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It began with a simple touch. They were neither of them good at soft, at gentle, at affectionate. But when Kei - and he was Kei, not Tsukishima, not anymore - slipped his hand into Kentarou’s and squeezed gently, something in Kentarou responded. Some small, atrophied part of him bloomed back into life and he squeezed Kei’s hand back.
When Kei led him to his bedroom that night, Kentarou let him. They had talked about this, of course, but now that it was actually happening, something like fear settled in Kentarou’s stomach. Kei must have sensed it, because he paused just inside the bedroom door, both hands on Kentarou’s waist.
“We don’t have to do a thing,” he said softly. Kentarou didn’t do him the disrespect of answering right away. He took the time to take stock of himself, where he was and what he was about to do. What the fear said, and what the small, blooming thing said in reply. He took an already-shaky breath and nodded, leaning up on his toes. Kei, the bastard, didn’t lean down. “I mean it,” Kei said.
“So do I,” Kentarou replied. Kei nodded, then nodded again, like he was reassuring himself more than Kentarou. He leaned down and Kentarou leaned back. “We don’t have to do a thing,” Kentarou parroted, and Kei’s lip twitched in something like a smile.
“I know,” Kei said, and leaned down some more.
For just a moment, their breaths mingled and they existed in the liminal space of almost and not quite. Then Kentarou pressed forward to find Kei pressing forward too and they were kissing. It was a soft kiss, less an exploration and more of a greeting. A hello, I’m here, and you’re here too, and we’re here together. Then Kentarou had enough of greeting Kei and slid his lips open just as Kei’s tongue was darting out to taste, to tempt, to test.
They had kissed like this before. A thousand times, a thousand different messages, but always the same. Always with the undercurrent of love that they neither of them liked to acknowledge outside of this space. They knew they loved each other, so what need was there for reminders in the day-to-day? What need was there to drag this out into the world, to get it dirty with everyday wear and tear, to taint it by allowing the mundane into the sacred? This place was theirs, and no one else’s, and they both intended to keep it that way.
Kissing Kei was wonderful, kissing Kei was holy, kissing Kei was all Kentarou wanted to do with his life. But there was more to be done today. Kentarou huffed a breath into the cavern of Kei’s mouth, and Kei pulled away to smirk at him. It wasn’t his usual smirk, the broken-glass-and-knives-and-gravel-and-and-and smirk that hid so much even as it spoke volumes. It was something softer, something meant only for him and for Kentarou and for the space between them.
“Eager?” Kei teased, and Kentarou reached down, down, past Kei’s belly button, past the waistband of his jeans, to where heat pooled and everything shattered in an instant when he touched.
“So’re you,” Kentarou replied. Kei did nothing but moan, a beautiful, broken sound that was half-hidden in Kentarou’s neck. Kentarou couldn’t decide if he wanted that moan all to himself, to hold and treasure and hide, or if he wanted to find out what would happen if Kei let it out into the world, if it was clearer and louder and freer. He didn’t have time to find out, however, because Kei was moving, running his hands over Kentarou and whispering into his ear.
“So good, Kentarou, ‘Tarou, my beautiful- fuck,” he murmured. Kentarou raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t bring himself to make fun of Kei as he kneaded him through his pants. Kentarou pulled his hand away and Kei whined, but there was more on Kentarou’s mind than a quick fuck against the door. He put his hands on Kei’s waist - getting distracted once again by how beautiful Kei was, how slender his waist, how powerful his torso - and walked him backwards toward the bed.
Kei fell backwards like a gentle rain shower, like snow upon a bank, like a stream down a mountain. He lay there, long limbs all splayed out like a marble statue of lust and love and hunger. Kentarou climbed on after him and he whined, throwing his head back. Kentarou ran his fingers up Kei’s denim-clad thighs, squeezing and kneading and rubbing his thumbs in circles against the taut flesh. By the time he reached Kei’s groin once more, Kei was twitching and panting. Kentarou cupped his hand over him again. Kei’s head fell back. Kentarou squeezed. Kei moaned. Kentarou decided he liked the moans like this, free and clear, and squeezed tighter, just a bit, and that was all it took.
