Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kuroo didn’t set out to get dick-riding lessons from Yaku. 

Well. On that specific night. 

"...I'm so sorry, there's been an emergency. I can't make tonight," Kai was saying, his voice buzzing and indistinct against Kuroo's ear. Panic flashed through him, fingers freezing against his laces. 

“What kind? Is your family okay?” 

“Oh no, no, it’s a work emergency,” Kai replied. 

Kuroo’s shoulders, one threatening to crack his phone between his ear and shoulder, relaxed. 

"That's no problem," Kuroo replied, straightening up from where he was bending down, fixing his laces. He rolled his shoulder to stop his phone from plunging to the genkan, catching it deftly. "We'll reschedule. When are you free next?"

"Oh — I don't know yet," Kai replied, still with the edge in his voice that made Kuroo uneasy. When had Kai ever sounded anything but calm? "But it's too late to cancel, you'll get charged. Yaku's still able to go, isn't he? I'll catch you guys another time." 

"It's no problem, Kai, seriously," Kuroo assured him, wondering if he should remove his shoes again. "I don't want you to miss out." 

"I trust for you two to fill me in on our next meetup," Kai answered. He sounded a lot steadier. "I'm sorry, but I really have to go. Don't let this ruin your evening as well as mine. I'll see you soon."

"Kai —" Kuroo began, but all he heard in response was the dial tone. 

With a sigh, Kuroo pocketed his phone, staring at his laced-up leather brogues. His usual runners sat by the door, beaten up and comfortable. He knew he should've dressed casually tonight, but it was difficult to be casual when there was a distinct chance of Yaku showing up in a three piece suit. It had happened once and Kuroo had promptly vowed never to let Yaku look better than he did again. 

He checked his watch. From the rush he was in, Kuroo doubted that Kai had had a chance to call Yaku as well, knowing Kuroo would pass on the message. Kuroo ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth. He hadn't planned on asking Yaku so soon. He hadn't, and yet… when was he ever one to turn away an opportunity?

Grabbing his jacket, Kuroo unlocked the door of his apartment and stepped out into the hallway. The plain grey walls swallowed the anticipatory click of his heels. 

“What do you mean, Kai had a work emergency?” 

“My dear Yakkun, I don’t see how I could explain more than that,” Kuroo said, slipping off his suit jacket. He twisted to hang it on the back of the leather chair. “He’s still at work, dealing with an emergency.”

“He’s an arborist.” Yaku tapped a finger on the table, impatient. “How can he have a work emergency?” 

Shrugging, Kuroo set his elbows on the table, draping his forearms over each other to smile at Yaku’s flat expression. 

“I don’t know. He hung up on me before I could ask any further questions.” 

Yaku scoffed. “And you couldn’t have told me before I made the journey out here?” 

Tilting his head, Kuroo let loose a sly grin. “Have I become that boring?” 

With a sigh, Yaku crossed his arms over his chest. “You know that’s not it.” His gaze flicked over Kuroo; from his forearms to the base of his neck, his shoulders, his freshly shaved chin. A slow heat bubbled in the depths of Kuroo’s stomach as he waited for Yaku to continue. He didn’t. 

“So?” Kuroo lifted his eyebrows. “Are you going to walk out on me?” 

“No,” Yaku said, unfolding his arms to swiftly pluck the menu from the table. 

As he scanned down the menu, the furrow beneath his brows untwisted. 

Fine dining, the description had said, and the number of reservations had backed that up. Yaku's affinity for expensive shone through in the sideways lift of his mouth, exposing clinically-treated white teeth, in his brown eyes that gleamed even under the tastefully dim lighting. 

Kuroo had opted only to drink.  He was questioning the wisdom of his past decision now, three hours later with his fourth — fifth? — house beer in his hand.

It was a pretty restaurant, but Kuroo’s focus wasn’t on his surroundings. Only who was opposite him. 

Yaku was dressed in a reserved outfit for him — no waistcoat, only a sharply pressed shirt that hugged his upper arms a little too tightly, folds stretching across the bulk of his tricep, four buttons undone at the top. Enough to hint at his toned chest, the gathering of dark blonde hair that Kuroo knew covered his chest and belly, down to his upper thighs. Hm, Yaku must’ve been busy lately. Usually, he kept it meticulously waxed, or at least clipped short. 

It was difficult for Kuroo to keep his mind from wandering, mentally stripping away the shirt as Yaku moved. His memory supplied the hard swell of his hair-flecked thighs under his dress pants, the way they relaxed as Kuroo slid his palms up them. How Yaku would smile at him then with an expectant glint in his eyes, as if knowing beyond a flicker of doubt what came next would satisfy them both. 

Kuroo took himself out of his memories blended with fantasies and gulped down a mouthful of water. He’d drunk too much. 

The way Yaku’s shirt cuff rode up and exposed his wrist when he extended his hand out to grip the handle of his beer was too distracting. An athlete through and through, his veins rose nearly to the surface of his skin, winding down the back of his hand and vanishing into his structured fingers. 

At the edge of his cuff, a digital, silver Rolex flashed, contrasting with Kuroo’s plain leather analog one. Kuroo remembered flicking a finger underneath the clasp and letting the expensive stainless steel band clink to his bedroom floor. 

Huh. Maybe he was tipsier than he originally judged. Or maybe it was Yaku’s presence. Kuroo never could tell accurately. 

Adjusting his waistcoat with one hand, Kuroo’s other crept towards his drink of choice. House craft beer that Yaku had arched a judgemental eyebrow at. 

“So how’s life?” Yaku asked, in between mouthfuls of stir fry. “And your romantic life? Dead as always?” 

“Both are very lively, thank you very much,” Kuroo leered. 

Yaku quirked up an eyebrow, doubt infusing his voice. “You're seeing someone?” 

Kuroo tried not to examine the line of Yaku’s mouth. He was searching for something that wasn’t there. 

“Not exactly…” Kuroo mused. “I thought about your advice last time you visited, y’know, to maybe stop approaching every relationship as a possible long term thing, and guess what?” He leaned over the table, smirk widening. “I had a one night stand.” 

“You say that as if it’s hard,” Yaku replied, barely looking up from his meal. 

“Hey, it is for me!” Kuroo deflected. “Have you ever considered that experiences outside of your own exist?” 

The line of Yaku’s brow softened. He crunched down on a soy-soaked beansprout, lifting his gaze. “So how was it? You think it’s for you?” 

“Hm….” Kuroo leaned back in his seat, spreading his fingers along the table’s edge. “I don’t think so. You were right though, it was good to try once.” 

He paused, wondering if he should say more, and then figured it was Yaku. He was gonna make fun of him no matter what he said. And right now, he was regarding Kuroo intently, searching for more. His interest spurred Kuroo on. 

“It was with a guy,” Kuroo admitted. “And…” He drummed his fingers along the table. "I'm usually with women —“ or you “—so I don't get the chance to practice, ah, let’s say, the other side much. It was a little uncomfortable."

Yaku snorted. “You’re taking dick for the first time, it’s not gonna be comfortable. You gotta get used to it.” 

“Yakkun, we’re in public. Would it kill your brain to try and make allusions to what you mean instead? ” Kuroo stressed, to which Yaku shrugged, taking another swig of his beer. 

“Whatever. If someone’s eavesdropping on us, that’s on them.”

“I was wondering, actually…” Kuroo started. “Could you give me some advice?” 

Still holding his beer, Yaku tilted it to the side. Set it down. “About what?” 

“About, well… the other side of it. I thought I knew enough, from…” Kuroo gestured vaguely into the space between them. Yaku nodded. “But it’s, hm, a more varied and complex role than I imagined. I’d like to broaden my understanding of it.” He winked. “From someone who knows what they’re doing, too.” 

“Oh, you sly flatterer,” Yaku cajoled, pointing the end of his chopsticks at him. “Think if you sweet-talk me, the chances of me giving you bullshit is lower? Think again.”

Kuroo smiled. “I know you well enough by now that that wouldn’t work. Everything I say is the truth."

"That's about as believable as the Hornets winning the SV-League," Yaku scoffed, rifling around in his bowl. 

And yet, his cheeks had a little more colour in them. Propping his chin on the heel of his palm, Kuroo smiled. His body was warm from a few drinks, he couldn't stop staring at Yaku's hands and the hollow at the base of his neck through the slit in his low-cut shirt — yeah, he was feeling it. Every momentary glance at the flex of Yaku’s throat as he swallowed or how his hands sliced through the air as he gestured fed the simmering want in Kuroo’s core. Kuroo didn’t care if he was being blatant about it, because Yaku wouldn’t. He hoped Yaku was feeling the same way. 

Yaku ate for a moment, brows scrunched together. He finished off his meal with impressive efficiency as Kuroo waited. He was surprised at how little Yaku had made fun of him; he’d been prepared for an onslaught. Perhaps it was the public place after all. Or maybe Yaku was growing soft with age. 

Placing his bowl aside, Yaku grabbed his beer, taking a gulp to wash it all down. 

“It’s…” Yaku began as soon as he lowered the glass. “It’s hard to put into words. I think it’d be easier to have a hands-on session, coach you through it. If you want. I can do my best to describe it otherwise.” 

Both of his hands wrapped around the thick circumference of the beer glass. Their eyes met, the implication of what they'd both stated passing between them. It burned at Kuroo’s fingertips, spreading out up his arms. The hair on his arms felt like they were vibrating, reaching for Yaku's skin. He cleared his throat. 

"Would you?"

"Which one?"

"The —" His next words jammed in Kuroo’s throat. Fuck, where had his confidence gone? He was the one who asked, who had hoped for more. "The hands-on approach. I think it would be a far more effective learning experience than a second hand account, if you're willing." 

Yaku cocked up one eyebrow in disbelief. "Is that even a question? Kuroo. What do you think?"

"’Yes, I'll pay for the taxi back to yours, and pick up this tab?’" Kuroo mimicked Yaku’s higher voice, grinning, then changed back into his, soaking it in sultry gratitude. "How generous of you, Yakkun. I’ll take that offer.” 

Yaku rolled his eyes, but he brought the beer up to his lips and slammed the rest back in two deep, long slugs. Kuroo watched the slide of his Adam’s Apple up and down under the skin of his close-shaven throat. His nerves quietly shivered. 

Once done, Yaku wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, revealing a devious grin. 

“You ready to get out of here?” 

Despite his grumbling, Yaku paid for a taxi back. 

“Did you see the couple beside us?” Yaku was saying. “The woman did not look happy at all.” 

His fingers, always restless and working, picked at the seam of the leather seat between them, thin threads snapping under his short thumbnail. Kuroo had a sense that Yaku was as eager for this as Kuroo was; it had been nearly eight months since Yaku had been in Japan. The interior of the Tesla taxi was neat, smelled like citrus, and Kuroo couldn't wait to step out of it. The train was an option — a longer option. Too long. 

“I think he was planning to propose too,” Kuroo theorised, flashing Yaku a grin. “Poor guy.” 

“Well, he should’ve been a better boyfriend then.”

Yaku returned his grin, bright with his white-treated teeth, a slight dimple at the corner. His lower face was flawlessly clean-shaven. Kuroo had to look away. 

He turned over his brown wallet in his lap, arranging and rearranging cards and polaroids to keep himself from grabbing Yaku's lapel and hauling him into his lap instead. 

The Thing between them started when they were both drunk together, a massage offer that quickly descended into much more. Yaku had blamed the way Kuroo had groaned under his touch. Kuroo had blamed Yaku for straddling him so closely, for leaning so far forwards that his breath misted the nape of Kuroo's neck, that it was his answering shiver that caused Kuroo to turn over. 

Neither of them had an excuse for why Yaku had stayed seated in Kuroo’s lap. Why Kuroo's quivering hands had crept up Yaku's thighs to smooth around his waist, why Yaku had licked his lips and stared at Kuroo's mouth in a clear challenge. Why, bending forwards, Kuroo had taken him up on it and more. Much more.

The morning after, Kuroo remembered phrasing it as a “benefit in kind,” which had made Yaku laugh so hard he’d almost toppled off one of Kuroo’s floor cushions, which was difficult to do. 

“Jeez,” he’d said, wiping the tears from his eye with a finger. “What is this, some sort of corporate arrangement? We’re friends that have sex sometimes. That’s it. We don’t even have to label it, hell, we’ve been avoiding that forever.” 

He’d caught Kuroo off guard. He had been right — the tension building between them had simply tipped over without them addressing it. Kuroo had a sneaking suspicion that they both understood a long distance relationship wasn’t maintainable with their ambitions. Kuroo himself had been dumped more than once because of his split attention. Yaku himself never seemed to court any partner longer than a few months; he was a constant source of drama in Russian volleyball forums. 

Kuroo had agreed with him for once, and that had put the matter to rest — if they were single, horny, and alone, chances were tipped in the favour of sex. They’d fallen into bed together — alright, maybe fallen wasn’t the right word. They'd sprinted into bed together (if they even made it that far, and not tripped on the couch and stayed there) most times when Yaku had come to Japan to visit, or on those rare occasions where Kuroo managed to book out enough time in his schedule to fly to Russia. If the moment took them… so be it.

Beyond all else, their agreement to stay friends stayed the course. 

Turning his head, Kuroo watched the orange night of Tokyo glow over the dips and curves of Yaku’s face. For once, they were silent in each other’s company. For once, Kuroo was comfortable with silence. He only remembered being like that with Kenma. 

As if sensing his gaze, Yaku shifted a little, enough to catch Kuroo’s eye out of the corner of his. The one visible side of his mouth curled upwards. Anticipation hammered through Kuroo's body. His self control impressed him, how he managed to stay still on the seat and not throw himself forwards, knock the back of Yaku’s head against the window, kiss him and disregard any potential rumour generation. 

Returning the smile, Kuroo dropped his focus back to his wallet, thumbing the worn stitches. He was born more careful than that.  

It was the edge of a knife. Kuroo was far too aware that if Yaku was still living in Japan, something else might bloom. Thankfully, because Yaku wasn't, it was a path Kuroo never let his thoughts wander too far down. Sometimes he allowed himself to daydream. But only sometimes. The strain of changing their relationship so drastically half a world away was a risk Kuroo wasn't willing to take. 

And Yaku seemed happy. How could Kuroo ask him to commit to him when there were so many more partners out there? Yaku was always ambitious. His choice and frequency of partners were no exception. Kuroo was satisfied. Anything more might break whatever link they had left. It would be more than what Kuroo could stand. 

Kuroo struck up a conversation again, asking about Russia. Yaku told him about his apartment, his dismal attempts to renovate it, the troubles with his fancy coffee machine. His neighbours. 

