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“Kuro,” Kenma sighed, the small tickles of sensation running through his legs in hot streaks of energy. “Kuro, please,” he hid his face in his hands as his boyfriend’s teeth softly dug into the sensitive, soft inner skin of his thigh.
“Sorry, sorry,” Kuroo mumbled, but didn't stop his mouthy exploration of Kenma’s lower half. “I don't want to, you know… my mom’s in the living room. I just…” He made a strangled noise of frustration, the vibration sending another shock through Kenma's stomach.
All he could do was whine from the back of his throat, overwhelmed by how much attention he was receiving, scared to be walked in on by the woman who would be serving him dinner later that night. Kenma hated that his interest and arousal were obvious, an embarrassing shadow growing in the front of his ash grey boxer briefs.
It’s not like they’d really do anything, they never did, because Kuroo was, for some reason, obsessed with waiting for the “right time.” He never really understood why, but Kenma himself felt no different either way. Obviously, Kuroo wanted him—as displayed by his tongue on his thighs and the desperate pinching of his skin—but there was no forward motion, ever, which usually just left them both nursing erections and labored breaths.
A harsh bite to the soft part of his inner thigh had Kenma hardly stifling a moan, biting the knuckle of his index finger in return. He raised his chin, adam's apple arching towards the ceiling. He whined again, “Kuro.” He watched with his other hand in messy, black hair as Kuroo’s bare shoulders tensed and arched in the lamp light.
“Fine, okay, I’ll stop- I’ll stop.” Kuroo relented, dragging his nose up Kenma’s thigh, his bony hip, and onto the soft skin of his stomach. Immediately distracted, he nuzzled into the skin, his eyelashes tickling against the sensitive, usually ignored patches of skin. “Ugh,” he groaned, sucking on the skin before whipping his head up.
He looked dazed, tired, and ran his hand through his hair, leaning back on his ankles. Kenma stared at him below, and following suit with the rest of his body, his face grew hot. “I mean, you didn’t have to stop.” And he looked away, ashamed and needy.
“Ah,” Kuroo stared at him, a dastardly twinkle in his eye. “Kenma, you wound me.”
“It’s well intentioned.”
“Oh, is it?” He palmed his boyfriend’s right thigh, thin and pale beneath his hand, as he ran his thumb across the aching bruises he left behind. “Or are you just a manifestation of temptation, provoking me to ruin my god-given mission of chastity.” He grinned.
“You give yourself too much credit,” He lifted his foot and grazed it across the bulge between Kuroo’s thigh, who shivered and widened his eyes in response.
“Ha!” He wiggled away, stomach caving in as the sensation writhed through him, “You’re a demon.”
A small smirk crossed his lips, “Whatever you say. You usually come on to me.” While yes, that was usually true, today it was entirely Kenma’s fault. They’d made it to Kuroo’s room, both struggling to focus on their work, and within fifteen minutes they were caught in the routine of groping, and kissing, and grasping at each other’s limbs. Yes, Kenma might have yanked his boyfriend’s body over his own unexpectedly, and yes, Kenma had been thinking about doing so all day—but it would always be Kuroo’s fault for that athletic, irresistible physique he brought everywhere with him.
“Blah, blah, we’re—what—five to one?” He shrugged, face pink, “You’re to blame for today.”
“Because I know nothing’s ever gonna’ come of it.” Kenma started to reach for his DS, realized he should probably get to his schoolwork, and booted it up anyway.
Kuroo made a crackly noise of embarrassment. It was true. Kenma wanted to go further, to actually do sexual things instead of just dangling the concept in front of each other—which had been happening for months. That was all Kuroo’s doing. There was something holding him back, of which Kenma was unsure, but wasn’t willing to push. Although, his frustrations had been catching up to him, and seeing the bruises that littered his torso and thighs after every “study date” never helped.
“Shaddup,” Kuroo looked for both of their shirts and leaned off the bed to snatch them from the ground. The flex of his abdomen, impressive and muscular and far too distracting, had Kenma leaning his head back again, DS flopping to the side as he covered his face with a forearm. “Wha’?” a now disembodied voice asked, playful yet concerned.
