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creative-crybaby · 1 year

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A Helping Hand

PAIRING: timeskip!Bokuto Koutarou x fem!reader

GENRE: smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: oral (m and f receiving), edging, fingering, masturbation (m and f), cum eating, size kink (kinda sorta), hair-pulling, light praise kink, lowkey pining on your part, subby!Bo (mostly)

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

SUMMARY: Of all the things you’d help your roommate with, improving his sex life wasn’t on the list. All characters are 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Still losing it over the fact that lil Bo went to college. Love that for him <3

Life is full of surprises, you suppose.

For starters, you didn’t expect to hear your roommate’s frustrated voice cursing loudly from his room. Your laundry basket falls from your grasp from the startling sound. A day meant for completing chores hadn’t changed much for you so much as it had decided to prioritize different tasks. You didn’t think this would be the case upon opening Bokuto’s door.

Slumped against the headboard of his bed sits the eccentric volleyball player, the hem of his t-shirt trapped between his teeth and boxers down to his muscular thighs while his hand is wrapped around his hard cock.

The sound of his door opening has his attention snapping towards the entrance, his face morphing into a mortified expression upon finding you standing there in shock.

“(Y/N)!” Bokuto stammers, his posture straightening as his shirt falls onto his torso. “You’re back early! Um… already done with the groceries, huh?”

“Found everything we needed pretty quickly, yeah.” You force your gaze elsewhere as you find your voice. “You didn’t hear me come in?”

Your roommate doesn’t answer. With the awkward silence that fills the room, it’d be best for you to walk out as if none of this ever happened. Easier said than done when your feet seem glued to the floor and your eyes itch to catch another glance, though.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he insists, panic evident in his tone as he waves his (unoccupied) hand in front of him. “I’m just… uh—”

“It’s fine,” you cut off, surprising yourself with how calm you sound. “It’s completely normal and healthy to, uh, masturbate.” You cringe at the word, your fingers twiddling mindlessly. “Anyway, I should’ve knocked first. I just thought you got hurt when I heard—”

“I wasn’t!” Bokuto blurts. He quickly glances down, remembering he’s still exposed, and tucks himself in just as fast. “I’m training.”

Your head snaps back to face him, your expression perplexed. “What?”

With his face growing redder, you realize that one word was one word too many.

“Gotta up my stamina,” he clarifies, voice becoming somewhat steadier. “The team–well, mainly Tsum-Tsum–was joking about how I’ll stay single forever if I don’t last long in bed.” You don’t get to ask him how he got to that conversation; then again, you’re not sure you want to know. It’s Miya Atsumu he’s talking about. “And, well… I figured I could prepare myself by, um… jerking it ‘til I last longer. I was trying to think about other stuff to stop me from finishing early, but all it did was make me sad.” His tone falters as the tips of his hair droop, a pout forming on his lips. “Now I’m trying not to cry, ‘cause that’s also a turn-off in sex, apparently.”

…

What do you say to that?

The shock from catching him in a compromising position has long since evaporated, and now confusion swoops in to take its place. Your immediate reaction usually would be to laugh, more out of nervousness or discomfort than actually finding anything humorous, but knowing your roommate, he’d take it to heart. You’re also certain that dismissing yourself to resume your tasks is too late, and with Bokuto starting to sniffle, there’s only one thing you even think to do.

“Ko,” you sigh without sounding discouraged, taking your time to sit at the foot of the bed. “I’m no expert on your abilities, but you should give yourself more credit than that. I’m sure with your training, your stamina is more than fine.” You hesitate, unsure if this path is the way to go. Regardless, you don’t allow your face to show your uncertainty. “Even if that isn’t the case, that’s okay! It’s completely normal to not last a long time.” Finally, the wing spiker peers over at you, giving you doe eyes while subconsciously leaning in. “As long as you show your partner that you’re putting in some kind of effort for them, isn’t that what really counts? It doesn’t hurt to ask them what they’re into: you’re no mind-reader, after all.”

You’re not given a response for some time, and part of you wonders if you’ve possibly said too much. What were you trying to reassure him of? Despite the situation, he doesn’t appear as uncomfortable as one normally would. And the last thing you would want is to make him feel that way. Still, all you did was walk in on him at a bad time; you should have walked away.