Later, Kentarou would tease him for it. Later, he would threaten to tell all their friends how he couldn’t hold back, how Kentarou was too much for him, how he spilled himself at the slightest touch. Later, he would laugh.
Right now, however, there was only time to press himself against Kei and hold him tight as he shook through his orgasm. Shock rifled through Kentarou’s body, digging into his veins and numbing his edges.
“Kei,” he whispered. “So beautiful, Kei, so good, my angel, my love, my-” Kentarou closed his mouth to keep anything else from bubbling out. Kei trembled beneath him until he stopped, and then Kentarou could feel the embarrassment sink in. “No,” Kentarou whispered, leaning up on his elbow. He cupped Kei’s cheek and brushed his thumb across the cut-marble bone there and smiled. Kei found whatever he would find in that smile, but in Kei’s eyes, Kentarou found his everything. “My beautiful, you are so precious to me,” Kentarou said.
“Figures you’d be your most sentimental now,” Kei mumbled, but his eyes were shining bright, Kentarou’s universe swirling and dying and being reborn in those honeyed depths. Kentarou wanted to let himself fall. So he did. He fell onto Kei like a feather drifting on the wind, like a rock slide blocking a road. He wrapped himself around Kei, content to lie there until he died, until he rotted, until this fragile, blooming thing was all that he was. As long as Kei was there rotting beside him, he didn’t care.
And then Kei moved his thigh and suddenly he cared very, very much. He groaned into Kei’s chest, trying to hold himself back. Kei was still recovering, he knew, but then Kei was also moving them, rolling Kentarou off of him and onto his back.
“My turn,” was all Kei said as he slithered down Kentarou’s body. He unlatched Kentarou’s pants like he was sketching a prayer into the space with his long and slender hands. Slowly, he pulled them down, slowly, he slid back up, slowly, he took Kentarou into his hand. Kentarou’s head rolled back as Kei stroked him in that thoughtful, methodical manner with which he approached all things. This was not a handjob, this was a puzzle, a carefully-pieced work of machinery that Kei intended to take apart and put back together again, just to see how it worked.
Kentarou wanted to be taken apart by him.
He wanted to be understood. He wanted Kei to know him better than anyone ever had, and he wanted to know in return. It was why they were here, not for lust or some carnal desire or even for love. This was a bonding of their souls, an irrevocable moment which would live with them forever, not meant for anyone else. Kentarou wondered if he would tell anyone he had lost his virginity this night, or if he would wait until the next time and tell them that was his first. If he would keep this night sacred and secret, meant for himself and Kei alone. Then Kei twisted his wrist and Kentarou could not wonder much of anything at all.
“Wait,” Kentarou said, and everything stopped. Kei leaned back on his heels, looking like he was in complete control, but Kentarou could see the fear in the lines of his shoulders. Fear that he had done something wrong, that he had broken the bubble that held this moment in time. But Kentarou leaned up on his elbow and reached the other hand to Kei’s cheek. “I want you,” he explained. Frustration rose like bile in his throat at the way the words didn’t work, never seemed to work, not when it mattered.
But Kei was Kei and Kei always understood him. He nodded and held a hand out to pull Kentarou upright. Kentarou held that hand for a moment longer than he probably should have, letting himself feel. Then he let Kei pull him up, let Kei get off the bed, let Kei pull off his pants and dig around in his bedside table. Kentarou lay on his back, nerves tingling with anticipation and more fear than he wanted. But when Kei turned back to him, pulling off his shirt so that it mussed his hair into a curly blond halo, he frowned.
“You’re in my spot,” he said. Kentarou took a moment to understand, then took a moment longer to make sure he understood correctly. He took a breath and the small thing bloomed again from where it had begun to wilt under the scorching ray of fear. He sat up and scooted to one side, letting Kei lay where he had been and settling between his knees. Kei looked up at him with so much trust, so much, so much, and Kentarou’s breath abandoned him. He reached out a shaky hand to touch Kei’s bare thigh, squeezing to reassure himself that this was real, that this was wanted. He opened the bottle and poured its contents onto his fingers, watching Kei watch him the entire time.
