Chapter Text
The house overlooking the wharf resembled the other thatched, wooden buildings that made up Umioka proper. But unlike those others it sat on a tired foundation with a veranda that creaked with the softest touch. Only a garden of spindly weeds kept the home company up on its hillside.
Akaashi had picked it for two very specific reasons: First, the beautiful view overlooking Umioka's oftentimes empty boatyard and the rest of the ocean. Second, he didn't have to worry about pesky neighbors.
The second reason turned out to be more of a letdown than the first when on the morning of his first official day in the house, Akaashi woke to a knock against the door-- no small feat considering the sound traveled all the way up to his bedroom on the second floor. He forced his eyelids open against the dewy light. He'd been up until late the night before unpacking and his forehead throbbed now at the early hour.
He finally peeled himself out of bed and padded across the cold floor. He wondered if his visitor had given up on him-- he wouldn't have waited around this long to give someone a welcome-to-the-middle-of-nowhere pie or some other nonsense like that. He looked out the window and saw a young girl standing on the porch. Still there, waiting, his mind supplied unhelpfully.
Akaashi frowned and opened the door, “Can I help you?” He thought of how Bokuto's oba used to sit out on her apartment balcony and heckle the neighborhood kids playing down below. Though in her case her grandson had lauched a toy car straight through her glass sliding door more than once.
The girl’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open to gape at him. In her hands she cradled a ceramic bowl. Akaashi's frown deepened but the girl just continued staring.
Akaashi looked around the property: an empty expanse of weeds and brush that bled into the tree line the only things visible for miles. He turned his attention back to the girl: “Did you walk up here?” Right on his way to turning into oba indeed.
She blinked at him. Akaashi blinked back. The girl twisted on her heels and shoved the bowl down onto the stoop--the liquid inside sloshed and Akaashi had visions of it spewing out everywhere or the ceramic splitting into a hundred shards.
The tips of her ears flushed red as she hurried off the porch. “Wait--” Akaashi stepped forward only to stop when a pain jolted up his foot.
Akaashi cursed under his breath, holding his foot up to see a pair of pink scratches gouged into his heel. He glared at the spiky twig he'd stepped on. When he looked back up the girl had already disappeared down the hill.
Akaashi limped back up onto the veranda and crouched down in front of the bowl. The heavy scent of cream reached his nose. He picked the bowl up only to hear a loud meow. He looked around for the cat, expecting an emaciated tabby. Some feral creature that more resembled a lynx than an overfed persian. His eyes strained against the dim light of morning. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.
“Feeding the strays, huh?” Akaashi mumbled to himself, settling that he’d gone crazy only 24 hours out of the city. He left the bowl outside anyway and went back in to bandage his foot.
Akaashi mopped sweat off his brow, knee-deep in the weeds and hacking away with a trowel. He’d barely cleared a square patch only a few meters wide when he heard the hum of an engine. He stood up and dusted off his pants.
Down the long, curling road he saw Bokuto’s familiar sedan pulling in. Akaashi turned a glance down at the azaleas still trapped in their black plastic planters and sighed. Bokuto hopped out of his car and fell to the ground with a squawk, calf tangled in the brush surrounding the driveway.
He shook his leg, trying to detach the green tendrils clinging to his pant leg. “Hey, babe! How’s it going?” He hopped up to his feet with a broad smile.
“I was better before,” Akaashi feigned an eye roll as Bokuto laughed him off. He spared one more apologetic glance down at the flowers before he ushered Bokuto inside.
Inside the house the five cardboard boxes that made up the remainder of Akaashi’s belongings sat in the entryway. Akaashi went to the kitchen and pulled out one of the melon sodas that he hated but Bokuto loved.
“Hell yes!” Bokuto pulled Akaashi close and planted a kiss on his cheek. Akaashi tolerated the contact before shooing Bokuto away and getting started on a cup of tea.
Bokuto headed back out onto the veranda, taking a seat down on the stoop. He twisted around and called to Akaashi: “Your plants look good!”
“They’d be happier if you hadn’t interrupted me,” Akaashi came out to join him with a mug cradled in his hand. He looked out at the start of his meager garden.
