Actions

Work Header

thieves in the night

Chapter Text

“Hey,” a soft voice says, and Kenma is quite convinced he’s still dreaming until there’s a soft shake to his shoulder. “Hey, wake up. Wake up!”

That’s definitely too deep to be Lev’s voice, plus the whole matter of too much gentleness to it, too. Lev doesn’t have a gentle bone in his body. Kenma, with a little more grumbling and squirming in a last-ditch attempt to shake off his alarm clock, eventually blinks his eyes open.

He has no idea who’s standing over him.

It’s a man, that much is obvious even with half his face obscured by a knitted scarf. It’s at odds with the suspicious slant to his eyes and the terrifyingly unruly, black hair; from the angle and what Kenma can see, the man is large, definitely larger than Kenma, possibly approaching Lev’s size. So there’s a big, unknown man, leaning over him, in his bed, in his own home. In the middle of the night.

Maybe Yaku had been right about needing mace.

“I think you’ve been robbed,” the man says, voice still soft, like he’s trying not to startle him.

Eyes locked on the stranger’s, Kenma slides out from beneath him, and he finally straightens. He’s definitely tall, and far more built than Lev. Kenma stopped his self defense classes about a month in, since they were too much effort to continue, but maybe that’s something else he should’ve listened to Yaku about.

“The place is a mess,” the stranger continues, and pauses to make sure his scarf is still covering his face before putting his hand on his hip and gesturing to Kenma’s mess of a room.

Clothes are strewn about, a stack of textbooks by his desk has been knocked over, one of his posters has been half ripped off the wall, and his gaming consoles and controllers are in a tangled heap in the corner by the TV.

“That’s how it normally looks,” Kenma flatly replies.

“Oh.” The man blinks a couple times, surprised, and looks around at the mess again. “…You live like this?”

The amount of raw sympathy in his voice is, frankly, insulting. “Why are you in my bedroom in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, I was going to rob you,” the man replies easily. He winces at the mess around him once more. “I, uh, kind of thought you were already hit, and I didn’t want to make things worse for you, y’know?”

“Get out.”

“Are you going to call the cops if I take that vase by the entryway?”

Kenma doesn’t have a vase. He does, however, have his phone in his hand, out from beneath his pillow, and he makes a show of dialing.

The man scrambles out the door, and Kenma follows suit, just in time to see him and his stupid scarf disappear out his front door, shutting it behind him without a sound.

 

 

“Oh, shit, you’re still awake.”

Kenma is unaware it wasn’t Lev who walked through his door until he looks up and finds the tall, dark, and thiefy stranger from last week. He narrows his eyes and lowers his psp so the glow from it doesn’t ruin his vision any more.

“What are you doing, playing in the dark? That’s terrible for you, you know,” the stranger scolds.

This time, Kenma is awake enough to react. His chosen method of reaction is to throw a mostly-empty soda can at the man. The man ducks, and somehow twists in time to catch the can before it can splatter the remains of its drink across Kenma’s carpet.

“Sheesh, I guess that’s how you end up living in a pigsty, huh?”

Kenma has already finally gotten around to taking down the ruined poster (which had been Lev’s fault) and even did a load of laundry he put away. Yaku had taken pity on him and did his dishes in his tiny kitchenette on Sunday, too. He doesn’t know where this stranger gets off.

“That’s a pretty dark look,” the stranger says, nervously laughing, and backs back out the cracked door. He reaches down and puts his hands on Kenma’s umbrella holder, but Kenma throws his slipper at him before he can make off with it. The wannabe thief beats another hasty retreat.

Kenma looks at his umbrella holder for a moment, left alone in the dark with only his games yet again.

Huh. It’s a vase, after all.

 

 

Kenma is dozing the next time the thief breaks in. It’s a little more alarming this time, not just because he’s woken up again; he’d had the locks changed since last time, and is, again, alone.

And, most unfortunate of all, not really dressed. He still has his towel draped over himself, now cold and uncomfortably damp, just like his hair. It’s probably half-dried into something curly and ridiculous, as usual, but he hadn’t exactly planned on falling asleep after his shower. Just as he certainly hadn’t planned on seeing anyone else tonight.

Kenma blinks blearily up at the stranger, who is very red beneath his scarf. “Uh,” he says by way of greeting.

(Because apparently they’re at the stage where they have greetings now.)

“You can’t have my vase, and I don’t have any cash,” Kenma sighs, and settles back into his tiny kotatsu, disgusting dampness and all.

“I brought food.”

Kenma slowly raises his head again. “You what?”

“I noticed that your fridge is in kind of terrible condition. I bet you don’t cook much, huh?”

“What kind of thief are you?”

“Wanna trade this for that vase?” the stranger asks with what Kenma assumes is a smile, judging from the way his eyes crinkle upward. He holds up a tupperware container with what looks like curry inside.

“Why do you want that vase so bad?”

“You have no idea what that is, do you?”

“I got it from a yard sale out in the country,” Kenma replies; he clearly does not. Shouyou had claimed it was pretty, so Kenma had bought it for him on a whim. When Shouyou moved in with that Tanaka upperclassman of his for university, he didn’t have room, and Kenma partially suspects he didn’t want it to get broken, either. It was probably a minor miracle it survived in the Hinata residence for so long.

So Kenma had ended up with an umbrella holder. He hadn’t paid any other mind to it.

“That’s an ox-blood vase from the Qing dynasty,” the stranger patiently informs Kenma, like that’s supposed to mean something.

“And…?”

“And it’s valuable.”

“Then I’m definitely not trading it for your dinner leftovers,” Kenma says, and snuggles back into the warmth of his kotatsu. “Go away. Stop breaking in, actually.”

“You don’t have much else of value,” the thief replies. He gives Kenma’s tiny living room a pointed once-over. “I didn’t want to touch any of the game systems, since you seem like you use them a lot. You’re a student, right?”

Kenma makes a noncommittal noise and wishes his phone were close enough he could start dialing for the police. Maybe this time he’d actually speak with them, but it seems like an awful lot of a hassle, too. He’s not sure they’d believe him at this point, either.

“I just want the vase.”

“If I have to leave this warm spot,” Kenma warns, “I’ll kick your ass. Get out of my apartment.”

For some weird reason, the man actually leaves, too.

The tupperware stays on the kitchen counter, and he doesn’t try to grab the vase on his way out.

Kenma discovers two things after that encounter: his vase does look an awful lot like what google tells him an ox-blood Qing vase is, and the thief is actually a decent cook.

 

 

The man brings food again the next time Kenma sees him. Even more startling is that he picks the lock and waltzes right in during the bright part of the fall afternoon. His cheeks are rosy from the chill beneath his scarf, and Kenma gets a better look at the casual clothes he’s dressed in: dark wash skinny jeans, and a black sweater overtop a pale blue button-down.

What a formal thief, Kenma thinks and returns to his textbook. He must be a student, too. Young enough to be.

He’s never given much thought to these bizarre occurrences outside of when they’re happening; he doesn’t have that much energy. Yaku would agonize over this day and night if he knew, and even Lev would probably lose sleep. It’s too much effort on Kenma’s part when the man has actually been a spectacularly incompetent thief so far.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” the man says, setting down what looks like a box of leftover pizza on Kenma’s kitchen counter, “you’re kind of ruining my percentage, you know. I’ve come back empty-handed from your place four times now.”

Kenma halts in his studying, raising his head and furrowing his brow as he does quick math on that. “When have you been here without me?”

The stranger snorts, amused. “Most thieves don’t run into their targets multiple times.”

“I guess most thieves aren’t as shitty as you are.”

“Hey, what have I done to deserve this sass?! Nothing, that’s what!”

“You keep breaking and entering. That alone could get you arrested,” Kenma replies, irritated that his question hadn’t been answered. Why hadn’t he taken the vase then? Maybe if the guy finally just left him alone, Kenma could get back to his comparatively easier life.

“Then why haven’t you called the cops on me yet?” the man cheekily returns.

The social psychology textbook is too heavy to accurately throw at him, Kenma reasons. “I don’t want to deal with the police bothering me,” he mutters, shoulders hunched.

“I find it really interesting that you’d willingly deal with an admitted thief repeatedly than deal with more social interaction than you have to.”

“I don’t have to entertain you or answer any of your questions. Why do you keep coming back?”

“Well, at this point, it’s a matter of pride. And I’m not going to let you ruin my stats any more.” With that, the man plucks Kenma’s wallet off of the bookshelf by the door, and pulls out a couple bills. Kenma starts, shocked he’d actually do something, then affronted that he’s blatantly stealing from him.

“Hey—”

“Consider this payment for the pizza! I hope you like pepperoni and sausage,” the man says, winks, and skips out the door with half of Kenma’s financial worth in one hand.

Kenma actually runs after him, this time, but the man is already to the stairs by the time Kenma makes it to his front door. There’s no working elevator, and he lives on the sixth floor. Kenma groans in frustration, because he’s not getting that money back.

He leans over the railing and waits until he sees the now actual thief pop out several stories below. Kenma hopes that his middle fingers are visible from this distance.

 

 

After legitimately being stolen from, Kenma gives in and tells his friends. Yaku is as much of a concerned pain as he’d feared. “This man has broken into your home several times?! Kenma, why didn’t you call someone!”

“It was too much effort,” he mumbles, and hides his face behind his hair. He raises the steaming mug in front of him for an extra shield.

Lev, surprisingly, is quiet. Yaku seems to want to make enough noise for the two of them. “What if he hurt you? Kenma, this isn’t something you can brush off. I know you like living alone, but that’s dangerous!”

“I know,” he replies softly. He never got any sense of danger from the man, nor has he ever tried to touch him, outside of waking him the first time. That said, it’s still a stupidly risky situation.

“What did you say he looked like?” Lev finally asks, face screwed up in thought.

Kenma wants to tell him not to strain himself, but he knows Lev is worried on his behalf, too, so he sighs and answers, “Tall, but not as tall as you. Black hair, light eyes, brown or gold. His hair always looks like he got in a fight with a blow dryer and lost. He always covers his face with this stupid lumpy scarf…”

“He sounds like a homeless person.”

“He’s probably a student,” Kenma mutters.

“Was he big? Y’know, bulky?” Yaku asks, flexing beneath his winter coat.

