Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2412992.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Haikyuu!!
  Relationship:
      Kozume_Kenma/Kuroo_Tetsurou
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-10-06 Words: 6307
****** Best friends ******
by Mysecretfanmoments
Summary
     Every evening they walk home together, Kuro smelling of salt and
     suntan lotion, Kenma’s hands sore from scooping ice cream all day,
     and it feels nice. Peaceful.
     He’s glad Kuro came, after all.
     ((During the two weeks he spends manning his uncle's ice cream booth
     on the coast, Kenma decides that maybe he likes his best friend back,
     after all))
Notes
     A gift fic for tumblr's mermanime (mermanime.tumblr.com), who guessed
     the number right on my certain-number-of-followers fic prize giveaway
     thingy! (This needs a better name...)
     To Jo and her beautiful white cat (who doesn't give a shit, because
     she's a cat, but hey) -- I hope you enjoy! <3
     The prompt was beachy kuroken (ish) but this mostly turned into PWP.
     *hides face*
He told Kuro not to come.
He tells Kuro not to come to things often, but Kuro rarely listens, and this
time there’s the promise of the ocean, and the beach, and surfing, all of which
ensure that his tall friend is determined to join him for the two weeks of
summer that he stays at his uncle’s place on the coast. Kenma doesn’t really
mind; it gives him something to look at while he’s manning his uncle’s ice
cream booth, especially during peak hours when he’s not allowed to have his DS
out. Every evening they walk home together, Kuro smelling of salt and suntan
lotion, Kenma’s hands sore from scooping ice cream all day, and it feels nice.
Peaceful.
He’s glad Kuro came, after all.
“With all the people I met today I think I’ll be able to get a beach volleyball
group together tomorrow,” Kuro says. He’s walking with his hands in the pockets
of his long swim trunks, a bag and a towel slung over his shoulder. He’s
wearing a shirt again, now, though he doesn’t when he’s on the beach. “You
could join us on your break.”
Kenma wrinkles his nose.
“Yeah, okay, that was a long shot. I should have tried harder to get you to
come down to the beach on your day off.”
“I spend every day there. Why would I want to go on my day off?”
“I know, I know.” Kuro squints up at a palm tree waving in the stiff ocean
breeze, its fronds pushed to one side “But I’m hopeful. We should spend a night
at the boardwalk before we go back to Tokyo.”
“Hmm. Maybe.” Kenma has seen the strings of lights, all the stalls and
booths—he’s not sure he wants to go, but Kuro’s good at convincing him to do
things he’s not sure he wants to do.
Kuro’s hand drifts to Kenma’s shoulder, his touch light. “Did you have a good
day? You seemed pretty caught up at the end there.”
“Mm.” Kenma ducks his head. At the end, there had been a group of teenagers
standing talking and laughing with Kuro, and his stomach had felt unsettled
watching them. It was easier to bury himself in his game than to watch, and
there had been no customers to help. “I finished the boring level.”
Kuro’s hand slips down his shoulder blade, just barely touching the small of
his back before he retracts it. There’s a fond smile on his face, and this is
the one area where Kuro never tries to convince him; Kuro’s never even talked
about it, save for one time.
“You’ll tell me if you fall in love with anyone, right?” he’d asked. Kenma had
been surprised for a moment, and then—he’d known, somehow, that Kuro’s like had
shifted. There had been no urgency in Kuro’s question, any more than there was
urgency in the way Kuro touched him, or looked at him, and Kenma had taken a
long time to respond.
“Why?” he’d asked finally, though mostly he wondered, why me?
“So I’ll know,” Kuro said, and the day had passed uneventfully after that, the
whole world just slightly different than it had been before.
But only very slightly.
“What about you?” Kenma asks now, drawing the old memory into the present.
“Will you tell me if you fall in love with someone?”
Kuro looks at him, heavy-lidded eyes widening just a little before he smiles.
“I told you already, didn’t I?”
Not in so many words, Kenma thinks, just a touch resentfully. Just because Kuro
calls him the brain doesn’t mean he should have to do all the mental legwork
himself. Then again, Kenma is fairly sure his friend used the roundabout
confession for his benefit, rather than his own; Kuro’s not the awkward one in
their friendship.
