ao3 handle: yeosakoi

cherry, cherry, cherry bonbon

It had been a silly thought. A silly, aimless thought that had crossed his mind as he stared at Kyojurou, the latter hard at work beside him.

"You would look good in a skirt," Akaza muses. Kyojurou's head jerks up.

(or: kyojurou wears a skirt)

It had been a silly thought.

A silly, aimless thought that crosses his mind as he stares at Kyojurou, halfheartedly sucking on a creamsicle as he does. With how it's well on its way to becoming a puddle of sugar from the heat of the sun, it's a wonder his hands aren't sticky with sweetness yet.

Besides him, Kyojurou is hard at work, rifling through sheets of paper. He had spent a solid hour pestering the other for kisses and plotting the best way to distract him from his work with touches that were not entirely innocent until Kyojurou had slapped his hand away, the fierce glare he had pinned down Akaza serving as a warning.

Not that it had done anything but brought about a grin from Akaza and egg him on, but he'd finally quieted down, settling for drawing his eyes over his boyfriend's profile from a safe distance. Even if his hand did gravitate a little too close to Kyojurou's thigh from time to time, prompting the other to glower at him.

At the moment, Kyojurou's hair is what captures Akaza's attention, his fingers itching to tangle themselves into those gaudy locks and muse them until all of Kyojurou's meticulous brushwork would be put to waste. It's just as bright and eye-catching as Akaza's pink, with the exception that while Akaza's had been the result of a drunken night and shopping at the dead of the night before waking up with a head of cherry blossoms, Kyojurou's was peculiarly natural.

Speaking of pink.

Kyojurou would look good in pink. The thought worms itself into his head as he casts a glance at the rosy shades of Kyojurou's eyes, and really, it's just a downward spiral from there.

Kyojurou clad in a pink sweater. Sporting pink streaks in his hair. The entirety of his hair dyed pink (the mental image draws a snort from Akaza, prompting his boyfriend to look over at him in question). A pink wristband fit snugly around his wrist. The thoughts come and go, neverending. Kyojurou in a pair of faded pink jeans. Using pink clips to push back his bangs. Kyojurou pulling off a pink skirt impossibly well-

Akaza blinks, musings coming to a stop.

Kyojurou… in a skirt?

Now that is a prospect that has never crossed his mind, and it's unexpectedly much more appealing than he would have ever expected it to be. Neither he nor Kyojurou have ever dressed in a particularly feminine way, nor have had much of an interest in it aside from the occasional cropped shirt fished out of Akaza's closet. He rests a hand under his chin, brows knitting together in thought.

Whatever he had thought before, it has all been reduced to null, because the images that flood through his head…

"You would look good in a skirt," Akaza muses, and Kyojurou's head jerks up from where he had been poring over his mind-numbingly dull papers. The creamsicle has finally given in to the sun, the cloying sweetness dripping onto his fingers. He's just raising them to his lips when he notices Kyojurou blinking in his direction. "What? My hands are clean."

Another blink, followed by a shake of his head. "Not that." Kyojurou's forehead is littered with creases as he squints at Akaza. "What did you say?"

Akaza frowns at the melted treat. "You'd look good in a skirt."

A beat of silence passes between them as Kyojurou digests his words. And then he's releasing a boisterous laugh, a hand coming down to slap across Akaza's back. It's not strong enough to hurt but definitely enough to knock the breath out of him, leaving him hacking. "Ah! A joke! Funny one, Akaza," Kyojurou chuckles.

Rubbing at his smarting back, he straightens with a wince. "Not a joke," he corrects, giving up on catching the stray drops of liquid and instead, diverting his attention to digging around for a tissue. "You would look great. Got a tissue?"

"Oh." Kyojurou fumbles at his blunt admission, hurriedly fishing out a crumpled tissue from his pocket. There's a little scrunch between his brows that Akaza resists leaning forward to kiss away. "Why… Why do you think that?" He sounds curious, almost intrigued.

Akaza shrugs. There isn't quite a reason. The thought had simply manifested itself into his head and would not take its leave. Nothing more, nothing less. "You just would."

Kyojurou watches him wipe at his hands for a moment longer and Akaza can nearly hear the cogs and gears in his head as they furiously work to try and make sense of his newest bout of randomness. "I… see," he finally says, his tone giving away the fact that no, he does not see. "Thank you!"

