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Love, it stings and then it laughs
At every beat of my battered heart
A sudden jolt, a tender kiss
I know I'm gonna die of this
And that's because
I could drown myself in someone like you
I could dive so deep I never come out
— Nothing But Thieves, Impossible
— 🍵 —
Kojiro doesn’t want to go out. He wants to stay at Kaoru’s and pick a movie for them to watch—preferably something that’ll have just enough blood and guts in it that he can grip onto Kaoru and pretend it’s because he’s scared and not because he’s like a starved man for Kaoru’s touch and company and presence.
Alas, Kaoru—for some stupid reason—agreed when Suki asked the two of them in class earlier, and Kojiro has his whole womanizer reputation to live up to, so they’re going. Ugh.
Whatever.
He heads to Kaoru’s room after spending far too long staring in the mirror and wondering if his hair is okay, and—he shouldn’t have bothered, really, because next to Kaoru he looks like he put zero effort into his appearance anyway.
"Shit, you look nice," Kojiro stammers the moment he wanders into Kaoru’s room, wondering how he is even best friends with someone who looks like they do photoshoots for a living.
"Pretty sure you can come up with a better adjective," Kaoru huffs, pulling his hair back into a ponytail.
Kojiro flushes, snaps his eyes back to Kaoru's from where he was tracing the line of Kaoru’s bared neck. "Well, yeah—"
"Help me with my eyeliner," Kaoru demands, like he can't see how utterly gobsmacked Kojiro is by the sight of him in eyeshadow.
"Pushy," he says anyway, plucking the pen from Kaoru's fingers. "How is it you can do a full face but can't do a wing?"
"I can do a wing, my hands are just shaking too much right now," Kaoru rolls his eyes, before closing them when Kojiro rests his hand against Kaoru's brow. "You do it better than me anyway."
It's a wonderful stroke to Kojiro's ego, to be honest. He's human, okay? He's gonna do Kaoru's eyeliner as often as he's allowed if that's the praise he's gonna get, even if the majority of him is soft and concerned at the fact that Kaoru’s anxiety is up.
"I'm just too good," he says anyway, just to get a rise out of Kaoru.
Kaoru hits him, eyes still closed. "Just do it, you idiot."
"Yes, mom," Kojiro says, but he makes the mistake of dropping his voice and it comes out less like an insult and more like a caress.
Kaoru's face pinkens, he scrunches his nose. "You're not even drunk yet."
"As if I don't flirt all the time," Kojiro says in an effort to save them from whatever the fuck edge he just shoved them towards.
"Yes but I'm not one of your girls," Kaoru says impatiently.
I wish you were, Kojiro thinks, I really wish you were, you're my best girl already.
He doesn't know what to say that won't damn them, so he just snorts and gets to work lining Kaoru's eyes as requested. Kaoru bitches at him the whole time and Kojiro laughs back, tells Kaoru to hold still and stop fucking it up.
"Hate you," Kaoru says when Kojiro is finally done.
"Love you," Kojiro singsongs.
"Ugh, shut up," Kaoru says as he leans forward to put his lipstick on, lips parting, and Kojiro feels like he's been punched.
Kaoru appraises himself in the mirror, tilts his head and frowns, even though Kojiro knows the liner is even, even though Kaoru looks stunning—as always—golden eyes smoked out, cheekbones high and sharp.
"Take a picture, gorilla," Kaoru says, sticking his finger into his cherry red mouth and pulling it out again, "it'll last longer," and he's so nonchalant yet Kojiro feels hot all over.
"God, you're so annoying," he says to save face.
“And I’m not going anywhere,” Kaoru smirks at him and gives him the finger before disappearing into the bathroom to change. Dick.
Kojiro scrolls through his phone while he waits, opening snaps from people already at the restaurant and wondering again why they're even going. Kaoru doesn't like half their grade, and Kojiro is still a little scarred from his last hookup where they made out for five minutes before she declared herself his girlfriend in class the next day.
He really would prefer that movie night, seriously.
"Ready?" Kaoru says, snapping Kojiro from his thoughts, and—
Jesus fucking Christ.
Backlit by the bathroom light, it takes Kojiro a moment to take in the white turtleneck, the matching thigh high socks secured with fucking garters that disappear underneath a plaid pink skirt.
"What the hell are you wearing?"
