearing it.”
Kuroo’s throat bobs, “I always do.” This close, he can see the glint of the lights in the darkness of his eyes and smell the cinnamon on his breath from the gum he chews.
Kenma co*cks his head, “Always?”
“Well, almost always. It’s usually under my shirt. And I take it off to shower and stuff. And sometimes to work out. I don’t- I don’t want to ruin it.”
“I’d just buy you another.”
“Yeah, but,” He shrugs, “It’s the principle of the matter.”
Kuroo allows himself a second to get his bearings when Kenma steps away to grab the slacks off the table. But then he’s right back again, holding them out expectantly.
“The suit is wine-colored. I don’t know if you can tell under these lights.” Kenma says as he steps through the legs, “I like you in red.”
“Do you?” Kuroo’s fingers fumble on the zipper as his hands tremble.
“Yes,” Kenma bats his hands away and replaces them with his own, “Let me.”
Alarm bells blare in Kuroo’s head. This must be a dream, it has to be. His pits dampen and there’s a familiar stirring feeling in his groin. The slacks aren’t tight but they’re snug enough that it’s virtually impossible for Kenma’s fingers not to graze his bulge as he zips him up. The backs of his knuckles brush the dark trail of hair down from his navel and Kuroo has to fix his eyes on the opposite wall and think of every non-sexy thing he knows.
Airport security.
Athletes foot.
Wet socks.
“Kenma,” He swallows, “Do you think this is too much-”
Kenma’s hands freeze and he looks up, eyes wide, “Which part?” He asks slowly.
“I just mean- I bet this cost an arm and a leg.”
Kenma’s shoulders visibly relax and he dips his fingers beneath the waistband to smooth it out around his hips, “Yeah, it did.” He sighs wistfully, and a co*cky smile plays at the edges of his lips like he’s proud of the fact that he's shelling out so that Kuroo looks paid for.
Kuroo f*cking loves him like this, loves the way he carries himself with such quiet confidence these days. It makes him want to give him whatever he wants whenever he wants it. The moon? Deal. The crown jewels? Absolutely. Kuroo’s still beating and bloody heart in the palm of his hand? Done.
“And you don’t mind? Spending this kind of money on me?”
“I just like getting you nice things,” He murmurs, moving on to the dress shirt and holding it out for Kuroo to slide his arms through. His voice is quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself, “Is that so bad?”
“No, no of course not kitten,” Kuroo assures him quickly, “Nothing wrong with that.”
“I told you, already,” He glances up at him from beneath his lashes, “You deserve nice things, Kuro.” He buttons up Kuroo’s shirt with deft fingers and slides the tie around his neck.
His heart is so warm with affection he’s dripping with it, “You take such good care of me.”
Kenma’s fingers pause, “I do, don’t I?” He looks back up at Kuroo and his eyes are glassy.
“Yes,” Kuroo swallows roughly, “Always.”
“Kuro,” Kenma’s eyebrows pull together, “You know what you’re signing up for, right? If you come with me to a public event?”
“You mean the pictures and the tweets and the gossip?”
“Yeah, that.”
“Of course I do.”
“And that won’t… bother you?”
“I’ve been by your side my entire life,” Kuroo shrugs with an easy smile, “I don’t really care how many people are looking.”
A complex series of emotions flit across Kenma’s face. His eyes soften for a moment. Kuroo can feel the weight of his hands are they tighten around the silken fabric of his tie. His mouth is slightly parted and he’s so, so close. He could just press their lips together, blame it on the mood lighting and the expensive clothes, “Kuro, I-”
The sound of Kuroo’s phone makes them jump apart. Kuroo snatches his slacks from the floor and pats them down until he finds it. He checks the caller ID and then sends it to voicemail. The room is plunged into silence once more but the warm bubble around them has popped. The fog in Kuroo’s mind clears and he realizes that he almost kissed Kenma.
He could’ve ruined everything if the phone hadn’t rung.
“Who was it?” Kenma asks.
“Oh, it was just Yaku.”
“Yaku? Why?”
“Um, I don’t know. I’ll get back to him later.” He lets out a breath, “Where were we?”
Kenma’s mouth parts, and then he closes it again, “Put on the jacket.”
“Right.” Kuroo does as he’s told. The fabric is heavy yet breathable and it fits him suspiciously well, “Do you have my measurements?”
Kenma gives him a weird look, “Of course I do.”
“Oh.” He grins and fastens the first button at his waist, “Well?” He holds his arms out, “How does it look?”
“Good,” Kenma reaches up to toy with his collar, “Perfect.”
“How dare you let me go to voicemail after everything I’ve done for you?” Yaku gripes as soon as Kuroo calls him back later that night.
“Sorry, sorry, I was busy.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Kenma’s asleep in the other room,” Kuroo explains, “Quick, what if it kind of turns me on a little when Kenma buys me things?”
“Kuroo…”
“Like what if, hypothetically, I’m into that?”
“Well, it doesn’t sound very hypothetical to me. Sounds like you like being taken care of financially.”
“I’m not-” Kuroo swallows nervously, “I’m not trying to take advantage of him, or his- his funds. I’m just- it makes me feel-” He wipes his sweaty palm on his sleep pants, “f*ck it’s hot in here.”
“Oh wow, you’re really worked up about this.”
“I just don’t want to be like, some mooch, and I don’t want anyone to think I’m using him-”
“Nobody thinks that,” Yaku assures him, “You’re not some guy he met at a party, Kuroo. You’ve known each other since you were eight .”
“Right. Right,” He nods to himself, “God, that’s a long time. Do you ever look at someone and feel like all the love and affection you have for them might rise up and choke you to death but you would kind of like it?”
Yaku takes a breath, “You should call a priest about that.”
“You’re one to talk, when’s the last time you set foot in a church?”
“Shut the f*ck up, dick.”
Kuroo turns around at the sound of feet on the tile floor. Kenma leans his hip against the doorway to the kitchen. His hair is long and loose around his shoulders and he looks ethereal under the dim glow of the stovetop light.
“Kuro, it’s late,” He holds out his hand, “Come back to bed.”
“I gotta go,” Kuroo mumbles, slightly entranced as he takes it.
“Goodnight Kenma. Goodnight Kuroo.” Yaku yawns and then hangs up the phone.
Kenma tugs him closer and winds his arms around his waist. He tilts his chin up against his sternum to look at him, “You okay?”
All of Kuroo’s worries suddenly slip from his mind like a gentle wave receding back into the ocean. His head feels quiet and still, like tepid waters and all those insurmountable, panic-inducing thoughts crumble from mountains back into molehills.
“Yeah,” He rasps, smoothing his hand down the curve of his back, “Better now.”
“I need to soft launch you to my viewers so they’re less surprised when they see pictures of us together in a couple of weeks,” Kenma tells him over breakfast that weekend.
Kuroo’s fork hovers momentarily over his plate, “Sure. How do you want to do that?”
Kenma’s viewers know about Kuroo in theory but he’s little more than a concept to them, someone that Kodzuken mentions every once in a while when he allows them rare glimpses into his life:
‘This sweatshirt? Yeah, Kuro got it for me.’
‘I did play volleyball in high school. Kuro forced me to participate. Yes, I was good. No, I will not show you pictures.’
‘Of course, I’m eating enough. Kuro likes to cook. He also likes to nag.’
“I’ll figure it out and let you know,” Kenma cuts a dainty bite of his omelet, and that’s the end of that.
The next day they take Kenma’s car out for a cruise because the weather is perfect and they have nothing better to do (Kuroo drives, of course). They stop at a swanky little cafe not far from their old university.
“This place just opened,” Kenma explains as they park in a lot nearby. He slides on a pair of pink, heart-shaped sunglasses that Kuroo thinks he stole from Hinata the last time he visited, “Reviews are good.”
Kuroo throws his arm around his shoulders as they walk, “How about I buy this time?”
Kenma cranes his neck back and smiles at him with all of his teeth, “No chance.” And there’s really no room for argument after that.
Kenma saves them a seat by the window and the grassy photo wall with the fairy lights. When Kuroo comes over with their drinks he’s typing away at his phone with a frown.
“Who ya texting?” Kuroo asks, taking the seat opposite of him and shucking off his jacket to hang it on the back of his seat.
“Hikaru,” He glances up, “We chose winners for the giveaway last week so I need to find a time to sign the thank-you cards.”
It takes no small amount of effort to keep his face neutral. He feels the smallest pang of guilt for taking one of those merch sets away from some Kodzuken fan across the country who doesn’t get to sit down with him for coffee and bump knees with him under the table.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Kenma pulls his lip between his teeth, “I should have put more stuff in there.”
“I think it’s the perfect amount of stuff.”
“I guess so. People seemed to like the bobbleheads a lot.”
Kuroo can only hum in agreement.
Kenma tilts his phone up and takes a quick picture. Kuroo blinks in surprise, “What was that for?”
“Instagram.” He squints down at his screen, “Your face isn’t in it.”
“Did you want my face to be in it?”
“Not this time,” He purses his lips and wrinkles his brow. Expression #22. Displeasure.
“Let me see,” Kuroo leans forward and Kenma turns his phone around. The picture catches him from the neck down with his elbows resting lightly against the tabletop and the fingers of his left hand curled loosely around his mug. The cute white swirl of Kenma’s latte art is in the frame as well.
“It’s pretty good. Maybe I should have worn something nicer though.” Kuroo glances down at the simple white T-shirt he threw on this morning, unaware that he would be making his Kodzuken debut today.
“Are you kidding me? We can’t use this.” Kenma’s voice is suddenly impassioned, slightly scandalized.
“Why not? What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s obscene,” He shoves the phone back under Kuroo’s nose, “Look at your arms.”
Kuroo gently pushes the phone away with a laugh, “I see them. They’re just arms.”
“That’s my shirt. Why doesn’t it look like that on me?” He asks, disgruntled.
“I’m just bigger than you, Kenma,” Kuroo tells him with a grin.
“Yeah,” Kenma stares at him blankly for a long moment before he shakes himself out of it, “Anyways…”
“We can take a different picture.”
“No, I’m posting this one,” Kenma grumbles, “Just prepare yourself, I guess.”
“Prepare myself for what?”
Kenma gives him a grave look that makes Kuroo nervous, “You’ll see.”
Kuroo made a rule for himself after he started working at this company. He couldn’t decline his manager’s invitation to go drinking more than three times in a row. Refusing to go was rude, but going out more than once a week was excessive. So he made a compromise.
Still, he dreads these nights.