There it was: Kyojurou's genuine and unbridled enthusiasm and gratitude, even for matters that he did not fully understand. Akaza holds back the fond twitch to his lips.

Ah, well. No need to explain any further. It wasn't as if this would ever be brought up again.

It has been at least half an hour since Akaza had barged into his boyfriend's apartment, and still, he hasn't bothered to grace Akaza with his appearance. He'd be beginning to wonder if the other is aware of his presence at all, if not for the cheery make yourself at home! Kyojurou had shouted when he'd entered.

Knee jiggling impatiently, he checks his phone for the nth time in hopes of entertainment. All it does is serve to sour his mood as he finds all his recent notifications to be from Douma. That insufferable pig just refused to leave him alone.

"Kyojurou," he drones, not bothering to wait for a reply. "I'm going to eat all the food in your fridge."

Kyojurou's response comes in the form of a shout and he had expected nothing less. "If you wish! Just leave the eggs, I need them for Kanroji's birthday!" Akaza groans. Of course, that wouldn't work. Kyojurou was too damn generous for his own good.

"That's not what I meant," he mutters, slumping down even further in his seat. It seems that the coffee shop they had been intending to hit for lunch would more likely be visited for dinner instead.

If he had known Kyojurou would be taking his precious time to get ready, he would have stolen some of the lunch Hakuji had been cooking for his girlfriend.

Another notification rings from his phone and he lifts it to peer at it, only to find it to be from—as expected—Douma. It's entirely due to boredom that he finally sets upon replying to him, albeit grumbling all the while. The weeks of unread messages do not seem to hinder the other in the slightest, he notes, bemused, amusement shrinking rapidly as the scrolling never seems to end. Either Douma was oblivious to his surroundings and the obvious hints Akaza had been dropping or simply didn't give a fuck. Akaza is willing to bet on the latter.

He's just finishing up with curtly informing Douma that no, he does not want to attend another mixer with him, because one, he is in a loving relationship, and two, Douma has enough women at his tail, and third and most importantly, that he despises Douma, when Kyojurou's bedroom door finally swings open, followed by the sounds of clothing ruffling.

"Akaza." He grunts in acknowledgment as Kyojurou comes to a stop before him.

"And here I thought you would need another hour or two," he snarks, reluctantly dragging his gaze away from where he had been typing out a passionate, hate-filled letter to Douma. "I could wait-"

His eyes settle on Kyojurou and whatever words had been on his tongue die out.

"I took longer than I expected," Kyojurou says, sounding every bit remorseful and Akaza is certain it's genuine. "Sorry for the wait, I underestimated the time it would take to coordinate…"

His apologies fall on deaf ears because Akaza has stopped listening to him long ago. No, he's gawking at Kyojurou, mouth gone dry, throat parched, because-

Kyojurou.

Is.

Wearing.

A.

Skirt.

A dream. This must be a dream, right? Akaza resists the urge to reach up and rub his eyes. What he does do, however, is close his eyes, count to three, and open them once again. It remains.

Falling mid-thigh and pleated in neat folds, the length serving to expose a healthy expanse of tanned skin stretched over muscles, there is no doubt as to what it is. A skirt—Kyojurou is wearing a skirt. A rush of giddiness overtakes him, tugging his lips wide.

The first thing he registers through the haze of his shock is that, unlike the images that had circulated his head, the skirt is not pink, but black. The color is the least of his concerns, not when Kyojurou's skirt ruffles with every slight movement and a pink sweatshirt the shade of Akaza's hair hangs off his shoulders, large enough even Kyojurou with his broad stature drowns in it, sleeves going past his fingers and bunching around his wrists.

The second is that he hasn't taken a breath ever since he had laid his eyes on Kyojurou, and his lungs are a moment away from bursting from the lack of oxygen.

He's busily gulping down air to his struggling lungs as Kyojurou shifts his weight from one foot to another, peeking up at Akaza and searching his face for any expression that may tip him off. "What… What do you think?"

At first glance, it would seem that Kyojurou is not concerned in the slightest, bright smile tugging the corners of his lips up, but a closer look finds his ears pink, the back of his neck bruised a similar color, poorly hidden by his hand. It hits him: he's nervous. The realization is jarring, because Kyojurou, the epitome of confidence and surety, being nervous is not a usual occurrence at all.

