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It’s the coffee maker's fault, really. If Akaashi’s haggard coffee machine hadn’t given out on him, none of this would be happening. Maybe Tenma is a bit to blame as well. If he hadn’t kept Akaashi up all night waiting for pages, maybe Akaashi could have woken up in time to grab a coffee on his way to work. He wouldn’t have been half-dozing on the sidewalk, listening rather than looking for the chime to tell him it’s safe to cross. He would have been awake, caffeinated, and alert instead of half-asleep on his feet. He might have even registered the biker shouting to get out of the way.
But he didn’t. In his drowsy, asleep-on-his feet stumble he wanders into the bike lane and the biker crashes right into him. He is limp with sleepiness as the tire slams full-speed into his hip and he’s launched into the pavement. His hands fling out to catch him, but his arm lands wrong and there’s a sickening snap as he rolls. His foot is wrenched the wrong way in his tumble and twists. Akaashi cries out as the bike rolls right over him.
The biker screams at him. A bystander calls an ambulance. Akaashi stares blankly at the bike upside down on the pavement, one tire still rolling in the air, and ah. His glasses are cracked. Wonderful. Just wonderful.
He barely processes being taken to the hospital. He answers the paramedics' questions, but it’s muted, as if their voices are coming from another room. He sees it all happening like he’s standing just to the left of his body, instead of inhabiting it. He feels the pain, though. In his head where it hit the pavement, in his scraped elbows and knees, in his twisted ankle, and worst of all, in his right wrist. His whole arm throbs with piercing agony. He feels it in every beat of his heart, and there’s a surge of bile in his throat with every pulse. The worst is when they slide it into a sling; Akaashi lets out a sharp shriek of pain. Akaashi must black out for a bit, because the next thing he knows he’s laying down, being cradled by the padding on a gurney, and there’s a paramedic shining a light in his eyes, muttering something about his pupils.
Everything aches. Everywhere aches. They give him something for the pain, hooking him up to an IV in the back of the ambulance, and thank the gods. There’s a surge of strange, tingly buzzing. It doesn’t remove the pain, but it does mute it somewhat, and by the time they're at the hospital Akaashi is able to tell them who to call.
“Oh god,” Akaashi says, somewhat slurred. “Kuroo Tetsurou.”
Kuroo isn’t his roommate anymore, but he still has a key. He also knows Tenma’s number, and his mom’s, and Akaashi is more than happy to let him handle breaking the news. Fuck. He should have said Tenma first; his work is going to be wondering where he is any minute. He tries to sit up and three different paramedics push him back down.
“Hey, hey, you’re still in shock, buddy,” a paramedic with a winding snake tattoo up his arm says. The snake flexes as he pushes Akaashi down; Akaashi blinks at it, disbelieving. “Let us just take care of you, okay?”
Whatever is in the IV bag is definitely kicking in. He swears he sees that snake slithering, even when the paramedic isn’t moving, and his vision is blurred at the edges. Everything is dulled by a coat of static buzzing. Like when he was little and he’d run his hand over an old television screen and feel the invisible, tingling layer of energy. It’s like that, but all over his body and muffling everything else. His mouth feels especially strange, like there’s no comfortable resting position for his lips. Akaashi wiggles his jaw and watches the hospital’s fluorescent lights flash past as they wheel him into a hospital room.
They must be explaining to him all the tests they’re doing, but Akaashi is only nodding along. They check his pupils again, check his vitals, and ask him some basic questions. After that is done, they roll him into a second room with a huge apparatus hanging from the ceiling and corner segmented off by a wall and a window for the doctors to observe him. Akaashi knows intellectually that this is because repeated exposure to x-rays will harm the doctors, but it still makes him feel vulnerable being left alone like that. He’s forced to take his arm out of the sling to take the x-ray, which sends little jolts of pain shivering up his body, but it’s bearable. Akaashi stares vacantly at the black and white photo presented to him.
“Three clean breaks. You shouldn’t need surgery.” The doctor says it like it’s a compliment. He’s a stout man, with horn-rimmed glasses, and a beer belly. “You’re lucky.”
Akaashi laughs, dry and short. Lucky? His right hand is going to be useless for six-to-eight weeks. How is that lucky? How is he going to do his job? How is he going to do anything? He’s broken the wrist of his dominant hand. And he’s a writer . He needs that hand! Akaashi laughs harder.
The doctor hums and pats Akaashi’s good-shoulder good-naturedly.
“It won’t be so bad, I promise, kid.” The doctor gives him a cheeky grin. “We’ll prescribe you something real good for the pain, okay?”
They wheel him back into the original hospital room, hook him back up to the IV, turn up a dial, and wait. The room warps around him; his vision zooms in and out, and goes fuzzy at the edges again. Akaashi fights not to giggle as his belly swooshes and the room seems to swing back and forth. His feet tingle like they’re being dangled from a very great height.
“Why don’t you turn on the TV while we wrap your arm, dearie? Find something to distract you,” the nurse says. She’s an elderly woman with a kind, round face and she smiles at him sweetly.
Akaashi fumbles with the TV remote and gapes at the wonder of it. There’s so much color in the little TV, so many sounds and vibrant images. He flips through the channels and with every transition there is a bright shock of white that startles Akaashi so much he jolts. The nurse pats his arm with an age-softened hand.
“Just choose one, we need you to stay still.”
Despite the fog of heavy medication, there are still needles of pain prickling up his arm as they wrap his broken wrist. Akaashi struggles to focus long enough to really absorb what the TV people are saying; they are all shouting loudly and speaking too swiftly for Akaashi to keep up. Instead he watches the colors and shapes of them move and shift. By the time they’ve got the cast set, Kuroo has arrived, looking windswept and breathless.
“What the hell? What did you do?” Kuroo asks, nearly shouting at him. His shirt is only buttoned halfway and his shoes are mismatched, one sneaker and one sleek black dress shoe. Akaashi squints and sticks his tongue out at him.
“Shut up,” Akaashi says. “No one likes your voice. No one.”
The nurse titters. Kuroo gives Akaashi a blank look.
“Seriously,” Kuroo says. He sits on the end of Akaashi’s hospital bed. “What the hell? You got hit by a car?”
Akaashi snorts and it sends a ripple of pain up his arm. He breathes through it, laying back, and closing his eyes.
“I need my old glasses,” he announces. He gestures to the crack in the pair he’s wearing now. It’s difficult to formulate his thoughts through the drug-induced haze, but he focuses on what is most important. “I broke them. And you have to call my mom.”
Kuroo turns to the nurse. “Did he get hit by a car?”
“It was a bike,” she says patiently.
Kuroo’s eyes go wide as saucers, staring down at the floor in something like horror. Akaashi points at him frowning.
“Call my mom,” he orders. “Call her.”
“I… I already called her,” Kuroo mutters irritably. He gives the nurse a scowl. “What is he on?”
Akaashi can’t pronounce the word the nurse says, but he tries, overemphasizing the syllables with his half-numb mouth and pursing his lips strangely. Kuroo covers his face with his hands and massages his temples.
“Okay, well, who knows, maybe this’ll be good for you,” Kuroo says, more to himself than anything. The nurse excuses herself to give them some privacy and Kuroo cards a hand through his hair. Akaashi must be high because maybe he looks just a little bit good like that. Ugh. Gross. Akaashi winkles his nose. “They said you were run over, why would they— I don’t understand.”
“Udai-sensei,” Akaashi orders next. “Call Udai-sensei.”
Kuroo nods distantly. “Yes, yes I called him too.”
“Cool,” Akaashi says. That just about covers everything then. At least for now. He doesn’t even want to think about all the paperwork, hospital bills, applying for leave at his job, and what else had they said? Physical therapy? Ugh. Problems for another day. He lays his head back, determined to relax, but then immediately sits back up again with a jolt.
“Don’t tell Bokuto-san.”
Kuroo looks away.
“Idiot!” Akaashi cries. He grabs the room’s TV remote and flings it at him. “Stupid! Moron! Dumbass!”
“Hey, hey!” Kuroo shields his head with his arms as Akaashi aims a box of tissues at him. It deflects off Kuroo’s elbow and smacks against the floor. “He has a right to know!”
“He has a game tomorrow!” Akaashi cries.
Kuroo’s shoulders drop and he gives Akaashi a flat look. “Akaashi.”
“You couldn’t have waited until after?” Akaashi demands. He grabs the hospital pillow tucked behind him and smacks Kuroo across the head with it.
“Akaashi!” Kuroo cries. “Really?”
Akaashi whimpers as he lays back with a thud. “Fuck!”
It’s going to throw off his game, Akaashi knows this. He’ll be distracted, his receives will be sloppy, he’ll miss his serves, and Atsumu doesn’t know him like Akaashi does. He won’t know how to get him to refocus. Bokuto could be benched. Worse, he could lose his starting position entirely. Oh god, and Bokuto had been so looking forward to his rematch with the Red Falcons. It is his chance to best Aran!
Akaashi has to figure this out. He needs to call him. He will tell Bokuto everything’s fine. It was a misunderstanding. Bokuto doesn’t need to know. Akaashi will tell him the truth after the game. What can he say? What lie will Bokuto believe? Maybe Akaashi was the biker— no, Bokuto knows he doesn’t own any bikes. Fuck! Dammit!
“You’ve ruined my life,” Akaashi tells Kuroo miserably.
Kuroo rolls his eyes. “It’s one game!”
“It’s the last match of the season!” Akaashi is shouting, not caring who hears. “It’s the big send off! It’s going to be on TV and sponsors will be watching— He can’t— You really— Oh my god.”
He feels close to tears. It’s been a few months now since Bokuto moved down to Osaka and joined the MSBY Black Jackals, but things are still precarious. He is on a division one league volleyball team now; there’s no room for sloppiness. There are hundreds of talented players clamoring for his position. Having a bad game could be the start of a downward spiral.
“He’s going to be distracted,” Akaashi bemoans. “He’s going to be antsy. He could be benched . Atsumu won’t be nice to him. He told him so. He told him he wouldn’t go easy on him.”
Kuroo shakes his head. “Bokuto can handle Atsumu. He’d kill me if I didn’t tell him something had happened to you.”
“I’m gonna kill you ,” Akaashi spits back venomously. He feels hot tears streak down his cheeks.
“It’s just one game,” Kuroo says meekly.
One game? No, this is far more than one game. This is the trajectory of Bokuto’s career they’re talking about. Everything they had worked for, everything they had sacrificed is at risk because of him. Telling Bokuto to accept the Black Jackals’ offer had been the most difficult thing Akaashi has ever had to do. He’s known Bokuto would slip away eventually; Bokuto can’t be expected to become a nation-wide superstar without leaving his hometown. Akaashi doesn’t know how he managed to watch him move half across the country without letting his feelings spill forward, but he had. He’d watched the love of his life leave him behind and had done so quietly, without even so much a hint as to how Akaashi truly felt. Because he had to. Bokuto doesn’t need anything holding him back. And while Bokuto has been attentive: texting him constantly, calling Akaashi every night, and even paying for most of Akaashi’s frequent visits, it had been the most acute torment watching him go.
It could all be for nothing if Bokuto fumbles now. This the last grand hurrah before the off-season: a crucial opportunity to make an impression on advertisers who would undoubtedly want a Black Jackals member as the face of their sports drink or energy bar. If Bokuto misses a serve because he’s worrying about Akaashi, it would impact his record, skew his stats. All because Akaashi was too cheap to replace his coffee maker, too weak-willed to tell Tenma to go to bed and sort it out on his own, too stupid to stay on the right side of the sidewalk. God fucking dammit. This is all his fault.
Kuroo retrieves the tissue box from the floor and pulls one out for him. When Akaashi doesn’t take it, Kuroo dabs his cheeks for him and sighs heavily.
“I know you worry about him, but Bo’s a big boy now,” Kuroo says. “It’s gonna be fine, I promise.”
Akaashi’s elevated heart rate has called the nurse back over to him. She tuts at him mournfully.
“Is it wearing off already, dearie?” she says. She fiddles with the dial hooked up to his IV bag and says, “There, feel better.”
Already Akaashi is flooded with fresh buzzing, numbness.
“It’s his rematch with Aran-kun. He was so looking forward to it,” Akaashi whispers softly. Kuroo purses his lips and nods.
“He was,” Kuroo says, evasively. Akaashi’s vision blurring. All the colors of the hospital room: the sharp white fluorescents, the speckled beige hospital ceiling, the green privacy screen tucked to one corner, and the black of Kuroo’s hair blend together in a great swirl. And then he’s fast asleep.
Akaashi hears his voice first. Warped and shapeless, like he’s coming from a dream. He feels so hazy and floaty and soft. It’s like he doesn’t have a body at all. He must, though, because he feels his muscles stretch with his smile, not yet opening his eyes.
“Bokuto-san,” he whispers. He’s so happy. So serene and at peace.
“Akaashi!”
There’s a warm, broad hand on his bicep and Akaashi blinks rapidly. Bokuto’s face swims in front of him. Bokuto . Akaashi is awash in gold glitter and hot-cocoa and foamy cream. If Bokuto is here that means he’s having a very good dream indeed.
