Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11302650.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Haikyuu!!
  Relationship:
      Kozume_Kenma/Kuroo_Tetsurou
  Character:
      Kuroo_Tetsurou, Kozume_Kenma
  Additional Tags:
      Utter_Saps, Porn_with_Feelings, Morning_Sex, Kenma_Likes_it_a_Little
      Rough, Mild_Power_Play, Kitten_Likes_Control, But_Kitten_Also_Likes
      Having_Said_Control_Taken_Away, Kuroo_Can't_Help_Himself, Kuroo_Thinks
      Kenma_is_Beautiful_and_it_Gives_Me_All_the_Feels, these_boys_will_be_the
      death_of_me, Drowning_in_Sap_Send_Help, they_make_a_mess, Sex_Before
      Breakfast, Anal_Sex, Oral_Sex, Foreplay, Some_Habits_are_More_Easily
      Broken, Saps_During_Sex, This_Came_Out_of_Nowhere_I_Swear, Parents_Aren't
      Home, scheming_Kuroo, He_Tries_to_Be_Good_Really
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-25 Words: 3766
****** creature of habit ******
by kagome_angel
Summary
     Kozume Kenma is a creature of habit. He likes to shower first thing
     in the morning. Kuroo Tetsurou knows this well (knows a lot of things
     about Kenma, quite well), but probably wouldn’t know it quite so well
     had they not made such a habit of spending their nights and mornings
     together like this, whenever and wherever possible.
     (Kuroo has this idea that he's going to be good and make them
     breakfast; it's too early to indulge in the scenarios playing in his
     mind, but he's done for and he knows it the moment he sees Kenma
     standing in his doorway, wearing Kuroo's shirt and possibly -
     definitely - absolutely nothing else.)
Notes
     Mild underage warning here. Kuroo is 18 and Kenma is 17. This is
     another one of those scenarios that would NOT leave me alone until I
     wrote it. I'm telling you, guys, this one and my previous Kagehina
     fic that I posted last week took over the other Haikyuu fic I have
     been working on (read: Sappy porn is more important than innocent
     Kagehina cuteness, sap, and angst).
Kozume Kenma is a creature of habit. He likes to shower first thing in the
morning. Kuroo Tetsurou knows this well (knows a lot of things about Kenma,
quite well), but probably wouldn’t know it quite so well had they not made such
a habit of spending their nights and mornings together like this, whenever and
wherever possible.
Saturday morning is presently the ‘when’ and Kuroo’s house is the ‘where’.
They’re alone, and have been since yesterday evening, and it’s been a glorious
handful of hours—at least, in Kuroo’s opinion. They’ve got a few more hours
until his folks will be back, and he intends to use them wisely (of course he
does, because he’s brilliant like that), which may mean more sex or breakfast
in bed or a movie or quiet cuddles or an impromptu backyard volleyball session.
It could mean all of these things; hell, he’s feeling ambitious this morning.
He shoves the covers off of his naked body and stretches experimentally,
muscles shifting and bones popping in protest. He’s a little sore, but it’s not
like it isn’t anything he can’t handle. He wonders idly if Kenma’s sore, too,
imagines that he must be, after last night. Neither of them had been
particularly gentle, and both of them had loved every moment of it.
There are scratches on his back. He can feel them when he stretches; the fabric
of the bedsheets irritates them a little, but again, it’s not something he
can’t handle. He thinks of how and why Kenma had made them and he smiles.
He’s about ready to attempt to get up and go to the bathroom to check on
Kenma’s progress when, as if on cue, Kenma appears in the doorway, hair still
damp, eyes glued to his handheld game console. He’s wearing one of Kuroo’s
shirts and what appears to be absolutely nothing else (Kuroo decides he’ll have
to investigate this further), and it’s entirely too big for him but it looks
fantastic on him. So what if Kuroo’s probably biased? The truth is still the
truth.
Kenma stands there, just as normal and just as extraordinary as you please,
beautiful and completely oblivious to it. Just looking at him, seeing him like
this, affects Kuroo, sends a wave of heat through him, begins to nudge the
desire within him (which he always, always, feels for Kenma, and it never shuts
off, only ever ebbs) from quiescent to almost-frenzied, all in the span of a
heartbeat. He wants and he needs and he’s pretty damn sure he ought not be
indulging said wants and needs this early in the morning. He should at least
make them breakfast first. He knows Kenma will be hungry.
