[ Not in the least bit because far as personalities are concerned, they have— a lot in common, come to think of it. Kuroo spares it the bare minimum of his attention, thinking about the parallels of his own practicality against Akaashi's pragmatism as he catches the roll of Akaashi's hip with a hard grip. He's loosened his hold on the setter's shirt, opting instead to boldly go where his hands have never dared to hope to go — warm hands map the smooth expanse of pale skin underneath high-end cotton as Kuroo leans up to kiss Akaashi properly.
It's a wet thing. Akaashi kisses the same way he plays - forceful, graceful, sharp as a goddamn knife, and every time his teeth grazes dangerously on Kuroo's tongue his own arousal spikes to new heights. Over and over. Kuroo catches every sigh, chases after every drawn breath, refuses to relent when Akaashi meets him halfway.
He doesn't realize he's pushed up and braced their mutual weight on an elbow until it starts to ache against the hard floor. ]
Hang on.
[ Kuroo strips Akaashi of his shirt in a single, fluid movement, practiced from years of managing Kenma as the younger sibling he never had. But Akaashi isn't Kenma - Kuroo's never wanted to sink his teeth into Kenma's neck, has never jerked off to the thought of his shoulders, hasn't ever dreamed of kneeling between Kenma's legs as he took his hard length deep into his throat and held it there. Akaashi, though — Kuroo's wanted all of that and more.
He's wanted to for some time now. It dawned on him too late, the realization of it, in the middle of training camp at the tail-end of his second year while Akaashi and Bokuto were talking about nothing important. It crashed into him like a car crash, a train wreck - Akaashi's narrating his class schedules while unscrewing a water bottle and Kuroo stood dumbstruck in the middle of the court, thinking: I want to know how he tastes like when he comes.
Kuroo's never questioned it since, and he's certainly not questioning it now, drawing away from Akaashi's mouth to bite along the column of the setter's neck all the way to the rise of his shoulder, sucking a mark there. And his hands wander - over Akaashi's slim waist, over his belly, almost shyly soothing over his chest before Kuroo decides to skip the pretense and settles both over Akaashi's ass.
They're flush against each other like this; there's no space in between, no hiding the fact that they're both hard and they're grinding against each other. Kuroo pulls away long enough to press a gentle kiss at the hollow of Akaashi's throat, and when he speaks again his voice is roughed up by need. ]
I'm into you, too. Have been for a while now. [ A kiss against the hard spur of a collarbone. Against Akaashi's adam's apple. Just under the soft dip of his jaw, near the ear. ] Let me suck you off.
( akaashi doesn't fluster easily ( although this is, definitely a rare and odd circumstance ), but by the time kuroo is nuzzled against his throat, there's a splotchy red blush that starts at his cheeks and trails down the fit center of his chest, a slow descent down his body to hold something truer than his words that seem blunt at best. of course, the biggest example is where his mesh shorts bunch and tent from the protrusion of his erection, a fact which he does very little to hide, in fact -- grinding his hips again, making it clear. if there were any question about how akaashi really felt about this, it should be cleared up. his body seems overeager for every point of contact.
a commonplace, then, for the way their things for each snuck up on them both -- a second when things were normal, and then a second where kuroo was suddenly kuroo, the handsome captain of nekoma's team, his careless attitude that started with his bed head and ended with his lack of kneepads, and that smile akaashi has seen a hundred times before but that had suddenly pierced him as a direct offense. he distinctly remembers watching a nekoma game and missing the form of kenma's sets, instead relenting to watch kuroo's backside. ( it was, possibly, the one time bokuto had ever caught akaashi daydreaming. )
he sits straighter to let kuroo be more comfortable, cupping the back of his head and idly stroking long fingers through his hair, releasing a pleasurable hum to reverberate against kuroo's mouth. of course, then he says that, and the hand in his hair tightens a bit, a product of the surprise that courses through him. )
Hm.
