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“He had never seen someone so beautiful in his life. And he was certain that even if he had been immortal, even if he had met mythical creatures and gods, nothing would have been as perfect as the woman facing him.” Akaashi smiled fondly, nodding at himself. That was good.
He tore his gaze away from the book for a moment, looking at Kenma sitting on the ground in front of him, back leaning against the couch Akaashi was seating in. His head was tilted back, hair brushing Akaashi’s crossed legs.
Akaashi frowned when he noticed Kenma’s scrunched up nose, and pushed the book to the side to have a better view of the blonde. He stopped his lecture, asking:
“You don’t like it?”
Kenma’s nose wrinkled further as he added. “Too cliché.”
“Cliché doesn’t mean bad, Kozume.”
“Maybe, but this one is bad,” Kenma countered before adding, “and will you one day stop calling me that?”
“Don’t think I’ll ever be able to, even if I wanted.” Akaashi answered apologetically, tilting his head to the side.
Kenma groaned but added nothing, silently prompting Akaashi to continue reading. Keiji couldn’t help the small smile on his lips as he took back the book, ready to start again.
It was something he and Kenma were used to now. They would sit in Akaashi’s living room as he would read the stories he had to edit out loud. That benefitted both of them as Akaashi was more concentrated, and Kenma had something other than listening to music to do.
It was something they started doing since they started hanging out together. It all started at their piano lessons. They met here, and quickly became friends as Akaashi was the only person Kenma seemed to appreciate in his group of musicians.
“He felt as if a single touch of her was forbidden,” Akaashi continued, “as if she could be exposed in a museum, as if she was too perfect, too good for mortals’ eyes. He could only watch from afar, letting his imagination fantasize about how soft her skin was.”
Akaashi paused, turning the pen in his left hand and scratching out the next sentence. As he opened his mouth again, ready to go on, Kenma interrupted him in a small voice:
“Keiji?” Akaashi hummed, taping the pen on his cheeks, waiting. “Can I touch you?”
Akaashi blinked, eyes trailing to Kenma’s slightly pink cheeks, the words echoing loudly in his brain. He almost choked as red crept onto his neck and ears, face turning crimson. He didn’t move though, just looking at the blonde, eyes wide. He really didn’t know what to say.
“You-Your face.” Kenma added, interpreting his silence. His face grew redder as he cleared out any misunderstanding, voice hoarse. “Oh god. I meant your face, you idiot.”
“Oh.” Akaashi answered, because that was all he could say at the moment, mortified.
“God, you’re so embarrassing.” Kenma grumbled, hiding his face in his hands.
Akaashi frowned and bit back, ignoring the flush on his face, “I’m not the one being vague here.”
Kenma groaned, tilting his head further back on the couch. His hair tickled Akaashi’s skin, and Akaashi was suddenly very aware of their proximity. He could easily run his hand in Kenma’s blonde locks.
Akaashi cleared his throat. “Hm, not that I don’t want to but,” he paused, wincing, “what for?”
Kenma let his hands fall at his side and bit his lip before answering, “I’d like to know how you look.”
Akaashi frowned, “I already told you how I look?”
The pout on Kenma’s lips was so evident Akaashi almost hit himself for not taking the hint.
“It’s not the same as feeling it.” Kenma mumbled, but he shook his head quickly, adding, “Anyway, it’s fine. Forget it, continue reading.”
Akaashi chewed on his lips, posing the book at his side. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Kenma to touch his face, rather that he was embarrassed that Kenma would see how flushed he could be in the blonde’s presence. Because he would be, Akaashi was certain of that.
If Akaashi dared to say it, Kenma was like that woman from the book: a beauty too good to be true, a being that rivalised gods themselves. He had way more to himself than that, of course. He was cunning and ambitious, friendly and funny. And he was incredibly talented.
The number of times Akaashi had lost himself listening to Kenma playing piano was impossible to keep track of now. Kenma had this pull around him when he played, that was somehow even stronger than the pull he originally had. It was mesmerizing.
