Work Text:
“Hold still.”
Hands pulling at his collar, palms smoothing over the fabric of the suit coat he’s wearing with utmost care. The eyes on him are sharp as a knife, roaming over Daichi’s figure without rest. From head to toe, they peek over the thick black frame of a pair of glasses Daichi never saw on Kuroo before. Didn’t think he was the type to have a hard time with his eyesight.
Daichi breathes out and bites back his retort with more effort than straightening his back and keeping the position is. This isn’t the first time he’s part of a fitting, not the first time he works with Kuroo nor seeing him dissatisfied either. Brushing over it and having Kuroo have it his way is the best method to deal with this - and either way, he’s the designer and he needs to be content with what he creates. Daichi is nothing but a living mannequin except he has the disadvantage of breathing and getting sore muscles, every now and then, after hours of holding nearly the same posture. Too bad for Kuroo he insists on tailoring on him rather than an actual unmoving dummy.
Kuroo buttons up the suit coat and sighs, eyebrows furrowed as he fiddles with the edges of the lapel aimlessly. “Keep your back straight,” he says, frustration so vivid on his tongue that Daichi starts feeling dissatisfied with himself. It’s not his fault in the slightest and he is as aware of this as Kuroo is.
“Sure, if you want me to be stiff as a board. Because boards wear your clothes, not people.” Out of pure spite, Daichi does push his shoulders back more, muscles aching at his back as he presses his chest out. He meets Kuroo’s eyes with no intention of backing down on his words despite the glare he receives in return. What a terrible mood.
“I wasn’t aware you know better than me how to do my job,” Kuroo snarls with a click of his tongue and a rather forceful tug at the suit coat. Usually very careful about how he handles fabrics and designs, it’s unusual for him to be this rough. Daichi’s always admired Kuroo’s passion for his job, always liked to listen to him talk - when he was in his right mind, that is.
“I wasn’t aware you forgot what your job entails in the first place. I thought you hired me because you liked how I wasn’t a mere doll for you to dress up. What, changed your mind about that?” Kuroo averts his eyes and Daichi files this away as his win. The other huffs, his hands letting go of the fabric and running through his hair instead, ruffling through it with a grunt.
“This looks like shit. No way I can fix this in just a few hours either,” he pulls at his hair and Daichi truly doesn’t wonder anymore why Kuroo’s hair is the mess it is. He mentioned before this is bed hair he never found a solution for so he simply keeps it like this but it probably has other reasons too. At least he is actively recognized and remembered thanks to that, a trademark in a way. “You’re not helping, Sawamura.”
“Well, excuse me for not interrupting you wallowing in self-pity for once because I’m such a diligent model and adapt easily to what I’m told to do. Hold still and keep quiet. You were the one who told me so.” If he didn’t know Kuroo better, he would have swallowed all of these words at once. Complained about this later, after the job is over. But there is something off with him, something Daichi isn’t sure whether to ask about yet or wait.
“You aren’t a damn amateur, you should know designers are arbitrary,” and Daichi decides to look past the snide tone of Kuroo’s voice for now. For now, it’s just the two of them but in an hour or two, the small room will be flooded with others preparing for the show in a rush and a hurry. A fight between them is probably the least favourable situation, then.
Things between them hadn’t always been like this. Working together, being used to each other’s outbursts at times (mostly Kuroo’s), knowing how to react. In fact, Daichi has a hard time keeping himself from laughing when he remembers how much he hated the thought of working under Kuroo before he actually met him.
For Daichi, Kuroo was too smug, too devious, known to be hard to work with thanks to his high expectations. For Kuroo, Daichi has learnt later, Daichi was too much of a poster boy, too smooth without edges, too grounded to be expressive. When they first met, they exchanged a handshake in the most courteous manner with a friendly smile none of them truly meant.
Daichi had been convinced to make Kuroo drown him in compliments, all the more because everyone and their mothers had told him not to get discouraged by Kuroo’s sharp tongue and criticism. Valued for his works but not necessarily for being easy to handle, something along those lines was whatever Daichi heard. If there is one thing Daichi hates, then it is being underestimated.
He has never been a particularly thrilling figure, always thought to be too nice, too steady, never doing anything out of the usual. The surprise among his classmates back in high school all too big when he said he’d go into modeling when everyone expected him to go to college and work in an office for his lifetime. Too bad they never bothered seeing more to Daichi than what they thought they knew.