“What do you like?” His voice cuts through your thoughts. You’re not sure if it’s the meek tone or the question itself that takes you aback, but either way, your brain spirals with more questions of its own instead of an answer for him. And when Bokuto’s expression matches yours, wide eyes and parted lips, his fingers play with the hem of his shirt. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry—”

“No!” you exclaim, causing his attention to snap back to you. It doesn’t take much from Bokuto for you to give in to him. But whenever his eyes glimmer as he beams at you, helping him in whatever he needs becomes worth it. Besides, as dense as he may be at times, he’s still aware of others and their emotions. Making you uncomfortable is never his intention. Maybe you spoil him too much, or perhaps you just trust him enough not to take things too far. Regardless, a part of you is eager enough to want to know where all of this could possibly go. “I mean—it’s fine. Really.”

“I can just ask Akaashi,” your roommate assures, getting up to reach for his phone.

You panic, grabbing onto his wrist before he can move any further. Akaashi’s been through enough.

“Look,” you breathe out the anxiety before proceeding, “We’ve been living together since our college days, Ko. We shouldn’t have to tiptoe around each other about stuff forever. Sure, there are limits, but so long as we respect each other’s boundaries, I think this is something we should be able to discuss.” You chuckle for good measure. “It’s not like this is the first time I caught you in an awkward predicament.”

Bokuto’s face glows a bright red–honestly, it probably hasn’t stopped doing so–as he recalls your implications. Making oneself at home is not a saying he takes lightly; him strutting around the comfort of his apartment in nothing but a towel is a common sight you witness. (The times you caught him in even less are a different story.) An old habit that started as soon as he could walk, even with two older sisters in the house. They moved out once he hit his double-digits, and he doesn’t even realize he does it anymore.

“Right,” he mumbles before nodding at his bed. “The sheets are clean, by the way. Don’t worry.”

Taking his word, you shift closer to the athlete, the two of you directly facing each other with only a foot-long distance between your bodies.

“Okay,” you breathe, eyes not knowing where to look. “What exactly do you want to know?”

Bokuto scratches the nape of his neck, lips pressed into a thin line. “I dunno. I still wanna last long enough to make the other person feel good. So… any suggestions?” When you don’t offer a response, he continues. “I already told you about the sad thoughts as a distraction and jerking it a bunch of times ‘til I can hold out longer—and trust me, I’ve tried a bunch of ti—”

“Okay, okay!” you cut off, raising a hand to silence him. Fixing your posture, you attempt to ignore the heat radiating from your face. “How about edging?” The athlete tilting his head to the side is more than enough of an answer. “Kind of self-explanatory. Just keep making yourself feel good, and then stop when you’re about to… finish.” Bokuto stares at you, though you can’t say if it’s because he’s still processing your words or if his mind is blank. “Totally cool if you’re not comfortable with any of this.”

“I want to,” your roommate perks up, changing his sitting position with a gulp. The reason behind the actions wasn’t hidden quickly enough: you catch sight of his returning bulge before he can lift his knees to his chest. “So,” he coughs, golden eyes focusing on anything that isn’t you, “have you… tried it? Just wondering if it’s any good, you know?”

“O-Oh,” you stammer, subconsciously squeezing your thighs together. “Well, only a couple of times. Not for me specifically, but my hookup liked it.” Hesitantly, you force a glance toward your roommate, whose blush has now travelled to his ears and neck. “Everyone’s different, you know? I preferred telling him when to stop instead of being edged myself. Maybe you’ll like it. Doesn’t hurt to try new things.”

All of this could be going absolutely nowhere, and realizing this makes you subconsciously slouch in disappointment. Talks like these, the personal ones, are rare with Bokuto. You’d discuss the future in your college days, and you’d discover a side to him, a calmer one. This talk’s different, of course. And you’re more than eager to keep it going, albeit just as anxious should a line be crossed. Still, this feels like the longest conversation you ever had with him, which you know is false. A chatterbox if there ever was one, he speaks more than he doesn’t. Sometimes you have to find ways to end the chit-chat yourself. Now you’re the one looking for something to say. Is there anything more to say?

Whatever the answer may have been, Bokuto beats you to it. “Do you want to try? Edging me?”

A simple yes or no question from someone who isn’t looking for anything other than a simple yes or no answer. Yet, with the possibility of where this situation may go being too good to be true, you swallow down your excitement. Just in case.

“I’m a bit confused with your questions.” A timid laugh escapes you as you scratch the nape of your neck, though for once, you’d say you’re anything but uncomfortable. “Are you trying to better your stamina or learn how to pleasure your partner in bed?”

“Can’t I want both?” the athlete purses his lips in thought, the question for him just as much as it is for you.

