Work Text:
Kaoru wakes to a humid summer morning and a dull ache at the base of his skull. Carla plays gentle music while projecting the usual information onto the ceiling: the forecast, major headlines, his neatly scheduled day.
The last wisps of a dream cling to his mind, a warm hand on the back of his neck, chapped lips, an earnest gaze. Groaning, he rolls over. How annoying to have the little sleep he gets interrupted by troublesome memories.
Carla trills, not unlike a bird, and says, “Good morning, master, you have…”
He misses the rest of the sentence because he’s fallen back asleep.
Work only seems to get busier every month. He’s long since passed the point where he could start turning down jobs if they weren’t of interest, but it means that the jobs he does accept must be beyond perfect. If he’s not at the office, he’s out meeting with clients. If he’s not out meeting with clients, he’s tinkering with Carla’s code. If he’s not doing any of the above, he’s at Sia la luce.
Kaoru sits primly at the counter in front of Kojiro, methodically working his way through his carbonara. He knows that the speed at which he eats pisses Kojiro off, so he’s always sure to eat extra slow when it’s just the two of them.
It’s just after close, so he has Kojiro all to himself, exactly the way he wants him.
Though maybe he shouldn’t have come today. His mind is still foggy from the dream, his ears echo with the ghostly memory of Kojiro’s laugh, his chest burns from the memory of his stare. It’s been so long, it’s been years, and Kojiro can still make him feel like a gawky teen.
“You know, sometimes I think I hallucinated that you ever wore pants,” Kojiro says, leaning forward on the bar with a bored expression. Kaoru lifts a brow to indicate how stupid he thinks this statement is.
“You mean our entire school career?” He retorts. Kojiro gets a weird look on his face.
“Exactly,” he says, “Do you even own any pants?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t let you see me in them,” Kaoru replies without missing a beat. Kojiro’s expression slips even further, closer to the look he has in the middle of a trick, something between focused and totally at ease. Kaoru stares down at his pasta like it requires intense focus to consume.
A memory, from not long after Kojiro came back to Japan.
(Kojiro had acted as if his going to Italy was a life and death scenario. In the first, and last, serious conversation they had about their relationship Kaoru had said: “Look. You won’t forgive yourself if you don’t take this opportunity, and that means I won’t forgive you either. So go.”
It took Kaoru about a week to regret it. Within a month, however, he had the first prototype of Carla fully operational.)
They were out for drinks Kojiro’s first week back, trying to figure out if they’d still work. Kojiro was put off by Carla. Kaoru was disgusted by the way he’d winked at their waitress. They’d both inhaled far too much alcohol, Kojiro because it was his MO, Kaoru from nerves, and it was barely twelve when Kojiro pinned him in place with a salacious grin.
“Y’know… dressed up all prissy like that…” Kojiro raked his eyes over Kaoru’s body, “You’re just asking for someone to make a mess of you,”
Kaoru’s breath caught in his throat as his entire body flared hot, blood pooling heavily at the base of his spine. He stared at Kojiro, frozen by the force of his own desire.
And then Kojiro smirked. Because it was a joke, and Kaoru had fallen for it.
Kaoru tipped his head forward and then rocketed himself out of his seat. His skull met Kojiro’s with a resounding crack.
“Fuck—!”
“Do not,” Kaoru said, stonily, “Treat me like one of your girls,”
It turned out they still worked just fine.
“You know, I could make you something fancier,” Kojiro is saying now, gesturing to the plate in front of him.
“As if I’d trust you to not screw it up,” Kaoru retorts, but his heart isn’t in it. Kojiro scoffs and rolls his eyes, but he’s distracted enough putting away wineglasses that he fails to rise to the bait. Kaoru rolls a single noodle around his fork and chews it slowly.
He probably thinks about that night—the humid summer air, the fresh bronze tan of Kojiro’s skin, the impact of their skulls meeting—once or twice a week. Sometimes he agonizes over whether the offer was earnest or not. Mostly he stews over the embarrassment he can still feel, stinging his skin like nettles.
“You alright?” Kojiro asks. Too late, Kaoru registers the hand reaching for him across the bar. Unable to dodge, he glares as Kojiro rubs his thumb along his cheekbone. Kaoru’s skin sings at the fleeting touch. What can he say, I had a shitty dream about you and it’s throwing me off?
“I haven’t been sleeping,” Kaoru grumbles, put-off by the concern. Kojiro snorts.
“You never sleep,”
The dream, the memory, in question is polished to a sheen by the restless replay of Kaoru’s mind. He can’t be sure anymore if the details he recalls are accurate, since he’s revisited it so many times it’s now vivid yet distant, almost like it happened to someone else.
They were in Kojiro’s room. It was raining, so they were killing time until the clouds were meant to clear. They sat on his bed, ankles overlapping, Kaoru flipping through a magazine, Kojiro half-heartedly picking over his homework.
“Hey, Kaoru, have you turned down every confession you’ve gotten?” Kojiro asked, tapping his pencil against his notebook.
“Hm? Yeah,” Kaoru replied, not looking up from his magazine. He had been worried about what his expression might give away.
Kojiro huffed and jostled him with an elbow, “Why?”
“I’m not interested,” Kaoru said, flatly.
“In any of them? At all?” Kojiro pressed, “Like, girls… generally?”
Kaoru looked up at him, surprised. “I don’t know. But none of them are interesting to me,”
Kojiro stared at him with a weirdly intense expression. A flicker of unease kicked up in Kaoru’s chest and he returned his attention to the magazine. “Why do you care, anyway?”
“Well, I was just curious,” Kojiro said and then, quieter, “About you,”
Kaoru turned and met the brush of chapped lips against his own. Kojiro’s eyes were open, so were Kaoru’s for that matter but he was the one taken by surprise, and he could see flecks of amber in his irises. Belatedly, Kaoru realized the safest course of action would be to pull away.
He touched the back of one hand to his mouth but couldn’t bring himself to wipe the sensation away. His lips tingled, his heartbeat throbbed in his throat.
“Why?” He asked, his voice hoarse. Kojiro looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I just figured… it’s like practice, right?”
Kaoru thought this over. Probably for too long because Kojiro interrupted him with a tentative, “Kaoru?”
“Alright,” Kaoru said, decisively. They were seventeen, at the time, and it felt like his last shot at fooling around before it became a question of what are we? Who are you? It felt like Kojiro had thrown him a life-ring, emblazoned with the words you might not get another chance.
Kaoru climbed into Kojiro’s lap and grabbed his hands, lifted them to his hips. “Hold me like this,” he ordered.
Kojiro stared up at him, expression slack and stupid. Kaoru rolled his hips down, experimentally, grinding into Kojiro’s lap who gasped, thickly. It was almost exactly the same sound he made when his board slipped out from beneath him. Kaoru felt himself smile and pushed his hands inside Kojiro’s unbuttoned shirt.
“Holy shit,” Kojiro said, reverently, his fingers digging into Kaoru’s hips. Kaoru laughed and then kissed him. Looking back it was probably clumsy, there was probably too much teeth, too much spit, their hands frozen in place where they had landed. But at the time it felt—it felt so good.
Kojiro squirmed beneath him, so Kaoru grinded down again and he squeaked, then surged up to kiss him harder. Kaoru’s pretty sure this is when their teeth clipped, but neither of them stopped. Kojiro smelled like sweat and detergent and deodorant. Kaoru felt like he was about to fly apart.
“W-wait,” Kojiro said, breathlessly and his hands flew between them, to the buttons of Kaoru’s uniform. “Can I?”
“Sure,” Kaoru said, it almost came out a question. Kojiro fumbled about half the buttons open but then stopped and made a strangled noise.
“Are those—?”
Kaoru flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. His chest was still a little sore from the piercings, though they were a month old. He hadn’t told Kojiro when he got them and didn’t want to tell him then—he’d gone with Adam and thinking of that day still made him feel weird and twisty inside.
“Shut up,” Kaoru hissed and sealed his mouth over Kojiro’s, to silence him. Kojiro’s hands dropped back to his waist and held on as if for dear life.
His hands felt steady on his body, his tongue rasped inside his mouth in a way that made sparks fly down Kaoru’s spine. Kaoru began to rock down into him in an unsteady rhythm, trying to get friction on his dick, but they were pressed so close it wasn’t quite working.