“You’re sure you’re not dating anyone this time?” Yaku asked as he slipped off his coat. He hung it up on the peg beside Kuroo’s apartment door without looking, his entire attention focused on Kuroo through squinted eyes. “And there’s nobody that, like, thinks you’re dating either, right?” 

“Yakkun,” Kuroo replied, exasperated. “I am certain. All the drinks I’ve gone for with my coworkers have been group gatherings, and that was one single time. In fact, to further put your mind at ease, the only reason I’m asking you is that when I hooked up with this guy —“ Kuroo scratched the back of his neck, recalling the awkwardness, the unfamiliarity of his movements. He'd assumed, from sleeping with Yaku, that he'd know what to do. “It didn’t go so great. I’m open-minded, I want to be well-rounded, in, uh, a multitude of skills.” 

Snorting, Yaku carefully removed his loafers that probably cost a week of Kuroo’s salary and slid them into place on the rack. 

“I don’t get why you have to phrase things in the most vague way possible. You wanna know how to ride dick.” 

Kuroo felt a flush rise up his neck, pinging against his cotton shirt collar uncomfortably. “If you want to be so crude about it.” 

“Honestly, I don’t know why we haven’t tried it before now,” Yaku mused, stepping into the hall, closer to Kuroo. Unmoving, Kuroo grinned. 

“Obviously because I’m so good at sex and know how to use my above-average dick to give you so much pleasure that you didn’t feel the need to go searching for anything else,” he proclaimed, and was gratified to see Yaku snicker. 

“Yeah, sure. That’s it.” Yaku stepped even closer to him, twisting Kuroo’s tie around his hand. “Nothing to do with how you came to me to teach you.” 

He aimed a winning, teasing grin up at him. As Yaku wound Kuroo's tie more and more around his fist, Kuroo felt himself growing light-headed. Had Yaku’s freckles spread out over his nose more, or was he imagining it? Fuck, was that a new freckle on his upper lip? Kuroo stared. 

At the back of his neck, his tie began to cut into his spine. His thin shirt barely helped pad the intensity of Yaku’s hauling. 

“Are you just gonna stare at my mouth all night or do I have to do all the work like usual?”

“Shut up,” Kuroo huffed, bending down to lay a kiss on Yaku’s expectant lips. “I’ll be doing the work tonight.” 

The shape of Yaku’s mouth was familiar by now, tasting of the beer he preferred. Contentment stirred in Kuroo’s chest; despite the new proposal, he was doing it with Yaku. That alone put him at ease. Getting to know strangers was fun, but without a certain amount of alcohol, Kuroo couldn’t stop trying to figure them out, a part of his brain always on edge, always shuffling through possible responses and reactions. Yaku’s were straightforward — although not predictable — but the consequences were something Kuroo barely had to calculate. No matter how Yaku reacted, they could work through it. The fear of misstepping was minimal. 

“Whatever you say," Yaku responded, amused as Kuroo straightened up. “Y’know how to prep, right?” 

“It didn’t go that badly with my date,” Kuroo shot back.

Yaku quirked up an eyebrow. “Just checking.” 

“I’m not clueless,” Kuroo insisted, and he hated / loved the way that the corner of Yaku’s mouth twitched up. “It’s just that… from experience, I think that you’re competent at it, and you’re a good teacher. It’s only logical that I’d come to you for advice.” 

To tell the truth, Kuroo had no idea who else he would even go to. Bokuto would likely enthusiastically give him tips, but Bokuto was in a committed relationship with Akaashi, so verbal tips would be all he’d get. Kuroo didn’t even know if Bokuto bottomed, and Akaashi wasn’t exactly the type to open up freely about his intimacy preferences. 

Yaku, he knew, would tease him initially, but he’d keep it to himself. He’d take Kuroo’s request seriously. And he was damn good at being on top. Kuroo, at thirty-one, would awake from wet dreams that were more memory than dream, of Yaku straddling him, biting his lower lip coyly before fucking Kuroo so hard that Kuroo was sure that the imprint of his body would never leave the mattress. 

He wondered if other people that got lucky enough to fuck Yaku experienced the same — like an aftershock that never truly went away. 

“Heh.” Yaku’s eager grin was a little flustered. Kuroo mentally patted himself on the back for successfully appealing to Yaku’s ego. 

Dragging him down again, Yaku kissed him once more, with power. 

God, he’d forgotten how assuredly Yaku kissed him, as if there was nowhere else Kuroo could possibly want to be. And awfully, he was right. Other people’s kisses had overlayed the memory of Yaku’s, but each time they made out it seemed like Yaku was conscious of that, determined to drive out the memory of anyone else against Kuroo’s lips. It was working. 

Kuroo groaned quietly, letting Yaku tease him up against his wall, feeling his knee slide up between his thighs. Being the bastard that he was, Yaku stopped just short of brushing Kuroo’s crotch, rubbing his knee against the upper inside of Kuroo’s thigh in the most tantalising circles.

He worked his fingers inside the knot of Kuroo’s tie, hauling it open with a rough yank. The tips of his fingers dug into the dents around Kuroo’s collarbones, as if he’d made them himself, as if Kuroo’s body had remembered where he liked to touch and stayed that shape, waiting for his hands to return. 

A shudder racing through him, Kuroo grabbed Yaku’s waist and heaved their hot bodies closer together, driving Yaku’s hand up to his neck. Yaku gasped into his mouth, thumb rubbing just below Kuroo’s Adam’s Apple. A hard nub stuck into Kuroo’s thigh as Yaku ground against him. If he had had the space between their lips, Kuroo would’ve smirked. 

It had been too long since they’d had an opportunity to do this. Handling fistfuls of Yaku's shirt, Kuroo yanked it free of his stupidly restrictive belt, bare, inviting skin skimming along the backs of his fingers. From the way Yaku shoved himself even closer, he was feeling just as restless as Kuroo was. 

A brief thought shot across Kuroo's mind — did all friends with benefits crave each other like this? — before being obliterated by Yaku's hand sliding to the nape of his neck, opening his mouth to draw Kuroo into a sultry, slow kiss, one which made Kuroo's knees waver. He was grateful that he was caged up against the wall, Yaku's firm and solid body pinning him in place, otherwise he might’ve slunk to the floor. Yaku would’ve never let him forget that. 

Fuck, Yaku could kiss. His tongue, sodden and flexing, wound around Kuroo's, their teeth tipping off each other's with a muted clunk before Kuroo managed to gather his sense enough to angle his head more, hooking his fingers into the front of Yaku's waistband. His skin was unnaturally warm, like he was literally fired up, his nails creating stinging pits on either side of Kuroo's spine. His thumb rested just behind the hinge of his jaw, daring Kuroo to try and detach. 

Kuroo moaned into the kiss, sparing just enough air to breathe as Yaku deepened the kiss further, his body pushing up as he rocked up onto the balls of his feet. The use of his grip on Kuroo's neck as leverage ached a little, but Kuroo was used to making out with Yaku being intense. It was rare that he didn't come away without a mark or bruise. Or several. Kuroo caught himself seeking out evidence of Yaku weeks later in mirrors, rotating his legs to view the inside of his heavily decorated thighs, craning his neck over his shoulder to see his lined back, criss-crossed scratches like ribbons laced across his lower back.  

He suspected he’d have tender bruises on either side of his neck tomorrow. He'd be able to feel his shirt collar brushing against the sensitive marks; he dismissed the concept of loosening his collar. Kuroo was a professional, after all. 

Trailing his other hand down Kuroo's torso, Yaku cupped his crotch through his work pants. To his mild embarrassment, Kuroo was already straining against his fly, the constriction making his head spin. Yaku's fingers slipped around his balls, hard, his rough touch divine, his hips bucking into Yaku's hot palm. Then Yaku squeezed, a firm pressure racing through Kuroo and swirling in his lower stomach. 

“Mm…” Kuroo groaned, dull pleasure running through him. Through his half-slitted eyes, he caught a hint of Yaku’s growing grin. 

“I’m gonna enjoy this,” Yaku murmured out, pouring kisses down the length of Kuroo’s neck. “Go get ready. D’ya need any help?” 

Kuroo considered for a moment. "I've seen you do it enough times." 

Eyes dropping closed, he tilted his head back against the wall, letting Yaku suck on his neck greedily. Too quickly, Yaku pulled back, not even leaving a mark. Disappointment swelled up in Kuroo. He shoved it back down, choosing to focus on how Yaku was gazing at him, the precise weight of his attention causing Kuroo’s stomach to flip over. With a deep inhale, Yaku passed a hand over his mouth and stepped back, giving Kuroo room to unstick himself from the wall. He did so, mildly surprised that they hadn’t broken through the plaster. 

Gently, Yaku pushed his shoulder, guiding him towards his bathroom. 

“Go, before we get too into it. I’m gonna rearrange your horrible furniture placement in the meantime.”

“I didn’t realise that you’d added ‘interior decorator,’ to your career list,” Kuroo shot back. “I fear for your roommates.” He pointed at Yaku. “Do not touch anything. I put many minutes of deep thought into how to angle the tables.” 

Yaku set his hands on his hips. His shirt was crumpled up around his lower stomach, his belt buckle swinging.  An unfamiliar sense of impatience blazed through Kuroo. 

“Good luck with guys in the future. Won’t a whole avenue of new experiences be cut off for you, open-minded guy? And trust me, a good apartment layout will keep guys coming back. Ladies too.” He paused, shrugging. “Probably. I haven’t had the chance to test out my new layout yet.” 

“I knew I had a better touch with women,” Kuroo teased, as if he didn’t know full well that it was because Yaku’s preference skewed towards men.  

Yaku was unfazed. “Now you’re just lying. Remember when we had that competition to see who could pick up someone quicker? I charmed a woman then.”

“I’m still convinced you paid her off to pretend.”

“As if that’d be necessary.” Yaku gestured to the bathroom. “Stop failing to undermine my sex life and get to it.” 

After the water ran clear, Kuroo redressed himself and strode back to the kitchen. He liked the way Yaku’s lips curled when undressing him, or when he stripped off in front of Yaku. 

His breath caught in his throat as he entered. 

Yaku was studying his fridge, the medley of photographs arranged in rows and columns, some overlapping, some barely clinging onto the edges. One side of his mouth ticked up in a soft smile as he examined them, ever-so-slightly bent forwards. He was probably trying to pick himself out, the egocentric bastard. 

He’d taken off his shirt, but not his trousers. The waistband was tailored perfectly, fitting around his stomach and lower back like tape. He didn’t even need a belt, but his black leather one slunk through the loops nonetheless, carved with understated designs. Kuroo recalled running his thumb over the tiny detailing as Yaku dressed himself next to him, the Russian wind forcing its way through the slit left in the window. 

Each panel held a different scene, the artistry breathtaking, but as Kuroo surveyed them, he found his forehead creasing. Feline forms with sharp teeth prowled through waves, forests with their bark a series of shallow slices, hints of human-like forms lurking just beyond. Kuroo couldn’t discern the story with any confidence. When he’d asked Yaku about it, he’d said he’d thought it looked cool. Kuroo had been searching for a story that wasn’t there. 

And yet, he’d held onto it until Yaku had extended a palm and requested it back.  

Kuroo dropped his gaze further, raking it over his fitted trousers, outlining the powerful bulk of his thighs, his ass a magnificent curve that fitted into Kuroo's cupped hands perfectly. He wasn’t sure which material they were made out of, but it hung heavily, not a stray thread visible. 

Despite the finery Yaku was wearing, the glamour withered away when compared to his bare body. Kuroo didn’t even know why Yaku bothered with his tailored suits when a plain tshirt and jeans looked just as good on him. 

A flare of lust bared its teeth within Kuroo’s core, mingled with envy. He worked out still, but his runs and trips to the gym were nowhere near as regular as they had been. University had dragged his attention away from proper nutrition, no matter how much Yaku had told him to get his meals in order. Now, with a steady job, it was better. That didn’t change the fact that Yaku’s sculpted, Olympian body was something far, far out of Kuroo’s grasp. 

Back in high school and for a good few years afterwards, he’d had the bigger arm girth, to Yaku’s chagrin. Now, mentally measuring the difference, Kuroo reckoned that Yaku could probably heft him over his shoulder with ease. His shoulder was likely broad enough to carry Kuroo without him even having to turn sideways. 

Kuroo passed a palm over his mouth. Damn. 

Catching him staring, Yaku grinned, turning to face him fully. He winked. 

“Not bad, huh? I’ve been talking to Hajime-san about my diet, and he gave me a few tips I didn’t know before. No wonder Oikawa’s body looks like that.” 

Oikawa’s body was the furthest thing from Kuroo’s mind right now. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, not even bothering to try and make eye contact with Yaku. 

A memory surfaced as he drunk in the ample swell of Yaku’s pecs, of being lucky enough to have his cock tracing a path between them, Yaku’s grin teasing him with every thrust. 

Kuroo strode forwards and grabbed Yaku by his shoulders, drawing him up into a deep kiss. He couldn’t wait any longer. 

As he hugged Kuroo’s waist, Yaku made a muffled sound of amusement into the kiss, deliberately stepping backwards towards the door. Kuroo followed, kissing Yaku like the hunger in his belly could be satiated by swallowing Yaku’s breath alone. His skin was so damn smooth, his cheek that Kuroo’s nose was pressed into as soft and yielding as a pillow. The fucker never missed a night of crafted skincare. 

Catching his lower lip between his teeth, Yaku sucked on it, biting down just enough to send a sting coursing through Kuroo. 

“Mm…” Kuroo hummed out, nearly tripping over the kitchen doorframe as it slammed against one heel. 

Yaku steadied him, detaching for a moment to lean around Kuroo. 

“You’ve got lube in your bedroom, right?”

Oh. They really had only made it to the couch a lot. Sometimes the kitchen counter. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo answered, taking Yaku’s lean as an opportunity to kiss down his exposed neck, sucking light hickeys along the way. 

“Hey,” Yaku got out. His voice was strained. “Not too heavy. I have to be able to cover them up.” 

Kuroo groaned in protest, but backed off, only kissing Yaku’s bending neck, the strong tendons shifting under his lips. He wanted to leave his mark on Yaku too. Even if they were only fuck buddies. Maybe especially because this was fleeting, encounters stolen between platonic gatherings, he desired to create permanency. It was a flaw of Kuroo’s.

After all, why would he need to build a solid base with Yaku? They already had one; he was the most steadfast man Kuroo knew. This arrangement had worked for them for five years. There was no reason why it wouldn't work for five more. He ignored how that thought made him feel in favour of mouthing at the underside of Yaku's jaw, the rising stubble sharp against his lips.