When he reached down, Kei flinched. That wasn’t right. Kentarou looked up at him to see his eyes screwed shut and his face clenched. “Kei,” he breathed, and pulled his hand away. It was caught by one smaller and almost as strong, and Kei was looking at him.
“Don’t,” he said. “Just. Slow.”
“Okay,” Kentarou said, and reached down again. He circled his finger around the rim, waiting and watching as Kei gave himself to the pleasure. He began to twitch, to relax, and that was when Kentarou pushed his finger inside. Kei’s eyes screwed shut again, but this time bliss marked the lines of his body.
“You’re so…” Kei said, then shook his head. Kentarou made a questioning sound, and Kei just held up his own hand. Kentarou placed his palm against Kei’s and understood the difference in size, and what it implied. Heat coursed through Kentarou’s body, and he knew it was coursing through Kei’s as well. He waited only a moment longer before adding another finger.
Kei whined, a beautiful sound. A holy sound. Kentarou eased his fingers in and out, open and closed, curled and straight. He pressed here and there until Kei’s back went tense and he cried out an even more sacred sound than any before. Kentarou groaned in harmony, wanting to etch that sound into every corner of his mind, into his very bones. He slid in another finger and watched as Kei took a turn from pleasured to wrecked.
He was a masterpiece. Kentarou had known, before, but he hadn’t fully realized the extent of it. Now, with Kei’s pale skin stretched out like an empty map, his limbs splayed, his eyes lidded and focused on Kentarou and Kentarou alone, he was something created by the gods themselves. Kentarou had never believed in gods before.
When Kentarou pulled his fingers away, it was to a broken sound. He had never known that Kei would be so vocal, so appreciative in his noises. He treasured it close to his chest.
“I may not last,” he said, a tinge of shame around the corners of his voice. Kei snorted.
“I’ve already shot my load into my pants,” he said. Kentarou snickered, and everything was okay again. He grabbed a condom from the open drawer and eased the package open. Rolling it onto himself, he had to moan, and Kei moaned in reply.
It was hot. Not as to mean that Kei was attractive, though he was that. It was the fires of hell and the heat of the sun and a thousand-trillion other stars all shooting through Kentarou’s body at once. He was barely halfway inside before he had to pause, to control himself. Kei was murmuring to him, soft words of praise and wonder, but Kentarou couldn’t make them out. He only knew that Kei was here with him, and that was all that mattered.
The first tears, when they came, were a surprise. Kei made a soft, cooing noise, and Kentarou made a conscious decision not to hide this from him. He looked at Kei with wretched honesty, and Kei, surprised, gave him the same in return. As Kentarou rocked into him, Kei maintained that eye contact.
The burning grew hotter, grew stronger, grew more. Kentarou was reaching his end, and he was determined to bring Kei with him. He wrapped a hand around Kei, only to receive a keening whine in return.
“I’ll-” Kei warned, but Kentarou didn’t care to be warned. He only cared to bring Kei the pleasure he deserved. So as he angled his thrusts as well as he could, as he twisted his wrist and squeezed his fingers, as he looked into Kei’s eyes and Kei looked into his, as they reached their peak together, Kentarou let himself go.
He floated. He drifted. He came back to earth as the bed shook with Kei’s laughter. Kentarou was pillowed on him like a dream, his hands stroking circles onto Kentarou’s back, his eyes full of mirth and something else.
“I can’t believe you started crying,” he teased, and Kentarou smiled and Kei smiled back.
“I love you,” he whispered. Kei nodded and held him tighter. It was all the answer he needed then.
Later, they would clean up. Later, they would emerge from this room and go back to their lives as roommates and tentative lovers. Later, this would end. But just then it was theirs, and that was all that mattered.
Just then, it was perfect.