“Oh,” Kojiro said into his mouth, then, “Shit,” and broke away to bite down, hard, into his own lip, making a low, keening, noise. Kaoru was confused only until he looked down and saw the wet leaking into Kojiro’s trousers. He threw back his head and laughed. It wasn’t very nice, but he was so nervous and turned-on that it made him hysterical.
“Shut it!” Kojiro shoved him away, red all the way up his ears, clearly mortified. Kaoru fell back on the bed, still giggling.
“No it’s—it’s flattering, right?” He barely managed to get the words out between gasps for air. Kojiro looked at him like he was crazy, which only made him laugh harder. After a beat, Kojiro snorted and then began to laugh too. His hand cupped the back of Kaoru’s neck, warm, and the look on his face made Kaoru feel like he was in free-fall.
And then, well, Adam went off the deep end, and panic took up permanent residence in Kaoru’s chest, and they never spoke about it again.
-
But it’s fine because Kaoru has everything he wants. Well, mostly. Okay, he has fifty percent of what he wants, which is a passing grade. So, really, he can’t complain.
What he has is this: Kojiro’s undivided attention in the small hours just after his restaurant closes, his idiotic presence at his back when they skate, the comfort and agony of his gentle, thoughtless touches.
It would be unimaginably mortifying to be mooning over Nanjo Kojiro, so Kaoru refuses to.
-
The spotlights shine unnaturally bright, make the shadows seem all the darker. Skaters flicker in and out of sight as they soar down the mountainside, their joyful hoots rising out of the dark. The air is crisp, rapidly cooling with the sun down, and Kaoru breathes deep. Crazy Rock always feels like home.
He glides smoothly down the course, one eye on the readouts on his wristband. “Carla, distance,”
“Five point three meters,” his board chirps, flashing pink.
He checks that number against the readout on his wristband with satisfaction. “And the angle?”
“Enter turn at forty-four degrees,” It matches the readout once more, and Kaoru sails flawlessly through the turn. So far, so good, as expected. He taps his wristband absently. In the distance, voices rise in excitement, but he tunes them out automatically, except—
“You don’t have to rely on Carla for everything, four-eyes!” a voice calls out. He could never tune out that voice.
Kaoru glares over his shoulder at Kojiro, who glides up behind him, jacket flapping open around his shoulders.
“Leave me alone,” he retorts, lamely. Kojiro laughs and pops an ollie, just for the fun of it, and Kaoru can feel his traitorous mouth begin to smile. Here’s a truth Kojiro has probably already figured out; Kaoru so badly doesn’t want to share him with anyone else that he purposefully puts distance between them in public. If he chooses to step away first, he can’t feel jealous or stupid when someone else steps in.
“Sharp turn ahead,” Carla informs, “Sixty-degree entrance advised,”
Kaoru checks the number automatically against his wristband before picking up speed and angling into the corner. Kojiro whooshes past him, twisting sharply before slowing so that they’re neck-in-neck once more. He’s got a stupid grin on his face that makes Kaoru automatically grind his teeth.
“C’mon I know you can skate without the AI,” Kojiro needles, gliding in closer.
“I’m running calibrations, so if you could—”
Kojiro glides in even closer—too close—and wraps one arm around Kaoru, hand pressing firmly to his stomach, pulling him in so his back is pressed to Kojiro’s front. “Oh come on, just skate with me,”
Kaoru is too busy squawking in protest and jabbing Kojiro with his elbow to pay attention to the next corner. Carla chirps something inaudible, but Kojiro leans back, grinning like an idiot, and they drift smoothly around the bend.
“Get off me!” Kaoru spits, but then Kojiro’s hand slips a little lower and he chokes.
“I’m just trying to get you to loosen up,” Kojiro says petulantly, hooking his chin over his shoulder. Kaoru considers jabbing him in the eyes.
“I don’t—" Kaoru’s protest dies in his throat as they take the next corner. Kojiro squeezes him between his arm and his overbuilt torso, fingers pressing in just below the tie of his hakame and Kaoru instead makes the worst sound imaginable. “Ah~”
He feels Kojiro freeze as they come out of the turn. “Um. Kaoru?”
Kaoru’s face burns with humiliation. His moan echoes in his ears as a staticky dullness fills his head. He opens his mouth to call out to Carla—for what he’s not exactly sure, shouldn’t he have programmed some kind of emergency escape procedure? Or armed her so he could at least have a merciful death? But then Kojiro’s hand slips down to the top of his thigh, and he says, “Nngh,”
Kojiro noses at the back of his neck. Neither of them is paying any attention to the course. Carla chirps and then advises; “Thirty degrees, master,”
Kaoru is responding before he’s even processed it, leaning forward into the next corner, and Kojiro leans with him. His body is as hot as a brand pressed along him, and the familiar smell of his cologne invades Kaoru’s nose.
“Let go of me,” Kaoru says, weakly. They only just make it through the corner on their feet. Someone is going to see and, worse, someone is going to film them.
Kojiro just says, “Kaoru,” low, his breath hot against Kaoru’s ear. A violent shiver bolts down his spine. Part of Kaoru, the anxiety probably, is shrieking Unacceptable! While the part of him that likes to replay the look on seventeen-year-old Kojiro’s face when he came hollers Fuck yes!
As usual, the anxiety wins out. He twists and slips the tail of his board under Kojiro’s, pops it and shoves Kojiro, hard. They drift apart, Kojiro throwing out a steadying arm, Kaoru clenching his shaking hands into fists. He opens his mouth, trying to think of something suitably scathing to say, but Kojiro beats him to it.
“Woah,” he says, with the stupidest look on his face, “You’re blushing,”
Kaoru picks up speed, races the rest of the way down the mountain, Kojiro’s gaze burning a hole in the back of his head, and wishes for the first time that Kojiro couldn’t read him as well as he does. He just needs space to think, to calm down. They haven’t—it’s never come up—he shouldn’t—
At the base of the run, Kaoru steps off his board and deactivates Carla. Get angry, a rational voice is saying in the back of his mind, Play it off as a bad joke. Kojiro kicks up his board and walks over, and he’s looking at him in a new way. There’s a question in his eyes, a cautious smile dancing around his mouth. He’s looking at Kaoru like he’s a challenge. Like he’s exciting.
Kaoru can feel himself shaking. He can’t bring himself to look at Kojiro, glaring daggers instead somewhere way left of him. This is a bad idea. “Come back to mine,”
Kojiro’s smile is probably visible from space. “Yeah, yes, let’s go now,”
Kojiro crowds into his space the instant the front door closes behind them and says, “I nearly blew my wad right on the track when you moaned,”
“Don’t be vulgar!” Kaoru snaps, feeling himself flush. He’s on the verge of an out-of-body experience. This can’t be happening.
“C’mon, make that sound again,” Kojiro coos, grinning like a lunatic. He puts his hands around Kaoru’s waist and heaves him up into the air, as if he hardly weighs anything at all.
“Put me down!” Kaoru snaps, his face burning. Kojiro slides one arm beneath his ass, lifting him higher, as Kaoru’s traitorous legs wrap around his waist.
“Oh, shut up, you love it,” Kojiro says, flippantly, pressing him firmly against the wall and slipping his free hand inside Kaoru’s kimono, “Now let’s see… ah,” a stupid, saccharine expression lights up his face as his fingers stroke Kaoru’s chest, “Oh my pretties, I’ve missed you,”
“Don’t—" Kaoru’s protest dies in a thick gasp as Kojiro hoists him higher and dips his face to seal his lips around one pierced nipple. Kaoru shudders as his tongue plays with the metal bar, flicking at the sensitive peak and then sucking lewdly. Heat pools thickly at the base of his spine as his nerves light up. His thighs are forced wide around the trunk of Kojiro’s torso, his hips hitch forward, rubbing his hardening dick ineffectively against Kojiro’s stomach.
“Can’t believe you kept them,” Kojiro murmurs, releasing his nipple with a fond flick of his tongue. Kaoru momentarily considers saying something stupid like, I kept them for you. But he knows what’s more likely to get a rise out of Kojiro.
“They’re amusing,” he explains, breathily, “I get my money’s worth,”
Kojiro looks up at him with an incredible expression. “You play with them?”
Kaoru levels him with the most condescending look he can manage given their position, “That’s what they’re for, stupid gorilla,”
Kojiro’s head drops forward. “Fuck.” He says, emphatically, and then, “Hold on,”
“Wh—hey!” Kaoru splutters as Kojiro steps back, one hand splayed across his lower back to steady him, and walks further into the house. Kaoru’s breath comes ragged and fast, Kojiro carries him so easily. Fuck. He’s already so hard.
