Dress Well

Class isn’t nearly as stressful as work, even though Tetsurou’s pretty sure he clocks the same amount of hours for both each week. It’s hard to tell when promotions mean more money for less time, comparatively—but it also means more money for more time, which he refuses to miss out on. The assistant manager keeps joking he’ll retire soon, but it’s a joke Tetsurou won’t take too lightly if it means Tetsurou might be replacing him. He’s not going to miss out on it.

Still, more work hours and more class hours means only a handful of time at home. A handful is mostly sleeping, with some eating and quality time with Tooru when time allows. Tooru’s so busy at the hospital too, so Tetsurou doesn’t have to feel bad for leaving him all home alone. Sometimes they meet out in the middle of the day for lunch or breaks. At least thrice a week they take public transportation together. It’s not so bad.

Every so often Tetsurou knows when he’s reaching his limit, texts a friend in one of his lectures that he’s not going to be in class today, and goes home early, especially after early morning shifts and hours of standing makes his bones ache. He texts Tooru first, leaning against the counter, adds an are you coming in to see me?

He gets back, no, but i’ll take time off and join you :)

poop you :^c

u poop

yea my friends gonna txt me the hw later

im all good :*

thx for the kiss u fuckin nerd <3

Work drones on; by the time it’d mid-afternoon, when his shift’s over, he changes quickly in the back and says goodbye before leaving for home. Ever since he moved in with Tooru, the messiness from the bedroom dwindled away while the cleanliness of the living room started falling apart. Tooru initially complained about it, wondering about if he had people over, until Tetsurou reminded him that the only people who came over were Kenma and Iwaizumi, who either didn’t care or were used to it.

At least this time he doesn’t have to worry about accidentally locking himself out of his apartment and having very obvious second keys, because Tooru, Tetsurou’s learned, never forgets, and had a key made for Tetsurou a week after Tetsurou had even mentioned living with him. Tetsurou takes his key out when he arrives at the apartment, and opens the door.

He calls, “Honey, I’m home!” in English, because they started watching American dramas, which started out as a joke, before both he and Tooru found that they both liked it.

Tetsurou doesn’t get an answer, but doesn’t worry as he hangs his coat, puts his keys and wallet away. Maybe Tooru’s in the bathroom. Tetsurou goes to the living room and grabs the remote, switches the tv on, and then starts toward the bedroom to get his laptop.

He stops in his tracks when the bedroom door springs open and Tooru pops out. “Tooru!” he says, but his words evaporate when he sees Tooru in full, from the light streaming from their bedroom.

Because Tooru’s in a pleated skirt and collared shirt with a bow, kind of small on him and showing a sliver of skin. He’s even wearing the black buckled shoes. And long white socks, going up to his knees, accentuating his legs.

Tetsurou’s jaw drops.

“Oh!” says Tooru, turning to him. “I didn’t hear you come home.” And when Tetsurou doesn’t respond, he says, “Ah, right, this.”

Tooru poses, putting his hand on his hip, the other in a peace sign by his eye. He winks and sticks his tongue out.

“You like?”

“I, er,” says Tetsurou, and learns to put his tongue back in his mouth. “Uh. What.”

“Since we’re both having the day off,” Tooru says, putting away his obnoxious and kind of sexy pose. “I mean, it’s been a long time since we did, and we both know how hot the last time I was in a skirt was.”

“Uh,” Tetsurou says again. Brain to mouth function, right. “How long have you had that? When did you—you bought this?”

Tooru nods, adjusts the bow, flicks his hair back. “A few months or so,” he says. “I told myself I’d bring it out the next time we had a lot of time to spare. I mean, maybe not a lot of time, but plenty of time to recover, or to start again, or. Whatever you want to do.”

“Uh,” says Tetsurou, because apparently that’s all he knows how to say right now. “Do you want to go into the bedroom?”

Tooru walks over to him, swaying his hips. “I’ll go anywhere,” he says, grabs onto Tetsurou’s hand.

Tetsurou leads them into the bedroom, Tooru’s rough slender fingers in his own. When he lets go, he sits down on the bed, facing Tooru.

Instead of being a normal fucking person and sitting down with him or something, Tooru sit on his lap. Tetsurou winces when Tooru’s thigh brushes against his boner, and Tooru laughs when he feels it. “Already?” he says, and rubs himself against it. Tetsurou groans.