Someone next to him shoves at his shoulder, and someone else makes a loud joke. They all erupt into laughter and some unlucky bastard has to chug his drink.
He has no idea how they all do this so often. He always feels like sh*t the next morning and there’s an anxious pit in his stomach every time they ask him to go out. Do they like this? Are they having fun? Or have most of them just been worn down by constant pestering and jeering and social pressure?
Kuroo is in the third category. Sometimes he has a hard time saying no. The company had brought him on fresh out of college and, in the hiring team’s own words, ‘really taken a chance on him’. So he feels obligated to immerse himself into the company culture as much as he can and if that means getting four beers deep on a Wednesday night then so be it.
“Aren’t you going to finish your drink, Kuroo-san?” Yoshida is a project manager for the sister department to Kuroo’s. He’s a stick-thin, red-cheeked man with a loud, sharp voice that carries across any room that he’s in. Kuroo thinks Yoshida enjoys these nights a little too much. He takes these drunken opportunities to lean too close to his female coworkers and heckles anyone who leaves early.
Usually Kuroo.
Kuroo’s vision swims a little when he looks up. Everybody has turned to look at them. Some of them are smiling, and some of them are looking at him like he’s about to be shot in public.
He would kill to be home with Kenma right now. There’s nothing he wants more than to change into his favorite pair of threadbare sweatpants and watch him test out a new game. Kuroo wishes he was there, sinking into the beanbag that he always pulls up next to the gaming chair and drifting off to the sound of Kenma’s fingers on the controls.
Instead, he’s here, slowly raising his glass to his lips and taking one long, reluctant sip before he feels fingers pushing up the bottom to urge him on. There’s beer spilling out from the corners of his mouth. He swallows in big gulps and his sinuses burn. His eyes squeeze shut and he nearly chokes on the last dregs at the bottom of his cup.
He sets the glass down heavily and wipes his face with the back of his hand as they cheer and seek out their next victim. The table in front of him twists and contorts and he fights back a wave of nausea. He keeps losing track of his thoughts, one comes and then slips away too fast to form. But there’s one thing that stays clear and solid in his mind.
To Kenma <3:
Canyou come get me I don’t feel great,
From Kenma <3:
where are you
Kuroo manages to send his location before he finally lets his head rest, cushioned by his arms on the table. He’s burning up. There are beads of sweat rolling down his back and tacking his shirt to his skin. He must be stuck like that for hours, or maybe it’s just a few minutes, breathing through his mouth and fighting back the rise of bile in his throat.
He doesn’t get paid enough for this.
The intern beside him, who has been loudly and badly singing some ballad, abruptly stops, “Am I drunk or is that Kodzuken?”
Kuroo lifts his head to see Kenma slip through the threshold and into the private company room. He bows politely but his lips are pressed into a thin line, “Sorry to interrupt.” He says.
To anybody else, he might look polite and reserved, but Kuroo is familiar with the implications of Expression #7.
Kenma is angry.
Angry and also beautiful. He’s the most beautiful man in the entire world, actually. He looks so kissable, does everyone else think so too? He can’t imagine anyone looking at Kenma and not wanting to be near him. Kuroo wants to be near him all the time, including right now, Kuroo wants to be near him right now-
“That’s my ride,” He mumbles and inclines his head to his superiors before dragging himself back upright.
The intern grabs on to his pant leg, looking up at him with hazy eyes and a slimy grin, “You’re actually his friend? Tell him to stay and drink with us.”
Kuroo is too drunk to laugh it off or say something proper like ‘Maybe later!’, instead he sneers, “Not a f*cking chance,” before shaking his grip off and walking away.
He doesn’t look anywhere but right in front of him as he picks his way towards Kenma who shivers into hyperfocus while everything else remains unclear.
“Come on,” He says when Kuroo gets near, gripping him tight by the back of his jacket and leading him out the door without a word of farewell.
Kenma feels sturdy and warm beside him. He bears the bulk of Kuroo’s weight as they make their way outside. Kuroo fills his lungs with the cold nighttime air and feels a prickle of awareness return to the back of his mind.
“What if I throw up in your car?” He slurs as he’s settled in the passenger side and Kenma pulls out onto the road.
“Then I’ll get it cleaned.” He says simply.
“But it’s new.”
“It’s just an object, Kuro,” He turns right back onto the main road, “Objects can be fixed, and cleaned, and replaced.”
“You hate driving.”
“You needed me.”
Kuroo is quiet for a moment. He lets his head loll over to the side to look at the way the colors of the street move across his side profile. With his eyes he traces a line down from Kenma’s forehead and along the swoop of his nose, to his top lip and then the slightly larger swell of his bottom one, all the way to the place where his chin curves into his neck. And then he does it over again. His heart rate starts to slow. His breathing returns to normal. He’s still shamefully drunk on a weekday, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to vomit anymore.
“Are you mad at me?”
Kenma slows the car to a stop at a light and looks over at him from the driver's side, “No,” His voice is firm, “I’m not.”
“But you’re mad.”
“I-” He pauses, choosing his words, probably, “I think you’re miserable. And I don’t like that,” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, “And I also think you don’t tell me when you’re upset anymore. And I don’t like that either. But I’m not mad at you .”
“You’re busy, I don’t want you to-”
“Tetsurou,” Kenma interrupts him with a sigh, “You have to learn to trust that I can handle my job and our friendship at the same time. It’s not too much for me.”
Kuroo sniffs and his eyes start to sting, “Is it stupid if I cry right now?”
“When have I ever thought you were stupid for crying?”
“When I failed that test that one time and thought my life was over.”
Kenma rolls his eyes, “It wasn’t a test it was a quiz, and you didn’t fail it you missed three questions.”
“Out of ten!”
Kenma huffs out a laugh and Kuroo relaxes back into his seat.
“Close your eyes,” Kenma’s voice feels like it’s coming from far away, “I’ll wake you up when we get home.”
Kuroo’s mouth tastes like garbage and his head is pounding when he wakes up the next morning. When he moves to get up, he realizes he’s sweated through the sheets beneath him. He peels himself away from Kenma, trying not to wake him, and sits on the edge of the bed until the world stops spinning.
“f*ck,” He groans, resting his head in his hands. He hears the sheets rustle behind him and then there’s a hand on the bare skin of his shoulder, it slides up his neck to rest against his forehead.
“You’re burning up.”
Kuroo leans into the cool touch with a sigh, “‘s fine.”
“It’s not fine. Put a shirt on, I’m taking you to the doctor.”
“I don’t need a doctor."
“Yes, you do. I’ll call your office and tell them you won’t be in.”
“Are you allowed to do that?” Kuroo asks, blinking blearily at his crumpled shirt on the bedroom floor.
“I’m allowed to do whatever I want,” Kenma says over his shoulder as he hurries out of the room for his keys.
When Kuroo was around six, his grandma got cancer and spent a lot of time in the hospital. Sometimes Kuroo would come along to her treatments. His father would set him up with a coloring book and a cup of apple juice and he would draw the same view from the third-story hospital window over and over again.
She lost the hair on her head and her face, and her arms and legs got skinner than he had ever seen. Sometimes she would cry and squeeze her eyes shut tight, but sometimes she would ask him to read his books out loud or show her his pictures.
She was cancer-free by the time Kuroo was eight. If she hadn’t gotten sick then they wouldn’t have moved to be closer to her, and if they hadn’t ever decided to move then Kuroo’s dad would have stayed at the same job that made him miserable and he never would have met his stepmom.
And of course, if they had stayed out in the countryside, Kuroo would have never met Kenma.
He has complicated feelings about hospitals, and Kenma knows this which is why he stays by his side when the nurse says he’s too dehydrated and that she would like to put him on an IV drip until his fever lowers.
“My brain feels like it’s melting,” He complains.
Kenma glances up from his phone, “That’s because it is.”
Kuroo groans, “That’s not good.”
“I called in and said you’re not coming in tomorrow either.”
“That was nice of you.”
“I’m always nice.”
“Hey, that’s my line.”
“Finders keepers,” Kenma smiles over at him, and Kuroo’s heart rate spikes in response. Kenma glances up at the heart rate monitor, “You need to relax, Kuro.”
Kuroo is sweating profusely and his mind keeps jumping from topic to topic. Is it possible he’s still drunk? Or is it just the fever?
“You’re so pretty. I’d write poems about your face if I could?”
“Why can’t you?”
“I’ve always been better at math,” Kuroo’s eyelids are heavy, “Have you considered modeling? I think you would be good at it.”
“You’re delirious.”
“Maybe, but I’m not wrong. Hey, is that my shirt?”
Kenma pulls the baggy, cotton shirt away from his body and looks down at it, “I think so. Our stuff is all mixed together.”
Kuroo’s heart rate spikes again, “You need to relax,” Kenma insists, glancing at the door, “The nurses are going to think I’m torturing you.”
“I can’t help it,” He whines.
“If my face is such a distraction I’m going to put a bag over my head.”
Kuroo sighs forlornly, “Won’t help. The rest of you is pretty too.”
Kenma presses his lips together, “Do I need to leave?”
“No!” Kuroo reaches out for him and Kenma leans forward to take his hand, “Don’t leave.”
“Okay,” Kenma rubs his thumb across the back of his hand before pulling away, “As long as you promise to try and rest.” He leans back and pulls out his phone again, settling back into the hospital chair behind him.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“What are you reading?”
“Kuro. Go to sleep.”
“I can’t!” He lifts his arms and lets them flop back down, “You’re not playing your game.”
“The buttons are too loud, I don’t want to keep you up.”
“I’ve been falling asleep to that sound for a hundred years.”
“Seventeen years.”
“That’s a lot of years.”
Kenma looks at him for a long, long time, “It is a lot of years.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out his handheld, filling the room with the tiny familiar sound of his fingers mashing the buttons.
Kuroo sighs and melts back into the bed. Before he knows it, he’s blessedly unconscious.
They release him from the hospital a few hours later once Kuroo’s fever has lowered to an acceptable number and he’s less dehydrated. The doctor warns him to take care of himself and sends him away with instructions to drink lots of fluids and get plenty of rest.
Kenma gets Kuroo situated on the couch in his gaming room and gets ready to start his stream.
“Is it really okay that I’m in here?” The fan in him is ecstatic. Nobody has ever gotten to be in the room while Kenma is streaming, not even his friends. Not even Kuroo himself.
“It’ll be fine.”
“What if I need to get up to pee?”
Kenma spins around in his chair, “Then you get up to pee.”
“But they’ll see me.”
“They’ve already seen you. Technically.” He slips his headphones on and adjusts his hair, “Try to get some sleep.” He says and then turns back around.
