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.
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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?
no subject
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.