“Not that much. I’m sure you could kick his ass,” Kenma replies. Yaku flushes, pleased, and Kenma knows that weirdly soothes him. He appreciates Yaku’s presence in his life, but his protective streak is a mile wide, to almost comedic effect at times.

Lev, shockingly, doesn’t even make a size remark to that. Kenma glances at him, and finds him tapping away at his phone. Yaku catches this, too, and tugs at Lev’s arm until they can see what he’s doing: sending a text to a name Kenma certainly doesn’t recognize. “That sounds a lot like someone in my Art History class,” Lev replies brightly. “So I asked him to meet us at the Starbucks on campus!”

Which is right nearby. Kenma squints at the coffee currently in his hands. “Lev, why—?”

“What makes you think a random guy in your art class would be a thief who’s harassing Kenma?”

“Well, I dunno? Wouldn’t it be okay to check? Look, here’s a picture of him—”

“Why didn’t you just show us his picture before interrupting the guy’s day—”

Kenma’s eyes widen as he sees the guy’s picture on Lev’s phone. He’s glancing off to the side, away from the camera, with a smirk as sharp as a knife and a jawline to rival it. But that hair, that mess is definitely the thief’s.

And, weirdly, Kenma recognizes his eyes. They’re usually a little softer when he sees them, not the cocky squint in the picture, but he knows those dark lashes and the mischievous slant.

Yaku catches sight of Kenma’s expression and hisses, “Holy shit. You’re kidding.”

“Maybe Kenma-san just thinks he’s hot,” Lev suggests.

Maybe I do, Kenma thinks, dizzily, and then realizes that the man who’s been breaking into his house is on the way to meet them. His mouth falls open, and Yaku mirrors him a moment later with a growing furrow in his brow.

“I’m going to kick his ass,” Yaku growls.

“What’s his name?” Kenma hears himself ask. He’s not sure why. He wants to keep looking at that picture and the ease with which the stranger smiles at someone else.

“Kuroo,” Lev replies. “Tetsurou, I think? He’s—ah, there!”

Lev waves his giant arms, sticking out like a sore thumb, and Yaku and Kenma whirl around to find the man of the hour shuffling over to them, nose glued to his phone.

He’s dressed in something similar to what Kenma had last seen him in: ripped jeans with a thick sweater, and even had the nerve to have that lumpy signature scarf of his looped loosely around his neck. His unruly hair is largely hidden by a deep red beanie, but Kenma would recognize him anywhere even without that, he thinks.

Kuroo Tetsurou looks up as soon as he hears Lev’s excited shouting. He starts to grin, easy and open, and then catches sight of the two shorter ones just beneath Lev’s flailing: one with murder in his eyes and the other probably the last person he wants to see.

He nearly drops his phone in his frightened fumbling, and turns and bolts a moment later.

They run after him, Yaku and Lev soon outpacing Kenma, and he slows to a stop and allows them to tear on ahead. He doesn’t know why he’s running. He doesn’t know why he cares to chase after this man. He’d lost what, four thousand yen? So he didn’t get groceries that week, that’s nothing new. They know his name now, and he knows they know; regardless of whether or not they catch him or beat the fear of god (Yaku) into him, Kenma assumes this is the last he’ll see of Kuroo Tetsurou.

 

 

Kenma comes home one stormy day after a period of blessed thief-free life and finds said thief sprawled out in his living room with only his feet beneath the kotatsu blanket. “Welcome home,” Kuroo tells him, and flips another page in his textbook. It’s o-chem, not anything Kenma owns.

“I didn’t think you’d have the balls to come back,” Kenma says flatly and closes the door behind himself to keep the rain out. He’s sopping wet, hair in his face and clothes completely soaked; his forgotten umbrella sits innocently in the entryway, still in the untouched vase.

“You look like a half-drowned cat,” Kuroo says and closes his book. “Where are your towels?”

He asks that, but he disappears into the bathroom and comes out with Kenma’s only two towels without receiving an answer. Kenma glares at him as he approaches with the fluffy fabric. “What are you doing here?” he demands right before Kuroo throws one onto his head.

He scrubs vigorously, unashamed at digging his fingers into Kenma’s scalp, and god does it feel wonderful. Kenma is still dripping into his shoes and his jacket and shirt stick uncomfortably to him, but it’s frighteningly easy to ignore right now. He wants to stay like this forever.

Sadly, Kuroo pulls the towel from his head before long, and tugs at his coat to help him peel it off. Kenma catches him frowning at the rest of his wet clothes before the towel is set back on his head.

“I guess you should go shower before you catch a cold. Do you have a drying rack or somewhere I can hang this stuff up for you?”

“Are you just going to move in here next?” Kenma snarks back, then finally toes off his disgustingly wet shoes.

“I thought we’d have a chat, but I don’t want you to get pneumonia and die just out of spite.”

This is surreal, Kenma thinks as he walks to the bathroom. He normally showers with the door wide open, since he’s supposed to be living alone, but he eases it shut after an awkward pause. It doesn’t lock, but then again, Kuroo has picked everything Kenma has thrown at him so far.

He doesn’t hurry in the shower, but he doesn’t take his time. He stands under the spray until he feels warm again, and wonders how to approach the issue of the overly stubborn and weirdly considerate thief in his living room.

And incredibly stupid, he mentally adds, since this is apparently twice Kuroo has been here without Kenma’s knowledge or presence, and he still hasn’t stolen the stupid vase.

He slinks back out in the damp towel from earlier, since he’s not used to having to think about bringing clothes anywhere for modesty’s sake. He doesn’t care about others seeing his body—he used to be on the volleyball team, that gets rid of certain types of shyness pretty fast—but he doesn’t want Kuroo to feel like he’s any more comfortable with his presence than he already seems.

Kenma throws his wet clothes at him before shutting the door to the bathroom again to change.

When he comes back out, in fresh pajamas and with damp hair, Kuroo has hung up his shirt and socks, and draped his jeans over the radiator. Kuroo has just settled back into his spot barely under the kotatsu, textbook open again, and Kenma spots dark-framed reading glasses perched in his stupid hair for the first time. “Feeling more human?” Kuroo asks with a sincere smile.

Kenma’s unused to seeing his entire face. “Why did you come back?” he asks levelly. He knows Kuroo’s name, Kuroo himself knows this; they can get more information from Lev about him at any time. He would have thought that’d be enough threat to keep him away from Kenma.

“I thought we could be adults about this,” Kuroo says and beckons, annoyingly flapping his hand too much, until Kenma sits down opposite him.

“About you stealing from me.”

“You know by now I’m an Art History major,” Kuroo admits.

“With a double major, Chemistry too.”

He looks sheepish, scratching at his cheek as his eyes slide away. “How much did Haiba tell you about me?”

“Enough to make it very easy for the police to find you.”

“Well, they haven’t shown up at my place yet, so…”

“So?” Kenma prompts. He needs to know what Kuroo wants out of this, why he’s here yet again, so he can better tailor his reaction to the situation.

“So, clearly you don’t mind me visiting you—” visiting, right, “—because you think I’m hot and are into me.”

Kenma stares at him.

Kuroo winks at him.

Kenma doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt for pushing him out the door and into the storm outside.

 

 

“I don’t have any valuables, I told you,” Kenma drawls, chin on his fist as he flips through flashcards. The year has worn well enough into autumn proper that he’s under the kotatsu more than he’s in bed, and it’s on for most of the day. He’ll probably need a new one soon, in all honesty. It had been a cheap one to begin with, and it’s already an admirable three years old.

Kuroo continues going through his drawers, humming to himself. “I saw all your consoles, but I didn’t wanna take any of them, because they’re important to you, right? I mean, right, you’re clearly a gamer. You pay more attention to your psp than you do to the cat burglar rummaging around in your house every other week.”

“Well, thanks for the consideration,” Kenma says dryly, although he is weirdly touched by that. And it’d answered a question he’d had for some time. He’ll never tell Kuroo he appreciates it. Never.

“And I’ve seen your wallet a couple times now. You’re a student, I get it. And it’s a bit of a pain to find things to pawn, but eh, I don’t know. Old family jewelry you don’t care about or something? Gold necklace from grandma or something?” He continues rifling through Kenma’s sock drawer like he expects the Hope Diamond to be hidden within.

“In my underwear drawer.”

“Plenty of people hide valuables in with their socks and underwear.”

“The most expensive things in there are the lingerie, and even that isn’t much—” Kenma is interrupted by the loud bang of Kuroo jamming his elbow into the corner of the dresser. Kenma raises his head, eyebrow arched; Kuroo’s back is to him, and he bounces in place as he cradles his injured arm. Kenma thinks his ears are red.

“Wh-What. Lingerie?” Kuroo squeaks. Squeaks. Kenma, having gotten used to his annoyingly attractive, deep, soothing purr of a voice, finds the crack intriguing. “I mean. I don't see any. In here. I’ve never.”

“You’re the thief, go looking,” Kenma replies. “Though I don’t know how good of a thief you really are…”

“That’s rude.”

“Ruder than breaking and entering?”

“I brought you ramen this time.”

Kenma hums and returns to his flashcards. He makes a point of laughing when Kuroo pulls out a garterbelt from the top drawer like it might bite him.

 

 

“That’s not food,” Kenma says when he opens the door to find Kuroo on his doorstep. He actually got to open the door for him. It’s a cause for a celebration.

The night is made even weirder by the bag in Kuroo’s hand. It’s far too small and weirdly shaped to be any leftovers or takeout. “No, it’s not,” Kuroo agrees with a chuckle. He rakes his free hand back through his hair, what Kenma recognizes as a nervous gesture of his. “So, I have kind of felt bad about taking your money the past few months.”

Kenma doesn’t point out all the food he’s brought him. It might’ve been roughly equivalent. Kenma actually hadn’t been keeping track, since he doesn’t buy much for himself outside of food and video games, and he’s been alright enough to squeeze by on both. (The leftovers had helped.)

“And I saw you wanted this new game!”

Kenma tilts his head to the side. He thinks he knows which game, but he still asks, “How?”

“I mean, you had that poster for this series, and I knew that new one was coming out—”

“And Lev told you.”

“Lev totally told me,” Kuroo gives in, hanging his head. He holds out the game. “He also told me your birthday was last week.”