( is the temporary answer he gives, gingerly cupping kuroo's hands to remove them, although he did like how strong they felt against him -- strong and sure and never wrong, like a good volley. it's a small room but the futon seems too far away to easily scoot towards, so akaashi just takes a seat across from him, eyebrow twitching in a temporary challenge.
it all feels like one challenge after the other. it's fun.
akaashi's next ace up his sleeve comes like this: confidently hooking his thumb around the elastic of his shorts, and easily willing it down his hips, springing his cock from its confines. loose setter's fingers trace up and down the shaft of it, which he wonders if it's more of a tease for himself or kuroo. )
You said please. ( he remarks afterwards. his eyes don't leave kuroo's even as he the tip of his pointer finger spreads precome against the spongey head of his cock, making akaashi bite his lip. ) As if the answer wasn't already yes.
[ 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.) ]
( there is, of course, akaashi's virginity to consider.
which, for the record, he doesn't until his cockhead is brushing kuroo's cheek, and he's struck by how odd it feels, how good it feels, different to all other vices of orgasm. kuroo's mouth is certainly a good way to go out, although he's confused if he's thinking about climax or actually keeling over and dying, because both seem on par with each other at this point. he has nothing to compare it to, but it's incomparable for reasons more than that — it's kuroo and his kittenish licks, his loud mouth, it's kuroo, handsome and charming kuroo, and it finally sets in, somewhat
i'm into you, too. have been for a while now.
fuck. akaashi's hand stays threaded through kuroo's hair, mashed and folded as he is on the floor, there's no real discomfort despite his partly withheld wriggles and whines beneath him, trying to be an easy canvass for kuroo to enjoy. he's mostly unsuccessful. the hot suction of kuroo's mouth is too tempting not to buck into every time akaashi forgets himself, apologizing with soothing fingers whenever he does, although kuroo's bruising grip mostly keeps him in plac. there's a great contradiction laying somewhere inside him, the ultimate benefits of staring at kuroo's wet mouth or not looking — caught between wanting to watch and not wanting to embarrass himself by making a mess approximately thirty seconds into a blowjob.
he can't not look, though. regardless of how shy he might feel, or how wanton the blush across his cheeks looks, he can't help himself, acting as if tonight is the only night in the world and if he doesn't get to hear the slobbering noises of kuroo choking on his cock, then he'll never get the chance to again. he tries to be a silent lover, but he fails — over sensitivity will do that, and for every flick of his tongue or small suck, there's a subsequent moan out of akaashi's mouth, loud in an otherwise silent room.
he gets very close far too fast. somewhat roughly, he tugs kuroo's hair, willing his attention upwards. )
Ah — Kuroo. Kuroo. You have to —
( akaashi's thighs quake so hard with impeding orgasm that it hurts, but he still finds the restraint to stop himself, biting hard enough on his own lip that it smears red outside of the lines. reaching haphazardly out, he fetches the kitty bag and pulls out the aforementioned lube, somewhat awkwardly handing it out to kuroo. )
[ Akaashi's saying something. Kuroo feels it more than hears it, at first, the thrum of his body changing when he speaks and interrupting the winding tension palpable in his thighs. The words only register when he's slacking off, bobbing up on Akaashi's length in shallow gestures to catch his breath after recognizing the signs of someone ready to come.
He'd been ready for a mouthful. Had been expecting it and looking forward to it after a whole year's worth of imagining what it would be like if fate would be so kind to let aliens invade the earth and create the unlikely scenario of two of them doing this. The unlikely, in the end, wasn't that unlikely at all - but Kuroo's expectations are still getting blown out of the water, and Kuroo thinks he might consider being more religious if whichever deity that created Akaashi would favor him more.
Kuroo pulls off him, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand as he looks up, taking in the dots of blood welling on Akaashi's lip, at the mess of his hair, at the look of determination in his eyes. ]
You're killing me. [ He's completely done for. ] Yeah. Akkachi, yes, I want to.
[ Kuroo takes the offered tube from Akaashi's hands, ends up holding it in his mouth first as he soothes the setter down to calm somewhat - running both hands over his thighs, over his halves, wide sweeping circles that reach up and around his waist and back down between Akaashi's legs. He flips the cap on the tube with his teeth, freeing one hand to catch it as the tube drops and Kuroo spits the cap out to follow; it's a practiced dexterity, borne out of previous intimacies with himself and a handful of infrequent encounters, and Kuroo admits that he's glad for it. ]
I'm not being patronizing, alright? [ His voice is rough around the edges, and he's squeezing lube on his fingers, ditching the tube aside as he warms what he can of the lube using only one hand. He's using the other to drag knuckles along the seam of Akaashi's thigh, running it down on the inside where Kuroo's own teeth marks are livid red against the pale. ] Say something if it hurts. Like... I don't know. Nekoma. If you want me to stop.