“Well, yeah. I guess.”

“Then let’s try it.” Bokuto’s eyes light up as his expression becomes serious. You recall seeing him make that face during his games, focusing on the ball before spiking it into the opponent’s side of the court.

A chill tumbles down your spine as a flame rises to your face. “What are you saying we do exactly?”

“Whatever we want,” he shrugs. His nonchalance has you slumping in your spot as you recall being the one trying to reassure him only a minute ago. The myriad of emotions he offers combined with the amount he’s ripping from you taxes your energy: today was meant for chores, damn it. “You said we shouldn’t have to hide stuff from each other, right? Unless you don’t want to, we can talk about and try stuff together and still be friends. You’re pretty smart when it comes to these kinds of things, yeah? Help me out, and maybe I can do the same for you in return.”

Stuff, things. Vague words with thousands of implications. Even within context, your brain spins in a blender trying to find more specific replacements for them, only for them to fluster you further.

But this is Bokuto you’re talking about: a walking contradiction. Spontaneous and comfortable enough to be unpredictable, yet open enough to have a list of weaknesses written out by his peers in preparation. You’ve witnessed his heavy mood swings—helped him out of them, even. You also know, by now, what sets them off. Your answer won’t be one of them, so why walk around those eggshells he didn’t even place before you?

“Okay,” you nod curtly, proud of your voice for not wobbling. Bokuto beams, puffing his chest out.

“Great!” he gushes. A pause. “Now what?”

Bless his heart, you almost sigh as your body relaxes. Instead, you take a deep breath. “Strip, maybe?”

Your roommate nods, humming in approval before immediately shifting his position to swipe his shorts and boxers down.

This isn’t the first time you’ve caught a glimpse of Bokuto’s cock—again, what little awareness he has left flies out the window after he showers. This is, however, the first time you notice the details. You forget how big, how thick, he actually is until you catch sight of it again, and you’re certain this fact will engrain itself in your memories after this experience. The flushed tip and veins scattered around the shaft don’t pass your observation, either, only adding to the intimidation as it stands tall. Is that thing staring at you?

You salivate from the sight, yet your roommate peers at you worriedly, your silence taking him down the road of insecurity. “Does it look gross? I swear, I wash it during every shower and bath—I’m thorough, too! Well, not in a weird way. I mean, like I—”

“Ko!” Your sudden outburst has him clamping his mouth shut and straightening his posture. You soften your tone, your expression almost apologetic. “It’s not that. Your size just… caught me off-guard, I guess.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, taking in your words with a light pink dusting his cheeks. Once your response fully processes through his brain, his eyes widen before he puffs his chest out, a sudden wave of confidence washing over him. “Oh!”

The athlete grins, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as his worries evaporate. You watch with tired eyes, wondering if you should say something to get him off his high horse. You figure no, a happy Bokuto is better than an anxious one, especially in a situation like this. Your focus trails down to your shorts before you hook your thumbs past the waistband.

The duo-haired male’s laughter dies down when he catches sight of you shifting to sit with your legs spread, shorts and panties already on the floor. His stare, plus your arousal so close to dripping from your entrance, sends heat to your face. Your eyes refuse to look up at him, instead training on the sheets you’re certain you’re going to stain.

“Normally, I’d start with foreplay to get me ready,” you mumbled hesitantly, toying with the hem of your shirt. You laugh dryly, almost cringing at the lack of enthusiasm. “But I guess that won’t be necessary this time.”Your fingers take their time sliding down to separate your lower lips. You catch Bokuto’s gaze darkening as it zeroes in on the mess between your legs. “We’re both going to start, but you follow the pace I set for you. If you’re going to cum, tell me and stop when I tell you to. I’m in charge of your pleasure, understand?”

You finally look back at him. Though your words hold power, your tone still carries hesitance. Then again, you never thought your relationship with your roommate would become any more intimate than accidentally using the other’s toothbrush or cleaning their dirty underwear (or catching the other straight out of the shower, you suppose). Despite his lack of predictability, messiness, and loud personality, Bokuto is the best roommate you’ve had. Your movie marathons are full of laughter and inside jokes you wouldn’t trade for anything, he surprisingly plays the role of therapist pretty well with his emotional intelligence as he listens to your problems and offers advice, and he’s your reminder to enjoy life past all things work-related. His attractive physique is also a bonus, with tight shirts giving you plenty of eye candy while every pair of pants he sports compliments his ass. Pair that with his boyish nature, and you can’t help but harbour some feelings you’d rather not admit. This moment may be your big break; you only hope it’s the same for him.