Kuroo makes himself comfortable as Kenma begins the live. He pulls out his phone and takes a moment to scroll through his severely neglected stan account while Kenma is distracted. It’s odd getting the ‘Kodzuken is live!’ notification while he’s in the room where it’s happening.
“Kuro is sick so he’s back there resting. Or he’s supposed to be resting. He’s probably on his phone,” Kuroo cringes guiltily, “Chat says get well soon.”
“Thank you chat!” Kuroo calls out and his voice sounds raspy.
“Yeah, he’ll be okay. He’s used to the noise… No, actually I’m a heavier sleeper than he is. And he snores.”
“Hey!”
Kuroo brings up the live with his volume down so he can watch the gameplay without craning his neck or moving into the frame.
@kodzucup
we love u Arms !!!!
@woooahae1!
Feel better Arms!!!
@theycallmebaepsae
Replay BOTW, begging on my knees
@d!cksout4harvey
Who are we talking about? T-shirt guy?
@satosugulovechild
smash
@BabyStand
ARMS REVEAL NOW
@bigchicken
are we not going to talk about why Kodzu knows so much about his sleeping habits
“Who’s Arms?” Kuroo asks, “Am I Arms?”
“Stop calling him that,” Kenma grumbles, “Let's play Observation Duty. It’s been a while. I think there are new layouts…. Yeah, the pool one looks cool.”
@whatlikeitshard
personally i’d let him hit it real disrespectful like
@bromain-expansion
thinking about kuro’s veiny hands while I ***** ******
@ilikemenderman
kodzu move bitch ur not the only one who likes them beefy
“Mods are generous with the block button, just a reminder. No sexually harassing Kuro,” Kenma boots up the title screen of the game, “I’m not going to bring him on here if you’re all going to objectify him… Yeah. He’s feeling a little better. Better than this morning, at least. Right?” Kenma glances over his shoulder and Kuroo holds up a peace sign, “Yeah, he’s fine. But thanks for asking,” Kenma takes a deep breath, “Alright, let's observe some duty.”
“I think I hate my job,” Kuroo tells Yaku. He’s back in his apartment for the first time in forever. He spent the rest of the weekend at Kenma’s house and only came back before work on Monday morning.
“Oh hey. I could have sworn you died.”
“I didn’t die, I’ve just been sick.”
“I know, I watched Kenma’s stream along with the rest of the world. Seems like they like you, by the way.”
“They’ll get bored eventually. I think. The novelty will wear off or something.”
“Right… anyways. Your job?”
“I hate it.”
“Yeah, I got that part.” Kuroo can hear cars honking and the whooshing of wind on the other line.
“Kenma had to rescue me from a company outing and he said that he thinks I seem miserable and that I don’t tell him when I’m upset anymore.”
“Well you are miserable, aren’t you? And you obviously aren’t telling him how you feel because you’re telling me instead.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know it was that obvious. And he like… buys me all these nice things and he’s always having to take care of me and I just feel like I’m not contributing anything to our friendship anymore. I think I’m just dead weight, at this point.”
“This all sounds like stuff you should talk to Kenma about.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I tell him then he’s going to want to fix it. And if he has to fix it then that just proves that I rely on him to fix everything.”
“Or, here’s a crazy idea, you lean on the people who love you because humans are social creatures and there’s nothing wrong with needing support.”
“What if I always need support?”
“You will. And so will Kenma. It’s not always going to be 50/50, that’s not how relationships work.”
“But me and Kenma aren’t in a relationship.”
“Whether or not it’s romantic at the moment, you and Kenma are in a very serious, committed relationship.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“I mean, he’s introducing you to his fans so that’s got to mean something.”
“Oh yeah. We’re going to a red carpet charity event thing at the end of the month so he’s trying to acclimate me or whatever.”
“He’s making a public appearance with you?”
“Yeah,” Kuroo picks at his nails, “He’s bringing me as his plus one.”
“Kuroo, that’s huge.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah actually, I gotta go. I’m about to win a bet.”
“What? What bet? Yaku? Yaku!”
“I need you to wear this,” Kenma shoves a hoodie into his chest.
Kuroo unfolds it and holds it up, “Is this merch? Am I just here for product placement?”
Kenma glances off to the side, “Sure, let's go with that.”
Kuroo fits it on over his head and pulls it down. It must be an entire size too big, and Kuroo is, by no means, a small guy, “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to cover me up?”
“Because if I block every commenter asking you to choke them then I’ll alienate half my audience,” He crosses his arms over his chest defensively, “They’re not used to it. You’re a hazard.”
“Oh yeah?” Kuroo raises his eyebrows and smirks down at him, “You seem to be holding up just fine.”
“I have a lot of practice.” He shrugs and then takes his seat.
Kuroo sits at the extra chair that Kenma has set up next to his own, “This is a big ass monitor.”
“Better to see you with, my dear,” Kenma mumbles, “Okay, you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Kenma starts the live and the view count starts climbing up and up. He wonders if he ever gets used to having this many eyes on him. Kuroo realizes, belatedly, that he’s probably never been in front of this many people before in his life.
“Hey, thanks for joining,” Kenma relaxes back into his chair and his eyes flicker across the screen, “I’m sure you’ve noticed that we have a guest.”
“Hey,” Kuroo raises his hand to wiggle his fingers and he smiles, leaning up closer to Kenma to watch the chat scroll by.
“This is my best friend, Kuro, by the way. I talk about him a lot but you’ve probably never seen his face before.”
@kodzucup
Hi Kuro!!!!!!
@trenchwench
omg my parents
@OraOra
are you feeling better?
“Yeah, actually, I feel great.” He glances over at Kenma and then back at the camera, “It was just a little fever.”
“It was not a little fever. They put him on an IV drip.” Kenma checks the chat, “Kuro doesn’t get sick often. It’s usually me. I’m not as good at taking care of people.”
Kuroo reaches over to rub his shoulder, “He did a great job. He only yelled at me like three times.”
@internationalsuperspy
Their size difference O.O
@iny0urwalls6
god you just know kodzuken is getting tossed around when the camera is off
User @iny0urwalls6 has been banned!
“Today we’re playing Stardew. We’re going to start a new game and see who makes the most money by the end of the stream.”
“Are you making your character look like you?” Kuroo glances over at Kenma’s side of the screen and then laughs out loud, “That’s horrendous.”
“It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”
“Yeah,” Kuroo nods sagely, “Your internal organs are worth a lot of money.”
Kuroo fiddles around for a bit, getting used to the controls again while Kenma immediately starts clearing away the weeds and sticks, “No energy. Just like real life.”
“Pierre’s a stingy bitch,” Kuroo complains, “Give me more seeds.”
“Just kill him.”
“I want to.”
“Chat wants to know who we’re going to marry.”
“Sebastian, love of my life,” Kuroo answers immediately, “My moody, reclusive king.”
“I’m marrying Elliot, obviously.”
“ Why ?” Kuroo raises his eyebrows, “That guy’s the worst.”
“His marriage dialogue is very sappy and he actually helps out around the farm pretty often. I need that kind of energy in my life.”
“Oh, right. He’s an author.”
“I’m supporting his dreams.”
“Do you think he makes any profit from his book sales?”
Kenma chops a few trees down to clear some more room for them to work, “I’m the breadwinner in this family. He just has to sit there and look pretty.”
“I respect that about you.”
Kenma glances over at him with a secretive smile, “I know you do.”
@yesoryes2
are we interrupting smth
@JimBobJoestar
god im so lonely
@kozuwozu
how long have you guys been friends
“We’ve been friends for most of our lives.”
“Seventeen years, baby,” Kuroo leans over to nudge Kenma, “When we hit twenty we gain telepathy right?”
“At forty I just crawl up inside your skin and live there.”
“We would save a lot on food expenses. Why do you get to invade my body? Why can’t I invade yours?”
“You’re taller and stronger, we just need my brain.”
“Oh really? So I’m just a body to you?”
“You caught me. I befriended you at seven with the sole intent of eventually taking over your body.”
@satosugulovechild
weirdest foreplay i’ve ever seen
don’t ban me mods i am simply making an observation
@TheBigCheese (Mod)
guys let's try to avoid using the word foreplay here
@trenchwench
is ‘mating ritual’ okay
@TheBigCheese (Mod)
….
I guess
“Streams almost over and Kuroo has spent all of his time landscaping and none of it making money.”
Kuroo pouts, “I’m a homemaker.”
Kenma clicks his tongue and reaches over to smooth his hand down the hair at the back of his head, “I know you are.”
Kuroo shrugs at the camera, “Maybe the real Stardew Valley was the friends we made along the way.”
Kenma turns away to laugh, schooling his face when he looks back at the screen, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He looks over at Kuroo with a soft smile, “Thank you for joining me. Congrats on your first stream. Proud of you.”
“Of course. Thank you for having me. Always a pleasure.”
Kenma’s hand slides down to rest on his back in a way that feels distinctively possessive.
“This is Kodzuken and Kuro signing out. See you soon.”
#kuroken trends on Twitter and Kuroo has to act surprised when Kenma breaks the news to him.
“People are shipping us online,” Kenma says carefully, he’s looking at Kuroo like he’s watching an experiment take place in front of his eyes, “Pretty intensely.”
“Oh…” Kuroo looks down into his bowl of cereal, “Well that’s just kind of what they do, right?”
“Yes, that’s kind of what they do,” He presses, “Do you… have any thoughts on that?”
Kuroo’s not bothered by it. Logging on and seeing his name all smashed together with Kenma’s felt all sorts of right. He thinks that he should feel bad about secretly enjoying it and that it probably makes Kenma anxious to see that kind of thing, but he can’t deny that he ships Kuroken too, probably more than anybody else.
“It’s not a big deal. We have good chemistry so, naturally, people are going to pick up on that.”
Kenma sits back, “Right.”
“And it’s been good for views right? I checked.”
“It has. Stats are good. Not that I’m trying to use you like that.”
“No, I know you’re not. I know that. People just like to see other people be happy, I think.”
“And we make each other happy.”
“And we make each other happy,” Kuroo agrees with a nod.
They stare across the table at each other. For a minute, Kuroo feels stuck there in Kenma’s honey-colored gaze like a fly caught in a web. The tension mounts like a rollercoaster ticking up towards the top of the tracks before the drop.
He clears his throat and scoops up their dirty dishes to wash, “Anyways…”
“Anyways,” Kenma mumbles behind him.
“I’m going out of town this week. They need me at the Nagoya location for a last-minute negotiation before the audit.”