All nine azaleas sat nestled in the soft ground, arranged in three perfect rows. Akaashi hadn’t realized the cup had slipped from his fingers until hot liquid splashed against his toes. Akaashi lurched backward and Bokuto jumped up.
Akaashi waved him off before he could come and fuss over him, “I’m fine.” He heard rushing in his ears. He looked away from the flowers and carefully picked up the shards of broken ceramic.
“You’re going to get jumpy out here by yourself,” Bokuto’s eyebrows pulled together, “Big, old lonely house.” Akaashi couldn't keep looking at him-- not with those saucer-wide eyes.
“It’s only 785 sq ft,” Akaashi headed inside to throw the broken mug into the waste bin. Bokuto followed him in and propped his arms up on the counter.
“Keiji,” Bokuto’s voice came out quiet and Akaashi’s heart sunk, “What freaked you out?” Akaashi picked at the dry skin of his cuticle. He frowned at the sting as a bead of blood gathered at the edge of his thumbnail.
“The house,” Akaashi exhaled sharply through his nose as he put his kettle back on the stone. He twisted to look at Bokuto properly, “I didn’t plant those flowers.”
Bokuto’s eyes widened, “So who did?” Akaashi sighed and shrugged up his shoulders. No one else around for miles. Bokuto studied him closely with his voice still soft: “You alright?”
“Fine,” Akaashi rubbed between his eyes, “Maybe I blacked out or something.” He wondered if the excuse sounded as hollow to Bokuto as it did to him.
“Or,” Bokuto’s voice drawled and he draped himself across the island countertop, “Do you think maybe it’s haunted?” He couldn’t even hide the glimmer in his eyes.
“No,” Akaashi wrinkled up his nose.
“But maybe it’s a friendly ghost--” Bokuto opened his mouth to continue, but then the kettle squealed and they both jumped. Bokuto banged his elbows on the countertop and Akaashi cleared nearly a foot up in the air. They looked at each other in stupefied silence.
Bokuto's sudden laughter wracked his shoulders.
“There is no ghost,” Akaashi insisted.
When Akaashi flopped out of bed, the low drone of the TV on in the background and Bokuto snoring next to him, he'd almost forgotten about the ghost situation. Then he turned on the bathroom light. Across the mirror in craggly blue toothpaste scrawled a single word: Hi.
All the color drained from his face. He picked up a pillow and tossed it at Bokuto. Bokuto snuffled loudly, his arms flailing outward, “Babe?!”
“Did you put my toothpaste on the mirror?” Akaashi's voice pitched high and it took all his strength to level it back to a tone resembling something sane, "Did you, Bo?"
Bokuto rubbed crusted drool off his chin with the side of his hand, “What?”
“The toothpaste on the mirror,” Akaashi repeated with a finger pointed to the bathroom in question. Bokuto yawned and heaved himself up onto his feet.
Bokuto scratched the back of his neck. He looked confused with his eyes squinted up-- vision probably blurred and unable to make out how toothpaste got on the mirror. When realization hit, his eyes lit up like a firework: “See! A friendly ghost.”
“I need to have Casper evicted,” Akaashi decided. Bokuto let out a scandalized gasp. Akaashi didn't regret it: Who wanted to live in a haunted house anyway? Bokuto, his mind unhelpfully reminded, Bokuto probably did.
Just like that Bokuto’s energy bounced back, “I know who we should call!”
Tsukishima rubbed his temples, fighting off a pounding in the center of his forehead. He squinted at the brightness of his computer. He groaned when he saw the new email. With any luck, it wouldn’t be another 13 year old girl professing her love for Kaegeyama.
I like my job, came Tsukishima’s mental mantra, he adjusted it more aptly: I tolerate my job.
Working for The King of Spectral Sightings hadn’t been something Tsukishima wanted to be involved with. But, it padded out his wallet nicely and gave him something to do when he wasn’t working on archival work for the Museum-- and who really needed free time anyway.
He tolerated being shoved in a dingy basement on an old rackety desk in Kageyama’s house. He tolerated his computer and video editing equipment that had crawled right out of the early 2000s. Answering the fan mail on the other hand made him want to slam his keyboard into the wall.
