Thread by @novusdeusz

#BokuAka

(Nothing but your tshirt on)

//NSFW, mutual masturbation, mild dirty talk, Keiji wears a T-shirt and nothing else

Keiji is devastating at this moment. Just woken and standing in the bathroom at the sink, curls a dark mess, glasses slightly crooked on his nose.+

He’s wearing one of Koutarou’s T-shirts, body not filling it out quite so much, the black cotton of it fading to grey from continuous washing.

He’s completely naked apart from that T-shirt.

No shorts.

No underwear. +

And Koutarou knows this from the way he’s watching the hem like a man possessed. Because the tee is a touch longer on Keiji than it is on him, but it’s not quite long enough. It’s a blessed three inches too short, in fact. And those three inches are a gift to Koutarou,+

a kindness that he’ll never be able to wrap words of thanks around.

The shirt skims Keiji’s skin, revealing all of his thighs and half of his beautiful nude asscheeks. There’s something unbelievably erotic about this partial covering, the juxtaposition of it driving+

Koutarou mad: how Keiji’s back and shoulders can be covered while his plump ass peeks out from beneath so invitingly, skin soft and vulnerable, begging to be marked and squeezed and caressed, made to be held by Koutarou’s hands. +

And it’s not only the way it looks. It’s what it means.

It’s the intimacy. The familiarity of Keiji being so undressed, so at ease, so at home here in Koutarou’s bathroom. It’s a comfortableness that he treasures and trembles over. Because Koutaro’s never seen Keiji so+

naked outside their bed before. Even in the locker rooms at Fukurodani, Keiji was discreet in changing. But here he’s so easy, so undone, and Koutarou wants it till the end of time.

His eyes flicker up to the mirror that covers the wall by the sink so he can watch his+

boyfriend’s expression. He can’t help but wonder if Keiji knows the power this holds? Is Koutarou’s smart, knowing, precise Akaashi Keiji giving him something he didn’t even know he needed?

Koutarou is not one to split his attention when something matters to him, not when he +

loves someone as uncompromisingly as he loves Keiji. He has come to know when this man’s teasing, and when he’s oblivious. And right now Keiji doesn’t see how ridiculously arousing this is; he doesn’t realise the power these three inches of his naked skin have+

over Koutarou’s heart and body.

Koutarou sees himself, too. Sees how he gapes, golden eyes big and intent, heavy brows lifted, expression fascinated. He’s half-dressed as well, muscular chest bare, the expanse of his body and the white of his hair catching the morning light.+

Koutarou is rarely silent; normally he’d be chattering away, but right now he’s being subdued to silence by Keiji’s lovely ass and his own washed-out T-shirt.

Keiji leans up, reaching for his moisturiser, and that shirt inches higher. The lifted hem exposes+

all of him this time. The full swell of his smooth cheeks, the dimples at the base of his spine, the small love bites blooming on the back of his thighs. He drops his weight onto one hip then, and that small movement of his body has Koutarou clutching the door frame,+

cock hardening in his sweatpants.

“We should dress, Koutarou. I’d like to visit that coffee shop today if we can.”

Keiji’s voice is deep, the tone one he uses when he’s wanting to subtly direct.

He feels a pang of guilt for being so shameless, so greedy, so turned on.+

But the thought of Keiji fully dressed has him groaning loudly, face confronting with displeasure.

So Koutarou does what he always does: opens his mouth and hands, goes after what he desires. He catches hold of Keiji’s body,his broad chest pressing to the line of Keiji’s back,+

quick, eager hands slipping under the fabric of the tee to cup palms around the fullness of those cheeks, thumbs parting them teasingly,

“I like you like this, Keiji. Exactly like this.”+

Keiji melts back into him, trembling under the touch, used to Koutarou’s wandering hands yet never immune to them.

He knows Keiji’s body. Knows the length and thickness and formation of it, and his suspicion and hopes are correct; the way the shirt sits on+

Keiji’s frame means the hem finishes on his groin, so beneath the edge of the black material, the enticing pink tip of his beautiful cock is visible.