Bokuto’s eyes are wide and frantic, his sizable chest is heaving as if he’d just ran a mile, and he’s glistening with sweat. He’s oddly in gym clothes and his Black Jackals jacket, the one with his name emblazoned on the right breast with a little sigil behind it and everything. Pretty detailed for a dream, but Akaashi’s so happy to see him that he lets it slide. He grins widely.
“Bokuto-san,” he says again. “Oh my god.”
Bokuto sobs. Only now does Akaashi notice his face is streaked with tears, the fresh ones painting over the old. Bokuto’s eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed. His face is twisted in grief and he falls to his knees at Akaashi’s side, taking his hand in his and kissing the back of his knuckles.
“Akaashi, oh my god, Akaashi.” Bokuto’s voice is so small; he sounds so afraid. “Are you alright? Are you hurting? Akaashi they said you got run over! And your arm! Is it really broken?”
Akaashi listens as attentively as he can, but he’s too busy drinking in the sight of him to absorb the words. He loves the wisps of Bokuto’s silvery hair, the faded freckles across the bridge of Bokuto’s nose, and how the lovely golden color of his eyes are somehow brighter through the bloodshot. He’s so beautiful. He’s always been so, so beautiful. Akaashi grins at him dreamily.
“Hello,” Akaashi says in a quiet voice.
Bokuto’s face crumples into something softer, into almost a smile. His sob escapes him shakily.
“Hey you,” Bokuto whispers. “Are you alright?”
Akaashi tries to sit up and there’s an uncomfortable twitch in his right wrist. Ugh. Why is his arm so heavy? Akaashi’s mind is too foggy to remember. No matter. At least they’re holding hands. The rough texture of Bokuto’s palm is delicious and familiar and Akaashi squeezes it as hard as he can. Bokuto is watching him intently, like he expects something, and Akaashi says the only thing that comes to mind:
“You’re beautiful,” Akaashi says.
Bokuto blinks. A shock of pink colors his features. Akaashi hears Kuroo snort distantly.
“Uh, I’ll um. I’ll give you a minute.” There’s the shuffling of awkward feet. Akaashi sees a shadow move behind Bokuto, but doesn’t dare look away from him. He can’t stop smiling.
“I missed you,” Akaashi says. He squeezes Bokuto’s fingers again. “I missed— I missed you.”
Bokuto swallows thickly. Akaashi watches the bob of his Adam’s apple, then glances back up again. Bokuto nods.
“I… I missed you too,” he says, and it comes out cracked and warbled. Bokuto leans in; he presses his forehead to Akaashi’s chest and nuzzles into him. “God, ‘Kaashi I was so scared.”
Akaashi shushes him. He wants to pet his hair, and kiss his forehead, and tell him everything will be alright. But when he moves to do so his whole right side groans in protest. Bokuto sits up and shakes his head frantically.
“Don’t get up! Don’t move!” he says. “Akaashi!”
Akaashi frowns down at his cast. When did that get there? What’s going on? Where is he? It comes back to him in blurry flashes. Bike. Fall. Hospital. Bokuto? But Bokuto—
“You!” Akaashi says and when he swivels around to look at Bokuto it’s like he’s moving in slow motion. “You’re! The game!”
“Shhhh, easy, easy,” Bokuto says. He rubs Akaashi’s good arm up and down, and pushes him gently until Akaashi reclines again. “Lay down, baby, it’s okay.”
Akaashi freezes. Baby? He baby? Akaashi baby? Akaashi blinks twice.
“Baby,” he repeats, wonderingly, like he’s never heard the word before. He looks up at Bokuto with wide eyes. “Baby?”
Bokuto’s mouth is in a strange, wavering line. “You don’t like it?”
Akaashi seizes the front of his shirt. “Yes, baby. I like baby.”
Bokuto’s chest shakes with his quiet laughter.
“Okay, baby,” he says softly. Akaashi’s grin becomes a giggle, which soon becomes wheezy laughter. Bokuto looks at him in amusement. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re not real,” Akaashi accuses through his laugh. “You’re not real!”
“I’m real!” Bokuto sounds a little offended. “I’m the realest!”
“You’re a dream,” Akaashi says. He boops Bokuto’s plush pec. “I can tell.”
“And what makes you think that Keiji?” Bokuto says. He’s called him Keiji before on a handful of occasions: when he retired as Fukurodani’s captain, the night Bokuto graduated, the night before he moved to Osaka. It makes Akaashi scowl. He only ever calls him Keiji when he’s saying goodbye.
“No Keiji,” Akaashi huffs and pouts. “I’m baby.”
Bokuto chokes on his laugh. He brings Akaashi’s hand to his mouth and kisses it long and savoring.
“I like Keiji,” he says softly. “Keiji is beautiful. Keiji is you.”
What a strange dream. What were they even talking about? Akaashi giggles. His hand slips out of Bokuto’s and he cups his face instead. He wishes his dream would have given him two hands to touch Bokuto with. Maybe that makes this a nightmare. But no. Bokuto is here and touchable and kissable, and even if Akaashi only has one arm to work with, Bokuto’s presence alone makes it worth it. It’s frustrating. Ridiculous even, but worth it. He laughs harder. He strokes Bokuto’s tear-stained cheek with his thumb.
“Crying?” Akaashi wonders aloud. An inaccurate dream. Bokuto rarely cries, if ever. Not when they lost nationals, not the night he graduated, not the day he moved out of his parents’ house. He did get a little teary the night before he moved. Akaashi still remembers the way Bokuto had clutched him to his chest and trembled, but when Akaashi had retreated, Bokuto’s eyes were dry.
And yet here he is: crying. Akaashi stares at him, enraptured. Bokuto nuzzles into his hand and gives a little sob, and Akaashi feels hot tears run over his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Bokuto says, sounding choked. “I shouldn’t be— you’re the one who’s all beat up and I— I was just so scared , Keiji.”
Akaashi cannot bear it a moment longer. He pats Bokuto’s cheek very lightly.
“No crying,” Akaashi tells him. “No more. Come here, lovely.”
Bokuto shuffles closer, scooting on his knees, but the hospital bed has a handle on it that divides them. Akaashi huffs through his nose. He removes his hand from Bokuto’s face to tug at the handle.
“Nooo…” Akaashi moans. “Closer.”
“I— I can’t get any closer!” Bokuto cries, though he leans forward like he means to try. He rests his chest on the handle, damp cheek pressed to Akaashi’s collarbone.
Akaashi scooches over and with considerable effort he turns to lay on his side. Akaashi pats the space beside him with the back of his hand, his good arm half-tucked under him.
“Up,” Akaashi demands.
Bokuto takes a shaky breath. He checks behind him and swallows.
“Are… are you sure?” he says. “I don’t wanna— aren’t you in pain?”
Akaashi’s body is actually only a pleasant, pulsing tingling. The vision of Bokuto swims before him and he smiles.
“Bokuto-san,” he says in a sing-song. “Up.”
Bokuto is incredibly careful, but he climbs into the bed, laying on his side, wrapping an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, arm curving in toward Akaashi’s chest and giving his cast a wide berth. His knee slides between Akaashi’s legs which is wonderful, and even more wonderful is Akaashi’s face aligned with the soft mounds of Bokuto’s chest. Akaashi buries his face in them at once.
“Ah! Akaashi!” Bokuto says, sounding embarrassed.
“Boobies,” Akaashi says gratefully and Bokuto jostles the bed with his sharp laugh.
“You-- you like them?” Bokuto asks. He’s so close Akaashi can feel his hot breath rustle his curls.
“Soft,” Akaashi compliments. “Juicy.”
“Juicy?!” Bokuto cries and Akaashi hushes him. He presses his cheek into Bokuto’s chest and can feel the drumming of his heartbeat and breathes deeply. Akaashi’s good arm is trapped under Bokuto, but he crooks it up and scratches his back as best he can. Akaashi feels his back muscles even through his jacket and wow. He’s built . He’s so solid and warm and real.
“I love this,” he informs Bokuto. “I love it. I love it.”
How can he not? He has a face full of titties, an arm full of the man he loves, and he’s close enough to feel Bokuto’s shuddering little gasp. When Bokuto manages to speak, it rumbles through him like a purr.
“Keiji,” Bokuto says, sounding almost wary. “I… Me too.”
It’s all so soothing. It’s soul-satiating. Akaashi feels like he’s glowing. He feels like he’s at last complete. Bokuto’s fingers trace up and down his back in long, comforting strokes and it feels like starlight dancing across his skin. Bokuto’s breathing feels as soothing and gentle as the tide, like whispering waves caressing the shoreline. One of Bokuto’s arms is around his shoulders, the other slides up Akaashi’s stomach and settles over Akaashi’s sternum. Akaashi blinks sleepily at the motion.
“What?” Akaashi asks.
Bokuto stares at the press of his palm against Akaashi’s heart intently. Akaashi sees his eyes fill with tears again.
“Sorry,” Bokuto says, sounding choked. “I’m just so glad— I’m so relieved you’re alright.”
Akaashi grins at him lazily.
“I’m more than alright,” Akaashi says. “I’m the best. I’m the best ever.”
“You are,” Bokuto says and fresh tears roll down his cheeks. Akaashi wishes he could brush them away. “You’re the best person. You’re the best person in my life and I thought— I thought—“
Bokuto breaks off sobbing and Akaashi coos. He leans in and presses his cheek to Bokuto’s, feeling the dampness of his tears before nuzzling further down.
“Don’t be sad,” Akaashi says. His nose trails a line down Bokuto’s jaw, down the slope of his throat, and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “I’m not sad. I want my Koutarou to be happy. Happy Koutarous only.”
Bokuto’s breath hitches and Akaashi feels him nod.
“Sorry,” he whispers again, and Akaashi has no earthly idea why. “I shouldn’t be—You’re the one who’s— and I’m—”
“Shhhh,” Akaashi says, rubbing Bokuto’s back. “I’m happy. I’m so, so happy, Koutarou. You should be happy too. Happy, happy, happy.”
“I’m trying,” Bokuto says, sounding strangled by his own words. “Sorry.”
“No sorries,” Akaashi lectures. He looks up at him and smiles. “Just be here.”
Bokuto gives a quick little nod and then buries his face in Akaashi’s hair and breathes deeply. Billowing pleasure rushes up Akaashi’s belly and into his chest. He feels lighter than air. If Bokuto wasn’t holding him, he’d float right up to the ceiling. Bokuto is here! They’re cuddling! Akaashi never wants to be separated from Bokuto again. He thinks they should be fused like this; bodies curled around each other, always touching, always close enough to kiss, but far enough to look upon one another still. Akaashi kisses Bokuto’s throat sleepily and feels Bokuto’s breath catch. Akaashi sinks into him, closing his eyes.
Akaashi doesn’t have a good grasp on time, but eventually he hears footsteps heading toward them and the sigh of a friend.
“Hey man,” Kuroo says in a low voice. “You alright?”
Akaashi feels Bokuto’s body stiffen next to him. His warm hand leaves its proper position on Akaashi’s chest and Akaashi hears a smacking sound.
“You said he was run over!” Bokuto whisper-shouts. “Why would you fucking scare me like that?”
“I thought he was!” Kuroo hisses. “That’s what they said on the phone! They said there was an accident, and that Akaashi was run over and in the hospital, and I panicked!”
“ You panicked?!” Bokuto sounds livid, which is unlike him. This dream has really gone off the rails, Akaashi thinks, but his lips twitch in amusement. “How do you think I fucking felt?”
“What matters is that he’s fine!” Kuroo says, still hushed despite how fierce he sounds. “It was a biker, I guess. From the sounds of it, the biker might have been drinking. Akaashi’s wrist is broken in three places and he’s got a sprained ankle, but as long as nothing is bleeding internally, they might even let him go home tonight. At least, that’s what the nurses were saying.”
Akaashi hears Bokuto take in a sharp, tremulous breath.
“Fuck,” Bokuto says. He doesn’t usually swear this much, either. Akaashi doesn’t think he’s ever heard him sound so distressed. “Fuck this. God.”
“Hey, he’ll be alright,” Kuroo says. “That’s what matters, right?”
There’s a beat. A quiet pause where there’s only the humming of hospital equipment and Bokuto’s breathing steadying out.
“What did your coach say when you told him?” Kuroo goes on.
Akaashi hears Bokuto swallow thickly.
“I don’t— I don’t really remember,” Bokuto says in a small voice. “I was at practice when you called— It was really bad, Kuroo. I think I scared everyone.”
Kuroo hums in acknowledgement.
“You really gonna be okay?” Kuroo asks.
“What? Yeah, yeah, if he’s— if he’s gonna make it, I’m fine,” Bokuto says. “It’s… a little embarrassing, but it’s fine. I…. I have a lot to think about now.”
There’s the sound of flesh clapping against flesh and Akaashi feels Bokuto’s body jostle a bit. Akaashi snuggles into him deeper.
“Go away, he’s mine,” Akaashi snaps. He moves his right arm to drape around Bokuto and winces when his cast collides with Bokuto’s hip. “Ow.”
“Hey, hey, don’t do that, baby,” Bokuto says. He moves Akaashi’s elbow off of him as carefully as he can. “Let's let this arm rest, okay?”