The athlete gives you a nod, words seemingly failing him as his eyes continue to be mesmerized by your slick-stained cunt. You tilt your head upwards, signifying that he can start. With a shaky breath, he wraps his hand around his girth, gathering his precum with his thumb before slowly stroking himself. It’s when he hisses at the contact do you start as well, swiping some of your essence before bringing your fingers to your clit. You sigh as you circle the tiny pearl, eyes fluttering closed from bliss and embarrassment. They don’t stay that way for long, however, as all it takes for you to open them once more is the sound of your roommate whimpering your name.

Bokuto’s head is thrown back as his pace quickens ever so slightly. The light blush on his cheeks evolves into a vermillion veil on his neck and chest, his skin shining from the first drops of sweat forming on his face and body. His cock seems to drool more than it was moments ago, white liquid gliding down his shaft and pooling at the base. The tip isn’t in any better condition, its colour darkening to a more aggressive shade of red. A solid man reduced to a puddle in a matter of seconds is enough to give you your voice back and make your cunt throb.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already,” you quip, though your voice wobbles near the end.

“N-No,” he rasps weakly, brows creasing. “It just feels good, is all.” The wing spiker cuts himself off to catch his breath, and you watch as his chest rises and falls with every pant. “Does it feel good for you, too?”

You breathe a laugh, rubbing tighter circles as your boldness feeds off his uncharacteristic bashfulness.

“Yeah,” you hum, tilting your head to the side. “Real good, but you know,” you spread your legs further apart, “what I’m doing right now to myself, not everyone is into.”

Your gaze falls from Bokuto’s face to his cock once more, watching as he bucks his hips into his fist. For a moment, you imagine being in his hand’s place, squeezing him for everything he’s worth and forcing whimpers out of him.

Your roommate moans. “Don’t care. I wanna know how you feel now.”

Your lids droop at his stubborn words. If he continues the behaviour outside the bedroom, you might remain lenient with him forever. Part of you wonders if that’s even such a bad idea, coddling someone whose happiness will always return the favour.

“My body feels hot,” you start, squirming in your hold as you try to find your following words. “Playing with my clit always feels best, makes me cum real hard, but you know,” your digits momentarily leave the sensitive nub to slide down to your hole, index finger taking its time entering, “sometimes I just need something inside me.” You’re certain you can already squeeze another finger in, and you prove yourself correct as the middle one joins in. Pumping the digits inside you has you mewling and rolling your hips in tandem, making you almost lose your train of thought.

Bokuto whines at your narration, and you both shiver. “Fuck, (Y/N). Gonna… gonna—”

“Stop.” Your voice has a mind of its own once you realize what he was implying. The athlete follows your command without hesitation, though it doesn’t stop him from whining at the loss of contact. You catch his cock twitch, precum oozing down the shaft; the sight alone has you clenching around your fingers, but you don’t halt your movements.

“(Y/N),” your roommate pants, digging his nails into his thighs. “C’mon, I’ve waited long enough.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to try this?” You purse your lips, clearly unamused. “I only stopped you once.” When all you’re offered is a whimper and pleading eyes, your actions aren’t your own. Along with slipping your hands out of your pussy (much to your displeasure), your newfound confidence asks the athlete, “Do I need to do all the work for you here?”

The question almost didn’t register for him, his brain hazy as his glossy eyes focus on your slick-stained fingers. Bokuto only snaps out of his floating cloud when you crawl to settle between his muscular thighs. You peer at him, surprisingly patient as you await a response.

“I’ll be good,” he barely manages to whisper. “I’ll be so good for you. Please.”

With the prettiest confirmation wobbling past his swollen lips, you shift in your spot as you lean down, your face mere inches away from his weeping cock.

Your out-of-nowhere confidence rush affects your cheekiness as well, making you kitten lick his tip to gain a reaction. You’re rewarded with shaky breaths and a whimper of your name. It’s more than enough to have you engulf the mushroom head in one swoop and suckle it clean. You hardly get to process the tingling of your tastebuds when your roommate suddenly bucks his hips, almost making you gag.

“Sorry,” he stutters breathlessly as you pull away. “Please, don’t stop.”

You narrow your eyes at him, and for someone with such a large build, Bokuto never looked so meek. “Do you, or do you not, want to hold out for me?”

