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Koujaku doesn’t like to bathe together, not really.
He doesn’t like most things that involve being naked with little distraction from the fact. He doesn’t often go around—even in his own home—without something on. Anything, really.
It makes sense that he wouldn’t like bathing together, either.
Which, okay, isn’t the end of the world, Aoba tells himself. He draws on the memory of bathing with Koujaku for the first time, soon after they’d gotten together, and remembers how awkward it was for most of the experience (sex being besides the fact). He tries to think Koujaku would probably be as awkward as he was then as he is now, simply because Koujaku is, admittedly, a huge loser when it comes to Aoba.
But Aoba really can’t fool himself into believing the fact that maybe Koujaku just really likes showers by himself, without fumbling around a second person while trying to do a simple task like washing his face or hair.
It’s the tattoos. Aoba knows it. Koujaku knows it. They don’t really talk about it, but it’s a mutual understanding. Kind of like the mutual understanding that if Koujaku’s leaving early to set up shop for the day, he really shouldn’t bother waking Aoba, because at seven in the morning, Aoba really couldn’t give less of a shit if Koujaku wants a goodbye kiss, because sleep takes priority at that point in the day; any time after ten is suitable, though.
Aoba wants to say something about it, but he can’t.
It’s not his burden to carry. All he can do is watch Koujaku carry it himself, day in, day out. Covered up to be comfortable in his own skin.
Aoba tries to respect it. He really does.
But it’s heartbreaking to watch Koujaku do his hair in the morning, to watch him part a section of hair to hang over the right half of his face when it can clearly fit back into his ponytail. He could have his hair back all the way, if it weren’t for the tattoo bordering the ring of his eye, his right temple.
It makes Aoba sad to see that the first thing Koujaku does in the morning is dress himself. Even if he’s going straight to shower from being in bed, naked, with Aoba, he throws on his clothes and takes them off behind closed doors.
It could be that maybe he’s always done these rituals.
Aoba is more inclined to assume some of them have started up since he moved in, and that’s the worst part of it all.
He wants Koujaku to feel comfortable around him. He wants it for his lover, for his friend. He wants it because Koujaku is a good person, because Koujaku deserves to feel at home in his own flesh, even with the markings and brands inked into it.
Aoba really wants a bath with Koujaku.
Not—okay, not because he wants to fuck or anything, but if things lead to that, Aoba wouldn’t be objecting. But because Koujaku came home with a full-body limp in his step, and when Aoba asked what that was about, Koujaku could only shake his head with a smile, shrugging.
“You know how it is.”
Truthfully, Aoba kind of doesn’t. Koujaku’s talking about Rib stuff, and while Aoba gets on well with Beni-Shigure and Dry Juice members alike, he’s definitely not very involved in the Rib scene as it is. He’s seen Koujaku and company get the shit kicked out of them quite a few times (not that Koujaku lost most of the times he was beaten bloody, mind you), and that’s… not Aoba’s cup of tea, so to speak.
But Koujaku cares about it, so, by default, Aoba kind of cares, too. Especially the parts where Koujaku comes home and needs a little taking care of.
Aoba thinks to suggest a bath, once he’s gotten Koujaku’s bloody knuckles cleaned up enough. He wants to ask, “Let’s take a bath together. I’ll give you a massage—it’ll help you feel better, you know?” Something like that. Not inherently flirty, not really anything except what Aoba sincerely means.
I want to take care of you.
But he knows Koujaku will bristle, will laugh his stiff, awkward laugh. Blush a little, tilt his head away, and answer like he always does.
That’s okay. I appreciate you. Thank you.
But Koujaku can barely keep bringing his chopsticks to his mouth to eat his dinner, at which point Aoba rolls his eyes and starts feeding him. He calls Koujaku a brat with such fondness that Koujaku laughs, arching a brow before he mimics Aoba when he was much smaller, when he used to whine and moan about most everything that was served to him that wasn’t Granny’s cooking.
