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Didn't I Tell You

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Since the beginning of their relationship, Akaashi has always been able to tell when Koutarou is hiding something. 

It’s not a very regular occurrence; one of the things that made him fall for him headfirst back in high school was his inability to wear his heart anywhere but on his sleeve. But when it does happen, it’s usually for one of two reasons; either he’s tragically embarrassed by something (because despite his lack of filter, he does still have his moments), or he’s trying to spare someone’s feelings. Both varieties make Akaashi want to kiss the life out of him, even if it is mildly frustrating sometimes to know that Koutarou is eating himself up over something and won’t tell him.

Sometimes that means bringing that frustration back home with him to their tiny Tokyo apartment where the baggage that he’s carrying takes up almost all of the limited space. Koutarou always seems to thinks he’s the best secret keeper to walk the earth - as several failed surprise birthday parties have proven - when in fact, it only takes one look at him after a bad day of practice to notice his slumped shoulders, his drooped eyebrows and the black cloud following him into the apartment to know that it’s going to be a matter of a couple of hours before cuddles are in order. 

Akaashi doesn’t mind one bit. Not only because it usually takes very little time and very little prodding to get to the bottom of what’s bothering him, but also because he knows he can be just as guilty in pretending as though he hasn’t a care in the world. He likes to think that he’s slightly better at hiding it than his boyfriend, but either he has a very warped opinion of his own skills, or Koutarou is just as in tune with him as he is with him. He has a feeling it’s a mixture of both, with how easily Koutarou picks up the moments when he’s clearly overworking himself, bringing tasks home and grinding at them till the middle of the night. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s felt Koutarou’s hard, warm body, sleepy from where he’s woken up to use the bathroom, press against Akaashi’s side as he works on the couch trying not to disturb him, and has been led by the hand to come to bed. 

Sometimes he wonders how they got so lucky to have found a way to keep each other in check so perfectly. How lucky they were to find each other at all, so young and so polar opposite in personality and temperament, that many people close to them have admitted that had they not witnessed firsthand how gone they are for each other, they would never have believed they could make it work past high school.

Which is why, when Koutarou comes home from Rio, high off his first but definitely not his last Olympics, Akaashi can tell something is different about him. 

He doesn’t notice it at first, mostly because Koutarou is always needy and touch starved after they spend more than a few days apart; he practically scent marks him upon his return to reach a state equilibrium. Having him as a second limb for hours on end on the day of his return is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. He stays plastered to Akaashi’s side, vibrating with restless, overwhelming energy as he shows him the pictures on his phone that he hadn’t had time to send or the Instagram stories he’d saved and peppers Akaashi with every single seemingly trivial story about his time there. 

He doesn’t necessarily regret not going - there’s nothing he could have done once his holiday request wasn’t approved - but he’d be lying to himself that he didn’t wish he could have seen that sparkle in Koutarou’s eyes first hand from the stands rather than through a TV screen. Then again, as he explained to him before he’d left, “It’s not like I’d get a good look at you being there in person, anyway. This way, I’ll get to see all the close-ups, all the slow-motion shots of you when you spike and I’ll get to look at you as though I was standing right next to you while you play.” That had certainly gotten rid of the blues and before he knew it, Akaashi was being kissed for all he was worth. 

It’s not his need to be close and his hands on Akaashi’s legs and his nose in his neck as they watch TV during their first night together again that throws Akaashi off. It’s the way that Koutarou doesn’t feel entirely relaxed and is still carrying a bit of tension in his back and shoulders as he’s holding him. He is the epitome of a happy puppy whenever they’re close together like this. It’s something Akaashi has sometimes envied him for; how quickly and easily he’s able to let go of his physical stresses and inhibitions when it had taken Akaashi far longer to be comfortable with the kind of effortless physical intimacy that Koutarou adores. 

He guesses it’s something to do with the trip that has stressed him out. Perhaps something in his luggage went missing and he’s too embarrassed to say it. Perhaps in the excitement of the trip, he forgot to buy Akaashi a present and is working up the courage to tell him as though he cares about any material thing Koutarou could give him over the feel of him in his arms every day and the leftover smell of his cologne on their pillows when he wakes up in the morning. 

He assumes, like with everything else, that the reason for his taut demeanour will become apparent and resolve itself the usual way; some mumbled nasal grunting, a gentle you okay, sweetie? from Akaashi and the truth will come spilling out in a babble of high pitched sentences and finger pointing. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Even when they eat dinner, Koutarou still seems vaguely distracted even when he’s looking right at him. Akaashi attempts to engage him in a game of footsie, something which he usually laps up. Only this time, Koutarou tenses and drops his chopsticks in a fluster. 

He thinks he figures it out and smiles, slow and adoring. “You, uh… you wanna finish up here and then go to bed?”

Any attempt at initiating sex with Koutarou is never short of highly enthusiastic. This time is no different, but he definitely senses a thickness to the space between them that he’s not used to. 

They bathe and get into the fresh sheets of the futon that Akaashi had washed just that morning in time for his boyfriend’s return. Mostly a selfish gesture on his part; sex just always seems better that way, the mix of fresh clean scents mingling with something distinctly masculine, distinctly sexual and primal. For him, it’s a spine-tingling combination, even if Koutarou doesn’t necessarily notice the difference. 

