Archive of Our Own ^beta

Often, nights at S are relatively calm. Sure, there’s always the excitement of beefs and races and the energy of the people, but Kaoru and Kojiro have been in it long enough that normal nights at S barely tend to leave a slight buzz under their skin when they’re done.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

Tonight, Kaoru and Kojiro beef against each other. The terms of the bet are as simple as they get; if Kaoru wins, Kojiro will make him both carbonara and tiramisu. If Kojiro wins, he’s making Kaoru taste test some Japanese-Italian fusion abomination.

Either way, Kojiro’s cooking, but Kaoru really wants a plate of his comfort food after the day he’s had, so he’s keyed up more than normal.

Not that it helps, in the end, because Kojiro pulls out an extremely risky maneuver at the end that has him sailing over Kaoru’s head and the finish line, and Kaoru’s too busy gawping at him under his mask to even try and think of closing the gap before Kojiro’s been declared the winner.

He does grudgingly hold his fist up for a bump, amidst all the wild cheers for both him and Kojiro, as the kids close in on them and start yelling once they get within earshot.

It’s a headache of the best kind, Kaoru thinks, draining but fulfilling, and soon, even with Kojiro’s girls hanging off him like limpets, they’re wrapping it up for the night.

“Good beef, Cherry,” Kojiro says, grinning at him once they’re in the doorway of his home. The silence would be loud, in the dead of the night, if not for the fact that Kojiro’s home is as familiar to him as his own. “Prepare yourself.”

“I’d rather put my face in trash.”

Kojiro huffs a laugh. “Your prissy princess ass physically could not do that.”

By the time they make it to the kitchen after quickly discarding half their clothes, they’ve fallen into old arguing habits, and Kaoru’s so distracted by it that he doesn’t realize that a plate of carbonara has been set out in front of him until Kojiro nudges him towards it.

Kaoru blinks.

Looks up at Kojiro.

“I—thought?”

Kojiro grins down at him, bright, sunny, and says, “I can torture you another night. Eat up. Happy anniversary.”

And—right, because that’s what their beef was all about. Because this day, years and years ago, was the day they’d started skating.

The day they split up only to end up back together at Dope Sketch. The day Kaoru, impulsive and reckless and impatient, went immediately to the park to try it out and had Kojiro trailing after him like a very loud, nagging puppy.

The day Kojiro had took one singular step onto his board and bailed—and how Kaoru was too busy laughing to even move out of the way as Kojiro tripped over himself and took Kaoru down in the process. Turned into a playfight then, and by the time they actually started trying to take skating seriously, the sun had set and left only its dying rays in the sky.

For once, Kaoru doesn’t bite like he usually does with Kojiro.

“Happy anniversary, dumbass,” he says, after Kojiro hands him a glass of whiskey, forgoing their usual wine, clinking their glasses together and taking a sip before starting to eat. He stops to swallow before speaking. “Can you believe it’s been this long?”

Kojiro snorts from over his own plate. “I can,” he says, and he’s pretending to sound annoyed, but his eyes are undeniably fond when he looks at Kaoru. And he’ll allow it, only for this night. “Remember one of my first memories being your stupid pink hair. What kind of toddler already has shoulder-length hair two weeks out of the womb?”

“Oh, what was that? Couldn’t hear you over the sound of your bald head when you turn forty.”

Kojiro’s surprised enough that he only laughs instead of snapping out another retort, and from there it devolves into small talk about clients and updating each other on their days. It’s a warm comfort; they move to the couch at some point when they’re done eating, on their third drinks and sprawled comfortably over each other after Kojiro clicks the TV on for some background noise.

Somehow, the conversation turns into gentle ribbing about their love lives; not something that happens often, but they’re a few drinks in and neither of them have anything scheduled for the next day so Kaoru’s looser with the drinks than he’d be normally.

Kojiro’s sagging into the couch. Kaoru absentmindedly notes the way he’s holding himself—loose and relaxed, in a way he’d never really be with everyone else. Kaoru’s not the only one projecting a different aspect of his personality most of the time. Kojiro like this is warm and clingy, digging his head into Kaoru’s shoulder. One of his hands is dangerously close to Kaoru’s stomach, which can’t help but keep tensing every time Kojiro lifts his hand to gesture while talking.

Here, Kojiro can be as mean and snippy as he likes. Here, Kaoru can be as undignified and petty as he likes. Even with their friends around, they keep up the arguments but none of the softness.

Kaoru wonders, sometimes, where he’d be without Kojiro. Where Kojiro would be without him.

Would he end up like Adam?

Shuddering, Kaoru tries to dismiss the thought. And then he realizes that maybe he’s drunk a little bit too much if he’s thinking of Adam.

“…so I’m selling Carla at the art museum—”

Kaoru snaps back into focus abruptly, swinging his neck around fast enough that his hair whips Kojiro in the face and leaves him spluttering in place, but when he resurfaces, there’s a smug grin on his face hat Kaoru wants to bite off.

“Finally come back to earth?” Kojiro asks, smug and infuriating, “Figures it’d take your robot girlfriend to get through to you from where you’re drifting off into spac—”

“Shut up,” Kaoru says hotly, and decides that hitting Kojiro with a couch cushion is definitely fair play.

They don’t end up tussling, but it’s a close call; only after Kaoru’s had his fill of trying to strangle Kojiro with his pillow does he relent with a sigh, collapsing back into the couch while lazily gesturing for Kojiro to go back to the previous, admittedly one-sided, conversation.

“Right, so I was saying—and we’re having a great time. And then boom. Immediately chickens out. You’d think it’d be great for my ego—shut it, four-eyes, don’t say a word—but at this point it’s just annoying. And I’m frustrated.”

Kaoru doesn’t know if it’s because he’s drunk, but Kojiro isn’t making a lick of sense. He’d make a dig at him if only he knew what the fuck Kojiro was blabbering about.

“Wait, hold on,” Kaoru says, and then squints through his glasses when Kojiro looks at him. Come to think of it, he should take them off. “What are you talking about?”

“My dick, princess, keep up.”

Kaoru, who’d moved to grab his whiskey glass, topples off the couch in surprise.

“Woah—shit, are you okay?”

He is. Okay, that is. Only his ego is mildly bruised, but he’s tipsy enough that he lets Kojiro pull him back onto the couch with only a few complaints.

Once he’s settled back in, Kaoru remembers that—oh yeah, the gorilla had mentioned something.

About his dick.

Why are they talking about this again?

Because Kaoru’s a great friend, right. A very supportive friend who lets Kojiro talk about his troubles in the bedroom because his dick—

“What’s the problem,” he demands, glaring, and then a thought pops into his head that makes him grin, drop his voice into a false whisper, and lean forward to ask, “Does your dick not work?”

Instead of barking back, though, Kojiro looks a little pained. “It does,” he mutters, a little sullenly, refusing to meet Kaoru’s eyes, voice softening as he says his next words, “A little too well.”

Kaoru gawps at him.

What the fuck does that mean.

His mind runs through all the possibilities. Is Kojiro always hard? Is it a disease that Kaoru has to research for him? Oh, gods, what if it’s an STD? Kaoru can’t help him with that.

Amidst all his thoughts, he can’t help it—his eyes flick down to between Kojiro’s legs.

In his defense, Kojiro’s not making it hard for him to do so—his legs are spread because he’s a whore who manspreads and he’s wearing his grey sweatpants that Kaoru hadn’t put much thought into earlier but now is a glaring reminder that Kojiro’s dick is. Right there. Under those pants. Doesn’t help that he isn’t wearing a shirt either—“Why should I wear one inside when I wasn’t wearing anything outside? Also, it’s too hot. I’m wearing pants and that’s enough.”

What the fuck is wrong with him?

It’s the alcohol that muddles his brain and makes him unable to reply for a few seconds, he tells himself, and not the fact that they’re talking about Kojiro’s dick.

“Wha…” Realizing that he’s going to end up giving Kojiro more of a complex than he has already, Kaoru shakes his head and blinks up at his friend. His best friend. Whom he’s known since he came out of his mother’s womb, probably. His best friend who is agonizing over his own dick.

He thinks he’s not drunk enough for this.

Therefore, it’s only reasonable that he knocks back the rest of his glass and pours himself another one before responding. While he does, his kimono shifts over his leg, and Kaoru’s abruptly reminded of the fact that he hadn’t bothered to properly change—he’d just shucked off his hakama and tabi, took off his underwear and loosened his kimono and called it a day. There’s no point in decency between the two of them anyways—and it isn’t as if Koijro hasn’t seen him in worse states.

But right now, he’s suddenly aware of the fact that they’re talking about Kojiro’s dick. And thinking about Kojiro’s dick does not equate to good outcomes for him.

Shaking his head, Kaoru forces himself to come back to earth. Kojiro still looks lost in thought, so Kaoru nudges him with his shoulder, making sure not to jostle his arm too much lest he spill alcohol over his good couch.

“I still don’t know what’s wrong with your dick,” Kaoru says, and blames the fact that he’s red-faced on the alcohol and not because of the words your dick coming out of his mouth. “What do you mean too well? I don’t understand gorilla speak.”

Kojiro groans, then. His attempt to glare at Kaoru only ends with him burying his face into a hand and grumbling something unintelligible into his palm.

“One would think a gorilla such as you would be louder,” Kaoru sneers, leaning back and attempting to kick Kojiro in the thigh. “Do you want me to help or not?”

“Fine. Fine!” Kojiro says, glaring at Kaoru like he isn’t the one that started this, and then looks Kaoru straight in the eye as he grits out his next words through his teeth. “My. Dick. Was. ….istoobig.”

Kojiro fucking chickens out and mumbles the last words but Kaoru hears him loud and clear.

For a moment, he wonders if he still has the concussion from when Adam hit him in the face with a skateboard from months ago.

Because it feels like it. Because a bigger bomb could not have been dropped on Kaoru if Kojiro had slapped him upside the head.

“And yes, I know what you’re going to say,” Kojiro is saying, Kaoru registers distantly, “But shut up because it was funny in college but it’s not funny now and I think I’m going to go insane if—”

“Wait.”

Forget a skateboard to the face—this is the level of confoundment he’d feel if he was slapped with a fish.

“What?”

“Since college?” Kaoru, from where he’d sunk into the arm of the couch, props himself up on his elbows to look at Kojiro in the eye.

Kojiro stares at him. “Yes,” he says slowly, eyes narrowing at Kaoru. His fingers, pressed against Kaoru’s ankle from his earlier attempt at kicking Kojiro, flex against his skin. “I have told you this, Kaoru. In multiple of our video calls.”

Kaoru blanks. And then flushes red. Because admittedly, he was a little too busy staring at Kojiro through his shitty monitor to actually register what the big dumb idiot was saying. He remembers the important things, of course, like when Kojiro got noticed by his favourite teacher, the day he made his first tiramisu that Kojiro had bemoaned about Kaoru not being there to taste.

But as soon as Kojiro started talking about a girl or anyone he’d thought would have had an interest in him, Kaoru’s brain had taken it as permission to go temporarily offline and left his eyes to do all the work.

“Forgive me if I don’t remember every detail about your sordid love life,” Kaoru mumbles, which is as good an admission as any.

Kojiro makes a sound that’s half a snort and half a laugh. “Should I sum it up for your highness?”

“Do. Though I’m not sure how a babbling gorilla such as yourself could possibly contain himself to a few concise sentences.”

That gets him a pinch to the ankle as Kojiro replies. “Dick too big. Girls too intimidated. Guys also too intimidated. I have been pegged. And I have bottomed. I would really like to stick my dick in something. Is that concise enough for you, princess?”

