Work Text:
Commissioned Artwork by milidraws
Even through his macroeconomics textbook, Keiji could feel it.
An intense heat, lasering through the pages, fixed solely on his face.
He sighed to himself, and turned the page.
If I ignore it, it will stop.
It didn’t stop.
The heat soon had an accompaniment:
Tip, tip, tap. Tip, tip, tap.
A pencil scraping across paper, only to tap impatiently against the wooden table.
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
Tip, tip, tap. Tip, tip, tap.
Keiji turned the page. “Bokuto-san,” he said, not looking up from his book, “I can’t be the only one who has work to do.”
A loud groan from across the table caused him to roll his eyes. “But, Keijiiii,” moaned Bokuto Koutarou, Keiji’s boyfriend and best friend, “how am I supposed to work in here? It’s so quiet!” And then, as if to prove his point, he flung his arms out to the sides, the pencil shooting from between his fingers, and hitting the wall of books behind them. With a loud crack!, it struck the wall and clattered to the ground beside them. Several of the the nearby tables looked at them in disgust, and as Bokuto babbled out his apologies, bowing and fumbling across the room to retrieve his writing implement, Keiji could only push his glasses up his nose, and draw his attention back to the page he had been reading, barely aware of Bokuto scrambling back into his seat. When he wilted under the harsh gaze of the librarian at the reference desk, who wagged her finger at him and said “Shh!” Bokuto frowned, and tugged his literature textbook in front of him, opening it to some unknown page. His frown deepened; he flipped the pages, and then he scowled.
“Bokuto-san.” Bokuto jumped when Keiji said his name. “Do you remember what you’re reading for tomorrow?”
“Ummm…” Keiji watched, his face scrutinizing but fond, as Bokuto flipped through the pages, then grabbed his phone to look at the schedule Keiji had set up for him. “The…Enchi Fumiko story?” he asked, and Keiji could see his eyes gleam, hopeful.
Keiji gave him a reassuring smile, and his heart fluttered as Bokuto blushed from the gesture. “Yes,” he replied. “Now why don’t you read, and when you’re done, you can take your break, then we can go over the assignment, and you can start working on that?”
“Right!” Bokuto shouted, punching the air. Keiji dropped his head in his hands, as the librarian hissed at them yet again. “Sorry, sorry,” Bokuto added in a whisper-yell, but settled back in his chair, book open, golden eyes roving over the page, seeming to take everything in.
Keiji released his breath, and turned the page of his own book. If he could finish his own studying, he’d be able to look up Bokuto’s story and read that quickly, too, and thus be able to more efficiently help with his work.
Because, apparently, Bokuto definitely needed the guidance.
Not that he minded, at all.
When Keiji had started at university with Bokuto that spring, he’d fully expected that they would be living together. After all, a shared apartment cut down on costs, even over the university dorms. (Plus, living with the love of his life had…other perks…that Keiji certainly wasn’t complaining about.) He’d also assumed that Bokuto would have been able to maintain his study skills—ones that he and Keiji had worked on, tirelessly, all through Bokuto’s final year of high school. Keiji had felt no small sense of pride when his boyfriend had graduated with passing grades in every subject; when they’d begun dating, halfway through Bokuto’s third year, he had been failing math, and hovering in the bottom third of his class for most other subjects, as well. He’d also been proud that, although Bokuto’s admittance to university hinged largely on his prowess in volleyball, Bokuto’s grades had gotten him at least three more offers than he’d originally had, allowing him to choose a more academically competitive school, and, ultimately, allowing him to attend the same university as his friend Kuroo, and later (through no small finagling of his own), Keiji.
Although Keiji wasn’t able to keep tabs on Bokuto’s academics that first year, he thought that they had worked enough that Bokuto would be able to continue on the same path to success, especially given that he’d be there with Kuroo, who was both an exceptional volleyball player and student, majoring in the health sciences and hoping to go into forensics after graduation. And since Bokuto never talked much about academics, and never asked Keiji for help, Keiji had assumed that all was well.
Keiji had thought wrong.
He’d arrived at their new apartment that March, ready to go into university with Bokuto by his side. He’d been shocked to find that Bokuto didn’t even own a desk, much less notebooks, folders, quiz booklets, or anything else that he might need to help himself prepare for lectures. But Bokuto continued to insist that everything was fine, until halfway through the semester when he admitted to Keiji that classes were not going well, and that the coach had threatened to suspend him unless he pulled his grades up.
He, Kuroo, and Kenma (who attended a nearby school, but lived with Kuroo, because of course he did) put their heads together, and procured a desk and study materials for Bokuto, and Keiji took it upon himself to help Bokuto as much as he could.