Kojiro sits on his futon, Kaoru flushing and grumbling in his lap, and tugs at the ties holding his hakame closed. Kaoru shoves his jacket off in retaliation. Kojiro shirtless is whatever, Kaoru has long since grown used to the sight, but when he splays his hands across Kojiro’s pecs his breath hitches. Touching is another matter entirely.
Kojiro shoves Kaoru’s clothes aside just enough to reach a hand inside his underwear and unceremoniously pull out his cock. Kaoru tenses up. Kojiro stares down at his hand around him and makes a noise that embarrasses Kaoru for how wanton it is.
Then he flops backwards and drags Kaoru up his stomach, until his chest is level with Kojiro’s face. Kaoru plants a hand on the futon as a blush burns its way down his throat.
“What a beautiful view,” Kojiro says, smugly, before lifting his head to lathe his tongue over his nipple. His fingers find the other, still wet from his mouth earlier, and give the barbell a gentle tug.
Kaoru makes an undignified noise, low and reedy. Kojiro hums around him, sucking lavishly at one nipple while his fingers play with the other. Like this, if Kaoru rolls his hips, he can grind his ass on Kojiro’s hard-on, trapped in his jeans, and he makes a somehow even worse noise.
Bolts of heat race down his spine, twist sharply in his navel. His body begins to shake in earnest, his arm trembling under his weight, Kojiro flicks the barbell with his tongue and Kaoru’s hips buck forward, dragging his cock against the heat of Kojiro’s abs.
“Ah I-I can’t—! I’ll—" Kaoru’s voice comes out strangled, catching on his heaving breaths.
“Are you gonna come?” Kojiro asks, his lips brushing against his skin. He places his free hand at the base of Kaoru’s spine and presses him down. Fuck. Why’re his hands so big. Kaoru’s eyes shut as he wills himself to calm. Softer, Kojiro says, “Kaoru?”
“N-no,” Kaoru grits out, “Not like this,”
Kojiro hums, sealing his lips around his nipple once more before biting down, hard.
“Ah, fuck!” Kaoru moans loudly, heat thrumming insistently in his navel. Kojiro keeps one hand at the base of his spine, an insistent pressure, while the other plays mercilessly with his nipple, pinching at the sensitive flesh and flicking the barbell while at the same time his mouth—
Kaoru squirms, his cock dragging against Kojiro’s hot skin, blood pounding in his ears, pressure winding up tight inside him. He’s too close, it’s too much, his body floods with heat, his thighs tremble as his hips fuck down onto Kojiro’s stomach.
“Kojiro!” He tries to snap but it comes out a weak desperate moan. Heat rolls through him as Kojiro tugs at a piercing with his teeth.
He can feel his arms shaking, almost at the point of giving out. His mind is racing—it’s been a long time since anyone touched him, he’s keyed up from skating, he’s—he’s making excuses for why he’s about to come on Kojiro from a little nipple play.
“Fuck,” he hisses and then he’s gone. Pressure unspools inside him with a flood of heat, his dick throbs as he releases what feels like an absurd amount of cum. Kojiro moans, slipping his hand down Kaoru’s chest to drag his fingers in it. His hand on the base of Kaoru’s spine eases up as he releases his much-abused nipple to turn his face up to him.
Kaoru slumps off him, looking away to avoid whatever expression he’s making.
“Kaoru,” Kojiro sighs, skimming a hand through the mess on his abs. Kaoru’s whole body is still thrumming, he can’t seem to level out his breath. After a moment he looks at Kojiro, flushed and dark-eyed and tries to force his voice flat.
“You can finish on your own,” he says, blandly. Kojiro’s face screws up for a moment before he says, pleadingly,
“At least let me look at you,”
Kaoru chokes. Kojiro grins, rolling so he’s propped up on one arm, half on top of Kaoru, and unzips his jeans with his free hand. Kaoru’s eyes drop to take in his cock and he bites his tongue before any more embarrassing noises can escape him. Kojiro strokes himself roughly, swiping his thumb over his head, tendons standing out in his forearm from his grip. Kaoru thinks, I want him to touch me like that, and then he thinks, oh shit.
“You’re so intense,” Kojiro half-laughs, “And yet still so pretty,”
Kaoru glares at him.
“Yeah,” Kojiro grits out, his hand speeding up, “Like that,”
Kaoru can feel a flush working its way down his throat. “This is taking too long, you bore me,”
“Oh? Do you have such a poor constitution?” Kojiro asks, mockingly. Kaoru’s teeth grind together. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, since he said Kojiro was on his own, so he ends up threading his fingers through the soft hair at the base of his skull.
“A great oaf like you heaving on top of me isn’t exactly entertaining,” he replies, witheringly.
Kojiro shudders, “Kiss me, Kaoru,”
He can’t think of a good reason not to, so Kaoru is pressing up almost before Kojiro’s done speaking. Kojiro parts his lips for him immediately, easily, and Kaoru licks inside his mouth, savouring the feel of his tongue moving against his, the heat of him. One of them moans softly—probably Kojiro—and Kaoru presses up more insistently, presses closer, licks deeper, hungry for the way Kojiro responds.
Well, fuck. It feels just as good as in Kaoru’s memory—it feels better. The heat of Kojiro pressed along his side, the press of his teeth into his lip, the soft noises he gasps into Kaoru’s mouth—oh I’m in deep shit.
Kaoru slips his hand between them and rubs his thumb over the head of Kojiro’s cock, runs his nail down his slit.
“Ah,” Kojiro gasps, like he’s surprised, and comes. Just like that.
Kaoru breaks the kiss so he can aim his smug smile at Kojiro, but his eyes are closed, his expression slack, his lips slick and red. He looks…
“Carla, time,”
“Six minutes, twelve seconds,” his AI reports, “Approximately half your time,”
Kojiro’s eyes snap open and he looks down at Kaoru, scandalized, “Hey—what—?”
Kaoru smirks, “Now whose constitution is in question?”
Kojiro points a finger accusingly at him. Cum glints against his tanned skin. Kaoru has to resist the impulse to take the digit into his mouth. “That’s—don’t bring Carla into this,”
“What? Are you intimidated?” Kaoru scoffs. Kojiro scowls and yanks at a strand of Kaoru’s hair before sitting back, out of reach. His expression clears as he looks down at him, and then he touches a hand to Kaoru’s stomach.
“You look…” his eyes are dark. Kaoru becomes immediately, jarringly aware of their cum mixed on his skin. He unceremoniously kicks Kojiro off the futon.
“Go clean up,” he says, shortly.
“Fine,” Kojiro rolls his eyes and stands, his dick hanging shamelessly out of his jeans, his abs smeared with drying cum. It’s a visual that’ll haunt Kaoru, that’s for certain. Kojiro stops in the doorway and turns with a shit-eating grin, “Are you always so noisy, or did you just enjoy yourself that much?”
He only just manages to duck the book Kaoru pitches straight at his head.
“You’ll never know,” Kaoru huffs, “This won’t happen again.”
-
The next time it happens they’re in the middle of an argument in the back of Kojiro’s restaurant. About what Kaoru couldn’t say—it doesn’t really matter, anyway. One minute they’re kicking each other in the shin, the next Kojiro has him gathered up in his arms, cock grinding against the seam of his ass. One hand slips inside his yukata to fiddle with his nipples, the other works his cock through the fabric.
“Nngk—ah, ah!” Kaoru pants, “Kojiro!”
He comes so fast and so hard he gets lightheaded. Kojiro grinds against him, insistently, gasping, “Oh, fuck, fuck,”
Kauro twists his head back to catch Kojiro’s bottom lip in his teeth. Kojiro moans, long and low, the vibrations rattling Kaoru’s ribs, as he comes in his pants.
“Kaoru,” he sighs, burying his face in the base of his neck. Kaoru feels his face get hot as Kojiro mouths lazily at his pulse, rabbiting in his throat. He feels warm all over, and strangely light-headed.
After a long moment, Kojiro steps back. He looks at Kaoru sheepishly, “Guess I got a little carried away,”
Kaoru stares at him, then looks down to examine his yukata—telling stains seep through the fabric at his crotch, and when he reaches around he can feel a damp patch on his ass.