“Ugh,” Kenma groaned, intelligently.
“Ugh?” Kuroo echoed, to clarify. He was flipping his shirt back outright, when his wrist was caught in thin, buzzing fingers. Without a moment to prepare, Kenma was forcing him down again, caving instantly without question, and kissed him right after his head slammed into the pillows.
★
They ate dinner together, and Kuroo couldn’t help but feel like his hair was noticeably messier (if possible) and the flush on Kenma’s face was unwavering. He noticed a ruffle in the back of Kenma’s grown out dye-job, and had to physically stop himself from trying to tease it out. Humiliating, he thought, reflecting on his overwhelming affection for his aloof childhood friend.
There was certainly something off in the air—Kuroo’s mom was exceptionally quiet and kept shooting sharp looks towards her son and his (to her supposed knowledge) friend. If Kuroo knew anything about the woman, it was that she always had something to say. Oh lord, he thought to himself as he grabbed a piece of beef off the shared plate with his chopsticks and plopped it on top of Kenma’s rice, she knows. As if he was able to hide it in the first place.
He walked Kenma home, and twenty minutes later returned to the tense air of his home. His mom was sitting on the couch, thin glasses perched on her nose as she read some paperback novel with half-interest. He plopped beside her, pulling out his cellphone to check his missed texts from Bokuto (Gaaaahhh! Blah, blah, blah, Akaashi said… Akaashi… Blah, blah, Did you hear about Karasuno’s win last weekend? Our baby birds are flying!!!!!! ★★★) and the image Kenma sent of his weird-looking cat that made him chuckle with ease.
“So,” His mother began, eyes still trained on her book, “Kozume.”
Kuroo froze, flickered his gaze towards her unusually nonchalant disposition and back to his phone, disconcerted. “What about Kozume?”
She closed her book, pushed her ovular glasses up her nose, and set it to the side. “I’m starting to think you two are more than just friends.” She raised an eyebrow, and began to pull her pin-straight black hair into a large clip.
“Whaaat?” Kuroo deflected, halfheartedly, as he felt heat rise through his neck, “Where’d you get that impression?”
Hands paused in her hair, she narrowed her eyes, which shifted down to the collar of his t-shirt. Unable to fight a toothy grimace, he absently tugged at the fabric. “Whoops,” he said. “My bad,” he grumbled and looked away.
Her face was set, but she didn’t quite look angry. “Anything else you want to say before I start scolding?” She said, smiling that evil, sharp expression her vindication always gave her.
Surprised, he floundered a bit. “Urh, um-” He rubbed a tense spot on his neck, “He’s my favorite person in the world, and I’m absolutely in love with him.” And he shrugged, sheepish, his tone begging for his mom to be light on the expected punishment.
“Cute.” She cooed, if a little patronizing, cocking her head. “But damn it, Tetsurou, you two have been screwin’ around in your room for months. In my damn home!” She shouted, her voice equally pissed and facetious. “The audacity of you childr-”
Visibly red, he flopped his hands around defensibly in front of himself. “No! No- it’s- it’s nothing like that.”
“Hah?” She reached over, leaning on her knee to flick the hickey on her son’s neck. “Bad, Tetsurou, you’re a bad liar!”
“Wh- wha? No, we’re not screwing around.” He hated having to explain himself to his mother, and on such a taboo topic... Part of him was also incredibly embarrassed—sex had been a sore spot in their relationship for a while, with there being an utter lack of it.
She clicked her tongue, “I know, I know, it’s serious. You’ve always been nothing but serious about Kozume; do you know how many times I’ve washed that boy’s clothes!?” she was gesturing sarcastically in front of her chest.
“No, ma,” He sighed, “We’re really not doing anything like that. We- we,” he gestured to his neck, not able to express the term make out without crumpling, “but it's not, like, sex…” He threw himself over the couch arm, hiding his face and groaning in defeat, “Why do I have to talk about this with you?”
