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The moment Kenma closed the passenger door with a quiet thunk, the silence inside the car shifted. The air was heavier, like it knew what was coming. Bokuto exhaled, leaned his head back with a lazy, tipsy grin, and let his fingers loosen on the wheel.
“You good, babe?” he asked, glancing toward Akaashi in the seat next to him, soft-eyed and glowing under the faint orange streetlight spilling through the windshield. “You want water or—?”
He didn’t get to finish.
Akaashi had already unbuckled, shifted fluidly across the console, and straddled Bokuto’s lap like he’d done it a thousand times before—like it was his seat and Bokuto was simply renting it. The scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering whiskey on his breath, and Bokuto’s body instantly tensed beneath him.
“Oh—fuck, Keiji—”
Akaashi didn’t say anything. He just reached to the side, adjusted the driver’s seat lever with one hand, and let the backrest groan all the way down until Bokuto was practically reclined flat, spread beneath him like a feast.
And then… Akaashi smiled. Real slow. Drunk off nothing but his own confidence.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured, grinding his hips down just once to shut Bokuto up mid-breath. “All night.”
Bokuto’s hands flew to Akaashi’s thighs instinctively—he didn’t even mean to squeeze, but his body reacted like it had no say in the matter. Akaashi’s jeans were stretched tight around his ass, and when he leaned forward, placing his palms on either side of Bokuto’s face, it was like he was caging him in with pure sin.
“You’ve been—thinking—about this??” Bokuto hissed, wide-eyed, his brain short-circuiting with every slow rock of Akaashi’s hips. “While we were—playing pool?! While Kenma was throwing darts?!”
Akaashi leaned in, lips ghosting Bokuto’s ear. “You were sitting there manspreading in those gray sweatpants like a dumb jock with a body count, and I was supposed to behave?”
Bokuto made a sound halfway between a whimper and a moan.
He wasn’t used to being pinned down, especially not in his own car. But the moment Akaashi grabbed both of his wrists and pushed them above his head against the car window, Bokuto melted beneath him like butter left too close to the grill.
“You like this?” Akaashi murmured, dragging his lips along Bokuto’s jawline as his hips rolled in agonizing rhythm. “You like when I ride you before you even get to take the key out of the ignition?”
The key was still in. The engine was off, but the world felt like it was vibrating around them—sweaty palms, fogged-up windows, the hum of the streetlight outside fighting for dominance with the way Bokuto’s breath hitched every time Akaashi bit at his throat.
“Keiji,” Bokuto panted, “Keiji, I swear to God—if you keep doing that—”
“What?” Akaashi’s voice dropped, low and threatening. “You gonna come just from grinding like a teenager in a parking lot?”
Bokuto groaned like it hurt. Because it did. His back was arched, his abs tensed, his hips bucking up into Akaashi’s heat like instinct. The car creaked with every movement, the passenger side mirror rattling slightly from the motion.
“You always talk so big in the gym,” Akaashi purred, letting his lips trail from Bokuto’s jaw to his collarbone, biting just enough to leave marks, “but look at you now. Moaning like you can’t survive without me.”
And Bokuto couldn’t. Not when Akaashi rolled his hips in a slow circle, pulling Bokuto’s sweatshirt up just enough to drag his nails down his stomach. Not when he leaned back, grinding shamelessly now, watching Bokuto unravel beneath him with hunger in his half-lidded eyes.
“You gonna beg?” Akaashi whispered, pressing a kiss just below Bokuto’s ear. “Or should I keep teasing you until your thighs start shaking?”
“I—f-fuck, Keiji—yes. Whatever. Do anything—just don’t stop—”
“Good boy.”
.
.
.
Bokuto didn’t remember getting to the bedroom. His brain had melted somewhere between the driveway and Akaashi shoving him inside by the collar of his sweatshirt.
By the time he blinked, they were already in the dark room—lit only by the moonlight slicing through the blinds—and Bokuto was standing in front of the bed looking like he’d just been arrested: wide-eyed, horny, and dangerously obedient.
Akaashi locked the door behind them.
“Strip,” he said quietly, his voice like warm velvet wrapped around a knife.
Bokuto didn’t hesitate. Hoodie, shirt, sweats—gone in seconds, flung to the floor like his dignity. His hands trembled where they hung at his sides, already flushed and desperate, chest heaving from the aftershocks of the car ride.