“With someone else,” Kenma clarifies, looking up. It’s the first time he’s
acknowledged Kuro’s confession like this, and the taller boy has an
uncharacteristic flush on his face. Kenma knows his own expression is
neutral—no different than his usual, even if he feels different—and he wonders
if that’s off-putting.
Maybe he should be blushing, or something.
“I’ll tell you,” Kuro says, his hand coming up as if to touch him—but then it
changes course to rake through his eternal bedhead. He smiles. “But it’s not
going to happen any time soon.”
Kenma nods, and they arrive at his uncle’s house a minute later. The house is
empty, his uncle gone for today and tomorrow, and for the first time ever Kenma
feels a tiny thread of tension wind through him at the thought of being alone
with Kuro.
“I’ll hit the shower first,” Kuro says as he shucks his sandals, sand spraying
across the entryway “Unless you want to? I can start dinner.”
“It’s frozen pizza,” Kenma says. “I’ll manage.”
“Hmm. Set a timer, if you’re going to play while you wait.”         
The downside of childhood friends: they know you too well.
As it turns out, the oven has only just risen to temperature when Kuro comes
out of the shower, wearing fresh clothes that look soft and loose and—why is he
thinking about what Kuro’s clothes would feel like?
Kenma hands the timer to Kuro wordlessly before heading for the shower,
preoccupied with his thoughts. He’s not used to feeling all that much, beyond a
strong desire to go unnoticed, to get along with people, but today he’s been
all over the place—or as all over the place as he gets. Maybe it was seeing
Kuro surrounded by people that started this, except he knows Kuro is
comfortable with people. And he’s never been worried about Kuro leaving him for
other friends; if he was going to, he would have by now.
So maybe it isn’t the unsettled feeling that brought this on. Maybe it’s the
warmth he feels on their walks to and from the beach, the pleasant minutes when
Kuro comes to check up on him, intent on helping despite being told by Kenma’s
uncle that he isn’t allowed to. Maybe it’s the simple fact that Kuro always
asks for green tea ice cream because—once upon a time—Kenma told him it was the
easiest to scoop.
He’s fairly sure Kuro prefers strawberry.
“You’re taking too long,” Kuro shouts, and Kenma jumps. He’s been under the
lukewarm water for over ten minutes now, and he hasn’t even tried to wash the
day’s sweat off. He scrubs quickly before turning off the water and wrapping up
in a towel. He forgot to bring clothes with him to the bathroom, and so he
tiptoes to the bedroom wearing just a towel; Kuro barely even looks at him.
He wonders at that; aren’t people supposed to get flustered when the person
they like walks around half-naked? Then again, he can’t imagine anyone getting
flustered over his naked form. There’s a reason Kuro doesn’t call him the
muscle.
Did he want Kuro to look, though?
He dresses slowly, still a little dazed by the strange way he’s feeling
today—the way it feels like it’s been building up to this, somehow. His limbs
feel heavy with it.
By the time he shuffles into the kitchen, there’s a strong smell of tomato
sauce and Kuro is using a pizza cutter to slice the finished pizza. He can see
Kuro’s muscles working as he puts pressure on the cutter, his right shoulder
higher than the left, his bicep bulging. Then Kenma’s eyes roam further, and he
notices all sorts of things: the curve of Kuro’s throat under that defined jaw,
how straight his nose is, the way his sweatpants hang loose on his hips. Kenma
wipes sweaty palms off on his T-shirt, frowning.
Kuro turns. “You okay?”
He nods.
They eat in front of the TV, their backs against the couch. It should feel
normal, and to an extent it does—there’s the ache in his hands from manning the
ice cream stand, and Kuro smells of shampoo, and the room is warm and humid but
not unbearable, thanks to the open windows and the ocean breeze—but Kenma feels
aware of Kuro’s sprawl, and his warmth, and the way his clothes lay against his
skin, and that’s not normal.
He can barely manage one slice of pizza.
“Okay,” Kuro says at last. “What’s with you? What’s with all the weird looks?
And that question earlier?”
Kenma purses his lips, wondering if he’s meant to hedge. He decides not to. “I
think I might like you back.”
“Oh?”
That’s not the way people respond when they find out the people they’re into
like them back, is it? Brows lifting, surprise—but none of the glittery, blushy
stuff. He can’t help thinking that Kuro’s casual attitude means—something. That
he isn’t really into him? That he’d rather keep things the way they are?