Your sudden coldness makes the duo-haired male shiver. With glossy eyes, your roommate grabs onto your wrist, mumbling apologies and promising he’ll “do whatever you say, be sosososo good.” From what you heard from Akaashi, the athlete’s mood swings are no longer as intense as they used to be back in high school. They don’t overwhelm you any less, though; he wants to make you proud, and you want to give him a day to remember.

With a final deep breath, you swoop back to swallow more of his cock. Easier said than done: you’re certain the only way to take him down your throat is by unhinging your jaw. If you weren’t so eager, you’d take your time with each inch. Instead, you accidentally gag yourself, only managing to regain composure moments later. Your head bobs at a moderate pace while your hands follow along by jerking whatever you can’t take in your mouth. Your slurping and light gagging overpowers the athlete’s grunts and gasps, you notice in disappointment. But when you catch his thighs clenching and unclenching from the corner of your vision, you consider it all worth it.

Your jaw aches; bitterness seeps onto your tongue as Bokuto’s cock continues to leak. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he had already finished. Then he gasps your name: a warning. You pull back once more.

You clear your throat. “Still going, huh?”

Your roommate tries to catch his breath, a shiver of neglect cascading down his spine.

“Please.” His eyes do more pleading than his words and tone, his will close to shattering as he hiccups. “This is the longest I’ve managed to last. I can cum now, right? You don’t need t’keep dragging this on, (Y/N). C’mon—”

You haven’t been keeping track of your little session with the wing spiker. And if his claim is true, there’s no reason to drag it out any longer. Still, seeing him in such a vulnerable place outside his mood swing lows, all teary-eyed and sniffling and red, makes you want to tease him just a bit longer. This is an experiment for you just as much as it is for him now. What happens should you push him to his limit? How far would he go to achieve his release? Would you be the best he’s ever had? Or, the only one he’ll ever want to have again?

There’s always next time to figure all of that out. (Next time? Next time.) If your jaw didn’t feel like it was about to disconnect from the rest of your face, you’d give yourself a little more freedom.

“So needy,” you mutter. “All right. I’ll let you cum this time. Don’t think I’ll always be this lenient with you.”

Whatever implications that last part brought with it, neither of you got to register it; you didn’t want to, and Bokuto couldn’t. The athlete only mumbles his thanks breathlessly as you go down on him once more.

You make quick work, bobbing your head faster than before while your tongue slithers around the shaft and drags along a prominent vein on the underside of his dick. Your roommate does little to stop himself from vocalizing his pleasure, moaning loud enough to mask whatever sounds your mouth is making. Whenever you need a break, your hands join in, jerking whatever they can hold while you suck on his tip. It isn’t until you fondle his balls that he howls.

“Cumming!” Bokuto cries in between rapid and heavy breaths. “Fuck, cumming! Fuckfuckfu—”

A large hand finds itself on the back of your neck, keeping you in place as the owner’s hips buck into your warm mouth. Your eyes widen and water from the sudden invasion, and you have to squeeze your left hand into a fist to prevent yourself from choking on the spurts of cum. You try to distract yourself by listening to the wing spiker’s drawn-out groan—you could probably feel the vibrations coming off from him if you truly pay attention.

The second you’re able to pull away, you do so sputtering. Bokuto’s at your side in a second, hand on your back.

“Shit,” he rasps. “Sorry, sorry. I’m—holy shit, sorry.”

You swallow whatever you can before swiping your lips with the back of your hand, your face growing warm. So much for your little power trip.

You lift your hand to him. “It’s fine.”

A silent “okay” is all you hear from the athlete before the room falls silent. You should probably keep up your façade while you still can, you figure, though words fail you as you wonder where to bring this session.

You furrow your brows at the sudden pang between your legs. You never got the chance to finish, too eager to feel your roommate as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Your thighs clench, something he doesn’t miss.

“Did you, um,” he swallows, “you know—”

“Hm?” Your head snaps up to face him. “Oh! Um, no. Not really.” The athlete falters, the ends of his hair drooping. It’s enough to alarm you. “But it’s not like it’s your fault or anything. I stopped because I wanted to focus on you, that’s all.”

His posture and expression remain unchanged, though his insecurity seems to have moved aside as he rubs his chin, pondering. After several moments, he slams his fist into his palm.

“So now it’s my turn.” The athlete states matter-of-factly.

You quirk a brow at him. “You had your turn already.”

He shakes his head, his face somewhat eager. “No, no. I mean, now I’m going to return the favour.”