He’d also quickly found that, even with all the right study materials, Bokuto could not study at home. Five minutes into a session, he would stretch, make funny sounds, tap his fingers, bang his head against the desktop, sigh, and do just about anything except study. It drove Keiji, who preferred to study in the quiet of his room, insane.
For the rest of the semester, they tried everywhere: coffee shops, parks, empty classrooms…even Kuroo and Kenma’s apartment (Keiji had been both truly desperate and truly idiotic with that idea). And every time, Bokuto would manage to settle down, just for a little while, until finally his naturally restless nature would get the better of him, and he would, once again, become distracted.
In a final bout of desperation, Keiji suggested three things: 1. To study for smaller increments of time; 2. To take breaks in between each increment; and 3. To try studying at the library.
And so, here they were, sitting together at a small study table, Bokuto surrounded by papers and books he’d barely touched, Keiji deep into his macroeconomics textbook, diligently taking notes to prepare for his class the next morning. Keiji had thought that maybe, just maybe, the presence of the librarian would be enough to keep Bokuto in check; after all, he could be charming as all hell, and he liked to please authority figures…so, he wouldn’t want to make the librarian angry, right?
Keiji let out another small sigh. Yeah, that hadn’t been the best read of Bokuto he’d ever done, that was for sure.
He could practically feel his boyfriend’s nervous energy radiating off his toned, muscular form. It didn’t help that he wore a tight athletic shirt, one that showed off his glorious shoulders and biceps, even though it was long-sleeved.
Focus, Keiji. You’re supposed to be the one who has strong study skills here.
He shook his head, pushed his glasses a bit higher on the bridge of his nose, and frowned at the models of ecological economics that his class was currently studying. He was reading about the different environment source functions for different regions of the country, and found himself getting pulled into a discussion of the impact of the Fukushima nuclear disaster on local resources, and the local enviroment’s sink function. He had just gotten to a particularly interesting section that actually included models and photographs, when he felt it:
A gentle press on the side of his calf, like a big toe, that proceeded to slide, ever so slowly, up, and then down, his leg, before the pressure dissipated.
Keiji looked up from his book, and saw that Bokuto was still intently reading, his brow furrowed, his golden eyes scouring the pages of his literature textbook. He watched his boyfriend for a moment, but when Bokuto made no move, no indication that he was, in fact, feeling Keiji up under the table, Keiji simply heaved his chest a little in a sigh and went back to his book.
Then, he felt it again, this time on his opposite leg:
A gentle press against his ankle, then up his calf to his knee, and back down again.
“Bokuto-san.” Bokuto glanced up from his book and eyed Keiji, the picture of serenity and innocence. “Could you please not do that?”
“Not do what, Keiji?” Bokuto’s voice was even, but Keiji could see that he was struggling to keep a straight face.
“Touch me like that in the middle of the library,” Keiji replied.
“Oh, is someone touching you?” Bokuto’s face broke out into a wide grin. “I guess they better stop, then, since those sexy legs belong to me.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Keiji muttered, but not without a hint of affection in his voice. “I need to read this for tomorrow, Bokuto-san. Please try not to distract me anymore.”
To his credit, Bokuto didn’t respond, but went back to his book, even though Keiji could still feel Bokuto’s eyes on him.
With a sigh, Bokuto set down his textbook. “All done?” Keiji asked, turning his own book over and giving Bokuto a small smile.
“Yeah,” Bokuto replied. “Before I take a break, though, I want to write down a summary of the story, and then maybe you can check it while I go for a quick walk?”
“Really?” Bokuto didn’t often ask to do additional work when Keiji offered him a break, so he was a little surprised.
“Yeah.” The tips of Bokuto’s ears turned pink. “This way—I can maybe remember what I read a little bit better? And then you can help me with the places I forgot or got wrong?”
“Sure.” Keiji let his smile get a little bit bigger as a rush of affection flooded his body. He loved this man with all his heart, and he got completely soft whenever Bokuto thought of using Keiji’s study strategies all by himself. “Here.” Keiji slid a pen across the table. “Use this—it’s one of my special pens.” He hesitated. “Just don’t hurl it across the room or anything,” he added. “It was a gift from my mother, and not cheap.”
Bokuto’s eyes grew wide. “Oh,” he said in a slightly too-loud voice, “okay! I’ll be careful, Keiji! I promise!”
The subsequent “Shhh!” from the librarian had Bokuto dipping his head and apologizing profusely yet again, but Keiji still felt too warm to do anything but give another gentle smile.