Akaashi swore he had fallen in love that first time he heard Kenma play, and fell again a second time when he saw those golden eyes, almost transparent.
“Sorry, I was just surprised. Of course you can, come up there.” He extended his hand to Kenma, who took it carefully to help him get up.
Akaashi was used to Kenma touching him. Holding his hands, his arms and shoulders, but that didn’t mean his heart wasn’t beating fast in his chest at each touch. Moreover, touching hands and arms to guide each other was something, but touching his face was something else altogether.
Kenma sat down in front of him on the couch, crossing his legs so their knees would touch, one hand on his thighs, the other still holding Akaashi’s. Kenma hadn’t even started that Akaashi was already hyper aware of the amount of skin that was touching, contact tickling him warmly.
“God, save me.” He couldn’t help but whisper, closing his eyes shut. This was a bad idea.
When he opened them up again Kenma was pouting, brows knitted together. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’ll just keep this horrible image of an old ugly man taking advantage of me.”
Akaashi put his nose up in the air. Oh, how he wanted to take back everything positive he had said earlier about Kenma. The blonde was just a little snarky shit with an awful personality when he wanted.
“Very elegant of you Kozume.”
Kenma rolled his eyes, huffing impatiently. “So?”
Akaashi sighed, shaking his head. Slowly, he brought Kenma’s hand to his shoulder, and bent down slowly to make it easier for the blonde. And truly, the moment Kenma’s second hand came to his other shoulder Akaashi cursed himself for not posing them directly on his face.
Kenma's hands slowly moved from his shoulder to his neck, lingering here for a few seconds. Akaashi refrained himself from gulping and closed his eyes. However, he couldn’t help the shiver that ran through his spine. If Kenma noticed, he didn’t say anything, moving up so slowly Akaashi was certain he was teasing at this point.
“What about my neck is so interesting?” He snapped. He meant for it to be firm and annoyed, but his voice betrayed him as it flattered and trembled.
Kenma smirked. “Just tasting to see if I could kill you in one slick movement.” The blonde couldn’t help himself as he chuckled slightly, visibly amused. Since they had read that poorly written assassin novel, they had been laughing about it from time to time, but truly Akaashi’s nerves weren’t strong enough this afternoon.
“Kozume.” He warned, clicking his tongue for good measure.
“Fine, fine.” Kenma answered, smiling wider.
His hands moved further up, cuping Akaashi’s jaw. His thumbs traced it, stopping to his chin, and coming back to the start of his ears. His fingers were soft, his touch light, and Akaashi knew it was years of piano that forged them. His hand went up to his hair, passing his finger through them, messing them.
“They’re soft.” Kenma commented. One hand left his head and the blonde smelled it. Akaashi sputtered, cheeks flaming again but Kenma cut him off, “They smell good, what’s your shampoo?”
“I- I don’t know?”
Kenma raised a brow, clearly judging him. “You don’t know?”
“I don’t remember,” Akaashi defended himself, jaw tight. It was the truth though, he wasn’t one to look at these details, and had always taken a shampoo for its results on his hair, not for his smell. “Why is it relevant to how I look anyway?”
Kenma shrugged, putting his hand back in hair, ruffling them once more before going down. He gently cupped his cheeks, posing here a few seconds, immobile. Then, without warning, he squished them, smiling widely.
“Now, you’re just making fun of me.” Akaashi grumbled, but he didn’t move anyway, lips swollen and cheeks squeezed.
Kenma laughed happily, letting go of his strong hold on his cheeks but kept his hand on them. “Sorry, sorry. It was just too tempting.”
Akaashi couldn’t even be mad at him, not when his laugh had made his heart miss a beat, not when his laugh had illuminated the room. “You can be such a child when you want to.”
Kenma didn’t answer, thumbs brushing the bone of his nose, raising to his eyebrows that he traced slightly. Slowly, his fingers trailed down to his eyes and Akaashi closed them, breath itching.