He was walking backwards now, steering Yaku into his bedroom with his arms locked around his trim waist. As if Yaku needed any dragging along — his feet were bumping against Kuroo's, causing them to stumble down the hall, their giggling muffled within their kisses. 

To Kuroo's relief, his bedroom was tidy. 

Not that it was often messy – but if it was in disarray, Yaku was guaranteed to comment on it, no matter how much Kuroo tried to distract him. Kuroo's neatly made bed jutted out from the wall, a window arching above it, blinds half-tilted, just enough to let thin threads of the street lights in. It cast lines over his bed, the navy sheets he was quite fond of, just about reaching the tv mounted on the opposite wall. 

Memorabilia that Kuroo always struggled with getting out of hand littered his cream walls, photos of him and Kenma, at his business launch, him and Hinata in South America, the day Bokuto received his MSBY offer. The day Yaku left for Russia, him and Kai squashing their face to either side of Yaku's with wide, watery grins. 

Noticing it made Kuroo's ribs convulse, so he turned his head away, banishing it from the corner of his eye. It was easy to turn his attention to Yaku, who was peppering kisses along the base of Kuroo's throat, Yaku who was here now, teeth wedging in Kuroo's skin. 

Navigating his knee to between Kuroo's legs again, Yaku jammed him up against his wardrobe, pressing up into his crotch as he undid Kuroo's belt buckle. 

"You could've just come out with a towel," Yaku mentioned. “Spared me this hassle.”

Kuroo cracked an unsteady grin. "I like watching you do all the work." 

"If I was a petty man," Yaku started, yanking down Kuroo's fly with a hard motion. "I would make you take it all off yourself." 

Still smiling, Kuroo wrapped a hand around the back of Yaku's neck, thumb ghosting over his cheek. 

"Guess I'm lucky that you're so generous, my dear Yakkun," he nearly purred out, laying the gratitude in his voice on as thick as he could. 

Peeling back the front of Kuroo's trousers, Yaku shot him an answering smile, sharp eyes narrowing in a way that made Kuroo's pulse pound. He had something in mind. 

"Generous?" Yaku repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth. "I guess you could say that." 

Yaku sank to his knees in front of him. Kuroo's breath stuttered as he gripped him firmly through his boxers, eyes alight with purpose. It was a well-traced dance by now, but the thrill had never even faltered for Kuroo. 

With a sigh, he let his head fall back against his wardrobe with a clunk, hands seeking Yaku’s silky hair. Sometimes it felt like a sin to wring his damp fingers through such clean, soft hair — but Yaku liked it and Kuroo was always happy to please. 

Now, he curled his hand into a fist at the back of Yaku’s head, who moaned his approval, lips tracing the tip of Kuroo’s cock through his underwear. Kuroo tugged sharply, inclining Yaku’s face up towards him. His mouth brushed past Kuroo’s head with the motion, sending shivers up Kuroo’s spine, wanting Yaku to take him in like that, with his eyes grasping Kuroo as thoroughly as his throat. Watched as Yaku slowly smiled, thumb digging into the front of Kuroo’s thigh, his canines flashing out from the streetlight-cast shadows in his mouth. 

His dark eyes were half-lidded, cheek rubbing along Kuroo’s rapidly hardening shaft. Kuroo forgot how to breathe. He looked gorgeous, godlike as he turned his head to kiss the side of Kuroo’s cock, the warm spit from his mouth soaking right through the cloth. 

A whimper swelled in Kuroo’s throat. He wasn’t aware of releasing it until he noticed the smugness sinking into Yaku’s expression.  

Yaku’s smile grew deadly. “I haven’t even done anything yet.” 

He had a dimple indented into one round cheek. Kuroo was going to die. If he hadn’t been propped up against his wardrobe, he wasn’t sure that there was enough blood left in his body to keep him upright. His cock throbbed harder with every loitering lick Yaku gave it, every self-satisfied shift of his lashes that told Kuroo he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Take your shirt off,” Yaku murmured, sucking lightly at the clothed outline of Kuroo’s blooming head. 

The top of his cock was pushing out the front of his boxers, the buttoned flap sewn into the front straining at each button. Kuroo was breathing heavily now, his heartbeat thudding in his ears, but it wasn’t enough to still his tongue.

“So this is your plan,” he replied, yanking Yaku’s hair. “Manipulate me with your sexual wiles to make me do all of the work? That’s evil.” 

“Take your shirt off,” Yaku repeated, this time pairing his words with his fingers slipping up under the hem of Kuroo’s boxers, circling his crotch. 

“I can’t believe you’re asking me to take off my own clothes,” Kuroo groaned out, laying his free hand dramatically over his forehead. 

“I am.” Yaku gazed up at him, the heat of his breath making Kuroo shudder. His stare was like a knife. “And do it slowly.” 

Heat flared in Kuroo’s lower abdomen, his self-control waning with every inch Yaku moved closer to taking his cock into his mouth. Blinking up at him, Yaku lightly closed his lips around his tip, grating his tongue into his slit — working through the gaps in the front of Kuroo’s buttoned boxers. His whole cock couldn’t fit through the parting in the fabric. Yaku was abusing that fact, refusing to undo one single button as he kissed Kuroo’s length, sliding his tongue underneath just enough to make Kuroo arch his back, make him grip Yaku’s hair so tightly he feared he might rip strands out. He wanted that heat, that soft, thought-destroying inferno of Yaku’s mouth so badly that the back of his mouth was baked dry. 

He swore he could see the edges of Yaku’s lips curve into a smirk as Kuroo’s fingers twisted in his hair, Kuroo groaning quietly. 

“Has anyone ever called you sadistic before?” 

“You have.” There was a smile in Yaku’s tone. “Many times. Usually before you come so hard you nearly pass out.” 

“That’s…” More of his cock was engulfed in wet, sucking heat. Kuroo’s words evaporated in a low moan. “….irrelevant to the… mm…” 

Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back again, gasping and kicking his hips into Yaku’s mouth. The athlete had finally undone a few of his buttons, welcoming Kuroo’s flushed cock into his mouth with practised ease. His flexing throat contracted gloriously around Kuroo, keeping it tight and wet and warm, reminding him of how lovely it was to slip inside Yaku, for him to offer his body like this for Kuroo’s pleasure. 

No wonder Kuroo couldn’t escape his wet dreams about Yaku. 

Blindly, his fingers crept towards his shirt buttons. 

Moaning loudly, Yaku drew a hand up under Kuroo’s shirt, dragging his nails over his chest, pinching his nipple — hard. Kuroo gave himself over, rolling his hips, his whole body, into Yaku’s mouth, his touches, revelling in how good it felt, how good it all felt. Like his nerves had been drenched in honey, heavy pleasure mingling with the hard thump of his blood. 

He barely remembered stripping off his shirt. The next thing he knew, his shirt was in a crumpled heap beside his feet and Yaku was pulling off of his cock, leaving behind a trail of saliva that drooped down over his reddened lips, his elegant chin. 

“Good warm-up,” Yaku declared, wiping his mouth. With a cheeky wink, he kissed the top of Kuroo’s darkly flushed cock, brief and light. “Ready for the main event?” 

Panting, Kuroo surveyed him, his shining, eager eyes, his messed-up hair from Kuroo’s writhing fingers. His cock felt devastatingly cold after Yaku’s withdrawal; he wrapped his fist around it, keeping the last threads of Yaku’s saliva on it. 

He wanted to fuck Yaku like they sometimes did, with Yaku stretched out on his front, ass arching up to meet Kuroo’s thrusts, his strong back flexing under Kuroo’s chest. His gasps and praises spilling from his lips into the mattress as Kuroo kissed the ridge behind his ear. 

But he’d asked for this.

He dragged Yaku up by his hair, drawing him into a bruising kiss. He could taste himself ringing Yaku’s swollen lips, a salty viscosity. It drove him to kiss him harder, until Yaku undulated against him, lightly moaning as Kuroo undid the front of his pants without looking, wasting no time in gripping Yaku’s hardness through his briefs. With a low whine, Yaku’s hips kicked into the touch, and Kuroo realised how wound up Yaku was already, a ball of lustful energy ready to burst. 

It was difficult for Kuroo to part from his glorious mouth; spurred on by the fact a retort had floated into his arousal-fogged mind.

“I’m the main event?” Kuroo smirked. “I never thought you’d be so generous to give me my proper due.” 

Irises dilated, Yaku gave Kuroo a sly grin and clasped his side. “We’ll see.” 

He stepped back. Air rushed into the vacancy where he was standing, bringing up goosebumps on Kuroo’s bare torso. Hastily, he reached down and stripped off his pants and underwear with some difficulty, having to wrangle the fabric clear of his erection. 

Kicking off his pants, Yaku flung himself onto Kuroo’s bed. He rolled leisurely onto his back and glanced over at Kuroo, hooking his hands behind the back of his neck. Crossed his ankles and everything. Kuroo trawled his gaze down his toned torso, short hairs regrowing, showing the ghost of a happy trail, stopping on his straining cock, perked up high. Kuroo swallowed. He knew that giving head always worked Yaku up, that he loved having Kuroo use his mouth, but it always gave him a heady rush seeing solid evidence of that fact.

“Well?” Yaku prompted. “Are you going to stare at me all night?” 

Sliding his palms down his torso, he patted his thighs expectantly. A jolt speared through Kuroo’s midsection. He hesitated, wondering why. 

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been on Yaku’s lap before. This was only a different context. It wasn’t a bit of heated making out before Kuroo entered Yaku. 

The night of the hook up, it had all been so muddled and fast that Kuroo barely had had time to think. He had been on his hands and knees with a dick scraping into his ass before he’d given himself room to doubt his decision. 

This was moving slower. He could take his time; time for worries to crawl into the nooks of his mind, for his arousal to ebb away, the unfamiliarity of it draining his lust.

Kuroo swallowed. The click of his throat reverberated in his skull. Echoed in the silent room.

Sitting up, Yaku frowned at him, folding his legs into a crossed position. 

“Kuroo? Ah —“ Understanding spilled from his tone, his head tilting to the side. “It was that bad, huh?” 

Sometimes Kuroo hated how easily Yaku could pick up on his shift in emotions, how gazing at Kuroo’s back on the court nearly every day for three years had manifested into a pinpoint awareness of every movement. He could tell what Kuroo intended to do from a rotation of his foot, a subtle bend at the knee. 

“It wasn’t bad,” Kuroo defended himself, glad of the opportunity to argue, to step outside of his skull. It was beginning to get a bit chaotic in there. “As I told you , it just wasn’t… great. Do you listen to me at all?"

“Make this different, then,” Yaku said simply. “What was wrong last time?” 

Scratching the back of his neck, Kuroo thought. 

“I’m not sure.” 

“That’s fine.” Yaku beckoned Kuroo over. “That’s why we’re here. We’ll find out what you like when you bottom.” 

Something in his voice made Kuroo’s stomach settle. 

He knelt beside Yaku, who drew him into a soft kiss, thumb caressing down the side of Kuroo’s neck. The outside of their thighs pasted together, Kuroo turning into Yaku gradually, delighting in the smoothness of his kisses, the brief dips of his tongue. They carried tension away from his shoulders, his body relaxing into the familiarity of Yaku’s touches, his palm smoothing over the curve of Kuroo’s hip. 

When Yaku seemed to notice that Kuroo was at ease, he slowly lay down, keeping hold of Kuroo’s neck, continuing their unhurried pace. Kuroo followed him, bending over enough to tilt onto his knees, hands pressed down at either side of Yaku’s head.  

This would be easier if… 

Breath bated, Kuroo slung a leg over Yaku’s lap, straddling his ample thighs. His groin twinged with the stretch. Kuroo thanked his past self for keeping a somewhat consistent routine. 

Yaku’s reaction was immediate and certain, gripping the backs of Kuroo’s thighs like he wanted to drag him all the way up the length of his body. Their cocks tipped off each other, a horribly tantalising brush that had Kuroo tilting his hips down, seeking more than the brief friction. 

Reaching further, Yaku grasped a sound handful of Kuroo’s ass. 

“Nice,” he murmured approvingly. 

“I’m feeling objectified,” Kuroo replied. 

In response, Yaku squeezed, hard enough that his fingers sunk into the pliant flesh. 

"Maybe," Yaku answered with a smug smile, leaning forwards a little more. The tips of his fingers ghosted towards Kuroo's hole, descending down into the centre of the crack. 

Keeping his eyes on Kuroo's face, Yaku brushed the tip of his dry finger against Kuroo's puckered entrance. A flush rose up Kuroo's neck, feeling Yaku's other hand grip his thigh just under his cheek, pulling skin from his sparking entrance. 

"Where's the lube?" Yaku asked, placing a kiss on Kuroo's nose. 

He was still absently playing with Kuroo's rim, the harsh friction sending short pulses of pleasure through Kuroo. 

"It's… I'll get it," Kuroo said, pushing himself upright to reach his bedside dresser. 

Fishing it out of the drawer, he handed it to Yaku, who withdrew his hand from around Kuroo. He applied a few dabs of lube with practised fluidity, not even dripping any on his stomach. Despite himself, Kuroo was a little impressed. 

He eyed the condoms in his drawer, deliberating.  

“Do you want me to use one?” Yaku asked, following his gaze. “I got tested before I left Russia, just in case we ended up like this.” 

Typical. They’d gone bareback before, since Yaku took very good care of his health, including sexual, and Kuroo was always cautious, as he had been on his hookup. 

Ringing a hand around his neck, Kuroo gave him a sideways smile. “If you’re clear, I’m the only risk here.” 

Yaku wet his lips. “I should’ve thought about that before I put your cock in my mouth.” 

Kuroo didn’t know whether to wince or gloat. 

“I tend to have that effect on people,” Kuroo teased. “My sexual magnetism drives anyone to the brink of rationality.” 

Setting the lube back on the stand, Yaku returned his attention to Kuroo, gaze roaming up from his half-hard cock , crawling leisurely over his black-haired abdomen, his flushed chest, his tender neck, coming to rest against Kuroo’s own gaze. 

“I’ll take the risk,” Yaku murmured out. 

The intensity in Yaku’s eyes made Kuroo shiver, his core roaring in approval. This is what he wanted. A focus so thorough and unnerving that it nearly became too much to bear. 

“Stay still,” Yaku instructed, taking a firm hold of Kuroo’s jaw and tilting his head back. 