[ Kuroo doesn't know about kink negotiations - at least not yet - but he knows about biology, and internet pornography, and discussing consent with girls who confess and assume they have to put out on the first date because entitled asshole jocks are an unfortunate reality in Tokyo schools. He keeps his nose clean.
It only makes sense for that attitude to extend here, in the confines of his bedroom - in the company of someone even more exacting and ruthless than he is. ]
Have you done this before?
[ He might have done better to ask that before he's pressing two fingers against Akaashi's rim, smearing the lube around and teasing at penetration with gentle but firm nudges. Kuroo can feel a thigh muscle jump under his other hand, kneads against it in reflex, ends up pushing further into Akaashi than he meant to when he shifts his weight between his own knees. ]
—Fuck, Akaashi. Talk to me. [ Talk to me, he asks, even though he's breaching him up to the third knuckle of one finger in measured strokes, teasing in a second before they both get the catch to catch up on breathing. ] How do you want this?
( yes, okay, good. he rests a little easier once kuroo takes the lubricant, his body soothing out the arch his spine had gathered at some point, laying almost flat on the floor with his thighs propped up on kuroo's hips. there's a few seconds of fumble, of kuroo's reassuring hands and akaashi's eyes fluttering shut just a moment — and then he says nekoma and akaashi's eyes light up again, rising up on his elbows to get a better look at kuroo.
and himself, it seems. his body looks like a warzone in some areas, bitten flesh burning red like led signs lighting up, saying kuroo was here, and here, and here, the sight of which isn't unpleasant. he might have to wear sweats ( in summer ) to practice, and he marvels in the thought, having secrets to keep hidden and the truth for kuroo's dirty mind only. the angry flare of his teased cock curves upwards on his belly, leaking a thick pool of precome on his stomach that puddles and spills down the tracks of his abdomen muscles. he watches it, mouth slightly agape, head tilted to the side as if it's the most curious thing he's ever seen.)
Okay.
( silly, he thinks. now he can never say nekoma again. )
Ye — haa, yes and no. ( he says unhelpfully, although he can't be entirely blamed. wayward, intrusive fingers steal the majority of his thoughts, hips swiveling eagerly against them. there's an evident burn but not an unfamiliar one — not even an uncomfortable one, just a pressing reminder that this is happening, the kind of stuff you wake up in a cold sweat after dreaming about. ) Finger myself? Yes — yeah. Get fucked? No.
( he watches the captain's fingers disappearing between his legs, shining in some angles of the artificial light over head. entranced, maybe. the only thing he has to compare it to is his own time hidden behind locked doors and under the head of the shower, which isn't a fair compare and contrast, really. kuroo's fingers are so mindblowingly different and — and better, at that, deeper and braver and more experienced. akaashi wonders if masturbation will ever be the same. ( it won't. he has reality to back up his fantasy fodder now. )
gracefully, one of his hands reaches downwards to wrap a hard o behind the weight of his heavy balls, as further protection against coming too early. akaashi gives his question a few fleeting moments of hard thought, licking his lips again as he eyes kuroo's collarbone, his bare chest. he takes offense at the short still resting on his lean hips. )
You'll lay on your back, I think. ( he poses it as a question, despite the wording. ) And I'll sit on it. And then you can come inside me. Okay?
You, [ Kuroo hisses through his teeth, heat blooming like the start of a wildfire along the line of his spine, ] are something else entirely, holy shit.
[ And then you can come inside me, Akaashi says, like Kuroo's not thought of it before. It's more than okay, and Kuroo thinks he should pinch himself a little in case this is just a very vivid hallucination - he'll wake up, come to his senses, and he'll still be in his room with Akaashi just a few feet away, only they're still possessed of their clothes and Akaashi's asking if he's passed from the summer heat.