I tolerate my job. Tsukishima took a deep breath and opened up the email.
He heaved out a sigh of relief when he read the address and realized it wasn’t from [email protected] or something. That relief unfortunately short-lived when he realized it came from [email protected]. Brokuto. Tsuksihima’s heart dropped:
Hello KSS staff,
I’ve watched your videos and am a big fan. I believe my boyfriend’s house is haunted. The ghost has planted flowers and written hi on the bathroom mirror with toothpaste.
He thinks the ghost needs to leave, but I need help convincing him we can coexist.Thanks!
Bokuto Koutarou
Tsukishima’s eyebrows crawled up toward his hairline. No poltergeist, ten year old daughter spewing bile, or grandmother speaking in tongues. Tsukishima typed out his response:
Dear Mr. Bokuto,
Thank you for taking the time to reach out to us. I regret to inform you that we are unable to mediate any relationship issues.
Best of luck with the ghost.Sincerely,
Tsukishima Kei
KSS Head of Media
“Hey, Tsukishima, what’s going on?” Hinata’s loud voice shouted in the sanctity of the small office. Tsukishima’s temple throbbed and he turned a grimace toward the man in question.
“Nothing,” Tsukishima replied through gritted teeth, “Just one new request.”
“Oh, cool!” Hinata had the audacity to come and lean over his desk, “What about?” Tsukishima clicked the email browser closed before he could see anything. Tsukishima treasured the confused frown that settled on Hinata's face.
“A relationship being torn apart by a friendly ghost.”
“Oh,” Hinata nodded with a dumb little smile on his mouth, “Cool.” Tsukishima’s brain short-circuited. Absolutely not cool, outrageous and a complete waste of their time. “I’ll ask Tobio about it, if it’s not too far away maybe we could stop by and investigate!”
Tsukishima resisted slamming his head against his keyboard.
Akaashi added a pinch of chili powder to the saucepan boiling on the stove. He lowered the temperature to a simmer and added in hint of more soy sauce. He went to the cabinet and pulled down two bowls. He frowned when he noticed his favorite mug up on the top of the fridge.
He got up on his tip-toes and pawed at the ceramic in an effort to wiggle it down. Wasn’t the point of living alone to avoid having family members putting all his shit on the highest surfaces possible?
He let out a grunt, settling back on his heels. “Well, Casper, if you’d like to help out, here's your chance.” He stood there an embarrassingly long amount of time staring at the top of the fridge and the mug
Akaashi rolled his eyes and turned back to the ramen on the stove.
“Smells good,” Bokuto flounced into the kitchen with a grin. He tried to sneak past Akaashi and swipe up a noddle. Akaashi smacked his hand away with a tsk of his tongue.
“Make yourself useful,” Akaashi tilted his head in the direction of the fridge, “I think one of the local kids has been feeding a stray cat that lives around here. There’s milk in the fridge.”
“What, you don’t want to give him a piece of tofu?” Bokuto laughed even as he headed to the fridge and pulled out the carton. “Why’s your mug up on the top of the fridge?”
“Bo,” Akaashi twisted to look at him with a deep frown, “I thought you put it there.”
“Babe, I don’t know if I can even reach,” Bokuto popped up on his tip-toes, fingers scrambling to try and get a hold of the mug. His fingertips ended up knocking it further back. “Shit,” he mumbled and scratched the side of his neck.
“Leave it for now,” Akaashi sighed. While he poured the stock into the two bowls Bokuto took another bowl filled with milk outside. When Bokuto came back in the smell of shallots and sesame greeted him.
“So what’s this kitty cat look like?”
Akaashi shrugged up his shoulder, “I haven’t seen it yet.”
Bokuto came back up into his space in the kitchen and went to stand behind Akaashi. His hands closed on Akaashi’s hips, “So, If she’s a black cat, can we call her Kuro?”
Akaashi leaned back against the warm weight of his chest and hummed low in his throat, “Very original.” Bokuto’s laugh came out muffled against the back of Akaashi’s neck and the tiny puffs of warm air left Akaashi shivering.
