Chapter Text
Bokuto wasn’t there.
Kuroo knew somehow even before he was fully awake, before he had opened his eyes. Without lifting his face from his pillows, he slid his arm up and down the sheets on his left side, meeting nothing but empty space and fabric. There was not even a trace of warmth left, meaning Bokuto had already been gone for some time, and despite feeling hot curled up under the blankets, the fact made Kuroo shiver for some reason.
Bokuto.
A spike of irritation burst through his groggy mind, and still buried in his pillows, Kuroo felt his eyebrows scrunch together. Why was Bokuto gone? Why wasn’t Bokuto here with him? Never mind that he knew Bokuto regularly went out running early in the morning, but how dare Bokuto not be here right now, at the very moment Kuroo wanted him?
With great effort, Kuroo finally rolled onto his back to face the ceiling, opening bleary eyes. Last night, he’d felt what he thought were symptoms of an oncoming cold–shivering despite the decent temperature even for him, a faint pounding in his head, and a feverish heat roiling inside him. He’d gone to bed early, hoping to stave it off so that he and Bokuto could enjoy their first uninterrupted weekend together for a while. The volleyball season was winding down, with tournaments here and there coming to a close, and both teams and the JVA alike were finally going to have time to breathe before the cycle began all over again. Despite love for volleyball running equally through their veins, Kuroo knew that Bokuto had been looking forward to spending more time together if the hungrier-than-usual glances were any indication. Kuroo had anticipated it just as much, even if he didn’t dare say so in front of Bokuto too many times for fear that Bokuto would jump him right there in public.
He couldn’t lie though, he almost wanted that to happen.
But despite Kuroo’s best efforts, an early night did not seem to have cured his supposed cold–in fact, he was afraid it had only gotten worse. Every thought seemed to take great effort to process like his brain was wading through thick molasses, and Kuroo felt feverish all over despite shivering at the same time, especially at the back of his neck. Every touch and sense–the feel of his clothes rustling against his skin, the faint scent of cinnamon and honey and sunshine, Bokuto’s scent, lingering in the room, was amplified a hundredfold to a dizzying degree.
And Bokuto still wasn’t here.
Kuroo felt a growl rise up in his throat and cast an accusatory glance at Bokuto’s side of the bed. Sitting up, he grabbed the pillow Bokuto used and squeezed it almost violently in his arms before burying his face into it, inhaling deeply. Not as strong as Bokuto himself, obviously, but the scent was far stronger in such close contact, and Kuroo felt his muscles relax involuntarily. The irritation that had been creeping on indignant rage mellowed to something less frantic, and finally cleared Kuroo’s mind enough for an ingenious idea to strike him.
If Bokuto wasn’t here, he would just have to bring enough of Bokuto to him.
With Bokuto’s pillow still in his arms, Kuroo rose from the bed. The flooring felt good and cool beneath his heated feet, and he did not bother with slippers as he began to meander their apartment in search of the right things, as many of them as he could hope to find.
The closet next to the bed was the first, obvious spot. Kuroo wrenched the door open with one hand, gazing dreamily at the treasures inside. Bokuto’s shirts, uniforms, every item of clothing he could imagine (and Kuroo indeed could imagine, considering how many of them were things he’d bought for Bokuto). He reached into the space, pulling things haphazardly off hangers, dropping things he felt didn’t smell of Bokuto strongly enough, or the fabric felt off, or he’d once seen Bokuto wear on a date with an ex (and oh did his blood boil at the memory). The ones that ended up hanging over his arms, or piled on top of Bokuto’s pillow, were things like Bokuto’s training shirts, tank tops, underwear, a T-shirt worn to pleasant softness with the logo of a band they both liked on it, a tie that Kuroo had bought as a matching set in their colors.
Barely noticing the mess at his feet, Kuroo maneuvered the bundle of clothes in his arms out of the closet. His head was pulsing, but not with pain, from Bokuto’s scent filling his nose, his lungs, as if it was replacing the oxygen he breathed, making Kuroo feel almost giddy with joyful lightheadedness. The fire that had started in his chest was spreading slowly throughout his entire body, like a sparkler firework burning its way up to the hand that held it, with the same reckless wonder at how long he dared to hold it.
