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The adrenaline’s coursing through Bokuto as he leaves the court. It’s a feeling he’s chased his whole life. The rush of victory, the pounding of his chest as he gives everything he has to the game he loves.
But here in the MSBY locker rooms stands Akaashi Keiji and his heart reaches new heights.
Ease and want and warmth floods his body every time he sets eyes on this man. The grip his husband has on his raging heart is absolute, Bokuto craving his touch more than any service ace.
Akaashi’s stood beside the benches, Bokuto’s locker behind him, backpack by his feet. He’s wearing the dark green roll neck sweater Bokuto loves to feel beneath his fingers and the plaid trousers that accentuate those long legs. Black rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, heavy lidded gaze eager as he scans for Bokuto.
The unknowing eye may not pick up on the obvious signs Akaashi’s excited, but to Bokuto it’s achingly clear. From the shuffle of his feet, to the biting of his bottom lip, to the twitching of his hands, Akaashi's whole body is humming for him.
Sometimes his husband waits for him here, sometimes it's beside the court. But the sheer joy and excitement that grips Bokuto’s body to have him at his games never fades. Bokuto shares every victory with Akaashi. They win and lose together. He’s the face Bokuto looks for in the crowd, the recipient of every ‘Bokuto Beam’, the safe space Bokuto crumbles in when he loses.
Bokuto knew at 16 he loved Volleyball. He realised at 18 he loved the boy he was playing with even more.
The pull is too strong to resist and Bokuto feels his feet leave the ground in an excited jump before breaking into a run. Akaashi sees him, his own feet moving towards him instinctively and his face floods with something like adoration.
Bokuto lifts him into his arms, elegant fingers grip his shoulders, Akaashi’s waist warm beneath his palms. Laughter erupts from Bokuto’s chest as he catches sight of the quiet delight on his husband’s face as he spins them.
Akaashi hadn’t been one for public displays of their love at the beginning of their relationship, preferring to love in private, mouth and hands desperate for him behind closed doors. But as the years move on Akaashi seeks the public touches. Fingers always intertwined with Bokuto’s, hand settling on the curve of his hip, content sighs breathed against Bokuto’s neck as he wraps a protective arm around his shoulder.
Akaashi cups his cheeks. His hands are always cool to the touch, a soothing balm to Bokuto’s hot skin, always so welcome on his body. His husband smiles down at him, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, pride and love pulling at the edges of his mouth.
Lips find Bokuto’s and it’s like winning all over again. Bokuto’s yet to find anything that feels as good as Akaashi’s mouth pressing against his own.
Whoops and whistles surround them, the other Black Jackals making themselves known. The flush still tints Akaashi’s face like it did at sixteen as he tries to arrange his face into a more neutral expression. But Bokuto nuzzles a cheek to his chest and the smile wins out like Bokuto knew it would.
“Did you see me, Keiji!?” Because Bokuto wants this man to always be looking at him. He’s realised a stadium full of people will never compare to the soft, adoring bluey green eyes of Akaashi Keiji.
“I did baby, I did.” Bokuto lowers him, letting Akaashi’s body slide down his own, His large hands drag along his husband’s waist, his hips, not letting an inch of space pull them apart.
“You played so well.” Akaashi’s face is scanning his, gaze continuously returning to his mouth. Bokuto can see the adoration, the want, the pride at his performance. And simmering beneath, the hint of smugness that he’ll be going home with Bokuto tonight.
And Bokuto absolutely thrives in it all.
He puffs his chest out, hands trailing up his husband’s back and Akaashi tugs him forward by his shirt to kiss him again, the edge of need coiling around them both. Despite the eyes on them Akaashi can’t ever resist the temptation in having him so close.
Bokuto grins into the kiss, hands pulling Akaashi harder against him.
“How about the rest of us Akaashi? Gonna tell us how well we played too? Gonna share the love?” Atsumu's goading voice demanding their attention.
Bokuto can see the embarrassment combined with annoyance edging Akaashi’s expression, his husband's famous composure snapping into place.
“If you'd like my opinion, Miya-San. I think perhaps you were a little off today. Bokuto-San, on the other hand, was astonishing.”
His eyes and tone leave no room for argument and he smiles that smile that’s just for Bokuto, hands sliding up his jersey, fingers losely gripping the damp fabric.
Bokuto’s laugh fills the locker room, head thrown back as he crushes Akaashi to him. His husband’s tongue is sharp when it needs to be and Bokuto delights in witnessing its destruction.
Atsumu mumbles to Meian about them needing tighter security, and should Akaashi really be in possession of a passkey.
Bokuto grins into dark curls as he feels his husband settle against him, guarded tension leaking from his body, arms locking around Bokuto in return.
“You were astonishing.” Akaashi repeats the words against Bokuto’s heart, voice full of what can only be described as wonder.
Bokuto craves compliments, the limelight, the roar of the crowd. But there’s something about Akaashi’s softly spoken words that have always stroked Bokuto’s soul, not just his ego. The sentiments uttered in Akaashi’s voice echo with meaning when others fall away to nothingness.
Bokuto pulls back, framing Akaashi's face with his hands. Sometimes Bokuto can’t believe he gets to hold his greatest victory in his palms like this.
He presses his mouth to Akaashi’s forehead. “Keiji.” He says. Just because he can. And he feels Akaashi tremble at the sound of his name, pressing his body against him firmer, his lips parting around Bokuto’s own, “Koutarou.”
“Not gonna shower, Bokkun?” Atsumu’s voice needles again, tone dripping with knowing.
Akaashi doesn’t spare a glance Atsumu’s way as he picks up Bokuto’s belongings, sliding them into his bag. But his eyes flicker to Bokuto, mouth tilting up, signalling he really, really doesn’t want Bokuto to change or shower. That he has every intention of peeling the sweat soaked uniform from Bokuto’s body himself, every intention of going home to celebrate in private.
Bokuto feels a grin split his face, the heat coiling in his gut when he imagines Akaashi’s hands on him, when he pictures naked skin and breathless moans.
Bokuto holds his hand out and his husband folds his fingers around his own, lifting them to his lips, kissing the back of Bokuto’s palm. The moment of tenderness aches in Bokuto’s chest, his own face heating further being at the centre of Akaashi’s uncompromising devotion.
“Going on a date then?” Atsumu’s voice follows them out.
“Nope! Going home Tsum-Tsum! Gonna shower there! Say bye to Myaa-sam for me!” He hears the delight in his own voice, the unbridled excitement to be going home so apparent as he swings their hands between them. He catches his husband's gaze, smirking as he sees ocean eyes darken, enjoying the new blush tinting Akaashi’s cheeks.
Bokuto realises he’s no longer the one swinging their hands, Akaashi’s pleased smile and light steps guiding them home.