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Tipsy Topsy

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“Not your kind of party, I take it?”

The man slides a fresh can of beer across the balcony’s railing; the cool weight of it as it hits Daichi’s palm is satisfying, but not as satisfying as the metallic popping sound the can makes when he opens it, or the taste of his first sip.

“Not really, no,” Daichi responds after he’s decided that the beer is good enough to warrant a bit of his time. 

And possibly more than a bit of it—the stranger’s half-lidded gaze and sly grin certainly aren’t subtle, but Daichi can appreciate candor in a situation like this.  

“What’s more your speed then?” The stranger shifts his weight to his right, bringing him careless centimeters closer to Daichi, centimeters that barely put a dent in the space that separates them.

“Small-scale get-togethers,” Daichi shrugs, and, giving the stranger a once-over that only pretends to be covert (and pretends very badly at that), he adds, “I like the intimacy of them.”

The stranger grins like a cat that’s caught a canary, and really he’s just lucky Daichi’s had enough beer to not care about how easy he’s being right now, or else his pride might make him walk away on the spot. 

“So how small are we talking?” The stranger asks.  He doesn’t shift or make any other moves to close the gap between them, but he doesn’t really have to, with how the world seems to shrink around them.  “Less than ten people?”

Daichi rolls his eyes, “Definitely less than ten.”

“Less than five?”  The man continues, and this time he cuts the distance between them in half with one smooth step.  He’s a bit broader, a bit taller, and the closer he gets the better Daichi can appreciate that, so.

Daichi shifts to lean a bit more heavily on his left elbow, moving just enough to show that yeah, he’s still interested in where this is going.

“That’d be an improvement, but…”

The space between them is nearly gone.

“How about two?”

The stranger hair’s already such a wreck that Daichi knows he won’t feel even remotely bad about messing it up all the more.

Which he will, if given half the chance.  Less than half, even.

“That sounds perfect.”

Their lips meet then—or more like clash, the press of their mouths against each other hard and hot, tainted with beer and the edge of teeth.  But it feels good, so damn good, the intensity of it nearly heavy enough to drop Daichi to his knees right then and there; that he doesn’t is a matter of sheer will alone and it’s a pretty shaky will, at that.

“By the way,” The stranger murmurs against the corner of Daichi’s mouth, “My name’s Kuroo Tetsurou, if you cared to know.”

Daichi laughs.

“Not too sure I did.”


Ultimately, Daichi cares very much that the stranger’s name is Kuroo, because he can’t stopsaying it as Kuroo keeps him pinned face-down against a mattress—whose mattress?  He’s not entirely sure where they ended up or if he cares because the hand that’s not pressed between his shoulders is pressing three slick fingers into his ass, and they’ve been going too fast this whole time, he’s not even prepared for all he’s taking already but still he demands, “M-more, just—just get in me, I won’t break.”

“Mm, I’m sure you won’t,” Kuroo replies with an appreciative hum as he pulls his hand away, only to wipe the leftover lube on his fingers over Daichi’s ass—might even being writing something with it, and Daichi would maybe care at some other time but right now he’s emptyand isn’t that just the worst when he so desperately wants to be full?  “I was just being polite.”

“Well don’t bothe—aah!” All the breath is forced out of him when Kuroo pushes in to the hilt with one smooth, hard thrust that leaves Daichi fisting the bed covers, gasping for air that he can’t quite seem to get because Kuroo’s feels so thick inside of him, there’s just no room for anything else. 

“Shit, ‘s tight” Kuroo hisses, his hips still and pressed right up to the round of Daichi’s ass, “You okay?”

It takes a moment longer for Daichi to think past hot and slick and so damn full, to remember more useful words like, “Yeah just—keep going.”

Frustration and relief roll around in Daichi’s chest when Kuroo pulls back, until just the head of his cock is still inside, keeping Daichi spread wide open.  They aren’t quite skin-to-skin, the thin slip of a condom that he’ll appreciate more in the morning just barely separating them,  along with a helping of lube so generous he can feel the excess running down his thighs, and just the thought of what he must look like is enough to make him shake.

Kuroo doesn’t bother with polite warnings or pretty words when he slams back in with enough strength to make the bed rock and groan almost a loud as Daichi himself.  And that’sgood because Daichi doesn’t really want those kinds of words—he wants heavy panting that weighs the air down until it crushes him, and curses hissed out against the back of his neck between licentious praises. 