He rattles Kojiro by the shirt, “You buffoon! Get me something to wear!”
“Yes, yes,” Kojiro has the sense to look slightly abashed.
And then they’re in a secluded corner at S, Kojiro on his knees and his mouth around Kaoru’s cock. It’s warm and wet and bone-shivering good, the hungry grip of his lips obscene around him, the dazed flush blooming in his cheeks.
“Hurry up!” Kaoru hisses, “Someone could see us,”
Kojiro moans, a low rumble Kaoru can feel at the base of his spine, and he thinks, Shit. That hadn’t been meant as encouragement.
The next day Kaoru goes over to Kojiro’s to repay the favour, since he outright refused to get on his knees at S, and spends the better part of an hour experimenting with how much of Kojiro’s cock he can get into his mouth at once. Eventually, Kojiro yanks him off by his hair, wheezing for air.
“Let me come on your face,” he gasps and Kaoru grumbles but allows it. It solves the question of spit or swallow for him anyway.
-
If Kaoru had a nice, chill brain, he’d be able to compartmentalize this. To tuck away thoughts like what the hell are we doing, and what does this mean for our relationship, into a deep, dark corner of his mind.
Too bad one of his brain’s many talents is eating itself alive.
So he spends more than a few nights trying to sleep and instead hopelessly circling the drain, his thoughts swirling around Kojiro in not altogether new, but newly troubling, ways. Like the look in his eye when he sucked Kaoru off, or the gentle touch of his hand at Sia la luce, or every single way he’s sighed Kaoru’s name.
It’s one of these nights, about a week after that disaster at S, that he gets a call at two AM. The curtains are drawn so the room is velvety black, Carla’s cycling optimistically through his bedtime playlist, Kaoru’s taken a double dose of melatonin, and yet he’s perfectly awake to check the caller ID.
“What is it?” He answers, wearily.
“You were just thinking about me, weren’t you?” Kojiro hums into his ear.
“You—!” Kaoru sits bolt upright, his heart pounding furiously.
“Oooh I was right!” Kojiro says, gleefully, “Come let me in,”
“What.” Kaoru replies, flatly.
“I’m out front,” just loud enough to break through Carla’s music, Kaoru does, indeed, hear a knock at the door. “Let me in,”
Kaoru hangs up and then sighs, loudly. “Carla, stop music,”
The lullaby cuts out and Kaoru throws on a yukata before padding softly to the front door. As advertised, Kojiro is standing out front, wearing an eye-watering shirt unbuttoned down to his navel. Kaoru’s overtired body has a complicated response to the sight of moonlight on his pecs.
“Hi! Full disclosure, this is a booty-call,” Kojiro shoves his foot through the door before Kaoru can slam it in his face. “But I figured we should probably talk, yeah?”
Glowering, Kaoru eases up on the door. “About what?”
“Well, us, I guess,” Kojiro says, slipping inside and into Kaoru’s personal space. He inspects him closely, red eyes glinting. Kaoru frowns at him, unimpressed, and turns to stride back inside. Kojiro kicks off his shoes and follows him into the kitchen, where he produces a paper from his pocket and unfolds it on the counter.
“What is that?” Kaoru asks, suspicious.
“‘s my lab results,” Kojiro says, obliquely. Kaoru takes the page in hand with a sigh and reads it. Negative… Negative… Negative… wait, what?
Kaoru blinks down at the page, then up to Kojiro and laughs. “No way you’re clean,”
Kojiro bristles, “What’s that suppose to mean? I’m always safe!”
“Why are you showing this to me?”
Kojiro spreads his hands in an expression of innocence. “All cards on the table. I’m clean, I’m not sleeping with anyone else right now, and I’d like to fuck you raw,”
Kaoru stares at him for a long, speechless moment. “Not tonight,” he says, eventually.
“Yeah, I figured,” he says, agreeably, “And look, about us? This can be whatever you want it to be, you can decide,”
Kojiro’s looking at him with the kind of earnest expression that tends to make women swoon. Kaoru’s heart is racing so hard he can feel it in his very fingertips. What kind of half-assed— he wets his dry lips and snorts, “Typical,”
Kojiro’s brows snap together, “What’s that suppose to mean?”
“It means you’re avoiding responsibility, as usual,” Kaoru sniffs.
“What? I can take responsibility, I just thought you—” Cared more about this? Were overthinking things again? Kaoru really doesn’t want to know how that sentence ends.
“Then what do you want this to be?” Kaoru snaps, cutting him off. Kojiro glares at him, mouth twisted up into a sneer.
“I want to be exclusive,” he growls, “Alright? That’s what I want.”
Kaoru glares at him, “So we weren’t exclusive before?”
Kojiro rears back like he’s been slapped. “What?”
“What?” Kaoru echoes, defensively. There’s an especially stupid look coming into focus on Kojiro’s face, and it puts him on edge.
Kojiro steps in closer and coos, “Aw, baby, does that mean you’re all mine?”
“If anyone belongs to anyone,” Kaoru says, loftily, “It is you who belongs to me,”
Kojiro blinks rapidly, like he’s waking up, and then a ridiculous, goofy grin grows on his face. “Fair enough,” he says, and then swoops in to kiss him.
They make their way to the bedroom in a clumsy tangle of limbs, Kojiro’s breath hot in Kaoru’s mouth, his hands scrabbling at his yukata while Kaoru claws at his skin. Naked, Kojiro presses Kaoru onto the futon where minutes ago his brain was spiralling down the drain and kisses him so deeply his mind is wiped blank.
“Do you have…?” Kojiro asks, sitting up and reaching for the bedside table. Kaoru watches the stretch of his arm, muscles gliding along bone, moonlight heightening the contrast of their skin, golden brown, milky pale.
Kaoru tsks and shoves him off. “I’ll get it,”
He retrieves a strip of condoms and bottle of lube from the drawer in the closet and tosses them next to Kojiro on the futon, then kneels beside him. Kojiro looks up at him with a strange look, a look that burrows beneath Kaoru’s skin.
He puts his hand on Kojiro’s cock and feels a little thrill go down his spine. He’s, well. He’s big.
“I don’t think it’s going to fit,” Kaoru says, stroking idly up his length. Kojiro’s face slackens into an idiotic expression.
“That’s—don’t—" he stammers and Kaoru laughs. Kojiro runs a hand over his face with a groan, and then rolls them, so he’s got Kaoru pinned to the futon. “You little shit,”
Kaoru’s still laughing, “You’re so predictable,”
Kojiro’s expression is twisted up with annoyance, but his eyes are crinkled, warm, in a way that makes the hair rise on the back of Kaoru’s neck. He spreads Kaoru’s legs, hitching one thigh over his hip, and picks up the lube.
“Maybe I’ll find that stick up your ass,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling a little, and his voice comes out fond. He’s also stroking Kaoru’s cock as he says it, so Kaoru can forgive himself for not being able to think of a reply. Kojiro squeezes out what seems like, objectively, too much lube and warms it between his hands before sliding one hand between Kaoru’s cheeks.
Kaoru throws an arm across his eyes as Kojiro rubs over his hole. His head fills up with staticky white-noise and he has to fight the urge to close his legs. Kojiro slips a finger just inside him and takes a breath.
“You have to—”
“I know,” Kaoru snaps, mortified. He can feel Kojiro’s eyes on him, burning straight to the bone. He’s strung out so tightly between embarrassment and pleasure for a moment he’s convinced he’s about to have a panic attack. And how humiliating would that be, to hyperventilate from Kojiro’s fingertip?
Kojiro shoves Kaoru’s arm off his face and kisses him, and Kaoru has to scramble enough brainpower together to kiss him back. He threads his fingers into the long hair above Kojiro’s nape, who hums a pleased little sound in response. Kojiro rolls his hips down onto him and Kaoru jerks up to meet him, moaning as their dicks slide together.
Kaoru feels the stretch of his body accommodating Kojiro’s finger, feels the friction against his inner walls as he begins to move, but he also feels the heat of Kojiro pressed against him, the hungry rasp of his tongue in his mouth. He’s decidedly distracted.
“How’s that feel?” Kojiro asks, pulling back to look at him. Kaoru’s hand cups the hard line of his jaw without his say-so, fingers dragging against the faint rasp of late-night stubble on Kojiro’s cheek.