“You’re a piece of shit,” he grumbles.

“Mm.” Tooru giggles mockingly and rubs his thigh against the fabric of Tetsurou’s trousers again, along his dick.

“Also,” Tetsurou adds, holding onto Tooru for balance and also so he doesn’t fucking lose it while Tooru’s grinning at him like that, “Have you seen yourself yet? Because I don’t think it takes anything else after looking at you to get anyone like this.”

Tooru hums, sifts a few fingers through Tetsurou’s hair, definitely ignoring his boner. “You are right,” he says. “I am hot.”

Tetsurou growls and brings Tooru’s face down, pushes him into a messy kiss. Tooru laughs against his mouth and Tetsurou says, between their lips and tongue and teeth, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I always enjoy myself,” Tooru says, and sucks at Tetsurou’s bottom lip. Tetsurou grunts and grinds his dick against the side of Tooru’s thigh and Tooru murmurs against him, “I know,” and it’s all too much, Tetsurou loves it.

He grabs Tooru’s legs, makes him shift around until Tooru’s sitting properly on his lap, legs on either side. While Tooru sucks on his tongue Tetsurou winds his hand around Tooru’s body, finds his way under the skirt. It’s all smooth skin and leg there, and Tetsurou runs his fingers down, grinning at the gasps Tooru lets out in his mouth. But then Tooru rolls his hips against him, and Tetsurou really hates Tooru. He really, really hates him.

“I love you,” he says, and Tooru says, “I know,” again, and it’s honestly infuriating. Tetsurou crashes their mouths together and lets Tooru lick into him, trails his fingers underneath Tooru’s smallest pair of underwear Tetsurou recognizes because the rest of them would’ve been visible past the skirt. Although sometimes Tooru doesn’t wear underwear. That’s good, too.

He slides a couple of fingers down Tooru’s ass and Tooru whines into his mouth. Tetsurou murmurs against him, “Hey, you’re hard, too,” because he’s come back around, fastened his hand on Tooru’s dick.

“I’ve been since I thought about you coming home,” Tooru breathes against him, and, okay, wow, that’s not fair.

Tetsurou slips him off his lap, gets on his knees at the foot of his bed. He pulls Tooru forward by the ankles. He can see well under Tooru’s skirt at this angle, and Tooru whines and bites at his fingers as Tetsurou eyes his boner hungrily, from under his skirt.

“You better not come,” he says, and then leans forward, licks at him. He can see Tooru bite down at his fingers even harder. Tetsurou takes Tooru’s dick in his mouth, sucks around the tip. He keeps his gaze fixated on Oikawa, sweaty and panting with that fucking ribbon on his chest. It’s so stupid and Tetsurou kind of wants to rip it off, but. But it looks hot like that, too.

He sucks on Tooru hard, dancing his lips on Tooru’s tip, fluttering closed and getting all of Tooru in his mouth. Tooru moans. “God, Tetsurou,” he says, and Tetsurou takes that as his cue. Tooru’s kind of weak whenever Tetsurou blows him. He likes to pretend that he’s not.

He pops off, and Tooru pouts. His bottom lip is fat and bruised and Tetsurou’s dick twitches in his pants, but he ignores it. “Go on,” he tells Tooru. “Jerk yourself off.”

He pulls back, stands. Tooru’s watching him, but then he’s winding underneath his skirt and tugging his underwear off. His fingers close around the length of his dick, and, carefully, he starts to stroke himself off. Tetusruo can feel the pre come already leaking in his pants get heavier, but he just watches as Tooru’s gaze starts to drift, and he fucks himself with his hand under his skirt, groaning, “Tetsurou,” once every so soften. Tetsurou hopes that Tooru can feel him staring at him.

Tooru comes in ribbons all over his leg, and it’s too hot for Tetsurou to hold back anymore. “Turn around,” he instructs, and starts taking his own pants off.

Tooru doesn’t, just smiles down at Tetsurou, come still sticky between his thighs. “Kiss me first?” he asks, and taps his lips.

He expects Tetsurou to say no. Tetsurou crushes the air between them, kissing Tooru so dirtily that Tooru actually looks dazed when he pulls back. “I’ve kissed you,” Tetsurou says, and can feel his eyes water in heat. His pupils are probably more blown than Tooru’s, and he can see Tooru’s up close right now.