Akaashi shooed Bokuto away and pushed his bowl of ramen into his hands, “Eat.”
Bokuto saluted him with two fingers before he swiped up a pair of chopsticks and took a seat. In the silence of them eating, Bokuto cleared his throat. He had a guilty look about him with the corners of his mouth pulled down. “So, I gotta own up to something.”
Akaashi gestured for him to continue and took a large bite of egg and tofu so he couldn't say anything rude that would discourage Bokuto. Whatever he’d done, Akaashi would much rather be in the know.
“I reached out to some paranormal guys,” Bokuto pointed to where the mug still sat on the top of the fridge, “You know, for the ghost.”
“When you say paranormal guys, you don’t mean some frauds from Youtube, do you?”
“Hey!” Bokuto lurched forward, face opening with faked outrage that gave way to a bright smile, “Okay, yeah they could be.”
Akaashi groaned and tried to drown himself in his noodle bowl.
Akaashi had been in the process of reading over one of the submissions for the literary magazine he worked for, when he heard a knock at the door. Akaashi settled back on the couch, intending to ignore it when the pounding became more insistent.
Akaashi put his laptop to the side and peeled himself off the sofa. On the front porch stood a very tall, very blonde gentleman. He wore a nice jacket and form fitting pants. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat before purposefully rapping his knuckles once more.
Akaashi opened the door, “Can I help you?”
“Hello,” He had a taciturn expression with a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes, “My name is Tsukishima Kei, I spoke on the phone with Bokuto.” Of course it was about Bo, it was always about Bo.
“He’s out right now,” Akaashi frowned, “I’m Akaashi Keiji, this is my house.”
“You’re the boyfriend then,” Tsukishima noted with a quirk of his brow, “I’m with the The King of Spectral Sightings,” Akaashi couldn't miss the way he said the title with a bitter drawl and a smirk curled up on the edge of his mouth. “Bokuto offered to let me have a look at the property.” Of course he did.
Akaashi held the door open, “You may as well come in.”
Tsukishima entered and looked around. Akaashi wondered if he was some sort of psychic medium or something. Akaashi gestured loosely to the vicinity of the couch and chairs in the living room.
“One minute,” Akaashi said to Tsukishima before he flipped out his phone and texted Bokuto.
Your paranormal investigator showed up at the house... Conveniently, you’re not here
Because he wanted to dig his claws in a little, he tacked on for good measure:
If you would’ve said he was a hot blonde I would’ve agreed a lot earlier.
Akaashi balanced his phone on his knee and turned his attention back to Tsukishima, “So, how’s this work?”
Tsukishima flipped out an actual notepad, “Describe your experiences for me.”
Akaashi rubbed his hands together and let out a scoff of breath, “A villager left milk on my porch for a cat I’ve never seen. Things move around the house, flowers have planted themselves out front, it’s written hi to me.”
“Nothing overtly threatening?”
Akaashi rolled his eyes, “Only if you consider it puts my mug on the highest shelves.”
Tsukishima scribbled something down and pushed his glasses further up his nose. Akaashi glanced down at his phone and saw he’d missed three texts from Bokuto.
Sorry, babe! I forgot that was today :(
What do you mean he’s hot?
Akkaaaassssshhhhiiiiiii
Akaashi snapped his fingers. Tsukishima glanced up toward him abruptly, mouth parted in a tiny ‘o’ with a furrow between his brow. Akaashi took that moment to snap a picture of him. Tsukishima blinked once with obvious surprise.
“If you’re a serial killer, I figured I should at least get a picture of you downloaded to the cloud,” Akaashi explained while trying to discreetly send said picture to Bokuto.
Tsukishima huffed out a noise that sounded dangerously close to a laugh and rolled his eyes, “Quite prudent of you.”
It’d barely been thirty seconds from him hitting send before Akaashi’s phone buzzed with Bokuto’s response:
Damn! He is hot
“Do you want me to get you a drink or something?” Akaashi asked as he headed to the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of water for himself and looked at Tsukishima expectantly.