“It’s no good if it isn’t Granny’s!” Koujaku huffs in falsetto, Aoba-esque pout and all, and Aoba scowls in response, scraping up a bite of curry and nearly jamming it into Koujaku’s laughing mouth to shut him up.
“I’ll gag you with these chopsticks,” Aoba grumbles with a venomous glare, but Koujaku continues to laugh, bowing his head as he tries to swallow between his snorts. What an asshole, Aoba thinks as he sets down Koujaku’s chopsticks and picks his own back up.
Aoba struggles not to pout in annoyance as he takes a few bites of his own meal. “And I was thinking about helping you out—go ahead, starve!”
“Aw, Aoba,” Koujaku hums. “Don’t be mean, I always thought it was cute!”
“Shut up!” Aoba whines, resisting the urge to smack Koujaku’s shoulder. It’s his right one, and Aoba wonders if Koujaku would allow a massage through his clothes, just to see if he can work out any kinks so Koujaku doesn’t have to go to bed completely aching.
Aoba frowns a little at the thought, going back to eating without returning any of Koujaku’s playful banter.
“Aoba?”
“Mm?”
Koujaku looks troubled, brows furrowed. “What’s the matter? It wasn’t that upsetting, right? I was only playing,” he explains easily, ever the pacifist when it comes to reconciliation, and Aoba shakes his head quickly, sighing outwardly.
“I was thinking that—a massage might help, since you got roughed up,” he admits, setting his empty bowl on the table, chopsticks over it. “I thought maybe a bath and a massage might be good.”
Koujaku looks confused for a little bit longer, before he smiles that wide, warm smile that makes Aoba’s heart flutter—something his heart should not be doing because, goddammit, he’s twenty-three years old and not some lovesick teenager—
“You’re too kind, Aoba--” Koujaku starts, and Aoba immediately snaps out of his flustered haze, aiming a violent glare to Koujaku, one that Koujaku actually doesn’t laugh off.
Aoba doesn’t let him ask what’s wrong, he just blurts out, “Don’t brush me off! I want to help you out and—and I already know every inch of you! Mostly! So—so don’t…” Ah, shit. He doesn’t really know what he’s saying. Koujaku doesn’t really seem to know what he’s saying, either.
Aoba sighs, shoulders slumping a little as he softens. “It really bothers me,” he admits, vague, but hopefully it’s enough to mean something.
Koujaku stares at him, contemplating, and he blows out a soft sigh as he wiggles a little closer to Aoba, bumping their shoulders together gently, even if it hurts a little bit. “Talk to me?” He offers; he feels a little stupid he doesn’t understand completely, and he has an idea what Aoba is talking about, but he kind of hopes it’s something else.
Aoba furrows his brow, trying to think of words to say. Words that aren’t just him whining, words that are considerate to Koujaku but also make Koujaku pull his head out of his half-tattooed ass. He comes up mostly dry, so Aoba folds his hands in his lap, and just lets it flow.
“I don’t know… how long you’ve done the things you do,” he starts, and his voice sounds awkward, dancing around like this. He closes his eyes, centers himself, and tries again. “With… with covering up. And stuff. And I get it—I do! Not, not all the way through, because, well… I’m never going to know that kind of thing. But…”
Aoba heaves a sigh, turns to look at Koujaku, honesty in his features. “I don’t know how it feels to be you, and I’m not going to pretend that I do. But I wish you could… at least let me try to understand.”
Koujaku blinks at him, swallows as he looks down to his own lap, squeezing his hands into fists and relaxing them, again and again. He doesn’t know what to say, and Aoba sincerely worries he stepped out of line…
Because Koujaku says nothing for a long time, Aoba silently moves to clean up the table. He brings their dishes to the sink, and tries to bite back the feeling of hopelessness that burns in his chest, flares in his throat, behind his eyes. He’s not going to cry, that’d be stupid. Koujaku’s the one who’d be upset, deserves to be, after Aoba forced his opinion on him like that. And for what? So he could feel more useful to Koujaku? So he wouldn’t have to worry about Koujaku tiring of him and his mooching ways? How stupid.