Kaoru scowls at him, cocks his hip, and Kojiro can't help but follow the movement, the way Kaoru's tiny waist is emphasised by the flare of the skirt. "I really have no clue how girls are into you, you're so fucking dumb."
But Kojiro can't stop staring. "I'm serious."
"A skirt, Kojiro," Kaoru says, frown deepening as he sweeps his hair over his shoulder. "You ever been near one before?"
Plenty, Kojiro thinks, trying to cast his mind back to any point in time where he was as affected as he is now.
"You look great," he manages to get out, and Kaoru's expression is scathing at best. "You do, I promise." And then, because he's already burning alive, "you make anything look great."
Kaoru just stalks past to put his combat boots on. "Ever the wordsmith."
"Sorry," Kojiro cringes, not tacking on the twenty other sentences in his mind that are basically sonnets to Kaoru's legs because dear god, they look incredible.
"You should be," Kaoru says, but he's smiling a little too, so he can't be that shitty.
Kojiro doesn't know what to say without spewing how beautiful he thinks his best friend is, so he takes Kaoru's hand wordlessly and tugs him out the door.
Predictably, Kojiro's faux pas is the only one of the night from their friend group. The izakaya is tucked between a giant corporate building and the flower shop Hiromi works at, the heat hitting Kojiro’s face the moment he ducks under the noren after Kaoru.
It’s a good thing. He can blame it for the way his cheeks are red at the expanse of thigh that is revealed when Kaoru crosses his legs and his skirt rides up.
“You’re late,” Hiromi says as he raises his glass to the two of them, predictably.
"Don't you look lovely?" Ainosuke flirts with Kaoru, also predictably.
Kojiro swallows his retort and orders a beer while the girls coo over Kaoru’s outfit.
And it’s not a terrible dinner. In fact it’s actually more fun than either of them were clearly anticipating, and Kojiro has enough beer to go along with the others when they relocate to a nightclub.
“Dance with me,” Kojiro says to Kaoru.
“Can’t I finish my drink first?” Kaoru snipes, lips dark under the blue lighting, but he laughs and lets Kojiro pull him in close, cradles his glass in one hand and folds the other over Kojiro’s neck, presses their foreheads together.
“I bought you that,” Kojiro reminds him into the hot space between them, wanting to kiss him.
“Mm,” Kaoru hums, teeth flashing as he licks the straw into his mouth and hollows his cheeks and makes Kojiro’s stomach flip over on itself. “Thank you.”
Kojiro can’t stand him. The press of the crowd around them is hotter than the izakaya and crushing them close, and Kojiro can’t tear his eyes away from Kaoru’s legs, from the bounce of the skirt as they sway.
It’s Kaoru, alright? He’d make a bedsheet look amazing, Kojiro knows this, but there’s something about the skirt and the high socks that has completely taken away Kojiro’s ability to think. And it doesn’t make any sense because Kaoru has long flowy hair and paints his nails and wears makeup all the time; he’s always been pretty, always made guys’ heads turn wherever he’s gone. It’s just a skirt.
Just a skirt, Kojiro tells himself, but it doesn’t explain why his palms are damp, breath coming out all hot and desperate as Kaoru drinks his vodka and lets Kojiro bunch the material between his fingers when he holds Kaoru’s waist.
“Y’so pretty,” he whines a little and Kaoru laughs again, drink jostling.
“Idiot.”
“Your idiot,” Kojiro says, because he is, he’s no one else’s.
"Yeah," Kaoru snorts, oblivious, utterly oblivious to Kojiro's suffering.
Kojiro's fingers twist, the skirt lifts a little and dear god, the sight of the garter digging into Kaoru's thigh is ruining him. He's gonna get them both in trouble for public indecency. "So fucking pretty," he says again, because he can, because he's tilting towards Kaoru, breathing in his exhalations, almost close enough to taste his lipstick.
And Kaoru—Kaoru presses back, brow warm against Kojiro's, mouth smearing on Kojiro's cheek.
"I wanna go home," Kojiro tells Kaoru, really meaning, I want to take you home.
Kaoru nods, fingers flexing on Kojiro's neck, teeth sharp around his straw. "Old man."
But Kojiro doesn't have a retort, can only think of Kaoru's tiny waist and the twist of his skirt in Kojiro's hands and the flash of his garter, the salt in Kojiro's mouth when he sets his smile against Kaoru's throat.
"Shut up."
