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A dozen pairs of eyes turn to him the moment he steps onto the ice.
Pinpricks of needles on frail skin, it draws blood that blossoms on ivory petals left to stain the places his blades cut through. Akaashi tries to ignore the curious, intent gazes of his peers but the feeling of piercing cold ice puncturing his lungs is too ghastly to disregard. He pushes himself from the side of the rink, gliding towards a secluded part of the ice with his gaze pinned to his skates.
Akaashi’s legs move on their own accord to build up momentum. The movement of gliding his blades through the ice is as natural as breathing to him. Euphoria leaks into his bloodstream, it surges up into his heart and blocks out the murmurs sailing in the air.
He adjusts the collar of his black cotton sweater, then his long sleeves, as he makes an effortless turn to start skating backwards. There are still gazes on him, tracking his moving form as he weaves through the big rink.
Younger kids from the program gape at him as he builds up the momentum he needs to jump. When Akaashi sticks his first landing, then the second and third consecutively, he feels the gazes of older skaters draw towards him.
He doesn’t like the attention on him, but it’s inevitable. Akaashi just won two titles at the Grand Prix two weeks ago and the talks surrounding it are still fresh, still circulating. People are trying to catch a glimpse of him in action, even if he’s just warming-up for a training session. The only choice he has is to ignore them to his best ability without coming off as haughty. Or hope for someone else to redirect their attention elsewhere.
His calm, opulent eyes scan the area outside the rink. In search of a certain tall man with a scandalous smirk and disastrous bed hair.
Akaashi pushes the sliver of annoyance to the back of his mind when he doesn’t find the man anywhere. He builds up momentum again, then slowly lowers himself into a spin, a flurry of swift motion on the ice in a flash of black clothing. He straightens back up while the spin slows to a recession and continues to go through his solo routine.
He’s halfway through his second set when Kuroo finally announces his arrival.
He struts into the space wordlessly but his presence commands the attention of everyone in the room. Akaashi skids to a stop, the blades scuffing up the ice.
It’s impossible to not stare whenever Kuroo is in the vicinity.
His height and broad build alone is imposing. And he looks criminally attractive with his unruly hair falling over his forehead in a careless manner. Kuroo is dark and brooding until he spots Akaashi on the ice. An impetuous smirk forms on Kuroo’s face as he advances towards the side of the rink where Akaashi is standing.
Before Kuroo can grace him with his insufferable presence, their coach calls him over to the other side of the rink. Kuroo shoots him an apologetic look, which Akaashi rolls his eyes at in return. He doesn’t miss the smirk still tugging on the older man’s mouth as he slips away. It does strange things to him that he doesn’t want to consider.
Kuroo converses with the coach for a brief moment and dumps his bag onto the bench before taking off the safety from his blades. Then he’s stepping through a group of giggling young skaters to enter the rink.
Once again, dark and brooding. Devastatingly handsome.
Kuroo meets his gaze from across the ice rink, as though he can hear his thoughts. The small whispers of his heart.
Akaashi huffs and looks away indignantly, a heavy sense of pressure compressing inside his chest, caving into his lungs and heart until the organs feel like collapsing. He feels it every time their eyes meet. Every time he catches something lurking beneath Kuroo’s russet eyes, deep and velvety.
Akaashi isn’t sure when the feeling started. It’s like one day, this sharp constriction inside his chest just manifested itself and Akaashi is no longer the same afterwards. He’s too aware of Kuroo now. Has been for years. Too conscious of their proximity, but at the same time, their distance.
He pointedly ignores Kuroo, who’s dutifully skating laps around the rink. The constriction eases slightly but it still lingers.
Akaashi turns his face away every time Kuroo zooms past his side of the rink, where he’s practicing his lutz. But he can’t help watching from the corners of his eyes as Kuroo does a jump, spreading his arms out as he lands perfectly before he’s repeating the action multiple times in a lazy and careless manner.
Akaashi prepares himself, mentally and emotionally, as Kuroo glides over to him once he’s done warming-up. The feeling in his chest swells again until he finds it difficult to breathe.
“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” Kuroo says, head tilted slightly. Eyes dark as he regards him.