Ironically, his trademark is no fancy hairstyle nor any scandals. He’s still being praised for his simplicity and modesty like before and it feels odd to think he might have opted for a more extravagant job out of spite rather than out of passion. That it came with the time and the experience, that is something else and by now, he takes pride in his impression. Either way, his popularity speaks for itself, too many longing to work with him for his solid performance and grounding personality that helps especially newer designers to keep a cool head and more experienced ones to have confidence in their designs. He couldn’t ask for any more than that.
And yet, with Kuroo, this is a whole different story. Thinking Kuroo would point out how boring he is, he had taken quite a liking to Daichi, called him inspiring and threw all sorts of compliments around - all genuine, from what Daichi could tell, for Kuroo isn’t a person to praise something he doesn’t like. Went as far as to book Daichi for an entire season, basing a whole collection on clothes he tailored on him. Unexpected twist for Daichi, as he found out Kuroo wasn’t half as insufferable as others made him out to be. Just a little too passionate, too into it but for that the results were always just as marvellous.
“You’re not arbitrary, you’re ridiculous,” Daichi says eventually, finding he kept quiet for too long with Kuroo simply staring at him from a little distance. At the suit more than at him although his usually cutting gaze is empty and going astray. Daichi crosses his arms and clicks his tongue to attract Kuroo’s attention to him properly before speaking up. “The show starts in the evening and you’re going to hang here like a wet cloth waiting to dry up? For Heaven’s sake, you’re not Bokuto. I’d get it if he were here stomping and pouting over his results even when they are perfectly fine, but you?”
Kuroo takes a step closer to Daichi, much to intimidate him but it doesn’t work in the slightest. Instead, Daichi reciprocates Kuroo’s glare with a simple raise of his eyebrow. “Don’t throw me into a pot with Bokuto in this situation. You have no idea---” Kuroo bristles at him but Daichi doesn’t feel like letting him finish this stupidity of his.
“I’m going to, if you behave like him. Since when did you get so disheartened when something didn’t work out, anyway? Is it the growing age? Then again, judging from how you meant to tell me ’You have no idea how I feel right now’, you might as well be back to adolescence. Welcome back to puberty, Kuroo, congratulations.”
Kuroo never handles fabrics nor designs poorly, too much in love with his job, too much effort put into them to treat them roughly even in utmost frustration. When he yanks Daichi, fingers burying back into the lapel he fixed moments ago, he figures he might have gone a little too far. Kuroo’s face too close, his grip too tight and Daichi’s body too alert, he wraps his fingers around Kuroo’s wrists to ease his grasp a little. Kuroo’s eyes are glistening but it is nothing Daichi couldn’t stand against with, eyes still fixed on Kuroo’s.
“Listen here, Sawamura. You can take a lot of liberties with me in comparison with others, a fact I very much let happen because it is what makes you so exciting for me. That I get to see a side of you others don’t. But leave your attempts to detect what I was going to say aside the next time you decide to take this particular liberty of talking back to me.”
“Was that supposed to intimidate me?” Daichi chuckles, nails digging into Kuroo’s skin. What a rough voice. This is the first time in three years’ time of knowing Kuroo that Daichi has heard him like this. It never takes Kuroo much to get irritated but this is something entirely different. His usual response would have been some snide remark, some stupid comeback but there seems to be much more to this than a simple misfitted suit. “Thanks for ‘allowing’ me liberties. I feel so utterly honoured. Do you want me to kiss your feet? I heard you told other models to be grateful you even chose them in the first place. Come on, go ahead and say it. How dependent I am on you to book me.”
“You aren’t,” Kuroo says and his voice sounds hollow, just as his stare was before. It makes Daichi gulp, “You know you aren’t. I know you aren’t and I wish I wouldn’t think it would be better if you were.” With that, Kuroo lets go, taking a step back with eyes averted down to Daichi’s chest. He tries to slip his wrists out of Daichi’s to no avail. “Let go,” he murmurs hoarsely as if his throat had gone completely dry.
“I won’t.”
“Sawamura, let go of me.” Kuroo tugs at Daichi’s hands again but his grip is too fierce for him to get out.
“I said I won’t.”
Truthfully, if Kuroo wanted to, he could free himself fairly easily out of Daichi’s grasp. They aren’t that different in terms of power and strength. But what Kuroo is doing is a meek excuse for trying to get away. Out of embarrassment or fear or anything else utterly idiotic.
Daichi slides his hands down into Kuroo’s palms, slipping his fingers between Kuroo’s. They feel stiff, frozen in place but there is a warmth spreading throughout Daichi he hopes to relay to Kuroo as well. He should probably feel shaken at Kuroo’s words but Daichi’s never felt calmer, never more satisfied with the result of his taunting.