He leans back against the softness of their futon, empty and colder for the few weeks that Koutarou has been away, and feels his body come alive again as Koutarou fucks into him, far more measured than he would have expected after even a short dry spell like the one they’ve just had. It doesn’t matter, though. His toes curl from the press and the pressure, and the back of his neck breaks out in a sweat from how deep he’s pressed and buried into the pillow and how he keeps throwing his head back. Clearly, Koutarou wasn’t the only touch starved one.

Only, it’s not the same. It’s not the same carefree and effortless fuck that he’s used to having with him. Sex had started out awkward for them as it does for most teenagers, but those days are long gone. Sex with Koutarou is fun, it’s intense, it’s passionate, it’s silly. It’s all the rewards that he’s always thought two people who love each other should get after a spell of fumbling and embarrassing encounters. Once they’d actually gotten good at it, it had been yet another way that they were able to read each other like a book. 

He can feel the way that Koutarou is holding back. It might not have been noticeable once, but he knows better of him after years together. He can feel the tension in the muscles of his back as he clings to his slightly sweaty skin. Can feel the way that his hips aren’t rolling or thrusting in a natural rhythm, but jutting forward in short little bursts of movement. 

It’s not bad. After all, Koutarou has always been naturally gifted in anything that involves physical movement. It’s just that Akaashi knows his body better than that and what it’s capable of.

He brings one hand up to Koutarou’s face and moves a strand of hair that has broken free from its hairsprayed form. He loves it when this happens - when he can see the physical evidence of just how much they’re enjoying one another. Back when he was younger and engulfed in his boyish shyness, it was always details like this that gave him the extra boost of confidence to know that he was doing a good job. That Koutarou was sweaty and his demeanour was becoming more and more stripped back because of him.

“Y-you—” Akaashi pants, trying to keep his voice as quiet as he can out of respect for his neighbours. He doesn’t need another humiliating conversation with them at the mailbox. “You can—go harder—c’mon—” 

Koutarou attempts to repress a whimper and Akaashi wishes he’d had the good sense to put some music on so that he could enjoy those sounds properly. Koutarou is never more unrestrained than when they’re together like this, which makes his current behaviour all the more strange. 

He does pick up the pace a little, though not by much. Akaashi decides to take matters quite literally into his own hands, bringing his palms to Koutarou’s ass, pressing his fingers into the cheeks in an attempt to urge him along. 

Before he even has a chance to delight in the feel of that plump, gorgeous ass in his hands again, a shocked gasp gets ripped from him when Koutarou’s hips snap forward and they go from zero to sixty in about two seconds flat. 

He hears a pained whine vibrate against his neck where Koutarou has hidden from view and as he fucks into him with a shocking amount of force considering how tense he was before, Akaashi is forced to snap his own palm against his mouth on instinct to cage his noises. His eyes are wide open, wild and shocked at the force with which Koutarou is fucking him; not much finesse to it, but a blinding and dirty need that he didn’t even know he was missing until it’s making him want to claw the sheets to shreds. 

The sensible part of his brain thinks they should slow it down at least a tiny bit considering it’s been a few weeks since they’ve last done this. While that may not be much, Koutarou is slamming into him with a truly shattering force right now and Akaashi is nearly certain he’ll be walking with a limp tomorrow. He throws his head back against the pillow and just accepts his fate for what it is, letting out nasal moans against his hand and praying for understanding and good graces from his neighbours. 

Instead of grabbing the sheets or Koutarou’s hair or the pillow or any number of things, his first instinct is to reach for his ass again with one hand, just to delight in how the muscle is flexing with the effort it’s taking to fuck him into the floor. The second he gets a hand on him, he feels the muscles seize up entirely, Koutarou’s whole body going hard and unyielding as he growls into Akaashi’s neck, coming with short involuntary jerks of his hips. The suddenness of it nearly shocks Akaashi to orgasm. Almost, but not quite. He finds his sanity to sneak the hand that was on Koutarou’s ass in between them and fist his cock for the last few seconds as Koutarou empties himself inside. 

He’s not even sure if Koutarou does it on purpose, but he feels a tender kiss on the side of his neck and in the end, that’s what sends him over the edge. He bites Koutarou’s meaty shoulder, begging himself to stay quiet, and clenches down on his slowly softening cock, knowing it’s probably overloading Koutarou’s senses. He doesn’t have it in him to care. 

As they come down, Koutarou keeps his head buried where it is and in his post-orgasm bliss, Akaashi can finally smell that dizzying mixture of sweat and detergent that gets him so hot. It makes his stomach flip, but he knows he’s too tired for a second wind. They both have responsibilities in the morning. 

Instead, he just gently moves Koutarou’s face up so he can blink at him, sated and smiling and entirely gone for the man above him. 

“I guess I should say, Welcome home after that, huh?”

Koutarou kisses him, blushed, but eager as always. And instead of pressing him for what was clearly bothering him all evening, Akaashi just lets his orgasm and the look on Koutarou’s face as he comes up from the kiss send him into a slow, well-needed sleep.


He’d hoped that it was just a one time thing, but sex after that becomes somewhat peculiar. Gone are their frequent giggles and Koutarou making a fool of himself in the bedroom in order to see in what new and strange ways he can make Akaashi orgasm that week. Gone is Koutarou’s constant aroused babbling. He hadn’t even realised how much he loved it when Koutarou told him how good he feels, how much he loves him, how he’s enjoying himself, until all he hears from him when they’re ruining the sheets together are whines, moans and grunts. 

