[ For a heartbeat, he considers that he's pushed too far, and too soon - that the game is up this early. What a pity, he thinks, sighing against Akaashi's shoulder as the setter hums and pulls away.
Kuroo's hands already miss the firmness of his body. He shifts his weight back to an even keel, already preparing an excuse to take care of his hard-on, but the words die in his throat when Akaashi hooks his fingers deftly under the band of his own pants and pulls them down.
It should be illegal to look so beautiful in every aspect. It's unfair, at the very least, and Kuroo feels his thoughts come to a full stop at the sight of Akaashi - jersey shorts bunched around his thighs, handsome fingers loose around his own length as a blush paints its way from high on Akaashi's cheeks down to his lean chest. A finger rubs against the slit of Akaashi's cock head, Akaashi bites his lip, he says yes.
Dumbstruck is an uncharitable word for how Kuroo feels. Struck by lightning might be more apt, if lightning made him want to unspool from the depths of his own body and turn into an ugly beast of a thing, tearing into Akaashi's skin until he's left teeth marks on the marrow of his bones.
Lust has never felt this blood-hot. Never been this wholly consuming. ]
I didn't want to assume, [ Kuroo manages to say despite himself. Already he's moving to his knees, kneeling in front of Akaashi as he pulls the shorts the rest of the way off. Kuroo yields to his wants and takes one of Akaashi's legs by the ankles, pulls the limb over his shoulder and kisses his knee, kisses his way down the inside of Akaashi's thigh with everything he's got. He's leaving bite marks where he can, digging fingers hard against muscle where he can't.
Lean back a little, he asks of Akaashi, pressing a quick kiss on his sternum. The words have just left him when he pulls Akaashi's other leg around his waist, and he makes his way down on Akaashi's body like this. ]
There's condoms and lube in— [ he nods in the vague direction of a nondescript pouch within reach, the canvas body a faded red and the cat print flaking apart. Kuroo snorts indelicately in an expression of nervousness. He's done this once before, with one other guy, his experiences with sexual oral fixation having skewed more towards girls before then.
And now, well... ] Just in case.
[ Just in case what? Kuroo doesn't elaborate any further; with more grace than he feels he possesses he gets down on his forearms, hitches Akaashi's leg high on his shoulder while pushing his thighs further apart, and it's a bit of an arrangement. But Kuroo's seen Akaashi pull off splits on the court; he's paid special attention to his stretching routines, his warm-ups and cool-downs, his distinct habit of pulling shirts off collar-first.
First blush is almost shy; Kuroo inadvertently noses along Akaashi's length, missing his mark by a few inches when he leans in. Precome stripes along his cheek because of it, and the feel of it more than anything drives the reality of things home.
He starts low. Kuroo laves his tongue at the base of Akaashi's length, slowly working his way up to the head before taking it into his mouth. He keeps it shallow, at first, pulling back when the blunt head hits the back of his throat, and more than once Kuroo slips off Akaashi's cock to pay due attention to his stones instead. He's digging his nails into Akaashi's thigh, as well; holding the setter spread wide that he'd money on bruises in the shape of his fingers to come later.
It doesn't take long before he's speeding things up, though. He takes as much as he can of Akaashi - every part of him is like him, lean and proud - edging his gag reflex with every downstroke until he can manage to swallow around the head of him, and after that—
After that it's like swallowing down melted butter, if it tasted salt-sweat, and faint soap, and irrefutably like cock. Kuroo chokes more than once (enthusiasm can only go so far), but he pushes through it like he does with every match, with every game, with point earned bloodily on the hardcourt floor — he doesn't back down at all.
(And if he's rolling his hips in aborted half-circles, trying to find some friction against the pants he's yet to get rid of, that can be dealt with later. He's had dreams of this. He can wait for his turn.) ]
no subject
Kuroo's hands already miss the firmness of his body. He shifts his weight back to an even keel,
already preparing an excuse to take care of his hard-on, but the words die in his throat when Akaashi hooks his fingers deftly under the band of his own pants and pulls them down.
It should be illegal to look so beautiful in every aspect. It's unfair, at the very least, and Kuroo feels his thoughts come to a full stop at the sight of Akaashi - jersey shorts bunched around his thighs, handsome fingers loose around his own length as a blush paints its way from high on Akaashi's cheeks down to his lean chest. A finger rubs against the slit of Akaashi's cock head, Akaashi bites his lip, he says yes.
Dumbstruck is an uncharitable word for how Kuroo feels. Struck by lightning might be more apt,
if lightning made him want to unspool from the depths of his own body and turn into an ugly beast of a thing, tearing into Akaashi's skin until he's left teeth marks on the marrow of his bones.
Lust has never felt this blood-hot. Never been this wholly consuming. ]
I didn't want to assume, [ Kuroo manages to say despite himself. Already he's moving to his knees, kneeling in front of Akaashi as he pulls the shorts the rest of the way off. Kuroo yields to his wants and takes one of Akaashi's legs by the ankles, pulls the limb over his shoulder and kisses his knee, kisses his way down the inside of Akaashi's thigh with everything he's got. He's leaving bite marks where he can, digging fingers hard against muscle where he can't.
Lean back a little, he asks of Akaashi, pressing a quick kiss on his sternum. The words have just left him when he pulls Akaashi's other leg around his waist, and he makes his way down on Akaashi's body like this. ]
There's condoms and lube in— [ he nods in the vague direction of a nondescript pouch within reach, the canvas body a faded red and the cat print flaking apart. Kuroo snorts indelicately in an expression of nervousness. He's done this once before, with one other guy, his experiences with sexual oral fixation having skewed more towards girls before then.
And now, well... ] Just in case.
[ Just in case what? Kuroo doesn't elaborate any further; with more grace than he feels he possesses he gets down on his forearms, hitches Akaashi's leg high on his shoulder while pushing his thighs further apart, and it's a bit of an arrangement. But Kuroo's seen Akaashi pull off splits on the court; he's paid special attention to his stretching routines, his warm-ups and cool-downs, his distinct habit of pulling shirts off collar-first.
First blush is almost shy; Kuroo inadvertently noses along Akaashi's length, missing his mark by a few inches when he leans in. Precome stripes along his cheek because of it, and the feel of it more than anything drives the reality of things home.
He starts low. Kuroo laves his tongue at the base of Akaashi's length, slowly working his way up to the head before taking it into his mouth. He keeps it shallow, at first, pulling back when the blunt head hits the back of his throat, and more than once Kuroo slips off Akaashi's cock to pay due attention to his stones instead. He's digging his nails into Akaashi's thigh,
as well; holding the setter spread wide that he'd money on bruises in the shape of his fingers to come later.
It doesn't take long before he's speeding things up, though. He takes as much as he can of Akaashi - every part of him is like him, lean and proud - edging his gag reflex with every downstroke until he can manage to swallow around the head of him, and after that—
After that it's like swallowing down melted butter, if it tasted salt-sweat, and faint soap, and irrefutably like cock. Kuroo chokes more than once (enthusiasm can only go so far),
but he pushes through it like he does with every match, with every game, with point earned bloodily on the hardcourt floor — he doesn't back down at all.
(And if he's rolling his hips in aborted half-circles, trying to find some friction against the pants he's yet to get rid of, that can be dealt with later. He's had dreams of this. He can wait for his turn.) ]