Stupid, a voice in the back of his head bites at him, a thought that seems too vicious to be his own, but it’s true. Aoba focuses on dishes. Dishes, dishes, dishes.
“Aoba,” Koujaku calls out, and Aoba turns his head a little as he focuses on scrubbing a bowl clean.
“Yeah?”
“When you’re done, let’s take a bath,” Koujaku tells him. He adds, stiffly, “Together, I mean.”
Aoba stops then, looking completely over his shoulder to Koujaku, sitting there stiff as a board. He looks like the words have left him only out of sheer agony of keeping them inside, but Aoba decides not to question his decision.
“Okay,” he hums, and turns back to the dishes, pretending his every nerve isn’t thrumming with nervousness, curiosity, peace.
When Aoba finishes, he turns around to see that Koujaku has left his seat at the table. He feels a little annoyed, but mostly worried that Koujaku’s overexerting himself. He gives a long sigh, padding across Koujaku’s apartment to get to the bathroom.
Koujaku’s clothes are set aside in the changing area, and Aoba swallows nervously as he realizes Koujaku was actually serious. Though Aoba wanted to be the one to fix the bath for him and everything… But, that’s neither here nor there. Aoba shrugs, and moves to pull off his own clothes, folding them up and tucking them beside Koujaku’s.
He reaches for the door, but takes a deep, deep breath before he slides it open.
Koujaku is sitting on a stool, trying to wash his hair with one hand. It hardly looks comfortable, and Aoba smiles as Koujaku looks up to him, grinning sheepishly.
“I figured you just wanted to do the soaking part together,” he explains, and Aoba rolls his eyes as she shuts the door, walking to Koujaku and slipping behind him.
“Let me do it,” Aoba tells him, and Koujaku easy drops his left hand, letting Aoba take control. Aoba knows he isn’t as good with hair as Koujaku is—no one is, of course—but he at least knows how to wash a scalp. He takes over where Koujaku left off, carefully scrubbing at Koujaku’s scalp with gentle fingers, trying to massage him there at the top of his head like Koujaku does when he washes Aoba's hair.
Aoba frowns when he notices that Koujaku’s lolling his head forward, and he reaches forward to slick Koujaku’s bangs back in order to wash them with the rest of his hair. Koujaku gasps out at that, and Aoba’s soapy hand yanks away from his face.
“Are you okay? Shit—did I get shampoo in your eyes? I’m sorry, here—“
“No, no,” Koujaku assures. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”
Aoba frowns, but tries again. Koujaku doesn’t gasp this time, but he still sits, tense and stiff, and Aoba sighs quietly, excited to get him in the bath running behind them. Hopefully it’ll help with some of the tension, though Aoba knows a good portion of it is coming from being here, naked, together.
He rinses out Koujaku’s hair after some more scrubbing, and then starts with conditioner. Koujaku’s hair is sleek and straight with no tangles, even while wet, and Aoba is very jealous. When his hair was long, it was a nightmare to wash, to brush. It tangled so easily… he wonders if Koujaku’s care regime has left it this easy to work with.
“You’re pretty good at this, Aoba,” Koujaku says, interrupting Aoba’s thoughts, and Aoba smiles a little, making sure to take good care of every inch of hair. Koujaku’s hair is pretty long, not as long as Aoba’s used to be, but it still reaches over his shoulders. It’s nice.
“I learned from the best,” Aoba answers, and Koujaku laughs awkwardly, which is weird. Koujaku is pretty cocky when it comes to his work—with good reason—but… he must be feeling particularly nervous if he can’t even beam at Aoba’s compliment.