Akaashi has to suppress the satisfaction that’s fighting it’s way onto his face. He supposes that the silent treatment worked wonderfully in his favour if it meant Kuroo’s apologising straight away without Akaashi having to draw it out of him in an agonisingly painful fashion. Kuroo doesn’t like to admit that he’s wrong or has done something unacceptable and Akaashi likes to be proven that he’s right and have a say about the way things work.
Their dynamic is a storm brewing over a haggard ocean on a bad day or a breezy afternoon in the park on a good day. There’s no in between, no middle ground. Whenever Kuroo decides to cooperate or compromise during their training sessions, it’s usually the latter. Which is what Akaashi prefers. Kuroo is intolerable as it is, he doesn’t need any additional factors to make their practices more challenging.
Akaashi decides to accept Kuroo’s apology. He seems sincere enough. The man’s shoulders seem to square up again and the glint is back in his hazel eyes that are twinkling with hidden mirth. Akaashi still pretends to put up a cold front because he doesn’t want Kuroo to think that it’s okay for him to start anything just yet. From his periphery, he sees Yukie give them a thumbs up to signal that the music is ready.
Akaashi sighs, even though there’s exhilaration bubbling under his skin and butterflies dancing in his stomach. “Ready for the first go?” He asks with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Ready whenever you are, doll.”
Kuroo smirks at the displeasure written all over his face before drawing out a pair of gloves from his pocket. Kuroo’s gaze wanders to take in his surroundings as he bites the top of his jacket to keep it in place while he pulls down the zipper with his free hand to reveal a form fitting black t-shirt underneath. A deliberate show of strong shoulders and sinewy arms. The fabric pulled taut over a broad chest.
Akaashi flushes, then glances away sharply. He hears Kuroo chuckle as the older man tosses his jacket over the side of the rink before skating backwards away from him. Everyone stops their practice to stare at them in anticipation. The blatant attention is starting to make Akaashi squirm underneath his skin again.
“Relax,” Kuroo says, rolling his shoulders back and slipping on his black gloves. Akaashi’s eyes snap up to meet Kuroo’s heated gaze. “It’s just you and me. Don’t think about anyone else.”
Kuroo’s words comfort him more than Akaashi cares to admit but the realisation of it makes his stomach churn uncomfortably with nervous energy. He can’t afford to let his emotions get the best of him right now.
Not with people watching them. Not with their coach in a seemingly irritable mood. Not when it’s their first public practice back in their old rink, after winning the pair’s finals for this season.
Akaashi keeps his arms crossed as he pins Kuroo with his best glare to ensure that his true emotions are carefully hidden. “If you drop me again, I’ll murder you.”
“I won’t.” Kuroo is suddenly too close to him, a gloved hand coming up to tap him under the chin. “I promise.”
Perhaps it’s the sincerity in Kuroo’s voice, or the look in his eyes, that makes Akaashi melt on the inside. Like fresh snow that fell too early for winter.
Akaashi is probably being too harsh on purpose, just to get a rise out of the usually collected man. But the effect is the opposite because Kuroo isn’t grumbling like he usually would be. He’s just passive and tolerable, which Akaashi assumes is because Kuroo’s still feeling terrible about what transpired four days ago.
They were going through the new routine for the first time. Kuroo’s hold on his waist had slipped and Akaashi had fallen onto his back. It wasn’t anything serious enough to warrant any treatment or time off, but Kuroo had been stricken. It’s the first time Kuroo has dropped him in years, which is really saying something because they’ve been skating together since they were eleven and twelve years old.
Sixteen years of being partners on the ice, and Kuroo has only dropped him maybe a few dozen times altogether. And only because he wasn’t strong enough to catch Akaashi or properly lift him when he was younger.
The Kuroo standing before him now is more than just stronger and broader. He’s more experienced and determined, more serious and stubborn as well. But Kuroo is also more protective, more tender. More appealing. Akaashi hastily pulls himself away from Kuroo’s reach before he can do something embarrassing, like lean into the man’s larger build.
“And don’t fall.” He chastises as he glides backwards to put distance between them.
Akaashi is always putting distance between them.
Kuroo doesn’t respond at first. He’s just staring at Akaashi with this strange sense of softness in his eyes that makes the younger man feel like he’s all Kuroo can see.
Which is preposterous.
They’ve been skating as a pair since they were kids.
They explicitly chose to go to completely different schools all throughout their academic careers because they couldn’t tolerate seeing each other more than they were already required to for training.
Reluctant partners, that’s what they are.