He’s not really sure when to broach the subject that something has shifted, because Koutarou’s idiosyncrasies don’t usually last this long. It’s been a few days now and as clingy and lovable as he is during the day - all kisses on the side of the forehead and squeezes of the waist as they pass each other in the tiny hallway - he’s oddly distant the second they’re in the bedroom. Careful, reserved. Almost scared.

Akaashi has unknowingly trained himself to be perceptive and receptive to everything to do with Koutarou since the first game they ever played together. He’s almost convinced after having Koutarou back home for about a week now, that the hang up Koutarou has been carrying around with him like a bad smell is something to do with sex.

Only once he commits to that theory, it doesn’t actually make solving the issue any easier, because they’ve never had an issue with their sex life that couldn’t be solved on the spot. Koutarou is always delightfully responsive to any instruction in bed, whether it be softly spoken, or panted into his ear in a mad rush. As for Koutarou himself, it doesn’t take much for Akaashi to figure out whether or not he’s enjoying himself. 

With no previous experience to compare this predicament to, Akaashi decides to take a roundabout approach - trying to come up with some potential solutions before confronting Koutarou, as opposed to just asking him what’s wrong and risking whatever startled mess comes out of his mouth. He’s never really been the best at thinking on the spot.

The penny doesn’t start to drop till a couple of days later when he’s doing the laundry on a Saturday morning while Koutarou is at training. He knows that Koutarou doesn’t like him doing most of the laundry around the house, but he gets a stupid domestic kick out of being able to handle Koutarou’s clothes. It reminds him that he’s home for an extended period of time. It makes him feel like they’re settled, like he’s still present in the house even when he’s sweating buckets at the gym across town. 

As he’s putting Koutarou’s socks and underwear away in his basket draw next to their futon, he feels the press of something unfamiliar against his hand and his fingers curl around the object on instinct. He frowns as he takes out what is revealed to be an almost empty bottle of lube. 

The first thing that strikes him as odd is that it’s there in the first place; they usually keep the lube out and within easy reach of the futon, mostly under a pillow. They also don’t usually have more than one bottle on the go seeing as sex anywhere but the bed is almost impossible or awfully uncomfortable in an apartment this small.

But after he blinks at it for a couple of seconds, he realises that that’s not the strangest thing about this. Because this isn’t even the brand of lube they use and they certainly hadn’t bought this together. The reason for that becomes very clear when his eyes finally adjust to the fact that the brand name and the instructions written on the bottle aren’t in Japanese. They’re in a language he definitely can’t read but suspects that it’s Portuguese. 

He’s not sure why, but he has an intuitive feeling that this bottle of lube, clearly not meant to be discovered, almost certainly has something to do with his strange behaviour.

He’s not stupid. He’s very aware of what it looks like. But he also has known and loved Koutarou for years and knows that no matter how strange it looks, there isn’t a single bone in his boyfriend’s body that would know how to cheat on him. Not because he considers himself the world’s greatest catch, but because he considers Koutarou one of the world’s kindest people. He wouldn’t even know how to go out of his way to cause someone else pain. And as vain as it makes him feel sometimes to admit it, he is very much aware by now of how obsessed Koutarou is with him. He knows a little something about that kind of love too. 

He goes back to the drawing board and just stares at the bottle in his hand. He clearly bought it in Brazil, probably when he first arrived and not at the airport in Rio upon his return. He’s not even sure Koutarou could find a way of using almost an entire bottle of lube in their own apartment without him knowing about it since being back. He’s almost definitely been using this while he was away. Only, he knows from years of experience that Koutarou has never used lube to jerk off. Has always preferred a simple lick of the hand, or has leaked enough precum to power a dam and hasn’t needed it.

Which means that if he wasn’t using it to jerk off, and he wasn't using it with someone else…

He drops the pile of laundry he’s balancing in his other hand and just stares into the empty space in front of him.

“Ah…” 


He decides that a direct approach is probably not the best course of action in this situation. If Koutarou hasn’t told him that he’s curious about bottoming, then there’s probably a reason for it. Either that, or Akaashi has drawn all the wrong conclusions and the lube and his hesitance and the fact that he came the second Akaashi put his hands near his ass are all just convenient coincidences. Highly unlikely, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry.

Granted, it’s not easy to keep this new information to himself, especially when he goes to bed that night and all he can think about as he rolls over to his side, Koutarou already making his usual array of sleeping noises next to him, is his boyfriend with his fingers buried deep inside himself as he (hopefully) imagines Akaashi fucking him.

He puts a stop to that train of thought immediately, or else he may be tempted to wake Koutarou up and suggest that they do precisely that. But he wants to go about this properly. He wants to be sure.

He tries to think back to all their years together, if there had ever been any signs to suggest that Koutarou had wanted them to try it that way but had never had a chance to ask. Or maybe Akaashi had never given him an opportunity, never asked him if what they’d been doing was working for him. Everything they’ve ever wanted to try has always been brought up with relative ease up until now, with any disastrous attempts simply laughed off and forgotten. Akaashi recalls in painful detail Koutarou’s bright idea of fucking in the bathtub, which was certainly not built for that sort of exertion. Both of them had ended up with a terrible leg cramp that was in instant mood killer, worse than any cold shower.

The next day, he takes as many opportunities as he possibly can without appearing suspicious, to touch Koutarou’s ass. A research mission of sorts. 