Aoba rinses his hair out again, and while Koujaku’s eyes are closed as the water falls over him, Aoba looks.
He tries to memorize the pattern of the tattoo that cradles Koujaku’s usually-hidden right eye. He doesn’t know if Koujaku will be particularly keen on showing him again after this, and he loves all of Koujaku, even the parts of him that Koujaku can’t bring himself to even tolerate looking at on a daily basis…
He sighs, guiding Koujaku back from the shower spray.
“Wanna get in the bath now?” Aoba offers as he shuts off the shower head, turns off the bath water as well. Koujaku ran the water pretty hot, so he must be feeling pretty shitty.
Koujaku makes a little noise, and Aoba turns to glance at him.
“I need a hand,” Koujaku tells him with a small laugh, and Aoba smiles softly as he moves to help Koujaku up to his feet and into the bath. Koujaku hisses as he slowly lowers himself in, but the look on his face is of pure relief. Aoba can’t help but feel a little smug; he was helpful, dammit.
“Scoot forward a bit,” Aoba tells him. “So I can rub your shoulders. If—um, if you want,” he adds.
Koujaku seems… worried, about that idea. But he slowly slides forward in the bath, leaving enough room for Aoba to squeeze in behind him, spreading his legs so Koujaku can fit in the space there. It’s intimate, and if Aoba wasn’t a man on a mission, he might take to indulge a little bit… but this is about Koujaku right now.
Aoba cups water in his hands, bringing it up to Koujaku’s shoulders, and pours it over him there. Koujaku sighs, hunches a little, and Aoba smiles as he gently rests his palms on each of Koujaku’s shoulders, watching him jump.
Just as always.
“Hurt?” Aoba asks, fighting the urge to pull his hands away; they both know it didn’t hurt.
Koujaku shakes his head. “Ah. I’m okay.”
Aoba hums, and after moving Koujaku’s hair over his shoulder and out of the way, slowly starts to massage Koujaku’s broad shoulders. He has to use nearly all the strength in his arms to make the massage worth something and not a meager sensation of touching, but the groan Koujaku rewards him with makes Aoba practically preen.
He kneads his thumbs into Koujaku’s muscles, trying to dig away the stiffness and tenseness he can fee under his fingers. Koujaku loosens up a good bit under his hands, and Aoba leans in to press a chaste kiss to the top of Koujaku’s spine.
“Should we go to the clinic tomorrow?” Aoba asks quietly as he runs his hands down Koujaku’s back a little, digging the tips of his fingers in as he works out the rigidity of Koujaku’s muscles there; Koujaku moans a little, and Aoba pretends it doesn’t make him tingle a little to hear.
“I think I’ll—mm… I’ll be okay,” Koujaku murmurs. “It was just a long day.”
A long fight, he means, but Aoba doesn’t correct him. Aoba’s not about to mother-hen over him that badly; Koujaku does his thing and Aoba doesn’t mind being around to help him clean up when everything is settled.
Aoba’s line of sight struggles not to fall down to Koujaku’s back, since it’s where he’s focusing right now, after all. But… even looking at them makes him sad. If they weren’t what they are—the chains to lock in the parts of Koujaku that not even Koujaku himself wants to face—then, perhaps, they could be very beautiful works of art, Aoba thinks. Not to say that Koujaku isn’t beautiful as he is, but…
The sadness they bring out isn’t beautiful. The shame they force Koujaku to shoulder isn’t beautiful.
There isn’t anything beautiful about Koujaku’s constant lament.
Even if it isn’t mumbled aloud, even if Koujaku is laughing and cheery like his usual self, it lingers here, in the ink laid into his flesh. They won’t go away. Koujaku’s past won’t ever go away.
Aoba is glad Koujaku isn’t facing him right now, as he allows a few tears to fall. Just a few. Just enough to take the burning out of his throat, so he can focus better.
But his hands stop in the process, and Koujaku angles his head slightly to the side as he asks, “Aoba?”