They worked together in a comfortable silence for a few minutes: Keiji reading and highlighting his textbook, and Bokuto scratching his summary onto a piece of paper. It felt…nice. Homey. Domestic. Maybe Bokuto would do well in his modern literature class. Maybe they would go out to dinner to celebrate after exams. Maybe they would share soft kisses…
And then, all of a sudden, he had that same, odd feeling, radiating through his body, giving him a gentle, discomforting, chill:
Like he was being watched.
He cast one eye up; there, across the table, one hand resting on his cheek, the other idly doodling on his paper, his golden eyes dreamily staring at Keiji…
“Wha–what are you doing?” Keiji asked, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. Bokuto’s eyes were intense, the gold with stunning flecks of amber; they sparkled as they took Keiji in.
“Looking at my boyfriend.” Bokuto was grinning now. “Is that illegal in a library?”
“N–no,” Keiji ground out, still stunned after all this time that Bokuto could be so open with his words, with his feelings. “But you are supposed to be studying.”
Bokuto leaned forward; Keiji felt his heart stutter. “I am,” he replied, his eyes now shining. “I’m studying you.”
“Wha–why–what—” Keiji didn’t get flustered easily. He prided himself on his ability to maintain an aura of calm. It had gotten him through middle school, and high school, and unflappability had allowed him to be one of the few who was both willing and able to get close to Bokuto. One needed infinite patience and a cool head to deal with Bokuto’s mood swings, and Keiji had developed an uncanny ability to both read Bokuto and maintain his own sense of self.
But in moments like this—when Bokuto was bright and shining and looking at Keiji as if he were the only thing in the world that mattered—
It was hard to maintain that calm visage.
“Because.” Bokuto leaned forward, just a little bit more, and Keiji felt the gentle press of a foot against his ankle, then up his leg, again.
“You’re pretty, Keiji.” Bokuto grinned. “Way, way prettier than anyone else in the whole world.”
“Kou—Koutarou.” Keiji could feel his face flushing; it always did when Bokuto complimented him like this. He had never really gotten used to people admiring him for superficial reasons, like his appearance; he knew how to handle when he was complimented on his academic success, or his volleyball playing…but this?
“Like, your eyes.” Bokuto waved Keiji’s pen in the generally vague direction of Keiji’s face. “They are the most gorgeous color I’ve ever seen! Like a stormy sea, or a…” Bokuto tapped the pen against his chin. “Like a pine tree!” he added, his voice rising slightly. “And your nose is so cute, and your mouth is always pursed, like you ate something sour, but I know it’s just because you’re always thinking, and because I’m exhausting to deal with.”
“No,” Keiji broke in, “that’s not why…”
“But I think it’s adorable anyway,” Bokuto continued. “Especially your lips,” he added, his own mouth twitching upwards slightly. He reached across the table, and tapped Keiji’s lips with the pen. Keiji tensed with the contact; he was sure the entire library could hear his heart pounding . “Soft, and kissable, and…” Bokuto sighed as he brought Keiji’s pen back to his paper, his foot relieving Keiji’s leg of its gentle touch. “I should get back to this,” he added absently. “Don’t want to distract you too much, right?” He flashed Keiji a smile before returning to writing his summary, the pen scratching thoughtfully across the page as Bokuto worked.
Keiji, though, was unable to look back at his textbook… No.
All he could do was look—no, was stare—at Bokuto.
At the way that he gazed down at his paper, so purposefully, like writing that summary was the only thing on his mind.
At the way his tongue slipped out, tucked between his lips, as he concentrated on his work.
At the way that his golden eyes sparkled, and he let out a soft huff of satisfaction, every time he felt confident in what he was writing.
At the way his long, thick fingers held the pen so delicately, so deftly (exactly the way that Bokuto held Keiji).
At the way his forearm flexed as he worked his way across the page.
“Keiji?” Keiji blinked, and scowled when he saw Bokuto was watching him. “Everything okay?”
No, everything is not okay.
Why are you so hot?
Why are you so distracting?
Why do I need to study, but all I can think about is kissing you? Here, in the library? In that chair, in your lap…
“Yes!” Keiji squawked, and now the librarian flashed him a glare, and Keiji sank back into his seat. “Yes,” he repeated, in a much softer tone. “I’m—everything’s fine, Bokuto-san.”
“Good.” Bokuto grinned. “You need to finish that chapter for tomorrow, right?” He gestured with the pen at Keiji’s textbook; Keiji looked down at it, his mouth falling open, because he realized they’d been sitting there for how long? And he hadn’t moved beyond the same paragraph. What was it even about? Something about…sink functions, yes, that was it.
Right?
“I—I do,” Keiji admitted, turning his attention back to the page, determined to both read and comprehend the material. He needed to. He had to. He had a quiz coming up in three…no, shit, in two…classes.