Bokuto. Bokuto.
If he let the fire consume him, would Bokuto come back?
The small, rapidly diminishing voice of reason in the back of his head whispered that he was being silly–stupid even, to entertain the notion that Bokuto had left him all alone in the world. That he knew Bokuto’s routine, knew the day of the week, even knew Bokuto’s exact running route in all honesty, as well as the time he always came back down to the minute like clockwork, but it was quickly being drowned out by the internal yowl that he wanted Bokuto, and wanted him now.
After all, what kind of alpha didn’t answer immediately his omega’s every beck and call?
Kuroo unceremoniously tripped over his feet and tumbled back onto the bed, the shock immediately cutting off the stream of increasingly agitated thoughts. He laid there in the position he’d fallen for a moment, curled over his hand-picked pile of clothes, and took deep breaths. He’d collected plenty of things, but he wasn’t done, it wasn’t perfect yet. For now, Kuroo let the clothes tumble out of his arms and messily spread them over the bed. Arranging them could happen once he had everything. He took a longing glance at Bokuto’s pillow, sitting back in its usual spot, before heaving his sluggish limbs up and off the bed again. If he wanted to be back as soon as possible, it would be faster with the use of both arms.
In the bathroom, Kuroo found Bokuto’s towel and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape. By the sink, there was Bokuto’s hair wax, of which he dabbed a little onto the towel’s ends. There was also Bokuto’s deodorant, and his cologne which he only used at formal functions, but Kuroo decided that he didn’t want to include the cold, hard containers they came in. The laundry basket in the corner was half-full with Bokuto’s already-worn clothes to Kuroo’s delight, the scent of them, of Bokuto, the strongest he’d found yet. He grabbed several of them out of the basket and trailed out to the living room. One of Bokuto’s hoodies he’d worn yesterday, thrown carelessly over the back of the sofa. The pair of an owl and cat plushies they had won for each other from a crane game back in high school. A single forgotten knee-pad with the MSBY logo on it. All of it was necessary.
His arms full again, Kuroo headed back to the bedroom, which seemed to have gotten much further away in a few short minutes, every step heavy on his leaden legs. Nothing he’d done should have required much effort, but Kuroo was distantly aware of sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and even just that sensation sent electric tingles towards his waist, his stomach. At some point, his breathing had turned ragged, and Bokuto’s heady scent was only making it wor–better.
Bokuto. Bokuto. Bokuto.
The new clothes and items were immediately added to the existing pile on the bed, and Kuroo shuffled them around, eventually spreading them in a vaguely circular pattern. He contemplated it for a moment, hand on his chin. It was almost perfect, but he felt that it still needed something, even as the urge to curl up in the center was tugging at him.
Kuroo glanced around the bedroom, and a flash of white caught his attention from the closet door hanging ajar. He opened it again and found Bokuto’s Fukurodani uniform from their third year, and his heart swelled. Gently removing it from the hanger, Kuroo traced the large number 4 in white, the captain line underneath, then pulled off the shirt he was wearing and slipped the uniform on instead. They’d both grown since high school, and tried on each other’s uniforms for a laugh even back then. Even though Kuroo had always been and still was taller, Bokuto’s uniforms, any of them, had always been baggy on him, much to his annoyance. Now he filled the Fukurodani uniform out better, even if it was shorter than ever.
But today, it had to be this one, because it was the uniform Bokuto had been wearing when Kuroo fell in love with him.
It was strange that a simple cold made him feel obligated to do so much, Kuroo mused hazily, as he returned to the bed and finally collapsed on top of Bokuto’s scent, Bokuto’s things. The warmth in his stomach was only getting hotter, making his skin tingly, and he grabbed Bokuto’s pillow once more to bury his face into it. Kuroo was still irritated by the absence of Bokuto himself, but it had simmered down to some sort of anticipatory yearning. Bokuto would be back. He believed it with his whole being.
Kuroo felt a faint smile cross his lips, and closed his eyes with a sigh, letting the heat lull him back to sleep.