But there's no mistaking the wet slide of his fingers, the slick sounds of fingers going from gentle strokes to jagged pistoning, Kuroo leaning in to press a chaste kiss at the corner of Akaashi's mouth - he's unsure of its welcome, given where his mouth has just been. The rest of him have no shyness, however; Kuroo curls his fingers, works them in deep, manages to work a third into an already tight fit. Akaashi's own fingers cinch at the base of his length and the sight of it pierces through Kuroo like a heated knife - it slides right between his ribs, tears open at his lungs and renders him breathless.
He works his hand in a twist, so that his thumb is pressing against Akaashi's knuckles where they're gripping him, dragging over the spur of the knuckles with every rock of Akaashi's hips, every push of Kuroo's own fingers. Kuroo on the volleys; Akaashi keeps him at bay.
In a way, it's a reversal of their roles on the court. ]
I can't believe you— Have you. Did you ever do this while thinking of me? [ Kuroo doesn't understand the urge that makes him ask. He's running with it anyway; he gives a vicious twist of his fingers, driving in so deep the knuckles are stretching the ring of muscle instead of just resting against the rim. ] 'Cause I have, you know?
I've jerked off thinking about you.
[ He keeps pushing, relentless. Kuroo ducks and says his piece against the line of Akaashi's throat. ]
I've come so many times thinking about if I got to fuck you against the lockers after practice during camp.
( there's a boyish charm to the way kuroo works his fingers, overexciteable and almost too rough, which ends up making the experience all the better — living with the knowledge that he's worked up and wanton, and that akaashi is somewhat blamable for his current state of disarray. he'll reflect on it later, when perhaps his head gets out of the clouds and returns back to his body, and he has any sort of sensible thought that isn't more. he can't complain, regardless. kuroo's attentive eye has been the forefront of a number of desires for the past while, and akaashi is just eating it up, curved and eager beneath him.
he does make a genuine effort to keep quiet, in case kuroo's parents are still downstairs — but again, it's difficult. these hands are unfamiliar, and akaashi has almost exclusively seen them smacking volleyballs over net, or clenching a pen so tightly his fingers whiten, so to have them so — dexterous? so talented, lean, curving inside him and making the idea of orgasm very, very alluring is something else altogether. the back of his free hand raises to cover his red mouth, attempting to gather in the breathy moans that leave him and swallow them back up from where they came. his hips are apologetically ceaseless, twitching with every brush inside him.
it's the inappropriate move for hurrying things along, but akaashi sits up as much as he can, reaching a hand out to cup kuroo's cheek. he isn't much for affection, but there can be a few exceptions, leaning forward to steal a contradictory chaste kiss off his mouth, long eyelashes batting as he hovers in kuroo's space. )
I — yes. Frequently. ( he nips at his lips, biting the corner, licking the fleshy taste of cock off of him. ) I say your name, sometimes. I — like it. You could've had me on the lockers. Or the court. The baths ...
( his own fantasies falling tandem to kuroo's. his eyes roll in the back of his head slightly once kuroo manages to hit his prostate, leaving him breathless, puffy gasps of air shaking his body on every exhale.
close now, he reaches a hand out blindly to cup kuroo's cock through his gym shorts, squeezing it. )
Fuck — right now, you can do anything, Kuroo, please — come on.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ay dios mio
[ Not in the least bit because far as personalities are concerned, they have— a lot in common, come to think of it. Kuroo spares it the bare minimum of his attention, thinking about the parallels of his own practicality against Akaashi's pragmatism as he catches the roll of Akaashi's hip with a hard grip. He's loosened his hold on the setter's shirt, opting instead to boldly go where his hands have never dared to hope to go — warm hands map the smooth expanse of pale skin underneath high-end cotton as Kuroo leans up to kiss Akaashi properly.
It's a wet thing. Akaashi kisses the same way he plays - forceful, graceful, sharp as a goddamn knife, and every time his teeth grazes dangerously on Kuroo's tongue his own arousal spikes to new heights. Over and over. Kuroo catches every sigh, chases after every drawn breath, refuses to relent when Akaashi meets him halfway.
He doesn't realize he's pushed up and braced their mutual weight on an elbow until it starts to ache against the hard floor. ]
Hang on.
[ Kuroo strips Akaashi of his shirt in a single, fluid movement, practiced from years of managing Kenma as the younger sibling he never had. But Akaashi isn't Kenma - Kuroo's never wanted to sink his teeth into Kenma's neck, has never jerked off to the thought of his shoulders, hasn't ever dreamed of kneeling between Kenma's legs as he took his hard length deep into his throat and held it there. Akaashi, though — Kuroo's wanted all of that and more.