He taps it lightly when he asks him to move out of the way of the cutlery draw while they make breakfast. He accidentally brushes it as he leans across to pick his keys up on their way out of the house. He takes a little extra risk and actually lays his entire palm on it when they cuddle later that night during an episode of whatever TV show they’re into right now, Akaashi mostly sitting upright but slouched, Koutarou draped across the couch and snuggled into his side. He mostly rests his hand on his ass, but occasionally he’ll smooth his palm over the denim while he shifts and lets out a content sigh as he takes in Koutatou’s shampoo and the softness of his hoodie. 

He hides his smirk by biting his bottom lip when he feels Koutarou tense under his hand, the way he has all day from Akaashi’s admittedly cruel, teasing touches. Time to move to phase two. 

He slides the tip of his nose into Koutarou’s hair and nuzzles him in what he hopes is an indication that he’d be very happy if they transitioned from the couch up to their loft. Beautifully perceptive as usual, Koutarou lifts his head and smiles like the sun as he stretches to take Akaashi’s mouth, clearly very happy with where this might be headed. 

“You smell so good, Keiji,” he murmurs against his mouth, licking into him like he’s his favourite dessert. 

“So do you,” Akaashi sighs, because he really, really does. Earthy and sharp. It’s delicious.

He has all the right tools to make Akaashi’s resolve fold like a stack of cards. He always has. And not just his spine-tingling masculine smell, his body and his handsome jaw, his muscles that are more than strong enough to pin and bruise him if they wanted to, but never do unless he asks. It’s also his ridiculous optimism, no matter the setbacks, the way that he’s ready to charge forward at any opportunity, to fight, to play, to laugh and eat life raw. And all the while with his hand in Akaashi’s, fingers laced, pulse beating against his hand, because no matter what he charges into with his stupidly kind heart, he wants Akaashi right there by his side. It makes Akaashi want to give him everything. Every dream he’s ever had, whether it be Akaashi cheering him on for the rest of his career or buying him the food-scented candles he’s become obsessed with lately. His wants and needs in bed are no exception. If he wants Akaashi to do something for him in their most intimate moments, then he wants to give him all of it and he wants it to be an experience that dreams are made of. 

He gives Koutarou a cheeky bite to his top lip as he pulls back far enough to breathe, in what he hopes is an inviting tone, “What do you wanna do?”

He ducks his head to Koutarou’s neck and gives him teasing little pecks that should be enough to get him hard if he isn’t already, but not distracting enough that he won’t answer the question. 

“W-wanna fuck,” he whimpers into Akaashi’s temple. He’s almost certain he feels the tension in his neck as he tries to get the words out. 

Akaashi hums against his pulse and gives him a little nip before sitting them up and taking Koutarou’s face in his hands. “Glad to hear it,” he says and licks into his mouth in a way that’s probably a little too dirty for so early in their foreplay, but the thought of possibly getting to fuck his boyfriend tonight more than enough to speed things up for him. 

“Anything—in—particular—?” he whispers in between kisses, audible and wet as they break apart for each word. 

“Just want you,” he whines, curling his fingers into the fabric of Akaashi’s shirt. 

He tries not to sigh in disappointment. So Koutarou isn’t up for telling what he wants tonight. That’s okay. He’ll just have to find a more direct way to get him to come clean. 

Akaashi joins their lips together again, but by some non-verbal miscommunication, they both move to get off the couch at the same time and their legs get tangled, sending them rolling straight onto the floor with a dull thump.

Both of them let out a loud wince and then stare at each other, doe-eyed and grimacing in total silence at what they know must be coming. Ten seconds later, they hear a tap from the apartment beneath them in protest. 

The sound makes both of them dissolve into barely restrained fits of giggles, constrained only by their palms. As their laughter gets progressively louder, they both attempt to shush the other, breathless and naughty as though they’re back in high school. 

“Oh my god,” Akaashi wheezes once he has control of himself and gives Koutarou a peck on the lips, heart fluttering when he sees his eyes go wide and his cheeks redden. “Love you,” he says. 

Koutarou grins and shivers, probably involuntarily, all the way up to the tips of his hair. Akaashi smiles as he watches it twitch.

“Race you up to the loft?” Koutarou says, grinning.

“I’d like you alive, so no. You go up first.” He taps him on the thigh to get him moving, making sure he doesn’t get any other bright ideas like carrying Akaashi up the ladder and killing them both.

Eventually, and with a sizable pout, he does move to climb up first. Akaashi can tell he’s only half hard when he stands up, probably thanks to their near altercation with their neighbours. That’s fine, he’ll soon see to that once they’re upstairs. 

As he watches Koutarou climb up the ladder, he has a nerve pinching urge to crane his neck and bite him on his gorgeous round ass, even if it’s through his clothes. He almost does it, if he wasn’t half convinced it would make him lose his balance and fall to the floor. 

He doesn’t get to touch Koutarou’s ass that night, nor does he get to bite it like he apparently wants to. Instead, he puts Koutarou on his back and rides him, sitting up as best he can with the limited ceiling height. It’s not a position they go for very often for this precise reason; too many knocks to the head when things get a little frenzied and heated, but it makes a very specific kind of arousal burn in his gut to see Koutarou on his back for him, usually blushed and whining, hands gripping his own hair or Akaashi’s waist or whatever fatty part of his hip and legs he can find. 