He can practically feel Kenma’s displeased frown as he rinses out their bowls and sets them in the dishwasher.
“When?”
“I’ll leave on Wednesday night, and then I work all day Thursday and a little bit on Friday morning, but I promise I’ll be here on time to get ready and head to the event.”
Kenma trails behind him into the kitchen. He leans against the stovetop with his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed. Kuroo pats his hands dry and then presses his thumb to the wrinkled skin between his eyes to smooth it out.
“I’m not worried about that. I’m worried that they just send you away whenever they want with no notice. They’re punishing you for calling out last week.”
“Nah,” Kuroo frowns, “Well actually, maybe, but it’ll be okay,” He promises, “It’ll be so quick you won't even notice I’m gone.”
“I always notice when you’re gone,” Kenma’s lips twitch up, “Because nobody feeds me or does my dishes.”
Kuroo uses the finger on his forehead to push him backward, “You’re a brat.”
“But you still keep me around.”
“Of course I do,” Kuroo sniffs, turning back around to finish cleaning up, “Who else’s credit card would I use?”
The roads are quiet and the weather is rainy and bleak. Kuroo fiddles with the radio until he finds a slow, bassy pop song that he knows Kenma likes and turns it up. He’s supposed to be streaming tonight but he moved it back a day so he could take Kuroo to the train station.
Kenma’s been in a dismal mood since the weekend. He’s been snippish and short and Kuroo knows he hasn’t been getting enough sleep. He’s probably just overwhelmed. The charity event is at the end of the week so he’s pre-emptively dreading all of that social interaction, and he always gets a bit anxious when Kuroo goes out of town, especially when it’s last minute like this.
The only time Kenma speaks on the entire drive is when he asks Kuroo where he should park.
“You could probably just drop me off here,” Kuroo suggests.
Kenma’s finger tighten on the wheel, “No, I’m walking with you to the stop.”
“Okay,” Kuroo points up ahead, “There’s a lot right there. It’s usually full but I bet there are spots since there’s hardly anyone else here.
As wonderful as Kenma’s hand-eye coordination is, he’s never been a great driver. He parks crookedly and hops out of the driver's side without bothering to fix it.
“Did you bring enough stuff?” He crosses his arms and cups both of his elbows as Kuroo grabs his suitcase from the trunk.
“I think so. It’s only a couple of days,” He hesitates and then holds his hand out, “Wanna hold my hand?”
Kenma silently winds their fingers together and keeps his gaze straight ahead as they walk.
“We used to hold hands all the time when we were kids.” Kuroo lightly squeezes his fingers.
“You can hold my hand whenever you want.”
Kuroo looks over at him with a crooked grin, “Can I really?”
His hair shields his face from view, and so do the shadows cast by the streetlamps, “You know I’m not good at asking for that kind of stuff.”
Kenma isn’t very tactile in nature. He clams up when people hug him and ducks out of pats on the back and shoulder squeezes. He’s fine with handshakes, but only if they are brief and he hates people who squeeze too tight.
But Kuroo reaches for him when he gets close like a well-worn habit. Kenma doesn’t ask for Kuroo’s touch, he just wanders into his orbit until he gets what he wants.
And he always gets what he wants.
It’s kind of paradoxical the way that Kenma needs Kuroo’s constant attention. He’s a little spoiled and it’s all Kuroo’s fault, but he likes him like this. He likes that there’s an understanding between them that Kenma can get whatever he wants from Kuroo, and Kuroo is always willing to give. It’s symbiotic. Kenma’s a little bit needy, and Kuroo needs to be needed.
Kenma tugs him behind a big, pillar near the tracks, “I got you something.”
Kuroo perks up, “Another gift?”
Kenma unzips the pocket of his cross-body bag and pulls out a palm-sized green satin drawstring purse, “The box was too big to fit into my bag,” He mumbles, and then pulls out a shiny silver watch that glints under the dingy station lights overhead.
Kuroo’s eyes widen, “That’s a Rolex.”
“Yeah,” Kenma pushes Kuroo’s left sleeve up and away from his wrist and fits it on over his hand, fastening it right at his wrist bone, “It’s water-proof.”
Kuroo holds it up to his face to see it better, “f*ck, that’s so cool.”
“I thought you would like it.”
“I do like it,” He sets his hand on the curve of Kenma’s neck, “I love it.”
“Good.”
Kuroo turns his wrist in between them, “How does it look?”
Kenma stays quiet for a long moment, “Perfect.”
The tinny, automated voice calls out for passengers to get ready to board and the ground below them vibrates. The rush of the train nearby ruffles Kenma’s hair, plucking the strands around his face right out of his ponytail.
“I guess that’s me.”
“I guess that’s you.”
The doors swish open and Kuroo grabs the handle of his bag, “Don’t forget to eat. Drink plenty of water. Don’t bark at the mailman.”
Kenma rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah,” He reaches up to tug his mask down and rolls up onto his tiptoes to plant a soft, lingering kiss on the side of Kuroo’s mouth, “Text me when you get there.” He murmurs and then pulls away.
Something slides into place in Kuroo’s mind.
Why did this seem so scary before? It’s just them, it’s always been just them. They’re inevitable like summer storms and traffic jams and good deals during the holidays. Kuroo can’t remember a single thing that he’s been worried about today or yesterday or even over the last ten years. His world revolves around the lingering warmth of Kenma’s lips on his skin.
Kuroo’s heart thunders in his chest. The doors will be closing any second but if he loses this moment then they might never get it back. He’ll leave on his trip and come back two days later and they’ll pretend they never kissed at the train station.
He slides his hand to the back of Kenma’s head and pulls him forward, fitting their mouths together and breathing hard through his nose when he feels the heat of Kenma’s lips against his own.
It’s so right. There’s no denying anymore that they’re made for each other. They must be. Why else would they fit together like this? It feels as if the universe cut them from the same stone and then put them out into the world to find each other again.
To become whole.
To be known.
He sighs as he pulls back, tugging Kenma’s bottom lip with him and regretfully letting it go.
He gives him a lingering kiss between his eyebrows where his stress lines show just for good measure, “Two days. I’ll see you in two days.” He promises as he slowly backs away.
Kenma gives him a soft grin and a helpless shrug, “I’ll be right here.”
Kuroo flops onto the hotel mattress fully clothed and stares up at the ceiling. He’s exhausted but also buzzing with energy. He wants to get up and pace around the room, but he also wants to lay here forever.
To Kenma <3:
I hate hotel bed sheets
Too scratchy
From Kenma <3:
u should have brought a blanket
To Kenma <3:
I know
I forgor
From Kenma <3:
luckily i did not
To Kenma <3:
Huh???
Kuroo gets up and drags his suitcase to the middle of the room and lays it down. He tugs open the zipper. Inside, folded neatly on top of his clothes, is the very same blanket that Kenma keeps on his couch in the gaming room. Kuroo runs his hands over it reverently.
To Kenma <3:
Kenma
You’re the man of my dreams
When did you even do this
From Kenma <3:
i’m just sneaky
now go to sleep
To Kenma <3:
Thank you
Goodnight baby <3
From Kenma <3:
goodnight <3
“That’s really helpful insight, Kuroo-san. Keep up the good work,” The regional manager gives him a firm pat on the back as they part ways outside of the building.
Every time he travels to branches outside of his own in Tokyo, he realizes how bleak the environment is in his building. The upper management in Nagoya doesn’t treat him like he’s an eighteen-year-old, they treat him like an adult. Which he is. They treat him like someone who’s been working this job for a few years and hitting all of his milestones, which he is .
Sometimes Kuroo forgets what it’s like to be appreciated for his contributions, which is why business meetings like these are somewhat of a guilty pleasure.
He’s on top of the world, really. His feet ache in his dress shoes and he’s hungry for dinner but there’s nothing in the entire world that can take him off this high.
Except perhaps-
His phone buzzes once he’s back in his hotel room trying to decide what he’ll get to eat.
From Kenma <3:
i saw the strangest thing today
one of the giveaway winners was actually yaku
what a coincidence, right kuro?
Kuroo immediately clicks on the contact and hits call.
“Kenma,” He breathes out frantically as soon as he picks up the phone, “I-”
“A lot of people assume that just because I’m not some obnoxious dude bro that I don’t know how to run my business but believe it or not, all my employees keep me in the loop. Why wouldn’t I personally check who won the giveaway?”
“I’m-” Kuroo’s face feels hot and his fingertips start to go numb.
“I’ve known you for a really long time, Tetsurou. I know how you talk.”
“Kenma, I’m so sorry-”
“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”
“For the account. I didn’t ever want you to find out. I know I should have stopped a long time ago, I know it’s wrong and I didn’t want you to feel like- like-”
“You think that little of me? You think I would just be mean and hateful and that you couldn’t just talk to me?”
“No. No, I think the world of you-”
Kenma scoffs, “It doesn’t sound like it. It sounds like you just decided how I would feel without even asking me. It sounds like you assumed I couldn’t handle finding out about the account just like you assumed I couldn’t handle finding out how much you hate your job. And you just keep handling me with kid gloves like I’m 15 again and I can’t walk myself to the bus stop without crying.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the account. And I’m sorry I haven’t been honest with you about how I’m feeling lately. But that doesn’t mean I think you’re incapable.”
Kenma is quiet for a moment, and then Kuroo hears him take a breath, “I… I get what you were trying to do. I saw how long you’ve had it for and- and I appreciate that in some f*cked up way you were trying to help me but I don’t need that kind of help. I don’t need sock puppets and false engagement to build a brand. And the fact that you felt like you needed to make some bullsh*t account to try and inflate my numbers just makes me think you don’t have that much faith in my ability to do it by myself.”
Kuroo furrows his brow, “... What ?”
“This just…” He draws a shaky breath, “This really crossed a line for me. I’m kind of mad that Yaku went along with it too. You don’t like to see me fail and I get that, but… but you’ve got to let me struggle and face rejection and stuff. That’s the only way I’ll grow.”
“Kenma… what are you talking about?”
“Is that why you kissed me back? Because you’re so dead set on making sure I’m happy that you’re willing to lie to protect my feelings?”
“Holy f*ck. No-”
“I don’t think this is a healthy power dynamic, Kuro. Is it the gifts? Is it because you think you owe me?”
“Kenma. Please hear me out.”
“I know I should,” His voice wobbles, “But I don’t want to hear you out. I’m really hurt, Kuro. And I think we need some space… for a while. Maybe we can talk some other time.”
“Kenma, baby. Please.” Kuroo chokes out.