She grinned, the same asshole smile Kuroo had inherited. His annoying, uncannily smart, spitfire mother. He would never be able to out pace her. “Ehh?” She sounded a bit aghast, but mocking in the same breath, “I guess Kozume is young. And- and so are you!” She added, pointing a finger at him and raising her voice. “Far too young!”
He hissed through his teeth, “I know, I know! And- and that’s part of it. Most of it. We’re just… I don’t know, I don’t want to do anything like that. What if I ruin it? What if it makes things weird?”
Her face softened, and she glanced away, glasses reflecting the soft lamp light. “Ah, you’re a good boy, Tetsurou. My baby boy!” She reached over and squished his face in her palms, to which he complained and huffed, but didn’t mind at all. “I thought you’d taken after your slut father—but I’m glad you’re just like your humble, infinitely pure mother.” She pointed a thumb towards herself, a shining smile below glinting eyes.
A deadpan gaze from her son, and she looked ready to kick him into next week. He knew his mother was no saint, and neither was Kuroo, for that matter, as much as he liked to say so. Perhaps this anxiety ran into his bloodline, the sarcastic son of a young single mother, ingrained with the mistakes his parents made and afraid to follow in a cyclical suit. He knew his father was a mean deadbeat who slept with a naive sixteen year old girl and left her with a big, mouthy child at her young age—but he supposed he didn’t understand his aversion to sex until now.
It wasn’t news to Kuroo that his mother was stunning, charming and charismatic rivaling none. All of his friends would tell him so—his mom was hot, she was cool, she was chill, all the above—but he knew how scared and timid she really was. That stupid, uncanny urge to defend and protect her weighed over everything now. The annoying boyfriends she brought back, the friends who told him to ‘look out for her,’ all because she was transparent with him. He didn’t want to hurt anyone the way she’d been hurt in the past; he’d be just as bad as his father or all the dickheads who had the audacity to wound her. Especially, he didn’t want to hurt Kenma like that. Young, quiet, video-game obsessed Kozume. The thought haunted him.
After a moment of his own reflection, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Tetsurou? You know I’ve always loved Kozume like my own son.”
It took a second to muster up the courage, “I was scared you’d be mad I was gay,” he chuckled, knowing how outrageous it sounded after this conversation. “You know—kick me out, call me names, all the stupid shit I should’ve never been worried about.”
“Language, Tetsurou.” He glared at her. “But, you idiot! What made you think that?!”
“I don’t know, mom! I was scared.” He folded in on himself, content to be the child she always knew him as.
“You know I like women, too, don’t you!?” He balked at her, “I swear, your observational skills only apply to volleyball, eh?”
Wide eyed, his mouth hung open, “You what!? I didn’t know that-”
“I thought I told you…” She thought for a moment with a finger at her chin, “Well, maybe, I suppose not.”
“News to me.”
“Well, I’m what they call a bisexual.” She winked.
He audibly complained, “I know what bisexual is, mom, you just…” he moved over to rest his head on her lap, and she squeezed his shoulder softly. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry for hiding things.”
She whacked him on the head, softly so his hair absorbed most of the impact, “Yeah, you should be! I don’t want my son to be secretive and lying to me.” She put one of her hands into Kuroo’s hair, scratching lightly with her uneven nails, “My precious son… I love you, Tetsurou.”
“Love you, ma.”
He could sense her smile without seeing it, “Hey! Now I don’t have to lay awake at night, fearin’ I’ll have to deal with grandchildren. Yuck.” She stuck her tongue out and made a noise of disgust. “Gay son—score!”
“Christ, ma!”
“But you still have to keep your door cracked while Kozume’s over. And be safe, for God’s sake!”
★
The next afternoon, Kenma was leaning against the headboard of his boyfriend’s bed, DS in hand, trying hard not to pay attention to the man changing clothes beside him. After he’d undone half of the buttons on his uniform, Kenma glanced up, unable to keep his eyes off him so long. That’s when he noticed.
“Door?” Kenma said simply, gesturing towards the one-fourth crack between the frame.
Still halfway unbuttoned, Kuroo stopped. He turned toward the bed, distracted from his task of disrobing, and fell forward towards his boyfriend. “She knows.”
