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Kuroo raced home, the car swinging violently into the driveway. His mom’s car was there too. But when he opened the door the house was silent as the grave, empty.
Perfect.
He raced up to his room and grabbed some pajamas before hurrying down the hall to the bathroom.
This would be quick, he promised. In and out. Just a simple way to gain release that had nothing to do with Bokuto. That had nothing to do with the stranger in the house a few streets down. All it was was a way to let off some obviously pent up steam.
The warm water sluiced over his body, taking with it the grime and sweat of the day. He instantly relaxed, the water like gentle hands in his body. He let the warmth and relation build into a delightful tension as his mind wandered. His own imagination tended to be better than any porn.
An image of Bokuto flashed through his mind. It was crystal clear, down to the red blush on his face, blotchy from the steam of his shower and tears. He was curled on the floor of the bathroom crying, body damp with water, pale skin on display, and corded muscles rippling with every flinch of pain. But this time it wasn’t due to his injury, to a bum knee Kuroo hadn’t even been there to help with. This time Kuroo was there.
Sure he could deny himself the fantasy. There were so many reasons to deny. But it’s what he wanted, what he craved. Bokuto was no more than a sexy stranger he’d helped in passing. Their relationship couldn’t get any worse just because he took himself in hand. And Kuroo was no longer the kind of man to deny himself.
He thought back to that tear stained face. His hazel eyes had been so bright when they’d looked up at him in fear. Fear of judgment, of his own weakness. But then with that same tear stained face and ruddy red cheeks, the fear had melted away once Kuroo spoke. It had melted into trust.
His blood rushed south at that, cock swelling to half mast as his pride spurred him on. Despite everything, Bokuto still trusted him. Wanted Kuroo to care for him. Even after all these years he could look up to Kuroo and just, give in. Was there anything hotter than someone putting that kind of faith in you?
If so, he’d never experienced it.
He ran a hand through his sopping wet hair to free his eyes. Then leaned forward against the dark tile of the shower so his forehead rested atop the cooler stone and sighed. Ever so slightly he pressed forward so his entire body lay flat against the tile, cooling him. It shocked his dick enough that it pulsed in pain. It turned him on like crazy, but let him stall for time as he took his imagination further.
Idly, he backed up a couple of inches. Just enough to tilt his pelvis away from the stone and get his hand on his dick. He was flying at full mast now, the tip bright red as a bead of precum slid down, back protecting it from the onslaught of water. He rubbed his thumb across the shaft to catch it, dabbing it between thumb and pointer just to watch the way it caught the light.
Slowly he lifted his fingers up to his lips and stuck his tongue out. The strand of cum that attached them settled on the tip of it, salty and disgusting. So he plunged his fingers into his mouth, suffocating a moan with the girth of his own fingers. The same fingers that had once been so strong, built for nothing more than to block powerful spikes.
In his mind it wasn’t his mouth, but Bokuto’s. He plunged them in deep till he gagged, imagining lips ruby red from kissing parted around them. When he pulled them out so just the pads of his fingers rested behind his teeth, he saw the way Bokuto’s lips could rest along them. Pulled out, sucking a tight heat around his tanned fingers. They would tug on that scar on his upper lip, the pale skin catching the light, desperate to be bit.
He plunged them back into his mouth, in and out, the entire time working his dick with the other hand. It drove him insane, just skin on skin.
Bokuto on his knees before him. Under him. In his lap. Across it. Ass up and shiny red.
From across his lap, he’d work himself into the cleft where Kuroo’s hip met his thigh, choking on his fingers. Being so good for him.
It would be so good
The man would look up to him from the corner of his eyes and plead silently with tear stained cheeks. Beg wordlessly for release. He would sit back for a moment and relish the knowledge that only he could make the other man’s boastful words turn into gasps of prayer.
And then Kuroo in his infinite generosity would allow for it, treasure the way his thighs would become coated in the other’s sticky cum. The slide of the cum against the skin of his thighs and Bokuto’s stomach. Maybe the hair there would chafe after a while, when Kuroo kept moving him despite the way he slumped across him tuckered out.
And with all the same kindness he allowed for the other to find release, he’d wrap the man in his arms and tuck him into bed. Wipe his release off his stomach and kiss him sweetly.
That would be nice, wouldn’t it?
Kuroo was close, hand working himself desperately as he took his hand from his mouth to bite down on the meat of his palm. He groaned around the flesh. Just a little more, the thought, as he tugged his hands through the hair on his pelvis and tugged gently. The pain made his dick jump, desperate.
Once Bokuto was tucked in nicely, safe and sound in Kuroo’s Tokyo apartment, he’d slip in behind him. Hold him close, still rock hard but pleased he’d taken care of someone so beautiful. Someone so good. Someone who was his.
Then when they woke in the morning, he’d feed his dick to his lover who would take it willingly. Cum drunk and lustful for him. Those corded thighs tight as he tried to keep composure.
Or maybe he’d just fuck his thighs-
Fuck!
Kuroo tried to grip his base to stop from cumming, but it was too late. His white spend coated the walls despite his protest as his forehead slammed into the tile. He moaned at the pain of it. But as he wrung the last of his cum from his body, he let himself relax.
As he stared forward at the mess, he tried to feel embarrassed. To feel shame. But all that swept his body was another round of insatiable want. If only he could have Bokuto, in any way possible.
But as he washed his release from the wall, he could only remind himself that he needed to be thankful for what he had. He’d missed his chance sixteen years ago. All he could do now was be grateful and pray for forgiveness. Any encounters between him and his once friend would need to be relegated to the one place that would allow for it, his imagination.