That’s what he gets, too, or near enough, Kuroo’s murmurs of so fucking good and you’re obscene, you know?  barely registering over his own loud moans, and louder still the creaking of the bed frame.  With all the noise they’re making he’s surprised a neighbor doesn’t shout at them, but if one did would he even hear?  Would he even care, when Kuroo’s driving his cock into him so hard he can barely stay on his knees?

Maybe he will in the morning, but certainly not when Kuroo’s hands are gripping his hips so tightly he can feel the bruises forming and he can barely muster up the strength to even rut back against the other, though he manages somehow, the added effort pushing embarrassing little mewling sounds out of his mouth. 

Kuroo mutters another curse, releases Daichi’s hips in favor of curling himself over Daichi’s back, one hand dropping down to curl over Daichi’s where it’s curled into the sheets, bracing him against Kuroo’s powerful thrusts, the other snaking down to the tiny space between Daichi and the bed.

“Whoa,” Kuroo’s words are a low growl against Daichi’s ear, “just how close are you?”

Daichi couldn’t possibly talk right now, couldn’t get out a single word even, and who wouldwant to when Kuroo’s hand, broad and rough, is right there for him to rut down against every time Kuroo pushes back into him?  Nonetheless he tries for something and manages a pitiful, humiliating whine that makes Kuroo press a smirk into the curve of his neck before murmuring, “That close, huh?  Well then.”

Everything seems to move faster then, to feel more intense as Kuroo’s hand curls around his cock and every movement of their hips starts to seem more impatient.  Daichi feels impatient too because every nerve in his body seems to be working on overdrive and he can’t think, he can’t think it’s all just a kaleidoscope of sensation muscles quaking heat sweat skin sliding against skin and bed sheets until shaken, he breaks apart without a sound, his mouth open to let out a silent cry. 

And it’s not forever, or even very long but it feels like Kuroo keeps moving in him forever, until he’s far too oversensitized and it’s almost unpleasant only he’s not sure anything in the whole world could feel bad right now.   Daichi’s shivering when Kuroo finally lets go, can feel every muscle in the larger man’s core quake has he comes, buried deep inside Daichi’s ass and biting into his shoulder.

His head isn’t throbbing when he wakes up, but it’s threatening to, unless he gets a hold of some pain killers and a glass of water right quick.  Only, he can’t do that because the minute he tries to a solid half of his body protests and he hopes whoever owns this bed doesn’t mind him staying over for the day because there’s zero chance that his legs can carry him any sort of distance.  Not to mention he can’t remember the last time his ass was this sore after sex, wow.

“You awake?”  The voice is faintly familiar and speaks at a blessedly low volume.  Daichi opens his eyes to a dim room, lit only by what little sunshine can make its way past the window blinds.  In the gloom, he can see the indistinct figure of the man who, frankly speaking, wrecked him last night and decides that even without the beer goggles on, he’s still pretty hot.

“Yeah,” Daichi sighs, propping himself up on his elbows.  “Um—Kuroo-san, right?”

“Kuroo is fine, all things considered,” Kuroo answers with a chuckle, “There’s water and pills on the nightstand, if you need them.”

Daichi looks over to the nightstand with grateful eyes, daring to move his aching body for the promise of relief.  “Thank you,” he sighs out after he’s downed half the cup—damn, did he need that—and then hazards, “If it’s alright, could I—“

“Stay for a bit?” Kuroo finishes for him, “Sure, so long as you don’t mind a bit of early morning cartoons.”

“I don’t.”

“Good,” Kuroo turns away for a moment, and it’s only then that Daichi bothers to look around—a one-room apartment with no television, but Kuroo’s fished a laptop from out of somewhere and is slipping back onto the bed next to Daichi with it.

Watching cartoons, nude, sore, and curled up next to a stranger is not exactly how Daichi envisioned spending his Sunday.  He never imagined that to do so could feel so casual, so much less than awkward, either. 

But being there feels entirely natural, just as his eventual departure that evening feels entirely natural, a simple exchange of wry grins, of “See you around’s,” and for Daichi, and added pat on the back. 

And as he leaves to return to his own apartment not so far away, the ache in his body downgraded to something dull and manageable, he thinks he might even feel natural to come around again the next time he needs a bit of rough handling.

They did, after all, say see you around.