He tried to read; he tried to redirect himself, back to the topic at hand, back to ecological economics and Fukushima and pollutants and the environment and the impact on markets. He tried to focus on the models and the photos, to come up with questions that he could ask in class tomorrow. He tried to highlight the important parts, the parts that he would need to review more carefully, again, before that quiz in three two classes.
But every tiny sound from across the table, no matter how infinitesimal, brought his gaze back up, back to the opposite chair, to the person sitting in it:
His hair, his eyes, his lips, his arms, his fingers.
It was a body that Keiji knew almost as well as his own. He knew just where, if he touched or (better yet) kissed those places, Bokuto would be reduced to jelly:
The inside of his left elbow. Just below his right ear. His left hipbone. Behind his right knee. The inside of his right ankle.
All those places, Keiji knew well.
And, suddenly, as he watched Bokuto working, diligently now, on his summary, Keiji felt an inexorable urge to know all of those places, all over again.
“Bokuto-san.” His voice came out low, needy, urgent.
Bokuto looked up from his work; he raised one luminous eyebrow; his right foot rested atop Keiji’s, pressing gently against his instep. “What is it?” he whispered; Keiji could hear the hope in it, even though it was quiet. “Aren’t we supposed to be working?”
“I—I—” Keiji gripped his highlighter so tightly it nearly cracked in his fist. The truth was, Bokuto was right. They were supposed to be working. They were supposed to finish reading, to finish their notes, so that they could go home, have dinner, get to…other things.
The trouble was, Keiji didn’t want to finish reading.
He wanted to skip right to the other things.
He had to be good. To control his desire, his urges, his feelings, which were, heavens help him, currently bubbling up and out and all over his economics textbook.
Akaashi Keiji never had problems controlling himself.
But it had also been a long time since Akaashi Keiji had seen his boyfriend study so hard, and it was… well?
It was doing things to him. Good things. Bad things. All the things.
Keiji had to know. He had to ask, now, before he was completely gone.
“Are—are you—” Keiji took a deep breath. “Are you finished yet, Bokuto-san?”
“Me?” Bokuto’s eyebrows raised nearly into his scalp. He looked at Keiji, clearly surprised at Keiji’s question.
Which…fair. When was the last time Keiji had urged Bokuto to actually finish his work? Usually it was Keiji urging him to take a few more minutes, to go more slowly, to review more carefully.
Keiji never asked Bokuto if he was done. So, yes, sure, it made sense to Keiji that his boyfriend might be a little confused.
And, sure enough, Bokuto’s golden eyes grew wider. “Why do you want to know?” he asked. “Are you okay?” His brow furrowed. “You don’t look so good, Keiji,” he murmured. “You seem kinda…” He blinked; his entire face lit up. “Oh, shit,” he whispered, “are you actually…”
Keiji took his foot, and pressed it against the inside of Bokuto’s right ankle, and Bokuto hissed.
“I think we could…take a break,” Bokuto said…quietly, carefully, as if he was still afraid that what he was interpreting was not what Keiji was implying. (It was.) Keiji ran his toes up Bokuto’s calf, to the back of his right knee, and a small whine escaped Bokuto’s throat.
“Why don’t we finish our study session at home, Koutarou?” Keiji kept his voice quiet, light, but the air between them was shifting to something delicate, charged, as though any wrong move might upset the moment, and they would be back to being Keiji and Bokuto-san, studying at the library, and not Keiji and Koutarou, about to take their studies elsewhere.
Keiji watched as Bokuto’s face processed his words: from confused, to thoughtful, to…
“Oh, hell yeah!” he shouted, pumping his fist in the air and completely ignoring the devastating glare he got from the librarian. He scrambled to his feet, papers flying, books dropping to the ground. Keiji bit back a laugh as he watched his overenthusiastic boyfriend frantically picking up his items and shoving them in his bag. He was so flustered, so excited, so…
So mine.
Yes.
Bokuto Koutarou was his, and Keiji loved every single inch of him.
“Come on,” he said, sliding his books into his bag and taking Bokuto by the elbow. “If we hurry, we can grab some curry on the way home for later.”
Bokuto’s face lit up. “Really?” he said, loudly, but this time Keiji noticed the librarian merely sighed, clearly glad that they were going.
“Really,” Keiji smiled, and steered Bokuto into the atrium and out of the library, back towards the curry shop, and then, home.
Yes, Keiji thought, unable to stop his smiles as Bokuto nuzzled into him in the cool air of the evening. Moments like this, with Bokuto, were priceless.
Studying…
It could wait.