It makes him wonder if this is what he’d look like while having Akaashi inside him. If he’d be just as overwhelmed or even more so. If he’d whisper Keiji—Keiji—Keiji interspersed with fuck, babe— (that one still makes his cheeks heat, even after all this time) that makes him roll his hips deeper and faster. 

He lowers his body so that his arms are bracketing Koutarou’s face and their eyes are centimeters apart, and that’s how he comes. Watching Koutarou bite his lip and imagine that he’s not working himself over his cock in a maddening, heat-inducing rhythm, but that he’s got Koutarou stretched around him, that he can feel each wet clench against him as he fucks him slow and long to the best orgasm of his life.


He has an important deadline coming up at work in the days following, and sex is forced to become a distant memory until he’s remotely awake and de-stressed enough to think about getting an erection. 

Koutarou is amazing with him as he always is at times like this, running him baths every evening to save him time, cooking what few meals he knows how to and always checking in to make sure Akaashi is taking short regular breaks to spare his back and eyes. 

At the end of each night when it really is stupid to try and stay up any longer, he lays Akaashi on his stomach and rubs his back for him, sometimes through his shirt, sometimes with a bit of oil on bare skin. It makes his sleep as deep and as satisfying as is humanly possible and he can’t even imagine getting by during these stressful weeks without Koutarou there. It makes him realise how wrong he was to assume that he was the one taking care of Koutarou those years that they were at school together. That perhaps his carefree approach to life came at the right place and right time to balance out his own obsessive qualities.

On the Friday evening, when he finally logs out of his computer after sending the last of his work off, Akaashi extends his arms and legs and gives a long, drawn-out whine as he stretches his muscles. The sound alerts his ever-curious boyfriend, who pops his head out from the barrier around the loft where he’d disappeared to watch a movie on his tablet, allowing Akaashi the run of the downstairs, filling it with stress and frantic typing. 

“You done?” he calls with a clear optimism that makes Akaashi’s heart melt. 

“Freedom is mine,” he sighs as he feels his stretch to the very tips of his fingertips. 

Koutarou is by his side so quickly that he’s positive he had to have flown downstairs to get to him. Akaashi smiles madly as he feels arms loop around his neck and he finds himself with a half lap full of Koutarou, pecks and kisses on the side of his face. 

“Well done, babe” he chirps with another quick peck. “I knew you’d get it all done. I didn’t start any new episodes without you. Wanna watch?”

Akaashi reaches up a hand to play with a stray hair around Koutarou’s ear where he must have been laying on his side while up in the loft. “I’m impressed,” he smirks. “You usually try to sneak at least one episode in without me.”

“Meeeeee?!” he gapes, the high pitch of his voice ringing in Akaashi’s ears. 

He smiles and lets himself be held for a moment, before looking right at Koutarou as he murmurs, “Why don't we watch an episode now and call it a night, hmm?”

Koutarou lights up like a bulb at the implication and Akaashi doesn’t miss the delighted sparkle in his eyes when he squeaks, “Or you know… we could go upstairs right now…”

Akaashi laughs. “Well, how could I refuse such a romantic offer…”

Oh, is that how it is?” He sees the change in Koutarou’s eyes; they become fierce and focused in ways he’s not used to seeing on him outside of an athletic environment. “Keiji…” he purrs as he places a long, indulgent kiss to his throat. Just the one. It licks fire right up his spine. “Can I take you upstairs, get you naked and make love to you all night long? It’s been so long…”

“It-it’s been a week…” Akaashi whimpers, grasping at his last attempts to pretend like Koutarou’s suave voice doesn’t do it for him every single time, even when he’s talking as though he was written in a trashy romance novel. 

Koutrou smiles against his neck and murmurs, “Really, though, you’re not too tired or anything?”

Akaashi’s heart stutters and he moves Koutarou’s head up from his neck so he can look at him properly. “Never for you,” he says. “I always want you, Kou. You know that, right?” He gives him a pointed look that he hopes to god penetrates him with the understanding he needs to just tell Akaashi what he wants from him. “No matter what, I’m always gonna want you.”

They make out for long, lazy minutes, enjoying the luxury of riling each other up again, even though it’s just been a few days without sex. Koutarou’s hands are all over him, under his shirt, against his thighs, in his hair. He feels fondness tug at his memory of how clumsy they both used to be at this. Akaashi with his nervous inexperience and Koutarou with his ever present enthusiasm that had caused more than one embarrassing sticky makeout session and several failed first times that were too eager, too excitable, Koutarou the very definition of a puppy let out of the pen and chasing the high of his hormones and his feelings all at once. He’d wondered about it in the last few days with no intimate touches to distract him, but perhaps it makes sense that Koutarou’s new appreciation for bottoming has only just sprouted recently. In the early days, he’d been led by very few rational thoughts when it came to sex and the main one that tended to guide him was making sure that his dick was as close to Akaashi as possible at all times. 

He giggles against Koutarou’s mouth.

“You okay?”

“Just thinking about our first time,” he smiles. “How we thought there was such a thing as too much lube.”

“Keeeeeijiiiii,” Koutarou whines against his chest, heat flaming in his cheeks. “I don’t wanna think about that. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Hey, hey…” he coos. “We were teenagers, Kou. Cut yourself some slack, yeah?”

Koutarou nods, his hair tickling Akaashi’s nose as he does so. 

“But I’m pretty good now, right?” he asks hopefully.