Kojiro turns his face so Kaoru’s fingers cover his mouth, which curl almost of their own volition, tug on his bottom lip. Kojiro looks at him from beneath his lashes as he takes two of his fingers into his mouth. Kaoru’s breath catches, heat thrums in his veins, his body oddly weightless. Kojiro sucks at the digits, tongue dragging, hot, over the tips of his fingers. Kaoru can’t look away, though he wants to. He’s afraid of what his own face is giving away.
Kojiro pulls off with a lewd suck and says, “Well?”
Goddamn fucking—there is nothing coherent Kaoru can summon up in response. Kojiro’s lips twitch up, like he can tell, which is both irritating and—regretfully—hot.
Kojiro’s got two fingers sliding into him before Kaoru realizes it, his hand hot and rough, the friction inside his body sending sparks up his spine. Kaoru flounders, small moans escape him as he clutches Kojiro like a lifeline.
“Kaoru,” Kojiro breathes, and then ducks his head to cover the pulse in his throat with his mouth.
“Kojiro,” he agrees, stupidly. His leg hooks up over Kojiro’s hip independent of his brain, his hips roll down to meet the next thrust of Kojiro’s hand. “More,”
Kojiro makes a weird noise, almost like he’s absorbing a blow, and then squeezes a third digit alongside the others. It’s—it hurts, a little, but it hurts in a way that makes Kaoru’s toes curl and a soft, horrible noise bubble up in his throat.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Kojiro says, groaning, his head buried in the join of Kaoru’s neck and shoulder.
“I want it, fuck me,” Kaoru says and is immediately embarrassed by the honesty he can hear in his own voice. He drags his fingers through the mess of Kojiro’s hair and adds, as snidely as he can manage, “This is taking too long,”
Kojiro sits back and Kaoru’s breath catches at the look on his face.
“Are you ready?” He asks, hoarsely, twisting his fingers inside him to punctuate the question.
“I-I don’t know,” Kaoru balks. Kojiro flexes his fingers, dragging against his walls and eliciting a full-body shudder. “Yes,”
“Alright,” he says, and his easy tone can’t cover the hunger simmering in his eyes, “But don’t bitch to me if you’re sore in the morning,”
It’s intoxicating, having Kojiro’s undivided attention. He’s not sure it even matters to him what Kojiro thinks of him, how he feels, so long as he keeps touching him. So long as he keeps looking at him.
Kaoru rolls onto his front as Kojiro fumbles with the condom. Turning away feels vulnerable, feels like giving up control, but the truth is he’s not sure how long he’ll last if he has to look Kojiro in the eye.
And then Kojiro’s hand is on him, braced at the swell of his ass, and he can feel the press of his cock against his hole. “Are you—?”
Kaoru cuts Kojiro off by rolling his hips back, his cock popping through the ring of muscle. Kojiro makes a low noise and moves with him, his cock inching slowly inside him. Kaoru makes a series of increasingly improbable noises and then Kojiro bottoms out and holds still.
“Alright?” His voice is rough, “You’re shaking,”
Kaoru’s entire body is shuddering, his cock twitching beneath him. He feels split open, painfully aware of the stretch of his body, he feels full in somehow both the best and worst way. He feels very, very stupid. He’ll never be able to pretend he doesn’t want it again—to pretend he doesn’t want Kojiro.
“Move!” Kaoru snaps, instead of any number of inadvisable things he could say. Things like, fuck me, or you feel so good, or please don’t leave me.
Kojiro begins to roll his hips, slowly, but they both groan like it’s the most delicious torture.
“Fuck, Kaoru, you…” Kojiro sounds ruined and breathless, and Kaoru has to bite his tongue to stop himself from crying out just at the sound of his own name.
“Is—is this the best you can do?” He says, as disdainfully as he can manage with a cock big enough to rearrange his organs sliding into him. Kojiro makes a strange, strangled noise, and his fingers dig into Kaoru’s hips and then he’s moving properly, thrusting into him hard enough he jolts forward.
“Ah, fuck,” Kaoru gasps, digging his fingers into the futon. Pleasure twists sharply in his navel as Kojiro moves in him, grinding his cock so deeply inside him, fingers digging bruises into his hips. It’s like he can fee Kojiro everywhere; the tips of his fingers tingle, his skin burns hot, his mouth drops open around noises he would’ve sworn he was incapable of making.
Kojiro shifts Kaoru’s hips, adjusts his thrusts, and Kaoru arches his back to meet him and then his cock brushes that spot inside him that makes him yelp, heat drilling down into his core.
“There!” He gasps, unnecessarily, because Kojiro is hammering that spot over and over, his grip uncompromising. “Kojiro!”
“Shit,” Kojiro says, emphatically, then thrusts deeply and stills. Kaoru makes a horrible, needy sound, but then Kojiro heaves him up onto his lap and the angle drives his cock so perfectly into him that Kaoru trembles. Waves of heat break over him, his head flops forward as Kojiro’s hands land on his chest. He plays with his nipples, rolling the peaks in his fingers, tugging at the barbells, and Kaoru makes a mangled, desperate, sound.
“Go on, touch yourself,” Kojiro urges, hoarsely, “Unless you think this is enough,”
Privately, Kaoru thinks it might be, but he’s unwillingly to let Kojiro know that. He fists his own cock and only manages to get a couple strokes in before he’s coming. Kojiro groans as he clenches around his softening cock, riding out the shocks of his orgasm with little twitches of his hips.
His orgasm leaves him hollowed out, breathless, trembling around Kojiro’s cock so impossibly hot inside him. Kojiro presses a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. Kaoru doesn’t want to move, he wants to keep Kojiro inside, he wants… So he forces himself to get his knees under him and heaves himself out of Kojiro’s lap.
Kojiro looks sleepy and satisfied as he slips off the condom and knots it. Kaoru probably looks like ass. He gets up and pads into the bathroom, where he washes up, listening carefully to the quiet sounds of Kojiro moving around in the bedroom. When he returns, he tosses a damp washcloth at Kojiro who mops himself up lazily before tugging him down into his arms.
“That was great,” Kojiro says, with no trace of shame, and then kisses the corner of Kaoru’s mouth.
Kaoru feels loose and warm and brainless, like all the thoughts have been fucked out of him so he says, “Yes,”
“Carla, play bedtime mix,” Kojiro calls out. Kaoru stares at him as the gentle sound of a lullaby fills the room. Kojiro yawns so big his jaw cracks, “What?”
Somehow, Kaoru is asleep before the first song is even over.
When he wakes in the morning, Kojiro is long gone. Of course he is, with that ridiculous schedule he keeps. Kaoru dismisses what feels suspiciously like disappointment curling in his gut and fumbles his way into the kitchen.
Where he finds a neatly wrapped plate of scrambled eggs waiting for him.
“Carla…” he begins to ask but stops himself. No answer would satisfy him.
-
He has Carla book him the appointment the following day. For once, he’s not entirely sure what Kojiro thinks—what Kojiro feels—why he’s doing any of this at all. It’s probably just for the sex, but is the sex even that good? (Yes, Kaoru admits, miserably, in his own mind. It is that good.)
For as much as Kaoru agonises over it, things with Kojiro are always easy. Maybe too easy, considering how quickly his body responds to him. Being with Kojiro makes him feel… good. Which in turn makes him feel kind of pathetic. No matter what’s happening if he turns to Kojiro he knows he’ll feel okay again. Which is definitely pathetic.
All the same, when he gets his lab results, he heads straight to Sia la luce.
Look, Kaoru might not be a hundred percent sure of what’s going on. But he understands a challenge when it’s offered.
“Welcome—oh, it’s you,” Kojiro greets him with a smile, “You’re early,”
Kaoru scowls and looks over the restaurant. There are still a handful of patrons picking over the last of their meals, a server winding through the tables. It’s something-Ishiki, the mellow girl, Kaoru likes her. By the time he reaches the bar, Kojiro’s already poured a glass of wine for him.
“D’you want some tiramisu?” He offers. There’s a thin smear of tomato sauce staining the starched white of his chef’s jacket stretched over his chest. Kaoru glowers at it. Has the fit of his jacket always been so obscene?
“Are you going to make me eat my vegetables first?”
Kojiro laughs, “Nah, not this time, I’d like to get home before three, thanks,”
He sets down a slice of cake on the bar and Kaoru slides the envelope across in return, forcing a bland expression. “Here,” he says, “For you,”
One of Kojiro’s brows pop up as he takes the envelope in hand and opens it. When he looks up, to Kaoru’s surprise, he has a startled, pleading look on his face. “We can’t fuck here,” he whines.