“I’ll send a car for you when you come back but I think you should just go home. I’ll go to the charity event alone.” He sniffles, “Have fun on your trip.” He says with the finality of a falling hammer.
Kuroo finds himself alone at the hotel bar, ignoring a glass of whiskey that’s just leaving rings of condensation on the granite counter. He doesn’t even like whiskey, it just seemed like the right thing to order. In the movies when someone gets their heart broken, they come to a bar and solemnly nurse a glass of whiskey.
So that’s what he’s doing.
He cried his eyes out, and now he’s pretending to drink.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone approach and settle into the stool beside him, “Long evening?” He asks, in a deep warm voice.
Kuroo snorts and glances over. The man beside him is old and grey, with a soft, kind face and a pink, bulbous nose. He must notice Kuroo’s red-rimmed eyes and his general aura of hopelessness because his gaze turns sympathetic.
“That bad, huh?”
Kuroo scrubs a hand down his face, “Yeah, that bad.”
The man holds up a finger to beckon over the bartender, “A glass of your house red for me. And maybe an ice water for my friend.”
The bartender is back with their drinks immediately and Kuroo takes a grateful sip, “Thank you,” He says sincerely, “I needed this.”
“I can tell,” He smiles, “You look like you’ve been through the ringer.”
“Yeah, I just f*cked everything up with a g- a person I really like. And I thought I’d come here to drown my sorrows but I really hate whiskey.”
“Oh, trouble in paradise?” He nods in understanding, “Is that why you’re in a hotel and not at home?”
“No, uh- my… we live in Tokyo. I’m just here on business.”
“What kind of business?”
“I work in marketing.”
He lifts his bushy eyebrows, “Marketing,” He repeats, “Do you enjoy it?”
“Sure.”
The man looks skeptical.
“No, really, I do. I like what I do I just… don’t like where I do it.”
“Take it from an old man. You spend too much of your life at the office to stay somewhere that makes you feel like hell.”
“But I don’t want to quit and lose my stability. And what if I don’t find anything better?” Kuroo sags, “I just… need to tough it out until I figure out what to do next.”
The old man clicks his tongue, “Young people always say that. They’re always waiting for the ‘right moment’. But that’s the biggest lie in life. There’s never a perfect moment for anything. Never.” He takes a sip and lays his palm flat against the counter, there’s a worn, gold wedding band on his ring finger, “My wife and I, we were young when we got married. We couldn’t decide on a date. We didn’t want it to be too cold, or too hot, or too rainy. We just decided to have it all indoors and it was a wonderful day but it wasn’t really what we wanted.”
His eyes grow misty with remembrance, “We renewed our vows thirty years later. We were much older then, we cared a lot less about all those details. We chose a day in the spring when the blossoms were in bloom and it poured,” He laughs to himself, “Her hair was ruined. So was the dress. The guests were drenched… It was the best day of my life.”
Kuroo feels slightly envious of the light in his eyes, the carefree way that one can look at their life now that it’s in hindsight. The future is so daunting, and Kuroo feels like he’s walking in blind.
“What if I fail?”
“What if you don’t?”
“I guess so.”
“Where would you work if you could choose any job in the world?”
Kuroo hardly needs to think about it. He’s always known where his real passion lies, “Okay. Don’t laugh-”
The old man crosses his heart.
“I used to play volleyball in high school. For Nekoma high. We were pretty good too. I got injured in college and had to stop but it’s always held a place of… esteem in my mind. Club sports taught me a lot of important lessons about teamwork and success and failure. It even-” He coughs, “It even taught me about love. About committing yourself to something. And I think those are good lessons to learn when you’re young.” He traces his fingers around the rim of his water glass, “I’d be happy if I could teach kids to love volleyball for the rest of my life. I think it’s really important to lower that net.”
The old man gives him a thoughtful look, rubbing at the curve of his chin, “The volleyball world is changing, I think. With the rise of that monster generation and all.”
“We played against all those guys back in the day.”
“You don’t say?”
“It’s true. Bokuto Kotourou is one of my best friends, he plays for MSBY. Hinata Shouyo too, I’ve been on the other side of that quick. It’s terrifying.”
“Sounds like you’re still pretty connected.”
“Oh yeah,” Kuroo agrees, “We try to keep in touch. They’re really good guys. I actually… God, I’ve been so caught up I probably haven’t talked to them as often as I should.”
“I’m sure they’ll forgive you.” He reaches over and pats Kuroo’s shoulder, “And I have a feeling your sweetheart will forgive you too. Maybe try bringing flowers. It usually works for me.” He finishes his wine and stands up. Kuroo does as well.
“I should probably head back up to my room. I have a lot of groveling to do tomorrow.” Kuroo smiles sheepishly, “What did you say your name was?”
“Azume Tsuneo,” He holds out his palm, “And what should I call you?”
“Oh, Kuroo. Kuroo Tetsurou.” He grasps Azuma’s hand and bows deeply at the waist, “Thank you, Azume-san. I appreciate your advice.”
“When you get as old as I am, talking is what you do best,” He chuckles at himself, “Good luck.”
It’s almost noon, and for the first time ever Kuroo bluntly and without any sort of remorse, declines the company's offer to take him to lunch.
He thanks the regional manager profusely and shakes her hand but ultimately tells her that he needs to go, “I have an obligation in Tokyo by seven so I really need to get going.”
She understands. She sends him off with her well-wishes and another thank you for being so helpful.
The train ride is torture. He bounces his legs up and down as he watches the mountainside fly by. He turns his phone over and over again in his hand. Kenma hasn’t contacted him. Not once. Kuroo will give it one last shot, beg at his feet, plead for forgiveness, and if Kenma still doesn’t want to talk to him then he’ll just have to accept that.
But god, he hopes Kenma will answer his door.
When he thinks about what he’s going to say he gets anxious and clammy so he decides, for the first time in his life, that he’s not going to plan for every possible outcome. He’s going to show up and he’s going to speak directly from the heart because he thinks this situation calls for sincerity even if it’s not all that eloquent.
He thinks about the kiss and the feeling of Kenma’s mouth against his own. He thinks about all the years he’s spent loving him, and all the years he’ll spend loving him still. He thinks about the sound of Kenma crying on the other side of the line and it hurts him deeply but it also steels his resolve.
All over a bobblehead, he thinks ruefully.
But was it really? Was it even about the bobblehead in the first place? Or was it about Kenma’s incomparable hold on him no matter the form?
There’s a short, portly man dressed in all black outside of the train station holding a sign with his name on it. Kuroo must look like a maniac as he sprints off the train. His watch says it’s half past four, which means he’s running out of time.
“I know you’re supposed to take me to my house but please, for the love of god, can you take me to Kenma’s house instead?”
The driver looks taken aback, “Kozume-sama told me to take you where you need to go. So as far as I’m concerned, I’ll take you to Timbuktu if you need.”
“Okay,” Kuroo breathes out, “Okay let's go.” He starts towards the car on the curbside in long strides and then turns abruptly, “Actually, I need to make a stop. Actually, two stops. Can we do that?”
“We can do whatever you want, Kuroo-sama.”
“You look very nice, Kuroo-sama,” the driver tells him as Kuroo jogs down the stairs from his apartment building and back towards the car.
“Good enough to fix the most important relationship in my life?” He asks as he slips into the passenger side and buckles himself up. He pulls down the visor to fiddle with the tie and smooth out the collar of his shirt.
“Oh, I don’t know anything about that kind of stuff, Kuroo-sama. But I’d say you look sharp enough to at least get through the front door.”
“Good. Great.”
“Where to next?”
Kuroo anxiously checks his watch, “I need flowers as fast as f*cking possible.”
“We can do that,” He says, pulling back onto the road and gunning it down the street, “And I bet we’ll even have time to spare.”
Kuroo has run with urgency before. He’s run to catch buses and trains. He’s run to get to class and to get to work. He’s run to dig a ball and he’s run for Kenma’s sets.
But he’s never felt pressure like this. His heart thunders and pulses between his ears. His hands are tight around the roses in his hand and there’s sweat dotting his hairline. He barely even waits for the car to stop in the parking garage before he’s out and gunning it for the elevator. Reality starts to set in on the ride up to the penthouse floor and Kuroo feels his nerves hit him like a tidal wave, but then the elevator dings and the urgency is back.
It feels like it’s taken a lifetime to get here, standing at Kenma’s door. Isn’t it crazy to think it’s only been two days since he stood here last?
He knocks before he loses his nerve.
When Kenma opens the door he’s in a pair of shorts and one of Kuroo’s T-shirts. His hair is shiny and straight like he’s just styled it but his eyes are sleepy and red-rimmed. Kuroo’s heart aches like a bruise.
“I love you,” Kuroo blurts out just as Kenma’s eyebrows lower sternly and he opens his mouth, “I didn’t make that account as some sort of social media tactic to advance your career. I made that account because I’m crazy about you and sometimes I just need to let it out or it’ll sit in my chest and probably kill me one day. It’s not out of pity or obligation or anything like that, it’s because I really am your biggest fan, and I watch all of your streams, and I buy all of your merch, and I enter giveaways because the bobbleheads are limited edition and they sold out too fast for me to get one even though I was refreshing the site over and over again, Kenma, I love you.”
He sucks in a deep breath and steps forward. Kenma’s eyelashes are fluttering, “I didn’t kiss you because I feel like I owe you, I kissed you because I wanted to. I want to touch you. I want to take you on dates and I want to get you naked on top of me and I want to wake up next to you and cook you breakfast like I always do.”
“Kenma,” Kuroo rasps, he lets the roses in his hand fall onto the doorstep and reaches for his face, cupping his cheeks tenderly between his palms, “You can kick me out and tell me to f*ck off and I’ll totally respect that. But I need you to know that I don’t think you’re incompetent, I think I’m incompetent. And I’m in this tragic, pathetic transitionary period in my life where I feel stuck and I’m scared and I don’t know what I’m doing. And you’re so capable and level-headed and I’m terrified that I won’t be able to keep up with you because you’re exceptional and I’m just me.”
“Kuro-” Kenma’s eyes are brimming with tears. He presses his palms to the back of Kuroo’s hands on his face.
“I’m so-” Kuroo feels like he’s choking on all the things he should have said sooner and all the things he wants to say now, “I’m so sorry I hurt you. It kills me that you even doubted for a second that I feel anything but deep, earth-shattering adoration for you. I hate that I made you cry,” Kuroo swipes a tear away with the pad of his thumb, “And I will do anything to make it better. Anything.”