By the time Kojiro’s done, Kaoru’s trying to stifle his stupid snorts into his sleeve at the way Kojiro’s talking—his self-satisfied smirk doesn’t help, and Kaoru ends up gasping for air as the words replay in his head. He’s not thinking about Kojiro getting pegged. Or Kojiro bottoming. Of course not. Why would he be thinking about that. Any trace of awkwardness he feels is gone, helped by both Kojiro and the alcohol, and the trepidation he’d felt before is barely a wisp of anxiety now.

“You’re so fucking crass,” Kaoru cackles, throwing his head back and pressing a hand to his forehead, “Stick your dick in something? What are you, a middle schooler?”

“I feel like one,” Kojiro grumbles. “It’s nice, don’t get me wrong—I just, sometimes I’d like to fuck someone! Girls are great! They’re pretty! And every time they’re all so charming and they let me take them home and then they see my cock and they’re all like, no, sorry, can’t do it, you’re just too big, can we just do something else? And the guys. You’d think there’d be people a little bit more adventurous, right? No! As soon as they see me, it’s all no can do bro that thing is not going inside of me and—it’s not like I mind, fooling around is fun too, but I’d be a laughingstock if anyone ever found out I have never fucked anyone in all my years of—what’d ya call it, princess? Whoring myself out?”

Kaoru’s sat up during Kojiro’s little tirade.

It was funny, admittedly.

At the beginning.

But then Kojiro just had to go and start talking about other people. Talk about fucking other people, talk about all the one night stands he used and discarded when Kaoru was back home pining away for him.

It’s a very petty part of him that compels him to sit up and fold his legs under himself, pressing himself close to Kojiro, leaning into his space as Kojiro’s eyes grow wide. And it’s also probably the alcohol and definitely not any lingering feelings of bitterness that compels him to say:

“You know what, Kojiro?” He’s close. A little too close. He might have misjudged the distance between the two of them, because his glasses are the only thing between the two of them. His nose is pressed against Kojiro’s.

“What?” Kojiro breathes. His eyes are wide, a little surprised, but there’s the fire in them that flares every time Kaoru takes that challenging tone with him. Like he’s prepared to rise up to whatever stupid dare Kaoru’s cooked up for him this time.

“I think,” Kaoru whispers, tilting his head and looking up at Kojiro through his lashes. This close, Kaoru can feel that Kojiro’s chest isn’t moving. He’s holding his breath, waiting.

What is he doing? He should be—putting a stop to this. Lean back, call Kojiro an idiot and make fun of him for not getting any game—though he’d have no right to judge, as uninterested in sex with other people as he is—but here he is, letting his mouth move without any input from his brain, which has apparently taken a deep dive into the deepest trenches of the oceans.

“I think,” Kaoru repeats, “that you’re fucking lying.”

Kojiro’s eyes widen, then. His mouth opens and closes like he’s not sure what to say, and then his eyes are narrowing, that argumentative side of him sparked by Kaoru’s words.

“What the fuck would I be lying about,” Kojiro barks, and he’s pushing back against Kaoru now, tense and ready for a fight, “Do you need to get your eyes checked, four-eyes?”

“I think,” Kaoru smirks, enjoying the way Kojiro’s jaw visibly tenses, “That you’re just a sad, pathetic gorilla who can’t get game. And that you’re using the apparent fact that your dick is too big to hide it.”

Kojiro’s stunned by his audacity, he can tell. But Kaoru’s having too much fun to stop this useless joke, enjoying the way Kojiro loses all his cool around him and isn’t the fun, flirty, easy-going guy anyone can find at S or at Sia la Luce.

Around Kaoru, Kojiro’s petty, childish side comes out. And around Kojiro, Kaoru finds it increasingly hard to be the elegant, calm persona he’s worked so hard to curate for himself.

And then Kojiro scoffs. “Please. We all know you’re just jealous.”

The half-serious air dissipates. Kaoru hits Kojiro furiously with the first thing he can get his hands on, which turns out to be the same cushion from earlier—he should stock Kojiro up with more, he thinks, maybe some rocks—and Kojiro falls onto his back, laughing, as Kaoru yells at him about being sensitive and making jokes and crossing the lines—

Which Kojiro hadn’t done, of course. Kaoru would not have bothered with the hitting if he’d actually done so, but Kojiro, so damn proud of himself for the joke, is laughing so hard he’s defenseless except to hold his arms up to try and stop Kaoru from hitting him again.

When he’s done, they’re both breathless—Kojiro from laughter and Kaoru from exertion. He thinks it’s absolutely unfair that Kojiro looks like his normally stupidly handsome self while he probably looks like he’s been run through the dryer; his hair is curling and messy, displaced from its ponytail and hanging over his shoulders, and his kimono is in a worse state of disarray than the messiest beefs of his life.

And just as he thinks it’s over and done, that Kojiro’s got his venting out and that he’s never going to bring it up again to Kaoru for fear of being smothered in pillows, his idiot best friend sighs morosely.

“It’d be nice,” he fucking mopes, “if I at least could lose my dick virginity sometime this year.”

And something in Kaoru snaps.

He doesn’t even bother correcting Kojiro on how ridiculous and inane the concept of a dick virginity is. The alcohol, settled in him before, finally makes its appearance.

It can only be the alcohol, he tells himself. Only the gods-know-how-many cups of whiskey he’d down in celebration that has him acting like how he is now; reckless and foolish and sure to get his heart broken but so absolutely fed up with Kojiro that he doesn’t even think about what he does—

Kaoru moves. Plants a hand beside Kojiro’s head where it’s propped up on the back of the couch, swings a leg over Kojiro’s spread thighs, and settles himself firmly onto Kojiro’s lap.

“Kaoru—!”

Kojiro’s looking at him again. That wide-eyed look, slightly glazed over from drunkenness. His hands, where they’d been resting, flutter anxiously around Kaoru’s hips like he doesn’t know if he should touch. Distantly Kaoru notes that his kimono’s fallen open at his chest, and is only barely covering his legs where they’re pressed against Kojiro’s thighs.

Fuck, he’s not even wearing underwear. There’s only two layers separating Kojiro’s cock away from him.

“Fine,” Koaru hisses, getting up close and personal. One of his hands fists itself in Kojiro’s hair, yanking down so that Kojiro’s mouth falls open with a pained gasp. “You wanna stick your dick in something, fine. If you’d just shut up and stop complaining for a fucking second…”

Kojiro only gapes up at him, wide-eyed. He looks—well, it’s no secret that Joe’s attractive, it’s why he has his gaggle of fans around him at every tun. But like this, looking up at Kaoru with a blush high on his cheeks and looking lost for words, Kaoru thinks—that’s it. This is his favourite look of Kojiro’s. And it’s one where Kaoru leaves him speechless.

Good. It means he still has some tricks up his sleeves. Means he’s not boring.

“Tell me,” Kaoru says, voice low, “How big is your cock?”

Sitting on top of him, he feels the whole-body shudder that runs through Kojiro at his voice. Fuck, he suddenly thinks, fuck, this was a bad idea. Because Kojiro looks—he looks enamored. Kaoru would have expected some laughter, would’ve expected to be pushed off, for Kojiro to be angry, even, but he’s absolutely not prepared for the way that Kojiro relaxes, just for a moment, before tensing up again as if he’s ready to fight with Kaoru until the heat death of the universe.

“Big,” Kojiro says, and then gasps when Kaoru yanks on his hair, “Come on, princess, I don’t have—have hair like you, cut me some slack, you’ll really end up balding me—”

“Shut up,” Kaoru snaps, and is gratified when Kojiro actually does, “Tell me. How. Big. Is. Your. Dick.”

“Twenty,” Kojiro grits out through his teeth, and gasps when Kaoru lets go of his hair.

“Good boy,” Kaoru coos mockingly—and slides forward in Kojiro’s lap just in time to feel it.

Shit. That’s Kojiro’s dick. That he’s fucking sitting on top of. That he can feel under the thin barrier of Kojiro’s sweatpants. And—fuck, Kaoru doesn’t have anything to compare to but it feels big, maybe Kojiro’s claims weren’t so unfounded after all—

“This?” Kaoru scoffs. His limbs feel like jelly. “Can’t feel a fucking thing. Are you even hard?”

What he does not expect is for Kojiro to twitch in his pants.

And then he looks at Kojiro’s blushing face, feels Kojiro’s hands wrap around his waist, and thinks—

Oh.

Kojiro likes the way Kaoru’s talking.

“Kaoru…” Kojiro’s voice is weak. Just a breathy little whisper as he stares disbelievingly up at Kaoru. “Can I—”

“Finally learned your manners?” Kaoru sneers, though inside he’s screaming when Kojiro dips a hand down to press against his thigh. Fingers trail against the edge of his kimono, and Kaoru doesn’t say anything but he pushes his leg forward against Kojiro’s hand.

Oh, he thinks distantly, mind warm and docile, when Kojiro’s large hand wraps around his thigh, searing him with warmth and making goosebumps pop up on his skin. He’s not a small man, by any means, but Kojiro is bigger than him in a way that has Kaoru melting for him.

“Oh, gods, Kaoru,” Kojiro breathes, when his hand trails up, up, up, up until it disappears under the kimono, until it presses against Kaoru’s hip and finds only bare skin instead of fabric.

“Yeah?” Kaoru taunts. Rocks himself back and forth in place, pretends he’s teasing instead of humping Kojiro’s bulge.

“Shit,” Kojiro says instead, eyes blown wide and fingers twitching, “You’re not—”

“Wearing anything?” Kaoru says blithely. His hand settles on Kojiro’s shoulder, and the skin under his palm is warm and corded with muscle. He squeezes, just a little bit of reassurance that makes Kojiro look up at him with something like wonder in his eyes. “Yes, well—I was not expecting to be felt up with your ape hands, was I?”

Kaoru nearly fucking moans when Kojiro’s grip turns harsh and mean—an involuntary clench that Kojiro keeps up as punishment even after the first initial burst of surprise.

“I,” Kojiro starts slowly, “was not the one going without underwear.”

He leans closer. His breath fans across Kaoru’s mouth and he feels his heart beat double time in his chest. His cunt clenches around nothing.

“Like,” Kojiro whispers, though his voice is all too loud in the quiet of his living room, “a pretty little slut.”

Kaoru can’t help it—he hadn’t expected this, out of all the things Kojiro could’ve said—he drops his head down on Kojiro’s shoulder and gasps, hips rocking involuntarily into Kojiro’s still clothed cock—and fuck, he has to be, he must be as big as than he’d said he was because Kaoru can feel it.

And it’s with a traitorous little twitch of his hips that Kaoru shuffles and slots his pussy right over Kojiro’s bulge.

“Oh, you like that,” Kojiro says. Kaoru raises his head to snap at him to stop being embarrassing, but—but Kojiro is looking up at him with wide eyes and his blush taking over his face and Kaoru’s thought of his best friend as hot and sexy and stupid all of the time but he’s cute like this, like a little puppy wagging its tail waiting for Kaoru to respond.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, knowing that he’s only feeding into Kojiro’s ego, “You’re gonna lie there and let me do the work? Maybe this is why you haven’t fucked anyone, too lazy to—”

He registers, for a second, Kojiro’s narrowed gaze before he’s cut off so very rudely, and—

Oh.

Kojiro is kissing him.

Kojiro’s kissing him and Kaoru freezes, just for a moment, because in all his dreams where Kojiro kisses him he’d never imagined it would be like this, half naked and drunk on the couch and Kaoru’s slick wetting Kojiro’s pants.

But his brain kicks back into motion and then they’re properly kissing. Kaoru gathers Kojiro’s head up in his hands, tilts his face backwards so that Kaoru can plunder his mouth. It’s more surprising that Kojiro goes willingly, opening his mouth for Kaoru to twine their tongues together and use him as he pleases.

The thought should not be as hot as it is.