“Oops,” Aoba says, soft as he can, so Koujaku won’t hear the sadness, and continues working on Koujaku’s sore muscles, rubbing more at his upper arms now with thorough kneads of his fingers. “My bad.”
Aoba makes his way to Koujaku’s hands, and works on them, too. He does them one at a time, taking Koujaku’s right hand first between two of his own. He rests his chin over Koujaku’s shoulder to see what he’s doing as he gently massages Koujaku’s hand, kneads his palm, cracks each of his knuckles for him in a way that makes Koujaku hum out a satisfied, “Ah, Aoba,” as he reclines back against Aoba a little bit more.
Koujaku’s scars are sorrowful, too, but in a different way than his tattoos. It’s hard to explain, but Aoba feels better about appreciating them than Koujaku’s tattoos—maybe because the scars are part of him organically, his body working to heal him when he’s hurt, protecting him in whatever small way it can. It’s certainly a nicer thought than non-consensual tattooing, Aoba thinks mutely, moving onto Koujaku’s other hand to give it the same treatment.
When he finishes, he moves to hold each of Koujaku’s hands in his own, far larger, scarred, with long spindly fingers, and kisses each of them before he slides them back into the water, wrapping his arms around Koujaku comfortably as he presses his cheek Koujaku’s back.
“How do you feel?” Aoba asks softly.
Koujaku hums, which Aoba thinks is supposed to be a laugh. “Like jelly. You rubbed all the stress right out of me, Aoba.”
“I didn’t get to your legs,” Aoba reminds. “I can do with when we get out.”
“It’s—“
Aoba squeezes Koujaku’s middle, halting his words. “I want to.”
Koujaku hesitates, but mumbles out a seemingly-worried, “If you insist…”
Aoba doesn’t push it. They sit in the water for a long time, silently enjoying the warmth of the water while it lasts. Aoba keeps his arms around Koujaku, nuzzles at the base of his neck every now and then simply out of comfort, and they hold hands, fingers laced together, two pairs of arms around Koujaku.
When the water loses its appeal, Koujaku slides forward to pop the drain. Aoba moves to get up when the space is granted, and he quietly pads with wet footsteps to grab their towels, wrapping one around his hips before he stands in front of the bath, holding the other one open.
Koujaku turns to look at him with a grin. “What, you don’t trust me to dry off?” He asks wryly, and Aoba scowls at him.
“I’m being nice. I can leave it on the floor for you, too,” he grumbles, and mocks the action of dropping it, which Koujaku protests with a particularly whiny shout of, “Aoba!”
He struggles a little to stand, but shoos Aoba when he tries to offer any help. He shuffles towards Aoba, shivering with a lopsided smile as Aoba wraps him up, kisses his cheek as he rubs his hands over Koujaku’s towel-clad self, drying him off gently.
When they’re not dripping wet, they wander back to the bedroom. Koujaku flops back onto the bed, moaning happily at the comfort of lying down somewhere comfy, and cracks open an eye to peek up at Aoba when he doesn’t feel his lover joining him just yet.
Aoba moves to the foot of the bed, looking up at him. “Legs, remember?”
“Aoba—“
“Koujaku,” Aoba says firmly, leaving no room for argument. Koujaku sighs, awkwardly tries to relax himself, and Aoba rolls his eyes a little as he starts with Koujaku’s feet, up his ankles, spends a long time on Koujaku’s firm calves.
When he reaches Koujaku’s thighs, there’s a hand trying to swat Aoba away, and he arches a brow as he looks up to Koujaku again, who’s frowning at him. “That’s enough,” Koujaku tells him, and if Aoba didn’t know better, he seems a little embarrassed.
Aoba ignores him, in favor of staring up to Koujaku as he inches up the towel around Koujaku’s middle by sliding his palms up Koujaku’s firm thighs. Koujaku shivers violently at the sensation, and Aoba feels himself smile when he watches Koujaku’s cock—so close to his face—jump a bit under the towel draped over him.