Kenma’s eyes are glassy and his mouth is slightly parted, “Kiss me,” He breathes with his fingers curling tightly in the front of Kuroo’s jacket, “Kiss me, kiss me -”
Kuroo crashes into him with enough force to send them back into the house. They stumble over each other's feet through the door. Kuroo kicks it shut behind him before he presses Kenma up against the wall, tilting Kenma’s head back to claim his mouth hungrily with his own.
Kenma makes a soft, desperate sound as he winds his fingers into Kuroo’s hair and arches up into him. Heat races across his skin at the feel of his blunt fingernails digging into his scalp.
Kuroo wants to feel him, wants to put his hands all over him. And he can, he realizes. He can slide his hand down Kenma’s jaw to his throat, over his chest, across his stomach, and then around his waist. Kuroo can run his palm up the back of his shirt to feel him skin-on-skin.
So he does.
“ Ah,” Kenma whimpers into Kuroo’s ear as he drags his mouth along his jaw and down his neck, pressing long, indulgent kisses there as he reverently strokes down the length of his back. His skin is so smooth and warm like he’s been bundled up under the blankets.
Kuroo is shaky with the realization that it’s Kenma that he’s touching, it’s Kenma’s voice gasping out his name when Kuroo grabs him by the hips and pulls them closer together. His body feels electric and unsteady, he half expects to see sparks dancing across the space between them when he looks up, but when he lifts his head he just sees Kenma: red-lipped and slightly out of breath, looking at him like he’s the only man in the universe.
It’s a new expression, one that he hasn’t numbered yet.
Kuroo’s body thrums with the realization that they have so much left to learn about each other, so much left to experience side by side.
He kisses him once more, sweet and tender this time, “I love you,” He says again, just to see the way Kenma’s cheeks redden up close.
“I love you too.”
Kuroo’s breath rushes out of his lungs, “Ooh,” He braces himself against the wall behind Kenma’s head, “I got a little weak in the knees when you said it back. Does that happen to everyone?”
Kenma leans forward and nips at the skin below his jaw before soothing the sting with his tongue.
“Jesus,” He rolls his head back, “If you keep doing that we’re never going to make it on time.”
Kenma pulls back, “You still want to go?”
“It’s important to you.”
“This is important to me too,” Kenma gently tugs on his hair for emphasis.
Kuroo’s face slips into a syrupy grin, “Oh, Kenma, rest assured we are going to finish this. But we should probably go out and get some social interaction before we hole up in this house for the next few days.”
Kenma shivers and Kuroo kisses him again, “Go get dressed. I’ll be right here.”
While Kenma is changing, Kuroo retrieves the fallen roses from the doorstep where he had abandoned them and sets them up in a vase on the kitchen counter.
He takes a moment to breathe, to brace himself against the counter, and let it all settle in. A weight has been lifted off his chest but there’s still the nagging, cliche question of ‘What are we?’ prickling at the back of his mind. He decides that this doesn’t have to be a big existential problem.
Everything will change.
Nothing will change at all.
Kuroo will still spend most of his nights here. He’ll still wake up curled up around Kenma. But now maybe he’ll learn Kenma in new ways. He’ll learn what makes him tick and writhe and scream-
Arousal simmers low in his skin. All these things he’s never fully let himself think about are rushing up to the surface like blood from a wound. Kenma on his back, Kenma bent over the dining room table, Kenma’s nails raking down his back and his teeth in his skin- clawing, pulling, consuming. Kenma, Kenma, Kenma -
“What are you thinking so hard about?”
Kuroo whips around to face him.
His slacks are the same color as Kuroo’s, but they’re a different cut. They’re high-waisted, tight around his hips and waist but loose down to his ankles, brushing the tops of his smart-looking dress shoes. He’s wearing a lacy black top with a blazer thrown over his shoulders.
Kuroo can see the delicate jut of his collarbones as he brushes his long, straight hair behind his shoulder.
“What do you think?” He asks.
“You look so f*cking good,” Kuroo’s breathing speeds up and he turns back around to face the wall.
“Kuro?”
“Just- give me a minute,” He says, staring at the backsplash above the sink until the tile blurs, “A little overwhelmed.”
“Hey,” He feels a light touch on the back of his shoulder, “It’s just me.”
Kuroo turns back to face him, seizing his hand to hold it over his pounding heart, “It’s never been just you. You’re like… it. You’re the whole sentence. Period. Literally.” He rambles.
“Okay, then it’s just us, nothing to be afraid of,” Kenma folds their fingers together, “It’s just like when I still made you walk me to school every morning when you started high school even though it almost made you late every day. We’ve always been like this. I’ve always needed you near.”
“Sometimes…” Kuroo looks down where their hands are connected, “I worry that you’ve outgrown me. And I don’t want to be left behind.”
Kenma laughs, shaking his head incredulously, “I still get overwhelmed by normal adult tasks, I still get anxious in crowds. I don’t think I’ll ever like making phone calls or cooking by myself or going to the airport. The only reason I have a normal sleeping schedule is because I want to lie down next to you more than I want to play video games and I still cry when you leave .”
“You cry when I leave?”
“Yeah,” Kenma shrugs, “I hate when you’re far away.”
“ Kenma- ”
“I’m really, really lucky,” Kenma interrupts him, “To love someone so much that I miss them when they’re away.
“f*ck,” Kuroo blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes, “We have so much to talk about.”
Kenma cups his cheek, “We have time,” He says softly, “But maybe not right now. It’s 6:45.” He leans up to steal a quick kiss and turns away to get his bag, “I have eye drops and concealer, we’ll fix your face in the car.” He stands by the door and holds out his hand, “Let’s go.”
Nothing really captures how loud and disorienting the red carpet is. There are spots behind his eyes from the flashing of the lights as Kuroo steps out of the car and then holds out his hand to help Kenma down.
There’s a rush of noise when they see him, a swell of excitement that Kuroo understands at a cellular level. He feels like that when he sees Kenma, too. He too would shoulder his way up to the front of the crowd just to get a glimpse.
Kuroo can’t see the fans through the flashing lights but he can hear them immediately, screams of Kenma’s name and, to his surprise, a few of his own.
Kenma had given him the run down a few weeks ago: they get a little less than thirty seconds to pose and move on to meet Kenma’s management, who are waiting on the other side of the door along with a big pool of other sharply dressed media professionals.
He does as he’s been instructed: walks Kenma towards the center where the bulk of the media is, and poses for a few seconds with his hand placed appropriately high on the curve of Kenma’s waist. He doesn’t squint or grimace at the brightness, just looks right, left, and center.
Kenma has prepared him for the fact that they’re going to want pictures of Kenma alone too.
“It’s not a personal thing,” He had grimaced while he said it, perhaps nervous that Kuroo would take offense, “It’s just… how it is.”
It’s hard to let go of him and continue down to the end by himself, but Kuroo’s trying to get better at letting Kenma stand on his own. Plus the view’s better from a few steps back. He can take Kenma in the same way everyone else has gotten to. They call his name, he slides his foot forward and angles his body. One hand is tucked in his pocket and the other brushes his hair back.
They holler at him to smile but he doesn’t show his teeth until he’s coming back Kuroo’s way.
“Did I look okay?” He asks.
“You look perfect. This outfit is incredible.”
Kenma drags him down closer with his tie, “I look better with it off.” He whispers, then brushes past him and into the venue.
If Kuroo wasn’t good at putting on a friendly, presentable demeanor while thinking about taking Kozume Kenma’s clothes off then he probably wouldn’t have survived college, or adulthood, or the last hour and a half of his life.
They mingle and Kuroo rubs elbows just like he promised. They ask him who he is and he’s not sure how to answer that question right now but it doesn’t scare him like it used to. Someday he’ll have a more adult answer. Tonight he just says he's a professional Kodzuken fan and it gets a chuckle every time. They think he’s joking.
He is not.
“I really am the most successful Kodzuken fan, though,” He tells Kenma as they sneak two plates of hors d’oeuvres to an empty table off to the side. Most of the charity work has already been done just by buying one of the wickedly expensive tickets, but there’s an art auction off in another ballroom to raise some extra funds that a decent chunk of the partygoers have moved to.
“You are,” Kenma agrees, “Have you checked Twitter?”
“Not yet,” Kuroo doesn’t need to look at his phone to guess what Kenma’s fans are saying, “It’ll be interesting though. More comments about me manhandling you and stealing your innocence, I’m sure."
Kenma smirks, “There’s no innocence here but I’ll let you do the other thing.”
Kuroo groans, “You’re going to kill me.”
Kenma shrugs.
Kuroo takes a moment to glance around the venue, “It’s not as intimidating as I thought it would be. Kind of feels like a school dance. Are they all like this?”
“Who knows? I don’t do this very often.”
“Yeah, I guess you don’t, huh?”
Kenma nibbles on some kind of tart, “It’s mostly for show so people can see you. My team says it’s a good idea to show up to support causes that I care about instead of just throwing money at them. Something about social awareness and aligning my brand with my values.”
“Is it bad that I never asked what the charity is?”
Kenma purses his lips and draws little figure eights on the table, “It's to raise money for children in need so they can participate in extracurriculars like clubs and… and sports.” He admits.
Kuroo reaches over to pinch his cheek, “An ex-athlete at heart, no matter how much you try to deny it.”
Kenma bats him away, “Whatever,” He flags down a waiter carrying champagne and leans over, “If we have a few glasses do you think we’ll end up f*cking in public?”
The way that Kenma’s soft voice curls around the word makes his hair raise and he swallows, “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” He says, as he takes two drinks from the tray and thanks the staff.
Kuroo raises his glass, “To me being half hard since 6:30.”
Kenma gently clinks it against his own, “To the fact that the car home has tinted windows and a partition.”
Kuroo throws back his entire glass because he’ll need it to get through the night. He opens his mouth to say something when he notices Kenma’s eyes flicker towards something over his shoulder.
“What is it?”
“Someone is coming to talk,” He says quickly.
“What?” Kuroo straightens up, “Who?” He turns around and gasps.
“Oh my f*cking god,” He whispers, rushing to set his empty glass on the table.
“What? What’s wrong?” Kenma taps him on the shoulder.
Kuroo jerks up, “Azume-san,” He bows and reaches out to shake his hand, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Kuroo-san I thought I recognized you.” He leans around Kuroo’s shoulder and smiles, “Hello.”
Kenma steps aside to shake his hand, “Kozume Kenma.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Kozume-san,” He chuckles, and then turns to Kuroo, “I was wondering if I could introduce you to a friend of mine? I won’t keep you long.”
