to be just yours

by gabstar

Summary:

“Akaashi comes all the way down here just for that?” Atsumu exclaims, disbelief written all over his features. He shakes his head in shame. “If Akaashi doesn’t manage to get married, it’s your fault, Bokkun!”

three times Bokuto should have known he was in love with Akaashi Keiji plus once where he finally does

Notes:

bokuto does have a couple of panic attacks in this fic so please be aware if that is something that's triggering for you !!! thank you @Fawn_Eyed_Girl and @novusdeusz for reading over this you two were invaluable help and this wouldn't exist without you <3 <3 <3

Chapter 1

 

1.

 

 

Loving Akaashi Keiji is immediate, instinctual. Bokuto is in the thick of it before he even knows what’s happening. One day he is asking the beautiful first-year setter for some extra tosses and the next he’s laughing with him, bickering over which convenience store snack is best, and following him home to watch Nicollas Romero games, or whatever anime Konoha won’t shut up about. They share lunch hours in abandoned classrooms, gossiping quietly, and huddling over Bokuto’s phone to watch funny clips on YouTube or reviewing whatever meme-compilation Kuroo has sent for his approval. Weekends are spent in each other's rooms, getting overly invested in racing games, avoiding finishing homework, and reading volleyball magazines side-by-side, with their shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. 

Bokuto has always had friends, but Akaashi feels like something more. He is his partner, his constant companion, his best friend. Anything that can be done with Akaashi, should be done with Akaashi. Sometimes they aren’t even doing anything and it’s wonderful just because they are together. Akaashi will give a little sigh, find somewhere to recline, and lay back, and Bokuto will lay back with him. Face to face, bodies parallel, just staring at one another and talking softly. Bokuto loves him like this. He drinks in the sight of Akaashi, waiting for the subtle tells in Akaashi’s expression and memorizing them. He’ll tell a terrible joke and watch for the slight pinch in his brow for irritation, the flare of his nostrils when he huffs in amusement, the twist of his lips for happiness. He’ll say something sweet and watch Akaashi’s eyes fill with a tender glow, see his shoulders lose their last little bit of tension. He wishes Akaashi was always this way. 

Bokuto spends long hours studying that face. Akaashi is so beautiful it doesn’t feel fair. His thick brows draw attention to his striking, hooded gaze; his cupid's bow mouth is soft-looking and pouty in a way Bokuto finds endlessly endearing; his cheekbones are high and defined like a runway model’s. Everything about Akaashi is beautiful— his body, his mind, his heart. Bokuto should have noticed his affections far sooner. 

But Bokuto has other priorities. He keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead. He knows what he wants, knows his destiny is to be among the greats. He has the drive, the energy, the desire, and most importantly, he has Akaashi. Dutiful, diligent Akaashi who indulges him with extra spiking practice whenever Bokuto asks. And more than Akaashi’s willingness is Akaashi’s skill. Bokuto isn’t lying when he tells Akaashi his tosses are the best; his tosses are perfect for him, perfect to practice on, and in high supply. Akaashi is the answer to Bokuto’s dearest wish: for someone to match him, support him, take him and his potential seriously. 

More than that, though, is Akaashi himself. Akaashi is brutally honest, analytical, and smart. He always seems to know just what to say to get Bokuto back on his feet, the solutions for Bokuto’s myriad of problems, he understands what is confusing and explains it to Bokuto gently, sometimes with exasperation, but never condescendingly. Akaashi’s endless well of patience is sweet relief. He is Bokuto’s safe-haven. 

Bokuto should have realized it much, much sooner than he did.

Then again, how could he? Teenage Bokuto is woefully unprepared to grapple with the enormity of his feelings for Akaashi. It can hardly be compared to the vague notion of romance he has in his head: hand-holding after movie dates, a pink confession note taped to a locker, shared dinners with a faceless feminine figure. All of these things are exciting, perhaps only because they are novel and Bokuto is easily flattered, and while Bokuto humored the handful of confessions that came his way in high school, hardly anything came of them. A half-dozen dates, one or two girlfriends that lasted weeks at most. Inevitably they grew tired of him, like most people do. Even teenage Bokuto is used to that happening. 

It was disappointing, occasionally discouraging. Bokuto tries to not let it get to him. Sometimes he gets moody when a girl he’s really excited about gets annoyed with him when he laughs too loudly in the movie theater, or doesn’t think his wordplay jokes are funny, or thinks volleyball is only “pretty cool” instead of “incredibly amazingly spectacularificially cool.” 

“‘Spectacularificially’ isn’t a word, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi informs him gently. 

It’s routine for Bokuto to go to Akaashi’s home instead of his own after dates. Akaashi always gives the best advice, always knows just what to say to cheer him up, and if all else fails, Akaashi will allow Bokuto to rest his head in his lap and mope. Sometimes using those long, elegant fingers to massage his scalp as he murmurs to him. Akaashi’s voice is so warm and reassuring. His hands in his hair feel heavenly. The heat of his body soothes some deep, unnamed ache within Bokuto. He really is an idiot for not realizing this violent affection within him was love sooner. 

“And she did say it was cool,” Akaashi adds. He picks a flake of dried gel from Bokuto’s hair and flicks it aside. “It’s not like she hates volleyball, right?” 

Bokuto makes a disgruntled noise into Akaashi’s thigh. 

“That’s not the point, Aggashee!” he says. He’s been tracing one of the many owls printed on Akaashi’s pajama bottoms with a finger and stops to jab him for emphasis. “I can’t date someone who only thinks volleyball is ‘pretty’ cool! Volleyball is the coolest thing ever!” 

“Hmm. I see.”  

Bokuto peeks up at him. Akaashi’s thinky face is so cute. A very normal thing to think about your best friend and co-captain. 

“Maybe you can convince her,” Akaashi says thoughtfully. 

“Convince her?” Bokuto considers that. A muscle in Akaashi’s leg twitches. “How would I convince her?” 

Bokuto expects Akaashi to suggest some sort of list. The objective, analytical virtues of volleyball and which would be most persuasive to a teenage girl. Bokuto starts to think of what is most impressive about volleyball. Is it the spikes? Or an untouchable serve? Maybe it’s a desperate, last-second save after an exhausting rally? No, it’s definitely the spikes. But which kind? A straight, just within the line? A cross not even a libero can pick up? A uber-sharp cut shot? 

But to his surprise, Akaashi only says:

“By watching you, of course.” 

Bokuto blinks. His absent-minded tracing stops. He pushes himself up, one hand braced on Akaashi’s thigh, and looks him right in the eye. 

“You think that would impress her?” Bokuto asks. “Watching me play?” 

To anyone else, perhaps Akaashi might have seemed unphased. But Bokuto knows this face, knows all its subtle tells. He sees how his lips purse, ever so slightly, like he’s consciously keeping them in a flat, neutral line. He sees the line of Akaashi’s chest move with a deep, steadying breath, through his nose like he is trying to hide the fact that he needs to be steadied. They’re close enough that he can even see Akaashi’s pupils dilate when their eyes meet. 

“Of course,” Akaashi says again. His gaze dips to Bokuto’s mouth and back up again. “You— you are in the top five nationally, after all. That’s— that would be impressive to anyone.” 

Hungry, Bokuto thinks, because he doesn’t have another word for it. Akaashi’s compliments make him feel somehow hungry. He’s been trying to broaden his vocabulary recently, but there still isn’t any other word that comes close to describing the feeling. He likes all compliments, sure, but Akaashi’s are prized, tantalizing jewels. Usually praise leaves Bokuto feeling accomplished and satisfied. Akaashi’s praise makes him feel ravenous, desperate, and needy for more and more. 

“So it’s impressive to you, then,” Bokuto states. 

Akaashi gives him a pointed look, but it’s too late. Bokuto is grinning from ear to ear. 

“You said anyone,” Bokuto reminds, prodding Akaashi’s chest with a finger, “and you are anyone.” 

Akaashi’s flush creeps up his face, totally at odds with the blankness of his expression. He looks away and huffs. 

“Say it!” Bokuto demands happily. “Say you’re impressed with me, Akaashi!” 

Akaashi grabs the pillow tucked behind him and whacks Bokuto with it. “No.” 

“Hey!” Bokuto is laughing as Akaashi continues to batter him. Bokuto moves to grab a pillow of his own, but Akaashi is too quick. He whaps the pillow away with his own, climbs on top of Bokuto, and continues to rain blows down upon him. It’s less a pillow-fight and more a pillow-direct-assault. It’s all Bokuto can do to shield himself with his hands and plead for forgiveness through breathy giggles. He finds himself strangely preoccupied with how Akaashi’s weight feels on top of him, how his legs squeeze him a bit, how his body rocks as he assails him. Bokuto doesn’t know why it exhilarates him. 

Unconsciously, Bokuto’s hips shift, his legs spread just a little. His hands abandon their task of defending himself and come down to settle on Akaashi’s waist.

Akaashi leaps off of him like he’s been electrocuted and scrambles backward. Bokuto sits up, alarmed. 

“Akaashi? Are you okay?” 

“I— Yes.” Even Akaashi’s ears are flushed. Akaashi clutches the pillow to his stomach and refuses to look at him. “You— you’ve suffered enough, I think.” 

He lays on his side, still facing away from Bokuto. Bokuto blinks. 

“Oh,” Bokuto says, unable to think of any other response. “Um. Alright.” 

If asked, he wouldn’t be able to tell you why he feels disappointed. He watches Akaashi’s shoulders rise and fall, rapidly with his still-heavy breath. His knees are curled into his chest, pillow pressed to his abdomen, and he stays quiet. Bokuto shimmies up the bed to lay beside him, but it isn’t the same when he can’t see his face. Akaashi’s rumpled curls are lovely, but make a poor substitute. 

Bokuto shuffles closer to him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, quietly. 

Akaashi doesn’t answer for a long moment. 

“Yes,” he says finally. “I’m sure. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Bokuto says, even if he’s a little unsure what exactly Akaashi is apologizing for. Akaashi worries a lot though, so reassuring him is the more pressing thing. He wishes Akaashi would look at him. “Do… Do you want me to go?” 

“No! No.” Akaashi says it quickly, which is relieving. Bokuto can see his head turn and gets the smallest peek of his cheekbone. “I— I’m sorry.” 

Bokuto tugs on the back of Akaashi’s shirt. “If you’re sorry, turn around.”

Akaashi gives a sigh and rolls over, still clutching that damnable pillow. His look is stern, but is somewhat undercut by the color in his cheeks. Bokuto smiles at him. 

“Hey you,” he says, soft. “Are you really okay?” 

Akaashi’s smile is small, almost secretive. 

“Yes, Bokuto-san, I’m okay,” he insists. He looks down and his lashes cast long shadows down his cheeks. “Thank you for worrying, though.” 

“You don’t gotta thank me for that!” Bokuto cries. “That’s what best friends are for!” 

Akaashi laughs, a sound all the sweeter for its infrequency. Bokuto would make him laugh everyday if he could. He adds that to the list of desired accomplishments: win nationals, play volleyball at the Olympics, see a billboard with his face on it, make Akaashi laugh at least once a day. It doesn’t even occur to Bokuto why such a small thing would become a dream. Had it been anyone else, maybe the thought would strike him as odd, maybe it would force him to consider why someone else's happiness holds such significance to him. But Akaashi is… well, Akaashi . There isn’t a word big enough to encompass all Akaashi is to him. 

Alright, maybe there is. But teenage Bokuto isn’t there yet. If Bokuto could go back, he would shake himself. 

“Still,” Akaashi says. “I’m grateful. For our friendship.” 

“Best friendship,” Bokuto corrects. “I’m your best friend, right?” 

“Right,” Akaashi agrees, a warm glimmer in his eyes. “Of course.” 

Bokuto winds their pinkies together and it’s a promise.  

 

 

2.