"Make me," Kaoru breathes, pushing up against Kojiro, touch sticky-sweet on Kojiro's face, and for one terrifying moment Kojiro thinks Kaoru is going to kiss him and suddenly he wants it so bad his teeth ache.
But then the music changes to a song that Kojiro hasn't heard in years and Kaoru is leaning back in Kojiro's arms and raising his glass and Kojiro can't even find it in himself to be disappointed because god. God. His best friend is so stunning and Kojiro is so stupidly in love with him.
So they dance and dance and Kaoru bullies Kojiro into buying him another drink, and then they do shots with the others and then Kojiro is stumbling outside for air. Kaoru usually smokes but not tonight; tonight he's crunching on his ice cubes and letting Kojiro crowd him against the railing, piercings glinting in the shitty yellow light.
"Do you like it?" he asks Kojiro, as Kojiro rubs the hem of Kaoru's skirt and tries not to cross all the invisible lines in their friendship.
"Huh? Like what?"
"The skirt," Kaoru prompts, feet widening a little so Kojiro can properly slot between his legs and oh. God. Kojiro has to bury his face in Kaoru's shoulder for a moment because it's too much. It's too much.
"I said you were pretty, didn't I?"
"Yes, but my ego needs stroking," Kaoru hums, tipping another ice cube into his mouth.
This guy, seriously.
"Think it looks incredible," Kojiro mutters, teeth catching on Kaoru's turtleneck. "You look incredible."
And they've always been tactile but it's such an effort to hold back, to keep himself from tilting and seeing what it'd be like to slot their mouths together.
It's too much.
"I need to go home," Kojiro groans, straightening and dragging a hand over his too-hot face. "Had too much to drink."
"Lightweight."
"I'm heavy," Kojiro reminds him, pressing Kaoru into the railing and letting him take all his weight.
"Oaf," Kaoru wheezes, whacking his shoulder. "Get off, I can't breathe."
"Good," Kojiro says, and then, because he can, because he's at the limit of his self-control, licks Kaoru's cheek.
"Gross," Kaoru says with a shove. "Can't take you anywhere."
"You can take me home," Kojiro flirts.
"Who else is going to?" Kaoru retorts, but he slips his hand into Kojiro's and tugs him inside to say goodbye.
Kojiro doesn't really remember getting home. He remembers walking, and the train ride where he pulled Kaoru down to sit, and damn, it really must be early if the trains are still going.
But then they're in Kaoru's room and everything is pink, and Kojiro is drinking water even though he's considerably more sober than he was at the club while Kaoru stretches out on the bed next to him, socked feet close enough to touch.
And Kojiro can't stop looking at Kaoru, even while he's trying to finish his water, condensation running down his fingers. Kaoru looks like a dream like that, lying amongst the pillows, knees bent almost coyly, skirt bunched up at the top of his thighs and. God. Kojiro tears his eyes away.
It's just a fucking skirt.
He picks at a mark on his jeans, tries to refocus. Kaoru's legs keep moving restlessly and it takes up all of Kojiro’s concentration. He's always done it, never been able to sit without wriggling his feet or bouncing his knees. On worse days, Kojiro will calm Kaoru down with a hand on his knee, will ease his thumb over Kaoru’s skin, rub the muscle until Kaoru stills, except he doesn't know if he's allowed to here.
He's stuck thinking about his behaviour at the club, how he was all in Kaoru’s space and sucking in every breath Kaoru exhaled. Kaoru hadn’t protested, sure, he’d even slid up against Kojiro and rolled their hips together. But still.
Out the corner of his eye, Kaoru’s legs pause in their rocking motion, the movement so sudden that Kojiro lifts his head, drags his eyes from Kaoru’s thighs to his face. Kaoru is already looking at him, cheeks still pink, hair askew on the pillow.
The back of Kojiro’s neck prickles and he gulps his water a little more desperately, feeling caught out.
He’s still thinking of something to say when Kaoru’s knees begin slowly rocking again, back and forth, and like a moth to a flame, Kojiro watches. He can feel Kaoru’s eyes on him but it’s too late to pretend he’s looking anywhere other than the flash of Kaoru’s thighs, so pale compared to the pink skirt layered over them. The worst part is that Kaoru doesn't say anything the whole time but the silence is thick and heavy between them regardless, nearly suffocating Kojiro every time he opens his mouth to speak.