Kuroo glances back at Kenma who lightly touches his side, “Go ahead, I’ll wait here.”
Azume glances over and they weave between tables, “Seems like your groveling went well,” There’s a teasing glint in his eyes.
Kuroo blushes, “Yeah, I- we got it figured out.”
“Good. I’m glad. He’s very handsome. You’re a lucky man.”
Kuroo smiles, “I know.”
“Kuroo-san, I wanted you to meet a good friend of mine,” He urges him towards a familiar-looking man in a navy suit who’s chatting with a few other well-dressed gentlemen. Kuroo feels slightly out of place. His hands are clammy but he feels the weight of one pair of eyes on his back and who knows who they belong to, so he draws back his shoulders and stands up tall.
“This is Kawai Shun’ichi, he’s the current president of the JVA. This is Kuroo Tetsurou.”
Realization dawns on Kuroo and his mouth drops open. He bows deeply, “Kawai-sama, I’m a big fan of your work.”
Kawai nods, “Thank you. I heard you played yourself.”
“Yes sir. Middle blocker. I played for Nekoma High and Tokyo University.”
“And now you work in marketing?”
“I do. I’m a team marketing lead at GRT.”
“How do you like it?”
“I-” Kuroo chooses his words carefully, “I appreciate the experience it’s offered me, but I’m looking to move on to different avenues.”
“Well,” He sets his drink down and reaches into his pocket, “The JVA is looking to start a new initiative geared towards cultivating up-and-coming players at the high school level,” He hands Kuroo his card, “If you’re interested, we’d like to bring people on board who feel passionate about the future of the sport.”
Kuroo stares down at the business card in his hand, “Of course. Thank you, sir.”
“We’re meeting Tuesday evening for dinner. You should join, I’d like to hear more about your vision for the future of volleyball.” He taps the card, “Shoot an email to my secretary with your name and she’ll send you the details.” His lips turn up pleasantly, “It was nice to meet you, Kuroo Tetsurou.”
Kenma’s eyes are flickering across his face as he hurries back, trying to read him.
“What was that about?” He asks.
“Did you know Kawai Shun’ichi would be here?” He whispers, dropping into his seat.
Kenma co*cks an eyebrow, “ Who ?”
“The president of the JVA, he used to play on the Olympic team .” Kuroo pulls out his card and shows it to Kenma, “I’m meeting him and Azume-san for dinner on Tuesday.” He grabs Kenma’s shoulders excitedly, “They want to hear my thoughts .”
“Of course they do,” Kenma says, like he’s never heard anything more obvious, “You’re a young, ambitious marketing expert with a good grasp on the sport. They’d be silly not to.”
“Do you think… I’m wasting my potential where I’m at now?” He asks hesitantly, sliding his hands down from Kenma’s shoulders to his hands.
“Yes,” His reply is blunt and honest and Kuroo finds comfort in it.
Kuroo makes his final decision right then and there, “I can’t be there anymore it’s killing me. I’m miserable.”
“Then leave.”
“I will, I’ll put in my notice on Monday.” He draws up straight, “f*ck GRT. And f*ck their weird, culty company culture. And their sh*t pay. I work like a dog, I should be able to afford an apartment with an in-unit washing machine and a nice dinner with my boyfriend.”
Kenma smiles at the word and trails the toe of his shoe up the outside of Kuroo’s calf. He tilts his head, “You look so good like this.”
“Like what?” He reaches down and seizes Kenma’s ankle, gently running his thumb over the bone once before letting go again.
“Confident. Sure of yourself. It’s how you’re meant to be.”
“I’ve been a little down on myself lately, huh?”
“A little,” Kenma shrugs, “It happens to everyone. I just want you to want more for yourself.”
“Because I deserve nice things?”
The words have a visual effect on Kenma. His lids lower and he leans closer, “Yes. Exactly.” He breathes.
“Would you have tortured me all night even if I hadn’t confessed my undying love to you in your hallway?”
To his surprise, Kenma shakes his hair out to hide his face and glances away, a habit as old as time that makes Kuroo’s heart race with its familiarity.
“Oh?” Kuroo leans closer, “So it’s like that then?”
Kenma shrugs, “You weren’t getting the hint. I was so obvious .”
“So you were going to seduce me at a charity event?”
“I tried seducing you in a more appropriate location,” Kenma gives him a flat look, “I asked you to strip for me and then practically groped you in a dark room with your clothes off and you didn’t do anything.”
Kuroo’s mouth snaps shut, “Yeah, okay. That was… You know, in my defense I was having a hard time picking up on social cues because I was busy praying that you didn’t notice my erection.”
“I did. But… it seemed like you were going to kiss me and then you didn’t and afterward, you looked terrified and you didn’t bring it up. So I just figured I crossed the line or interpreted everything wrong.”
“ No, baby, you didn’t,” He sets his hand on his knee, “I wanted to so bad, I just wasn’t sure if you felt the same and I didn’t want to ruin everything.”
Kenma’s expression morphs from embarrassment to something darker, “I wasn't wearing underwear, you know, just in case you snapped and bent me over the couch.” The switch-up has his mind spinning, Kenma’s looking at him like he wants to eat him.
“And do you want to know what else, Kuro?” Kenma’s voice goes lower.
Kuroo’s breath hitches, “What?”
“I got lonely waiting for you to get home from work, so I f*cked myself on my fingers until I heard your key in the lock”
“f*ck, Kenma -”
“So really, it would have been so easy for you. You could have just slid my shorts to the side and had your way with me. I would have let you, too. I was practically begging for it.”
Kuroo curls his fingers tightly around his upper thigh and Kenma gasps, “We need to go. If I don’t get my hands on you soon I think I’m going to die.”
“We only had one glass.” Kuroo’s chuckle breaks into a moan as Kenma leans over and sinks his teeth into the side of his neck in the backseat of the inconspicuous black sedan that’s driving them home. He cranes his head to give him more room, “Jesus, Kenma.”
"We're not technically in public and we're not f*cking yet," Kenma pulls back, “I want to mark you up. I like it when you look like you’re mine.”
“I am yours,” He sighs as Kenma ducks back in and sucks a dark mark under his jaw, “Is that why you keep buying me things to wear?”
Kenma hums in ascent against his skin. Kuroo’s world tilts on his access. Kenma has been buying him nice things and dolling him up for years. They could have been doing this for so long.
“Did you uh…” Kuroo’s train of thought briefly runs off the tracks and he racks his brain to find it again, “Did you know all of our friends think we’re already together? For a really long time?”
Kenma looks up, “Oh, I know.”
“You knew ?” Kuroo’s voice rises an octave, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Kenma gives him a flat look, “Because you would have had a crisis. Plus, I knew you were attracted to me, I just didn’t know if you were in love with me.”
“That’s crazy,” Kuroo can’t even fathom not being in love with Kenma, “I was always afraid of coming on too strong. I still am.” He admits.
“What?” Kenma pushes himself upright, “Did you think you would scare me away if I found out you were stealing my dirty laundry?”
Kuroo balks, “I only did that a couple of times. How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” He tilts his head, coy, “But I do now.”
The van pulls to a stop inside the parking garage in Kenma’s building and Kuroo immediately unbuckles them both, dragging Kenma by his wrist out of the car and into the elevator. He presses him back against the mirrored walls and finally kisses him for the first time since his confession. It’s only been a few hours, but Kuroo feels like it’s been days, maybe even years. He’s been waiting his entire life for this.
Kuroo has done this sort of thing before- gone home with someone with the intention of sex hanging heavy in the air, kissed them outside of their homes, laid in their beds even. But it’s always felt like a finale to him like the grand ending of a firework show before the sky goes dark once more and all the bystanders go home, and then the sun rises the next day as if nothing ever happened.
But this feels so intentional. This is a different type of stumbling home together after a night out. This is kissing in the elevator as soon as the doors close and knowing he’ll probably do it thousands and thousands of times again. Kuroo’s not trying to remember the hallways so he doesn’t get lost when he sneaks out in the morning. Instead, he’s barely watching where he’s going because he can’t take his eyes off Kenma for more than a few seconds.
They get caught up outside of the door, wrapped up in each other as Kenma undoes the knot of Kuroo’s tie. And then again inside the house, standing in the middle of the dimly lit living room where Kenma and Kuroo’s jackets both find each other crumpled on the floor in a very expensive heap. Their shoes leave a trail down the hall up until the threshold where Kuroo scoops Kenma up underneath his thighs and tosses him onto the bed, crawling up to kneel between his knees.
He runs his palms up Kenma’s clothed thighs and under his top, pushing the silky fabric up to expose his chest. Kenma whips it up and off, letting it fall somewhere on the floor behind him. He slides Kenma’s slacks off his legs, leaving him in nothing but a dainty pair of black panties that make his head feel fuzzy.
The image of him, almost bare and stretched out below him with his hair spread out around his head like a halo, makes Kuroo’s heart clench. The bedroom is lit only by the bluish moonlight from the big window on the far wall and Kuroo is knelt in what could only be called prayer. Is it really okay that he touches Kenma like this? Is it okay to want to mess him up so bad when he looks like such an angel?
“f*ck, you’re so beautiful,” He sighs heavily, devastated, dragging his palm straight down the center of his chest with awe in his eyes. There are darkening hickies peppered down his neck and sporadically across his collarbones and Kuroo is the one who put them there.
It hits him all over again: this is Kenma. They’ve got their hands all over each other, they’ve been whispering filth into each other's ears all night, and now Kenma is almost naked and arching into the warmth of Kuroo’s palm like a spoiled cat. This is the most important person in his life. This is his partner in every sense of the word. Despite the fact that Kuroo’s hard and aching and his blood is running hot, he feels a prickle of nostalgia behind his eyes and his throat tightens.
Kenma reaches up to softly cup his cheek, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah just- just taking it all in.”
You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I might,” Kuroo laughs but it’s weak and wobbly, “There’s so many things I want to do to you. I feel like I can’t get close enough. I need you everywhere.”
Kenma pushes back against his shoulder, “Sit up against the headboard.” He swings his legs over Kuroo’s legs to straddle him. They’re chest to chest, chin to chin, Kuroo can feel the heat radiating from Kenma’s skin and it makes him sigh in relief. This is exactly what he needed.
Their lips meet in a slow, indulgent kiss and Kuroo feels high on it, like his head is floating away from him and he can’t form any coherent thoughts apart from the grind of Kenma’s hips against his own. He’s desperate, using Kuroo’s body to get himself off and it makes him feel like he’s about to shake apart at the seams. That bone-deep desire to be used and needed feels temporarily sated by the high breathy gasps filtering from between Kenma’s lips.