“Obviously!” Kaoru hisses, immediately annoyed and more than a little embarrassed. He should’ve waited until the restaurant was closed. Kojiro glowers at him.
“Then don’t try to get me worked up!” He accuses, in a whisper-shout. Kaoru’s head snaps back so fast he gets whiplash.
“Excuse me?” He sneers, leaning forward over the bar, to better whack Kojiro over the head if it comes to it.
Kojiro puts his face close to Kaoru’s, close enough that he can detect garlic on his breath. “I am going to fuck you so hard you feel me for days,”
Kaoru’s not one to be cowed. “I’d like to see you try,”
“Ah, ah, Koji-oh!” Kaoru gasps, clawing at the sheets for purchase, “I’m, I—"
“Shit, are you gonna come again?” Kojiro grits out, sounding winded. The grip of his hands on Kaoru’s hips are the only thing grounding him as his cock plows into him so hard he’s seeing stars and tasting blood.
“Right there! Like that! Don’t stop—ohh,” Kaoru blinks away tears as pleasure twists like a knife inside him. He’s close, he’s so, so— “Fuck!”
His dick releases the most pitiful spurt of cum but it’s enough to unravel the tension inside him and Kaoru collapses forward, boneless. His orgasm leaves him shuddering and weak as heat rolls through him, liquefying his bones. Kojiro grunts and stills inside him, pressed so deeply Kaoru swears he can feel him with his back teeth, and a curious warm sensation follows.
“You’re going to clean me up,” Kaoru orders, weakly. Kojiro huffs, part amusement part annoyance, and gently eases out of him. A trickle of liquid escapes down the inside of Kaoru’s thigh.
“I dunno, the thought of you dressed up so nice and proper but underneath I’ve made a mess of you…” Kojiro swipes a thumb through the wet on Kaoru’s thigh.
Kaoru props himself up on one arm to glare over his shoulder. Kojiro’s licking his thumb clean which— which— which Kaoru can’t think about right now. “No.”
Annoyingly, Kojiro laughs, like he can tell he’s won. But he gets up with a grudging, “Fine, fine,”
So Kaoru’ll call it a draw.
In the morning, Kaoru claws his way out of sleep to find that Kojiro is still in his bed. His expression must give him away because Kojiro looks simultaneously affronted and amused.
“It’s Sunday,” he says, as if it’s explanation enough, and then gets up.
Groggily, Kaoru finds a yukata to throw on and then consults Carla for a while. When he fumbles his way into the kitchen, he finds a plate of steaming scrambled eggs laid out with a mug of coffee. He pitches face-first into the food, and when he surfaces a few minutes later Kojiro is watching him over the rim of his own coffee.
“Do you ever eat properly?” He asks, condescendingly. Kaoru is still only thirty-percent awake so the best he can manage is a sullen,
“Yes.” When you cook for me.
Kojiro makes a face then says, “Come to dinner with me,”
“Eh? We always eat together,” Kaoru replies, intelligently. Kojiro’s brow ticks up in annoyance.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed but I work while you eat,” he retorts. Kaoru rolls this over in his lint-filled brain.
“So you mean dinner not at Sia la luce?”
Kojiro snorts and puts his mug in the sink. “I forgot how impossible you are in the morning,”
Kaoru bristles, but even that reaction happens on a five second delay. “You can’t expect me to function at this ungodly hour,”
“Kaoru. It’s ten AM,” he says, plainly, coming around the counter. Kaoru makes the best did you not hear me expression he can manage at the moment. Kojiro kisses him. His mouth is soft and hot, tastes sweet, the way he likes his coffee. He pulls back just far enough that his eyes come back into focus. “Have dinner with me,”
Kaoru looks down, but probably not fast enough to hide his asinine expression. “Alright,”
Kojiro picks him up on his bike that evening, which Kaoru should’ve expected but is still annoying because he has to turn back to change into hakame. Kojiro calls after him, “What, you don’t wanna ride side-saddle?” and Kojiro flips him the bird.
The wind whips past them as Kojiro drives. It’s cold, so Kaoru slips his hands up inside Kojiro’s tenuously buttoned shirt, flattens his palms over his abs, and he nearly swerves off the road.
“What the fuck!” Kaoru shrieks.
Kojiro cranes his head back and angrily retorts, “That’s my line!”
They go to a Thai restaurant nearby that Kojiro picked. It’s small, with barely enough room inside for six tables, and the owner greets Kojiro like the old friend he probably is.
No matter what Kojiro says, it’s like every dinner they’ve ever had at Sia la luce. Kojiro orders for them both, Kaoru polishes off his first drink before the meal even arrives, then listens with poorly feigned disinterest as Kojiro gives an impromptu lecture about the food. Kaoru ends up talking too long about his upcoming exhibition, but Kojiro listens, anyways, and then baits him into an argument over pintails.
The waiter returns at the end with the bill and places it diplomatically in the middle of the table before dematerializing. Kaoru looks at Kojiro, who looks back. As one, they both lunge for it.
“It’s on me,” Kojiro insists, gripping the envelope with all the strength of his gorilla arms.
“Who was it just complaining about supplying dinner?” Kaoru shoots back, plastering on a thin smile and digging his nail into the base of Kojiro’s thumbnail to weaken his hold.
“I insist,” He retorts, falsely cheery.
The staff are apparently used to some variation of this argument, so they only intervene once the table’s been upended. Kaoru’s mortified, but Kojiro chats with the owner amicably as if he doesn’t have bean sprouts in his hair.
They end up splitting the bill, after all.
-
The exhibition he’s putting on requires so many last-minute fine tunings and meetings with harried gallery staff that Kaoru has to put everything else on hold. He thinks he texted Kojiro something to that effect, but when he’s focused on work most all other concerns fade.
By the time he stood at the opening gala, he felt more than a little disconnected from his body. He got through his speech with Carla’s help and has vague memories of greeting guests and accepting compliments, but now he’s peeling open gritty eyes to impatient pounding at his front door.
Kaoru opens the door, squinting against the sunlight and croaks, “What?”
“Did you just wake up?” Kojiro asks, pushing inside and standing far too close. Kaoru blinks slowly. “It’s, like, noon,”
“Hnngh,” Kaoru replies, and lets his head fall forward onto Kojiro’s chest. Through his shirt he can feel the heat of his skin, hear the faint thud of his heart. Kojiro runs a hand over his hair, once, and then gently pushes him back up to standing.
“Come on,” he sighs, long-suffering, and frog-marches Kaoru into the kitchen and plants him at the table. Kaoru must doze off, because next he knows there’s a plateful of food and a cup of coffee in front of him. Kojiro sits down with his own cup and looks at him.
It all has a certain dream-like quality to it, so Kaoru doesn’t speak until he’s polished off most of the plate.
“Carla,” he says, “Forecast,”
He finishes eating as Carla’s soothing voice rolls over him, the weather, news headlines, the subject lines of his recent emails. His schedule is empty; it’s Sunday. Kaoru’s eyes dart briefly to Kojiro. Had he known that? The past few days are a blur. When was the last time they saw each other?
Kojiro stares at him, a mild annoyance crinkling his brow. “It’s been a couple weeks,” he replies to Kaoru’s unasked question.
“Hm,” Kaoru hums noncommittally. Was he really so busy for so long? He must’ve passed out right after the exhibition.
“I was thinking…” Kojiro trails off. Kaoru squints at him as he runs a hand through his hair. Nervous? “The weather’s good, so we should go for a skate,”
It’s so obviously not what Kojiro was about to say that Kaoru could laugh. He doesn’t, because if Kojiro’s nervous he doesn’t want to know.
“Alright,”
They hit up the skate park first, loop lazily around the bowl, Kojiro does a few easy tricks, but it’s busy with students so they don’t hang around long. Kojiro leads them on a meandering path down neighborhood streets, until they end up circling their old high school. There’s some sports team practicing on the field—soccer, or maybe field hockey, he can’t tell.
“Do you remember—?” Kojiro begins to say, turning to him with a silly little grin.
“—when you skated through the halls and our homeroom teacher clotheslined you?” Kaoru finishes for him. Kojiro laughs, pleased, and a warm lick of satisfaction flares inside Kaoru’s chest.
“What a lady, eh? Maybe I should send her chocolates this Valentines,”
“She’d definitely throw them out,” Kaoru retorts, flatly.