“No thank you,” Tsukishima shook his head and settled back in the chair. “I did some preliminary research on your house.” His expression kept guarded but Akaashi had an idea before he’d spoken.
“No murder-suicides or mass graves?”
“Nothing,” Tsukishima agreed, he leaned forward and pulled off his glasses. “It was built in the 80s and has lived an uneventful life.” He rubbed between his eyes.
The corner of Akaashi’s mouth quirked up, “We could all be so lucky.” He twisted the cap off his water and took a drink. For a moment, they hung in silence. Although the house didn’t ever really quiet and the wood groaned in agreement that no, he'd never shut up.
“Listen, Akaashi, this isn’t just some stunt your boyfriend orchestrated, is it?” And before the words had even fully left Tsukishima’s mouth a pillow flew off the couch and hit him square in the jaw.
Tsukishima lurched backward, fumbling to put his glass back on. Akaashi’s shoulders slumped as he sighed, “I wish.”
“Ah,” Tsukishima clicked his tongue and turned his sharp glance around the room.
“So what do you do?”
Tsukishima blinked once, very slowly and deliberately, “I conduct research on locations for Kageyama, I also edit most of the video and maintain our social media pages.”
Akaashi's eyebrows furrowed, “So what's this Kageyama do then?”
“He's a figurehead,” Tsukishima said, so matter-of-fact and with such a decisive little sniffle that Akaashi wanted to laugh.
Akaashi just nodded and forced a tight-lipped smile on his mouth.
“Listen,” Tsukishima gathered up his stuff, “I can’t promise anything,” the rest went unsaid, he’d try at the very least. His hand closed on the doorknob.
Tsukishima's eyebrows furrowed as he twisted the knob. He put his shoulder into it but still the door refused to budge.
“Here,” Akaashi brushed past him, hand resting on Tsukishima’s shoulder before he tried the door. Completely stuck. The ghost had apparently upped his game. “Maybe it likes you, Tsukishima.”
Tsukishima’s nose wrinkled up. “I’d rather it didn't.”
Akaashi shrugged up a shoulder, “I can open up a window for you to crawl out or there's a documentary about sharks I've been wanting to watch.”
“I'd prefer the sharks to getting stuck in your window,” Tsukishima huffed out a haughtily little breath and headed into the kitchen. Akaashi nodded and followed after him. Tsukishima pointed to the mug still trapped up on top of the fridge, “So that was the ghost then?”
“Who else would it be?” Akaashi sighed.
Tsukishima leaned up, long fingers stretching out and pulling the mug down off the fridge. He handed it over to Akaashi. “I assume the offer for a drink still stands?”
Akaashi put his mug back into the proper cabinet, “Help yourself.”
Tsukishima swiped up a strawberry soda from the fridge and made his way back into the living room. Akaashi fought not to stare at his trim hips in those tight slacks. At least the ghost had good taste in men.
Bokuto pulled into Akaashi's driveway right on the cusp of dusk. He stretched out his arms, joints popping, and he'd really underestimated the hour long commute back and forth into the city. He rubbed the back of his neck, at least most of his grad school shit was online.
Bokuto stumbled from the car on stiff legs and tried to dodge the veritable landmine of potholes and burrs. He adjusted the plastic bags in his arms to try and get his house key out of his back pocket. Out the corner of his eye, he saw a dark blurr leaping from the veranda into the heavy weeds.
He whistled low under his breath, “Hey, kitty, that you?”
A loud yowl greeted him and the poofiest, largest, black cat he'd ever seen came swaggering out of the brush as though she owned the place. Bokuto let out a little laugh and dropped to his knees, “Hey there, Buddy!” He gave a pat to his lap and the cat came closer.
Its fluffy tail brushed up along his leg before it clambered up into his lap. It purred so loud Bokuto could swear he felt it reverberating in his bones. He gave a tentative little scratch behind its ears, “You're so cute!” A tuft of the cat’s fur stuck up on her head which looked an awful lot like the comb on a cockerel's head. “Rooster hair,” Bokuto teased with puckered lips.