“Does that change anything?” Kenma asks.
“Do you want it to?”
“If you want it to, maybe.”
Kuro draws his long legs up, props an elbow on his knee. “This isn’t a decision
I can make for you. I need you to want it, too.”
It’s frustrating, having Kuro come at it this way. In movies and games, people
give impassioned speeches to convince people into loving them; they don’t just
confess and shrug about the whole thing. Again, though, Kenma has a feeling
this whole approach is specifically catered to him.
It’s a tactic, he thinks, to get him to admit he wants something.
He moves slightly, so they’re facing each other. Behind him the TV’s still
flashing, a gameshow playing on the screen—but Kenma’s tuned it out, hardly
hearing the studio audience’s laughter anymore. Instead he’s looking at Kuro,
wondering what to do next.
Kuro smiles, just a little.
“Have you done stuff like this before?” Kenma asks. He thinks he remembers a
girlfriend, when Kuro was in his first year of high school, but he never talked
about her.
“Stuff like what?”
Kenma glares, and scoots forward. Kuro is being obtuse on purpose, but there’s
something in his face that stops Kenma from calling him out on it. He
looks—hopeful. A little breathless. A little like he’s fighting a smile.
So Kenma reaches forward and tugs at Kuro’s T-shirt, lets his fingers touch
just under the hem, over the taut skin of Kuro’s abs. Wordlessly, he lifts the
shirt, soft in his hands—and Kuro raises his arms, allowing him to pull it off.
There’s a definite flush on Kuro’s cheeks now, and the smile is gone. His mouth
is open just a little, and Kenma can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
His very visible chest.
That Kuro doesn’t seem to mind him touching.
Kenma realizes that he’s been wanting to do this for some time—for the week
they’ve been at the beach together at least, if not before then. He’s been
watching Kuro, noticing him more because there’s no screen to look at, and his
friend is—gorgeous, in a way. In most ways. All lithe muscle and liquid
movement, which Kenma must have noticed before without really noticing.
He notices it now.
He could run his hands over the hard lines of Kuro’s body for a long time, he
thinks, but then he sees Kuro swallow.
“Okay, not to stop you or anything, but if you keep this up there’s a high
probability of boners. Well, boner. Mine.”
Kenma raises his eyes. He’ll get a boner, just from this? From touching? Then
again, maybe it’s not the touching itself but the charge in the air around
them, the hum from the TV and the breeze from the open windows. Everything
feels just a little different, and Kenma’s not immune to it either.
“What do you like about me, in that way?” he asks. “It’s not just because we’re
friends, right? What exactly?”
“It’s not an exactly thing. I just do, but—” Kuro reaches, and his hand is
gentle against Kenma’s hair, then his jawline and neck. He traces his fingers
over Kenma’s collarbones softly, and Kenma feels his breath stutter. “This. I
like this about you.”
Bone structure? Kenma thinks, and he assumes that’s the end of it, but then
Kuro’s hands drop down to his elbows and slide down to catch his hands, lifting
them to his face. “This,” he says, his breath gusting over Kenma’s knuckles.
“And then—” Kuro glances up and—upon receiving a flustered nod—reaches out,
leaning forward to place his hands around Kenma’s waist. He looks at his hands,
seeming caught up in the sight of them, then his eyes rise to meet Kenma’s.
“This. I like how this looks. I imagine it a lot. Sort of pervy, right?”
Kuro’s smile is just a little self-conscious, and Kenma shakes his head. He
feels the hands around his waist loosen, and grabs Kuro’s wrists to keep them
there.
“I don’t mind.”
“You don’t mind, or you want me to?”
He sighs and places his hands on Kuro’s shoulders, walking forward on his knees
before slinging a leg over Kuro’s lap. Gold eyes blink up at him.
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
“I think so. Is it working?”
“Hmmm.” Kuro leans forward, his arms wrapping around Kenma’s back and
shoulders, his face nuzzling into the crook of Kenma’s neck. He takes a deep
breath. “Yes. I think so. Definitely.”
Kenma smiles. If it weren’t for the fact that his friend is half naked, this
wouldn’t be so different from usual. Well—minus the straddling, too, but it’s
not unusual for Kuro to drape himself around him, to touch and nuzzle, albeit a
little less obviously. He’s fallen asleep with his head on Kenma’s lap more
often than Kenma can count.