Akaashi huffs. He feels embarrassingly close to tears very suddenly.
“Wanna hold you,” he whines. “Why? Why? ”
“Shhhh, I’ll hold you, okay?” Bokuto says, wrapping both arms around him and squeezing him a little. He untangles their legs and shuffles until he’s halfway under Akaashi and Akaashi’s head is pillowed by those pecs he loves so much. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
Akaashi hums. He supposes this will do. His good hand reaches up, and feels for Bokuto’s face even if he can’t see it. He finds his chin and pinches it.
“You’re mine,” Akaashi warns him. “You’re mine forever.”
Bokuto makes a strangled noise. Akaashi can feel his warm breath on his fingers. Akaashi is irritated at Kuroo’s hacking laughter.
“Oya? Well, it’s about time dontcha think?” Kuroo says. “I’m rooting for you crazy kids.”
“Shut— shut up,” Bokuto says, hoarsely. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
Akaashi’s fingers push up Bokuto’s jawline and into his hair.
“Kuroo-san never knows what he’s saying,” Akaashi says, knowingly. “He’s very stupid.”
Bokuto’s laughter is loud and shakes the whole bed and Akaashi relishes the affronted gasp Kuroo gives him. He grins with his eyes closed.
“Alright your lab results are back, Akaashi-san…” The same doctor who oversaw his x-ray walks in and Akaashi blinks at him hazily. The doctor stops short when he sees them snuggled in the bed together. He clutches the clipboard to his chest and clears his throat, fiddling with his horn-rimmed glasses for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor says. “Are… are you ‘Bokuto Beam’ Bokuto?”
“Uh, yes actually,” Bokuto admits bashfully.
“ He’s mine ,” Akaashi tells the doctor in a conspiratorial whisper. He pets Bokuto’s hair possessively.
“Ah, aha, Keiji,” Bokuto says, though his arm tightens around Akaashi’s shoulders.
The doctor gives them a bizarre sort of look. He turns to Kuroo, who only shrugs and grins.
“Young love,” Kuroo says. “And drugs.”
The doctor doesn’t ask Bokuto to move, but he does turn the dial down on whatever Akaashi’s IV is hooked up to. Akaashi blinks slowly. The hazy buzzing of his body lowers to a hum; he starts to feel more physical and real. That’s odd. What had happened?
“Alright, lemme get you some paperwork to sign, and then we can talk about getting you out of here. How does that sound?” the doctor asks.
Out of here? Akaashi is actually quite comfortable where he is. Why would they force him out of here? Akaashi turns and looks up at Bokuto, who nods.
“I’ll get you home safe,” Bokuto promises.
Akaashi blinks. The hospital room is gradually materializing around him. Right, he remembers his home. His cozy apartment where there are blankets that don’t smell like hand-sanitizer, and thick pillows, and a bed that doesn’t crackle when he moves. He squints as he considers; his gaze doesn’t leave Bokuto.
“And you’ll come,” he tells Bokuto, not an ask, but an order. “And stay.”
“Of course,” Bokuto says, softly. “As long as you like.”
Akaashi hums, stroking his cheek with his fingers. “You promise?”
“I promise,” Bokuto says.
The doctor clears his throat and passes the clipboard to Kuroo.
“It would be good if someone stayed with you for a few days,” the doctor says. “I’m prescribing you something for the pain and something to help you sleep. Sleeping is notoriously difficult during the healing process. It would be good if you were under supervision while you’re getting used to the side effects. And you know. Someone to help you with cooking and cleaning.”
“I’ll do it!” Bokuto shouts. He pumps his fist in the air and jostles them a bit. “I’ll take care of everything for you, Keiji!”
“Aww,” Akaashi says, smiling up at him adoringly. “You will?”
The doctor turns away from them, a ruddy color splotching across his cheeks.
“I’ll write you a note excusing you from work for the next few weeks while you’re dealing with the pain. After that I’d recommend working remotely. No— no unnecessary excursions while you’re recovering.”
Kuroo flips through the clipboard’s papers and snorts. “I think you guys were just diagnosed with horny.”
“ Kuroo! ” Bokuto cries, but Akaashi only laughs, bright and clear. With every breath he feels more solid and centered; his mind a little less muddled. He presses his cheek to Bokuto’s pec and frowns. Why does he have the feeling he’s forgetting something? Something important.
“Maybe give him a few more minutes before having him sign anything,” the doctor mutters to Kuroo. “He does legally need to be lucid.”
Lucid? Who needs to be lucid? Akaashi stares up at the hospital ceiling. His wrist feels heavy and throbs with dull pain and it suddenly all feels very, very real. He blinks and the fuzziness of his head and vision clear with a snap.
“Oh my god,” Akaashi says suddenly. “This is all real? ”
The doctor politely conceals his laughter behind a cough, but Kuroo doesn’t bother. He hunches over on one knee and full-on hyena laughs, the clipboard pressed to his chest. Akaashi turns and looks at Bokuto, his head spinning a little as he does. Bokuto’s mouth is pinched into a worried line.
“No, no, no,” Akaashi says, horrified. “You can’t be here! You— you have a game tomorrow!”
Bokuto cups his face in one, broad palm and hushes him.
“Don’t worry about that right now, Keiji,” Bokuto says quietly. He strokes Akaashi’s cheek with his thumb. “Let’s just get you taken care of first, okay?”
“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi cries. Tears flood his vision. His good hand clenches into a fist. “You can’t— you have to go back!”
Bokuto shakes his head. “No, baby, I’m not going back. It isn’t the end of the world if I miss one game.”
“But—” Akaashi struggles for a moment. Bokuto calling him ‘baby’ short-circuits his brain. “You have sponsors to impress! A record to maintain! You can’t— you can’t risk it because—”
“I’m not risking anything,” Bokuto says patiently. “And you’re way more important than my record or my sponsors. You know that, right?”
Akaashi lower lip trembles. His inhale is shaky and threatens to break into a sob.
“Koutarou…” he says. His head collapses onto Bokuto’s chest and he nuzzles him. He won’t cry. He’s not going to cry. The tears spill over anyway.
“It’s a medical emergency, Kaashi,” Kuroo says. “Professional athletes can have those too, y’know.”
“I can write a note, if that will help,” the doctor chimes in awkwardly. “I was actually hoping to get your autograph if you didn’t mind, Bokuto-san.”
The doctor gets his autograph and a picture, though Akaashi isn’t sure how much his daughter will appreciate a picture of Bokuto looking so pale and teary-eyed. Akaashi struggles to sign the paperwork with his non-dominant hand, and Kuroo has actually made himself useful and brought him a fresh set of clothes from his apartment. They pull over the privacy screen for him to change. Akaashi still feels somewhat addled from the painkillers and is absolutely exhausted from the day. He wobbles, fumbling as he tries to dress himself and the nurse has to step in.
“There,” the nurse says, patting his chest after she buttoned up his shirt. “Now you’ll look very handsome for him.”
Akaashi flushes red and hot. He clears his throat and looks away. Oh god. He really had— and in front of everyone . In front of strangers, even. What if it got to the press? What would Bokuto’s Twitter stans think if they knew he was canoodling with a nobody in a hospital bed? No, it’s too ridiculous. Maybe he is dreaming, after all. Please merciful gods let Akaashi Keiji actually be dreaming.
“Th-thank you,” Akaashi manages. “We aren’t— he’s not—”
“Oh sure,” the nurse says with a wave of her hand. “Of course not.”
But then she winks and Akaashi’s stomach drops. Fuck, he’s been so obvious. How has Bokuto allowed him to be so shameless? Surely it isn’t— It couldn’t mean—
Akaashi sees Bokuto’s spiked-hair bob above the privacy screen.
“Are you done? Can I see him?” Bokuto says anxiously. The nurse pulls back the screen with a knowing smirk and Bokuto all but lunges at him, taking his face in his hands and eyes scouring over him.
“Good,” Bokuto says. “Okay.”
Akaashi smiles up at him helplessly. “What? Did you think she was strangling me back here?”
“No! No.” Bokuto gives the nurse a deep bow, not letting go of Akaashi’s face. “Thank you for taking care of my— my Akaashi!”
My Akaashi. It hits Akaashi all in a rush. That settles it. Akaashi must be dreaming. It’s a vivid, intricate hallucination. That’s the only explanation for this. He swallows, blushes, and looks down, nose burying into Bokuto’s palm. My Akaashi . Oh why does he have to love the sound of it? Why does it sound so right? Bokuto tilts Akaashi’s head and pulls his gaze back toward him.
“I called a car,” Bokuto says. “I can take you home now.”
Akaashi nods. “Okay.”
Bokuto swoops down and presses a kiss to his forehead, and then dips lower and scoops Akaashi bridal-style into his arms. Akaashi gasps.
“Bokuto-san!” he cries. He clutches his cast protectively to his chest; his other arm settles around Bokuto’s shoulders.
“What? You’re not walking on that ankle,” Bokuto says with a grin.
The nurse places Akaashi’s bag of personal items in the cradle of his lap. “Take care, dearie.”
Is she really going to allow this? Surely, there is procedure and protocol and— nope, here they go right out the door. Akaashi is stinging red with his blush.
Akaashi holds the bag of his possessions in place with his cast. It’s more insistent pain now, but Akaashi grits his teeth through it. What’s really troubling him is the staring that follows them down the hall. Patients passing by gawk at them, nurses snicker to themselves and exchange amused glances, one doctor does a double-take up from his clipboard, a teen very transparently takes a photo of them. Fuck, this is going to end up online, isn’t it? Bokuto has a very loyal following; they’ll speculate who Akaashi is and what he means to Bokuto. Akaashi knows what it looks like and the thought sends a possessive thrill fluttering up his throat.
“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, as evenly as he can manage. “You know they have wheelchairs for this.”
“Too late!” Bokuto says cheerily. He gives Akaashi a meaningful look. “I’d have to get you in the car somehow.”
Well. Akaashi can’t really argue with that. Not while he is secretly sort of relishing the proximity. The bold declaration of it. My Akaashi. Not said, but implied, and for all the world to see. When the photos are uploaded online, they’ll see it’s Akaashi who Bokuto holds so tenderly. They’ll all see that when Akaashi had needed him, Bokuto had come running half across the country just to see him. Akaashi rests his head on Bokuto’s collarbone and gives no further protest.
They pass his own doctor on the way out, who gives them a bemused sort of look as he waves them off, before giving the receptionist wide eyes and raised eyebrows, and they both laugh. Akaashi turns away from them with his nose in the air. Let them laugh. Wouldn’t they all love to be in the arms of Bokuto Koutarou? That’s a privilege for only Akaashi Keiji. Sorry. Too bad.
Bokuto places him very gently into the über and instructs their driver to be very careful as he drives lest the jostling cause Akaashi any unnecessary pain. Akaashi tells Bokuto to tip extra if he’s going to make such demands, to which Bokuto agrees happily. Bokuto sits on his good side and holds him as still as possible, but the ride is still tense and painful.
Bokuto tips generously, as promised, and then also carries Akaashi into his apartment. Because of course he does. Akaashi leans into it fully, resigned to his fate.
“Thank you,” Akaashi says, once Bokuto has him set onto his couch. Bokuto helps him remove his one shoe. The other is stuffed in his bag, neither of them having bothered to put it on his sprained ankle. “You were very noble.”
“Noble?” Bokuto asks, sending him a broad, toothy grin.
“Gallant,” Akaashi adds. He lowers his lashes shyly. “Gentlemanly even.”
“I have to be the best for you,” Bokuto says, and his eyes are so serious and earnest that it pangs through Akaashi’s chest sweetly. “Are you hungry?”
Akaashi nods. “I was going to make yakisoba tonight… I guess that’s not really an option now.”
“I’ll order food, my treat,” Bokuto says, holding a hand to his chest beneficially. “I can’t cook.”
Akaashi giggles. “You can make toast.”
“The best damn toast ever!” Bokuto says proudly. He boops Akaashi on the nose. “I’ll make it for you in the morning.”
In the morning , Akaashi thinks somewhat dreamily. It’s been a while since Bokuto has slept over at his place; usually Akaashi is the one visiting Bokuto down in Osaka, always crashing on his pullout couch and editing pages while waiting for Bokuto to get home from practice. Thinking about having Bokuto all to himself all night and tomorrow too nearly makes the broken wrist worth it. Akaashi reclines on the couch and smiles at him.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Akaashi tells him honestly.
They debate a little on what to order and Bokuto suggests Akaashi showers while they wait for the food. Which does sound incredible, if not for the whole cast and twisted ankle thing. Bokuto sees Akaashi furrow his brow and nods understandingly.
“Maybe a bath then,” Bokuto suggests instead. Akaashi prods him with his knee.
“Am I that stinky?” Akaashi asks.
“No!” Bokuto cries hastily. “Not stinky! But stressed! You’ll feel better when you’ve washed the stress off!”
It doesn’t really make any sense, but somehow Akaashi knows exactly what he means. He gives him a begrudging nod. Bokuto stands, dipping to carry him again, and Akaashi huffs, but allows it. He wraps his arm around Bokuto’s shoulders and looks up at him.
“Do I weigh anything to you?” Akaashi asks.