He's wanted to for some time now. It dawned on him too late, the realization of it, in the middle of training camp at the tail-end of his second year while Akaashi and Bokuto were talking about nothing important. It crashed into him like a car crash, a train wreck - Akaashi's narrating his class schedules while unscrewing a water bottle and Kuroo stood dumbstruck in the middle of the court, thinking: I want to know how he tastes like when he comes.
Kuroo's never questioned it since, and he's certainly not questioning it now, drawing away from Akaashi's mouth to bite along the column of the setter's neck all the way to the rise of his shoulder, sucking a mark there. And his hands wander - over Akaashi's slim waist, over his belly, almost shyly soothing over his chest before Kuroo decides to skip the pretense and settles both over Akaashi's ass.
They're flush against each other like this; there's no space in between, no hiding the fact that they're both hard and they're grinding against each other. Kuroo pulls away long enough to press a gentle kiss at the hollow of Akaashi's throat, and when he speaks again his voice is roughed up by need. ]
I'm into you, too. Have been for a while now. [ A kiss against the hard spur of a collarbone. Against Akaashi's adam's apple. Just under the soft dip of his jaw, near the ear. ] Let me suck you off.
Please?
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a commonplace, then, for the way their things for each snuck up on them both -- a second when things were normal, and then a second where kuroo was suddenly kuroo, the handsome captain of nekoma's team, his careless attitude that started with his bed head and ended with his lack of kneepads, and that smile akaashi has seen a hundred times before but that had suddenly pierced him as a direct offense. he distinctly remembers watching a nekoma game and missing the form of kenma's sets, instead relenting to watch kuroo's backside. ( it was, possibly, the one time bokuto had ever caught akaashi daydreaming. )
he sits straighter to let kuroo be more comfortable, cupping the back of his head and idly stroking long fingers through his hair, releasing a pleasurable hum to reverberate against kuroo's mouth. of course, then he says that, and the hand in his hair tightens a bit, a product of the surprise that courses through him. )
Hm.
( is the temporary answer he gives, gingerly cupping kuroo's hands to remove them, although he did like how strong they felt against him -- strong and sure and never wrong, like a good volley. it's a small room but the futon seems too far away to easily scoot towards, so akaashi just takes a seat across from him, eyebrow twitching in a temporary challenge.
it all feels like one challenge after the other. it's fun.
akaashi's next ace up his sleeve comes like this: confidently hooking his thumb around the elastic of his shorts, and easily willing it down his hips, springing his cock from its confines. loose setter's fingers trace up and down the shaft of it, which he wonders if it's more of a tease for himself or kuroo. )
You said please. ( he remarks afterwards. his eyes don't leave kuroo's even as he the tip of his pointer finger spreads precome against the spongey head of his cock, making akaashi bite his lip. ) As if the answer wasn't already yes.
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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.) ]
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which, for the record, he doesn't until his cockhead is brushing kuroo's cheek, and he's struck by how odd it feels, how good it feels, different to all other vices of orgasm. kuroo's mouth is certainly a good way to go out, although he's confused if he's thinking about climax or actually keeling over and dying, because both seem on par with each other at this point. he has nothing to compare it to, but it's incomparable for reasons more than that — it's kuroo and his kittenish licks, his loud mouth, it's kuroo, handsome and charming kuroo, and it finally sets in, somewhat
i'm into you, too. have been for a while now.
fuck. akaashi's hand stays threaded through kuroo's hair, mashed and folded as he is on the floor, there's no real discomfort despite his partly withheld wriggles and whines beneath him, trying to be an easy canvass for kuroo to enjoy. he's mostly unsuccessful. the hot suction of kuroo's mouth is too tempting not to buck into every time akaashi forgets himself, apologizing with soothing fingers whenever he does, although kuroo's bruising grip mostly keeps him in plac. there's a great contradiction laying somewhere inside him, the ultimate benefits of staring at kuroo's wet mouth or not looking — caught between wanting to watch and not wanting to embarrass himself by making a mess approximately thirty seconds into a blowjob.