Kenma slides his hands into Kuro’s hair, which is softer than usual after his
shower. There’s a more subtle smell beneath the scent of shampoo, too, and
Kenma wonders if it’s deodorant or Kuro’s natural smell. Either way, he likes
it—though he thinks he might like doing this with Kuro straight off the beach,
too, when his skin is still sticky with salt. Has he been fantasizing about
that, too?
Maybe. It doesn’t feel like a new thought.
“Hey,” he says, conscious of the arousal low in his abdomen, the strange,
restless feeling in his limbs. “Let’s do it.”
Kuro pulls back, glaring a little. “Maybe you’ve just decided you’re into me,
but I’ve liked you for over a year. Have some consideration.”
Kenma blinks. “What, like say I love you and stuff? I didn’t know you were into
that.”
“You’re my best friend, you know. I don’t want to just make out with you once.”
Something inside of him squeezes, just a little. He knows Kuro is loyal, but
this sounds like it goes beyond that.  “It’s not like I’d do it with anyone
else,” he says, feeling a prickle of guilt. He didn’t think Kuro was this into
him, somehow, because he’d never pushed the issue.
“Mm. So it’s only me?”
“My one and only,” Kenma says a little sardonically, because it’s true. The
only friend he’s ever made without Kuro there is Shouyou, and Shouyou is a
category of his own. “Are you one of the jealous types? Because I’ve played
enough Boys’ Love games to—”
“Ugh, only you would admit that so casually—”
“They’re funny. You said so yourself.”
“Okay, fine. They’re funny. And yeah, of course I’m going to be jealous if you
fall for someone else.”
Kenma shifts a little. “So I won’t.”
“Okay,” Kuro says, and his smile this time is softer. His gaze drops to Kenma’s
lips, then, and Kenma knows a second before it happens that he’s about to be
kissed for the first time. There’s time to gasp in a breath, and then Kuro’s
mouth is on his, gentle but firm, and large hands are sliding up his back and
into his still-damp hair.
Kenma makes an involuntary noise when he feels Kuro’s tongue flick against his
lips. Heat coils low in his body, his palms sweaty against Kuro’s chest, and he
opens his mouth just a fraction, eager for more.
Predictably, Kuro tastes of the pizza they just ate—but Kenma’s mind doesn’t
linger on the flavor for long; it’s too busy cataloguing all the new
sensations: the slide of Kuro’s tongue against his, the brush of teeth against
his lip, how Kuro’s hips move in time with his mouth. It’s unconscious, Kenma
thinks—he doesn’t think Kuro means to be this forward—but it’s distracting, the
way Kuro is all lazy movement beneath him, flowing smoothly. He feels like he
might drown in it, and he pushes Kuro’s shoulders. Kuro pulls back immediately.
“You’re good at this,” Kenma says, his tone accusatory.
“Is my precious Kenma jealous?”
He doesn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at the my precious Kenma—it’s typical
Kuro—and he knows he’s not jealous, because he wasn’t interested at the time,
but he does wonder why Kuro never talked to him about his romantic experiences.
Maybe because he never asked.
“The girlfriend first year?” Kenma asks, at long last.                
“You remember her?”
“Not really. I just remember you had one.”
“Well, then, yeah. And others. Apparently I have one of those faces?”
Kenma frowns in confusion.
“You know. One of those quickie-behind-the-shed faces.”
“I… don’t think there’s a face for that.”
“That’s because we’re destined,” Kuro says, as if it’s not the cheesiest thing
in the universe to say. “All you see in my face is love and devotion, right?”
Kenma snorts. “You’re ridiculous. Are you going to be like this from now on?
It’ll get annoying.”
“I’ve always been like this,” Kuro says, and presses a soft kiss to the side of
Kenma’s mouth. “Want to go upstairs?”
Suddenly, it feels like all the air in the room is gone. He wonders if Kuro can
hear his heartbeat over the noise from the TV, because he thinks he can—or
maybe he can just feel it, drumming in his chest, his wrists, his throat.
He ducks his head in a nod.
Kuro doesn’t put him down. Instead, he rolls onto his feet, leaving Kenma to
cling on like a confused koala. “I can walk—”
“Really? Of all the times I’ve carried you to bed, now is when you complain?”