“Thanks,” Kenma says, and takes the game. “I got this game on opening day. I’m halfway through it. You should’ve spent your well-earned money on something else.” And he hands it right back.

Kuroo goes red in indignation, or maybe embarrassment, and his fingers shake as he takes the bag back. “U-Uh,” he forces out, and then follows it up with nothing. Kenma inclines his head, waiting, but Kuroo just opens and closes his mouth a few times before hiding his face entirely with his scarf. “God, you must think I’m a real ass…”

“No more than before, when you were perpetually stealing from me.”

Kuroo reenacts a goldfish, opening and closing his mouth several times again, before spluttering out, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to mess up that much. Let me fix this.” There’s a determination in his eyes that Kenma finds striking. He’s still getting used to seeing all of Kuroo’s face, seeing the whole picture instead of glimpses, and his heart flutters traitorously when Kuroo adds, “I promise I’ll get you a better gift.”

“You don’t have to,” Kenma mumbles, somehow embarrassed, but looking forward to whatever Kuroo comes up with all the same.

“I want to,” he replies, and grins.

 

 

His game is paused, and he’s in the kitchen making tea when Kuroo arrives this time, so he can actually hear him pick the lock. He sips at his drink and times him, and wonders idly what would happen if he just left the door unlocked one night. That would probably end up being the night he has a real break-in.

Kuroo jumps when he finds Kenma immediately there. “Oh, hey.” He tries to act casual, too, which is funnier than the startle reflex. Kenma hides his smile behind his mug.

“Hi,” Kenma softly replies. Softer, and warmer, than he means, and he nervously takes a sip of his tea and averts his eyes. He doesn’t want to look at the gentle way Kuroo regards him in response. “Where’s my new birthday present?”

“You get straight to the point, don’t you,” Kuroo chuckles and takes off his shoes. Kenma thinks about offering him tea, and hovers awkwardly in the kitchen for a beat too long. Kuroo must take pity on him, because he says, “I actually have to get going pretty soon, so no real thievery tonight, promise. I just wanted to stop by and drop off your gift, round two.”

Kenma sets down his tea and extends both hands, making wordless grabby motions. Kuroo breaks into an illegally bright grin as he fishes out yet another small package from his oversized coat. His face is red, and Kenma had initially chalked it up to the cold night, but now he’s not quite so sure.

Kuroo runs a hand back through his hair, and Kenma squishes the gift in his hands. It’s carelessly wrapped in the manner that most college students attempt things, but it’s soft and feels like clothing. Kenma wonders if it’ll be a lumpy scarf to match Kuroo’s own, and then wonders if maybe Kuroo or someone he knew made it. The thought of Kuroo making him something sets his heart to racing, which is stupid, because. Because.

Because Kuroo is just a wannabe thief and Kenma’s just equally stupid to keep letting him in. Because Kenma’s stupid to kind of like Kuroo’s random visits, when generally any unplanned social interaction is enough to send him heading for the hills. Because they’re different majors, different years, because Kuroo is ridiculous and Kenma is just Kenma. Quiet and boring and lazy enough to let a thief steal whatever he wanted because he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

Kenma is unaware his own hands are shaking until Kuroo’s covers them.

“You okay?” Kuroo asks, far more gently than Kenma deserves.

“You didn’t have to actually get me anything,” Kenma mutters. He won’t raise his head to meet Kuroo’s eye, though he can sense that Kuroo’s trying to duck down to seek him out. “The first or the second time.”

“I told you, it’s paying you back.”

“You kept bringing me food…”

“Your kitchen’s pretty bare, and you’re small. Kinda skinny. I’m not heartless.”

“Why do you keep coming back?” Kenma says in a near-whisper. His fingers tighten on the gift and Kuroo gently smooths out the tension in his hands again with his own fingers rubbing circles against Kenma’s skin. Kenma doesn’t like how he fixates on the size difference between them. He wonders if this is some sort of really twisted Stockholm Syndrome.

“I’m not the only thief around here,” Kuroo replies, voice just as quiet, and Kenma peeks up at him through his bangs in confusion. Kuroo’s smile is soft, barely there, and crooked. Kenma is definitely fucked.

“Huh?”

Kuroo abruptly loses most of his suave charm; he blushes, up to the roots of his unruly hair, and glances away, chewing on his lip for a brief moment before chuckling. Kenma thinks his hands might be sweating. The change is fascinating, and hopelessly endearing. “O-Okay, so I was going to give you some smooth line about stealing hearts, and then I realized we… kind of don’t really know each other? I mean, we’ve never been introduced properly, and we’ve only had a handful of conversations, and I’m still kind of an ass for the breaking and entering stuff. So that’s kind of… not a good time. I want a rain check on it.”

“That’s really dumb,” Kenma replies without missing a beat. Kuroo’s face falls. “But I guess you can have a rain check.”

“Oh, thank god,” Kuroo says with a relieved sigh that ruffles Kenma’s hair. Almost without thought, he leans down and presses a kiss to Kenma’s temple. “Thanks. Enjoy the gift! It was ridiculously hard to track down ones that weren’t tights.”

Kenma isn’t expecting the kiss any more than he expects the cheeky wink or the haste with which Kuroo escapes again. He doesn’t understand the switch from suave to dork to back again, and he’s thankful that Kuroo left so quickly, because he’s certain he’s blushing now.

Kenma unwraps the present to find striped stockings with cat faces on them. The note on the inside reads ‘To: Kozume, From: Kuroo, hope they go well with the garterbelt!! <3’.

The chest-pounding, red-faced butterflies are gone and are replaced by a wrinkled nose. “And he’s a pervert, too.”

 

 

“I need Kuroo’s number,” Kenma demands when he meets Lev for lunch.

“Why? Is he bothering you again? He was asking me questions a couple weeks back, but I hadn’t thought it was anything too personal!”

“No, I just. I’d like to talk to him myself. So he doesn’t need a too-tall middleman.”

“He’s pretty tall, too, Kenma-san,” Lev tells him like it’s a horrible secret.

“He’s not too tall.”

“Why am I too tall, then?!”

“Lev. Number.” Kenma almost climbs him in order to reach around to his pocket where he keeps his phone, Lev squawking all the while. It takes Kenma no time at all to find Kuroo’s number and add it to his own phone, but once he has it, he isn’t quite sure what to do with it.

He probably could have found Kuroo at any time on campus, or had Lev call him up again for a meeting that wasn’t in Kenma’s small apartment. He could have told Lev to give Kuroo his phone number. But he’d been strangely content with their completely random meetings, in the comfort of Kenma’s own home. He kind of liked making Kuroo come to him instead of expending any more effort.

But some things require a little more effort than others, and they were worth it.

“You have your thinking face on,” Lev remarks, and Kenma would smack him, if he didn’t know how many layers Lev liked to wear in cold weather. There’s not a chance in hell he’d feel it. “About Kuroo-san? Do you still think he’s hot?”

“I don’t know,” Kenma sourly confesses. “I just… like spending time with him?”

“When he breaks in to your home?”

“Don’t be like Yaku. Kuroo wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I guess not,” Lev hesitantly agrees, and frowns. It looks out of place on his face. “But it’s kind of a weird way to maintain a relationship.”

“I know.” Which is why he wants to put in a little effort, he supposes.

 

 

Kenma is wearing the stockings when he invites Kuroo over. Invites. It’s a strange way to think about things, but he thinks he likes this new turn in their relationship.

As if to commemorate the occasion, Kuroo knocks. Kenma doesn't get up, because the kotatsu is warm, but he calls out, “You can get in.”

He thinks he can hear Kuroo’s exasperated huff on the other side of the door. It clicks open soon enough, and Kuroo ducks inside, beanie low and scarf drawn high to try to stay warm. The exposed parts of his face are pink, and he rubs his cheeks in the entryway a bit like a cat before he shuffles inside. “You wanted to see me?” Kuroo asks.

Kenma frowns; that sounds too much like a business meeting. “I just thought it’d be nice to know when to expect you, for once,” he mumbles, a touch defensive. He rubs his legs together, grateful for the heat, and suddenly wonders if maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“Ah,” Kuroo says, like he’s realizing something, and his face remains quite pink despite the fact that he must be warmed up by now. “O-Oh, okay. Yeah.” He nervously adjusts his glasses, and Kenma finds he likes the image of him in them.

“Where did you learn to pick locks?” Kenma asks.

Kuroo blinks at the change of subject. “Internet. Sorry, I don’t have some cool old master who taught me all his tips and tricks.”

“Why did you pick up stealing?”

“I needed the money, at first. I was kind of in a rough patch at the beginning of the year before one of my scholarships checked out. It was… kind of stupid, huh?”

“Did I bring down your percentages that much?” Kenma asks and shifts his feet as he rubs them together. He bumps into what he assumes is Kuroo’s knee, and Kuroo jumps at the touch. Very purposefully, Kenma rubs his foot against Kuroo again, this time inclining his head to show that he expects an answer.

“I guess. I-I didn’t get around to doing a whole lot, but I was pretty good at getting in and out with something I could pawn. And I never got caught. Until you,” Kuroo says, the last part a weak little mumble. He reaches under the table to catch Kenma’s foot, to stop his incessant prodding, but he jumps all over again when he registers the sleek fabric covering him.

Kuroo lifts the kotatsu blanket, grabs Kenma’s ankle, and pulls it out into the light. Kenma’s hands fly out to brace himself as he’s yanked halfway beneath the table.

“You’re wearing the stockings!” Kuroo says like he’s absolutely floored. “I want to see!” He ducks further under the kotatsu like he’s climbing under there, despite its small size, and Kenma kicks at him until he reemerges.

“Here,” Kenma replies, sparing him a sour look, and shuffles out from beneath the kotatsu to wiggle around to Kuroo’s side. He draws his knees up, showing off plenty of thigh beneath his sleep shorts, and Kuroo’s eyes widen at the sight. He swallows audibly before Kenma sticks his legs back into the warmth and draws the blanket over his lap.

And now they’re pressed side-to-side, legs touching once more. Kuroo is solid beside him, and Kenma very much wants to lean into his presence, his warmth and his weight. “So, um,” Kuroo stammers out, looking at everywhere except Kenma’s blanket-covered thighs. “School, how’s that going for you?”