 Bokuto doesn’t have much time to date in college. Between classes, coursework, and fighting to keep his starter position on a local, division-three V-League team, he barely has time for any of the things that were supposed to make college fun. No clubs or study groups fit into his schedule. He tries to go to parties when he can, but he can’t drink much with double practices scheduled every weekend. He always ends up calling the night short, and the next day he’ll hear about all the best parts where so-and-so finally kissed, or there was an inspiring game of beer pong, or suddenly there's a new inside joke that Bokuto is now not a part of. It’s more than frustrating. Sure, the parties can be fun, and it’s never a bad time watching Kuroo and Daichi try to out-drink one another, but if he’s honest, he’s always a little relieved for the excuse to go home, or better, to Akaashi’s new apartment just a few blocks away from his own. 

Occasionally though, Bokuto will allow himself to have more than a beer or two, and he’ll find himself making out with a stranger— a pretty girl from his physical therapy class or the cute barista at the student-run cafe-- but the drinks must always get to him because it isn’t long before Bokuto’s stomach starts to churn. He’s always horrifically embarrassed at how he stacks up in Never Have I Ever , but every time the opportunity arises he finds himself wiggling out of the embrace, shrugging off the offers, and sometimes even fleeing the scene entirely.

This makes it the third time Bokuto has followed a woman back to her place; this time, it’s the stunning teacher’s aide with a dark curly pixie cut. Bokuto thought he could do it. Thought he could make it happen this time… but as soon as her hand reaches down his pants he’s shaking, stomach curling in revulsion, panic making his mind go blank. The next thing he knows, he’s halfway down the stairs and abandoning the teacher’s aide entirely. He’s sprinting down the sidewalk at full speed, shirtless.

He feels so wrong. His stomach is squirming, his head is muddled and spinning; he can still feel where she had been touching him—kissing him— and wants to vomit. Did someone spike his drink? Is something wrong with him? What is going on? He shakes his head, trying to shake off the feeling. All he knows is that he is running and running and can’t stop. 

He only makes it a couple more blocks, just far enough to be out of sight and beyond reach, and hunches over his knees. He’s not winded-- it would take a lot more running to do that— but his lungs feel somehow smaller, incapable of providing him the relief fresh air usually does. His mind is fuzzy with panic. 

He does the only rational thing and calls Akaashi. 

“Bokuto-san?” 

And that’s it. Just like that and it’s all undone. The unease melts like soft spring snow; his heart stammers as it slows. Bokuto breathes deeply into the receiver, one hand over his chest, and stumbles back into the brick wall of a smoke shop, slumping down into the sidewalk. The coarse brick sends sharp little stings as he scrapes by.

“Bokuto-san, are you alright?” Akaashi sounds alarmed.

“Yeah,” Bokuto says. He’s still a bit dizzy from the vodka. “I’m a little drunk.” 

“Where are you?” Akaashi asks like he’s killed someone and that makes Bokuto laugh. “Have you been drinking water? Do you have a safe way home? I can come get you.” 

“I…” Bokuto checks the streets around him. He hadn’t had any goal in mind when he started running, only escape. He’s surprised to see Akaashi’s building not too far off. “Can I come over?” 

“Of course you can. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Truthfully, Bokuto doesn’t know. He thinks back to the teacher’s aide and feels sick again. He squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to banish the thought. 

“I think so?” he says, though he sounds unsure even to himself.

“I can come get you,” Akaashi says, and Bokuto can hear the squeaking of bedsprings and hurried footsteps on the other side of the phone. His heart pangs so sweetly. 

“Akaashi…” 

“Let me come get you?” 

Bokuto loves him. He loves him, he loves him, he loves him. But he doesn’t know he’s allowed to; he doesn’t even know that’s an option, and yet the feeling is there, profound and glorious. Tears are in Bokuto’s eyes, his words are stuck in his throat, a stupid grin is plastered on his face and it won’t budge. He thinks he’s just drunk. 

“Yeah, alright,” Boktuo relents. “Come get me.” 

He hears the jingling of Akaashi’s keys and already feels at home. 

 

 

3.

Osaka is lonely. 

Bokuto can’t really complain. He’s living his dream, after all. He’s a starter on a division one V-League team, he’s in talks with Olympic scouts, he has his own, actual agent asking which protein bar he wants to promote on his Instagram and if he’d be available to shoot a deodorant commercial. His face is on billboards promoting the MSBY Black Jackals’ latest match or charity events. He has fan cams and fan mail and regularly gets stopped for pictures and autographs. It’s everything he could have ever wanted. 

And yet he is desperately, unbearably lonely. 

He’s too busy to think about it often. Between training, matches, and constant meetings with his agent, he doesn’t have much time to linger on it. It helps once Atsumu warms up to him and he has a workout buddy. Even when Atsumu spends most of their time trying to get Bokuto to film TikToks with him, only to get sulky when all the comments are about Bokuto more than they are about him. It helps to have someone else who’s also adjusting to living on their own. Atsumu will show up at his place unannounced with beer, eat too much of his food, and crash on his couch, and Bokuto is always grateful. Just having someone around to call his friend is an enormous blessing. 

There’s one friend from Tokyo that Bokuto misses more than anyone though. Bokuto calls Akaashi everyday, texts him constantly, and demands he visit almost every weekend. He’d worry he’s overwhelming Akaashi, but he doesn’t miss the way Akaashi’s eyes twinkle when they meet up, the happy lift of his voice when Bokuto calls. And if their lingering reunion hugs are anything to go by, he’d wager Akaashi misses Bokuto just about as much as Bokuto misses him.

“Akaaashiii I don’t wanna do a deodorant commercial!” Bokuto whines into the phone. He’s flopped over on his bed, on his back, his head hanging upside down over the edge. “People are going to think I’m stinky!” 

“No, they won’t,” Akaashi says, patiently. Bokuto can hear the scratch-scratch-scratching of his pen on the other end of the line. He must be editing Tenma’s latest pages. “They’ll think you smell good. Because that’s the primary function of deodorant.” 

Bokuto huffs. “They’re gonna think I need deodorant because otherwise I would be stinky!” 

“Well, you would be, wouldn’t you?” 

“That’s not the point, Akaashi! It’s going to sully my image! No one wants to make a fan-cam of a stinky person! Did I use ‘sully’ correctly?” 

“You did.” Akaashi sounds pleased. “Think of it this way: It would have to be a very powerful deodorant to keep a professional athlete from smelling. So you’d be the face of the most powerful deodorant of all time.” He pauses, and then adds, “Girls will buy it just to get a hint of what you smelled like.” 

“Oooh, you really think so?” Bokuto flips over, his feet kicking in the air excitedly. “Wait. What do I smell like?” 

“I— I dunno,” Akaashi says. Bokuto hears the shuffling of paper. “Good, I guess?” 

Bokuto beams. “Really? You smell good, too!” 

“And what do I smell like?” Akaashi returns, dryly. 

“Home,” Bokuto says, automatic and wistful. He somehow feels if he could smell Akaashi right now then everything would be right in the world. And then he remembers. “And, and, and—” 

Bokuto fishes for the secret box under his bed. He draws it out and removes the stolen sweater within, hugging it to his face. 

“Some kind of flower? Wait, lavender! Right? That’s the one you use for your anxiety and—” Bokuto takes another whiff  “Coffee. With vanilla creamer!” 

“What are you sniffing?” Akaashi demands. 

“Nothing!” Bokuto tosses the sweater away as if Akaashi can see. “I have a great memory!” 

“Bokuto-san, I could hear you,” Akaashi says, flatly. 

“It’s— it’s the blanket you used last time you stayed over.” Bokuto has never thought more quickly in his life. 

“It’s my red sweater with the stripes, isn’t it?” Akaashi accuses. “Bokuto-san, that one’s my favorite.” 

Caught! Oh god, he is so fucked. How can he explain? What would Akaashi possibly believe? 

“I— found it in the laundry basket,” Bokuto says, mutely. 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, dangerously even. “I’m meal-prepping for us tonight. Would you like pork or chicken?” 

Bokuto is confused. It’s normal for Akaashi to meal-prep Bokuto’s lunches for him and then bring them down during his visits, but Bokuto doesn’t know why he’s bringing it up now.

Bokuto answers apprehensively, “Pork?” 

“You’re getting chicken,” Akaashi says and hangs up. 

Bokuto screams into his pillow. Shit! Fuck! What has he done? Akaashi probably thinks he’s the weirdest weirdo ever now, and worse, he is definitely going to have to give the sweater back. It’s been a few months since moving out to Osaka and while Bokuto has gotten used to living alone, only seeing Akaashi on weekends, and subsisting off nightly phone calls, he still doesn’t feel safe. He doesn’t feel at home. 

But then, when Akaashi visited for the first time, everything seemed alright. More than alright. Bokuto realized this city actually wasn’t terrible at all. They’d gone to an arcade, tried a new onigiri spot, and seen a movie, and it really wasn’t all that different from Tokyo. They watched his latest game footage and reclined on Bokuto’s pull-out couch; Bokuto had watched Akaashi’s eyes slowly drift shut, and Bokuto just…. didn’t return to his bedroom. He slept right there with Akaashi by his side and woke up feeling truly rested and deeply secure. He had shifted over and snuggled into Akaashi, breathed in, and oh. Oh, it had just felt so right. The sweet, masculine scent of Akaashi brought back every warm, comforting memory of home and Bokuto knew this was exactly what Osaka was truly missing. He had hidden the sweater later that day in a fit of madness. 

He calls Akaashi back frantically. 

“Akaashi, I’m sorry!” Bokuto cries as soon as he picks up. “Forgive me, you have to forgive me!” 

“Why?” Akaashi demands, voice hard. 

“Because I’m your best friend!” Bokuto says. 

“No, why did you take it?” Akaashi clarifies sharply. 

Bokuto’s jaw works soundlessly. He huffs into the receiver several times, little sounds of struggle escaping him. 

“I missed you,” he eventually manages. “I needed it.” 

Akaashi is silent for a long, drawn-out pause. For a moment, Bokuto thinks he hung up on him, but no, there’s Akaashi’s quiet breathing, a little more rushed than Bokuto would expect. 

“Just— just ask me next time,” Akaashi says, sounding strained. “It isn’t nice to take people’s things without asking.” 

Relief is so potent it crashes into Bokuto’s chest like a tidal wave. Bokuto slumps onto his back with a great whump. 

“I will! I’ll always ask from now on!” he swears, putting a hand over his heart. “I’ll never take something that’s yours ever again without asking first!” 

“And,” Akaashi asks, strangely quiet. “I want your Black Jackals hoodie in exchange. The one with your name printed on the front.” 

“Anything!” Bokuto promises. “You can have all my hoodies!” 

“Alright,” Akaashi agrees. He sounds very pleased. “And I’ll make pork.” 

Bokuto rolls onto his belly, legs kicking in the air happily. 

“You’re the best , Akaashi!” 

 

 

+1 

 

 

It happens when Sakusa is recruited to the team and Atsumu makes it his mission to adopt him into their friend group. 

“Think about it!” Atsumu says. “You, me, Shouyou, and Sakusa! We could hit the town! Go to clubs!”

“No one would have to sit by themselves on roller coasters!” Bokuto exclaims.

“That too!” Atsumu agrees. “If we post enough selfies together we could be like ‘the MSBY four’ and all go work out together and make TikToks and everything! I’ll finally have more fan cams than Tobio-kun!”

Bokuto appreciates Atsumu’s optimism. Kageyama has thousands of fan cams across multiple platforms and it isn’t slowing down anytime soon. Kageyama was trending on Twitter for three days straight when he made his Olympic debut. Thankfully, his popularity has uplifted everyone in their ‘Monster Generation’ and volleyball in general. Akaashi occasionally sends Bokuto fan edits of himself and Bokuto is always delighted. 

Atsumu brings two cases of beer and Bokuto brings sweets: boxes of pocky, a container of store-bought cookies, and a case of a fizzy, sugary drinks their dietician told them specifically never to touch. Atsumu argues the whole way over that the sugar will only make their hangovers worse, but Bokuto only laughs. He has learned by now that needless bickering is just one of Atsumu’s love languages. 

“Maybe Sakusa doesn’t drink!” Bokuto counters, nudging Atsumu with his knee. His hands are full of treats. Atsumu huffs and shakes him off. “We’ll need something to bribe him.” 

Atsumu grumbles and knocks on Sakusa’s door. Sakusa’s masked face appears for only a flash before quickly slamming it shut again. 