Kuroo thought about wrenching his face away from Yaku’s unfairly solid clasp, but his cock disagreed, blood rushing to fill it out. His cock thought it was hot how Yaku had seized his face, how his thumb was indenting under the hinge of Kuroo’s jaw, the soft, sensitive hollow. Who was Kuroo to argue against it? 

Kuroo still saw Yaku’s hard swallow, his dilated, hazy eyes as he pressed the pad of his finger against Kuroo’s entrance.  

“So tight,” Yaku murmured, half to himself. 

His breathing quickening, Kuroo was half glad that on his hookup, there had been no time to think about that. 

“Is — is that bad?” Kuroo asked, hating the slight shake in his voice. He didn’t stutter. Why the fuck was his voice wavering like this? One finger and a hand around his jaw and Kuroo was melting. 

Yaku blinked, as if he wasn’t aware that he’d spoken aloud. Pressing down harder onto Kuroo’s contracted hole, he cleared his throat. 

“No. No, not at all.” 

Regaining some swagger, he winked up at Kuroo, stroking the side of his face. 

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take good care of you.” 

Kuroo felt an aggrevated grin spread across his face, half shielded by Yaku’s damn fingers. He thought about biting Yaku’s hand, then considered the position of Yaku’s other hand and thought better of it. 

“I expect you to.” 

“Then don’t let me keep you waiting,” Yaku shot back. 

Kuroo cradled his breath in his lungs, overly conscious about keeping still as Yaku finally dipped his slippery finger into him. It didn’t feel as uncomfortable as he’d feared, neatly entering up into him. 

“Breathe,” Yaku told him. His hand slipped down from Kuroo’s jaw to lay over his heart. “I don’t think I’ve seen your chest move in the past minute.” 

“You also haven’t seen me pass out,” Kuroo said. “What does that tell you?” 

Yaku rolled his eyes. “Fuck me for giving a shit if you pass out or not, I guess.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Kuroo grinned at him, giving Yaku’s dick a cheeky squeeze. 

He recieved a flat look and another finger winding its way past his slicked spinchter. Kuroo sucked in cool air, feeling the stretch now as Yaku delved his fingers deeper up into him. He’d minded his diet; hadn’t had to clean out much.  

Yaku frowned, scissoring his fingers inside Kuroo. “I thought you said you prepped?”

“Are you accusing me of lying?” 

“I thought you’d just tightened up fast! You need to be more open — hell, no wonder you were uncomfortable…”

“I reckoned that I’d be able to take you without trouble,” Kuroo said, shooting Yaku a wink. He looked unimpressed. 

“Do you want a lesson or not? If you keep insulting my dick I might change my mind.” 

“Don’t you want to fuck me?” Kuroo countered.

“I think you’re overestimating how much,” Yaku replied, but made no move — or threat — to leave. 

Kuroo’s throat tightened in anticipation. He’d expected Yaku to make a vague threat, maybe kick Kuroo off of him for insulting his manhood, but the glint in his eyes made Kuroo think that he’d barely registered their exchange. 

He didn’t think he’d overestimated how much Yaku wanted to fuck him. If anything, he was starting to believe that he’d underestimated. Yaku was moving slowly, but steadily increasing the pressure as he massaged Kuroo looser, squirting a little more lube every so often. 

Gently, Yaku pried another finger in — the third? Kuroo had lost count — and Kuroo’s rim strained, tight and slick and doing its best to accommodate Yaku’s slender digits. Sucking in a breath, Kuroo gripped Yaku’s shoulder, closing his eyes to brace himself against the intrusion. 

“Relax,” Yaku murmured. He squeezed Kuroo’s tensed thigh encouragingly. “Try to push me out. It’ll help.” 

With a nod and a shaky exhale, Kuroo did as he asked. Yaku’s knuckles bumped up against his hole, twisting to run the knobs against his stretched entrance. 

“Hah…” Kuroo exhaled, creasing his brow. “That’s… that’s a lot, isn’t it?” 

“You can take it,” Yaku said, matter-of-fact. “Keep breathing deeply, and keep trying to shove me out. Relax, if you can.” 

He splayed out his fingers within Kuroo. A full-body shudder ran through Kuroo, pleasure weaving out from his core. He hadn’t done this too often to himself, but now he was starting to suspect he didn’t experiment enough. 

“Nearly…” Yaku murmured, taking Kuroo’s fist in his free one to plant a kiss on the back. 

He unwound Kuroo’s rigid fingers, holding them to his lips and gazing up at him, eyes crinkling softly. Kuroo nearly forgot about the burning sensation around his rim. The hungry gleam in Yaku’s eyes drew him in, made him wonder if he looked at everyone he fucked like that. If everyone he fucked felt like all of the sun’s attention had focused on them, burning them up from the inside with desire. 

He could only move when Yaku broke eye contact, reaching for the lube beside Kuroo’s thigh. All the while, he was working Kuroo open with slow, deliberate pressure, movements that made Kuroo’s knees weaken, little moans piling in the base of his throat. He was glad that he was straddling Yaku; he wasn’t sure if his own legs could have held him through this. 

Withdrawing from Kuroo slightly, Yaku bent forwards, his torso rippling with the motion of his muscles, and doused his hand in a fresh splash of lube. Despite the discomfort, Kuroo found himself wanting to rock back deeper onto Yaku’s hand again, missing the fullness. It was the perfect balance of challenge without hurt.  

Yaku only gave him a half-grin as warning before plunging back into him, most of his hand vanishing between Kuroo’s ass cheeks easily. The pressure on Kuroo’s rim increased, particularly one point which Kuroo judged was Yaku’s thumb joint, sticking out from the profile of his hand. Wait, did that mean his thumb was in already? He hasn’t noticed. The sensation built to an almost painful stretch, Kuroo vaguely aware of his breathing sharpening, his back arching up straighter. He wasn’t sure if his body was trying to move Yaku deeper into him or suck him out. It felt good, but it was nearly overwhelming. 

“Yaku, I …”

“You can take it,” Yaku repeated, as steady as ever. He held eye contact. “Unless you wanna back out?” 

Kuroo’s competitiveness flared. 

“No,” Kuroo replied. His voice was nearly even. “I can take it. You.”

With a devilish grin, Yaku gave one last shove, Kuroo’s sphincter muscle slipping over his thumb joint with a flash of pain. It quickly eased back into an intense, throbbing pleasure as Yaku closed his fist within Kuroo. His eyes were blown out with lust, tracking every twitch of Kuroo’s expression as if he wouldn’t believe it until he saw proof on Kuroo’s face.

“Oh…” Kuroo breathed out, holding Yaku inside him and not quite believing that it was happening. Shocks of pleasure, concomitant with a sense of fullness, roved out from Yaku’s hand. Kuroo’s head fell back of its own will, his lips parting in a soft whimper, throat extending, bared. 

Teeth sinking into the bottom of his full lips, Yaku began to thrust even further up into Kuroo, gorgeously far. He swore he could feel Yaku push out of his lower back. It was an intense, strange sensation, one which made Kuroo's fingers scrabble against Yaku's chest, searching for grounding. A wail nearly burst from his throat and he clamped down on his tongue. Yaku would stop if he heard that. 

Coming back to himself a little as he adjusted, Kuroo wasn't sure if he was capable of wailing. His mouth had dried out completely, his entrance growing impossibly wide as it latched down onto Yaku’s wrist, fluttering with involuntary spasms. 

“Fuck…” he breathed out. 

“Let me…” Yaku murmured.

Within Kuroo, he probed around, strong fingers pressing against Kuroo’s inner walls. After a few attempts, he pressed against something and Kuroo’s body convulsed, bliss drowning him so fast and heavily that he nearly lost any strength in his spine. He was only saved from slumping onto Yaku’s chest by his hands, propping him up against Yaku’s firm stomach. Under his weight, his arms trembled. 

Fuck, was that his prostate? His gasp scraped out his throat. His skin was steaming with sensation, like he’d never been so aware of his entire body, like he could feel the flow of his blood throughout all of his limbs. The guy he'd slept with had never done anything like that. 

“Feels good?” Yaku asked, a brazen grin hung on his lips that told Kuroo he knew the answer full well. 

Head hanging, Kuroo moaned, all lingering self-consciousness and embarrassment dropping from him like the sweat running down his back. He’d never felt so gloriously full in his life, stuffed to his limit. 

Lifting himself up on trembling legs, he pushed back onto Yaku’s hand — no, his arm — and groaned at the satisfying stretch, the feeling of Yaku sinking into him further. He was vaguely aware of his mouth hanging open, emptying little keening noises into the room. 

Then Yaku’s fingers wrapped around his cock. Sparks erupted behind Kuroo’s eyes, frantically grinding around Yaku’s hand, wanting him to press against that one spot again, that one electrifying spot. He realised with no shortage of horror that he was close to coming already and Yaku was working the head of his cock in the exact way Kuroo liked, tight and fast. 

"Wait, Yakkun, wait —" 

Yaku stopped moving, eyes snapping up to pour over Kuroo's face, from his sweaty brow to the dribble of saliva rounding his chin. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Kuroo managed to get out. His throat felt choked. "More than okay. It's — I thought you were gonna teach me something?"

He was impressed with himself at how he able to recall that, never mind voice it. 

"I am," Yaku said, visibly relieved. 

He twisted his hand within Kuroo, who gasped, his knees clamping hard around Yaku's ribcage. There was a dull pang of pain as the insides of Kuroo's knees locked against bone, but it was nothing compared to the raw stimulation rocketing back and forth in his body, making him feel electrified and boneless at the same time. His cock throbbed, a steady flow of precum seeping down onto Yaku’s stomach. 

"I'm teaching you that it's fun to bottom," Yaku continued. "Since it sounds like the guy you slept with was useless at topping. I can't have you blaming yourself for a bad experience. I'm trying to let you see that you can stretch out far more than you think. When I'm gone, buy some toys. Experiment. Learn what you like and ask for it.” 

He swallowed, his chest expanding further than usual. "Fuck. The thought of you…"

He didn't finish describing whatever he was imagining. Kuroo found himself staring at him, at his blown-out brown eyes that appeared endless in the dim light, suspended in between his hands, at his mercy. He wanted to know what he was fantasising about, how it affected him. 

Yaku raised his chin and smiled at him, in the way he did back in high school. When he was silently assuring Kuroo that he was on form, that Kuroo could rely on him to protect Nekoma's back. It made him look younger, made Kuroo wonder how many times he'd beheld that smile and not realised that the emotion pooling in his chest was more than friendship. 

"I will," Kuroo breathed out. 

Leaning forwards — Yaku's hands came with him — Kuroo cupped Yaku's face and kissed him, slower than the rush in his core was demanding, sliding his tongue over Yaku's at a calm, careful pace. Yaku's cock, now flush to Kuroo's stomach, stiffened with Yaku's low moan, dropped into Kuroo’s parted lips. He adjusted his grip, grasping him and Kuroo both, and began to work them with the more than adequate amount of precum coating their slits. His touch — just the right amount of roughness in his smooth palms — was divine, Kuroo gyrating his hips to feel Yaku against him, in him, under him. His mind was full of nothing but Yaku, Yaku rubbing that certain nub deep inside of him, Yaku's slick, beating cock against his own, Yaku's attention never leaving him, never faltering from making him feel as good as humanly achievable. 

“Hips back,” Yaku instructed. 

Kuroo obeyed. A moan was wrung from him. Yaku no longer just rubbing the spot inside of him, but stabbing into it, pleasure crackling along Kuroo’s over sensitive nerves, heaping ethereal heat into his body, boiling and steaming in his lower stomach. 

“Is that the right spot? Should be.” 

Against his lips, Kuroo could only summon  a low whine. Yaku smiled, a vicious satisfaction. 

“Sounds like it.” 

Within a few confident strokes of Kuroo’s length, the superheated pressure in Kuroo's lower belly exploded, shooting fire through his veins, his hips moving in uncontrollable, powerful jerks as he came, spewing cum all over Yaku's cock, his still-stroking fingers, his sweaty torso. He shot upright, whole body tensing like he’d just been marked as prey. 

“Ha… ha,” Kuroo panted out, tipping into a slight whine. 

His erratic kicks made Yaku press up even further into him, sending flashes of stimulation through him, piling breathless pleasure on top of pleasure. His head lolled back, choking on his moans before his tongue could even taste them. His legs seized around Yaku’s muscular torso, fingers convulsing against his stomach. 

“Breathe,” Yaku told him, still wringing out his cock in slow, close strokes. “Don’t let yourself clench up. It’s better to just let it flow through you.”

It was impossible not to tense up. Kuroo’s orgasm ripped through him, winding and unwinding all of his tendons, muscles, ligaments, his hole latching down on Yaku’s wrist like an anchor to hang onto some semblance of conscious control. He wasn’t aware of what noises he was making, or if he was making any at all, only focused on impaling himself down deeper, engaging with the fresh burn that accompanied it, fed his high that was blistering through him. 

Through bleary eyes, he noticed Yaku smoothing his cum over his own torso, licking lazily at the white liquid coating his fingers. Seeing Kuroo looking, he gave him a knowing little smile. 

Kuroo could only blink back, desperate to store the memory of how Yaku angled his head, how his lips shone with Kuroo’s cum. His high ebbed away in slow waves, his chest heaving and his hips still giving little jerks as his heartbeat returned to a non-concerning rhythm. 

Cautiously, Yaku pulled his hand out of Kuroo with a wet, sucking noise while Kuroo gasped for breath, collapsing onto his sticky chest. He felt wrung-out, fucked so thoroughly that his hole was closing around nothing, as if expecting more. The air, seemingly muggy and thick going down his throat, was bracingly cool against his exposed, vulnerable ass. He briefly wondered if his hole would ever fully recover. 

Yaku's lips met the crown of his head, kissing him sweetly. 

“You okay?” 

“Mm,” Kuroo answered, speaking into the centre of Yaku’s chest with his ass up in the air. It was weird, being so acutely aware of his pulse in his ass, how hard it was throbbing. 

He felt, more than heard, Yaku’s chuckle. “Wow, so this is what it takes to get you to shut up. I don’t even remember giving a blowjob quieting you down this much.” 

“It’s gonna take more than that,” Kuroo murmured out, finally managing to draw down a proper, deep breath. 

His nose was crushed up against Yaku’s damp chest, and his chest hair tickled with every inhale, but he smelled… really good. Kuroo had no idea if it was his natural scent or some kind of moisturiser, but he felt like he could close his eyes and stay there forever, content. The swell of Yaku’s pecs was substantial, and made for a good pillow. 

“Hey. Gotta wash my hands,” Yaku murmured. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I don’t think I could if I tried,” Kuroo replied, his cheek squished against Yaku’s collarbone. 