“Fine, I guess.” He doesn’t really want to talk about school. “You can relax, I won’t bite, or call the police on you.”

“I haven’t even done anything illegal today,” Kuroo weakly jokes.

“Hm,” Kenma says. He studies the sharp line of Kuroo’s glasses, the slope of his nose, the way he chews on his bottom lip. He wonders how he’d react if he offered to do that for him. “Well, didn’t you say I did?”

“Did what?”

“Something illegal,” Kenma prompts.

Kuroo tilts his head to the side, rather like a confused, adorable puppy.

Kenma isn’t going to be happy if he has to do all the work tonight. “Didn’t you accuse me of stealing something from you?”

“Oh god, that,” Kuroo groans in realization, and buries his face in his hands, glasses askew. “Don’t let me use lines like that. Bokuto already chewed me out for days for even trying it.”

“Bokuto?” Kenma asks, then, duh, of course Kuroo has friends that aren’t the lazy boy he steals from. “You, um, talk about me…?”

“Only a lot.”

“Oh. Why.”

“What part of you stole my heart isn’t obvious enough for you? I thought you were supposed to be clever,” Kuroo teases, defensively, like it would keep Kenma from latching back onto the horrible line.

“I like things to be properly defined when trying something new.”

“What are you trying that’s new?”

“Dating someone who robbed me.”

“You wanna date?” Kuroo asks in a particularly strained tone. His expression is a rather amusing (cute) mixture of excited and skeptical.

“You’ve been bringing me food, you bought me something to wear in bed—”

“I just assumed you liked wearing that, I didn’t mean for it to be lewd, I kind of only realized how it looked afterward you have to believe me—”

“—and I like spending time with you,” Kenma firmly finishes, shutting Kuroo up. “I like looking at your face when it’s not covered in a scarf. Yaku might have opinions, but if you’re… interested, then I guess I am.” He’d assumed that’s why Kuroo kept coming back, why he kissed him and flirted with him, and Kenma had sworn to himself that it was a pretty safe assumption to make, but now that it hangs in the air between them, he has second thoughts anyway. Kuroo had a reputation as a flirt and a clown, and Kenma was just. Average, quiet, easy to ignore.

Kuroo knocks their shoulders together before reaching down to tilt Kenma’s chin up with his fingers. His hand remains to cup his jaw. “I’m very interested,” he says, smooth and deep and impossibly attractive. Kenma hopes he can’t hear how loud his heart is beating in his chest. “I just didn’t think I’d get the chance to steal your heart in return.”

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Kuroo asks, leaning back, blinking wide, innocent eyes.

“Go from sex god aura to total dork?”

“You think I’m a sex god?”

“Well, no, I wouldn’t know,” Kenma replies, and Kuroo swings even more firmly into total dork mode as he blushes with his entire face again. “But you have to know how you are.”

“How I… am.”

“You know. Hot. You’re tall, and handsome, and your voice is really… good, I guess. And then you go and ruin it by saying stupid shit.”

“What a cruel thing to say to your new boyfriend!” Kuroo exclaims, falsely scandalized, and before Kenma can brace himself, Kuroo tilts his weight forward until he’s on top of Kenma, pinning him to the floor and trying to smother him, surely.

Kenma squirms and pushes against him, both feeling squished and horribly aroused at how his hands shove against pure muscle, and tries very hard not to laugh. He blames it on how Kuroo’s hair tickles his face. Kuroo laughs enough for both of them, warm and deep and as smooth as caramel—until he breaks on a horrible snort, and starts cackling like a drunken hyena into Kenma’s floor.

“Y-You’re tickling me, st-stop that!”

Kenma digs his fingers harder to Kuroo’s sides, and he squirms and ends up kicking the kotatsu before Kenma gives up. Kenma laces his fingers in the small of Kuroo’s back, letting Kuroo catch his breath, still mostly on top of him. He’ll accept suffocation as a way to go. When they’d first met and he’d thought Kuroo had been dangerous, he hadn’t quite envisioned this.

Boyfriend, Kenma thinks. Kuroo had probably tossed the word out without much thought behind it. The word doesn’t sound so bad, although still strange to apply it to the man who’d come into Kenma’s life in such an unconventional manner.

Kuroo kisses Kenma’s neck, then rolls them, narrowly avoiding the wall, so Kenma ends up sprawled on top. Kenma sits back, straddling him, and looks down at the picture Kuroo presents: glasses slightly crooked, hair wilder than ever, pink high on his cheeks, and golden eyes glinting with mischief. He licks his lips, and Kenma’s eyes follow the movement. He dips back down, almost unconsciously, until he can follow the same path with his own mouth.

 

 

“So you’re dating the man who broke into your home, repeatedly, has stolen money from you, and who you refuse to turn in,” Yaku summarizes.

Kenma nods and adds, “He stole my heart, too.”

And he’s turned you to puns,” Yaku groans. He slumps onto the table, and Lev pats his back sympathetically. Yaku halfheartedly swats him away. “I thought you were better than this, Kenma.”

“Better than what?” Kenma asks coolly. “He makes me happy.”

“A good slice of apple pie makes you happy. How can you be sure he’s going to treat you alright?”

“Maybe he’ll steal nice things to give to Kenma,” Lev suggests. Yaku swats him again, harder.

“He’s stopped stealing now. He stopped awhile ago,” Kenma tells them, not a defense so much a statement of fact. There’s little he can do to change Yaku’s opinion of Kuroo so quickly, and he knows it. He doesn’t want to get into an actual argument over it.

“I just don’t understand why you’d want to stay with him,” Yaku sighs.

“The sex must be really good,” Lev says with a sharp nod. Kenma nearly chokes on his drink and Yaku coughs loudly into his. “Does he like the lingerie, Kenma-san?”

Yaku, now quite red, yanks Lev down to his level and hisses, “How about you don’t say either of those things so loud?! There’s such a thing as discretion in public!”

Kenma nods, covering his face with his free hand, back of his neck prickling with (hopefully imaginary) unwanted attention. “That’s… I don’t know, Lev. I haven’t brought it up with him.”

“You said he got you stockings for your birthday,” Yaku says. He looks as if he would really not want to have this conversation, but Yaku Morisuke is not a quitter, nor is he unsupportive of his friends. Kenma has seen him splutter his way through way worse conversations in the name of giving either of them advice before. “He has to have some idea of your thing already.”

“Yeah, he does—but we haven’t. Tried it?” Kuroo still drops by unexpectedly from time to time, between their scheduled dates (sometimes they even go out together now), and Kenma has worn things. Nothing outright lewd—well, nothing without a layer of clothes overtop—but Kenma has made no secret of wearing stockings or even garters or a garterbelt. Kuroo has seen him in those, helped him adjust a stubborn garter clip at one point, seen Kenma in skirts and short shorts and even just boxers twice. Hell, he’s been through his underwear drawer. Kuroo knows what Kenma has.

But they haven’t done anything. Kenma likes wearing it just to wear it, sure, but he also wants it to be appreciated, damn it.

And it’s not as if Kuroo is shy, either. He’s showered at Kenma’s place, and has lounged around in various states of undress. He has nipple piercings, something which had nearly destroyed Kenma when he first found out, but he hasn’t had the occasion to really do anything about it, because they’re always cuddling or changing or getting ready for other things.

And now that he thinks about it, isn’t it kind of weird that they haven’t?

“You’re overthinking this.” Right on cue, Yaku to the rescue with a sharp yank on Kenma’s hair. “So. You’re scared of doing the lingerie thing with him.”

“We haven’t done anything,” Kenma corrects.

“Not even kiss?” Lev whispers, only then sounding embarrassed of his own words. In unison, Kenma and Yaku sigh.

“We’ve kissed. We’ve fooled around a little. Just nothing… together.” Nothing that coincided with lingerie, or orgasms. “Huh.”

“Do you want to?” Yaku asks.

“I think so.”

“You want to fuck the man who broke into your home and stole from you—”

“Yes,” Kenma reiterates, half out of spite at that point. But it’s certainly no lie. Kuroo is attractive, they’re dating now, and Kenma knows he has just the outfit to perhaps melt Kuroo into the floorboards.

 

 

“You’re going to get embarrassed,” Kenma tells him right off the bat, to get it out of the way, “but you don’t have to.”

“And why do you—oh holy shit.” Kuroo goes so red so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t pass out. Kenma gives him a slow twirl. He’s dressed in one of Kuroo’s shirts, a white one so soft it’s partially see-through, unbuttoned to halfway down his chest. His legs are clad in the cute, striped stockings Kuroo had gotten him, held up by a lacy, sheer garterbelt. Kuroo seems to be staring the most at the ruffled boyshorts. The stripes don’t quite match the coloration of the stockings, but they’re Kenma’s favorite pair, and he knows they match well enough.

There’s a bow on the back of them, satin and large and black. He makes sure Kuroo takes note.

“I. I, um, take it you don’t want to go out tonight,” Kuroo forces out.

“Is this alright?” Kenma asks. He doesn’t mean to be coy, voice neutral, but he’s not sure Kuroo notices either way. He reaches forward to toy with the bottom hem of the shirt, falling halfway down Kenma’s thighs, just barely overlapping with the tops of the cats on the stockings. They’re still faintly visible through the fabric.

“You wear this shirt a lot better than I ever could,” Kuroo murmurs.

(That’s probably a lie; the only time Kenma had seen Kuroo in it, it had been beneath a sweater, that he’d taken off. So Kenma got treated to not only the sight of Kuroo in a rumpled, half-transparent button-down, but that’s also how he’d found out about the piercings. It had been a rough day for Kozume Kenma.)

“Let’s stay in tonight,” Kenma replies, and tugs Kuroo forward by the belt loops on his jeans until they’re flush against each other and their mouths meet.

Kuroo cups Kenma’s face, as he always does when they kiss, intent on cradling him close as they devour each other. The tenderness is always a soft counterpoint to the heat with which Kuroo always kisses; his tongue delves into Kenma’s mouth like he’s afraid it will be the last time, like he’s trying to coax out and memorize every movement of Kenma’s own.