Akaashi smiles. “You’re the best I’ve ever had,” he says, deadpan with eyes unblinking. Sarcasm comes far too easy when he's around Koutarou 

Koutarou frowns and purses his lips. “I’m the only one you’ve ever had, silly,” he grumbles, faking displeasement about the thought of Akaashi having any other pretend men to compare him to. He doesn’t really have a jealous bone in his body, but he does enjoy pouting and Akaashi very much enjoys looking at it. “C’mere,” he says, standing them up and taking Akaashi by the hand and leading him to the ladder. “I’m gonna make you forget all about shit me from when I was 17.”

Akaashi laughs all the way to the loft, wishing Koutarou knew how very much he doesn’t want to forget the 17-year-old and 16-year-old versions of themselves and how grateful he is to those two boys for what they both have now. 

Unfortunately for him, Koutarou’s insistence on proving himself a worthy lover in competition of his own teenage years means that it’s not necessarily the right time to bring up a change of plan in the bedroom. 

Akaashi is far from complaining though once Koutarou gets his mouth around his dick. He lays Aaashi back on the futon, keeps his hands wandering and teasing as he gives him long, luxurious sucks from base to tip, dismantling him with a fixed stare that manages to look both dirty and intrigued at the same time. His eyes have always been intense, but they’re never more beautiful than when his mouth is full and stretched around a hard cock, spit everywhere, hungry for Akaashi like he is for everything else. 

He fingers him so thoroughly that Akaashi wants to cry. He’s always so terrified to hurt him in any way that isn’t intentional - they’re certainly no strangers to the fun they can have with a slap here and a pinch there and Koutarou’s raw strength pinning him down as he fucks the living daylights out of him, but when it comes to prep, he’s always so caring, so diligent. 

He gets a little impatient by the time he slips the head of his cock inside and sets a regular, excited rhythm that ensures Akaashi’s prostate is well and truly seen to after so much attention from his fingers earlier. 

God— ” he whispers. “Making me feel so good—Kou—”

Koutarou whines into his neck, making Akaashi arch his back in pleasure at how receptive he is to his praise. It’s a part of their dynamic that had naturally carried over into the bedroom pretty quickly. They’ve never taken it as far as they possibly could do, but Akaashi would be lying if he wasn’t curious about the ways in which he might be able to make Koutarou fall apart with the right set of words. 

Keiji,” he moans brokenly. 

“Yeah— Ah.” He digs his fingers into Koutarou’s thick waist as he shifts slightly, the change causing Koutarou’s dick to slide across his prostate more directly and their nipples to rub together back and forth as they move. “Oh fuck …” he whispers. 

He recalls this very position just a couple of weeks ago. How the simple touch to Koutarou’s ass had transformed him like an electric shock. Akaashi wasn’t planning on making a try for it, but maybe he’s being driven slowly insane himself from the feel of warm, punchy breaths on his neck, the teasing rub of his cock against Koutarou’s belly where they’re pressed together just close enough. 

“You feel—so good—” he pants, legs spreading in total abandonment of pride. “So good— I wanna—make you—feel good too—”

Yeah—”

“—What do you want?” he breaths in one long low exhale, already feeling his own hands slide downwards. 

Koutarou whines and wriggles on top of him as he continues to thrust as evenly as he can. Akaashi attaches his lips to his neck, sucks and whispers, “tell me…”

“I…” he mewls, almost scared, but Akaashi can tell he’s fine. He’s not retreating. 

He takes a leap of faith, taking all his years of practice in reading his boyfriend and the last couple of weeks of clues, and slides one hand to his ass, keeping the other one threaded in his gorgeous thick hair.

“You want this?” he says, his voice more of a rumble than he’d expected. Koutarou gasps, but doesn’t say a word. Predictably, his hips start moving faster of their own accord. 

The level of need and want that Koutarou clearly has for this, that just hands on his cheeks send him into such a frenzy, makes Akaashi brave enough to whisper, at precisely the same time as he slides his hand that little bit inward to the curve of his cheek, pulling it to the side slightly, “you want me here?”

Keiji— ” he wheezes, high pitched and desperate.

That’s all Akaashi needs to hear to make his final judgement call. He takes his other hand out of Koutarou’s hair and slides it down his body, making sure to touch as much skin as he can on his way to his ass. He pulls one cheek apart and without giving himself the time to talk himself out of it, he presses a pad of a middle finger from his other hand against Koutarou’s hole, gently and tentatively, but letting him know it’s there on purpose. It’s there because Akaashi meant to touch him there. 

The animal sound that comes out of him causes Akaashi to rip the hand away that’s holding Koutatou’s cheek apart and clamp his palm awkwardly over his mouth as best he can from his angle. His finger is now trapped there, deliciously pillowed between those tight, fleshy cheeks, the world’s most willing prisoner. 

He’s losing his grip on reality, can’t fully process that he’s actually touching Koutarou’s hole and his finger presses lightly again on pure animal instinct, like his muscle memory has already learnt what a mind-numbingly arousing reaction he’ll get if he keeps his finger there. 

This time, he actively feels the shift in the ring of muscle as Koutarou’s body clenches to either try and pull something in or keep something out. Judging by the twitching cock in his own hole and Koutarou’s pained little Ah’s against his palm, spit dripping all down his wrist, he’s happy to bet on it being the former.

“Oh sweetheart, that’s it, god, that’s it, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his own voice coming out high and unrecognisable as he shakes in Koutarou’s arms. As though he’s the one being touched like this. “Want me i-insde?”