The moment he laid his hand on the door handle, Bokuto froze as a faint scent drifted into his nose. Kuroo’s scent, that he would have recognized out of a hundred thousand scents, of osmanthus, oranges, and soap. A bright, clean, yet alluring scent. And he could already smell it beyond the door.
Bokuto wrenched the door open and rushed to close it, stopping just short of a slam. Even though he knew logically that no other alpha should be able to smell Kuroo’s scent, or specifically his pheromones, now that they had already been bonded for years, sometimes it was too hard to believe, especially when Kuroo smelled so amazing to him.
Especially when Kuroo was in heat.
Inside their apartment, the scent hit Bokuto like an overwhelming blast to the face, and he gritted his teeth. For a moment he was tempted to throw reason to the wind and run to find Kuroo, wrap him in his arms, and ravage him, but Bokuto’s gaze landed on the state of the room and his eyes widened. There were clothes lying everywhere: dropped at the bathroom entrance, caught on a door handle, scattered randomly over the floor. It was an unthinkable state of the apartment especially when Kuroo was over and always scolded him for not keeping the place marginally neater, and it had certainly not been like this when he left on his morning run.
Bokuto hurriedly followed the trail of clothes to the bedroom and pushed the door open, half-worried that something really had happened, and half-expectant. As soon as he saw the sight before him, any worry flew out of his head, but all his expectations had been shattered wildly beyond belief. Bokuto sank to a crouching position with his face hot in his hands, a low groan of exasperation and thrill at the same time escaping his throat.
Why was Kuroo so adorable?
Within a circle of more clothes, all his clothes, Bokuto realized, Kuroo was curled up in the center and sleeping soundly. Bokuto was reminded of cats basking in sunshine, their tails waving lazily in satisfaction. If Kuroo were to sprout ears and a tail somehow right now, Bokuto had little doubt he would see the same sight.
He tiptoed over to the bed, taking in the sight and marveling. It had been a very long time since he last saw Kuroo nesting, and Kuroo was not really the type to do it often during his heats. Bokuto had almost forgotten the way seeing Kuroo like this, amidst all of his possessions, having become one of Bokuto’s possessions, made his heart rate rocket up like nothing else, filling him with an almost raging joy.
He’d had an inkling that Kuroo’s heat was coming soon, but they had both been busy up to this point as the days blended into each other, and now it was upon them. Bokuto could already hear the wordless chanting in the back of his mind to pounce onto Kuroo, turn him over, claim him all over again, but he shook his head. He wanted to take his time and enjoy this after so long, together.
Bokuto reached out to brush his fingers through Kuroo’s bangs, a closed eye just barely visible from Kuroo’s position with his face shoved sideways into the pillow. The bed creaked slightly as Bokuto put one knee on it, then the other to hover over Kuroo, tracing a finger down Kuroo’s slightly flushed cheeks, down his throat where Kuroo’s breathing was more labored than usual. Unconsciously, Kuroo quivered at the touch, and his eye cracked open, glassy with sleep–as well as something that burned much hotter.
“...Bokuto…?”
“Hey, Kuroo.” Unable to resist, Bokuto leaned down to kiss him, slow and chaste on the mouth without pressing for more. It took a few delayed seconds, but Kuroo eventually responded, opening his mouth to draw a hot, quiet gasp and licking his tongue across Bokuto’s lips. “I’m back. How’re you feeling?”
Kuroo blinked slowly, turning up to face Bokuto at last. He lifted his arms languidly, hooking them around Bokuto’s neck. “Welcome back. ...You shouldn’t kiss me,” Kuroo murmured, the words slightly slurred. “You’ll catch my cold…” The words contradictory with his actions made a burst of cuteness aggression well up in Bokuto’s chest, and he slumped his head into the crook of Kuroo’s neck with a groan.
“Stop being so damn cute!”
“...Hm?”
“Never mind.” He made another peck on Kuroo’s cheek. “I don’t think it’s a cold. I think your heat’s here.”