Bokuto purses his lips and frowns, considering. He drops into a squat with Akaashi in his arms and rises again smoothly. He then shakes his head.
“You’re like half a rep?” he says. “Maybe less.”
Akaashi feels his whole face heat at least ten degrees with his blush. Don’t , he tells himself. He can’t be thinking about Bokuto throwing him around, pinning Akaashi’s hands above his head and holding him up against the wall as he—fuck, he’s not jerking off in the bath while Bokuto is in the apartment. He’s not! Stop!
Bokuto leaves to retrieve saran wrap to protect his cast. It’s a fight to undress. He tries to lift his bad arm and sharp knives of pain shoot up his arm as he tries. Fuck. He should have taken a dose of his pain meds before attempting this. He pulls at the bottom of his shirt with his good arm and even manages to get the fabric up over his head, but then he leans back too far and his cast hits against the rim of the tub and he’s struck with incredible, mind-shattering pain. He grits his teeth through it, but it doesn’t fully dampen his cry. Bokuto must hear because there are quick footsteps hurrying into the bathroom.
“Hey, hey, stop, baby, lemme help you,” Bokuto says and then his hands are on Akaashi’s back, his fingers are peeling off Akaashi’s shirt gently and dropping it out to the floor. Akaashi doesn’t breathe. He’d thought ‘baby’ was something his drug-addled mind had misinterpreted. He stares up at Bokuto with wide eyes. Bokuto’s expression is all soft, amused fondness.
“It’s okay to ask for help, Keiji,” he says, almost in a whisper. “That’s the whole reason I’m here.”
There it is again. His given name. It’s like Bokuto’s specifically doing everything he can to torture Akaashi in the most devestating way possible. Calling him by his given name, calling him ‘baby’, undressing him, cradling him in his arms— Akaashi doesn’t know how his fragile heart will bear it all. Worse, he could get used to this and become desperately greedy for Bokuto to be like this all the time.
Bokuto’s hands lower and brush Akaashi’s belt loops cautiously. The look he gives Akaashi is shy.
“.... Can I?” he asks, impossibly soft.
Akaashi doesn’t know if there’s anything he’d truly be able to deny Bokuto if he asked it like that. His heart is racing; his breath shivers out of his body. Rationally, he knows it isn't anything Bokuto hasn’t already seen a hundred times in a shared locker room or in a sento during nationals, but the whispers and sweet names are giving him agonizing hope. He gives a small nod.
Akaashi stands on one leg as Bokuto undresses him carefully. Fingers brush down his thighs as he shucks off Akaashi’s jeans, and he is especially gentle as he goes over Akaashi’s swollen ankle. Akaashi helps him remove his boxers and fuck, why does he have to be sporting a semi right now? This is all Bokuto’s fault for snuggling him so much, saying his name so softly, and undressing him so lovingly. Thank the gods Bokuto’s eyes are politely averted. He braces an arm around Akaashi as he lowers him into the tub and then turns the faucet on for him, testing the water with his fingers until it’s an acceptable temperature.
“Where’s your bath stuff?” Bokuto asks.
Akaashi gestures to the bathroom cabinet and Bokuto pours an absurd amount of bubble bath in before frowning.
“Tomorrow I will get you epsom salt,” he says. “It’ll help with how sore your body will be.”
He’s doing too much , Akaashi thinks. Akaashi should stop him, tell him it’s really unnecessary, that Akaashi is on the verge of being entirely too spoiled and he’ll never be able to settle for less now that he’s had so much. But the words don’t come. He only stares and allows Bokuto to cover his cast with saran wrap. When he winces as Bokuto pulls the wrap tight, Bokuto’s gaze snaps up in alarm.
“I’m sorry! Did I do it too tight?” He looks like he’s in agony, like he’s the one with the broken wrist. Akaashi shakes his head, but Bokuto is already leaping to his feet.
“I’m getting your pain meds,” he says. “Stay right here.”
As if Akaashi had any choice in the matter. He watches Bokuto hurry off, and while he isn’t looking, he cranks up the heat. The water scalds his toes and it’s stinging and satisfying. Much better , he thinks as he lowers himself. When Bokuto comes back to the bathroom he has the little pill bottle and a bottle of water. He frowns and turns the faucet back down a touch.
“You’re turning all red, Akaashi!” he chides. “That can’t be good for you!”
Akaashi glowers at him, but dutifully takes the medicine and drinks the entire bottle of water. Bokuto sits on the bathroom floor beside him cross-legged and stares at him intently. Akaashi’s smile is close-lipped and amused.
“Are you having fun, Bokuto-san?” He means to tease him. Babying him and sitting on a dirty bathroom floor surely couldn’t be what Bokuto had envisioned for himself on a Friday evening. Even if they have a game tomorrow, he probably had plans to hang out with Atsumu, Sakusa, and Hinata. They’d have to call it an early night, but Atsumu always had some type of scheme for the weekend. But Bokuto only nods happily.
“I wish you had rubber duckies!” he declares and the bathroom echoes with Akaashi’s laughter.
Bokuto goes on to tell him about his day before the call: what he had for breakfast, how many cats he had spotted on his morning jog (three, but only one let him pet them), which of Akaashi’s prepped-meals he’d chosen for lunch, how the audiobook Akaashi had recommended was getting really, really good and almost made him miss his train stop. Then he tells him how just before practice began, Meian had a public service announcement about ‘proper usage of the locker rooms’ and what was and wasn’t appropriate for their shared space. Akaashi stares at him meaningfully.
“No,” Akaashi says, disbelieving. The meds have his body buzzing again and the soothing bathwater has him relaxed. He rests his cheek on the rim of the tub and blinks up at Bokuto lazily. “You don’t mean… In the locker room?”
“It has to be Tsum-Tsum, right?” Bokuto asks at once. He has a determined gleam in his eye. “But I can’t figure out if it’s Hinata or Sakusa!”
Akaashi slumps further into the bath, thinking deeply and scratching his chin thoughtfully.
“Sakusa wouldn’t do it in such a dirty place,” he reasons. “It has to be Hinata.”
“That’s what I thought!” Bokuto says, lurching in place and pumping his fist. “Except! Sakusa was looking down the whole time Meian was lecturing us! Almost like he was guilty!”
“No…” Akaashi says. His hand drops into the bathwater with a splash. “No! Not Sakusa!”
“I know!” Bokuto cries. He clutches the rim of the bathtub until his fingers are white. He shakes his head. “Tsum-Tsum is corrupting him!”
Akaashi ponders on that and then shudders.
“Atsumu must have some impressive dick to get Sakusa to do it in a men’s locker room,” Akaashi says. Bokuto snorts and looks down. “What?”
“Um,” Bokuto says, somewhat awkwardly. “Well. I mean maybe.”
“What?” Akaashi presses and Bokuto shrinks away.
“Tsum-Tsum doesn’t… He isn’t… It would be Sakusa,” Bokuto stammers out. His cheeks are a soft shade of pink.
Akaashi blinks once, twice. And then shudders again.
“Oh god,” Akaashi says. This is more information than he needs to know about Atsumu, but he can’t help but ask, “Did he tell you that?”
Bokuto gives Akaashi a look. “He didn’t have to.”
Akaashi facepalms lightly. “I think I have the worst gaydar of all time.”
“Maybe,” Bokuto grants him, he leans forward conspiratorially. “But there is another possibility.”
“Oh?” Akaashi asks.
Bokuto leans in some more and waggles his eyebrows. “Sakusa… and Hinata.”
Akaashi splashes bubbly water at him and Bokuto yelps, scooching back quickly. “Hey!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Akaashi says. He folds his one good arm over his chest defiantly.
“It’s not ridiculous!” Bokuto says. He reaches for a towel, dabbing himself before mopping Akaashi’s spill on the floor. “Hinata’s type is tall, dark, and handsome!”
True. That is true enough. Akaashi wrinkles his nose. Bokuto fidgets with the towel in his hand.
“You know, he had a little crush on you when he was younger,” Bokuto says, not looking at him.
Akaashi gives him a stern look. “No, he didn’t. He was in love with Kageyama.”
“Yes, but he thought you were cute, and cool, and handsome too,” Bokuto says. Is he blushing? The room must be getting warm with the bathwater. Bokuto folds the towel neatly and sets it aside.
“Did he tell you this?” Akaashi demands.
“Yes! Even Sakusa admitted you were handsome,” Bokuto says. He looks at Akaashi boldly. “And I said you were the most beautiful man in the whole entire world!”
Akaashi’s breath hitches. Is… is he flirting with him? No, no, no, Akaashi is defenseless and naked, with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. Bokuto can’t possibly be this cruel. He sinks lower into the bath and his face is engulfed in hot water.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Bokuto demands, his voice warbled through the water. Akaashi feels his shadow fall over him. Akaashi sits up with a splash and Bokuto gets caught in the spray.
“Hey!” Bokuto cries. “You’re so mean! I was trying to compliment you!”
Bokuto sighs in irritation. He has to get up and go to the bathroom cabinet to get a fresh towel to dry himself with. Akaashi blinks water out of his eyes.
“You were teasing me,” Akaashi accuses.
“Teasing you?” Bokuto cries. “I’ve never teased you!”
“You’re a liar and a tease,” Akaashi proclaims.
“I’ve never lied even once in my life!” Bokuto lies shamelessly. He sits at the tub’s side again and clutches the rim. “When have I ever lied to you?”
The pain meds must be kicking in because Akaashi suddenly can’t remember. His mind is swimmy and pleasantly muddled. The haze has settled over him slowly, the fuzzy buzzing washing over his body once again. There have to be at least a thousand different occasions that Bokuto has lied to him, though to be fair to Bokuto, most of his lies were harmless exaggerations. Akaashi submerges his face and blows bubbles in the water.
“ Akaashi ,” Bokuto lectures. He folds his arms over the edge of the tub and rests his head on top of it; his expression is fond. “Do you need help washing your hair?”
Does he need it? No, but Akaashi isn’t passing up an opportunity like this. He nods and Bokuto reaches for the shampoo. His hands are rough, like Akaashi expects— you can’t hit spikes like Bokuto’s without losing some softness— but his touch is oh so good. Akaashi melts with it. Bokuto’s thick fingers are gentle as he massages the shampoo into Akaashi’s scalp. Akaashi hadn’t expected the sensation to feel so intimate, so adoring. Bokuto’s ministrations send shivers of pleasure rushing through him. He thinks perhaps some secret part of him has longed for this all his life and having it is sweet, unexpected relief.
“Do you feel better?” Bokuto asks, softly.
Akaashi nods, using the movement as an excuse to lean in further into his touch. His heart is a swollen, sore thing and has become so enlarged he can feel it in his throat. The day had been truly awful, but it’s such a distant memory now. All there is now is warmth permeating through his body, Bokuto’s soothing touch, the timbre of his voice, and the comforting weight of his presence. Akaashi is so in love it’s painful. His heart is close to bursting and just might, but Akaashi will bear it to keep him this close. He is a selfish, greedy creature for Bokuto, even if it feels like it might destroy him.
“Thank you,” Akaashi whispers. “For being here.”
Bokuto hesitates for a moment, his movements coming to a stop and his breath hitching. He’s so close that Akaashi can hear him swallow.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Bokuto says. “I… Keiji when I got the call I—”
Akaashi’s doorbell rings and Bokuto lurches.
“Oh! The food!” he says. He leaps to his feet and rinses his hands off in the bathroom sink, hopping from foot to foot. “Give me a minute!”
Akaashi watches him go. His vision is a little swishy and he’s so relaxed he thinks he could fall asleep right where he is. But no. Bokuto is here. He refuses to sleep when Bokuto is here. Bokuto returns with a tray, the packaged food, a styrofoam cup of soda, and chopsticks. Akaashi blinks at him blearily.
“You’re going to eat in here?” he asks as Bokuto settles beside him, balancing the tray on his knees. Bokuto glances at him.
“Rinse your hair, Keiji,” he lectures as he unwraps their food. It’s yakisoba. Huh. How did he know? Akaashi’s too fuzzy-headed to remember. Akaashi obeys, using his uninjured hand to free the suds from his hair, and then slicking it out of his face with a whoosh. Bokuto has a pleased glimmer in his eye as he watches him resurface.
“Say ‘ah’ Keiji,” Bokuto says, offering him a bite from his chopsticks.
Akaashi opens his mouth without thinking, too hungry to question it. The noodles are so good and the veggies are crisp and oh. Bokuto had remembered he liked pork. He hums happily.
“Sho good,” he says through a mouthful, which is unlike him, but the medication has hit fully and he’s operating on base instincts alone. He almost feels drunk; he giggles.
“What?” Bokuto asks. “What’s so funny?”
“You,” Akaashi says. Bokuto’s face swims before him. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Am I?” Bokuto offers him another bite and Akaashi takes it, his tongue peeking out as it curls around the chopsticks. Akaashi laughs around his food, hiding his mouth with his hand, and nods. Bokuto uses the same chopsticks to steal a bite for himself and Akaashi chokes. Indirect kiss.
“Whoa, hey, hey,” Bokuto says. He grabs the soda and tilts the straw toward him. “Drink, drink, drink!”
Akaashi obeys helplessly and sees Bokuto’s whole body sink with his relief.