“Ah, maybe,” he sighs, then maneuvers so he’s up in Kaoru’s space, slips a hand along his waist, “Guess I should save all my sweets for you,”
He leans down and Kaoru flicks his fan open between them, scowling, and admonishes, “I will not reward bad behaviour,”
Kojiro pushes the fan aside and kisses him anyway. Gliding along on their boards, sucking face like teenagers, if seventeen-year-old Kaoru could see them now, he’d probably get heart palpitations. Kojiro breaks away and says, “Let’s go home,” Kaoru knows he means his place, but doesn’t bother correcting him.
They’re in bed within minutes of walking through the door, Kojiro kissing down his throat and thumbing one barbell, Kaoru wrestling with the buttons to his hideous Hawaiian shirt. Kojiro mumbles something that sounds frighteningly close to missed you and Kaoru tastes blood as he bites his own tongue.
Somehow, Kojiro’s got three fingers in him and a dazed look on his face before Kaoru is able to scrabble together enough brainpower to huff, “Get off,”
Kojiro stills, “You okay?”
“Yes,” he says, waspishly, shoving at him impatiently, “Lay down,”
“What—?” Kojiro flops back and Kaoru upends the bottle of lube over his cock and positions himself on top of him, “Oh—Kaoru—”
Kaoru takes him in too fast, his cock stretching him just this side of painful, bottoming out with a faint squelch. He has to gasp for air, trying to adjust, trying to calm his heart suddenly thundering in his ears, but Kojiro is looking at him in a way that makes his insides tie into knots.
“Kaoru,” he says, and Kaoru flushes hot from his tone. His hands rub up his thighs, bracket his hips, thumbs settling over his hipbones. Now would be a good time for a snide remark, but Kojiro’s cock seems to have the frightening ability to turn Kaoru’s brain right off.
“I’m—I—” he clears his throat, embarrassed, and shifts so Kojiro rocks inside him. “Stay still,”
“Kaoru,” he says, and again, “Kaoru,”
“Shut up!” he hisses, burning hot all the way through. He plants one hand on Kojiro’s chest and rolls his hips. The friction of Kojiro inside him sends licks of fire up his spine and he takes a deep breath.
He finds a rhythm, slow enough that he can feel every inch of Kojiro pushing inside him, who groans and shifts beneath him, grip alternatingly bruising and feather-light on his hips. The angle’s a little weird and he has to keep shifting his weight, Kojiro’s cock just barely brushing past where he wants it—
“Kaoru, god, just let me fuck you,” Kojiro whines, hips hitching up impatiently, jostling Kaoru on his lap. It would certainly be easier, but he’s not about to give up.
“H-hold still,” he replies sharply, “This is all you’re good for,”
Kojiro’s head drops back with a moan. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come,”
“What? Already?” Kaoru can’t help the disdainful edge to his tone. Kojiro moans again, fisting his hands in Kaoru’s hair. His scalp prickles and heat rolls down his spine, twists sharply in his navel.
“Oh, god,” he gasps, hips hitching eagerly, “Kaoru please shut up,”
“What? You’re the one who should be quiet!” Kaoru seethes, never slowing his pace. “The only good thing about you is your cock. Next time I should gag you—"
Kojiro makes an ungodly sound and stiffens beneath him. Kaoru’s movements stutter as he feels Kojiro’s cock throb inside him.
“You—did you—?” Kaoru stammers out of sheer disbelief. Kojiro wheezes for air, his eyes hazy. Kaoru grinds down onto him and Kojiro whimpers.
“I warned you,” he says, thinly. Kaoru squints at him.
“You like it. When I—?”
Kojiro cracks a smile, “No one’s mean the way you are,” he says, “Do you want to use my mouth to finish?”
“Yes,” Kaoru says, perhaps too quickly. Kojiro hooks his hands around the backs of Kaoru’s thighs and drags him up his torso. Kaoru makes a small noise when Kojiro’s cock slips free, and another, more embarrassing, noise when Kojiro slurps down his cock hungrily.
Kaoru flops forward, hands scrabbling at the futon to prop himself up, and Kojiro moans, swallowing him deeper. Kaoru’s thighs begin to tremble and Kojiro makes a pleased sound, grips his ass, and pulls him impossibly closer.
Pleasure twists sharply inside him, heat rolls through his body, his head spins. Kojiro sucks him off like he’s starving for it, tongue dragging up the bottom of his cock, lips pursed around the head, hands dragging his hips back and forth easily, fucking Kaoru’s cock into his mouth. A wet, wounded sound escapes Kaoru and he closes his eyes, overwhelmed.
Then Kojiro slips two fingers inside him, crooks them to rub deep inside and Kaoru unceremoniously comes down his throat.
Coughing, Kojiro shoves him away, “Warn me!”
Kaoru slumps off him, shivering so hard his teeth clatter. “Sh-shut up,” he replies. His mind is white and blank. Kojiro is going to be the death of him.
Kojiro gets up with an unimpressed tsk and fetches a washcloth from the bathroom. He settles back on the futon behind Kaoru and begins to wipe him up. Kaoru lets him because, well, it’s hardly the most embarrassing thing he’s let Kojiro get away with, is it?
His hand is hot and large on Kaoru’s shoulder, easing him onto his back. Kojiro looks down at him, assessing, and Kaoru fumbles for the mental fortitude to frown up at him. He thinks this is maybe the worst part, right after they’ve fucked when it feels like all his walls are down. Give me a minute, he wishes he could say, I’ll be back to normal in a minute.
“You should give me a key,” Kojiro says, out of nowhere.
Kaoru scrambles together enough brainpower to sneer, “I don’t want you over all the time,”
“Yeah, you do,” Kojiro shoots back. Something in Kaoru’s expression must give him away, because Kojiro grins like he’s won. It kind of pisses him off, but at the same time…
“Text me before you come over,” Kaoru says, flatly. Kojiro’s eyes crinkle fondly.
“Sure,”
“And don’t touch Carla,”
“Yes, yes,”
“And—” Kojiro cuts him off with a kiss, which is just as well, because Kaoru’s not sure if he has any flimsy barriers left to fling between them.
-
Kaoru is finishing up a meeting later that week when his phone chirps. Carla mutes all notifications during the day, save those from a select few. He can’t help the way he twitches. Once he’s back at his desk, he looks at his phone.
“ I’m coming over. What time will you be back?”
Kaoru’s knee-jerk response is annoyance, but it doesn’t do its job of covering the hot feeling blooming behind his ribs.
“In a couple hours, at least.” He types the message out, afraid that his voice would give him away if he dictated to Carla.
“ Ok I’ll be here”
“Welcome home,” Kojiro says, stepping into the front hall. He’s shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, revealing a line of creamy, untanned skin. The longer strands of his hair curl, damp, against his neck. The smell of grilled fish is hot in the air.
Kaoru’s body floods with so many conflicting emotions his dick gets hard probably from sheer confusion.
“I’m home,” he says, tepidly. If Kojiro notices his hesitation, and of course he does, he doesn’t give it away.
“Are you hungry?” He asks, approaching. Kaoru freezes, panicked, as he leans in for a kiss, “I made—”
Kaoru catches the instant Kojiro registers his hard-on. They stare at each other for one long moment, Kaoru speechless with embarrassment, Kojiro stunned.
Then he says, “Kaoru,” in a tone that makes all the remaining blood in his body flood his face, and drops to the floor. He noses at Kaoru through his yukata even as his fingers rip at the ties. Kaoru makes a humiliating noise but then Kojiro’s peeling down his underwear and swallowing his cock whole.
“Nngh!” The force of his own pleasure nearly folds Kaoru in half. Kojiro hums around him, licking at the head of his cock as he pulls off.
“You were thinking of me, hmm?” Kojiro teases, his lips just barely brushing the head of his cock. Yes, obviously, who could think of anything else?
“Shut up,” Kaoru retorts, but his voice comes out weak. Smiling, Kojiro opens his mouth around him once more.
-
Kojiro stops by his office later the next week with an honest-to-god homemade bento. Kaoru stares disbelievingly at the food, then squints suspiciously at Kojiro who scowls in return.
“Don’t get used to it,” he says, then turns to Kaoru’s assistant and smiles, charmingly, “Long time no see, Himiko,”
“No loitering,” Kaoru orders, shortly, shoving Kojiro out of the office. He shepherds him to the front door, where Kojiro spins on his heel and leans down way too close.