He’s still working on talking himself off that particular ledge (he and logic
don’t often see eye to eye) when Kenma says: “I can feel your eyes on me, you
know,” all matter-of-fact and low, soft. There’s a small curve of a smile
playing at the corners of his lips, and that alone makes Kuroo feel a thousand
things at once. Well, what do you know? So much for breakfast and logic. He’s
already decided on feeding another type of hunger altogether, provided Kenma’s
on board with the not-quite-plan.
(He’s pretty sure Kenma won’t protest.)
“Can you?” Kuroo queries and he stretches again, for Kenma’s benefit this time,
and those golden eyes leave the screen in favor of lingering on Kuroo’s body
instead. Kuroo inwardly smirks and asks another question: “Can you really blame
me? You look really good in my shirt.”
Kenma’s eyes don’t meet his. “Do not,” he lightly protests, probably more out
of reflex than anything else. Kenma is a creature of habit, and he’s never been
one to easily accept compliments, not even from Kuroo. Also, he likes to argue,
enjoys being proven wrong perhaps almost as much as he enjoys being proven
right.
(And Kuroo always, always proves him wrong in this particular department,
showing him with hands and mouth, with touch and motion, just how beautiful
Kenma always has been and always will be to him.)
“Do too,” Kuroo returns without hesitation.
“Do not.” He’s set his console aside, on Kuroo’s bookcase, but he remains
standing in the doorway. His gaze is locked on Kuroo’s now.
“Do too.” The banter, the playful arguing, it’s just as much part of them, of
who they are together, as everything else. It’s silly and it’s wonderful and
Kuroo wouldn’t know how to begin to let it go, doesn’t intend on ever doing so.
(They’ve gotta keep each other on their toes, after all.)
“… Do not.” Kenma runs his fingers through his hair. Kuroo imagines those
fingers elsewhere, rubbing at his scalp, down his chest, even scratching down
his back, as they had last night. He licks at his lips and Kenma’s eyes widen
just the slightest hint of a fraction.
“Do too. Why don’t you come here and let me show you how gorgeous you are to
me?” It’s a command wrapped up in an invitation, molten heat somehow swathed
neatly in silk ribbon. He doesn’t expect that Kenma will reject the
proposition, the promise that Kuroo fully intends to make good on.
Kenma blushes (which is nothing short of simultaneously fucking adorable and
incredibly sexy all at once) and he lingers where he is for just a moment more
before crossing the space between them, coming to stand beside the bed, beside
Kuroo.
“You always do, you know,” he murmurs, eyes just a little glassy for an
instant. A few quick blinks and it’s gone, but the look of pure tenderness on
his face makes Kuroo’s heart tighten in his chest. “Show me, I mean.”
If his own eyes are currently bleeding affection and adoration, it’s not
exactly something that can be helped or altered—not that Kuroo would want to.
Kenma needs to see just as much as he needs to feel, and Kuroo can’t – won’t –
ever bring himself to deny him anything.
Kuroo has to touch him, and so he does, hand reaching out to grasp Kenma’s
wrist. He tugs gently and Kenma follows without pause, moving to join him on
the bed. Kenma straddles him, his thighs bracketing his waist, and Kuroo
discovers then that Kenma is indeed delightfully naked beneath Kuroo’s shirt.
He’ll come back to that in a moment.
Right now, he moves his hand to cradle Kenma’s cheek, and Kenma leans into it,
eyes closing. Kuroo fondly traces the facial features that he’s grown to love
more than he’d ever imagined he would, from his forehead to each brow to the
bridge of his nose. “I’m not ever going to stop showing you, Kenma,” he vows,
and who the fuck cares if he sounds lovesick and overly-dramatic because again,
it’s the fucking truth.
Kenma smiles at him, a real, full smile, all sweet and shy. Kuroo touches that
smile with his fingers, too, feels it against his skin, bright and true and
achingly wonderful. He’s never been as wrapped up in anything as he is this boy
who’s always been right here with him, all along.
Soft lips part and Kenma sucks Kuroo’s fingers into his mouth, which leads to
Kuroo releasing a soft little moan and closing his eyes for a second, for
multiple reasons. For one, he can’t help it, and for another… the visual is
almost too much; still is, when he opens his eyes again and finds Kenma
watching him, lashes at half-mast, still-wet hair falling down to frame his
face—Kuroo’s breath catches painfully in his chest and he almost has to close
his eyes again.