“You can’t keep scaring me like this,” Bokuto chastises. “I’ll die of a heart attack at this rate.”
Akaashi pulls off the straw with a pop, a trickle of soda dribbling down his chin. He gives Bokuto a mischievous little grin.
“Hmm, I dunno,” Akaashi says, unable to hide his amusement. “If you treat me like this, I might just risk my life every day.”
“Akaashi!” Bokuto cries. The tray lurches dangerously in his lap. “No!”
Akaashi leans in further. He can’t stop grinning.
“I’m gonna walk into traffic,” he declares. “Tomorrow I wanna try cliff diving.”
“No!” Bokuto wails. He clutches his face with his hands, getting a smear of soy sauce on his face as the chopsticks drag across his cheek. Akaashi sits up on his knee, reaching over and wiping it off with his thumb. “You can’t! Don’t do this to me!”
Akaashi is already off balance reaching over the rim of the tub like that, and his laugh shakes his body so hard that his knee slips out from under him. He collapses into the tub with a whoosh and a splash. He hears Bokuto call for him through the water.
“Akaashi!” Bokuto cries. “Don’t drown!”
Akaashi feels Bokuto’s hand clamp under his armpit and he’s yanked back up. Akaashi fumbles for the rim to steady himself. The water churns in a wave as he flounders. It’s more than a little difficult maneuvering around his cast, but he manages to get back to his comfortable, reclined position. He swipes his soaked hair out of his face. He hears Bokuto’s sigh of relief and Akaashi snorts.
“It’s not funny!” Bokuto whines. “Your life is very precious, Akaashi!”
“I’m not gonna drown in the bathtub,” Akaashi admonishes.
“You might!” Bokuto cries. “You’re injured!”
Akaashi hums. “But you’d rescue me.”
Bokuto blinks and considers that for a moment. He shakes his head with a soft scoff.
“Well! I would!” he admits. “And I did!”
They laugh. Akaashi allows Bokuto to feed him the rest of the yakisoba and by the end of it he’s so dizzy and relaxed that he thinks he wouldn’t be able to walk even if his ankle wasn’t sprained. He yawns and Bokuto takes that as his cue to lift him out of the bath. Akaashi clings to him, drenching the front of Bokuto’s shirt, dripping bathwater down his gym shorts, and soaking Bokuto’s socks. He should be embarrassed. He should feel infantilized, or outraged at the mess they’re making, or nervous that he’s being held so intimately while being entirely naked. But none of that matters to Akaashi now. He nuzzles into Bokuto’s collarbone and smiles. He’s warm, his belly is full, and his mind is delightfully clouded. The love of his life is carrying him in his arms. How can he be anything but the happiest creature alive?
Bokuto brings him to his bedroom, where Akaashi is surprised to see Bokuto has several towels on the bed, one already rolled out and ready for him. Bokuto sets him on it and with a second towel he begins drying Akaashi’s hair. Akaashi stares up at him with wide eyes.
Bokuto smiles at him as he works.
“You’re staring,” Bokuto says softly.
Akaashi blinks. His eyelashes are damp. He’s suddenly very cold and he shivers.
“Handsome,” Akaashi manages. Everything is swimmy except for Bokuto’s face. His golden eyes pierce him like sunbeams. His expression is strange and unreadable, but he’s smiling. Akaashi’s own smile widens. “You’re handsome.”
Bokuto flushes all the way up to his ears. He blinks several times, and averts his gaze quickly.
“You— you really think so?” It’s unlike Bokuto to sound nervous. Bokuto sends him a hopeful glance.
Akaashi huffs. “You know you’re handsome.”
Bokuto shrugs one shoulder. He goes back to drying Akaashi’s hair.
“It’s different hearing it from you,” Bokuto admits. He drags the towel down Akaashi’s neck, rubbing it back and forth down Akaashi’s back. Akaashi shimmies with it.
“Different how?” Akaashi refuses to look away from him. Bokuto motions for him to raise his arms and he does so and Bokuto dries his torso.
“Well, you know,” Bokuto says, slow and even. Akaashi watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “Because… because it’s you.”
Akaashi frowns. He suddenly curses his muddled mind. What is Bokuto saying? Is he-- could he be saying what Akaashi thinks he’s saying? Or is he just high? Bokuto gets to his knees and dries him one leg at a time.
“What’s… what is that supposed to mean?” Akaashi manages.
Bokuto won’t look at him. He is so, so gentle. He dries Akaashi’s sprained ankle like it is made of glass. Akaashi stares at the bright red tips of Bokuto’s ears in fascination. His limbs are loose and tingly, but he reaches for him. He threads his fingers through the silvery strands.
“Koutarou,” Akaashi says, breaking out the big guns and using Bokuto’s given name. “You have to tell me.”
“I— I dunno if this is the right time for this conversation, Keiji,” Bokuto stammers.
“What conversation?” Akaashi demands. His words are somewhat slurred and his head is swimmy, but his heart is a fierce pounding in his chest. He drags his fingers down Bokuto’s face until they’re under his chin, tilting Bokuto’s gaze toward him.
Bokuto says nothing. Akaashi sighs irritably.
“ Tell me ,” he presses, pinching his jawline a little. “Please?”
“You’re naked,” Bokuto whispers, though presses his cheek into Akaashi’s fingers. “Aren’t you cold?”
Oh. Right. Akaashi shivers now that he remembers and Bokuto giggles. He turns his face and kisses Akaashi’s palm.
“Lemme take care of you,” Bokuto says. Akaashi watches him, slack-jawed. He feels all wobbly, his stomach churning. He’s chilly, but his skin is burning where Bokuto has kissed him. He brings the hand to his face and breathes in deeply.
“Here we go,” Bokuto says, setting a set of flannel pants, a t-shirt, and boxers on the bed beside Akaashi. “Let’s get you all dressed and then bundle you up, okay?”
Distracting him, Bokuto is distracting him. Akaashi had a mission. He had a purpose. It was important. What had it been again? What were they talking about? Bokuto arranges Akaashi’s ankles and pulls boxers over Akaashi’s legs while Akaashi pouts and ponders.
“Stand up,” Bokuto orders. He wraps an arm around his waist so Akaashi doesn’t have to put weight on his bad ankle and Akaashi nuzzles into him before realizing.
“You’re soaked!” Akaashi cries.
“I’ll change in a minute.” Bokuto sounds amused. “Let me help you first.”
“You’re all wet,” Akaashi complains. He presses his face into Bokuto’s soaked shirt. “Soaking. Soaking wet.”
“You didn’t mind a minute ago,” Bokuto teases. He pulls the flannel pajama bottoms over Akaashi’s legs.
“Yes, well I’m dry now,” Akaashi says matter-of-factly. The pajama bottoms are pulled over his ass and settle comfortably on his hips. He feels better already. “So it’s different.”
“When you’re right, you’re right Keiji!” Bokuto says brightly. “Arms up.”
Akaashi obeys immediately. The t-shirt catches a little on his still-saran-wrapped cast, but it’s less painful than Akaashi would have expected. The pain meds really are working wonders. Akaashi’s body feels light and fluttery and it’s all very pleasant actually. When his head pops through the t-shirt, Bokuto’s face reappears before him, and Akaashi gives him a big, dumb grin.
“Peekaboo,” Akaashi states in a neutral tone and Bokuto throws his head back, laughing.
“Keiji! Are those meds making you silly again?”
“No,” Akaashi lies blatantly. “Call me Keiji again.”
Bokuto hums and pulls off his own, drenched shirt. “Keiji.”
What a fucking sight. Bokuto Koutarou is all smooth, sun-kissed skin, rippling abs, and holy fuck, his pecs. He’s always been buff, but now that he’s a professional athlete, his body is down right maddening. His pecs have become so well-defined and perky they could fill out a bra. He is a vision; an Adonis, a gift from god. And he’s saying his name like that. Wowee. Akaashi doesn’t have the brain-power to focus on not getting boner.
“Wow,” Akaashi breathes. He sways forward, good hand reaching out and touching the hot skin of Bokuto’s abs. “Wow.”
Bokuto laughs nervously. “Keiji, are you sure you’re alright? You seem a little out of it.”
“Never been better,” Akaashi says. He pulls on the elastic of Bokuto’s gym shorts and presses his face to Bokuto’s stomach. Akaashi nuzzles him and breathes deeply. His cheek is tickled by Bokuto’s silvery happy trail.
“.... Keiji?” Bokuto asks warily. “I need to change my pants.”
Akaashi huffs and Bokuto breaks into goosebumps where his breath rushes past. He pulls away and gives him a half-hooded glare.
“Fine,” he says and lays back with a whump. Ow. His wrist didn’t like that very much. “You never let me have any fun.”
“Hey! That’s not true!” Bokuto cries. “We have fun all the time!”
“Never,” Akaashi says, stubbornly. “Not even once.”
“Akaashi! Why are you lying?” Bokuto is too good at calling him out. He knows just how to do it. He always knows, somehow. Akaashi huffs again.
Bokuto has spare clothes put aside in a drawer Akaashi reserves just for him and retrieves an old shirt and clean boxers. Akaashi eyes him greedily. He watches his meaty thighs tense as he dresses. The firm, round shape of his asscheeks are presented so nicely to him as Bokuto bends over and pulls the boxers on. He’s so muscular and oh holy gods is he thick. His ass is so plump and full that the spots on Bokuto’s boxers become warped with it. He feels himself gaping and can’t stop.
Bokuto takes the shirt, but before he can put it on, he shoots Akaashi a look. “You’re staring again.”
“You’re hot ,” Akaashi says, really emphasizing it. It can’t be overstated. Everything about Bokuto Koutarou is attractive to an ungodly degree.
Bokuto puts his hands on his hips and tuts.
“Why can’t you be this nice to me when you’re not loopy?” he demands. “I woulda done something about it if I’d known!”
“ What? ” Akaashi bolts upright and striking pain shoots up his arm as he accidentally puts weight on it. He cries out and Bokuto rushes over to him.
“Hey, hey, easy, easy.” Bokuto rubs his good arm up and down. “Why don’t you lay back, Keiji? Let’s get you a pillow and prop you up, okay?”
Akaashi lets Bokuto guide him into a reclined position. Bokuto tucks a pillow under his head and another under his bad arm. It takes a moment for the shooting pain to subside, but when it does he’s met with the sight of a shirtless Bokuto Koutarou hovering over him. Not bad. Not bad at all. Akaashi grins at him weakly.
“Hello,” he says.
He sees the tension drain from Bokuto’s shoulders, watches his expression soften into a smile.
“Hi,” Bokuto says with a half-grin. “You alright?”
“I am now,” Akaashi says honestly. His eyes rake up and down Bokuto’s naked torso. Nice. Really nice. He’s all foggy thoughts, and undiluted joy, and suddenly he’s giggling.
“What’s so funny?” Bokuto asks. His grin is so beautiful. His hair has lost some of its spikiness from the steam of Akaashi’s bath and loose strands are falling into his face.
“I’m dreaming again,” Akaashi laughs. He brushes some of the stray hairs off Bokuto’s forehead. “I’m dreaming, I can tell.”
“You’re dreaming?” Bokuto repeats. “How can you tell?”
“You,” Akaashi says. His finger trails down Bokuto’s temple, over the slope of his cheekbone, down the line of his throat. He prods Bokuto’s plush pecs, one right after the other. “Boop, boop.”
Bokuto laughs and shimmies his shoulders as he retreats. “Keiji!”
“Come back,” Akaashi demands. “My dream, my rules.”
“You’re not dreaming, Keiji,” Bokuto says, though he does loom in closer once again. “It’s all real.”
“No,” Akaashi says. He grabs Bokuto’s plush pec in his hand and squeezes. It’s so firm, so powerful. “Beep, beep.”
“Keiji!” Bokuto cries. “Did you call me over just to grope me?!”
“My rules, my titties,” Akaashi whispers and Bokuto laughs again.
“You’re going to be really embarrassed in the morning when this is all real,” Bokuto warns him, though he doesn’t move away.
Akaashi shakes his head. His hand moves down and he fingers the ridges of Bokuto’s abs. “You’re saying all these nice things to me and treating me like a baby. It has to be a dream.”
“I’m nice to you in real life!” Bokuto protests. “I’m the nicest to you! I’m the nicest ever!”
“Hmmm,” Akaashi considers this. He prods Bokuto’s belly button and his abs flex. Damn, he really does look good. “No. Definitely still dreaming.”
“Keiji!” Bokuto cries. “How can I prove to you it’s not a dream?”
Akaashi’s brain is not equipped to handle such a question. He pouts and frowns and huffs. He purses his lips into a flat, thinking line.
“You… you’re… What were we talking about?” Akaashi asks. He’s caught sight of the V-shape Bokuto’s hip bones make and all thoughts are banished from his mind.
Bokuto shakes his head. He stands and Akaashi sits up with him, once again forgetting his wrist is broken and putting weight on it before hissing at the sharp pain. Bokuto gasps.
“Keiji!” Bokuto cries. “Stop sitting up!”
“Stop leaving me!” Akaashi cries back. “Don’t leave me! Not again!”