Yaku’s chuckle shook him. “Well, you’re gonna have to get off me.”

The movement caused Kuroo to become aware of Yaku’s dripping cock, his still hard shaft laid flat against his stomach. 

“I could get you off instead.”

“It’d be shit in your condition. Move.” 

Kuroo snaked a hand down in between their bodies, touching Yaku’s silky wet head. He only got as far as that before Yaku bucked his hips, tilting them to the side, and Kuroo rolled off onto the bed beside him. He didn’t have the energy yet to lift his head, voice shrouded by the sheets. 

“Hey,” he protested. “You haven’t come yet —“

“Don’t worry about it.” A shuffling, another kiss dropped on the top of his head. “We’ll deal with that later.”

That didn’t sound like the Yaku he knew. He must really look tired if Yaku was turning down even a quick handjob. 

Mustering all of his returning energy, Kuroo sat up on the bed. It rolled around him, blurring before he blinked several times to steady it. Damn, how hard had he come? He felt like he’d been spun upside down several times, like Bokuto used to do to him as a party trick, then chugged a naggin to combat the rush of blood to his head. 

When he returned his gaze to Yaku, Yaku was squinting at him. He stood by the side of the bed, hands set on his hips and looking at Kuroo as if examining his condition. It reminded Kuroo of how he’d surveyed him when Kuroo was trying to hide the fact he’d gotten sick in second year. He’d failed to convince Yaku or Kenma that he was okay. 

"I'm gonna get you some water," Yaku determined, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Do you need anything else?"

Kuroo looked down at himself, his own come smeared up his stomach, his thighs, over his retracted cock and balls. He was too tired to fight the battle with Yaku that he was the host, not him. 

“A cloth might be nice,” he commented. “Although I expect that I’ll be messy again by the end of this.”

Yaku snorted. “You got that right.” 

Eyeing Yaku’s prominent erection, Kuroo raised his eyebrows, lifting a cupped hand in front of his mouth, thumb touching his middle finger. By pushing out his opposite cheek and jerking his hand back and forth, he mimed a blowjob. 

Yaku burst out into laughter. To Kuroo’s indignation, his erection faltered a little. 

“All in time,” Yaku said, padding to the door. 

As Yaku left the room, Kuroo reached around himself, lifting his butt from his heels slightly to touch around his rim. He grunted as his fingers sank into the billowing flesh, still sensitive, but felt no sharpness of pain. That was good; Yaku had done his job well. 

Kuroo felt a sway of amazement as it registered with him that Yaku had fit his whole hand up there. Without even any lasting side effects. Hopefully.  He withdrew his fingers cautiously, holding them up to examine them. They glistened with lube and slick, but no blood. Relief flowed through Kuroo. 

Even though Yaku’s hands were large for his height, they were still below average. Kuroo found himself struggling with the concept that men above two metres tall could insert themselves into their lovers like that, and felt a flicker of apprehension. If he was ever sleeping with someone taller than Yaku — which wasn’t hard to find — he’d have to keep that in mind. He wasn’t sure how much more he could’ve stretched out. 

Maybe he should steal one of Yaku’s winter gloves as a reference.  

Although… Kuroo wasn’t sure if he would trust a stranger he’d brought home on a one night stand with fisting. Well, it didn’t matter anyways. He had decided that they weren’t for him. Three dates at least before fisting. 

Kuroo nodded to an empty room. That seemed like a good, reasonable rule. 

Three dates, or when he saw Yaku next.

He sat back onto his heels, breathing deeply. Strength was flowing back into his limbs, the watery sensation draining away and still leaving a deluge of arousal. It gathered in his lower stomach as Kuroo thought of Yaku’s return, resisting the temptation to palm his limp cock. If he started jerking off before Yaku’s return, he might be being too optimistic regarding his stamina. 

Still, he squirmed in place, squeezing his thighs together to give himself a little relief. Yaku knew where everything was in his apartment; he wouldn’t be gone long. 

Kuroo’s prediction, as usual, was correct. 

“Does your ass hurt?” Yaku asked as soon as he walked back into Kuroo’s bedroom. He handed Kuroo a glass of water, a damp cloth hanging over his wrist. He’d cleaned himself off; skin shining from the water. 

Kuroo frowned, shifted. “It’s a bit sensitive, but apart from that? No.” 

“Good.” Yaku nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked over Kuroo again in that certain way, assessing his condition with lowered brows. 

Kuroo stuck out his tongue. “I’m fine, Yakkun, but your concern for me is appreciated, if a bit worrying.” 

“Just want to make sure you’re ready.” Yaku shuffled further onto the bed, tucking his legs underneath him as he faced Kuroo. 

“After that? I should hope so.” 

“Don’t overestimate your ass capabilities.” Yaku snorted, slinging the cloth off of his wrist and bending forwards to swipe along Kuroo’s stomach, following the trail of hair down to the base of his cock. As he massaged out the cum from his pubic hair, he caught on a knot, tugging a little too hard. 

“Ow,” Kuroo said. “Do you mind?” 

“In any case, it’s gonna be much easier now,” Yaku continued as if Kuroo hadn’t spoken, glancing up from his task to wink at him. “Maybe not more comfortable, but you definitely won’t tear.” 

Kuroo blinked. “That’s something that can happen?” 

Yaku grimaced. “Yeah, it’s unpleasant. It shouldn’t happen with proper preparation, but sometimes you’re in a rush, y’know?”

All the times that they hadn’t made it to the bedroom snapped to Kuroo’s mind. 

“Don’t tell me —“

“Not with you,” Yaku said. “You’d know. And you’re not that big.” 

“Could you answer a question without a backhanded swipe at my manhood?” Kuroo huffed. “It’s a good thing I’m not insecure about my size.” 

Ducking his head, Yaku tried to hide his grin. “Good. Because you’ve got nothing to be insecure about.” 

Kuroo blinked, unsure on how to handle an honest compliment from Yaku. His body apparently did though — a heated flush roved down his neck, his heartbeat thrumming. 

Luckily, Yaku didn’t seem to be waiting for a response. 

“We’ll start slow,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing away the last of Kuroo’s cum. “I’ll instruct you, tell me what you’re comfortable with, then we can try out whatever you feel like. Just don't stop talking to me, okay?”  He screwed up his nose. "I can't believe I'm saying that to you."

That drew a chuckle out of Kuroo. The way Yaku addressed him, with his usual clear confidence, was no surprise, but he thought there was a weight of experience to his words as well. An odd sensation panged his chest. 

“You seem very used to doing this,” he mentioned. “But we’ve never…”

Gaze drifting to the side, Yaku shrugged. “It depends who I’m with. I just… with you, I know what works. So I never suggested anything else.”

“Oh?” Kuroo felt a grin spread over his lips. “Further confirmation of my sexual competency? Why, thank you for the compliment.” 

Lifting his head, Yaku smacked his hip lightly. “Enough bragging from you. C’mon, get on your knees.” 

He slapped the sopping cloth onto Kuroo’s side dresser and gave Kuroo a pointed stare. Kuroo immediately made a mental note to clean it as soon as they were done. He didn't move, narrowing his eyes at Yaku. 

"I thought the point of this was to show me how to be on top."

"Nah." Yaku's smile appeared fast, like a flash of lightning. Blinding, even, due to the stupid chemical whitening he did. "Hey, I'll show you that in time, but this position is easier to begin with."

He ran a warm hand up Kuroo's thigh, smile broadening into a grin. "You won't regret it." 

Kuroo's mind whirred. In time. That implied at least another encounter before Yaku returned to Russia, didn't it? If not, Kuroo could hold it over him. 

Bending into Yaku, Kuroo kissed him hard, passing a challenge to him through their connecting mouths. Emitting a satisfied sigh, Yaku returned the rough kiss in kind, hand clutching onto Kuroo’s thigh. 

"Bold words," Kuroo commented, pulling back. “I hope you can stand over them.”

Yaku blinked, vivid eyes sparked alight, his face alive with naked eagerness, desire. Kuroo always loved seeing that expression on him, how he tended to subconsciously bite along his lower lip or the side of his thumb. He wasn't trying to be attractive. He was reacting exactly how he wanted to, and it weakened Kuroo further than he'd ever admit. 

"When have I not backed them up?" he replied, pushing at Kuroo's hip. "Turn around."

This time, Kuroo did as he asked without comment. He laid his forearms down, hands almost dangling off the edge of the bed, to stick his ass up into the air nearly cartoonishly, wriggling it for the sake of it. He heard Yaku stifle a laugh and grinned to himself. Glancing up, he nearly had a heart attack at glimpsing movement, but it was only his own reflection in the black television screen, mounted on the wall opposite. 

He grunted as Yaku tugged his waist back, shins sliding over the sheets. 

"Ready?" Yaku asked. 

Following his half-masked, obscured motion in the screen, Kuroo nodded. 

Lube was smeared along his rim, liberally enough for Kuroo to feel it seeping down the backs of his thighs. He shivered, anticipating. 

Kuroo had expected Yaku’s dick, but what he felt against his pulsating hole was a lap of dripping wet tongue, followed by Yaku gripping his ass, hard. He moaned quietly, more in relief than anything, as his red and loose entrance was soothed by Yaku’s relatively cool mouth. His nose pressed against Kuroo as he went deeper, eagerly licking over the sensitive edges of Kuroo’s anus. 

Kuroo's cock started to rise again with an ache and he wondered how in hell had Yaku held off touching himself for so long. 

He glanced down between his spread legs to see Yaku sitting back on his heels, bent forwards slightly to work. His cock was blushing a deeper red than Kuroo had ever seen it, his foreskin peeled back to reveal its shiny head, streams of precum dribbling from the bloated tip. 

Oh, fuck. Kuroo’s breathing grew heavier. Despite how nicely Yaku was eating him out, lapping and sucking and dipping his tongue deep into him, Kuroo wanted to plunge himself back, drop himself onto Yaku’s glistening, rock-hard penis. It bobbed with every motion Yaku made. A globlet of spit slipped down over Kuroo’s lower lip and rolled down to his chin. He wiped it away, a little embarrassed, but the embarrassment was distant, far less important than absorbing how lovely Yaku’s cock looked. How had he not noticed before? Kuroo had always been an attentive lover. Maybe he’d always made sure to keep Yaku happy, usually taking care of his needs before himself, that he’d never seen such visible proof of Yaku’s desire. Having Yaku do the same to him caused a warmth to blaze in Kuroo’s chest. 

“Yakkun,” Kuroo said. “Let me make you come.” 

He’d intended to sound smooth, controlled, but his words emerged within a pant, having trouble catching his breath. Like there was a please rolled up in his words. 

He looked up over his shoulder just in time to see Yaku lift his head. Translucent fluids coated his chin, running down thickly as he blinked at Kuroo, his eyes so dilated they were nearly black. Kuroo’s lower stomach contracted. 

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Yaku cleaned away the viscous liquids by running his lower face along his arm. “Fisting is tough on the body. I don’t wanna fuck you straight afterwards.”

He ran a finger along Kuroo’s open, undulating hole. Shivers broke out through Kuroo. He was still sensitive and swollen, but he wanted it. Wanted Yaku. 

“You promised me a lesson,” Kuroo said. “That’ll mean going slow, right?” 

He dropped his head again to peek at Yaku’s cock. Yaku was stroking it now, his thumb moving slow and deliberate down the shaft. Kuroo’s mouth went dry at the same time his mind went blank, as if all of the moisture had evaporated from him. 

“Yeah, but,” Yaku was saying. 

“Please,” Kuroo murmured out. Yaku’s hand stopped on his cock, fist tightening around it. “Let me repay you.”

“This isn’t about scratching each other’s backs,” Yaku scolded. “I’m trying to give you the best time possible as a bottom —“

“And that means taking your cock,” Kuroo interjected. 

A beat of silence. 

“Alright,” Yaku replied, sounding a little strangled. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.” 

He rose to his knees from sitting on his heels. Kuroo switched to looking over his shoulder, his breath quickening in anticipation. Yaku shuffled forwards on his knees, biting down on his lower lip as he gazed down at Kuroo, one hand on Kuroo’s thigh, the other clasping his cock. 

Yaku must’ve sensed Kuroo’s eyes on him. He glanced up, rolling the tip of his cock up between Kuroo’s cheeks. He smiled, his eyes bright and glowing with excitement. A thud in Kuroo’s chest. 

He put his head down between his forearms again and rocked backwards. 

“It’s not like you to be so patient,” he teased, a part of him wanting to retreat back into the roles they knew, the ones where Yaku demanded what he wanted and Kuroo was only too happy to rise to the challenge, to satisfy them both. 

This scenario — Yaku gradually entering him with a deep, long swell of breath, his hand steady around Kuroo’s thigh — was messing up Kuroo’s head. It was horribly erotic in a way Kuroo had never experienced before. Like Yaku’s fingers were branding his thigh, as they had so many times before, but not with force. With caution. 

Kuroo felt queasy. 

“You good?” Yaku asked, pausing. His voice was heavy with restraint. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just — weird,” Kuroo got out. “The other guy got it over with quickly.” 

“Really?” Disdain dripped from Yaku’s tone. “Don’t let that happen again. You deserve better than that. Well — unless that's what you like."

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

His words struck Kuroo’s core, melting it into something soft, gooey. Kuroo felt… touched. Considered. Yaku had sounded genuinely disgusted. And — Kuroo thought he did prefer this slower pace. 

As he slid in a little more — the care wasn’t technically needed, Kuroo was plenty open enough — Yaku ducked down to kiss the centre of his back. While trailing his lips up Kuroo’s spine, his hands gripping Kuroo’s upper thighs, he pushed in the final amount. His hips set flush to Kuroo’s ass, his length hard and pulsing against him in the most intoxicating way. Kuroo nearly didn’t want him to move. 

“This is embarrassing,” Yaku murmured out. “Fuck…” His fingers indented Kuroo’s skin. “Um. Give me a minute.” 

“Oh?” Kuroo breathed out. He circled his hips, hearing Yaku catch his breath in a steep inhale. 

“Kuroo, I need to be… this won’t work unless you have a dick to practice on,” Yaku pointed out. "A hard one."

"You never had trouble bouncing back before," Kuroo shot back, glancing over his shoulder. 

He went to move again, but Yaku grasped his waist firmly, holding him in place, the back of Kuroo’s thighs pasted against the front of Yaku’s pelvis. 

“Stop being so awkward,” Yaku said. “You asked me to teach you how to bottom and I intend to deliver.”

“Well…” Kuroo’s mind was hazy from fullness. “If you don’t do it now, you’ll have to come back and show me again. Wouldn’t you like that?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to have a good time now?” 