He doesn’t, though.
The way Kenma’s tongue works against his fingers isn’t shy in the slightest;
he’s still sweet, though an entirely different kind—something honeyed and
dripping. It suits Kenma perfectly.
“If you keep this up, you’re going to need another shower,” Kuroo warns, the
words a low growl, and they have an effect on Kenma, too; Kuroo can feel him
shiver, can feel the muscles in his thighs tense and tremble against him.
Kenma pulls back and snorts softly, rolling his eyes. “As if that wasn’t your
intention when you told me to come over here, anyway?” he asks, and he’s always
been entirely too clever for his own good (or maybe Kuroo’s just always been
that transparent).
Kuroo sighs, purposefully over-dramatic. “You make me sound like such a
pervert.”
Kenma’s soft peal of laughter makes him feel warm everywhere. “As if you
aren’t?”
“I’m not,” Kuroo insists, feigning offense. His argument sounds pretty weak
considering their current state of being. He realizes this, and doesn’t really
care. It’s always in good fun, anyway.
“Are too.” Kenma grins, nothing short of mischievous (well hell, haven’t the
roles been reversed suddenly?). Eyes still locked on Kuroo’s, he reaches back
with one hand, fingers almost idly trailing along one of Kuroo’s inner thighs
before curling around his erection and giving one slow, firm tug. “But I’m not
complaining. I’m the only one that sees this side of you. You hide it pretty
well otherwise I guess. I mean, I’m pretty sure if my parents had any inkling
of some of the things that go on when we’re alone together, they’d have heart
attacks, resurrect, label you a bad influence, and that would be it.”
(Kenma doesn’t sound solemn at all, humor coloring his words, his ‘argument’.)
Kuroo presses a hand to his heart, and it’s time for more dramatics. He gasps,
“Your parents love me!” and it earns him a little snicker.
“… They do,” Kenma eventually concedes, and it’s the truth. Kenma’s parents do
love Kuroo, if only for the fact that he’s always been able to pull him out of
his own head when no-one else ever has.
Kenma’s leaning down and in now, hair tickling Kuroo’s face, eyes dark and
searching, wanting—wanting just as much as Kuroo, himself (he’s never had to
question that, ever, and Kuroo’s always made sure that that goes both ways).
“Me before breakfast, hm?” Kuroo asks with a smile. “You must think quite a lot
of me, to put me higher on the totem pole than waffles.”
(Because Kenma is a creature of habit and it’s always breakfast after his
morning shower.
Almost always.)
Another roll of those eyes. “You know I do. I can show you.”
“You always do.” Serious, now. Mirrored words, equality and palpable emotion.
And then, “Show me now.”
Closer and closer still until their lips are touching. Slow and sweet
initially, but then Kenma’s questing tongue licks into his mouth and Kuroo
meets him halfway, letting Kenma take what he needs, willingly giving it. His
hands move to settle on Kenma’s hips, feeling the bones shift beneath his
fingers as Kenma rolls his hips once, more of a tease than anything else, for
both of them, but Kuroo can feel him hard and hot against his abdomen, and
Kuroo feels his spine turn to water (liquid mercury) and he needs, more than
anything else in this moment, to make Kenma fall spectacularly apart (it’s a
million times more tempting than waffles could ever be after all).
Kenma’s not satisfied with the placement of his hands and lets him know it by
abruptly moving them, pinning them above his head instead, exerting a force
that only Kuroo knows he possesses, and fuck if that doesn’t make something
deep inside of him twist and roar and want.
Sometimes, Kenma likes to have the control just as badly as he wants to have it
taken away from him, and sometimes Kuroo likes to let his kitten play like
this. It feels good, being pinned under Kenma’s weight. It feels good to allow
Kenma to have the dominance that Kuroo can so easily take away. He’s taller and
he’s stronger than Kenma. He can overpower him easily (Kenma likes that, too),
but he also enjoys letting Kenma hold him down and do whatever he damn well
pleases, and at the moment Kenma seems to have the desire to mark a trail of
hot kisses down Kuroo’s throat, every now and then sinking his teeth into
yielding flesh, only to soothe the bites with his tongue seconds later.