Kenma’s hands go from Kuroo’s hair, down to his own face and past his broad shoulders, running down his ticklish sides until Kenma can tug at the hem of Kuroo’s sweater. Kuroo hums against him, tilting his head to have better access to continue mapping out Kenma’s mouth, and otherwise doesn’t get the picture. Kenma impatiently pushes his hands up underneath Kuroo’s shirt to press his palms against the firmness of his abs.

He’d be quite mad about this body of an Art History/Chemistry major if it wasn’t on display for him.

And right now, he definitely wants it for himself. Kenma pushes up on Kuroo’s shirt until he gets the hint, and they’re both left gasping for air when Kuroo allows himself to be pulled away.

They’re drawn back together like magnets as soon as his sweater is gone, hair extra staticky, and Kuroo pulls at the fabric of Kenma’s borrowed shirt like he’s undecided. After a long, thoughtful pause, he murmurs, “It can stay on?” and Kenma nods.

“Can I?” he asks as he runs his palms up Kuroo’s abs, towards his pectorals.

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t, kitten,” he replies with such a roguish smirk that Kenma feels it a personal mission to get rid of it as soon as possible.

Kenma crowds into his space—difficult, when his boyfriend has almost twenty centimeters and kilos on him—until Kuroo is backing up. The backs of his knees hit the bed and Kuroo flails a moment, plopping onto the bed with Kenma not wasting a moment in crawling on after him. He makes sure to arch his back enough to make sure Kuroo has a clear view of the bow on his ass as he dips his head to lave his tongue over one of the silver barbells.

Kuroo jolts and swears, and Kenma reopens his eyes to peek up at him. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Sensitive,” Kuroo pants, facing heating up (again) in rather adorable embarrassment. Kenma catches the end of the piercing and gives it a delicate tug, and Kuroo whines and pushes up against him.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

Kenma splays his fingers over Kuroo’s chest to encourage him to stay flat, even if his squirming is endearing in its own way. He drags a nail down Kuroo’s sternum, still lapping gently at one of his nipples, then walks his fingers over to the other one. Kuroo sucks in a breath the moment before Kenma pinches. It doesn’t prevent his keening whine, and Kenma would smirk up at him if that weren’t too easy. Too easy, kind of like Kuroo right now, actually.

Kenma moves over to place a kiss on his other nipple, then nips at the firm flesh right below, making Kuroo jump beneath him again. It’s difficult to truly bite down, but Kenma likes the way he can hook his teeth and tongue beneath the piercing and play with it that way; judging from the noises, he rather thinks Kuroo likes that, too.

Kuroo gives a particularly hard jolt beneath him, hips bucking as his hands scrabble for purchase on Kenma’s sheets, and Kenma realizes just how hard Kuroo is already. He’s also a little surprised to note his own interest, but when he has a partner this into it, how can he resist?

Kenma sits back, admiring the heaving chest and flushed face before him, and maybe he grinds his ass down on the bulge in Kuroo’s jeans. Maybe.

“You’re unfair,” Kuroo breathes, before detaching his grip from the sheets to smooth his hands up Kenma’s thighs. He snaps the top of one stocking against his skin.

“I’m going to get more unfair if you keep this up,” Kenma threatens.

“Keep what up?” Kuroo asks, nose wrinkled in confusion, frowning in a way that should be as cute as it is.

“Being you,” Kenma replies before kissing him once more. He reaches down between them, fighting with Kuroo’s belt while struggling not to lose too much contact, especially as Kuroo has seemed to figure out that grinding against each other is a-okay right now.

He takes pity on Kenma, and with a chuckle—Kenma bites his lip in retaliation, earning a nip back that makes him groan—Kuroo flicks open his belt and they both fumble at trying to get his jeans off. It’s his fault for wearing stupidly tight pants, and maybe only a little Kenma’s fault for not wanting to get off of him to make it any easier.

Kuroo flips them as soon as his pants are down to his knees, and he takes a moment to kick them off completely before he seals their mouths back together. Kenma gropes at his hips, his ass, before reaching up to tweak the piercings again, just for the way Kuroo’s hips jump against his. “You’re so unfair,” Kuroo sighs against him, and Kenma tilts his head as Kuroo peppers little kisses across his cheek and behind his ear. “How are you allowed to be this unfair? You’re the one they should lock up. Crime: too much—”

“Can’t you do something better with your mouth?” Kenma complains.

“Like what?” Kuroo shoots back, challenge bright in his eyes.

Kenma kind of wishes he had handcuffs. Maybe a gag.

An idea hits him, and he wiggles until Kuroo gives him enough space to reach down to shimmy out of his boyshorts. He’s done this often enough to have had the foresight to put them on overtop the garters. Kenma sighs and shivers at the cool air hitting his cock, then his voice rises to a moan when one of Kuroo’s large, warm hands wraps around him. “You’re gorgeous,” Kuroo whispers against his hair, stroking him slow but firm, and Kenma could get lost in the sensation. “Still can’t believe you’re mine. You look great like this, perfect, Kenma.”

Kenma’s face burns, both from the sheer arousal Kuroo’s husky voice shoots through him, and the weight of the words themselves. Maybe they can deal with praise at another date, but right now, too much for what Kenma has in mind.

“K-Kuroo,” Kenma gasps out, just as Kuroo’s hand tightens over the tip, fingers tracing through the precome dripping down.

“Hmm?”

“Open your mouth.”

Kuroo does, likely expecting kisses, but instead Kenma shoves his boyshorts into his mouth. He presses them in with his fingers, until Kuroo gets the message, and Kenma stares deep into his eyes to make sure there’s no concern or caution in them. Kuroo nods, and Kenma smiles up at him.

“Good,” he says, then pulls Kuroo’s hand off of his cock. Kenma trails his hands up Kuroo’s side for the way he shudders, ticklish, and he drags his nails back down a moment later like an apology. “I want you on your hands and knees, okay?”

The desire in Kuroo’s eyes is also nearing too much, and Kenma lowers his gaze and his mouth so he can line Kuroo’s throat with kisses and nips. Nothing hard enough to leave a mark, but the muffled noises he hears through the ruffles are good indicators.

Kenma digs through his nightstand for lube and a condom, and takes a moment to appreciate the long lines of Kuroo’s body, bent over in his bed. He has amazing legs, long and toned, and they’d probably look damn good in stockings themselves, Kenma muses. So many things to explore later.

“You okay?” Kenma asks, smoothing his hand up over Kuroo’s back while he opens the lube with his other hand. Kuroo nods and gives him a thumbs up. “You can spit that out, you know… I just, uh, couldn’t really deal with a lot of praise. There’s more I want to do tonight.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen in realization, and Kenma gives him a little shrug. Let him use it to his advantage later. Kenma thinks he safely has the advantage tonight.

Kuroo moans at the first press of a slick finger against him. Kenma almost smiles again; he shouldn’t be surprised, at this point, how sensitive he is. It’s a large part of why he wants to go through the effort of doing it this way. He wants to see how sensitive Kuroo is while he’s getting fucked, how loud he can get, maybe if he can come multiple times. There are a lot of experiments to run.

Kuroo’s back arches as Kenma slides the first finger in. He runs his free hand up and down Kuroo’s side, urging him to relax, and he whispers soft nonsense into the skin near Kuroo’s shoulder. He’s tense, very tense, and Kenma knows he’ll have to take this slow. He knows it’s been awhile for himself, but he wonders how long it’s been for Kuroo.

Kenma sits back on his haunches and reaches beneath him to wrap a hand around Kuroo’s cock, and he jerks and groans at that. He’s not soft, which is good, but Kenma gives him encouraging strokes while making sure he relaxes. “You’re doing so good,” Kenma tells him, half a shot in the dark, but his dick twitches in definite interest. Okay, so maybe the praise thing goes both ways. The more Kenma finds out about him, the more excited he is for this. “Keep breathing, and relax for me. I’ll take care of you.”

Finally, Kenma feels able to slip in two fingers, and Kuroo definitely takes them better this time. Kenma adds a little more lube before scissoring his fingers to start stretching him in earnest. Kuroo shudders and jerks beneath him, especially after a few curious probes of Kenma’s fingers; he definitely knows when he’s found his prostate, based on the especially loud noise it wrings out of him.

Kuroo’s moans suddenly get louder, and Kenma glances up to see that he’s pulled the boyshorts out of his mouth and is gasping into the bedspread. “Fuck. Fuck, Kenma, r-right there. God, yes.”

“Do you feel ready?” Kenma asks.

“Sure. Y-Yeah. I just—please, more?”

Works for him; Kenma isn’t going to make him beg, although he certainly thinks he’d be capable of it. Kenma wipes his hand on his thigh above his stocking, and tugs on Kuroo’s hips until he’s kneeling, too. “You’re too much,” Kenma says, pressing kisses against Kuroo’s shoulder, leading up to his neck and jaw and finally mouth. “But now I’m tired. Can you get on top?”

“You are the laziest person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s not a no.”

“That’s definitely not a no,” Kuroo agrees, grinning even as he chases after Kenma’s kisses.

Kenma lays back on the bed and at least rolls the condom on himself. Kuroo slicks him up with more lube, taking his sweet time stroking him and making him whine, until he’s kneeling over Kenma. There’s something particularly sincere in his expression, open and a little unsure, and Kenma leans up on his elbows until he can kiss him again.

When Kuroo sinks down over him, Kenma’s moans are the louder between the two.

Kuroo takes his time with that, too, and Kenma lets him, eyelids fluttering and hands kneading at the wonderful muscle in Kuroo’s thighs. Kenma has to get him in stockings. Kuroo sinks down to the hilt with a guttural groan, expression hazy and mouth open on shuddering breaths. He looks thoroughly debauched already, but Kenma chalks that up to his perpetual sex hair and completely kissable mouth.

Kenma beckons him down so their mouths can meet, and he kisses the tension out of Kuroo, letting him relax and get used to the stretch. He groans with every little shift of his hips, like he’s getting used to it, and Kenma only then wonders if he’s ever bottomed before.

Kenma blinks up at Kuroo, and Kuroo seems to read the realization, because he gives him a particularly bad smirk. “That’s two things you’ve stolen from me, Kenma,” he says, voice impossibly lower and all that more unfair.

“You should’ve told me,” Kenma says, then rephrases, “I would’ve liked to have known.”

“My heart and my virginity, what a great thief. It’s fine, Kenma.”