It's not unpleasant either, the sudden epiphany that even Kyojurou, for all his gaudiness and conviction, can become flustered. No, it's rather… nice. The corner of his lips curls in slightly, the urge to poke fun creeping up on him, to see how far he can push Kyojurou, how far that blush goes, how mean he can be before the other cracks.

"You remembered," he says instead, reaching out to grasp Kyojurou by the wrist so he can draw him closer, hungry eyes skimming down his form once more. A wandering hand rests itself onto his waist, settling there naturally as if it is where it was meant to be all along.

"You seemed to like the idea, so I decided to give it a try." His arms cross over his chest, hands burying themselves into the folds of his sweatshirt. "I'm not sure if it quite lives up to what you had in mind, as my build isn't the best for this-" He punctuates his words with a tug on the hem of his skirt, and it's truly a wonder that Akaza doesn't pounce on him right then and there. "-sort of clothing."

With every word, Akaza's disbelief only grows, until he's openly gaping at the other. Here Kyojurou was, looking as if he had walked straight out from his wet dreams, and he had the audacity to spout bullshit like that? Without a word, he's yanking Kyojurou closer until their knees knock together. Kyojurou takes the hint, clambering into his lap, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders to balance himself. "You look…"

Whatever words of reassurance that had been on his tongue are lost to him as his palms rest on the bare skin of Kyojurou's thighs from where they rest on either side of his hips, momentarily giving in to the urge to knead. The act draws a laugh from Kyojurou, albeit breathless as his wrists press to the back of Akaza's neck. "You like it?"

"Like it?" The incredulity nearly dripping from his voice has Kyojurou tensing for a moment, quick to melt away as Akaza's hands creep under his sweatshirt, tracing the firm lines of his muscles. The shiver it brings forth from Kyojurou nearly has Akaza throwing all his ministrations to the wind right then and there. "You're fucking delectable."

He truly is, straddling Akaza's lap in a skirt , just for him to see and swallow up. And the mere thought that this is for him, that Kyojurou had gone out of his way to doll himself up all because of a thoughtless murmur that had fallen from his lips… It's enough to send him into a dizzy spell, hunger gnawing at his insides.

Kyojurou laughs once more and it's only a dim sound with how loud the rush of blood is in his ears. It reverberates in him, in his throat, in the growing pit in his stomach, in his chest. The last straw that shatters Akaza's willpower.

One moment he's carding his fingers through Kyojurou's wild mane and the other's thumbs are smoothing over his collarbones and the next his mouth is crushing to Kyojurou's, hot with barely-restrained desire.

It's a filthy clash of teeth and tongue and heat as Kyojurou's hands tighten at the nape of his neck, nails digging into skin, the sensation wonderful enough it has Akaza groaning against his lips. The liquid fire in his belly froths, bubbling at the edges as his hands find their way back to the other's thighs, squeezing and kneading to his heart's content.

A choked gasp escapes from Kyojurou in response, the delicious sound eagerly swallowed up by Akaza's mouth, spurring him on to push farther, to inhale Kyojurou in like drugs until he was drunk on him, on his taste, his touch, his heat. Stoking the desire to kiss Kyojurou until they were both breathless, to relish in the sensations of their hands as they slid over vast but familiar territory they could both individually map with their eyes closed from their memories alone, until they were nothing more than a mess of warmth and glossed-over eyes and heavy breaths.

"I take that as an affirmative," Kyojurou chuckles against his lips as they pull apart for air and Akaza responds by closing the distance between them once more, tasting the rest of his words on his tongue.

When they separate again, there's a rare, teasing smile that curls Kyojurou's lips, a glint in his eye. "Lunch?"

A thoughtful hum vibrates at his throat as Akaza pretends to consider his suggestion before he's standing abruptly, hands sliding under the other's thighs to lift him with ease, hungrily soaking in the surprise that seizes Kyojurou's features with glee. "I don't think so," he says, smirk downright wicked. "I think I'll prefer to stay in today."

It is safe to say neither the skirt nor Kyojurou would survive to see the light of the day, not as Akaza's nails press promises to his skin in the form of crescent moons as he carries him into the bedroom.