Their first kiss is wet, messy, panting. Kaoru tilts Kojiro’s head and slots their lips together again, sucking on Kojiro’s tongue only to feel Kojiro’s moan reverberate through his chest. It’s slow, despite their competitiveness, because despite all these years of knowing each other, this is the one aspect that they’d never dared to tread upon.

Now, having to relearn each other, they’re slow, soft, hesitant—like a kitten taking its first steps into the unknown.

That is, until Kojiro’s hands start moving.

Somewhere in the middle, Kojiro slips his other hand under Kaoru’s kimono. Why he doesn’t bother to remove it, Kaoru doesn’t know, but he hums a satisfied sound into Kojiro’s mouth when warm hands settle on his hips. He doesn’t look down to see if his kimono’s pushed apart enough to reveal him—he doesn’t think he could survive that embarrassment just yet.

Kojiro’s hands are large and warm on him, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake as they slide down to his ass and then squeeze. Kaoru’s overcome with the urge to take a picture—wonders, in the distance of his mind, if he could discreetly order Carla to do it. Thinks about the sight of Kojiro’s large, tanned hands squeezing his ass, dimpling his flesh with his fingers. It’s enough to make him drip with arousal.

And then he remembers that he still mostly clothed, and abandons the idea mournfully.

“Shit, Kaoru,” Kojiro breathes, even as his hands don’t stop kneading at Kaoru’s ass like a fucking stress ball; uses his grip to pull Kaoru forward, making him hump his cock like—like, fuck, like some kind of desperate whore. “Shit, you’re so—”

“Feel free to tell me how good of a friend I am for helping you get your dick wet,” Kaoru says, and it’s meant to be teasing but his voice comes out rough and raspy. Belatedly, he realizes that his hands are fisted in the hair at the nape of Kojiro’s neck, and he lets go, patting the place as an apology.

Kojiro laughs, then. His eyes are warm when he flutters them open to look at Kaoru. “Thank you,” he says, all sincere and sweet and just as Kaoru’s about to respond in kind, Kojiro’s mouth lifts up into a smirk. “But really, princess, if you wanted to get into my pants, you could’ve just asked.”

Kaoru gapes at him.

The—the audacity—of—of the gorilla, to assume that this would be a ploy for Kaoru to—

To—

Fuming, Kaoru shifts backwards. Kojiro follows him, almost thoughtlessly, but he flumps back onto the couch with a soft oof when Kaoru uses a hand to push him backwards.

“Stupid gorilla,” Kaoru grumbles, bracing himself in place to undo the drawstrings of Kojiro’s pants, ignoring the ridiculously large wet patch on it where Kaoru had leaked all over him, ignoring Kojiro’s surprised exclamation, “You think I would do something as crass as lie to get into your pants, you stupid—stupid gigolo, what are your ties so tight—I bet your dick isn’t even that big, you just fuckin’ want attention and I’m the only poor sod around to give it to you, you’re so fucking—”

Kaoru stops. Because, very recklessly, he’d ripped the ties open and dipped his hand into Kojiro’s pants.

And.

No.

No, that cannot be his fucking dick. No, surely Kaoru’s just feeling Kojiro’s… leg. Yes. That must be it. There’s no fucking way—

Except that the supposed leg twitches under his hand, hot and heavy and hard, and Kaoru’s forced to accept the fact that his best friend’s cock is…

Just that big.

“This thing?” Kaoru drawls boredly, when Kojiro opens his mouth—and shuts it with a click. He’s never touched a dick before. Holy shit, he’s touching Kojiro’s dick. Shit, he’s never touched a dick before, how is he supposed to—

His hand moves on its own, driven by curiosity, circling Kojiro’s cock and slowly rubbing his palm back and forth on it—he has absolutely no idea if what he’s doing is any good, but then he looks back up at Kojiro and finds him with wide, blown-out eyes, fingers clenched in the couch beside him so hard his knuckles are turning white.

 For the first time in his entire life, Kaoru has reason to be jealous of a fucking couch.

“Hey,” he snaps, and Kojiro blinks at him like he’s trying to register where his voice is coming from. “Eyes on me, Kojiro. Don’t forget who’s doing you a favour.”

“How—ah!—how could I forget, princess?” Kojiro manages to ask, even through his breathy noises, “Shit—ohfuck—you’re the prettiest thing in the world, I couldn’t not look.”

Kaoru gapes at him. He knows he’s flushing unattractively, splotches of red on his skin, and to offset his embarrassment he changes the subject. He tightens his hand around Kojiro’s cock, presses his thumb against the underside of the head—“You were the one calling me a slut earlier and yet you aren’t wearing anything either; aren’t you a little bit hypocritical?”

Instead of snarking back, Kojiro only drops his head into Kaoru’s shoulder, panting wetly over his skin. It makes something inside of Kaoru buzz with giddiness; the fact that he can affect Kojiro like this, reduce Kojiro to speechlessness even amidst their arguing.

“Whore,” Kaoru says affectionately, and then yelps when Kojiro bites down on his shoulder.

The action, unfortunately, surprises Kaoru enough that his grip on Kojiro’s cock tightens to what has to be a painful degree; just as Kaoru’s about to apologize, Kojiro moans, filthy right beside his ear and Kaoru’s just frozen in place, mind running with the thought of:

Oh god. Oh god. Kojiro likes this. Kojiro likes being treated roughly, Kojiro likes it when I call him names.

If this is a one-off drunk fuck, Kaoru’s forever going to be haunted with the memory of Kojiro whimpering Kaoru into his ear.

Evidenced by that fact that something wet drips down Kaoru’s fingers, Kojiro seems breathless for a moment until he gathers his wits and glares up at Kaoru.

Adorable.

Kaoru shakes the thought out of his head as soon as it enters.

As distraction, Kaoru steels himself—takes a quick breath to recollect himself and then he uses his other hand to push down Kojiro’s pants. Just enough to draw his cock out.

And—

Fuck.

Seeing it is—is much, much worse than actually feeling it with his hand.

Because now he’s forced to admit—that yes, Kojiro is big. Big enough that it’s easily understandable why people would’ve said oops no can't take that, bye.

Big enough that Kaoru, in all his thirty years of being a virgin, should definitely be running away screaming from.

Kojio’s cock is heavy in his hand. When Kaoru experimentally presses his finger to the slit at the tip of his cock, Kojiro lets out a moan so filthy it burns Kaoru’s ears just hearing it. Dark and leaking in his hand, Kaoru’s morbidly fascinated by the way his hand looks wrapped around it. He looks small, slim and pale next to Kojiro’s hardness.

He’s so focused on Kojiro’s cock that he forgets about Kojiro entirely, until he coughs and says, voice raspy, “Are you just gonna stare, princess? Intimidated already? You can give up, I won’t hold it against you.”

But a look to his face shows that this will be held over his head forever, and as competitive as Kojiro is, Kaoru’s ­worse.

Faced with a dick this size, Kaoru should be running for the hills.

But it’s nothing compared to Kaoru’s competitiveness and the alcohol still running in his veins, so Kaoru scoffs audibly.

“This,” he asks, slowly jerking Kojiro off, banking on hope and watching Kojiro grit his teeth. His hands have slid down to Kaoru’s thighs, holding him in place, a warm reassuring weight that Kaoru leans into, “isn’t even that big. Did everyone you tried to fuck have such low standards?”

Kojiro’s eye twitches, and there it is, that flicker of annoyance only Kaoru can draw out of him. “Shut the fuck up,” he barks, “you kno—oow, holy shit, Kaoru—”

“You were saying?” Kaoru says, twisting his wrist, managing to sound unimpressed even as he’s running through the all the logistics of how to hop onto Kojiro’s cock without hurting himself—or worse, ruin himself for anyone else in the future.

Unfortunately, the probability of both happening is worryingly high.  

But Kaoru’s never been a quitter. Never been one to back out of the absolutely stupid bets and wagers he’s subjected himself to, and this is no exception. This is even worse because this is Kojiro.

Kaoru takes a breath. Kojiro lets out a mournful whine when Kaoru pulls his hands away, but it’s only to undo his obi and throw it off to the side. He doesn’t bother to take off his kimono—but it must frame him prettily, because Kojiro’s taking his waist to pull him forward, kiss him again, muffling his moans into Kaoru’s mouth.

And oh, like this—like this Kaoru’s pussy is pressed against Kojiro’s cock, catching on his clit, dragging a whine out of him every time Kojiro’s hips make aborted little thrusts against him like he can’t quite stop himself from staying still.

When they break away, they’re both panting. Kojiro’s cheeks are dark with a blush, eyes half-lidded, and Kaoru’s sure he’s not that much better, but he can’t focus on that when Kojiro’s eyes flick down to look.

It’s not anything he hasn’t at least talked about before. Kojiro bought him his first binder. Found one in Italy the first week of staying there and shipped it back to Kaoru with a carrier service that probably costed more than the binder itself. Kojiro knows what… equipment he’s carrying.

But he still looks awed to see it all the same, despite how many people he’s purportedly slept with.

“Don’t—don’t stare,” Kaoru manages to say, slapping a hand on Kojiro’s chest lightly. “You know—you know.”

But Kojiro responds only a few seconds later. “Yeah,” he says distractedly, and only then does he look up—“But it’s you.”

Kaoru bristles.

“What the fuck do you mean,” he snaps, “Is that an insult, just because I’m different—”

“Hey, hey,” Kojiro manages to get in, taking Kaoru’s flailing hands in his own, making Kaoru pout at him, “You know I don’t mean it like that. I don’t care. It’s just—you’re my best friend, Kaoru.”

Oh.

Oh, that—

Of course it makes him happy to hear that. They’ve never been the wordiest with their affections, especially as they’d grown older. And it’s not like Kaoru doesn’t know they’re best friends, considering Kaoru will abandon working on Carla if Kojiro calls him over for dinner or Kojiro will drop everything to come stay with him when Kaoru’s having a bad day.

But it’s still nice to hear it acknowledged out in the air between them.

On the other hand, well. It’s a reminder that Kaoru missed his chance long, long ago, young and blind and stupid to see who was right in front of him. It’s a reminder that he fucked it up with his own two hands, that they’ll never be anything more because Kaoru was off chasing someone different.

Despite himself, Kaoru softens. Slumps into Kojiro’s hold, leaning forward a little—and his stupid, stupid best-friend-but-nothing-more uses that as an opportunity to kiss him again, slow and soft, releasing Kaoru’s hands to take his hips and rub circles into his skin.

And this small amount of comfort that Kojiro offers, the care with which he handles Kaoru—it’s too much. Kaoru fears that if this goes on much longer, he might not survive.

Kojiro’s lips part on a moan when Kaoru scratches his nails across his chest. It’s meant as a reprimand, but Kojiro evidently does not think so—he breathes a short fuck, yeah, do that again, into Kaoru’s mouth that makes him temporarily blank out and when he comes back to himself, he’s left angry red lines down Kojiro’s sides and shoulders.

Kojiro shouldn’t be harder preening by feeling Kaoru’s marks on his skin. Shouldn’t be proud.

“Whore,” Kaoru says, though the affect is a little ruined by the way he’s breathless, by the way he rakes his nails down Kojiro’s shoulders too. “You like that? Being marked up?”

“Yeah,” Kojiro breathes, hazy and satisfied, and it annoys Kaoru enough for him to wrap a hand around Kojiro’s cock, watching the way Kojiro’s hips jump under him. Jostles him a little. “Kaoru.”

“Yeah?” Kaoru says, smug and triumphant, and then decides that he’s wasted too much time. The rush of alcohol has subsided, and if it goes on any longer, he might lose all the spite and pettiness that’s fueling him. “Think you’re gonna come like this? Is your performance always this poor? Maybe it’s not your dick that’s the problem.”

Kojiro growls at him, but he doesn’t speak—can’t, because Kaoru uses that exact moment to trail his hand down Kojiro’s cock and squeeze, just on the side of a little too rough. Instead, his voice comes out in a high whine that has Kaoru giddy from the rush of power to his head.