“Koujaku,” Aoba says, voice full of mock-concern as he continues inching up Koujaku’s towel, higher and higher, closer to revealing Koujaku’s hardening cock with every centimeter he uncovers. “I don’t think I should leave you like this…”
“Aoba…” Koujaku stammers out, arm thrown over his eyes, as if he can’t even bare to look at Aoba plucking off Koujaku’s towel, dropping it off the side of the bed as he settles on his belly between Koujaku’s long, muscular legs, a hand already coming to hold Koujaku’s cock and give him a few strokes, nearly shivering at the low groan Koujaku barely lets out.
He doesn’t even say a word before he presses his lips to Koujaku’s swelling cock, lapping teasingly at the head as he strokes Koujaku to full erection, tracing the tips of his fingers over the vein in the underside so gently that Koujaku’s hips thrash up, demanding more attention, even though the words that fall out of Koujaku’s mouth are, “Sorry—Aoba—“
Aoba decides he doesn’t mind, but he moves in to demonstrate his ease with the matter by taking the head of Koujaku’s cock into his mouth, laving at the tip with his tongue, groaning softly at the taste. Koujaku isn’t usually compliant enough to let Aoba do this, so each time he can cajole Koujaku into allowing this, Aoba makes sure to savor every moment of it.
He slides more of Koujaku into his mouth—not all of him, since Koujaku’s cock is too big for that, but enough so that bobbing his head makes Koujaku choke out a noise, gasping Aoba’s name as his hands flutter uncertainly, unsure of where they may rest. The hand Aoba isn’t using to pump the bit of Koujaku’s cock he can’t suck goes to find Koujaku’s hand, lifting it to place it in Aoba’s hair, and Aoba can’t help but moan around Koujaku’s cock as Koujaku pets his hair and cups the back of his skull, silently insisting he keep doing what he’s doing. Which is a very rare thing, so Aoba doesn’t hesitate to please.
He bobs his head as fast as his neck will allow, his mouth making wet, filthy noises that not even his moans around Koujaku’s cock can drown out. Koujaku’s panting, Koujaku feeling good because Aoba is doing something to him, makes Aoba grind his hips against the bed, eager for some of his own stimulation. He reaches a hand down to his own dick, trapped against the bed, and lifts his hips a bit so he can jerk himself off while he sucks Koujaku’s cock. He’d be embarrassed, in his right mind, but Koujaku’s dick in his mouth, the taste of Koujaku’s semen dripping on his tongue the closer he gets to orgasm—Aoba doesn’t have time to think about how filthy he’s being.
“Aoba,” Koujaku moans out, and his other hand pats at Aoba’s arm. Sensing the request, Aoba allows his hand to leave Koujaku’s cock (he’s not willing to give up the one currently stroking his own dick), finding Koujaku’s and lacing their fingers together, letting Koujaku squeeze his hand tight as his hips buck, stiffen, and the taste of Koujaku’s release spills into his waiting mouth. He hums around Koujaku’s cock as he cums, and Koujaku throws his head back with a ragged noise, trembling from the force of his orgasm as he slouches back against the bed, gasping out rough pants as he tries to recover.
Aoba slowly drags his mouth up off Koujaku then, presses his forehead to Koujaku’s inner thigh as he closes his eyes, whimpers as he tries to stroke himself to completion; he wishes he could have finished with Koujaku, because that’s always something nice, but he definitely got the better end of the deal for the night, so jerking off is a fair trade.
Except he hears Koujaku’s low voice, a quiet, “Aoba, come up here,” that makes Aoba want to scream in frustration—it’s not hard to tell what he’s doing, can’t Koujaku let him handle his shameful lust in peace?