He lifts his knee to give Kenma something to grind down onto and his hand flies up to grip Kuroo’s shoulder. His mouth drops open as his hips drag along the firm muscle of his thigh. Kuroo keeps his hands tight on Kenma’s waist, dragging him down harder and shivering at the sound he makes in response.
“Can’t believe you had these on all night,” Kuroo slides his hands down his lower back and under the fabric of his panties, “I might not have lasted if I knew. I might have put you on my co*ck on the car ride home.” He murmurs, pulling away to drop kisses down the center of his chest as he squeezes hard into the meat of his ass. Kenma’s head rolls back and he moans.
He already looks f*cked out. He looks obscene. He’s desperately hard, so much so that he’s poking out from the waistband and dotting little smears of precum at the base of his belly.
“So pretty, Kenma, f*ck.” He uses one hand to keep Kenma grinding down onto his lap and licks a long stripe up the other, trialing his knuckles down his belly and underneath the lace to wrap his fingers around his co*ck.
“Oh god,” Kenma breathes out. He reaches up to brace his hands against the back of the bed frame and rolls his hips, f*cking torturously slow into the circle of his fist. Kuroo throbs in his slacks, desperate for some friction but unwilling to take his hands off Kenma for even a second.
Kuroo tightens his hand around the tip, twisting his wrist in fast strokes and Kenma gasps. His thighs tremble on either side of his hips, “You’re shaking, baby,”
“Need you,” He begs as if he even needs to, as if Kuroo wouldn’t give him anything he wants, “ f*ck, please.”
Kuroo takes a gamble with the nightstand to his left, digging around until his fingers brush the familiar shape of a bottle of lube, half-used with the label peeling. Well-loved, he thinks to himself. The thought of all the things Kenma might get up to in this bed makes him feel unsteady. He thinks of what Kenma said about the night when Kuroo came over to try on that suit. What if Kuroo had been a second earlier? If he had been quieter coming through the door what would he have walked in on?
He tosses the bottle to the side, tips Kenma backward, and scrambles to rid himself of the rest of their clothes before crawling back on top of him. He thinks maybe if he does it fast enough then Kenma won’t have time to look too closely.
Maybe those insecurities about his body from earlier weren’t so insignificant.
But Kenma holds him back with one hand, and trails the other one down his chest and he looks… reverent. He sees his own lust and neediness echoed in the depths of Kenma’s eyes and comes to the life-altering realization that Kenma feels the same.
Kenma drags his thin fingers down across his abdomen, through the wiry hairs at his crotch, and takes a firm hold of his co*ck. Kuroo feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Kenma’s touch is alternating between firm and playful.
“I think about this all the time,” Kenma admits softly, “I think about you all the time.”
“Me too, baby.”
Kuroo’s had a lot of time to think of Kenma in all sorts of ways. But he’s always had grand delusions of touching Kenma for the first time and really dragging it out, making it last. In his head, he would light candles and devour him so slowly that he was begging for it. Reality is different. The reality is that all of his hopeless pining culminates into a great sense of urgency.
Kenma almost knocks him in the jaw with his heel trying to slide his panties down, and Kuroo doesn’t even notice because he’s busy squirting way too much lube onto his trembling fingers.
“It’s okay,” Kenma pants and Kuroo presses the first finger to his hole and hesitates, “It’s okay. I like when it’s messy.”
Kuroo pushes slowly to the second knuckle and they moan together.
“Another,” His throat bobs when he swallows, “Add another.”
“Are you sure?”
Kenma nods, “I like when it hurts a little too.”
“f*ck,” Kuroo slides another one in, “You’re really going to kill me.”
Kenma is tight around his fingers. He’s going to be even tighter around his co*ck. The thought makes him dizzy and hot and so desperate that it makes him shaky. When Kenma’s back relaxes back into the bed and his face smoothes out, Kuroo slides a third finger inside.
Kenma’s fingers close around his wrist, not to pull them out but to push them farther. Kuroo leans forward to lick a long stripe right up the center of his chest as he hooks his fingers and presses in. Kenma’s voice comes out sweet and high and his hands twist into the bedsheets by his head. He pushes his hips down in an uncoordinated rhythm.
“Be patient, baby,” Kuroo soothes, but his fingers stay pressed to the little spot inside of him that's making Kenma’s knees quiver around his hips.
“God, f*ck, please-” He gasps, “I’m ready. I’m ready.”
His legs constrict around Kuroo when he moves away.
“I just need to get a condom-”
“No, you don’t,” Kenma’s chest is rising and falling quickly, “No you don’t, are you clean?”
“Of course-”
“So am I.” He pleads, “I want to feel you.”
Kuroo feels his world narrow down to nothing but the feeling of his bare skin against Kenma’s, and the slickness of lube between them.
“I like that you’re bi- bigger than me,” Kenma starts to ramble as Kuroo takes ahold of himself, “I like looking at your hands and- and your arms and I like that you could just hold me down,” Kuroo slips the head inside and it’s so hot and tight it makes the base of his spine ache.
“You’ll do it right, Kuro?” Kenma’s eyebrows are drawn up and inward, “You’ll hold me down and make me take it?”
Kuroo holds himself right there, despite every cell in his body urging him to f*ck forward, “Is that what you want? You want me to make you take it?”
He nods quickly and Kuroo snaps his hips forward until they’re flush together. The moan that rips from Kenma’s chest is guttural and Kuroo’s not faring much better. His fingers bite into the skin of Kenma’s hips as he pulls out and thrusts back in again.
He sets a slow but brutal pace, f*cking in deep and grinding even deeper, “You know what I think, Kenma?” He murmurs low into his ear and slides his hand up to his throat, “I think you’re a little freak. I think you like that I steal your laundry and talk about f*cking you online.” He doesn’t squeeze, just sets the weight of his palm against the base of his neck with his thumb pressed into the tendon there.
“I do.” He moans, desperate, “I do like it. Want you to think about me all the time.”
He’s so f*cking tight inside and molten hot and Kuroo can’t help but speed up the pace, f*cking into him hard like he’s trying to carve a permanent place for him inside. Perhaps he is, he wants to leave his mark all over, inside and out. Kenma’s not so tough like this. The venomous little tease from earlier has melted against the sheets, pinned under Kuroo’s weight and stuttering out gentle little ‘ah, ah, ah’s’.
His body is winding up tighter, his breathing is coming faster. Kuroo makes a split-second decision and suddenly pulls out.
“Don’t leave,” Kenma grapples for his shoulders to pull him back, “Don’t leave.”
Kuroo flips him over onto his stomach, barely giving him a second to breathe before he thrusts back in. Kenma whimpers and his hands flail, looking for something to hold before Kuroo slips an arm around his front and pulls him back against his chest.
Kuroo finds a new rhythm, one that has them both panting. He can feel Kenma’s hot breath against his cheek when he tilts his head back to lean against Kuroo’s shoulder.
“So beautiful,” Kuroo nudges his nose against Kenma’s cheek and angles his head to kiss him. His lips are slack as they trade breaths.
“Tetsurou. Tetsurou-” Kenma locks his hands around Kuroo’s forearms across his chest and the pressure around his co*ck grows unbearably tight. Kuroo can’t think, can’t speak through his numb lips, he can hardly even breathe. Kenma’s fingernails leave sharp indents on his skin as he winds up tighter, and tighter, and tighter-
He comes with a shout, eye wide open staring up at the ceiling with his mouth locked in an ‘o’ shape like he’s scandalized by his own release. Kuroo’s not far behind judging by the stuttering rhythm of his thrusts and the cotton between his ears. He thinks he can still hear Kenma chanting his name. All he knows is the ache in his spine and the tightening of his balls.
“Please,” Kenma sobs, his eyelashes are wet, “Please, please, please-”
“Tell me it’s good, Kenma-” He begs, pulling his tighter and driving his hips in harder, “Tell me-”
“Ah- It’s good. It’s so good. Feel so full,” He must be aching with overstimulation by now. The bend in his back looks almost painful, “I love you. I love you-”
“f*ck,” Kuroo snarls into the side of his neck, burying his teeth. His own org*sm hits him like a brick to the head and leaves his ears ringing. There’s nothing slow or gentle about it, it’s all fire and hot slick sweat and the devastated moan he muffles into Kenma’s hair.
They stay exactly like that for a long moment. The only sound in the room is their ragged breathing and the filthy, slick sounds it makes when Kuroo pulls out. He slowly lowers Kenma back onto the bed and follows after him, keeping him close to his chest.
“f*ck,” He croaks.
“f*ck,” Kenma agrees.
“Remind me why we haven’t done that sooner?”
“Because you’re stupid.”
Kuroo lets his eyes flutter closed, “Right, that's it.” He drags his fingertips up and down against the skin of Kenma’s arm, “Man. This was way better than a bobblehead.”
When Kenma reaches back to smack him in the back of the head, he can’t even bring himself to dodge.
“This was the best day of my life,” He says sincerely, and Kenma turns around to face him.
“Was?” There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. He lifts himself back up and pushes Kuroo onto his back, swinging a leg over his waist and straddling him once more.
“Kuro, what makes you think that I’m done with you tonight?”
Kuroo sets the last box down on the dining room table with a huff. The weather is humid as it is hot and there’s sweat running down from his hairline. Kenma had offered to hire movers but Kuroo was the one that refused. After all, most of his stuff was at Kenma’s place anyway, and he wasn’t about to trust some stranger to move his collection.
Kenma is standing in the living room, sipping on a glass of lemonade and looking at him over the rims of his sunglasses.
“Is that the last of it?”
“Yes,” Kuroo gasps, “Thank f*ck.”
“You should have let me hire movers,” Kenma reminds him.
Kuroo braces his hands against his knees, “Yeah, well maybe I underestimated how much stuff there was.”
“Well,” Kenma saunters over and pulls him down for a sweet, sugar-coated kiss, “It’s my fault for designing so much merch.”
Kuroo smiles and leans down to press their lips together again, “Uh huh, take some accountability.”
Kenma drops back down onto his heels, “I cleared off a shelf for you.” He smirks, “Just in case there’s anything in particular you want to display.”
A few minutes later, Kuroo snaps a picture of the Kodzuken bobblehead in its new home nestled among a staggering amount of other Kenma-related paraphernalia. He manages to send it to Yaku before Kenma tugs him down onto the gaming room couch to appropriately celebrate their very first day of officially living together.
From Yaku:
That’s great Kuroo
You’re both maniacs but I’m happy for you
Please never contact me again