“You have,” says Tooru, and rewards him with a smile. And also turning around, so that his ass is in the air, right in Tetsurou’s face.

Tetsurou shucks his shirt off. He stares at Tooru’s ass – he’s fucked it so many times, Tooru barely has to beg anymore. It’s a pity. He traces a finger down his ass crack again, and feels Tooru shiver.

“Aren’t you going to get the lube?” Tooru asks, but Tetsurou ignores him.

He presses his finger against Tooru again. “Ask me to fuck you,” he says, and Tooru scoffs.

“I know you’re going to,” he says.

“Ask me to do it,” Tetsurou says again.

He can’t see Tooru’s face, but he sees the way he lifts his head up like he’s not taking this seriously. He probably rolls his eyes. “Fuck me, Tetsurou.”

Tetsurou presses less than a centimeter of his finger in, and then draws it out. “Not enough,” he says.

“Fuck me, Tetsurou.” This time it’s with a little more force – not as persuasive as Tetsurou would’ve liked, but he pulls back anyway. He winds his fingers around his own dick, smears the pre come over the head. It feels good, and Tetsurou can envision himself fucking Tooru, his asshole, puckering and practically begging for him in the air.

Tetsurou slides his dick between Tooru’s thighs, and Tooru yelps.

“That,” he says, “is not my asshole.”

“I know,” says Tetsurou, and spits on his hand. He sees Tooru tense, probably in excitement – he lets it happen, until Tetsurou uses his slicked hand to rub himself down, drawing out his hand a little more so that it lies between Tooru’s ass cheeks.

Tooru whines. “What are you doing?”

“Like I said,” says Tetsurou. “Ask me to fuck you.”

“Fuck me, Tetsurou,” says Tooru, and this time, Tetsurou can hear the feeling behind it. Tooru even adds a little, “Please.”

Tetsurou uses his hands to clamp Tooru’s thighs together, groans at the heat between them. Tooru’s skirt flies up as Tetsurou pushes Tooru’s ass into him, and even though it’s not secure, seeing Tooru like this – trying to look back, too thrown off to properly adjust himself – and he pushes himself between Tetsurou’s thighs again.

“C’mon, Tetsurou.” Tooru’s properly begging now. “Please. Please.”

Tetsurou doesn’t answer him. His hands are tight around the front of Tooru’s thighs, and he knows that if Tooru really wanted him to stop this, he would have the strength to turn him around. Tetsurou says, “I don’t think you really want it that much,” and Tooru’s going, “No, please, god, Tetsurou, I want it, please please – “

Tetsurou’s dick slips out from between him and Tooru stops. Maybe he thinks Tetsurou will fuck inside him, but it had only been an accident. He pulls Tooru back to him.

Tooru’s gasping and sweating. Tetsurou wonders if telling him that Tooru would be hotter if he cried is a good idea, but Tooru might take it the wrong way. “God,” Tooru babbles, “fuck me, Tetsurou, please, I want you to, I really do.”

“I believe you,” Tetsurou murmurs, and slides his dick along the crack of Tooru’s ass. Tooru leans into him for a moment, until Tetsurou pushes between his thighs again and forces them together, fucks between them so hard that he can feel traces of Tooru’s come before, comes along his thighs along with it, squeezing himself into Tooru. It’s kind of damp and he kisses Tooru’s spine when he’s done, sits back on his feet.

Tooru still looks fantastic in a skirt, even more so now that he’s got Tetsurou’s come underneath. He pulls back, too. Tetsurou thinks for a second that he might kiss him on the mouth.

Tooru doesn’t. He watches Tetsurou calculatingly, and then starts to get off the bed. Tetsurou says, “Hey, wait,” but then Tooru’s gone, slipping off the bed and padding out of the bedroom.

Tetsurou watches. He hasn’t gone to the bathroom, judging by the sound in the hallway. He hears the faint sound of the kitchen lights turning on, and then the refrigerator door opening. He tenses his thighs – Tooru’s still out there, in the sweater and the skirt and wearing Tetsurou’s come. And he hadn’t said anything when he’d left, but he wouldn’t still be wearing all that if he were angry with him.