“Hey!” Atsumu pounds on the door harshly. “We brought you housewarming gifts, ya fuckin’ asshole!” 

“I brought cookies!” Bokuto says brightly. 

“I don’t eat cookies made by other people,” Sakusa says through the door. “Go annoy someone else.” 

“But I bought you beer!” Atsumu protests. “Stop being so damn prickly, Omi-kun!” 

Bokuto hears Sakusa sigh heavily on the other side of the door. The hinges creak and Sakusa’s flat, unimpressed expression stares at them.

“If you make a mess, I’m kicking you out,” he threatens and steals a beer from Atsumu’s arm. 

Sakusa’s back turns to them and Atsumu shoots Bokuto his most I told you so face. Bokuto stifles his giggle. 

Sakusa’s apartment is, predictably, entirely empty and it smells brand new. Bokuto is amazed. Even when he just moved in his place never smelled so… sanitized. They shuffle out of their shoes and wander inside. There’s only one chair at the kitchen counter and they all settle instead on the shiny, wood-planked floor. Sakusa cracks open his beer and his wrists snaps back unnaturally far. Bokuto winces. How does he do that? 

“Did no one help you move in?” Atsumu asks, sitting cross-legged and leaning back on one arm, examining the place. “Bokkun, Shouyou, and I can help you!” 

“Yeah!” Bokuto says through a mouthful of pocky. Atsumu steals a bite of one right out of Bokuto’s hand. “We’re great movers!” 

Sakusa stares at him in disgust. 

“Shut your mouth while you’re eating,” Sakusa says. “And I don’t need all of your unwashed hands all over my things.” 

Atsumu throws his head back and rolls his eyes. 

“You’re just gonna clean it all again later,” he retorts. “And we’re free!” 

“Yeah, free!” Bokuto echos, pumping his fist. 

Atsumu smiles at the empty room, cracks open his own beer, and takes a healthy drag of it. 

“I remember when I first moved into my new place,” he says, somewhat dreamily. “Man, it was hard. You’re lucky you have us to help you out!” 

“The luckiest,” Sakusa deadpans. He’s already finished his first beer and moves on to another. Bokuto offers him a pocky, but Sakusa only glares. 

“I thought I was gonna starve to death!” Atsumu goes on with a laugh. 

“How could it have possibly gotten to that point.” Sakusa asks it too flatly for it to be a question. Atsumu shrugs. 

“It’s overwhelming, ya know!” Atsumu says breezily. “Bokkun almost starved, too.” 

Bokuto nods eagerly, giving a big thumbs up. 

“I put in my new address wrong and my groceries didn’t deliver!” Bokuto announces proudly. “And I was so busy I only ate ramen for like two weeks!” 

Atsumu rolls his eyes fondly and gives Sakusa a meaningful look. Bokuto takes a beer and gives it a little sip, having to wash it down with a big bite of cookie.

“He learned to cook eventually,” Atsumu says, shrugging one shoulder. “He always has the cutest, home-made lunches now. He won’t tell me how he makes the rice into little bear shapes.” 

“Oh I don’t make those,” Bokuto says with a wave of his hand.

Bokuto sees Sakusa’s moles scrunch as he frowns.

“You’re twenty-three years old and your mom still cooks your meals?” he asks, disbelievingly. 

“Not my mom!” Bokuto protests, setting his beer down in indignation. “Akaashi!”

“Akaashi?” they repeat in unison. 

Bokuto nods, putting a hand to his face dreamily. 

“He… oh, he helps me with everything,” he gushes. “He helped me with my taxes, buying furniture, moving in… When he heard I had been living off take-out and ramen, he came all the way down here with a whole cooler full of home-cooked meals and lectured me for hours on how important it is to be nutritionally balanced as an athlete. He’s so funny!” 

Bokuto laughs. The thought of Akaashi’s cute, stern, scolding face fills his stomach with butterflies. The sugar rush must already be getting to him. 

Atsumu sets his beer down, leaning in with wide, incredulous eyes. 

“Aka-kun comes all the way down here just for that?” he asks, dragging the sentence out like each word shocks him more than the last. 

“Every other week!” Bokuto says happily. Which reminds him: Akaashi is scheduled for another visit later today. He checks his phone and there’s a snapchat from Akaashi from a few hours ago, and yup, there he is on the train. Bokuto feels a sweet pang of longing. He’ll have to remember to come up with some excuse to dip early. 

Sakusa and Atsumu are staring at him with twin expressions of disbelief. Atsumu’s jaw is hanging open and Bokuto can see chocolate Pocky stuck between his teeth. 

“Akaashi comes all the way down here just for that?!” Atsumu exclaims, repeating himself, every emphasized word nearly a spit. Bokuto thinks he spots a vein pop out in Sakusa’s forehead. Atsumu shakes his head, rubbing his temples with the heels of his palms. “If Akaashi doesn’t manage to get married, it’s your fault, Bokkun!”

Sakusa hums his agreement, but Bokuto barely hears him. 

Akaashi… married? The statement impales him, stabs Bokuto right through his heart, striking him with icy fierceness and leaving his body frozen and cold. He thinks his heart stops beating entirely. Akaashi? Married? Akaashi getting married? Bokuto has never thought of it before, never even considered it, and it overpowers him instantly. Floods him with churning, roiling, writhing anxiety, rushing to swallow his stricken heart. Bokuto can picture it so vividly it’s like it’s happening right before him. He sees Akaashi’s beautiful face in his mind, that warm smile given to a stranger, his laugh so soft only his spouse can hear as Akaashi curls into them. Akaashi would dote on them, put his lovely hands on their body, flirt with them gently, and lecture them adoringly. He would be dutiful, patient, and kind. He would be the most incredible husband anyone could ever have, the most incredible husband anyone could ever possibly imagine having. You would have to be the world’s biggest idiot not to want someone like Akaashi Keiji as a husband. Bokuto can see Akaashi in a stranger’s apartment, curled up on the couch with a book or cooking in his PJs, turning and smiling when his spouse walks through the door. He imagines Akaashi kissing someone and feels sick and sour and rotten and spoiled, like his skin is crawling and convulsing over his body. He’s shaking. Bokuto can see it all in his mind, and his heart shatters on the floor. 

He needs to throw up. He needs to dowse himself in cold water. 

Bokuto gets to his feet, legs trembling as he stumbles back and knocks over Atsumu’s beer can. Atsumu cries out in dismay. 

“Bokkun! What the hell?!” 

Bokuto is shaking his head, barely seeing either Sakusa sigh and roll his eyes or Atsumu’s dumbfounded expression. 

“Akaashi can’t get married!” Bokuto shouts it, shouts it . He turns away from them, tries to find a place to hide, but the apartment is devoid of any shelter. He’s consumed with images of Akaashi, each new picture feeling like a taunt, like a sharp, stinging slap to the face. Akaashi canoodling a faceless figure; Akaashi holding a stranger’s hand; Akaashi with a ring on his finger in someone else’s apartment. He feels his pulse throbbing painfully everywhere, in his throat, in his wrists, and worst of all, in his heart, where it throws itself against his ribs like it means to crack him open and escape his body entirely. He pulls at his hair, eyes squeezing shut. “Akaashi can’t! He can’t ever! Akaashi wouldn’t do that to me! Akaashi is mine!” 

“What?” Atsumu says at the same time as Sakusa very calmly says, “Oh, so you are together; I did suspect that.”

Bokuto aches everywhere. Tears are blurring his vision. What had Sakusa said? Together? Him and Akaashi? Images of Akaashi kissing a stranger are replaced with Akaashi kissing Bokuto and— oh. Oh. Oh! Something roars to life within him. He falls to his knees. Oh! His body has turned to fireflies and he is all soft buzzing, and starlight, and lazy evening peace. 

Sakusa sighs again. He stands to go get a paper towel, dish soap, and a spray bottle. 

“My one condition was that you didn’t make a mess,” he mutters darkly. 

“Sorry, Omi-kun, but wait, Bokkun are— are you and Akaashi dating?” Atsumu asks. He accepts Sakusa’s paper towels. 

Bokuto’s heart plummets when he remembers. The peace smashes to pieces. Dread curls low in his belly, his limbs are heavy with grief and loss. 

“ No ,” Bokuto moans. His hands drag down his face. “We’re both boys!” 

Atsumu looks terribly offended. He squints at him.

“What are you talking about?” Atsumu says, affronted. “You can date other boys. Love is love.” 

Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god.” 

Bokuto swivels around to stare at them. 

“ What? ” he shouts it more than asks. 

“I’ve told you about my boyfriends before,” Atsumu protests. 

“Yeah!” Bokuto agrees. “Your friends who are boys!” 

Atsumu facepalms. 

“Oh, Bokkun…. Bokkun no. Boyfriends as in boys I pursue romantically and kiss and date and stuff.” Atsumu looks at Sakusa. “I thought Tokyo was more progressive than this.”

Sakusa shakes his head. “I thought he was gay.”

Gay? That rings a bell. Something Kuroo had said when they were both more than a little drunk. A gesture, a fuzzy image of two figures kissing, something about Daichi’s thighs. But then he remembers a game of truth and dare starting and it's all a blur from there. He makes a noise of agitation. 

“So this whole time I could have been kissing boys?” Bokuto demands, outraged. “This whole time?” 

“Do you want to kiss boys?” Atsumu asks. “Or just Akaashi?” 

Bokuto can see it. He’s had Akaashi’s face so close to his before: he can remember every freckle, every crinkle around his eyes as he smiles, the little indent on his nose where his glasses rest. He imagines kissing Akaashi there. Would Akaashi let him? Would he want him to? Bokuto is wracked with agony. 

“It’s Akaashi, it has to be Akaashi.” Bokuto knows this suddenly. He begins to pace the room frantically. “Oh god, what if there’s someone else? What if he doesn’t love me?”

Sakusa and Atsumu exchange a glance. 

“He’s your setter from Fukurodani, right?” Sakusa asks, slowly. “He always seemed… very attached to you.” 

“And he’s always texting you,” Atsumu adds. “And if he’s making you meals… I mean, that seems pretty, uh y’know, attached, I guess.” 

Bokuto can barely hear what they’re saying. Attached isn’t good enough; Akaashi has to be his. All he can think of is Akaashi. Akaashi with his sweet face, his pretty mouth, his coaxing eyelashes. Akaashi is the most kissable guy in the whole world and if he can date boys as well as girls then… then that means twice as many people are after him! There could be thousands of them! Millions of people are undoubtedly actively pursuing Akaashi, attempting to seduce him, snatch him up, and steal him away forever. One of them is bound to catch Akaashi’s eye eventually. It could be happening right now. Bokuto has to stop it! Before it’s too late!

“I have to go!” Bokuto cries, suddenly. “I can’t be here!” 

He runs for the door and Atsumu shouts after him. 

“Where are you going?” 

There is only one place to go. He checks his phone and it’s another snapchat from Akaashi, this time in Bokuto’s apartment with his cooler in the background. One eye is closed and a peace sign is pressed to his cheek. He’s so adorable that Bokuto could cry, might cry if he looks too long. The text reads: waiting for you .   

Bokuto sprints all the way home, leaping over fire hydrants and cutting corners to get there faster. He bobs and swerves through crowds of people as they move in great masses, seemingly just to get in his way. Many of them shooting him nasty glares he barely registers. His pulse is hammering in his throat, his only thought is faster, I have to get there faster. Akaashi could have met someone on the train ride over, a cute concession worker catching his eye, or maybe he’s made friends with a custodian on the train. Akaashi’s too friendly not to make idle chatter. Maybe someone stopped him on the way home, fell to their knees, and professed their love. Oh god, anything is possible. Bokuto pushes himself harder. 

He skips the elevator and takes the stairs up to his apartment three at a time. His open jacket is whipping his arms as he moves and he grips the stairwell as he climbs, swinging himself up and up and up. He fumbles with his keys and throws his apartment door open. 

Akaashi . Bokuto’s heart stops. Akaashi is there, on Bokuto’s couch, leaning against the arm-rest and his legs tucked to the side. He must have just showered because his curls are still a little damp and he’s changed into sweats and a button-up pajama shirt. He has a book in his lap, just like Bokuto had pictured him in his panic, and it’s a sharp, painful reminder. Akaashi potentially being somewhere else, belonging to someone else is all Bokuto can think about as he rushes forward. Akaashi looks up and puts his book aside. 