He keeps himself on track, mostly—rises up to his knees and shuffles forward, his kimono falling across his back, and braces himself with a hand on Kojiro’s shoulder.

Which is when Kojiro’s brain seems to come back online.

“W-wait,” he yelps, wrapping his hands around Kaoru’s hips to keep him still, “Wait, you aren’t even going to prepare yourself?”

“I’m plenty wet,” is not a sentence Kaoru would ever say under any circumstance, but being like this in front of Kojiro is strangely not nerve-wracking. Even if he feels apprehension, the fact that Kojiro’s hard for him has him riding high above the clouds.

“That’s—that’s not how that works,” Kojiro says desperately, and then raises an eyebrow—“Have you not—”

“I have,” Kaoru snaps. Lies. “Which is why I don’t need prep. Because your dick is not big. Below fucking average. I’ve seen bigger.”

 Kojiro’s hands, on his hips, twitch. Kaoru’s close enough to him that he sees the annoyance flash through Kojiro’s face. It would be enough for Kaoru to get smug, knowing he’s gotten under Kojiro’s skin and bruised his masculinity, except for the fact that in that exact moment, Kojiro’s dick, still in Kaoru’s hand, twitches.

Kaoru has to stop for a moment just to stare disbelievingly at his stupid horny gorilla. “Really?” he says flatly. Watches Kojiro avoid his gaze, head lowered and cheeks red. “Oh, you are.”

“Shut the fuck up, four-eyes,” Kojiro snaps, and Kaoru’s so mean because he wants to laugh at Kojiro for the weak insult as much as he wants to kiss Kojiro stupid.

And then he remembers that he can do that, just for now, just for this one night where they’re still pretending that this is a competition of proving points and he should get his fill while he can.

Scary thing is, he doesn’t think he ever will.

One of Kaoru’s best friends left him fresh out of highschool. Months later Kojiro had announced that he was moving to Italy. Kaoru, left in Okinawa, had nothing better to do than to shelve all his stupid feelings and focus on what a lot of people think is the goal in life: money.

So he’s quite good at compartmentalizing; building an AI from scratch and focusing on his calligraphy and ignoring all his messed up feelings for both Adam and Kojiro—he’d had to get good at that unless he wanted to go insane.

Which means he has no problem at all with ignoring the little voice in the back of his head telling him this is a bad idea, that he’ll have Kojiro for one night and never again and it’s going to haunt him until he’s old and grey and Kojiro’s married some pretty woman who’s good for him with kids running around their feet.

The voice is hushed by the insistent press of Kojiro’s lips on his, by the way he kisses like he’s trying to prove a point to Kaoru. One of his hands trace the curve of Kaoru’s hipbone. Drags his fingers through his thatch of hair, fingers finding his cunt, pressing against the hood. Kaoru’s sensitive enough that he presses into the touch.

And he’s wet enough that Kojiro can slip a finger in easily—too easily, he thinks, but he can’t focus on that when Kojiro breaks away from their kiss to focus on stretching Kaoru. He almost doesn’t notice Kojiro slipping another finger in, blinded by impatience, only to gasp as Kojiro’s fingers press up into him, curl up into his g-spot.

“Shit, princess,” Kojiro says, moans, like he’s getting off from fingering Kaoru. His cock is so hard, leaking over Kaoru’s fingers—he’s flattered, that he’s having this much of an affect on Kojiro—“You’re so tight.”

“I’m not,” Kaoru says, only to be contradictory, “It’s just your fat gorilla fingers.”

Kojiro turns his head and bites Kaoru’s shoulder in lieu of a response.

And gets a swat on the back for it but it’s like he doesn’t even notice, biting Kaoru and sucking on his skin, sure to leave marks—Kaoru hopes that they’ll last to the morning, hopes that when he sees himself in the mirror he’ll feel owned in the aftereffects of this one drunken tryst.

Kaoru allows Kojiro one more finger—his heart beats too fast in his chest, rabbiting with the anticipation, and he fears that he’ll lose his nerve if he lets this go on much longer.

“That’s enough,” he says, slapping Kojiro’s hand away, though it’s more of a weak pull. Kaoru’s cunt makes an obscene noise as Kojiro pulls his fingers out, and when he raises his hand, Kaoru’s horrified to find that Kojiro’s entire hand is wet. Like Kaoru’s just been dripping over his palm. The trail of shiny slick has made its way to Kojiro’s arm.

And then he catches sight of Kojiro staring at his own hand, and his brain must be fried because Kaoru can’t react quickly enough, despite their proximity, before Kojiro shoves his own fingers in his mouth and sucks.

“Kojiro!”

But he doesn’t stop. In fact, dares to stare defiantly at Kaoru like he’s daring him to pull his fingers out. Dares to look Kaoru in his eyes as he drinks Kaoru’s slick from his fingers a man starved.

“You—!” Kaoru yells furiously, hitting Kojiro’s chest, “You stupid, dopey gorilla, what the fuck, you don’t know where I’ve been—!”

And then he’s cut off because Kojiro drags him in for a kiss except this one is messy with the taste of Kaoru’s slick still in his mouth. And it should be disgusting. Should be dirty—Kaoru should shove Kojiro away and possibly slap him in the face for his crimes.

Instead he lets himself be kissed. Lets Kojiro put his tongue in Kaoru’s mouth, and tastes himself on Kojiro’s tongue and wonders why Kojiro was so eager for it.

Uses that moment of distraction to rise out his relaxed stance, reaches between them, and takes Kojiro’s cock in his hand. Presses himself impossibly closer, blindly lowers himself down until the head of Kojiro’s cock catches at his opening.

It’s then that Kojiro breaks away from their kiss. He looks wild—harried. Lust-blown eyes and mouth slightly panting—Kaoru wonders if this is the sight that everyone else got to see and thinks that perhaps it’s understandable that whoever Kojiro looks at like that wouldn’t stand a chance against falling at least a little in love with him.

Kaoru, least of all.

“Are you sure?” Kojiro asks. His voice is raspy. His fingers dig crescents into Kaoru’s hips. Kaoru relishes in the small pinpricks of pain. “You don’t have to—”

Kaoru shuts him up.

By dropping down onto his dick.

And, alright, he doesn’t so much drop down on Kojiro’s dick as he does onto the tip of it, but—but even that little is enough to burn. His pussy refuses the intrusion at first, lodges the very tip of Kojiro’s cock in place, but Kaoru’s nothing if not determined. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to concentrate, and relaxes all his muscles.

And then he grips Kojiro’s dick, moving his hips just so—he grits his teeth, spreads his knees wider—

And presses down until the head pops in.

It leaves him gasping. His cunt flutters wildly around the head and he’s sure he’s so tight it must be painful but Kojiro’s looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky. His eyes keep flickering between Kaoru’s face and his pussy like he doesn’t know which one to focus on.

For a moment, all is still. Even their breathing seems to have stopped for the moment; all that Kaoru knows is that Kojiro’s dick is in him, that he’s fucking Kojiro, that Kojiro’s cock is just the tiniest bit away from being entirely inside him.

And then Kojiro just has to open his big stupid mouth.

“That’s it, princess?” he grins up, as his hands travel to Kaoru’s waist. “You were talking so big earlier; never thought you would’ve wimped out now.”

Kaoru growls.

And then he forces himself down a little, watches the way Kojiro’s eyes widen and his head falls back onto the couch. Leans forward, as if in a trance, to bite down on Kojiro’s throat and tries not to whimper when Kojiro’s moan reverberates through his teeth.

The burn is lost in the high of taking advantage of Kojiro’s weakness. It lets him slide down, bit by bit, until he’s panting in place and trembling with anxiety. His pussy’s clenching uncontrollably, writhing around Kojiro’s length and fuck, he’s so warm, so hot and hard, spearing Kaoru open.

“Shit—is it,” he bites off a groan—“Are you all in?”

Kojiro peeks up at him from where he’s laving kisses down Kaoru’s nipple. He doesn’t have much feeling in them, not anymore, but Kojiro seems perfectly content suckling on his tits and Kaoru’s feeling indulgent tonight.

“No,” Kojiro says, mumbles, really, around Kaoru’s skin. He pulls back a little, casting his glance downwards, and says, “Half.”

Half.

Half?!

Only half of Kojiro’s cock and he’s already feeling like a stuffed chicken.

Kaoru feels like yelling. Or laughing hysterically. A little bit of both, maybe. He’s going to die, he thinks. He’s going to die because his best friend’s dick is too big and it’s going to send him to an early grave and people will know that he died because he sat on his best friend’s cock because of a stupid argument and didn’t actually have the balls, metaphorically and literally, to follow through.

“Too much, princess?” Kojiro says, and though his words are teasing, he looks just about ready to lift Kaoru up from his cock and tuck him into bed with a warm cup of tea.

“Can’t even feel your cock, ‘s why I asked,” Kaoru snaps. But it’s enough to make him brace his hands on Kojiro’s shoulders, forcing himself down, until—

Until his legs give out.

He hadn’t known how tense they were until it happens, because he’s too busy focusing on the giant fucking cock inside of him, at the way it fills him up so well, but then he’s falling forward onto Kojiro’s chest, gasping for breath as his legs tremble where they’re spread around Kojiro’s stupid big thighs.

“Shit,” he breathes, and looks up at Kojiro looking down at him with wide eyes.

“Kaoru,” he breathes, hands fluttering at Kaoru’s sides, “Are you—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kaoru snaps, and he sounds venomous enough that Kojiro does. Harsh enough that his cock twitches inside Kaoru. “You little freak.”

Kojiro whimpers.

Kaoru shouldn’t have been surprised. He really, really shouldn’t. But he’s delighted by the knowledge, now that he can feel it so intimately inside him. Kojiro’s avoiding his eyes. It gives him something to focus on aside from the fact that he can’t actually feel his legs right now.

“Pathetic,” Kaoru’s mouth moves, without his permission, without any care, “This is how you react? You can’t even do anything. How’re you going to please someone with your stupid cock?”

Kojiro moans. His grips tighten on Kaoru’s thighs and he’s panting like he’s run a race, like Kaoru isn’t the one doing all the work here. When he mentions as such, Kojiro only buries his head into the juncture of Kaoru’s shoulder and moans helplessly.

Kaoru runs a hand through Kojiro’s hair affectionately. “Pretty thing,” he teases, bold, brave, feeling like he’s seventeen again, the first time they skated properly, wind through his hair and looking back at Kojiro and finding him staring already—muffles his own whine into Kojiro’s hair when Kojiro’s hips jump at his words. “Shit, you like that?”

“Kaoru,” Kojiro slurs, and Kaoru thinks he could get addicted to the sound of his name on Kojiro’s lips in ecstasy. “Shit, Kaoru, I’m—”

“Shh,” Kaoru soothes. Flexes his pussy around Kojiro just to hear him whimper quietly, “You’re a good boy, aren’t you, my good boy?”

Kojiro wraps his arms around Kaoru’s middle and presses the two of them together. His chest rumbles with a moan, and Kaoru feels more than hears it.

For a moment, Kaoru collects himself. Runs his fingers along Kojiro’s back and catalogues every twitch and tremble through his muscles. Lets himself take a few deep breaths, shifts on Kojiro’s cock.

The latter is a fruitless endeavor. His legs refuse to cooperate. How the fuck is he supposed to ride Kojiro into oblivion when his legs don’t fucking work? The fact that Kojiro’s trailing kisses down his neck doesn’t help, keeping him weak-kneed and soft.

“Shit, Kojiro,” Kaoru manages to say, pushing him back with a weak hand, until Kojiro blinks up at him bleary-eyed.

