Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3491615.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Haikyuu!!
  Relationship:
      Akaashi_Keiji/Bokuto_Koutarou
  Character:
      Akaashi_Keiji, Bokuto_Koutarou
  Additional Tags:
      Blow_Jobs, Thigh_Worship??
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-06 Words: 2395
****** Centimeters ******
by squidmemesinc
Summary
     Akaashi has a love-hate relationship with Bokuto's ridiculous
     kneepads.
     Maybe it's more on the 'love' side.
Notes
     Daze told me those "leggings" Bokuto wears are actually just long
     kneepads? This fic was her idea. I stole it because I'm a thief and I
     figured (hopefully correctly) that she wouldn't mind if I wrote it.
     And it kind of got away from me, so there's porn. Whoops.
It’s just a couple centimeters. When Bokuto jumps to spike his toss, that’s all
Keiji ever sees. A couple of goddamned centimeters between those ridiculously
high-reaching kneepads and the hem of his shorts. A couple of blessed
centimeters of tan skin stretched over finely-toned muscle, for no more than a
second, and then it’s gone.
He has a love-hate relationship with those kneepads.
Sometimes, he watches Bokuto putting them on in the locker room. They just keep
sliding for years, it seems, up his ridiculously long legs. His fingers,
gripping each side of the kneepad, ruck up his shorts a little when he gets
them into position. Sometimes his shorts get caught in them, and he plucks at
them until they come free. Then the skin is hidden under two overlapping
layers. Keiji always hopes for glimpses, but often, from where he is on the
court, it’s impossible. Even if it weren’t, they have a status to uphold; the
team counts on him being present in the game, not under Bokuto’s shorts.
After games, after practices, though, he’s allowed to let his mind wander. He’s
always been quiet. Bokuto The Great Distractor is always acting as his foil,
talking (yelling) about anything and everything to anyone who will listen and
even those who won’t. He’s able to sink into his thoughts. He imagines slipping
his fingers under the hem of the shorts, just ghosting across those top few
centimeters at the densest part of his thighs. He thinks about the tips of his
fingers creeping under the high edge of the kneepads, pushing them down just
slightly, feeling the warmer skin beneath them. He can almost feel what it
would be like to have him squirm under his teeth, scraping lightly, biting
harder.
It’s driving him mad.
                                       X
Bokuto probably didn’t notice, but he pulled his shorts up just a tiny bit
higher today than he usually does.
Keiji notices.
It must be only a centimeter more, but that tantalizing skin is catching
Keiji’s eye every time Boktuo jumps, sometimes just a sliver appearing when he
dashes across the court. His center of vision seems to be gravitating right at
the upper edge of Bokuto’s kneepads, and the squeaking of sneakers on the gym
floor isn’t doing what it usually does to bring him back to his senses.
He misses a toss. The ball comes right to him, but he’s watching Bokuto,
preparing to jump, trusting that he’ll bring the ball to him, and it comes down
right on his head with his arms stretched out above him.
“Akaashi! Are you okay?”
Keiji blinks, trying to get his vision back, holding the spot on his head where
the ball hit with both hands. “I need some water,” he says.
The coach calls for a five minute break.
                                       X
Keiji lingers in the locker rooms. It’s not just that his shorts were higher
today, it’s just that Keiji’s feelings are getting stronger. It’s only going to
get worse from here if he doesn’t do something about it, so he decides to do
something about it.
“Bokuto-san, could I get a word with you?”
“Huh? Oh, sure, Akaashi!” Bokuto hangs back from the rest of their team. He
stands before Keiji in the locker room, where it smells like sweat and dirt and
volleyball. Keiji’s never minded that smell. It’s his smell, as well as
Bokuto’s. Here is good.
“Bokuto-san, what do you think of me?”
He puts his hands on his hips, swells with confidence, smiles as he says, “Well
you’re a great friend of course! And a great setter too!”
Keiji nods once. “Do you like me?”
Bokuto’s smile wavers and his elbows sag. “What do you mean? Of course I do.”
“How much do you like me?” Keiji presses.
He looks uncharacteristically nervous at Keiji’s question. His arms drop
completely to his sides and Keiji notices him smoothing his palms against his
pants, as if they’re sweating. He still smiles, but the confidence is gone, and
it’s replaced with nervousness. “Akaashi, I—”
“Would you date me, Bokuto-san?”
Bokuto’s eyes snap open, his mouth quirks into a little sideways ‘o,’ and he
stills his hands. “Huh?”