“Oh…” A noncommittal reply as Kuroo stroked Bokuto’s hair, eyes half-lidded. “Oh.” Bokuto felt Kuroo stiffen beneath him, apparently having snapped back to full consciousness. He glanced into Kuroo’s face. If Kuroo’s cheeks had been slightly flushed with warmth before, there were now deep blushes of red on his cheeks, his ears. He looked positively appetizing.
A wide grin split Bokuto’s face. “Hey, hey, hey. Wanna give me the rundown on this?” He gestured at his scattered clothes and other objects that made up the nest they were both lying on. “Tell me what you were thinking? If you do, I’ll blow your mind with something really special.”
“Shut it,” Kuroo retorted, struggling slightly. He reached to push Bokuto’s chest away, but was unable to budge him an inch, much to Kuroo’s consternation, and sighed. “This is your fault, anyway.” An idea seemed to strike him, and the sideways glance he gave, smoldering hot, went straight to Bokuto’s lower body. Kuroo’s lips curled up slyly in his trademark smirk. “Why would I need you when I’ve got all this?”
“What?!” The statement sent an indignant shock through Bokuto, and he reeled like a scolded puppy. “Kurooo!” He whined, his face scrunching. “Don’t be like that! I’ve been waiting forever!”
“Then you could’ve been here earlier, hm?” The teasing lilt, the challenging smile. Kuroo had something in mind. “I can’t believe you’d just let your helpless omega wake up alone in bed when he was about to go into his heat. It’s a good thing I managed to grab so much of your stuff. I got to remember all the things we did together, too.” Kuroo wriggled a bit under him, plucking at the shirt he was wearing, and Bokuto gaped as he finally registered the sight of his old Fukurodani uniform, on Kuroo.
“Kuroo!” This was not how Bokuto had expected the interaction to go. He thought Kuroo, seemingly pliant and tame as a kitten at first, would invite him with open arms. He had never expected to be competing against… his own belongings. One figurative wolf inside him was preening at the notion that Kuroo had chosen each and every object of the nest with great care and for the nostalgic memory it was associated with. Another wolf was howling with offended possessiveness–he wanted Kuroo’s eyes on him right here, right now, not on the him of Kuroo’s memories.
Bokuto swiveled his head between Kuroo and the nest plaintively, a low, mournful growl rumbling from his throat, and Kuroo laughed at last. Today, this time, it seemed that Kuroo did not feel like being a docile kitten after all, knowing exactly what to say to rile Bokuto up.
But Bokuto could tell that since he had returned, the wonderful scent of Kuroo’s pheromones had only gotten stronger and stronger. They could both feel each other’s body temperature rising, the way Bokuto not-so-subtly pressed his lower body into Kuroo’s thigh and Kuroo’s hand had slipped beneath Bokuto’s waistband, gliding through the combined sweat from Bokuto’s run and the impatient heat they wanted to lose themselves in as soon as possible.
Kuroo’s eyes had begun to glaze over, but his every movement was full of conscious purpose. His hands ran up and down the hard muscles of Bokuto’s sides, making him tremble, and clenched into Bokuto’s shirt like a kneading cat, pulling the fabric close to his nose to inhale. Bokuto nudged Kuroo’s hands aside and kissed him again, starting from his neck, the scent glands, and peppering his way up to Kuroo’s waiting lips and sticking his tongue in. Kuroo’s gasp was swallowed when at the same time, Bokuto palmed the front of Kuroo’s thin boxers, gently massaging the spot through the fabric. Kuroo’s knees jolted at the sensation, clamping together around Bokuto’s middle.
After several dozen seconds, their lips broke apart, a momentary flicker of saliva flying away. Bokuto licked his swollen lips, staring hard at Kuroo’s equally wet ones. Kuroo was breathing heavily, his chest moving up and down, highlighting the 4 on the Fukurodani uniform.
“Bokuto.”
Those lips moved, forming the three syllables of Bokuto’s name as they had so many hundreds of thousands of times before, the most beautiful sound in the world whenever they came from Kuroo.
Kuroo smiled, glowing with joy, with desire, and reached out to cup Bokuto’s face. Without warning, Kuroo pulled him down almost violently, the grip belying dizzying desperation.
“Mess me up, Bokuto.”