“I’m with you. I always have a good time,” Kuroo murmured out.  

Yaku chuckled lightly. “True, I am that good. Okay, I’ll teach you how to have a good time with just about anyone, alright?” 

Of course he responded to a compliment with true. Affection rushed Kuroo’s chest. 

“Right.” Yaku settled his hands on Kuroo’s waist, his fingertips meeting over Kuroo’s spine. “I’m ready. Show me what you did, and we can work from there.” 

Heat shot up Kuroo’s neck. “Well —“

He should’ve known better than to show an ounce of hesitation around Yaku. 

“Oh, so now you’re acting shy?” Yaku’s voice held a mighty smug grin. Kuroo could picture it, how one of his eyes would crease up more than the other. “Who’d have thought I’d see the day? Kuroo Tetsurou, not proclaiming to be a sex expert?” 

“Hey, hey,” Kuroo retorted. “I never claimed to be that. And it’s not like you ever refuted my claim that I’m good at sex.” 

“Then prove it to me,” Yaku stated simply. “This is supposed to be a lesson, I need to know where you’re starting from.” 

Forcing down his embarrassment, Kuroo drew in a deep breath and pulled himself forwards, along the length of Yaku’s cock. Despite knowing it so intimately, it was difficult to judge when to start moving back again. He began sinking back. 

“Hang on,” Yaku said, catching Kuroo’s waist. “You can go a bit further out. Learn how far forwards you can go first. You’ll feel it when I slip out.” 

Sensing his soft skin slither against his entrance as he did just that made a shiver of delight work up Kuroo’s spine. His soft, sodden tip pressed sloppily against his entrance as Kuroo shifted, attempting to take Yaku back into him again. 

“Do you enjoy watching me struggle?” Kuroo commented, his voice less even than he’d like. 

“Heh.” 

Kuroo felt Yaku’s cock steady, being fed into him again, the side of Yaku’s hand bumping against his testicles. Sighing, Kuroo sunk back onto Yaku’s cock, already having a better time than he had on the rushed hook-up. Honestly, the best thing about that night had been the breakfast the guy had made for him the following morning. 

Yaku let out a hum of approval, this time canting his hips to meet Kuroo, helping him out. It caused him to strike within Kuroo with a little more force, darting tendrils of pleasure to sit heavy in Kuroo’s lower abdomen. Kuroo thought he might be understanding why Yaku had fisted him beforehand — worked so loose and open, taking Yaku’s cock held none of the discomfort he’d expected. It wasn’t because Yaku was small, either. 

With a low groan, Kuroo contracted his hole on his next back-sway, tightening around Yaku’s base. His finely trimmed pubic hair tickled his rim, traced like feathers along his buttocks. 

“Nice,” Yaku said approvingly. “Clenching makes it better for both of us. But make sure there’s enough lube, otherwise the friction can get too much, got it?” 

“You sound like you’re instructing me at the gym,” Kuroo said. 

“You asked for advice,” Yaku replied, unfazed. “I’m giving it to you.” 

“Yakkun, would it kill you to be a little less professional?” 

Yaku barked out a laugh. “Professional dick rider! I like that title!” 

“I’ll add it to your Wikipedia page,” Kuroo shot a grin over his shoulder. Yaku winked back. 

“You can be the source.” 

“And many others, I’m sure.”

Kuroo didn’t intend for his voice to emerge sharper; he’d intended it to be a lighthearted, offhand comment. 

“A few,” Yaku said finally. “I don’t bless just anyone with a demonstration of my skill.” 

“Aww,” Kuroo cooed. “You’re making me feel so special—“  

Yaku’s next thrust slammed into him so hard that Kuroo choked on the end of his sarcastic comment. He pressed his forehead down into the sheets, shoulders tucking up around his ears as he stifled a gasp, not wanting to give Yaku the satisfaction right now. How did Yaku feel so damn good inside of him? Was this supposed to be how sex felt? 

“What was that?” Yaku asked. 

Kuroo tried to retort back, but something in his core had turned to goo, his spine jelly. Relenting, he let out a low moan instead, fucking himself back on Yaku’s cock, desperate for more. 

“I thought so,” Yaku commented. 

“Fuck you,” Kuroo bit back. 

“You’re in the middle of doing it, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Motherfucker was grinning. Kuroo could hear it in his smug tone.  

“But — do it like this instead," Yaku continued, once again tightening his grasp on Kuroo's side. “Instead of going straight back and forth, try moving your hips more in an arc, like…” Yaku dug his thumbs into just above his pelvic bone. “Think of that as a hinge, and move your ass in a semi-circular motion. Tense your lower back.” 

“How do you even get off when you’re thinking of all this?” Kuroo mused, attempting to do as Yaku directed. 

He definitely recalled Yaku doing something like that on his dick before, but replicating it was harder than it looked. And the focus he was putting on moving his back half correctly was drawing away from his arousal. Maybe Yaku did it so often, it came naturally, offering him space to focus on coming. 

“Practice,” Yaku answered, letting Kuroo perform a few more strokes before speaking again. “Not bad. Do you feel the difference?” 

“Hm…” Kuroo focused on Yaku’s length inside him, sliding hard and massaging his inner walls. Huh. It did feel better. The angle made it feel like it was going deeper, even if Kuroo wasn’t sure if it was the truth. 

“You can go faster like that, too,” Yaku continued, groping Kuroo’s flexing thigh. “Once you’ve got a bit more experience. Most guys like it if you moan loudly, make a show of it. Like their dick is the best thing you’ve ever felt inside of you.” 

Laying his chin on his shoulder, Kuroo squinted back at Yaku. “…have you ever done that with me?” 

“No,” Yaku replied. “I don’t like pretending. If the guy fucking me is shit at it, I tell him so.” 

Kuroo threw his head back and laughed. “So I am great at sex! And now —“ he hefted himself forwards, nearly fully off of Yaku’s dick. Keeping his chin on his shoulder, his gaze on Yaku, Kuroo plunged back again, sinking Yaku roughly into him, “— I’m about to be even better.” 

“Ah…” Yaku’s eyelashes fluttered, his inhale sharp and loud through parted lips. “Yeah, thanks to me…”

He didn’t succeed in sounding nearly as smug as Kuroo suspected he wanted to, his voice thickening with bliss as he arched his head back. His nails dug into Kuroo’s thighs like he wanted them to become a permanent fixture in Kuroo’s skin, guiding Kuroo against him. A droplet of sweat rounded his jaw and ran the path of a raised tendon down the side of his neck, loosely flecked with freckles. 

“Oh…” Yaku murmured out, his lashes flickering, his teeth carving lines into his lower lip. He watched Kuroo’s lower half attentively, a crease forming in between his crafted brows.

Watching him descend into pleasure, goosebumps rose along Kuroo’s arms. It was far more satisfying than Kuroo had expected, affecting Yaku this way. Making his back bow in an effort to push into him harder, his smart retorts dampened. Usually it took a lot to stop Yaku from mouthing off, even during sex. Placing more weight on his elbows, Kuroo sped up the pace, ignoring the burning in his shoulders in favour of listening to the hard, moist slap of skin. 

“Fuck, Kuroo, don’t go too fast — I’ve got more to show you,” Yaku told him, his breathing hitching. 

“Mm…” Kuroo mused, not slowing his pace. His neck was beginning to ache. Even though he didn't want to take his gaze away from Yaku, he let his head fall forwards again, down between his forearms. “I’ll consider it.” 

Beyond winding Yaku up, he didn’t want to stop. It felt good, much more fluid and easy than the other night. He hadn’t gotten as much gratification from hearing the other man moan either as he was now, hearing Yaku’s stuttering breaths, his nails scratching along Kuroo’s upper thighs. Maybe he’d even feel them against his trouser fabric in work when he sat down. The thought made Kuroo inhale steeply. 

“You —“ Yaku swallowed. He hauled Kuroo’s ass to his hips, forcing him to stop. “Hang on. Arch your back a little more if you can. Like this.” Yaku drew his thumb up to the small of Kuroo's back, then pressed down, helping Kuroo tilt his pelvis. "There. You want to bend when it's nice and deep, so I can hit the right spot. If the guy you’re with knows what he’s doing, he’ll help you out with it, but a lot of guys don’t. If you’re taking strap, same applies.” 

For some reason, his steady, low voice made Kuroo's temples pulse. He finally understood why Yaku liked taking dick so much; how well he knew how to manipulate the maximum pleasure for both of them. Kuroo wondered how he managed to stay coherent as he did, while feeling all of this. 

“I should’ve known that your experience with dick didn’t stop at real ones,” Kuroo mused, shifting his hips a little and shivering as Yaku’s leaking tip brushed off something deep inside him. 

Yaku snorted. “Of course. I'm a cultured man.” 

Kuroo tried to bend his back more, make Yaku hit that sweet spot inside him again. A loud crack sounded. It bounced up the whole length of his spine. 

“Ow…” Kuroo groaned, feeling every single one of his thirty-one years. 

Behind him, Yaku started laughing. It was weirdly nice, feeling the hard shake of his laughter go straight into Kuroo. 

“Don’t break your back! Shit, Kuroo, I didn’t think I had to tell you that one!” 

A dull ache starting up in his lower spine, Kuroo groaned again and straightened it out with a sigh of relief. 

“I thought I could do it more…” 

“All in good time,” Yaku said. He gave the side of Kuroo’s ass a playful, light slap. “You’ve gotta focus on your stretches when you work out. I can show you some that are particularly useful for this. Do you want to take a break? That crack sounded nasty.” 

“No… just take it easy,” Kuroo said, and Yaku chuckled. 

“You’re the one supposed to be doing all the work here.” 

“Give me a break, it’s my second time doing this!”

“Clearly,” Yaku replied with warm amusement, but he started to thrust into Kuroo all the same, a gentle pace now. 

Lube and precum and likely digestive fluids leaking from Kuroo’s hole, a thin trail rounding one of his balls. At the sensation — at imagining what his stretched, wet hole would look like taking Yaku’s cock — heat surged in his lower abdomen. 

The squelch of Yaku fucking him filled his ears, tightening his throat, the light stinging of his ass only drawing him more into his body, becoming awareness of the heavy arousal slithering through him. 

Kuroo let himself relax, drifting away with Yaku’s steady pace, the reassuring weight of his grasp. They found a rhythm, a lovely one, angled at just the right degree for Yaku’s cock to brush against his prostate every time he buried himself inside Kuroo. 

The motions Yaku had shown Kuroo began to come easier to Kuroo, the smacks of their skin together speeding up, winding louder and louder. Kuroo’s breaths were catching in his throat, his jaw hanging slack with pleasure, unsure if he was moaning or whimpering or gasping and completely uncaring. It felt good. It felt so fucking good with Yaku. 

"If the guy you're fucking has a bigger cock, you won't need to move as much," Yaku continued, gripping Kuroo's thighs solidly. 

"Mm… I don't think I want to," Kuroo murmured out. He was barely thinking about what he was saying. Yaku had that effect on him, and it seemed having Yaku pumping inside him only made it worse. "Bigger or smaller. Yours feels perfect."

"Ah —" Yaku sounded unsteady. “That’s… well, that’s all the tips I can think of.”

“Good,” Kuroo got out, rolling his hips when Yaku bottomed out next. To his delight, it wrung a low moan out of Yaku. “Time to put all of it into practice, I think.” 

A thrill shot through him. He could make Yaku feel as good as he had to him many times before — make them both feel like they were floating. 

With a smile, Kuroo felt his competitive side rise again. Although Yaku was still likely the undisputed champion of taking dick, Kuroo wanted to challenge him for that title. He wanted to make Yaku forget any name but his. Clenching hard, Kuroo ground on Yaku’s cock in quick, certain circles. 

“That’s — yeah, Kuroo, that’s good, really good.” Yaku’s voice sounded thick. His hips, pressed hard into Kuroo’s ass, kicked a little, as if he was having trouble staying still. “Feels really nice.” 

“I’m a fast learner,” Kuroo replied, and he couldn’t resist sounding coy. 

He glanced over his shoulder. To his embarrassment, he felt blood he didn't know he had leftover from his cock rush to his cheeks. Yaku was biting down on his lower lip, one hand caressing Kuroo’s ass cheek, his thumb rounding his stretched hole, sending bolts of pleasure through Kuroo. He looked so handsome that it sent a dazed sense of unreality washing through Kuroo. He truly had Yaku inside of him. 

Kuroo was very glad that it was nearly impossible to see him blush. Yaku would never let it go. 

“I’m giving you an A plus,” Yaku murmured. “Congrats, you’ve passed the dick riding class with honours.” 

Kuroo dropped his voice down low. “Do I get a reward?” 

“Whatever you want,” Yaku answered immediately and a little hazily, like he was barely thinking about what he was saying. 

Kuroo swallowed. It wasn’t often that he felt like he had Yaku in the palm of his hand — metaphorically. Physically, it was a bit more often. When Yaku bottomed, he had demands. This other side of him… this obedient side… 

Kuroo took a breath to steady himself, his heart beating quickly. 

“Can you…” 

What did Yaku ask for? 

“Do what makes you feel good when you’re in my position.” 

“Not good enough.” Yaku’s usual strong tone was back now. “Tell me how to fuck you. Christ, Kuroo, this is how you end up with shit sex.”

“But —“

I trust you. 

Pausing, Kuroo closed his eyes. Trust wasn’t enough. He had to speak. 

“Tell me how to make you feel good,” Yaku said. 

It sounded softer, nearly like a plea, like there was nothing else on earth he wanted to do. Alongside the winding spring of boiling tension in his lower abdomen, something softened in Kuroo, higher, deeper. 

Kuroo reached down into himself and scooped up desire. The things he’d thought about but never felt comfortable enough to vocalise. The things he hadn’t even considered vocalising. Yaku had always said everything so easily. 

“Any kinks you want to try out?” Yaku mentioned, so casually that Kuroo nearly choked on his spit. As if he’d known what Kuroo had been thinking. 

“Yakkun, have you ever heard of taking things slow? Or subtlety? Easing yourself into something?”

“I’ve fisted you,” Yaku responded simply. 

Kuroo hated how he didn’t have a reply to that. To shut Yaku up, Kuroo tried to sway his hips, but Yaku held him fast. 

“Moving for a start would be nice,” Kuroo said, throwing Yaku a look over his shoulder. 

“That’s not an ask, that’s a given.” Yaku stared him down, dark golden eyes blazing with intent. “What do you want.” 

Trying to push aside the urgent pressure between his legs, Kuroo rested his forehead against his sheets again. Attempted to clear his swirling mind. 