he can't not look, though. regardless of how shy he might feel, or how wanton the blush across his cheeks looks, he can't help himself, acting as if tonight is the only night in the world and if he doesn't get to hear the slobbering noises of kuroo choking on his cock, then he'll never get the chance to again. he tries to be a silent lover, but he fails — over sensitivity will do that, and for every flick of his tongue or small suck, there's a subsequent moan out of akaashi's mouth, loud in an otherwise silent room.
he gets very close far too fast. somewhat roughly, he tugs kuroo's hair, willing his attention upwards. )
Ah — Kuroo. Kuroo. You have to —
( akaashi's thighs quake so hard with impeding orgasm that it hurts, but he still finds the restraint to stop himself, biting hard enough on his own lip that it smears red outside of the lines. reaching haphazardly out, he fetches the kitty bag and pulls out the aforementioned lube, somewhat awkwardly handing it out to kuroo. )
Do you want to — ?
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He'd been ready for a mouthful. Had been expecting it and looking forward to it after a whole year's worth of imagining what it would be like if fate would be so kind to let aliens invade the earth and create the unlikely scenario of two of them doing this. The unlikely, in the end, wasn't that unlikely at all - but Kuroo's expectations are still getting blown out of the water, and Kuroo thinks he might consider being more religious if whichever deity that created Akaashi would favor him more.
Kuroo pulls off him, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand as he looks up, taking in the dots of blood welling on Akaashi's lip, at the mess of his hair, at the look of determination in his eyes. ]
You're killing me. [ He's completely done for. ] Yeah. Akkachi, yes, I want to.
[ Kuroo takes the offered tube from Akaashi's hands, ends up holding it in his mouth first as he soothes the setter down to calm somewhat - running both hands over his thighs, over his halves, wide sweeping circles that reach up and around his waist and back down between Akaashi's legs. He flips the cap on the tube with his teeth, freeing one hand to catch it as the tube drops and Kuroo spits the cap out to follow; it's a practiced dexterity, borne out of previous intimacies with himself and a handful of infrequent encounters, and Kuroo admits that he's glad for it. ]
I'm not being patronizing, alright? [ His voice is rough around the edges, and he's squeezing lube on his fingers, ditching the tube aside as he warms what he can of the lube using only one hand. He's using the other to drag knuckles along the seam of Akaashi's thigh, running it down on the inside where Kuroo's own teeth marks are livid red against the pale. ] Say something if it hurts. Like... I don't know. Nekoma. If you want me to stop.
[ Kuroo doesn't know about kink negotiations - at least not yet - but he knows about biology, and internet pornography, and discussing consent with girls who confess and assume they have to put out on the first date because entitled asshole jocks are an unfortunate reality in Tokyo schools. He keeps his nose clean.
It only makes sense for that attitude to extend here, in the confines of his bedroom - in the company of someone even more exacting and ruthless than he is. ]
Have you done this before?
[ He might have done better to ask that before he's pressing two fingers against Akaashi's rim, smearing the lube around and teasing at penetration with gentle but firm nudges. Kuroo can feel a thigh muscle jump under his other hand, kneads against it in reflex, ends up pushing further into Akaashi than he meant to when he shifts his weight between his own knees. ]
—Fuck, Akaashi. Talk to me. [ Talk to me, he asks, even though he's breaching him up to the third knuckle of one finger in measured strokes, teasing in a second before they both get the catch to catch up on breathing. ] How do you want this?
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and himself, it seems. his body looks like a warzone in some areas, bitten flesh burning red like led signs lighting up, saying kuroo was here, and here, and here, the sight of which isn't unpleasant. he might have to wear sweats ( in summer ) to practice, and he marvels in the thought, having secrets to keep hidden and the truth for kuroo's dirty mind only. the angry flare of his teased cock curves upwards on his belly, leaking a thick pool of precome on his stomach that puddles and spills down the tracks of his abdomen muscles. he watches it, mouth slightly agape, head tilted to the side as if it's the most curious thing he's ever seen.)
Okay.
( silly, he thinks. now he can never say nekoma again. )
Ye — haa, yes and no. ( he says unhelpfully, although he can't be entirely blamed. wayward, intrusive fingers steal the majority of his thoughts, hips swiveling eagerly against them. there's an evident burn but not an unfamiliar one — not even an uncomfortable one, just a pressing reminder that this is happening, the kind of stuff you wake up in a cold sweat after dreaming about. ) Finger myself? Yes — yeah. Get fucked? No.
