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Kuroo doesn't know what the physiological explanation behind it is (though he’d like to, really, because it's probably fascinating), but for whatever reason, Daichi is always warm to the touch. Extremely warm, actually. If Kuroo were the kind of person who would read Japanese translations of the Twilight series (he is, and he has), then he may even compare Daichi to one of the werewolf boys, whose body temperatures run supernaturally high.
Daichi isn’t that warm of course, not concerningly so, but it is noticeable. It has been since the first time Daichi took Kuroo’s hand, when the sudden heat of his palm was like a symbol of all the sappy, melty things Karasuno’s captain was doing to Kuroo’s heart.
He’s not Karasuno’s captain anymore, and Kuroo isn’t Nekoma’s, and the warmth of Daichi’s skin isn’t something that ever catches him off guard, not after so many years. Daichi’s been a middle school science teacher and volleyball coach since he graduated college four years ago, and Kuroo is taking business classes at night and running his dad’s old garage.
(One of his greatest pleasures now is stopping by Daichi’s school to have lunch with him, with grease still under his nails and his coveralls on. “You look like a degenerate,” Daichi always says, but he kisses Kuroo anyway, right in the doorway of the staff room. Come to think of it, in this scenario it’s Kuroo who has the role of bad boy werewolf, which he quite likes the sound of.)
So he’s used to it, totally accustomed to the feel of Daichi’s body, but even so, it hasn’t gotten old. He has not ceased to appreciate it, not the warmth, or anything else. The broad bare shoulders that he leans on sleepily while the coffee’s brewing in the morning, or the strong thighs that support him when Daichi’s classroom is empty and Kuroo can’t resist getting on his lap and calling him Sawamura-sensei (and every other filthy thing he can think of to turn his husband’s cheeks bright red).
But especially, on nights like this—wintery ones when Kuroo’s class has run late, and the walk home from the train station is frigid and dark—he has not, in any way, lost his appreciation for the warmth.
Daichi was up early for morning practice, so he’s already fast asleep when Kuroo comes in with his teeth chattering and fingers shaking. He goes straight to their bedroom once his scarf and jacket are off. Doesn’t even consider stopping in the kitchen for a midnight snack, because the only thing on his mind is how fucking cold he is, and how good Daichi is going to feel next to him as soon as he gets into bed.
The room is softly lit by Daichi’s reading light, and the book he must have fallen asleep in the middle of has dropped to the floor. Kuroo picks it up and tosses it on the bedside cabinet. Ordinarily he would take the time to let the book fall open and try to guess what page Daichi left off on, but tonight he feels like he’s just a few degrees away from hypothermia, so he leaves it and scurries over to his side of the bed. (The side closest to the window, because even though Daichi’s skin is hot, he’s more likely to feel cold, sadly disproving lycanthropy as a real possibility. If Twilight is being used as an authority on the matter, anyway, which it probably shouldn’t be. Which means…it’s still on the table.)
He kicks off his jeans and climbs into bed with his sweater and underwear on, shuffling up as close to Daichi as he can without touching him. He wants to press right up against the curve of his back, slide his hand up his t-shirt and hold it to his stomach until his bones stop feeling like they’re made of ice, but then Daichi would wake up. He has early practice again tomorrow, and a tournament to take his team to this weekend, and Kuroo can feel his body heat from here anyway, so he can’t justify being an asshole right now and forcing his frigid skin on his husband.
He wiggles just a tiny bit closer, wrapping his arms around himself and wondering how the sheets can feel this cold when Daichi is right there. His limbs keep jerking with little shivers and he's curling in on himself so tightly that it's hard to keep his knees from hitting the small of Daichi's back, but then, probably because of all the shivering, Daichi wakes anyway. Rolls onto his back and reaches out for Kuroo without opening his eyes.
“Tetsu?” he says, pulling Kuroo into his chest. “You alright?”
Kuroo realizes his shuddering, stilted breathing could definitely sound like crying, and he nods his head stiffly against the crook of Daichi's neck as he lets himself be swallowed up in sturdy arms.
“Yeah, I'm fine…just really, really cold.”
Daichi strokes his hand up and down Kuroo's arm, and bumps his chin against his head. “Stupid…why didn't you wake me up?”
“You need to sleep,” Kuroo says, jamming his leg in between Daichi's, and taking advantage of the extra concentrated heat between his thighs.
“Fuck,” Daichi breathes, jerking slightly but not pushing Kuroo away. “How are your legs this cold?”
“I am nothing but cold, Daichi. It consumed me while I was waiting for my train, and now I'm—oh…oh my God. This is nirvana.”
Daichi has rolled them over so Kuroo is underneath him, blanketed by body heat (which currently feels blissfully borderline supernatural), and the weight of solid muscle. He still feels chilled at his core, but the shivering stops quickly with Daichi covering him.
“You get that car finished today?” Daichi asks, after he’s been breathing softly beside Kuroo’s ear long enough that said ear no longer feels like a wedge of ice.
“Just about,” Kuroo says. “Still waiting for a couple parts, but I've finished everything I can without them.”
“Good,” Daichi says, shifting off Kuroo now that he's not so violently cold, and making it easier for them to wrap their arms around each other again, chests almost touching and legs fitting back together. “Can you get out in time for dinner tomorrow, then? I wanna have some time with you before I go.”