“What color are they?” Kenma asked in a murmur, and Akaashi could almost feel his breath on his skin. He shivered.
“I've never really known. They’re blue I guess, but sometimes they can be green.” His eyes were one of the only things Akaashi loved about himself. Their unique colors and ability to change depending on the weather always amazed him.
“Like the sky kind of blue or more the sea kind?”
It took him a few seconds to answer, but Kenma didn’t move, keeping his thumbs on his closed eyes. “More like lagoons. Almost azure.”
Kenma hummed, letting go of his hold to settle his thumbs on his cheekbones. Akaashi opened his eyes to meet with hypnotizing ones a few centimeters away from him. His breath got caught up in his lungs and Kenma asked, voice barely above a whisper. Akaashi’s gaze fell on his lips.
“And for the green?”
It took him all his willpower to answer, murmuring, “Like diluted mint syrup.”
Kenma smiled, and Akaashi found himself smiling too. Akaashi expected him to laugh, say a snarky remark or make fun of him but was taken off guard when Kenma spoke, “You look ethereal.”
Akaashi croaked out a strangled noise, wanting nothing else than to bury himself in his hands. God, Kenma was playing with him and he couldn’t even be mad about it. He should have seen this coming really, Kenma had always been nothing else but a tease.
He humored instead, voice a few octaves higher than expected, disturbed. “Now, who’s being cliché?”
“It’s not because it’s cliché that it’s not true, Keiji.”
This man will be the death of him.
Akaashi wanted to add something, turn the heel around and swipe Kenma off his foot too, but Kenma’s fingers trailed down his cheeks to settle on his lips. He gently caressed them, the touch lighter, softer, gentler, barely touching him, teasing, lingering, almost unbearable.
Kenma bit his lips. “Keiji, breathe.”
Akaashi didn’t know how much he could blush but his body decided to take the bet anyway, cheeks heating again. He countered, defensive. “I am breathing.” Which was stupid, because they both knew he had been holding his breath.
Kenma rolled his eyes. “I’m blind, not dumb.”
Akaashi didn’t answer, focusing on the rhythm of his heart, on his breathing and on how much closer they were compared to the position they started into. He couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse as he felt this pull once again, as if Kenma had a supernatural force.
Kenma’s fingers were firmer on his lips, and Akaashi could clearly feel his breath on his skin now. His heart didn’t know if it wanted to stop beating or beat faster, provoking a sweet disaster in his mind.
Their faces were only inches apart now, Akaashi was almost seeing double, eyes looking at Kenma’s lips, wanting nothing else than to taste them. As if the blonde read though his mind, he asked, voice so low that Akaashi almost missed it:
“What do they taste like?” His breath fell on Akaashi’s own lips and he couldn’t help himself anymore.
“Kenma,” he murmured, feeling dizzy. He had never felt such a strong pull before, never felt so disoriented at the strong feelings taking over his mind.
Kenma scoffed quietly. “What happened to Kozume?”
That was the last straw. Akaashi closed the space between them, sealing their lips together with a bit more force than intended. Kenma welcomed him, hands leaving his face to grip at the back of his neck, pulling them closer.
Their lips moved together, tasting, kissing, discovering the other with a longing they both didn’t know had been there for weeks. They parted ever so slightly to take a short breath, just enough to keep on living, before crashing their mouths against the other’s again.
Akaashi felt his stomach twist and brought a hand to Kenma’s cheeks, deepening their kiss, wanting to taste more, to know more. It was blissful. It felt so good that it almost seemed forbidden, as if the touch had been gifted from the gods to test them. Oh, how they were tasting that cursed apple eagerly.
They finally parted long enough to take a few more breaths than one, forehead touching. Both out of breath, they stayed here into each other’s hold, processing, enjoying. After a few seconds, Kenma chuckled.
“Does that mean you get to call me Kenma now?”
Akaashi laughed, shaking his head against Kenma’s, unable to keep the next kiss for himself, sealing their lips again in a quick and passionate embrace.
“Shut up.”