The indignation in Kuro’s voice seems off, and Kenma leans back a bit as Kuro
begins to walk up the stairs, steps careful. His friend’s face is flushed, and
Kenma raises his eyebrows.
“This is a fantasy of yours, isn’t it?”
“Shut up.”
Kenma settles back down, letting himself be carried. He’s always known Kuro was
a sap, but not the extent of his sappiness. Normally Kuro passes it off as a
joke.
It’s obvious from his flushed face that it’s not a joke.
They make it up to the guest room, where Kuro flicks on the lights and steps
over the futon he’s been sleeping on to place Kenma on the bed. There’s a
breeze from the window over it, and Kuro draws the curtains closed.
They continue to flutter above the bed.
“What?” Kenma asks, when Kuro stays hovering over him, looking down. His
impatience lessens when he glances down and sees the jut of Kuro’s hipbones
over the waistband of his sweatpants, the soft hairs running down from his
navel. Kenma has to swallow at the sight.
He’s not used to seeing Kuro the way others must see him. Most of the time,
he’s a warm presence—home.
How long has that been shifting?
“Can I take your shirt off?” Kuro asks, and Kenma nods, lifting his upper body
a little so Kuro can pull the shirt off him. The breeze from the window cools
his warm skin immediately.
Kuro bends down to press kisses to his neck, his collarbones, his chest. His
breath tickles just a bit, but Kenma doesn’t protest. He feels himself push up
to make contact with Kuro’s body, but as soon as he does Kuro stills.
Glassy-looking eyes find his. “When you said let’s do it, you were being
metaphorical, right?”
“How is let’s do it metaphorical?” Kenma asks. It’s a little embarrassing to
hear his words again, but he stands behind them. He feels sort of impatient,
now that the mood’s struck him. And Kuro obviously wants to.
“That was your first kiss, though, right? It seems sort of messed up to have
both in one night.”
“You know I don’t care about that stuff,” he says. He’s never felt much
impatience for reaching the milestones others look forward to or dread. He’ll
hit them when he hits them. If he hits them.
He feels like hitting a few, today.
“I’ll bottom,” he says, because it seems like less effort. It’d be embarrassing
to be the one in charge when he has no idea what he’s doing.
Kuro slumps against him. “How are you like this? People don’t go from first
kiss to anal in one night, you know.”
“What? It’s with you, so it’s fine. I know you brought stuff.”
“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.” Kenma shrugs, though it’s awkward lying down. He
didn’t mean to see anything, but Kuro’s bag had been open on the first day, and
he’d seen a foil packet. He’s still not sure whether Kuro brought condoms with
him with him in mind or other people—strangers he might meet on the beach—but
Kenma told the truth: it doesn’t matter, not to him.
He wriggles a little, hoping it’ll drag Kuro out of his embarrassment. “Please?
I want to.”
Kuro puts his weight on his elbows and stares down at him. “Okay. But I warn
you, it’s going to be the best first time ever. I’m going to take it so slow
you might have grandchildren by the end of it.”
“I don’t think that’s how anal works.”
“Shhh.”
Kuro leans off the bed and drags his bag closer by the strap, shaking his head.
“Still can’t believe you’d see that and say nothing. I guess I like that about
you, though.”
That’s good, Kenma thinks, because he doesn’t think he could change that about
himself even if he wanted to. He hates embarrassing people, and confronting
them—even Kuro.
When Kuro hovers over him again, looking torn, Kenma lifts himself up, pushing
at his tall friend until he lets himself fall against the bed, questions in his
eyes. He’s pretty sure Kuro’s being hesitant out of concern, and this isn’t the
sort of first time he wants to have. He sort of wants it—rough. At least a
little. He wants to see those muscles bunching and the look on Kuro’s face.
He lifts himself over Kuro, arms and legs spread, and there’s a flush in Kuro’s
face again as he looks up—a pleased flush, it looks like.
Kenma doesn’t ask for permission; he just starts going down Kuro’s body,
letting his mouth run past the skin he’s been seeing constantly for the past
few days—imagining salt, and warmth, the way Kuro’s body must taste when he’s
surfing. He traces a finger down Kuro’s hipbones, swallowing a little, his eyes
on that thin trail of hair again—a straight shot from Kuro’s navel to his
crotch, getting darker as it descends. When he gets down to Kuro’s waist he
tugs his sweatpants down. There’s a bulge in the black boxer briefs Kuro’s
wearing, and the sight of it makes Kenma’s heart speed up.