“You okay?” Kojiro says softly, and then, like a switch has been flipped, he’s grinning a little, something flirty, something bold, something Kaoru knows will make him want to punch Kojiro in the face, “Not too big for you yet?”

“You wish,” Kaoru scoffs. But he’s the one still unmoving, sitting on Kojiro’s cock like it’s a throne. “Can’t feel a thing. I’m so bored.”

Kojiro’s eye twitches. Even amidst all this, it’s reassuring to know that they’re still them. That they’re still sniping at each other, drawing warmth and comfort from old habits.

Fuck.

He’s not drunk enough for this.

And then he remembers that they still have the opened bottle of whiskey to go through. Twisting around to look for it, ignoring Kojiro’s questioning noise, Kaoru lets out a triumphant noise when he spots it.

Reaching it while he’s still immobile on Kojiro’s cock is not an easy feat, but Kaoru doesn’t keep up his daily yoga routine for nothing. He snags it with his fingertips and brings it up to his lips, opting to gulp directly from the bottle.

“Hey, gimme some too,” Kojiro complains, opening his mouth to indicate that he wants Kaoru to pour it in.

But in a reckless, adrenaline-fueled, alcohol-addled move, Kaoru tips the bottle into his mouth. Lets the warm whiskey sit on his tongue.

And then he leans forward. Finds the strength, miraculously, somewhere in him, to rise up on his knees a little, so he can use his hand not holding the bottle to wrap his hand around the back of Kojiro’s neck and yank his head backwards.

Then Kaoru kisses him.

And lets the whiskey pour from his mouth into Kojiro’s.

Kojiro lets out a surprised inhale through his nose, but he doesn’t choke; he adjusts rather well to it, in fact. His mouth is open and pliant for Kaoru to pass the alcohol into, and he drinks it down easily.

And when he’s licked out the last dregs of it, Kojiro pulls back. A string of saliva connects their lips and snaps when Kojiro speaks. “Another one?” he asks. So hopeful. So puppyish.

Kaoru only grins down at him, half-feral. And then he takes a much smaller swig, and this time, when Kojiro’s mouth hangs open in preparation, Kaoru spits into it.

Kojiro splutters. Swears at Kaoru for being fucked up and messy, like Kaoru hasn’t felt his dick twitch. Like he hasn’t felt their combined wetness drip down his thigh when he’d risen up. Just for that, Kaoru clenches his pussy hard around the top of Kojiro’s dick.

And when Kojiro moans, Kojiro takes another gulp and seals his lips over Kojiro’s once more. Kojiro’s cheeks are wet with the splattered whiskey. When he’s done with this gulp, Kaoru licks over the drops. Leaves Kojiro messier than before.

He doesn’t know how long they do this. Doesn’t know how long Kojiro stays hard inside him while they pass the whiskey back and forth until their breaths stink with it.

What he does know is that he’s so unbearably fucking horny that he might just scream of frustration.

He has no one to blame but himself, unfortunately. Kojiro’s too much of a gentleman to not let Kaoru take the lead, especially considering Kaoru’s controlling tendencies.

But it’s only you, Kaoru wants to say, it’s you. I don’t feel the need to over control everything when I’m around you. You make me comfortable. You know me.

But actually saying the words out loud feel tantamount to throwing himself off a ledge, so Kaoru tips the bottle down his neck, over his chest. The last bit of the whiskey flows cold down his skin.

And he doesn’t have to ask—Kojiro’s there, ready, gathering the liquid in his mouth, tonguing over Kaoru’s skin. He looks desperate like this, hazy and slobbering, and Kaoru doesn’t even care that his kimono’s going to be a bitch to clean up come morning.

When Kojiro kisses him again, Kaoru licks the last dregs out of his mouth.

And then he sinks down once again, legs relaxing—the alcohol has loosened him up somewhat, and with slow, excruciating progress, Kaoru manages a half-decent rhythm of bouncing on Kojiro’s cock.

Not that anyone would think that, looking at Kojiro—they’d think he’d paid the most expensive of whores to pleasure him, with the way Kojiro’s head is thrown back in ecstasy, the way he isn’t even bothering to hide his moans anymore.

But it’s only Kaoru.

Kaoru, Kaoru, Kaoru, Kojiro is saying. Like his name is a prayer. Like he’s the only thing Kojiro knows.

And it’s sort of a power trip. Kaoru’s sure it’s going to haunt every fantasy he has in the future, waking or otherwise.

“This is the performance you’re showing?” Kaoru demands, slapping Kojiro’s cheek lightly, hiding a smile when Kojiro blinks guileless eyes up at him. “Hey. Hey. Anyone left there in that thing you call a brain?”

“Yes,” Kojiro says instantly, like he’s hardwired to oppose Kaoru at any turn possible. And then he tilts his head to the side, evidently not remembering what he actually said yes to. “What?”

Kaoru can’t help it; he snorts. Kisses Kojiro, cups his face in his hands tenderly. Grinds his hips something slow and filthy until his clit brushes coarse hair, rubs himself off while panting into Kojiro’s mouth.

“You like this,” Kojiro slurs, against Kaoru’s mouth. “You like—like that my cock is too big. Keeps you full. Fuck, princess, I can—can feel you leaking on my cock—”

“SHUT UP,” Kaoru interrupts him loudly, “Kojiro—”

“You do,” Kojiro says delightedly, and then, contrary to his earlier docility, jerks his hips up so that Kaoru flails in place, letting out a surprised moan. “Shit, your pussy—”

“Kojiro—” Kaoru says, and now it’s his turn to be stupid because Kojiro keeps doing it, fucking up into him with short, sharp little thrusts that have him seeing stars, contrary to the methodical way he’s been bouncing on Kojiro’s cock.

“So tight,” Kojiro is mumbling into his skin, “so good, so tight for me, Kaoru—”

And fuck, it figures that he’d have a fucking praise kink the same way Kojiro likes being degraded by him. It figures he’d have to find this out now.

“Koji—Kojiro—”

Kojiro sucks in a breath. His gaze is focused on Kaoru’s stomach. And when Kaoru looks down at himself, to look at what could’ve captured Kojiro’s attention, he almost passes out entirely.

Because—

There. At his lower stomach, right below his belly button.

There’s a bulge there. Not too big, but enough that it’s visible. Enough that it distends his skin from where he’d leaned back, braced himself on Kojiro’s thighs to get a better look.

It can’t be. Even with Kaoru knowing how big Kojiro is, even feeling that inside him… there’s no way that it’s possible.

Except Kojiro raises a hand. Kaoru watches, bewitched, as he runs his fingers over the skin, barely touching, making Kaoru shiver. As he cups the bulge in his hand, over Kaoru’s stomach.

And then he presses.

Kaoru wails.

It’s his single loudest noise of the night. He’s done a considerably good job at containing himself so far, but with this one single motion, all his defenses come crashing down. He can feel it. Feels Kojiro’s cock pressing up from inside. Feels Kojiro’s hand pressing down from outside. His skin feels stretched thin, just a tiny barrier between Kojiro’s dick and hand. With no stimulation, his cunt spasms. Kaoru chokes on a gasp and feels his legs go soft and noodley.

Full. He’s so full. Filled to the brim, with Kojiro’s cock. There’s no space inside him that Kojiro isn’t invading. Kaoru, delirious, thinks that when this is over, Kojiro’ll have carved out a permanent place for himself inside Kaoru—not only in his heart, but in his cunt too.

Kojiro snaps his hips up. Kaoru’s head hangs from his neck at the angle he needs to see the bulge, the imprint of Kojiro’s stupidly massive dick move under his skin.

Kaoru can’t help it—he throws his head back, rocks his hips forwards, grinding desperately—

And comes.

Squeezes around Kojiro’s length as his mouth opens in a soundless moan. It takes him by surprise as much as it does Kojiro, when he drops his head into Kojiro’s shoulder to pant wetly into his skin.

And it feels like it doesn’t stop. Surely, it’s only a few seconds. But then Kojiro gets the genius idea to take Kaoru’s hips and lift him. Kaoru’s brain is a little too frazzled to appreciate the way Kojiro’s muscles work as he fucks up into him with short little thrusts that prolong Kaoru’s orgasm and has him going cross-eyed, digging his nails into Kojiro’s back.

Kaoru worries he’ll leave marks. He hopes he does.

“Fuck,” he breathes, when he feels a little less floaty. Under him Kojiro is still as a rock. He doesn’t even feel like he’s breathing. Kaoru pulls himself away the slightest bit, concern pinching his eyebrows. “Kojiro?”

Kojiro has his eyes squeezed shut. His mouth is open for short pants, the air isn’t even getting into his lungs before he’s forcing it out again.

“Kojiro,” Kaoru says worriedly, tilting Kojiro’s head back and smoothing a hand over his sweaty temple. “Are you okay?”

For a wild, horrible moment, Kaoru’s worried that he pushed it too far; nevermind the fact that they’re both drunk out of their minds, nevermind that Kojiro was the one who started this in the first place. Maybe fucking his best friend was fine but maybe coming untouched on his cock was taking it a bit too far.

“Kaoru,” Kojiro says, and Kaoru has to swallow a breath. He sounds wrecked. Absolutely gone. “Shit—I’m, I’m fine, I just—” He swallows. Audible in the sparse air between them. “Fuck, Kaoru—” he says, and then stops. His fingers flex around Kaoru’s waist.

A creeping suspicion unfurls in Kaoru’s mind, the way Kojiro refuses to look him in the eye. The way his cock is still stupidly hard inside Kaoru. And he’s not sober enough to keep the thought to himself. Wouldn’t have kept it sober, anyways, because any dig he can take a Kojiro he’s going to find a spade to dig it deeper with.

“Were you going to come?” he says delightedly, leaning forward, ghosting his breath over Kojiro’s lips. “Wouldn’t have minded, baby,” he says, in a clumsy imitation of the pet names Kojiro’s going around calling everyone, “I’m flattered.”

Kojiro opens an eye to glare at him, but it’s weak. His hips jerk unsteadily under Kaoru like he can’t quite control himself, and Kaoru rocks in place with a little oof.

“Wasn’t,” Kojiro grunts. “Gonna—you’re just too fuckin’—tight. Gonna rip my dick off and then no one will sleep with me ever again.”

Kaoru knows it’s a tease. Just a joke. Just Kojiro being Kojiro. And usually he’s a logical man, but something about Kojiro just makes him irrational and stupid. Something about Kojiro makes him lose his head.

But suddenly he’s angry. Angry that Kojiro’s even thinking of other people at a time like this when Kaoru’s throwing himself into his lap.

Is he that undesirable? Does Kojiro look at him and see just a one-off, convenient hole to fuck?

Well, too fucking bad, because Kaoru’s not going to let Kojiro forget this. Ever. He’ll give Kojiro the best fuck of his life.

Let other people disappoint him. Make him think only about how well Kaoru takes his cock, when others shy away even at the sight of it.

Ruin him for anyone else.

This time, when Kaoru rolls his hips, he starts off slow. Methodical. He’s still sensitive, twitching around Kojiro’s cock, and the pleasure borders into pain as he drags himself up and down. Increases his pace only when Kojiro starts moaning openly, head thrown back, and he doesn’t hesitate, this time, before leaning forward and biting marks into Kojiro’s tan flesh. Leaves imprints of his teeth and nails. Come morning, Kojiro will look like he’s been mauled by a bear.

Kaoru, vindictive, hopes it sends a message at their next S night.

He rides Kojiro. Presses his own hand to the imprint in his tummy, feels Kojiro in his stomach and feels Kojiro feel it too.

“Princess,” Kojiro breathes. He wraps a hand around the back of Kaoru’s neck, draws him in for a kiss so wet and sloppy Kaoru’s vision fuzzes at the edges. His thighs burn with exertion and he’s never felt more grateful to his past self for keeping a semi-regular workout routine so he’s not flopping about uselessly on his best friend’s dick.