He gets out of bed, too, catches Tooru in the middle of pouring water for himself in the kitchen. “Tooru,” he says, but Tooru doesn’t respond. He keeps his back turned and doesn’t look up as Tetsurou comes up behind him.

“Tooru,” he says. “I told you you looked good, didn’t I?”

“Mm,” Tooru says. He doesn’t turn around. “You did.”

Tetsurou kisses his neck. Tooru’s sensitive in all sorts of places, but he’s also good at hiding it. “I fucked you, technically,” he says, because they’ve thighfucked before, and he knows Tooru prefers to actually be penetrated, but.

“You did,” Tooru agrees.

He’s pouring the water awfully slowly. Tetsurou watches his fingers as he carefully places the jug down and sighs.

“Are you going to stay attached to me, or are you going to let me drink?” he asks.

His voice doesn’t come off cold, but Tetsurou backs away anyway. He watches as Tooru takes a long drink. He’s never understood why a lot of people described watching the person you like drink water as erotic, but – up close, where he can see every moment that Tooru swallows and drinks more, it’s. Yeah.

Tooru doesn’t move when he’s done drinking, instead starts playing with the little trinkets on the kitchen counter. Tetsurou groans and leans against him. He’s still naked and Tooru’s skirt only goes down to the middle of his thigh. Tetsurou slides his dick underneath and rubs against Tooru’s ass.

Tooru doesn’t respond. He plays with their counter toys again.

Tetsurou inches his hand a little closer to the tip of his dick, to the point where he’s not sure if his fingers or the head of his dick is closer to Tooru’s asshole. He hears Tooru inhale sharply this time, and grins.

“Don’t do that,” Tooru mutters, “unless you’re going to fuck me.”

“You know how well I keep my promises,” Tetsurou says, letting his free hand wander to Tooru’s front. He chuckles as he wraps his hand around him. “Hard again? That quickly? I thought you left me because you were tired of me.”

“Mm,” says Tooru. He turns around this time, lets his mouth flit across Tetsurou’s. “I’m sure you did.”

He kisses him, despite the awkward angle, and Tetsurou’s grip around his dick tightens. He strokes him off slowly, and Tooru says against his mouth, “You always treat me so well.”

“I do,” Tetsurou says, and smirks.

It’s hard to tell if he’s the one who’d turned Tooru around, or if Tooru had turned around of his own accord. But then Tooru’s facing him and then Tetsurou’s pushing down lightly on his shoulders, as Tooru goes down to his cock, anyway. Tooru eyes it.

His hair has been getting longer. Tetsurou usually cuts his own hair, and has been trying to get Tooru to let him cut his hair, too – Tooru had said yes, once, and then Tetsurou had snipped a small chunk and Tooru had yelped and changed his mind. It’s long enough to get into his eyes, and Tetsurou pushes his bangs back from his forehead as Tooru wraps his lips around Tetsurou’s dick, closes his eyes and gently starts tugging Tetsurou into his mouth.

It’s revenge. Tooru knows that Tetsurou likes going fast, and Tetsurou groans as Tooru slowly slides Tetsurou’s dick inside him. Tooru’s hands are pulled behind his back, and Tetsurou imagines it, Tooru on his knees, skirt neatly fluttered around Tooru’s thighs, sucking at Tetsurou’s dick. Tetsurou nearly comes at the thought.

“Ah,” says Tooru, when he breaks apart for air again. He’d let out with a loud pop, and his lips are redder than before. Tetsurou wants to kiss him, but he’s been having it too good.

“Again,” he instructs.

Tooru flutters his eyelashes. “I didn’t know you were telling me what to do, Tetsurou,” he says.

“Goddammit,” says Tetsurou. He pushes Tooru’s head forward again, fucks his mouth. The sounds that Tooru makes are filthy and they echo in the kitchen, slurping and slapping against his lips. Tetsurou nearly comes when Tooru pulls back again, a line of spit between his mouth and Tetsurou’s dick. But he holds himself back a little longer.

“Yes?” Tooru says, as Tetsurou hoists him by the armpits to help him up.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Tetsurou perches Tooru on the counter, and then heads towards the bedroom.

He wants Tooru to think he’s leaving him, like he’d thought about Tooru briefly after coming the first time. But Tooru just calls, “Don’t forget the lube!” like he knows that that’s the only reason Tetsurou had left in the first place.