“I like you,” Keiji says. His face is a little warm, but for the most part,
he’s not embarrassed. He holds the strap of his bag firmly in his hand, his
other hand at his side.
And the other boy suddenly jumps forward to hug him. “Akaashiiiii!” he wails,
and for a moment, Keiji can’t tell if it’s a happy or sad cry. His confusion is
cleared when Bokuto pulls back and presses a firm, short kiss on his lips
before burying his face in Keiji’s shoulder again.
                                       X
Two weeks later, Keiji is shoving Bokuto up against the lockers.
“A-Akaashi?” Bokuto’s not used to the calm setter acting so flustered.
Keiji fists his hands in Bokuto’s jersey and steers him over to the benches,
forcing him to drop heavily onto one. He sinks down in front of him, between
his legs. ‘Don’t get changed,’ he’d said as they were coming into the locker
rooms. He’s been waiting too long for this.
“Akaashi, are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer. He pushes Bokuto’s knees apart. So close, his hands are so
close. Keiji wants to take it slow, so he doesn’t move for a minute, eyes
focused on his left hand, feeling the thick nylon of the kneepads under his
fingertips. He presses his fingertips into them, sliding his hands forward
slowly, angling his nails down so the short tips scrape against the fabric. His
heart is pounding, he’s wanted to do this for so long and now it’s actually
happening. Bokuto’s letting him touch him.
His fingers reach the edge of his shorts, and he pushes right on underneath
them. The very tips are touching Bokuto’s skin, which is warm and slightly
tacky from sweat. He lets the shorts bunch over his hands, feeling a thrill
when he sees skin in the gaps between his fingers. Keiji licks his lips, hears
Bokuto swallow.
“Akaashi…”
He moves both hands over to one thigh, holding the shorts against the crease of
Bokuto’s leg with one hand while the other rests on the top of the kneepad. The
skin he’s sought after is bared right before him, and he brings his mouth down
to it, closing on it with his lips. Bokuto seems to be holding his breath. It’s
deadly quiet in the locker room; the only sound is a quiet drop of water into a
sink that someone didn’t turn off right.
Keiji breathes in the heavy scent of Bokuto’s sweat, tastes its tang on his
tongue as he flicks it over his thigh. He closes his mouth a little, bringing
his teeth into contact with the skin, scraping them lightly as he drags down,
just as he always wanted to. Bokuto shifts. It probably tickles. So Keiji bites
him, suddenly and hard, and Bokuto jumps, banging his head loudly against the
back of the lockers, causing an echo.
Keiji is surprised by the noise and jerks back. “Sorry,” he says, quietly, but
insistent. He looks down, then back up.
Bokuto is smiling the same nervous smile he had when Keiji had confessed to
him. “No, don’t be! I was just surprised. I was, uh, kind of enjoying it.” He
chuckles a little.
Keiji’s hand is still pinning Bokuto’s shorts to his thigh, so when Bokuto
shifts his hips, he notices. He glances towards his hand, or rather, to the
right of it, then up at Bokuto, whose face is going red. “Should I stop?” he
asks.
Bokuto gives a small shrug, tilts his head to the side. “N-No… Well, if you
want. If it…bothers you.” He shifts his hips again, angling his erection away
from Keiji.
Keiji moves his hand over and presses. The other boy stiffens (in more ways
than one). “Ah!” His smile melts into something a little strained, as if he’s
trying to restrain himself.
Keiji adjusts his legs so he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. He moves his
palm in circles over Bokuto’s cock, watching his face with interest as he bites
his lip, feeling the slight pressure as he starts to roll his hips against
Keiji’s hand.
Bokuto looks like he could be satisfied with just this, but Keiji isn’t. He
moves his hands again to grip Bokuto’s shorts at the hips and tugs at them. The
other’s eyes snap open and his face looks a little nervous.
“Lift your hips up,” Keiji orders.
Bokuto swallows again. “Akaashi—”
“This is fine. Lift your hips.”
He complies, and after some careful maneuvering, Keiji manages to get the
shorts over one of his sneakers so they’re just hanging off his other foot. He
is now face to face with Bokuto’s cock, finding himself almost as eager to
touch it as he was to touch Bokuto’s thighs. He wraps a hand around the base,
loosely sliding his hand up and over it, moving his thumb across the wet tip.