“You’re home,” he says, a warm smile on his lips, and then notices. “Bokuto-san?” 

Bokuto throws himself to the floor his feet and tosses his arms around Akaashi’s waist, burying his face in his lap. Akaashi’s hands come to rest on his shoulders.

“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, alarmed.

“Please never marry anyone, Akaashi!” he cries. 

Silence. The most dreadful silence Bokuto has ever heard. More agonizing than any curt recruiter’s stare; longer than any moment sitting outside a coach’s office for an impending review; more heart-stopping than even Meian’s worst glares. He can’t bring himself to look, can’t even bring himself to breathe. Bokuto feels like years have passed before those long, elegant fingers travel from his shoulder blades, over the slopes of his throat, and thread through the soft hair at the base of his skull. 

“Bokuto-san?” 

Akaashi is gentle as he tilts Bokuto’s head up to face him. As soon as their eyes meet, Bokuto’s fear dissipates. Akaashi’s face is so beautiful and familiar it instantly reminds Bokuto why Akaashi is his favorite person ever. Akaashi is Akaashi. He makes everything better just by existing. Bokuto isn’t just in good hands; he is in the best hands. The hands that have delivered him time and time again, with only the utmost care. Bokuto stares at him in awe. He should have worshiped this man from the start. 

Akaashi’s thumb caresses Bokuto’s cheek. “Where is this coming from?” 

“Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto blames immediately. 

Akaashi cocks his head to the side. “Atsumu?” 

“He said if you never got married, it would be my fault!” Bokuto explains. He feels himself pouting, his brows pinching. “And then I was thinking: what happens if Akaashi does get married? What if he leaves me and doesn’t have time for me? What would I do without you? I couldn’t bear it if you loved anyone more than me, Akaashi, I would die.” 

Akaashi’s breath hitches. Bokuto feels Akaashi’s hands tremble against him and he nuzzles them, searching for their usual affection. His hands grip Akaashi’s legs, just above the knee. 

“You— you’re the most generous, kind, and wonderful person I know, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto tells him honestly. “And anyone you loved would be lucky to have you, but—” 

He struggles for a moment. He makes a wordless, aggravated noise— somewhere between a groan and a shout— and presses his forehead into Akaashi’s palm. 

“I’m too selfish, Akaashi! I want you all to myself! Forever! So you can’t marry anyone. Please?” 

Bokuto looks up at him, all hope and adoration.

Akaashi’s face is frozen in shock and furiously red. His hands are still trembling and Bokuto takes them into his own, rubbing them soothingly. Bokuto can see Akaashi’s mind racing, his eyes are wider than Bokuto’s ever seen them, Akaashi’s lips are moving as if to speak, but seem unable to settle into what he wants to say. Bokuto busies himself with massaging the webbing between Akaashi’s fingers, the way he’s seen Akaashi do a thousand times, and he wants to kiss his knuckles. He almost asks if he can, when Akaashi speaks. 

“I… Bokuto-san…” Akaashi is breathing hard. “What… What are you trying to say? It… It sounds like— if you’re saying— what I think you’re saying—” 

Bokuto fixes his gaze on him, intent. Akaashi looks away, mouth pursed into a quivering line. 

“Okay, lemme just— give me a second.” Akaashi pulls away from him, pressing both hands flat over his own face. Bokuto blinks. He hears the hiss of breath between fingers as Akaashi takes three deep, purposeful breaths. His hands then steeple over his mouth.  

“You aren’t going to die,” Akaashi says, firm, his eyes closed. His breath fogs up the bottom half of his glasses. “And you don’t have to worry about losing me, but… Bokuto-san…” 

Bokuto grabs Akaashi by the shoulders. He loves the shape of him, the feel of his body in his hands. “I’m listening.”  

Akaashi blushing is so hard he’s practically glowing. His face is scrunched up and unreadable. He holds his closed fists to his chest. 

“Do… do you only want me for yourself? What if you wanted to get married someday? Is that… truly fair to me?” Akaashi manages. He won’t meet his gaze, a worried pinch to his mouth. 

Bokuto is confused for a moment. And then it hits him all at once. 

“Oh! Akaashi!” Bokuto cries. He leaps to his feet and tugs at his hair. “Oh god, oh no! I’ve done this all wrong! I’ve messed this all up!”

He points at Akaashi firmly.  

“Lemme start over!” he cries. “Stay right there!” 

Akaashi starts to say something, but Bokuto doesn’t hear. He flees the room, slamming the door behind him, only to reenter and once again throw himself to the floor and wrap his arms around Akaashi’s waist. 

“Akaashi Keiji please marry me!” 

He yells it more than asks. Akaashi sputters. 

“Bokuto-san!” 

Bokuto looks up at him. “Please? We would be the best husbands ever! We could sleep in the same bed every night, and I would make you coffee every morning, and you could live here with me! We would see each other everyday and I would never have to miss you again! I could come home and have you right here, with me, all the time! Wouldn’t that be perfect? I promise to make you the happiest!” 

Akaashi covers his face with his hands again, his glasses pushed up into his hair. His shoulders are shaking and for a horrifying moment Bokuto thinks he might be crying. Then Akaashi swats him across the shoulder.

“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi cries, indignant. “You— you can’t just propose to me because you don’t want to share me with anyone else! You’re supposed to actually— you know— actually love the person!” 

“But I do love you!” Bokuto insists. “I love you so much!” 

Akaashi makes a strangled noise. “Bokuto-san—” 

“I always have!” Bokuto continues. “I’ve always loved you best out of anyone! I should have realized it sooner, you just make me so happy— I didn’t—I didn’t even realize—” Bokuto shakes his head, dismissing the thought. He takes Akaashi’s face in his hands. “I didn’t know it was allowed! No one is as good or smart or funny or awesome as Akaashi! No one makes me feel like Akaashi does!” 

Akaashi tries to hide again, twisting out of Bokuto’s grip, but this time Bokuto doesn’t let him. He snatches Akaashi’s hands and guides them to his lips. The rightness of it zips through him like an electric shock. 

“I think I’ve loved you this whole time,” Bokuto confesses. “I love your face, I love your voice, I love your smell— that’s why I stole your sweater! This stupid apartment felt so cold, and lonely, and empty, and then you were in it and suddenly it felt like a home! I slept on the pull-out couch for three nights after you left just to be in a place that felt like you! I thought I was just homesick.” He shakes his head; it’s all so obvious in hindsight. “Oh, Akaashi! I’m so sorry for only realizing it now, but I love you so much, I really do. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. When Tsum-Tsum mentioned you getting married I— I panicked—I realized I couldn’t let it happen, I had to stop it! I had to make you mine. I had to convince you to be mine only!”

He feels Akaashi’s tears before he sees them. Soft and wet and plopping onto his forearms, onto his shirt. Akaashi wipes his cheeks hastily and Bokuto makes a pitiful sound. 

“Oh, Akaashi, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he whispers.

Akaashi shakes his head furiously. Bokuto moves to settle himself on the couch next to him and wraps his arms around Akaashi, rubbing his back in long, soothing strokes. Akaashi clings to him, Bokuto feels his nails dig into him as he grips the back of his jacket and sniffles quietly into his shirt. After several, long moments, Akaashi draws back, tugging on Bokuto’s collar, and for a moment Bokuto thinks he’s going to be kissed. Instead, Akaashi presses their foreheads together.

“You’re serious?” Akaashi asks in a small voice. “You really mean it?” 

“ Akaashi ,” Bokuto says, imploring. Having Akaashi so close makes his heart both race and ache. “I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t joke about this.” 

Akaashi sniffs. His breath shudders out of him, the rush of it caresses Bokuto’s lips and cheek and nearly makes him shudder, too. He wants to chase that breath, meet it in Akaashi’s mouth and taste it. But he can almost feel Akaashi’s thoughts whirling around in his head. 

“And you’re sure?” Akaashi asks, somehow even quieter. “You’re sure it’s me you want?” 

Bokuto laughs, incredulous. 

“Akaashi! Who wouldn’t want you?” He could shake him. Instead, he cups Akaashi’s face gently. “That’s what started this whole thing! Tsum-Tsum said if you didn’t get married, it would be my fault, and I realized ‘oh my god, Akaashi could get married, he could have anyone he wanted. Who wouldn’t want to marry Akaashi?! He’s the Akaashi!’” 

Akaashi gives him a watery laugh. He’s so beautiful it feels like there are glass shards needled through Bokuto’s heartstrings. 

“Really?” Akaashi asks, breathy. 

“Yes!” Bokuto says, emphatically. “You’re kind and smart and funny and a great cook!” Another laugh. “And you’re really hot! Like crazy hot!”  

Akaashi pulls away to wipe his eyes, pushing up his glasses as he does. “You exaggerate.”  

“Not about this,” Bokuto insists. “You’re beautiful!” 

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi is shaking his head and for an instant, Bokuto’s heart is absolutely shattered. Akaashi doesn’t believe him. Bokuto should have loved him sooner, should have confessed better, should have told him every wonderful thing he’s ever thought about Akaashi. He’s had so many and he’s selfishly kept them to himself. And for what? Just so Akaashi could doubt himself? Unforgivable. Unbelievable. He’s about to announce as much when Akaashi says,

“Koutarou?” 

Bokuto’s heart surges into his throat and threatens to strangle him. 

“Yes,” Bokuto urges. He takes Akaashi’s hands in his. “Yes, Akaa— Keiji.” 

Akaashi smiles, tremulous. He looks at their fingers entwined in his lap. 

“It’s funny,” Akaashi says, slowly, deliberately, “that you say I can have anyone I want.” 

Bokuto doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink. He’s afraid to miss a single thing. Akaashi’s gaze meets his, mouth pursed into a happy line, eyes aglow. 

“Because the only one I’ve ever wanted… is you,” Akaashi finishes.  

Bokuto could sing. The relief is so potent and so pure Bokuto feels as if a layer of lead has been lifted right off his shoulders. It’s like he can properly breathe for the first time of his life. He’s so overjoyed he laughs. He’s so overwhelmed he weeps. Akaashi brushes away his tears with his thumbs. 

“You already have me!” Bokuto declares. “I’ve been yours since the beginning!” 

Akaashi kisses him and it’s only lips and the pressure of teeth, but it leaves Bokuto gasping. Oh. Oh, of course. This is how kissing was supposed to feel all along. The gentle press of Akaashi’s mouth ignites every good feeling in Bokuto’s body. Tendrils of wildfire shoot through Bokuto’s veins, lava-hot desire pools in his lower belly, his heartbeat is as powerful as an earthquake as it pounds through his flesh. Bokuto didn’t think his body had room to hold so much joy, and pleasure, and love. Love most of all. Every fiber of his being loves Akaashi Keiji, and knowing it, feeling it, having it reciprocated--

“I love you,” Bokuto tells him through lips still smushed together. “I love you so much.” 

Akaashi giggles and kisses him. Bokuto isn’t sure how to kiss back, but he mimics the way Akaashi’s mouth moves against his and Akaashi moans softly into it. Akaashi’s long, slender fingers thread through Bokuto’s hair, both familiar and exhilarating in this new context, and just so right, so good. Akaashi’s mouth opens to kiss him again and, oh god, how much time had Bokuto wasted not having this? The beautiful heat of his breath, the silky slip of his tongue, the sweet glide of his lips, his lips! So smooth and plush and kissing him so lovingly. Bokuto is so entranced he almost forgets to kiss back. 

“Oh,” Akaashi says, their mouths coming apart with a pop. “And I love you, too.” 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto cries, delighted. “You do?” 

They’re kissing again before Akaashi can respond. Warm and sweet and wet and deep. Akaashi climbs into his lap, straddling his hips with his thighs, and Bokuto feels a surge of dark want. The weight of his body, the warmth of his thighs, the slide of his arms as they loop around his shoulders, every new sensation is both thrilling and dizzying. Bokuto feels drunk, intoxicated on Akaashi alone. His blood is champagne, his body is all bubbles, and his mind is full of fizz. Bokuto hums happily and the pleased noise Akaashi rewards him with in return leaves him buzzing with desire. Bokuto’s hands tighten on Akaashi’s waist. 