Tetsurou does not in fact forget the lube, and comes back with his hands all slicked and the bottle, just in case. Tooru grins when he sees him, slips down, and asks, “How do you want me to do this? Bent over again?”

He leans over the counter. Tetsurou bites his lip; he’s tempted to say yes, mostly because he’ll never get enough of seeing Tooru’s ass. “No,” he says, instead, and hoists himself on the counter so that his bare ass is sitting on it.

Tooru’s eyebrows are still up. “How are you going to do anything from there?”

“Come on.” Tetsurou pats his thighs.

“Oh, so now you want me to sit on your lap.”

But Tooru does, because he’s still pretty flexible, and manages to balance himself in Tetsurou’s lap as Tetsurou rims his finger at the tip of Tooru’s ass crack. Tooru sighs and Tetsurou can feel him clench against him.

“You’re going to fuck my asshole this time,” says Tooru. “Right?”

Tetsurou laughs. “Don’t put it that way,” he says, but his fingers are working carefully in Tooru, and Tooru lets out what Tetsurou assumes is an involuntary moan. His two fingers are circling clockwise into him, bending, spreading.

Tetsurou asks, “Do you need another one?”

“I’d much rather have your dick,” Tooru replies.

He laughs when Tetsurou growls, even louder when Tetsurou shoves his dick inside of him. He tries to make it as rough as he can, but Tooru’s fucking himself on Tetsurou like he’s missed this, even though they’ve been managing to fuck a little more than once a week on average. Tooru bounces himself on Tetsurou’s lap and cries out, “Yes,” like he’s in some sort of porno.

“I like it when you get loud,” Tetsurou says, and Tooru grins at him.

“Do you?” he says, and wriggles his ass a little on Tetsurou’s dick. It’s okay that he’s been taking control so far, because Tetsurou hasn’t come yet. “Oh, Tetsurou!” he calls, and pitches his voice higher. It cracks for a second, and Tetsurou laughs.

Tooru glares. “Tetsurou,” he tries again. The falsetto works this time – it makes Tetsurou embarrassed, but kind of turned on at the same time. “Tetsurou, oh! Yes, Tetsurou!”

“Stop it,” says Tetsurou, and shoves his hand over Tooru’s mouth. “Do you want me to do the same to you?”

He can feel Tooru grin against his palm. He doesn’t know if it’d been because that’s a yes, or because he’d expected Tetsurou to do this. His fucking asphyxiation kink. But Tetsurou kind of prefers the skirt slapping against his thighs a little more.

He raises his hips, and can feel the power shift – Tooru’s loosening his own control, letting Tetsurou guide his body down. Tetsurou places his hands on Tooru’s thighs and fucks into him, burning at the feeling of Tooru being so tight, despite how easy it’d been to get in.

“I’m glad you begged earlier,” he says, and takes his hand off Tooru’s mouth.

Tooru smiles. “I’m glad I did too.”

His cries are genuine the rougher Tetsurou fucks against him, and he comes first, this time getting all over Tetsurou’s chest and his own sweater, without either of them touching Tooru’s dick. Tetsurou comes when Tooru clenches almost after he’s done. Tooru groans when Tetsurou’s come gets inside him, slipping out, and getting on his ass cheeks. He rests his cheek against Tetsurou’s shoulder.

Tetsurou says, “Hold on, we can’t leave it like that.”

“Can’t we,” says Tooru, because he’s tired.

Tetsurou slips him off and crouches down again. He pins Tooru from behind against the kitchen, and practically shoves his face in Tooru’s ass. Tooru whines as Tetsurou licks at his own come inside of him, wriggling his face, getting at all the come he can find. He pulls away and Tooru’s face looks truly pleased and spent as he turns back around.

“I wish we could go at it again,” he says. He glances down at his dick.

Tetsurou pets it. Tooru rolls his eyes. “We can take a break and go at it again,” he suggests. “As long as you don’t change out of this.” He tugs at Tooru’s skirt.

Tooru’s socks have scrunched down to the middle of his calves, but he just sways his skirt against Tetsurou, inches closer to him. “I’ll wear this until you’re taking this off of my body with your teeth,” he promises. “Deal?”

Tetsurou laughs as Tooru bites at his chin. “Deal.”