Koutarou can’t help how it pulls his attention, how his eager eyes zone in on it in the mirror, how he can look nowhere else.+

Keiji’s gaze follows Koutarou’s line of sight, looking down at his reflection and Koutarou witnesses the moment Keiji realises what he’s unknowingly displaying.

Ocean eyes widen and lips part, pink spreading along Keiji’s cheekbones. Embarrassment and self-consciousness work+

into his body, hand dipping low to pull the hem down instantly, concealing himself, hiding his cock from view.

Sometimes when Keiji knows that he’s offering himself, he can be confident, comfortable. His eyes are sure and adamant, reaching for what he wants,+

receiving what’s his with assurance. But those moments are ones Keiji’s prepared for, ones he’s anticipation and thought out.

In other moments like these, when he’s caught off-guard and taken unawares, Keiji becomes self-conscious, beautifully embarrassed.+

And it takes a moment to ease into ease into the hands that want to take him apart, that he’s waiting for Koutarou to dismantle his hesitation completely.+

Because desire can be wild and unpredictable and passionate: all words Keiji has called Koutarou since they met. And Koutarou has realised his careful, measured, controlled Akaashi Keiji has a taste for wild, unpredictable, passionate things.+

Koutarou whines low, hands holding bare hips tighter. He wants Keiji to know how perfect he is right now, how desperately Koutarou+

wants to look and admire and praise him, how he never wants Keiji to hide even half an inch of himself. He wants Keiji to know that Koutarou’s skin hums with an adrenaline that rivals what he feels on centre court at the barest glimpse of Keiji’s cock.+

“Keiji, let me look at you, please. Let me see it, Baby?”

He asks in a low rough whisper, hands slipping down thighs. Koutarou himself looks so undone already, eyes more black than gold, body and voice vibrating with anticipation,+

his hunger and excitement lapping at Keiji’s doubt.

“You look so good in this. You’re so perfect for me. Don’t hide your pretty cock.”+

It’s unmistakable how this excites Keiji, too. That the unintentional exposure of something so private embarrasses him in one breath, yet so obviously turns him on in another. His eyes lift to find Koutarou; seeking more, asking for more.+

And Koutarou firmly catches hold of that elegant wrist, feeling an excited tremor run up the length of Keiji’s spine as his hand is guided away. The self-consciousness is there, but the need outweighs it, his body and mind sinking into Koutarou’s desire for him. +

Again, the head of his cock is pokes out from beneath the hem of the shirt, and Koutarou can feel a tremble in Keiji’s body as he observes himself, as he steadies his legs and moves his feet a touch wider. +

Koutarou lightly grips the material and they watch the mirror in silence as he slowly, purposefully, lifts it up, revealing Keiji completely, holding the T-shirt up above his pubic hair to give them both an uninterrupted view of his body. +

His perfect cock hangs soft between his legs, long and slender, a few shades darker than his thighs, the tip a rosy pink. It’s framed by soft dark hair that trails beautifully up to his belly button and dusts his balls. Koutarou’s breath hitches and Keiji watches+

through lowered lids and parted lips, taking in his own reflection, avid gaze darting between his own body and Koutarou’s expression, tracking how Koutarou’s golden eyes fixate between his thighs.

“There it is…It’s perfect,” Koutarou says with unrestrained adoration,+

with wonder, more to himself than anything else. But he feels and sees how Keiji responds, how he arches back into him with shaking legs. That it’s so intimate, so honest, Keiji has to turn his face, lowering thick dark eyelashes, breathing open+

mouthed against Koutarou’s jawline,

“Kou, sweetheart. I’m not…”

There's a beautiful quiver in his belly where he’s breathing fast, spasms of arousal taking him, body jerking, cock moving between his legs. Its hardening under Koutarou’s eyes, swollen and erect,+

curving up so lewd and unhidden in the mirror.

Keiji likes to be looked at like this, even if he’s made raw by the open adoration sometimes, even if he trembles madly at the praise; being under Koutarou’s undivided attention is where Keiji loves to be.+

It’s where he belongs, where Koutarou will always place him.