In the end he settles for staying quiet, and it's a good thing too, because Kaoru's hand—the one he'd been running over his mouth absentmindedly this whole time—trails down his chest then and lands amongst the pleats of his skirt, toying with them, lifting the hem a little, nowhere near enough to show anything but still enough and. And fuck.
Kaoru's testing him, Kojiro realises, teasing him, and his mouth goes dry.
There isn't enough water in the damned world.
He can't look away.
Can't tear his gaze from Kaoru's thighs and the way the skirt keeps riding up, showing the paleness of Kaoru's skin before dropping again, all a tease, a taste test.
And Kojiro is crawling forward without thinking too hard about it, is touching Kaoru's calf, flattening his palm so he can cup the strong muscle there, pretend like it's a normal thing to do when it really fucking isn't. Because Kaoru props his legs in Kojiro's lap all the time; asks for foot rubs and kicks at Kojiro whenever he tickles him. But this is so much different; this is uncharted waters, unknown depths.
Still, Kojiro is helpless to stop, is dragging his hand up Kaoru's leg, rubbing a thumb over Kaoru's knee.
Pushing further has him reaching the hem of the skirt, and Kaoru is so much warmer here, chest hitching when Kojiro's eyes flicker to Kaoru's, seeking, beseeching.
"I'm..." Kojiro says but no other words follow. His eyes are glued to the expanse of skin revealed to him when he carefully pushes up Kaoru's skirt; he can only shake his head and say, "I don't know," but he can't explain anything, can't explain why it feels so right to dip his head and nose along the inside of Kaoru's thigh.
It's silky smooth and soft, Kaoru's breath coming in little hitches as Kojiro's palm cradles his knee, as Kojiro pushes the other down so he can bully his way between Kaoru's legs, too far gone to turn back now. He could keep doing this, Kojiro realises, inhaling the scent of Kaoru's soap and perfume, the salt-sweat on his skin. Kojiro's heart is going crazy, pounding in his ears, his throat, and suddenly he's so hard in his pants it's almost painful. The garter presses into Kaoru's thigh and Kojiro parts his lips against the swell of muscle as he pushes the skirt up all the way, reveals the black panties underneath.
"What the fuck," he whispers, trying to process the sight of Kaoru's dick steadily filling out, the black panties, the garters, the skirt. "What the fuck…"
Kaoru's fingers flex on his hip and he twitches, face terribly soft and vulnerable when Kojiro looks at him.
"Kojiro?" he says, voice small, uncertain.
"M'here," Kojiro says even though he isn't certain of anything either, brain fully offline as he bows his head, clutches at Kaoru's thighs a little desperately and nudges up against Kaoru's dick.
It's beginning to strain against his underwear, and it jumps when Kojiro opens his mouth to it, kisses it through the fabric, hot and sweet, and fuck, okay, Kojiro is done for. Until now, he could have blown a raspberry on Kaoru's hip, laughed it off and teased him, something, but this—this is it for him. His rocky shore, his jagged iceberg. There's nothing to keep him from wrecking himself now, no way to stop from sinking down between Kaoru's thighs and rubbing his face against them, against where he's hot and throbbing.
“Kojiro,” Kaoru says again, but he doesn’t stop him, if anything his knees fall apart a little wider to accommodate Kojiro easier and Kojiro’s breath leaves him in a rush, he has to rut down onto the bed because this whole thing is unbelievable and insane and he’s. He’s lost his mind, clearly.
They both have.
"I just..." he mumbles, hands rubbing up and down Kaoru's thighs and tugging the garters out the way as he continues to nuzzle Kaoru's dick, sucking the material into his mouth with each dirty kiss. “I don’t know,” he says, like it just makes sense to be lying in the darkness of Kaoru's room between Kaoru's legs and gripping his skirt and kissing his dick through his panties.
And Kojiro can't stop, is the thing, has to keep reattaching his lips to Kaoru until the material is damp with precome and spit, only just manages to pause long enough to bury his face at the base of Kaoru's dick and whisper, "fuck, is this okay?" like he hasn't torn down everything remotely 'okay' between them.
But Kaoru doesn't shove him away, doesn't shut his legs. Instead he's grasping Kojiro's hair with tentative fingers, looking down with bright red cheeks, glassy eyes. "Yes," he says, "yes, it's okay, it's—Kojiro—" and then, to seal both their fates, "please."