“Yeah, dinner for sure, but I was thinking I could probably go with you this weekend, too? Koutarou can handle the shop for a few days, and—”
“Yes,” Daichi says, slipping his hand up the back of Kuroo's sweater and running it slowly up and down over his spine. It's like being painted with a brush dipped in the sun. “Good idea.”
“If I stick my hand down your pants will you consider that a good idea, too? Because my fingers feel like popsicles, and to me that seems like an excellent…solution? No?”
Daichi is glaring at him, and he grabs Kuroo's hand, the one that isn't warm between their chests, before he can try to move it. “If you think I'm letting this ice block anywhere near my junk—”
“I don't!” Kuroo says. “How cruel do you think I am?”
“Then what—Kuroo!”
Kuroo has managed to slip his hand out of Daichi’s grip, and he immediately plunges it down the back of his pants, cupping one cheek tightly so there’s heat pressed to both sides of his fingers.
“You shit!’ Daichi gasps, clenching around Kuroo’s hand and stiffening in his arms. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Doesn’t your blood circulate at all?”
“The train was late, Daichi, and I forgot my gloves, and—”
“Oh my God,” Daichi groans, pressing his forehead hard into Kuroo’s shoulder. He shifts his hips a little, trying to adjust to the chilly digits between his cheeks. “The things I do for you,” he mutters.
“For better or for worse, Daichi,” Kuroo says, brushing cold lips over the warm, pink shell of Daichi’s ear.
“When will the better part happen?”
“Just say the word,” Kuroo teases, letting one finger slide deeper between the curves of Daichi’s ass until he brushes his target.
Daichi growls and shifts his hips again, but he still doesn’t try to push Kuroo away. “You know what’s messed up?”
“What?” Kuroo asks. He’s feeling so much better now, even his fingers, and Daichi is making the space under the blanket feel like there’s a magical little fire heating every bit of it.
“I’d rather deal with your cold hand than have you be uncomfortable, which I’m pretty sure means I’ve sold my soul.”
“That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said, Sawamura, and you’ve pulled out some real gems over the years.”
Daichi laughs, the sound low and soft against Kuroo’s sweater. “If you bring up my proposal again—”
“Just marry me, you jackass!” Kuroo barks, in an exaggerated approximation of Daichi’s voice.
Daichi turns his face to press it into Kuroo’s neck instead. So, so warm, and laughing still. It was the least romantic proposal ever, but Kuroo didn’t care. He certainly doesn’t care now. He’s actually extremely fond of Daichi’s brand of compliments—gruff and vaguely insulting, but really very sweet underneath it all.
“You were being an idiot at the time. You always leave that part out.”
Kuroo smiles and slips his hand out of Daichi’s pants, running it up to cup the back of his neck. “It’s not like I didn’t say yes,” he says.
Daichi hums and leans back so he can look at Kuroo. “That’s true,” he agrees, brushing the tip of his nose over Kuroo’s. “Still cold. How can you still be cold?”
“Maybe I’m the vampire,” Kuroo says.
Daichi squints at him. “Do I want to know?”
“If we were from Twilight! You’d be the hot werewolf, I’d be the vampire.”
“The werewolf and the vampire aren’t even together,” Daichi says. He knows this because Kuroo has made him sit through the movies. More than once.
“That’s inconsequential, Daichi. I’m not saying we are literally from the story. Just like...metaphorically? Maybe?”
“So I’m a dog, and you’re a sparkling, undead ice man?”
Kuroo grins and Daichi rolls his eyes.
“It’s a working theory,” Kuroo says.
“You’re so dumb,” Daichi tells him, tilting his head to kiss him softly. “You feel better now?”
“Much,” Kuroo says. “M’sorry I woke you.”
Daichi shakes his head and presses their lips together again, gently easing Kuroo’s apart with his own, then slipping the tip of his tongue between them.
Kuroo sighs and winds his fingers into the back of Daichi’s hair, opening his mouth wider for him so their tongues can slide together, hot and lazy. Daichi’s warm breath fills his senses, soft and comforting, and he feels the last edge of the winter chill melt away. He licks Daichi’s tongue, his lips. Takes in his familiar taste, and his heat, and lets them sink right down into his bones.
“I love you,” he says.
Daichi kisses him again in a soft, slow trail over his upper lip and then his lower one. His chin, his jaw, his cheek.
“Me too,” he says, his voice is low and sleepy now. Relaxed from languid presses of warm lips and tongues.
“If you’re a dog, you’re…a very cute one,” Kuroo tells him. He meant to say wolf, and hot probably would have been a more appealing adjective, but he’s getting so tired, and words seem hard.
Daichi just chuckles softly and slips his hand back up Kuroo’s sweater to pull him a little closer, bending his neck so their foreheads rest against each other. “Thanks, that means a lot.”
“Tell me I’m a hot vampire?”
Daichi shakes his head. “You’re my dumb human, and I love you.”
“Hmm…” Kuroo says. He thinks he may have had something more to say about that, an argument perhaps, but upon further (very fuzzy-headed) contemplation, he doesn’t really see anything to argue about. “‘Kay.”
“‘Kay,” Daichi repeats, his fingers drawing little circles on Kuroo’s shoulder blade. Kuroo sees them in his head as heated trails left everywhere Daichi has touched, glowing and warm like every bit of contact with him.
Probably not supernatural, probably definitely not lycanthropy, but maybe not entirely scientific, either. Maybe something between physiology and magic. Something that could probably be labeled neatly and accurately as love.