“What are you doing, Sawamura?” Kuroo breathes, eyes darting up to Daichi’s once more. They are filled with surprise, with confusion, with many things Daichi had never seen on Kuroo before. He finds he quite likes them.
“Are you this far back in adolescence?” Daichi laughs and squeezes Kuroo’s hands, receiving another back weakly in utter disbelief. “This is called holding hands. Don’t worry, it’s chaste.”
“I know what this is called,” Kuroo hisses, cheeks flushing in the same hue of red of his scarf. Camouflage, huh? Daichi’s grin widens. “I’m just asking you what you intend with this.”
“What did you intend by telling me you’d much rather have me all to yourself?”
Kuroo grumbles, fingers wrapping around Daichi’s tight enough for it to hurt. “Nothing. I never meant to tell you in the first place. You just pissed me off so I slipped.”
Daichi snickers, heart fluttering. Too proper, too considerate, Daichi has always taken great care in never letting his personal issues influence his job. For that, he kept his growing feelings for Kuroo locked away safely and neatly for after he was back home.
It grew harder, over the time, to keep it under control, temptation too harsh right before him with Kuroo’s hands and eyes all over him at least once a week. But it helped, convincing himself that Kuroo looked at the clothes on him, at his figure rather than at him as Daichi Sawamura. His nights were filled with dreams of a different sort of relationship with Kuroo, involving stares and hands on him just as much but different intentions behind them.
For Kuroo to touch him with so little passion as today, so little vigor, so much self-doubt--- Perhaps Daichi would have been less angry, then, if it were the same as always. He could deal with that much, memorizing every fervent touch of Kuroo’s despite it not being directed at him but at the fabric, at the clothes and his work. But this blatant slip-up, letting his feelings bleed into his frustration and amplifying it to spout empty words along with hollow touches… As if Kuroo tried to negate every sort of feeling towards him, the good ones, the bad ones. No wonder to Daichi that he felt so on edge before, in hindsight, desperately trying to keep silent.
“So are you going to say you didn’t mean it?” Daichi says, feigned shock in his voice thick. He keeps himself from laughing, from giving himself away. He feels afloat, so unlike any other day or situation; for the first time, it doesn’t feel like he stands on solid ground but on soft clouds instead.
“Do you think I’d mess up a suit this badly if I didn’t mean it? Let’s be real, Sawamura. You and I both know I am better than this.” Kuroo’s eyes wander down Daichi’s neck to his chest, resting there and gasping a second later. “I’m an idiot…”
“Good morning, I see you’ve gotten this news too now.” Daichi snickers and earns a long groan along with a not-quite-serious glare as Kuroo lets go of his hands and opens the buttons of Daichi’s suit coat, fixing the hem and lapel by smoothing his hands over the fabric. “My, my, you sure go at this fast.”
“Shut up for a second, will you?” Kuroo whispers, eyes focused as always. He seems to be back in his usual groove, Daichi all too used to this image. He knows that nothing could smack Kuroo out of this zone now and he doesn’t plan to, either. Ah well, this is a part of Kuroo Daichi fell for in the first place and seeing him back to his natural behaviour for now is more important - time is running short, and the sooner they are done, the better.
Kuroo’s hands wander up to Daichi’s collar again, opening another button and fixing it in place, palms running up his neck to cup Daichi’s face, with thumbs running over his cheeks and Daichi breathes in sharply at Kuroo’s lips on his. He took too long to process to respond in an appropriate manner, eyes wide open when Kuroo pulls back. It lasted a split second and yet, it was a twist of Daichi’s stomach, a curl of every toe individually, a continuous hammering of his heart and a shudder along his spine.
He blinks at Kuroo, still frozen on spot as the other grins at him. “I guess I can take my liberties too. Of course I’m telling other models they can be grateful to work with me. If I could, I would only do it with you.”
Daichi stares at Kuroo, deadpan to see the designer’s face sink in slow realization of his poor wording. First, his grin twists, lips pressed together. His eyes seek out something else to look at, anything but Daichi’s. Then a gulp and a grimace to top it all off. “Smooth, Kuroo.”
“Don’t.” He turns his head away, about to pull his hands from Daichi’s cheeks when he fixes them into place promptly with a laugh.
“Let’s keep that for after the show. I doubt you’d like to mess up your suit just when you had the idea upon how to fix it.”
Kuroo looks back up again, eyes big, another gulp following. He licks his lips just before Daichi closes in for another kiss to make up for his lack of reaction before and is more than delighted at the small sound Kuroo makes, drowned out by their kiss. It’s a promising one, one Daichi longed to hear - one he would like to induce and experience, bask in later, tomorrow, his whole life.