The cat pawed at the bags that sat next to him, her apparently very sharp claws splitting open the plastic. “Easy there, Kuro,” Bokuto gave another pat to her head. He reached into the bag and pulled out one of the mini muffins.
Bokuto's voice dropped low and conspiratory, “I'm pretty sure muffins aren't good for cats, but this is our secret, okay?” Kuro meowed in agreement, which earned her one of the muffins. After she got her prize, the cat was all too happy to hop off Bokuto's lap and go sauntering back away into the weeds.
Bokuto laughed and stood up to brush the loose dirt off his pant legs. He picked up his groceries and headed up onto the veranda.
He fiddled with his keys, nearly dropping them, before shoving them into the doorknob. “Hey, Babe! I finally saw the cat that's--”
Bokuto’s words came to a crashing halt as he took in the scene before him. Akaashi sat on the couch next to the very hot blonde investigator and it looked like they were watching TV together. Something about true crime if the grisly staged murder scene and the deep voiced narrator served as any indication. When he entered the room, two pairs of eyes fell on him. “Hey,” Akaashi finally said. Bokuto just laughed.
“Do you think the ghost likes murder-y shows?” Bokuto asked as he walked into the kitchen, “What if that brings back bad memories for it or something?” Akaashi got up off the couch and followed after him, no doubt terrified what Bokuto would get up to in his kitchen.
“I don't think the ghost was murdered here,” the paranormal investigator piped up-- gah, Bokuto couldn't quite remember his name--
“Really?” Bokuto said with a tip of his head before a big grin broke out across his face. He nodded along, “Well maybe it just likes Akaashi.”
Akaashi gave a halfhearted shove to his chest, “Shut up, Bo.” He took the bags right out of Bokuto’s hands and got to putting them up himself.
Bokuto leaned toward the investigator, "Okay, but really, Specs: what's your theory about the ghost?"
“My name is Tsukishima,” He corrected with a sigh and a cute little wrinkle of his nose. “I'm sure it'll come as a great disappointment," The way he said it made it sound like he didn't actually care one way or another, "I have no idea why it's here or what it is.”
“You saying it's not necessarily a ghost? Like not a dead person?” Bokuto felt the frown tugging on the edge of his mouth. If it didn't have unfinished business tied to the house or whatever, surely it could hang out somewhere cooler than here. Bokuto would've picked an airport or something-- many better opportunities to people watch.
Tsukishima shrugged up a shoulder-- he looked bored, and Bokuto couldn't imagine being bored with a cool job like his-- “It could be something else entirely, yes,” He adjusted his glasses pointedly, “At least you convinced it to open the door.”
“What?”
“Our friendly ghost,” Akaashi bit out the words with a glare directed toward Bokuto, “Locked Tsukishima in.”
Bokuto barked out a laugh-- which earned him a very unimpressed glare from two different people, but he fancied he could hear the house giggling along with him. “Well shit.”
“I have a spare room if you want to stay the night,” Akaashi offered up with a glance toward Tsukishima. Bokuto had to agree, it would be treacherously dark going down the long, curving road. The blonde folded his arms across his chest and looked awfully unimpressed.
Still, he nodded, “I’d appreciate it.”
Bokuto scratched at the back of his neck, “You know, I don't remember seeing another car when I pulled in.”
Tsukishima's eyebrows knit together, “What?” But Bokuto had already fluttered past him to peer outside the window. Sure enough, a light grey car sat parked right in front of his.
He scratched at his cheek, how hadn't he noticed it before? His eyes must’ve just been tired from the long drive in. “Well, at least I didn't rear end you.”
“Very reassuring, Bo,” Akaashi called as he started pulling down a skillet for dinner.
Bokuto grinned and called back: “Well, I didn't.” Akaashi's only response came as a loud sigh.
Curled up in bed together, Akaashi had been right on the edge of falling asleep when Bokuto cleared his throat.
“So what was it like hanging out with the sexy blonde all day?” Bokuto asked with a tone of voice that could almost pass for a whisper. Akaashi gave a soft smack to his arm.
“Quiet,” Akaashi shushed him with a proper whisper. Now awake, he propped himself up on an elbow and leaned over Bokuto. “He has nice legs.”