When Akaashi retreats again he looks nearly as dazed as Bokuto feels. 

“I’m not dreaming?” Akaashi asks. His pupils have swallowed the color of his irises. “This is real?” 

“Yes! Of course!” Bokuto assures him, kisses him, presses their bodies flat together and then realizes. “You’ve dreamt about this before?” 

Akaashi sputters.

“Well— I— I mean, yes.” Akaashi looks like he’s struggling a great deal. His head drops onto Bokuto’s shoulder. “Don’t tease me.” 

“Tease you?! ” Bokuto cries. He clutches Akaashi with fierceness, nuzzling into his neck. “The man of my dreams has been dreaming of me! I— I’m so happy, Akaashi, you have no idea.” 

Akaashi makes a noise that comes close to a whine. 

“I love you,” Akaashi whispers into Bokuto’s throat and kisses it. “I really, really do.” 

Bokuto swells with elation. But he hears something in Akaashi’s voice. Something almost pained, something like longing. 

Bokuto rubs Akaashi’s back in slow circles. 

“I… I’ve kept you waiting a long time, haven’t I?” Bokuto asks, quiet. 

Akaashi draws back. His glasses are askew and Bokuto adjusts them for him carefully. Akaashi’s cheeks are adorably flushed. He gives Bokuto a little nod. 

Bokuto crumples. “Oh, Akaashi— Akaashi I’m so sorry— I should have known sooner. I should have realized— I’ve wasted so much time—” 

“No, no, no, none of that,” Akaashi hushes. He cups Bokuto’s face in his hand and rubs his cheek with his thumb. “Hey, look at me?” 

Akaashi brings their foreheads together once again, hand still on his cheek. His eyes are open and intent. 

“I have loved every single moment I’ve spent with you,” Akaashi tells him. “I wouldn’t change anything. None of it was a waste.” 

Bokuto nods because he understands, not because he agrees. He imagines Akaashi longing for him, quietly pining while Bokuto carries on, hopelessly oblivious. Had it hurt terribly? Did Bokuto break Akaashi’s heart a million little times unknowingly? Tears well up in his eyes. 

“I don’t wanna hurt Akaashi ever,” he says, voice wobbling. 

“It didn’t hurt,” Akaashi insists. “I promise you. I— I was just happy to be near you. To be someone you could rely on. To make you laugh and see you shine. That was always enough for me. I felt lucky just to be around you.” 

Bokuto sniffles. “You deserve way better than that, Akaashi! Ten million times better!”

“Well, I have you now,” Akaashi says. He kisses Bokuto then, long, savoring, and loving. “And you’re the best.” 

He nuzzles their noses together and quietly adds, “Bokuto-san is the best. Hey, hey, hey.” 

Bokuto throws his head back and laughs. He wipes his eyes and shakes his head. 

“Akaashi!” he accuses. He gathers Akaashi in his arms, crushing him to his chest. “You’re being cute on purpose, aren’t you?”

Akaashi hums into his neck. “Is it working?” 

“Call me Koutarou!” 

“Koutarou,” Akaashi amends. He rains kisses all over Bokuto’s lower face, his jaw, his earlobe. “My Koutarou.” 

Bokuto recaptures Akaashi’s mouth with his own. Akaashi opens for him, tongue lavish and full, lips plush and sweet. Bokuto could kiss him forever and it wouldn’t be long enough. He loves the little whines he draws from Akaashi as he kisses him eagerly. He loves how Akaashi’s nails dig into his back, how his spine arches under his fingers as he presses into Bokuto even further, the grind of his groin against his as he moves, the soft puff of his breath as they kiss over and over again. 

Eventually Akaashi removes his glasses, places them on top of his book on the coffee table, and pushes Bokuto down until he’s laying back, head pillowed by the squashy arm rest as Akaashi settles on top of him. He spreads Bokuto’s legs with a thigh and the little taste of friction already has Bokuto seeing stars. Akaashi leans over him, pressing them chest to chest, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. They’re touching in so many places Bokuto doesn’t even know where to focus. But then Akaashi’s hand finds his hair again, tilts his face, and Bokuto is being kissed too thoroughly to focus on anything. 

Bokuto doesn’t know how long they spend like that. Days could be passing and Bokuto wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t care. All that exists is Akaashi’s wonderful mouth, the soft hush of his breath, the flutter of his eyelashes against Bokuto’s cheek, the rise and fall of his body over Bokuto’s. There are so many places Bokuto wants to touch. There is so much of Akaashi’s skin to become acquainted with, so many sensitive spots for Bokuto to adorn with his teeth and tongue. 

Bokuto loves how Akaashi’s hands feel on him. How his fingers drag along his skin luxuriously, savoring. He likes noticing where Akaashi’s hands linger, where he pauses to cup and grab. First it’s his biceps (Akaashi spends a good amount of time on those. Bokuto makes a mental note to flex for him later) then he kneads the thick muscles across Bokuto’s shoulders with his fingers and it almost feels better than the kissing (almost). Next his hands stroke down his chest. Akaashi palms Bokuto’s pecs, gives them a nice squeeze, and sends Bokuto into a fit of giggles. 

“Akaashi!” he cries, breaking their long string of kisses. “Are you feeling me up?”

“Yes,” Akaashi answers boldly. He looks Bokuto right in the eye. “Is that okay?” 

“Only if I can too,” Bokuto says. 

“I have significantly less to ‘feel up’ but sure,” Akaashi says. 

Bokuto finds the buttons of Akaashi’s pajama shirt and thumbs them open greedily.  Akaashi’s skin is so smooth, so kissable. Bokuto sucks the soft skin of Akaashi’s neck, runs his tongue along his collarbones, nibbles down his sternum. The little noises Akaashi makes are immediately addictive. He cherishes every tiny exhale, memorizes every little moan. He’s so responsive. Akaashi is usually so cool and detached, but here he is anything but. Bokuto finds a nipple and gives it a lavish kiss. 

“Koutarou,” Akaashi gasps. “ Oh! ”

Bokuto loves that noise especially and sets on creating another, this time with a graze of teeth, and Akaashi shudders above him, his thighs tense around him. 

“Do you like this?” Bokuto asks. “Does it feel good?” 

“Yes,” Akaashi says, breathless in a way that goes straight to Bokuto’s cock. He spots a mole on Akaashi’s chest and kisses that too, sucking at the soft skin he finds there.

“Wait, come back, I miss you,” Akaashi says, tugging on Bokuto’s hair, back toward his lips. 

Bokuto is right here, literally all over Akaashi, and giving him his full attention, but somehow Bokuto knows what he means. He looks up at him imploringly. 

“But I wanna kiss Akaashi everywhere!” he says.

Akaashi grumbles. “I’m Keiji now.” 

“I wanna kiss Keiji everywhere!” 

“Koutarou.” Akaashi pouts at him, and if Akaashi is still keeping track, he should mark that one down as the first and very greatest of Bokuto’s weaknesses. 

“Keiji,” Bokuto answers, all too happy to indulge him. He surges forward, sitting up a little to rejoin their mouths. The movement scooches Akaashi down a bit and their hips align. When Akaashi’s legs tighten around him, their pelvises grind together and Bokuto gasps. 

“Sorry,” Akaashi says, somewhat slurred. “Too much?” 

“No.” Bokuto grips Akaashi’s thighs, fingers dangerously close to cupping his ass. “Do it again.” 

Akaashi mimics the motion and Bokuto groans. It’s too good. It’s too fucking good. Bokuto has never felt as good as this. Bokuto shudders into it, trying to roll his hips in the same way, and hears Akaashi hiss. 

“Koutarou—” Akaashi says with some difficulty. He’s clutching Bokuto’s shoulders. “Are you— do you want to—” 

Bokuto doesn’t even know what he’s asking but he says, “Yes, yes. Whatever you want, I want it.”

Akaashi peeks up at him. He looks so wonderfully debauched already. Bokuto can’t help but take pride in knowing he’s the one to blame. 

“I also want what you want,” Akaashi tells him. “Are you comfortable with… are you familiar with how it works? When it’s between two boys?” 

Bokuto blinks at him. “It’s the same! Love is love.” 

Akaashi hides his giggle behind his hand. He gives Bokuto’s bicep a reassuring squeeze. 

“I meant anatomically speaking,” he clarifies. “Do you know how it works?”

Bokuto shakes his head and Akaashi explains it to him gently. He gives several, detailed options for them. He describes cocks in hands, cocks in mouths, cocks grinding together. One thing he explains very descriptively and it leaves Bokuto’s mouth dry and panting. Hearing it all in Akaashi’s soft, sultry voice is giving Bokuto the hard-on of his life. His head is spinning by the end of it.

“Wow, Akaashi! You’re like a sex expert!” he says, then gasps. “A sexpert! ”

Akaashi’s laugh is beautiful and clear. He pulls Bokuto into a lingering kiss. 

“We don’t have to rush into anything,” he says. “I don’t wanna do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” 

“Not uncomfortable!” Bokuto clarifies quickly. “It’s just so much! I wanna do it all! I wanna love you in every way possible! I wanna do everything with Aka— Keiji.” 

Akaashi hums in acknowledgment. He brushes Bokuto’s cheek with his thumb. Bokuto leans into his touch.

“What does Keiji want?” Bokuto asks. 

Akaashi bites his lower lip thoughtfully. 

“I think it would be easier if I was on the receiving end. At least for our first time,” Akaashi answers. “I’ve… experimented with fingering myself before. I’ve had more time to get used to the idea.” 

Bokuto swallows and nods. Thinking of Akaashi fingering himself is incredibly arousing, but another thought strikes him. An irrational, painful, and ultimately unfair thought, but he can’t help but ask: 

“Only yourself? No one… no one else?” He hates how pitiful and needy he sounds. Like the answer could break him. He’s being childish, maybe cruel even, hoping that Akaashi’s been with no one else all these years. Akaashi blinks down at him, mouth shaped into a little ‘o’. 

“I— I got a blow job once,” Akaashi admits. “And he fingered me, but… I couldn’t go through with anything else. It didn’t feel right.” 

It didn’t feel right because it wasn’t me , Bokuto thinks fiercely; jealousy is a ferocious animal tearing at his heart with thorny claws and vicious teeth. But the feeling fades fast, tamed by the softness and warmth of Akaashi’s body around him. Akaashi is his now. And will be his forever. That’s all that matters, really. Bokuto wraps his arms around him and hides his face in Akaashi’s throat. 

“Sorry,” Bokuto says in a tense whisper. “It’s not fair of me— I shouldn’t be upset— I just… I just wanna be the one doing those things to Keiji. Me only.” 

Akaashi shakes in his arms, and for a moment Bokuto is worried he’s scared him, or worse, made him cry. But when he looks up, Akaashi’s expression is all mirth and his convulsions are only giddy laughter. 

“ Koutarou ,” Akaashi admonishes. He dips down to give him a deep, lingering kiss. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”  

Bokuto actually sags with relief. He squeezes Akaashi gratefully, cards a hand through his wild curls and grips them. He pulls Akaashi’s head to one side and drops kisses onto Akaashi’s throat, his Adam’s apple, the slope of his shoulder. Akaashi hums happily. 

“You shouldn’t be, though,” Akaashi says, in a low voice. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.” 

He meets Bokuto’s mouth in a fervent, wanting kiss. He rocks into Bokuto purposefully, the friction both delicious and agonizing. Bokuto whines into it. 

“You can make me yours,” Akaashi asks, hushed, almost like he’s begging. “I’ll show you how. You’ll have been the first to ever have me like that.”

A dark surge of possessiveness and arousal floods Bokuto. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard in his life. His head is spinning with it. Akaashi draws back to look at him and his pupils are blown out, his cheeks rosy. He’s so beautiful it doesn’t feel fair. Bokuto nods frantically. 

“Yes,” he says, sounding desperate even to himself. He squeezes Akaashi’s hips and they grind together so deliciously. “Yes, Keiji, anything you want.” 