“Kiss me, Kaoru,” he says, not quietly enough. Kaoru feels his cheeks go hot as his stomach ties itself into a bowline. They’re alone in the entrance hall but, still.
“Absolutely not,” Kaoru snaps, and reaches around him to slide the door open. Kojiro sighs and touches a hand to Kaoru’s hair, bends to lifts a strand to his lips. Kaoru’s heart launches itself up his throat.
Kojiro straightens, smirking slightly, and asks, “We still on for Thursday?”
Kaoru frowns. There was an event labeled ‘Drinks with Kojiro’ in his calendar, plans they must’ve made a while ago. Most of their plans, lately, seem to start with Kojiro appearing at his house uninvited and end with Kaoru changing his bedsheets.
“I can’t do Thursday,” he says, “One of my clients set me up with their nephew,”
“Set up?” Kojiro echoes, confused.
“You know,” he sighs and gestures impatiently, “A blind date. Though… I suppose he knows what I look like,”
Kojiro stares at him with a strange expression for so long that Kaoru snaps his fingers in front of his nose. He’s frowning when he eventually says, “You’re still going on those?”
“What do you mean ‘still’?” Kaoru retorts. The last one had been eight or nine months ago. He was usually good at gracefully declining, but some clients could be very persistent and in those cases, it was always better to just have dinner with some eligible relative.
Kojiro’s expression is unfathomable. “I know it’s work and all but… it’s still weird, right?”
“Conversation can be a little awkward, sure,” he allows, “But it’s just matchmaking so there are rarely any misunderstandings. They’re simply difficult to avoid since I’m single,”
Kojiro squints. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The unsaid, who’d want to marry you? needles under his skin, and Kaoru shoves Kojiro out the door with a huff, “Whatever, I’ll see you at S,”
Kojiro’s still looking at him in a way that Kaoru can’t quite parse. “Right,” he says, brow furrowed, “See you then,”
-
Kaoru returns home Thursday evening to find Kojiro reclining in front of the tv with a bored expression on his face and a beer in his hand. Two familiar reactions hit at the same time; a warm glow in his stomach and a jolt of annoyance in his chest.
“Welcome home,” Kojiro says, then, clocking the look on his face, adds, “I did text,”
Kaoru checks his phone as surreptitiously as possible. Kojiro snorts, “Had me on mute, eh?”
There’s something about his tone—Kaoru can’t quite put his finger on it, but it sets him on edge. He covers by saying, snidely, “I see you’ve made yourself at home,”
Kojiro sits up slowly. He’s wearing possibly the ugliest combination of clothes imaginable—what looks like a pair of sweatpants sawed off at the knee and a bright striped button-up, the short sleeves cuffed high on his shoulders. “Could you sit? I wanna talk,”
That’s what it is—the flat, level tone of his voice is freaking Kaoru out. His fingers retrieve his fan from one sleeve, automatically, and he begins to fiddle with it. “I’m actually quite tired so if it could wait—"
“Nope,” Kojiro pops the p loudly, and gets to his feet, looming over Kaoru, who twists his fan between his hands. Kojiro is built like a mountain, so he’s very capable of looming when he wants to. He just… doesn’t usually want to. “Look, I’ll just say it. Your totally platonic dates make me feel weird,”
Kaoru stares at him. His brow furrows as he tries to fathom what that’s supposed to mean. “Why?”
He can tell immediately that it was somehow the wrong thing to say; Kojiro’s expression scuttles into a furious scowl and he jabs a finger at him angrily.
“Why?” he repeats, incredulously, “What do you think exclusive means?”
“That you don’t want to use condoms!” He spits back, clenching his fists around his fan. Kojiro grips his own hair and yanks at it.
“Are you doing this on purpose?” He demands, “Or are you really so unbelievably stupid?”
Kaoru chucks his fan at Kojiro’s head, who swears and kicks at his shins in return. Rubbing at his head, Kojiro asks, sharply, “What do you think we’ve been doing all this time?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Kaoru says, in the shittiest tone manageable.
“Kaoru,” Kojiro somehow manages to pack at least four distinct emotions into his name. He folds his arms and leans in close, “We’re fucking and—”
“Oh?” Kaoru sneers, his heart in his mouth, “I hadn’t realized,”
“Don’t you—can’t you—agh!” He stomps his foot and it’s only thanks to years of practice that Kaoru manages to move his toes out of the line of fire in time. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Kaoru forces himself to take a deep breath. He scrambles for a defense, whatever way out he can find. This is inching way too close to vulnerability for comfort.
“You take care of people. That’s your thing, I know that,” he says, stiffly. Kojiro’s face screws up into a comical expression.
“You think I’m, what? Sleeping with you because you’re lonely?”
Kaoru flinches. Kojiro looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time.
“Woah,” he says, because he’s an idiot. Then he ruins Kaoru’s life and says, “You love me,”
“N-no!” Kaoru splutters, which is just about the worst response imaginable. Kojiro’s mouth hikes up in a crooked smile.
“Carla,” he addresses the room, “How long?”
“Fourteen years, three months and twenty-two days,” the AI reports, smoothly. Kaoru experiences a deep, piercing betrayal.
“Hmm guess I’ve got some catching up to do,” Kojiro says, contemplatively. Kaoru is so mortified he can barely hear him. His heart pounds in his ears as his mind is wiped blank with something that feels suspiciously like fear. What can he do? Should he just run for it?
“Hey, hey, Kaoru, stay with me,” Kojiro says, soothingly. He takes Kaoru’s hands in his and lifts them to his face, presses his lips to his knuckles, looks at him through his lashes, and says, “Remember when you head-butted me?”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Kaoru retorts, icily.
“Right when I got back from Italy. I said something about how pretty you looked and how I wanted to make a mess of you,” Kojiro says, shamelessly, lowering Kaoru’s hands but not releasing them. Kaoru’s memory is a bit different, but this doesn’t seem like the thing to contest. “Even though you’d just rejected me, I jacked off the instant I got home,”
“What?” Kaoru’s voice is feeble and thin. Is he having auditory hallucinations?
“You’re so fucking pretty Kaoru, so composed all the time. It makes me crazy,” Kojiro says, smiling like a fool, “When I got back from Italy and saw how you changed I… I panicked. I thought, maybe you didn’t need me anymore,”
Kaoru stares at him. Even in his most self-indulgent daydreams, he never put such foolishly sentimental words in Kojiro’s mouth. And anyway, only Kojiro is thick-headed enough to think that Kaoru didn’t—that he wouldn’t—
“What the fuck are you talking about?” He manages to get out, but his voice sounds faraway. Kojiro is still holding his hands, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Kaoru is beginning to feel hysterical.
“I’d like you to,” Kojiro says, “Rely on me, I mean,”
“What.” Kaoru’s voice comes out flat. Kojiro seems undeterred.
“I’d like to be needed by you,” The words take a long moment to sink through the muddy panic of Kaoru’s brain. Then, because it’s Kojiro, he’s immediately annoyed.
“Are—you—really—so—idiotic?!” Kaoru hits him to punctuate each word, Kojiro fends him off, squawking. He steps back with a final, swift strike over the head. “Why do you think I spend so much time with you!”
“Ah,” Kojiro sighs, touching a hand to his reddened cheek, “So this is love,”
“I’ll pull your spine out through your mouth,” Kaoru hisses, but his voice is weak. Love. He said love. Kaoru rallies himself, “Say it properly,”
Kojiro looks at him like he’s given himself away, a pleased little smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. “I love you, Kaoru,”
He can feel his face go red-hot. Kojiro peers at him, amused. “Wow,” he says, “I’ve never seen you that colour before,”
“Well take a good look because you won’t see it again,” he mutters, mortified. Kojiro leans down and kisses him. He’s still smiling, the moron, and Kaoru bites him in retaliation. Kojiro’s arms gather him up, hold him close, and his lips part to deepen the kiss. Kaoru’s heart thunders, ecstatic, in his chest and he buries his fingers in dark hair. When they part, Kojiro is looking at him in a way that makes his blood-pressure spike.
“Kaoru,” he says, softly, and Kaoru pretends not to melt, “Will you go out with me?”
“I’ll consider it,” he replies, dryly. This time, when they kiss, they’re both smiling, and their teeth clack, and it’s pretty much perfect, not that he’ll ever admit it.