“You’re so pretty,” Kojiro mumbles. It’s only because Kaoru is plastered to him that he hears it. “Pretty, Kaoru, so pretty, feels so good, fuck—”

“Oh, yeah?” Kaoru says, breathless. It’s not often that he can reduce Kojiro to praising him—even if it is in large because of his own reticence—so it’s an especially nice treat when Kojiro’s soft for him, “Think you can keep it up?”

Which is, unfortunately, not meant to taunt Kojiro—it’s the fact that his legs are growing more tired with each slap of their hips. Kaoru, already uncoordinated enough, is sure he’s going to refuse to walk for the entire day tomorrow.

“Kaoru.” Kojiro’s voice is pleading. He buries his head in Kaoru’s shoulder, decides that it isn’t enough, and surges up to kiss him. Under him, he can feel Kojiro’s thighs tremble with the force of holding himself back.

“Stupid gorilla,” Kaoru bemoans, “can't even do the work by yourself and you’re complaining—no wonder no one wants to sleep with you—shit!”

Kaoru hiccups through a string of swears as he’s abruptly torn off Kojiro’s cock and his back hits the couch. Even that one second of emptiness is torture. His cunt clenches around nothing and Kaoru makes an absolutely embarrassing whimpering sound that he’ll swear he never made for the rest of his life.

And then he blinks, and then Kojiro is looming above him. He holds one of Kaoru’s legs in the crook of his arm while the other one is pushed down so that it touches Kaoru’s chest. It’s a stretch but it’s not painful—Kaoru’s cunt flutters in the air, excited by the prospect of being so bare and on display for Kojiro.

“Kaoru,” Kojiro breathes, and then he’s being kissed again. And they’ve done so much of that tonight but it’s different, because Kojiro’s weight is pressed down on top of him and he kisses like he’s trying to consume Kaoru, melt their bodies together until they’re one.

And like this, Kaoru’s hands find purchase on Kojiro’s back. Like this, he’s free to rake his nails down Kojiro’s back, to fist his hand in Kojiro’s hair and keep him in place, until Kojiro’s panting into his mouth and his hand is fumbling at his cock.

Later, Kaoru will think that they’re so fucking stupid for not removing their clothes first. His kimono hangs from his arms. Kojiro’s pants are still slung low on his hips and he should frankly look ridiculous with his cock out. He doesn’t. Kao wants to fucking get on his knees and suck his cock until Kojiro cries.

Lost in fleeting thoughts, Kaoru startles when Kojiro presses his cock in once more. And, oh, like this is so different. The angle. The way Kojiro’s controlling the pace now, and, immobilized as he is, Kaoru’s only left to take whatever Kojiro gives him.

There’s something about ceding control, he’ll admit. The few short dating flings he’d had always broke up with him because he was too controlling, because he tried to manage everything in his life down to the second, because if he didn’t take care of himself, who would?

Kojiro would.

Kojiro feeds him. Distracts him when Kaoru’s frustrated, reminds Kaoru to take a break, keeps him grounded when Kaoru feels like floating away into the clouds.

Kojiro takes care of him, and Kaoru trusts him in a way he’s sure he’ll never trust anyone else.

And then Kojiro’s cock slots into him, perfect once more, and Kaoru makes a little sound from his throat that Kojiro drinks in with his tongue.

“Shit, princess,” Kojiro is saying, “Shit, you’re so tight, I can—I can see you—”

Just like before, there’s a little bulge in Kaoru’s stomach. Kojiro’s dick carving its way through his pussy. And then Kojiro rocks, back and forth, finding a rhythm, until Kaoru’s moans are babbling and unintelligible.

He loses track of time. All he’s aware of is the fullness, the feeling of Kojiro’s cock, the way it feels like it pushes up into his guts. He clenches uncontrollably around it, wonders deliriously if Kojiro could.

And then Kojiro shoves a cushion up under his hips. Hitches Kaoru’s legs higher up over his arms and then bullies his cock into Kaoru’s cunt, shoving in ruthlessly and making Kaoru let out little uhn uhn uhn noises with each thrust.

But most of all—

The angle shifts his cock even deeper. Kaoru throws his head back and lets Kojiro leave kisses on his throat, feels—

Kaoru squeals when Kojiro slams into his cervix.

Chokes around his moan when Kojiro does it again. His pussy clenches like it doesn’t know whether to reject Kojiro’s cock or try to suck it in deeper—all he knows is a cocktail of intoxicating feelings when Kojiro picks up on the change in his voice and does it again.

Kaoru’s legs are entirely numb. He’s only holding himself up by sheer willpower and the need to have Kojiro’s tongue in his mouth as Kojiro fucks him, rough and hard.

Bruises his cervix, certainly, slamming into it with the force of a bull, and within a few thrusts Kaoru is left entirely speechless, eyes rolled back in his head.

He’s going to come. He’s going to come untouched on Kojiro’s cock for the second time tonight, and he’s so far gone that he doesn’t even have any shame in admitting it to himself.

But—as Kojiro fucks into him, presses kisses and bites into his skin, Kaoru feels—something.

Something curling low in his belly. His cunt clenches sporadically around Kojiro’s cock, too weak at this point to consider tightening up, and he feels his legs go cold, then numb. It builds slow, and then, as Kojiro’s thrusts grow fast, sloppier—it overcomes him in a blinding rush.

“Ko—Kojiro—” he has the wherewithal to try to warn, except his voice breaks when Kojiro grunts and fucks into him so hard he slides up the couch—“I’m—!”

“Fuck, princess, come for me, please,” Kojiro pants, “Look so pretty, on my cock, can’t believe you took all of me, fuck—”

It’s not that! Kaoru wants to say, something’s happening and I don’t know what it is!

But the words get stuck in his throat, and when Kojiro moves a hand to his stomach, presses down on the damned bulge, Kaoru throws all caution to the wind, and comes.

He’s sure he loses consciousness for a moment. His ears fill with static. The pleasure rolls through him in so great a wave that he’s sure every nerve and muscle in his body is tensed up—

For one relieved moment, Kaoru thinks that that’s it. That that’s his orgasm, that there was nothing to worry about—

And then Kojiro grunts and fucks into him. Rolls him right over into another orgasm, weaker. Kaoru thinks that this might be what it feels like to be tumbled around by the waves in the sea. Kojiro’s close but he still hasn’t come, gritting his teeth and milking Kaoru’s pleasure for all it’s worth.

And then he reaches down. Pinches Kaoru’s oversensitive clit the same time he slams into his cervix.

Kaoru’s vision whites out. It’s not like the first orgasm, where he floated away for a few seconds—this is something raw and visceral, and the only thing he can do is writhe in place and take it.

It takes him a few seconds too long, even then, to register the gush of fluid from where he and Kojiro are joined. A few longer seconds to realize that he’s squirting.

Kojiro’s thumb is mean where it’s digging into Kaoru’s engorged clit. He doesn’t let up, even as Kaoru blubbers something about the couch getting dirty, ignores Kaoru’s cries and silences them with his mouth, which is great because if Kojiro stopped now Kaoru thinks he might burn the entire island down with them in it.

But Kojiro doesn’t let up. Kaoru had thought he was coming but he isn’t yet, and all of a sudden he’s being yanked up.

Kaoru goes with it. Boneless and malleable, he lets Kojiro drape him over the couch, his chest resting on the back of it. His knees tremble as they hold him up in place.

For all that Kojiro’s gentle, the way he half-knees his way between Kaoru’s legs from behind has Kaoru dripping.

Kaoru feels the warmth of him settle and curve over Kaoru’s back, hands wrapping around his waist. Like this, unable to hold himself up properly, Kaoru’s back drops into an arch, pushing his ass up against Kojiro’s cock, and it’s barely a second before Kojiro slips his cock back in again.

And oh, this is—this is good too. Hazy from his orgasms, Kaoru can only hold on and whine quietly into the back of the couch as Kojiro rams into him from behind. Like this, Kojiro presses into him so well, a fact that he praises Kaoru for, muttering filthy into his ear where Kaoru can only respond with soft moans.

His cunt is sore. Twitchy and overstimulated from Kojiro’s abuse, he’s all about ready for Kojiro to come—and if Kojiro hadn’t literally been complaining about it earlier, Kaoru would’ve called bullshit on the fact that Kojiro’s purportedly a virgin.

All thoughts leave his brain, however, as Kojiro shifts. It’s the slightest of changes, but it sends a jolt through Kaoru. Almost uncomfortable, almost like the feeling he’d had earlier before he squirted. His pussy flutters.

And then he realizes—

Oh, god. Oh no, his—

His bladder.

He doesn’t have time to warn Kojiro. He gets half of Kojiro’s name out of his mouth before Kojiro’s hand slips from his waist to cup his stomach again, so fucking obsessed with his dick visible inside Kaoru—and it’s just as he pushes and fucks into Kaoru at the same time that—

He shrieks as he pisses himself. Splurts a stream down his thighs, the force of it surely dripping down Kojiro’s cock too but he doesn’t sound like he minds, moaning into Kaoru’s ear and praising him for being a good boy, praising him for doing so well.

The most embarrassing thing, Kaoru is forced to realize with horror, is that Kojiro’s cock is just that big enough to press against his urethra from the inside, trapping his piss until he draws his cock out and allows Kaoru some release. He feels the warmth of it on his thighs. Dripping down, down, surely soaking into the couch.

He’d be disturbed by how hot he finds it, if he weren’t currently drunk on Kojiro’s cock and the way it’s making him feel.

“Princess,” Kojiro is breathless, “you’re so hot, Kaoru, pissing all over yourself for me, taking me so well—"

Kaoru whines when piss leaks out of him, fucked out of him by Kojiro’s stupid fucking cock. Each heavy drag brings out a fresh spurt of piss with him, until Kaoru’s sagging in place, unable to hold himself up at all, hips sinking in place as his knees struggle to stay locked in place.

 “Gonna—gonna come,” Kojiro grits out, at long last, only after he’s fucked all the piss out of Kaoru’s bladder and all the substance out of Kaoru’s brain, “I’ll—hold on, I’ll pull out—”

And when Kaoru, where he’d been languishing in the relaxation of being fucked useless, registers the words, he panics. Hears the words pulling out and his brain goes into overdrive.

Like some sort of crisis-fueled adrenaline takes over him, Kaoru yanks himself backward. In a feat of strength even Kaoru himself wasn’t aware of, he has Kojiro back against the couch and is sitting on him faster than either of them can blink.

And blink up at him Kojiro does, wide-eyed and confused.

“No,” Kaoru says, and his voice is raspy and used but it comes out loud—“No. Inside.”

Kojiro’s eyes get impossibly wider.

And then he registers what Kaoru says and he doesn’t waste any time—plants his feet into the couch, takes a hold of Kaoru’s waist and thrusts up, jostling Kaoru in his lap.

Kaoru’s all but useless right now, but he’s bearing his weight down, pressing himself as close as he can to Kojiro’s hips in fear that he’ll try to come anywhere but inside his cunt.

And then Kojiro’s throwing his head back, hips stuttering in place, and Kaoru feels it, the warmth of him, spilling inside him, and it’s so unbearably hot a feeling that Kaoru fears he might get addicted to it. Delirious, he thinks he can feel it, both Kojiro’s cock and his come, sloshing around inside him.

He grinds down, once, twice, for good measure, until Kojiro is twitching underneath him. Now that he’s a little more collected, a little less blinded with lust, he finds it easier to drop a kiss onto Kojiro’s open mouth, humming delightedly when Kojiro, despite his scrambled brains, kisses back immediately.

It’s easy, like this, to languish in the afterglow. The alcohol’s wearing off but they’re still tipsy, and it’s warm and easy and sweet as Kojiro giggles into Kaoru’s mouth like they’re schoolboys again.