“You are. Look at you. Touch yourself for me, Baby? Let me watch you. Let me see you make yourself feel good.”

Koutarou urges, nuzzling Keiji’s unshaven cheek, his hair pressed to his temple.+

Keiji hangs off of every word, wanting Koutarou to urge and demand and coax him out,

“It’s just us; play with yourself for me. Let me see you. Touch your cock and let me watch you.”

He sees Keiji’s eyes flare in the mirror, mouth pulling up on one side,+

long fingers slipping down Koutarou’s wrist of the arm that holds the shirt aloft,

“You want to watch me, Koutarou?” Keiji asks, dripping open for him.

Asking Keiji to touch himself as Koutarou watches; it’s something Keiji finds so deeply exposing. Yet every time he does it,+

Koutarou can feel how aroused he is by the disclosure, his moans guttural, body coming quick and powerful with no restraint.

He presses a palm to Keiji’s lower belly to steady him, fingers weaving gently into curly pubic hair, stroking it, kissing against Keiji’s cheekbone,+

“So much, Keiji. I want you to feel so good.”

A hand lifts in offering and Koutarou’s own hips snap forward, every inch of his powerful body flooding with heat as he greedily soaks Keiji’s hand with his tongue, licking across the palm, knowing Keiji will need the wetness.+

Koutarou watches as Keiji’s long fingers graze down the length of his cock, teasing himself tentatively, thumbing the sensitive head, offering it to them both in the mirror.+

He cups and releases his himself again and again, toying and stroking and pulling, moaning as Koutarou talks,+

“That’s it, make yourself feel good, Baby. Slow down, there’s no rush, enjoy it. Tease the head. I know how you like that. Yeah that’s it, that’s it. So good, Baby. So good.”

“Ahh…Kou...”

Koutarou cradles the weight of Keiji’s balls, lifting and caressing, fondling gently,+

helping him get what he needs. Those hips jerk and Keiji tries to tame the wild roll of his body, small, deep “Ah”s escape his lips as he smears the precome down his entire length, further wetting the glide of his hand.+

Keiji’s other hand slips up under his T-shirt and Koutarou smiles against him, watching the gentle twist of his fingers as he finds his nipples,

“Yeah that's it…touch them for me, to. Touch your nipples.”+

Keiji’s voice is demanding, no longer inhibited, no longer able
control the writhing of his hips as he pleasures himself: “Keep talking, darling. Please. Talk to me.”+

“Look how wet you’re getting. Dripping over your fingers like that. So pretty. Your cock’s so long and hard and perfect, Keiji. It’s leaking for me, isn’t it? You like me looking at you, right? Does my voice make you feel good?”+

Koutarou’s aching in his sweatpants, throbbing from his own words and from the act of watching his most favourite person in the world please himself simply because Koutarou’s asked him to. There’s a damp patch blooming on his sweatpants and he wonders if Keiji’s bare skin can+

feel the wet heat of him. But he wants to be sure; he wants Keiji to know what he’s doing to him right now. So he pushes at his own waist band; his thick cock catches in the material and slaps heavy against Keiji’s lower back.+

Koutarou can barely tame how he ruts against Keiji’s ass, the skin-to-skin contact too much of a relief.

Keiji’s now the one who rambles, voice deep and urgent, hips bouncing back as he tries to give Koutarou pleasure,+

“I want you to come with me. Stroke your cock, Koutarou; stroke that big beautiful cock of yours. Wrap your hand around it like I do. Worship it like I do, sweetheart. Please.”

Koutarou moans, rough and broken, body quivering as he bites+

down the line of Keiji’s elegant neck. His own mouth has run and rambled, but Keiji’s barely spoken. Yet somehow these words are more arousing to him than any filthy thing Koutarou could utter.