Fingers leave his wrists (but Kuroo knows better than to move) because Kenma’s
traveling further down, tongue lapping along his clavicles, following the line
of his sternum and then going astray. Lips and teeth and tongue tease and one
nipple and then the other, and the heat pooling below Kuroo’s waist becomes a
solar flare. Kenma’s hands are on him, too, thumbs brushing over his hipbones
as he moves lower still, positioning himself between Kuroo’s legs (and Kuroo
makes room for him without question).
He hisses when Kenma bites his inner thigh, a hint of pain tangled amongst the
overwhelming pleasure, and Kenma makes a noise low in his throat, sucking on
the flesh caught between his teeth, quite purposefully leaving a mark (Kenma is
a creature of habit and likes to mark that which is his; so does Kuroo), which
Kuroo loves.
Kenma does the same thing to his other inner thigh too, more than likely partly
because he no doubt enjoys the sounds Kuroo makes when he does it, and partly
because he likes evenness (Kuroo suspects he might be very slightly OCD in some
respects).
And then Kuroo’s moaning and arching beneath Kenma; he can’t help but move his
hands now, one tangling in Kenma’s hair and then other clutching at his pillow
for some sort of purchase. Kenma’s tongue trails wetly up the length of Kuroo’s
erection and then his mouth closes over him, hot and slick, and it takes every
ounce of self-control Kuroo possesses to not work his hips against that mouth,
to not grab him and hold him in place and fuck his throat. But Kenma’s got his
hands on his hips, still, telling him in no uncertain terms that he expects him
to be still, to not do what his body so badly wants. In this way, Kenma can so
easily sway him, control him, take him (and Kuroo is more than happy to be had,
in whatever way Kenma desires).
Kenma takes him in, slow and deep, and by the time he works up a rhythm,
Kuroo’s breaths are coming in harsh little pants and his thighs and his hips
are aching to move but he continues to keep them perfectly still, letting Kenma
do all the moving. Kenma’s lashes flutter open and he gazes up at Kuroo through
them, and that look alone combined with all the heat and motion almost does him
in. He tugs at Kenma’s hair sharply and is briefly, genuinely apologetic for
the little groan of protest and pain that Kenma gives him for the trouble.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his grip slackening before releasing altogether,
fingers carding gently through the hair he’d just pulled. “I was about to
come.”
Kenma raises one eyebrow. “That’s the point, you know.” He half-smiles,
wriggles a little between Kuroo’s thighs. Kuroo can still feel his breath
against him and it’s an aching, awful tease. “Then I would taste like you.”
Kuroo closes his eyes and grits his teeth, teetering on the verge of happily
giving up the remnants of his perhaps-ridiculous restraint, but then he thinks
better of it, reminds himself of what he’d wanted to do when he’d seen Kenma
standing in his doorway a few moments earlier, fresh from the shower.
“Not yet,” he replies, and then he’s tugging Kenma back up the length of his
body, helping him resettle himself where he’d been earlier, but also making him
lean down so that their chests are almost flush. Kenma lets him do it, passes
the control right back to him, and watches him with curious (and heated) eyes
as Kuroo reaches for what rests beneath Kenma’s pillow.
(It had been Kenma’s idea to put the lubricant there; he’d pointed out that it
would be easier to reach there than in the drawer of the nightstand, and of
course he’d been right—no wonder why he’s the brain of their team.)
He has to fumble with the tube for a minute; his hands are trembling slightly,
as if he’s suddenly going through withdrawals from no longer touching Kenma
(even though it’s been all of two seconds), and then he’s spreading the slick
substance onto his fingers, rubbing it between them and his thumb to warm it so
that it won’t be uncomfortably cool against overly-heated skin.
Kuroo slides his index finger along the cleft of Kenma’s ass, pauses at the
small sound Kenma makes low in his throat. “Are you sore?” he asks, concerned,
not wanting to continue with this if it won’t be good for Kenma, his mind
already drifting to other possibilities (more along the lines of Kenma taking
control again) which are equally as tantalizing, when Kenma presses back
against his finger, making it clear exactly what he wants right now.
And if the motion hadn’t already done it, the verbal confirmation would’ve:
“Never too sore for this, Tetsurou.”
It’s all Kuroo needs, but he’s still careful when he pushes his index finger
inside of Kenma, sliding it back and forth, letting him adjust before adding a
second finger, working
them in and out a few times before curling them, hitting that spot that makes
Kenma gasp and mewl and squirm against him, cock pulsing against Kuroo’s belly
and Kuroo does it again just to hear Kenma moan against his skin. He’s not
currently doing his wrist or forearm any great favors, but the way Kenma reacts
to him more than makes up for it.
