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Koutarou's body was still buzzing when he tried to tie his shoes. With tingling fingers, he grabbed the laces and tried to make a knot, but the laces slipped away. As he stared at the worn white leather, images from last night rushed through his mind, accompanied by sweet sighs and moans and gasps. It was as if his mind was switching between memories like zapping between channels on a TV.
Koutarou sighed, squeezed his eyes shut, then stared at his shoe again. He grabbed the laces, and finally he managed to tie them. Eventually, he straightened his back and fetched his cap from the wardrobe to put on his head. When he was about to button up his coat, he noticed his boyfriend, who had followed him to the entrance where Koutarou was getting ready to leave.
Keiji wore a shirt, Koutarou's shirt to be precise, since Koutarou had worn it the day before to Konoha's birthday party. Apart from the shirt, Keiji didn't seem to be wearing any pants, or, well, other clothes.
Koutarou swallowed. Keiji's expression was calm, as tranquil as if he was studying his bookshelf, wondering which novel to read next. His eyes slowly followed Koutarou's fingers as the closed the buttons of his shirt from bottom to top. However, Koutarou's movements slowed down as Keiji's eyes wandered upwards until their eyes met. Keiji studied him closely, and though his expression didn't reveal what he was thinking, Koutarou knew it anyway. He suddenly struggled finding the hole of the button, although he usually never struggled when it was about finding, well, the hole.
"Gotta go?" Keiji asked, his voice quiet and pleasant.
Koutarou nodded, his throat too dry to speak.
"Now?" Keiji leaned against the door-frame and crossed his legs, folding his arms while studying Koutarou in the genkan.
The movement of Keiji's legs attracted Koutarou's attention for a moment. Did Keiji know what he was doing to Koutarou when he did that?
Koutarou looked up again and saw a glint in Keiji's eyes. Yes, he was certain. Keiji knew exactly what he was doing.
"I–I got a practice match, 'kaashi." He stumbled over his words.
Keiji hummed.
"We're playing against the Adlers next Saturday, remember? Hinata will tear me apart if I'm not at practice."
Another hum. "I see…" Keiji said quietly. He turned his head around to gaze at the living room. "If you must," he mumbled slowly and with sagging shoulders.
Koutarou's eyes wandered from Keiji's disheartened figure to the living room where he could still see traces of the chaos from last night, ranging from fallen pillows to a toppled stack of magazines and manga, pushed aside by Koutarou to nail his boyfriend on the coffee table.
When Koutarou looked back at Keiji, he noticed that the shirt had shifted when his boyfriend had turned around to look into the living room. Now Koutarou felt vindicated, for what he saw was the slender curve of Keiji's butt peeking out, on which he could still vaguely see his own handprints.
Koutarou's throat felt dry again. He was right, after all, Keiji wasn't wearing a single thing aside from the shirt. It didn't help Koutarou to resist the urge to tear off his clothes again and jump at his boyfriend. Not at all.
Keiji turned his head back over his shoulder and asked an innocent, "Hm?" as if he didn't know what he was doing to Koutarou.
"'kaashi," Koutarou said quietly with big pleading eyes. "I have to go." His voice ended up a bit whiny, but Koutarou couldn't help it. He really didn't want to leave, especially when Keiji looked like this, but he also didn't want to miss practice. He really liked volleyball too, after all. "Not only Hinata, Coach Foster will probably also tear me apart."
A raspy chuckle escaped Keiji's throat. "That can only happen once, Kou."
Koutarou shrugged.
"Though," Keiji added, letting his eyes roam over Koutarou's body with a glint in them, "there's a lot of you."
As Keiji seem to inspect every inch of Koutarou, Koutarou felt a pleasant tingle run down his spine, extending to his legs and into his big toe. He swallowed thickly and bit his bottom lip as his fingers felt for the strap of his shoulder bag; he could feel his volleyball shoes poking into his ribcage.
"I should go," he whispered with a dry voice, giving Keiji an apologetic look. Although his resistance was still present, it warred against his conscience, which was trying to decide between volleyball and another round with Keiji. Koutarou realised that the longer he stared at Keiji, the weaker it became.
Keiji hummed in response, his eyes back on Koutarou's face. "Without giving me a kiss?" he asked, cocking his eyebrow.
"We kissed lots last night," Koutarou replied, trying hard not to look at Keiji's mouth.
"Not this morning, though."
This one was hard to argue with, because Koutarou didn't exactly know when they had stopped. Had it already been morning? He had been too focused on Keiji's face, his eyes, his lips, how his hands had trailed down Koutarou's chest, how Koutarou had gently grasped the tender curve of Keiji's sides, let his thumb run down his soft stomach, and eventually circle the very hard…
Koutarou began to nervously fiddle with his bag strap. He would have loved to kiss Keiji, always did, he would also have loved to stay and do everything all over again, again and again; in the bedroom, on the coffee table, in the bathtub, on the tiny kitchen table, the– Koutarou bit his lip once more, harder this time, to keep himself focused.