“Let me think.” 

He sucked in a breath. It was Yaku. There was a reason he approached him for this, and it wasn’t only because they had been fucking. He might tease him a little, but he would ultimately keep everything Kuroo said to himself. 

Yet — it was difficult to overcome the clenching in his stomach, the voice crying out that any expression or request would be scoffed at, rejected when he was most vulnerable. 

Screwing his eyes shut, he focused on Yaku, who had stilled, waiting. The slow throb of his heartbeat inside him, nearly indistinguishable from his own. 

“Done thinking yet?”

Waiting, but not patiently. 

Kuroo licked his lips. 

“Could you… fuck me downwards? Into the mattress?” 

“Like, where I’m standing?” 

“Yeah.” 

“With pleasure.” 

Kuroo could hear the grin in Yaku’s voice. Relief spread out from his gut. His ribcage loosened their grip on his lungs. 

“Well done,” Yaku added. He’d lost the stern tone, his voice flowering with pride. 

Kuroo had to bite down on the side of his mouth to stop a pleased smile from spreading. Praise from Yaku made him ridiculously happy. 

“And —“ Kuroo bit back his hesitation. It was what he wanted. “Would you, ah, be liberal with your… when I’m doing a good job, could you tell me?” 

“Wait.” Yaku sounded delighted. “You want me to call you a good boy?”  

Kuroo’s gut twisted. “That’s not it. Forget I said anything.“ 

“Sorry,” Yaku said quickly. “I didn’t mean — I wasn’t making fun of you. I just really didn’t expect that. I thought you’d rather die than have me compliment you.” 

He slid a hand down Kuroo’s side, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry. I got excited. It’s… it’s nice, seeing you open up like this.” 

Yaku sounded genuinely remorseful. Somewhat pacified, Kuroo huffed. “Literally and figuratively, huh?” 

Yaku laughed, pulling out of Kuroo with a sucking sensation. “Now you’re getting it. Come on, let’s get into position.” 

As they shifted past each other, Yaku drew Kuroo into a quick kiss, uncharacteristically tentative. 

"Sorry," he murmured out, thumb stroking along Kuroo’s jaw. "I didn't mean it to mock you." 

"Don't worry about it," Kuroo whispered back. “I know you don’t have control of your mouth. Won’t you make it up to me?” 

With a smile, Yaku laid one last kiss on the corner of his mouth before withdrawing down the length of Kuroo’s body. The dampness of his lips lingered on Kuroo’s like a misty outline. He touched it. Something in the depths of his chest —

His waist was hoisted upwards and effectively distracted whatever train of emotions he was experiencing. Despite him asking for it, it still took him off guard how handily Yaku manhandled him. He’d managed to grasp Kuroo’s waist, lifting most of his body up to rest against him, leaving only Kuroo’s upper chest on the bed. Kuroo’s back cracked; it felt fantastic. 

“Whoa,” fell from his mouth before he could help himself. 

Oh, he loved having sex with an athlete. Especially a muscle-obsessed one. He wasn’t heavy, but he wasn’t light by any stretch of the imagination, especially with post high-school weight, yet Yaku hauled him up so readily. His cock throbbed. Hot.

He had to balance himself on his forearms as Yaku parted his legs, winding them tightly around his waist. Kuroo’s mouth ran dry with anticipation. Not being able to see Yaku adjust their position — feeling his cock bob against the inside of his thigh, tap the underside of his balls, hear his huffs — made a deep thrill reverberate down his spine, his pulse like iron in his mouth. 

“That good?” Yaku asked. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo tried, but the word evaporated on his dry tongue. He swallowed, twisting to get the side of his cheek against the bed. 

“Yeah.” 

Kuroo was driven down into the mattress as Yaku pressed into him again, biting into the side of his hand to withhold a — a giggle. He’d imagined being fucked like this so often it was nearly surreal to experience it, to have Yaku’s strong hands yanking his ass up to split him open on his cock, Kuroo fisting the sheets for purchase. His back arched slightly, tension knotting between his shoulder blades, sweat and lube running down his torso to roll off his chest, gathering in his damp hair. His contracted legs slung around Yaku’s upper thighs slipped up and down as he pierced him. 

Kuroo Tetsurou liked being clued into his surroundings. He liked being steady, aware, able to adapt and ideally, predict what would likely happen and work towards the best possible outcome. 

It was exhilarating and freeing to entrust his surroundings to Yaku, to bury his face in the mattress and trust Yaku to take care of things. Of him. 

The drag and suction of Yaku moving inside him was intoxicating. He felt it all the way up to his stomach, below his lungs shifting, organs making way for Yaku. It felt delicious, sealing Yaku inside him, arching in the right way to make a whimper fall from Kuroo’s lips, nearly too good. He’d thought that Yaku was going deep before; it couldn’t compare to this. 

Kuroo pressed the side of his face against the sheets, his inhale sucking in the scent of his own fabric conditioner, mingled with sweat and Yaku’s cologne. It was a lovely mixture. He breathed in deeply again, the heady scent of sex and Yaku, and felt his cock harden more, pulsating and begging for attention. 

He was glad he’d asked for this. 

“Oh… fuck, Kuroo, you feel so good,” Yaku whined. He was actually whining, his already high voice cracking higher. Kuroo felt completely delirious. 

Remembering Yaku’s tip, Kuroo let himself moan, the sound vibrating nicely up his chest, louder and louder as Yaku fucked him. It seemed to spur Yaku on, his strokes growing faster, roughly smacking against Kuroo’s cheeks. Kuroo’s moans started becoming shaky every time Yaku inserted himself fully, the air being forced from his lungs. 

Standing, it was like Yaku was able to drive most of his body weight behind his thrusts, each one spearing Kuroo so thoroughly he thought he might lose his mind. Muted gasps and whimpers formed on Kuroo’s lips, barely having the breath to make them audible. He dug his clawed fingers into the sheets, into the mattress, trying to punch his momentum back up like he had before, hit Yaku’s thrust with one of his own. 

“Kuroo, I think you should bottom more often,” Yaku rasped out. “You’re taking to it like a natural.” 

“Mm…” Kuroo hummed, shutting his eyes briefly as a wave of gratification washed through him. His reply emerged as a slow slur, uncertain if Yaku heard it at all. “I have many talents…” 

Fingers played around his stretched hole, coating them in lube. His pulse thudded in his neck. Was Yaku —

“In fact…” Yaku mused out. “I think you can take more. Just like earlier. You can, can’t you?” 

He’d lowered his voice to a suggestive purr — usually, Kuroo would mock him for it, but all he could think about was how strong Yaku felt inside of him, how he wanted to arch against him and say yes, to whatever Yaku asked in that tone. 

Fuck. Fuck, Kuroo was going to die. Earlier, he’d been fuller, but he hadn’t had the sheer force of an Olympian fucking into him. 

Yaku already wasn’t small, even though he wasn’t obscenely large or anything, but Kuroo felt full, pleasantly stuffed. His head buzzed. Was Yaku’s wrist larger than his fingers and his cock? Kuroo couldn’t possibly do the mental calculations now. More. Yaku thought he could give him more. 

And, Kuroo was discovering, he trusted Yaku more deeply than he’d initially believed. 

“Go for it,” Kuroo breathed out, dipping his head down between his arms. Digging his heels into Yaku’s lower back, he rocked himself up as much as he could, roughly and messily, onto Yaku’s cock. 

It hit a place inside of him that made his legs shake, a horrible pressure building up in his lower torso, screaming to be relieved. Kuroo was finding it more difficult to ignore it by the second, but he refused to touch himself. He wanted to draw this out for as long as possible. 

“You sure?” Yaku murmured, his slick fingertips already probing against the tight muscle. 

“Yeah.” Kuroo closed his eyes and braced himself. Now more than ever, he was glad he’d kept going to the gym. His arms were holding him, his legs latched fast around Yaku’s waist. 

“Relax,” Yaku advised, slowing his thrusts down slightly as he set two fingers between the bottom of his cock and Kuroo’s entrance, pushing — gently at first, then harder as Kuroo focused on his breathing, trying to follow his advice. 

“You’re doing so well,” Yaku praised, and with a last, blunt shove, his fingers slid into Kuroo alongside his cock. 

Kuroo nearly choked on his own moan, his legs trembling with sensation, sensation he wasn’t sure felt bad or good or what but sparks were flying through him and he was so hard that he felt like he was going to crumple in on himself if he didn’t do something about it and —

Deep inside him, Yaku curled up his fingers, pressing against Kuroo’s prostate. A spasm erupted throughout Kuroo’s body, ejaculating untouched onto the sheets beneath his quivering body, his pants damp against his own chin. His orgasm tore through him, ramped up from all of the drawn-out dick riding practice. To finally have all of that tension released felt amazing, like a dam had burst inside him, drowning his muscles in hot adrenaline. 

“Morisuke…” Kuroo moaned out, his own heartbeat mingling with his stifled, half-panted words. “Morisuke, fuck… I think…” 

Then Yaku moved inside him. Kuroo was wracked by another, fresh wave of pleasure, squirming on Yaku’s cock, his hole undulating around the intrusion as he desperately rutted into his own hand, drawing out his orgasm for as long as possible. His vision went fuzzy. His fingertips tingled, his toes curling. His forearm trembled with the effort of keeping him somewhat stable, the other frantically jerking himself off. 

The next moment, he was being dropped, the strain in his shoulders disappearing as his knees met the mattress. Hazily, he registered that Yaku had also knelt behind him, managing to transition smoothly without even pulling out. It felt good to surrender; he’d been trusting Yaku to keep up his end behind his back for years, after all. 

And so when Yaku’s fingers splayed questionably against his neck, Kuroo tilted his head back, elongating his throat. Allowing Yaku to slide his whole hand around his neck.

“Yes?” Yaku breathed out. 

“Yes,” Kuroo breathed back.  

Yaku’s touch was light enough, but even the texture of Yaku’s court-roughened skin against his pounding pulse made Kuroo’s head swim, his chest heaving as sweat ran down his bare, flexing back. The room opened up with the heavy scent of sex, the hard, slick slap of Yaku entering Kuroo again and again and again. Kuroo blinked, trying to clear the haze from his eyes, the fog of bliss devouring his thoughts.  

“Say my name again,” Yaku panted, and fuck, Kuroo thought he’d sound more dominant, more demanding, but it sounded like he was nearly begging, and that was hot, so hot, had he done that to Yaku Morisuke, the man who never pleaded for anything, the man who was so stubborn and unyielding that his follow-up contract had to be amended forty-one times, fuck, that man was —

“Please,” Yaku murmured out, his voice thick and rich with want. “Tetsurou, please. You’re doing so fucking well. I just need you to do a little more.” 

Kuroo was helpless to do anything else. 

“Morisuke,” Kuroo moaned out. “Morisuke.” 

He heard Yaku’s breath leave him in one long stream, and then his hips snapped against Kuroo’s ass, hard enough to bruise, his fingers delving even deeper into Kuroo. 

With what little air he had, Kuroo cried out, Yaku’s hand around his neck steadying him in place as Yaku fucked him hard, the fast pace making him groan. His nerves were powered up, and every time Yaku hit that ideal spot, another shockwave wracked Kuroo’s wrung-out body, his cock still leaking out the last of his cum over his fingers.  

He couldn’t catch his breath. Not when his knees were made of clouds and Yaku was holding him up so perfectly. If he hadn’t been holding him, Kuroo was certain he would be a puddle against the sheets by now. All of his strength had been sucked up by his orgasm, leaving him gasping, trying to ground himself by gripping the sheets. 

In the blank screen in front of them, he could make out his own form, being lunged back and forth by Yaku’s motion, the pretty shape of Morisuke’s fingers indenting his neck, the deep concentration in Yaku’s face as he ploughed into him. Kuroo didn’t want to blink, his cock making a valiant effort to rise again. He’d never even considered what he saw in front of him.  

He looked hot being fucked . 

Rivulets of sweat trickled down his heaving chest, Yaku’s fingers just brushing his jawline, below his eyes half-lidded and dark with lust, lips split apart by his loaded pants. And Yaku — behind him, Yaku’s body was harder to make out, but the shine of perspiration from the low lighting was clear on the curve of his arm muscles, the swing of his hips like a shift in the shadows. A whine rose from Kuroo’s throat, his knees starting to shake. He wished they’d thought of setting up a camera. 

Kuroo took Yaku's wrist and guided his hand upwards, smoothing his fingers over his chin, into his own mouth. Catching on quickly, Yaku slid his two forefingers deeper into Kuroo's mouth, rasping over his bottom teeth, working out another moan from Kuroo. He closed his lips around Yaku's fingers — the rest of his digits gripping his jaw hard enough to fracture bone — and sucked, tongue wet and flexing beneath them. 

With a strangled gasp, Yaku came. Kuroo knew how it sounded by now — he’d take little snatches of air, as if to prepare himself, then moan, but quietly, as if only for himself, and finally finish with long, slow exhales. Having Yaku climax inside of him was another matter. Kuroo’s heart hammered, his legs quivering in place. Yaku's blunt fingers spasmed in his mouth, hooking against Kuroo's lower jaw, dragging his mouth open. 

Cursing under his breath, he folded himself over Kuroo, pressing his cock as deep as he could into him, pressing his damp forehead to between Kuroo’s shoulder blades, pressing in, pressing down. Kuroo didn't feel the least bit smothered. His breath was hot and sticky on Kuroo’s skin, clinging to his frame. Kuroo shuddered as he pulled his fingers out of him — was that only two fingers? Had he slipped in more? 

“Tetsurou?” Yaku murmured, slipping his soaking fingers from his mouth to rest against his neck. It was weird how Kuroo could feel him speaking his given name, reverberating from Yaku’s chest. 

Weird. That was the wrong word. It was captivating. Kuroo wanted to hear his name spoken like that more, like a form of worship to a god you had welcomed into your body. 

“Yeah?” Kuroo answered breathlessly, reeling from the Tetsurou? even more than his orgasm. 

“If you’re still single next time I visit,” Yaku continued, kissing Kuroo’s spine. “I want to do that again.” 

He laid countless kisses down the length of Kuroo’s back, his hands sliding away from Kuroo’s face and neck to warm his sides, massaging his thumbs into Kuroo’s back muscles. 

Underneath his careful touch, Kuroo melted, his body simmering pleasantly in the afterglow. The affection was exactly what Kuroo needed after sex, and Yaku knew that. Kuroo’s breath hitched for a moment as Yaku lovingly — lovingly? — adoringly planted kisses all over the expanse of his back, from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. 