Akaashi walked slowly toward him. Still fully clothed. Still calm. Still dangerous. He brushed his fingers along Bokuto’s chest, dragging his nails over each scar, each dip of muscle—just enough to make the taller man twitch.
“I said this would happen, didn’t I?” Akaashi murmured, looking up at him with soft but menacing eyes. “The second Kenma was out the car? You’re mine.”
Bokuto whimpered. Actually whimpered.
Akaashi’s hands dipped lower, right above the waistband of his boxers, teasing.
“You wanna fuck me so bad, don’t you?” he said lowly. “So big and stupid, looking at me all night like you didn’t know how to act.”
Bokuto nodded. “Y-Yes. Please.”
“Then get on the bed,” Akaashi said, stepping back and kicking his own shoes off. “Sit against the headboard. Legs spread.”
Bokuto scrambled onto the mattress like he’d been called to war. When he leaned back against the headboard—naked, hard, thighs open and trembling—he looked like a feral golden retriever begging to be tamed.
Akaashi, in nothing but his smug expression, slowly peeled off his shirt. The second his skin was revealed, Bokuto audibly gasped.
“Oh my god, Keiji…”
“You’re going to behave,” Akaashi said, climbing onto the bed with lazy control, “and let me do all the work.”
He straddled Bokuto’s lap, finally, their skin touching, and Bokuto let his head fall back with a groan—already twitching under him, trying so hard not to buck his hips like the needy dog he was.
Akaashi leaned in and kissed him, slow and commanding. Not hungry. Not frantic. Just pure dominance dressed in silk.
And then, with a wicked grin, he whispered against Bokuto’s mouth:
“Don’t move. Don’t thrust. Don’t even breathe too fast unless I tell you to.”
Bokuto whimpered again, voice breaking. “I—I’ll be good.”
“You better be.”
Akaashi reached between them, teasing, torturing, letting his fingers trail lower—and then he sank down onto him. No hesitation. No warning. Just one smooth, devastating motion.
Bokuto choked on a moan so raw it shook the headboard.
“Shhh,” Akaashi said against his neck. “You don’t get to fall apart yet. I haven’t even started.”
He rolled his hips once.
Slow. Deep. Cruel.
Bokuto’s hands flew to the sheets, fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.
Akaashi smirked. “Good. Stay right there. Don’t touch me. Don’t fuck up the rhythm.”
And then he began to ride him—methodically, deliberately, using Bokuto’s body like it was his.
The taller man whined beneath him, eyes fluttering, chest heaving as he fought not to thrust up.
“You’re doing so good,” Akaashi murmured. “So obedient. Just sit there and take it like the good boy you are.”
Bokuto nodded, blinking tears from his eyes. His whole body was trembling.
“You look so fucked-out already,” Akaashi cooed, bouncing harder now, using Bokuto’s thighs for leverage. “And I’m the one doing all the work. You just sit there and let me make you come like a pathetic little top.”
“Keiji—please—I can’t hold it—”
“Yes you can,” Akaashi growled, dragging his nails down Bokuto’s chest. “You’ll hold it until I say so.”
“I-I need—!”
“You need to listen,” Akaashi snapped, slapping Bokuto’s inner thigh. “Or I’ll get off and make you watch me finish on the sheets alone.”
Bokuto sobbed. “I’ll behave! I’ll be good! Please don’t stop—please keep riding me—”
Akaashi leaned in and kissed him again—biting his bottom lip this time—before whispering:
“You don’t come until I do. You don’t move unless I make you. And when I do let you finish, you’re gonna cry while doing it.”
And Bokuto just nodded, whimpering beneath him, arms still pinned to the mattress by sheer will and desperation.
Because that’s what it was to top Akaashi.
You didn’t lead.
You just begged.
.
.
.
The room was spinning.
Or maybe it was just Bokuto.
Because when he finally came—after what felt like a lifetime of being edged and ridden and absolutely used—his brain left his body and did several laps around the galaxy. He came so hard his soul short-circuited. His vision whitewashed, his hearing blurred, and all he could feel was Akaashi’s body shaking above him as he came right after, grabbing Bokuto’s hair and riding it out with a low, breathless groan that sounded like pure sin.
Then: silence.