"Koutarou?" Keiji asked, obviously having noticed his boyfriend hesitating.
Hearing him calling out for Koutarou by his given name did the trick.
"Alright," Koutarou said, determined, and straightened his back. "I'll kiss you," he announced, as if he just said he would do fifty serves in a row. Not impossible, after all.
He walked over to Keiji, and as soon as he was close enough, Keiji's hands were all over his chest, grabbing the fabric of his coat and pulling him in. His eyes were shimmering in the soft light of the genkan lamp and his fingers were as nimble as always, one hand fisting the fabric while the other shot up into Koutarou's unstyled hair.
Koutarou's resistance was weakening more and more, especially when he glanced down at his boyfriend and peeked into the small opening of the shirt where Keiji hadn't closed the buttons yet, revealing smooth pale skin and a dusky nipple.
Before he wouldn't be able to resist any longer, Koutarou quickly leaned down to press his lips against Keiji's, however, he pulled back as soon as he noticed that Keiji was dragging a finger down Koutarou's cheek.
Once they parted, Keiji gave him a deep frown. "Was that a kiss?" he asked, half teasing, half assessing.
Koutarou wasn't able to reply, he just gazed at Keiji's eyes that were shimmering softly in the light of the early morning, like the ocean sloshing over coral reefs, like a meadow in an enchanted forest, swept by wild winds and sunshine.
"A real kiss?"
"I think it was real," Koutarou managed to breathe out in reply.
"So that's what real kisses are gonna be like from now on, huh? Koutarou?" Keiji asked and tapped his index finger on Koutarou's chest.
"Keijiii," Koutarou whined and squirmed his hips. "I can't kiss you anymore, my lips are numb."
"If you don't give me a real kiss," Keiji said, his voice shifting a notch, to what level Koutarou could not say, "I'm gonna give you back your shirt." That said, Keiji began unbuttoning the few buttons he had already closed.
"Right now," Keiji added, and looked at Koutarou from underneath his lashes while his slender fingers were working deftly.
"No, no, no!" Koutarou made wild movements with his hands; he knew what would happen once he saw Keiji's chest again, his smooth skin, which would remind him of how warm it had felt under his fingertips when it had been just the two of them and the low light of the standard lamp in Keiji's bedroom, when he had touched lithe shoulders, idly nibbled on two dusky nipples, small and perfect to…
Koutarou shook his head; those memories wouldn't help right now. He would never be able to attend practice, heck, he would never be able to leave the apartment again! Not that it sounded bad, but Koutarou had some sort of role on his team and he really liked volleyball, after all. But this was Akaashi Keiji.
Koutarou licked his dry lips. He felt his resistance weakening, and reminding himself of volleyball, of practice, of Hinata, Tsumtsum, Omi-Omi and Coach Foster didn't seem to have any effect, not anymore. It was a bare thread that held him back from jumping at his boyfriend and tearing down the little piece of fabric that Keiji had gotten in. This was, after all, Akaashi Keiji, alright. Speaking honestly, there was no way he could just walk out of the apartment and be done with everything they had done during the time when he should've been sleeping peacefully. Keiji was on his mind 24–7: when Koutarou woke up, when he had breakfast, during practice – especially during practice – when he went home on the train, when he texted with his boyfriend, when he took a shower – especially when he took a shower – and when he wanted to fall asleep.
No day went by without Keiji on his mind. Usually there was a healthy balance of sleep, food, volleyball and Keiji. Right now, however, the balance was off.
"So?" Keiji asked, halfway done with the buttons. "You'll just leave me behind, leaving me no choice but to take care of things by myself?"
Koutarou stared at his boyfriend.
A tiny sigh, probably on purpose, slipped through Keiji's lips. " I may just use your shirt, after all, and–"
Koutarou strode forward, grabbed his boyfriend's shoulders gently but firmly, and kissed him square on the mouth. Keiji made a sound, and although Koutarou couldn't see it, he felt how his boyfriend placed his palms on Koutarou's chest, pushing up until he could grab the collar of his coat, dragging him closer once more.
Koutarou let his boyfriend deepen the kiss, his resistance, nowhere to be seen after all, was forgotten. His shoulder bag dropped to the ground with a dull thud, but Koutarou didn't care. As he pushed himself out of his shoes, stumbling over them while following his boyfriend back into the living room, he pressed his thumb to Keiji's chin and softly pulled. With Keiji's bottom lip languidly following the silent prompt, Koutarou forged forward with his tongue.
Not only was Keiji's taste back on his tongue, but his scent was back in Koutarou's nostrils. He inhaled as deeply as he could between their kisses. It hadn't been that long ago that he had stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to get himself clean and proper, ready for practice. Now, however, touching Keiji felt as if it had been a week at least. The yearning sensation whenever his hands were finally on his boyfriend never ceased; the gasps and moans in his ears were like a symphony, with Koutarou's own groans as background noise.
Nimble fingers worked to get Koutarou out of his clothes once more. Finally, Koutarou pushed down his own shirt off of Keiji's shoulders, revealing not only the promised smooth skin and dusky nipples, but Keiji's hard cock on the bottom of it all.