Ke-Keiji...” it comes out almost like a breathy wheeze than anything resembling his normal voice. 

He sounds more gone, more destroyed than he’s ever known him. And just from a finger to his rim. Just from Akaashi rubbing the pad of his middle finger across that tiny part of him that no one has ever touched before. What will he be like if he lets Akaashi put his fingers inside him? When he’s stroking and rubbing and making his cock dribble over his stomach like he wants? What will he be like when Akaashi presses his cock into him and shows him how good it can feel to have a man open your body in such a vulnerable, deep way. 

He comes, unexpected and hard, to the mental image of Koutarou’s arched back and his muscled arms clinging to Akaashi’s back as his hole sucks him in deeper than any fingers will ever be able to get. 

“Fu-uuuuuuck… ” he chokes, clenching down and somehow finding it in him to pulse his finger against Koutarou’s hole in tiny little bursts that he knows will make the muscles there feel empty, unstretched, unloved. It’s a horrid tease, but it does the job. Koutarou’s body clenches along with his hole, tight enough that the very tip of Akaashi’s finger feels like it’s being kissed. Like it’s very welcome there and should please continue taking Koutarou apart. 

He comes inside Akaashi, with no thought to his noise and thank god Akaashi still has an iron grip over his mouth, even though it’s mostly due to riding out his own orgasm as opposed to any rational thought. His own mouth is busy biting into Koutarou’s shoulder to prevent his own moans from drowning them both. 

He feels them both come down slow and steady as their breathing evens out and the heat under their skin starts to cool. Akaashi realises after a minute or so that his finger is still touching Koutarou’s hole even though the cute little spasms have subsided now. Reluctantly, he pulls his finger free and drags the tips of his fingers - one decidedly warmer and softer than the others - in a teasing, feather light line up Koutarou’s spine to tangle both his hands in his hair.

It’s pure heaven, plain and simple.

“I think we need to have a little chat…” Akaashi whispers, but makes sure to keep the smile in his voice. Koutarou is always so sensitive to the idea of having done something wrong and that’s the last thing he wants. 

He does, however, grumble into Akaashi’s neck, embarrassed. 

“Come on, up with you,” he encourages them to detangle and sit up. It’s dark up in their loft, but he can tell Koutarou is blushing, mostly by the slump of his shoulders than actually seeing it on his face. “Let’s get cleaned up a little and then we’ll cuddle and talk, okay?”


“So… how long have you wanted to… you know…” 

He’s not uncomfortable discussing it, not even in the slightest. But he’s only human and it doesn't matter how long they’ve been together, whatever number of ways they’ve made each other come over the years, there’s still that tiny clawing of shyness in his gut when it comes to just saying it outright while looking Koutarou dead in the eye without the darkness or his neck or a fog of arousal to hide under. Whispering dirty things into an ear while having pleasure clawing up your spine is not the same as having a conversation like this in the metaphorical light of day and in the afterglow no less. 

Koutarou fidgets where he’s sitting opposite him, both of their legs crossed. It’s the perfect stance for a conversation. “Ummm, maybe like… two months?”

Akaashi raises his eyebrows. That’s… longer than he’d expected. 

“You see, um… Kuroo, he…” Akaashi closes his eyes and smiles. Of course Kuroo had something to do with this. It was, after all, partially thanks to him that they even got together in the end. “He said that he and Kenma, uh…” he looks to the side. “Well, Kuroo said he really liked it when Kenma did it to him recently. He asked if I’d ever done it before and I said I… hadn’t…”

He looks so flustered, so perfectly adorable that Akaashi wants to squeeze the life right out of him. But not before they get to the bottom of this.

“God, sweetheart, why didn’t you say anything? Are you… were you worried about it hurting, or…” it’s a big conclusion to jump to, but he’ll try anything to get some answers after days of wondering. And he knows from experience that fingers are not the same as taking someone’s entire dick. 

“No, no, nothing like that, I uh… actually…” 

Akaashi is almost certain he knows what’s coming next. “Have you ever, uh…” he treads carefully, not wanting to embarrass Koutarou by admitting he found out just how much he’d been enjoying himself while he was away. Nearly a whole tube of lube’s worth of enjoyment. “Were you curious? Have you tried doing anything by yourself?”

Koutarou looks to the side and mumbles. 

“What was that?”

“While I was in Rio, I uh…. Well you see, I had a hotel room to myself and it was sorta on my mind... a lot… because Kuroo said it was like the best thing he’s ever felt, or at least once he got into it, so I got curious and I was by myself and I missed you loads and it was gonna be a whole two weeks, and one thing led to another…”

It comes out in a mumbled, blushy string of words with very little pause for thought. The way that words can only do if they’ve been festering for some amount of time. What Akaashi doesn’t expect, even though he really should by now, is the pained whine he hears next and witnessing Koutarou slamming his face into his own palms as though they’ll hide his entire body.

He can barely make out the mumbled jumble that Koutarou is emitting from his freak out, but he thinks it sounds something like please don’t be mad at me.

“Why would I be mad at you, silly?”

Koutarou’s head pops up out of his hands like a meerkat looking for danger, but his eyes look as vacant as always. 

“Well… I just…” Akaashi stays quiet, giving him the freedom to mull over his words. “I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t… like having sex with you… or that like… I thought it would be better this way or something…”

Big-hearted idiot. Akaashi could strangle him if he didn’t love him so much. 