He kneels between Kuro’s legs, reaching for his hips again—letting his hands
wander back to cup Kuro’s ass before coming to the front and—with a self-
conscious glance up at Kuro’s face—tracing the shape of Kuro’s dick with his
fingers.
Kuro lets out a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper—a sound that goes
straight to Kenma’s crotch, and he’s a bit embarrassed to be just as
susceptible to these things as other human beings are—but doesn’t tell Kenma to
stop, and Kenma doesn’t, his hands moving more confidently, feeling out the
shape of Kuro’s erection. He feels moisture leak through the black fabric, and
swallows again. He knows what he wants to do next, and so he does, retracting
his hands and moving up to slot his hips against Kuro’s, sliding against him
experimentally.
Kuro’s hand clamps down on his ass, keeping him there while Kuro jerks up
against him. Kenma’s breath hitches, and the next thing he knows Kuro has
rolled them, and his hips are moving again, and he can feel Kuro’s erection
moving against his own, hard and unusual but nice—feels better than his own
hand, even though it’s clumsy.
Well, of course it does, Kenma thinks a little dazedly. Otherwise people
wouldn’t be so obsessed with it; they’d just sit around masturbating all the
time.
A moment later, Kuro’s mouth has caught his in a kiss, and that’s clumsier,
too, this time—he feels teeth, and Kuro’s tongue is forceful enough to steal
his breath, but it’s exactly what Kenma wants. He feels himself being reduced
to a gasping mess when Kuro’s hand descends to the front of his pants, feeling
him through the fabric.
“I’m taking these off,” Kuro says, drawing back, and Kenma nods a few times,
fast. He wants to cover his eyes as Kuro lays him bare, but then he catches
sight of Kuro’s expression, and it’s—hungry, or something. Kenma isn’t exactly
confident when it comes to his body, but the way Kuro looks at him makes a lot
of things right.
Kuro’s hands roam over him—his stomach, his erection, his ass, between his
legs—and Kenma feels his body quiver. He could come just from the dry touch of
Kuro’s fingers, probably, but he’s attached to the mental image from earlier:
of Kuro straining above him, his thick arms caging him in.
“Don’t do too much,” Kenma says, when he feels his balls tighten with an orgasm
he doesn’t want to have yet. “I’ll come before we start if you touch me too
much.”
Kuro nods, and he reaches into the bag next to the bed, surfacing with a tube
in his hand. He squirts a portion onto his fingertips, not looking at all
nervous about it.
“Have you done it with a guy before?” Kenma asks, hoping that—if the answer is
yes—he doesn’t know the person.
Kuro raises an eyebrow. “Are you doubting my skills?”
“No, you just seem to know what you’re doing.”
He shrugs. “No. But you imagine a thing often enough, and you sort of get a
feel for it.”
Kenma feels a flush creep across his chest. “You imagine this that often?”
Kuro grins. “More often than I’d like to admit. Hey, you zone out a lot. I get
bored.”
“Noted.”
Before he moves his slicked fingers to Kenma’s hole, he leans forward, pressing
a kiss to his mouth. “Let me know if you need me to stop, or need a break. Or
if I’m going too fast.”
Kenma’s body aches to be touched—stopping is the last thing on his mind.
“You’re going too slow,” he says, knowing he sounds like a spoiled brat.
He feels Kuro’s fingers against him a moment later, and his body jolts a
little. Kuro trails kisses along his jawline, soft and plentiful, his fingers
barely moving—and Kenma feels himself relax.
“You okay?”
Kenma nods, arching up, and Kuro seems to get the hint. He lets his free hand
curl around Kenma’s erection, which doesn’t exactly relax him, but it evens out
the feel of Kuro’s slick fingers against his ass—and then he feels one slip
inside, and he gasps.
Well, now he knows how that feels. It feels—nice, around the entrance. A little
tight.
“Aren’t you supposed to play with my nipples?” he asks, because somehow the
not-talking thing is not working for him—a definite first.
“This isn’t a boys’ love,” Kuro says, though he slots his mouth over Kenma’s
nipple accordingly, and wriggles his finger some more, moving it all around.