He kind of wants to taste…
Bokuto sucks in another breath when Keiji leans forward and takes his head into
his mouth. He slides his tongue over the slit and gathers up the precum on his
tongue, but finds it doesn’t have all that much of a taste. It’s kind of got
the consistency of hand soap, and maybe the flavor is something like the way
metal might taste. There’s the same tang of sweat he’d had when he’d bitten his
thigh, but Keiji likes it. He moves his mouth down, keeping one hand wrapped
around the base and the other resting on his thigh. He still hasn’t forgotten
Bokuto’s thighs. He gives it a squeeze.
Bokuto finally lets out the breath he’s been holding. Keiji hears his fingers
squeak against the polished wood of the bench. Once he’s down as far as he can
go, he gives a hard suck.
“Oh!” Bokuto exclaims. His hips jerk a little, but Keiji manages not to choke.
“S-Sorry Akaashi.” Keiji squeezes his thigh and rubs his thumb along the
underside of his cock, swallowing, which makes Bokuto groan. His fingernails
scratch across the kneepad, then move on soft pads up to the skin above them as
he moves his mouth, keep a steady pressure.
“Jeez…” The other boy’s breath is hitching slightly, and he makes quiet little
noises, twitching slightly into Keiji’s mouth. He starts to leak more, and
Keiji swallows it, eliciting more moans and deeper movements from his hips.
Keiji moves his hand off Bokuto’s dick and grabs his hand, placing it on top of
head before gripping him again. Bokuto sighs and rubs at his hair fondly, being
careful not to press on him. Keiji finds himself thinking Bokuto, despite his
usual bravado, seems to be a remarkably careful lover.
He pulls off to lick a long stripe up the side of his cock, sucking on it from
the side, using just the tiniest scrape of his teeth that makes Bokuto keen and
whine. He’s been growing harder and harder himself, so finally he pulls his
hand away from Bokuto’s thigh and slips it under the waistband of his own
shorts, giving himself solid strokes before taking Bokuto into his mouth again.
He wishes he had more hands; he’s quiet himself, but he likes hearing Bokuto
make these little noises. He imagines what he could do if he could manage to
also push his fingers up under his shirt, grab his ass, massage his balls.
Keiji smooths his tongue over Bokuto’s head before edging it under the ridges
that join it to the shaft, feeling liquid leak out of the side of his mouth
that could be either precum or saliva or a mixture of the two. He glances up to
Bokuto’s flushed face. He likes seeing him come a little unraveled like this.
It’s probably his first time doing something like this. It’s Keiji’s too, but
he’s imagined touching Bokuto so many times it feels like this is the only
natural course of action. Bokuto’s fingers press into his skull as he tightens
his grip, and his arm seems to be shaking, but he still doesn’t push.
“A—kaashi…” Bokuto says, a little desperately. “Ah… Mm…” Keiji takes the strain
in his voice as a hint that he’s close, sucks harder, strokes himself a little
more firmly, twists his hand around the portion he can’t fit in his mouth. His
hips have settled into a gentle roll that he’s determined won’t trigger Keiji’s
gag reflex, though it does grow a little jerkier. He wants to make Bokuto come,
and he knows he can if he just holds out a little longer.
“Akaashi!” Bokuto says again a minute later. His fingers are gripping a handful
of Keiji’s hair. Keiji looks up at him again, still moving his mouth. Bokuto’s
eyes are shut tight, and he’s biting his lip again. When he releases it, he
groans, hips rolling erratically against Keiji’s hand, bumping into his
reddened lips. “I’m gonna… You have to—! Ahh!”
Keiji purposefully doesn’t heed his warning, greedy to taste more of him,
sucking as hard as he can until he feels Bokuto spill into his mouth. He
swallows three times before it seems to stop, then once more for good measure,
pulling off finally with a wet pop.
He closes his eyes and rests his head on Bokuto’s thigh while works his own
hand on his painfully hard dick as Bokuto pants, brushing his cheek with
calloused fingers. “Akaashi, you look so good like this,” he whispers. It might
be the quietest Keiji has ever heard him, the gentlest. He bites back a moan as
he feels himself pushed over the edge, and he’s shaking a little as he moves
his hand furiously.
He makes a mess of his pants, but he doesn’t care; he still hasn’t changed out
of his practice clothes, and he still has his uniform. He notices after a bit
that he’s still got his cheek pressing against the rough material of Bokuto’s
kneepad, and his eyes are still closed. He blearily pulls back and opens them.
Bokuto is looking down at him, suddenly restored to his former, bubbly self.
“You’re really good at that!”
He goes a little red.
But he got what he wanted, and more, so it’s okay.
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