But eventually, all things must end.

“Hey,” Kojiro says softly, nudging Kaoru’s thigh, where he’s sloppily draped over Kojiro’s thighs, legs spread and uncaring of how messy he looks. “We should clean up.”

Kaoru mumbles something unintelligible into Kojiro’s chest. All he knows is Kojiro’s warmth and the sleep dragging him under.

“Come on, Kaoru,” Kojiro coaxes. This close, Kaoru can feel every shift of his body, the way his muscles tense under him in preparation for moving Kaoru away. “We’re old now, if we sleep on the couch we’ll both wake up with a crick in our necks.”

Kojiro makes an annoyingly good amount of sense, so Kaoru leans back, settling on his elbows so that Kojiro can move first.

And now that he’s not on the verge of losing his head, Kaoru will admit that it’s probably one of the most embarrassing experiences of his life.

Kojiro had stayed settled in him in the time they were coming down; now, his soft cock draws out with a wet plop that, out of all the things he’s done tonight, makes Kaoru blush furiously. What immediately follows after is a mix of his and Kojiro’s spend, trailing in slow globs down Kaoru’s taint. When Kojiro doesn’t move, Kaoru looks up, ready to snap at him and demand for him to be carried to the bathroom, but he stops.

Because, despite having gone at it earlier, Kojiro looks ravenous.

“Kojiro?” Kaoru asks hesitantly. He feels naked, a little too bare and raw, spread out in front of Kojiro like this when they’re not drunk and horny out of their minds.

Kojiro’s next words rush out of him in a great breath. “Pleaseletmeeatyouout.”

Kaoru blinks. It takes him a long moment to decipher Kojiro’s jumble of words, but when he does, he feels himself steadily growing redder.

“What,” he ends up squawking, drawing his knees up to his chest, not missing the way Kojiro’s eyes track the movement like a vulture, “Isn’t that—that’s—are you—”

“I’m sure,” Kojiro cuts him off, and Kaoru would be reminding him about his manners if he thought Kojiro could focus on anything else at the moment. He looks up at Kaoru. Pleading. It’s fucking ridiculous. Puppy eyes shouldn’t work on a grown man, much less someone of Kojiro’s size.

“Fine,” Kaoru says. Throws his hands up in the air. “Fine! Do what you want.”

And then he flops back onto the couch, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the armrest. Crosses his arms. Keeps his knees pressed together until Kojiro touches him, his warm hands sliding up from the back of his thighs to the backs of his knees, pressing Kaoru’s legs open gently.

It’s embarrassing, is what it is, now that Kaoru isn’t fucked out of his mind.

But then Kojiro settles down, and Kaoru can’t help but peek out to look at Kojiro.

And, fuck, the sight’s going to fuel his wet dreams for the next decade.

Kojiro looks so completely focused on eating him out. Kaoru shudders when he presses wet kisses to the insides of Kaoru’s thighs. Sucks in a gasp through his teeth when Kojiro’s lips land on his clit, suckling and pressing the flat of his tongue against it.

It’s dirty, he’d say, because he’s still wet, dripping with piss and slick and come, but Kojiro digs into him like he’s a feast and Kojiro’s been starving for weeks. Digs his tongue into Kaoru’s cunt, nose pressed against Kaoru’s clit. When Kojiro sucks, he makes a horrible squelching noise that has Kaoru flushing and wrapping his legs around Kojiro’s head.

Which has him moaning. Kaoru can scarcely believe it but Kojiro looks right at home eating him out. His eyes are closed in contentment and he’s nearly making out with Kaoru’s cunt.

“Kojiro,” Kaoru whispers, causes Kojiro to peek one eye open up at him, “You…”

He trails off. A little speechless in all honesty, and whimpers a little when Kojiro’s tongue presses inside him.

It’s different, from the fucking. Kaoru’s almost entirely boneless by the time Kojiro finishes, and he gives only a weak little twitch when he comes dry, when Kojiro suckles on his clit and presses two fingers into him to rub against him from the inside.

“Fuck, princess,” Kojiro breathes from where he’s still nestled between Kaoru’s thighs; he swats at him weakly. Kaoru thinks he’s done with orgasms forever. He’s come so many times tonight that it’d be physically impossible for him to, ever again, he thinks. “You’re so—fuck…”

And then he presses his head against the inside of Kaoru’s thighs, and stays there.

“Kojiro?” Kaoru asks, a few seconds later when Kojiro doesn’t seem keen on moving, “You okay?”

“Fine,” comes the reply, muffled into his skin. “Sorry, we’ll clean up in a moment, I promise.”

Kaoru says nothing. Now that—presumably—all this is over, what else is there left to say? Kojiro got his dick wet. Kaoru lost his virginity—not that Kojiro would know—to his best friend like he’d been imagining for at least fifteen years of his life.

Except not like this.

Kojiro gets up first. He makes to slide a hand under Kaoru’s back, only for Kaoru to stare up at him in confusion. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Kojiro raises an eyebrow. “Carrying you?”

“I can walk.”

“O…kay, sure. You do that.”

Except when Kaoru sits up, and gets his legs under him on the floor, he—

His knees buckle, and, almost gets the most embarrassing case of brain damage by hitting the edge of the coffee table—if not for Kojiro, who seems to have predicted the outcome and swoops him up gracefully into his arms.

Kaoru glares up at him. “Not a word.”

Kojiro only laughs, presses a kiss to Kaoru’s forehead, and takes him to the bathroom, where he’s promptly dumped into the bath.

For all Kaoru takes digs at him, Kojiro’s adept in handling people. His experience shows, in time like this, when he makes sure to treat Kaoru gently. Lets his head rest against the cool porcelain of the bathtub, presses the shower gel softly to Kaoru’s skin. It’s the cherry scented one that Kojiro always insists it’s too expensive and makes digs at Kaoru for buying because just use regular soap like the rest of us people but has a bottle of in case Kaoru ever wants to stay over and needs a shower.

He washes Kaoru’s hair too. Soft and soothing enough that Kaoru finds himself dozing as he lets himself be taken care of by Kojiro. Runs a comb through the wet strands to detangle it like how Kaoru’s taught him to.

All of a sudden, Kaoru wants to cry.

Because how is he supposed to bear the thought that he’ll have this once and then have to confine himself to never having it again? How is he supposed to live with the knowledge that Kojiro treats him so good and so gently and watch him use those tactics on other people?

He doesn’t, thankfully. Only when Kojiro squeezes himself into the bath behind Kaoru does he turn around and press a fierce kiss to Kojiro’s lips.

I’m sorry for being selfish, he wants to say. I’m sorry for being bullheaded and wanting to be spiteful and petty. I’m sorry for taking things too far.

I hope you won’t hate me.

Kojiro makes a surprised little sound, and kisses back.

A little while later, they’re in bed, half-clothed as they always are when they sleep. It’s not the first time they’ve slept together, nor will it be the last, but there’s a fraught kind of tension in the air as Kojiro clicks the lights off. Kaoru, on his back in the bed, tenses up and forces himself to relax when Kojiro’s weight dips the bed beside him.

“Hey,” Kojiro whispers, after a few seconds of silence. His fingertips brush against Kaoru’s arm. He pauses for a moment, unsure, and then his voice comes out quieter in the dead of the night. “We’re good, right?”

Kaoru releases the breath he was unaware of holding. “Yeah,” he says, fond but with an unbearable ache in his chest. “Come here, you big oaf.”

Kojiro shuffles, and then he’s sliding down the bed a little, wrapping his arms around Kaoru’s waist and burying his head into Kaoru’s chest.

Clingy, Kaoru would tease him some other time, but tonight, he draws as much comfort from the touch as Kojiro does.

When Kaoru was younger, he used to have nightmares. Alone in his own house, he’d become used to it—walk around the empty place a few times until his mind quieted down. If that didn’t work, he’d read all his books over and over again, until the morning came, until the day passed and he was tired enough that he didn’t physically have the energy for nightmares anymore.

The first time Kaoru had slept over at Kojiro’s house, he’d woken up crying and flailing. Unused to both the unfamiliar place and the weight of a warm body next to him, Kaoru had kicked Kojiro out of bed and was aware of it just enough that it made his tears unstoppable.

Kojiro had panicked, of course. Being younger than Kaoru, he hadn’t really known what to do—but he’d cried enough that he’d memorized all the ways the adults in his life had comforted him.

So he’d stayed with Kaoru, pushing his pillow and anything fluffy he could reach into Kaoru’s arms. Stuck close to him even as Kaoru tried to push him away in fear that he wouldn’t want to be Kaoru’s friend anymore. When Kaoru’s crying had quietened, Kojiro took him to the kitchen to pour him a glass of milk with sugar.

Of course, being six, Kojiro had forgotten about the concept of a microwave. Which meant that he’d poured the milk and sugar in with shaky hands and then stirred it—and frowned quite adorably when the cold milk still tasted like cold milk—very much unsweetened.

And, in the genius logic of a child, Kojiro had tried to peer into the glass of milk while Kaoru waited patiently. Kaoru remembers trembling, half-asleep, watching Kojiro, trying to figure out what went wrong, as he’d raised the glass to eye level.

And then accidentally dump all of it over himself.

Kaoru remembers, clearly, how he’d blinked. Wrapped up in a blanket, all he’d done as Kojiro dumped a glass of milk over his own face was to stare.

And then laugh.

It’s one of the clearest memories of his life—him doubling down in laughter as Kojiro had stared at him in betrayed shock like he had absolutely no idea that something like that would happen. All of a sudden, Kaoru’s nightmare is forgotten, and all he’d felt was loved.

Kojiro’s mother finds them like that; at one in the morning, Kaoru laughing hard enough that he’s breathless and crying, Kojiro still looking like a milk-soaked rat as he blinks owlishly and uses his little brain to figure out what’d gone wrong.

Kojiro’s mother hadn’t been offended, thankfully. Only directed Kojiro to go shower and bundled him up in new clothes. Poured them both their own glasses of milk afterwards, tucked them into bed giggling.

Kaoru had fallen sleep in a reversal of their positions now—Kojiro’s arms wrapped around him while Kaoru snuggled into his chest. It had been almost uncomfortably warm, that he thought he might not be able to sleep at all, except that little Kojiro had whispered, “You can sleep, Kaoru, I’ll keep the nightmares away,” and Kaoru had fallen asleep, just like that, like magic.

The memory of it brings a smile to Kaoru’s lips, even as he aches for something he can’t have. He’s made peace with it, the latter years of Kojiro’s studies in Italy; that he’d let a good thing go, that he’d have to live with the consequences for the rest of his life because the alternative—not being friends with Kojiro anymore—is worse.

Sleep doesn’t come easily for Kaoru, but he’s drunk a lot more than he usually lets himself, not to mention the mind- and back-blowing sex he’d had that tired him out more than any skate of his life had done, so he’s just on the verge of falling asleep when his mind jolts itself awake.

He doesn’t know what it is at first, only having the capacity to be annoyed, but as soon as he feels it, he tenses up in shock.

He’d been too fatigued to realize earlier, he realizes, horrified. That Kojiro’s trembling, where he’s wrapped up in Kaoru’s arms. Muffled as it is with Kaoru’s—Kojiro’s—sweatshirt, Kaoru takes a second to pick out the hitching breaths Kojiro’s trying to stifle.

“Kojiro,” he whispers, and oh, Kojiro must’ve thought Kaoru had fallen asleep, because he tenses up entirely in Kaoru’s arms. “Kojiro, are you—are you alright?”

“…fine,” Kojiro says, a few seconds of silence later. “Fine, I just.” He makes to push away from Kaoru. “I just need to—use the toilet, hold on—”

Kaoru grips tighter. Doesn’t let go. He’s never been a man of superstition and fate, but he’s overcome with the fear that something will be ruined irreparably for them if he lets go.