Silence. Heavy, pulsing quiet. Silence so weighty Akaashi can hardly breathe. It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Bokuto is staring at him and suddenly Akaashi’s trembling. No wait, he’s just shuddering as he sobs. Sobs? Since when is he sobbing? His body is shaking, his breathing is uneven. Bokuto’s weight pulls down the mattress as he climbs over to him. His strong arms wrap around Akaashi and pull him into grounded, structured peace.
“I’m sorry,” Bokuto whispers. “I’m so, so sorry, Keiji.”
Akaashi throws his good arm around him and buries his face into Bokuto’s warm skin. He’s so solid and real and reassuring. Akaashi feels hot tears trail down his face and he sniffles.
“I shouldn’t have gone,” Bokuto says, softly. “I regret it every day.”
“No, you don’t,” Akaashi accuses.
“I do!” Bokuto says. He plants his hand on each of Akaashi’s shoulders and looks at him fiercely. “Every time you call I regret it. Every time you leave after a visit I regret it. Every time I think of you, and you’re not there, I regret it.”
Akaashi sniffs. He shakes his head. “Don’t. You had to. You had to go.”
“I know,” Bokuto says, painfully soft. “But if I thought for a second you didn’t want me to, I wouldn’t have. I would have stayed.”
“No,” Akaashi says, almost too quiet to hear. “No, you can’t. You had to. You had to go. You had to shine and be a star. It was meant for you.”
“I coulda done it in Tokyo,” Bokuto says, voice heavy with regret. “Or somewhere—anywhere else closer.”
“Osaka isn’t that far,” Akaashi counters weakly. He barely knows what he’s saying. He only wants Bokuto to stop frowning, only wants Bokuto to stop looking so defeated. He rubs Bokuto’s arm up and down. “I see you a lot. I miss you a lot. But I see you a lot too. Don’t be sad.”
Bokuto sniffles. Akaashi sees him wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.
“We— we shouldn’t be talking about this when you’re drugged up,” Bokuto says, hoarsely. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“I wanna talk now,” Akaashi insists. “I don’t want you to be sad. Let me help you.”
Bokuto gives a watery laugh. “You— you think you’re dreaming, Keiji! That’s gotta be like— like taking advantage or something!”
“Advantage?” Akaashi can’t begin to think what Bokuto means by that. “What advantage?”
Bokuto shakes his head. He cups Akaashi’s cheek in his hand lightly, strokes his face with a thumb. “Like… like maybe you’d say things you wouldn’t say if you weren’t… medicated. Things you don’t really mean.”
“What do you think I don’t mean?” Akaashi asks, offended. He feels the druggy haze trying to lull him back under, but he seizes onto this moment. He squints, trying to force himself to refocus. He groans when the fog doesn’t clear. “Koutarou.”
“Shhhh, it’s okay,” Bokuto says. Akaashi feels a hand in his hair, familiar fingers massaging his scalp. “You should sleep.”
“Don’t wanna sleep,” Akaashi pouts. He shakes his head, “Not sleepy.”
Bokuto is smiling sadly. “You look sleepy.”
“No,” Akaashi moans. “No, I’m not. Koutarou.”
He drops his head onto Bokuto’s bicep. Maybe closing his eyes will help. Less visual input to distract him. Akaashi concentrates with all of his might.
“I wanna talk,” Akaashi says, deliberate and slow. “What do you think I wouldn’t mean?”
Bokuto hesitates for a long, drawn out moment.
“Keiji,” he says. His voice sounds strained. “You might not remember this in the morning, and that’s okay. I’ll tell you again. I’ll tell you as many times as you need me to say it. But today when I got that phone call— when I heard what had happened to you— it felt like my life was over. I felt like I was dying. I felt like the whole world was ending.”
Akaashi’s chest tightens. His breathing quickens. He clutches Bokuto’s bicep tightly and squeezes.
“I couldn’t breathe,” Bokuto whispers. “I couldn’t think. I couldn’t do anything. I really thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m right here,” Akaashi says. “I’m fine. I’m drugged.”
Bokuto laughs weakly. “Yes. But for that little bit— It was suddenly very clear to me that I couldn’t bear to live a life without you. I don’t want a life without you in it. I need you. If I ever lost you— If anything ever happened to you—“
“Shhhhh, shh,” Akaashi says. He nuzzles further into him, pressing his cheek to his bare chest. “Not losing me. Not going anywhere.”
“I… I think I’ve really taken you for granted, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says, choking a little on the words. “I just assumed you’d always be there and thinking— thinking of being without you. You’re the most important person in my whole life and I— I love— I love you.”
Akaashi goes entirely still. He doesn’t dare move. He doesn’t even breathe.
“Sorry,” Bokuto says, so softly, so painfully. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be doing it like this. I should have waited. I should have waited—”
“I love you,” Akaashi says, easily, because this is a dream after all. Of course it is. Only in his dreams is Bokuto so sweet, so shirtless, and so openly wanting him. Akaashi feels somewhat resigned to it. He lets the haze fall over him fully. He relaxes into Bokuto’s shoulder. “I love you. I love you, Koutarou.”
Bokuto’s breath hitches. Akaashi feels his body roll with it.
“I hope you mean that, Keiji,” he says in a small voice.
Akaashi sits up and frowns. Bokuto is being awfully difficult for a dream. Shouldn’t he be bursting with joy, falling into his arms, and making passionate love to him by now? No matter. His beautiful face is before him, his warm arms are wrapped around Akaashi, and he’s pouting. Akaashi cups that lovely pout in his good hand and smiles.
“You’re so silly,” he slurs. “Of course I love you. Who else? Who else is as good as Koutarou? Who else is as wonderful, and perfect, and adorable as Koutarou? I love you so much it makes me sick.”
Bokuto bursts into sudden, body-rolling laughter.
“Akaashi! You make it sound like a bad thing!” he chides. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll confess better in the morning and I won’t cry I promise.”
“You can cry,” Akaashi allows. “You’re cute when you cry.”
“What? That’s horrible! I don’t wanna be cute when I cry!” Bokuto wails. “I wanna be cute when I’m happy!”
“You’re cute when you’re happy, too,” Akaashi admits. “You’re so cute.”
“How cute?” Bokuto asks, leaving a tease of a kiss on Akaashi’s cheek. Akaashi leans into it greedily.
“Cute times a million,” Akaashi says. Maybe if he gives a good enough answer Bokuto will kiss him again, kiss him better. He turns his head and their lips ghost past one another. “Cute times a million, cute times a billion-zillion.”
“Billion-zillion, huh?” Bokuto asks, and he’s so close. So close to kissing him Akaashi can barely stand it. “Well, you’re cute off the scale. You’re cute times infinity.”
Akaashi giggles. “For real?”
“Yes for real,” Bokuto protests softly and the words become a kiss as his lips graze past Akaashi’s. Akaashi catches it, captures Bokuto’s mouth with his own and it’s brief and chaste and sweet. Bokuto’s head turns and kisses him again, deeper and oh it’s so good. Akaashi barely has a second to marvel in it before it’s over.
“Sorry,” Bokuto whispers. “You’re— you’re just so—“
Akaashi giggles and pulls him in for another kiss. Bokuto kisses him chastely, but Akaashi doesn’t. He opens for him and drags his tongue over the seal of Bokuto’s lips, asking for entrance. Bokuto kisses him twice, mouth closed, and whines low in his throat.
“Keiji, are you sure you— are you sure you mean this?” Bokuto asks in a whisper. “If— if this is only because you think you’re dreaming— or think I’m someone else—“
“Someone else?” Akaashi repeats incredulously. “Who else would I love? Who else could compare to Bokuto Koutarou?”
Akaashi feels Bokuto’s body shudder as he breathes in shakily. Bokuto’s broad hands skim over Akaashi’s back, hesitant, but feeling him. Akaashi wants him closer; he wants to feel him with his whole body. He wants to climb into his lap, and would if he weren’t so incapacitated. He wants Bokuto all over him, even if it hurts.
“Kiss me,” Akaashi orders. “Please.”
Bokuto kisses him once, briefly and chastely. Akaashi whines.
“Not like that,” he says. “Like you want me.”
“I do want you,” Bokuto says in a low voice. “I want you more than anything.”
“Then kiss me,” Akaashi demands. “Kiss me like you do.”
Bokuto’s hands find his waist and squeezes. Then his mouth is on Akaashi’s, wet and open and finally . Akaashi thrills. It’s so good. It’s so fucking good, it’s beyond good it’s glorious . They kiss like they were made for one another. Bokuto’s tongue licks the seam of his mouth and Akaashi opens for him happily, coils of pleasure curling in his belly. His cock stirs to life and it’s a sweet sort of ache. Akaashi’s nails dig into Bokuto’s back as he pulls him closer and it’s a long moment before Bokuto surfaces, gasping.
“Sorry,” Bokuto says. “I’m— I’m so sorry—“
Akaashi shushes him with another kiss, but Bokuto breaks away again, shaking his head. Akaashi groans in frustration.
“Why not?” Akaashi asks. “I wanna— I want—“
“You need to take your sleep meds, my love,” Bokuto says. He climbs off the bed and leaves Akaashi cold and wanting. Akaashi slumps with an irritated noise and pouts at the ceiling.
“I’m not sleeping until you kiss me more,” Akaashi threatens. “I won’t.”
“That’s okay, baby,” Bokuto says as he leaves the room to grab Akaashi’s meds. “I guess that means I won’t get to snuggle you to sleep then. That would be a shame.”
Damn him! He’s really making this impossible. Bokuto is the worst for this. Akaashi is never forgiving him, not ever. He huffs. He puffs. He takes the fucking sleep meds, glowering at Bokuto all the while. Bokuto only giggles and boops his nose.
“You’re cute when you’re grumpy, y’know,” Bokuto says. His finger traces down Akaashi’s lip and Akaashi catches it in his teeth, biting down just hard enough to nip. “Hey!”
Akaashi kisses his finger in apology and says, “Kiss?”
“Hmmm.” Bokuto trails his finger down Akaashi’s chin, down the center of his throat, and over his collarbone. “Alright, one kiss.”
“Fifty,” Akaashi argues. “Fifty kisses.”
Bokuto laughs. “Akaashi! I’m not gonna count that high!”
“I know ,” Akaashi says with an evil little grin. “Me neither.”
Bokuto laughs again. He grabs a pillow and screams into it. “Fuck, it’s like you’re trying to kill me!”
Akaashi shakes his head. “I’m trying to kiss you. That’s way different.”
One golden eye peeks up at him, wayward strands of his silvery hair falling into his face. He sighs and looks away.
“Let’s… let’s watch a movie,” he says, slowly and deliberately. He tosses the pillow aside. “And if you’re good I’ll give you as many kisses as you want.”
Akaashi would jump for joy if he had the strength to. He nods eagerly. He can be good. He’ll be so good for Bokuto. The best even. Bokuto will have no room for complaints. Bokuto sets up Akaashi’s laptop on a stool at the foot of Akaashi’s bed and Akaashi snuggles into his pillows and waits. His eyes feel droopy, but he keeps them open as wide as he can. He’s not missing a moment.
“What’s your password, baby?” Bokuto asks when the laptop powers on.
Akaashi purses his lips. “Um.”
Bokuto cocks a brow at him. “Keiji, be a good boy.”
Fuck, that goes straight to Akaashi’s cock. He can’t be this horny right now, he can’t. Would Bokuto do something about it if he knew how hard he was? No, he’s barely agreeing to kiss him. Fuck!
“... it’s KoutarouBokuto0412,” Akaashi says, barely loud enough to hear. “Capital K and B.”
Bokuto stares at him for several solid seconds. He turns back to the laptop and there’s the clattering of keys. The laptop unlocks. Bokuto hangs his head for a moment. A sigh filters through his nose. Then he rounds on Akaashi, crawls over the bed, and climbs on top of him, and promptly smothers every inch of Akaashi’s face with kisses. Akaashi shrieks with laughter. Bokuto smushes his cheeks with his mouth, peppers the line of his jaw, pushing his glasses up with his nose and kissing over his eyelids. Akaashi’s breathless and giggly and when the kisses reach his lips, Akaashi makes the best of it. His tongue swipes into the sweet heat of Bokuto’s mouth and he feels Bokuto’s shudder with his whole body. Perfect. It’s perfect.
When Bokuto breaks away this time, they’re both gasping. Akaashi’s good hand is in his hair, and Bokuto’s pupils are completely blown out. He’s gorgeous, but then isn’t he always? Akaashi grins.
“I can’t believe you,” Bokuto chastises him with no heat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Scared,” Akaashi admits softly. “Didn’t want… didn’t wanna lose you.”
Oh god. His yawn is inescapable. He tries to turn his face and hide it but it’s too late. Bokuto kisses his cheek.
“You’re never losing me,” Bokuto says. “Never.”
He turns something on, Akaashi hardly knows what. A slice of life anime, he thinks, but he doesn’t pay any attention to it. He’s too busy being cradled in Bokuto’s arms and staring up at him as long as his sleepy eyes will let him. It’s a slow process. Each blink becomes more prolonged, but Akaashi fights to reopen each time. Bokuto watches him, amused.
“It’s okay,” Bokuto says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“You promise?” Akaashi whispers.