Their next kiss is searing and charged with anticipation. They kiss with urgency, with purpose. Akaashi tugs on Bokuto’s jacket, and Bokuto sits up to remove it for him, peeling his t-shirt off with it. Akaashi leans back and fumbles for his glasses. 

“Hang on, I gotta see this,” he says, and Bokuto is shocked into laughter. 

“Oho!” Bokuto beams and flexes for him. “Does Keiji like what he sees?” 

Akaashi’s eyes glimmer with greed. He bites his bottom lip; his hands start at the bottom of Bokuto’s abs and glide upward, fingering the ridges of his muscles as he goes. Bokuto watches his spine bend as dips down to put his mouth on him, kissing his sternum reverently. Akaashi then presses his cheek into one of Bokuto’s pectorals and sighs deeply, giving the excess flesh there a little kiss too. The hush of his breath tickles. The sensation of skin against skin is already so intimate and exhilarating. 

Bokuto has never felt like this before. Every other time he’s fooled around with someone, he had been churning with anxiety and dread at this point. He has never felt this much anticipation, this much longing, and nowhere near this amount of want. He is a live wire and every soft press of Akaashi’s mouth on his bare skin shoots electric heat through his oversensitive body. It suddenly occurs to Bokuto he’s never made it this far with anyone before. He’s in uncharted territory and yet he’s never wanted something so much. 

“I trust you,” Bokuto tells Akaashi suddenly. “I want you. I wouldn’t want this with anyone but you.” 

Akaashi looks up at him, hair mussed, eyes wide and glassy. 

“I want you too,” Akaashi says, soft. “And I trust you more than anyone.”

They press their foreheads together and Akaashi quietly asks, “Bedroom?” 

Bokuto lurches under him. He grips Akaashi’s shoulders. “Yes! Yes, yes, bedroom now!” 

Akaashi rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. He climbs off of Bokuto reluctantly and Bokuto leaps to his feet. He sees Akaashi’s legs wobble a bit as he stands and decides that’s unacceptable. Bokuto dips and scoops Akaashi up into his arms, one arm cupping under his knees and the other under his shoulders, and lifts him right off his feet. 

Akaashi scrambles to hang on and huffs. “Really?” 

Bokuto grins. “What? I won’t drop you.” 

Akaashi’s mouth finds his neck as Bokuto carries him into the bedroom, biting gently before sucking hard. Bokuto shudders as he kicks open the door and tosses Akaashi lightly onto the bed. Akaashi is giggling as Bokuto crawls on top of him. 

“Hi,” Akaashi says. Their noses brush.

“Hey,” Bokuto says. 

They come together again, hands in each other’s hair, fingers raking across each other’s skin and suddenly it isn’t enough. Bokuto needs Akaashi naked. He wants all of him, no barriers or layers or anything between them. He pulls at Akaashi’s shirt and Akaashi gladly rids himself of it. Next he tugs down Akaashi’s pajama bottoms and is treated to the sight of Akaashi in just his boxers. Bokuto takes a moment just to drink it all in: Akaashi is all smooth skin and soft lines and long legs; he has a little bit of pudge around his middle that he didn’t have in high school and Bokuto pinches it between his fingers wonderingly. Akaashi whines. 

“Stop it,” he says, smacking his hand away. “I’m trying to diet.” 

“Don’t!” Bokuto says. He kisses the silken layer lovingly, rubs his face into it, tickled by the dark happy-trail there. “You’re so soft. So kissable.” 

Akaashi huffs. He threads his fingers through Bokuto’s hair and pulls him upward for a kiss. Bokuto shimmies out of his jeans as he does and lets them fall onto his bedroom floor. He watches Akaashi eye him hungrily. He grabs Bokuto’s ass over his boxers and Bokuto gasps. 

“Keiji!” he says, admonishing teasingly. “So naughty!” 

“You said I could feel you up,” Akaashi recalls, a playful smirk pulling on the corner of his mouth. Bokuto wants to kiss it off, he almost does just as Akaashi says, “Darling?” 

“Yes, angel,” Bokuto answers. He settles for kissing Akaashi’s cheek. 

“Do you have lube?” he asks. 

Bokuto does, actually. Condoms too. They’d come together as a housewarming gift for his ‘brand new bachelor pad’ as Kuroo had put it. Bokuto has only used a little bit of the lube once to jerk off. He’s had no need for the condoms until now. He fetches them from the secret little box under his bed, next to the one where he has stashed Akaashi’s now-not-stolen sweater. He looks at it with a fond smile. He throws the box of condoms and bottle of lube onto the bed beside Akaashi and Akaashi eyes the used-lube carefully. 

“Have you been tested recently?” Akaashi asks. 

“I have!” Bokuto announces happily. He had to for his physical when he was accepted onto the Black Jackal’s roster. “I’m clean!” 

“Me too.” Akaashi gives him a shy little smile and tosses the box of condoms over his head. It hits the floor with a whap . 

Bokuto shivers. He looks at Akaashi for a long moment. 

“Are… are you sure? Won’t it be kinda messy?” Bokuto asks. Akaashi nods. 

“I wanna feel all of it, I wanna feel all of you,” Akaashi says. He looks down, his lashes casting long shadows down his cheeks. “Besides… we can always sleep on the pull-out couch if we’re too lazy to clean it up after.”

Bokuto gasps. 

“I knew that couch was worth it! I’m a genius!” Bokuto climbs over him and kisses him eagerly, kissing him wet and open and wanting. Akaashi’s sighs taste so sweet in his mouth; his groans roll through him with intoxicating pleasure. Akaashi breaks away all too soon and tugs on the elastic of his own boxers. 

“Okay, I’m gonna show you how to do it,” he says, breathy and uneven. “Will you bring me a pillow?” 

Bokuto does so and scoots down on the bed, transfixed as Akaashi lifts his hips and reveals himself to Bokuto, bit by bit, almost like he’s shy. Bokuto watches his happy trail darken as it goes further down, connecting to his wildly curly pubic hair. Akaashi is already hard. His cock is long and slender and smooth like the rest of him, looking like flushed porcelain. The curve of it is so elegant, the head is so pink and pretty. Bokuto’s mouth waters. He wants to touch it, wants to taste it. Akaashi chews on his bottom lip, eyeing Bokuto nervously. 

“I have to prepare myself,” he says. “So you can be inside me.”

Inside me . Bokuto feels a powerful surge of desire. He nods and Akaashi draws his knees up to his chest, his cock bobbing enticingly as he does, Bokuto licks his lips greedily. He should ask Akaashi how to give a really good blow job so he can do it properly. He watches as Akaashi drizzles lube onto his lovely fingers before reaching down between his cheeks. 

“Keiji,” Bokuto whines. He squeezes Akaashi’s knees, trying to roll him up further to get a better look. “How am I gonna learn if I don’t get to see any of it?” 

Akaashi flushes so hard Bokuto actually thinks he sees his glasses fog up. He purses his lips. 

“Al-alright,” he stammers. He rolls over onto his belly shakily, propping himself up on his knees, putting his round ass right in Bokuto’s face. He’s so brave, so good for Bokuto. Bokuto leaves him kisses down the ridge of his spine, roaming over his exposed skin in broad, comforting strokes. He even leaves a cheeky bite on his ass-cheek. Akaashi yelps and Bokuto giggles. 

“You look so beautiful like this,” Bokuto says. He feels the need to praise him, to keep him feeling good. It isn’t easy to make yourself vulnerable like this, and Bokuto knows it’s especially difficult for someone as dignified and aloof as Akaashi. He squeezes Akaashi’s plush thighs. “You’re amazing. Just perfect.” 

Akaashi huffs, though Bokuto thinks he sounds at least a little pleased. “You said you wanted to see it. Are you paying attention?” 

Right, right. Bending over like this puts Akaashi’s pert ass right on display for him and it’s extremely pleasing. Bokuto grabs one plump cheek and pulls it back. Akaashi’s hole is so small, so tight looking. Bokuto is so hard his head spins. Akaashi really wants him in there? How is Bokuto ever going to fit? Bokuto’s heart pounds in his throat. 

“I’m going to start now,” Akaashi says and Bokuto hears the slide of skin against skin as Akaashi’s hand snakes around himself. “You have to start slow and always use plenty of lube.”

Bokuto watches him find his entrance in fascination. Akaashi fingers the rim in tight circles and Bokuto watches him take a full-bodied breath before dipping inside. Bokuto gasps, entirely enraptured as the tip of Akaashi’s finger disappears inside him. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Bokuto says, he moves in closer, gripping Akaashi in place by the hip. He feels Akaashi’s toes curl against his leg as his breath hushes over his hole. 

“Thank you,” Akaashi says, sounding almost shy as he says it. Bokuto only has a peek of his face, upside down between his knees. His glasses are barely hanging on. He prods his finger deeper, hand moving in and out, and in and out again. 

“You have to sort of ease into it,” Akaashi explains. “You have to give yourself time to adjust. And always ask before putting in another finger.” 

He does so and Bokuto makes an astonished sound as that one disappears too, much more quickly than the first. Akaashi’s so good at this. A true sexpert indeed. He rocks on his knees, fucking himself on his fingers. Bokuto grips his hips fiercely. He wants to be the one doing it, he wants to be the one responsible for making Akaashi feel this good. He wants Akaashi to lose all that perfect, pristine composure and become only a needing, wanting animal underneath him, needing to be fucked beyond all reason, beyond all thinking. Akaashi massages himself open slowly. 

“Do you see how I’m doing it?” Akaashi asks, breathy. “I’m opening and closing my fingers inside me to make room for you.” Bokuto can see it, he watches the tight ring of muscle relax. “I have to relax as much as I can so it doesn’t hurt me.” 

“Hurt you?” Bokuto is frantic, head snapping up to look at him before remembering Akaashi’s face is actually down further below. His voice is hoarse. “It’ll hurt?” 

“Only if we aren’t careful,” Akaashi says, patiently. “Do you see how careful I’m being?” 

Akaashi rotates inside himself. Bokuto sees the muscles in his hand flex, the webbing between his fingers pulling tight before pressing together again. Akaashi sinks deeper, all the way down to the last knuckle, and releases a little whine. 

“It feels good,” Akaashi says, sultry and low. “There’s a spot— you have it too. Right—” Bokuto watches his wrist bend further, reaching in even deeper and Akaashi whines again, “— right there .” 

Bokuto is familiar with the concept of a g-spot, but he had no idea boys had them, too. He’s only heard about it in the context of girls at parties and Kuroo’s crass jokes. Huh. You know now that Bokuto’s thinking about it, a lot of things Kuroo has said are starting to make a lot more sense. 

“I have a secret happy button inside me?” he asks, wonderingly. 

Akaashi barks a laugh, lunging forward a little on the mattress. Bokuto sees his hole tighten around his fingers. Akaashi turns to grin at him over his shoulder. 

“Sort of, it’s called a prostate,” he explains. His hooded eyes glitter with amusement. “I can help you find yours, too.” 

Bokuto’s cock twitches. He’s already so hard, but thinking of Akaashi touching him, fingering him there is beyond arousing. Bokuto feels it swell from his gut, tingle down his limbs, and over every inch of his skin. Even his nipples harden. Bokuto didn’t know he was capable of doing that. 

“I want you so bad, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says, gravelly and low in his throat. “You look like you’re an expert. You’re taking it all so well.” 

“Thank you,” Akaashi says. Bokuto grabs handfuls of his plush cheeks and spreads them for him, trying to help, and Akaashi groans. 

“Thank you, baby.” Akaashi says again, and he’s practically purring. “I’m going to add another finger, okay?” 

“Do it,” Bokuto whispers, eyes fixated on him. “Fuck yourself for me.” 

Akaashi’s hand pumps inside himself, and groans, and Bokuto can barely stand it. That should be him; it should be his fingers inside him, it should be him giving Akaashi his pleasure. He gives Akaashi’s ass cheek another bite and Akaashi’s hips twitch. 

“Koutarou!” 

“I wanna do it,” Bokuto demands. “I wanna be the one making Keiji feel this good.” 

Akaashi hums understandingly.

“And you will,” he says, smooth as butter. “Once you’ve learned.” 