“You’ve never had sex at all?”

“No?”

Something frightfully like panic shoots through Kenma, and his hands freeze on Kuroo’s thighs. He doesn’t think himself a bad lover, but now he’s reexamining things—had he rushed Kuroo? He definitely should’ve been gentler, more attentive, perhaps a little kinder—

“Kenma, you’re fine,” Kuroo cuts in and cups his face as he kisses away the worry. “Virginity is bullshit, and even if it wasn’t, we’re dating. I like you, you like me, we’re consenting adults, all that jazz. And considering I’ve come as far as getting your dick up my ass, if you’re down, I’d really like to actually get fucked.”

“O-Okay,” Kenma shakily replies.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Still want me on top?”

Kenma squints at him. “Do you?”

“Whatever makes you happy, kitten,” Kuroo replies, and that doesn’t exactly ease Kenma’s concern.

“I think you’re the priority right now. I’ve changed my mind, on your back.” Kuroo groans at the shifting, especially when Kenma pulls out before pushing back in, once Kuroo’s on his back with his legs tight against Kenma’s waist. Kenma sets up a slow, steady rhythm, painfully gentle, making sure to litter Kuroo with kisses. On his calves, the inside of his knees, up as far as Kenma can get on his thighs. His fingers, his hands, then down from his shoulders to his piercings again.

Kuroo sighs sweetly, completely unprepared for the Good Fucking Kenma has decided he definitely needs.

Kenma bites down on his nipple at the same time he slams back into Kuroo, earning an immediate and loud, “Fuck!”

His pace is not too much faster, but it’s far more forceful, and Kenma makes sure to keep his hands on Kuroo at all times. He tongues the silver barbell and twists the other with his finger, and Kuroo jerks and clenches down on him, drawing out a low groan from Kenma. This could be a dangerous feedback loop.

Kenma reaches down to jack Kuroo off in time with his thrusts, and Kuroo’s noises immediately change in volume, growing in urgency. “Oh god, Kenma, yes yes!”

So sensitive, so fucking loud.

Kenma draws Kuroo flush against him and hikes one of his legs up higher, and Kenma knows he has immediately found the winning angle because Kuroo shouts.

Kuroo braces his forearms against the top of the bed to counter the force of Kenma’s thrusts, biting his lip to try to keep himself from waking the entire building, even if Kenma’s not trying all that hard to keep himself quiet. Kenma can’t touch him enough, can’t give him the attention he deserves, because he deserves the fucking world. At the very least, a stellar orgasm and the best cuddling of his life.

“Kenma, I’m—I’m close, yeah, fuck,” Kuroo hoarsely gasps out.

“Good, you’ve been so good, you’re taking this so well,” Kenma tells him, and tightens his hand on Kuroo’s cock, feeling the way he clenches down on Kenma’s. “Come for me, Kuroo—Tetsurou.”

Kuroo comes with a shout like it surprises him, and he clamps down so tight Kenma has little choice but to follow him. He lowers Kuroo’s leg as he fucks them through their orgasms, hand sticky as he reaches up to tweak one of his piercings, which had gotten splattered with come.

Kuroo blearily opens his eyes to peer down at Kenma, and Kenma smiles up at him before pulling out. Kuroo shudders, and Kenma murmurs an apology and, to make up for the uncomfortable part, licks off the come from his nipple. That creates another, different, full-body shudder.

Kenma hardly ties off the condom and drops it into the trash before Kuroo has enveloped him in a maybe-hug-like hold involving all of his limbs. Yes, he’ll definitely get suffocated by his large boyfriend yet. “Kuroo, I’m hot, let me take off the shirt,” Kenma whines, wiggling.

“Mmn,” Kuroo grunts against his hair. Considering Kenma can still feel him trembling with aftershocks, he’s surprised at how strong his hold is.

“It’s too hot. I’m sweaty. I’ll cuddle you but I want to take this off.”

Nothing.

“Kuroo.”

Still nothing.

Kenma heaves a great sigh. “Tetsurou,” he says, and is instantly released. Kenma shrugs off the damp shirt and snuggles back into Kuroo’s embrace with a happy sigh. “Was that good?” he asks, drawing nonsense patterns on Kuroo’s sweaty back.

“Amazing.”

“I guess you don’t have anything to compare it to…”

“I know you’re amazing, anyway,” Kuroo scoffs. “I’m happy I broke into your place.”

“To steal a vase.”

“You weren’t really using it!”

“You can have it, if it means that much to you. Just buy me a new umbrella holder,” Kenma informs him, and snuggles in a little better so he can use Kuroo’s shoulder as a pillow. They’re still messy, but if Kuroo’s fine with it, then so is he, at least for a little while longer.

“You mean more to me,” Kuroo replies. Kenma doesn’t want to admit how warm that makes him feel. “But maybe I won’t give up my life of crime just yet…”

Kenma knows it’s going to be bad, but in his drowsy, post-orgasmic mind, he can’t think of what it’ll be. “And why’s that,” he mumbles indulgently.

“You have two on me. Heart and ass.”

“You could have phrased that a little better,” Kenma snorts, and is about to point out that he’s more than willing to bottom next time, when Kuroo cuts him off.

“I’ll need to steal your heart in return,” Kuroo says softly, sounding as if he’s falling asleep despite the conversation. It makes Kenma smile.

“…That’s stupid,” Kenma replies. “You already have it.”

Chapter Text

Kenma doesn’t look up at him until Tetsurou gives him a tug on his hair. He normally takes it as a sign of comfort—Kenma is hyperaware of all things, but he deigns Tetsurou to be safe and ‘normal’—but a little attention would be nice when he swaggers out of the bathroom.

He knows Kenma likes him with his hair clean and down, before the bedhead gets its evil claws into him once more, but Tetsurou is more looking for a reaction to what he’d changed into after his shower.

And his boyfriend does not disappoint.

Kenma’s mouth opens on a complaint, but then he registers what Tetsurou is wearing, and his eyes grow large. His lips remain parted, and Tetsurou thinks he may have stopped breathing for a moment, and if that’s not gratifying, he doesn’t know what is.

By the time Kenma shakily sucks in a breath, his eyes have trailed lower, fixating (predictably) on the sheer, black stockings covering Tetsurou’s legs. Tetsurou feels a triumphant smirk coming on.

“Like what you see?” he purrs, putting his foot up onto the bed by Kenma. Kenma reaches out, tentative, and his touch is feather-light against Tetsurou’s ankle, before he runs his hand up his calf.

Kenma’s eyes flick upward, registering the rest of the outfit, then his gaze finds Tetsurou’s. His golden eyes are sharp and dangerously heated. “What are you wearing,” Kenma says, voice admirably level.

Tetsurou cocks his hips to one side, putting his weight on the foot on the bed, and leans down with a leer. “Officer Kuroo Tetsurou,” he answers, feeling rather official even if he’s in booty shorts and a mostly unbuttoned crop top, “and I heard there was a robbery.”

Kenma sighs, indulgently, and goes back to tracing patterns on the stockings. Tetsurou knew that those were the real draw in this situation, but he’d kind of hoped for Kenma to play along a little. It’d been funny. “Where did you get that?”

“I stole it, actually. For old time’s sake. Bo wasn’t using it, and I fill it out just fine.” He’d been nervous about it fitting properly, but thank god he had a stellar ass and Bokuto liked to try to fit into clothes too small for himself. (Maybe, actually, it was Akaashi’s…)

“The stockings?” Kenma asks.

“I bought those. I figured you’d like them. Pretty safe bet, if I say so myself.”

Kenma hums in general agreement, hand sliding up as far as he can reach on Tetsurou’s leg. His fingertips just brush the bottom of the lace cuff holding them snug up his thighs. “No garterbelt?”

“There’s no way I could get one of those on by myself. I’ve seen how you fight with the clips.” Tetsurou snorts, and Kenma hums again. He certainly doesn’t seem disappointed. If still not really into the angle Tetsurou had been aiming for.

More coaxing is in order.

“So, there’s been a theft,” Tetsurou says, then clears his voice to get back into Proper Officer Mode. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to search you.”

“Why am I the thief?” Kenma petulantly asks, squinting up at him, clinging to his leg like a shield.

“Heart and virginity,” Tetsurou says, counting them off on his fingers, then adds, “also, two of my shirts and a hoodie. You’re not subtle.”

“You can have the white one back…”

“It looks far better on you, trust me.”

“You’ve actually stolen from me, though,” Kenma complains. His frown deepens. “You’re the thief.”

“Kitten, you and I both know you could never do a cop routine.”

“You can’t count the heart, then, ‘cause you stole mine, too,” he mutters, cheeks pinking, and Tetsurou tries not to let his (stolen) heart melt.

“Not-uh, you gave me yours, you don’t get to use my line against me.”

“But that’s—”

“Sometimes, the law isn’t fair. Now, I’m going to have to ask you to put your game away and let me conduct a search.” Tetsurou plucks the psp from Kenma’s hand and sets it on the nightstand for safekeeping, and Kenma glares up at him, a whine building in the back of his throat. He doesn’t outright argue, however, and Tetsurou knows that’s the key. Kenma will definitely say no if he means it, but he’ll go along with Tetsurou for the time being.

He wants to use this chance to his advantage. He’s stubborn about his jokes, even if they’re sexy ones. Especially if they’re sexy ones.

“Get up on your feet,” Tetsurou says and steps off of the bed. He hauls Kenma upright, who gives in but goes along with his movements like a lead weight. “Keep this up and I’ll say you’re resisting arrest.”

“What are the charges, exactly?” Kenma asks, sighing.

“Theft, attempted robbery, and, uh,” shit, he wants this to sound official, maybe he should’ve done more research other than watching American Cops reruns while drunk with Bokuto, “definitely adding resisting arrest to the list.”

Kenma kindly does not poke fun at his stumbling, but he does roll his eyes and snort when Tetsurou has him face the wall. Kenma puts his hands flat on the wall while Tetsurou nudges his legs apart, trailing his fingers up the knitted stockings on Kenma’s legs. He’s wearing them for warmth—he’s still in his pajamas, shorts and a t-shirt, with one of Tetsurou’s (soon to be stolen, surely) sweaters hanging off his frame—but he never not looks good in what he wears.