( he watches the captain's fingers disappearing between his legs, shining in some angles of the artificial light over head. entranced, maybe. the only thing he has to compare it to is his own time hidden behind locked doors and under the head of the shower, which isn't a fair compare and contrast, really. kuroo's fingers are so mindblowingly different and — and better, at that, deeper and braver and more experienced. akaashi wonders if masturbation will ever be the same. ( it won't. he has reality to back up his fantasy fodder now. )
gracefully, one of his hands reaches downwards to wrap a hard o behind the weight of his heavy balls, as further protection against coming too early. akaashi gives his question a few fleeting moments of hard thought, licking his lips again as he eyes kuroo's collarbone, his bare chest. he takes offense at the short still resting on his lean hips. )
You'll lay on your back, I think. ( he poses it as a question, despite the wording. ) And I'll sit on it. And then you can come inside me. Okay?
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[ And then you can come inside me, Akaashi says, like Kuroo's not thought of it before. It's more than okay, and Kuroo thinks he should pinch himself a little in case this is just a very vivid hallucination - he'll wake up, come to his senses, and he'll still be in his room with Akaashi just a few feet away, only they're still possessed of their clothes and Akaashi's asking if he's passed from the summer heat.
But there's no mistaking the wet slide of his fingers, the slick sounds of fingers going from gentle strokes to jagged pistoning, Kuroo leaning in to press a chaste kiss at the corner of Akaashi's mouth - he's unsure of its welcome, given where his mouth has just been. The rest of him have no shyness, however; Kuroo curls his fingers, works them in deep, manages to work a third into an already tight fit. Akaashi's own fingers cinch at the base of his length and the sight of it pierces through Kuroo like a heated knife - it slides right between his ribs, tears open at his lungs and renders him breathless.
He works his hand in a twist, so that his thumb is pressing against Akaashi's knuckles where they're gripping him, dragging over the spur of the knuckles with every rock of Akaashi's hips, every push of Kuroo's own fingers. Kuroo on the volleys; Akaashi keeps him at bay.
In a way, it's a reversal of their roles on the court. ]
I can't believe you— Have you. Did you ever do this while thinking of me? [ Kuroo doesn't understand the urge that makes him ask. He's running with it anyway; he gives a vicious twist of his fingers, driving in so deep the knuckles are stretching the ring of muscle instead of just resting against the rim. ] 'Cause I have, you know?
I've jerked off thinking about you.
[ He keeps pushing, relentless. Kuroo ducks and says his piece against the line of Akaashi's throat. ]
I've come so many times thinking about if I got to fuck you against the lockers after practice during camp.
If you ride me, can I lick you clean after?
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he does make a genuine effort to keep quiet, in case kuroo's parents are still downstairs — but again, it's difficult. these hands are unfamiliar, and akaashi has almost exclusively seen them smacking volleyballs over net, or clenching a pen so tightly his fingers whiten, so to have them so — dexterous? so talented, lean, curving inside him and making the idea of orgasm very, very alluring is something else altogether. the back of his free hand raises to cover his red mouth, attempting to gather in the breathy moans that leave him and swallow them back up from where they came. his hips are apologetically ceaseless, twitching with every brush inside him.
it's the inappropriate move for hurrying things along, but akaashi sits up as much as he can, reaching a hand out to cup kuroo's cheek. he isn't much for affection, but there can be a few exceptions, leaning forward to steal a contradictory chaste kiss off his mouth, long eyelashes batting as he hovers in kuroo's space. )
I — yes. Frequently. ( he nips at his lips, biting the corner, licking the fleshy taste of cock off of him. ) I say your name, sometimes. I — like it. You could've had me on the lockers. Or the court. The baths ...
( his own fantasies falling tandem to kuroo's. his eyes roll in the back of his head slightly once kuroo manages to hit his prostate, leaving him breathless, puffy gasps of air shaking his body on every exhale.
close now, he reaches a hand out blindly to cup kuroo's cock through his gym shorts, squeezing it. )
Fuck — right now, you can do anything, Kuroo, please — come on.