Bokuto groans. Akaashi stretches himself open, expanding all three fingers as wide as they can go. Bokuto wishes his hand wasn’t in the way. He wants to see all of it. Akaashi buries his fingers inside of himself as deep as they go and pumps. 

“Just one more,” Akaashi says, and his pinkie joins the others without resistance. Bokuto nods encouragingly. 

“You’re amazing,” he tells him honestly. “You make it look easy.” 

“It gets easier with practice,” Akaashi says. “The first time it’s always a little uncomfortable, but I’ll help. I’ll take very good care of you. I’ll make you love it. You won’t even be thinking about anything, but how good it feels to be fingered by me, and you’ll love every second of it.” 

It all sounds so fucking good. It's so tempting Bokuto almost wants him to stop and have Akaashi do it to him now. But then Akaashi’s hand retreats and Bokuto is met with his empty, gaping hole and his heart stops. 

“Do you like what you see, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi says. 

Bokuto grabs his hips and flips him, pins him down, and kisses him savagely. Akaashi makes a gleeful little sound and kisses him back. He gets lube in Bokuto’s hair as he cards his hands through it, and his weeping cock is leaking over Bokuto’s stomach as it brushes by, but Bokuto doesn’t care. It’s filthy, and sexy, and Bokuto loves every second of it. 

“Take off your boxers,” Akaashi breathes into their hot, eager kisses. “Do it.” 

Bokuto takes the elastic in hand and tugs. He doesn’t think he pulls on them that hard, but the fabric tears easily in his hand, ripping down the seam and neatly in two. Akaashi throws his head back and laughs. 

“Koutarou! Oh my god.” He peels the torn garment off of him. Bokuto flushes. 

“S-sorry,” he stammers. 

“Sorry?” Akaashi says, eyes full of wonder. “Come here.” 

Akaashi pulls him down for another kiss, Bokuto’s thighs bracket his hips, and he meets his mouth lovingly, adoringly. Akaashi hums into his mouth and the buzzing warms his cheeks. 

“Are you ready?” Akaashi asks. 

Bokuto levels him with his gaze. “Are you?” 

Akaashi nods, bright-eyed and eager. 

“I’ve… I’ve wanted you for a very long time,” he confesses. His hands stroke down Bokuto’s face, fingers following the lines of his cheekbone. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready for something.” 

Bokuto swallows. He hasn’t been nervous for a second until right now. Knowing how long Akaashi has wanted him, knowing he’s looking forward to it, knowing how much this means to both of them…. He wants it to be more than good, he wants it to be the best fucking thing Akaashi has ever had. Akaashi seems to read his thoughts just by the look on his face. 

“Oh, darling, it’ll be good because it’s you.” Akaashi kisses him with deep affection

Bokuto nods, understanding. He squeezes Akaashi to him, wrapping his arms around his middle as he stands on his knees with Akaashi between his legs. 

“It’ll be good because it’s us,” Bokuto corrects. “Because I finally get to show you how much you mean to me and how much I love you.” 

Akaashi’s smile is like a sunbeam, sweet and soft and piercing. 

“I love you too,” he says. 

Akaashi kisses him briefly and moves to turn around. Bokuto stops him with a squeeze. 

“Wait! Do you have to?” Bokuto pleads. “I… I wanna see your face.” 

Akaashi blinks at him, almost looking surprised, but then he softens into another smile. 

“Of course,” he says. “Anything you want.” 

Akaashi settles underneath him, arms looped around Bokuto’s shoulders loosely, legs spreading for him. After a moment's consideration, he hooks his legs around Bokuto, too. The pillow still tucked under his back and propping him up a bit. 

“Okay,” Akaashi says. “Get the lube.” 

This is it, it’s here and happening. Bokuto grabs the lube with trembling hands and Akaashi coos. 

“Are you okay?” Akaashi asks, his hand rubbing Bokuto’s trembling one. “We can stop. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” 

“It’s not that!” Bokuto says hastily. “It’s— It’s just my first time doing anything like this.” 

Akaashi’s eyes go wide. His mouth drops open. 

“With— with anyone?” he asks. Bokuto nods. Akaashi sits up suddenly, framing Bokuto’s throat with his hands. “We don’t have to do this now. We can wait.” 

Bokuto shakes his head hurriedly. “No! No, I want to, I want to.” 

Akaashi is flushed so prettily. He rests his cheek against his palm. 

“I don’t want to feel like I pressured you, or— rushed you into anything,” Akaashi says.

He looks incredibly anxious. It’s ranked amongst the very least of the things Bokuto wants to make him feel. “Koutarou, really, no one?” 

Bokuto nods again, pursing his lips shyly. He strokes up the long line of Akaashi’s leg with a finger.

“I never wanted to, not with a girl,” he confesses. “Maybe if I knew I could do it with boys I would’ve… it doesn’t matter. I want you. I want you now. I want you more than anything. Even if I’m bad at it, I wanna do it and I wanna do it with you.” 

Akaashi gives him a closed-lip smile. He kisses him softly. 

“It won’t be bad,” he promises. “It might not be perfect, but it will get better. We have lots and lots of time to practice.” 

His words hush over his mouth and Bokuto shivers. He grabs Akaashi’s thighs tightly. 

“Can I—” he breathes, barely believing it, barely comprehending this could be real and happening now. He’d lost a little of his erection with his uncertainty, but it only takes one glance down at Akaashi’s winking hole to get it back immediately. He grips Akaashi’s bicep with his other hand. “Inside? Now?” 

Akaashi lies back and nods. “Yes.” 

Bokuto drizzles lube right onto his dick and hisses at the sudden cold. Akaashi giggles. 

“Sorry, I should have warned you,” Akaashi says, expression fond and amused. 

Bokuto pulls Akaashi’s thigh upward and over, spreading Akaashi out for him and hears Akaashi gasp. He feels a dark drag of desire low in his belly. He wants to make Akaashi do that again, he wants to make Akaashi make all kinds of noises, lewd ones, obscene ones. Ones he will never make with anyone else. He grips the juncture of Akaashi’s knee tightly. He aligns himself with Akaashi’s hole and meets his gaze. 

“Yes, yes, Koutarou, yes please yes.” Akaashi is babbling. Akaashi Keiji. The most put-together, eloquent person Bokuto has ever met is underneath him, begging and babbling. He’s never heard Akaashi sound so needy, so desperate. He suddenly feels very determined. 

Bokuto rocks into him experimentally, watching the rim catch the head of his cock, and oh my god. Oh my fucking god. Akaashi is so tight and scorching-hot and… soft. Bokuto didn’t expect him to feel so soft. The rest of Bokuto’s body feels cold in stark comparison to Akaashi’s heat. He’s so hard it’s painful. It takes everything not to sink himself into Akaashi fully, but Akaashi hisses at the intrusion, his face screwing up so beautifully. Bokuto waits for him to nod, and rocks in again and ah, ah, ah holy fuck . 

“Oh my god,” Bokuto breathes. “Oh my god, holy shit.” 

Akaashi is whimpering, whimpering, and it’s the loveliest sound Bokuto has ever heard. 

Even the sounds Akaashi makes are gorgeous. How has one creature been made so perfectly, so beautifully? Bokuto takes Akaashi’s hand and entwines their fingers. He pushes himself in even further. Akaashi’s so tight it feels like he’s sucking him in.  

“Fuck,” Akaashi hisses. His face is fully red. Bokuto kisses his flushed cheeks. 

“Breathe, breathe, my love,” Bokuto murmurs. What would help him? What had Akaashi said? Right. “You gotta relax, remember?” 

Akaashi nods, chest heaving underneath him, his pretty pink cock drags against Bokuto’s abs and Bokuto shivers. 

“We’re almost there,” Bokuto says, hoping he sounds encouraging. “Are you gonna be alright?” 

“That— that isn’t even all of it? Oh my fucking god.” Akaashi throws an arm over his eyes and laughs. The bobbing movement he makes he does is absolute torture. Bokuto trembles, forcing himself to stay still. Akaashi whines, “Hurry.”  

Bokuto bottoms out with a snap of his hips and Akaashi sobs. His walls contract with the sound and Bokuto can feel it. Akaashi’s so tight it’s almost suffocating, almost like Bokuto has no room to move at all. Beads of sweat roll down Bokuto’s forehead. Akaashi looks entirely overwhelmed. 

“That’s all of it,” Bokuto tells him. “Are you okay?” 

Akaashi nods frantically. His chest heaves. Bokuto kisses the lines of his collarbone, moving down his chest, sucking a nipple into his mouth. 

“Koutarou.” Akaashi’s body keens and Bokuto gasps. “Koutarou, love, please move. I need you.” 

I need you. The haze of lust consuming him becomes darker, thicker. He holds Akaashi’s hips in place. He feels so vulnerable— bare and exposed inside Akaashi, completely and totally at his mercy. Like at any moment Akaashi can take his heart between his teeth and rip him open and Bokuto would let him gladly.

His fingers tighten, nails digging into Akaashi’s flesh. He gives Akaashi a gentle thrust. Akaashi throws his head back, gasping. 

“You— Kou— Oh my god,” he’s so breathless, so needy. Bokuto thrusts again and Akaashi cries out. “Please, please, don’t stop.” 

Bokuto rocks into him, deliberately slow and careful. Want is a living thing inside him and wails for more, more , but how can Bokuto be anything but gentle for his most beloved? Bokuto wants this to be good. Not just for himself. Bokuto moves Akaashi’s arm out of the way so he can drink in the sight of him, pressing that palm to the mattress alongside the other. Akaashi stares at him with starry eyes and a gaping mouth. His body is shuddering and Bokuto can feel that too, and he fucks into him faster, harder. 

It’s too good. It’s so good. It’s so incredibly fucking good, Bokuto can’t believe it. No wonder everyone is doing this all of the time, no wonder people crave this, chase this, meet up with strangers just for a chance of this. It wouldn’t be like this with a stranger though, Bokuto suddenly realizes. He and Akaashi were made for this, made for one another, their bodies created just to love each other. Every other kiss had tasted wrong because he was meant for one man and one man only. Akaashi’s body is laid out beneath him, legs spread for him, perfect for Bokuto to slide between and Bokuto’s drives into him desperately, flesh slapping together as they fuck, pounding into him until they’re both crying out with each thrust. Akaashi is his. Akaashi was made for him. He dips down to claim his mouth hungrily and Akaashi clings to him, nails biting into his shoulder blades. He adjusts the angle inside him, plowing down even further, and relishes Akaashi's punched-out gasp. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Bokuto breathes into the shell of Akaashi’s ear. “You feel incredible. It’s like you were made for me.” 

Akaashi’s breath hitches. Bokuto feels his teeth sink into the muscle of his shoulder. 

“Sometimes,” Akaashi tells him, “I really think I was.”

It’s this that sends Bokuto over the edge, tumbling into his orgasm headfirst. He cries out. Falling, falling— it’s complete and perfect ecstasy, pulse after pulse, wave after cresting wave. For a moment Bokuto thinks he won’t come down, that he’ll be in this white haze of euphoria forever. He rocks his hips through it and it’s only Akaashi’s needy whimpering that brings Bokuto back to himself. His hand fumbles for Akaashi’s cock and in a few quick strokes Akaashi comes with the most beautiful sob Bokuto has ever heard. Bokuto collapses on top of him with a whumph . 

“Keiji,” Bokuto groans, nuzzling into his neck needily. “Keiji, Keiji, Keiji.” 

Akaashi twines his fingers in his hair. “I’m here, love. I’m here.” 

The bliss feels like it’s radiating off him. He thinks Akaashi feels it too. He looks up at him to check and Akaashi’s head is thrown back, his eyes closed, and chest still heaving. He’s gorgeous, absolutely captivating. Bokuto doesn’t know how long he stares at him like this until he remembers he could be kissing him instead and sets upon doing just that. Bokuto kisses the side of Akaashi’s face and Akaashi leans into it, mouth moving but missing him as he weakly tries to reciprocate.  

Bokuto giggles. “Did I break you?” 

Akaashi huffs a laugh. “More like a factory reset. I— Was it good for you?” 

“Way better than good, Keiji! You were amazing,” Bokuto tells him honestly. Akaashi nods. 