“What sort of punishments does this entail?” Kenma flatly asks.

“I’m going to need you to be quiet while I frisk you,” Tetsurou replies, hands firm on Kenma’s hips as he adjusts him just a little. He dips his fingers beneath the hem of his tops, briefly, just to press skin against skin near Kenma’s waist. He sucks in a breath. He pushes his hands up beneath until the shirt and sweater are rucked up halfway up his back, then drags his nails down Kenma’s stomach, pleased by the shaky exhale he earns.

Tetsurou runs his hands down Kenma’s hips, snapping the elastic of his shorts, and hooks his thumb into the top of one of his stockings. When he begins tugging it down, Kenma gives him a sharp look over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to need to do a full body search. I suspect you could be hiding things in your clothing.”

“But the—”

“Please don’t talk back to the officer.”

“I want them to stay on,” Kenma presses, anyway, and jerks his leg away from Tetsurou.

Tetsurou grins. That’s definitely disobeying orders, and he’d been looking for an excuse. Fixated as he’d been on Tetsurou’s own stockings, he doubts Kenma had noticed what he’d hooked to one of the belt loops of his shorts.

Tetsurou pulls Kenma way from the wall and yanks his arms behind his back, balancing him so he doesn’t fall forward again. Kenma squirms for a moment, confused, until he hears the velcro and Tetsurou wraps the first cuff around his wrist.

Kenma twists in his grip, craning his neck to try to see, but it’s impossible with his hands behind his back. His eyes find Tetsurou’s. There’s no concern or fear, and the only thing he asks is, “Am I being arrested now?”

Tetsurou can’t help but to lean down and give Kenma a peck on the nose, just for the way he wrinkles it and frowns. “I’m going to finish conducting my search to make sure you’re not hiding anything. I don’t suggest you resist further.”

After securing his wrists together, he makes sure Kenma can balance on his own before releasing him. Tetsurou runs his hands over his boyfriend’s body, over his clothes, just to feel the way his chest is thrust out from the angle of his bound hands, to the arch to his back that pushes his ass out enticingly. Kenma faces forward, shoulders up just a little from tension, breath coming quicker the longer Tetsurou has his hands on him.

Tetsurou snaps the waistband of his shorts again, then slowly begins pulling it down. Kenma moves his legs to help, and to keep his own balance, and Tetsurou wraps an arm around his waist for support as he helps him step out of them. Kenma isn’t in anything fancy tonight, just solid grey boxer briefs, but it still leaves little to the imagination. Tetsurou would, honestly, like Kenma in just about anything, but perhaps he’s been spoiled by his boyfriend’s kink.

Tetsurou pulls the sweater and t-shirt both up and over Kenma’s head with little warning, making him stagger, then squirm when he realizes he can’t get either off due to the handcuffs. “Kuroo,” Kenma complains, back to Tetsurou’s chest for balance, both tops bunched up over his forearms.

“What did you call me?”

Officer,” Kenma grudgingly corrects. “You didn’t finish taking those off.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be able to wiggle free, now would I?”

Kenma hums, feigning grumpiness. There’s no lock to the handcuffs—they come undone with a simple clip in the middle, and either side can be pulled free from the velcro—and Kenma could still probably wiggle his way free given a bit of time. Tetsurou has seen him get in and out a staggering amount of strappy, frankly confusing sets of panties, garterbelts, and even a bralette that was really just a few strips of fabric criss-crossed over his chest, so he has faith Kenma could Houdini his way out of damn near anything.

Tetsurou unashamedly runs his hands all over Kenma’s chest. He may not be sensitive like Tetsurou is, but his breathing stutters when Tetsurou pinches a nipple, and he leans back against him again when his other hand trails further down. His hair is in a disarray from the shirts getting pulled over it, but there’s enough neck showing that Tetsurou can’t deny leaning down to nibble. At the same time, he cups Kenma through his underwear, quite pleased to see he’s growing hard already.

Tetsurou bites down on the side of Kenma’s neck and dips his hand beneath his waistband. Kenma jolts and whines, voice high, and presses up into Tetsurou’s grasp. “Is this an admittance of guilt?” Tetsurou purrs, smug.

“An admittance of intent, maybe,” Kenma retorts, then keens again when Tetsurou bites down harder. There’s going to be a mark, especially as he sucks on the red area a moment later; Kenma squirms in his grasp, legs trembling. “A-Ah, officer. Please.”

Tetsurou is happier that Kenma’s playing along than aroused by any real part of this roleplay, but the outfit and the fact that he’s still dressed (or as dressed as he is) while Kenma’s barely covered is invigorating. “Please what? I don’t think accused thieves are allowed to make many requests,” Tetsurou replies.

“I don’t think they’re allowed to get fucked against the wall, either,” Kenma shoots back.

“What high hopes you have.” But also, hopefully, true. Tetsurou pulls Kenma back against him, and marches him back toward the bed. He flips him and pushes him down onto the mattress, watching his legs fall open invitingly, and Kenma’s expression is heated and molten as he looks up at him through messy hair.

Tetsurou pulls his underwear down, Kenma lifting his hips to help, and he wonders if maybe a cop could get excused for blowing a supposed thief. He doesn’t really know how far he wants to push this, come to think. He only has one more trick up his sleeve after the handcuffs, and it’s unrelated to the scenario.

Tetsurou hooks his fingers into one of Kenma’s stockings and begins rolling it down. Kenma whines, trying to pull his leg away, but he only ends up yanking the thick fabric down to his knee. “Do you have to?” Kenma pleads, eyes big and sad and puppyish, knowing Tetsurou can seldom resist.

Today, he is wrong. (Today, he holds the power.) Tetsurou finishes pulling it off, gruffly responding, “You could be hiding any kind of dangerous thing in these.”

Kenma’s expression immediately shifts into something flat, unimpressed, and he looks down at his dick, as if asking why he’s not making the dumb jokes about that, instead.

To soothe him as he takes off the other stocking—alright, to stop him from actually kicking him—Tetsurou reaches up and strokes Kenma’s cock, hard and deliciously wet at the tip. Kenma gasps and arches up against him, only halfheartedly whining as his other leg is bared, and he’s left naked beneath Tetsurou’s gaze.

Tetsurou’s hand stills on him, and Kenma glares up at him, reproachful. His cheeks are flushed, his chest heaves, and Tetsurou likes the deep color of the mark blooming on his neck. “What a beautiful sight,” Tetsurou says as he resumes touching Kenma. He tightens his grip, pushing his thumb against the slick precome on every upstroke, and Kenma gasps and squirms against him again.

Tetsurou lays beside him on the bed, just content to watch Kenma’s reactions, despite the tightness in the ridiculous booty shorts he’s still wearing.

He doesn’t know how to ask Kenma if he could help him get his dick free with his mouth since that would involve a lot of images Tetsurou is certain he’d combust upon seeing, so he leaves him to kneel on the bed. Kenma whines, short but loud, until he sees that Tetsurou is undoing the belt and unbuttoning the shorts. His eyes are bright and interested, and Tetsurou almost thinks he’s figured him out—until he sees the raw surprise come over Kenma’s expression as the lacy underwear is revealed.

Tetsurou doesn’t mean it as a striptease, exactly, but maybe he shakes his hips a little too much and takes his time a little as he slides off the offensively tight shorts. He pauses before kicking them off to pull one of his stockings back up, adjusting the lace cuff so it sits properly, and Kenma’s eyes are a weight on him.

“Did you steal those too?” Kenma breathes, voice strained and a little husky.

“An officer of the law would never stoop so low.”

Kenma rolls onto his belly. It takes him a few tries to get up onto his knees, core flexing with the effort, and he more or less collapses against Tetsurou’s chest as soon as he’s up. He doesn’t ask to be released from the cuffs, instead placing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along Tetsurou’s collarbones and lower. Tetsurou steadies him with a hand on his shoulder, breath catching as Kenma’s tongue runs over one of his piercings. He still hasn’t gotten used to the sensation, and Kenma uses it against him at every opportunity.

He doesn’t linger tonight, however, and Tetsurou stares in a mixture of excitement and surprise as Kenma mouths his way lower. He licks against the lacy edge of the red panties, rubs his cheek against Tetsurou’s hip for a moment, then greedily begins lapping at Tetsurou’s straining cock through the thin fabric. “Fuck, Kenma,” Tetsurou sighs, grip tightening on Kenma’s shoulders, but he doesn’t push him away or try to pull him closer.

Kenma hums against him, voice breathy and nearly inaudible when he says, “Mmm, officer, you’re so big.”

Tetsurou’s dick gives a noticeable twitch at that. He doesn’t have to look down to know that Kenma is smiling against him.

“You look so good,” Kenma continues, then hooks his teeth into the top of the waistband until he can pull it over the tip of Tetsurou’s cock. He laps at the wetness there, humming again, and looks up to make eye contact with a severely unprepared Tetsurou as he continues pulling the panties down.

He was right; he was definitely not ready for the image of Kenma doing anything like that with his mouth.

Tetsurou tilts his head back to break line of sight, groaning low in his chest. Kenma’s mouth feels amazing on him, even just with the coy little kitten licks and open-mouthed kisses against his shaft. He already got off once in the shower before all this, but he’s beginning to worry about his (lack of) stamina if he allows Kenma to get his way.

“Br-Bribery is another offense,” Tetsurou forces out, and pushes Kenma back by the shoulders. Kenma blinks up at him, slickness smeared all over his lips, and Tetsurou twitches again at that sight. Why did he think he could handle this? Why did he try to live up to the apparent sex god imagery Kenma has (had) of him? “Bribing an officer, what a little minx,” Tetsurou continues, voice a deep growl, one he can be proud of.

He pushes Kenma back down onto his back, then adjusts the panties so his cock is completely freed; the underwear sits snugly just beneath the curve of his ass, stretched tight across his thighs. Kenma looks like his mouth might be watering.

“I think we’re going to have to skip the trial and go straight to the punishment,” Tetsurou announces and leans down to kiss him. Kenma tastes bitter and salty, and his enthusiasm is new and heady. Tetsurou wants to lay here with him and make out, but he also wants to get off, and he’s certain Kenma does, too. Kissing can happen along with fucking.

“What’s my punishment?” Kenma asks, not needing to play up the innocence or the coyness with how messy he already sounds.