“Don’t,” he says, and it’s softer than his usual admonishments. He feels Kojiro’s hands grip tighter into the back of his sweatshirt. “Tell me.”

Kojiro doesn’t reply, for a few minutes. Kaoru worries that he’ll try to go to sleep without him knowing, try to avoid the conversation that has him sounding this broken. Just as he’s about to prompt Kojiro again, he speaks.

“Sorry,” Kojiro ends up saying, voice weak. “It’s—it’s really nothing, Kaoru. Don’t—it’s just me being stupid. Ignore me.”

“My life would’ve been a lot simpler if I simply ignored you back in kindergarten,” Kaoru says. Feels Kojiro tense up impossibly harder at his words, and continues, “But I didn’t, and I’m sure as hell not going to right now. So you can tell me, or I’m going to push you out of the bed.”

His attempt at levity is met with a weak laugh and a muttered, “you probably should,” that has Kaoru’s brain, suddenly very awake, running in circles.

“What the fuck does that mean,” he whispers furiously, and then, deciding that he can’t take this, uses Kojiro’s moment of distraction to flip them. Lands squarely on Kojiro’s hips with his knees straddled and locked in around Kojiro’s waist just in case he tries to run away. Lastly, leans over to the bedside table to switch on the shitty nightlight Kojiro’s owned since he was a baby and was too sentimental to throw away so Kaoru fashioned a new battery and extra light modes for it.

It floods the room with a soft warm glow, and Kaoru looks at Kojiro properly—and feels his heart break.

Because Kojiro looks devastated. He’s not pushing Kaoru off, but he’s staying as still as possible, tensed up like he’s preparing to run, avoiding Kaoru’s eyes—the thought strikes Kaoru then.

That he’d regretted it. That Kaoru had pushed it too far, that Kojiro was drunk enough that now that he’s come back to his senses it’ll be the biggest mistake of his life.

“Oh,” he breathes, and Kojiro jerks his head up to look at him and just as quickly avert his gaze again. “I—I understand,” he says, relaxing the grip he has on Kojiro.

For the second time in as many seconds, Kojiro snaps his head up to look at Kaoru, but this time, there’s an abject fear in his gaze.

“Kaoru,” he starts, “Wait, I don’t—you—”

“It’s okay,” Kaoru interrupts, because his heart can’t take it. Would collapse in on itself if he actually has to hear the words out loud. “You don’t have to—say it. I understand. I—I’m sorry.”

For some reason, Kojiro looks even more crestfallen. “Is that it?” he asks. Takes a deep breath to steel himself. “You’re sorry?”

The incredulity in his voice makes Kaoru, already fraught with tension, snap.

“What else do you want me to say?” Kaoru snaps. Forgetting he’s supposed to be giving Kojiro a way to back out, he plants his hands firmly around Kojiro’s head so he can yell more directly into his face. “What else can I say? Sorry for fucking you? Sorry for trying to help out a friend? Sorry for taking advantage of you even though we were both drunk? I wish it never happened?”

Even as he spits vitriol, there’s a tiny part of Kaoru that’s regretting all the words he’s saying as they come out of his mouth. Kojiro doesn’t deserve this. Kojiro doesn’t deserve having to fuck someone he didn’t want to just because his best friend was in love with him. Kojiro doesn’t deserve Kaoru’s special brand of pettiness just because Kaoru was stupid enough to think that even if Kojiro didn’t have feelings for him, he wouldn’t have minded someone to fuck.

With every sentence that Kaoru finishes, Kojiro’s face falls more and more. He looks small in a way he never has before.

And when he says the last, it breaks. Between one blink and the other, tears are streaming down his face. Kojiro’s eyes are scrunched shut like he’s trying—and failing miserably—to stop the flow.

Kaoru just… stops.

When they were younger, before Kojiro left for Italy, he was so… soft.

Soft-hearted. He cried at movies Kaoru could keep a straight face throughout. He cried in panic when Kaoru did something slightly more dangerous than skinning his knee. He cried over pictures of cute puppies.

But he’d never cried because of Kaoru.

Kaoru was always the one giving him tissues. Letting Kojiro squeeze his hand during movies. Comforted Kojiro and directed him on injury cleanup even as his skin stung and bruised. Let Kojiro squeeze him to the death even as he was calling him a simple idiot.

And now Kaoru’s hurt him so deeply that Kojiro’s just... crying. In front of him.

Suddenly, all the frustration and hurt Kaoru feels spills over and dissipates, and he feels himself sniffling a little as he gathers Kojiro’s face in one hand to furiously wipe away his tears.

“Stupid gorilla,” he sniffles, resting his forehead on his friend’s—his best friend, how could they have fucked this up so bad?—“I’m, Kojiro—”

Words aren’t enough. He sits up, tugging Kojiro along, and for all his mass, Kojiro goes with him. So easy, so willingly, even as he’s gulping in large breaths through his tears.

Kaoru draws him in. Buries Kojiro’s head in his chest, lets him cling onto the back of Kaoru’s stolen sweatshirt. He doesn’t say anything, only holds Kojiro, runs his hands through Kojiro’s hair in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

Just as he goes to make an attempt to soothe, Kojiro speaks. His words tilt Kaoru’s world on its axis.

“Is it so bad?” Kojiro whispers, voice broken, so soft Kaoru thinks for a moment he hallucinated it. “That for a moment—I could pretend that you loved me?”

Kaoru stops.

Running his fingers through Kojiro’s hair. Functioning. Breathing.

That I could pretend you loved me.

Kojiro wanted—

Kojiro wants—

Kaoru forces himself to take a breath. Then another, until his heart feels like it’s beating normally again. Kojiro just stays where he is. He’s relaxed, but it’s with the surety of someone walking to their grave. Someone who’s accepted their fate.

Kojiro’s just waiting for the moment Kaoru pushes him away, he realizes, taking in—what he thinks are—the last moments of comfort.

“You—” Kaoru forces himself to say. His voice comes out rough, scratchy. He clears his throat before trying again, “Kojiro…”

“It’s okay,” Kojiro says, face still buried in Kaoru’s chest. “I’ll…I dunno. I’ll get out your hair in a bit. You can still come over for dinner anytime. I can—I can give you space.”

“No,” Kaoru says, a bit too sharply, cursing himself when Kojiro tenses up again, “That’s not—”

A soft “Please,” is whispered into his shirt. “I—I’ll stop, touching you whenever. You can—text me, if you ever want to hang out. I promise I won’t—”

“No,” Kaoru says again, more firmly, and panics a little when the front of his shirt grows wet with tears. “No, Kojiro—look at me.”

And his Kojiro, brave and stupid and soft, looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes, and Kaoru kisses him.

Hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to dig his teeth into Kojiro’s lip when he doesn’t respond—hard enough to bite when Kojiro kisses him back hesitantly.

He cups Kojiro’s face in his hands. Presses them together like he’ll die if there’s no point of contact between them.

When they break away, Kojiro stares up at him. A little dumbfounded, a little unsure.

“Kaoru…”

“Stupid,” Kaoru says, because he’s incapable of anything else. “You’re so stupid, fuck, Kojiro, you’re telling me you never got over your crush on me since high school?” It feels—raw—saying it out loud, something they’d known but never acknowledged all this time in their friendship.

Kojiro frowns. He’s so cute, Kaoru thinks furiously, he needs to be punched in his stupid adorable face.

“It wasn’t highschool,” he says, and immediately makes a face like he’s eaten a lemon.

“Oh?” Kaoru says delightedly, wrapping his arms around Kojiro’s neck and leaning forward, “When was it? Middle school? When we were babies?”

“Piss off,” Kojiro says, trying to shove Kaoru off, “Ha ha so fucking funny, just draw it out, why don’t you, y’know what, take the bed, I’m going to sleep on the couch—”

“Nooo,” Kaoru whines. He flops onto Kojiro, making him take all his weight, feels weightless and light and floaty with the knowledge that Kojiro still loves him. “Don’t. I’d miss my favourite pillow.”

Kojiro stops. In the sliver of light, Kaoru sees him swallow. “Kaoru?” he asks, small and hesitant. “If this is…”

Kaoru takes his face in his hands and kisses him. Again and again and again, until Kojiro settles his hands on Kaoru’s waist and kisses him back, until the line of him against Kaoru isn’t drawn so tight and tense.

“I—” Kaoru breaks away to say, because he suddenly fears that if he doesn’t say it now its going to be trapped inside him forever. “I thought—I thought it was over. For us. I thought I lost my chance being stupid. I knew. That you. About you. But I was too blind and stupid chasing after Adam and then you left and when you came back it was like—like you didn’t want me, anymore. Because—because I’d changed. I wasn’t Cherry anymore, I was just. Me.”

If he heard himself properly right now, Kaoru would be appalled. By the way he’s rambling, how his words and sentences don’t fit right.

And, like always, ever since they were little kids running away from the teachers together, Kojiro gets him.

“Oh, Kaoru,” he breathes, like Kaoru’s name is something to be worshipped. In the low light of the room, his tear tracks shine on his cheeks, but he doesn’t make any move to wipe them away. Instead, he cups Kaoru’s face in his hand and whispers, like it’s a secret for only them to hear, “I love you. I love little baby Kaoru toddling together with me in the playground. I love middle school Kaoru trying to be a delinquent and failing miserably. I love high school Kaoru with all his piercings and long hair, even when he broke my heart. I loved you in Italy because I’d see something and always think of you, what you’d think about it. I loved you when I came back and found Sakurayashiki-sensei. I love you when you skate because that’s the most free you’ve let yourself be. But I love you, Kaoru.”

By the end of his speech, Kaoru’s close to tears. He hadn’t expected a confession, not of this magnitude. And then Kojiro hits the nail in the coffin.

“What matters is you,” he murmurs, looking up at Kaoru with soft eyes. How he used to look at Kaoru in highschool when Kaoru was being dumb and stupid. How he’d stopped looking at Kaoru when he came back from Italy, only for him to find out now that Kojiro’s apparently never stopped looking at him that way. “What matters is you, and not the state of you. And I—love. Everything that you are.”

That does it; Kaoru ends up bawling into Kojiro’s shoulder.

“Fuck, you brainless baboon,” Kaoru wails, hitting Kojiro feebly on his back, anywhere he can reach—“Why do you have to be so—so—”

“Romantic? Charming?” Kojiro supplies teasingly, but his hands are trembling where they’re wrapped around Kaoru’s back in turn.

“Fuck,” Kaoru says emphatically, and then pulls back so he can look Kojiro straight in the eyes.

“I love you,” he seethes. Kojiro’s eyes grow wide. “And I’m not fucking saying it again! So goddamn corny and stupid, gorilla, what the fuck…”

But it’s too late, the damage has been done; Kojiro swallows him up in a hug, pressing kisses to Kaoru’s cheeks until they’re both giggling wetly. Where their chests are pressed together, Kojiro’s heart beats a quick and steady rhythm against Kaoru’s. Or maybe it’s his own. He’s a little too far gone to care.

Kojiro ends up back on his back again, except this time, Kaoru’s half on his chest, pressing his face into Kojiro’s tits. “You owe me,” he mumbles sleepily, “Making me think I—took advantage of you. That you—you regretted it.”

“I only regretted that once I had a taste of what I wanted, I couldn’t live with never having it again,” Kojiro admits easily. And would you look at that—they were worried about the exact same thing.

It’s absurd enough that it has Kaoru giggling and pressing a kiss into the hollow of Kojiro’s throat.

“I love you,” Kojiro whispers, and unlike the first time he’d said it, his voice is light. Happy.

Enough that Kaoru doesn’t mind slurring out a half-asleep love you too you sappy bitch into his skin.

And when he falls asleep a few moments later, to the feeling of Kojiro breathing under him, Kaoru’s never felt more at home.