“All three miles worth, I noticed,” Bokuto agreed with a wide grin breaking out across his mouth. Akaashi stifled an amused sound and gathered in closer.
Akaashi pressed his lips against Bokuto's--languid and slow. He tasted saccharine and warm like the wine they'd shared after dinner. “Pretty eyes too,” Akaashi mumbled into his mouth.
Bokuto groaned with agreement and one of his hands came up to palm against Akaashi's ass, “Oh yeah?” He encouraged Akaashi further on top of him, one of his legs slipping between his thighs.
Akaashi hummed and peppered a series of kisses down along his neck to his collarbone. Akaashi gave a little nip to his skin which had Bokuto shivering. “Yes,” Akaashi breathed out a plume of warmth, “He’s especially cute when he tries not to smile.”
Bokuto raised an eyebrow, “Sounds like someone else I know.” Akaashi leaned back up toward him and stole another kiss. Bokuto's mouth felt like a fire, all burning humming. Akaashi wanted to melt into cinders with him.
His hips pressed down and had Bokuto's canting up to meet him. Akaashi's moan got lost in between their mouths. He tangled one of his hands up in his ridiculous hair.
Bokuto pulled on the waistband of Akaashi's boxer-briefs, which had the elastic digging into the sensitive skin of his hip. Bokuto snapped the elastic so Akaashi tugged on his hair in retaliation.
He could feel Bokuto's grinning mouth against his, and settled for kissing all the air out of him so he couldn't laugh. Heat pooled low in his gut.
Akaashi settled back on his haunches and hooked his fingers into his underwear, “You have to be quiet.”
“No problem,” Bokuto chirped and held up two crossed fingers, “Cross my heart.”
Akaashi sighed but slipped his underwear down all the same.
Tsukishima stared up at the ceiling. He could hear a clock ticking loudly on the wall. He rubbed his temples and breathed deeply through his nose.
He could hear a bed creaking next door--headboard bumping against the wall, mattress groaning, and sheets rustling. Tsukishima squinted harder at the ceiling.
For a house that hadn't quieted a moment since he'd stepped inside, it had certainly decided to shut up now. Tsukishima’s eyes drifted close, mouth twisting up into a line-- he could just picture them: Akaashi's dark and heady eyes, Bokuto's sweat-mussed hair clinging to his forehead. He stifled a groan against his pinched lips.
His hands twisted up in the blankets of his futon. Get real, Tsukishima, they're together. Together. As in the two of them and no one else. Tsukishima huffed out a sigh: Why couldn't they have been two decidedly unattractive middle-aged men?
He dug out his headphones from his bag and hastily threw them on. With his makeshift earmuffs blessed silence finally greeted him. Tsukishima hunkered back down on the futon and crossed his arms across his chest.
He squeezed his eyes closed and imagined he was out on a canoe under a midnight sky.
Instead he dreamt of strong arms, sticky skin and warm mouths. Of Akaashi and Bokuto and something dark, dangerous-- a thought that flittered past him like hundreds of sand grains through his fingers. He woke up at midnight with a moan bubbling up his throat.
Tsukishima twisted onto his side and shoved his head under the pillow.
Akaashi breathed out a soft sigh. His fingertips dug into his scalp as he rinsed the soapy suds out of his hair. He heard the shower curtain rustle and felt a warm body press up against his back.
He almost smiled when a hand covered his eyes and a soft mouth pressed a kiss to his nape.
“You should've started with good morning,” Akaashi sighed and melted back into the solid chest. The tips of wet hair tickled down his back as the mouth traced a pattern along his spine. Akaashi smiled, something small that he kept hidden to himself.
When Bokuto pulled away, Akaashi spun around to face him. Akaashi frowned as he took in the bare expanse of white tile being buffeted by the shower spray.
He turned off the shower and toweled off his hair. He looked to the fogged up mirror and saw the words good morning had been traced through the steam. He pressed his palm to the mirror gingerly. For a moment, the glass felt like a warm hand.
Akaashi recoiled sharply and left the bathroom without another look back.
This house would drive him positively mad if he let it.