“You’re not allowed to touch any of the lingerie until you make me come.”

Kenma’s eyes go wide in an uncharacteristically open expression of surprise. His gaze immediately flits down to the stockings (one now bunched near his knee, the other still up properly) and the lace and mesh still riding high on Tetsurou’s legs. Tetsurou grins, triumphant, because it hadn’t sounded corny at all and achieved the desired result. Maybe he’s not so bad at this, after all.

Tetsurou reaches over to dig around in the unfamiliar nightstand—it’d been one of the few places he hadn’t bothered to check more than glancingly his first visit—and feels Kenma squirming around on the bed again. He thinks he’s just trying to get comfortable, until Kenma gets low enough in order to arch up and grind his hips against the fabric of the stocking against Tetsurou’s thigh.

“Kenma!” he scolds at once, drawing away, frowning severely.

Kenma bats his eyes up at him, the picture of innocence—and challenge.

“If you’re going to be a brat, maybe you don’t deserve to come. Maybe I’ll just use you to get off and leave you there, bound and helpless and leaking against your stomach.”

“I’ll be good.”

“Are you sure? That didn’t sound particularly sincere. And I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to trust thieves.”

“Kuroo,” Kenma says quietly, and Tetsurou snaps back to proper attention, leaning down in concern. “My arms are falling asleep. Can I flip over?”

“Oh, yeah.” He helps him roll onto his stomach again, and Kenma props himself up on his knees, his hands bound within the cuffs and tops resting in the dip of his back.

He wiggles his ass in front of Tetsurou, and he reddens, realizing he’s played into Kenma’s hands. “I thought I’m supposed to be innocent until proven guilty,” Kenma says, punctuating his words with another sway of his hips. There’s faint indents high on his legs from the stockings he’d been in earlier, and Tetsurou wants to bite them, so he does.

He puts a hand on Kenma’s hip to still him, then sinks his teeth into the meat of Kenma’s thigh, just below the curve of his ass. Kenma starts and keens against the covers, other leg spreading, arching back into Tetsurou’s touch. He doesn’t touch Kenma’s cock, despite where it hangs between his legs, swollen and dripping. “Maybe I’ll let you come,” Tetsurou relents, dragging his tongue up the firm flesh of Kenma’s ass. “Maybe I can see some good in you, give you a second chance.”

“What a benevolent officer,” Kenma deadpans.

Tetsurou gives him a yank on the handcuffs, and Kenma gasps and squirms again. Very pointedly, getting up onto his knees behind Kenma, he grinds against his ass, making sure that their legs rub as well. Kenma pushes against him with a sinfully needy moan.

“I’ll stop mouthing off,” Kenma groans, desperate but not particularly sincere-sounding.

An idea comes to Tetsurou, a wonderful, terrible idea. Payback can be a bitch, after all.

Tetsurou pulls back and shimmies out of the panties. He finishes taking off his top, too, tossing it on the floor behind him. Kenma doesn’t realize what’s going on, arching back for more contact with a wordless whine. “I don’t believe you,” Tetsurou tells him as he balls up the panties. “Prove you can follow orders. Open your mouth.”

Kenma cracks open an eye at the same time he obediently opens his mouth; he starts in surprise when Tetsurou presses the panties between his teeth. He holds it there for a moment with his fingers, and Kenma moans, louder than ever, eyelids fluttering. He gives Tetsurou an outright begging look over his shoulder.

Tetsurou smiles, and replies, “I guess you can be good.”

He clicks open the bottle of lube and dumps what he hopes is enough on his fingers. Excess drips down onto Kenma’s thigh and he jumps at the coolness of it, and jumps again and hisses when Tetsurou presses his index finger against him. Tetsurou knows the basics of fingering, but it’s a little nerve-wracking to do it with Kenma, bound and gagged. He knows Kenma trusts him, likes this, and Tetsurou slowly presses a finger into Kenma’s ass to reward a high, strung-out moan.

Kenma’s probably more used to this than he is; Tetsurou thrusts only a couple times before he’s pushing back against his finger. Kenma’s handcuffed hands clench and unclench, shifting restlessly against his back.

Kenma starts talking against the panties in his mouth, sounding rather demanding, so Tetsurou accurately assumes he’s begging for another finger. He slides another in, and Kenma arches further, almost looking painful. But the groan he lets out is only pleased.

He gets a sense of what Kenma wants from him based on his noises and how desperately he pushes against him; even unable to talk, Kenma is needy and makes no secret of it. He takes three fingers just as well as too, and moans and shakes as Tetsurou crooks them, searching for that spot to make him unravel.

He finds it and Kenma jerks against him with a shout.

“You’re taking this so well,” Tetsurou praises, nipping at his ass cheek again, curling his fingers to make Kenma tremble harder. “I think you really want to please me. You really want to repent for your thievery, hm? I bet you’re really sorry for everything you stole.”

He’s certain Kenma is rolling his eyes, but he quiets down the silent sass when Tetsurou opens the condom wrapper. He stops wiggling so much, still panting loudly through his nose, and watches Tetsurou as best he can through his messy hair and face smushed against the covers.

“You’ll be good, right? No more stealing?” Tetsurou asks, resting his hips lightly against Kenma’s ass.

Kenma definitely rolls his eyes. He wiggles back again to make a point.

“That doesn’t seem very sincere. Maybe you don’t mean it.”

He thrusts lightly between the cleft of Kenma’s ass, lube slicking the way, and Tetsurou moans at the sensation. Kenma whines, looking irritated before nodding.

“You’re sure you’re going to obey the law?”

Kenma nods again, cheek rubbing against the bedspread.

“I believe you,” Tetsurou says and reaches up to unhook the handcuffs. Kenma blinks back at him, helping as best he can so Tetsurou can pull his sweater and shirt off the rest of the way, but doesn’t bother pulling the cuffs themselves off his wrists.

Tetsurou grabs Kenma’s hands with one of his, twines their fingers together, and grabs Kenma’s hip with his free one. He pushes in, slowly, groaning at the tight heat enveloping his cock. It’s so much, almost too much, especially when he hears the rough sound Kenma makes as he pushes back against him. Tetsurou must pause when he’s bottomed out, adjusting to the new and fucking wonderful sensation.

His hands tighten on Kenma’s, and he mutters, “God, you’re amazing, Kenma. You’re so fucking tight, you’re taking me so good.”

Kenma whines and pushes back against him, pleading with him to move, and even that tiny movement has Tetsurou hissing between his teeth. He’s scared of how long he’ll last. He talked big enough game earlier, but his pride will never recover if he finishes before he can get Kenma off, and the lingerie had been his ace in the hole. He hopes he won’t disappoint.

Tetsurou draws back, then pushes back in with matching satisfied noises from the two of them. “You take cock so well, don’t you?” Tetsurou says, and Kenma whines again beneath him, clenching down on him at the time time his nails bite into Tetsurou’s hand. “You should see yourself, spread open like this. You’re perfect. I bet you love this, me filling you so deep, I can just feel how much you love it when I push back in. You want my cock deep in your ass, don’t you?”

Kenma buries his face in the blanket, the flush having spilled down across his neck and chest and shoulders, giving himself away. Tetsurou leans over him and presses a few kisses to his back, keeping up his slow, deep rhythm, and noses his hair out of the way until he can latch onto his neck again.

He makes another mark just above the one from before, and Kenma keens, trembling beneath him.

“Keep your hands up there,” Tetsurou orders as he releases him. He stays bent over, enjoying caging Kenma’s smaller body in with his own, and reaches down to wrap a hand around Kenma’s arousal. “You’re so good for me, so good at this, Kenma, I bet you’ll take orders really well. I know you want to, you want to please me, right? I know you will, because you’re just so perfect, Kenma.”

Kenma quakes and clenches, impossibly tighter, muffled noises growing in volume. Tetsurou can feel how wet he is, dripping through his fingers and onto the blankets below.

“I want you to come before I do,” Tetsurou tells him, and reaches up to pull the panties out of Kenma’s mouth, “and I want to hear you when you do.”

“R-Right there,” is the first thing Kenma gasps out, pressing back against each of Tetsurou’s thrusts.

“Anything for you, you’ve earned this. You’re doing so good, I want you to feel fucking perfect, as great as you feel around me,” Tetsurou tells him and Kenma still tries to muffle himself with the blankets. “Ah—no, you promised me you’d be good. Let me hear you, kitten.”

Tetsurou’s close, but he needs Kenma to come first. He takes the panties, soaked with Kenma’s spit and Tetsurou’s precome from earlier, and wraps that around Kenma’s cock as he strokes him, grip tight and rhythm fast, at odds with Tetsurou’s hips. It doesn’t seem to matter, however, because Kenma is babbling nonsense into the bedspread, fingers digging into the covers, body winding up and going tight.

“Let me hear how good you feel,” Tetsurou growls into his ear, and Kenma comes undone with nothing short of a scream.

“Oh fuck, fuck—y-you feel amazing, right like that!” Kenma babbles, voice high and broken, shoving himself back onto Tetsurou’s cock just as Tetsurou comes himself. He bites down on Kenma’s shoulder, muffling his own noises so he can hear Kenma talk his way through his orgasm, until he’s left just whispering, “Oh my god, oh my god,” into the bed.

“Oh my god seems about right,” Tetsurou mutters. He pulls out, frowning at Kenma’s wince, and shoves his sweaty hair back out of his eyes. “You ruined a pair of panties you weren’t even wearing.”

Kenma takes them from his grip and studies the come sticking to the sheer fabric. “I suppose I’m talented. Maybe another crime of mine.”

“You’re not allowed to make fun of my roleplaying,” Tetsurou pouts, throwing out the condom. He kicks the remaining clothes off the bed and settles in beside Kenma, allowing him to cuddle up into his chest despite the mess.

“I’d never make fun of you,” Kenma quietly replies. “That was really good.”

“Seriously?”

“Even with the stupid roleplaying.”

Kenma!”

“Next time, you get to be the thief. You have to own up to your crimes,” Kenma says, yawning, and curls up deeper into Tetsurou’s chest for a well-deserved nap. Tetsurou sighs, fond but exasperated, and wraps an arm around him before kissing his hair.

He’s kind of glad his crimes led him here.