Kenma finds himself pushing down onto Kuro’s hand, wanting more.
Kuro draws the finger out, and Kenma’s about to complain when he hears the
sound of the lube bottle squirting again.
Wait, he thinks, suddenly worried. He’s definitely not stretched enough to take
Kuro’s dick in the ass—he’s at least ninety percent sure, from the things he’s
watched and read—but then Kuro’s fingers are there again, and two of them slip
inside, slicked up, and he remembers that Kuro said he’d take it slow.
That’s good, because the two fingers are a little much. He whines.
“It’s okay,” Kuro says, in the voice he uses when Kenma gets overwhelmed in
public, when he draws him aside and talks him through it. “I’m gonna get you
there.”
Kenma wishes he could articulate how good it feels to hear him say that—how he
feels weirdly vulnerable right now, in a new and not wholly unwelcome way, but
the words swim in his head in no particular order, and scatter completely when
Kuro’s fingers curl into him.
He shudders.
“That was it, huh?” Kuro sounds pleased.
“G-go slow. It’s a lot.”
Kuro’s fingers go back to scissoring, only occasionally hitting the outsides of
the spot, where it’s less sensitive, and Kenma feels an ache build up in him—a
want for more. He can feel precum leaking onto his stomach, and gasps when Kuro
circles the head of his erection with it.
Don’t come don’t come don’t come.
“Kenma? You okay?”
“More,” he says, embarrassed by how breathy he sounds. Another slicked finger
later, he’s writhing, and this time it’s not an ache for more he feels.
“We’ll go for as long as you need to get ready,” Kuro says. “Have I mentioned
how much I’m enjoying this?”
Kenma glares at him—at his ability to talk normally, and Kuro must see the
suspicion in Kenma’s glare because he raises up a little higher, giving Kenma a
view of his black underwear, stretched to the max. When Kenma reaches to touch
Kuro’s erection through the tented fabric he feels the wetness there, more than
before, and grows a little less resentful. Kuro really is enjoying it—a lot. He
shivers at Kenma’s touch, even, biting his lip—which is cute and hot at the
same time, and is this reallythe same guy who got stuck climbing a fence in
their neighborhood when they were eight?
Kenma draws his hand back, and Kuro settles back down, fingers still moving.
Eventually, the ache of being stretched wide recedes, allowing Kenma to feel
the ache in that other place again.
“I’m ready,” Kenma says, hoping he can be trusted with this decision. He’s not
thinking that clearly, but he feels ready.
“You want the D?”
“Get out.”
“I’m confused—I thought you wanted me to get—”
Kenma kicks him before he can finish the sentence. At least he can be sure this
is the real Kuro, and not some smooth imposter. The tension in the air lets up
some, and Kuro draws his fingers out.
That feels weird, too, the loss of him.
He watches as Kuro pulls his own underwear down at long last, and feels a spike
of want at the sight of him exposed. He looks gorgeous, actuallygorgeous, and
Kenma isn’t sure if he feels jealous or aroused. How many guys look that good
naked?
“Like what you see?” Kuro asks, but he’s blushing and his voice hitches and
Kenma wonders how he could possibly think anyone would not like what they saw
in his position.
“Stop fishing for compliments.”
“Taking that as a yes,” Kuro says, as he sits back on his heels to rip open the
condom packet. He puts it at the tip of his cock and unrolls, and Kenma
swallows with some difficulty.
“It was a yes,” he says, and then Kuro is rubbing lube all over the condom, and
then he’s getting into position over him, and Kenma sucks in a breath when he
feels him at his entrance.
“Are you sure?” Kuro asks.
“Yes.”
He feels Kuro push into him, inch by inch, slower than a crawl. Kuro’s face is
against his shoulder, and it feels so strange that they’re doing this—actually
doing this—but it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.
Kuro’s dick is inside me, he thinks, vaguely, wondering if it’s this strange
for people who didn’t grow up together. He has all these memories of Kuro, good
ones and bad, and he’s not entirely sure how those led up to this.
He places his hands on Kuro’s shoulders gingerly, before letting them slide up
into his hair. Is this weird for him too?
“You… okay?” Kenma asks, their roles suddenly reversed. Kuro’s hardly moving.
“This feels so different,” he says, after a moment.
“What, anal?”