Kojiro can only groan, tug the material of Kaoru's panties to the side, let the lace scrape against his cheek as he finally finally finally frees Kaoru's dick and inhales. There's something primal about it, something so basal and whorish about the act that makes Kojiro's face burn even as he drags his nose against the swell of Kaoru's balls, suckles the sticky base. He's so hot to the touch as Kojiro dares to curl his fingers around him, parts his mouth and swallows him down like the sea and oh, god—
There's no coming back from this, Kojiro realises, no redemption, no retribution. He'll be forever lost to this, to the salty-hot throb of Kaoru on his tongue, the twitching of his knees under Kojiro, sharp inhalations of breath blurring with Kojiro's name. And he swallows and swallows, forces Kaoru as deep as he can go until his throat closes and his chest lurches and his eyes sting and only then does he draw back, let's Kaoru's dick fall from his ruined mouth.
"Fuck," Kaoru whimpers, pupils blown wide as he stares down at Kojiro, beyond the rucked up skirt and the messed up socks, and Kojiro groans from somewhere deep in his chest, drags kisses along Kaoru's legs, drunk off the taste of him, the reality of being here in the middle of the night after some dumb party and giving his very first blowjob to his best friend.
Kaoru's breath shudders as Kojiro finds his way back to his dick, and then Kojiro licks it back into his mouth and bobs his head and twists his hand the way he's seen in porn, the way he's dreamt of doing before this, before he knew this could even be an option. And Kaoru swears and tilts his hips up, like Kojiro’s hunger is driving his own and it’s everything and nothing all at once and he can’t get enough.
They haven't even kissed.
It's not how Kojiro ever thought he'd get with Kaoru.
He'd imagined it differently, like pushing Kaoru against the column of the abandoned carpark and kissing him while the sun set, or leaning over during a movie and tucking Kaoru's hair behind his ear. Real fairy tale type shit. Not this: greedily sucking at Kaoru's dick and hauling him as close as possible by his thighs.
"Fuck," Kaoru swears again and Kojiro takes it as a good sign, drunk off the sweat-damp clench of Kaoru's thighs, the musky smell of him, the hot drag of his dick over Kojiro's bottom lip. Fingers dig into Kojiro's, Kaoru's knees shake. "Oh fuck," Kaoru says, and Kojiro loses his breath.
He bobs his head, makes his mouth sloppy and loud, hand twisting on the downstroke, cheeks hollowing on the way up, thinking of those girls in porn whose makeup gets ruined as they learn to deep-throat and let themselves be used. Except it's him and his best friend and his mouth which is swollen and sore, his throat which keeps closing up around Kaoru's dick, his eyes spilling tears, his chin dripping with spit.
Kaoru's hips keep bucking and Kojiro's forearm lands across them like a brand, holds him down while Kojiro forces his dick down his throat again. It makes no difference to the noise Kaoru keeps making, whispered pleas and cut off curses, fingers tugging at Kojiro's hair and making him moan.
"I wanna eat you out," Kojiro pulls away to breathe, rutting against the mattress, sensitive enough that he figures he might just come from that. "Wanna eat your pussy out."
"S'not..." Kaoru pants, gasping when Kojiro swirls his tongue in the slit.
But Kojiro's higher brain function disappeared quite a while ago, his mouth and jaw are aching and he wants Kaoru to come, damn it. He's just saying whatever is on his mind.
"Y'so wet for me," he slurs, feeling Kaoru's dick twitch against his cheek as he licks at Kaoru's balls, hot and heady.
"Kojiro," Kaoru says, laughing a little like he can't believe the shit Kojiro is saying, before whimpering when Kojiro drags his lips up the underside.
It's messy, sloppy as all hell. Whatever. Kaoru's an oasis and Kojiro is parched.
"You feel so good," he says, because his brain to mouth filter is clearly nonexistent.
So what if he's been waiting to wax lyrical about Kaoru. This is the best he's got right now, the best sentence he can piece together before choking himself on Kaoru’s dick again, strings of spit between his mouth and Kaoru’s cockhead when he has to come up for air. There’s an ocean of want in him right now and he’s willing to drown himself for it, fingers sticky-wet as they grip Kaoru’s dick and stroke haphazardly.