He takes his own cock in hand, rubbing the soaking tip to the cleft of Keiji’s ass+

and they hold each other's gaze in the mirror, lids heavy with arousal and need. The intimacy of the act, the openness, the mutual pleasuring of themselves silencing them; instead, they breathe and pant and listen to the slap of each other's flesh. +

And Keiji’s cock looks so beautiful in his hand, so full and ready, the tip appearing and reappearing in his fist. Koutarou loves Keiji’s pleasure more than anything else in the world: since the very first time they made love he’s been addicted to it,+

needing to know he’s caused it, created it. And he can tell Keiji’s not holding anything back now, playing with himself in the just the way Koutarou would, using the teasing playful touches he favours with his particular sensitivity, fucking his fist madly.+

Koutarou keeps massaging his balls for him, knowing Keiji needs his touch in some way, that the trust of holding this part of him arouses Keiji as much as Koutarou.+

He can feel how they draw-up wonderfully in his palm and he can't help but flex that knowledge, letting Keiji know how well he knows his body,

“I can feel you’re ready, Baby. Gonna come for me? Gonna let me see all of you?”+

Koutarou jerks himself, hard and quick, his cock thick and heavy and dribbling, thumb swiping across the fat, flared head, imagining the ghost of Keiji’s fingers in place of his own. He can’t help using Keiji's body, rutting his cock to Keiji’s skin,+

the curve of him so familiar and ready to provide.

It takes nothing to finish Koutarou, not when he’s watching that beautiful body finally spill over in the mirror, witnessing how Keiji’s mouth parts in a small “Kou”,+

and those eyes fight to stay open as he’s watches his own cock emptying, come crudely hitting the sink and dripping over his long fingers.

Koutarou pants against the cotton of the T-shirt, sharp teeth catching at the fabric before he’s crying out, his finish loud and raw.+

And Keiji still squeezes himself, milking his lovely slit to the sight of Koutarou’s climax. And Koutarou tries to hold his gaze as he comes, but his head rolls back, face flushed and mouth dropping open wide.+

He cock pulses in his hand, pumping across his palm and Keiji’s naked cheeks, covering that soft vulnerable skin. He loves how it catches between the crease, that it looks filthy and oh so perfect.+

Keiji watches with his own brand of intensity, swallowing Koutarou with his eyes alone, lids falling shut when he feels how Koutarou finishes across him, that his limp cock now rests on the small of Keiji’s back.+

They both sway on shaking legs, till he wraps a powerful forearm around Keiji’s waist, pulling him back safely against him and they use each other to stand. Kotarou’s other hand finally slips to cradle Keiji's cock, now flaccid and over-sensitive in his careful palm.+

He loves the jolt of his boyfriend’s body, the drag of cotton against his nipples as Keiji squirms a little in his arms.

“Now you touch it,” Keiji breathes, eyes narrowing, mouth teasing.

Koutarou’s laugh bursts from his chest, rough+

and boisterous before it’s trailing off into softness, into thanks,

“Thank you for letting me watch you.”

Keiji’s all languid tenderness as he turns to be kissed, arm lifting, hand slipping into Koutarou’s untamed hair.+

His voice is quiet, measured, the beautiful embarrassment again present on his tongue as he confesses something Koutarou knows well already,

“I love you looking at me…being on display for you….only for you. Only ever for you.”+

Koutarou’s smile is big and broad, heart erratic as he takes those words from soft, open lips.

Keiji’s happy.

Content.

Satisfied.

And Koutarou realised long ago, that a happy, content, satisfied Akaashi Keiji, will always, mean a happy, content, satisfied Bokuto Koutarou.

Fin!

I’m back with smut my loves. This is my longest thread yet, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut it down. So thank you if you’ve made it to the end 🌹 I just love Bokuto talking like this 😩 patient, but sure and Akaashi trusting him and wanting to be pulled out,+

letting himself fall apart.

Thank you so much @Fawn_Eyed_Girl my dear friend for your help and gentleness. You guided and encouraged me so much and I’m holding you so tight 💛

I’ve become such a perfectionist with threads and it’s stopping me from sharing 😩+

so I’m gonna try going forward writing some rougher, shorter less polished things and hopefully it will mean I can share more!

But thank you so much for reading 💗