Wherever his lips didn’t caress, his hands did. Kuroo could feel his lightly hairy stomach drawing in and out with every breath he took, expanding and flattening against his lower back. It was nice. More than nice. Kuroo felt like his heart had slit itself down the middle and unfolded itself, blood blooming brightly all over his ribs. 

“I’d like that,” Kuroo replied, finally feeling like he could draw in more than a half lungful of air. 

Cautiously, Yaku pulled out of him with a sloppy pop, like pulling a sock out of a vacuum cleaner. Kuroo’s insides clung to his limp cock as he left, the adhesion causing Kuroo to shiver. 

“C’mere,” Yaku murmured, and then he was level with Kuroo, pushing him onto his back. 

Kuroo winced a little as his very-used butt hit the wet sheets, but Yaku climbing into his lap was a fine distraction from his sensitive, throbbing hole. It was odd — without Yaku in him, without the strain he'd become adjusted to, he felt horribly empty. Yaku seemed to make it his mission to alleviate that feeling, cradling Kuroo’s face with the hand that had been around his neck and kissing him deeply, forcing Kuroo to focus on him. It breezed through Kuroo’s mind that maybe Yaku knew how it felt, maybe Yaku missed having Kuroo inside of him as much as Kuroo missed him now. 

Yaku always kissed him a lot after sex — half of Kuroo wanted to ask if he kissed everyone this much, held their face in his all-so-important hands the same, and the other half was scared that the answer was yes. So he wrapped his arms around Yaku’s neck and kissed him back, pushing all thought from his mind but the sensation of Yaku’s lips moulding up against his. 

They kissed lazily, both of them regaining their breath between the cosy, languid motions. Kuroo trailed his hand up Yaku’s thigh to grip the side of his waist, and wondered if he’d have enough time before work in the morning to indulge once more. 

Something blinked in the back of his mind, a red warning light. They’d never spent quite this long making out after sex. Yet Yaku’s arms were roped tightly around his lower back, crushing their torsos together, giving absolutely zero indication he wanted to stop. Kuroo didn’t, either. Even if his jaw was aching and his lips felt raw. The weight of Yaku on top of him, his sturdy, compact body fitting into the contours of Kuroo’s perfectly, spun Kuroo’s head into a daze. 

Yaku’s leg slunk up, knee pressing into Kuroo’s side. Everything was hot and humid and Yaku's sweat was sticking to his, dribbling down the crevasse of his sternum, down the thin gap where their bodies weren't enfolded together. Kuroo never wanted to stop. 

After an impossible-to-determine amount of time, Yaku raised his head, blinking down at Kuroo with sleepy eyes, his cheeks flushed with colour and exertion, quick pants escaping his swollen lips, tinged red from their kissing. He did have a new freckle there. Absently, Kuroo licked his own lips, coated in Yaku’s saliva and stinging from his little nips. 

"That was…" Yaku started, then frowned. "I can't think of the word." 

"I think you want to say that it was so good that you forgot how to speak," Kuroo supplied with a large grin. The grin made his lower face ache after spending so long making out. "You're welcome." 

With a huff, Yaku dropped his forehead against Kuroo's, smiling. 

"Sure. Let's go with that."

Kuroo gaped. "It was so good it made you agreeable? Who are you? Did your soul leave when you came and get replaced by someone else's? What happened back there?" He raised a fist and knocked on the side of Yaku's head. "What did you do to my friend?" 

It was almost imperceptible — but it was there. Yaku flinched at Kuroo's words, the final one, drawing back. He wet his lips, summoned a sneer that didn't settle into his face, only floated like a superimposed expression over his own. 

"I'm always agreeable," Yaku countered, sitting back fully to drop his weight on Kuroo's thighs. "It's just that you're wrong so often that I seem disagreeable to you. Try being correct more often and talking less bullshit." 

Carefully filing Yaku's reaction away, Kuroo offered him a looped smile. "I'm sorry that what I say is out of your comprehension. Have you been taking those vitamins I recommended? I've heard that eicosapentaenoic acid is especially good for slowing down signs of Alzheimers — hey!" 

Withdrawing his finger from Kuroo's ribs, Yaku grinned at him. "I had plenty enough to teach you how to bottom, didn't I? You learned something, and don't even try to deny it." 

His expression falling more serious, he caressed Kuroo's ample chest, the hair parting beneath his spread fingers. 

"I hope you learned what you should expect, and accept no less," he stated, still focused on Kuroo's chest and not him. Wanting Yaku's attention, Kuroo squeezed his thigh, thumb barely sinking into the hard muscle. Yaku didn't react, swirling Kuroo's hair into miniature circles. "And leave if you're getting a bad feeling. But you need to tell them what you want,” Yaku insisted, pinching Kuroo’s nipple to drive the point home with pain, apparently. “You can’t expect someone to read your mind.”

“You did a pretty good job,” Kuroo teased. 

The corners of Yaku's lips curved up, but he withdrew his hand. It rested in the centre of Kuroo’s chest. “We’ve known each other a long time,” was all he said. “I can make a few good guesses.” 

“So you've thought about it before?” Kuroo grinned, linking his hands together behind his head. 

“‘Course.” 

“You must’ve been thrilled when I asked,” Kuroo said. Then his grin faltered. “Why didn’t you ask sooner?”

Finally meeting his gaze, Yaku blinked. “I didn’t think you wanted to. And it’s not like I enjoy topping more than bottoming or anything. Trust me, if I had to wanted it, I would’ve asked for it.” 

And when Yaku said something, Kuroo knew he could trust it. 

"I see," he said softly, watching Yaku resume playing with the spread of hair around his nipple. It gave him shivers, a ticklish sensation across the cooling of sweat on his skin. "You're always too blunt."

Yaku huffed, his breath breezing cold over Kuroo's upper chest. It settled under his jaw, lingering just above his throat to sink in. Kuroo shivered again. The room had become darker, cooler. They needed to clean up — Kuroo could feel a gooeyness that was beginning to coagulate under him — but he spared a moment for the silence, letting his mind drift towards a story. Small moments that emerged from their usual rhythm of insults. 

Kuroo thought about the times they’d spent arguing with each other, fighting over inane shit, learning each other through conflict. It worked out on the court. It worked out in bed too. Their communication style might be laced with retorts and banter, but it hid nothing. It worked. 

Reaching up, Kuroo traced a wavering line from underneath Yaku’s ear to the edge of his lips, thinking of the distance between Japan and Russia. Under the pad of his finger, Yaku's mouth ticked up. 

"What are you doing?" 

"You can play with the hair on my chest for ages without issue, and I'm the one who gets questioned?" Kuroo answered. "That's hardly fair, Yakkun. I'm only touching you. We've done that a lot, in case you haven't noticed." 

He saw Yaku lift his head, gazing at the tv screen that was now behind Kuroo. 

“We look good, don’t we?” Kuroo said. 

“Yeah,” Yaku replied. He swallowed, covering Kuroo’s hand with his, still looking at their muted reflections. “We do.” 

His words hung in the air. Outside Kuroo’s window, a car horn honked. 

Dropping his hand, Yaku inclined his head away from Kuroo’s palm, effectively breaking contact. Kuroo let his hand hang in the air for a moment before dropping it back to his stomach. A hairline crack in his ribcage. 

"Come on," Yaku said. "Let's get you cleaned up." 

Unfolding himself to his feet, he stood up on Kuroo's bed, his head clear of the ceiling, and offered Kuroo his hand. Kuroo eyed it. 

"Was that the one in my ass or my mouth?"

"What does it matter?" Yaku asked. "They're both clean, right? And they're both part of you. I should be the one grossed out here." 

"You're a freak, you don't count." 

"Help yourself up off the bed then, dipshit." 

Despite his words, when Kuroo took his hand, Yaku pulled him up without hesitation. Yaku hopped off the side as Kuroo, to annoy Yaku, flopped back down onto the bed, on his stomach this time. He cringed a little from the mess on the sheets, then put it out of his mind. Lube would wash away, as would semen. Despite his “clean” claim, Yaku wiped his hands with the cloth they’d used earlier. 

“Shit,” Yaku murmured, picking up his phone from his discarded trousers pocket. “It’s later than I thought. I’ve gotta get back to my hotel —“

“Do you really?” Kuroo asked, wrapping an arm around Yaku’s trim waist. He blinked slowly at him, allowing a suggestive smile drift onto his lips. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Unimpressed, Yaku stared down at him. “What, you’re finally gonna let me change your dreadful fridge positioning? Who puts it behind the door? It’s stupid.” 

“You know what I mean!” 

“I’ve paid for the room already,” Yaku said, infuriatingly steady. “And all of my stuff is there.” 

Kuroo groaned. “You’re so damn practical. Anyone else would fold under the offer of more sex, you know that? Especially from me.” 

Prying Kuroo’s arms away from his waist, Yaku snorted. “You’re so full of yourself.” 

“I’m simply being objective. I think you’re the one who’s in denial.” 

Kuroo watched Yaku fish out his watch, a disquiet absorbing his stomach, like a tumour. He saw little enough of Yaku as it was — and yet he insisted on staying at a hotel. 

"Don't you want to shower here?" Kuroo questioned. 

Yaku shook his head. "I'll help you clean up, but I can shower back at the hotel room myself."

That wasn't like Yaku. He was putting himself through an hour of sweaty clothing at least. He hadn’t even properly cleaned his genitals, effectively about to ruin his briefs. Kuroo decided to abandon subtlety. 

“Why don’t you want to stay with me?” 

Midway through pulling on his briefs, Yaku paused. It was short enough that Kuroo might’ve missed it, if he hadn’t spent his entire life honing his observation skills. 

“Do you take me for a moocher?” Yaku answered. “And you don’t even have a bath.” 

His ears were going red. Yaku was so horrible at lying. Kuroo didn’t even have to use a modicum of his sharp observation to know that. 

“You know,” Kuroo began, “When you try to redirect someone’s attention and dodge the question, it’s usually helpful to succeed at it.” 

Yaku didn’t lift his gaze from his legs as his briefs waistband snapped home. “I answered your question. Stop being so nosy.” 

Kuroo should know better by now that talking around the point got him nowhere by Yaku. Gentle words and prompts towards a question weren’t effective. With a surration of material, Yaku shimmied on his trousers. His clear body was nearly offensive to Kuroo — usually after they were done, there were marks on his inner thighs, fading redness on his hips. Brushing over his own waist, Kuroo wondered if he had the sole evidence of being adored now, decorated by Yaku’s desire. 

Scooping up one of his socks, Yaku sat on the side of the bed to pull it on. 

On his stomach, Kuroo wormed over to him. He lightly touched the centre of his bent back. As the cotton unrolled over his calf, Yaku’s cheek flexed, the hinge of his jaw working. 

“What is it?” Kuroo asked. 

“We need to keep to boundaries,” Yaku said lowly. “You know this too, Kuroo. This works because we have a separation.” 

Straightening up, he grabbed his other scrunched-up sock from the end of the bed, yanking it free of the tangled sheets. His elbow bumped off of Kuroo’s shoulder with the sharp motion. It felt like it had sunk deeper into Kuroo, straight to his rib cage, jarring him from the inside. 

“I know,” Kuroo said quietly. “But we’re friends, too. You’re treating this like we’re only fucking.” 

Exhaling hard, Yaku stood up. "We are only fucking. Kuroo…." He balled his fist, stomach flattening against the inside of his trousers with his next ragged inhale. Looked straight at Kuroo. "We can't involve our friendship — I mean, let it creep in. It's gonna complicate things. Trust me on this, okay? I know you haven't done this friends-with-benefits arrangement with anyone else, but I have. It's not gonna work if I stay the night."

Kuroo had a burning rock in his throat. It seared his flesh. He swallowed past it, spoke through the smoke filling his mouth with ash. 

"Then can we spend time as friends?" He pressed. "If all we do together is have sex, then that's… we're not being friends, are we?"

"Tonight was supposed to be a friends dinner!" Yaku snapped out. He slung his hands outwards, palms up to the ceiling. "We were supposed to meet up with Kai, then he doesn’t show up and you ask me to fuck you —"

"Hey, hey," Kuroo interrupted. How had this gotten so out of hand so quickly? "I asked you for advice on how to bottom. You were the one who brought up the hands-on experience, as I recall."

He prayed that Yaku didn’t remember his choice not to eat anything at dinner. 

"Ugh…" Yaku covered his face with his hands, dragging them down slowly. "I just — I don't wanna fuck this up, alright? I'm scared that the balance we have is going, and I didn’t think that fucking you would make it worse, okay? I thought it’d be the same as usual, but… but..”

"But it changed things," Kuroo said, picking up on Yaku's unspoken line of thought. 

Yaku was silent. Kuroo felt a hollowness open in his chest. Another long horn echoed out on the street. 

"Why?" 

"I don't know," Yaku answered. He slid his leather belt through his waistband. "I really don't." 

They held each other's gaze for a few seconds. Nothing in the room moved; Kuroo was too aware of his own breath ghosting down over his damp upper lip.

"I'll go," Yaku said, glancing at the door. He buckled his belt and unbuckled it again. "Thanks for that. I hope you absorbed something." 

Despite the atmosphere, Kuroo smiled. "Our juniors always said you were a good teacher."

Yaku screwed up his nose. "Don't remind me of Lev now."

Breaking out into a soft chuckle, it almost dissolved the rock in Kuroo's chest. Particularly when Yaku met his eyes and cracked a smile too. Even if it was sad. 

"I'll see you before I leave Japan," Yaku promised. "I’m still here for another week. Text me when you're free. Kai, too." 

"Of course." Kuroo reached out, caught Yaku's wrist. He looked up at him, fingers scrabbling over his pulse. It was jumpy, rapid. It didn’t seem like it belonged to Yaku. "We're good, aren't we?"

"Yeah." Yaku bit his lip. "We're good." 

He started towards Kuroo, then halted. Extending his other hand, he ran it back through Kuroo’s fringe, nails digging into Kuroo’s scalp, who shivered. It didn’t escape his notice that Yaku had stayed an arm’s length from him. Kuroo could hug his waist only if he shuffled forwards, with his chest hanging over the end of his bed. 

“We’re good,” Yaku repeated, withdrawing before Kuroo could make a decision, twisting his wrist free of Kuroo’s grasp.

Kuroo searched frantically for words to say and found none. Briefly, a scenario of him unzipping Yaku’s pants and persuading him to stay with his cock in his mouth played out in Kuroo’s mind, but even in his imagination, it wasn’t enough. He knew him better than that. Yaku still left. 

Propping himself up on his elbows, Kuroo nodded. 

“I’ll text you.”