“This fucking skirt,” Kojiro says, pushing Kaoru’s knee higher, splitting him wide, baring him so that he can suckle the swell of his ass, nose his way to the secret space behind Kaoru’s balls, and further, lower—
“Oh fuck,” Kaoru gasps out when Kojiro licks right over his hole, the salty taste bursting bright and sharp on his tongue and fuck, Kojiro wants Kaoru to make that sound again, wants the taste of him embedded in his mouth and memory for days to come. “Oh—Kojiro—”
Baby, Kojiro wants to say, can only make his mouth soft and wet and lick and suck at Kaoru’s hole, testing the give of it with determined circles of his tongue until Kaoru eventually relents and suddenly his tongue is buried in Kaoru’s ass and holy fucking god if Kojiro dies right now he’ll be the happiest man alive. It’s obscene, how hot Kaoru is inside, how raw and grounding and heartbreaking and life-changing it feels to be jerking Kaoru’s dick and tonguing his ass and making him writhe and moan, “please, please,” like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.
Like he’s on the same page as Kojiro.
Face hot and slick, Kojiro pulls back to breathe, to gather his scattered thoughts. He’s ruined, utterly ruined. A wreck below the iceberg, debris on the rocky shore.
“Fucking hell,” he says, chest heaving as Kaoru stares up at him with his red cheeks and his puffy mouth and his stupid fucking skirt that’s the reason they’re here in the first place. “Fuck.”
Kaoru makes a little distressed noise and Kojiro soothes him with his hands against his thighs, smearing through the mess he’s left there, tracing where his mouth just was, pushing a little, watching Kaoru colour an even deeper red as Kojiro eases a fingertip into him, hot hot hot.
“Jesus,” Kojiro says, eyes flicking to Kaoru’s cockhead, still flushed and dripping onto his skirt, and his mouth waters all over again. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”
“Sorry?” Kaoru offers, and Kojiro laughs, bites his thigh affectionately.
“Don’t be,” Kojiro says, absentmindedly mouthing wherever he can reach as he pushes his finger in further, licking around it to ease the way. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
Kaoru flushes, like Kojiro isn’t currently licking and fingering his ass, legs trembling against Kojiro’s head. “Wordsmith.”
And then he reaches for Kojiro’s free hand, twines their fingers together.
Kojiro’s heart swells like the King tide, inescapable, and he squeezes back gently, tries to say to Kaoru without words how much this means to him, how this isn’t just some drunken accident, how it feels like he’s been waiting forever and a day for this.
He doesn’t voice the thoughts though, instead lets Kaoru drag his hand upwards, beneath the white turtleneck, across shivering ribs until they get to Kaoru’s nipple. Kojiro falters where he’s stuffing his cheek with Kaoru’s dick, watches as Kaoru flattens his palm over Kojiro’s, a clear request, one that Kojiro has been dying to do since he went with Kaoru to get the fucking piercings in the first place.
It hardens beneath his finger immediately, so responsive, and Kojiro groans, the weight of Kaoru's dick heavy and grounding on his tongue as he flicks his fingers over Kaoru's pierced nipple.
"You like that?" he rasps, "like it when I play with your tits?"
"Yeah," Kaoru whines, and then, amazingly, "I'll come if you do that."
Fuck.
“I want that,” Kojiro pleads. “Wanna see you come, want to see you come on my face."
Kaoru laughs and he whines and he clenches around Kojiro’s finger and twitches in Kojiro’s mouth and twists his hands in Kojiro’s hair and pulls, says, “M’gonna come, Kojiro, I’m gonna come, don't stop don't stop don't stop—"
Kojiro didn’t even do anything special or different but Kaoru tightens up like a bowstring, arching into his touch and forcing his wrist into the bed as he comes, right onto Kojiro’s tongue, overwhelming and salty-hot and Kojiro swallows and swallows like he’s dying for it.
“Shit,” Kojiro says when Kaoru stops twitching in his mouth, when he slips from Kojiro’s mouth, wet and softening against his skirt. “Fuck, Kaoru.”
“C’mere,” Kaoru says, beckoning sluggishly, letting Kojiro crawl over him, box him in and settle heavily across his thighs, across the stupid pink skirt.
His hands are shaking, he’s so sensitive it almost hurts when he wraps a hand around his dick.
"I wanna come on your skirt," Kojiro whimpers, hand blurring, arm burning. "Can I?"