"You too," Keiji breathed out heavily and tore at Koutarou's belt.
It was a relief to be naked once more, to be free to touch Keiji wherever he felt like, wherever he knew Keiji would feel good too.
The two of them dropped on the couch, facing each other. Their legs were intertwined and their bare cocks were touching. Koutarou felt something sticky and cold, and as he kept his right arm under Keiji's head, his hand keeping him steady by the back, he ran his other over Keiji's ribs and down his stomach to their groins.
But before he could reach where he felt the need to touch them the most, Keiji had already wrapped his slender fingers around the two of them. Koutarou let out a groan and rested his temple against his boyfriend's silky hair, letting himself surrender to the pure feeling of warm skin on his cock.
"Lemme too," he mumbled, opened his eyes a bit and put his fingers around their cocks and parts of Keiji's hand.
"Together," Keiji muttered, leaned against Koutarou and followed the rhythm Koutarou set.
Maybe because it was the two of them breathing each other's air, the touch of hot skin, the pleasant friction building up between the two of them, the way Keiji's lithe body nestled perfectly against Koutarou's, or simply because it was Akaashi Keiji in his arms – no matter what it was, maybe all of it, but the climax came way sooner than expected.
Exhaling a raspy breath, the whisper of a name, and the weak tug of fingers formed the edge before bliss overcame him and Koutarou let go.
For a while after they laid there, bathing in the bliss. Their bodies, though, were cooling down, so Koutarou weakly felt for the blanket to tug it over them. When their heavy breathing evened out, Koutarou noticed the sated smile on Keiji's lips, making his insides buzz and hum like a happy chant of bees celebrating their queen of the hive.
However, the chant stopped when his phone went off.
"Ah, shit," Koutarou mumbled and turned around in search for his clothes. His pants weren't too far, so he extended his arm and fetched them, feeling for his mobile phone in his pocket.
Eventually Koutarou laid back on the couch, staring at the caller ID. Keiji leaned over his chest, gently brushing his palm over his skin and nipples.
"Who is it?" Keiji asked quietly.
"Hinata," Koutarou replied.
The two exchanged a look.
"You better take it," Keiji commented.
"And what should I tell him?" Koutarou cast a quick glance down; the blanket may have been able to hide their nudity, but the sticky feeling between his legs remained.
But, as so many times before , Keiji came to his rescue. "Tell him you're sorry that you're late for practice."
Koutarou nodded, then paused. "I'm late for practice," he noted drily.
His boyfriend's hum didn't sound as if he felt guilty.
Swallowing a sigh, Koutarou's finger hovered over the green button; he frowned, then pressed it.
"Hin–"
"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU??"
"I–I'm sorry, I was about to leave when–"
Suddenly, another voice came through.
"What's up?" Unmistakably Atsumu. "Is he at Akaashi-san's?"
Keiji and Koutarou exchanged yet another look.
"Was that Miya-san?" Keiji asked; Koutarou just nodded in reply.
"Bokuto-san," Hinata was back, his voice way too loud for regular conversation over the phone, "where are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?"
"I'm fine, don't worry. I just… I'm at Keiji's place and… had to do something."
"He said he had to do something at Akaashi-san's place, Atsumu-san."
"Oh?" Koutarou could tell Atsumu was smirking, his voice doing the tilt at its edge. "Tell him to use condoms and hurry up, we need him."
"Tell him to take a shower and disinfect his hands," Sakusa muttered somewhere in the background. Someone – probably Atsumu – must have boxed his side, because Koutarou could hear Sakusa grunting.
"Bokuto-san?" Hinata asked. "You still there? They say you should–"
"Oh gosh, Hinata, I heard it!" Flustered and with hot cheeks, Koutarou felt the sudden urge to cover himself up. Keiji, on the other hand, chuckled and cuddled closer, laying his head on Koutarou's shoulder.
"Alright," Hinata chirped happily. "See you soon!"
"Bye," Koutarou said, exhausted, and hung up. He stared at his phone for a while, and when the screen became black again, he put it on the coffee table.
Eventually Koutarou glanced at Keiji out of the corner of his eye. "Keijiii," he said quietly in a singsong.
"Hm?" Keiji turned his head to look up at him out of sleepy eyes.
Instead of words, Koutarou simply cocked his eyebrow, hoping that would prompt his boyfriend to figure out what he wanted. And, smart as he was, Keiji did understand, if his grimace and frown were anything to go by.
"You know what they said," Koutarou reminded him.
"You did use condoms," Keiji mumbled.
"Not that."
Keiji pressed his lips together, as if he had bitten into a lemon, wriggled in Koutarou's arms and hugged him tightly while burying his face in Koutarou's shoulder. Finally he relaxed his arms and heaved a heavy sigh. He propped himself up on his elbow and gazed at Koutarou.
"Alright," he muttered and let his eyes roam over Koutarou's face, from his eyes to his lips and back. "But you gotta give me a real kiss before you leave."