“Oh.” Kenma blushed, remembering the fresh bruises across his neck that he’d become expert at color correcting throughout their relationship, and how he’d forgotten to hide them last night. “Huh.”
Burying his face into the bruised plane, Kuroo whined in an uncharacteristically high pitch. “She and I spoke last night after I walked you home.”
“Oh, okay. How was that?” His heart started to race, afraid of the possibility of his own parents finding out through her. Immediately, he was cataloging their interaction this afternoon—she seemed no different—still greeting him with a kind smile and an offering of food. The hand that’d slipped into the close-clipped back of Kuroo’s hair unconsciously tightened its grip.
Sensing the change, Kuroo held himself up on an elbow, still leaning in close towards Kenma’s face. “It was good. She’s- she’s okay with it. Not mad. She won’t say anything. She just wants me to keep the door open now,” and he whined again, this time letting his head fall onto his partner’s sternum. “So, sex is most likely off the table for a long while.”
Half sympathetic, Kenma snorted, “As if that was on the table in the first place.”
“Fair.” He went quiet, now shifting himself to settle central to Kenma’s body, head resting just above his heartbeat, hips between the bend of his tiny knees.
Kenma was anxious, now, and asked: “Kuro, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry.” He replied, almost instantly, groveling without facing his partner.
“For what?” His heart still raced.
“For not… I dunno’, doing anything sooner. I know you want to, I’m just…”
“What?” Kenma was relieved. There was a very real possibility his parents had just found out he was gay—through that weird connection families kept with each other—who he knew, for fact, they would not be as welcoming to as Kuroo’s angel of a mother. (Though, he was aware there was nothing really angelic about that woman). “Why are you apologizing for that?”
Kuroo looked up at him, sad, guilty, cat eyes driving him insane. He leaned down slightly, a bit awkward, and gave him a quick, fleeting peck on the lips. He stroked his hair again, frowning slightly.
“I don’t care about that, Kuro.” He grew occupied with the impossible task of smoothing his lover’s perpetual bedhead. “I don’t really understand it, but I don’t want to go there if you don’t.”
Kuroo grumbled, “I know. I just- I feel like I’m letting you down.”
Kenma looked toward the ceiling noncommittally, “Meh, not really. It’s annoying having to calm down after your relentless teasing,” he pinched Kuroo’s ear and he winced like a child, “but I’m okay with what we have going on now.”
It seemingly took a moment of deliberation, but Kuroo spoke again. “You know I still want you, right? Like, I think you’re sexy, and cute, and amazing, and-” Kenma cut him off by pressing his palm against his lips.
“Mhm, I do know.” The praise made him crazy, made him want to shake out of his body and release all the pent up energy they’d been garnering for months.
“I’m just… afraid.”
That was new, Kenma thought.
“I feel like I’m gonna’ fuck things up. I’m gonna- I’ll make things awkward, and difficult, and- and I’ll be nothing more than my shithead sperm-donor, taking advantage of you and-”
“Whoa,” Kenma stopped him, quickly after that last comment. “Taking advantage of me? That’s crazy. I’m capable of my own decisions. We’re close enough in age, we’ve been dating for months—there’s nothing like that happening here.”
Kuroo grumbled, unconvinced.
“Plus, I can’t get pregnant, so it’s inconsequential at the end of the day-”
“Kenma!” Kuroo scolded, red and undoubtedly plagued by the causal imagery.
“And, we-” he felt the words poking at his tongue before he could even think twice, “We love each other, and that’s good for now. We can wait.”
Kuroo huffed, angling his chin to plant a kiss onto his boyfriend’s jaw. “Yeah, you’re right.” He continued to trail little pecks across his cheek, his nose, and finally settled on the soft set of lips beneath him. He pulled back to say, “I love you, Kenma.”
“I know,” he muttered between movements. Kuroo responded by softly biting his lower lip. “Ack. I love you too, you asshole.” He sighed, remembering Kuroo’s half-unbuttoned uniform shirt against the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Kenma pushed him back by the shoulders, “and now we have to keep the door open.” Kuroo looked away, feeling idiotic.
“Now we have to keep the door open.”
★