There’s soft, warm lips on his forehead. “I promise.”
Akaashi wakes without opening his eyes. He’s sore just about everywhere, his head is pounding, and he’s completely disoriented. Processing it all is like taking a hammer to the head, and he groans. Oh god. What had happened? Did he drink liquor from hell? Is he dead?
His eyes open and the memories come back to him in small fragments. Tenma’s midnight crusade to finish his pages, the sleepy morning, being run over, the ride in the ambulance. Oh fuck, is that’s why everything hurts? Goddamn it. The pain punches the air from his lungs. His heartbeat feels like it comes from his right wrist, each beat a piercing throb of agony.
He instantly wishes he could go back to sleep, but the pain is too insistent. Meds. Right, he has meds for this. It’s a good thing he isn’t expected to go to work today. He vaguely remembers the nurse warning him that the pain would be worse the second day, and true to her word, even his ankle feels worse. He can’t remember if the meds need to be taken with food.
Shit. And he’d had such sweet dreams, too. No doubt they were made incredibly vivid by the concoction of drugs in his system. Akaashi remembers a clown parade, a night sky full of man-sized lightning bugs in every color, a tsunami flooding the festival he had inexplicably been attending, and everyone had to clamor into boats while playing tambourines and whistles to ward off the sea beasts. Akaashi shakes his head. He’d even dreamed of Bokuto. Which on its own isn’t uncommon, but the warm, buzzing love in his chest is washed cold realizing all those sweet things he’d said and kisses they’d shared were nothing but the imaginings of his addled brain. Dammit. He feels icy and empty and sour and he curls into his pillow, fighting not to weep. Why must his brain torment him so? He groans. He privately mourns the loss of what never really was. The happiness bleeds from him all too quickly.
And then he hears clattering in the kitchen. He snaps into attention. His heart races. An intruder? Who— it couldn’t be— Akaashi throws his covers off and struggles to his feet, limping down the hallway as fast as his injured foot can carry him. He grabs the frame of the kitchen door and swings himself around—
Bokuto is in his kitchen. He’s in his boxers with a skillet in his hand and he’s humming softly to himself. He bounces his weight from foot to foot as he cooks. The morning light floods the kitchen and illuminates him like it’s a spotlight. Real-life Bokuto is actually physically present in Akaashi’s kitchen. Akaashi stares at him, slack-jawed. He can see toast lathered with avocado and sriracha on the counter beside Bokuto.
He’s here. He’s really here. Akaashi suddenly remembers Bokuto in his hospital room, carrying him to the car—Akaashi flushes red and hot. No. He was medicated. He had to be making at least some of it up. There’s no way Bokuto had carried him bridal-style out of the hospital, hand-fed him in the bath, and then promptly confessed his love to him. Akaashi remembers making out, but it’s so fuzzy, so much like a dream he can’t be sure, can’t be certain. He screws up his face in concentration, desperate to think, think .
Bokuto turns. His golden eyes are clear and bright and-- happy. He’s happy. He breaks out into a brilliant smile when he sees him.
“Morning, gorgeous!” Bokuto says. “How did you sleep?”
He turns off the heat, moves the skillet to the side, and saunters over to him. He wraps an arm around Akaashi’s waist and kisses him lightly.
“I made toast,” he says with a teasing lilt and a waggle to his eyebrows.
Akaashi leans into him, eyes wide and lips parted, arm wrapped around his shoulders. He’s glad to take the weight off his foot, but— but surely—
Maybe he’s still dreaming, because Bokuto kisses him again, morning breath and all, and even hums into it like he’s pleased.
“How’s your arm? Did you take your meds?” Bokuto asks. He guides Akaashi to the kitchen table and sets him down in the chair. Akaashi stares up at him in awe.
“No,” Akaashi says, once he registers what Bokuto said. “Not yet.”
Bokuto hums again and nods seriously. “Maybe it’s best if you eat first. Milk or OJ?”
Coffee is the right answer, but he supposes today he doesn’t need it. Akaashi frowns.
“I don’t have OJ,” he says.
Bokuto grins at him. “You do now! I picked some up at the store. I had to buy fresh clothes anyway. And a toothbrush. I didn’t exactly pack anything.”
He scratches the back of his head sheepishly before turning to the fridge and pouring Akaashi a tall glass of orange juice.
“I’m having Hinata bring up some of my clothes tomorrow,” he goes on. “I guess after the game today the Jackals are taking the next couple weeks off before the off-season. Something about Meian’s wife going into labor early, and well, my family emergency.”
“Family emergency?” Akaashi repeats, blinking in confusion. “Are Kohoko and Kasumi alright?”
Bokuto gives him a strange look. He slides the eggs on top of the toast before bringing both the plate and orange juice over, and placing them in front of Akaashi. He drops a kiss onto Akaashi’s forehead as he does.
“You’re the family emergency, silly,” he chides softly into his curls. “Kohoko and Kasumi are fine.”
Akaashi blinks. Bokuto settles down on the chair next to him and cuts the toast diagonally before slicing off a smaller piece. He offers it to Akaashi with a cheeky grin.
“Say ‘ah’!” Bokuto says.
Akaashi’s mouth drops open and Bokuto feeds him with a dreamy smile on his face, leaning on the kitchen table and propping his head up with a fist.
“Good toast?” Bokuto asks hopefully.
It is good. Some small part of Akaashi’s brain registers that. The larger part feels like a wasps’ nest of buzzing, stinging, frantic thoughts. He’s the family emergency? Akaashi? He chews and swallows, washing it down with a mouthful of orange juice.
“Do they know it’s me?” Akaashi asks, disbelieving.
Bokuto purses his lips into a grim line. He looks down, silver eyelashes going white in the light streaming through the kitchen window.
“I…. I was at practice when I got the call,” he admits, voice low. He busies himself cutting up another slice. “It wasn’t pretty.”
Akaashi grabs his bicep and squeezes. Bokuto gives him a small smile.
“But you’re alright!” Bokuto says, only sounding a bit strained. “A little beat up, but alive! Kuroo, that asshole , made it sound way, way worse! He said you got run over by a car! Tsum-Tsum forced me to shower and change, but I almost didn’t. I guess I would have been waiting for the plane to take off anyway.” Bokuto shakes his head and covers Akaashi’s hand with his own. “I’ve never been more scared in my life, Keiji.”
“I’m sorry,” Akaashi whispers. “I never wanna make you feel that way.”
“It’s not your fault!” Bokuto cries. “It’s that bikers fault! If I ever find him I’ll— I’ll!”
Akaashi scoffs gently, leaning in toward him. “You’ll what?”
“Something bad,” Bokuto says, so cute despite the dark look on his face. He grips the knife and fork and slices off another piece of toast for him. Akaashi eats the offered piece with a closed-mouth giggle. “I’ll break his wrist.”
“Really?” Akaashi asks through his food. Bokuto’s face crumples.
“Maybe I’d just yell at him a bit,” he mutters and Akaashi laughs as brightly as the morning light.
“You’re too cute,” Akaashi tells him honestly.
Bokuto swoops in suddenly and gives him a sweet, sure kiss. Akaashi’s breath shudders out of him, he wraps his arm around his shoulders and leans into it. Bokuto only pulls back when Akaashi’s cast hits the table and he cries out in pain.
“Shit! Lemme get your meds,” Bokuto says, leaping to his feet, his chair scraping against the kitchen floor. “Stay right there.”
Akaashi watches him go. His broad back flexing under his shirt, his bare feet padding against the tile, how he moves with such ease and grace. It occurs to Akaashi that he doesn't even know where his meds are. Bokuto had taken care of it. Bokuto had given him his meds the night before, and put them away, and Akaashi had just let him. Admittedly, it was a hard day yesterday. Bokuto returns with the two little pill bottles and an anxious look on his face.
“Here, love, I’m so sorry,” Bokuto says. He bites his lower lip and pours four pills into Akaashi’s palm, two from each bottle. Akaashi shakes his head.
“It’s worth it,” Akaashi says, popping the pills into his mouth. “I’d break all my bones to kiss you.”
He takes a long drag of his orange juice and Bokuto’s laughter is shocked out of him.
“Akaashi!” Bokuto cries. “No! No more bone breaking!”
Akaashi hums and tugs on the bottom of his shirt. “Kiss me then.”
Bokuto complies, although softly and sweetly, and with his body leaned very far away from him. Akaashi sighs through his nose. It’s going to be a very long six-to-eight weeks.
“You had to wait until my arm was broken to kiss me,” Akaashi complains ruefully.
Bokuto rests his forehead against Akaashi’s before nuzzling their noses together.
“That’s your own fault,” Bokuto lectures. “You didn’t tell me. KoutarouBokuto0412 .”
Akaashi heats with his blush. “Shit.”
“Don’t you dare be embarrassed,” Bokuto tells him. “It was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”
“It’s still embarrassing,” Akaashi says. Bokuto smushes his cheeks with his hands.
“I loved it,” Bokuto says. “I love you.”
Tears well up in Akaashi’s eyes. His laugh is half a sob.
“I… I thought it was a dream!” he cries, his voice raspy and strained. “I can’t— I can’t believe it.”
Bokuto kisses him again. His fingers thread through Akaashi’s hair as he turns his head to kiss him even deeper.
“Not a dream,” Bokuto says, barely pulling back far enough to speak. “It’s real. It’s all real. I love you so much.”
Akaashi kisses him then, open and eager to show him finally how he’s felt about him all these years. Eager to kiss him like Koutarou was always meant to be kissed, lovingly and cherishingly, like he’s the most precious person to ever grace the planet. Akaashi can taste the salt of his own tears as he kisses him again and again. The rhythm of their mouths is sweet, smacking music. Bokuto licks into his mouth and Akaashi’s whole body rolls with prickling, piercing pleasure. No kiss has ever felt like this before. No kiss has ever made him so hard so quickly.
“Fuck,” Akaashi says. “Koutarou, darling.”
“Darling?” Bokuto asks, wonderingly. “I’m darling?”
“You’re darling,” Akaashi confirms before kissing him again as fervently as he can. Bokuto looms into his space, hands roaming over his back and thick fingers feeling so, so right, as they drag across him. Bokuto kisses him like he’s a man starved of affection and the thought strikes Akaashi painfully. “You always have been. You’ve always been my darling.”
Bokuto’s hum buzzes through their kiss pleasantly.
“Good,” he says. “I’ll be ‘darling’ and you’ll be ‘baby’ and we’ll be each other’s from now on.”
“Really?” Akaashi asks, breathless and barely believing it. “You’re mine?”
“I think I always have been,” he admits in a soft voice. “I should’ve realized it sooner. I should have known…. I’ve just been so focused on volleyball and my career I didn’t… I didn’t even consider.” Bokuto shakes his head. “It shouldn’t have taken you breaking your arm for me to realize I’m in love with you.”
Akaashi grins. “I don’t care what it took. I should have broken my arm years ago.”
Bokuto’s laugh is disbelieving. He takes Akaashi’s face in his hands.
“Stop being so willing to injure yourself!” he cries, even though he’s smiling. “You’re talking about hurting the man I love!”
Oh, how Akaashi loves hearing him say it. How he loves feeling it being pressed into his flesh where Bokuto holds him. How he loves having it kissed into his mouth, and moaned past his lips.
“I love you,” Bokuto says it again and again, close enough that the words themselves are tender, brushing kisses. “I love you. You’re my love. I love you.”
Akaashi never really believed he’d hear it said so plainly. The joy is so potent it might be lethal. His heart is shattering sweetly in his chest as it grows three sizes and bursts through his ribcage. He barely manages to say it back. His mouth has better uses, and if Bokuto’s moans are anything to go by, they’re much, much better uses indeed. Bokuto’s tongue is wet and warm and slick and sweet. Akaashi thinks he could spend his whole life tasting it over and over again. Bokuto kisses him several times, and then once softly as he breaks away.
“Your breakfast is getting cold,” Bokuto warns.
“I don’t care,” Akaashi says before kissing him again. He needs to be closer. He wants Bokuto all over him and he wants to be all over Bokuto in return. He’d climb into his lap right now if he thought he could manage it. Bokuto hums into it knowingly.
“You can’t heal if you don’t keep your strength up,” Bokuto says. He turns away from Akaashi and stabs another piece of toast with his fork. “Come on. I made it just for you!”
Akaashi sighs, but takes the offered bite and chews contemptuously. As soon as he swallows, he grabs Bokuto by the nape of his neck and kisses him deeply once again. Bokuto laughs into it.
“Keiji!” he cries.
“Let’s finish breakfast later,” Akaashi says. He can feel the medication kicking in and he yawns. The hazy, buzzy feeling is becoming a familiar routine now. “I wanna kiss you now.”
Bokuto allows himself to be kissed for a few minutes longer before pressing the food upon Akaashi again. It becomes something of an exchange: for every bite, Akaashi gets a few minutes of kissing. The sessions become longer and more heated each time. Akaashi relishes how Bokuto’s lips are shiny with spit and shaking with his gasp as he breaks away, but he still forces himself to. He hand-feeds Akaashi each bite in between and somehow Bokuto manages to get Akaashi to eat the whole thing. Akaashi will be impressed with his diligence later. Currently, he needs to be sitting in his lap, the less clothing the better. Akaashi’s good hand fists in the front of Bokuto’s shirt as their kisses grow rougher and more urgent.