“Good,” he says and his relief is palpable. “I was… was worried you wouldn’t… wouldn’t like…” 

Bokuto shushes him with a kiss, hoping it conveys even a fraction of the enormous love within him. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Bokuto tells him. “I’m gonna like everything we do. I like everything about you. Every part of you.” 

He gives Akaashi’s lower lip a cheeky bite. 

“And I love fucking you,” Bokuto says. He’s still inside Akaashi and gives him another little thrust. “A lot .” 

Akaashi gasps. Bokuto’s dick is already hardening again. One of the pros that comes with being an athlete, he supposes, though he thinks the larger part to blame is Akaashi. Something about seeing serene, untouchable Akaashi so wrecked is stirring a kind of madness within him. Only Bokuto gets to see Akaashi like this: face flushed with sex, mouth carelessly hanging open, eyes furrowed shut with overstimulation. Bokuto reaches for his nipple and only Bokuto will hear the desperate little cry Akaashi releases in response. 

“You’re really mine?” Bokuto says, cherishing. “Mine forever?” 

“Y-yes,” Akaashi stammers. “Yours. Only yours.” 

Bokuto gives an appreciative hum. He runs his hands up and down Akaashi’s chest, watching goosebumps rise in his wake, seeing Akaashi keen for more of his touch. He grips Akaashi’s waist; his hands are big enough to encompass almost the entirety of it.

Small , Bokuto thinks. Cute. Mine . 

“This body is mine,” Bokuto says. He pulls Akaashi onto his cock, using his body as he pleases. Akaashi’s limp dick twitches. “This ass is mine.” 

Akaashi whines. “Koutarou—”

“I’m yours, too,” Bokuto assures him. He meets Akaashi in a tender, reverent kiss. “You can give me one more, right?” 

Akaashi nods his assent and Bokuto snaps his hips forward. It’s so wet and slippery and slick. Akaashi nearly screams. Bokuto stops at once, cupping Akaashi’s face in his hands. 

“Are you alright? Keiji, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?” 

Akaashi is clearly overwhelmed. His eyes are full of tears, his breathing ragged, but he shakes his head. When Bokuto doesn’t move, his arms snake around Bokuto’s hips and his hands cup his ass. Bokuto yelps. 

“Keiji!” 

“Keep going,” Akaashi says. He pulls Bokuto further into him. “I want all of it.” 

Bokuto picks up the pace again. Tears are running down Akaashi’s face and within moments he is babbling again, near incoherent. Bokuto fucks him relentlessly this time, fucks him with everything, fucks him like he should have fucked him a thousand times already. He needs it harder this time, there’s a rough, desperate edge to his movements. Their flesh slaps together harshly and Bokuto loves the sting, loves the animal urgency of it. Akaashi’s tears stream down his cheeks, wracked with sobs, stuttering out his praises. 

“So good, so fucking good,” Akaashi sobs. His body arches off the bed and he’s shouting, “Fuck!” 

Bokuto hands cup under Akaashi’s knees and presses them into his chest, plowing into him even further and Akaashi’s gasp is ragged. His tears are so sweet. His sobs are even sweeter. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Akaashi is whimpering and writhing. “You— oh my god .” 

Bokuto’s hips piston. He can’t stop. It’s like his body knows what he can have now and won’t stop chasing it, won’t stop until it’s his again. He feels Akaashi cum with a full-body shudder, and it’s so lovely, so lovely. He cups Akaashi’s darling face in his hands.

“This face is mine,” he says, voice husky. “No one else gets to see you like this.” 

Akaashi is trembling and nodding furiously. 

“Just yours,” he whimpers. “Just yours, just yours.” 

Bokuto pounds into him thrice more and ah, ah, ah! His release is shorter than the first, and somehow even more satisfying. He’s so over-sensitive, so sticky and tacky with sweat and cooling cum. Akaashi is shivering around him and Boktuo slides out of him with a slick squelch. He sees Akaashi’s body roll, the pearly-white fluid gushing out of his hole. 

“You’re incredible,” Bokuto tells him. He watches the mess he’s made with fascination.

Akaashi whines and Bokuto collapses beside him, cradling his arms around him, holding Akaashi's head to his chest. 

“You… are you really okay?” Bokuto asks. 

Akaashi squirms in his arms, maneuvering to wrap himself around Bokuto too and tangling their legs together. Akaashi leaks onto Bokuto’s thigh and Bokuto shivers. It’s a long few moments before Akaashi responds. Bokuto doesn’t mind. He drags his fingers up and down his back until Akaashi is ready for words. 

“Yes,” Akaashi tells him. “We’ll— next time we’ll use a safe-word. So you don’t have to stop yourself until you hear it.” 

Bokuto nods, understanding. “Anything else?” 

Akaashi giggles weakly. He kisses the line of his jaw. 

“Was I supposed to be taking notes?” he teases. Bokuto grins, squeezes him a little. “No notes. You were perfect.” 

Akaashi’s praise rings through him. Bokuto laughs in delight. 

“Perfect? No notes?” Bokuto repeats happily. He gives Akaashi’s cheek a smacking kiss. “Keiji! You do love me!” 

“Love you,” Akaashi assures him, seeking his mouth. Bokuto only manages to kiss him a few times before breaking away. 

“Keiji,” he says again, because he just can’t help it. It feels so good to say, such a satisfying purr on his tongue. “When you dreamt of this… what did you dream?” 

Akaashi takes a moment to respond. His expression is a mix of embarrassment and apprehension. Bokuto almost tells him to forget the question if it makes him uncomfortable, but then Akaashi’s voice comes, soft and sweet:

“This mostly,” he admits. “Touching you. Kissing you… other things.”

A dark pull of want surges inside Bokuto. He stares at Akaashi. 

“What other things?” Bokuto asks, low. 

Akaashi is bright red and his attempt to keep a straight face is going extraordinarily poorly. 

“If I tell you, you aren’t allowed to gloat about it,” Akaashi tells him. He prods Bokuto’s cheek for emphasis. “It’s forbidden.” 

“I won’t gloat! I never gloat!” Bokuto protests, inwardly already preening over just how flustered he is able to make Akaashi look.

Akaashi sighs through his nose. 

“You’re familiar with the concept of a wet dream?” Akaashi asks. He strokes Bokuto’s face with the back of his knuckles. “It was like that.” 

If Bokuto hadn’t just cum twice he would be hard again immediately. Even thinking about getting it up again is painful, but he thinks he could if he tried. But no, his Akaashi needs his rest, to recover. He must be strong.

“You dreamt of that?” he asks softly, almost disbelieving. “Of us? Together?” 

“Once or twice,” Akaashi says evasively. 

“Akaashi! You mean to tell me you’ve been thinking dirty things about me this whole time!” Bokuto cries. He takes Akaashi’s face in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Akaashi wrinkles his nose, cheeks squished between his fingers. “ Embarrassing .”  

Bokuto tries not to mourn their lost time. He has him now at least, and that’s what truly matters. He closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Akaashi. He cherishes just holding him; the feel of Akaashi’s smaller body curled into him, the too-fast beating of his heart, the familiar, masculine scent of his hair. Bokuto presses his face into Akaashi’s curls, inhales, and could cry with relief. 

My Akaashi, he thinks. Some deep, secret part of him finally feels complete, finally feels whole. No one else's. 

Akaashi follows the ripples of his bicep with a finger. “We should get cleaned up. Will you bring me a wet towel?” 

Bokuto nods, hurrying to get to his feet. He does feel really gross now that he’s out of Akaashi’s embrace. He can’t even imagine how Akaashi must be feeling with all that lube and cum inside. Bokuto practically sprints to the bathroom and hears Akaashi giggle. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he teases. “I promise.” 

Bokuto cleans himself hastily, hissing as he goes over his still-sensitive cock, and tosses the towel aside, grabbing a fresh one for Akaashi. He waits for the water to get to the perfect temperature before running the towel through it. He rushes back to Akaashi and hands it to him. When he sees what Akaashi is about to do, he snatches it back. 

“Let me do it,” Bokuto says. “You’re my responsibility now.” 

Akaashi flushes, but nods. Bokuto is gentle and thorough. His sheets are beyond saving, splattered with lube and cum and soaked with sweat. Not suitable for his Keiji. Not even close. He hovers over Akaashi worriedly. 

“Can you walk?” he asks. 

Akaashi winces, shakes his head. He looks up at Bokuto with big eyes. “Carry me?” 

Bokuto beams. “Let me bring you some clothes.” 

They dress. Bokuto only privately mourns the loss of all that smooth, beautiful skin. Akaashi cleans his glasses with his fresh shirt. He lifts his arms up for him and makes grabby-fingers at him. Bokuto giggles and slips an arm around his shoulders, hooks another under his knees, and lifts him bridal-style. Which is only appropriate. He’s holding his husband-to-be. He kisses Akaashi deeply. 

“You’re really gonna marry me?” he asks in a soft voice. Akaashi grins. 

“Did you really mean that?” Akaashi says, wonderingly. His arms are wrapped around his shoulders. His fingers play with the hair at the nape of Bokuto’s neck.

“Of course!” Bokuto says. He carries him out of his bedroom, being sure to maneuver them so Akaashi doesn’t collide with the doorframe. “I’d marry you right this second if I could! You’re the one I wanna spend my life with. You’re my forever.” 

Akaashi giggles happily. Bokuto sees his toes curl in the air. It’s the most adorable sight Bokuto has ever seen in his life. 

“Then yes,” Akaashi says, staring up at him clear-eyed and adoring. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Bokuto kisses him then because he has to, because he can’t not. His Keiji, his love, his life, his darling fiancé. Bokuto is the happiest man alive. He’s so busy kissing him he almost forgets what he’s doing and his arms tremble a little with the effort of carrying him for so long. He surfaces gasping. 

“Sorry, couch,” he says and Akaashi laughs again, squeezing him. 

“You’re so strong,” Akaashi commends, patting his pec. “My strong, powerful fiancé.” 

Oh, how Bokuto loves hearing him say it. How good it feels, how sweet it sounds. He hustles to set him on the couch and climb on top of him, kissing him eagerly and wantingly. Akaashi grins. 

“Are we gonna break in the pull-out couch too?” he teases. 

Bokuto bites his lower lip gently. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

Akaashi’s giggling is somewhat shrill, but happy, and so, so good. Bokuto feels a tender ache in his chest, deep love has him feeling so sated and warm and complete. He clutches Akaashi tightly, and he’s never, ever, ever letting go. 

 

He wakes to Akaashi sleeping at his side. He knows it’ll be hours before Akaashi rises; he always sleeps in late on his days off. Bokuto also knows what he must do. He throws on some pants, pulls on a jacket, and grabs his keys as quietly as he can. He returns a little over an hour later and is glad to see Akaashi hasn’t moved and is still breathing deeply. Bokuto eyes him greedily. He’s soft with sleep and pliant as he takes his left hand and slips the ring onto his fourth finger. He admires it. Feels the dark surge of possessiveness. He kisses Akaashi’s palm, and then curls his body around him, and goes back to sleep. 

Notes:

everyone say thank you atsumu

if you didn't know, there's a chapter in haikyuubu where bokuto and atsumu go bother sakusa at his apartment when he joins the team, and it's revealed that TWICE A MONTH akaashi goes all the way from TOKYO to OSAKA which is like THREE HUNDRED MILES just to HAND-DELIEVER BOKUTO HOME-COOKED MEALS HE MAKES FOR BOKUTO HIMSELF

and if that isn't gay enough for you, atsumu goes on to say "IF AKAASHI DOESN'T MANAGE TO GET MARRIED IT'S YOUR FAULT BOKUTO" which ajskdlfjlasdjlfljsdhjklsdjfas inspired this fic and also they put bokuaka and married in the same sentence i'm living, i'm thriving, my crops are watered, my skin is clear i can't believe we are so well fed

thank you @Fawn_Eyed_Girl and @novusdeusz again for beta reading and supporting me!! i really really couldn't have done this without you!!

hmu @gabstaria on twitter or tenma-udai on tumblr and please please leave a comment if you liked this <3 <3 hopefully my next bokuaka is established relationship !!