You blink, then your hands fly forward, your mouth speaking before your brain fully processes. “You don’t have to—”

Bokuto grabs your wrists, his expression morphing into a heavy one. You freeze.

“I had two goals in mind, remember?” He pauses, reading your face to search for any signs of discomfort. “Let me make you feel good, like you did for me.”

The aching between your thighs answers for you long before the rational part of you does, and you hate how convincing it is.

You sit back, resting your weight on your hands and slowly spreading your legs. “Better make me proud, then.”

Your poor attempt does little to soothe your nerves, but luckily your roommate’s enthusiasm does plenty to move you forward. Lying on his stomach with his legs swinging in the air, Bokuto hooks your knees over his shoulders before eagerly licking an experimental stripe across your cunt. Your surprised gasp is enough encouragement for him as he quickly gets to work, practically making out with your pussy.

He’s sloppy, but that’s to be expected. You’re not sure if he’s just forgotten what you told him before, or if he’s excited to try whatever’s been handed to him, but at least he cares.

His nose nudges against your clit, and you grind against his face to reach for that pleasure. The wind spiker groans, then stops.

Before you complain, one of his hands snakes toward your pussy, tracing your lower lips as he ponders. Once he’s gathered enough slick, he slowly presses a finger into your entrance, watching as the hole swallows him.

You mewl. “What are you—”

“You liked this, didn’t you?” your roommate hums, licking his lips. He sounds eerily calm; focused.

A simple question that you can’t answer, not when he goes back to devouring you. The digit inside you doesn’t seem to remember it’s in there until it suddenly does and wiggles around experimentally until you give the proper reaction.

“Ko!” you wail, hands finding his hair and tugging as you lead the pace. He grunts at the burning of his scalp before trying to slip another finger in without pulling away. The stretch of a second digit makes you wince, what with his hands being larger than yours. Your roommate makes up for it by finally focusing on a specific task; his lips wrap around your clit, suckling on it as his tongue laps at the sensitive pearl. “Doing so good for me, Ko. Don’t stop, okay? Just curl your fingers a bit and—fuck….”

Obedient as ever, the duo-haired male adds more eagerness to his movements, if possible. Your hips continue to grind against his face, matching his rhythm in a sensual dance you’ve both swiftly learned the choreography for.

Your patience soon blesses you with an oncoming orgasm, one you can practically taste so long as the athlete between your legs maintains his actions. You barely manage to warn him of your high, your hold on him growing firm to stop him from ruining the set pace.

Bokuto groans deeply once more, and the vibrations that follow soon after are the last straw for you; hunching over your roommate’s frame, you drag a moan out from your throat as your jaw falls slack. Tremors spread throughout your body, tiny burning sparks from a roaring flame.

However long it drags on, you’re keeping your roommate down. He doesn’t complain (mainly because he can’t): whatever noises he manages to choke out answer in his stead, saying more than words ever could.

Heaven doesn’t last forever: you come down from the high while Bokuto’s lungs find fresh air. Not that he takes the time to breathe it in. Instead, he hastily sits up, pulling you by your shirt to slam his lips against yours. You’ve barely calmed down, and having to process his actions, as well as the sudden taste of yourself on your tongue, heightens your senses.

He hastily pulls away before you can do anything, clearly flustered.

“Sorry!” He’s babbling excuses, or at least, he’s trying to. You pull him back to shut him up, the kiss being far more gentle this time, barely a peck. It’s enough to silence him for a few seconds. “Thanks.”

What for, you don’t know: for the kiss, for helping him?

You smile at him regardless. Dismounting the bed with wobbly legs, you pick up your discarded clothes and put them back on.

“That was fun.” You feel and sound awkward. What you were worrying about before comes back to bite you in the ass, and all you can do is distract yourself by looking at anything but him. “With a bit more practice, you’ll be a master in no time.”

Even with your focus on your shorts, you can sense your roommate perking up at your words.

“So, you wanna do this again, then?” You’re so surprised by his question that you almost miss his hopeful tone and gaze. Your fingers subconsciously pick at the bedsheets.

“If you want?” you say, unaware of the corners of your lips twitching upwards. You never can say no to Bokuto, can you? A weakness of yours you don’t think you’ll ever overcome, but won’t stop asking why it continues to hold you back. Then he smiles, wide and shiny and all the way to his eyes; you forget he’s still naked from the waist down. That’s why you confidently smile back. “Help me with laundry for now, will ya?”

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