But he does obey, moving to crawl up over Koujaku, planning on flopping to one side of him, except Koujaku’s hands guide him forward, forward, forward by his hips, until he’s practically straddling up on Koujaku’s chest, cock jutting proudly from between his hips. He tries to say something, but Koujaku just looks up to him with half-lidded eyes, taking over Aoba’s previous ministrations with one of his perfect, perfect hands, stroking Aoba in hard, fast flicks of his wrist.
Aoba cries out at that, chest heaving as he grinds into Koujaku’s hand, against his chest, begging for Koujaku to finish him off, too, he just couldn’t wait, it feels so good, oh, fuck—
“Kou—Koujaku!” Aoba chokes out, the syllables sounding weird with his desperate heaves for breath, between moans that are so obscene, Aoba is glad he’s too delirious with pleasure to notice how loud and lewd he’s being, fucking into Koujaku’s fingers. “I’m—mmh, yesyesyes—I’m gon—na—“
He does, when Koujaku gives his cock a squeeze as he strokes down, and Aoba thrashes atop him as he cums, wailing out in delight as pleasure strikes him like a white-hot whip. His eyes fall closed as he gasps—“Ah, ah, ah”—while his hips buck, riding out the euphoria Koujaku’s hand has to offer.
And when he settles, Aoba peeks down at Koujaku, unable to keep a smile off his face when he sees Koujaku’s dazed grin, his hooded eyes looking up to Aoba. Aoba leans down then, his hands reaching to cup Koujaku’s face as he kisses him, slow and deep, letting Koujaku’s hum of happiness resonate in his mouth before pulling away, feeling Koujaku’s smile just millimeters from his own lips.
“You’re all about ruining my surprises for you, huh,” Aoba mumbles with a laugh, and he feels smug when he can tell Koujaku is blushing at the comment.
“It wouldn’t… it’s no good if it’s only me…” He explains, embarrassingly enough. However, he quickly adds with an infamous shit-eating grin, “Besides, it looked like you needed the help—“
“Stop talking,” Aoba mumbles with a huff, and pulls back just a bit to look at Koujaku’s face in his hands. Since their hair is still wet, Koujaku’s is still slicked back from their bath earlier, and Aoba finds himself taking in the half he rarely is allowed to see, takes a certain pleasure in watching both of Koujaku’s eyes on him, watching him with such love, it’s nearly embarrassing.
He leans in again, kissing Koujaku’s forehead. Then each of his eyebrows. Then each of his temples (lingers on the right, just under one of the outer curves of the tattoo there), his nose, and his mouth once again.
“I love you,” Aoba whispers against Koujaku’s soft lips, and practically melts when he feels Koujaku’s fingers slide through his hair.
Koujaku smiles quietly at that, pulling Aoba in for another kiss, conveying with his lips and tongue the happiness and gratitude his voice could never truly convey.
They do it properly the next round, where Aoba's lying there on his back, limbs wrapped all around Koujaku as Koujaku thrusts into him again and again, spilling whispers of praise and love and gratitude into Aoba's warm, beautifully-pure flesh. Aoba clings to him, digs his nails into Koujaku's back as he gurgles out replies amongst his desperate moans of Koujaku's name, over and over.
And in the morning, when Aoba wakes from the sounds of Koujaku getting ready to leave for the day, he crack his eyes open to glance over Koujaku, visible from his place in the bathroom, before the mirror. He's got his jeans on, which makes sense, but Aoba feels a surge of calm rush over him to see nothing around Koujaku's upper half, not yet, anyway. He smiles to himself, drags his tired body out of bed (still thoroughly naked) and trots over to Koujaku, scaring him, if the jump Koujaku gives at the sight of him meaning anything.
"Aoba--" He starts, but Aoba just slides his arms around Koujaku's middle, pressing his sleep-warmed cheek to Koujaku's shoulder before kissing it, closing his eyes.
Koujaku hums out a little laugh, and Aoba holds on tight.
It doesn't bother him.