“I would never, ever be upset with you for wanting to try something new in the bedroom, god please don’t ever think that, Koutarou.”

“I guess I kinda knew that deep down but like…”

Akaashi reaches over and takes one large hand in his. He feels how quickly Koutarou’s pulse is beating and he gives him his most understanding and patient stare as he whispers, “It’s okay, tell me.”

“It’s just… well, we’ve always done it this way… you’ve never… you’ve never said you wanted to switch things up…” To his credit, he’s right, Akaashi also hasn’t ever really given topping much thought. It will go down as one of his most shameful missteps of his youth. “We’ve just… it’s been good this way, right? You always seem to love it and I love that you love it and honestly, I…” his voice becomes softer now, like it’s truly coming from some uncharted territory. “I thought maybe it would be a bit… weird… you know, ‘cause I’m bigger, I thought maybe you wouldn’t…”

Akaashi grips Koutarou’s fingers tighter as though he could squeeze every single thought like that out of his head for good. His boyfriend really has a natural talent for cultivating the most ridiculous problems where there are none. He also, admittedly, has a sizable ego, harmless though it may be, and Akaashi supposes he should have seen it coming that the big goon would have thought he shouldn’t bottom because of his size. He’s only surprised that he thought Akaashi might ever judge him for it.

“Sweetheart…” he whispers, but Koutarou is continuing before he can say another word.

“Sex with you is like… one of my favourite things ever… like, besides volleyball and… I don't know, food, maybe. It’s just… it literally feels like the most freaking amazing thing on the planet. I just… I didn’t wanna screw it up by asking for something that might make it weird. What if… you didn’t like it…” 

“Alright, come on, come here.” He says it gently, but there’s no discussion in his tone. He leans against the back wall of the loft, and motions for Koutarou to join him in a cuddle. He goes without a second thought, and Akaashi opens his arms, waiting for that delightful weight as always.

Koutarou drapes himself on Akaashi like a dead weight, half on his front, half on his side, one leg slightly hitched up across his lap, his arms wrapped around Akaashi’s middle and his head resting against his heart. Exactly where it should be. 

In this position, Akaashi is the one holding him, one arm cradling his back, the other one coming across to stroke his biceps. Akaashi is the one in the position to kiss his hair and make sure he feels cradled and loved. And that’s precisely why he asked him to come over here.

“When I hold you like this,” he murmurs, “does it ever feel wrong? Or weird?”

“God, no,” Koutarou mumbles into his pyjama top. 

“Well then,” Akaashi says into his hair. “What about when I kiss you? Or when you’re going down on me? Or when I hold your hand?”

“I love all of those things,” he mutters sweetly, barely audible.

“Then why would you ever think I wouldn’t be completely in love with the idea of fucking you? Of being with you that way?” It’s far easier to say it like that when they’re in a relaxed, intimate position like this, as opposed to sitting as though in a job interview. “I don’t care about how different we look, whether you’re stronger than me, whether I’m a bit smaller, none of that should matter. All we need is you and me.”

Koutarou whimpers and hides his face in Akaashi’s chest, wriggling to get closer. He’s either overwhelmed emotionally or getting horny. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes.

“Is it… is it something you actually want to do with me? Or was it just something you fantasised about?” Because he has to know, just so that he’s covered all bases of anything they might have gotten their wires crossed over. “Both are okay, by the way,” he adds just for good measure.

“I wanna do it,” Koutarou mumbles, arms tightening around Akaashi like a koala bear. 

“Well then in that case, we will,” Akaashi smiles into his hair. 

He nearly gets a nosebleed when Koutarou’s head springs up in an angle that can’t be comfortable for his neck, but Akaashi doesn’t think it was a voluntary action.

“Right now?!” He’s equal parts excited and terrified by the prospect by the sounds of it.

“No, not right now you absolute menace,” he giggles, encouraging his head back down before he breaks his neck. “I want us to do this properly, make sure you’re enjoying yourself and I can’t do that right now. You wore me out,” he adds in a low murmur just to feel Koutarou squirm. “We can give it a go over the weekend, yeah? Tomorrow? We won’t make any plans, we’ll take a bath together, I’ll make sure that you’re nice and relaxed, no deadlines, no training in the morning…” he pauses to try and think of a delicate way to say the next part, “we won’t do anything until you’re completely comfortable, we’ll make sure you use the bathroom—”

“K-Keiji…” he feels Koutarou’s entire body vibrate and jiggle with his laughter. Ice sufficiently broken then.

“Hey, no, it’s all part of it!” he says, getting swept up in Koutarou’s giggles. “My point is…” he slides down and manoeuvres them so that they’re lying side by side facing each other. “I promise, it’ll be everything you’ve wanted, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

Koutarou’s face contorts and his body gives an adorable little shake as though it’s been possessed by a jack in the box. Before he knows it, Akaashi’s face is being grabbed and Koutarou is gifting him with great, big, smacking kisses all over it. On his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his chin. It makes him curl up on himself and squeak far too loud for how late it’s getting. He finishes his assault with a big loud peck on the mouth and catapults himself into Akaashi’s arms, even though they’re basically lying nose to nose at this point. 

“I love you,” he says. “I’m gonna be the best bottom you’ve ever seen.”

Akaashi doesn’t know if he wants to launch him off the side of the loft or marry him on the spot. 

“I never doubted it,” he says through repressed laughter. “I love you too.”