Except for the heavy panting. Bokuto’s chest rising and falling like he’d just finished sprinting a marathon with one leg and a blindfold. Akaashi collapsed forward, hands braced on Bokuto’s shoulders, forehead resting against his collarbone. They were both flushed and slick with sweat, still tangled together, bodies twitching from aftershocks and overstimulation.
“…Keiji,” Bokuto whispered, voice hoarse. “That was—”
“Shhh,” Akaashi murmured. “Don’t talk. Just… let me breathe.”
He lifted himself off with a sharp inhale, steadying himself with one hand on Bokuto’s thigh. Bokuto winced and made a pathetic sound at the loss of contact—and Akaashi smiled, smug and wicked, as he leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“You okay?” he asked softly, his fingers brushing through Bokuto’s sweat-damp hair with surprising gentleness.
Bokuto’s voice cracked. “I think I died.”
“That’s not a no,” Akaashi smirked.
“I’m not joking,” Bokuto whispered, dazed. “You just… did things to me. You had me sitting there like a big dumb dog in heat. I—I was about to bark.”
“Yeah,” Akaashi said proudly. “And you listened so well. I’m proud of you.”
Bokuto whimpered. Actually whimpered. He didn’t even mean to. But hearing Akaashi say “I’m proud of you” while running a hand down his trembling stomach?? That was emotional warfare.
“I—fuck, Keiji, don’t say that,” Bokuto said, covering his eyes. “You’ll make me cry again.”
“You already cried,” Akaashi teased, kissing his damp temple. “When I told you not to move. You made a noise I’ve never heard a human make.”
“I did not,” Bokuto muttered, face red.
“You absolutely did. You sounded like a dying kettle.”
“Keiji.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Akaashi stood up from the bed slowly, his legs a little shaky but his expression composed—like a man who’d just conquered an empire. He walked butt-naked across the room to grab a warm towel from the bathroom, wetting the corner with water from the sink. Bokuto lay on the bed still splayed and sweaty like a Renaissance painting, blinking up at the ceiling with stars in his eyes.
When Akaashi came back, he sat beside him and began gently wiping his chest, his stomach, his thighs—soft little circles, calm and focused. He didn’t say anything while he cleaned him up. Just stayed close, making sure the towel wasn’t too cold, brushing the hair from Bokuto’s forehead as he worked.
“You still floating?” Akaashi asked.
Bokuto nodded wordlessly.
Akaashi leaned down and kissed his cheek. “You did so good, Kou.”
Another soft, broken noise left Bokuto’s throat. He curled his fingers around Akaashi’s wrist and looked up at him with those wide, post-nut, ruined eyes that could end wars.
“I didn’t think I could do it,” he whispered. “I thought I’d lose control.”
“You almost did,” Akaashi grinned. “Your thighs were shaking like a newborn deer.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“…Unfortunately.”
They both laughed, and then Akaashi tossed the towel aside and climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket up over both of them. Bokuto reached for him instantly—wrapping those massive, trembling arms around Akaashi’s waist and dragging him in like a weighted blanket.
“Fuck,” Bokuto mumbled into his chest. “You broke me.”
“You needed to be broken,” Akaashi said sweetly, stroking his hair. “You’ve been walking around all week like your dick pays rent.”
“It does!”
“And now it’s been humbled.”
“I want a rematch.”
“You’ll get one when your legs stop twitching.”
They lay there in comfortable silence for a moment—Akaashi rubbing soft circles into Bokuto’s back, Bokuto sighing like a man who’d finally seen the face of God and it had Akaashi’s smirk.
Then:
“You want snacks?” Akaashi murmured. “I brought chocolate-covered almonds.”
Bokuto looked up like a kicked puppy finding out he didn’t get abandoned. “You brought me snacks?”
“I always bring you snacks,” Akaashi said, brushing his thumb across his cheek. “You’re very dramatic post-sex.”
“Okay, but… almonds? You love me.”
“I literally sat on your dick like a throne and rode you till you cried. Of course I love you.”
“…Say it again.”
“No.”
“Keeeeeeiji—”
Akaashi kissed him quiet, slow and soft, letting his hand tangle in Bokuto’s hair.
And in that moment, even as his legs twitched and his dignity remained somewhere in the driveway, Bokuto smiled against his mouth—because damn. He was tired. He was broken. He was fed.
And he was so, so loved.