Akaashi reminds himself of that every time the distance between them starts to narrow and he has to step back again to stay out of reach. To stay within his own boundary.
In that brief silence, there’s a sense of heaviness that settles between them. One that weighs heavily on Akaashi’s shoulders, pressing in on him like an unyielding wave.
But then Kuroo’s mouth twitches up into a half smirk, half smile that Akaashi is accustomed to seeing and the tension disperses slightly. “Can’t make any promises for that, doll.”
“Whatever. We don’t have all day.” Akaashi grumbles, then signals for Yukie to start the song. He gets in position and watches as Kuroo glides along to the rhythm, waiting for the part where their routine begins.
The moment Akaashi leaps, Kuroo is catching him by the waist. His hold is firm, strong, trustworthy. Akaashi can’t remember the last time he ever hesitated to take a leap towards Kuroo. He knows his partner will always be there to catch him, even if they falter. It’s the mindset, the absoluteness of it, that comforts him.
They go through the motions, fluid like water, quick as lightning. Kuroo and Akaashi skate like they are one entity. Like they’re each other’s shadows.
They tangle themselves in a dance on ice, over and over. Lost to their own world. Lost to time. Lost to all the watchful eyes. Everything fades away until it was just the two of them. Until meeting Kuroo’s eyes feel less like he’s being cut open by a letter opener.
By the time their muscles start to protest, it’s late and the rink is empty. Yukie is the last to leave and they take a breather so that Akaashi can change the song and Kuroo can down a bottle of water.
He gives his partner a side eye, trying to gauge if the taller man is still up to practice their performance routine. Kuroo is always twice more tired than Akaashi, having to do all the heavy lifting, catching and manoeuvring. But the older man just nods at him as he rolls his shoulders back to release the coiled tension.
When the song begins, they are a flash of movement. Gravitating towards each other, tethered by a magnetic pull. Their hands find each other, as do their eyes. It’s like they were always meant to come together.
While their routine for the actual competition is all flashy moves and precise sets, this one is more of a dance. More intimate. Akaashi can feel every beat of his heart stuttering in his chest when Kuroo holds him close. Arm wrapped around his middle, his broad chest pressed up against Akaashi’s back as they skate.
The song ends and their routine comes to a close. But instead of starting over from the top, Kuroo pulls him into a kiss. Their skates skid over the ice as they gravitate on an axes towards each other.
Akaashi kisses back almost immediately. As though all his life, he’s been waiting for this. To kiss Kuroo. And to be kissed by Kuroo, like he is air and Kuroo needs to breathe.
The back of his head is cradled by Kuroo’s hand, neck craned as their lips moved against each other’s. Akaashi’s hands are clutching onto Kuroo’s black shirt like a lifeline. He almost tips back a few times because of the force in which Kuroo is kissing him with, devouring him like darkness would to light. Akaashi’s hands move up to cradle Kuroo’s face when they pull apart, chest heaving and blood thrumming. His eyelids flutter open to gaze into whiskey eyes.
All these years, how did Akaashi manage to withhold himself from this? He can’t recall. He feels Kuroo’s hand slide down to hold his nape, he feels the tenderness pouring out from the older man’s gaze.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I was seventeen.” Kuroo admits. Breathlessly, fervidly.
It escapes him, a secret long kept in a box hidden away inside him. Hidden from Akaashi, who in turn has kept away his own box of clandestine wishes.
“I can’t pretend that holding you, only when we skate, doesn’t destroy me. Because it does.”
Akaashi knows he should pull away. Form a distance between them and step back into his boundary. This is a bad idea. It’s disastrous, messy, if things go wrong. Sixteen years of gruesome practices and hardwork down the drain if they start something that they can’t recover from. They’ve finally qualified for the winter Olympics, they can’t do this.
They shouldn’t.
Akaashi doesn’t pull away, yet Kuroo can feel the battle within him.
“I can’t keep living like this,” Kuroo says. His voice is barely above a whisper. And Akaashi realises that he can’t either.
Akaashi responds by sealing their lips together before he can let his mind talk him out of it.
They kiss.
Softly, languidly. Hungrily, achingly.
Kuroo’s hands are holding his waist, like he always does when they skate. But the feeling is different, the weight and the grip, the gentle motions of thumbs rubbing into his hip bones over his shirt.
It’s like they were always meant to come together.