“No—well, yeah, but—you.” Kuro lifts up a little, and then they’re making eye
contact—and yep, it’s definitely weird to make eye contact with Kuro while his
dick is inside of him—and Kuro’s face is in full-on sap mode. “You do like me,
right?”
“Do we need to do this now?” Kenma asks, a little desperately, and sees Kuro’s
eyes lower. Quickly he adds, “Yes, I like you. A lot.”
That seems to be the right answer. Kuro’s eyes meet his again, and without
breaking eye contact Kuro moves his hips until he’s in up to the hilt. Kenma
has to look away, swallowing hard. It feels so full, with Kuro inside of him.
When Kuro moves and his dick grazes the spot, it feels just right.
“Oh,” he says, his legs clenching around Kuro’s hips. That was good, that was—
Everything goes a bit fuzzy, but he thinks he feels Kuro’s teeth against his
neck, and every slow roll of Kuro’s hips. His body shudders with it,
overwhelmed already, feeling like it’s on the brink of orgasm—but not tipping
over the line, yet, even with Kuro wrapped around him, holding tightly,
whispering things Kenma’s too distracted to make sense of.
“Kuro,” he says, an edge of panic to his voice, wanting to say a thousand
things—uncertain what those things are. “Kuro, I need—”
Kuro’s hand comes between them, touching Kenma’s straining erection, and his
mouth catches Kenma’s for good measure, like he’s covering all his bases. Kenma
groans up into it.
It’s not weird anymore—just overwhelming and good and oh shit he feels that
thrust, he feels every inch where they’re touching, feels Kuro’s tongue press
into him as surely as his cock does, leaving him feeling completely and utterly
surrounded. He moans at the sensation, sinking into it, bucking into Kuro, his
legs tight around Kuro’s hips.
“Kenma,” Kuro gasps, and there’s an edge of apology in his voice.
“Don’t go slow,” Kenma says, anticipating what he’s going to say. “Don’t go
slow—”
His voice cuts off into a stuttering breaths as Kuro does as he says, thrusting
erratically, and the wound-up-tight sensation in Kenma’s body begins to release
with the new pace Kuro sets, pushing him past the edge. Between Kuro inside of
him and the hand on his erection, jerky and uncoordinated but so good, he feels
himself fall, and fall, and fall.
He doesn’t make a noise when he comes, or he doesn’t think he does, because
he’s beyond sound, his whole body roiling with the feel of his orgasm and it’s
definitely never felt like this before. Kuro’s free hand fists in his hair, and
then Kuro’s hips are jerking forward without any of his usual grace, and he’s
breathing hard into Kenma’s ear, and Kenma hears his breathing change—heavy,
erratic, then relieved, shuddering.
His name is in there somewhere, too.
They fall back against the bed together, a trembling mess of limbs. Kenma can
still feel his friend inside of him, and it’s weird, again, but he doesn’t mind
it being weird if it feels like this.
He wonders if this will change things or if it’ll be like Kuro’s confession,
where the world was slightly different after—but only slightly. He’s not sure
what he wants, but he doesn’t think either option is bad—change or no change.
The haze in his brain is still there when Kuro pulls out, and he hears noises,
but he doesn’t try to make sense of them. Above him, the curtains are still
fluttering, the breeze cooling his sweat-slick skin. He feels a towel wipe off
his cum-splattered stomach, then Kuro’s lying down next to him, and Kenma
sighs.
“That wasn’t slow,” Kuro says, self-recrimination heavy in his voice.
“It was what I wanted,” Kenma says. He knows the perfectionist within Kuro is
probably displeased, and so he says, “We can go slow another time.”
Kuro props himself up on an elbow. “Really?”
Kenma nods, surprised he needs confirmation. Kuro smiles slowly before laying
back down. He drapes an arm and a leg over Kenma, back to his usual sprawling
self.
“Just don’t get bored of me too soon, okay?” he says, nuzzling into Kenma’s
neck.
“If I was going to—” Kenma begins, though it cuts off when he yawns “—I would
have already.”
He closes his eyes. His whole body feels spent—an ache in his hips and legs to
match the ache in his hands—but he finds himself looking forward to tomorrow,
and the day after, and all the days he gets to spend with Kuro, on the beach or
on the court. Anywhere.
He wonders what a slightly changed world will look like, this time.
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