He adds a third finger eventually, and that’s when Kenma starts to really move
against him, against his fingers, against his body, and then Kuroo can’t ignore
his own screaming desire any longer. He’s tender with the withdrawal of his
fingers, but not so gentle when he positions Kenma where he wants him, on his
hands and knees, but Kenma
doesn’t seem to be bothered by the roughness at all. He stays right where Kuroo
wants him, and Kuroo slicks himself up with the lube before pressing forward,
one hand on Kenma’s hip, the other guiding his cock where both of them want it
to be.
He nudges at Kenma’s entrance teasingly, shallowly, and it’s cruel to both of
them, but he can’t seem to help himself.
“Please,” Kenma wails, and that’s all it takes. Kuroo pushes into him and both
of them groan and shudder, both of them going perfectly, momentarily still when
Kuroo’s fully seated inside of him, but that doesn’t last long. Kuroo has to
move, has to, and so he does.
(Kenma is a creature of habit. He’s remained incredibly soft-spoken after all
these years – repetition will do that to you – and others have at times
commented on how they’ve had to strain to hear his words. Kuroo’s never had to
do that; Kuroo’s always heard him, even in his silence.
Kenma is quiet when he talks.
Kenma is not quiet when they fuck.)
Kuroo tries to ease into a rhythm. He really does try, but the sounds Kenma
makes cause him to move quicker and rougher than he’d initially intended, and
instead of protesting Kenma only shoves back against him and moans louder, and
Kuroo’s body finds the rhythm it wants—something hard and fast and frantic and
merciless, and Kenma surrenders to it and fuck, Kuroo can’t think, doesn’t want
to.
He focuses on the way Kenma’s upper body collapses onto the mattress, face
turned to one side, eyes squeezed tightly shut as his fingers claw at the
sheets; Kuroo’s shirt has ridden up and is bunched around his shoulders, spine
arched, and he’s taking what Kuroo’s giving him with this blissed-out look on
his face and Kuroo’s sure he appears in a very similar state. With Kenma, like
this, it’s almost unendurable, every single time, almost always too much.
The fingers of his right hand follow the curve of Kenma’s spine, dipping into
the hollow at the base where sweat has gathered. The fingers of his left hand
are digging (possibly painfully) into the flesh over Kenma’s hipbone; Kuroo
thinks it might bruise, knows Kenma won’t mind if it does. Kenma’s crying out
and just letting Kuroo drive forward and into him, over and over again, and
he’s starting to clench a little around Kuroo’s cock. Kuroo knows how he can
make it even better for both of them.
He reaches around, grasping Kenma’s length, pumping him in time to the motions
of his hips, fingers finding and pressing against that sensitive spot just
below the head again and again while he squeezes and he strokes, and from here
on out it doesn’t take long at all.
They’re needy and they’re wild and they’re desperate, as if they weren’t just
in this position the night before, as if they won’t get the chance to do this
again. It’s over in a handful of heated, straining moments: Kenma’s releasing
this choked-off sob and shivering all over as his release spills onto Kuroo’s
fingers and the bedsheets. He’s clenching around Kuroo rhythmically,
deliciously, and it’s achingly good and it’s too much and it’s just enough and
Kuroo’s coming too, shuddering through his orgasm and letting each wave of it
crash over him as he sags against Kenma for a moment, his vision going all
delightfully fuzzy at the edges.
“Mmmm,” Kenma manages after a few moments of nothing but their heavy breathing
and the world tilting on its axis.
Kuroo makes a sound of agreement before carefully drawing back, making more of
a mess out of both of them and his sheets in the process. He genuinely doesn’t
mind, although both of them most assuredly need a shower now and he’ll have to
wash the sheets as well (not that he hadn’t already decided to do that this
morning, after last night).
He leans down, pressing a kiss to the middle of Kenma’s back. “Sorry for making
such a mess of you,” he apologizes, even though both of them know that it’s
such a lie.
Kenma turns over so that they’re facing each other, and promptly calls him out
on his bullshit before leaning in to kiss him: “No you aren’t.”
Kuroo can’t help but smile into the kiss.
(Kenma is a creature of habit and always likes to have the last word.
So does Kuroo.)
“No, I’m not,” he agrees.
And, of course, he isn’t.
Not in the slightest.
~END~
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