Kaoru groans like Kojiro is still jerking him off and he nods, says, "yes, Koji, yes, you can—"
There's no way to last, not with how ruined Kojiro is at the sight of Kaoru; wrecked from Kojiro's mouth and hands, marked up and pink-cheeked and kiss-swollen and starry-eyed.
“Fucking—shit,” Kojiro swears, slamming his hand on the bed nest to Kaoru’s head, and then his orgasm is taking him like waves upon the shore, barrelling into him without any reprieve as he strokes and comes all over the pleats of Kaoru’s skirt. “Fuck…” he moans with each pulse through him, feeling like he just came with his entire body, face tucked against Kaoru’s neck, trembling all over.
When he finally stops coming, he scrapes his teeth over Kaoru’s neck, his jaw and then soothes kisses there instead, not knowing if he’s allowed to, taking what he can while Kaoru isn’t pushing him away.
“Sorry,” he says when he can breathe a little easier, finally lifting his head and looking down between them. He really has fucked up Kaoru’s skirt, ruined it with come and spit and twisted up all the pleats. “I’ll buy you another one.”
Kaoru snorts, covering his mouth. No, Kojiro thinks, don’t hide, and he reaches up, tugs Kaoru’s hand away, twines their fingers together the way Kaoru did earlier.
“Sorry,” Kojiro says again, soft and uncertain now that he doesn’t have the excuse of just doing whatever the fuck he wanted because Kaoru caught him looking at his skirt. But he’s here now, in his best friend’s bed, smelling exactly like he just spent the last thirty minutes or hours making Kaoru come, and just. How did they get here?
“It’s okay,” Kaoru says, just as softly, eyes a little watery, and fuck no, if he cries then Kojiro is going to cry and he’s barely holding it together as he is.
“Um,” Kojiro starts, wondering how to explain himself. He can’t stop looking at their joined hands, Kaoru’s bruised thighs, his ruined skirt. “Was that… I didn’t really stop to think or… ask.”
Kaoru is still spectacularly red. “Neither.”
Kojiro sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and drums his fingers on his thigh and tries to come up with something. He’s been tamping this thing down for two horrible beautiful years, told himself he can survive on Kaoru’s hugs and demands for foot rubs and falling asleep against him, told himself that their friendship is more important than his dumb stupid heart that wants anything and everything Kaoru can give him.
“I just,” he says, voice a little wobbly around the edges like he’s going through puberty again. “You looked really, really good tonight? And I guess I’d always kind of wondered what it’d be like?”
Kaoru says nothing for a moment, before quietly asking, “To… to do that?”
Kojiro can’t believe them. He was literally inhaling Kaoru’s dick minutes ago and now he can’t even say it out loud.
“Yeah,” he swallows, “that. And…and other stuff, too. Like this,” he brings their joined hands up, “holding your hand. Y’know, I always figured I’d take you on a date somewhere and buy you something and make you laugh before I,” he can barely pause to breathe when he says, “before I kissed you,” and fucking fuck, he’s said way too much too fast but his come is literally drying in Kaoru’s lap right now so it’s not the only irrational thing he’s done tonight.
Kaoru’s teeth sink into his lip then, and it’s honestly so fucking distracting, it’s like staring at his knees as they rocked all over again.
“You can do that too,” Kaoru whispers, still worrying his lip between his teeth.
“Really?”
A small nod. “Yeah, you—I want you to.”
It’s like watching his thoughts tumble like rocks into the sea, the spray making Kojiro blink ten times more than necessary before he leans down and kisses his best friend.
And holy fuck, they should have been doing this the whole time instead. Kaoru’s mouth is soft and warm to start but the kiss turns heated way quicker than Kojiro was expecting, Kaoru gasping into his mouth and surging closer as Kojiro grabs his ass and grinds down onto him and how is he ready to go again when he just came—
“Kojiro—” Kaoru huffs, writhing beneath him. “Wait, slow down—”
Kojiro is off him in an instant, heart pounding for a different reason, apologies already bubbling out of him.
“Don’t go, you idiot,” Kaoru huffs, snagging onto Kojiro’s collar, keeping them close. “Just. It’s okay, slow down. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
“Okay,” Kojiro says, salt in his eyes, and this time his voice does crack a little at the end as Kaoru kisses the tip of his nose, strokes his cheeks and stares at Kojiro in a way that makes him warm and fuzzy all over. Does he look at Kaoru like that? “Okay,” he repeats, as Kaoru smiles and pulls him down to kiss.