“You know,” Bokuto says, breathing heavily. “The doctor did specifically say not to do this.”
“He said no ‘unnecessary excursions,” Akaashi corrects. “This, however, is extremely necessary.”
Akaashi swallows Bokuto’s laughter with open, wanting kisses and quickly Bokuto’s giggling becomes a low groan deep in his throat. When he breaks away, the irises of his eyes are a thin rim of gold.
“Do you— Should we—” His red, red mouth is stammering. Akaashi wants to catch that swollen bottom lip between his teeth. He almost does before registering what Bokuto has said.
“Yes,” Akaashi says, tugging on his shirt. “Yes, yes, please, yes.”
Bokuto giggles again before kissing him. “So eager.”
Akaashi will have to be annoyed with that comment later. He slides his arm around Bokuto’s shoulders and Bokuto sweeps him into his arms, jostling the table a little and knocking over Akaashi’s chair as he does so. This is becoming a usual routine now too, Akaashi realizes. He wonders how long Bokuto will carry him around if Akaashi keeps demanding it. He is ‘baby’, after all. Shouldn’t that mean he gets whatever he wants? Akaashi lavishes Bokuto’s throat with open-mouthed kisses as Bokuto brings him back to his bedroom.
Bokuto lays him down gently before climbing on top of him, bracketing Akaashi’s hips with his thighs, and kissing him diligently all the while. He makes sure to lean his weight on Akaashi’s left side. It does have the unfortunate effect of trapping Akaashi’s only usable hand under Bokuto’s body and Akaashi groans in frustration.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Bokuto murmurs into Akaashi’s cheek before kissing it.
“I finally get to feel you up and I only have one hand,” Akaashi complains.
Bokuto’s laughter rocks his whole body and the bed too. He kisses Akaashi with deep adoration.
“You’ll heal,” Bokuto assures him. “And I’ll still be here for you to feel up.”
Akaashi sighs, aggrieved, and Bokuto trails kisses down his jaw, down the line of his throat.
“For now,” Bokuto says, between kisses. “Lemme just take care of you, okay?”
His breath hushes over the wet trail his kisses have left behind and Akaashi shivers at the rush of cold. He nods hurriedly.
“Take… take care of me how?” Akaashi asks.
“Hmmm,” Bokuto says. His tongue strokes the ridge of Akaashi’s collarbone. Akaashi hadn’t even known he was sensitive there, but he leans into it. “I have a few ideas.”
Bokuto tugs on the hem of Akaashi’s shirt. “Can I take this off?”
At Akaashi’s nod, Bokuto’s hands slide up his shirt, gathering up the fabric before pulling it over Akaashi’s head. His expression goes dark when he sees the blooming bruises across Akaashi’s chest. They’ve gotten worse overnight. The plum purple is deepest on the ribs along his right side, where he’d hit the pavement. Bokuto traces the rough pads of his fingers over them, and goosebumps rise to meet him. Akaashi fights not to wince; his injuries are still fresh and tender.
“Oh Keiji,” Bokuto murmurs and he sounds so sorrowful, so anguished. He looks at Akaashi’s injuries with a miserable expression. “Keiji, they really did a number on you.”
Bokuto scoots down, leaving feather-light kisses all over the mottled bruises over Akaashi’s ribs. Even with the pain meds Akaashi feels little shocks of pain trembling up his flesh. He’s so sensitive, so attentively aware of Bokuto and his touch. Bokuto leaves a kiss right below his nipple. Akaashi shivers. Bokuto drags the flat of his tongue over Akaashi’s nipple and Akaashi moans loud and guttural, arching his back up into it.
“Fuck,” Akaashi gasps.
“You’re sensitive,” Bokuto comments. His fingers skate over Akaashi’s battered chest. “Do you like this?”
“Yes,” Akaashi says, breathlessly. He’s very keenly aware of where Bokuto is sitting on his dick. Their groins are aligned, and when Bokuto sucks his nipple into his mouth, Akaashi’s body rolls and their groins rock together. He can feel Bokuto’s moan rumble through his flesh.
“You’re so hot.” Bokuto takes Akaashi’s nipple into his mouth again and sucks hard. Akaashi whimpers, clutching his shoulder with his one good hand and fighting not to squirm. Bokuto’s mouth is so hot and wet and it feels like every nerve ending in Akaashi’s body clusters to be right under it. Bokuto grazes the nub with his teeth, biting gently, before encasing it, scraping over the bud again and again. He drags his lips to the other and gives it the same attention. Akaashi hisses when Bokuto’s nibbles the tender peak. Akaashi’s so hard it’s actually painful.
“Kou, I want you,” Akaashi breathes. “Please.”
Bokuto hums. The tip of his nose trails over Akaashi’s swollen nipple, then down Akaashi’s bruised torso. The stream of his breath shushes over Akaashi’s skin. Akaashi feels his lips ghost over him as he drags down, down.
“Alright,” Bokuto whispers. He kisses down his belly. His fingers find the elastic of his boxers and Bokuto tugs both them and Akaashi’s sweatpants down at once. Akaashi gasps at the boldness of it.
“Koutarou!” Bokuto has slid so far down that Akaashi’s good hand is now free and he threads his fingers through the silvery strands of his hair. “Oh. Kou .”
Bokuto takes Akaashi’s cock in his dry hand and Akaashi is so sensitive that he whines and bucks into it immediately. His sore body protested at the movement, but he hardly finds it in him to care. Bokuto’s head lowers and Akaashi tenses with sweet anticipation. And then the wet heat of Bokuto’s mouth envelopes the head of his cock. Akaashi’s groan is torn out of his body. It’s a good thing he’s too sore to move again otherwise he’d be bucking into Bokuto’s mouth like an animal. The suction of Bokuto’s mouth is so, so fucking fantastic that Akaashi is dizzy with it immediately. He can’t believe he’s gone so long without this.
He grasps Bokuto’s hair to anchor him as Bokuto draws him further in, clutching the base of his cock where his mouth can’t reach. Bokuto’s tongue swirls around the head over and over again. He uses the tip of his tongue to prod the slit and fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck . Bokuto’s head bobs and Akaashi whimpers. His mouth is so scorchingly hot that the rest of Akaashi’s body feels cold. Bokuto cups his balls in one hand and pumps the base of Akaashi’s cock with the other. Bokuto hollows his cheeks and the suction is just so fucking good. Bokuto squeezes his balls gently and Akaashi’s toes curl.
“Fuck, Koutarou, oh my god,” Akaashi is breathless and whimpering. His mind is all muddled cloudiness, filled with the haze of meds and sex, and he can barely control what he’s saying. He’s so relaxed, almost drowsy with pleasure. “Koutarou, I love you. You’re so good. You’re so, so good. I love you so much.”
Bokuto hums around his cock and the buzzing sensation makes Akaashi’s back arch off the mattress. His cock bumps the back of Bokuto’s throat and Bokuto chokes, but doesn’t release him.
“Shit! Sorry, I’m so sorry,” Akaashi whispers. “Are you okay?”
Bokuto looks up at him. Akaashi will never forget how Bokuto looks right now: his reddened lips stretched around his cock, his golden eyes sparkling with tears, a shiny line of drool dribbling down his chin, his powerful hands clamped on both of Akaashi’s thighs and prying them apart. Bokuto retreats with a wet pop. He opens his mouth wide and drags the flat of his tongue over every square inch of Akaashi’s cock. He lathers Akaashi’s shaft with long, lavish strokes. It’s like he’s desperate for it, like Akaashi’s cock is the best thing he’s ever had and he can’t get enough. Akaashi pants heavily, his chest heaving. Bokuto coats the entirety of Akaashi’s cock before swallowing the head again and sinking down, down. Akaashi feels saliva drip down the shaft as Bokuto’s mouth works around him, bobbing his head sloppily, generously swirling his tongue. Akaashi feels his nose hit his pubic hair and Akaashi tugs on him. Fuck! He’s not going to last. He’s going to cum. One of Bokuto’s hands slithers up Akaashi’s body, finds his nipple, and pinches it. Akaashi gasps; his body tightens, anticipating the release.
“Don’t— ah,” Akaashi says in a strained voice. “Oh, fuck I’m gonna—“
Bokuto pulls off just in time not to get a mouthful of cum, but it splatters all over his chin, and cheeks, and throat. Akaashi’s whole body convulses with the intensity of his release and wow, holy shit. Maybe he needed that more than he thought. The pleasure shivers through him, deeply satiating and... calming. Like some piece of his soul is finally at peace. He stares down at Bokuto in wide-eyed wonder.
Bokuto drags a finger across his cheek, collecting a dollop of Akaashi’s cum before licking his finger clean, humming at the taste. Akaashi’s dick twitches. Fuck, he’s so hot.
“Come here,” Akaashi orders, hand fisting in his shirt and tugging him up for a kiss. Bokuto puts his arm out and hesitates.
“I— I have penis breath,” Bokuto warns him.
Akaashi tugs again. “Don’t care. Kiss me.”
Bokuto kisses him and Akaashi can taste the salty, bitter taste of himself. Bokuto’s mouth is warm, satiating, and deeply comforting. Already Bokuto’s lips feel like a homecoming. Akaashi sighs with relief. His orgasm has drained all the tension from his body and he feels strangely exhausted now.
“Thank you,” Akaashi murmurs. He moves to sit up, wincing when he accidentally puts weight on his bad arm. Bokuto pushes him down again.
“Easy, easy.” Bokuto rubs his good arm in long, soothing strokes. “Just lay back, my love. I’ll take care of everything.”
“But.” Akaashi frowns at him. “But you. Your turn.”
“Shhh,” Bokuto says, kissing the side of his face. “Don’t overexert yourself, I’m fine.”
“ No ,” Akaashi whines pitifully. His arm snakes around Bokuto’s waist and pulls him toward him. “Your turn.”
“Shhhh,” Bokuto layers kisses all over Akaashi’s lower face. “Don’t worry about me, my love. Just relax. Aren’t you sleepy?”
He is, but he’ll be damned if he lets a small thing like that stop him. He’s been dreaming of Bokuto’s cock for what feels like eons. He wants to see it now: he wants it in his hand, in his mouth, in his ass. His orgasm has only made the hazy fog in his head thicker, darker with oncoming sleep.
“I’m not sleepy,” Akaashi says, shortly. He palms for Bokuto’s cock, still trapped in his boxers. Bokuto hisses at the contact.
“Baby, during breakfast I think I accidentally gave you both your sleepy meds and your pain meds,” Bokuto admits shamefully. “And your body has been through a lot. I know you’re tired.”
Akaashi is too busy groping Bokuto to focus on what he’s saying. Akaashi can’t believe how thick his cock is. He keeps measuring it with his hand and thinking surely that can’t be right, there must be something else stuffed in there. Bokuto can’t be so lovely, and so wonderful, and also have the thickest cock known to man. Akaashi’s fighting the fog of medication but it’s a battle he will triumph over. True love always wins in the end right? He yawns traitorously.
“Baby, seriously,” Bokuto says, though he sounds almost pained. “Why don’t you lay down for a bit and if you still feel up to it, we can do whatever you want?”
Whatever he wants, huh? That does sound appealing. Akaashi has a whole list of things he wants to do now that sex with Bokuto Koutarou is on the table. What to do first? Should they fuck immediately or build up to that? Perhaps Akaashi should return the favor first. Akaashi’s mouth waters thinking of having that girthy weight in his mouth.
“I’m gonna give you the blowjob of your life,” Akaashi proclaims, his words somewhat slurred with his drowsiness. “Lay back, I’m sucking you off.”
“Oh really?” Bokuto sounds amused. “Is that so?”
“Take your pants off,” Akaashi commands. “Sit on my face.”
“Alright in a minute,” Bokuto says. “Let me clean up and I will.”
Akaashi lays back and oh, that does feel nice. He loves his bed. It’s the comfiest bed in the whole world. He snuggles into his pillow. It smells of Bokuto’s hair gel and it’s so wonderful. He rests his eyes. Just for a moment.
Bokuto comes back all cleaned up and in a new shirt. He dresses Akaashi in a fresh pair of boxers as well and he’s very careful going over his bad ankle. Akaashi hisses a little as the cloth goes over his sensitive dick.
“Sorry, did I hurt you?” Bokuto says in a low voice. He rubs Akaashi’s back worriedly.
“No,” Akaashi yawns. He blinks a Bokuto sleepily. “Sit on my face.”
“Okay, in a minute,” Bokuto says. He scooches over Akaashi and curls around him, spooning him from behind. “Let me hold you for a bit.”
His body is warm and comforting, and Akaashi can feel that he hasn’t lost his boner. It’s pressing against Akaashi’s ass. Hm. Well that was good at least. He supposes it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world to take a little break. He lets his eyes flutter shut.
“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he instructs Bokuto sternly. “I’m not sleepy.”
“Okay, my love,” Bokuto whispers. Akaashi feels him kiss the back of his neck. Akaashi grabs Bokuto’s hand, entangles their fingers, and promptly falls asleep.